What She Brought Home

1. Prologue: Against the Bark

She had meant only to lean. The bark was rough enough to catch the thin fabric of the dress between her shoulder blades, and the fog had already soaked the hem so that it clung, cool, against the backs of her calves. Leaves stuck where the material had torn earlier; she felt them shift when she shifted. For a moment the woods stayed ordinary—damp air, the soft collapse of a pumpkin somewhere off to her left, the distant creak of a branch giving under its own weight. Then the animal was there.

It did not rush. One moment the space in front of her was empty gray; the next its head was level with her chest, ears forward, breath warm against the inside of her wrist where her arm hung loose. She stayed still because moving felt more expensive than standing. The wolf’s chest came forward until it pressed the front of her thighs. Heat bled through the damp dress. A paw lifted and settled on the tree beside her hip, claws pricking the bark just above the place where her hand had been. The weight of that paw pulled the fabric a fraction tighter across her stomach.

Her own breath shortened. She turned her face toward the fog so she would not have to meet the eyes that stayed fixed on her, then turned it back because the alternative made the pressure at her thighs feel larger. The animal’s muzzle rose. Warm, wet air moved along the line of her jaw. When the tongue touched the skin beneath her ear it was broad and unhurried, a single drag that left the spot colder once the air found it again. Her knees loosened without her deciding they should. She put one palm flat against the dense fur at its shoulder and felt the muscle shift under her hand as the wolf adjusted its stance. The other hand stayed against the bark, fingers curled into the ridges.

The wolf’s hips rolled once. The motion was small, almost experimental, yet it seated the hard line of its body more firmly between her legs. Fabric bunched. She felt the outline of it—thick, heated—through the dress and the thin barrier of her underwear. A sound left her throat, low and involuntary. She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste copper and kept her eyes on the place where the paw rested. The claws flexed. One of them snagged a loose thread at her hip and pulled. The tear lengthened a finger’s width. Cool air found the new opening and met the heat already gathering under the cloth.

She could still step sideways. The thought arrived clear and complete. Her feet did not move. Instead she let her weight settle more fully against the tree so that the animal’s chest took a larger share of her balance. The second roll of its hips was slower. The pressure found the exact center of her and stayed there, grinding in a shallow arc that dragged the damp fabric across her. Her thighs tightened around the intrusion of its body. The hand on its shoulder slid higher until her fingers sank into the thicker fur at the base of its neck. She held on. The wolf’s breath came faster against her throat. Its tongue touched her again, lower this time, along the tendon that ran from ear to collarbone. She tilted her head to give it room and immediately regretted the small surrender because the motion pressed her more firmly onto the ridge between her legs.

A pumpkin she had not noticed before sat half-buried in the leaves a few paces away, its carved mouth soft with rot. She watched the fog move across it while the animal worked against her in short, heavy shifts. Each one pushed the dress higher. The stocking on her right thigh had already given way at the knee; the hole widened when she bent that leg to brace herself. Bare skin met the cooler air and then the warmer fur of the wolf’s flank. The contrast made her stomach jump. She heard her own breathing now, uneven, and the wet sound the tongue made when it returned to the hollow under her jaw. The paw on the tree slid lower until the back of it rested against her ribs. She felt the individual pads, the faint scrape of claw through cloth.

Her free hand left the bark. She did not plan the movement. It traveled down between their bodies until her knuckles met the place where the dress had ridden up. She pushed the fabric higher with the side of her wrist. Cold air struck the skin of her lower belly. The wolf’s next thrust met less resistance. The hard heat of it pressed directly against the thin cotton that still covered her. She made another sound, smaller, and turned her face into the fur so the noise would be muffled. The animal’s ears flicked. Its chest vibrated against her breasts with a low, continuous rumble she felt more than heard. She kept her hand where it was, not guiding, only holding the dress out of the way, and let the shallow grinding continue. Leaves stuck to the backs of her thighs. One of them shifted and adhered higher, near the crease where leg met hip. She was aware of it the way she was aware of the fog on her eyelashes and the steady, possessive weight that refused to let her straighten.

Somewhere beyond the trees a car passed on the road she had left. The sound arrived thin and ordinary. She listened to it fade while the wolf’s tongue traced the shell of her ear and the pressure between her legs built into something that made her thighs shake. She did not close her eyes. The pumpkin’s ruined face stayed in her line of sight, soft and collapsing, while the animal’s body worked against hers in the damp air. Her fingers tightened in the fur at its neck. The paw on the tree flexed again. A second thread gave. The tear opened farther. Cool air and warm fur met on the newly exposed skin of her hip, and the contrast pulled a sharper breath from her lungs.

She stayed. The fog moved. The leaves under the wolf’s hind paws crackled once when it adjusted its stance to press closer. ...