Chapter 6: The Transformation

Chapter 6: The Transformation

When Amanda woke that morning, the world outside her window was blindingly white. Despite her unease the night before, the sight filled her with a sort of childlike glee; like she was five again, and waking up on Christmas morning to find that overnight, the world had been frosted over like a birthday cake, eagerly awaiting the arrival of snow angels and snowmen. After showering and getting dressed, she hurried downstairs and laughed at the sight of snow piled up against the backdoor, all the way up to her hips. While the snow had been present since her arrival, it had not stormed like this just yet, and certainly not so much. It felt magical, somehow.

She merrily started a fire in the hearth and took her breakfast sitting down on the rug in front of the fireplace, watching the flames dance and crackle along the backs of the logs inside. She needed to check to make sure the well-house heater was still going strong so the lines didn’t freeze, but other than that, the day was wide open with potential for a great day of painting.

She decided to put off the trip outside for just a bit and started painting. A scene for the end when Little Red was back with her family, safe and sound, the three of them laughing as they built a little snow-person adorned with Little Red’s signature cape. Happy endings were key.

By the time lunch came and went, she knew she’d put off her trip to the well-house long enough and suited up for the cold. With the gun and can of bear spray at her ready, she braved the front door, kicking down a wall of snow in order to make it outside.

The chill was sharp and bit at her exposed face, but after sitting in front of the fire so long, it was refreshing. Amanda trudged up to the well-house and, after a brief tug-of-war with the frozen door, checked to make sure that all was well. The heater was fine, and the pump was still going, so she quickly closed the well-house back up and turned to follow her trench through the snow back home.

There was a dot of red breaking up the landscape against the side of the house.

She narrowed her eyes against the glare of the sun rebounding from the snow, head tilted to the side. “What…”

It was the wolf.

Amanda pressed back against the door, adrenalin racing through her body. Why was he back? And furthermore, why was he covered in blood?

Her first thought was the gunshot that she’d heard the night before. What if he had killed another hunter, and now he was slinking back to her like she was some sort of accomplice? Oh, Jesus, she was going to jail. She never should have fed him.

The wolf lifted his head, weary. He tried to stand, startling Amanda backward, but his legs shook and gave out from underneath him. He landed hard in the snow, sending a shower of it raining down around him, his head flopping gracelessly to the side.

That wasn’t a hunter’s blood on him. It was his.

Calling herself every iteration of stupid, Amanda crept forward a few steps. The wolf managed to turn his head to watch her but didn’t growl. His golden eyes bored into her, almost seeming… resigned.

She got close enough that if she’d had the mind to, she could reach out and touch him. There was blood leaking sluggishly from his shoulder, where an entry and exit wound carved up the muscle of his leg. She put a hand to her mouth, feeling her eyes water. It had to be agonizing.

“You got shot,” she said nonsensically. “And you’ve been out here all night. Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

What the h*ll was she supposed to do? She looked down at the gun hanging limp at her side. Was she… was she supposed to put it out of its misery? The very idea horrified her; she knew she couldn’t do it, even if it was the right thing to do. And if she called any sort of vet, he’d definitely be put down for being dangerous.

Oh, but his pups. Where were they? Surely they hadn’t been killed. She’d only heard one shot, after all. They had to be safe.

She sank to her knees, just out of reach. “Oh, your babies… Where are your babies?”

A low ‘wuff’ sounded from his throat.

“I don’t know how to help you,” she said. She bit at her lip. “Or even if I should.”

Was she crazy, getting this close to a dangerous, wounded animal? And talking to it? But she couldn’t just leave him, he’d saved her life. She really hadn’t had time to process it before, but it was the truth; the gray wolf would have killed her if he hadn’t swooped in and rescued her. Didn’t she owe him for that much at least?

His eyes bored into her, rich with intelligence. Maybe he knew she was safe. Maybe he really had come back to her, not just the area, somehow aware that she would want to help him.

But she risked losing a hand if she were to so much as touch him. God, what to do?

“Stay… stay here,” she said and clamored to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”

She ran back into the house, not even bothering to take her shoes off as she rushed into the kitchen, where the first aid kit was sitting. She threw it open and stared inside. She had no medical background whatsoever; she had never even needed something as simple as stitches before. Half the things in the kit were completely alien to her, and how was she to know if she could even use human medicine on a wolf?

She slammed the kit closed in frustration and grabbed a dishcloth, holding it under the kitchen sink until the water grew too hot to comfortably touch. With that in hand, she journeyed back outside, forgoing the rifle for the moment, but still armed with bear spray at the very least.

The white wolf was right where she’d left him, miserably bleeding into the snow. She stood over him, watching his eye crack open to watch her tiredly.

She dropped the hot rag on his shoulder and danced back a step in case he tried to snap at her. He didn’t, just looked from the dishcloth to her, and then laid his head back on the ground, closing his eyes again.

Tears sprang to Amanda’s eyes. What the h*ll was a hot washrag going to do? Frustrated with herself, she fell back to her knees, tears coursing down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she blubbered. “I don’t know how to help you. I’m so sorry.”

He watched her, ears twitching every time she sobbed.

“Everything has just been so awful,” she cried. “That wolf attacked me and then, then there was that man yelling at me and now you’re hurt, and if you die who’s gonna take care of your pups? And you saved me and I can’t even do anything to help you because I’m stupid and I don’t know anything about, about first-aid or wolves or, or anything, all I can do is paint and, and you can’t heal anything with paint!”

He whined, softly.

“Oh, God, and I’m crying about my problems and–and you’re the one who’s hurt.” She sucked in a shuddering breath. “If you were a person I could help you. But. I just don’t know what to do. I’m so, so sorry.”

He let out a long breath. Suddenly, his body started to shake, almost convulsing. Amanda scrambled to her feet with a yelp, gripping her arms. Was he having a seizure? She couldn’t handle a bullet wound, let alone a seizure. She stumbled back a few steps, completely at a loss as the wolf’s body heaved.

Something was happening. His back legs kicked out, seeming almost to grow longer, thicker. His fur was receding rapidly, his torso shrinking, face morphing. Amanda watched in utter bafflement as right before her eyes, the wolf transformed, inch by inch, until suddenly there was no wolf. Only a man, laying naked in the snow, his shoulder bleeding with renewed vigor.

The man twisted, long strands of beautiful white hair pulling back to reveal a handsome, chiseled face. A very familiar handsome, chiseled face.

“Hey sweetheart,” he muttered, gruffly.

And with that, he passed out.