8

Sylvie didn't know what to say. No one had taught her how to speak with a man about these things. She had been promised she would not be touched, not until she was ready.

He gently caressed her face. "Soft, like a flower. Let's touch your other parts." He chuckled.

She closed her eyes then whispered, "Please."

He ignored her plea and slid her down to the hay-filled ground. He was already undoing his trousers. When she saw that she bucked and kicked. He slapped her hard across her face. She felt disoriented as she tasted her own blood in her mouth.

She heard him his warped voice speaking. "Where do you think you're going! You ain't going nowhere! I saw the way you was looking at me at Bouvier's."

Sylvie was confused. She wasn't giving anyone that impression tonight, especially him. What was wrong with this man? He made quick work of removing her trousers. She laid their motionless while her tears silently fell.

He touched her bare thighs then his hands slowly climbing. She wished her life could be different. She wished somebody, anybody would save her. He was forcing his mouth on hers when she heard a growl. At first, she thought it was from him.

Then she heard it continue. She knew it was someone else. Something was inside of the stable with them. The growl grew louder and the man stopped his assault on Sylvie only to come face to face with a black wolf. The wolf reacted with lightning speed and using the element of surprise caught the man by his throat.

Sylvie heard a weird gurgle then a gasp. She knew her assailant had been killed by the wolf. Would she be next?

Sylvie quickly sat upright and crawled to the opposite wall of the small stall.

Sylvie quickly sat upright and crawled to the opposite wall of the small stall. Once the big man's body stopped twitching the wolf let go of his throat. Sylvie watched as the Black Wolf licked its chops. It's snout was covered in the man's blood. Sylvie felt her heart pounding as if it would jump out of her chest.

She saw the bright, red blood of her assailant slowly start pooling around his head. Forgetting completely about the wolf she quickly grabbed her trousers from the floor and held them close to her chest, in shock at the events that just occured. The hay was doing its best to contain the blood. Thank you. She whispered to the wolf.

He looked at her with beautiful golden eyes, and then he half limped, half ran away Sylvie put her trousers back on. Her hands were shaking fiercely as she did the task tonight had been overly eventful. She didn't know how much more she could take.

"Beo!" She heard a woman's baritone voice call out into the distance. "Beo!" She was getting closer.

Sylvie knew she couldn't be found here. She stepped over the body, then grabbed her brown satchel, as well as her jacket and boots. With her arms full, she quickly and quietly snuck out of the stable. She hid behind it. The shingles on the roof kept kept her dry.

"Amaruq ! Beowulf is dead !" She heard her run out of the stables, and Sylvie slipped on her jacket and boots, then ran towards the woods.

The rain hadn't let up. Every few minutes lightning would light up the night sky and help her navigate better through the forest. She finally made it to a small clearing with an overrun small house.

"Home." Sylvie said. She ran the rest of the way. Once there she walked up the rickety stairs of the porch. Then opened the front door. The rusty hinges announced her presence.

She could see nothing. She had no dry kindling. She would definitely freeze tonight, she thought. That thought made her recall winter nights where she was alone. Her mother was at the Brothel.

She would work wherever they let her and that happened to be with the flower cart Lady. She would pay her in a loaf of bread a day for delivering flowers to her local customers. At night she would snuggle up to the horses for warmth. There was none here, just her. She crouched down in the nearest corner.

Her knees, were against her chest. She wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged herself. She was alone once more. Loneliness seemed to be her only companion. She was thankful to the dog that had saved her.

It had looked like a wolf but Sylvie knew no wolves dwelled on his island. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her. She had been through quite a lot. She closed her eyes and listened to the calming sound of the rain as it fell in the forest. She didn't know if she would see her mother again.

She had to find her at all costs as much trouble as Amaruq cause no one knew where he and his crew dwelled on this island, which only fueled the Lycanthrope/ Shape shifter rumors. Rumors had it that he and his gang were said to shape shift into wolves and run free and wild late at night until the sun rose. No one had spotted a wolf on this island, and the last time they did it was well before she and her mother had gotten here. It was highly unlikely. A cool breeze blew through the glassless windows, making Sylvie shiver.

She was freezing. Her hands and feet felt like ice. She rested her forehead on her knees and before she could count to 10, she was fast asleep...

Slyvie snuggled closer to the warmth she felt permeating her sleep. Even in her dream she couldn't stop the chill of the cool wind in her bones, but now she was warm. She wanted to sleep more, but the curiosity of where the warmth was coming from got the better of her. She opened her eyes and stretched. Her back was still pressed up against the corner.

It was early in the morning. Gray and dreary. The rain was a fine mist. She yawned, then noticed something heavy and warm was directly resting on her feet. She looked down to see it was the black Wolf from last night.

He was real, she thought. His back was to her and she could tell the canine was still asleep. Looking at the wolves brought back memories of what happened last night. They had been amazing and terrible. Amaruq and his trouble.

She still couldn't believe he had set fire to Madame Bouvier's establishment. It was something she had secretly wanted to do for a while. She had always been terrified to do it. Not Amaruq and his gang though. The one they called Beowulf had been terrifying.

She gingerly pet the wolf's soft fur. When she got to his leg it whimpered. She saw the deep cut on it then. It had stopped bleeding because the hair was caked with blood and stuck to the wound. She was about to touch it when she heard a warning growl. She looked up to see its yellow eyes looking at hers.

""Sorry," she said to the wolf.

He stopped baring his teeth, and lay back down. Sylvie uncrossed her legs and stood up to stretch. The cool, crisp morning air fully awakening her. The wolf didn't move. He was still sleeping. While standing, she was able to get a better view of it.

Its front was still covered in blood. It was dried and almost blended in with its dark coat. She noticed the red paw prints on the dusty wood floor along with her own. How did it know she was here? She wondered. She had been careful.

She had seen it leave out of the stable before her. She shivered. Her coat wasn't thick enough today. She was happy she had escaped and was at her home. It had been so long since she had been here.

It was daytime now. She assessed her old living quarters. It looked almost the same. The same white walls with the dark wood trim. In the center of the small home sat a small, black potbelly stove in the center.

No fireplace or water closet. Just a one room home. The windows were all broken. She wondered if time had done that, or some ruffians in the woods. She looked out of the window then. The quiet beauty of the forest greeted her.

The gray sky background made the yellow and orange foliage look more vibrant and alive. Sylvie could not explain it. She just felt safe here. Would anyone come looking for her? She wondered, as she began pacing to keep from freezing to death.

Madam Bouvier hadn't looked like she was going to stay in town. She knew very few people knew about this place. One of them had been her mother. She had told her she had paid this off, and it was theirs. That meant no one would bother her...