"On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?" The deep voice purrs in my ear from behind me, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. Needles of dread pierce my hands and they begin to tremble, a cold sweat slickening them, letting reality slip between my fingers. I swallow, trying to relieve the tension in my throat that feels like a pair of hands, his hands, suffocating me. I press my fingernails against my palms and will my hands to stop shaking.
"Will he offer me his mouth?" I ask, my voice strong despite the pure fear coursing through my veins. I have no place to banter here. No voice to be heard. But someone will always break the silence. Someone will always toe the line.
"Yes." He says, his lips tracing the curvature of my neck, leaving a trail of kisses and internal destruction in their wake. His kisses ruin me, make me want to get down on my knees and beg for more. He ruins me. I'm an explosion waiting to happen. But destruction is a type of creation, a being born anew from the ashes of what it once was. A butterfly into a caterpillar. A beast into a prince. A monster into a monarch.
"Will he offer me his teeth?" I ask, resisting the instinctual urge to turn around and uncover the mystery of the man giving me a second chance at life.
"Yes." He murmurs, delicately replacing his lips against my neck with his teeth. He bites down gently, not hard enough to hurt but not soft enough to stop my body from reacting. My flushed palms open like he pressed a key into a lock and released all the tension throughout my body.
"Will he offer me his jaws?" I demand.
"Yes." He breathes as he moves his head right next to mine. He takes my hand and places it on his jaw. His hand slips away but mine does not. I delicately trace his sharp, angular jawline, feeling the light stubble coating his cheeks. My fingers travel down to his mouth and I take a deep breath in.
"Will he offer me his hunger?" I whisper as my hand returns to my side.
"Yes." He assures me, his voice low and sensual. But it is not enough.
"Again, will he offer me his hunger?" I say, my voice louder, more commanding.
"Yes." He growls, biting down on my earlobe. My heartbeat quickens and my jaw begins to quiver.
"And will he starve without me?" I demand, stern and authoritive.
"Yes." He snarls, his fingers pressing against my hips.
"And does he love me?"
"Yes!" He roars at me. His body suddenly jolts away from mine, taking all my inner warmth away and leaving me helpless to the sudden absence of his body, his love, him.
"Yes..." I repeat the answer that changes everything. He loves me. I whip around and squint through the darkness surrounding me, trying to distinguish his solid silhouette from amongst the opaque shadows.
"On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?" His voice echoes around the cold, dark room, consuming the silence. It feels like he is everywhere yet nowhere. It feels like he is real yet not. If feels like he loves me yet doesn't.
"Yes." I whisper, my voice as small and delicate as the last decaying petal on a dying rose.
I feel his arms wrap slowly around me from behind and his head slide over my shoulder, caressing my empty, cold body. The next words he utters stop the steady rhythm of my pounding heart.
"I bet you to say that to all the boys..."
YOU ARE READING
The Wolf with the Red Roses
Short StoryA girl who had everything to gain. A boy who had everything to lose. A fool's bargain that will change them forever. Would you give yourself to the Wolf with the Red Roses?
