The forest was quiet.

There was no sight yet of Briar’s dear husband, and it was getting late.

The man had left at sunrise to harvest for an early winter, leaving Briar alone with their children, Holly and Pip, who refused to eat dinner until he returned.

“Mama, when will papa be home?” Pip melted into the carpet with a sigh, his picture book falling over his face like an open tent.

“What if he’s lost?” Holly nibbled on the rest of her biscuit, spreading crumbs across her drawing and looking up at her mother with dewdrop eyes.

“No, I’m sure he’s on his way right now,” Briar forced a smile, one that gathered littler smiles and flickering tails from his relieved children. “Why don’t we clean up so papa can come home and show you everything he found?”

The two of them beamed with excitement and quickly began cleaning up their cozy spot by the fireplace. Toys and books, and dolls all returned to a basket in the corner of the room.

Briar watched them with a thankful heart, but he couldn’t shake the milk-turning feeling in his stomach.

His husband wasn’t usually late; he always came home just before nightfall with a dirty face and a silly grin. He knew the forest inside and out—every path and tree, from the far meadows to the mountain rivers. So it was unlikely he’d get lost on such a clear night.

A clutter made Briar’s ear twitch, and he turned to find Holly attempting to balance bowls and cups of milk on a tray much too big for her. Pip helped—or didn’t—by adding more until she nearly fell over.

Briar retrieved the tray and caught Holly with his foot. They smiled at one another, and he carried their dishes into the kitchen, where dinner bubbled in a pot on the stove.

The stew smelled of fresh carrots and rosemary, potatoes and chestnuts—everything simmering in a creamy broth seasoned with basil. It was their favorite meal, though very little of it. Portions needed to be rationed to prepare for winter, and unfortunately, they had to start earlier than usual the year as there wasn’t much to forage.

Two harvesters would find more than one, but his husband forbade them from leaving home during colder months—when the forest became more desperate and dangerous.

Briar was tempted to add a few more potatoes to the stew, knowing his dear husband would be famished after finally returning home.

But, what if something…

“Mama! Mama! We see someone! We see someone!” Holly called from the sitting room where she and Pip stood on a chair, looking out the window together.

“Papa’s home! He’s home!” Pip bounced on the tips of his toes, his little tail joining his sister’s in a fluttering dance.

Briar’s heart flickered with relief, and he hurried to the front door, wanting nothing more than to hold his husband tight and thank the forest he was safe.

He opened the door.

“Darling, welcome home!”

A shadow fell over him.

Briar froze with fear, one he never believed could exist, the terror of a poor creature staring down a dark path lined with teeth.

“Good evening, dear little wife,” It spoke, with a voice as thick and smooth as the first flow of blood from a slit throat.

Briar folded hands over his heart and looked up into the glowing eyes of the dark figure on his doorstep. His pulse quickened after he caught a glimpse of something sharp and faint through the shadows cast by a setting sun.

A grin.

“My humblest apologies for disturbing your evening, madam, but might you spare a drink of water and a place to rest for this old, weary traveler?”

He stepped in before Briar could refuse—a wolf almost too big for his home dressed in a worn cloak.

Briar’s lips parted, but only a gasp followed the sudden flinch of his shoulders after the beast delicately took his hand in a gentlemanly bow.

A face both hideously mutilated and breathtakingly handsome leaned closer to him, each eye carrying a different light. One as bright as an evening star and another colder than a winter moon. And that moon-eye lay surrounded by horrible, deep furrows that appeared as if someone—or something—had tried carving it out with a dull blade. Several more scars branched across his face, spreading out until they touched the tips of his ears or disappeared under marrow-dark hair.

Briar looked away.

His mind was a white-hot blur of sensations that confused him. He couldn't tell if it was fear or arousal burning under his skin, yet those fathomless eyes called to him, begging him to look again though he dared not.

“I…I’m sorry…sir...b-but…my…husband—ah!”

A claw began to caress the tender veins of his throat, slowly ascending to his cheek in a loving threat. But, oh, how frighteningly large the wolf’s hands were, with palms that easily could wrap around Briar’s head and crush his skull without difficulty.

Briar was shaking. His feet twitched with an urge to run, but there was nowhere to go.

Sharp points teased the paper-thin flesh of his ears, temple, and jaw, and Briar felt his nipples rubbing stiff against his shirt. He closed his eyes, his hips shivering with the urge to lift and relieve the throbbing in his body. But the inside of his thighs tightened in resistance, and a flush spilled across his face.

“Stop...please, stop.” He begged, fighting both tears and the urge to ask for more.

He’s going to eat—

“Mama?”

Briar swallowed a scream after hearing Holly’s butterfly voice from behind, and he looked up at the wolf with wide eyes.

The wolf’s teeth gleamed. A grin stretched long and wide, almost unnaturally breaking past the corners of his mouth.

“Mama, who’s that?” Pip joined his sister, both curiously close—too close—to the predator in their home.

Briar’s lips quivered with a whimper he tried nibbling away. He wanted to answer his children, but all he could do was stare pleadingly at the smiling beast before him.

Then, the wolf looked down at Pip and Holly and bowed with Briar’s hand still trapped in his grip.

“A friend, little bunnies. I’ve come to escape the night, for I am terribly afraid of the dark.” He said, his tone filled with a gentle sorrow that could make women weep and maidens blush.

Holly’s eyes brightened into shining stones, and she stepped forward with an excited bounce. “M-Me too! I don’t like the dark either, sir.”

“Mama,” Pip tugged on Briar’s sweater. “Is he gonna stay? Can he?”

Briar hadn’t looked away from the wolf. Unfortunately, his instincts wouldn’t allow that.

And the wolf was well aware of it.

He lifted Briar’s hand close to his mouth, his beast-feet clawing trenches into the wooden floor.

The young wife flinched, fearing the wolf would bite off all his fingers. But, instead, he placed a kiss on the top of Briar’s knuckles, his eyes narrowing like a cunning fox, gleaming with secrets and hunger.

“May I?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

And Briar nodded.

“How very kind of you.” His whisper carried the sobs of those trapped in his stomach. He placed another kiss on Briar’s hand then turned to retrieve something sitting outside the door.

With his back turned, Briar took Pip into his arms and pulled Holly behind him, holding them both as close as he could without alarming them.

Predators hated wailing. It lured out their inner instincts to silence the noise by any means necessary, whether it meant ripping out throats or swallowing children whole. They preferred the dead of night when the wind spoke of deceit and the moon led them to the flesh they craved, though few were willing to force their way into a home far too small for them to move around freely.

But, he’s here, in our home.

The wolf returned with the sack in his grip.

It smelled of old blood and hung heavy as though it were weighed down by something wet inside. Yet, it carried a familiar scent Briar was too afraid to find comfort in.

Holly peeked out from behind Briar’s legs, her ears following the wolf’s movements before she slipped out of her mother’s grip.

Briar reached for her, but she bounced away in a flurry of skirts and took the end of the wolf’s cloak in her small hands.

“I’ll hang this up for you, sir,” Holly swayed in place, her thumbs admiring the cloak’s fabric. “I always hang up my papa’s coat when he comes home.”

The wolf unclasped his cloak with a chuckle and carefully handed it to Holly.

Uncovered, he was bigger than Briar ever imagined. The fabric of his shirt was stretched tight enough to create shadows that traced every solid muscle, nothing like Briar’s husband, who had a much smaller build and would only reach the wolf’s broad chest in height. And a sudden heat poured over Briar like a hot summer rain after his eyes settled on the massive swell running down the inside of the wolf’s thigh.

He took a breath.

A slow shiver crept up his spine, and his heart moved like deer on the run. The desire to bear his neck to those fangs was tempting, and he wondered if the wolf would savor him slowly or swallow him whole if he refused to open his legs as a good wife should.

The clock struck an hour, and Briar blinked out of his trance with a jolt of terror. He saw the wolf lingering next to Holly, who balanced on a chair trying to hang his heavy cloak on the hook. The wolf stood close enough to strike, his grin salivating, his shadow blanketing Holly as he reached out to touch her.

Images flashed through Briar’s mind—those claws latching around his daughter’s neck, fangs ripping her apart, and blood pouring off the wolf’s chin onto the floor.

“Holly!” Briar startled the little girl so much that she lost her balance.

But the wolf caught her.

He helped Holly to her feet, and she thanked him softly with a smile he returned graciously.

She hurried back to Briar, wondering what was wrong, and he scooped her up quickly.

He glanced past her ears where the wolf watched them with what could have been a father’s kindness—or a predator’s glee.

Pip stirred in Briar’s other arm, tucking himself into a tiny, sleepy ball with a yawn.

“It would seem I’ve arrived close to bedtime,” The wolf’s shadow-filled voice spoke. “Perhaps you’d like to tuck them in since the sun has gone to bed himself?”

Before Briar could respond, Holly chimed in.

“We’re waiting for our papa, sir,” She said. “He hasn’t come home yet, and we can’t eat dinner without him.”

Her expression wilted, and the wolf approached them with arms opened wide.

Briar stepped back, but not quick enough.

The wolf touched the small of his back, bringing him closer to his massive frame where Briar smelled burning wood and flesh after a night of sex. His claws teased places the children couldn’t see.

The little wife shivered and suppressed a moan by biting his lip.

Again, the wolf chuckled.

“Your papa wouldn’t want to come home to hungry, tired children. He’d want you sleeping soundly in your beds and your dear mother…waiting.” That last word rolled off his tongue like a lick of blood. He smiled near Briar’s mouth, breathing in the shivering gasp that followed his finger as it rubbed hidden places through the fabric of his pants.

Briar’s rosy bottom lip trembled, his eyes fighting tears—a look worthy of someone so lovely.

The wolf stepped back, leaving Briar to catch himself on weak legs with both children in his arms.

“Go take a bath, madam,” He said. “And after, we’ll all have dinner together.”

Not a word of what the wolf said was optional. Briar saw it in his eyes and heard it in the deep-dark tone of his voice. Terror began eating him from the inside, and he was too afraid to turn around.

“Go on,” The wolf lifted his hand and caught a tear with the tip of his claw.

“Mama, I’m hungry,” Pip whined, his voice muffled by Briar’s sweater.

“Do you think our papa will be home after we take a bath?” Holly asked the wolf.

“Oh, he’s closer than you think, my dear,” The wolf responded with a bit of laughter that made Holly smile. “That I am sure of.”

Briar backed away and turned with a heavy heart. His body anticipated an attack from behind—but, thankfully, they made it to the washroom safely.