-Red-

"The beast, you see, is no superstition. It's always existed, and always will. Inside of us." - Aaron Mahnke, LORE.

01

"Don't stray from the path, dear." It was a tired warning, one that no longer held any meaning beyond a parting farewell. How many times had it sent Bulma out the front door on her way to Roshi's place to visit Goku and Krillin?

She didn't pay it much heed. It was a warning for little girls, and as far as Bulma was concerned, she wasn't one anymore. She was (almost) a woman, old enough to be courted by the young men in the village who milled about the water-fountain, thumbs hooked in their belt-straps as they watched her walk by, lips smirking and eyes narrowing in appreciation of the way she filled out her dress. But they were louts. Bulma had no time for their likes, and when they realized she couldn't be sweet-talked they turned against her, mutterings of 'odd' or 'stuck-up' following at her heels and chasing her all the way home. Perhaps that's why she found herself more and more taking the long hike through the woods to visit two little boys and an old man who, while vastly out of her age range at either end of the spectrum, always made her feel welcome.

The fall air was crisp as an apple and ripe with the smells of the forest. Swinging her basket back and forth, Bulma let her red hood rest on her shoulders to bask in the warmth of the sun. Winter would soon hit, and the snow would make the journey near-impossible. It might be the last chance she got before spring to boss the boys about in one of their make-believe adventures.

As bright as the day was, the forest either side of the her was steeped in shadow, the tall canopy blocking out the sunlight. An endless procession of trees marched off into the distance as far as the eye could see. She had seen a rabbit once and the occasional bird and squirrel, but otherwise the forest remained still, holding its breath as it waited for her to pass. She suspected her father's warning came more out of concern of getting lost (the forest was huge) than from any real danger lurking within.

As her eyes trailed along the trees, something caught her eye: a little red and white toadstool. It sat by the edge of the path, endearingly plump and as colorful as a berry. Bulma crouched to admire it. She had seen these before, Roshi kept a few in his kitchen. An idea formed, and Bulma smiled to herself for being so clever. A collection of mushrooms would make a nice gift for the old lecher. Perhaps then he would be more interested in her basket than her bodice.

Bulma plucked the toadstool and examined it between pinched forefinger and thumb. What did these even taste like? Curiosity peaked, she popped it in her mouth and chewed. Almost immediately her nose crinkled at the bitter flavor. Ugh! How did Roshi stomach these things? She forced herself to choke down the rubbery flesh. Gross! The old man's taste in food was as dubious as his taste in reading material. Still, she wasn't going to let it deter her from her brilliant idea. Looking around, she tried to find more of the mushrooms. A patch grew just a few feet away inside the forest.

Bulma left the path to pick them.

The change was immediate. Under the shade of the trees the air turned cool, heavy, settling over her skin like the breath of a ghost. Fighting off a shiver, Bulma raised her hood as she collected toadstools. The sun climbed ever onward towards its zenith, but she hardly noticed. In the woods, time stood still.

It was taking much longer to collect the fungi than she had anticipated. The little things grew sparingly, forcing her to wander from patch to patch in order to fill her basket. She was careful to keep the path at her back. By the time she was done, sweat trickled down her brow. Boy, she really needed to leave her father's study more. Finally satisfied with her haul, Bulma turned around to return to the path.

And saw only trees. Hundreds of them in every direction. She turned, and turned again, but the path which had been there only a moment ago had vanished. Oh no, oh nooo… Okay, don't panic. Think this through. Mentally, she began retracing her steps even as the basket handle creaked from her choke hold. She hadn't walked very far… Had she? No, of course not, the forest was just dense, that's all. A few paces and ta-da! There the path would be. Soon she would be on her way and laughing about that time she almost got lost in the woods.

Filling herself with a bravado as thin and inflated as a paper lantern, Bulma headed off in the direction she was (mostly) confident she had come from. Just a few paces, she told herself. Any minute now, you'll see the path.

Trees loomed about her like old gnarled fingers. Slowly — oh so slowly — they reached for her, catching at her dress and hood. The shadows grew denser, conjuring shapes that one tried very hard not to think about when alone and in a dark unfamiliar place. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Something was watching her.

Movement! Bulma turned around but only caught a rustling in the leaves of a nearby bush. Probably just an animal. A cute harmless one. Nothing to panic over. The path was just ahead…

Oh please, just be up ahead.

Her breathing accelerated, Bulma continued on. One foot in front of the other, that's all she could do. She was still sweating, her clothes clinging damply to her skin and causing her to shiver. It was nowhere near warm enough for her to be sweating so much, but she could worry about that after she had found her way out of this maze.

The further she went, the worse the terrain became. Wet leaves skidded under her boots and hidden twisted roots caught at her feet. She slipped, barely managing to brace herself against a large pine. Her heart thundered at her near-fall, her knees trembling in shock. Then the forest started to tilt sideways. Oh god! She was reminded of the time her father allowed her a glass of wine at winter solstice. How grown up she had felt, up until the living room started to spin and she crawled into her father's leather armchair by the fireplace to pass out. But she hadn't drunk any wine today. What was happening? Something was really, definitely wrong with her.

A large dark shadow loped past.

Her head snapped to the side. Nothing was there. Was she imagining things now? And if so, why did she feel so afraid, like she was being hunted?

"Hello…?" Her voice barely broke a frightened whisper, skittering into the silence as a pebble bouncing across a lake to sink into the murky water below. Was she also doomed to disappear, swallowed up by the forest, never to be seen again?

The forest didn't respond to her question, leaving her with only the rabbiting of her heart.

A stick snapped, and so did her bravery. She fled, running wildly through the woods and away from her invisible pursuer. But it was abundantly clear that she wasn't well. On a good day, Bulma had no trouble keeping up with the boys, running and playing by turtle lake for hours. Now though, her lungs burned and her knees threatened to collapse. The forest spun, and she couldn't get her footing right. The ground slipped out from under her. She in alarm, Bulma reached for the nearest tree—

"Ouch!"

Pain flaring as her hand struck something sharp. She landed on the grass, her basket rolling away. A quick glance found the skin on her hand had split open and was bleeding. A lot.

It broke her. Her little paper lantern of confidence immolated to ash. Hot, wet tears pressed at the back of her eyes. It wasn't fair, she had only wanted to gather a few mushrooms. Why hadn't she heeded her father's warning?

Curling up on the forest floor, Bulma wept.

Thump!

A sound roused her from her self-pity. Blinking through tears, she looked up to see a large dark shape. It sat in the shadows only a few feet away. Eyes glittered darkly, shining like the black carapace of an insect. They watched her. A predator weighing its next meal. Fear froze her.

Thump! Long and furry, a tail rose up and flopped down against the earth in contemplation.

What manner of animal was it? Could she outrun it as weak as she was?

Thump!

Its tail once more struck the ground and at her nerves. She hated being afraid. Fear — her father taught her — was from a lack of understanding or a lack of control. Both were an insult to her identity. She prided herself on her intelligence and ability to take charge, even if she was mocked for it in town. So what if she didn't know what this animal was or couldn't outrun it. It was an animal. Bulma knew animals. Her parents had a whole menagerie of them. Most would scatter from loud sounds. Bulma raised her chin and gathered her frayed nerves to show how very not afraid she was. "It'srude to stare, you know!" she shouted, hoping to shoo the creature away.

The beast's eyes narrowed. Mercilessly, they sucked all the fiery indignation out of her until Bulma was left a terrified shell.

The creature rose. Impossibly, it grew taller and taller until it doubled in height. The air froze in Bulma's lungs, her mind unable to process what she saw. Then it clicked: it wasn't growing, it was standing. He was standing. He came towards her, his movements strangely fluid, almost hypnotic. Not human, not human! The thought raced wildly about in her head, spinning and bouncing inside her mind and screaming RUN RUN RUN.

She couldn't, her legs wouldn't respond. All she could do was stare in mounting dreadas he got closer and closer. He was an impossible marriage between man and beast. He wore strange clothes but walked on bare feet, and navigated the underbrush with preternatural agility. Tall elfin ears stood up either side of a brooding face. The tips were covered with fur the same black of his spiky, widow's peaked hair. Muscles rippled impressively under his scarred, dirty skin. Any thoughts of escape were quickly forgotten; he would catch her in an instant. This was his world. He was built for it.

He stopped in front of her, looming tall and menacing as he glared down at the miserable human who dared enter his domain. His mouth thinned unhappily, and Bulma waited, blood draining from her face to see what he did.

For an endless eternity, he did nothing. Time stretched and held. Then, gracefully, he sat next to her.

It was not what she expected. Ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum! The thundering of her heart echoed loudly in her ears as she came to terms with the fact that she was still alive.

The man-creature glared at her, agitation written on his face. Her eyes were magnetized to him half in fear, half in awe. What did he want from her? What even was he?

When he did not eat her, Bulma felt a little of her courage come clawing back. Questions formulated in her mind. If he wasn't going to break the silence, then she would. As Krillin would say, she had a psychological incapability of staying quiet for long.

"Y-you really frightened me."

The man's eyes narrowed, and his ears twitched at the sound of her voice, but otherwise he did not respond.

Bulma tried again. "You shouldn't sneak up on someone like that. Especially not a lady. It's not polite. What are you even doing out here? Do you live here? I've never seen anyone like you before. I don't suppose you know where the path is? I got turned around and…" her voice trailed off when she saw her words falling on deaf ears. The man just glared at her, without any acknowledgement that he understood or cared about what she said. It occurred to her that he might not speak English.

Maybe he didn't speak at all.

Maybe he was still deciding whether or not to eat her. Well, this was just great.

His eyes flicked down to her bleeding hand.

Thump! went his tail. His nostrils flared. There was a subtle change in his posture. Muscles shifted as he suddenly reached for her hand —

With claws for fingernails!

"No don't—!" Bulma blurted out, reeling back in terror.

He stopped dead, ears flattening back on his head. Slowly, he retracted his hand, drawing up a knee and distancing himself from her. An awkward silence built between them, both girl and man eyeing each other warily. Something dark and painful flashed in his eyes. She saw her own uncertainty mirrored in him.

Oh, he was just as nervous as she was. He might look half a beast, but that didn't make him one, did it. Bulma rarely felt shame, she was far too head-strong and proud to acknowledge when she was wrong. But she felt it wash over her now. She was no better than those boys by the water fountain, judging others indiscriminately.

"…Sorry," she whispered, looking down at her lap. "I didn't mean to be rude. It's just," she hesitated, and recent events rushed up and overwhelmed her. Tears welled in her eyes as she unloaded her woes on the silent stranger. "I'm lost and I don't feel well, and I cut my hand and it really, really hurts, and you scared me, is all. I don't know what to do or how to get out of this mess. But you don't even speak English so why am I even telling you any of this is beyond me."

Thump!

The swatting of his tail caused her to jump, and she saw the agitated expression back on his face. His gaze was piercing and filled with an intelligence that felt endless. Eternal.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, he held out his palm. Bulma swallowed and gave him her hand.

He cradled it like one would a baby bird, his touch surprisingly warm and gentle. He was careful not to cut her with his claws. Throwing her one last wary look, he raised her wound to his face and inhaled. The scent of her blood hit him full force, and his muscles tightened. A deep rumbling erupted from his chest. Half-growl, half-purr, it vibrated all the way up her arm and into her bones. Logic demanded that she run from a growling beast, but logic had abandoned her the moment she stepped into this forest. The sound he made awoke something inside her, calling to a part of herself she never knew existed. It ached. Something thrummed and flowered in her lower belly, flushing her all over with warmth. Embarrassed, and confused, Bulma ducked her head to hide her flaming cheeks.

Indifferent to the reaction he evoked within her, the man brought her hand to his mouth and ran his tongue over her wound.

"O-oh!"

If she was blushing before, she was glowing as red as her hood now. His eyes opened and trapped her. Pupils, fully dilated, were as dark as the night sky and burned with a raw power that demanded obedience. She whimpered as his tongue dragged over her wound again and again, coming away wet and red with blood. A wicked glint danced in his eyes.

It felt like she was falling, air difficult to come by. Each swipe of his tongue tore away another layer of herself. Was this hot, drunk feeling his doing, or a symptom of her illness? The forest started tilting again, and she put a hand to her brow in hopes of stopping it.

The gesture gave the man pause. He frowned and sniffed the air, and his scowl deepened. Something was wrong. She didn't smell, did she? There was no way, she had bathed just that morning, always so fastidious about her cleanliness. But whatever it was had him leaning in until his nose ghosted over her cheek and lips. Oh my god! Every muscle in her body tensed. She didn't dare move, watching him with wide eyes as he smelled her. Personal space was not part of his vocabulary. If he even had a vocabulary.

His lips peeled back in a silent snarl to reveal bloodied canines. "You are a stupid girl." His voice was deep and rumbling, more growl than speech. Each word was spoken as if he were unaccustomed to talking.

"What?" She gasped, too stunned that he could talk to be eloquent.

Black eyes shifted past her to where her basket lay, bright red toadstools spilling out. His sneer deepened.

"How many?" he demanded, grabbing a fistful of mushrooms and shaking them at her in accusation.

"I… " What could she say? She didn't understand why he was so angry.

"Idiot!" he reprimanded again, his tail bristling as it thumped thumped between them. "How many of these did you eat?"

Oh no. She didn't like that implication. Skin prickling in fear, she stammered, "J-just the one."

He dropped the mushrooms on the ground in disgust, letting them scatter. "They cannot be eaten raw," he scolded her. "Even a pup knows that!"

Oh god. It all fell into place, all her strange symptoms and emotions upon entering the forest. It was from the mushroom she had eaten. It must have been toxic… Wait, how toxic? "A-am I going to die?" she asked, her voice tight with fear.

The man huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, giving her a reproachful look. "You'll live."

What little relief she felt was dampened by the inflection of his voice. He made it sound like her side-effects were far from over. They both lapsed into silence, Bulma fretting over her health, the man glaring at her as if worried for her mental capability.

"Should I see a doctor?" she inquired.

His brow pulled down, fingers flexing on his biceps. Finally, begrudgingly, he growled, "What's that?"

… He didn't know what a doctor was? He really wasn't human. "It's someone who helps you when you're sick."

"Hn. Unnecessary."

That made Bulma feel a little better. Satisfied that she wasn't dying, she allowed her attention to shift back to her strange companion. He looked like he had stepped out of a story book. No one was going to believe her.

"I'm Bulma," she offered. He eyed her skeptically but did not respond. "…And you are?" she prompted.

He puffed up his chest, sitting up straighter. "Vegeta, Prince of all Úlfhéðnar."

Prince of all what? "Ulf-heth-nar?" she tried to mimic the foreign word. "I don't know that place."

"Tch. It's not a place," Vegeta said, aggrieved. "I am Úlfhéðnar."

"I see…" Wasn't he just brimming with helpfulness? "So, it's your people? Does that mean there are more like you?"

Something painful flashed in his eyes, and he looked away.

Bulma wished she could take back the question. She began to apologize when Vegeta's head jerked up, ears perking, something in the distance catching his attention. Faster than her eyes could track he was up, tense and on guard.

"Get up," he told her in a harsh whisper. "We must leave this place. Your blood attracts them."

"Attracts who?" she asked, searching the woods for what had caught his attention, but all she could see was trees.

He didn't respond, grabbing her basket and holding out an impatient hand for her.

She took it and tried to stand, but the moment she did the world spun wildly and she found herself back on the ground, fighting back a wave of nausea.

"What are you doing?" he snapped.

"I'm sorry, I can't…" Her muscles felt like jelly. She pressed a hand over her eyes to fight off her dizziness. She needed to rest, just for a moment…

"Hey! Stupid girl," Vegeta barked at her.

Her head jerked up, blinking open eyes that she didn't remember closing.

He made a frustrated sound. "Why are you humans so infuriatingly weak?" Teeth gnashing together, he gave a final look around before coming to a decision. And scooped her into his arms.

"Oh!"

He carried her into the trees, his movements limber and quick, unimpeded by her weight. She felt as tiny as a doll in his arms. The forest still spun in crazy circles. She shut her eyes to ward it off and buried her nose into the fur pelt he wore over his shoulder. The scent of the forest was on him: the earth and leaves, damp fur, and something richer, muskier. Masculine. It was nice.

"Where are we going?" she mumbled.

"Quiet."

She pouted into the pelt, but weariness soon clawed at the edges of her consciousness. The scent of him was the last thing she remembered before succumbing to sleep.

-xoXox-

AN: inspired by RedViolett's Red Riding Hood AU for the Vegebul-zine, Under Every Moon.

Thanks to Stupidoomdoodles and MarcellaDuchamp for their feedback ^_^ 3