Page 4 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)

Three

A cool wisp of wind brushed against Red’s cheek, dragging him from the depths of his dreams.

Stretching out his aching limbs, Red’s eyes peeled open, ready to be greeted by the rafters of the palace attic.

Instead, his eyes met rough bark, branches creaking overhead. The usual dusty smell of his bedroom had been replaced by woodsmoke and damp earth.

Red sat up, disoriented, still bleary-eyed. A clattering sound pierced the morning stillness. Then, metal on stone. Footsteps. Heavy breathing.

His hand flew to his side, searching for his bow. Gone. Panic clawed at his throat.

A low growl rumbled nearby. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

Reality crashed over him like a cold wave, seeping into his bones and chilling him to his very core.

The familiar comfort of the palace attic seemed a distant memory now, replaced by the wild, untamed forest that surrounded him.

He blinked rapidly, willing the scene before him to dissolve, to reveal itself as nothing more than a vivid nightmare.

But the stony ground beneath his fingers and the damp earth’s scent lingering in his nostrils refused to fade away.

Red’s eyes snapped to the source of the noise. Wim crouched by a small fire, fiddling with something in his hands. Steam rose from his cooking pot, balanced precariously over the flames.

“Good morrow to you too, dog. ”

“I’ve found three goose eggs. I was going to share. Careful I don’t change my mind.”

Red rubbed at his eyes before staring over at his pot, presumably boiling Wim’s impressive find. Red had been scouring the landscape high and low since he’d left the palace, and hadn’t found even a common goldfinch egg.

“Well,” Red said slowly, then yawned. He hadn’t had nearly enough sleep the previous night, with the biting cold refusing to let him rest deeply. “As you’re using my cooking pot, it seems as if you owe me an egg. That would only be fair.” His stomach rumbled in agreement.

Wim chuckled, then nodded to the log next to the fire. “Come here, then.”

Red joined the wolf, perching on the log opposite him.

Wim fished out the three eggs with a stick, leaving them to cool on a slab of stone.

How Red longed to devour his there and then; his stomach was eating itself from the inside out.

A small moan escaped him—the hunger pains getting the better of him—and Wim’s gaze shot to his.

An uncomfortable prickle coursed through Red.

If Wim hadn’t noticed Red’s mismatched eyes in the darkness of the night before, he’d surely detect them now. “One iris of beautiful ocean blue and the other a dirty mud puddle . ” The Queen had said it often enough, in those rare moments she’d acknowledged him.

Red stared at his boots, removing his eyes from Wim’s sight. It’s not as if Red wanted Wim to find his face pleasing—definitely not , in fact—but he’d rather get the inevitable question over with.

Wim frowned at him. “What is it?”

“You haven’t remarked on my eyes. People usually do, when they meet me.”

A bark of a laugh. “I’ve had slightly more important things to think about.

What of your eyes?” Wim cleared the distance between them to kneel by Red’s log, capturing his chin and lifting it up.

His large hand was warm, his touch gentle, and for a moment Red forgot to be angry about the sudden violation of his body.

“As you can see, I have one good eye and one bad eye,” Red replied, stating the matter factually.

“That’s not ideal for an archer.”

“I can see perfectly fine out of it!” Red snapped, jerking his chin away. “It’s only that it’s the wrong colour.” Wim’s own bewitching golden eyes only blinked, and so Red added, pointing at the offending eye, “Instead of matching its twin, this one is an ugly brown colour.”

A complicated expression Red couldn’t decipher passed over Wim’s face. This wasn’t the first time the man had been surprisingly hard to read. It was infuriating—now was the time Red needed his people-reading skills the most.

Wim opened his mouth, then clamped it shut again.

“The eggs are probably ready,” Red said pointedly.

Wim tentatively chose one, then blew on it a few times before passing it to Red.

When Red held the warm egg, his hands started to tremble, the anticipation of food all too much.

Praise the heavens! He lightly tapped it against his log to crack it, then peeled the shell off with gentle fingers, lest he waste a single morsel of egg white.

The second the egg entered his mouth, a loud groan of appreciation slipped out of him. Would he even have been able to continue walking today, without this sustenance?

Red had somehow devoured his egg before Wim even finished deshelling his. His gaze settled on the third egg, sitting between them on the slab.

“Go on,” Wim said with a disgruntled huff. “Take it.”

What? “But you’re twice the size of me,” Red whispered, his mind scrambling to understand Wim’s reasoning.

“It won’t do if you keel over on our journey. Plus, I can’t stand that waifish look in your eyes.”

Red opened his mouth to spit out a retort, then closed it, snatching the third egg up before Wim could change his mind .

“Would’ve thought the palace kept their people fed better than this. You’re nothing but bones in a sack.”

“The Queen’s inner court has enough. The rest of us get the scraps.” Was Auntie Anne getting enough to eat, now that Red wasn’t there to slide some of his own portion onto her plate before he brought it to her?

Wim grunted. “More food than some, still.”

Swallowing the last bite of egg, Red nodded. It was true—he was thankful he didn’t live in any of the nearby villages, where reports of starvation were frequent. But hopefully, not for much longer. He jumped up, brushing some shell from his cloak. “We’d best get moving.”

A frown etched itself between Red’s brows, the stupid map crinkling between his fingers. He squinted at the spidery lines, twisting it this way and that. Then he sighed. As if that would magically reveal some hidden path. He puffed air through pursed lips.

Forest. More forest. Trees.

Bloody useless.

“Lost your way, sweetheart?” Wim’s deep voice rumbled. Red whipped around. The wolf rested against a thick oak, leaning some distance away, arms crossed over his broad chest. Amusement danced in his eyes.

The situation was far from funny.

“Certainly not! Simply… strategising.” Red refolded the map with a sharp snap, tucking it away.

“Right. Strategising.” Wim chuckled, a low sound that vibrated through the air. “Because wandering aimlessly in circles is the finest art of navigation. ”

“I wasn’t wandering in circles .”

“Course you weren’t.” Wim pushed himself off the tree. “Hand over the map. I’ll take point.”

Red clutched the map tighter, glaring. “Absolutely not. The Queen has entrusted me with this task, and this map! I am perfectly capable—”

“Of getting us both killed?” Wim raised a brow. The challenge hung in the air, thick and heavy as wood smoke.

Red’s grip loosened. Wim’s hand, large and calloused, reached out.

“Fine!” he all but shouted. “You may assist, until I get my bearings again.” Red wasn’t particularly convinced he’d ever had his bearings in the first place.

Wim pored over the map, mouth twitching into a smirk. “You’ve gone a very funny way so far. You’ve added at least two days onto your journey.”

Red groaned, smacking his forehead. He knew it. He should have turned left at that forked path with the gnarled oak. Instead, he’d stubbornly insisted on taking the right fork, certain it would be quicker. Now he’d wasted precious time.

The Queen’s words echoed in his mind. “Get it done, Red. Show me your worth, after all this time.” He’d been so determined to prove himself, to show he could navigate this cursed forest without help.

Fat lot of good that had done. Red’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and frustration.

He’d have to swallow his pride and admit his mistake.

“Well?”

Red’s jaw clenched. He’d rather eat dirt than confess his error to the insufferable wolf. But what choice did he have?

“I… may have made a slight miscalculation,” Red muttered, refusing to meet Wim’s gaze.

“A slight miscalculation?”

Red bristled. “Oh, do shut up. As if you could do any better! ”

Wim’s lips quirked again. “Actually, sweetheart, I could. These woods? They’re almost as familiar to me as my own home. I know every stream, every hidden path.”

Red’s eyes narrowed. “Then why in blazes didn’t you say something earlier?”

“You seemed so confident.” Wim shrugged, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Who was I to argue with the Queen’s chosen one?”

Red’s fists clenched at his sides. He wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug look off Wim’s face. But the sands of time slipped further away.

Wim pointed in a direction that Red thought could be northeast, the complete opposite direction from what Red would have chosen. “Got a wider trail this way. Help us pick up the pace. But listen—traders of the shadier sort use it regularly. They’re not fond of company they don’t know.”

“Fine,” Red spat. “Lead on, then, Oh Great Navigator of the Forest. But I’m watching you. One wrong turn and I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” A growl rumbled deep in Wim’s chest, primal and raw. He stepped closer, looming over Red with his considerable height. The morning light caught on the sharp edges of his canines as his lips curled back—not quite a snarl, but a clear reminder of what lurked beneath his human facade.

Red’s mouth snapped shut. He’d forgotten, for a moment, just what Wim was capable of. The wolf’s eyes darkened, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of colour remained, reminding Red of their first encounter in the forest. Those were not a man’s eyes, they were a predator’s, sizing up their prey.