Content note. This is dark fiction for adult readers. Red and Her Wolf opens on a young man escaping sexual exploitation, and it does not look away: coerced sex, physical and sexual abuse, graphic violence, gore, body horror, and a curse that rewrites a body against its will. Tristan is twenty, and every character on the page is an adult. If those are your woods, come in.

Everyone knows this fairytale. A red hood, a wolf, a road through the woods. They got it backwards.

In the Deep Woods the thing in red is the one doing the hunting, and the ruined, beautiful boy bleeding into her forest is the one thing she has not decided to kill yet. New chapter every Saturday. Nothing here will ever be locked.

Chapter One

The Deep Woods

NO ONE GOES into the Deep Woods.

Into the dark and rot.

Only whispers are heard in the Deep Woods.

The birds stop singing once in the Deep Woods.

The sun cannot shine through the canopy.

Any creature that enters never returns

Once they are in the Deep Woods.

Deer fleeing from hunters

And the hunters that chase become ghosts

Never to escape the Deep Woods.

Only a monster lives in the Deep Woods.

A monster shrouded in the crimson blood

Of all the others who dared enter

The home called the Deep Woods…

Chapter Two

The Boy

FREEDOM.

OR DEATH.

Those were the only choices he had.

Freedom.

Or death.

These were the only choices given to a paltry young man who only owned a name. He was only allowed a name. Everything else was taken either by the lodge keeper or his mother.

Including his body.

He inherited his mother’s beauty, and it was a curse.

It cursed him into a life of bruises on his hips, a walk hampered by a permanent limp, and sunken blue eyes surrounded by swollen red lumps, threatening to engulf his sight.

He wished his mother and his ‘clients’ would cut them out.

“Your eyes are the only thing worth something. They are blue gems, worthy of angels, yet stuck on your whorish body.”

His chuckle in response earned him a new cigar burn on his shoulder as he was forced head first onto the bed, his ass paying the price for his smart mouth.

So many nights spent in that god forsaken lodge, the rent paid with his mouth, ass or his dick. His mother trained him for this, once the townsmen tired of her haggard form and looked lasciviously onto his. Their wives, when feeling neglected and perhaps out of vengeance towards his whore mother, would also lust for his body, not giving him any respite.

Life was hell, and the townspeople were demons.

When he wasn’t locked in the room, he was out begging about town, staring longing into the baker’s shop, aching for his hands to be put into more use than hand jobs and the rare fingering. He’d daydream about the breads roughly kneaded and cakes lovingly adorned with frosting.

The head baker offered him an apprenticeship. All he had to do was give him and the missus use of his body.

The young man almost said yes… only to be dragged into an alley by the lodge-keeper and his mother, beaten until he couldn’t walk and his words became screaming, inhuman squeals.

Like a pig.

A pig on a spit with sapphire for eyes.

Freedom or Death.

Honestly?

He’d choose death.

Then he would be free.

His mouth served him well as he earned a wagon ride away from the hellish township. The bitter, vicious fluid and the pungent stench was a small price to pay, and at least it was by his choice. The full moon was the only time that wagon would leave at night, and this was the moment for his escape to come to fruition.

Though it was a tight fit and he was squished among the cargo of freshly skinned game, the fur strips kept him warm during the travel and muffled the jerking bumps of wooden wheels hitting gaps between cobblestones. The rancid stench made the contents of his stomach boil, but he could manage.

The smell was temporary. Much like the cum he had swallowed, it was at a minimal cost.

The boy remained curled in tight fetal positions, his shoulders hunched and arms tensed until the uneven cobblestone street softened into dirt. He let out a slow breath from his mouth, coughing as he gulped in meat-tasting air. He didn’t realize how long he had held his breath until he heard the splatter of mud underneath him.

He was out of that hell.

Finally.

The attack was a blessing.

It didn’t seem so at first, considering he was bleeding out in the misty forest, a horrid end to his plan towards this elusive freedom.

Yet he soon realized how much of a boon the attack turned out to be when he ran through the mist, between the blackened trees of the Deep Woods.

“We made it out of town, just like you requested, boy.”

He groaned inwardly; How ‘boy’ slithered off the wagoner’s tongue caused the skin on the back of his neck to crawl. The voice was thick and gravelly, like tar sticking to pebbles. Yet whatever the man planned for him was another tiny price. He was sure that he could outlast the balding fool, taking a mule and some furs with him. Until then, he needed to behave and bide his time. When the cargo doors open, he buried his disgust deep into his stomach, ignoring it much like he ignored the stench that surrounded him.

He slowly crawled forward, a lazy smile across his lips. It was a practiced smile of obedient compliance, the smile a disgruntled, lonely trader would enjoy. When he felt those ragged, calloused hands cup his chin, his well-trained lips parted, welcoming the sloven kiss that covered his entire mouth and sucked away his air, replacing it with the sulfuric stank of decay. His brow furrowed as his tongue, unwillingly, tasted the moldy holes along the driver’s teeth and he breathed hard through his nose.

God, he almost preferred the curdled taste of smegma to this.

He lifted his hands and pressed them carefully against the desperate man’s shoulders, about to urge him back before a sound interrupted his motions.

The sound of a butcher slicing through meat with a dulled knife. A slick tearing sound followed by the squelch and gurgling thuds of beef and pork hitting the ground.

Except it wasn’t beef or pork.

No longer did he taste decay and saliva. His mouth was filled with thick, slick liquid tasting of rusted iron and copper. He gasped and used his feet to kick the man away, hacking and vomiting blood that most definitely was not his.

He quickly wiped his mouth, his breath coming out white in the darkness. His stomach churned, and he wanted to expel every thing he had ever eaten. He covered his mouth, trying to muffle the noise and that urge as the tearing noise continued, accompanied by heaving chomps and greedy, snarling swallows.

Oh god.

Oh god oh god oh god.

Death is going to snatch him away from freedom.

Chapter Three

A Wolf

He trembled and turned his head towards where the wagoner’s body fell, bile and foreign blood aching to spew out from his throat. Tears and cold, sticky sweat cascaded down his cheeks as he took sight of a monstrous shadow on top of the driver, ripping into the fat and flesh of the corpse. The boy heaved forward, his mouth still covered by his hand as vomit dribbled between his fingers, praying that the monstrous shade was far too enamored with its meal to notice him. He gulped, swallowing the acidic contents and crouching closer to the side of the wagon.

Hands over his mouth to muffle the sound, he kicked against the side wall, hearing the wood creak and groan. The rips and tears from the monstrous shadow’s feast encouraged him to kick again, and again. Each kick was more urgent than the last. The wood splintered, then cracked. He panted against his filth soaked palms, cold sweat soaking his thin shirt as he reared his leg back and slammed the sole of his foot against the boards.

His eyes widened as he felt the cool air on his leg, relief flooding through him. He clenched his teeth, his hands moving from his mouth to take hold of the closest furs near him.

He had to run.

Limping or not, he had to try!

He took one deep breath and shuffled forward towards the light streaming from the broken boards. Before he froze.

The light was stolen from him, replaced with large yellow eyes staring at him.

He twisted his body from his back to his stomach, crawling on his forearms to reach the main exit before he screeched in agony. Teeth tore into his left foot and he was being dragged backwards towards the ravenous shadow. His greatest chance for escape turned into his tomb.

If he wasn’t filled with pain and terror, he would laugh. His miserable life will end; his body torn apart and used to satisfy the hunger of others. Tears, burning hot tears streamed from his face as he screamed, his nails tearing at the wood, strands of fur and splinters digging and burrowing into his fingers.

Freedom.

Or Death?

There was no choice left for him.

He was going to die.

“I found you.”

His throat burned raw from his screams. His ankle, flesh shredded, was released, and he curled it back towards him. He scampered towards the edge of the wagon, watching through the hole as the creature clawed at its back.

Sticking out of it was a hook, connected to a chain. The chain grew taut, and the beast was whipped back from the wagon.

The boy recalled the voice that rippled through the air. A deep alto that ended in a chuckle. His chest heaved, his breaths coming out in hard puffs as he stared transfixed on the jagged opening between the rotted boards.

The swoosh of the chain sliced through the air and the shadow screeched, its howl distorted and knocking the breath out of the boy. He watched his would be devourer launch out of view, towards its opponent before he yelped and covered his eyes with his forearms as the wagon shook with a sudden impact.

His hands moved to cover his ears, the screeching and snarling continuing, the wagon shaking at random intervals. Every time he thought about crawling towards the exit, his leg would scream at him, reminding him of his mortality. Whoever, or whatever, was outside, fighting off the beast only added to his terror.

It didn’t matter if he was alive because of their arrival.

The fact remained that his would-be-killer was scrambling away from it.

A flash of bright red, illuminated by the moonlight, darted past the hole and the creature screeched again. No longer did it seem like a fight. The thuds against the wagon decreased, and the creature sounded distant.

It was trying to run.

“I won’t let you.”

A growl underlined that voice. It rumbled and vibrated into the boy’s ears and sat heavy like a boulder. Even though it wasn’t addressing him, he felt what the meat and furs surrounding him felt like.

Prey.

This… this crimson thing hunted the monster. No, not hunting. Playing with it, like a feral cat would play with a mouse between its claws.

A whoosh sliced through the air, and the familiar distorted, high-pitched howl returned. He heard whimpers of an animal desperate to cling on life. The sound of dirt and rock being scraped from the ground reminded the boy of his torn fingertips and he closed his eyes tightly.

The creature almost ate him.

So why did he feel… sorry for it?

Loud THWACKS hacked through the air, like a woodsman chopping down a tree. However, instead of the hard thuds of wood, it was the splatter and squelches of flesh and bone punctuated each swing. The screeches and howls turned into squeals and gurgles.

Then silence.

The smashing of tenderized meat echoed the outside of the wagon.

He blinked, gasping in air. Sweat had soaked his shirt, and he was ashamed to realize that his pants were wet and stank of ammonia. He gulped heavily and shuffled to the side, whimpering as he dragged himself out of the accursed wagon. He grunted and cursed himself as he fell onto the ground, ignoring that he landed on top of the wagoner’s torn open torso.

The boy felt his stomach churn and his throat suddenly felt full of acid. He swallowed and gripped a wheel, straining to pull himself up to his feet. His left ankle screamed and his toes curled against the cold dirt, but he had to move.

He had to get out of there.

He looked up at the sky, clouds covering the moon. Good, that meant he had shadow to shield him. The problem was that he had absolutely no idea where he was.

The boy gazed at his surroundings, not noticing that the thwacking had stopped. Someone was watching him; dark rust staining the crimson shroud over their form. The ruby figure shook, a chuckle floating in the air.

A chuckle that made the boy freeze, his head slowly turning. Once he took a glance at that gleaming, pearly smile glowing underneath the hood, he took off. As fast as his poor legs could take him.

Which was not quick.

He ducked into the woods. He prayed to use the dark to his advantage.

The red shape chortled, snorting softly as he scampered away.

“You are not getting very far.”

They swung their left limb, blood coating the trunks of the tree. The light returned, illuminating the flared bearded axe head, shining silver under the moon.

“My hunt is not done.”

Red and Her Wolf stays free. All fourteen chapters, forever, no rope across the door. It is the front hall, not the whole house. Behind the Speakeasy rope: Victoria and the rest of the novels chapter by chapter months before Kindle Unlimited, the character files, the art (the tasteful kind and the other kind), and the memes I only trust the regulars with. $6.66 a month or $69 a year. Patronage, with teeth. 🐺

Chapter Four, “The Hunter,” lands next Saturday. She has already told him what she does to beasts.

If this got you, restack it or send it to the friend who likes their romance with teeth marks. That is the whole marketing budget.