Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

December 10

Waking up, you could have told me a cannonball crash landed on my head and I would have believed you. Headache like sin. Times ten. My wings, which I was still laying upon, hurt like sadomasochism.

I rolled onto my side quickly—too quickly; I got woozy. The room, which I could actually see now, spun. Breathing hard, but trying to relax, I closed my eyes.

When I finally reopened them, I noticed little scratches on my wrists from…from what? They were on my ankles too. I had total bed head. And I was wearing a hospital gown. Where…?

Captured, Ivy. Remember? That whole dance with hypothermia and whatnot?

Slowly, things started to come back. Waking up in this…this room? And screaming. Someone needed to come. But it had been Ari. And I really didn't want it to be him. But I couldn't see him all the way—the room had been…fuzzy? No, they gave me something.

They drugged you, Ivy. They didn't want you to fight.

Fight? Fight what, exactly? Or who? Ari.

I remembered him untying me—the scratches on my wrists and ankles. He had toyed with me. Terrified me. Called me… Creampuff? I couldn't fight. I remembered things getting blurrier and blurrier. And he sat on top of me and played with my gown…

Suddenly, I realized that my memory of the previous night ended there. With Ari straddling me, and me being a complete and total creampuff—no ability to fight, no consciousness to retaliate.

What had… What happened?

Oh, damnit.

"Hey, Batchelder, heard you had some fun last night. How was she?"

"Mmhmm, saw you bring her in. She looked tasty! Tiny little girl—how old was she, ten?"

Ari sighed. Bombardment. He should have known this was going to happen, and should have attempted to come up with a halfway decent story. Instead, all that came out was, "Haha, yeah!" All of the Erasers in the locker room stared at him. They wanted answers, and he needed to deliver.

"So?" probed a brawny guy, throwing a towel over his shoulder.

"Uh… She's seventeen. And umm… she's… fun?" He murmured, feeling the eyes of many. Normally, he would have had so many snide remarks, plenty of little details. But today, Ari was…off.

"Whoa, whoa, wait. She is? You mean she's still alive?" asked one Eraser. Ari's eyes snapped to him. "She survived a night with an Eraser?" He looked genuinely confused.

Ari frowned. He wasn't like them. Just because they frequently morphed out and killed their girls didn't mean it happened to everyone. But he hadn't even… "Of course."

The Eraser tilted his head, still confused. "Oh. Okay." Then he turned his back on Ari and joined the other Erasers. Ari frowned and finished pulling on regular clothes. He hadn't fought with anyone today—only a punching bag—so his stained t-shirt and basketball shorts weren't very dirty. He tossed them in his locker, and pulled up the zipper on his jeans.

Still frowning, he slipped out of the locker room, pulling on a plain white shirt as he walked. Once he was in the hallway, passing numerous doctors in nondescript white lab coats, Ari was assaulted by his lack of anything last night.

It hadn't been what he wanted. Of course, since Ivy was drugged, Ari knew he could get anything. She didn't need to love him—maybe that would come later—but he hadn't expected her to be so…afraid of him. But then, as the date rape drug kicked in and she lost more and more of her ability to fight, Ari lost his concern. He had been ready—he wanted her, could smell her fear and was actually attracted to it. And she wouldn't remember anything. It was perfect.

But as he straddled her and started to remove the crappy, vulnerable hospital gown that the idiot doctors had dressed her in, he looked at her face. Her eyes were half open, looking just past him blankly. Her mouth, that adorable little mouth, was open in a little "O," like she was surprised. Her head had fallen back into the single, dull pillow.

She looked like a child.

She's seventeen. She's closer to being an adult than a child.

Taking a deep breath, Ari had looked away from her face, down at her chest and reached back to her gown. As he worked it off to her shoulder, he picked up one of her arms and pulled it through, freeing it. When he released her wrist, the arm fell so that her dainty hand landed on his upper thigh, palm down.

It was like she was trying to hold him back.

Ari stared at her hand on his leg for a couple of long, silent minutes, still sitting on her hips. His cockiness was starting to melt—she just looked so…small.

But he was a killer. He didn't show mercy. He didn't feel pity. So why was he hesitating? From the moment he had spotted his mark, the petite thief in the jewelry store of a mall, he had wanted her in this position. Ari Batchelder finally had caught someone, who, at that point in time, couldn't leave him. So why wasn't he taking advantage of it? Of her?

Frowning, beyond confusion, Ari slipped off of her, putting himself in a standing position next to the bed. He stared at her face, watched a tiny twitch around her nose. It was cute, and for the first time in a long time, he smiled. Just a smile, not a smirk or a sneer. Then he did the first thing that came to mind.

Ari had leaned over her and pressed his mouth to hers. Her mouth really was dainty—but her lips were soft and warm. After a second, Ari didn't want to be done. He went far enough to lick her lip just a little, and then forced himself to pull away. Staring at her unresponsive face, he had murmured, "Dream of me."

With that, Ari had turned around and strode to the door, glancing back at her inanimate form once more before closing and locking the door behind him.

Tucking the key into his pocket, Ari had realized something. Not only did he not want to hurt Ivy, he wanted her to like him…

He wished that when they had advanced his age, they had left him without teenage hormones. Being a kid was so much easier than this.

"'Dream of me.' What was I thinking?" Ari said out loud. A passing Eraser looked at him, confused. "I'm retarded! She was drugged!" Ari shouted at him, and the Eraser jumped, speeding up a little. "GOD, I'm a loser."

After I had finally gained the ability to see straight, I got to my feet. The room I was in was a piece of work. It looked like a murder scene from one of the mellower "Law & Order" episodes. There were bloodstains worked into the walls and the ashen paint was chipping. The floor, you would think, would be slightly more conventional than the rest of the building. You would be wrong—same old, dull linoleum. The bed was a double, and I could see it's springs sticking out. The frame…was probably from the 20s. It was iron, had lost any original shine, and resembled a slightly nicer bed than one you would find at an orphanage. At least in the movies.

I looked at the far wall, and spotted a window. However, when I rushed over to look closer, I realized that it had a crisscrossing pattern over it—bars.

Not getting out that way.

There was a tiny little kitchenette in one corner—just a table, a very outdated microwave, and an icebox. I dashed to it, my stomach growling, and threw open the door.

Nada. Not even ice in the icebox.

"Ugh! C'mon! You couldn't at least have left me some food after you…" I screamed aloud, but trailed off. I didn't actually know what anyone had done to me, and I didn't want to consider it. But it was a lingering issue.

Off of one of the sides of the room, to the left of the bed, was a tiny bathroom. I went to it, quickly used it, and then looked around. Toilet and a sink. No shower or tub. Thing were gonna get nasty around here. An un-bathed me was not a person anyone wanted to deal with. Even living on the streets and stealing clothes, I had managed to stay clean for the most part, much to the chagrin of many other homeless people of the 'Windy City'.

Hospital gown…is scratchy. Need real fabric! My eyes hurt as I looked at the paper gown that draped off of my thin frame. I swear I'm not that superficial, but paper doesn't cut it. At least put me in a potato sack. Sighing, I realized that they hadn't left me real clothes either. No food, no fabric, no freedom. Life sucks.

Snarling, I pulled the skimpy sheet off the bed. Once in the bathroom, which gave me a small sense of security, I stripped off the gown (they had stolen my underwear and bra—idiots). Then I quickly ripped a strip off the edge of the sheet, put that to the side, and ripped a hole for my head. Pushing my head through the hole, which hung loosely below my collarbone, I wrapped the fabric around myself like a tightly fitted poncho, and then tied it around my waist with the remaining strip of fabric. All in all, it looked like a kindergartener's imitation at a Greek chiton. Nevertheless, it was a step up from the hospital gown, which I threw under the bed.

Now what to do? Wait for someone to come and harass me? I had no good ideas, escape-wise. I was strong, but I could tell from looking, there was no way I could bend those bars on the window, or slip through them. The door...maybe I could break it, but I would have wagered my meager clothes that someone was nearby to prevent me from getting far. But then again, was I that important?

I decided it was worth a try. Hoisting my sheet up, I stretched out in a painful runners pose. Gah… Then I braced myself and charged at the door.

Sighing, Ari wandered down her hallway, the key to her door weighing heavily in his pocket. Still feeling slightly childish and yet perverted, like a 4th grader with a crush on a preschooler, he debated whether or not to tell her that he hadn't done anything to her last night. His brain was saying, "Ari, you know 'honesty is the best policy'!" but when had it ever been right? Everything else said, "Lie. Girls like mysterious men."

Confounded, he decided to roll with the punches. Sliding the key from his pocket to the hole, he unlocked the door and pushed the handle. He barely had time to register the blonde object dashing towards him before he found himself sprawled on his back in the hallway.

When he thought 'roll with the punches,' he hadn't expected to actually have to roll. Head spinning, he realized that she was sprawled on top of him, and was getting up to go. Panicking, he closed his arms and legs around her, feeling like he was wrestling a baby alligator. As she struggled, he snarled, and, stressed as he was, he morphed.

It only lasted a second. The pain of claws shooting through his fingertips, his jaw instantly elongating to form a muzzle, his back hunching, ears and a tail pushing out of him, and fur erupting all along his body; it only lasted a blink. But it was enough. As his claws grew, they grew into Ivy's side and arm that he was holding, gouging her skin. His muzzle was centimeters from her neck, breathing hot air. As he grew and his back hunkered to maintain stability for his increased weight, he curved more and more around her, making her even more diminutive. The ears, tail, and fur were just freaky, he knew. He was already morphing back to his human form—painfully—as she screamed.

Her scream was piercing. He could hear fear, anger, and confusion in it—it hurt his ears. While she shrieked, and started jerking more and more fearfully, he tried to calm down, but found himself releasing her. However, she was blocked from shooting off down the hallway by guards on all sides. Ari could smell her fear, as if it was a perfume, and sat up quickly in time to see her race back into the room and then to the bathroom. He heard the door slam.

As if that will do any good, he thought.

Internally, he was reeling. The wolfish side of him—the one he had worked so hard to maintain, and which had still popped out—wanted to chase her. Pin her down. Bite. Kill. Maim. Anything. He wanted her. He understood why the Erasers had discussed murdering their girls. Her fear was arousing. But his humanity still survived a little, and he remembered again how her hand had fallen delicately onto his knee the previous night.

With three deep breaths from his seat on the ground, he got to his feet, went into her room, and closed the door behind himself.

Holy shiz! My brain was fried. Did I really just see that? He turned into a freaking wolf!

I found myself muttering. It took me a minute to realize what I was saying. "By the dragon's light, on this December night, I call to thee to give me your might… By the power of three, I conjure thee to protect all that surrounds me. So mote it be. So mote… So mote it…" Where on earth did I get that? Then I remembered. There was this superstitious granny who thought she was a witch and lived at one of the shelters I used to crash at. She used to recite that every night, like she actually believed it worked.

I was going crazy. I then noticed that I was curled in a ball under the sink in the tiny bathroom with the door closed. It had no lock. I believed I had seen a creepy man turn into a wolf…and I was mindlessly reciting a prayer to who knows who. I was going crazy.

Oh, God. Ohhh, God. What the hell is wrong with me?

I don't really know how long I was in there before I realized I needed to face my fears and go back out of my bathroom. I carefully adjusted my sheet, making sure I was covered, and then noticed the blood. It was my blood, drawn from…claw marks. Or something. Whatever. My dirty, white sheets were now just plain…dirty.

The bathroom door was a little creaky, only intensifying my discomfort as I opened it. Carefully emerging into my room, I spotted him. He was sitting on the bed, his head in his hands, staring at the floor. His shirt was ripped in several places, his hair especially messy. I don't know what I was thinking, but I tried to sneak past him. Before I took five steps, he was standing in front of me, blocking everything.

"Where are you going, Slick-Chick?" he asked. "You don't want to stay with me?"

I gulped, took a deep breath. And with no warning, I darted past him. Or at least I thought I did until I felt his arms around my waist, pulling me back to his body.

"No!" I wailed. "I don't want to stay with you! I don't want you to…! To do anything to me! Just let me go! Why do you want me anyway?"

He smirked. "Babe, can you help me with something?" He asked. He pulled a rag from the pocket of his jeans. "Tell me—does this smell like chloroform?" Before I could retaliate, I was snorting a scentless piece of fabric, and collapsing into his arms. I heard him murmur to me, "I like your toga," as I blacked out.

I knew I was only out for a few minutes, but even minutes felt precious to me at that point. When my eyes finally opened themselves, I was laying back against a cushy set of pillows on a ridiculously large, California King sized bed, complete with comforter and flannels. Confused and completely lost again, I bolted upright and started to roll towards the edge of the bed. Somehow, I got stuck in the covers. Flailing wildly, I managed to worm over to the edge, but fell off clumsily, and stood up to face Ari yet again.

"That was attractive," he stated sarcastically. "Here." Awkwardly, he held out a glass of water towards me. I looked at it, my throat suddenly feeling insanely dry—and yet I refused. He read my mind and took a sip from it. When he didn't keel over, I snatched the glass from his hands and took a step back from him. The water was gone in seconds from my chugging.

Gasping, I asked, "Where are we now?"

Ari smirked, looking around a little. I followed his gaze. The room, dominated mostly by the gigantic bed, also included a little refrigerator, a walk-in closet, a hallway that I realized led to a master bathroom, a small living room continuing to the bedroom, and a door the size of Texas. There was one large window, but the curtains were closed. Nevertheless, I could see the silhouette of bars on them. "This, Darling, is my bedroom. And the door has steel reinforcements." He stared at me as I realized the severity of my situation. As my face fell and I started to feel the effects of a drug in my system, he darted towards me, pushing me back to the bed, tackling me, and pinning me down in the jungle of covers and pillows.