I'm back :D

Thank you to Songmistle, Hissing Mist, wonderwishes2, and Sootfire for reviewing the previous chapter!

This chapter is going to follow both Cloudtail and Brightpaw(heart), and I hope you enjoy and come back for more! So here's part 3; I think there's probably going to be 5 total, before we start on a new fairytale! (I'm thinking I might do a Snow White retelling, maybe next time or the one after)

Enjoy!

RED AND THE ALPHA: PART THREE

She was not afraid to bid the wolf a lovely day despite the stories she had heard of the heinous creatures.

•

"Why hasn't she called yet?"

After the oh-so-hasty disappearance of Brightpaw with Swiftpaw, the game draws to a rather abrupt end, and everyone dissolves into smaller groups chit-chatting around the campfire. That's fine with Cloudtail, though, who is taking turns placing himself in everyone else's conversations—one, to see if anyone has heard from Brightpaw, and two, because he just can't sit still right now.

At the moment, he sits with Fireheart, Graystripe, Sandstorm, and Dustpelt, none of whom seem thrilled about his interruption, but Cloudtail cannot help it.

Why did Brightpaw say yes to Swiftpaw? Has he been so blind all this time that he couldn't see the beginnings of a relationship between them? Or was it a spur-of-the-moment decision? She did hesitate for some time, after all, and Cloudtail clings to the hope that her uncertainty is a good sign.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thinks, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands. Throughout this camping trip, he has missed so many opportunities to just tell Brightpaw how he feels about her, and now she's on a date with Swiftpaw. Swiftpaw, of all people! It's not that he doesn't like him... except it sort of is. Swiftpaw is so much more unique than he is, so much more noticeable from the way he dresses to the confident way he talks. It's no wonder that Brightpaw said yes to him.

Dustpelt pinches him in the arm, hard, and Cloudtail whips around to glare at him. "What was that for?"

"I wanted to know if you can even hear how whiny you sound," he replies unsympathetically, while Cloudtail rubs the sore spot on his bicep, grimacing.

He looks to the other three teenagers for help, but Fireheart just shrugs. Sandstorm is only marginally supportive compared to Dustpelt, saying, "You realize it's been like, ten minutes, right? So stop complaining and leave poor Brightpaw in peace."

Cloudtail doesn't want to leave Brightpaw in peace with Swiftpaw. Maybe it's the green monster of envy talking, but he likes Swiftpaw even less for using his dare on Brightpaw like that.

But of course, he isn't going to admit that to these heartless folks, especially since there's nothing that he will be able to defend himself from the taunts that are sure to follow besides point out how Dustpelt pines over Fernpaw, and Sandstorm over Fireheart... and that's a rabbit hole he doesn't want to explore. Graystripe nudges him jauntily, a gesture that's probably supposed to come across as encouraging but instead makes Cloudtail want to yell in frustration.

So he gets up, making a rather vulgar gesture at Dustpelt, and moves on.

"She isn't calling me!" he wails to Whitestorm and Bluestar. He knows he sounds like a five-year-old, but what can he say? Brightpaw brings out the best in him, and there's a slight chance he's lost his chance with her by simply not acting fast enough. Okay, who is he kidding? A huge chance.

This time, Cloudtail shoves his hands into his armpits and keeps his distance so that he doesn't receive the same treatment—Bluestar can be a bit unpredictable at times—but it proves to be unnecessary when Whitestorm only pats him on the back understandingly.

"She will, don't worry," Bluestar says, exchanging a knowing glance with Whitestorm, who looks as though he might laugh. "Who else would she call?"

"I'm sure she's thinking of you right now," Whitestorm adds, a teasing glint in his eyes, "and even though Swiftpaw might be a perfect gentleman and sweep her off her feet so well that anyone would fall in love with him... she'll definitely come back to you."

Cloudtail looks first at Bluestar, then at Whitestorm, then at the hands that fly over both mouths in futile attempts to cover up their incoming guffaws. Out of everyone here, except for maybe Fernpaw, he thought these two would be the most sympathetic. But no. Not at all helpful. Are they serious?

"You all," he says loudly, as much to Bluestar and Whitestorm as to Dustpelt and Sandstorm, "are just awful, awful people."

Then he moves on to Thornpaw and Ashpaw.

•

Brightpaw clamps down on a scream as she slips in the soft mud under her shoes again and lands on her butt and shoulders, accidentally sinking the sleeve of her baby blue sweater even deeper into the dirt when she tries to push herself up with her hands. She can feel the moisture of the grass seeping into the denim of her jeans, but she hardly notices that or the sticky stuff getting into her fingernails as she drags herself backwards as fast as she can in the hope of putting as much distance between herself and the creature staring transfixed at her.

Those massive, inky eyes don't even blink when Brightpaw scrambles to her feet, nearly tripping again on her weak, trembling legs and clutching Cloudtail's blanket like a lifeline. Her hands are shaking too badly to even hold the soft cloth properly, but somehow she manages to stagger back seconds before the animal smiles. No, not smiles—bares its teeth.

This time, she really does scream at the sight of those pointed canine fangs.

They're the only things truly visible in the pitch-black forest; she couldn't even distinguish the shape of the creature from the night's shadows around it. Brightpaw slings the blanket around her neck and doesn't stop to consider the fact that there's no way it's even remotely human, or the fact that those eyes are the darkest, most ominous things she's ever seen.

She just turns and runs.

Blindly.

A high-pitched sound echoes behind her as she does, and it's a sound that's vaguely familiar, but she can't place it anywhere between her whirling mind and heavy feet. There's no need for her to look back to know that whatever it is... it's following her, and she can't keep running for much longer.

Brightpaw slams into a tree, not once, but twice, her hands groping sightlessly at the shapes and contours that appear out of nowhere as she tries to swerve sharply in all directions to avoid them all. The path is nowhere near her, she knows that by the sponginess of the forest floor, but there's no time to consider her directional challenges when something crashes through the bushes behind her, rustling and ripping and crackling in pursuit.

Thistles and thorns slash at her pant leg, and she doesn't bother to count the number of times one of her ankles buckles and sends her spinning in a completely different direction. It's nothing but sheer adrenaline that pushes her forward—or perhaps backward, or to one side more than another, she can't quite tell—despite it all, the stagnant air suffocating her eyes and lungs equally.

"Swiftpaw!" she howls again, hoping that he's close by. In reality, he could be anywhere at this point; Brightpaw doesn't even know at what point they got separated on the trail, nor at what point he noticed she wasn't with him. If he isn't running into his own sort of trouble, that is.

But all she can think is that she should never have gone on this unpromising date in the middle of the night, she should have paid more attention to what Cloudtail was saying... she should have listened to Cloudtail in general. She just... passed him over, back at the campfire, and—

Her right shoe skids on the dewy grass, and something that feels like a hot metal knife slices into her ankle, sending her careening sideways.

There's no way she'll be able to keep running now, is what she thinks as she falls. She throws her arms out in front of her, so that at least, she won't slam too painfully into anything else, and time seems to slow down for her as she scrabbles at thin air, catching a glimpse of white fangs before she slams into something warm and solid.

Brightpaw screams as the body topples under her weight, preparing to be ripped apart in seconds, but maybe time has slowed down too much in her mind, or something? Because the blow never comes.

Human hands are wrapped around her biceps, and she's suddenly looking up into Swiftpaw's pale eyes. His lips are forming words that she's obviously missed, revealing teeth, not fangs, and somehow she's standing upright again, though she doesn't quite remember him helping her up.

And there's something horribly wrong with her right leg. She can feel it, even as she keeps it off the ground and leans on Swiftpaw: the ripples of sharp pain near the area where her sneaker meets the hem of her jeans. Tears well in her eyes, and she's not sure if it's because she's sure they're lost or because there's something hard on their tails or because this whole thing has gone awfully wrong and all she has of Cloudtail at the moment is his scarlet blanket, which is nowhere near as comforting as him.

Slowly, so slowly, she begins to make out the words Swiftpaw is shouting. He's shaking her, but it's not an aggressive motion, and Brightpaw presses her head into the cotton of her friend's shirt, breathing hard and hoarse and feeling the viscous, salty stuff in the back of her throat jostle against her vocal cords, which are suddenly cold and uncomfortable.

He's saying her name, over and over, and finally, she musters the strength to nod and respond with a few words that she barely recognizes as her voice. But Swiftpaw seems to decipher her mumbles, fortunately, and he exhales, as if relieved.

"What happened to you?" he asks, as if wherever he went is worlds better than the nightmare she found.

Brightpaw doesn't want to waste time with that. Relief? He shouldn't be relieved, he should be panicking as much as she is and getting as far away from this place as possible. Her hands are still quivering, but she pulls out her phone—fumbling and almost dropping it—unable to form the command to Swiftpaw on her tongue.

He takes it from her, like he can sense she's about to let go of it, and holds her shaking finger steady to unlock it. "You want me to call the others, right?"

She wants him to call Cloudtail, but at this point, anyone will do, so she nods unsteadily and rests her head up against his arm to watch him dial. But he pauses for a long, awful moment to give her a once-over, the white light of her phone screen illuminating the frown on his face. "Did you hurt your leg? Is that what this is about?"

Brightpaw starts to shake her head no, that her leg isn't the biggest problem right now, but the full explanation sticks in her throat, so Swiftpaw gives her a strange look and turns back to her phone. He's a slow dialer, she thinks, and she's furious with him for no reason because of it. Maybe he's not slow, though, she tells herself as he types the numbers in, it's just her urgency getting to her head and making her desperate and delusional and—

Her eyes flicker up from her phone screen for barely a moment, but it's enough.

She meets the black, black stare of her follower, who is crouched down somewhere in the bushes a few yards away so that the only things visible about it from where she stands are its eyes.

Brightpaw digs her nails into Swiftpaw's arm, realizing that he is still dialing. Seriously, how long does it take someone? But she cuts of his indignant protest by shaking her head urgently and swallowing twice to get her throat working again, motivating herself with the hope that at least Swiftpaw will know what to do, even if she doesn't.

"Run."

The voice that leaves her isn't her own, but she has no time to dwell on that when there's a chance that her throat could be ripped out entirely.

She lifts one shaky hand to motion towards the creature half-hidden by the shrubbery, relatively certain that it's time to close her eyes and hope for the best and make sure not to waste her breath or emotional energy panicking about what might—

It's a dog.

A sliver of moonlight bathes the tiny forest clearing in silver, revealing the canine shape of the animal she was so afraid of. Granted, it's a large, feral dog, which might still be dangerous, but... it's a dog.

Brightpaw laughs.

She doesn't know why it's so funny, funnier than even Graystripe's antics this evening, but it's a combination of sheer terror and hysterics and the overall ridiculousness of the circumstances that have her wheezing so hard that she's now clinging to Swiftpaw for more than one reason.

A dog! Her mind is blurry, and she wonders if Graystripe actually did put something alcoholic in his drink-thing, only to remember, giggling even harder, that she hasn't drunk any of it, even if he had. The comprehension comes slowly with a sort of floaty feeling, like she's at the bottom of a swimming pool and opening her eyes to look up at the fractalized surface from below.

She drops to her knee, and something far away hurts bluntly when she hits the ground.

The boy beside her—Swiftpaw!—calls out something to her, but Brightpaw doesn't register the words. When she looks up at him, jutting out her lower lip playfully, he doesn't look amused, but that just might have been an illusion of the strange moonlight in the field.

Swiftpaw grabs her shoulders and wrenches her backwards as she makes to crawl forward, which only makes her pout more. It's a dog! Doesn't everyone love dogs?

"You're no fun," she says blearily. What's wrong with him?

"What's wrong with me?" he repeats, startling her with the sudden clarity of his tone. She didn't know she said that out loud. "What's wrong with you?"

She sticks out her tongue at him and laughs again in a faraway, high-pitched voice that makes her feel like she's no longer attached to her skin and organs. Her hand reaches up of its own accord, her fingers splaying wide as she studies the mystifying shape in the dim, silver light, and she imagines it walking around on its own and belonging to someone else.

Then Brightpaw pulls away from Swiftpaw, who makes a choked sort of sound, and sits on her calves, stretching both arms out towards the dog, who has padded closer.

Another giggle escapes her as she studies the silver-dappled ears, only to realize it isn't a black dog after all, but rather composed of various shades of gray and brown woven together beautifully in the shadows of each pulsing muscle. Maybe it wants to play. Some of her classmates have dogs at home.

So she beckons it closer, her fingers wiggling autonomously, and murmurs softly to appeal to the sweet, gentle beast.

"My, what big ears you have," she coos, hoping that's a compliment when the dog takes another step towards them.

From behind, Swiftpaw yells out, and at the same time, the ground disappears from beneath Brightpaw's knees. She blinks, confused, until she realizes that the hand gripping her elbow is Swiftpaw's, and that she's on her feet, while the dog tips its head back and lets out a long, piercing whine.

"Just a dog," she says. Her ankle is blindingly fuzzy when she steps away from Swiftpaw and crosses her arms.

He stares at her as though she has sprouted a second head, and seconds later, his fingers are digging hard into her shoulders and her head is clattering back and forth until her cheeks grew wet and her jaw ached. Brightpaw doesn't know if she should be upset or flustered or curious.

Swiftpaw gestures around them, where two more dogs have shuffled closer from the other side, heads lowered respectfully to the first one, the leader. "Not dogs," he hisses. "Wolves."

Then the leader moves.

Poor Brightpaw. I tried to capture the panic making her disconnected from reality... let me know how that worked! Thoughts on Cloudtail's POV? I tried to feature as much of the original crew as possible :)

Feel free to leave suggestions for future chapters! There's no shortage of fairytales!

Please review :)