|Little Henna Hair by R.W. Whitefield|
A werewolf sees a sexy redhead dancing in his nightclub, and he follows her into an alley. He doesn’t expect her to take on the big, bad wolf, but Little Henna Hair is more than able—she’s willing. (F/M)
Her scent’s stronger now, almost overwhelming. I run silent, swift, a grey shadow through the alleyways, following the twists and turns she takes. Little Henna Hair, didn’t your mother tell you to stay out of alleyways?
Ah, and there she is, a red blur atop a swirl of black leather and pale skin. I can’t help myself; I start panting. A little reflex left over from my human form.
The legs stop.
“Who’s there?” She glances over her shoulder, but I’ve slipped back into the shadows. All she’ll see are my eyes gleaming, if that. “Come on out.” She backs away, right into a brick wall. No more chase? Maybe she’s tired. “I mean it. Logan? Mel? Is that one of you, playing a joke?” I growl, just a little. Her head whips around. “Please.” I can smell her fear. Good enough.
I slink out of the shadows, into the moonlight. Full moon tonight. She backs away, green eyes widening.
“Oh. A doggie!” Doggie? Has the girl never seen a nature show? Does she think I’m some lost pup? I snarl, show my teeth.
“Come here,” she whispers. “Come here.” The fear’s gone, that tangy smell in my mouth. A strange little smile grows on her face. “My, what big teeth you have.”
I tense my legs and pounce on the girl, bowling her over onto the pavement. The vinyl purse flies out of her hand, and I have her pinned to the ground, my paws on her shoulders, breathing hot onto her face.
She’s laughing, laughing, the girl is laughing; why isn’t she scared that I’m going to tear her throat out?