Page 46 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)

Twenty

R ed jumped to his feet before staggering backwards, blinking rapidly as his gaze darted between Old Oma and the monstrous creature. The hellhound’s purple flames cast dancing shadows across the cottage walls, each flicker making the beast appear larger, more grotesque.

This… thing was his father?

The same creature that had tried to take Wim’s soul, biting him and leaving him diseased?

A burst of hysterical laughter escaped Red’s lips before he could stop it, high-pitched and unnatural.

“You must be joking,” Red said, no louder than a whisper. “That’s not—he can’t be—” The words tangled in his throat as another wave of that putrid stench washed over him.

The hellhound’s massive head swung towards him. Those burning purple eyes fixed on Red’s face with an intensity that made his skin crawl. One massive paw stepped forward, claws scraping against the wooden floor with a screech.

A growl rumbled through the cottage, deep enough to rattle Red’s bones. Black drool splattered onto the floorboards, eating through the wood like acid.

“Stay back, my love,” Oma said, with a note of tenderness that made Red’s stomach turn. She stretched her hands towards the beast, palms up in a placating gesture. “We don’t want to harm these two. They’ve come to pay us a visit!”

The hellhound’s ears flattened against its skull, though it stilled at her words, eyes never leaving Red.

“I think we should leave,” Wim said quietly into Red’s ear. “Now.”

But Red was solely focused on Oma. “How is this… beast my father?!”

The hellhound’s jaws parted, revealing rows of obsidian teeth dripping with that same acidic saliva. It lunged forward, muscles bunching beneath its midnight fur.

“No!” Oma flung herself between Red and the beast, arms spread wide. “My love, please. Control yourself.”

The creature’s chest heaved, purple flames flickering brighter around its form. A keening sound, like metal scraping metal, tore from its throat. Did any part of the beast recognise Red as its kin?

Oma’s voice softened as she kept her eyes locked on the hellhound.

“Your father was a woodchopper, seeking rare darkwood that only grows here. He stumbled upon my cottage, half frozen and lost.” Her lips curved into a wistful smile.

“We fell in love over steaming cups of nettle tea and shared stories by the hearth.”

The hellhound’s growls quieted, reducing to a rumble.

“For seven blissful winters, we lived in peace. Then I fell pregnant with you.” Oma’s face darkened.

“But my sister… that spiteful witch… Her network of spies discovered our happiness. She couldn’t bear to see me content within my prison, while she remained bitter and alone.

” Oma’s fingers curled into fists. “She cursed your father, twisted him into this form. And when you were born…” Her voice cracked. “She stole you away.”

Red studied Oma’s face, noting the lines of grief etched around her mouth, the shadows beneath her eyes. For the first time, he saw beyond the mad old witch’s exterior. Here stood a woman who’d lost everything—her lover, her child, her chance at happiness—all because of her sister’s spite .

The realisation settled like lead in his stomach. How many winters had she spent in this cottage, watching over her lover—a monstrous beast—all the while pondering the fate of her stolen child?

“And then, for her final trick, she was going to get me to kill you with this arrow.” Red scooped up his bow, examining the golden arrow. “Is this even magical in any way? You were supposed to turn to dust…”

Oma’s stare fixed on the arrow as if seeing it for the first time, her lips moving in silent words. The hellhound’s purple flames intensified, casting a horrible glow across the cottage walls.

A low, guttural sound rumbled from the beast’s throat as its burning gaze shifted between Red and the golden arrow. Its massive head lowered, shoulders hunching as if preparing to spring. The acidic drool fell faster now, eating holes into the floorboards with violent hisses.

Red took an instinctive step back, his fingers tightening around the arrow. The hellhound’s eyes tracked the movement, pupils narrowing to slits within those eerie purple orbs.

“Mother?” Red whispered, the word unfamiliar on his tongue. He dared not look away from the creature. “What’s happening?”

But Oma seemed transfixed, her own gaze locked on the golden arrow with dawning horror. “Put that arrow down,” she snapped. “Before he—”

In a blur of midnight fur and violet fire, the beast launched itself at Red.

Time seemed to slow. Red could see every detail with horrifying clarity—the hellhound’s body suspended in mid-air, jaws stretched impossibly wide, violet flames trailing like ribbons behind it, heat radiating from them.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears, one singular thought crystallising in his mind: this is how I die.

A mass of grey fur burst between them. Buttons scattered across the floor, shreds of Wim’s clothing floating through the air as his massive wolf form materialised. His grey coat bristled, hackles raised along his spine as he faced down the hellhound .

The two beasts circled each other, fangs bared. The hellhound towered over Wim, its shoulders twice as broad, its head level with the cottage’s low-hanging beams. Black drool splattered onto the floorboards, eating through the wood with a hiss.

“Control him!” Red screeched, icy terror coursing through his veins. “Make him stop!”

She shook her head, eyes glazed. “I cannot. The curse has taken him too far.”

The beasts clashed in a fury of teeth and claws. Wim’s jaws snapped at the hellhound’s throat while the monster’s flames scorched the air around them. Their snarls filled the cottage, a symphony of rage that made Red’s ears ring.

The hellhound’s massive paw swept out. Its obsidian claws caught Wim’s flank, ripping through flesh and muscle.

Blood matted Wim’s grey fur as he stumbled, a pained yelp escaping his throat.

Three deep gashes stretched from his ribs to his belly, the wounds already starting to bubble and smoke where the hellhound’s acidic touch had burned him.

Red’s fingers trembled on his bow as the hellhound’s claws tore through Wim’s flesh again. With a wounded cry, the grey wolf crumpled, blood pooling beneath his massive form. His golden eyes found Red’s, clouded with pain but filled with a fierce protectiveness that made Red’s chest ache.

The golden arrow sat heavy in Red’s hand. His gaze darted to Oma—his mother—who stood frozen against the wall, her face a mask of anguish. She’d lost him once. Could he make her watch as he destroyed the only thing she had left?

The hellhound loomed over Wim, purple flames casting shadows across its fur. Somewhere beneath that monstrous form lay Red’s father. A woodcutter who’d fallen in love over cups of nettle tea. A man who’d never had the chance to hold his son.

But Wim…

Wim, who’d gone without to feed Red when he was but a stranger to him. Who’d made him laugh until his sides hurt. Who’d held him through frozen nights and kissed away his insecurities. Who’d looked at his different-coloured eyes and called them beautiful.

The hellhound’s jaws parted, acidic drool burning holes in the floorboards beside Wim’s head. Its muscles bunched, preparing for the killing blow.

Red’s heart squeezed. He’d spent his whole life wondering about his parents, dreaming of the day he’d find them. But as he watched Wim’s blood seep across the cottage floor, he realised something with startling clarity—he couldn’t lose him. Not for anything.

Red nocked the golden arrow, drew back the bowstring until it kissed his cheek. Tears blurred his vision as he aimed at the hellhound’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Father.”

A piercing scream tore through the cottage as Red released the arrow. The sound ripped at his eardrums, his mother’s anguish filling every corner of the room.

The golden arrow struck true, burying itself in the hellhound’s massive chest. The beast staggered backwards, purple flames flickering around its form.

The dying embers of its gaze fixed on Red, and for a heartbeat, he saw something shift in those otherworldly eyes—recognition, perhaps. Or accusation.

Red’s stomach dropped. The arrow jutted from the creature’s chest, but nothing happened. The beast took another step forward, acid dripping from its jaws onto Wim’s prone form.

“It will turn her to dust,” the Queen had declared.

Yet Wim had laughed with Astrid at the idea, calling it utter nonsense.

All Red could do was pray that the man who’d captured his heart wasn’t about to be ripped to shreds by his own flesh and blood in front of his very eyes.

Red held his breath—

The hellhound’s next step faltered.

Its purple flames sputtered, sparks fizzing. A strange crackling sound filled the air as cracks appeared across the beast’s fur, spreading outward from where the arrow pierced its chest. Golden light spilled from the fissures, growing brighter with each passing second.

The creature threw back its head and howled —a sound of pure agony that shook dust from the rafters. Its form began to crumble, chunks of fur and flesh dissolving into glittering ash that hung suspended in the air before dispersing like smoke.

Within moments, all that remained of the hellhound was a pile of shimmering dust on the cottage floor. The golden arrow clattered against the wooden boards, its tip still gleaming as if freshly forged.

Red scrambled across the wood, his knees skidding through the hellhound’s glittering remains as he reached Wim’s side. The grey wolf’s massive form shuddered with each laboured breath, blood seeping from the deep gashes across his flank.

Oma’s wails echoed through the cottage, but Red blocked out the sound. His hands trembled as they hovered over Wim’s wounds, unsure where to touch without causing more pain.

“Wim?” Red said around a sob. “Stay with me. Oh, please don’t leave me.”