Page 40 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)

“No you don’t.” Wim’s voice rumbled through his chest, vibrating against Red’s cheek. One large hand slid up to cradle the back of Red’s head, fingers threading through his hair.

How dare he! This fucking monster had manipulated Red from the start, had tricked him with sweet words and even sweeter kisses, had made him feel all sorts of crazy things for him.

Red writhed harder, twisting and bucking against Wim’s grip. His elbow caught Wim in the ribs—a blow that would have winded most men, but Wim didn’t even flinch. Frustrated tears spilled down Red’s cheeks as he fought, each movement more desperate than the last.

“Shhh,” Wim murmured, his fingers working gentle circles against Red’s scalp. “I’ve got you.”

This was too much. Red’s heart gave up and broke in two. Who knew that heartbreak could be so physically, viscerally painful? Not Red, until now.

“Stop it!” Red swallowed against the rising lump in his throat, and he pressed his palms flat against Wim’s chest, trying to push away, but Wim held firm. “Haven’t you done enough? Just stop—”

“Never.” Wim’s other hand stroked down Red’s spine, steady and rhythmic. “I’m not letting you go.”

Red’s struggles gradually weakened, his movements becoming less coordinated as exhaustion crept in. Still, Wim’s hands never ceased their soothing motions—one in his hair, one on his back, as constant as the tide.

“I hate it,” Red whispered, his forehead pressed against Wim’s collarbone. His fingers curled into Wim’s shirt, no longer pushing away but clinging close. “I hate that you’ve done this to me.”

“Shhh.” Wim’s thumb brushed away a tear from Red’s cheek. “I’m going to explain everything to you, I promise. Just breathe with me for a moment.”

Red’s chest heaved with ragged breaths that slowly, gradually, fell into sync with Wim’s steady rhythm. The forest around them grew quiet, as if holding its breath, waiting.

Red’s mind spun with possibilities, each more absurd than the last. Perhaps Wim was actually the Queen’s long-lost secret second son, sent to test Red’s loyalty.

Or maybe he was some sort of forest spirit bound to play tricks on passers-through.

Could he be Old Oma’s grandson, sworn to defend her from assassins?

Or what if he was actually three squirrels in a man costume who needed the arrow for their acorn-based religion?

Red squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face into Wim’s chest. “Please, Wim, I can’t take it anymore. Just say whatever it is! ”

Wim’s fingers stilled in Red’s hair. The silence stretched between them, thick as mud.

“The truth is, Red, we’re both going to the same place.”

Red pulled back just enough to glare up at him. “I know that! That’s why we’re bloody travelling together, isn’t it?!”

“No, Red,” Wim said quietly. “The exact same place.”

“Oh…” Red’s brow furrowed as understanding dawned. “Old Oma’s? But… what? Why?”

“This bloody kills me to say, but I have to say it. I can’t let you shoot that witch through the heart with that arrow, Red.”

Like a complex puzzle box finally clicking into its solution, each piece of their journey slotted into place in Red’s mind.

Every lingering glance, every hesitation, every time Wim had changed the subject when discussing their destination, Wim’s dismissal of his quest…

it all formed a complete picture that Red hadn’t been able to see until now.

“Your… cure.” The words felt strange on Red’s tongue, as if speaking them might make this new reality more concrete.

Wim nodded, drawing Red closer to him, in case he might try to escape. His warmth seeped through Red’s clothes, a stark contrast to the cold revelation washing over him.

“Whether she turns to dust, or simply falls to the ground dead, it matters not. I can’t let you shoot her, because I need that heart. I need to claim her beating heart.”

Red’s stomach lurched. The image of Wim, wolf-formed, tearing his teeth into a still-pulsing heart made his non-existent breakfast threaten to make a reappearance.

The realisation hit him like a punch to the gut—they were both assassins. Both on their way to murder the old witch in her home. The only difference was their method and their reasoning.

Red pressed his forehead against Wim’s chest, breathing in his familiar scent of pine and leather. How had he not seen it before? All those times Wim had questioned the Queen’s motives, tried to make Red doubt his mission—had he been protecting his own agenda ?

But then, why share this now? Why not continue the deception until they reached Old Oma’s cottage? Why risk everything by confessing?

“I did wonder, you know.” Red traced patterns on Wim’s chest with his fingertip.

Really, he should have been untangling himself from the wildling, forcing himself to sit an arm’s reach from him.

But he couldn’t resist. “I was confused as to why you didn’t tell me the exact nature of your cure.

But can’t you find another witch’s heart to have? Why does it have to be my witch?”

Wim’s arms tightened around him. “Has to be Old Oma’s heart. Her soulstealer’s the one that did this to me.”

Red’s finger stilled. “You know that for sure? What even was it, exactly? This soulstealer?”

“A creature she created. A dark thing that feeds on people’s essence—probably what powers her magic.” Wim’s volume was barely above a whisper. “The healer who examined my wound found her magical imprint. Said there was no mistaking it.”

Red shifted in Wim’s lap to look up at his face. The morning light caught the stubble along his jaw, the shadows under his eyes seeming deeper than before.

“So…” Red’s throat felt tight. “If I do succeed in turning her to dust with the arrow… what will happen to you? Is there another way you can cure yourself?”

Wim’s gaze dropped to where his fingers were tangled in Red’s cloak. “I don’t know.”

The simple words sliced through Red with the precision of a huntsman’s blade.

His chest constricted as the implications sank in.

If he succeeded in his mission—if he killed Old Oma with the golden arrow—he might condemn Wim to a life of slowly losing control, of becoming more feral until…

until what? Until his pack had no choice but to put him down? Until he hurt someone he cared about?

The image of Wim’s wolf form, eyes glazed and savage, tearing through human flesh, flashed through Red’s mind. But worse was the memory of Wim afterwards—broken, guilty, horrified by his own actions. How many more times would that scene repeat if Red took away his only chance at a cure?

Red cleared his throat. “So why now? Why attack the arrow this morning?”

“I just… couldn’t bear it anymore. After you were angry with me, I hated myself for it. Wasn’t thinking clear. Thought if I could just make that cursed arrow disappear, I could take Old Oma’s heart, get cured, and then…”

“And then?” Red held his breath, every muscle tensing.

“And then…” Wim inhaled one ragged breath. “Then I’d finally be free. No more beast taking control. No more fear of hurting innocent people in the forest. I could live a proper life again. Could go home to my pack.”

“Right, yes, of course. Your pack.” Red couldn’t quite hide his disdain. Don’t be stupid. He’s a wolf. Of course he’s primarily concerned with his pack!

“And perhaps…” Wim whispered, arms tightening around Red. “Perhaps free to properly court a particular mouthy little thing in a red cloak. If he’d want me.”

Red’s breath caught in his throat. He pulled back just enough to search Wim’s face, looking for any sign of mockery or deceit. But Wim’s expression held nothing but raw vulnerability, his eyes dark with an emotion Red couldn’t quite name.

“You’d want that?” Red’s voice came out very, very small. “With… me ?”

“Aye, with you.” Wim’s thumb traced Red’s cheekbone. “I’d be a fool not to. You’re beautiful. And infuriating. And brave. And absolutely maddening.”

Heat bloomed across Red’s face. He ducked his head, but Wim caught his chin, tilting it back up.

“I mean every word, sweetheart. Once I’m cured, once I’m myself again…

nothing would make me happier than to be with you.

I know it’s been mere days together, but…

don’t you feel it too? This thread pulling us together.

My pack always said you know your mate the mome nt you find them—like the stars themselves align to tell you they’re yours. ”

What was Wim saying? Red hardly dared to blink, his heart pounding with such velocity it dizzied him.

The wolf took a deep breath, his gaze holding Red’s with an air-crackling intensity.

“I should have known the moment I smelled you, that night when I tracked your path for hours while the beast had control. I know this all probably sounds mad to you, but… a little madness makes life worth living, don’t you think? ”

Wim’s words settled in Red’s chest like warm honey, sweet and golden. But beneath that sweetness lurked the bitter truth that soon bubbled to the surface.

“But it can’t be,” Red said, though his soul screamed at him to stop, stop, stop .

“The Queen will never let me leave the palace. She’d sooner see me dead, just to prove a point.

And…” Red reached for the golden arrow, still on the ground.

He forced himself to speak with conviction.

“I will be shooting Oma with this golden arrow. If there’s even a small chance of curing the famine, I have to take it.

It’s my duty. Not to the Queen, but to Falchovari. ”

Red stared at the golden arrow in his palm, its surface catching the filtered sunlight through the leaves. His chest ached with a familiar emptiness—the same void he’d felt his entire life. But that day in the throne room… that had changed everything.