Little Red

Little Red Riding Hood eventually grew up, and she is out for blood... Untill she meets Felan, the taunting werewolf that likes to linger in her dreams.
working with the wood cutter that saved her life, Scarlet will try to overcome her love for Felan, her growing sympathy for the werewolves, and to fuflill the revenge that she promised her family.

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Chapter 1


My name isn't actually Little Red. It's Scarlet.
I was almost killed when I was six years old, by a hideous beast that roams the forest at night, crying to the moon.
My dearest old grandmother wasn't as lucky as I.
Many people know my story, but not the story of when I got older. When I became more aware of these... Things that kill only at night. After I learned never to trust the wolf.
I'm Scarlet, but everybody seems to call me Red.
And this is my story.

“Red! Wake up! There's been another attack!”
I cracked an eye open to the blinding sunlight filtering through my room. Paul was standing over me, his tanned skin glowing faintly in the morning light. I groaned and pulled the sheets up over y head. “There's an attack every night, Paul.”
“But this one was in the next town! It's on the move!” His voice was urgent, filled with the desire to get moving. I sighed and pulled the covers down to look at him, right into his dark, clear eyes.
“So it will stay put for the day. It won't move again until nightfall, so we can sleep a bit longer.”
“Paul. Calm down.”
“Just come on! I was already getting started on breakfast. Yours will get cold if you don't wake soon,” he said.
“Oh, fine,” I said irritably. I sat up, drawing the blankets around my bare body. I looked around the tiny room and rubbed at an eye.
“You naked under there?” Paul asked, suddenly in no hurry to get me to the kitchen.
“What do you think? Just get out of here and let me dress.”
He grumbled as he closed the door behind him. I got out of the small pine-frame bed, sighing. Cold air stung at my skin, leaving me scrabbling for my pale green dress. I slipped it on quickly, letting it fall over my head to my ankles. I stepped over to the closet and drew out my old cloak, patched and torn and muddied as it was. It was the only thing left of my family, the thing that gave me my new name. I put it on and proceeded to brush out my long, fair golden hair.
Paul smiled brightly at me when I got to the kitchen table. I smelled the sausage cooking over the little fire, and he set a cool glass of mead in front of me.
I arched an eyebrow up at him. “Alcohol with breakfast?”
He nodded. “It's the only thing we've got left. We'll stop in the next town over and buy more supplies.”
I sighed and took a sip. It warmed my body instantly, and I felt the flush creeping up my neck and cheeks as I drank. Paul was at the other side of the table, grinning wickedly.
“No ideas,” I warned him. “Not today, not ever.”
“I believe that's my decision,” he said. “I'm the man of this party.”
I rolled my eyes. It was all talk. Even though nobody would give it a second glance if he beat me into submitting to him, he never would. He was one of the rare men that respected a woman such as I; independent and headstrong. Stubborn.
We scarfed down the spicy sausage and set out on foot. I slung my pack over my shoulder, ignoring Paul's plea to let him carry my things. We walked out of the little village.
“We need more bullets,” Paul huffed from behind me as we made our way up a steep hill.
“Why not just use the knives?” I suggested, gently fingering the hilt of the silver dagger at my belt.
“I'm not letting you close enough to grapple with one of those things,” Paul said sharply. “You can use the guns.”
“Sexist pig,” I muttered.
We walked in silence for a while. Paul kept glancing nervously up at the moon, still showing in the early morning sky.
“Don you think it will still be out?” he asked anxiously.
“We'll find out,” I answered, re-adjusting the pack on my shoulder.
We made it to the town within the hour, and Paul set off strait for the market, telling me to meet him back here in half an hour.
And so that was how I ended up at the pub...

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