Danielle and the Wolf

In a world far different from our own, in a time where men lived by their wits and strange creatures roamed the lands, a child was born. She was born of common folk, parents who marvelled and wondered at the girl who had come from their bodies. She was beautiful, a child with hair as gold as the two suns that shone down over her world, eyes as deep and blue as the waters surrounding her tiny village. Her features were fair with a sculptured grace so unlike the rest of the villagers who were a dull and loutish group. She grew swiftly into a woman who made men’s hearts leap in their breasts and caused lust to busily pool in their loins. But she also grew intelligent and gentle with a tender heart for the young, old and injured. Her parents, bemused at having such a child, granted her every whim. And while she should have grown spoiled from the attention heaped upon her, instead, she grew even more lovely and caring. The days were warm and bright with soft winds and fragrant breezes just starting to turn cold at night as the seasons progressed. The girl, named Danielle after her father’s mother, spent her days out in the village and the surrounding fields. She ploughed and tilled, picked and gathered with the rest of the villagers, singing happily as she helped collect the foodstuffs that would see them through the long hard days of the harsh winter to come. After the last of the late night meals was cleaned up, her evenings were spent romping around the woods near the river that surrounded the village. She had a favored spot, a tiny clearing where a bubbling spring gurgled happily. The birds and animals that came to this clearing were never alarmed or bothered by her presence, sensing in her a goodness that calmed their fears. She was treated as one of them, not predator or human but one of God’s gentle creatures. Tonight, though, after the last dish was washed, the last pot scraped and its contents stored in the tiny cold house deeply carved into the riverbank, there was an expectant feel to the air, almost a gloom of some dark threat to come. Danielle shook away the feeling as she clamored over the wet stones of the river with a grace that even the most agile mountain animal could envy. She headed for her haven, and her heart sang with the freedom she only felt there. She reached the clearing as the first sun set in the west. Shadows were long from the second sun, and she knew she had little time to enjoy her solitude. She rounded the last tree, skipping through the deep grass. The quiet that seemed almost as fog didn’t register to her at first, but the man, asleep at the foot of the tree did, cutting off her song mid-stanza and her movement mid-skip. Her hand went to her breast as she stared at the stranger. He was tall and lean, his legs encased in black leather that was tucked into thick leather boots. His wide chest was barely covered, a white billowy shirt loosely held closed by thin, white strips. But it was his face that caught and held her attention so completely. He was beautiful. There were no other words for it. His hair was thick, and long, black waves fell over his shoulder and around his head into the grass. His features were classical, and he had a long, thin nose over a wide mouth, sharp cheekbones and thickly lashed eyes. His wide forehead was smooth and worry-free in his sleep. His eyes would be brown, she thought as she moved closer on silent feet. Brown and rich like the drink that the village elders made to warm themselves on cold winter evenings. Her own eyes, blue deepening until almost black, roved over the picture he made lying in her clearing with the grass as soft as a pillow under him. He woke suddenly and reached for the long sword that was strapped at his side. Before she could blink, he was on his feet, the tip of that sword pressed firmly against her throat and a snarl on his lips. She didn’t know which of them was more surprised. He hesitated for a few brief moments, his startled eyes gleaming in the nearing darkness as they roved over her with a warmth that was almost tangible. Then his sword fell carefully from where it had rested in the hollow of her throat. “You startled me, wench.” His voice was deep, a voice meant for singing in Lord’s halls in front of a fireplace on winter nights. Or to murmur sweet words into a woman’s ear under the hangings of a massive, four-poster bed. They caused shivers to start in her toes and travel sneakily up her nerve endings, tightening her nipples into taut buds that thrust against the rough fabric of her tunic. But while the voice was wonderful and startling, what had her complete attention were his eyes. They weren’t the deep, rich brown she had expected. Not even close. No, they were jade, a true and eerie green that almost shone in the half-light of her haven. They drew her in, caused a hitch in her breathing and a shiver of something she had never felt before, something that was dark and sweet. “Do you speak, wench?” His words made her start, and she realized that she had been rudely staring at the stranger. “Yes.” Her reply was a breathless almost whisper and she cleared her throat. “Yes, sir,” she said again a little louder. “You startled me. I wasn’t expecting anyone in my clearing.” He smiled, amused by her embarrassment. “This is yours?” He gestured around the clearing with his free hand. “It belongs to you?” She twisted her slim fingers into her skirt. “No, sir. It belongs to the Lord. He lives there.” She pointed at an area just beyond his shoulder and up. “I come here to enjoy the evening, sir. I do no harm.” The stranger never even glanced in the direction she pointed. He didn’t see the huge castle that seemed to dominate the hillside it sat upon, a castle built of white stones mined from a country far to the south and carted to this spot. It glistened in the dwindling light, expensive glass windows sparkling as the last rays touched their mirror like surface. Statuary stood out in bold relief against the shadowed walls that surrounded the keep to make it seem so much a world onto its own. “And do you live in this Lord’s manor?” The stranger took two step forwards, bringing himself in close proximity with the girl. Girl wasn’t an apt description for her. She was tall and trim, long golden curls tumbling down her back. Her homespun clothing, though rough, was clean and well made, fitting her long curves like a lover’s hand. Her eyes were shadowed, but he hoped they were the blue of deep lakes. Her lips were lush and slick, and he watched as she slid her tongue across them. “No, sir. I live in the village back there.” She indicated behind her with one long fingered hand. He was too close. She could smell him, a tantalizing smell that caressed her senses. He smelled of sweat and sweet grass, leather and something that was pure male. It teased her senses and made her nervous so that she took a small half-step from him. “I should go. It will be dark soon. My parents will fear for my safety.” She turned, ready to flee her small clearing and put the safety of the village between her and this stranger who caused such uneasy flutters in her belly with but one glance of his uncanny eyes. He grabbed her hand, unwilling to let her leave him and curious as to how such an exquisite face and form could have come from such dark and graceless villagers. Beauty such as hers belonged with the nobility whose bloodlines could be traced back to those who’d taken the first steps upon this planet back when their ancestors had had the knowledge of flight. He felt a strange draw to her, something, that in his younger more foolish day, he would have admitted as a stirring of the soul. But now, he was wiser, more experienced in the ways of women. The only thing he would admit was an attraction to a pleasing shape and fine features. What would it take to make this shy maiden his? “Come,” he said in his deep, mesmerizing voice. “There’s time. Sit with me for a few moments.” He led the reluctant girl towards the tree where he had been resting, pulling her down to sit next to him. He kept her hand, knowing if she were free she would bolt back to her village and they would keep him from her. Not that they could stop him if he were determined. It just seemed a lot of work to go through for a village girl. Danielle’s breath shortened. She knew it was fear—fear of a stranger in her forest where no stranger had ever been before, fear of being disrespectful even when she knew she should run from him and back to the safety of her at home. “Don’t fear me, girl. I won’t hurt you.” Her heart thudded against her breast, beating so loudly she would have sworn he could hear it. “I… I don’t fear you, sir. My parents will worry if I do not return soon. They will come to find me. I…I don’t wish to worry them sir, so if you’d let go…” The words were a warning. He realized it and even smiled inside at the false bravado she displayed. He held onto her hand despite her tugging until she realized she was doing nothing but amusing him. “Do you have a name, girl?” “Yes.” But she didn’t wish to give it to him. He smiled, a quick flash of white teeth that seemed even brighter in the gloom of the clearing. “What must I do to find out this name?” Danielle took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Instead, the scent of him drifted to her, caught on the breeze. It snarled through her senses and caught at her imagination once more. The breath she had wished to use for calm now excited her. She felt the hitch even as she heard it. Her heart rate quickened even more. She had an insane urge to lean closer, to bury her nose in his neck and breathe in his scent until she was saturated with him. To give him her name gave him ways of finding her later. This she couldn’t do. She shook her head, pulling against him and her own weakening resolve. “Please, sir, I must leave.” “I but wish you to sit with me. That is all.” His fingers caressed the palm of her hand in ways that made her skin flush and her heart race. She knew he must know the reaction he caused. She saw the flash of his teeth once more, then he raised the hand he held, bringing it to his lips. His mouth rested against her skin, his tongue stroking at the delicate lines of her palm. “S-s-sir, please don’t.” She jerked her hand hard and pulled away, freeing herself from him. Rising quickly, she hurried out of the clearing and away through the forest, her feet moving as if they had wings and were fleeing the devil himself. His laughter caught on the breeze and was carried to her ears. It was a rich sound, basic and raw. When she reached the edge of the forest, she glanced back, feeling safe this close to her home. Eerie green eyes stared back at her, startling her. She rushed to her back door, seeing the rising of one of the three moons of her home world, and in the woods, startling close, she heard the lonely cry of a wolf. She stayed close to home the next two nights, her eyes constantly searching the paths that led into her village. Her parents were puzzled at her actions, but she had no excuse to give them. How could she tell them of the stranger she had met without alerting them to her behavior? It was inexcusable for someone of her stature and standing to speak to one of the gentry much less behave in the shameful way she had. Her reaction to him scared her most of all. She still heard his rich voice speaking to her softly, felt his eyes upon her and the devilish way they made her feel. She still felt the shape of his lips against her palm and the way his tongue had caressed it in carnal ways she knew nothing of. The thought of that forbidden kiss brought images to her mind of other things more forbidden, and that kept her home. On the third night, though, she couldn’t stay shut in any longer. Winter was close, the harvesting was almost done, and soon she would have no choice but to remain close to the fire as the ice and cold blew through the village. This night was almost balmy, a light wind lifting her hair and skirt as she picked her way over the stones in the river. Her heart sang as the quiet shadows of the forest closed around her, her home away from home since she first toddled here. She felt safe and secure, her senses detecting no abnormal sights or sounds. She reached her clearing and, not wanting to be caught again, approached as quietly as she could in case he was still here. No one was in sight. Her heart sank in disappointment even as she scolded herself for feeling such things. He was noble. His clothing and manners had screamed the words at her. She was common. The most she could be to him would be but a few moments distraction. She sat down next to the tree he had been under, her hand on the ground where he had rested his head. Her eyes were sad as they shifted through the clearing, seeing it in a different light now that he was gone. The welcoming haven seemed deserted and cold now. Shaking her head at her whimsical notions, she plucked some of the leaves that had changed colors and fallen into the tall grasses then wove their long stems deftly into a fairy crown. Putting it upon her head, she swept a deep curtsey to her suitor, who in her imagination was no longer the blond, gentleman she’d always envisioned. Now he was dark as night with green eyes that glowed with knowledge and power. In her imagination, he took her hand, turning it in his own to press his lips once more to her palm and making it tingle with pleasure. His eyes when he looked down at her swept over her and her clothing changed from the plain homespun she always wore to a glittering gown of white that teased and tempted with its low cut and silky fabric. Her hair was swept up, the colored fairy crown becoming a jeweled tiara woven into her golden curls. Her tiny feet were encased in satin, heels clicking as she walked, instead of the smooth leather shoes that laced to her ankles. The clearing disappeared, becoming an immense fanciful room filled with art and couples dancing to music that spoke to the soul. Bodies twisted, swayed and twirled to the sweeping beat of the musicians hidden from sight by thin lacquered screens. Her partner, in black, tailored clothing made of fine cloth and more handsome than any other man present, drew her to the floor, his arm pulling her close, his hand covered her own. They moved together to the music, her gown flaring from her waist as he spun her in intricate designs that brought a smile to her red lips and a light to her dark eyes. His eyes spoke with their own light, a dancing green flame that told of his longing for her. The hand at her waist became more possessive, holding her to him so she felt the length of his hard muscles against the lithe curves beneath her gown. He leaned closer to her, his head slowly bending over hers, his mouth coming ever closer to her own. She held her breath, desperately wanting to know what his lips would feel like upon her own. He was close, his eyes shutting as his mouth brushed— “Well, well, well. What have we got here?” A voice snapped her from her daydream and back to reality. “Lookee here, boys. Seems to me we’ve got us a princess.” Danielle backed away, seeing the men for the first time since they had so stealthily entered her clearing. It was later than she usually stayed, the shadows encompassing her glen, the brilliant light of the moon shining brightly. The three men looked rough, their clothing better than hers, but not as well taken care of. They were armed, swords and knives glittering wickedly from belts at their waists. And they surrounded her until she was pressed against that same tree her magical suitor had held her to. “I think you scared her,” the biggest and ugliest of the three said. His mouth opened, his teeth blackened and broken showing between thick, slobbery lips. He had a hideous scar down the side of his face, starting just below his eye and curving in a crescent shape to the corner of his mouth. He reached out and touched her hair, pulling the crown of leaves from her head. He tossed it aside as they came closer to her. Danielle couldn’t breathe or think. The men crowded against her, touching her hair, roughly pulling at her tunic, ripping the fabric. She smelled their foul, unwashed bodies and felt their coarse hands against her smooth skin. Lips pushed against hers, as one man crushed her against the tree, his tongue thrusting against her mouth like a slimy pulsating worm. He pinched her nipple through her tunic, causing her to scream, and his tongue pushed inside. It searched her mouth with foul intent, making her gag in reaction. She tried to bite down upon it, but he sensed her action and pulled back, his hand coming up to strike against her head hard, knocking her to the cold ground. He fell upon her, ignoring her screeching, biting and clawing as he pulled and ripped at her clothing. His lips suckled at her neck, drawing blood to the surface. He pulled back, admiring the red mark he had made in the moonlight. His hand swept down the front of her tunic, and he yanked at the neckline ripping it almost in half. The fine cloth of her shift shone white, the material very old and often washed, threadbare over her heaving breasts. He bent over her, his lips finding her nipple under the shift, his tongue wetting the material. When she screamed, he laughed around the fine morsel in his mouth, clamping his hand across her lush lips so hard her teeth cut into her mouth. She choked on the blood as he bit down on her nipple then took the fabric in his teeth and pulled, tearing the delicate material as if it were lace. His hand came up and cupped her heaving breast, squeezing hard. She screamed at the pain, her cry muffled by his thick fingers across her mouth. Her eyes searched the clearing, seeing the two men standing over them, waiting their turns to molest her soft flesh. One man had opened his breeches, exposing himself. His hand moved over the turgid flesh of his cock, and for the first time, she saw what a penis looked like. Terror filled her, making her fight harder. She knew something of what mating was like, who could live in a village as tiny as hers and not. That thing he stroked as if it were a pampered pet would rip her in two. She had no doubt. She kicked her legs hard. Her knee rose between the man’s legs and struck him a cruel blow. His mouth opened, saliva hanging grossly from one side to drip upon her as a silent scream wretched from him. He fell off of her, curling into a protective ball, one hand cupping his brutalized anatomy. He lay there, his white face turning red as pain denied his breathing. Danielle leaped to her feet, backing carefully away from the other two men. Her eyes darted, searching the clearing for a weapon of some kind, finally lighting upon a branch just a few steps to her right. She ducked left then darted right, her hands falling upon the branch as hard hands grabbed her waist, spinning her around. She used the spin, letting the momentum push behind the blow she landed with the thick branch now grasped firmly in both hands. She struck her attacker squarely on the cheek, knocking him away from her. He stood for a moment, shaking his head as he cleared it, watching as his friend followed the ferocious beauty as she leapt around the clearing, searching for a way out. She swung the branch every time he got close, panic causing her to miss more than land her blows. She tired quickly, sobs shaking her shoulders and causing her exposed breast to sway and move provocatively. He was about to join the fray, eager to get his hands on that soft smooth flesh when he heard a low and menacing growl rumble from the shadows behind him. He turned and searched the blackness, seeing nothing at first. Then, suddenly, as if they had just opened, huge green eyes stared back at him, glowing angrily. A huge black wolf showed himself, leaping forward with snarling sharp fangs that gleamed an unholy white in the moonlight. His thickly furred body was immense, bigger than a normal wolf by half again, his chest deep and powerful. He threw back his well-shaped head, ears flat against his skull, and howled angrily, startling all in the clearing. Danielle almost dropped the branch as she stared at the huge beast. He was beautiful, in his prime, with strong muscles bunching rhythmically under his shining pelt. He looked at her for a moment, his eyes boring into her own before once more taking in the three men who now stood, swords out and ready. Even the man she had brought down with her knee had risen, his body bent over, his breathing shallow. His sword was held in an unsteady and trembling hand. They faced the wolf, their backs to her. She could run now, escape back to her village before they knew she had left. But she couldn’t leave the wolf. He had shown himself and now prowled slowly around his prey. But even his huge size and sharp fangs were no match for three strong men armed with swords. She couldn’t let him die because he’d protected her. As she thought this, the wolf attacked, feigning a lunge at one of the men before rushing in to grab at the hand of the weakest man. He dropped his sword and fell back, the wolf’s sharp nails scratching deep groves into his chest as he used it to spring board away from the other men. His lithe body turned in the air and he landed softly on his paws, braced and ready. Danielle snuck behind one of the two men who were standing, her arms raised above her head, the branch poised to bring down upon his head. She stepped forward, her foot coming down on a hidden twig. The snap had the man spinning to confront her, his sword up. She brought the branch down upon his sword, knocking it aside and then back up, hitting him as hard as she could under the chin. His head spun up, and he fell, his pants still open from earlier. As she turned, she heard a shrill yip. Her eyes searched out the wolf. His side was bloody, but he was up, pacing around the last standing man. She flinched at the sight of the blood that dyed the man’s sharp blade a bitter red. Danielle hurried towards the wolf, stepping in front of it. She held the branch in front of her with two hands. “Leave and I won’t hurt you,” she said, her voice breathless and shaky but determined. “Take your friends and go.” The wolf growled from beside her, adding to her demands in his own feral way. The man, his bravado gone now that his friends were down, reached over and helped up the conscious man. Between them, they picked up the other one, letting him dangle from their shoulders. They left, the bloodied man still mewling and cupping his free hand around his groin. Danielle didn’t move until she knew they were gone, then she turned nervous eyes upon the wolf. She gave a cry as it fell over, blood rushing from the gash in its side. The wolf groaned, sounding almost human in its pain, and she dropped the branch, hurrying over to help. She found the wound wasn’t deep as she ran her hands through the thick fur, pushing gently at the edges of the gash. But it bled a lot. She tore a long length of material from the bottom of her shift then pressed it firmly against the wound. The wolf growled its pain, and she murmured to it, crooning nonsense in an attempt to comfort as she staunched the bloody mess. She tied fresh bandages around its middle, her arms stretching to reach around the massive beast. It lifted its body each time she passed the material around its chest. She tied the bandage in a knot, sitting back on her heels to check her handiwork. Night covered the forest with a dark shroud that not even the light from the three moons penetrated, deepening the gloom of the shadowed glen. Danielle realized she was out far later than she’d ever been before. A surge of daring and reckless nerve poured through her exhausted body. The burst of adrenaline from the attack and the subsequent fight had kept her steady as she’d faced the injured wolf. Now, it left her body, causing her to shake in fatigue. Her body cried out for rest. She stared down at her protector’s furry body, noting his heavy panting and his pain from the wound in his side. If it had not been for him, her fate would have been quite different. She wouldn’t be standing here, still free, safe and mostly uninjured. He’d bested those men and hadn’t hurt her. How could she leave him here alone and unprotected after he had risked his life so fearlessly protecting her own. Any predator could kill him in his weakened state, any hunter take his life for his pelt and the glory that killing a wolf brought. He had been hurt in protecting her. It was her turn to protect him. She sank down next to him, stretching out her tired body in the sweet grass. The cool winds blew over her, reminding her that her tunic was torn and her shift was nothing but rags, the top torn by her attackers, the bottom ripped away to make bandages. She shivered in a combination of fear and cold then shifted herself next to the wolf, curling around him and absorbing the heat of his body. He gave a little moan, deep in his throat, moving his head to rest it upon her neck. Her hands dug into the thickness of his fur, reveling in its warmth and softness. His quiet breathing in her ear, she closed her eyes and let sleep take her.