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Enid’s unpredictability as an alpha werewolf excites Wednesday beyond measure. Some days, even when the moon is only at half its fullness, she’ll notice the absence of eardrum-bursting pop music and the stench of nail polish and look out the window to find her trotting through the trees, fleshed out in full werewolf form. Sometimes, though, it can be concerning—because what if Enid doesn’t come back?—but Wednesday has learn to understand what little predictability she does have with Enid’s impulsive werewolf.
If the moon is not full, Enid doesn’t last in werewolf form for very long; four hours at most, and then she’ll be crawling back to the lupin cages to lick her wounds and come to terms with the fact that she probably mutilated an innocent animal out there. If the moon is full, Wednesday takes Enid to the lupin cages while she’s still human and waits outside her cell until she hears the snapping and cracking of bones, and then she lets Enid out with the specific instruction of returning by morning light. Enid always returns by the time the sky starts turning pink.
Always, until tonight.
Wednesday stands under the first quarter moon with only a flashlight to guide her through the 3-in-the-morning darkness that billows like smoke around her. Enid’s been gone for almost 7 hours, and in those 7 hours, Wednesday hasn’t done anything productive; write, eat, or sleep. She’s been up, lingering by the window, until the sky became abnormally dark. And now, she’s traversing the forest nearest Nevermore, with her flashlight and a bag of bacon bits in her messenger bag to lure Enid with. Enid’s werewolf likes bacon treats. Wednesday only knows this because she once found human Enid having a meltdown after her wolf tore apart a pig.
It’s late October and unseasonably cold. Wednesday is no stranger to the cold, and she definitely doesn’t mind it, but it feels abnormally so tonight. Wednesday is almost distracted by the chill traveling up her spine and the fact that she’s lost feeling in her pinkie toes.
She approaches a dark and icy underbrush. An owl trills and flies overhead, startled by her presence when her boots crunch the dead leaves under her feet. She plucks a map from her messenger bag and spreads it open, holding it up to the moonlight. She should have brought her compass along so she could, maybe, decipher exactly where in the forest she is, but she left it in the pocket of her leather jacket at Nevermore. Stupidly enough, she did consider bringing it along and didn’t, because she’s never gotten lost before.
After deciding that it’s too dark to read the map even if she did have her compass, she folds it back up and stuffs it into her bag. She sighs plaintively, deciding to continue onward. She can see her breath billowing out of her mouth and nose when she breathes. It’s colder than the morgue out here. Part of her feels a little sleepy, and the other part is concerned that hell is starting to freeze over.
Somewhere in the near distance, a fire is burning as Wednesday is walking further and further into the thickets of trees. It’s hallmarked by the smell of ash and burning wood amassing around Wednesday. She eventually comes across a dirt path etched into a clearing. Across the path sits the tiniest, quaintest cabin, like the one she always imagined the witch who ate Hansel and Gretel lived in. Smoke puffs out of the chimney. The lights are on, a yellow glow in both of the front windows.
She backs away from the structure, careful not to make any noises or sudden movements. When she was little, she always wanted to meet the witch from Hansel and Gretel, but she doesn’t think the witch lives here. Something doesn’t feel quite right about this place. The cabin sits alone amid all this nothingness, and there isn’t even a sliver of life for miles except for the light and smoke.
Wednesday knows better. She knows too much about the people and myths of rural Appalachia to not use her better judgment. She turns on her heel and starts hustling the other way, wherever that might take her.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
It sounds like a man—a man who’s been smoking all his life—and she keeps moving, although brisker and quicker, but then she hears the sound of a shotgun loading. Everything stops, including her feet. Her muscles tighten until they hurt and her heart starts hammering in her chest.
When she’s turned around again, the barrel of a shotgun is aimed three inches from her forehead. Her eyes move, carefully, from the nozzle to the face at the end of the gun. He’s older, maybe early 50s, with salt and pepper hair and a three-day beard blooming around his face.
“I built this cabin way out here so the likes of you wouldn’t disturb me,” he sneers at Wednesday. “Why are you snooping around my home? What’s a pretty little girl doing outside in the woods all alone? Must be looking for some kind of trouble. Well, you found it, little miss.”
She’s quiet, observing him. It can be difficult to answer a man when he’s got a shotgun pointed at her nose. He lowers the shotgun, his guard suddenly melting, like he’s fond of her.
“You don’t intimidate me,” she tells him, trying to find the right words so her voice won’t tremble. “I was looking for a way out. I got turned around in the middle of an underbrush. Clearly, you are well-fed and full of not only animals you can hunt, so you must know a way out of here. Tell me, and I’ll go.”
“I could help you get outta here,” he says. The shotgun rests lowly at his side as he steps closer. In the darkness, it’s difficult to tell what color eyes he has, but even the brightest of blues are sinister when they’re accompanied by a hungry look. “For a price.”
Another owl flies overhead, trilling loud enough to startle the man. He looks up between the trees for a second, and when he looks back down, Wednesday has already started sidling away from him, still facing his way in case he has any bright ideas. His fondness grows cold and its place comes a sudden rage.
“Hey!” he shouts. “You get back here!”
She breaks out into a sprint, bolting for the nearest opening of trees. She hears footsteps barreling behind her, slowly inching up every other second. This must be what it feels like to be a rabbit running from werewolf Enid. She knows Enid can’t help it and doesn’t mean to rip them apart, but she does have sympathy for the poor things, because even if she was born to fight, being hunted down by a strange man with even stranger fantasies and desires is no walk in the park—or a run in the forest.
Suddenly a growl from within the trees stalls the footsteps chasing Wednesday. She keeps running, though, until she hears the growl morph into a full roar of anger. The roar is accompanied by a man’s scream, and then there is a large thump. Wednesday stops between two large trees, leaning herself up against a trunk and dipping behind it.
“Enid,” she whispers, trying to summon Enid to her before she actually murders the man with her big teeth. “Enid, come here.”
Enid’s big wolf isn’t the best listener. For someone whose blood should be close to a dog’s, she acts like a cat, pouncing on the man. His shotgun lays forgotten in a bush of ice somewhere. Wednesday relaxes. If nothing else, at least he’s disarmed and can’t use his hunting instincts on her protective roommate.
Finally, Enid rises on her hind legs, wailing and snarling at the man. Her teeth are stained red, but the man is still writhing. Wednesday doesn’t think he’s dead; just mauled enough to lie there until the shock sinks in. Satisfied with her handiwork, Enid’s puffs air out of her snout, like she’s sighing with relief, and trots over to Wednesday.
Wednesday’s completely breathless, perhaps from the idea of what might have happened had Enid not intervened, but mostly from the sight of Enid looming over her like a giant monster, with a bloodied mouth and soft eyes that glimmer beautifully in the moonlight. Enid snorts again, splattering blood over Wednesday. Wednesday flinches a bit, because she would prefer not to have that man’s DNA on her, but then a big tongue is lapping it up off her skin. Enid is cleaning her up and slobbering all over her like a mother cat would do her baby, slicking back her bangs with her saliva like she’s nursing a wound.
Wednesday sucks in a big, nervous breath as Enid continues to kiss her face with her slobbery snout. “Enid—“
The word barely passes through her lips before Enid’s jaws are sinking into the fabric of her collar behind her neck. She’s being lifted into the air like a baby cub by her mother, held tightly by the—quite literal—jaws of life. She slams her eyelids closed, because as much as she trusts Enid, she doesn’t exactly trust her to not slam into any trees, and she would rather not see that coming.
She can hear the thumps of Enid’s big paws hitting the ground when she runs and the wind whistling in her ears. Despite the curiosity and the concern flowing through her veins, she doesn’t open her eyes. Enid’s still snuffling as she’s carrying Wednesday in her mouth, making strange guttural sounds that rip from the back of her throat, muffled by the monochrome fabric in her mouth.
Wednesday resigns herself to being Enid’s prey, laying limp between her jaws. She knows her sweater is done for and she’s sure to have some kind of injury from where Enid nipped her skin when she swooped her up. If Wednesday is being honest with herself, this is terrifyingly exciting. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever imagine herself being dragged through a dark forest by a werewolf.
Finally, after an uncertain amount of time, Wednesday hits a slab of concrete with a harsh thud. She lands on her stomach, thankfully, and sucks in a few breaths to replace what was knocked out of her. When she turns over onto her back, she notices the metal bars of Enid’s lupin cage and the yellow light illuminating the small cell. She gives a small groan and starts pushing herself up, but she’s quickly intercepted by Enid—big, scary werewolf Enid—hovering over her. A wet snout is pushed into her neck and inhales like Wednesday might be made of cocaine.
“You worry too much,” Wednesday tells her. She pats her messenger bag, frowning. “I would treat you for bringing me home, but I dropped your bacon bits in the forest.”
Enid licks her cheek and whimpers as she nuzzles her neck with her wet nose. Wednesday frowns and brings a hand up to gently pat between Enid’s large ears.
“You are being more affectionate than usual,” she observes. “It’s concerning.”
Enid whines at her and trots into her cage. She kneels down on the floor and starts lapping up water out of her bowl. Wednesday refilled it for her before she left for the woods, hoping Enid would return soon.
The water is tinged red when Enid finally lifts her head. Her tongue swipes over her teeth and the blood fades away. Wednesday sits up on her knees and presses her face to the metal bars, watching Enid try to get comfortable in the nest of blankets she created for herself.
With Enid’s wolf being so unpredictable, Wednesday doesn’t know when (or if) Enid will shift back into human form, so she gets comfortable on the cold concrete and watches Enid tuck her nest of blankets underneath herself. She keeps her hands wrapped firmly around the bars, like the wind might blow her away from Enid, simply observing with a hesitant, quiet stare.
It doesn’t take very long for Enid’s bones to start snapping and shrinking. Wednesday watches with admiration in her eyes. She’s seen this countless times before, and with each passing shift, it’s more graceful and elegant. Enid has gotten into a steady rhythm when it comes to her shifting; she used to fight against it and battle the urges, but now, she allows her instincts to take the drivers seat and lead her where she needs to go.
Giving Enid some privacy, Wednesday turns around and waits, quite impatiently, for the door to swing open. She ponders on the last half hour of her life, the morbid what-ifs, and the strain of the unknown, until she’s pulled from the intense mulling by human Enid exiting her cage, dressed comfortably in a Nevermore sweatshirt and a pair of underwear and absolutely nothing else.
“My eyes are up here,” Enid says, snapping her fingers.
Wednesday quite likes this authoritative tone. If she didn’t know any better, she would say she’s…excited. Her eyes finally wander up, up, up, until they’re locked with baby blues swirling with a familiar mixture of both anger and concern.
“First, are you okay?” Enid inquires in earnest. Her voice is kind in comparison to the fury creeping up her neck. “Did he hurt you before I got there?”
Wednesday blinks once. “No. He only pointed a shotgun at me. It was one of my lesser frightening experiences as of late.”
Enid nods. “Good. Because I didn’t kill him—just mauled him good enough so he won’t be able to look in the mirror without thinking of me—but I will absolutely force a shift and go back there to finish the job if he had.”
“You won’t go back there,” Wednesday declares, simply.
“I don’t recall asking you what I should or shouldn’t do,” Enid huffs. “You shouldn’t have been out there.”
Wednesday folds her arms like a scolded child, but really, she’s enjoying the stern look on Enid’s face.
“Why were you wandering out there?” Enid asks.
She’s upset. Wednesday’s beyond excited.
“I was looking for you,” Wednesday admits with an inward sigh of utter defeat. “You were gone for an unreasonably long time. I thought the worst.”
Enid’s jaw slackens but her hard glare isn’t forgiving. “I don’t even wanna think about what that man was gonna do to you if I hadn’t attacked him. You’re lucky I sniffed out your scent and followed the trail. Otherwise…well, I don’t wanna think about otherwise. Just know that you are so lucky, Wednesday.”
“I understand that I’m fortunate enough to have escaped peril on more than one occasion,” Wednesday says. “I continue to evade death by sheer luck.”
“Yeah, because I was there,” Enid plaintively reminds. “And I’ll keep saving your ass, time and time again, because I don’t believe in letting you learn your lesson at the expense of…your life. But goddamnit, you are so fucking stubborn sometimes. I told you to stay put until I got back, and what’s the first thing you do? You run off. It’s typical Wednesday Addams behavior, but it’s just so fucking annoying that you don’t listen. You run off because you’re worried I won’t come back, but for someone so goddamn smart, you really did a dumb thing tonight. And I’m not even trying to victim blame—because that guy was a creep and that’s not your fault—but I’m just saying that what you did was not okay. One day I might not make it in time. I don’t wanna think about what might happen to you if I don’t make it in time. But clearly, you don’t think about it the way I do.”
Wednesday sits quietly for a moment. She’s sunk all the way to the floor with her legs tucked underneath herself. Enid’s still standing over her, with her arms crossed and that telling glare on her face. Wednesday wonders, briefly, why her mouth feels so dry and it’s hard to swallow.
“I felt you were in danger,” Wednesday finally says. The words are hard to summon to her mouth. “I went searching for you because, as much as my coldhearted demeanor might belie me, it’s my responsibility to look after you when you’re vulnerable.”
Enid scoffs. “Vulnerable? Last I checked, I’m the only one out of the two of us who has built-in knives in my mouth and claws the size of a razor blade. I can appreciate that, somewhere in that angry little body of yours, there’s a kindhearted person who means well, but you could have gotten yourself killed. Or worse. And it’s a scary thought, but I think that man meant more harm than to just kill you.”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Wednesday pulls her torn jacket tighter around herself. She does agree with Enid about that, but she’s trying to push it to the back of her mind, because she doesn’t want to know fear that way. It’s easier if she just picks herself up and shakes it off without having to consider the repercussions, but with the way Enid is looking at her with those worried and exasperated eyes, she just can’t let it go.
Not only has Wednesday put herself in danger, she’s hurt Enid in the process, and that doesn’t go over well with Wednesday.
“I know,” she tells Enid. Her voice is almost muted.
“You know, and you’ll still do it again next time I shift,” Enid surmises. Wednesday doesn’t object to that. Enid sighs. “You’re a little shit, you know? Making me worry about you. Making me carry you through a dark forest by your collar like a damn puppy. Making me sink my teeth into skin and taste a random man’s blood for you. Werewolves follow their instincts, always, and you just know how to manipulate them so I’ll come running.”
Wednesday glares at a crack in the concrete, caving in on herself with a frustrated huff. “I never asked you to do that.”
Suddenly Enid is kneeling on the concrete—bare knees be damned—and grabbing Wednesday’s chin with her entire hand. It shocks Wednesday enough to have her jerking away on instinct alone, but when her eyes travel upwards and meet Enid’s, the baby blues have gone incredibly soft and so forgiving. Enid’s done a complete one-eighty now, from ice cold to warm and safe. It’s impressive.
“I don’t give a shit what you asked or didn’t ask me to do,” Enid says. “Because no matter how many times you run off and do stupid things you know you have no business doing, I’ll still save your ass every single time. No matter how many men I have to tear apart, how many miles I have to run through the forest to find you, I’ll save you. And I know that’s not who you are or what you want, because you’re the tough Wednesday Addams who answers to nobody, but someone has to look after you if you won’t do it for yourself.”
Wednesday turns her head, surprisingly compliant. “Fine.”
“But I do have a question,” Enid says. “Why the hell are you so worried about me that you’ll run off into the woods to find me when you know it’s in my nature to run wild?”
Wednesday takes a big breath and turns her body so she’s facing Enid.
“Why did I spend so long hunting you down the first time, Enid?”
Enid tilts her head. “Why did you?”
It’s a loaded question, and Wednesday would sooner throw up her heart than answer that, but she’s becoming delirious from lack of sleep and the cold enveloping her ill-prepared body. It’s like being drunk, but worse and with far worse consequences.
“I thought it was fairly obvious,” Wednesday says, trying to keep it succinct, for her own sanity’s sake.
“That tells me literally nothing.” Enid changes position again, moving to sit next to Wednesday on the cold concrete. “You’ve been a ghost since you brought me back. We hardly ever really talk. Like, actual conversation. All we do is room together and go to class together and go to bed. And in between all that, you sit here and wait for me, but you never say anything. You’ve been a shell of yourself, and it’s really killing me to wonder why.”
“An Addams will go to the ends of the earth and crawl on their knees through a pathway of flaming coals for those they care about,” Wednesday says, trying to draw in a breath big enough to sustain her for the next few minutes so she doesn’t have to breathe when she tells Enid how she really feels. “Had it been anyone else, I wouldn’t have traveled through the Canadian wilderness for weeks with only a map and and inkling of doubt. I would have moved on.”
Enid is quiet. “But you didn’t move on.”
“Of course not,” Wednesday quickly says, throwing a halfhearted glare Enid’s way. “Three weeks of my life, Enid, were dedicated all to you. Had it been anyone—and I do mean, quite literally, anyone—I would have accepted the loss and resumed my life as if nothing had happened. But it was you, Enid. You sacrificed your humanity to rescue me from that shallow grave. I had to repay you for that. I wasn’t going to let you resign yourself to your fate of being an alpha wolf to be hunted down by the pack. You didn’t live your whole life in your truth just to be slaughtered by your own kind after they ostracized you. I refused to accept that loss.”
“Wednesday…” Enid softly murmurs, awestruck. “I think this is the most human I’ve ever seen you.”
Wednesday makes a disbelieving noise. “Ironically, the feeling is mutual.”
Suddenly Wednesday is being pulled into Enid’s arms and settled nicely into her lap. She gasps a little, startled by the rapid movement of being scooped into a warm embrace, but then she lifts her chin and looks Enid in the eyes.
“Werewolves follow their instincts, always,” Enid says. “My instinct is telling me to kiss you, but it’s also telling me that you might punch me in the face. But you’re also not trying to get away from me. So, mixed signals here.”
Wednesday gives Enid the pretty eyes (which Enid once mentioned she has) and puts a cold palm against a hot cheek. She strokes Enid’s blushing skin, her eyes glittering fondly with a certain sparkle of admiration.
“I think your instincts are right,” she tells Enid. “I trust them, too. They’ve saved my life one too many times to not trust them.”
Enid wastes absolutely no time in bringing Wednesday closer in her arms and pressing her lips to Wednesday’s. Wednesday is quick to melt into it, hardly hesitating against the warmth that cradles her. Enid holds her tight, one hand secured around her waist and the other gently cradling her cheek and brushing away the dirt and grime from the night’s events.
Wednesday pulls away first, albeit reluctant, because she needs to breathe at some point. Enid pulls away with her saliva connecting their lips in a thin string. She wipes it off Wednesday’s lips with her thumb, gently caressing the freckles on the bridge of her nose with her other hand.
“How was that for instincts?” Enid asks.
“Accurate, I would say,” Wednesday says, casually shrugging.
Enid brushes back some hair—wet with her werewolf saliva—from Wednesday’s face. “You’re such a brat. And I love you.”
Wednesday’s cold, reserved hands sneak under the purple fabric of the sweatshirt. Her chest feels tight with worry, but also with affection. Enid’s beautiful under this kind of soft, warm light.
“I must admit that I love you, too,” she says so timidly, it would fall on a human’s deaf ears. Fortunately, Enid is a werewolf, and she can hear every word, down to the last syllable, as they leave Wednesday’s lips.
Enid dips her head down again and leaves little kisses along Wednesday’s face; her lips, her nose, her eyebrows, her forehead. She brings Wednesday in closer, drawing her impossibly nearer, holding her in her arms like she might melt away.
“You were being totally literal about hunting me down,” Enid says. Her fingers start drawing little abstract shapes along Wednesday’s back. “I don’t know what else I was expecting.”
“Of course.” Wednesday grabs onto Enid’s hips and gives her a strong look. “I’ll hunt you down, no matter how far I have to travel. And I will find you.”
“That doesn’t sound creepy at all,” Enid giggles. “But I’d say I’m not so bad at hunting you down, either.”
Wednesday nods. “I concur.”
Enid kisses the dark bangs hanging over Wednesday’s eyes. “And I’ll do it over and over if I have to. Which, I know I will. Probably tomorrow. But at least I know I can scruff you in an emergency.”
“Speaking of,” Wednesday huffs. “I think my neck is bleeding.”
Enid winces. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Wednesday says. Her mouth starts to twitch, like she wants to smile. “I enjoy the sting.”
“Oh,” Enid murmurs, going quiet. “Well, at least we have established what you like.”
Wednesday leans into Enid’s shoulder to hide the frustrated blush on her face.