Through the Woods

**Based on comments I may continue this story. I do not endorse any kind of Non-consent all encounter in real life. All parties depicted, though imaginary, are over the age of 18**

***

Up the steep end of the gravel driveway, through a field of alfalfa, and into the woods Wren drove in her large red SUV. It was two years older than her and she expected something to give out soon and send her careening off the road and into one of the large country ditches that lined these back roads of her rural hometown. This gravel driveway held so many memories for her. It was difficult to not imagine walking home with her brother, picking the soybeans from the two small fields that their grandfather rented out to local farmers. Just another way for him to get a little extra cash that helped Wren and her brother through college. Nearly a mile long and filled with potholes that needed yearly filling, this gravel driveway was the entry into a new world that she had called home ever since she was ten years old.

Wren pulled up on the concrete parking pad and smiled at the large house that her grandparents had built, surrounded by nearly sixteen acres of forested land. If one was to follow the gravel drive back all the way, over the creek, they would find the big black barn and a vast garden that once held sugar snap peas, apple trees, and strawberries. Somewhere, though Wren wasn't sure where, there was a huge hole that her brother had dug with his friends in order to form some semblance of a club-house. She smiled at the thought as she stepped up to the front porch and opened the screen door. The large wooden door with its ornate glass panels was left wide and her grandfather sat in his chair, across from the old wood-burning stove and television set, with a newspaper on his lap.

"Hey there, stranger!" He stood up and tossed the newspaper down on the stack of previous days' papers beside his chair. "You ready? I've already got the seats and backs out."

"I brought those chairs over so that you could help me, not so you could do all the work." Wren laughed as she joined her grandfather as he headed to the four car garage, half of which was taken up by his woodshop. He said nothing, but smiled at her with that twinkle in his eyes that made Wren's heart both soar with joy and fall each time she thought of all that they had lost.

"The sander and the stain are all ready. I still can't believe you picked all this up for three hundred." He put his hands on his hips and nodded approvingly at her thrifty antiquing skills.

"I'm good at bargain hunting. Got lots of practice with Nan and Ma." She picked up a mask and fastened it over her face before pinning the longer pieces of her curly bobbed hair back so they wouldn't get in her eyes.

They worked in silence for a while, sanding down the ornately carved wooden frames of the antique chairs and the couch. Two were high-backed chairs and the other two pieces were a matching smaller chair and couch. She had purchased them separately with the intent of working to make them eventually match. Rich deep red stain was rubbed into the wood again and again till the desired color was reached on all the pieces before a final coat of laquer was applied. Wren and her grandfather stood back and looked appreciatively at their work before going inside to wash up.

**

Wren looked out of the kitchen window to the small cottage across the lane. Originally intended to be used for guests during the holidays, her grandfather eventually rented it out. Surrounded by a stone retaining wall filled with hydrangea, Wren thought of how nice it would have been to live just across the way from her grandfather. Of course, he would never let her rent it and had always insisted she go out on her own to really experience life. As a result, Wren left for college far out of state and returned with an art degree and business minor. Her studio was only an hour away in the state capitol. She beamed with joy each time she recalled her grandfather's pride at her first showing.

"Still dreaming of that cottage, I see." He stood beside her and filled his mug with hot water for tea.

"I can't help it. You remember how much Jace and I loved it here. Running barefoot on the gravel driveway. Mushroom hunting for morels in the spring. Eating sugar snap peas right off the vine." She sighed and shook her head. "Any chance it's still empty?"

Her grandfather laughed. It always surprised her, when standing side-by-side like this, how small he was. He was a few inches shorter than her and was all around smaller. Her entire mother's family had been this way and based on her father's looming height and her own genetics, she and her brother both were the tallest at any family gathering. Wren chalked it up to the difference in the Germanic and English heritage which was likely why she was built like a stereotypical tavern girl at a beerhaus. A black truck pulled into the small garage across the way, answering her question.

"That's Simon Brunner. He moved to town a while ago, but decided he couldn't stand one more minute in an apartment. We met over at the Village Hardware and got to talking. You know that old house on Spring Street? Well, he is working on making it so the floors don't all slide to the middle of the house. He does a lot of jobs in the cities round here. Said he can't stand the traffic every day, though." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't you worry, though. You wouldn't have gotten it anyway."

She laughed and shook her head at him as he walked back to his chair. When Wren's attention fell back on the cottage, she saw a tall man staring at her. His tanned skin and blue jeans were powdered with drywall dust. She shivered under his gaze. With a neatly trimmed dark beard and hair, he was handsome; that she could tell from even this far away. Wren tossed her teabag in the trash and sat on the couch. Sorrow pulled at her heart as she looked at the plush chair her grandmother had sat in prior to passing. She looked away and found herself looking at the rich garden scene she had drawn for her grandfather's eightieth birthday. He had hung it between the two living room windows that looked out to the back porch and the garden behind.

A knock sounded on the door. Her grandfather motioned for her to sit as he stood and opened the door. Wren listened in on the conversation though her eyes were firmly rooted on the swirl of milk in her tea.

"Afternoon, Joe. I just stopped by to see if you had seen that the fairgrounds is having a tractor auction. I heard Mr. Werner's got a few small ones he's putting up. It'd sure be a help in the winter to plow this drive." The thick voice was gravelly but soft in volume.

Her grandfather made an annoyed grunt. "Yeah, I heard. They got nothing worth having though. I tried to help him refurbish that one little John Deere he's putting up. Wouldn't listen to me about the wiring, so when you hit a pothole the damn lights will go out."

The man, Simon Brunner, let out a chuckle and shook his head. "I don't know why he wouldn't listen. Hell, I've known you for all of two months and I already know I'd take your advice over my own."

"Well that's kind of you to say. Hey, have you met my granddaughter?" He turned and motioned for Wren to come up and say hi as Simon entered the door. Wren set her mug down and slowly approached the door where the stranger stood with her grandfather. Now she could tell that he was indeed brutally handsome. He had high cheekbones and the brown hair around his temples and in his beard had began to grey. A man perhaps in his mid-thirties, but still very much in his prime.

"No, don't believe I have. I'm Simon Brunner. I'm renting the cottage across the way." His thick voice seemed to flow over her like spiced honey. As he spoke his eyes raked over her. There was still some wood dust in her hair and parts of her fingers were spotted with the deep red woodstain. She was wearing a tight burgundy tank top with a large white poppy on the front, grey sweatshirt tied around her hips, faded well-worn black shorts, and black socks. A small bird and hydrangea had been tattooed on her left thigh. He drank in every detail. Wren felt her lightly freckled cheeks begin to color. Simon stuck out his hand and gripped hers firmly when she slipped it into his.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Wren Martin." Stony blue eyes bore into her gilded hazels. She snatched away her hand as soon as she could politely manage.

"So, you aren't going to go to the auction?" Simon had turned his full attention back to her grandfather.

"Nah, I'll be gone to California. I got a friend over that-a-ways who's about to get heart surgery. I figure I'll go down and handle a few things for him while I visit. They've been trying to dig a well on that property for years with nothing to show for it." Her grandfather shook his head and murmured something about California having about as much sense as it does water.

"You need me to keep an eye on the house while you're gone?" Something beneath the quick offer had Wren's skin prickling as she felt the subtle shift of attention move from her grandfather to her.

"Nah, Wren here will take care of it. She was planning on taking some time off around then anyway to focus on her work. She's got a gallery up north." He beamed with pride as she sheepishly looked down at the floor.

"Is that so? What's the name? I do work around there sometimes. I might've passed by it while in town." Once again, those cold eyes fixed her in place. Looking past him, purposefully avoiding his eyes, Wren tamped down the urge to take a step back.

"Borrowed Brush. It's not very big and I feature a lot of local artists. I wanted some time to focus on my own work, so.." Wren trailed off and shrugged.

"I've been inside. I purchased a rather gorgeous piece when I first got into state. Just recently pulled it out of storage. I've been trying to think of where to put it up. Perhaps you wouldn't mind coming over and giving me an idea of where it would look best?" Despite the genial nature of the offer, there was something dark and predatory lurking beneath the surface.

Wren looked over at her grandfather who seemed to take no notice of the undercurrents she was feeling. Her fingers played with a small hole in the bottom of her top and she nodded. "Yeah, sure. I'll try to come by sometime while I'm here."

Buzzing took her attention away from the conversation. A phone call. Blessed be, she thought as she answered the call from her gallery. She paid no attention to the conversation behind her as her grandfather finished discussing a few other matters with Simon. The call was to inform her of interest in a custom piece for a rather wealthy individual who wanted to meet with her tonight if possible. She gladly told her grandfather and rushed off.

**

Simon couldn't pull his thoughts away from the woman he'd just met. She was gorgeous and just his type, though by the looks of her he guaged her to be only in her early twenties. The same thing that had pulled him to that softly shaded and ethereal portrait was what he had seen in her. Though it wasn't any surprise considering that the piece he had purchased was a self-portrait of Wren laying atop a field of lavender; skin fading to the palest outline while flowers peaked through the nonexistent body before fading back into milky limbs, a mess of curling bronze hair, and peach-pink lips. Where would he put this portrait of a woman who stirred longing within him that he had thought long-since dead? How would he explain that the piece he had purchased from her was a sensual description that lead to utter surprise when he saw those same golden eyes looking at him from across the drive?

He shuddered as a ripple of dark hunger preceded the ripple of goosebumps along his flesh. Simon chuckled as he thought of the meeting. Over the hill and through the woods, to grandfather's house she went. Cloaked in red, right into the wolf's den. Running his fingers through his deep brown hair, he looked around him at the cottage. He thought it to be a rather comfy wolf's den and was sure that, should he pull her in, she would be content enough to stay-at least for a little while.

**

With wood creaking, Wren winced as she popped the back into the last chair and heaved a sigh of relief before fixing it in place. Everything was complete. Grey and black brocade adorned the backs and seats of the furniture. It would look grand in her apartment. She hesitantly sat in one of the high backed chairs and grinned when it supported her weight with nary a groan or creak. With her grandfather gone, it was left to her to finish the little task of finishing the chairs.

Last night she had already created a makeshift studio out on the back porch. Now she glided through the kitchen, picking up a wine glass and a bottle of sweet spiced red wine and headed to her studio to work on her commissions to her heart's content. Before her, propped on a travel-sized easel, was a large canvas of stretched paper. The portrait was of her newest client's youngest daughter. Her straight blonde hair had been swept away from her face into a pile of thick braids which had been scattered with various flower buds. From her forehead sprouted four antlers. Two small and two large, adorned with flowering ivy that climbed up the smooth boney towers before falling and hanging like lace adorned with dewdrops that sparkled like diamonds. A frame of honeysuckle and treetops surrounded the girl's visage in watercolors of green, verbena yellow, and soft hazy browns. There was more to do, but the base itself was rather pretty.

Wren wiped her left hand against her thigh, leaving behind a smear of blue-green paint before turning her attention to her third or fourth glass of wine. The clove numbed the tip of her tongue and her mouth felt slightly parched after each prolonged sip, but it dulled and soothed her to a state in which she could let the ideas flow out onto the receptacle of her creativity. The wine helped with other things too, but tonight she only wanted the fuzzy inspiration it could elicit. She did the inking and final touches sober, but found that her best bases came when the world was slightly fuzzy. She needed her best for this project.

A light rain had begun to fall, though Wren had been too focused to take notice. It wasn't until the wooden screen door of the enclosed porch clattered against its frame that she realized the chill that had overtaken the summer air. Simon stood a few feet away to her left, craning his neck so that he could catch a glimpse of the portrait. At some point, she had added bright red poison berries that brushed the girl's bare shoulders. She attempted to ignore the intrusion by taking another long drink of wine, noting with dismay that her glass was now empty.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I saw the lights still on and heard the music." He swung his arm out, motioning to her laptop that, along with source material on the screen, had been playing nonstop cello, piano, and violin trios. The time was well after midnight.

"It's fine. I will turn it down if it bothers you." She stood, swayed, and then widened her stance so that she was steadier on her feet. Simon had rushed forward, now barely a foot away, with his arms open to catch her should she fall. Without the social barrier of sobriety, Wren glared at the man.

"I'm not bothered by it, just a little surprised you're up this late." He looked to the glass in her hand. "Though, I suppose time flies when you're having fun. Party of one tonight?"

"Is it so odd? You're up this late. What I do is no business of yours." She made a dismissive gesture with her free hand and moved to walk around him.

"I wouldn't say that. After all, your grandfather and I know eachother and I would like to think he would prefer me keeping an eye on you. Especially if it means making sure no wine glasses are shattered on his back porch." He walked after her, holding the door open so she could get inside. Taking advantage of his position behind her, he looked on appreciatively at the view of the backs of her thighs in the short rose print dress she wore. Simon noted that she was barefoot.

"Well you're wrong. I would never break a glass, and if I did I am more than capable of cleaning up after my own messes." She lifted the empty bottle and looked disappointedly into the bottom. Wren then cast her eyes over her shoulder to fix Simon to where he stood. Despite her best attempt to make him feel unwelcome, he was here in her grandfather's kitchen.

"You don't seem to like me very much." Simon hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his bluejeans and leaned against the doorframe.

"I don't trust you." She kept her eyes on him, noting the way his biceps stretched the sleeves of his deep blue t-shirt. She moved with gliding steps to the cabinet where she was sure she had placed a second bottle of wine.

"Why not?" Smooth and easy, his voice only made her more irritated.

"Must I have a reason? You're a stranger. You're a man. You've got wolfish eyes and you seem to pay too much attention to me." With grace, Wren stood upon the balls of her feet before settling back on to the floor once she had grasped the second bottle of wine.

"Is that so?" Hot breath brushed against her skin before she could register how close he had gotten in the short time her attention had drifted. Chuckling to himself, he thought of her assessment of his wolfish nature.

Wren shrunk away from him but he followed her till her hip bumped the counter. Pushing bravado into her voice, she cast a hateful look at his chest. "What? That you're a man? I suppose I'm not sure."

"Are you asking me to prove that to you?" A deep chuckle resonated from his chest as he took the bottle of wine from her hand and placed it far back on the counter. Craning his neck down, he tried to catch her eyes which had drifted over to the stove. "Why won't you look at me?"

"Wolfish eyes." Had he been any further away, Simon would not have heard her speak. He pretended that he had not heard.

"Perhaps you just need some help." One hand gripped her waist firmly while the other took hold of her outer thigh. Before she could protest, Wren was sitting on the counter. Now she was eye-level with Simon, but still refused to look at him. "That's not very polite."

"What would you know of politeness? Intruder. You just picked me up without permission." Her eyes shot to his for only an instant before once again settling on a far away point. He gripped her chin and forced her face to his.

"Look at me." He growled the words so they were animalistic and gnarled. Wren understood and looked him in the eyes. Flustered, her cheeks reddened and she swallowed the nerves creeping up her chest and into her throat. "Why is it that you turn red every time you look into my eyes?"

Wren could feel the hot breath against her lips and she shuddered. With her mind blank, she spoke the truth that was unknown to her conscious mind. "I'm afraid I'll be consumed." Her voice faltered. "What if my eyes tell you I want to be consumed?"

There was indeed a yearning in her eyes. Something beyond name had been kindled inside of him from the moment he had seen her self-portrait and now he realized that a mirrored fire burned inside of her despite her struggle to douse it with reproachful looks. With restraint broken, he pressed his lips to hers in a harsh manor. As Simon's lips parted, so too did Wren's. She gasped into his cavernous mouth as he cupped the base of her skull, holding her in place as he explored her mouth with his tongue.

Before, he had been hungry. Then, he had been starving. Now, he was ravenous. Simon devoured her lips with his own. His hand slid from her chin down her shoulder, arm, leg, to her knee where he pushed it aside and wedged his body between supple thighs. Wren's neck tilted up as she gasped for air. Heartbeat like a hummingbird, she thrummed against him with fear and excitement. Heat emanating from her body, bringing with it the scent of ginger and mint. Spice. Cold. Hot. Too hot. Teeth against throat, he could feel rather than hear her struggling for air. The sharp inhales halted by the shuddering need to take in more air. More. She needed more air. Wren gasped as if she were trying to inhale the entire sky above them.