Page 10 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)

“You can’t just leave the palace.” Red schooled his face lest he shoot Wim a scornful glare.

“Of course she’d like to leave. But anyway, she’s the closest thing I’ve got to family.

” A fond smile tugged at his lips. “When I was a child, many winters before the famine, she’d always sneak extra treats onto my plate when she thought I wasn’t looking.

A honey cake or a bit of candied fruit.” These days, their roles had reversed, with Red ensuring the aging woman didn’t starve.

“And the stories she tells! She knows every bit of gossip in the castle, I swear. She’d whisper them to me at night, like we were sharing great secrets. ”

Now that Red had begun talking about her, the words wouldn’t stop gushing out of him.

“There was this one time, when I was about eight winters old. I’d overheard some nasty comments about my eyes from the noble children.

Auntie Anne found me crying in the kitchen pantry.

” He gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes to show Wim how pathetic he was, but the memory tugged at something deep within him, stirring an all-too-familiar sense of inadequacy.

Then he softened his tone to continue. “She didn’t try to tell me it wasn’t true, or that they were wrong.

Instead, she told me a story about a prince with eyes like mine who could see magic that others couldn’t. Said it was a gift, not a curse.”

Red shook his head, feeling the tug of a smile stretch his lips. “Utter nonsense, of course. But it made me feel special, instead of… different.”

Silence enveloped them, and Red’s skin prickled. He’d overshared, for certain. He doesn’t want to know all this, you fool!

After shifting his gaze to the ground, Red had to force himself to meet Wim’s eye—for he was surely smirking at the silly tale.

But Wim’s face held no judgement, only a quiet attentiveness that encouraged Red to continue.

The way his deep, steady eyes were fixed on him, absorbing his words, made Red’s heart race in a curious way.

“She taught me to read, you know. The Queen would have sneered, but Auntie Anne would sneak books from the library. We’d huddle by candlelight, sounding out words together.”

“She sounds like a treasure, that one. World could do with more folk like her.” Wim piled the empty bowls into the cooking pot, then tossed some more of their gathered wood onto the fire. He leaned back, inhaling deeply as he inspected the starless sky. “A wind’s coming. Can smell it in the air.”

As if the air could hear him, a sudden gust whipped through the trees, rustling the leaves before picking up fiercely, howling a warning. Their warm flames struggled against the onslaught of the rising wind, flickering precariously.

“Should get some sleep while we can,” said Wim. “Won’t be pleasant if this fire dies in the night.”

R ed’s eyes snapped open, his body racked with violent shivers. The wind roared through the trees, a bitter, relentless assault that penetrated his threadbare bedroll. He curled into himself, desperate for warmth, but found none.

Why was he so cold?

Bloody hell. The fire. What had happened to it? He squinted through the darkness to where embers should have glowed. Nothing but ash remained.

His fingers, numb and clumsy, fumbled with the edge of his blanket, trying to tuck it tighter. A futile effort. The biting cold seeped through every fibre, stealing his breath and clouding his thoughts.

You idiot. You should’ve known better. Should’ve brought a bedroll that didn’t resemble holey cheese. You’ll freeze to death by daybreak. The self-recrimination burned, but did nothing to warm him.

Red’s jaw clenched, fighting against the tremors, but it was no use. His teeth began to chatter, an incessant, maddening rhythm that echoed in his skull. A whimper escaped his lips, unbidden and raw.

The wind shrieked, mocking his misery. Red squeezed his eyes shut, willing the cold away, but it only seemed to intensify.

His toes curled painfully, as if trying to retreat from the icy assault. Red flexed them, desperate for any scrap of sensation beyond the numbing cold. Nothing. Panic fluttered in his chest. Was this frostbite? Would he even have feet to walk with come morning?

Or perhaps the wolf would simply find an icy corpse when he awoke.

Hopefully Wim would relent on his ‘wildling code’ and eat Red’s body. At least he’d be of some use, then.

The wind’s relentless howl intensified, hurling icy needles that pricked at his exposed skin.

Red burrowed deeper into his pathetic excuse for a bedroll, but the cold pursued him mercilessly.

It seeped into his bones, turning his marrow to ice.

His breath came in ragged gasps, visible in the frigid air .

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Should’ve stayed awake to guard the fire. Should’ve gathered more wood. Should’ve done a thousand things differently.

A particularly vicious gust tore through the campsite, ripping away what little warmth he’d managed to trap. Red’s body convulsed, teeth chattering so violently he feared they might shatter.

Oh, what a way to die!

Something warm and solid pressed against his back.

Hot breath ghosted across Red’s neck.

What in the seven hells…?

His mind reeled, struggling to process this sudden intrusion. Confusion gave way to realisation as soft fur pressed against his skin. Wim . The wolf had somehow wedged himself into Red’s bedroll.

Red’s teeth chattered violently, his whole body quaking.

“Shh,” Wim rumbled, pressing closer. The wolf’s massive form enveloped Red, radiating heat.

“W-w-what are y-you d-doing?” Red stammered, his words barely intelligible through his trembling.

“Couldn’t bear to hear your teeth knocking together anymore,” Wim grumbled. “But if you’d rather freeze to death, I can go back over there.”

Red’s limbs tingled as warmth slowly seeped back into them. The numbness in his toes receded, replaced by pins and needles. He flexed his fingers experimentally, relief flooding through him as sensation returned.

Wim’s fur tickled Red’s nose, and he fought the urge to sneeze. The wolf’s scent filled his nostrils—earthy and wild, with a hint of pine and something musky that Red couldn’t quite place. He burrowed deeper into Wim’s thick coat, seeking more of that blessed warmth.

The wolf’s body curled around him protectively, a living, fluffy shield against the biting wind. One by one, Red’s muscles gradually unclenched, tension melting away as heat seeped into his bones. He pressed his frozen nose into Wim’s fur, inhaling deeply .

Drowsiness crept over Red, his eyelids growing heavy. The wind’s fury seemed distant now, muffled by Wim’s solid presence.

Red’s thoughts drifted, losing their sharp edges, the comforting sensation of Wim pressed up against him lulling him to sleep. His consciousness soon teetered on the edge of oblivion. Just before darkness reclaimed him, Red murmured into the soft fur. “Thank you.”

Wim’s only response was a low rumble that vibrated through Red’s entire body. The sound reverberated in his chest, soothing and familiar.

Familiar?

Red almost laughed at himself. How had he become familiar with a wolf?

But as he buried himself even deeper in the wildling’s warm embrace, he couldn’t help but laugh at himself—for he was now very glad Wim had wanted to eat him the night they met.