In the Company of Wolves

There's a beast prowling in the Wolfswood forest, just outside the village of Winterfell…

Everything A Big Bad Wolf Could Want: Fair of face and kissed by fire, Sansa Stark is a force to be reckoned with—with a feisty spirit to match the flare of her flaming hair. Still, there's no shortage of suitors vying for the hand of the eldest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark, but despite all their clever plans, Sansa vows she will only marry for love. A chance encounter with a mysterious stranger in the woods sets her on a path of passion and dangerous intrigue. Is Jon her salvation or her damnation? Perhaps he is both.

Even Bad Wolves Can Be Good: Being the fatherless son of the village recluse believed to be a witch, Jon Snow is no stranger to being ostracized by his peers. Even after his mother's death, he keeps to himself, living a life of solitude in the forest, and stays clear of Winterfell village—content to watch from a distance the auburn haired beauty that has beguiled him since he was naught but a lad. But Jon harbors a dark secret—and he's sworn to protect Sansa at all costs … even if it's from himself.

Little girls, this seems to say,

Never stop upon your way.

Never trust a stranger-friend;

No one knows how it will end.

As you're pretty, so be wise;

Wolves may lurk in every guise.

Handsome they may be, and kind,

Gay, or charming never mind!

Now, as then, 'tis simple truth—

Sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth!

- Charles Perrault, Little Red Riding Hood


Chapter One: Eyes Black, Big Paws, And It's Poison, And It's Blood

Eyes black, big paws,

and it's poison, and it's blood.

And big fire, big burn

Into the ashes, and no return

-Fever Ray, The Wolf

A glowing orb in the inky night sky, the full moon shone down, casting its beams between the shuddering trees of the Wolfswood. He prowls in the shadows, keeping to the darkness because the moon burns his fur. Perhaps he just imagines that to be so, but it burns just the same. He raises his head and howls up at it—cursing it as it curses him. Monster. He's a monster. He knows it. He doesn't want to be. But the hunger—tremendous, painful hunger… it gnaws at his insides like a festering wound.

Eyes black, he scans his surroundings, prowling deeper into the wood, scenting the air for his next kill. There's a faint stirring of something in the breeze. A hare. Its ears have already perked up—sensing his presence before he makes himself known. He can hear its heartbeat pulsing, thudding—life's blood. He's already salivating. Its eyes flicker back at him in the darkness.

Big paws, he lumbers forward, his sharp claws extending. It's over within seconds, the hare doesn't even have time to run before he's overpowered it. It squeals in terror, as he sinks his teeth into its muzzle and its life pours into him. Hot and sticky, it drips from his incisors—poisonous blood.

Everything he eats turns to ash in his mouth. He's still ravenous, the hunger is not sated. Never sated. Spine curved, head thrown back, he cries his anguish to the cursed moon again. A pained, horrid sound that splits the silence in the forest and echos back at him, hollow in his own ears. He remembers… remembers who did this to him—who made him a monster. And then… he forgets.

Catching a new scent, he sniffs excitedly at the air, nostrils flaring as it seeps inside him—an earthy, potent musk. He knows this smell and follows it. Closer to the sleeping village, it leads him. To Winterfell. He doesn't ever come this close. Monsters don't belong here. They belong in the deepest corners of the forest, shrouded in darkness, their hideous faces hidden from innocent eyes. Still, he follows the smell, the bloodlust driving him forward, clawing at his empty, burning stomach.

His ears twitch—he hears them before he sees them. Woman and man. The scent is overwhelming now. Leather and lilacs. Sweat and sex. Blue skirts rucked high up smooth thighs, blonde hair pale as the moonlight, legs spread wide, the man ruts between them. Her head lolls, red lips pursed. She licks them as a moan spills forth.

And he remembers again. Remembers how… This. Silver hair spilling over his shoulders, soft skin and amethyst eyes, her bite at his throat. Black paws claw at his neck where the beasts' mark dwells. Monster. A low growl escapes him, thin lips peeling back over razor sharp teeth, saliva dripping from his jowls.

The pain shreds through his insides, erasing everything else… and then he forgets again. It's only hunger he remembers now—only hunger he knows. Insatiable hunger. An empty, gnawing ache that no amount of hares will quench. He thinks he understands that now.

He watches her pulse throb in her throat—the poisonous blood—as her chest heaves, creamy bosom straining against blue silk. Her head falls back and she cries out to the night sky. To the moon, like him. He fights the urge to do the same.

The hunger distracts him, makes him careless. A branch snaps beneath his paw, and he sinks further into the brush as nervous glances flit about, eyes scanning the surrounding trees. They've finished. The woman shoves her skirts down and hauls herself up from the ground as the man fumbles with his breeches. She casts her eyes this way and that. He wonders if she can sense him like the hare?

Linking hands, they disappear down the path that leads towards the village. He doesn't go there. Not like this. Not when he's a monster. But tonight he does; the pain from the hunger is too overpowering to fight. His humanity—what's left of it—does not prevail. Carefully, he follows behind, slinking hidden in the shadows, his paws padding softly on the forest floor. He doesn't make a sound.

The path widens as they approach Winterfell and leave the cover of the woods. He remains behind, watching, waiting, biding his time with darkness as his shroud. The lovers embrace at the well and finally, they separate—lips, then hands pulling apart. His stomach clenches painfully. Impatiently.

Lilacs. The perfumed scent of her skin catches the breeze. It stirs his fur as it tickles his nostrils, mingled with the heady tang of sex that still seeps from her pores. It twists at his gut—a mixture of hunger and desire. Raw and primitive, and entirely animalistic. It excites and terrifies him. But then the hunger rips at his insides again, and all is forgotten as he begins to trail her. He keeps to the trees, slipping between the shadows unseen. He is the shadows—the thing that goes bump in the night… Monster.

Again, he wonders if she can sense his presence. Her steps become more urgent, her gait clumsy. She casts a nervous glance over her shoulder. Once. Twice. The air is suddenly rife with the scent of fear. It invades his snout and his pupils dilate, the intoxicating smell only making him more ravenous, the pain burning within him more intense.

She does sense him. She must. Her heart thuds—life's blood pulsing. Boom. Boom. Boom. It pounds in his ears, an aphrodisiac of terror, his own heart slams in response. So hungry. He's salivating. He can taste her fear. It ripples across his taste buds as he drops down on all fours. Powerful hind legs bending—extending, he leaps from the shadows and lands effortlessly in front of her, a low growl rumbling up from deep within his chest.

He bares his teeth, sharp incisors gleaming in the moonlight. She doesn't scream. She can't—she's crippled with fear. Her chest heaves as she struggles to draw breath, her breasts straining against the blue fabric of her gown. He raises himself back up on two legs and her head follows his ascension, her eyes blown wide with terror.

He takes a menacing step towards her. She stumbles backwards. It's coming, he knows—survival instincts kicking in, the driving need to live—to escape her fate, she turns to run. But there's no escaping it, and he doesn't plan to give her the opportunity to try, anyway. He lunges as she turns on her heel. Massive paws slamming into her back, her body crumbling to the ground. The scream perched on the tip of her tongue dying as the air rushes from her lungs in a whoosh—knocked out by the burden of his unyielding weight upon her.

Strands of gold spilling across the ground, her pulse slams against the pale white skin of her throat. It beckons him to bite—to taste—to quench the unbearable hunger that drove him to this. The moon breaks through the clouds, bathing them both in its eerie light. It burns, singeing at his fur. Pain—scorching him inside and out… everywhere. Another howl splits the night, pulled forth from the very depths of his soul where his humanity resides. If he does this, he will truly be a monster. He doesn't want to be. Never asked for this. But the hunger…

Just a taste… Sharp teeth pricking at the delicate skin of her neck. Screams flood his ears. Are they hers or his? It doesn't matter. Poisonous blood—warm, salty. It coats his throat as it drips down to soothe his burning stomach. More. More. More. It slathers his muzzle as he tears at her throat, sharp teeth shredding her skin like ribbons. Ribbons of alabaster, blue and crimson. Her body is limp.

Spine twisted, he cries his victory up at the moon. Into the ashes, and no return. Monster. He is truly a monster now.

He doesn't want to be.


A/N: Welcome to my Jon x Sansa Little Red Riding Hood fairytale remix! See you next update!