Page 16 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)

Eight

R ed drifted awake. He stretched, muscles aching from where he’d strained them squeezing through the narrow crack. His heart sank as his uncomfortably full bladder demanded attention.

Something was restricting his movement, however.

The weight of Wim’s arm draped across his chest pinned him in place, heavy and warm. Through half-closed eyes, he watched the rise and fall of Wim’s chest, the way his lips had parted slightly in sleep.

Just five more minutes.

But his damned bladder wouldn’t be ignored. Red shifted, trying to wiggle out from under Wim’s arm without waking him. The arm tightened, pulling Red closer.

Bloody hell.

“Wim.” Red poked him in the ribs. “Let go.”

Wim’s only response was a soft grunt as he buried his face in Red’s hair.

“For heaven’s sake.” Red managed to extract himself, though not without considerable effort. The cold night air hit him like a slap, and he grabbed his cloak, wrapping it tightly around his shoulders.

Unlike Red, Wim had no modesty concerns and would relieve himself right at the edge of camp, marking his territory like the animal he was.

Red refused to do his business where anyone might stumble across him.

Body still tired from the events of yesterday, Red meandered through the darkness, stumbling a few times over thistle bushes, until he found a secluded tree to do the honours on.

Once finally finished, Red headed back towards the warm glow of the dying fire.

He was almost at the camp’s edge when voices caught his attention—Wim and Astrid, speaking in urgent whispers.

Red froze, ears straining. They were so quiet, it was impossible to hear them clearly.

He inched forwards, ensuring he was covered in the darkness of a large pine tree.

“Look, he’s… sweet, I’ll give you that. But this golden arrow? Turn to dust ? Come on, Wim!” Astrid’s tone was sharp, even in a whisper. “You can’t seriously believe this bullshit!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Course I don’t believe it! It’s stupid nonsense.”

Ouch. Red felt the blow as a punch to his chest. There wasn’t a hint of doubt or hesitation in Wim’s voice. He thought Red’s mission a folly, and had been humouring him all along, like a child.

Perhaps Red should slink back into the forest, protect his fragile pride from any more harm. A braver soul would announce his presence, defend his quest, but Red wasn’t feeling particularly brave.

“Just before you left, you told me that your sickness was getting worse and worse. That you thought you might have only weeks left before you lost yourself completely. And now you’re wasting time with this random man? You need to stick to your plan and get back to our pack! We need you, Wilhelm!”

“Nothing has changed, Astrid!”

“So what’s going to happen when—”

“Shh!” Wim audibly sniffed the air. “I can smell him.”

Fuck.

Red strode forwards with casual confidence, making a show of blinking in surprise at finding the two wolves awake and hovering near the fire. He yawned convincingly. “Just needed to piss.”

Without another glance at them, Red slipped straight back into his bedroll, burying himself in it to hide his face. Red’s throat constricted as he lay rigid, paralysed with pure humiliation. The conversation replayed in his mind, each word a fresh wound.

Stupid nonsense.

Of course Wim hadn’t believed him—who would? He was just some pathetic nobody on a ridiculous quest, prancing about the forest with delusions of importance.

His fingers curled into the fabric of his red cloak. The familiar texture brought no comfort tonight. Instead, it felt like another lie wrapped around his shoulders. A gift from a mother who’d abandoned him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid . He should have known better than to trust a wolf. To think Wim actually cared about his mission, about him . The warmth they’d shared, the playful banter, the way Wim’s eyes crinkled when he smiled—was it all an act?

Through the thin material, he heard Astrid and Wim return to their bedrolls. Red tensed as he waited to see if Wim would move close, put his arm over Red again.

He didn’t.

A hot tear slid down Red’s cheek. He brushed it away furiously, but another followed. The thought of Wim laughing at him behind his back was simply unbearable.

So was the thought of facing him tomorrow. He’d have to announce that they’d go their separate ways. Insist that he was only slowing Wim down—the truth, after all.

And face this place all alone? Would you even make it to the Dark Forest?

And say he did make it to the Dark Forest. What then?

Everyone knew the tales—massive spiders that drained men dry, horrors that slithered in the darkness, waiting to feast on lost souls.

Auntie Anne had terrified him with bedtime stories of the Dark Forest’s hungry shadows, of men who entered and were never seen again—at least not with their minds intact.

Red sighed. No, his very real and important quest to stop the Great Famine was too critical not to utilise this wolf’s help, despite his betrayal. A wolf—especially one like Wim—might be the only thing standing between him and the Dark Forest’s countless terrors.

Red would have to keep travelling with him. He’d use him for his cooking, his navigation, and possibly his warmth, in emergencies. Use his keen senses and predator’s instincts to navigate the forest’s deadly paths.

But he wouldn’t trust him.

Red was excellent at divining people’s intentions—never fell for a feint during training, could often read the tiniest flicker of emotion in someone’s eyes.

He ran over every interaction he’d had with Wim since they met, scrutinising each moment.

It had always bothered him why Wim had agreed to help him.

The wolf’s vague answers had niggled at him.

Usually, Red could tell someone’s true motivation within moments of meeting them, but with Wim…

there was something different. Something hidden.

His resolve galvanised. He had a choice here—attempt to run away from this wolf, or stay and uncover whatever it was that Wim was keeping from him.

Life is full of choices, Red.

Red knew his present one.

No matter what games Wim was playing, Red would discover the truth.

Tomorrow, he’d watch more carefully. Listen more intently. The wolf might think him a na?ve child who’d swallow any tale, but Red had survived the Queen’s court. He knew how to play people’s games.