For Faberry Week 2012: The Sequel (Fairytales)

Title: I'm Not Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf


"A heavy pressure lowers itself to a red cloak. Warmth embarks the shivering body beneath it. Golden eyes stare into terrified hazel. A low growl rumbles from the topping frame, "You're mine now."

The darkness wins."

Rated: T (may change later on)

A/N: I didn't spend that long on this. I wanted to write something better than what I had for Faberry Week's first prompt and this is what came out. I think it's pretty obvious, but it's based off of Little Red Riding Hood. It's fairly dark. I intend to make this a series, I just don't know when I'll be able to continue it. School has been hell lately and my workload is insane. I definitely will continue this at some point, though.

Sticks crackle beneath the fall of her feet. Wind flushes pale cheeks. Darkened blue is at war with blackness to color sky. Ragged breath and a fast paced heart stride through the forest on weakening legs.

"Don't run from me, Quinn," the voice, disembodied, brushes against the shell of a pale-skinned ear. "You can't run from me."

"Leave me alone!" a strangled cry of desperation echoes through the trees. Uneven breath hitches as shaking legs give out and send a frail body tumbling into darkness. Back to the ground, the voice chokes out again, "Please!"

A heavy pressure lowers itself to a red cloak. Warmth embarks the shivering body beneath it. Golden eyes stare into terrified hazel. A low growl rumbles from the topping frame, "You're mine now."

The darkness wins.

Eyelids flutter open only to slam shut again when a harsh light assaults the the delicate pupils beneath them. A light moan slips past pink lips. Pale fingers rise to brush the remnants of sleep away from reopening eyes. Newly awakened irises lock to the amber blends before them. A frail body scampers backward, light whimpers leaving lips chapped by the cold. Chains dig into bony ankles, dragging across the floor with the woman.

"Wh-" a dried throat prevents more than a croak from sounding into the air.

"Slow down," warm fingers touch to a tense calf, "I brought so some water. He says it'll help with your throat." Wary eyes dart between the glass in an olive-skinned hand to the surprisingly warm eyes before her them. "It's not poisoned or anything. Promise."

Slowly, shaking digits grasp the cool crystal. Lips part lightly and nearly close around the edge, the trembling hand tilts the glass forward to send liquid flying into a painfully dry mouth. A cluster of seconds pass before the hand sets down the glass, now bone dry, on the floor.

A smile appears on full lips, "He said you'd be thirsty."

"Wh-" the woman clears her throat, "Who's He?"

Before a word can be spoken, a loud thunder of footsteps is heard bounding toward the room. Panic spreads into one set of eyes while dread spreads into the other, "Don't let him know you're afraid." A quickened voice fades as it's owner rushes to a corner, straining ears barely register the meaning before a door flies open and crashes into the wall behind it.

"Rachel. How is she?" chiseled shoulders and a sturdy build atop them, strong legs make way to the heap of red cloth.

"She's fine, Sir Russell. Shaken, but fine," speaks the voice of the amber-eyed girl.

The stone man crouches before the woman, "Sit," no shift happens, not even in the mice that cower in the walls. "Sit," stoney as it's owner, the voice booms. A gasp is hear from the corner, it belongs to the olive-skinned girl, Rachel. She dare not defy Sir. Not a being in their right mind would, she fears for the girl. "I said-" words break themselves as a monstrous hand grabs hold of a red cotton hood, pulling the golden locks beneath it until the fragile woman is in an upright position, sit."

A whimper sounds into the tiny cabin. Amber eyes go wide at the sound. A tanned skin clasps over dark lips. Don't hurt her. Thoughts, pleas, ricochet off the walls of Rachel's mind, but none are voiced. One does not disgrace Sir Russell by speaking against him. One does not speak in the presence of Sir Russell less they wish to lose their life.

"When you are a guest in the home of The Pack, you do what is asked of you. You obey all commands. Is that clear, girl?"

"Y-" a swift tug of the hair turns the reply into a hiss. Pain shoots through a reddening scalp. Pasty hands reach to the source of the sting. Another set of hands, smaller, but large enough to frighten the captive, grasp thin wrists and pin them to the ground.

"In the home of The Pack, you nod your replies. You speak only when spoken to, and even then, only if words are unavoidable. You speak in as few words as possible. You silence yourself when told. You bite your tongue. Is that clear, girl?" The nods following the stoney voice fall short of the woman's intent, restricted by the hand still at the back of her skull.

"Rachel, hold her wrists. Finn, chain them."

Dark locks bounce on bare shoulders. Long legs support a small frame, dutifully stepping toward her leader to fulfill her task. Hesitating as tanned knees hit the floor next to a shaking victim, Rachel turns to her leader, "Sir, is this truly needed? You see how weak she is, she can't-"

Golden eyes flicker red. Voice low and accusatory, Sir Russell chews stones around his words, "Are you questioning me, child?"

Wide eyes stare into those belonging to their leader. With two swift shakes of her head, Rachel is behind the woman, pushing Finn from his place. The gangly man rises to oversized feet, ambling toward a wall covered by steel gadgets.

Soft hands gently grasp the woman's wrists in a loose hold. The stone grip finally releases her hair. The woman falls backward, falling into Rachel. The move pushes Rachel back onto her knees. Tanned palms move to take hold of the fragile woman's waist. "Easy," Rachel says before she can stop herself. Avoiding Sir Russell's eyes, she props the woman back onto her knees, regaining her light hold on delicate wrists.

"Here," a grunt from the air above. Finn is looking down on the scene. Chains drop to the ground.

Soft amber eyes meet golden upon hearing her leader's scratchy command to chain their prisoner. Rachel is as careful as she can be without setting off her fellow Pack members. Soft touches, caresses, are used to assure the woman she means no harm as she traps feeble wrists behind a hunched over back.

A booming voice leaves the stone man again, "What's your name, girl?" The smallest member of The Pack notices the woman tense before her. Rachel rubs a light circle into the bone white palm. A desperate attempt to flood reassurance through the terror that she knows the woman is feeling.

A gulp. "Q-Quinn," confusion furrows the light colored brow. Was it not he who called me in the forrest?

"So you're Quinn, then," the stone man hums, "Finn, tell Santana and Noah that it's Brittany who is still running. Quinn is here."

Rachel moves to Quinn's side in time for hazel eyes to lock on hers.

There are others?

She waits for it. She waits for Sir Russell to punish the girl. Hit her. Torture her. Show her in some way that she will not speak out of term in the home of The Pack. But nothing comes. Finn walks out of the room. Sir Russell stands. And still nothing. Eye contact breaks at the sound of Sir Russell's deep voice, "It's your job to keep her alive. She's been running from us for years. Those forests aren't kind to such a pretty face," the perverted sneer stirs something inside of the younger pack member. Unsure what to make of it, she pushes it aside. "Once you think she's healthy enough, bring her to me. We'll start her training then. I give it a month before I start her up on it, weak or not." Heavy footfalls stop at the doorway, "And keep her in line. I'm sure you remember what happened with Sam. I won't tolerate any nonsense once she's brought to me." The door slams shut.

Two women sit in the middle of the room. They remain still for a long while. They do not move. They do not speak. The only sound comes from quick paced breaths leaving both sets of lips.

First to make a move, tan fingers intwine themselves with pale digits. A jolt runs through both beings. A shiver runs along each spine. Tongues dart out to wet their lips.

I don't want to die.

Rachel hears it. A faint whisper that doesn't even make a sound. She hears it in her head.

Finally, the pieces line up. Why she feels the need to comfort this woman. Why she cringed upon seeing Sir Russell be rough with her. Why she electricity shot through her at the first sign of intimate contact had in private. This woman was her soul mate. She had fallen for her before they'd even laid eyes upon one another. This woman, a woman who is to become a slave of her Pack, is the only being through all of time and space that she could love with her entire heart and soul.

"You won't," comes her reply before she can even think it through.

Wide eyes of hazel stare into amber blends. A soft smile graces Rachel's features, calming the beautiful woman before her.

"Y-you'll protect me-e?"

Rachel knows that she should yell at her. She should punish her for speaking out of line. Once Quinn gets to Sir Russell, he will show no mercy. But she can't. She finds herself lost in the gorgeous rasp to this woman's voice. Drowning in the beautiful depth of her eyes. Her reply comes along with a soft touch of a tinted hand to a cold cheek and a wider smile when Quinn doesn't flinch at the gesture, "I'll protect you."