Chapter Text
He was near her den again, the man that smelled of rabbits, dog, skunk, vanilla herbs, raccoon and cat. Today in particular, he smelled mostly of skunk. Disgusting. A terrible meal. Too small to fill her stomach, too smelly to be worth the trouble anyway. She had almost caught a deer, was so close she could have bit its ear, when the tranquilizer penetrated her neck and the world went black.
The cage was small and the wolves to her left and right in their own compartments whimpered under her gaze. Across the way, behind bars much less thick than hers, a yellow dog with curly hair cried while hugging the wall.
A part of her knew where she was. There was that herbiness, the warm vanilla trace of that man. That damn man.
She should have known the deer was too still.
But she was so hungry. She probably would have tried for it even if it had been labeled with a sign saying it was a trap.
The man was coming closer. She could smell him, no trace of animal. He was fresh, happy. Footfalls were at a constant pace and a distinct lack of fear.
“Good morning, Wanda!”
She barked and threw herself against the bars to intimidate him.
He tossed a hunk of meat into her cage. “Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
It was venison. The very same she had lunged for before her capture. Cold, so cold. She poked it with her nose, the icy blood stamping her fur. A tentative lick turned into ravenous devouring.
Next waking, she was swaddled in a yellow blanket and in a room covered in paperwork. Her smelling was still keen— the man was near, had been here recently, would likely be coming back. She unraveled herself and found she was back to human.
Wanda flexed her thumbs and ran a hand down her sweaty, muddy, bloody form. Scratches marred her stomach and hips. A whiff of her breath left her retching into the nearest trash can. Her legs were on fire as though she had run a marathon.
Happy footfalls. The man was returning. She re-rolled herself in the fabric and flopped back onto the couch with her eyes shut.
Herbs. Lavender and bitter. Orange and hot. Sugar, dairy, cream. Her stomach grumbled and a soft clank of a mug being set down beside her nearly made her give away her position. A shuffling, the garbage can was lifted. He left and came back. Small clang. Garbage empty.
The man now smelled only of animal and musk. His breathing was so calm and he lingered next to her. How easy it would be to reach out, grab him—
“Wanda, I know you’re awake.” He whispered and she peaked one eye open.
He was tall, so very tall. Pale skin and soft smile. She wrapped an arm around his leg to yank him into her attack but halted, her arms around him still as she realized she smelled herself on his jeans. Her human self.
Fingers carted through her hair. He was petting her. “I know, Darling. I’ve brought you your tea. You’re safe. You hurt no one. You have been back in your body for seven hours and will likely still have heightened senses for the next day or so. I can bring you home if you’d like, or just have you stay here and I can lock the door.”
Husband some part of her brain supplied, though she didn’t know why. Husband. It was important, but the meaning of the word was lost.
She liked being pet. She liked the sound of his humming as he used his free hand to pet a bright rectangle that kept changing skin and she liked how her scent mingled with his on the fabric of his jeans. His fingers slipped down her scalp and scratched behind her ear. It was heaven. Husband, she thought again as she leaned into the touch and watched his mouth peel back to show teeth. Happy, she labeled the expression and turned her head to the hand giving her attention.
The sight of the metal ring clicked something into place in her brain. She kissed the jewelry. “Husband?” She croaked out with a raspy voice. She closed her hand around his wrist and tugged him closer. He was so warm and soft.
Her husband put the rectangle—no—phone down and knelt beside her. “Wife,” He replied and kissed her forehead. “How are we feeling?”
Blue eyes. Tea breath. Soft, warm skin. She wanted to wrap herself in the man, hold onto him like a bear clinging to a tree. Her scratches smarted and her joints ached from…
Ah. From the transformation. It came back in pieces. The realization she had missed a pill. The fear coursing through her as her husband sped through the night to reach the park. It was the only option. No cage could hold her in the first and second night of the full moon. Tranquilizers were useless until at least day three, and the pills only worked if taken every night at the same time each month.
Some women got pregnant if they missed a pill.
Wanda turned into a werewolf.
This was plan B.
Her husband— Vision, she remembered now— Vision had driven her to the national park, the one he used to be a ranger at, the one they met at, and moved the rocks that hid her den. It wasn’t much, just a small area, perhaps the size of a bear’s den, carved into the cliff face by mother nature. But it was perfect for her to sleep in during the day, and far from any campsites or trails. He had thrown in their freezer’s entire contents into the den, along with garage towels and a burner cell phone just in case she turned back early. By the time he was done setting up, Wanda was completely nude and beginning to shift.
It had been terrifying the first time Vision had seen his wife get on all fours, her spine bulging and growing as the fur appeared and her eyes yellowed. She had prepped him, informed him, shown him pictures, but seeing it live was something no amount of preparation could make mundane.
He drove off just as she finished transforming, and the only thing on her brain was hunger.
She groaned as she stretched, the memories of plan B being put into action exhausting just to think about. The guilt was overwhelming. “Thank you, Vision.” Her voice cracked as she regained speech. “Is anyone else in the office yet?”
Vision brushed his knuckles along her jawline. “Not yet. Home then?”
Wanda nodded, her human brain only just beginning to click back into place. Home. Hot shower. Bed. Yes. She curled into Vision’s side as he scooped her up bridal style and carried her through the back door. The car screamed and flashed when he touched it, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, landing back in his arms with her face buried in his neck. His blood pumped so loudly there, his smell so strong. Safe. She was so safe in his arms and blanket and love.
He laughed as she licked his neck, jaw, cheek, nose in gratitude and comfort. His laugh was music and he licked her back as he placed her in the back seat of the car. Wet. Love.
She must have dozed off again, next waking up nude and sitting in a steamy shower stall. There was hot mist all around her, both comforting and alarming. Warm wetness squished on her leg—oh.
“You don’t need to wash me,” She told her husband, beautiful as he knelt before her, shirt discarded and jeans replaced with swim trunks. He held a yellow sponge filled with dirt and suds, a warm bucket of soapy water steamed beside him. The white porcelain was stained with dirt but smelled just like berries and her fur, wait, hair, smelled of pears? Pear hair.
He dipped the sponge in the hot water again and started wiping down her shins with small delicate care. “I called out from work. I’m all yours today.”
The bubbles clung to her stubbled legs. Her cuts all stung, but every ounce of gray muddied water that dripped off her felt like an ounce of humanity back in her bones. Stretching up towards the sky, she felt her joints slowly loosen. Her arms were already clean, skin pink from the heat, and nails clipped short without any trace of debris. She always objected to her husband’s aftercare on the grounds that she could just sleep in the garage the first night back, then shower on her own, yet every time he insisted on this. On taking care of her. Tears of gratitude pricked her eyes as he worked his fingers between her toes, pushing out small chunks of dirt and rock caught between them. He was so methodical, so gentle. One hand held her foot steady while the other clipped and cleared her toenails, a small massage finishing off the ministrations before he switched to the other foot and repeated his actions. Everything ached, but when he helped her, everything ached a whole lot less.
She brushed her teeth as he scrubbed her back, the scrubbing soon turning into another massage. His hands worked magic, pressing every spot just right and she washed her front and underside while relaxed by his touch. He always left that last step for her, and her alone. The very nature of transformation made her terribly sensitive, and the first time he had washed her, it had called out in pain when his hand passed over her nipple.
The sprayer of the shower came on slowly with a hiss and the last of her muscles released from their most tense state as the warmth washed over her. Her stomach gurgled and growled. “I need to shit.” She moaned through the pain of the sudden cramping that doubled her over. Vision set the sprayer on the ground and hovered with his arms out as she stood, ready to catch her at a moment’s notice. She couldn’t remember what she ate while transformed, but whatever it was clearly wanted out.
Maybe it was the pain of her bowels violently voiding itself, or the disgusting feeling of breaking into a cold sweat while already naked and sopping from the shower, but she felt the heave before the bile.
Garbage flew all over the bathroom as she chucked the trash out to make room for her stomach contents. She felt pressure at the back of her head and knew it was her husband pulling back her hair.
And then it was over.
Stomach voided, bowels empty, muscles too exhausted to be tense, she slunk back into the shower, soaped up, and rinsed off once more. All the while Vision emptied the trash, fluffed her towel, and fiddled with his fingers.
The next time she woke up, it was in loose, silky soft pajamas and fresh bedding.
“Drink some water, dear,” Vision peered over his book at her. “There’s iced in the flask, room temp in the glass, and hot in the thermos.”
The tepid water felt clumpy as it slid down her throat, so she put it back down and reached for the iced. Her mind fully defogged with the cool liquid. “I love you,” Wanda pulled back the comforter and pat the mattress. He joined her with a broad grin, wrapping an arm around her and entangling their legs.
He planted a kiss on her forehead as she snuggled against his chest. “I was thinking venison for dinner, dear?” He murmured into her hair.
Her nose crinkled as she pulled away to cringe at him.
“Kidding,” He relented, and she dissolved in a fit of giggles as he pulled her back to him, peppering many small pecks on the top of her head and re-draping the sheets to cover them both.