Her First Werewolf
Little Red Riding Hood
By Jackie James
Copyright © 2013
This book is a work of fiction and contains sexually explicit material not suitable for anyone under the age of 18
Her First Werewolf
Second Edition
All Rights Reserved.
Printed in the USA
When I was fifteen years old, my father died. The townspeople believed a werewolf killed him. Since that sad and dark day, my mother and I had never been the same. For the first few years, the townsfolk stayed clear of our farm. Everyone was afraid, my mother told me. The truth was that a bear, not some mythical beast, had attacked my father. I spent my days working hard on the farm, milking the dairy cows, cleaning out stalls, and helping our field hand, Hans.
As I sat milking our cows, the morning sun shined into the barn. I could hear the chickens clucking the yard and the meow of a cat as I thought about how time seemed to have no meaning in my life. Each day was the same as the last, and each year brought with it the same challenges as the year before. Will the crop yield enough food? Are the sheep healthy? Will we survive another winter?
My mother, Morgan, was once the town beauty. I was told that her hair used to be as soft and shiny as corn silk, yet as dark in color as the raven’s feathers. I took after her in that regard and I also inherited her blue icy river eyes. Hard work and time changed her; with each passing year, she looked more withered as her back slowly began to hunch. I did not want to be like her. I wanted a different life than that of a farmer’s daughter.
Suddenly, a voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Red, did you see the new lamb this morning?” It was Hans, my family’s field hand. I looked over at him, his golden locks shining brightly in the sunlight.
“Yes, I did. It’s such a sweet little thing,” I answered with a smile. I continued to milk the cow, resting my head against her large, warm belly.
“I’ve been thinking, Red, someday I may want to take a wife,” he paused.
“Yes, I suppose most young people are eager to marry. I don’t, though,” I answered.
“All you maids say the same thing! What you really want though is for someone to chase after you as a wolf chases after a lamb,” Hans exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.
“Yes, but doesn’t the wolf eat the lamb?” I asked. Hans stood there and scratched his head. I finished milking and reached for the bucket, but Hans cut me off, reaching over to eagerly help me.
“Thank you,” I said.
“It’s no trouble when it comes to you, Red,” he said.
I walked with Hans slowly as he talked about this year’s harvest. I felt as if I had this same conversation every day of my life.
“Hans, I’m sorry. I would love to keep talking with you, but I need to tend to some mending,” I said. Hans slunk off with the pail of milk, and I turned and watched him as he walked away. I headed into our humble, wooden cabin and heard a small bird chirp nearby. I looked up to catch a glimpse of it, but it was already gone. For a moment, I thought I saw a man in the woods from the corner of my eye. I dismissed the thought, as I could see no one as I focused in between the trees.
“Little Red, come here!” my mother called out to me.
I disliked the nickname. Folks took to calling me Red because of the red cloak of rich velvet I wore. A trader bestowed the cloak upon me when I was fourteen after he stayed with my mother and I for a time. He had taken more than just some eggs from my mother in trade, and it was my most prized possession. My real name was Flora, named after field flowers, while it was romantic and some may have called it silly, I liked it.
“Coming, Mother!” I called back. I slipped off my apron and changed my shoes. The floor was made from woven straw that I had lined with lavender. It made the whole house smell like a garden.
“What is it?” I asked as I turned into her room.
“There is to be a party at the town hall in one week’s time. I want you to go,” she answered. I laughed loudly at the thought.
I laughed. “And what, pray tell, would I wear?” I asked. I motioned at my body, gesturing at my plain, dark brown dress. My full breasts had outgrown its modest top and had started to spill over slightly, but our resources were too limited to buy new fabric to make a new dress.
“Oh, I will think of something. This could be your chance, Red,” she said.
Her face wrinkled as she smiled. Her snowy white hair was pulled back, and small grey wisps clung to the sweat on her face. She had just finished baking pies to sell, and the house was filled with the rich scent of blackberries. I could not help but smile back at her, even though she reminded me of a future I did not want. There was something charming about our simple life. She pushed the wisps out of her face, and flour streaked across her brow. I laughed, reaching over to wipe it off with my hand. I picked up a sugared berry and popped it into my mouth; it was overly ripe and bursting with flavor. She smacked my hand and scolded me. It was like a slap of reality: this was my mother, and I was doomed to end up just like her.
“This could be my chance at what?” I asked, wiping berry juice off my lip.
“A new life!” she exclaimed. “You are far too beautiful and smart to be stuck here milking cows all day.” She began kneading out the dough for another pie, and I sat on a small stool watching her work. With my own arms exhausted from a day in the fields, I felt tired just watching the strenuous motions of her arms.
“Things haven’t been easy for you since Father died. You and I both know that he would want to see you settled and married, and married well at that,” she said.
“We have been over this again and again, Mother. I do not wish to be married,” I replied firmly.
“Being a single, young woman is no good, Red. There are many dangers in this world that you do not yet understand, my sweet.”
“Mother, I know you worry, but I am fine. I enjoy my freedom. If I were to marry, would I even be able to read? To think for myself?” I asked her.
As my mother prattled on, I thought about my late father. My father was from a wealthy family, and he was able to marry for love when he met my mother. He was smart and had a vast amount of books; I enjoyed learning to read when I was a child. He taught me to think for myself and look at the world with opened eyes. He had a charm about him and could sell anything to anyone. Once, he sold passage over the local bridge just to prove a point to me: with knowledge and the ability to read people, you could get them to do anything. At the end of a long day, he would always hold me tight in his arms. I felt safe and loved when he was around.
Despite his efforts, I was born a shy soul. As hard as he tried, he could not get me to be more open with people. He told me again and again that the key to win someone over was to simply treat them as if they were an old friend of yours. More than that though, reading their body language and responding appropriately was the most important part of communicating. He showed me how some birds use their feathers to attract a mate, and that the call was just the icing on the cake. What really mattered, he said, was the movement.
“I shouldn’t have let your father fill your head with books and silly ideas. It’s gotten you nowhere. Are you even listening to me, Red?” she snapped impatiently. I felt my mind pull back to the present.
“Yes, Mother,” I answered softly.
“There is going to be a distinguished visitor at the party, you know. He is said to be a well-off farmer, and he is bringing a friend with him from the war,” she said. I moved to a s
mall chair near the hearth and began mending my garments.
“Oh joy, is he a pig farmer, too?” I asked with sarcasm.
“Actually, I don’t recall what he does, but he’s not who I care about you meeting. I mean, to talk of the serviceman, he isn’t too young. Widowed, apparently. He was in the royal army about ten years ago from what I have heard, so he has clearly made some friends with important folks,” she said. “He’s bringing with him a high ranking knight, a priest, and his special guest” Her voice went shrill when she said “special guest.” I smirked as I worked the needle through the fabric.
“What is this, a bad joke?” I laughed. In my distraction, the needle peaked and pricked my finger. I quickly wrapped my mouth around it, sucking the puncture. I cocked an eyebrow at my mother. “Why are these men coming to our little village?”
“Well, you know Mary Fletcher? Mary told me that June is set to marry Mr. Cobs,” my mother responded. Not understanding, I rubbed my temples gently.
“Who is Mr. Cobs?” I asked. Mother looked visibly frustrated.
“The farmer! Honestly! Follow along, Red,” she chided. She paced about the room and shook her head. “It is rumored that the special guest may be a member of the royal family. Could you imagine a prince in our little town?” she asked with much delight.
“You are crazy! Someone royal? Unlikely anyone that important would ever visit here. It is probably just some lowly squire from the Royal Army,” I said. I bit the string I had just finished threading and cut it with my teeth. I was nearly finished, which I was thankful for as the last light of day was quickly fading. I hated to waste candlelight that could be better used for reading.
I watched as my mother’s face turned red and she is visibly annoyed with me.
“Red, even if it is a young squire, there’s bound to be other men coming with them. Think for once! Maybe someone will be caught by your beauty, and you can finally be wed,” she said.
She sat down at the table and took a bite of the bread I had baked that morning.
“This is good,” she said, reaching for the milk. She took a swig, and I smiled at her as she sat there deviously plotting.
It was two days later that my mother decided to send me to my grandmother’s house; she lived past the forest upon a hillside. She was my father’s mother, quite wealthy compared to the people of the town. There were many objections regarding my father marrying my mother simply due to the fact that he was wealthy and she was not; however, none of that mattered to him when he fell in love with my mother’s beauty.
“Now, Red, I have your cloak here, and I have prepared a basket for you. Oh, I am sure when she sees you she will want to help you. She will, oh I know she will! Now remember, you must ask her in a roundabout way. Make her think it was her idea to begin with,” my mother rambled. I felt uneasy about doing this; I did not particularly enjoy begging.
“Mother, I know. I will ask her, and who knows? Maybe I will be able to marry someone just like you want me to,” I said, simply because I knew it was what my mother wanted to hear. Although it pleased her, I felt sickly about asking an old woman for money for something as frivolous as a dress.
“Don’t stray from the path!” she warned as I walked to the edge of our small town. I waved goodbye to my mother from the entrance to the woods, and she eagerly waved back.
I was fond of walking and this journey although long for me would be a nice break from working. Summer was ending and the leaves started to turn shades of orange and yellow gold. I walked slowly through the forest and admired the beauty before me. I heard the sound of my own feet rustling through the leaves on the ground. Birds were singing and I saw a dear jumping over a log in the darker part of the forest.
I started to hum to myself and made a game of trying to not step on twigs. The basket my mother had given me was overfilled; I switched it from one arm to another as the bread, jars of jams, honeys, and my grandmother’s favorite Sheppard’s pie weighed me down.
The sun was at its highest point of the day, which meant that I was nearly at my grandmother’s house. I stopped to rest on a stump and saw flowers in a clearing not far from the path. I looked around and figured there was no reason to pass them up.
Could it help my case with grandmother if I also brought her some fresh flowers? Certainly couldn’t hurt any. They might even be the last flowers before winter arrives, I thought to myself.
As I set towards the glen, my mind drifted again towards the subject of marriage. I could not imagine what it might be like to be with a man. My friend Mary once told me that she had slept with both of the Wilson brothers. She said that it was fun, like nothing else she had ever done before. She told me that if I touched myself at night after Mother had gone to bed, I would have an idea of what it was like. When she had mentioned that, my felt my face turn red and I laughed it off. I knew that such things before marriage were dangerous and nothing but trouble for a young woman like myself. I was decidedly not going to be like Mary, barefoot with a babe at her breast by sixteen. Although she did seem happy, I wanted nothing less than a rushed marriage to a man I did not love. I couldn’t say I envied her lot.
The closer I walked towards the glen, the more uneasy I felt. The hair on my neck stood up as I noticed that the birds had stopped singing and the forest was suddenly completely quiet. Looking around, I saw nothing. My heart began beating so hard that I could feel it in my ears, and my breath seemed impossible to catch. I forced myself to keep walking, quietly chiding myself with each step.
“You’re just being silly. There is no such thing as fairies, no such thing as trolls, no such thing as werewolves,” I listed. Making such a list proved a nice distraction. As I finally stepped into the beautiful glen, I was bathed in sunlight and felt safe once more. My stomach sank as the booming sound of laughter erupted from behind me.
“Hello, fellow traveler. I heard you telling the forest you aren’t scared of it,” a deep voice said.
I spun around in fear to find a tall, handsome man with dark, silky hair and green eyes staring at me. His clothes were fine and clean, and his broad shoulders filled out his jacket nicely. His skin looked smooth and soft, so he must not have been a farmer or herdsmen.
“H…hello,” I stammered. I felt shy and caught off-guard around this handsome creature.
“Where is a beautiful, young maid like you headed today?” he asked, stepping closer to me.
“To my grandmother’s house,” I answered nervously, looking down towards my feet. I bit my lip and tried to make eye contact, as it was impolite to not look at someone when talking to them.
“It is very kind of you to visit an elderly lady. Is that basket for her?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir,” I answered.
“You don’t need to call me ‘Sir!’” he laughed. “Although, I suppose I am dressed in such a way that might suggest I am someone important. Alas, I am not. I fear I am just a regular person like you.” He leaned in closer, and I stepped back a little as his hand neared my face. I shut my eyes tight, afraid he might strike me.
“There! Got it!” he said. I slowly opened my eyes and looked up at him. “You had a leaf in that beautiful dark hair of yours!” He spun it between his fingers, smiling as he let it drift back to the ground. I felt silly for my overreaction and realized I was being overly cautious.
“Thank you. I am just about to have lunch. Would you care for some milk, Sir…” I paused, not knowing his name.
“You can call me Charles. And since you’re offering, yes, I would love to share some milk with you, Miss…” he carried.
“Red, just Red. Well, my actual name is Flora, but everyone calls me Red,” I answered.
“Flora,” he replied. “I like that name.”
We sat among the flowers, and I was amazed at how easily I could talk with Charles. I watched him carefully, paying attention to his body language just as my father taught me. He seemed genuine and without any hidden agenda. I felt myself open and relax in his presence as
if I had known this man for years, and we were simply two old friends who had finally been reunited.
I opened the brown wicker basket and took out some sweet bread. Pulling apiece off, I offered it to Charles. I picked up the jug of milk and took a large sip that spilled over my chin, the creamy white droplets rolling down to my chest. Feeling foolish, I passed the jug to Charles and quickly wiped the cool milk off my chest.
“Why are you in the wood today?” I asked him, watching him closely as his quickly chewed his food and took a modest drink of milk to clear his throat. He was beautiful to observe. I had never in my life seen anyone with such swift and delicate mannerisms. It was like watching a graceful bird preen its feathers.
“This spot is my favorite in all the woods around this area. My nurse used to bring me here often to collect flowers for our cabin,” he answered, his eyes sparkling as he recalled the memory.
“Oh? I did not realize you lived around here. I saw your pack and just assumed you were travelling. Where are you from?” I asked curiously. I was familiar with most of the families in the area from various trades. Perhaps I knew of his kin. I took another sip of milk as he answered.
“I used to live up on the right side of that hill,” he pointed. “I’m headed now to Bright Hallow for an event. It’s a small town, a few clicks in that direction.” He pointed towards my hometown.
“I am from that very place, Sir!” I excitedly replied.
“I told you, Charles,” he said, giving me a mocking look of disapproval.
“Charles,” I corrected myself, smiling.
“I shall call on you when I am in town, and we can continue to enjoy each other’s company,” he said, smiling broadly. I suddenly remembered my quaint house a felt embarrassed. A man as well of as Charles was would never be interested in a poor milkmaid like me. And besides, I didn’t want a man in my life! My heart had momentarily escaped my brain.
“Well, I don’t know if my mother would care for that too much,” I lied. She would have been delighted just to have me break bread with a member of the opposite sex.
Her First Werewolf (BBW, Werewolf, Prince Charming, Fairy Tale Romance) Page 1