The Warlock's Woman

The Wolf howled long and loud. He stood at the crest of the hill, overlooking the valley where the dense forest , the tall trees gleamed eerily in the light of the Crimson Moon. He was a large creature, streaked silver and black. His glossy body was bathed in the moonlight, and he howled again, pouring out his grief and his sorrow to the Moon.

Suddenly, a sound disturbed him; the crackling of the twigs underfoot as a little figure burst into the clearing below him suddenly. It was a young woman, little more than a teenager, crashing wildly through the trees. Her long red hair flowed out behind her like a banner, and even as far away as he was, he could sense her terror as she fled. The Wolf narrowed his silver eyes as he watched her, his head swinging to seek the source of her blind terror.

The wild whooping of men as they chased the little figure made him stiffen, his head cocked to the side as he followed their progress.

Three men. And all of them were pursuing one young woman who, even as he watched, stumbled and fell onto a bed of dry leaves.

His gaze sharpened; he knew she could not move, could not flee, as she struggled to her knees helplessly. Yet, even from this distance, he could sense her determination to fight the men.

The Wolf looked back at her, something in her awakening his deep instincts.

*

Cara

I ran blindly in the darkness, guided by the moonlight that could be seen in patches through the thick undergrowth. I was panting, and there was a severe stitch in my side as I shot headlong through the dense woods. My feet hurt; I had lost my shiny new shoes somewhere behind me, but they would have been of no use anyway. The ground was hard, and the small stones made me lose my balance many times. The soles of my feet were torn and bruised, but I kept on running and panting.

I seemed to have tunnel vision, focusing purely on getting away , running from the young men who were chasing me.

The sounds of the youths following me seemed clearer; they were getting closer.

One of them was yelling,

“Where’s that f*cking bit*h?’

A loud hoot echoed as one of them began to yell,

“We’re coming for you, baby!”

That was Warren.

*

He was the oldest of the group and the one I feared the most with his pale green eyes that stripped your clothes away with his lecherous gaze. His long blonde hair flopped onto his face and most of the girls thought he was hot and a hunk worth dying for.

Not me.

I had disliked him on sight.

His swagger and the way he treated the girls with him, using them like objects to be used and then discarded, had made me see red.

Circulating in student parties, a girl draped over each arm, both of whom he ignored royally as he flirted with the other girls present. Only to touch and grope his girls when he felt like it.

He had probably sensed my dislike. But that had only egged him on and made him want to break me.

He was, after all, one of the elite in the college, the son of old Johnson, who owned half of Smokey Valley, the little university town I stayed at. The nearest city was Holloway, but it was miles away. Smokey Valley was a little kingdom where the Johnson family reigned supreme.

Warren was very aware that he was the scion of the business empire that included the lowly diner my mom worked at and the local newspaper where my stepdad Brian was employed. Perhaps it had been my disdain that had made me seem attractive to him. But something about the fellow made my skin crawl. And the more I tried to avoid him, the more he kept appearing, trying to make me another of his conquests.

‘Hey Red!’ he would call as I walked past, trying to blend into the background and avoid him.

He kept addressing me as Red because of my flame-coloured curly hair that came down to my waist. I generally braided it or wore it in a messy bun. But he had noticed the shiny tresses I desperately tried to disguise and never forgot to shout out “Red!’ to draw attention to my hair.

Knowing that I hated it.

When I glared at him, he pretended to drop dead.

Hooting, “the Green Eyed Monster’s in town," his friends and he would double over in laughter as I hurried away, my ears burning.

I had green eyes to go with my flame-coloured hair and a skin tone that coloured at the slightest provocation. And yes, a temper to match. But I was also wise enough to know that I had to keep a lid on my anger when I was around Warren Johnson; he was constantly goading me. And God knows where that would get me!

What I would have done to punch the fellow in the gut, I kept thinking, seething impotently.

But that was not to be.

Warren Johnson was definitely not a young man used to being ignored.

And I was discovering it the hard way tonight.

*

NOW

I fell forward and landed hard on my side. Stifling a cry of pain as something sharp dug into my side, I looked around wildly. The slope of the hill was in semi-darkness but since it was a full moon night, I would be revealed anytime now. I tried to stand up without making a lot of noise but almost shrieked in pain as my foot gave out beneath me. I had probably sprained my ankle during my mad dash through the dark forest, I thought, my heart sinking.

I all but bowed my head, thrusting my fist in my mouth, trying to stifle the sounds as I sobbed.

This was the end.

Why, I asked myself bitterly, Why had I allowed myself to be persuaded to attend the bonfire by Janice Stewart? It wasn’t like she was my best friend or something. We just walked to school together sometimes because her mother worked at the same diner as mine.

And I had no friends at school, no one I could spend time with and open my heart to. Janice came closest to that but she was so enamored of the boys.

I knew they called her the Old Bike behind her back because she would eagerly oblige any boy with sexual favours if he happened to so much as look at her. I had overheard the snide remarks by the other girls. Jan had already been knocked up twice before and had got rid of the fetus early enough.

Her poor mother was clueless.

I sometimes felt a surge of pity for her. Poor Janice was desperate to be popular. And she would stop at nothing to make that happen. She had already slept with any boy who wanted her, even when she knew that they were only using her. I felt sorry for her, but there was no way I was going to be like her.

I did not care a hoot for anyone’s opinion, especially that of my unpleasant stepfather, who had reduced my mother to a shadow of what she had been before she married him. She had been a laughing, cheerful woman; he had reduced her to a woman who lived in abject terror of him and his preachy sermons. And his fleshy fists.

Mom had been a bright spirit when Dad was alive; his sudden death in an accident had left us destitute, unable to pay the mortgage on the home we had purchased.

Overnight, we were penniless, and when Brian O'Neill had come into our lives, Mom had married him. For stability, for a better life for me, I guessed. How wrong she had been!

*

He behaved the way an outstanding pillar of the church should, in his opinion. Pompous old creep, I thought mutinously. But he would pounce on my mother for every single thing.

‘The toast is too crisp, you dumb cow!‘ or’ Do you expect me to eat this, you stupid woman ?’ he would yell, flinging the offensive piece of bread at my poor mother, who would stand, trembling and meek, silent, her head bowed.

I did not want to be like her, working my feet off in a diner, too scared to stand up to a monster like Brian O'Neill. it was not as though I had not urged her to leave him. But she would stand, her arms in the soap suds in the kitchen, staring out into thedark night as she mumbled in a dull voice,

“I love him and he loves me too, darling…”

*.

I wanted to study and move out of the small, claustrophobic life at Smokey Valley.

And I was studying hard for a scholarship that would see me make my way to University at Hampton, the large city that beckoned me like a breath of fresh air.

I was going to become a lawyer, and yes, a home baker on the side, for I had inherited my mother’s enviable culinary skills and could bake a mean cake!

*

Now, as I lay in the bed of leaves, my fists stuffed in my mouth, I wondered how I had made such a mistake.