Page 24 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)

Eleven

T he rhythmic sway of Wim’s gait lulled Red into a peaceful trance as the wolf carried him through the forest. Cradled against Wim’s broad back, the warmth of his thick fur enveloped Red like the world’s cosiest blanket.

He buried his face into the soft scruff, inhaling the comforting scent of pine and earth that clung to Wim.

They’d been travelling this way for hours. After spending too long wrapped up in each other’s embrace, Wim had announced they’d need to move quickly to make up for lost time.

With each of Wim’s large strides, Red’s thoughts drifted back to their intimate moments from earlier.

The memory of Wim’s rough tongue dragging across his skin sent delicious shivers down his spine.

He savoured the lingering taste of the wolf on his lips—a heady musk that made his head spin with desire.

Red’s fingers idly stroked through Wim’s fur, relishing the opportunity to simply be with him without the burden of words.

When dusk began to settle over the forest, painting the sky in hues of burnt orange and dusky purple, Wim slowed to a stop beside a small bubbling brook. Red reluctantly slid from his back, his limbs grumbling from the effort of supporting his weight once more.

As the wolf shifted back into his human form, Red couldn’t help but admire the play of muscles rippling beneath Wim’s tanned skin. Surely they would share a bedroll again tonight? Red would be free to explore every inch of him .

But an uncomfortable silence stretched between them as they set up camp. Wim moved with an uncharacteristic broodiness, his brow furrowed in a perpetual frown.

Red found himself sneaking furtive glances at the wolf. Had he done something wrong?

Perhaps Wim regretted their earlier intimacy? Yes, that was likely it. The wolf had experienced a moment of madness, had simply used Red for cathartic release, and now was wondering how on earth he could get rid of him.

Panic clawed at Red’s throat, making it difficult to breathe.

Finally, unable to bear the tension any longer, Red blurted, “If you’re regretting what happened earlier, you might as well just say it.”

Wim paused mid-motion, his eyes finding Red’s. For a heartbeat, he simply stared, an unreadable expression on his face. Then, shaking his head, he moved to sit beside Red.

“Never that, sweetheart. Don’t let your mind run away with you.” Wim’s deep voice was laced with a weariness that tugged at Red’s heart. Reaching out, the wolf cupped Red’s cheek with a calloused palm. “Nothing would ever make me regret that.”

Red leaned into the gentle touch, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Then what is it?”

Wim’s thumb stroked across Red’s cheekbone as he seemed to consider his words. “I feel… fucking disgusted with myself,” he said at last, his gaze dropping. “Those commoners… they were just trying to protect themselves. And I slaughtered them like animals.”

Red’s stomach twisted, the weight of Wim’s words crashing over him like a tidal wave. He’d witnessed the carnage, seen the mangled remains of the two men torn to pieces by Wim’s claws and fangs. At the time, he’d felt mainly relief that Wim hadn’t been hurt.

But now, faced with the raw anguish etched into the wolf’s features, Red couldn’t help but empathize with his remorse. “You were defending yourself,” he murmured, hating the way his voice shook. “They would have killed you without a second thought. ”

Wim shook his head, expression haunted. “That doesn’t excuse what I did. Two people are dead because of me… and then I rewarded myself, taking pleasure from you.” His hand fell away, leaving Red’s cheek chilled by the loss of contact.

Red’s throat tightened, robbing him of words. He wanted to protest, to assure Wim that he hadn’t seen it that way at all. Wim hadn’t been rewarding himself, he’d been seeking comfort and connection in a moment of pure darkness.

Instead, he reached for Wim’s hand, entwining their fingers together. He held on tightly, hoping his presence would be enough of a tether to stop Wim from sinking into melancholy.

That night, Wim dragged their bedrolls together without discussion, combining them to make a larger one to share. Then, pulling Red’s back flush against his chest, he whispered, “Little Red,” into his ear, then promptly fell straight to sleep, his arms locked around Red’s waist like iron bands.

The occasional tremor rippled through Wim’s massive frame, his breathing uneven and ragged.

Then a soft whimper broke the silence, and Red’s chest ached at the sound.

Was this Wim’s recurring nightmare? Was he currently lost in an endless forest, calling out for his pack until his throat bled raw, but receiving no answer?

Always searching, never finding his way home?

With great effort, Red twisted in Wim’s grip, facing him in the darkness. His fingers traced the worried creases between Wim’s brows, smoothing them with gentle strokes. He pressed his lips to Wim’s beard, tasting salt, earth, and something uniquely him .

Pulling at his red cloak, he stretched it so that it covered both himself and part of Wim. God, how Red yearned to shelter him, to wrap Wim in the same fierce protection the wolf had shown him. To be his sanctuary, his home. He’d never be pack , but perhaps he could be something akin to it.

Though what right did he have to dream of forever when their paths would soon diverge?

T he morning broke crisp and clear as they continued their journey on foot.

After hours of trudging through the forest, Red had taken to filling the silence with stories from the palace—partly to distract himself from his rumbling stomach and aching feet, partly to see how often he could make Wim’s lips twitch into a smile.

“And then, wouldn’t you know it, Makellos tripped over his own feet and landed headfirst in the trifle. Cream everywhere. The Queen—”

A sharp shush sliced through Red’s anecdote.

Wim’s hand clamped over his mouth, muffling the rest of the story.

Annoyance at his hilarious tale being interrupted was quickly replaced by icy dread.

What could Wim hear? Had the angry mob of commoners found them?

But Wim’s eyes—wide and gleaming—held not fear, but an almost childlike excitement.

“Deer,” Wim breathed, lips barely moving. He inhaled deeply through his nose, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “A big one.” A flicker of his tongue, tasting the air.

“How big?”

Wim looked at him and winked. “ Very big.”

Red rolled his eyes. “Well, we’re going to hunt it, right?” After the loss of their vegetables, the prospect of fresh venison set his mouth watering. Wim would surely make short work of any deer—his powerful jaws could crunch through bone like kindling.

“Only if you’re up for the challenge, sweetheart.” Wim’s smile twisted mischievously.

“Alright, wolf,” Red declared, pulling an arrow from his quiver. “Let’s hunt.”

Wim grinned, teeth glinting in the dappled light. With a subtle nod, he slipped into the shadows of the forest, disappearing behind a trunk as thick as one of the palace walls. Red nocked his arrow, scanning the underbrush for movement.

A low growl drifted through the trees—Wim had the scent. Red followed the sound, and found Wim crouching low to the ground. Together, they carefully traversed the forest, Wim taking the lead.

Fallen leaves crunched in the distance, the sound rapidly drawing nearer. Wim cocked his head. “It’s coming this way.”

Then Red’s breath caught in his throat as an enormous stag burst out of the leafy foliage.

He gasped, arm falling slack. The buck was massive, towering over six feet at the shoulder, its antlers spreading like a crown of branches against the sky.

Its reddish-brown coat gleamed in the sunlight as muscles rippled beneath.

It turned its noble head, leveling one great liquid eye at Red.

For an endless moment, they simply… looked at each other.

It was a thing of pure beauty—not even the Queen could find fault in it.

For a moment, Red almost lowered his bow—did this splendid creature of the forest actually deserve to die today?

In a flurry of movement, a blur of grey exploded from the bushes, fangs bared. The stag snorted, pivoting on its haunches as Wim slammed against its flank.

Red’s paralysis broke.

Sorry, beautiful thing. I really wish we didn’t need to eat you.

He lifted his bow, drew back the fletching until it kissed his cheek, then sighted along the shaft. The huntsman’s wisdom floated through his mind— a clean kill is a merciful kill.

The stag reared, hooves slashing the air as Wim danced just out of reach, taunting it with diving snaps of his powerful jaw. Red tracked their frantic movements.

Inhale.

Exhale .

His arrow flashed across the clearing in a blur, and punched through the stag’s eye with a meaty thunk. The beast collapsed like a felled tree, antlers crashing against the mossy ground.

Silence fell. Even the birds had hushed, perhaps as awed as Red was by the magnificence they’d just witnessed.

Wim padded over to the fallen stag, snout outstretched in curiosity.

After a moment’s inspection, he tossed his head back and unleashed a victorious howl that sent shivers racing up Red’s spine.

Despite the exhilaration of the hunt’s climax, Red felt a pang of sadness at the loss of such a majestic creature. But then his stomach gave a demanding rumble.

Wim shifted back to his human form, broad shoulders rippling as bones reshaped. “I’d say you and I make a great team, sweetheart.”

Red’s chest tightened. When was the last time anyone had treated him as an equal, rather than an unwanted nuisance or a servant to be ordered about? The way Wim looked at him now—eyes bright with shared triumph—made him feel seen in a way that both thrilled and terrified him.

They set to work cutting the carcass, Red slicing away thick slabs of haunch while Wim tackled the rest. By the time they’d finished, they had enough meat to provide the entire palace with an evening meal. Maybe two.

“That’s… rather more than we can carry,” Red said slowly, wiping sweat from his brow. What were they going to do? Auntie Anne’s stern face appeared in his mind, lecturing him on waste.

Wim grunted, slinging an entire hindquarter over his shoulder. He considered the impressive pile. “Most of this will go bad before we can get through it.”

“You don’t say.”

Wim was quiet for a moment. Then he turned to Red, eyes gleaming with an idea. “There’s a market town half a day’s walk from here. If we hurry, we can make it before nightfall. Trade this meat for things we need .

A market? Red’s mind raced with possibilities—new boots, a fur cloak to ward off the chill nights, maybe even a new quiver. His stomach clenched with anticipation, then sank.

“Would that not… delay us even further?”

Though would Red truly mind extra time with the wolf?

He studied Wim’s handsome face.

Of course he wouldn’t.

And if he was being honest with himself, the thought of finally reaching Old Oma’s cottage filled him with a quiet dread.

Wim seemed to read the conflict in his expression.

He stepped closer, the scent of earth and musk surrounding Red.

“Maybe a bit. But we can’t let all this go to waste.

That stag deserves better than to rot in the forest.” His eyes held an intensity that made Red’s pulse flutter.

“What do you say, sweetheart? Fancy a little side adventure?”

Red swallowed hard, feeling the heat of Wim’s closeness. The Queen’s Shadow could return any second, expecting to see significant progress. He was days and days behind by now.

But this opportunity was too good to pass up. “I… I suppose a short detour won’t hurt. My boots do have holes in them, after all. I can’t possibly complete my royal quest if I lose a toe to frostbite.”

They grinned at each other, the unspoken understanding passing between them.

“Right, then.” Wim clapped his hands together. “Now comes the tricky part—carrying it all.”

Dragging his gaze from Wim’s lips, Red scanned their surroundings. His eyes landed on an enormous slab of bark, dislodged from a fallen tree. “There. We can use that as a sledge.”

Red beamed at Wim victoriously, rather proud of his ingenuity.

They quickly piled the meat onto the makeshift sled, then Wim rummaged through his pack, producing a long coil of sturdy rope. Within minutes, they’d lashed the bark securely.

Wim tested the weight, giving the sledge an experimental tug. He grunted with effort but kept his feet. “Who knew there was such a large brain in that pretty little head of yours?” He took a few more large strides, and the bark slid across the floor.

“Wouldn’t it be easier in your wolf form? I’m sure that big strong body could pull it with much less effort.”

Wim narrowed his eyes. “And have you take the reins, treating me like an obedient dog? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” His smile turned wolfish. “Unless that’s a fantasy of yours?”

Red opened his mouth, an indignant retort ready, but Wim cut him off with a low chuckle.

“I’ll shift later perhaps, but for now… let me enjoy your company in this form, if that’s alright with you.”

That was more than alright with Red. He fell into step beside him, happily sneaking sidelong glances at Wim, admiring the flex of powerful muscles beneath sun-kissed skin.

Red’s gaze traced the strong lines of Wim’s jaw, the breadth of his shoulders, down to where his shirt stretched tight across his chest. Sometimes, even when Wim was simply walking, his loveliness stole Red’s breath away.

Yet… even with his rugged handsomeness, his scars and that nasty bite mark would likely mean he wouldn’t be perfect enough for Queen Schon.

Red’s stomach churned. Even now, hundreds of miles away from the palace, the Queen’s voice still whispered in his head, categorising beauty and ugliness as if people were objects to sort. He’d absorbed her poison deep into his bones, letting her shape how he saw the world.

His hand passed through his strawberry-blond hair.

How he saw himself .

If only Red could scrub himself raw, to tear out every remnant of her teaching that still lingered in his mind.

Though… here he was, marching through the woods for the same woman he despised, on a quest of her making.

A quest that would hopefully prevent thousands of people starving to death .

A quest you keep delaying.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Wim said, cutting through Red’s spiralling thoughts.

“Just thinking about all the things I’m going to buy at the market,” Red replied, a little too brightly.

Wim hummed, shooting him a disbelieving look.

It was terrifying, really, how easily Wim could see past his defences, as if Red were made of glass instead of the carefully crafted armour he’d spent a lifetime building.

Terrifying, and exhilarating.