Page 47 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)

If Wim died in his arms, right here, right now, Red wasn’t sure what he’d do.

The wolf’s form rippled, bones cracking and fur receding until Wim lay naked and bleeding on the floor. His skin had taken on an ashen pallor, sweat beading across his brow.

“Did good, didn’t I?” Wim’s words slurred together, his eyes unfocused. “Protected… my Little Red…”

“Shut up, you fool.” Red yanked off his cloak, pressing it against the worst of the wounds. The red fabric darkened quickly with blood. “Save your strength.”

Wim’s hand fumbled for Red’s, his grip weak and clammy. “Should’ve seen… your face when you… shot that arrow.” His chest heaved with shallow breaths. “Beautiful… so fierce…”

“I said be quiet!” Red’s vision blurred with tears as Wim’s eyes fluttered closed. He tapped Wim’s cheek roughly. “No, no, no. Look at me.”

Wim’s eyes cracked open, but his gaze wandered past Red’s face. “It’s so cold…”

“Don’t you dare.” Red pressed harder against the wounds, ignoring the way the acidic burns bubbled beneath his hands. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

A weak laugh escaped Wim’s lips, ending in a wet cough. “Always… so demanding…”

His eyes slipped closed again, head lolling to the side. Blood continued to pool beneath him, spreading across the wooden floorboards in a crimson stain.

“Wim?” Red’s voice came out small, broken. He shook Wim’s shoulder, panic clawing at his chest when there was no response. “Wim!”

Red’s tears splashed onto Wim’s bare chest, mixing with the blood that seeped between his fingers. His hands shook as he pressed the cloak harder against the wounds, but the bleeding wouldn’t stop. The acidic burns spread across Wim’s skin like poison, eating away at flesh beneath Red’s palms.

A keening sound filled the cottage. Red lifted his head to see Oma crawling through the hellhound’s ashes, gathering handfuls of the glittering dust and pressing it to her chest. Her wild hair hung in tangles around her face as she rocked back and forth, mumbling nonsense under her breath.

“My love, my love, my love…” She scattered the ashes into the air, watching them float down like twisted snow. Her fingers scraped against the floorboards, desperate to collect every speck. “Gone, gone, gone…”

Wim’s skin grew colder beneath Red’s touch. His chest barely moved with each shallow breath, the rise and fall becoming weaker by the second.

“Do something!” The scream tore from Red’s throat, raw and desperate as he watched his mother’s manic movements. “I know you’re hurting, but he’s gone now! My father is dead, but Wim might yet be saved! Please! He’s all I have. ”

The words echoed in the cottage’s silence. All I have. The truth of it struck Red like a physical blow. No family, no real home, no place to truly belong—except here, with this infuriating, protective, beautiful man who’d claimed his heart between stolen kisses and shared laughter.

Wim was his anchor in a world that had never wanted him. His safe harbour in a lifetime of storms.

And now he was slipping away, taking Red’s heart with him.

Oma continued to scrape at the ashes, her nails leaving marks in the floorboards. Her mumbling grew louder, more frantic, a stream of nonsense punctuated by broken sobs. She crawled through the glittering remains of the hellhound, her skirts dragging trails through the dust.

“My love, my love…” She pressed her face into the ashes, inhaling deeply. “Your scent still lingers, even now. Do you remember how we danced beneath the blood moon? How you’d bring me darkwood flowers that only bloomed at midnight?”

If his mother had an ounce of sanity before, there was nothing left now.

Red’s hands trembled as he held pressure on Wim’s wounds. “Please,” he begged. “Please, mother . Help him.”

But Oma seemed lost in her memories, swaying back and forth as she clutched handfuls of dust to her chest. “We were going to raise our child together. Watch him grow strong and beautiful. But she took it all away. Everything, everything, everything…”

Suddenly, she stilled. Her head snapped up, eyes fixing on Red’s face with an intensity that made him flinch. She crawled towards him, leaving smears of ash in her wake.

“My son.” Her cold hands cupped his face, thumbs brushing away tears he hadn’t realised were falling.

“My baby boy.” Her voice faltered as she studied his features, drinking in every detail.

“From the moment I felt you kick inside me, you had me. All of me. My love, my soul, my heart. I swore I’d do anything to keep you safe.

But it wasn’t enough! She took you from me! ”

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks as she pressed her forehead against his. The scent of herbs and decay clung to her skin. Her gaze drifted to Wim’s prone form, taking in the blood-soaked cloak pressed against his wounds.

“Will he take good care of you, this wolf of yours?”

“Yes!” Red clutched Wim’s hand tighter, his voice infused with desperation. “The very best. He’s protected me, cared for me, shown me what it means to be loved. Please, help him.”

Oma’s eyes softened as she gazed at their joined hands. A strange calm settled over her features, smoothing away the wild despair that had twisted them moments before. “Very well, my love.” Her cold fingers pressed against Red’s chest, right above his thundering heart. “Take good care of my heart.”

Before Red could say anything else, she began to sing—an eerie melody that made the cottage’s shadows dance.

Green light spiralled from her fingertips, wrapping around her form like ethereal vines.

The hellhound’s ashes rose from the floor, swirling through the air in a glittering tornado that engulfed them all.

The magic pulsed through Red’s chest where she touched him, spreading outward in waves of emerald fire.

It flowed down his arms, through his hands, and into Wim’s wounds.

The acidic burns began to heal, flesh knitting back together as Oma’s form grew increasingly translucent.

Her song reached a crescendo, then abruptly halted.

Now shimmering like cobwebs in sunlight, Oma bent down. She pressed her fading lips against Wim’s ear, whispering words in an ancient tongue that Red didn’t understand before she straightened, her eyes meeting his one final time.

Then her body burst into thousands of tiny green fireflies that scattered across Wim’s skin, each one sinking in and leaving healed flesh in its wake.

Red stared at the spot where his mother had vanished, her sacrifice burning behind his eyelids. A maelstrom of emotions churned in his chest—grief for the parents he’d barely known, gratitude for her final gift, and an overwhelming need to ensure it hadn’t been in vain .

A gentle squeeze of his hand yanked him from his thoughts. Amber eyes fluttered open, still glazed with pain but unmistakably alive. Wim’s chest rose and fell with steady breaths, his skin warm and whole beneath Red’s trembling fingers.

“Wim!” Red traced the unmarked skin where deadly wounds had been moments before. “I thought—god, I thought you’d left me.”

“Not a chance.” Wim’s large hand cupped Red’s cheek, where tears still streamed. “ Never . It would take more than a hellhound soulstealer to keep me from you, sweetheart.”

Red surged forward, crushing their lips together.

The kiss tasted of salt and copper, desperate and deep.

He swung a leg over Wim’s hips, straddling his lap as strong arms wrapped around his waist. Wim’s mouth opened beneath his, a pleased rumble vibrating through his chest as Red’s fingers tangled in his hair.

Their breaths mingled as Wim pressed their lips together, again and again.

Red devoured each kiss hungrily, like they were the only sustenance he needed.

He poured everything he couldn’t quite say into the kiss—his fear, his relief, his overwhelming need to feel Wim alive beneath him.

Wim responded with equal fervour, one hand sliding up Red’s spine to cradle the back of his head, holding him close as if afraid he might disappear.

Eventually Red drew back, pressing his swollen lips together to smile shyly at Wim. His fingers slid up Wim’s arm to land on his bite wound. Oma’s magic had healed all of his other wounds—so why not that one too? But the raised, hot flesh still remained, and Wim hissed in pain at Red’s touch.

“Is your beast still lurking within you?”

Wim’s eyes squeezed shut, and a silence stretched.

“Aye,” he eventually whispered, barely audible in the cottage’s stillness. “Yes, it is.”

Red’s heart plummeted as his fingers trembled against Wim’s skin. After everything they’d been through—the fighting, the revelations, his mother’s sacrifice—the bloody curse still lingered? The beast still threatened to consume the man Red had grown to love ?

“But…” Wim’s eyes opened, and his hand found Red’s chin, tilting his face up until their eyes met.

“But?” Red hardly dared to breathe.

“Old Oma told me something, right before she… disappeared.” Wim’s thumb traced Red’s bottom lip. “Said I needed to claim your heart. That’d be my cure.”

Red’s pulse quickened, and he placed a hand on his chest. “What does that mean?”

“Reckon…” Wim’s eyes glowed with sudden intensity. “No, I know it now. If you’d give me the gift of being my mate, trust me with that precious heart of yours… then this curse’ll break.”

Red’s breath caught in his throat. The word ‘mate’ echoed in his mind, carrying with it the weight of forever. Of belonging. Of home.

“Yes.” The word tumbled from Red’s lips before he even knew what he was saying.

“Yes, yes, yes , Wim. A thousand times, yes. Please! ” Red’s cheeks flushed as he caught himself.

Here he was, practically throwing himself at Wim like some lovesick fool again.

He straightened his spine, attempting to gather the shreds of his dignity.

“I mean… that would be… acceptable, I suppose.”

A grin spread across Wim’s face, transforming his features from weary to radiant. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he gazed up at Red. “Acceptable, is it?” His large hands tightened on Red’s hips. “That’s quite the shift from ‘a thousand times, yes.’”

“Oh, shut up.” Red swatted at Wim’s chest, but couldn’t hide his own smile.

Wim surged up, capturing Red’s lips in a searing kiss that stole the breath from his lungs. When they broke apart, Wim pressed their foreheads together, his voice rough with emotion. “My fierce, beautiful Little Red.”

“So… are we mates now?” Red nervously laughed, eyes darting between Wim’s very much unchanged bite mark and his face.

Wim scratched the back of his neck.

“Just say it! ”

Wim’s voice dropped to a low, rumbling growl that sent shivers down Red’s spine. “I need to bite you.”

“Bite me?!” Red’s hand flew to his neck, eyes wide.

Wim shrugged apologetically, though his eyes gleamed with something primal. “Just a little bit.”

Heat flooded Red’s cheeks as his pulse quickened. The thought of Wim’s teeth against his skin, marking him, claiming him… He tilted his head, exposing the pale column of his throat. “Do it! Do it now!”

Wim’s gaze darkened as he stared at Red’s offered neck. His nostrils flared, and a soft growl rumbled in his chest. But then he glanced around the cottage, taking in the hellhound’s scattered ashes and the lingering scent of death. He shook his head, pressing a gentle kiss to Red’s throat instead.

“Not in this old shack,” Wim murmured against his skin. “I want to take you somewhere proper.”

Wim slipped into his spare clothes, and then they were out of the house within the minute, Red throwing his stained cloak back on. He might never get Wim’s blood out of it, but he didn’t care one bit.

As they travelled back up the path towards the woods, Red turned to stare at the cottage. The chimney no longer puffed its thick grey smoke. Indeed, it was as if the house had died with Oma—it had none of its earlier presence. Now it looked sad, and alone.

As a child, he’d imagined his mother as a beautiful princess, swept away by tragedy. Or sometimes as a common woman who’d been forced to abandon him. In his darkest moments, he’d pictured her cold and cruel, leaving him on those palace steps without a backwards glance.

The reality had been… altogether something else. A witch driven mad by love and loss, twisted by isolation and grief. Her cottage had reeked of decay and desperate survival, her eyes wild with a darkness that spoke of too many winters alone with her memories.

And yet.

She’d loved him. Red could see that now, in the way she’d touched his face, studying every feature as if committing them to memory.

In how she’d protected him from the monster who would have destroyed him simply for his imperfect eyes.

In her final sacrifice, giving up her very essence to save the man Red loved.

His throat tightened as he watched the cottage fade into the forest’s gloom. She hadn’t been the mother of his childhood dreams, but she’d given him something far more precious than those fantasies—she’d given him a future. With Wim.

Red glanced at the man walking silently beside him, his massive form a comforting presence in the growing darkness. Soon they would find somewhere private, somewhere safe, and Wim would claim him properly.

Red would have somewhere to belong.

His mother’s final gift hadn’t just been Wim’s life, it had been the chance for them to build something real together. Something lasting.

“Thank you,” Red whispered to the darkening forest, to his mother. “For everything.”