Page 20 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)

The voices grew even louder. Someone shouted about following a blood trail.

Wim’s ears flattened. “Red—”

“No.” Red cut him off. “Either we both leave right now, or I’m staying here to face that mob with you. My Auntie Anne once said life is full of careful choices. And now you have to choose, Wim. Choose to live. Choose to come with me. Choose Tobias, and Astrid, and your pack.”

A growl rumbled through Wim’s chest. “You’re a menace.”

“So I’ve been told.” Red tugged at Wim’s fur. “Now move your furry ass before they catch us both.”

With a resigned huff, Wim surged to his feet. Red took the opportunity to quickly reclaim his bow.

“Climb on my back,” Wim growled, crouching low to the ground. “We’ll move faster this way.”

Red’s heart skipped as he stumbled back in shock. Ride the wolf like a horse?! Madness! The massive wolf’s back stretched before him like a grey mountain, muscles rippling beneath thick fur. His mouth went dry. One wrong move and he’d tumble straight off .

“For fuck’s sake, hurry up!” Wim’s tail lashed in agitation as another shout echoed through the trees, closer now.

Red’s fingers fumbled with the straps of his pack, cinching them tight across his chest. His bow jumped against his spine as he took a hesitant step forward. What if he lost his weapon?

Wim’s fur felt coarse under Red’s palms as he gripped two handfuls, the texture different from the soft downiness of his scruff. Red swung his leg over, thighs pressing against Wim’s sides. Heat radiated through his breeches from the wolf’s body, and Red’s stomach lurched as he settled his weight.

Red never was the biggest fan of horse riding.

He’d just have to close his eyes and cling on for dear life.

The scent of pine needles and blood filled his nose as he pressed his chest against Wim’s back, trying to find his balance. His fingers twisted deeper into the thick fur, heart hammering against his ribs.

“Hold tight,” Wim rumbled beneath him. “And try not to pull my fur out by the roots.”

Before Red could brace himself, Wim shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow.

The world blurred into streaks of green and brown as they tore through the forest. Red’s stomach dropped, but instead of the nauseating bounce of a horse’s gallop, Wim’s movements flowed like water.

His massive paws struck the earth in a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing.

“Got to find my pack,” Wim said. “The beast always shakes it off when he takes control. Right pain in the ass.”

Red nodded against Wim’s fur, unable to form words as they wove between ancient oaks and leapt over fallen logs.

The wind whipped his hair back, and his heart soared with each bound.

This was nothing like the jarring, awkward motion of riding a horse.

Wim moved with the grace of a predator, each muscle working in perfect harmony.

They reached a hollow beneath a lightning-struck tree. Wim snatched up his pack with his teeth, tossing it behind to Red with a quick jerk of his head. The leather straps settled against Red’s back, and then they were off again.

The forest quickly became a blur again. Red’s thighs gripped Wim’s sides as they navigated the terrain, ducking under low-hanging branches and skirting around thorny bushes.

The pack bounced against Red’s spine in time with Wim’s strides.

Sunlight dappled through the canopy above, creating patterns that danced across Wim’s grey fur that Red traced with one hand.

Once they’d put several leagues between themselves and the commoners, Red found himself grinning, then laughing as they bounded over a small stream. Water sprayed up around them, catching the light like scattered diamonds, soaking Red’s side.

When was the last time Red had experienced such fun?

Was this what flying felt like?

No, not flying.

Freedom .

This was freedom.

And Red was terrified by how much he craved more.

After what felt like hours, Wim’s pace began to slow. His sides heaved beneath Red’s legs, and his breaths came in heavy pants. Red slid from his back, his own legs shaky as they touched the ground. His cheeks hurt from smiling, and his hair was a wild mess from the wind.

“Shift back,” Red said softly, pressing his hand between Wim’s two furry ears. “Please.”

Wim shifted beneath his palm, and soon Red’s fingers were tangled in Wim’s thick chestnut locks. Bones cracked and reformed until a man knelt before him, head bowed, chest heaving. Wim tilted his face into Red’s touch, and Red’s hand slipped to cup his cheek.

Dark circles haunted Wim’s eyes, carved deep like valleys in weathered stone.

His shoulders drooped with invisible weight, and sweat gleamed on his bare skin despite the cool air.

Something raw and wounded lived in his gaze as he looked up at Red—something that spoke of endless nights running from his demons, of carrying burdens too heavy for any man to bear alone.

Red’s thumb brushed across Wim’s cheekbone, catching on day-old stubble. The gesture felt achingly tender, far too intimate for near-strangers. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to pull away, not when Wim leaned into his touch like a man starved for it.

“No one’s ever…” Wim swallowed hard. “The feral state always takes over. Hours or days of violence, of hunting, of…” He caught Red’s hand, pressed it further into his cheek. “But you broke through. Somehow, you got through to me when I was lost.”

Rising to his feet, Wim strode a few paces away from him, stretching out his shoulder muscles. He towered over Red, his broad shoulders blocking out the filtered sunlight. A shadow crossed his features as his gaze drifted to the horizon.

“So many dead.” The words fell like stones into still water. “So many lives I’ve taken. Fathers, sisters, sons—all dead because of what I am.” Wim’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Would’ve been more, if not for you.”

Red’s breath caught in his throat as Wim’s large bare form stepped towards him. Red moved backwards on instinct, an automatic response to the predator approaching him. But Wim’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Red’s forearm with surprising gentleness.

“Thank you,” Wim murmured, drawing Red closer until barely a handspan separated them. The warmth of his skin radiated through Red’s sleeve where he gripped him. “For stopping me. For staying when you could’ve run.”

“Of course.” Red searched for more words, and came up short, distracted by the expanses of Wim’s skin currently on display, and how much his fingers ached to touch him. One hand fought the edge of his riding hood, to dance across the worn hem.

Red’s breath hitched as Wim pulled him into a crushing embrace.

The wildling’s massive frame dwarfed him completely, surrounding him in a cocoon of heat and strength.

Though Red was clothed, every point of contact burned—chest to chest, Wim’s arms locked around his waist, their legs tangled together.

Red’s face pressed against Wim’s collarbone, his hands trapped between their bodies.

Red stretched his fingers to splay them across Wim’s chest, mapping the ridges of muscle beneath warm skin. He barely reached Wim’s shoulder, forcing him to tilt his head back to look up at him. The position left Red feeling vulnerable, exposed, yet somehow safer than he’d ever felt before.

A soft rumble vibrated through Wim’s chest as he nuzzled the top of Red’s head, his nose buried in strawberry-blond waves. The gentle gesture contrasted sharply with the raw strength in his arms as he walked Red backwards until rough bark pressed against his spine.

What is happening? Red’s thoughts scattered like autumn leaves in a storm. A flurry of butterflies exploded in his stomach as Wim’s face dropped to the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. Hot breath fanned across Red’s skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake.

“God above,” Wim growled, the words muffled against Red’s throat. “You smell absolutely fucking delicious.”

The words echoed what the feral wolf had said earlier, and at their first meeting.

But this felt different—charged with something that made Red’s knees weak and his mouth fall dry.

The hunger in Wim’s tone held none of the feral savagery from before.

This was something else entirely, something that made heat pool in Red’s belly and his fingers curl against Wim’s chest.

“Your scent’s been driving me wild since I first caught it.”

Every muscle in Red’s body trembled. Like a fever dream, reality blurred at the edges. People didn’t look at Red this way. People didn’t want Red this way. Especially not someone like Wim. And yet here he stood, pinned between rough bark and Wim’s burning heat.

“I can still taste them,” Wim whispered. “Those men. I can still taste their blood. Still feel their flesh between my teeth, hear their bones breaking apart.”

“Wim,” Red said, his voice cracking, just like his heart .

“Give me something else to taste.” Wim pressed his mouth to Red’s ear. “Just for a moment, help me forget what I am.”

A tiny part of Red urged himself to pause, to think .

He was certain Wim was withholding something from him—some hidden reason that drove him towards the Dark Forest. The same Dark Forest where Red was supposed to be completing the Queen’s quest. Their secrets and lies twisted around each other like thorny vines, threatening to strangle them both.

And yet…

His body was already moving of its own accord, drawn to Wim like a moth to flame.

What were choices, really, when faced with a wildling like this?

Had he ever truly stood a chance against those burning orange eyes, that primal strength, that dangerous tenderness that made his knees weak?

No, resistance had never been an option.

Ever so slowly, Red raised himself up on to his tiptoes, slipping his arms around Wim’s neck. He held his breath in anticipation, his pulse threading in such an unsteady rhythm he thought he might faint.