Holly and Pip welcomed Briar into the bath, and for a moment, he was able to forget about his encounter with the wolf.

But, the fear slowly returned while he was dressing his children for bed, and Briar hadn’t realized he’d been crying until Pip wiped his cheek.

“Why are you sad, mama?” He asked.

Holly stopped trying to tie ribbons into her hair and turned with perked ears that fell flat after she noticed her mother really was crying.

She scooted closer and touched his hand.

“Mama?”

Briar looked down at them—Holly trying to be strong and Pip trembling on the verge of tears.

He shook away his fear and flashed them a smile that soothed their worries. Briar scooped them up onto his lap, smelling fresh soap and lavender as he kissed their cheeks. “No, no, little ones, I’m sorry,” He lied softly. “It was only water, not tears.”

Both children snuggled in his embrace, their tails wagging and ears laid back in comfort.

Then, they jumped up.

“Let’s go see if papa’s home!” Pip said.

“And have dinner with our guest!” Holly added, to which Pip nodded in agreement.

Briar almost refused, yet no door could keep them safe from a wolf, especially the one wandering through their home.

He stood, taking both children with him and carrying them out of the room.

The hallway was no longer shadows and dread but lit by candles that’d been placed on a stand against the wall.

There was also music, a soft, romantic melody playing from an old phonograph sitting near the fireplace. And a voice began to sing, one so beautiful and sad it was enough to make sirens sigh with envy.

La nuit crie, aidez-moi s'il vous plaît.

Quand le sang cessera-t-il de couler? Quand les crocs cesseront-ils de dévorer?

La lumière du matin me manque, j'aspire au salut de ce cauchemar.

Un jour, j'espère me réveiller.

Pourtant, j'ai trop peur d'attendre.

Briar wanted to cry, run, and seek the wolf’s arms to ease his anxiety, all while forgetting the color of his husband’s eyes.

Hazel? No, amber.

He noticed someone had set the table with their good dishware—saucers and bowls decorated with gold and polished utensils standing in perfect order atop white napkins. Candles flickered inside tiny rings of wildflowers and teacups sat infused with fresh lemon beside bowls of stew already served.

“Did you enjoy your bath?”

The wolf stepped out from the hallway behind them, startling Briar.

Where did he—

“Yes, sir!” Holly’s eyes widened with starry admiration. “The table looks so pretty.”

She reached out for him, but before Briar had a chance to tighten his grip, the wolf took her.

Briar’s stomach turned in thick, vile waves as the wolf carried Holly to the table and placed a flower in her hair.

If they weren’t so different, they might have genuinely been father and daughter. Holly didn’t once cringe at the sight of his fangs or hesitate to touch his mutilated face. But, instead, she laughed when he whispered something into her ear, then smiled after he pulled out her chair and sat her down like a princess.

“Mama! Pip! Come sit!” She called to them, and the wolf glanced over at Briar with a smile flashing slivers of teeth.

Pip wiggled out of Briar’s loose grip and hurried to his chair.

But, the wolf stopped him.

“Your sister and dear mother should sit first, little master,” The wolf corrected with threads of saliva breaking off each row of fangs after every word.

Pip stared at the wolf adoringly. He always recalled his father sitting down after he got home and waiting for his mother to prepare dinner. It was a mannerism Pip took in with pride, and he pulled out the chair closest to him.

“You sit first, mama,” He said and glanced up at the wolf for praise.

The wolf patted his head then turned to Briar with a bow. “Madam.”

Those eyes told him to come, and Briar obeyed without a word. He took a seat, and the wolf pushed in his chair. But before stepping away, the wolf caressed soap-soft traces of his nape, and Briar held back a moan.

His children were excited. Their eyes sparkled with merriment, and they began eating right away, gobbling down spoonfuls of stew and humming happily in their seats.

Yet, Briar caught a whiff of something strange, a smell woven through the ribbons of steam rising from their bowls, and his heart clenched with fear.

Holly and Pip continued to eat, ravenously chewing on their vegetables and sipping dark broth—darker than he remembered.

Briar glanced into the kitchen.

Again, the wolf was gone.

Panic set in. It turned his stomach and sank all the way to the soles of his feet. Briar couldn’t hear anything but his children eating and the wind carrying bells through the forest. He got up from his chair and walked hastily to the stove, searching every dark corner on his way to check the pot.

Briar carefully lifted the lid and immediately dropped it after releasing a sickening, dead smell into the air.

Meat.

There was meat in the stew.

Briar covered his mouth, holding back the urge to gag and staring wide-eyed as tears rolled down his face.

He turned.

And the wolf was there behind him.

Briar backed away, but there was nowhere to go.

“What’s the matter, little wife?” He asked with eyes reflecting flames. “You don’t look so well.”

Briar breathed in, his heart beating to hysterics. He glanced at the table where his children feasted with dark smears on their cheeks and meat in their spoons. Briar wanted to go to them and rip each spoon out of their small hands.

But the wolf did not let him pass.

His large hands took Briar by the waist and neck, holding him more delicately than any predator would as he brought their faces closer.

The wolf licked away his tears. He grinned as Briar moaned and gasped in his arms, then found amusement in seeing those full lips seal themselves with a fear of being kissed. His tongue licked the soft edge of Briar’s jaw, then the long column of his throat, tempting him with more if he submitted and begged for it.

Briar resisted. He tried so hard.

Yet, the wolf persisted.

He caressed the root of Briar’s tail, creating too much feeling in places that were getting wet.

Briar parted his lips to cry or speak, but the wolf allowed neither.

He hooked his thumb onto Briar’s jaw, keeping it open by teasing his cute little tongue and drinking down the last of his whimpers just before their mouths met.

It was nothing like the kisses his husband had given him.

No, this one was painful and harsh, all tongue and teeth and saliva. It took his breath away and threatened to leave him gasping yes to whatever the wolf wanted, whether it was offering his cunt or being eaten alive. He clenched the wolf’s shirt, tasting blood, meat, and something akin to tea with too much sugar running down his throat where he swore the wolf’s tongue lingered.

That’s impossible. Too deep.

The room started fading, darkening the longer they kissed, and before everything went black—Briar closed his eyes and wished with all his heart for more.