Demure

The only time I truly feared my wife was when she saved my life. In our courtship, I had always thought her demure. I had thought her propriety was what kept our rendezvous under the bright light of day, where none could whisper of clandestine meetings by candlelight.

Yet even then, in her modesty there was an air of mystery. Of possibility. Intriguing, alluring—a question waiting to be asked.

It seemed more strange, then, when her moonlit modesty extended into marriage. When we spent our wedding night apart, I worried that she may be a question without answer. She set those fears to rest as she woke me with the full heat of her daylight passion, and all thoughts of the cold night were pushed from my mind.

And so our not-quite-typical marriage passed in days together, nights apart, but I was too enamoured to wonder at it all. Why question perfect contentment?

Until that night of the broken glass. The fear woke me before I could identify the sound. Muffled by distance, but sharp and sure. I moved to the door without thinking, driven only by my deepest fear. Not for me—but for her.

At the end of the corridor, the glass glittered in the moonlight. But there amid the light was a darkness—a person. He looked at me. And lunged.

I hit the ground with such force that my breath left my body. As his hands wrapped around my throat, I was not sure that I would have the chance to draw breath again. He was bigger than me, stronger than me. But then a still-larger shadow fell across us.

I do not know which chilled me more: the scream or the growl. His weight was lifted from my body, and I gasped for breath. But as I watched him flail against the hold of teeth and claws, I felt a new breathlessness overtake me. His blood pooled dark in the moonlight. His flailing shuddered and stopped.

I could not move. Not as the great shadow tossed his body aside. Not as the creature turned towards me, its fur darkly gleaming, its eyes bright, its muzzle bloody. It moved slowly now. Sniffing at me gently, softly. Demurely.

I reached out slowly, and her massive head nuzzled against my hand. My fingers were lost in the warmth of her fur. Her eyes were changed, but she looked at me with a love that I knew well. And in that moment, all my questions were answered.

∼ Miriam H. Harrison