Page 5 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)

Wim’s broad shoulders seemed to expand as he drew himself to his full height, his presence suddenly overwhelming.

Everything about him seemed magnified in that moment—how very large his hands were, how very sharp his teeth gleamed, how very wild his eyes had become.

This was no ordinary man standing before Red, but something from the old stories, something that devoured unwary travellers who strayed from their paths .

Wim’s tongue shot out to moisten his lip, and a shiver ran down Red’s spine, settling low in his belly—fear, certainly, but something else too, something he refused to acknowledge as their gazes remained locked in a silent challenge.

In the space of a blink, Wim abruptly broke the intense moment to turn and walk, weaving around a fallen log.

Red let out the breath he was holding in, clutching his red hood closer around his shoulders.

He jogged to catch up, falling into step with Wim. “I’m not scared of you.”

“You should be.” Wim growled it like a threat. “I’ve… hurt people.”

The hairs on the back of Red’s neck prickled, but he scoffed.

“You laugh, but I’ve claimed three humans as my meals.”

A chill shot through Red that had nothing to do with the frigid air. “I thought that was against your wildling code?”

“Aye, it is. It’s the reason I’m here in these distant woods, rather than running with my pack back home.

” Wim’s voice wavered ever so slightly. “Many moons ago now, I developed this… condition.” He slowed his steps to glance at Red.

“One that takes over inside of me. A beast that demands to be sated. My pack has banished me until I can cure myself of it.”

“This sounds… dangerous for me,” Red pointed out, because he really didn’t want to get eaten. “What if you try and eat me again?”

“First hint I’m slipping, I’ll put distance between us. Come find you when I’m myself.”

This plan didn’t sound particularly foolproof to Red. He eyed the wolf warily. “And how often does this… sickness of yours strike?”

“It’s unpredictable,” Wim admitted, his brow furrowing. “But I can usually feel it coming on.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring,” Red muttered, kicking at a pebble on the path.

Wim’s vivid eyes flashed. “Rather I walk away and leave you to the forest’s mercies? ”

The word ‘yes’ was on the tip of Red’s tongue, but didn’t quite make it out of his mouth. This short time with Wim had been far more pleasant than the start of his journey, despite the man’s infuriating nature.

“Hmmph,” he eventually replied. “If you turn into your beast form again, I will simply construct another cunning plan. Or I shall shoot you with my bow.”

Wim’s laugh was so loud it startled a small flock of birds, sending them scattering.

“You seem to find everything I say awfully amusing,” Red remarked.

The wolf shot him a bright smile that made his stomach do that strange, fluttery thing again. “Can’t deny it. You’re the best fun I’ve had in these dreary woods.”

The foliage on the path grew thicker, and Wim brushed up against Red as they walked.

The man was a full head taller and often had to duck.

Red’s riding hood snagged on a low-hanging branch, and he was momentarily jerked backwards.

Wim freed the garment before running the velvety, deep-crimson fabric through his large, callused fingers.

“What’s the story of this, anyway? This cloak you say you’re named after. ”

Red tugged the material out of Wim’s grip. He sighed, exhaling a long breath. “I was found wrapped in it as a babe, abandoned by my mother on the staircase to the palace’s grand entrance. It is all I have of her. Not a name, only a cloak.” Before Red could stop himself, he clucked his tongue.

“You’re an orphan? An orphan, allowed to live in the palace?”

“I was raised by one of the Queen’s maids.

Auntie Anne. She’s the one who found me on the staircase.

” A pang of homesickness, his first since he’d left the palace, shot through Red at the mention of the kindly old woman’s name.

“When the Queen saw my irregular eyes, she raised her sceptre. Auntie Anne risked the Queen’s wrath by begging her not to kill me.

She insisted the servants would keep me out of her way, and that I’d grow up to make myself useful. And so, I went to live in the attic.”

Red’s gaze drifted to the forest canopy, his very first memories flooding back like pages in a book.

The attic. Cramped, musty. Slanted ceilings pressing down.

Dust motes dancing in shafts of sunlight that slipped through cracks in the roof.

He’d spend hours perched by the tiny window, watching the comings and goings of the palace below.

The clatter of hooves on cobblestones. Shouts of guards. Laughter of noble children at play.

At night, he’d curl up on his threadbare mattress, listening to the scurrying of mice in the walls.

The creaks and groans of the old building would lull him to sleep.

Sometimes, Auntie Anne would sneak up after her duties, bringing scraps from the kitchen.

Warm bread. Bits of cheese. Very occasionally, even a slice of cake from a royal banquet.

But mostly, it was loneliness. Isolation. The ache of not belonging. Of being different. Hidden away like a shameful secret. Red’s fingers tightened on his cloak: the only connection to a mother he’d never known.

A twig snapped underfoot. Red blinked, dragged back to the present. Wim’s eyes were on him, curious, almost… sympathetic?

“I don’t need your pity.” Red glowered at Wim, pulling his face into a scowl.

“It wasn’t a bad childhood. Once I was seven, I started training with the Queen’s huntsman.

” For as long as Red could remember, rumours had flown around, alleging that the huntsman was, in fact, Red’s father, and this was why his mother left him on the palace staircase.

Though Red and the huntsman had never openly discussed this hearsay.

“So tell me, what—”

“You ask a lot of questions, wolf.”

Wim snorted. “What, you prefer to walk in silence? Sounds dull.”

“Some people are perfectly happy in their own company.”

“Right, so you’ve got no one to talk to. ”

Red stumbled, tripping over a gnarly root. He twisted to glare at the dog. “That’s rich, coming from a lone wolf.”

Wim’s orange eyes flashed, a predatory glint catching the dappled sunlight filtering through the forest canopy. Red flinched involuntarily, his heart skipping a beat as he instinctively took a small step backwards.

Red resumed walking with a brisk stride. “We’re going too slowly. Let’s pick up the pace. I want to reach the Dark Forest before I turn twenty-five winters, if that pleases you.”

Wim snorted before staring at Red’s face. “Twenty-four winters? I thought you more like nineteen!”

“And why is that?” Red retorted, indignant. He was not an infantile youth, and nor did he act like one.

Right?!

The wolf-man shrugged before making a show of scrutinising Red, eyeing him up, then down. “Besides that baby face of yours? Your stature, perhaps. And that fiery temper of yours.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m perfectly mature,” Red huffed, crossing his arms.

Wim chuckled, scratching his thick beard. “Aye, as mature as a babe with a wooden sword.”

Red’s cheeks burned. “And how old are you, then, you great lout?”

“Thirty-two winters, give or take.”

“Practically ancient,” Red muttered under his breath.

“We need to hunt something for supper,” Wim said.

The two eggs from earlier had long since been digested, and Red’s stomach gave a hopeful squeeze at the idea of actual meat for dinner, rather than bone broth. “I was about to suggest that.”

“Were you now? Go on, then. What’s your brilliant plan?”

Red stiffened. He ran his fingers across his leather quiver, embossed with delicate leaves. “I will hunt us some meat. I’m an excellent shot.” He couldn’t restrain his proud tone.

“Well, let’s see what you can do with that bow, then. ”

In case an opportunity presented itself, Red readied his bow, holding it down low.

As they walked on silently, he scanned the forest floor for any sign of life.

A rabbit was their best chance for a filling meal, though they were growing as rare as gold dust nowadays.

More likely would be a sparrow or a woodpecker.

The thought of biting into a piping-hot, juicy bird wing sent acid roiling through Red’s gut, and a wave of dizziness hit him. He didn’t realise he’d stumbled over a large rock until Wim caught him.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

“Perfectly!” Red wrenched his arm from the man’s strong grip. It took several moments for the vertigo to pass, the fuzziness at the edge of his vision receding only after several deep breaths. He couldn’t possibly faint in front of this man. The thought was mortifying.

As they trudged on, the forest grew denser, the air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. Red’s legs ached. Several times he opened his mouth to beg for a break, before snapping it shut again. He took sparing sips from his waterskin. It was almost empty already.

Mouth dry as sandpaper, Red urged himself forward each time he thought about stopping, matching Wim’s pace step for step. He wasn’t going to lag behind and give Wim the satisfaction, or see his face twist in scorn for slowing them down.

Wim’s hand shot out, gripping Red’s arm. Red flinched in alarm, and the man quickly unhanded him, after an incredulous look.

“There,” Wim whispered, pointing to a nearby oak.

Red’s gaze followed the gesture, landing on a plump grey squirrel perched on a low branch. His heart leapt. It wasn’t much, but it would make a decent meal.

With practised ease, Red reached for an arrow, nocking it to his bowstring. The familiar weight settled against his fingers as he drew back, the feathered fletching brushing his cheek. He inhaled deeply, steadying his aim. The world narrowed to a pinpoint—just him, the bow, and his target .