Her Wolf King

{le loup}

THE WOLF

A KEENING WHINE erupted from the throat of the wolf. Its paws were heavy on her shoulders, pinning her to the ground. The wolf's claws scratchy through the fabric of her gown, digging into Lenore's flesh. She stared up at the canopy of branches, like black cobwebs against the pale, clouded sky. Struggling to breathe with the weight of the animal on her chest, she tried to move her limbs. But the cold that chilled them and the burden of the wolf on top of her paralyzed her.

I am going to die, she thought, as all urgency to live and willpower to survive vanished with her safety. I am going to die here, alone in this forest, all for the sake of a few lost apples.

She felt cold tears leak out of her eyes, roll down her cheeks, and freeze almost immediately. Her entire body shook with sobs, her vision blurring as her lashes clumped together with ice—

And then the wolf was gone. It disappeared just as suddenly as it had come, and in its place was a man. A wounded man, limping and bruised and so bloody it made her ache just to look at him. But his clothes were of fine material: a gilded—if slightly tattered—cloak in a rich crimson velvet, a jerkin with a ruby pin at the throat. The vest covered his long-sleeved tunic, donned over leather breeches. He held his hand against a bandage on his chest, as he staggered towards her.

"Please," he croaked. Blood stained the soiled fabric of his bandage as he extended his other hand. Desperation was written all over his unshaven face. "Please help me."

"You—you tried to kill me," Lenore whispered, her body still shaking as she scrambled backwards, her spine pressed up against the hard stone of the cave wall. Every vertebra seemed to turn to ice. "You're a wolf."

Her words hung in the air between them, as tangible as her clouded breath before it vanished into the night.

"No." He fell to his knees now, clutching his side. Each word was a groan; a growl. "I am cursed."

Her mouth dropped open in shock. Had she hit her head? Was she really in this cave, with this strange creature? Perhaps her body had fallen asleep in some snowbank to be devoured by beasts like him. Meanwhile, her mind stayed present, dreaming up fantastical conjurings. "You wish for me to help you?"

"Would you stop saying the obvious, girl?" He sank into the snow, grunting in pain as blood stained the snow vermillion. "Please. My wound... I need it to be bandaged."

She moved gingerly, shifting off of her backside and crawling through the trampled snow to him. Lenore's hands were entirely numb by the time she reached the man, her breaths fogging and creating a haze in front of her wind-chilled face. She removed her cloak, shivering at the sudden rush of wintry air that came with its lack. Then she bundled it up to hold against his wound. The patch of fabric reddened in an instant. Then the whole of it, the entire cloak, began to glow with an unearthly, gold tint. Lenore gasped as the man transformed back into a wolf.

His head was bent though, his body in an almost submissive position. He showed none of the ferocity he had before, even as those green wolf's eyes shone with a preternatural intelligence. Yet she could not bring herself to release her fear; she clutched it to herself as she had her cloak. 

"Tell me your name." His voice was a guttural, primal sound.

"L-Lenore," she whispered, her lips trembling. Whether it was from fear or from the temperature, she could not be sure. "W-who gave you that wound?"

Would they be after her, as well, for helping him?

"My wife." His voice was a low throaty growl. It was a sound she had expected from a wolf, but she had not anticipated the thrill that shuddered down her spine upon hearing it. The only thing that perplexed her more than it was his words. "What do you desire most in the world, Lenore? Tell me, and I will grant it to you as repayment for saving my life."