Strap in, kids. It's time for some werewolves that nobody requested. I seek to sink below the low bar of your expectations. Enjoy the awfulness.
Order up.
Drabble IX: Wolf
When Zelda had made the decision to move into the cabin she'd inherited from her late Uncle Rhoam, she hadn't factored in the wolves.
She probably should've. Tabantha was known for them, after all. It was one of the reasons why the region was so sparsely populated, and that sparse population was what had appealed to Zelda. She wanted a little peace and quiet for finishing her novel. When she'd moved out, she'd imagined writing from the porch in the mornings, the cold air brisk against her cheeks, drinking coffee and reveling in the smell of the pines as she worked.
Clearly, she hadn't factored in the wolves.
The first night, she'd heard them howling terrifyingly close to her home. The second night, she'd heard sniffing under her window, and found tracks in the soil circling her house the next morning.
So she went out and bought a gun.
The third night, when she heard wolves howling in the woods just beyond her porch, she stood at the door, her hands sweating, her shotgun gripped tight. She knew how to shoot from one semester of skeet at university, but it had been ages— nearly a decade— since she'd picked up a firearm.
"I have a gun," she'd yelled through the wood of the door in terror. "Go away, wolves, shoo!"
It was stupid to expect it to work. Wolves didn't understand threats. Wolves didn't understand guns.
Even still, she didn't hear the wolves after that. She'd still find tracks in the soil sometimes, but she never heard them.
She didn't know if that was a relief or not.
If nights were terrifying, the days were idyllic— if not a little empty. Zelda would write for a few hours, and then once she was done, she'd putter around the cabin doing chores, or she'd take a shower, or she'd take her beat up little truck into town for groceries and possibly dinner at the local tavern. The people of Piper Ridge were wary of her, outsider that she was. It seemed to be a close knit little community. Folks were kind enough to her when they realized she was old Rhoam's niece, but they weren't exactly congenial.
She tried asking if the local wildlife around here might be a bit, well, odd, but her questions were met with halfhearted shrugs and muttered responses of, "no odder'n anywhere else, ma'am." So she gave up, and began people watching instead, and tried to figure out how she could fit in here— or if she even wanted to, assuming her career as a literary novelist flopped. If she couldn't make it writing, she'd have to go back to nursing, and she didn't think there was a hospital anywhere nearby. She didn't want to go back to nursing. She didn't want to fail at her dream. So she had to find a way to make it work. She had to find a way to fit here.
And then, about a month after she'd moved in, the wolves came back.
She'd fallen asleep on her couch, watching some silly old silver screen drama, when she was roused by the unmistakable whimpering of a wounded creature— a wounded dog, it sounded like— outside. She bolted upright, her warm flannel blanket sliding off her shoulders, and leapt up. She grabbed the shotgun and peered out the windows. She couldn't see anything in the darkness, so she took a deep breath, turned on the porch lights, and strode outside with far more bravery than she felt.
She strode forward, looking around, but not much was visible in the dim radiance of the light. But she could hear it, hear the injured dog nearby. It sounded like it might be on the other side of the truck. She dipped back into the house to grab a flashlight from a shelf next to the door, flicked it on, slid her feet into her boots without lacing them, and set back out into the darkness.
"Hello?" Zelda called softly. "Doggie? Here, doggie, doggie, doggie…"
The earth crunched beneath the soles of her sturdy walking boots. She padded her way carefully down the stairs and towards the driveway. She rounded the truck, shining the beam of the flashlight through the blackness before her, and saw it.
It wasn't a dog. It was a wolf.
She gasped and nearly dropped the flashlight. She swung the shotgun up to brace it against her shoulder, pointing the barrel of the gun at the wolf. But the creature didn't lunge at her. It was wounded— badly wounded, she saw after a moment. She could hear it whining over the frantic tattoo of her pulse in her ears.
"Ohmigod," Zelda breathed. What did one do about an injured wolf hiding behind one's truck? She doubted very much that she could call some wildlife service to come rescue and patch up the poor creature— and she really didn't want a dead wolf on property, and—
— and wounded predators were dangerous, she realized. She was going to get killed if she stayed here.
Slowly, she began to back away.
"Just… nice wolfie," she said. Her voice was shaking. "Good wolf. Don't— don't spring and eat me and— ohmygod—"
She wolf had taken a few weak, pained steps forward, and collapsed. Zelda could see that its entire side was covered in blood, and she dazedly wondered if it was dead.
And then it began to writhe.
It wasn't normal writhing. It looked more like shadows had wormed their way out from underneath the wolf's fur to cover its entire body with a mantle of black. Zelda felt her grip on the gun slipping as the wolf vanished entirely from her sight, leaving a man lying naked and facedown in her driveway.
There was a dead, naked man in her driveway, and he'd been a dead wolf just a moment ago.
Holy. Shit.
Zelda held her breath as she advanced a few slow steps forward. As she got closer, she realized that the man's back was rising and falling as he breathed shallowly. He was alive. Alive, in spite of the fact that an awful wound stretched the length of his left side.
Zelda's nursing training kicked in. Sure, he'd been a wolf a few seconds ago, and he was a total stranger and could probably kill her in her sleep, but Zelda had a duty to help the sick and the wounded. She'd sworn an oath. So, mouth dry, hands shaking, she hurried to the man's side and began to triage his injuries as best she could by the light of a flashlight. And as she looked, she couldn't help but note that he was astonishingly good looking, in peak physical condition, with well-defined muscles. His face was almost pretty, his features soft, his golden hair mussed— but he was pale, too pale, and he was sickly with sweat.
Once she'd determined it would be safe to move him— or, as safe as moving a patient near death could be— she ran back inside, grabbed the blanket off of her couch, and hurried to the man's side. She got him onto the blanket and dragged him back towards the house, though she had to pull him up the porch steps herself, swearing and grunting and keeping a worried eye on the man's side as she went. It had stopped bleeding, which was a bad sign, but what else could she do? She couldn't treat him in the dirt. Couldn't leave him to bleed out behind her truck. It would be very awkward explaining to the authorities why there was a dead man in her driveway, after all.
She got her patient into the kitchen, rolled him onto his good side in the middle of the floor, and got to work. She washed her hands thoroughly then busted out her toolbox of a first aid kit. On went the gloves, out came the gauze, saline, and disinfectant, and Zelda got to work.
Once she'd cleared away some of the blood, she was relieved to realize that though the wound was bad, it wasn't as awful as it had looked by the pale ray of her flashlight. She cleaned and disinfected it thoroughly, then— astounded to see that her patient was still unconscious— she sutured it shut. She washed the blood off of the man, then dithered. Should she leave the naked total stranger lying in the middle of the kitchen floor? Probably not. One, she didn't want him to have easy access to her knives, even if he could turn into a wolf. And two, the floor probably wasn't comfortable.
So Zelda cleaned the bloodsmears off of the floor, grabbed another blanket, and dragged the man to the living room. She hefted him onto the couch, glad for all of her experience tending to patients who were unable to move, and covered him with the blanket. Then, she threw everything into the wash, pulled everything out of the kitchen that could possibly be a weapon, and barricaded herself in her bedroom with an assortment of implements, as well as her shotgun.
She didn't sleep that night. She was hyper-aware of the strange man on her house… and, if she was honest with herself, it wasn't entirely because he was near death, or because he might wake up and murder her.
Part of it was because, damn, he was the most attractive person she'd ever seen.
When dawn finally came around, Zelda crept tiredly out of her room, jumping at every stray creak of the old cabin. The man was still on the couch, and she checked his pulse— strong— and his wound, which looked astonishingly good. Really, it looked like a week-old wound, not something she'd sutured shut the night before. Aaaand she was enjoying touching him way too much. Clutching her shotgun like an amulet that would protect her from her own stupidity, she sank into a chair opposite the man, watching him sleep, marveling at how strange this situation was, and how incredibly handsome he was.
And then he opened his eyes and looked right at her.
"Eep!" Zelda hopped backwards, scrambling off the chair, and pointed the gun near the man but not at him.
"Please don't shoot me," he said in a weary, sleep-worn voice that nevertheless sent tingles of desire shooting through her. He looked around. "How did I get in here?"
Zelda stared at him for a long minute. As she did, something in her chest seemed to shift. Gravity seemed to flex and stretch around her. And she realized what it was that had kept her awake: she felt drawn to this man, pulled to him by an impossible, invisible force. She wanted to touch him. To kiss him. To do more.
To break the moment— and hopefully whatever strange pull it was that she felt— she spoke. "I dragged you," she said. "And, um… you were a wolf last night but then you fell over and now you're a man, and just what exactly is going on?"
The man grimaced, sitting up. The blanket she'd draped up his chest slid down to pool in his lap. He rubbed his head, then grimaced, looking down at his side.
"Huh," he said, taking in the stitches with some bemusement. "How'd that happen?" He looked at the neat sutures, then looked up at Zelda. "Did you sew me up?"
"Did you transform from a wolf into a human last night?" She countered. "What even happened to you?"
The man shook his head. "Yes, I transformed. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you… or even come here. When we're injured, we don't tend to, ah, think clearly."
"We? There's more like you? And what exactly injured you?"
"Moose," he grunted, and didn't answer her other question. After a moment, Zelda felt stirred to conversation again, because how could she not?
"Do you have a name or something? Or do I just call you… what, wolf-man? Man-wolf?"
"Link," he said. "My name is Link."
"Link," Zelda said, trying it out. "Link What?"
"Just Link," he said.
"Uh huh." Zelda wasn't convinced. "Well, I'm Zelda Bosphoramus."
"I know," he said. "I checked you out as soon as you moved into my territory." He gave a tired smile. "Welcome to Tabantha."
Zelda stared at him for a long moment.
"Are you going to hurt me?" She asked bluntly. "Am I in danger from you?"
He looked at her for a long moment. His eyes were really an incredible shade of blue, she thought. They looked more like wolf-eyes than the eyes of a man.
"No," he said, and Zelda could tell it was the truth. "You're safe with me."
With a sigh, Zelda set the gun aside.
"What now?" She asked him. "Do you need anything specific? Like… can I give you painkillers? Or… do you need raw meat? Or…?"
"If you're cooking breakfast, I'd appreciate a serving of whatever you're having," Link said. "It doesn't need to be meat." His lips quirked. "Or kibble. I'm perfectly capable of eating people food."
Oh, mercy. Her mysterious wolf-man-houseguest-patient was handsome and amusing. Zelda swallowed thickly.
"Right," she said. "I'll just, uh, get right to that." She turned her back on the man and fled, disheartened to notice that her hyper-awareness of him didn't abate even as she left the room.
Link watched his mate go, fighting with the instinct to chase after her and claim her. He'd already bungled this badly by showing up here in shadowpelt. If Aryll ever heard he'd gone running off to his mate with his tail tucked between his legs after losing a fight with a moose, she'd never let him live it down.
Link stood, stretching, grimacing at the pull of the sutures in his side. It had been sweet of his little mate to patch him up the way she had, he thought. He hadn't known she could do that. In fact, there were lots of things he didn't know about her, and only a few things he did: Her name was Zelda Bosphoramus, she'd inherited this cabin from her great-uncle (a good enough fellow who had left Link and the pack well enough alone), she'd come here from Hylia City, and she was his.
He'd seen her in town a few times, but had always made sure to remain out of her sight. He needed to make the right first impression in order for the bond to properly take on her end of things. Well, he'd certainly wrecked any chance of that, he thought with grim humor. Now he had to do damage control.
He wrapped the blanket around himself like a toga, amused to see she'd covered him in a flannel printed with sweet, fluffy bunnies. Well, if it made her comfortable to wrap her pet predator in pink, he'd tolerate it.
For now.
He padded into the kitchen to find Zelda at the stove, tossing strips of bacon into a skillet. He looked around and, a moment later, realized something odd.
"Where are all the knives? Don't you have any?"
It was almost comical how high she jumped, Link thought. She whirled, took in the sight of him, blushed, then scowled.
"You shouldn't be up and about. Your stitches—"
"Will heal," Link told her, seating himself at her little kitchen table. "I heal faster than…" a human, he nearly said, but caught himself. "...someone like you."
"Hm," Zelda said. She studied him for a moment, then turned her back on him. "I confiscated all the knives. You know. In case you were some lunatic who woke up and decided to go in for a little bit of stabby murder."
Link shook his head.
"Not many women would take the risk you did. I can't believe you dragged in a strange, naked man, cared for him, and then let him sleep on your couch."
Zelda shrugged defensively. "I'm a nurse," she said to the skillet. "Or was, anyway."
"What happened?" Link asked, sensing there was a story there, because few people would just up and leave their jobs and move out to the middle of the Tabanthan frontier without a very strong incentive.
Zelda shrugged again. "There was this doctor. He was…" She trailed off, but from her tone, Link was able to guess. He'd given her trouble of some sort. Maybe just professional. Maybe a little more personal.
He swallowed a growl.
"I decided it was time for a change," she said. "I'd inherited this cabin and a bit of money from my uncle, and I've always wanted to become a novelist, so I came out here to work on my book."
Link propped his chin on his wrist, leaning forward on his elbow.
"How's it coming?"
"How's what coming?"
"The book," he said.
Zelda shook her head and then finally turned around to look at him.
"I've been having a bit of trouble focusing on my writing because I keep hearing and seeing evidence of wolves around my cabin," she said, holding the spatula like a weapon. "I don't suppose you'd know anything about that?"
"Ah." As far as damage control went, Link wasn't doing a spectacular job. "I knew someone new had come, and I wanted to check you out for myself."
Zelda arched a brow.
"And what did you find?" She asked in a tone that didn't bode well for him.
"The smell of flowers and sunshine," he said honestly. "I thought you were… Interesting. Different."
"And that's why you've been prowling around my house?"
Link shrugged. "More or less." He was getting this all wrong, damn it. He cleared his throat awkwardly.
"I wanted to meet you," he said. "I wanted to get to know you. But I couldn't exactly figure out a way to approach you. In wolf-form, I scared you. And I didn't think you'd take it well if a strange man wandered up to you in the middle of town and introduced himself."
"So instead you decided to bleed out in my driveway," Zelda said with a nod. "I suppose that's one way to get a woman's attention."
Link shook his head.
"That wasn't my intention. Like I said, you smelled like sunshine and flowers. When I'm the wolf, I think a little differently. I likely came here because it smelled—" like home. Like his mated. "—safe."
She softened the faintest bit at that, and Link felt a bit of hope rise in his chest. So he stood and took a careful step towards her.
Her eyes went big and her pulse spiked. A little bit of blood pinkened her cheeks and her lips. And he could smell it, faint but still alluring enough to make him nearly mindness with need— she thought he was attractive.
So he walked towards her.
"I'm sorry for scaring you," he said, stopping just out of reach of her. "I'm sorry for bleeding out on your driveway. I hadn't planned to introduce myself this way. But now that I'm here… hi. I'm Link. I'm a shapeshifter. And I'd really like to get to know you. Would you like to go to dinner sometime?"
She stared at him for a long moment.
"Are you asking me out on a date?" She finally managed.
"Uh." Yes. "If you'd like."
She pursed her lips.
"So just to be clear," she said. "You, a weird shape-shifting wolf man with impeccable muscles, are asking me, the world's most boring novelist and failed nurse, out on a date. Because I smell like sunshine and flowers."
He was feeling confident enough in himself now to offer a grin.
"It's alluring," he said. "I promise, I'm perfectly nice, not some big, bad wolf."
She looked at him for a moment longer. "Huh," she said. Then, shocking him, she completely turned, presenting him with a view of her back— not ideal, but her backside was quite nice, though he didn't care to be caught staring at it.
"Is that… a no?" He asked. But she was switching the burner off on the stove, putting a lid on the skillet, and moving the pan to a trivet. Then she turned back around and looked at him again. She stared long enough for him to begin to fidget— long enough for him to wonder if maybe he'd mis-identified the smells drifting off of her.
And then, for lack of a better word, she pounced.
He caught her on instinct as she rammed her lips against his, her teeth clashing against his, her tongue seeking. He gave as good as he got and they went toppling to the floor. She paused, wrenching her mouth away from his.
"Your side," she gasped.
"It's fine," he growled, and went back to kissing her. Gods, but she smelled incredible, tasted incredible, felt incredible. He left her lips and began tracing his way down her neck, kissing and licking and nipping as he went. She gasped beneath him, writhing in a way that he absolutely loved.
And if this went much further, they'd be mated, and he wouldn't do that to her without giving her a choice.
Even though it was the hardest thing he'd ever done, Link pulled himself away from her, breathing hard. She was panting, too, her chest heaving, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen. She looked dazed.
"Why did you stop?"
"Because it wouldn't be right to go further," he said. "I want to take you to dinner. I want to get to know you. I'm not going to mess this up by rushing you."
She looked for a moment as though she might like to be rushed. Then she shook her head.
"Oh, what you must think of me," she said. "I don't normally make a habit of dragging strange men into my house and ravishing them in my kitchen."
Link couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped him.
"I'd hope not," he said. He clambered to his feet and held a hand down to her. She looked at it for a moment, then took it and let him haul her up.
It felt good to touch her. Right. He didn't want to let go of her. And judging by the way she clung to his hand, she didn't want to let go of him.
She cleared her throat.
"I don't know if it's because of what happened, or maybe I'm crazy, but I feel this… pull," she said. "It's… weird."
The bond? Hope soared on wings within him.
"I'll explain it to you," he promised. "I'll tell you all about it at dinner."
She chewed on her lips for a moment— the sight nearly drove all sense out of Link's mind again— and then nodded.
"Tonight?" She asked him.
"What?"
"I said," she repeated, blushing a little. "Can we go tonight? Because the way I see it, you owe me, and anyway, I've got loads of questions."
In time, she'd learn that as his mate, he could deny her nothing. Thinking of this, Link couldn't help but smile softly. He was looking forward to it.
"Yes," he said. "We can do dinner tonight."
"Great," Zelda said brightly. She glanced at the stove. "But first… breakfast, I suppose."
"Breakfast sounds good," Link agreed, re-seating himself at the table.
He began to mentally plan dinner— where he'd take her, what they'd have, what he'd tell her. It needed to be a private place… maybe one of the restaurants that the pack owned in the next town over. He'd get them a little room in the back. He'd answer any questions she asked. Even the awkward ones. Afterwards, maybe they'd go dancing. He'd take her out, show her a nice time, and bring her home just as frustrated aas he'd been for the past month.
Oh, yes, Link thought, grinning as he watched his delightfully clueless mate go back to cooking him breakfast. He was going to enjoy wooing Zelda very, very much indeed.
As usual, I'm not sorry. Also, good LORD this came out at 4,000 words. I've been writing for hours. Given that, I"m not sure if I'll get to a story tomorrow. Maybe we'll call tonight's a Friday night double special? Who knows.
See you sometime this weekend with a Chef's Surprise of a oneshot. Until then, stay safe, stay inside, and WASH YOUR HANDS! Air smoochies to all, and to all a good night.
