Page 52 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)

Epilogue

Two months later

R ed pressed his back against the rough-hewn logs of the city wall, his breath misting in the chill night air.

The royal guards’ boots scraped against the walkway above, their spears catching glints of amber lamplight as they patrolled between the watchtowers.

Several handlers kept fierce dogs on thick leather leads, but none would match the raw power of his wolf, who crouched beside him in the shadows.

“Three more minutes until the shift change.” Astrid’s whisper carried on the breeze. Her dark eyes gleamed as she peered around the corner, tracking the guards’ movements.

Red’s fingers found the familiar worn fabric of his cloak, drawing it closer.

The thought of seeing Auntie Anne again after these long months made his chest tight with longing.

He’d promised Tobias a full performance of their rescue mission, complete with dramatic sword fights and daring escapes.

The boy had sulked for days when told he couldn’t join them, but even his fierce pout hadn’t swayed his mother.

“Ready, sweetheart?” Wim’s low voice sent a shiver down Red’s spine as his mate’s familiar scent wrapped around him like an embrace .

“You know me. I was born ready.” Red tilted his chin up, meeting Wim’s smirk and those amber-orange eyes that still made his breath hitch when they bored into his.

The guards above called out their positions, boots crunching as they began the changing of the watch.

Red’s pulse quickened as he counted down the precious seconds until their window of opportunity.

The massive wall loomed above them, a fortress of timber that had kept him trapped for so many winters.

“Now.” Wim’s command galvanised them into action. He unwound the coiled rope from his stomach, the movement lifting his shirt to reveal a tantalising strip of skin…

Not the time, Red.

The grappling hook glinted dull bronze in the dim light as he tossed it to Astrid.

She caught it with practiced grace, her movements fluid as she spun it in swift circles above her head.

The hook sailed through the air in a perfect arc, catching on the wall’s edge with a muffled clank that made Red’s breath catch.

His eyes darted to the guard posts, but no shouts of alarm rang out.

Wim tugged the rope, testing its hold. “Solid.”

“Quickly now.” Astrid’s voice carried an edge of impatience.

But Wim’s attention had already shifted. His dark eyes found Red’s, that familiar cocky grin spreading across his face. “Kiss for luck?”

These past two months had brought countless kisses—lazy morning kisses tasting of herb tea, playful nips exchanged while hunting, desperate embraces in hidden forest corners, tender touches beneath starlight. Each one precious, each one stored away in Red’s memory like treasured jewels.

“We don’t have time for—” Astrid’s hiss cut off as Wim reached for Red, strong hands gripping his waist.

The kiss blazed fierce and claiming, Wim’s mouth hot against his. Red’s fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, drinking in the warmth of him, the solid strength. When they broke apart, it left Red’s heart thundering against his ribs .

“For luck,” Red whispered, straightening his cloak with trembling hands. Because what if Wim died tonight, during this crazy plan to rescue Auntie Anne—a selfishness on Red’s part to not be without the woman who was the closest thing he had to a mother?

Red’s mouth still tingled from the kiss as Wim gripped the rope. His wolf scaled the wall with impossible speed, muscles flexing beneath his shirt as he vanished over the top in the space of a heartbeat.

Red blinked at the empty rope, sharing a glance with Astrid in the shadows. The silence stretched between them, broken only by distant owl calls and the shuffle of guards’ boots.

Beyond the wall, the palace rose like a gleaming beast against the night sky.

Moonlight caught the silver-gilt window frames and alabaster towers that stabbed upwards into the stars.

The grand architecture masked the cold reality within those walls—decades of isolation, of the Queen’s cutting remarks about his eyes, of meals taken alone in his cramped attic room.

His gaze drifted to that highest window, imagining dust gathering in the corners where he’d once curled up with borrowed books.

By now, the spiders would have claimed his old bed, weaving their delicate webs across the wooden beams.

In the throne room below, the Queen would be holding court, perched on her gilded seat. Her perfect lips would curl with displeasure at some perceived flaw, her sharp words cutting deeper than any blade. How many times had Red stood before that throne, shoulders rigid as she dictated his future?

For twenty-four winters, others had carved his path—which clothes to wear, where he could go, how he would serve, when to speak, how to stand, who to be.

But now… now he’d chosen Wim’s rough hands and tender heart.

Chosen pack bonds and forest paths, chosen love that saw past his imperfections to the fire burning beneath.

Freedom tasted sweeter than any palace feast, felt warmer than any velvet cloak. His chest expanded with the weight of it—this precious gift of choosing his own destiny. Of being chosen in return .

The rope jerked against the wall, swaying in tight movements. Red’s fingers curled into fists, willing them to hurry.

“Thank Christ,” Astrid muttered. “There’s only twenty seconds left.”

Two figures emerged from the darkness above—Wim’s broad shoulders first, then Auntie Anne clinging to his back, her grey-streaked hair escaping its neat bun.

Her maid’s uniform caught the dim light, the starched apron a pale beacon.

The sight of her made Red’s chest squeeze.

After tonight, she’d never don that uniform again.

No more serving the Queen’s cruel whims, no more sleeping in cramped servants’ quarters.

Astrid’s spare room awaited, along with days spent minding young Tobias while his mother hunted.

They reached the ground with barely a whisper of sound. Before Red could move, Auntie Anne swept him into her arms, crushing him against her chest. The familiar scent of lavender soap and baking bread enveloped him—the same comforting smell that had soothed countless childhood hurts.

“My dear boy.” Her voice wavered. “Your letter… when I read what you’d planned…

” She pulled back, cupping his face between weathered palms. “And to think you found such happiness with your wolf. Though I nearly fainted dead when I read that part. And now I’ve seen him in real life…

” The woman wolf-whistled, eyeing Wim up and down.

“I have to say, you certainly weren’t exaggerating, were you? ”

Red felt his cheeks warm. The letter had taken hours to compose, explaining everything from meeting Wim to discovering his true parentage. Getting it to Auntie Anne had been another challenge entirely.

“Your messenger was quite resourceful,” Auntie Anne whispered. “Slipped right past the guards dressed as a honey seller.”

Red glanced at Astrid. “Your connection proved useful after all.”

Astrid smirked. “My friend runs deliveries between villages. The palace guards know his face but not his allegiances. And he owes me several favours. But less chatting, more escaping,” she demanded, already coiling the rope around her arm. “The next patrol starts in seconds.”

They crept along the shadowed path, keeping close to the city’s outer wall. Red’s heart skipped at every snapping twig, every rustle of leaves. The familiar weight of his bow across his back offered little comfort—one wrong move could alert the entire guard rotation.

Wim’s presence ahead carved a path through the darkness and Auntie Anne walked between them, her steps remarkably quiet. Perhaps all the avoiding the Queen’s notice had taught her more than just which corridors to dodge.

Once they’d put enough distance between themselves and the wall, Red caught up to walk beside her. “What will the Queen think? How long until she notices your absence?”

Auntie Anne’s laugh carried a sharp edge.

“Oh, she won’t notice for days, dear one.

I’ve been preparing for weeks since your letter arrived.

Called in every favour owed to arrange coverage for my duties.

” She patted his arm. “The kitchen girls will say I’m abed with fever, and Martha’s agreed to bring meals to my empty room.

By the time anyone realises, we’ll be long gone. ”

“Clever.” Red couldn’t help but smile. He should have known she’d think of everything—she always had.

“The Queen’s too wrapped up in her mirror these days to notice much else. The court whispers she hasn’t left her chambers in days.”

All the talk of the Queen—his aunt—sent an uncomfortable chill down Red’s spine. He’d spent so much time desperate for her approval, never knowing the truth of their connection. Now that twisted bond felt like a rope around his neck, one he was finally cutting free.

“But have you even heard the news from the palace?”

Red’s ears pricked up at Auntie Anne’s question, though he’d spent the past two months trying to forget the palace existed.

“What news? ”

“Both the Royal Shadow and the Queen’s son have disappeared. Neither of them have been seen in months. Mind you, the Queen has been even more foul-tempered because of it.”

Red’s mind whirred. The Queen’s Shadow, gone? Every evening Red had gone to sleep paralysed in fear, terrified he’d wake up to find Wim slaughtered by his hand.

Or he’d imagine himself waking up back in the palace, having been magically transported there by the geist, his cruel, sneering face laughing at him as he looked around in panic.

But to hear that he was somehow gone? Red’s breath came easier, his chest expanding with a freedom he hadn’t fully claimed until this moment. No more looking over his shoulder, expecting darkness to coalesce into that haunting figure.

“Where did Makellos go?” Red asked.

“Well, rumour is he’s dead, but the Queen has been acting very strangely indeed recently. Nobody quite knows what’s going on.”

Makellos—dead? The perfect prince with his flawless skin and midnight hair.

The boy who’d had everything Red had ever wanted: respect from the Queen’s court, beauty beyond measure, a place of belonging, a name that meant something.

Red had spent so many years envying him.

How peculiar that Red now found himself holding his breath, silently bargaining with whatever deities might listen that the rumours weren’t true.

Wim growled. “That woman’s days are finally numbered. I can feel it in my bones.”

The forest thinned as they approached the meeting point where Astrid had arranged a cart. Soon they’d be heading back to the pack lands—back home .

The thought caught him off guard. When had Wim’s territory transformed from ‘the pack lands’ into ‘home’ in his mind?

Perhaps it was the moment they’d first returned there, after the long return journey.

Tobias had launched himself at Red before even acknowledging his ‘best friend,’ tiny arms wrapping tight around Red’s neck as he babbled about how he’d told the whole pack about him.

The pure acceptance in that gesture had stolen Red’s breath.

Or maybe it was that first night in Wim’s cottage, curled up in his enormous bed.

The mattress was ever so soft, the pillows stuffed with countless feathers, and Red had been buried in soft furs that still carried Wim’s scent.

Red had never felt safer than when those strong arms pulled him close, Wim’s chest warm against his back as they drifted to sleep.

Was it during those mornings learning to cook together, the little flour they had dusting their clothes as Wim taught him to knead what little bread they could muster?

Or the evenings spent teaching Tobias to read by candlelight while Wim carved wooden animals nearby?

Maybe it was the way Astrid and the other wolves included him in pack decisions now, valuing his opinion as if he’d always belonged.

The answer hit him as they crested a small rise. It was everything. Every shared meal, every casual touch, every burst of laughter. It was belonging without having to earn it, acceptance without conditions. Everything the palace had never been.

Red glanced at Auntie Anne, who’d gone quiet beside him. Her eyes were wide as she took in the stars above, no longer blocked by palace walls. She’d find that same acceptance among the pack, he knew. The same freedom to simply exist without judgment.

Wim caught his eye, that familiar warmth spreading through Red’s chest at his mate’s gentle smile. Yes, this was home—wherever Wim was.

Moonlight spilled across the dirt path as they approached the waiting cart. Red’s legs ached from their rushed escape, but relief flooded through him at the sight of their getaway vehicle. The driver gave them a crooked grin and touched two fingers to his cap in greeting.

Wim moved first, his powerful frame easily climbing onto the wooden platform. He turned back, extending one large hand towards Red. His eyes glinted with warmth in the darkness. “Ready, sweetheart?”

The familiar endearment, once used to irritate him, still sent pleasant tingles down Red’s spine, still caused butterflies in his stomach.

He gazed at Wim’s outstretched hand—those strong fingers that could shift into deadly claws, yet touched him with such tenderness.

This hand had protected him, fought for him, loved him.

And now it offered him another step towards their shared future.

“Yes,” Red said, clasping Wim’s hand and allowing himself to be pulled up. He settled beside his mate, heart full to bursting. “Let’s go home.”

The End