Page 19 of Red Hood, Bad Wolf

Rowan's heart clenched at the mention of Alder's parents. "The records show his mother went feral," she said softly. "The Red Hoods had no choice."

"No choice," Mae echoed, something dark flashing behind her eyes. "Tell me, what exactly are the signs of moon madness? The early symptoms?" She reached for the teapot. "More tea?"

Rowan nodded, even though she really didn’t like tea.

The questions were coming faster now, each one deeper into Red Hood territory. Rowan found herself answering despite her growing unease. She never was this open about Red Hood business.

"Fascinating," Mae murmured. "And silver affects them even before they turn completely? Makes them aggressive, paranoid?" She hmmed thoughtfully. "Almost like they've gone feral, one might say."

The implications in those words tried to penetrate the haze of her thoughts, but Rowan felt sluggish, heavy. She glanced down at her half-empty teacup, a new suspicion forming.

Mae followed her gaze and smiled. "Just calming herbs, dear. Family recipes passed down. I do so love preserving the old ways." She rose smoothly, moving to the herbs drying in the window. "Would you like to see my collection? I'm quite proud of it."

Rowan stood as well, fighting against the strange heaviness in her limbs. The mate bond purredsafety, trust, pack. She needed to leave, needed to think clearly, needed to understand why every instinct she possessed was telling her to run.

“Sure,” she said instead. Rowan's head cleared slightly as she followed Mae deeper into the cottage, though the tea still dulled her usual sharp awareness. They passed through a narrow hallway lined with old photographs—pack gatherings, family moments, all seemingly innocent except for the way Mae's image lurked at the edges of each one, watching.

"The pack has such a rich history," Mae said, running her fingers along the wall as they walked. The gesture might have seemed nostalgic if not for the way her nails dragged against the wood, leaving faint marks. "So many traditions to preserve."

The living room beyond was a study in careful presentation. Everything arranged just so, each item placed for maximum visibility. Rowan's gaze caught on a collection of hunting knives mounted on one wall, their edges gleaming with recent care.

"Family heirlooms," Mae explained, noting Rowan's interest. "From before we had to be so... civilized about territory disputes." She moved closer to the display, her body language shifting subtly. Gone was the grandmother's stoop—her stance now was pure predator, though she caught herself quickly and curved her spine back into its elderly arch.

Rowan pretended not to notice, but her magical senses were screaming louder now, picking up traces of something dark and hungry beneath the room's cozy veneer. Old magic lingered here, bitter and sharp like tarnished silver. The knife block on the counter held blades too sharp, too well-maintained for simple cooking. Their handles were worn smooth with use, positioned for quick drawing rather than food preparation.

"You've lived here a long time," Rowan said carefully, trying to focus through the mate bond's interference. "You must know these forests better than anyone."

"Oh yes." Mae's smile showed too many teeth again. "Every trail, every cave, every place where humans like to wander." She moved to a large map mounted on the far wall. "I gather herbs, you see. All over our territory." Her finger traced a path along the paper. "It's remarkable how few humans understand which plants can heal—and which can harm."

Something about the way she caressed the map made Rowan's skin crawl. Her eyes followed Mae's finger, noting how it lingered over the areas where hikers had gone missing. The mate bond tried to soothe her rising alarm, but her magic was stronger now, fighting through the artificial calm.

"The forest can be dangerous for those who don't know it," Mae continued, her voice taking on an almost dreamy quality. "So many ways to get lost. To stumble into trouble." Her hand dropped from the map. "That's why we need strong protectors, isn't it? To keep the territory safe?"

The word 'safe' carried a weight that made Rowan's throat tight. She watched as Mae circled the room.

"You know," Mae said, pausing by a shelf of old books, "I've always admired the Red Hoods' dedication to their cause. So thorough in their pursuit of threats." Her fingers drummed against a leather-bound spine. "Sometimes I wonder if they ever doubt their judgments. If they ever question whether the monsters they hunt are truly what they seem."

The words hung in the air like smoke, heavy with implication. Rowan forced herself to meet Mae's gaze and found something ancient and calculating looking back at her through those seemingly benign eyes.

"We're very careful about our investigations," Rowan said. "We have to be certain before we act."

"Of course you are, dear." Mae's smile didn't waver. "Just as you were with Alder's mother, I'm sure." She turned away, but not before Rowan caught a flash of something savage cross her features. "Such a tragedy, that. Strange how the madness came on so suddenly, don't you think? Almost as if something triggered it."

Rowan's magic surged against the mate bond's restrictions, trying to warn her of something just beyond her grasp. But before she could focus on it, Mae was moving again, herding her subtly toward the door with that same predatory grace.

"You'll come visit again, won't you?" Mae's voice had returned to its grandmotherly lilt, though her eyes remained sharp as knives. "I so enjoy our talks. And I have so many more stories to share about the old ways."

The invitation carried an edge that even the mate bond couldn't completely dull. Rowan managed a nod, fighting the urge to bare her throat in submission to the dominant wolf energy suddenly flooding the room.

Mae's answering smile was all teeth.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the path as Rowan left Mae's cottage, each step feeling like she was wading through deep water. The mate bond still burbled contentedly, but her magic was in chaos, sending conflicting signals that made her head spin.

She paused at the garden gate, trying to organize her thoughts. The interview had been productive, hadn't it? Mae had been helpful, sharing stories about the territory, offering insights into pack history. So why did her instincts scream that she'd just walked away from something infinitely dangerous?

A sudden movement caught her eye. Mae stood at the window, her silhouette sharp against the golden light. Gone was any trace of the kindly grandmother—her posture was straight, powerful, watchful. For a heartbeat, she looked more wolf than human, her eyes reflecting the dying sunlight like a predator's.

Then she lifted one hand in a wave, and the illusion shattered. Just a sweet old woman watching her grandson's mate leave. Nothing more. But in the dying light, her shadow seemed to stretch across the garden like reaching claws, as if the very land itself was marked as her territory.

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