It had been your idea, though Bill certainly hadn’t needed convincing.

“So I get to be the wolf,” he’d said, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. “Fitting, don’t you think?”

You’d rolled your eyes then, pretending not to notice the way his grin deepened when you didn’t immediately deny it.

By the time the Halloween party rolled around, you almost regretted giving him the idea. Almost.

He looked dangerous in that half-unbuttoned shirt, the mask pushed up just enough for you to see the sharp curve of his smile. You, on the other hand, had gone full Little Red Riding Hood — red cloak, corset, skirt that was a little too short, and a basket hooked over your arm.

The second you stepped into the party, he slipped right into character.

Every time you turned around, he was there. Hovering just close enough for you to feel the heat of his presence. He’d circle you slowly, eyes glinting through the dim light, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth as if he were stalking something far more interesting than the drinks table.

When you reached for a butterbeer, he leaned down behind you, close enough for his breath to stir the hair at your neck. “Careful, Red,” he murmured, voice low and rough, a playful growl curling around the words. “You wander too far, and the wolf might have to come find you.”

A shiver ran down your spine, and he caught the corner of your smile before slipping back into the crowd.

Throughout the night, he kept it up — prowling behind you, brushing his fingers along your arm when he passed, leaning down to whisper something wicked that made your face warm. And every time you caught his gaze across the room, he’d give that slow, knowing smirk that said he was enjoying every second of your reaction.

Later, when the music softened and the crowd thinned, he appeared at your side again. His mask pushed up and eyes darker than before. “You know the story ends with the wolf catching her, right?” he said, voice a low rumble that barely carried over the music.