Page 29 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)

Thirteen

Wim

W im’s blood sang with one purpose: return to Red.

His paw hit the ground wrong yet again, sending fresh waves of pain shooting up his leg. He ignored it, pushing through the undergrowth as fast as his injured limb would allow. The wine had dulled his senses earlier, making him careless, and he’d tripped, spraining his ankle.

The forest spoke to him differently in this form. Every rustle, every scent, every movement held meaning that his human mind would miss, whereas his wolf-self understood the language of the woods with ancient clarity.

But Wim wasn’t presently paying any attention to the forest.

Mine-protect-return .

The thoughts pulsed through him with each stride. Like a hook beneath his ribs, Red’s scent drew him forward. His pack was heavy with the waterskins he’d filled, a reminder of his promise to return quickly.

The alcohol had quickly left his system, thankfully.

He cursed the foolish market purchase, for not only had it caused Red to become intoxicated, but it stupidly allowed him to leave his Red alone in this dangerous forest. The thought of Little Red alone in the darkness made his chest tight.

Strange, this pull. In his thirty-two winters, he’d never felt such an urge to return to anyone’s side.

His nose twitched, seeking that now-familiar scent—wild berries, woodsmoke from all their fires, and something uniquely his .

The smell of blood hit him first.

Fear flooded his veins, the beast inside him snarling to life. He quickened his pace, dried leaves crunching beneath his paws. Other scents layered over Red’s—unfamiliar men, steel, sweat. The market trader’s stench.

Through the trees, he caught sight of their camp. Or what remained of it.

His Red sat hunched on the ground, wrists bound behind him, tear tracks cutting through the dirt on his face. A split lip leaked blood down his chin.

The beast roared for blood, for revenge, but Wim forced it down. Red needed him calm. Needed him here.

A whine escaped his throat. “Red! What happened?!”

“Where the fuck have you been?” Red’s voice cracked raw, and the sound pierced Wim’s heart. His Red twisted against the ropes, sitting up with blazing eyes full of hurt and fury. “What do you think happened? Look around! We were robbed!”

Wim shifted back to human form, ignoring the ache of transformation.

His hands trembled as they found the ropes binding Red’s wrists—his clever, skilled Little Red who should never be bound like this.

He worked quickly to loosen the knots, breathing in Red’s scent to calm the rising beast inside him.

Every mark on Red’s skin made his blood boil.

“God, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you.

” The words felt inadequate. “The stream was further than I thought and the wine… it slowed me down more than I realised.” His fingers ghosted over Red’s ribs, checking for injuries, marking each hurt done to what was his .

“Like a fool, I caught my leg in a rabbit hole. It took a while to mend.”

After rummaging through his pack, Wim quickly slipped on a large, loose shirt that covered most of him.

Wim cupped Red’s face, thumb brushing away a smear of blood from the split lip.

The beast howled for vengeance, but he pushed it down.

Unlike the feral kills of his past, these men would face something worse—his controlled rage.

“Who did this?”

Red jerked away from his touch, and the rejection stung.

“That awful man from the market led bandits to us. I was attacked !” The accusation in Red’s scream pierced Wim deeper than any arrow could, and he deserved it.

He’d failed to protect what was his . “They’re long gone now.

Along with everything we had.” Red’s voice broke. “The golden arrow… my cloak …”

That red cloak—the damned thing his Little Red treasured above all else.

Wim had thought the man’s obsession with it too much at first, but now he couldn’t imagine him without it, the fabric as much a part of Red as his sly smile or sharp tongue.

Even when they slept, Red kept it close, fingers curled in the worn material like a child with a comfort blanket.

To have it ripped away by those bastards…

Wim’s jaw clenched. He’d track down every last one of them just for that alone.

Fresh tears spilled from those unique eyes he’d grown to adore, and Wim couldn’t bear it.

He pulled Red onto his lap, relief flooding through him when his Little Red’s rigid body finally melted against his chest. He encircled Red with his arms, one hand stroking up and down Red’s arm while the other smoothed his tangled hair, breathing in their mingled scents.

“Shh, sweetheart. I’ve got you now.”

And I’m never letting you go again , he thought, even knowing he must. Even knowing that what waited ahead in the Dark Forest might change everything. Would change everything.

Red’s tears slowed as Wim worked through the knots in his hair, letting his heartbeat steady against his chest. The warmth between them chased away the chill of the night air. Wim’s nose caught the copper tang of blood from Red’s split lip.

“Your lip…” He brushed his thumb near the split, careful not to hurt Red further. “May I kiss it better? Wolf saliva has healing properties.”

Red blinked, tilting his head back to look up at him, and Wim’s breath caught at the trust in those eyes. “Are you making that up?”

“No tricks. I promise.”

Red gave him a small smile, and Wim couldn’t help but smile back, even as his heart ached. How many more moments like this could they share before his secret destroyed everything? Then Red nodded once, and the simple gesture of trust made Wim’s chest tight.

He pressed his lips to Red’s, feather-light, letting his tongue dart out to heal the wound. The metallic taste of blood mixed with lingering wine, and beneath it all, Red’s unique flavour. The beast inside him purred with satisfaction as the split began to heal.

Red pulled back, touching his healed lip in wonder. “I’m so sorry. I was just vile to you, when you’re hurt yourself.”

“You were scared and by yourself, sweetheart. Anyone would lash out.” Wim tightened his arms around Red, fighting the urge to shift and wrap him in fur instead.

“God, I should never have gone. Should’ve been here to protect you.

” He exhaled a large breath, ghosting across Red’s cheek.

“Makes me want to tear something apart, thinking of you alone like that.”

His keen ears picked up the quickening of Red’s pulse as fingers traced the healed lip. “The golden arrow… without it, I can’t save the kingdom. The famine will continue, more people will starve.” Red’s voice trembled. “I’ve failed everyone.”

Guilt churned in Wim’s gut. But he couldn’t think about that right now. It wouldn’t help.

“Tell me something, sweetheart. Do you really believe all that?” Wim kept his tone gentle, curious. “That some fancy arrow’s going to turn the old witch to ash and fix everything? ”

The conviction in Red’s tone as he wrenched himself from Wim’s lap gouged at something tender in his chest. “Of course I do!” Red spun away, and Wim’s arms felt empty without him.

“You think I’d be out here marching through this bloody forest, freezing my ass off and battling bandits for the fun of it?

” Those delicate hands shook as Red gestured wildly.

“Children are dying! The crops won’t grow, the animals are sick—”

Frustration burned in Wim’s chest. How could someone so brilliant, so perceptive, be so thoroughly deceived by that viper of a queen?

His Little Red, who was remarkably quick-witted, claimed to hate Queen Schon as much as Wim did, yet here he was, believing every poisoned word that woman had fed him.

But… then… what if it was all true? Wim’s certainty wavered. After all, he was following his own desperate quest, chasing a cure that seemed just as fantastical. Who was he to judge?

“Shh, sweetheart.” He caught Red’s flailing hands in his own, thumbs rubbing circles on those palms that wielded a bow with such deadly grace. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Red tried to pull away, but Wim held firm, tugging him closer until their foreheads touched. He breathed in their mingled scents, trying to ground himself.

“I know why you doubt it,” Red said bitterly. “It’s because you can’t believe the Queen would send someone so incompetent on such an important mission.”

“No!” The word burst from Wim’s chest. “ Christ, how can you think that of me?” He cupped Red’s face between his palms. “Listen here, sweetheart. That queen of yours is poison through and through. I wouldn’t trust a single word from her mouth.

” His wolf bristled at the mere thought of that woman’s influence over his Red.

“But you? You’re something else entirely.

Those slavers you put down with that bow of yours—fine, clean shots, barely wasting an arrow.

And when you squeezed yourself through that cliff face, to save some stranger’s child from a snare? Nothing incompetent about that. ”

He stared at Red, stunned by his own torrent of praise. But now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop. His hands cupped Red’s face, forcing those mismatched eyes to meet his. His wolf surged forward, demanding Red understand his worth.

“Look at me now. In all my thirty-two winters, all the lands I’ve walked, all the people I’ve known…” His thumbs traced Red’s cheekbones, mapping every feature. “Never met anyone who comes close to you. Brave and fierce and brilliant—and entirely your own person.”

The rapid flutter of Red’s pulse beneath his fingers, the widening of those beautiful eyes… Wim could smell the disbelief rolling off him in waves. Before Red could protest, before Wim could reveal too much of his own heart, he jumped to his feet, hauling Red up with him.

Right, enough of that. His Little Red needed his cloak back.

“Right then, sweetheart. If this arrow’s meant to save the kingdom, we’ll get it back.” His grip tightened on Red’s fingers, unwilling to let go. “Those thieves won’t have made it far, not with all that loot weighing them down.”

Red gaped at him. “You can’t be serious. We’re just going to… what… chase them down and take everything back?” Those delicate hands fluttered dramatically. “There were loads of them! And they all had weapons .”

A predatory smile spread across Wim’s face, his wolf rising to the surface. Unlike his feral episodes, this hunt would be calculated, controlled. These men had hurt what was his. They would learn their mistake. “So do I.”

“But we don’t even know which direction they went!” Red’s voice pitched higher, sending a protective surge through Wim’s chest.

He tapped his nose with one finger. Their scent trail lay clear as daylight to his wolf senses, fear-sweat and greed leading away through the trees. “That shouldn’t be difficult.”

“But…” Red wrapped his arms around himself, and Wim caught the sour scent of fear. “It might be dangerous! ”

Wim’s broad shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “Didn’t we make short work of those slavers together? This lot won’t know what hit them.”

He watched as the words died in Red’s throat, scenting the shift in his emotions—concern, worry, something deeper that made Wim’s chest tighten.

His Little Red cared for him now, far more than he had when they’d first met.

The knowledge both thrilled and terrified him, considering their time together had an inevitable end.

While Red wrestled with his thoughts, Wim rooted through the ruined camp, trying to focus on the immediate problem to calm his spiralling mind.

“Well, what do we have here?” He held up Red’s old, hole-ridden boots triumphantly. “They left you with these. At least something’s going right.”

“Oh, what joy!” Red’s retort carried that familiar bite, but his smile—god, that smile—made Wim’s heart stutter. He threw the boots to Red, watching as he pulled them on with a grimace.

“Ready?” Wim let his eyes gleam in the darkness, already feeling the pull of his wolf form.

“Ugh.” Red kicked at a clump of grass. “Fine. But if we die, I’m going to kill you.”

Wim’s laugh echoed through the trees, even as his chest ached with things unsaid. How could he tell Red that he’d tear apart anyone who tried to harm him? That the thought of Red’s death made his wolf howl in agony? That his own mission would destroy whatever was growing between them?

“That’s the spirit, sweetheart. Now, hop on.”

He slipped off his shirt, stuffing it into his pack before he let his shift take him, bones cracking and reforming, fur rippling across his skin, tail swishing once against the forest floor.

Then his wolf form stood before Red, massive and grey, easily as tall as Red’s chest. He kept his eyes fixed on him.

Blood rushed through Wim’s veins, almost dizzying him.

Mine-protect-mine .

“Show-off,” Red muttered, but Wim’s keen ears caught the smile in his voice as Red climbed onto his broad back. Those lovely fingers tangled in his thick grey fur, and Wim suppressed a shiver of pleasure. “Right, then. Let’s go catch some bandits.”

I’ll keep you safe this time, Little Red , Wim promised silently as he caught the bandits’ scent. No matter the cost.