Chapter Three - Samantha (Unfinished)

A few years after the attack (Samantha's POV) Not yet completed.

I didn't want to be here. I shuddered, remembering my last trip through these woods almost five years ago - when I was attacked by the wolves. One trip I often wished I could forget, yet knew I never would. Subconsciously I  began to rub my right arm, across my scars.

I cursed Dr Williams under my breath for telling my  mother the best way to get over my “issues” with the woods was to force me to face them.

Which was why this morning when I woke up, I went downstairs to see my mother with a plastic smile glued to her face, unable to hide the worry beneath it. She told me to take the shortcut through the woods to Nana’s house. “You’ll be fine, Sammy,” she told me, trying to ignore the sudden flash of panic in my eyes. “It’s only a mile or so. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Nothing to be afraid of.

“Nothing to be afraid of?!” I felt like screaming at her. “Those wolves tried to kill me!”

But I didn’t.

Instead, I put on my good, responsible daughter act for once and forced myself to smiled sweetly at her, walking out the back door into the woods without looking back.

After a few minutes of walking aimlessly in angry silence, I stopped and looked around me.

Oh no.

Please, no.

I can’t be lost in Rhendon woods!

Growling angrily at myself, I slapped myself hard across the face. You will NOT panic, Samantha Catherine Park!

I stayed there for a few minutes with my eyes closed, taking deep breaths. Think of puppies, I told myself. Cute, fluffy ones.

I found myself smiling idiotically at the thought and, with a sigh, I opened my eyes.

And came face-to-face with the biggest, most terrifying man I’d ever seen in my life.

Who looked strangely like an old, beat-up version of John C. Reilly.

I screamed and half-turned to run but he grabbed me a covered my mouth with his hand, choking off my scream.

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea, sweetheart,” not-John hissed, his low, croak-like voice cracking with each word. “It took me a long time to find you.”

Desperate and confused, I sank my teeth into the fleshy skin of his hand. The man growled in anger but didn’t let go of me, so I kicked my right leg back as hard as I could, my foot connecting with his groin.

Yowling in pain, his hands automatically flew to protect the injured ‘area’ and I was free.

Or so I thought.

As I ran as fast as my legs - curse you, stupid stupid short legs! -could carry me, I felt a pair of hands grip my shoulders, pulling me to a halt… but these were not the rough hands of my previous attacker. They were still large, but somehow more gentle, as if whoever they belonged to was taking great care not to hurt me.

I threw my arm back, trying to defend myself from my second attacker.

“Whoa! Hey, hey, hey. Don’t hurt yourself. Just trying to help.” the man called… only, as I’d suspected, he was not the man who had grabbed me first. This man was not my John C. Reilly look-alike.

I would have tried to run again, but the man was still gripping my wrist. Cautiously, I turned around, and my mouth dropped open in shock.

He was gorgeous.

I’m not exaggerating - I don’t mean moderately good looking. He was the most perfect looking man I’d ever met. He looked airbrushed. Too good to exist in the real world.

He was tall - I know being just 5’0, everyone was tall to me, but he must have been barely under 7’0 - with long brown hair tied in a ponytail at the side of his head. He was shirtless, and tanned, so his honey-coloured muscles almost glimmered in the sunlight. He had on just knee-length black shorts and worn-out-looking Nike trainers.

Absolute perfection in my book.

...maybe I should get lost in the woods more often.

“Um… miss? Are you alright?” this God of a man asked me, shaking me gently, gazing into my eyes. His were full of worry, but wow, they were still beautiful, as blue as the ocean and-

Abruptly I froze, trying to locate this absurd sense of déjà-vu.

Coming to my senses, I averted my eyes from the intensity of his gaze.

“I-I… I think I should go,” I stammered. “Thank you.”

“Wait!” the stranger said, raising his voice, as if in panic. “Please. At least let me walk you back.”

I looked at him uncertainly, not so… well, under his spell anymore. My wits were slowly trickling back in.

“My name is Ethan,” he continued. “Ethan Wulf. And if you say I can’t walk you home, I’ll be following behind you anyway.” He paused for a moment. “Wow, that sounded creepy. I meant… y’know, making sure nothing bad happened to you.”