Two silver bracelets disappeared into the grass. Rosemary caught their glint in the corner of her eye but barely noticed them.

Caught beneath the full moon, Agnes hunched forward; her claws rent canyons into the earth beneath her. And her dark hair shivered from its bun, curling down her back like a black river, furling outward as though caught on some wind. Her dress tore. The white apron fluttered to the ground.

Agnes was a great, black-furred wolf, dripping in moonlight. 

Rosemary lifted a hand to her snout and pet her soft fur. 

“See?” she whispered. “You are not such a horrible creature that you cannot take this form once in a while.”

Agnes huffed, and her hot breath fluttered over Rosemary’s face. Giggling, Rosemary booped her nose.

“What will you do now?”

Agnes stared blankly at her, and began to pace circles around the pond.

Rosemary crossed her arms. “I thought for sure that you would lose control!” she moaned. “But you seem more catlike than wolflike.”

Agnes continued circling the pond. Moonlight radiated and reflected off her fur, casting half of her in shadow. She seemed in that moment a strange and eldritch being, far more massive than any wolf ought to be. There would be power in those paws. 

Rosemary could see the art of the moon in those great teeth of hers, glinting white like pearls. And she could see the moon now, its light almost dripping into Agnes’ eye. Her circling seemed to grow more erratic. Back and forth, back and forth. She inhaled, catching a scent.

Then she turned to face Rosemary. Her dark eyes were bright white in the moon’s light. Her coat was a cloak of night and stars. 

In that moment, Rosemary felt the moon watching above. And her interest was not passive.

Grinning, Rosemary turned to run.

Agnes chased.

They sprinted through untouched forest, curling paths around low branches. Brambles tore patches off the hem of her skirt. The wind seemed to run with them, rushing around Rosemary like a spirit, pulling her further forwards. She followed it.

The crunch of earth beneath Agnes’ paws, the huffing of her breath. The whisper of the wind through leaves, the flutter of bird’s wings. The song of the moon all around them.

Rosemary scuttled up into a thick tree and hid. Agnes reached the end of the path. Her dark gaze drew up, and she clawed at its thick trunk. Rosemary felt a spike of excitement, fingers tightening on the branch. Would Agnes find a way to climb up there? She leaned forward to look.

Agnes first circled the tree a few times, then growled, low.

“I admit,” Rosemary sighed, “this is cheating.”

She slid off the branch, dropping herself directly onto Agnes’ back.

The werewolf’s fur was as soft as silk, her body as warm as blood. While Agnes bucked and swiveled around, Rosemary scritched behind her ears. Leaning her entire body against Agnes, she reached below her neck and scratched there too.

Agnes seemed to calm then, giving a sigh of contentment. Rosemary smiled. This was just as nice as being chased around, and far more gentle. She liked this too, liked how cuddly Agnes seemed to be, leaning into her touch, positioning her neck so that Rosemary could reach the best spots.

Rosemary booped her nose, and then with a giggle, hopped off Agnes. She blew the werewolf a little kiss and took off running once more.

Agnes howled. The sound electrified; Rosemary felt her hair stand on end. Grinning, she sprinted onward. The heavy thunk of Agnes’ footsteps began once more, just behind her.

She kept her footsteps light and airy, dashing across the forest without leaving so much as a print. Still, Agnes tracked her scent, following at a pace that Rosemary realized was leisurely. 

At any moment, Rosemary thought with excitement, Agnes could sprint to her. 

When would she? The moon had begun to lower, the dark of night lifting its tender veil ever so slightly. Rosemary glanced back over her shoulder; there was Agnes, dusted with silver.

The werewolf pounced.

Heavy paws landed on Rosemary’s shoulder. In an instant, she was pushed onto the wet moss. Agnes’ huffed a breath just above her, her sharp teeth glinting like knives.

Neither moved.

The air around them felt delicate, as though a single breath could shatter it in an instant.

Slowly, Agnes’ transformation slipped away. Dark fur became a man of black hair. Her expression remained just as intent, just as focused on the prize before her. Rosemary lifted a hand and ran it across her face. Though Agnes’ features were sharp, her skin was soft. 

Her neck was bare. 

Rosemary wondered which of them would bite first.

Then Agnes scuttled away, back against a tree. Her lithe body just barely covered by the curtain of her hair, she hunched in on herself, hands pressed to her heart. Red scars circled her wrists where the bands had been.

Rosemary sat up. “How are you feeling?”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Agnes hissed. She brought her hands up to her mouth. Her silver eyes were wild. Even caught in horror, they were oh so pretty. “I almost jeopardized everything.”

Rosemary climbed to her feet. “Oh come now,” she chirped, “all you had was a nice night.”

“What if I’d killed you?”

Rosemary laughed. 

“It isn’t funny,” glowered Agnes. “That was dangerous.”

“I may not look it,” Rosemary said. “But I’m dangerous as well. You ought not to forget that.”

“Believe me,” Agnes murmured, so quiet Rosemary barely caught it, “I will never forget.”