John Price/female reader
The Ocean Anthology
You're not overly familiar with wolves.
On the zoology side, you preferred marine animals. As a child, you preferred the aquarium to the zoo, the beach to the park, water instead of land. Something about the sea, floating weightless beneath a tide, modeling your own movements after tail fins and flippers, salt water drying on your skin at the surface.
The wild of the open ocean, unending depths, reaching where light could not touch, soothed something in your heart. It always had.
Which is why, when you looked out your kitchen window into the duplex's shared backyard and saw Aly, seated with criss crossed legs, ten meters from the largest wolf you've ever seen in your life, you screamed.
It was the surprise, twisting your vocal chords into a strangled cry, the shock and fear echoing past the frame of the house and into the gnarled slope, that had Aly turning back to peer at you, had the wolf lowering it's head in what you could only assume was a predatory lean.
"Aly." Your voice trembled when you made it onto the back deck, a hand outstretched, beckoning her back to safety. The wolf inches away, shying from your panic, the scent of your fear souring the breeze. It's stale, and sharp, and your heart thunders in your ears, rapid beat wild in your veins.
She did not even spare you a glance.
"It's okay." She calls over her shoulder. "She'd never hurt me." She? You look around. Where is John?
"Aly. Come inside." Your force yourself steady, pushing authority, what little of it you possess, into the syllables.
And then, a softer plea, from someone who doesn't understand. "Please." The wolf, massive and grey with tinges of orange and brown, watches you, golden, glinting eyes, upper lip curled, revealing devastatingly sharp teeth. It steps away, up into the cover of the trees, drifting into the darkness of the forest, glow of it's face in the morning rays just barely visible.
The little girl sighs, unfolding herself and brushing dirty palms against her coat.
"You scared her." Fogged breath rolls from her mouth, and all you can do is stare, incredulous, as she rolls her eyes and traipses over to her back door, giving you a skeptical look before stepping inside.
What the fuck was that?
You find yourself on a twisted forest path later that night. Unable to sleep, you walk towards the harbor, cutting through a side trail you've seen John on in the mornings, and others, occasionally.
It's just a side trail. Close to the road. You'll be fine.
The woman's warning from your first night at the bar vibrates in your bones.
Skip the shortcuts through the forest at night.
Warnings, pleas, instructions from John, all laid to waste in your trek, bundled up in your warmest jacket, gloves and hat. Your jeans stick to your thighs, cold prickling between the friction, headlamp illuminating the way, red light casting shadow into the forest, a thick fog settled in around the way.
You're not walking long, when you hear the first snap. You whirl, light pointed in the direction of the noise, to find nothing but silent woods, branches hanging low with the weight of icy winter.
Something cracks at your back. Something sharp, splintering through the fog's silence.
Your shoulder's raise. Your lungs go still.
Fear wraps around your throat, and chokes.
Don't look. Don't look.
John's voice echoes in your memory, severe blue gaze and downturned lips, opposite you at the table.
"Run."
You turn on your heel, digging into the dirt, and sprint. Around you, brush crashes. Branches and twigs break. There's a glimpse of paws, long strides eating the distance between yourself and your pursuer, panic bubbling up in your chest as you push yourself to the brink.
Faster.
To your left, a streak of white. Large, and graceful, taking downed logs and large branches with ease, cutting closer and closer, your movements growing clumsy each second.
The road, the house, are eons away. They might as well be on the other side of the earth, sanctuary vanishing before your very eyes.
From your left, from your right, breathing grows louder. Growls and yips and a howl bounce off the density of the darkness, heading you off.
Hunting you.
You can feel them. Wild, untamed lupine prowess stalks closer. Playing with their prey before they close you off from the end of the path completely. You're a child again, running into bed after flicking off the lights, terrified of what lurks beneath your bed. Sprinting up the basement stairs, hoping you'll be safe as soon as you touch the door handle and burst into the light.
Your tears come, sob ripping through your chest, a bleat of terror sounding off like a gunshot. You stay focused on the dark frame that's just in view, trying to outrun the snarling brutality chasing you.
When you find the road, you don't stop. You push yourself harder, faster, until the house is in sight, exhaustion turning your feet into concrete blocks, sending you pitching forward-
into a thick, warm, chest.
"What are you-" hands grip your upper arms, holding you steady, holding you close. An embrace of cedar and cigar, wilderness and ocean wrapping you up.
John.
"I- There- I saw-" You can't get it out. Tongue as clumsy as your limbs, you go limp and tremble.
The forest behind you is dead silent. Still.
"Shhh now." He murmurs, hand cupping the back of your head. It's large, nearly the size of your skull, and you press your nose to his jacket, gasping. "It's alright. You're alright."
"W-wolves." You bite, and his muscles go tense, neck rigid. You can feel torsion, the survey of the land behind you.
You brace for the scolding you know you've earned. The admonishment you deserve. "I'm sorry, I c-couldn't sleep, and thought I'd just... I'd walk. I'm sorry."
"It's alright, love. They're gone. You're safe." Love. The word suggests familiarity, affection, and you blink. He's gentle, still holding you close, grip firm and tense. You should pull away, salvage your dignity, your sanity.
You're a scientist. Not a child. What kind of display is this?
It all falls away, his thumb stroking a slow circle behind your ear. "Let's get you inside, hm?" You nod, still unsteady, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder, tucking you close. Adrenaline keeps you in unsteady limbo, hands shaking so badly you're forced to press them against your heart.
He keeps you in his side the entire walk back, murmuring softly, accent lilting on the night's breeze. He helps you with your key when your fingers can't quite get a good grip, pushing your door wide and flicking on the lamp, pale yellow glow comforting in the inky black.
When he sits you down on the couch, you don't protest. He handles you carefully, long touch on your knee, turning with a distant expression, gaze fixed out the window. "Need you to be good and listen to me from now on. Don't want anything happening to ya."
"I know." You croak. You do, now. Before... before, you didn't take any stock in it. Averse to being told what to do, naturally resistant.
Now. Now you see.
"They were so close." you try to explain, avoiding his eyes. "Like they... like they were-"
"Hunting." You look up, big breath trying to fill your lungs, and he gives you a grim smile, palm still cupped over your knee. Something else starts to unfurl in the pit of your stomach, butterflies shaking the terror and spreading their wings, fluttering anxiously against your ribcage. His proximity suffocates you, too warm, too close, and it clouds the space between your bodies, confusion roaring in your mind. He clears his throat.
"Get some sleep." At the door, he turns back one last time, and gives you a nod, expectantly. Like he knows you'll take yourself right upstairs and curl into bed, bury yourself beneath a mountain of blankets. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, John."
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