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Krasnaya's earliest memories were of being taught to fear wolves. Her family's cottage was nestled in the very corner of the great forest that covered the entire world—or at least as much of the entire world as Krasnaya had ever seen, though she allowed that there might be parts beyond that—and wolves lived in that forest. You must be always wary of the wolf, her mother taught her, and keep all of your senses alert for danger. You must never look a wolf in the eye, and you must never, ever leave the path.
Krasnaya's name was not actually Krasnaya. It was something else, far more ordinary and forgettable. But Krasnaya's grandmother was from the Old Country, and she had made Krasnaya a cloak of beautiful shining red fabric. Krasnaya loved it and wore it everywhere, the snug hood pulled up over her ears to keep them warm. "My lovely little krasnaya shopochka," her grandmother would say whenever they went to visit her at her little cottage on the other side of the great forest. And so eventually it stuck, and nobody called her anything other than Krasnaya ever again.
Once or twice a week, Krasnaya's mother would take a basket of fruits and vegetables to Grandmother's house. Grandmother was a capable, sturdy old woman, and Krasnaya suspected that these excursions were less about making sure she had fresh vegetables from Mother's garden and more about making sure to bring back some of Grandmother's good black bread—and making sure to catch up with all of the gossip from the village. Grandmother lived close to the village, and she always knew the goings-on of all the villagers.
When Krasnaya turned 14, her mother explained that she was now old enough to make the trip to Grandmother's on her own. "I'm too old and tired to go traipsing about the forest," her mother announced, which was patently untrue. Krasnaya's mother had barely any wrinkles, and she had the same thick, black hair that Krasnaya herself had. But if Krasnaya went to Grandmother's house, that gave Mother more time to sit and read the books that the traveling peddler sold for one penny each.
Krasnaya didn't mind. She liked to walk, and Grandmother usually had funny or interesting stories to tell while she kneaded the bread with her tough, gnarled hands. Sometimes she even let Krasnaya eat a little of the raw dough, which she said reminded her of her own grandfather on her mother's side. "He liked to eat the raw dough too, little Krasnaya. You are just like him. He wanted what he wanted, and he reached out and took it."
Krasnaya sneaked another little pinch of raw dough and thought about that. It wasn't so bad to want what you want, she thought. Maybe if more people wanted what they wanted, they'd get it, and what was wrong with that?
On the way home from Grandmother's house with her basket full of warm, rich breads and rolls, Krasnaya became quite lost in thought. Her mind drifted, as it often did on the long walk, to all sorts of different things—of the best way to make bread, and the new baby that had just arrived to Martja in the village, and whether she would be able to sneak one of Mother's books away without being noticed.
And so Krasnaya could not pinpoint the exact moment when the wolf appeared. One moment, she was lost in her thoughts, completely alone; the next moment, a great, gray wolf loped alongside the path.
She stopped, startled. This wolf was not at all what she'd been led to expect. She'd thought that she would hear a wolf snarling as he came upon her, but this one had come in complete silence. And she'd thought that a wolf would look fierce and angry, but this one only looked at her curiously, his yellow eyes seeming almost intelligent.
"Oh," she said aloud, "I'm sure I'm not supposed to look into your eyes."
The wolf huffed, as though it had understood her.
"But I have looked into them, haven't I?" she mused. "And you're not growling at me. You don't seem dangerous. Are you dangerous, Sir Wolf?"
He huffed and approached the path, coming closer. He was very large. Krasnaya wasn't sure how large a wolf was supposed to be; but she had always imagined them as being no larger than the largest of dogs, and this wolf was far, far larger than that. She herself was tall for 14, only a hand's breadth away from surpassing her mother in height, but the wolf's head was at the level of her shoulders. And he was broad and long, with a thick, glossy pelt. He'd be monstrous if he weren't so beautiful, she thought.
Krasnaya was seized abruptly with the desire to touch the wolf's fur, to see if it really was as thick and soft as it looked. The wolf watched her with a considering air, as if curious to see what she'd do. Of course, Krasnaya knew that she wasn't supposed to pet a wolf. She wasn't supposed to be near a wolf at all. She was supposed to flee for home. But this curious creature with intelligent eyes was obviously not going to eat her. He could have done so ten times over already, if he'd wanted to.
Her mind made up, Krasnaya thrust her fingers deep into the pelt at the scruff of the wolf's neck. It was soft as brushed horsehair, as soft as the velvet lining on the hood of her own red cape. "Oh," she breathed, "you feel so nice, Sir Wolf."
He huffed again. "Not Sir?" she asked. "I shall just call you Wolf, then."
He preened, letting her dig her fingers deep into his scruff. "My name is Krasnaya," she said. "Since we're to be on a first-name basis. But we must be secret friends, because I don't think my mother would like me being friends with a wolf."
Wolf licked at her hand with his rough, wet tongue, and she shrieked a little and giggled. "Wet!" she cried. She dried her hand on her pinafore, narrowing her eyes at the wolf, whose lips curled over his teeth in a smug smirk. "We are friends, though, aren't we?" she said. "I'm sure of it. I always know right away when I've made a friend."
A low rumbling sound came from the wolf, and Krasnaya knew instinctively that he was pleased.
"I must get home, Wolf," she said, "or Mother will be very worried about me. You can come along partway, if you like." She made to withdraw her hand from his fur, and he made a little growling noise, the hot air of his breath gusting over her skin. Well, that was all right. Krasnaya certainly didn't mind petting his fur a little more while she walked.
"All right," she said, "but don't think you'll always get your way." She scrunched her fingers comfortably into his fur, and she set off for home again, the wolf loping easily along at her side. Along the way, she talked to him, telling him of her grandmother's cottage and what it felt like to knead bread. "It's sticky but firm, and it clings to your fingers until eventually your hands are more dough than skin. So you have to scrape it all off and flour your hands and start fresh." Wolf gave her a sidelong glance. "I suppose that sounds strange to you," she said. "Not having fingers and all. Well, you must simply use your imagination! I could certainly imagine what it's like to be a wolf, all fur and claws and teeth and running through the forest. I think it must be great fun."
Wolf butted his head gently against her, and his yellow eyes gleamed. "I knew it," she said, taking this as confirmation.
After a time, they reached the long wooden fence wound through with grapevines that signaled the outermost edge of her family's land. "You must run along now, Wolf," she said. "If someone were to see you, they would not understand that you are a friendly wolf and mean no harm."
Wolf licked her hand again, making Krasnaya giggle, and then he turned and loped silently off into the forest. She watched until he disappeared into the trees and not even his shadow was visible. She dried her hand on her pinafore—again! She was going to have to launder this pinafore sooner than usual—and hurried toward her family's cottage. She was late, and Mother would be wanting the bread.
The earth turned, the days passed, and soon enough it was time for Krasnaya to take the fresh vegetables to Grandmother's house again. She helped Mother harvest them from the garden so gladly and with such little complaint that Mother lifted an eyebrow at her. "Krasnaya, what's got into you?" she asked. "Usually at picking time, I have to look under every rock and up every tree to find you. Yet here you are, bright and cheerful."
Krasnaya gave Mother her prettiest, most charming grin. "I am only looking forward to visiting Grandmother," she said. "She has been teaching me about baking bread."
Mother's mouth twitched the way it did when she was amused by Krasnaya but didn't want to show it. "I know your tricks, Krasnaya," she said. "You can't charm me like you do your father! But there is no harm in being excited about picking the vegetables, I suppose. You are careful to never leave the path?"
"I am very careful," Krasnaya promised. She hadn't left the path even once when she'd met Wolf, so that was not a lie.
"All right," Mother said. "Here, take these snap peas. They're Grandmother's favorite."
Krasnaya had hoped that Wolf would join her on the walk to Grandmother's house, but there was no sign of him this time. She was disappointed, but she supposed that one couldn't expect a wolf to be at one's beck and call. Wolf surely had wolf things to do deep in the forest.
When she arrived at Grandmother's cottage, the door stood half-open, and a low, deep voice came from inside. People usually said more interesting things when they didn't know anyone else was listening, so Krasnaya crept quietly up to the door and stood just to the side of it, listening carefully.
"...tracks do seem clear. I will certainly take care of this for you, old Grandmother. "
What tracks was he talking about, Krasnaya wondered. And take care of what?
"Well, I thank you for coming to visit an old woman," Grandmother replied. "I would have come into the village myself, but I am expecting my granddaughter today."
"Yes, old Grandmother. I think she has arrived, as a matter of fact."
Krasnaya startled. He was talking about her! Her cheeks turned warm at the thought of being caught eavesdropping. But there was nothing for it; she held herself very straight and tall and went inside.
"Grandmother," she called, "I've arrived!"
Grandmother stood in her kitchen in front of the old cast iron stove, holding the great wooden bowl and beating the dough in it with a wooden spoon. "So you have," Grandmother said. To the visitor, she said, "This is my granddaughter, Krasnaya."
Krasnaya dropped a messy half-curtsy. She looked up to the visitor—and up—and up. He was a great, tall man, two hands taller than Grandmother, which meant that he was also two hands taller than Krasnaya. He had thick brown hair that curled down around his ears, and his features were sharp and noble. He wore a leather jerkin over a battered green shirt, and the sort of trousers that Father wore when he was plowing the garden.
His eyes were sea-green and had a clever glint to them. "Well met, Granddaughter," he said, rolling the Rs like someone from the Old Country. He nodded his head politely. "I'll take my leave now, Grandmother," he said. (All of the villagers called Krasnaya's grandmother Grandmother, because she was old, and brought bread, and they liked her.) As he turned to go, Krasnaya saw that he had a large, two-headed axe strapped to his back, sharp and shining. It made her stomach twist in on itself unpleasantly.
Once the man was gone, she asked Grandmother, "Who was that? He was very tall."
Grandmother handed the bread bowl to Krasnaya so that she could take over the beating. Grandmother had often told her that the way for a woman to become strong was by chopping her own firewood and baking lots of bread. Krasnaya had not understood how baking bread could make you strong until the first time she'd helped Grandmother bake. She'd kneaded the dough for twenty minutes, just as Grandmother said she must, and then let the dough and herself have a rest before another twenty minutes of kneading. Well into the next day, her arms had been like limp noodles, wobbling and useless. But now she could do the twenty and twenty easily, and even another batch the same day.
"That was our young huntsman," Grandmother said. "I called him here to speak with him about wolves in the forest. There have been signs in the forest recently."
Krasnaya nearly dropped the bread bowl. "Wolves?" she asked. "What sort of wolves?" She thought of Wolf and his sleek, soft fur; and she thought of the huntsman and his gleaming axe. Grandmother had often said that since the huntsman had come to the village, not a single wolf had been spotted in the nearby woods.
Grandmother looked up sharply, frowning at Krasnaya. "There is only one sort of wolf," she said. "Have you been reading tales, little Krasnaya?"
Caught out, Krasnaya thought quickly and said, "Oh, only a few tales in a storybook I found. One of them talked about friendly wolves who might come close enough to pet."
Grandmother's forehead creased like a line of thunderclouds rolling in, and Krasnaya wished she had not said anything at all about wolves. "There is no such thing as a friendly wolf," Grandmother said. "If one seems friendly, it is a trick. Wolves are crafty creatures, and you must be very wary of them. If you were ever to see one, you should stay on the path and run home as quickly as possible. And petting one—absolutely out of the question!" she said.
Krasnaya stirred the dough glumly. "It was only a story," she said.
Grandmother squeezed her shoulder and gave her a soft, dry kiss on the forehead. "Of course, little one," she said. "But some stories cause more trouble than they are worth. I don't like to think of you trying to befriend a wolf. No good would come of it."
"Of course not, Grandmother," Krasnaya said, but secretly she knew that Grandmother was wrong. Wolf was friendly, and he was not trying to trick her. She was sure of it. Grandmother was wise and knew almost everything in the world, but she didn't know everything about wolves.
That afternoon when Krasnaya said goodbye to Grandmother, she gave her a kiss and promised to stay well away from wolves. She had gone only a little way down the path from Grandmother's cottage when Wolf loped out of the forest.
Krasnaya's heart leapt with joy, and she forgot all about her promise to Grandmother. "Wolf!" she cried. "I thought you might be busy doing wolf things. I am glad to see you." She rested her hand on his scruff, and Wolf seemed pleased, taking his place at her side.
"There is something very important I must tell you," Krasnaya said. She stopped on the path, turning to face Wolf. "There is a huntsman. He is very tall, with a very sharp axe, and he is hunting for wolves. You must be very careful not to run afoul of him. He has clever eyes, and he will try to outsmart you."
Wolf huffed, as though to say I'd like to see him try.
"You must take this seriously!" Krasnaya chided him. "Who will I talk to on my long walks if the huntsman finds you?" Of course, this was only the second time Krasnaya had had any sort of companion on her walks. She was well-accustomed to traveling alone through the forest. But she did not like the idea of the huntsman and his great silver axe finding her new friend.
"I know you have sharp claws and teeth," she said, "And you are very clever. But still, his axe is very large and sharp, and I would not like you to be hurt." Wolf's eyes gleamed a burnished gold, and Krasnaya felt that they had come to an understanding on this. She slipped her hand back into its comfortable spot on Wolf's scruff, and they walked along in companionable silence for a while after that.
Krasnaya's mind wandered to all sorts of things, but it kept flitting back like a pesky moth to what Grandmother had said earlier about wolves. "Grandmother says there is only one kind of wolf," she mused aloud. "But I don't think that's true. You're certainly not an ordinary sort of wolf, are you?"
Wolf butted his head against her.
"I didn't think so," she said. "You're huge, and you're clever and friendly." He was also a lone wolf, which Krasnaya thought was unusual. But she did not mention that, in case it was a sore spot for Wolf.
"I don't want you to think poorly of Grandmother, because she is also very clever and wise, and she knows almost everything in the world. But she told me that you would try to trick me so that you could eat me for dinner."
Wolf growled, deep and low, the vibration traveling through Krasnaya's hand all the way up to her elbow. A flock of birds took flight from a nearby branch.
"Now, hush," Krasnaya said. "I didn't say I believed her, did I? And maybe if you were a normal wolf, she would have been right. I imagine that a normal wolf would try to trick me and eat me for dinner. She doesn't know that you are a special wolf."
Wolf's growling quieted. He seemed mollified.
"I do, though," Krasnaya said, scrunching her fingers through his soft fur. "I know that you're special."
When they reached the grapevines, Krasnaya stopped so that she could say goodbye. "I hope to see you next time," Krasnaya said. "I'm sure you must be busy with other things, but I do enjoy our walks."
Wolf preened. Krasnaya suddenly wanted very much to hug him, and she couldn't think of any reason not to, so she did. She threw her arms around Wolf's neck and laid her head atop his. She could feel his warm breath on her arms, and his strong, fast heartbeat pulsing in his throat. She breathed in his scent, earthy and musky, reminding her of all the dark places of the forest.
"Oh," she sighed, "you're so soft and warm, Wolf. Just as I thought you'd be." He made a low, happy whine in the back of his throat.
A little ways off, a door slammed. Regretfully, Krasnaya unwound herself from Wolf. "That's Mother coming out to look for me," she said. "We must never allow her to see you, and so I must be off, and you as well. Goodbye for now, Wolf. We shall meet again soon, I hope." And she hurried toward her house, where even now Mother was shouting her name.
"Tricking me into eating me for dinner," she muttered to herself. "He would never."
As the weeks and months passed, Wolf proved a reliable companion to Krasnaya, joining her for most of her walks through the forest. Only occasionally did he not show up. On one such occasion, Krasnaya's mind wandered off to the sorts of things a wolf might do. Perhaps he was building his den, or trapping rabbits, or finding a mate.
Krasnaya frowned, not caring for that last idea. If Wolf had a mate, he would probably want to spend time with her and have little wolf babies with her, and he would no longer have time for Krasnaya.
"I am jealous of a she-wolf that may or may not even exist," Krasnaya muttered. "That is ridiculous, even for me."
She decided to think about more pleasant things, like the rosemary she was bringing to Grandmother for Grandmother's famous rosemary rolls. But the thought of the lady wolf niggled at the back of her mind like a little mouse chewing through the wall. She could not seem to rid herself of it.
At Grandmother's house, she was quiet, turning over the shape of this new worry in her mind, until Grandmother at last noticed. "Krasnaya," she said, "you are so quiet that I wonder if your tongue has fallen out."
"No, Grandmother," Krasnaya said, stripping the next sprig of rosemary of its sharp little leaves. "I was only thinking about something."
Grandmother turned the bread dough over, smacking it down onto the counter and sending a little cloud of flour flying into the air. "Ah, something," Grandmother said. "The worst kind of thought. Why don't you tell me about it, little Krasnaya, and we'll see if we can turn something into nothing?"
Krasnaya considered this. Grandmother was very wise in all the ways of the world, and she was very clever at solving problems. But Krasnaya could hardly tell her that she had a wolf friend and might be feeling jealous of him. She chewed her lip. Maybe there was another way to put it.
"Well, Grandmother," she said, "have you ever had a friend, and that friend made a different friend, but you didn't want them to spend time with the other friend because it would take the time away from you?"
Grandmother peered at her from over her half-moon glasses. "Ah," she said. "Jealousy. A very big something. This friend of yours. Boy or girl?"
Wolf, Krasnaya thought. "Boy," she said.
"Do you think of him always? Wish he were there even when he's not?"
Krasnaya did think of Wolf always, and she wished very much that she could bring him home with her instead of always saying goodbye at the grapevines. "Yes," she said.
"Ah," Grandmother said with a firm nod, as if this was a very revealing answer. "And when you see him, does your heart lift like the sun coming out from behind a cloud? When you are with him, does time pass in the blink of an eye?"
"Well, yes," Krasnaya said. Those questions were easy. Her heart jumped for joy when she saw Wolf loping out of the woods, and the time she spent with him flew by like it was no time at all.
"Sounds like love to me," Grandmother said, pounding the bread dough onto the table again. "Hand me that pile of rosemary."
Krasnaya handed over the rosemary automatically, her mind whirling. It couldn't be love, not the way that Grandmother meant. Wolf was a wolf. They could be friends, of course. But you couldn't fall in love with a wolf. It didn't make any sense.
A flock of butterflies took flight in Krasnaya's stomach.
"So it seems to me," Grandmother said, her wrinkled old fingers kneading the dough to work the rosemary all through it, "that you need to ask this boy what his intentions are. You are fifteen now, Krasnaya, and not too young for such conversations."
Krasnaya's birthday had been a month before. She didn't feel any older, and certainly not old enough for conversations about love with boys. The boys in the village were boring anyway, always running around with sticks and balls and making crude jokes. She would much rather spend time with Wolf.
"I will keep that in mind, Grandmother," Krasnaya said.
Grandmother smiled, her clever hands turning the bread dough into perfect little roll shapes, one after another, like little soldiers all in a row. Krasnaya's little roll soldiers always looked misshapen and like they had already seen a battle or two. "If you make up your mind that this boy should be yours, then he will have no choice," Grandmother said. "You are a little force of nature, Krasnaya. Just like your great-grandfather Boris on my mother's side. When he met your great-grandmother, he was just 14 years old, but he said—"
There was a sharp rap at the front door of the cottage. Krasnaya's hands were the most clean (other than smelling of rosemary) so she quickly wiped them on her pinafore and went to open the door. There at the threshold stood the huntsman, so tall and broad he took up nearly the entire doorway. Krasnaya narrowed her eyes at him. She did not like him showing up at the same time that Wolf had gone absent.
"Have you killed any wolves this week?" she demanded.
"Krasnaya! Manners!" Grandmother shouted, coming up from behind her.
The huntsman chuckled, low and deep. "It is all right, old Grandmother," he said. He turned his clever, sea-green eyes on Krasnaya, his mouth soft with amusement. "None this week, miss."
Krasnaya did not care for this man and his great, shining axe. "All right," she said, only barely managing to stifle the see that you don't that wanted to follow along after.
"Krasnaya, for heaven's sake, go and shape the rolls," Grandmother said. "I must talk with the huntsman."
Krasnaya went sulkily back to the table and slammed the bread loudly down on the table—in preparation for shaping it, and also to indicate how unhappy she was to be excluded from the conversation. If age 15 was old enough to talk about love, surely it was old enough to talk about wolves.
As time passed, Krasnaya found herself thinking often about what Grandmother had said about love.
It was very confusing. If she told anyone that her heart was given over to a wolf, they'd think she'd gone mad. Or they'd think that Wolf was tricking her for some nefarious purpose. But if Wolf were going to trick her, he'd surely have done it long before now. She was 16 years old, and he had been accompanying her in the forest for nearly two of those years.
And was her heart given over to a wolf? She didn't know if that was even possible. But she did know that when she wound her hand through the fur at the nape of his neck and he rumbled in satisfaction, it warmed her from tip to toes. When she laid in bed to sleep at night, she often imagined Wolf curling up next to her, and the thought of being nestled up next to his huge, furry body soothed her straight into pleasant dreams.
Some of the village boys had begun sniffing around, hinting at courting Krasnaya, but she remained uninterested. They were boring, and she had no desire to sit on a bench in the village square talking of—whatever it was boys liked to talk about. She would rather be in the forest with her Wolf.
"Grandmother says I should ask you about your intentions," Krasnaya told Wolf one day as he loped alongside her on a day deep in the heart of summer, when the trees are at their most green and the tomatoes are fat and round and pinkish-red. She blinked, startled. She hadn't exactly meant to say that; it had fallen out of her mouth with no warning. Well, she thought, the only thing to do was to push forward.
"She didn't mean you," Krasnaya went on. Wolf gave her a sidelong glance. "Well, she did, but—that's confusing and it is not the point, anyway. The point is that I should ask your intentions."
Wolf remained silent, and then he came to a dead stop. Krasnaya turned back to him with furrowed brow. Wolf had never stopped in the middle of the path before. He stared at her with unblinking, golden yellow eyes, and his lips parted to show his sharp teeth.
"It's just that there are boys coming around now," she said in a soft, small voice, "and I keep refusing all of them, and—and I don't know what to do, Wolf."
Krasnaya supposed that she should feel silly, spilling out her deepest thoughts to a wolf, but she didn't. Wolf was her best friend, and there was no one else she would have told this to, even if she could.
Wolf made a low, quiet growl. He nipped at Krasnaya's pinafore, tugging her off the path and making her stumble a little. He turned his great head and looked to the east, into the heart of the woods, where Krasnaya had never dared to venture.
"You want me to leave the path with you," she said. "You want to take me somewhere." He huffed in agreement.
Krasnaya had only ever left the path for a few feet in any direction, usually to pick some interesting flower or examine some interesting berry. She'd never gone exploring in the deep woods. It was dangerous, because there were—well, there were wolves. And maybe other creatures of the forest, as well. But Wolf fixed his steady, yellow gaze on her, waiting for her to follow him.
"You'll protect me, won't you?" she asked. He whuffed.
Krasnaya cast her gaze to the east, where Wolf wanted to take her. It was thick with large, old trees—massive oaks and gnarled willows, larches and prickly spruces. Hedges and brambles spread over the forest floor, and there was nothing even resembling a path. Krasnaya cast a skeptical look down at herself. She wore her red cloak, of course, and her usual pinafore and muslin dress. Her shoes were sturdy enough for the forest path, but would not hold up to tramping and hiking through brambles and brush.
"I'll be torn to shreds if I try to walk through there," she informed Wolf. "You are a wolf, and can get through easily, but I am a human, and I would need an axe."
Wolf's lip twisted up into what looked almost like a grin. And then, gracefully for such a massive creature, he knelt down on all fours beside her. Krasnaya took a quick, sharp breath and held her hand to her mouth in surprise. Wolf was very large—even kneeling, he came up to her waist—but it had never, ever occurred to her that she could ride him.
But now that it had occurred to her, she very desperately wanted to. "Wolf," she said, "are you sure? It won't hurt you?"
He whuffed and tossed his head back as though to say get on already, foolish girl.
Krasnaya came and stood alongside Wolf, eyeing his shaggy back. She'd never ridden any creature before, not a horse or a donkey or anything at all.
Well, there was only one thing for it.
"I will try not to pull at your hair," she told him, and then Krasnaya threw herself onto Wolf's back, winding her arms around his throat and pressing her knees into his sides. His fur was soft and warm against her skin, and his heartbeat pulsed in his throat.
"Is it all right?" she asked, worried. "Am I pulling or too heavy or—"
Wolf made a deep, satisfied noise that vibrated all the way up through her.
"All right," she said, "then I'm ready."
Wolf tossed his head, growled lowly, and then he was off like a shot fired from a cannon, racing through the forest so that the leaves and brambles and bushes turned into a green-and-brown blur as they sped past. Krasnaya held on tightly, instinctively keeping her head low. Her mouth was open with delight, and she laughed helplessly with joy.
"Wolf," she cried out, "oh Wolf, faster, faster."
He obliged, leaping over stumps, darting past low-hanging branches, avoiding every obstacle in their way. Krasnaya had never gone so fast, even in the fastest carriage she'd ever ridden in. Her heart galloped right along with them, and she was so filled with joy that she thought she could take flight and leave the ground entirely.
When they finally came to a stop some time later, Krasnaya took a moment to catch her breath before sliding off Wolf into a giddy heap on the ground, leaning against his flank. The wind of their travel had made her eyes water, and she wiped the tears away, still laughing, delighted. "Wolf," she said, "that was the most amazing ride. You are the most amazing wolf." She hugged his flank and impulsively left a kiss against his pelt.
Wolf whuffed and licked her face. Krasnaya petted and scratched at his coat, euphoric from their wild race through the forest. "Mm," she said, getting to her feet and dusting off her skirt, "I suppose I should look around and see where you've brought me."
They stood in a clearing at the foot of a massive oak tree, the largest that Krasnaya had ever seen. It was an old grandfather of the forest whose branches formed a great canopy of leaves over their heads, filtering the sunlight into dappled spots. Moss covered the ground, and not too far away a little stream burbled and wound its way through the forest. It was a charming, inviting place, and it had an air of secrecy about it, as though Wolf and Krasnaya were hidden away from all of the rest of the world here.
"Is this your home, Wolf?" Krasnaya asked, her hand back in its usual spot at his scruff. He tugged her towards the tree in answer, and she readily followed. When they approached the trunk, which was so thick and broad that four men with arms linked would not have been able to circle it, Krasnaya saw an opening at the bottom.
"Inside the tree?" she asked, delighted. She'd never been inside a tree before and was deeply curious about what it might be like. As they came closer, she saw that while the opening was easily large enough for Wolf, she would have to crawl. But that was all right; she didn't mind her skirt getting muddied a bit.
Krasnaya knew that anyone else would be horrified by what she was doing. She'd let a wolf lead her away from the path and to his lair. Not only that, but she was crawling right inside his lair. Everybody knew that wolves were tricksters who would lure you into danger so that they could eat you for dinner, and here was Krasnaya serving herself up at the wolf's dining table.
But Krasnaya was not afraid of Wolf. And so she got down to her hands and knees and crawled into the hole at the bottom of the massive oak tree. Wolf followed behind her, his massive body blocking most of the light.
The hole led to a large tunnel, comfortably sized for Wolf. Krasnaya made her way down it on hands and knees, muddying her skirt as she went. The roots of Old Grandfather Oak pierced the tunnel in places, so that Krasnaya had to climb up and over. But eventually she reached a little underground den. It was dark here, and cooler than the summer heat they'd left behind. Moss covered the ground, making it spongy and soft beneath Krasnaya's hands and knees.
"This is your home, Wolf," Krasnaya said. It smelled strongly of him—a smell she would know anywhere—and an overwhelming feeling of belonging swept over her. This was a good place, a safe place. Krasnaya liked it here very much.
"Are you showing me your intentions?" she asked quietly. Wolf tossed his head, and his yellow eyes gleamed in the low light. He maneuvered himself behind her, making a nice, warm surface for her to lean back on.
He was indicating his intentions. He'd brought her to his lair, his home. He'd welcomed her into it. She didn't know what to do about this, and she didn't understand entirely what it meant, but her heart swelled nonetheless. She'd asked Wolf his intentions, and he'd given her his answer.
"This is a good place," she told him. "It smells of you, and it's very secret and quiet. It's just the sort of place I imagined you might live in, although I hadn't imagined Old Grandfather Oak." Krasnaya sighed contentedly.
Wolf was so comfortable behind her, and the moss was soft, and the den was quiet and dark. Krasnaya laid her head down on Wolf, closing her eyes. The sound of his heartbeat was rhythmic and steady, and soon enough she drifted off into a slumber, dreaming of sparkling streams and tall oak trees and a wolf that somehow, in her dream, knew how to talk.
Krasnaya woke to something wet on her face, and she soon realized that it was Wolf licking her. "Wolf!" she cried, laughing and batting at him. She wiped the slobber from her face, realizing that she'd fallen asleep in Wolf's lair. "Oh," she said, "I hope it's not so late that Mother will be worried. I wouldn't like them to send a search party into the woods."
She sighed regretfully. "I would like to stay here all night, Wolf, because it is much more comfortable than my own bed, and I would be with you. But I must go home, I think."
Wolf led her back through the tunnels and out into the clearing, where to Krasnaya's relief she saw that the sun was not too low yet. It was late, but not so late that Mother would be worried.
"Wolf," she asked, "how quickly can you get me back to my house?"
His eyes gleamed, and his lips pulled back in what anyone else would have thought was a snarl but Krasnaya knew to be a smug smirk. She laughed. "I think you're quite vain, you know," she said. "Although I suppose if I were the cleverest, biggest, strongest and fastest wolf in the forest, I might be vain too."
Wolf huffed.
Krasnaya swung herself up onto his back, wrapping her arms around his throat again and pressing her knees against his sides. It felt so right to be with him this way, like they were two parts of the same whole, like milk before it is separated into butter and cream. Overcome, she whispered into his ear, "You are my Wolf, you know. Just I am your Krasnaya."
Wolf's chest expanded abruptly with a deep breath of air, and then he threw back his head and howled, a primordial howl that made the hair stand up on Krasnaya's neck and goosebumps rise on her skin. Birds and woodland creatures fled in every direction away from them as the echoes reverberated through the forest.
No, she decided in that moment, there would not be any boys for her. What boy could ever compare to her strong, clever, ferocious Wolf?
She gripped onto him tightly, and like a shot, they were racing through the forest again, girl and wolf melded together, leaving laughter trailing behind them like blossoms in the wind.
The days passed and the earth turned, and Krasnaya spent as much time with Wolf as she could, exploring the forest on his back and visiting his lair. Sometimes she would sit against Old Grandfather Oak and weave flower crowns out of the violets and daisies nearby while Wolf rested his great head in her lap, and sometimes she would curl up alongside Wolf in his lair, letting his heartbeat lull her into sleep. He always woke her in time to get home, and these were some of Krasnaya's most favorite days.
Krasnaya explained her frequent absences to Mother by saying that she was going to the village and talking with boys, which pleased Mother enough that she didn't investigate too closely.
Someday there would be a reckoning, when Mother realized that Krasnaya had no intention whatsoever of actually pursuing any of those boys. Krasnaya often thought about how she could explain that she just wanted to live alone for the rest of her days, as a ruse to allow her to be with Wolf. Perhaps she could move deep into the forest, where no one would bother them.
It was a quandary, and thinking about it made her head hurt. But for now, her lies to Mother meant that she got to spend hours and days alongside Wolf, and she contented herself with that.
All was well until one day she arrived at Grandmother's house to see the huntsman's silver two-headed axe propped against the front door. Krasnaya had not seen Wolf that morning and had been disappointed; and now here was the huntsman with his axe. It made Krasnaya's heart beat unpleasantly fast in her chest. She didn't like thinking about how Wolf was a hunted animal and how there was a skilled and expert huntsman who was trying to kill him.
Krasnaya pushed open the front door and called out, "Grandmother, I am here!"
But she needn't have announced herself, because Grandmother sat at her kitchen table, with the huntsman sitting next to her, and she had a very serious look on her face.
"What is it, Grandmother?" Krasnaya asked. Grandmother never sat at her own kitchen table unless it was time to eat; and today the stove was not even lit. The counters were clear of flour; the bread bowl was empty and stacked in the cabinet. Everything was unsettling and strange, and fear crept up Krasnaya's back. "You look so serious," she said, smiling and trying to lighten the mood.
"Because a serious thing has happened, little Krasnaya," Grandmother said. She still called Krasnaya "little" even though Krasnaya was 17 years old and a woman now. Mother said she probably always would, because that was the way of grandmothers. Grandmother went on, her voice grave and her hands folded before her on the table, "A villager has seen tracks of a wolf in the forest, Krasnaya."
Krasnaya took a sharp breath, and she glanced at the huntsman. His green eyes gleamed back at her, but his expression did not change. He looked just as serious as Grandmother, as though his face was carved from stone. "How can that be?" she asked. "I thought there were no wolves in our forest."
"The tracks were near to your tracks, Krasnaya," Grandmother said.
Krasnaya's voice froze inside her throat, and there was a buzzing like angry bees in her ears. A dozen lies and explanations came to mind, but Grandmother was not stupid and would spot a lie in an instant. The huntsman fixed her with an unwavering stare, as though he could see right through her outsides and straight into the truth of her. "I—" she said. "I don't—"
"I think this wolf may have marked you," Grandmother said.
Krasnaya closed her mouth abruptly. She blinked twice. "What?" she asked, feeling extraordinarily foolish but not knowing what else she could say. Marked her?
"A wolf can mark a person," Grandmother said. "He will try to befriend them, so that they will lead him back to their home. And if that doesn't work, then eventually the wolf will eat the person for dinner anyway. I think you are marked by this wolf, Krasnaya. It has been known to happen. Has it not?" she asked the huntsman.
"Yes," he said. His voice was low and deep. "A person can be marked."
Krasnaya thought of the great silver axe, and she blurted out, "What if the wolf is only trying to be friendly?"
Grandmother gave the huntsman a knowing look, as though to say see? "Krasnaya, there is no such thing as a friendly wolf," she said. "You know that. I have told you that before. Wolves are not friendly; they are to be feared."
"And you agree with this?" Krasnaya asked the huntsman, anger and fear twisting inside her until it formed a tornado, sweeping up all of her thoughts and blowing them straight out of her mouth. "You agree that all wolves are to be feared? That there can't be such a thing as a wolf who wants to be your friend? Who—" She clamped her mouth closed again, before she could say anything even more stupid, like telling them her best friend was a wolf, that she'd seen his lair, that she'd slept next to him, that he would never, ever hurt her.
The huntsman's mouth turned up into a little smile, and Krasnaya wanted to slap it right off his face. How dare he treat this like a joke? "If there is a wolf tracking you," he said, "it is a serious matter. And I must investigate."
"So you can kill it?" Krasnaya spat. "Although it has done nothing to you whatsoever?"
"Krasnaya!" her Grandmother said, her eyebrows raised high.
The huntsman was infuriatingly calm. "If I must," he said.
"Well," Krasnaya said, "if there are wolves following me around, then I had better get home, I suppose." She was seized with the need to get out of this cottage and into the woods, so that she could warn Wolf.
Grandmother's eyes went wide and startled. "Krasnaya—" she began, but Krasnaya had already put up the hood of her red cloak and fled through the door of the cottage and back to the path. Grandmother shouted her name as she left, but she didn't look back. She didn't want to see the huntsman with his axe and his smiling mouth, and she didn't want to see Grandmother's worry and disappointment.
She only wanted to see Wolf.
Krasnaya searched for Wolf the entire way home, but there were no signs of him. When she reached the grapevines that marked the border of her home, she turned back into the woods. "Wolf?" she called. "Wolf, I need you! Are you there?"
But he did not come, and the terror grew in Krasnaya's heart. She paced back and forth on the path, frantic to find Wolf. She'd never gone off the path to his lair on her own before. She always rode on his back. She knew the woods well, and she knew the direction his lair was in, but going there on her own...
She cast a worried look up at the sky. The sun sat low in the west, fat and orange. It would dip below the horizon soon. Krasnaya had no idea how long it would take her to get to Wolf's lair, but probably longer than it would take the sun to set. That would put her deep in the woods after nightfall, and if she couldn't find Wolf, she would be there alone.
The huntsman would be in the woods too, she thought. He'd have his great silver axe, and he'd be searching for Wolf, just like Krasnaya would. And if he found Wolf first...
Krasnaya put her hands over her mouth to hold back a whimper. She wished Wolf were here. He always made her feel safe. But he was nowhere to be found, and there was a huntsman after him, and—she had no choice. She had to go and find him. Even though she was alone and even though she would be in the woods after dark, she had to find him. He would do the same for her; she was sure of it.
And so Krasnaya stepped from the path and headed into the east, away from the setting sun and away from the path and her home. She tore her way through bramble bushes and climbed over fallen tree trunks, catching her dress on thorns and nearly losing her shoe in sucking ooze. Before she knew it, the sun was sinking below the horizon, and the forest seemed suddenly dark and ominous, the trees no longer friendly, the brambles reaching out to grab at her.
"Wolf," she said in a trembling voice. "Please be all right."
She heard a low growl from behind her, and for a moment her heart lifted with hope, but just as quickly she realized that that was not Wolf. That was not his pleased growl of seeing Krasnaya. That was something else, something vicious and angry.
Another growl came from the side, and another. Krasnaya froze in place and turned her head very, very slowly to see two pairs of yellow eyes gleaming at her from the overgrown brush. She turned her head to the other side, and there were three more. Five wolves. Real wolves, not her Wolf.
Krasnaya frantically thought through everything she'd been taught about wolves. Never look them in the eye. Never leave the path. If a wolf finds you, run as fast as you can in the opposite direction.
But Krasnaya couldn't run as fast as she could, because she was deep in the forest surrounded by thick brush and brambles. And she didn't think it would much matter whether she looked into their eyes or not. There were five wolves, and they had her surrounded. Her only hope, she thought, was to perhaps go up a tree. She was good at climbing, and she didn't think that wolves were. There was a good-sized oak just a little ways away.
The snarling got louder, and the eyes closed in, and Krasnaya knew that she was out of time. She had to move now or not at all. She took in a deep breath and stiffened her spine, and then she broke into a hard run towards that tree. The wolves snarled and gnashed their teeth, snapping at her heels as they chased her.
Krasnaya reached the tree and leapt for a low branch, but before she could swing her legs up onto it, one of the wolves caught her ankle in its muzzle. Bright pain flared from where his teeth had sunk into her, and she screamed, kicking her other leg and trying to scare off the other wolves. "Get away!" she shouted, "leave me alone!" But that only emboldened the wolves. Krasnaya was strong, but her grip was slipping. She knew that if she fell, she would not survive the attack, but she couldn't hold on with a wolf biting at her leg.
And then a deafening roar sounded through the forest, like rolling thunder. As one, the five wolves turned their heads toward this new threat, and Krasnaya took advantage of the distraction to scramble up onto the branch. She hugged the tree branch, trembling. She knew that roar.
"Wolf," she whispered. He barreled into the center of the wolf pack, grabbing one by the throat and shaking it like a rag doll. Blood sprayed everywhere, but there were still four wolves to deal with, and they went on the attack. Two of them snapped and nipped at Wolf's throat, and the other two sank their teeth into Wolf's haunches. He roared and swiped with his claws, but even though he was more than twice their size, there were four of them and only one of Wolf. Krasnaya's vision blurred with tears. She didn't want to watch, but she was afraid to look away. Wolf fought so powerfully and fiercely. One by one, the other wolves fell to his teeth and claws, but he paid a price for it, his fur matted with blood.
When only one wolf was left, it ran off, lamed and whining. Krasnaya shimmied down from the tree and limped over to where Wolf had fallen, lying on the ground with his eyes closed, panting for breath. She threw her arms around him, his blood smearing across her clothes. "Wolf," she cried into his fur, "you have to be all right. Please, Wolf. Please."
He rumbled, low in his chest, and turned to lick her face. Krasnaya laughed, tears still running down her face, because if Wolf could lick her face, then he was still alive and with her. "You're bleeding so much," she said into his fur, clutching at him with both hands. He lifted his snout, scenting at the air, and then he rose to his feet, a little unsteady but still standing. He nosed at Krasnaya's wounded ankle. Her sock and shoe were both shredded, soaked with blood. "Oh," she said faintly, "I guess I am too."
Wolf knelt at her side, going down to all fours just the way he always did when he wanted her to ride him. "Wolf, you're wounded," she said. But he gave her a baleful look with his golden eyes as though to say don't be ridiculous. And Krasnaya had to admit that there was no way she could get home on her own through the dark center of the forest while bleeding from a bitten ankle.
She struggled onto Wolf's back and laced her arms around him. "I thought I would die," she said into his ear. "I thought I would never see you again. I'm so sorry, Wolf. I got you hurt."
He rumbled and then set off at a lope, much slower than usual. His breathing was labored, and Krasnaya knew this was taking a lot out of him. She meant to say so and to apologize again, but it was so very hard to keep her eyes open. She would have to keep all of her concentration just on that.
The next thing she remembered was waking up in her own bed, with the sun streaming in her window.
Krasnaya looked blearily down at her bedspread, disoriented and unable to make any sense out of where she was. She remembered riding on Wolf's back. He'd been bleeding and wounded, and she'd been bleeding and wounded, and—she kicked the counterpane off and saw that her ankle was bandaged with white gauze. She moved it tentatively and winced. It hurt like the dickens.
"Krasnaya?" It was Mother, rushing in to her room and kneeling down by her bedside. "Krasnaya, you are awake! Are you all right?"
"My ankle hurts," Krasnaya said. "But I think I'm all right. How—how did I get here?" She didn't want to mention Wolf, though she was desperate to know what had happened to him.
"We found you just outside the front gate last night, bleeding from a bitten ankle. You weren't awake, and I thought—oh, Krasnaya, I thought the worst." Mother had tears in her eyes, and Krasnaya felt terribly, terribly guilty. "The wolf had got you, but you must have gotten away somehow."
"The wolf," Krasnaya repeated. "There was a wolf?"
Mother's eyes hardened. "Was a wolf," she said. "Grandmother arrived this morning with the news. The huntsman found the wolf and killed it, and was himself nearly killed in the fight."
"Just—just one wolf?" Krasnaya asked, a cold icicle of fear stabbing into her chest. Maybe the huntsman had encountered the lamed wolf that had run away. Maybe it was just that.
Mother nodded. "A great, massive wolf, Grandmother said. There were other wolves dead as well, but the huntsman said that the Great Wolf had killed them all after attacking you. And now they are all dead," she said. "And you will not have to fear them anymore."
The world shattered into a thousand pieces around Krasnaya, leaving nothing but a great, black void that she was falling into, falling and falling.
"Krasnaya?" her mother was saying from a very long distance away. "Krasnaya, are you all right?"
No, she thought, not ever again.
Krasnaya's ankle healed cleanly, and after only a couple of days, she was able to put her full weight on it again. "You're lucky," Mother said, inspecting it while changing the bandage. "It will leave only few small scars."
"Yes," Krasnaya said dully. "Very lucky."
It was odd, Krasnaya thought, how all of the color could seep out of the world, leaving it gray and lifeless. She did her chores and helped Mother with the vegetables and the laundry and the cooking, but the joy had been swept away from her life, like dust whisked out the front door.
A week after the attack, she went back to the forest, to visit Grandmother. She didn't want to, but Mother was worried about her and said it would be good for her constitution. And so Krasnaya went, missing Wolf terribly. Her feet were heavy and plodding, taking every last ounce of her energy just to pick them up and put them back down again. At Grandmother's house, she pasted a smile onto her face that she did not really feel. She thought she might never truly smile again.
At least the huntsman and his silver axe were nowhere to be found. Injured or not, if she saw him, she thought she would fly into a rage and try to tear him limb from limb with her bare hands. He had taken Wolf from her, and she would never forgive him.
"Krasnaya, you are out of sorts," Grandmother said, pressing currants into the top of her hot cross currant buns. "Is it the young man you had your eye on?"
For a moment, Krasnaya didn't know what Grandmother was talking about, but then she remembered telling her about her jealousy, pretending it was over a boy instead of over Wolf. It seemed a thousand years ago. "Yes," she said, which was almost entirely the truth. "He—he moved away. Far, far away, and I won't be able to see him again."
Grandmother paused in her work, lifting an eyebrow. "Difficult," she said. "Did you love this boy?"
Krasnaya swallowed hard. "Yes," she said, and humiliatingly, her eyes welled with tears.
"Oh, little Krasnaya," Grandmother said, her face falling with sympathy. "Come here, little one." She held her arms out, and Krasnaya went into them, pressing her face into Grandmother's shoulder and weeping as she hadn't allowed herself to do since hearing of Wolf's death. "It is a hardship when something like that happens, especially when you are young. But I will tell you a secret now." Grandmother patted Krasnaya's hair. "And that is that true love—love written in the stars—will always find a way."
"I don't think it can this time," Krasnaya sobbed.
"Always," Grandmother said firmly. "No exceptions. If this love is meant to be, then you will find each other again. Mark my words."
Krasnaya thought, maybe in the next life, and she cried more, until she had no more tears left in her, and Grandmother gave her a handkerchief so that she could blow her nose.
"There," Grandmother said. "Don't you feel better, having got that out of you? Sometimes the worst sorts of feelings can set up house in our hearts, and if you don't let them out, they get bigger and bigger until they can eat you up from the inside out."
Krasnaya sniffled. "A little better," she said. "Thank you, Grandmother."
"Love is difficult," Grandmother said, with a faraway look in her eye. "The most difficult thing in the world. That's why there are so many poems about it. Now, hand me the currants; these buns are going to over-proof if we're not careful."
A few days later, Mother told Krasnaya that there was a message from Grandmother. She'd been called away on wise woman business—Martja in the village was having another baby, and this one was difficult—and needed Krasnaya to come and feed the chickens for a few days. Krasnaya had done this before and didn't mind it, and besides, it would give her some time to be alone with her own thoughts, instead of having to pretend to Mother and Father that everything was normal. So without complaint, she packed up her little bag with a few changes of clothes, and she set off for Grandmother's house.
The walk through the woods was miserable. She hoped that someday she'd be able to enjoy it again, but that time seemed very far off. She had thought about trying to find Wolf's lair on her own, but even if it weren't dangerous to go off in the woods alone—which it was, and she had the scars to prove it—she didn't think she could bear to see Wolf's lair without Wolf in it.
When she arrived at Grandmother's house, the front door stood half-open, which was very odd. Krasnaya frowned. She wondered if perhaps Grandmother had come back early from wise woman business. (Krasnaya hoped not, as that would bode poorly for Martja's baby.) Grandmother couldn't have forgotten to close her front door; that would be like the sun forgetting to come up in the east one morning.
Krasnaya pushed the door the rest of the way open and stuck her head in. "Grandmother?" she called. "Are you home?"
There was a familiar whuff, and Krasnaya dropped her bag, her fingers nerveless with shock. There, standing right next to Grandmother's table, was...was...
"It can't be," Krasnaya whispered, but hope radiated from her poor broken heart like the sun coming out after a terrible storm.
Wolf whuffed again, his yellow eyes gleaming. With tears streaming down her face, Krasnaya went to throw her arms around him, but before she got there, Wolf...changed. His edges went all blurry, and she pulled back, startled.
Before her eyes, Wolf shifted and stretched, his fur receding and his limbs lengthening, until at last, what stood before her was a man. A tall, broad man, completely bare, with sea-green eyes and a mouth that curled into a half-smile. A man whose face she knew.
Krasnaya's mouth hung open, and for a moment, everything stopped. Her mind, her breath, the entire world—everything.
"You're the huntsman," she whispered, her eyes wide.
"Yes," he said.
"And you're—you're Wolf?"
He nodded.
Krasnaya took a tentative step towards him. She placed a hand on his chest, feeling it hard and warm beneath her fingers. She felt his heartbeat, strong and rhythmic and...and familiar. She looked up at him sharply, her mouth trembling. And then she pressed her face into his chest, breathing deep, and she was surrounded by the earthy, forest-green scent of her Wolf. She threw her arms around his chest, squeezing him tightly.
"You are him," she cried. "You're Wolf. You have his smell and his heartbeat and—oh—Wolf, I thought I'd never see you again."
"I am him," the man said, drawing her close.
Krasnaya held him tightly, not caring that she was clinging onto a naked man. It was her Wolf, and she would not let him go. "I thought you were dead," she breathed into his chest. His familiar scent was intoxicating. She'd missed him so badly, and now not only was he here, but he was a man. Krasnaya was a very capable girl, but this was almost too much for her to cope with.
She looked up into his eyes. "Where have you been?" she asked. "Why didn't you tell me? It's been so awful."
His broad hands rested on her back, heavy and comforting. "I am sorry," he said. "I would have come to you sooner, were I able. But I was injured in the fight. I heal quickly, but the injuries were grave."
Krasnaya clung to him, feeling his heart beat in his chest. "But you are all right now?" she asked.
"I am," he said. He stroked her hair, petting her as she had done to him so many times before.
Krasnaya breathed out, and it was like exhaling all of her fear and grief and pain away, letting it dissolve into the air. "I'm glad," she said. She lifted her head to meet his eyes. "I love you," she said.
Wolf's eyes closed briefly, like he was savoring a fine meal. "And I you," he said, stroking Krasnaya's cheek. "I have loved you since the day you reached your hand out to me without fear."
"All that time," Krasnaya whispered, "and you never said. I thought you were a wolf."
"I am a wolf," he said. "But I am also a man. And you were young. Too young to see me as a man."
Wolf was hard and stiff where he pressed against her. Krasnaya's mother had given her a practical education, and she knew what it meant for a man to be hard. A thrill twisted all through her, making her bold. "I was too young for this?" she whispered, wrapping her fingers carefully around his hard length. The skin was softer than she'd have thought, like velvet wrapped around iron.
His eyes flared gold and inhuman. "Yes," he said in a low growl.
"But not now?" She squeezed gently, and the way he hissed with pleasure made her shiver.
"Not now," he said. He wrapped his large, broad hand around the back of her neck. "May I kiss you, sweet Krasnaya?" he asked, fixing her with a golden stare. It was the first time her Wolf had said her name, and Krasnaya thought she might die of happiness.
"Oh yes," she breathed, "oh please." She slid her arms around his neck, and he leaned down to kiss her, his mouth hot and hungry on hers. He smelled so good, so strong and vivid and alive.
"You smell like the forest," she told him when he finally pulled away.
He nuzzled into her neck. "You smell like Krasnaya," he said. "I've wanted to taste you for so long." He licked at her throat. And that—that mention of tasting—reminded Krasnaya of something the huntsman had said to Grandmother once.
"You said," she managed, her hands finding their way into Wolf's messy brown hair while he kissed and nuzzled every inch of her skin that he could reach, "that a wolf could—could mark me."
"Mm-hm," he agreed.
"Have you?" she asked. "Have you marked me?"
He looked at her, his eyes molten gold. "Not yet," he said.
Krasnaya's mouth parted. Heat sat low and heavy in her belly. "But you will," she said.
"Yes," he growled, sounding very much like his wolf-self. "But not here."
Krasnaya, half-dazed, realized that they were still standing in her Grandmother's kitchen, with the door hanging wide open.
"Your grandmother is attending to wise woman business," Wolf told her. "But she may return at any time. Will you come with me?"
Krasnaya pressed her lips to his throat, exulting in his familiar scent and taste. "Yes," she said. "I would go with you anywhere."
He took a step back from her and then he shifted and blurred again, transforming back into her familiar Wolf. He nipped at her, dragging her to the front door, and Krasnaya barely had time to close and latch it before he was urging her onto his back. She gripped his flanks between her knees as she'd done so many times before, and soon they were flying faster than Wolf had ever flown, Krasnaya's hair coming loose around her braid, the branches and brambles whipping past in a blur.
"I missed you so much," she said into Wolf's ear as he ran, his muscles powerful and strong beneath her body. "I need you, Wolf. I love you."
When they arrived at Great Grandfather Oak—for of course, there was nowhere else that Wolf would have taken her—he remained a wolf while they made their way through the tunnel that led to his lair. Only when they were both inside, safe and dark and cozy in a place she thought she'd never get to see again, did he transform back into a man. He laid atop her, pressing her down into the moss in the dark, his body a long, hard line atop hers.
"I do have a cottage where I live as a man," he said, mouthing and licking at her neck. "But I wanted to bring you here."
"I'm glad you did," Krasnaya said, half-delirious. The feel of his tongue on her skin was familiar, and in the dark it was almost as though he was his wolf-self. "I love it here," she said. "I've always loved it here."
"I know," he murmured into her ear. "I can smell it on you. I brought you here the first time because I had to get your scent into my home. Needed it. Couldn't stand not having you here anymore."
"I can't believe you're alive," Krasnaya sighed, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. "When Mother told me—" Her voice broke, and she clutched at him tightly. "It was very bad," she said.
He pressed his forehead gently against hers. "I am sorry," he said. "I had become careless in my desire to spend time with you. Too many people had glimpsed me or seen my tracks. And when you were attacked...it was the perfect opportunity for the Huntsman to slay the big, bad wolf and tell the villagers that they were safe."
She buried her face in his neck. "I suppose it makes sense," she said, muffled against his skin. "I always knew you were a very clever wolf."
"I revealed myself to you as soon as I could," he said. "If I had not been injured, it would have been sooner. I hoped you would not run from me."
Krasnaya frowned, meeting his golden eyes that gleamed in the darkness. "Did you honestly think I would?" she demanded.
He laughed. "No," he said. "Not my Krasnaya."
His Krasnaya. Krasnaya liked that very much. She kissed him again, touching her tongue curiously to his teeth, blunt and human. He pressed his hard length against her hip and he rumbled, a low animal growl. It seemed that some parts of the wolf were with him even in his human form. Krasnaya wondered...
"Can you show me your fangs?" she asked. "Only, I've wanted to touch them for such a long time."
His eyes darkened and he opened his mouth; his fangs lengthened, sharp and glistening. Krasnaya touched a finger to one gently; it was sharp, but not sharp enough to cut, so next she touched her tongue to it. Wolf's lips pulled back to allow her to explore; emboldened, Krasnaya licked at the spot where his fangs receded into his gums, tracing her tongue all along it. Wolf snarled, his fingers closing tightly around the back of her neck.
"Fearless little thing," he growled.
Krasnaya wrapped one of her legs around his, scratching her hands into the scruff at the nape of his neck just as she had when he was a wolf. "Is that how you'll mark me?" she asked, breathless. "With your fangs?"
"Yes," he said, the word thick around his mouthful of sharp teeth. "But if I do it, you'll be mine."
"I'm already yours," she said. "You told me your intentions long ago." His eyes flashed, and he leaned down to lick a long stripe across her breastbone. He wanted to get at more of her skin, Krasnaya knew. He was hungry for it. She started unbuttoning her dress, and he sucked in air sharply.
"Mine for always," he said, as she wriggled out of her dress beneath him. "No one else, ever." He dragged the flat of his tongue over her breast, laving at her nipple. Krasnaya's back arched, a hot, electric shiver going straight down her spine.
"You shouldn't say yes yet," he said. "You didn't even know I was a man before today."
His words said that she should be cautious, but his actions said something entirely different. He was mouthing and licking and suckling at every inch of her that he could get to, and he was so hard where he pressed against her. A constant, low rumbling sound came deep from his chest. My Wolf, Krasnaya thought, remembering that this man pressing her down into the soft, warm earth was the same as her best friend and companion.
"I already knew I would spend my life with you," she said. "There was never going to be anyone else, even when you were just a wolf. Is this your way of proposing to me? I am saying yes. Yes, Wolf. Here are my intentions: I want you for all my days, so bite me or mark me or do whatever you like, because I am saying yes."
His eyes glowed yellow, and he traced his sharp fangs along her collarbone, dragging them gently up to her throat. "You come willingly to a wolf's lair," he growled, "and you beg him for his mark."
"Yes," she gasped, wrapping her legs around him. He shifted, and his hard, thick length pressed between her thighs, nudging against her where she was wet and hot and open for him. "Yes, I did," she said. "I did, I am. Please."
"Then that is what you shall have," he said, and he entered her in one long, smooth thrust. She gasped and grabbed on to him tightly, burying her nose in the hollow of his neck to breathe him in. His body was broad and powerful, his muscles flexing beneath her hands. She sucked at his neck with open mouth, laving it with her tongue.
"Krasnaya," he hissed. He was so big inside her that it made it difficult to think. She scraped her teeth against the sensitive skin of his throat, and he shuddered.
I could mark him, she thought. The idea arrived in her head fully-formed, as though someone had wrapped it up like a gift and delivered it to her. And as soon as she thought of it, she had to do it. She licked at the spot where his shoulder met his neck, taking up the scent of his musk and his sweat, and then she rested her teeth against it, her mouth wide and open.
Wolf made a high, whining noise, and he bucked his hips into her, frantic and out of rhythm. She took a deep breath, and then she bit down hard, just as hard as she could. Salt and copper flooded her mouth. Wolf stiffened, threw back his head, and howled, a true wolf's howl that reverberated through the lair and shook the roots of Old Grandfather Oak.
"Mine," she hissed into his throat, because he was, he was hers, and no one else could have him ever.
His fangs glistened long and sharp and his eyes glowed yellow above her. She licked her lips, tasting his blood there. He was thick and big inside her, his hips working ceaselessly, his weight pinning her. Krasnaya instinctively arched her back, letting her head fall backwards, presenting her throat to him. His fingers dug into her shoulders. A drop of saliva gleamed at the end of his fang, and he snarled.
"Wolf," she breathed.
And then, with a lupine roar, he buried his fangs in her shoulder, just where it met her neck, exactly where she'd done it to him. Hot, sharp pain radiated out from the wound, blooming like flowers opening to the sun. His hips worked hard and fast, and the pain and pleasure all swirled together inside her to make something bigger and more powerful than she was able to contain. She clutched at Wolf's back, gasping.
He pulled his fangs out, dripping with her blood, smearing it between her chest and his with each of his powerful thrusts.
"Krasnaya," he gasped. "Mine. My Krasnaya." He licked at her wound, laving his tongue over it, and it felt so unspeakably good that all she could do was cry out, helpless while waves of pleasure spilled through her. Wolf held her tight, thrusting himself into her while he filled her.
I love this, Krasnaya thought feverishly. I love him. "Wolf," she managed, while he held her and rocked into her, his heart pounding so that it felt as though it were inside her own chest, "love you. So much."
After, he laid atop her while his heart slowed and his breathing returned to normal. Krasnaya petted his hair and stroked his back. "I meant to wait another year," he said, muffled into her throat. "But I couldn't. Couldn't wait any longer."
"Good," Krasnaya said. "I would have been very cross if you had."
He laughed, vibrating with it. "Can't have that," he said. "My fierce little wolf."
Krasnaya drifted in a pleasant daze for a while, staring up at the roots of the tree, feeling as though she might float away if Wolf weren't lying atop her to hold her down. He licked gently and carefully around the edges of her wound.
"Will yours scar?" she asked, absently scruffing his hair.
"Yes," he said. "You tore me well."
Krasnaya blushed. "I didn't meant to hurt you," she said.
He kissed her throat. "It was extraordinary," he said. "How did you know to do it?"
"It just seemed right," she said.
"It was," he said. "We're bound now. By oath and by blood. You'll be able to feel where I am at all times, and I you."
Krasnaya sighed contentedly, liking the sound of that.
"Do you have a human name?" she asked. "I suppose I should have asked that before."
He chuckled. "William," he said. "The villagers call me William."
"William," Krasnaya repeated to herself. "I think I'll still call you Wolf." She yawned. "I have so much to learn about you," she said. "I suppose we've done this in sort of a backwards order."
He rolled to his side and tucked her in against him, her back to his front. "Do you regret it?" he asked.
She giggled a little bit, snuggling against his large, warm body. "Of course not," she said. "I've been yours for ages."
They rested quietly for a while after that, while Krasnaya drifted in and out of sleep. After a while, another thought occurred to her. "Can you get me with child?" she asked curiously.
Wolf made a little growling sound and hooked a leg around her, pulling her close. "Yes," he said, "but not today. It's not the right time."
"How do you—" Krasnaya began, and then stopped. "You can smell that?" she asked.
"Mm-hm," he said, nosing against the back of her ear.
"Do you want to get me with child?" Krasnaya asked. She thought of living with Wolf in his cottage, having children running and playing in the fields and forests nearby, teaching them all about baking bread and growing vegetables. It sent a happy shiver all through her. Yes, she decided. She wanted that.
"Yes," Wolf said. "If it's what you want. I would like it very much, I think."
Krasnaya lifted his hand up to her mouth and kissed his wrist. "I as well," she said. "Although..." She paused in thought. "Would they be—I mean, would they come out like—"
Wolf laughed and kissed her head. "They would not be wolf babies, no. But they might be like me. Shifters."
Krasnaya considered that. She thought that might be quite all right as well, especially with Wolf to teach them the way of such things. "I'd like that," she said, and he growled and nipped her ear.
"If you continue to talk about swelling with my child, you'll rouse me again," he said into her ear.
"Oh, well, I can't have that," Krasnaya said teasingly. "I'll have to talk instead about how you've left a mark where it can just be seen peeking out of the collar of my dress, so that everyone who sees me will see that I've been marked by a wolf. What has that girl been doing, they'll wonder, that she's got a wolf's mark on her. And look, his teeth must be so sharp and long, because—"
Wolf growled, rolling over and pinning her beneath him. "Little fox," he said.
Krasnaya blinked her eyes prettily at her Wolf. "Are you roused again yet?" she asked.
He was, as he then demonstrated, quite thoroughly and to Krasnaya's great satisfaction.
Krasnaya's wedding to the Huntsman was attended by nearly every person in the entire village and many people not even from the village. The gifts were piled high, as a sign of the villagers' gratitude to the Huntsman for defending them from the Great Wolf.
The Wolf himself was resplendent in his wedding suit, which had been hand-sewn for him by the village tailor in exchange for a month's supply of Grandmother's famous rosemary rolls. Krasnaya's mother had made her dress, which was white and shimmery and flowed around her hips and legs like a dandelion losing its seeds in the breeze. Her hair was woven through with violets and heliotropes from the woods.
Krasnaya had insisted to her mother that her dress have a low, scooped-out neckline. "But Krasnaya, then the scar from your attack will be visible," her mother had said.
"All the better," Krasnaya said, "so that everyone can remember what Wol—William saved me from." It was lucky, Krasnaya thought, that Wolf's human name was William, as the similar beginnings covered her occasional slip-ups.
Krasnaya's mother frowned, thoughtful. "Well," she said, "I suppose if it's what you want."
When Krasnaya took Wolf's hands in her own beneath the wedding bower, his eyes drifted to the mark on her shoulder, and his eyes gleamed. Krasnaya gave him a small, secret smile. Yes, she thought, it was exactly what she wanted.
After the ceremony, when everyone was drinking and dancing and celebrating, Krasnaya sat sideways on Wolf's lap at their table, greeting everyone who came by. Music floated past; Jacey the blacksmith and his two daughters had brought their horn and fiddle and tambor. Young Anders from the village invited Grandmother to dance, and it turned out that Grandmother was surprisingly spry, so everyone watched and clapped as they did their turns around the grassy meadow serving as the dance floor.
Afterward, Anders bowed formally to Grandmother, and she dropped a curtsy, to great merriment and cheering. She made her way back to Krasnaya and Wolf's table, patting her hair back into place.
"Goodness," she said, "I haven't done a turn like that since...well, since my hair was the same color as yours, Krasnaya." She eyed the two of them with satisfaction. "You know," she said, "we really have the Great Wolf to thank for all of this."
Krasnaya's eyebrows shot up, and Wolf stifled a laugh behind her. "Do we?" Krasnaya asked.
"Of course, girl," Grandmother said, giving her an odd look. "If not for the Great Wolf, the two of you would never have met, and then where would you be?"
"Nowhere good," Krasnaya said decisively. Wolf's arm curled more tightly around her waist.
"Exactly," Grandmother said with a firm nod. "Ah, Krasnaya, it's just as well you found a huntsman for yourself. You have never feared wolves as you should."
Krasnaya smiled up into the eyes of her Wolf, her protector, her husband, her love. His eyes flashed yellow, just for the tiniest of split seconds, and it sent a thrill all through her, thinking about the flower-bedecked lair waiting for them beneath the oak tree that night.
"No," Krasnaya said with a smile just for him, "and I don't suppose I ever will."