Page 6 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)

The squirrel twitched, unaware of its impending doom.

Got you. Red was already salivating at the thought of the roasted meat.

His muscles tensed, ready to release. Then, as he began to loose the arrow, that horrible wave of dizziness returned, crashing over him like a sudden tide sweeping the shore, dragging him down into its depths.

His vision swam, the forest tilting sideways.

In a moment of pure instinct, he released the bowstring, losing all control as his fingers betrayed him.

The arrow flew wide, embedding itself in the tree trunk with a dull thunk.

Startled, the squirrel darted up the tree and out of sight.

“Bollocks!” Red swore. For a moment, the horror rooted him to the spot.

He’d missed. He never missed. Heat crept up his neck, shame and anger warring for dominance.

He refused to look at Wim, certain he’d find mockery in those amber eyes.

“I… I don’t know what happened,” he muttered, glaring at the ground.

“The sun must have been in my eyes.” His fingers trembled as he lowered the bow.

“Are you alright?” Wim asked, surprisingly gentle.

Red didn’t trust himself to reply. His cheeks burned with humiliation as he stared at the arrow lodged in the tree trunk. He’d never missed a shot like that before.

“Red?”

Red whirled to face him, anger flaring before he could tamp it. “I’m fine! It was just the sun!” He pointed upwards, where a cloudy sky blocked all sunlight.

Wim frowned, moving closer. “You’re white as milk. Been a while since you had a proper meal, hasn’t it?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Red tried to snap, but his voice sounded weak and distant. The forest gave another sudden lurch around him, and he stumbled.

Firm hands gripped his shoulders, holding him upright. “Steady now. Need to get you sat down somewhere, alright?”

Red wanted to protest, to insist he was fine, but his legs felt like jelly. He allowed Wim to guide him to a fallen log, sinking onto it gratefully .

“Here.” Wim pressed something into his hand. A chunk of dried meat. “Eat this. It’s not much, but it’ll help.”

Red’s pride warred with his hunger for a moment before he gave in, tearing into the jerky with his teeth. The salt and smoke exploded across his tongue, and he had to fight not to moan in relief.

“I would offer more, but that’s all I’ve got left of my backup supplies.”

Why are you being so kind to me? It was baffling. Red had been nothing but rude to this wolf, yet here Wim was, giving Red food for the second time today.

As the meat hit his stomach, the dizziness began to recede. He’d been so incredibly close to fainting. His determination not to show weakness in front of Wim had been his folly.

“Thank you,” Red muttered, not meeting Wim’s gaze.

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart,” Wim’s said, with a hint of laughter, but it wasn’t unkind. “Can’t have you swooning in my arms, now, can we?”

Red rolled his eyes, feeling some of his familiar fire returning. “As if I’d ever swoon for the likes of you!”

Wim chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Keep telling yourself that, Little Red.” Wim reached for Red’s waterskin, strapped to the side of his pack. Finding it empty, he sighed, tossing Red his own.

Red guzzled it down gratefully, though the precious liquid came with a guilt-ridden aftertaste. “We’re still no closer to finding our evening meal.”

“Are we not?” Wim nodded at the oak tree, bearded chin pointing at Red’s failure of an arrow. Then Red saw it—the squirrel was back, perched atop a branch, gnawing at a nut.

Red slowly reached for his bow. How humiliating would it be to fail twice in a row? He may be about to find out…

Wim’s hand shot out, pushing it away. “My turn,” he said, a mischievous glint in his bright eyes .

Before Red could protest, Wim began shedding his clothing at the speed of a startled deer bolting from danger. What the devil was he playing at? The man stripped down completely, his muscular form bare to the forest air.

“What in the blazes are you doing?” Red hissed, averting his gaze, then affixing it to a nearby patch of moss.

Wim didn’t answer. Instead, he bent down, scooping up a smooth stone. With a swift, fluid motion, he hurled it at the squirrel. The rock struck true, and the creature let out a startled squeak before scampering down the trunk.

In that instant, Wim’s form began to blur and shift. His skin rippled, sprouting thick grey fur. His face elongated into a muzzle, teeth sharpening to deadly points. Within moments, where a man had stood, a massive wolf now crouched, muscles coiled and ready to spring.

Red’s breath caught in his throat. He’d seen Wim’s wolf form yesterday, of course, but the transformation in broad daylight was a sight to behold. It was both terrifying and oddly beautiful, like watching a storm roll in over the mountains.

The wolf bounded after the fleeing squirrel with astonishing speed.

His powerful legs carried him in great leaps, closing the distance in heartbeats.

The massive creature’s lupine form vanished into the dense undergrowth, the silver-grey blur of his fur melting into the shadows of the forest. The rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs faded, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.

Alone once more, with only the pounding of his heart for company. The forest seemed to close in around Red, the trees looming taller, their branches reaching out like witches’ fingers. He gripped his bow tighter, eyes darting from shadow to shadow.

What if the wolf didn’t come back? The thought ambushed Red, stealing the air from his lungs.

It had been barely a handful of hours, really, but he’d already grown accustomed to his companion’s presence, irritating as he was.

Without the wildling, he’d be truly alone again in this vast, hungry forest .

Red shook his head. What foolish thoughts! Why should he care if the mangy mutt abandoned him? He was better off alone, wasn’t he? He didn’t need anyone, least of all a sarcastic, exasperating wolf-man.

Yet, as the silence stretched on, a knot of anxiety tightened in Red’s chest. He strained his ears for any sound of Wim’s return, hating himself for hoping.

Just as Red was about to call out—against his better judgement—a rustle in the undergrowth caught his attention. The wolf emerged from the foliage, padding silently towards Red. In his massive jaws, he carried the limp form of the squirrel.

Relief flooded through Red, quickly followed by a wave of displeasure at his own reaction. He schooled his features into a mask of indifference as Wim approached.

The wolf’s muzzle was stained with blood, crimson droplets matting the grey fur of his jaw. His eyes gleamed with triumph as he deposited the squirrel at Red’s feet.

Red found his words at last. “I suppose that’s one way to catch dinner,” he said, trying to sound unimpressed despite his racing heart. “Though I daresay my method would have been far less… dramatic.”

Wim sat back on his haunches, his large eyes fixed on the squirrel. His tongue lolled out in what Red could only interpret as a wolfish grin. “Careful. I could happily swallow this prize right here, rather than share it with you this eve.”

It would only be fair. Red wouldn’t have blamed him at all. But with a shake of his massive body, Wim padded over to where his discarded clothing lay, and began his miraculous transformation back into man.

This time, Red didn’t turn his head when presented with Wim’s bare form.

Instead, Red’s gaze traced the contours of Wim’s naked body.

His admittedly glorious naked body. Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, a canvas of lean muscle and coarse, dark hair.

Scars criss-crossed his chest and abdomen—from the teeth and claws of other wolves?

—telling tales of battles fought and won.

Red couldn’t deny it—the sheer size of him was… appealing.

Wim’s thighs, thick as tree trunks, flexed as he moved. Red’s eyes followed the trail of dark hair down his stomach, lower and lower until—

Fuck, that was one large cock.

Wim was a towering bear of a man, so it wasn’t completely unexpected, but Red was certain it was at least slightly disproportionate, being so absolutely massive. The longer Red looked at it, swinging around in the air as Wim dressed his torso, the bigger it seemed.

Blood ran south, and Red’s own member began to thicken, the poor thing clearly as confused as Red was. Heat flooded Red’s cheeks. He jerked his gaze back up, meeting Wim’s knowing smirk.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “See something you like, sweetheart?”

Red’s mouth went dry. His pulse rabbited against his ribs, blood rushing in his ears. How did one respond to such a question? And why did the sight of this infuriating man affect him so? He’d never been attracted to anyone so… brutish before.

“Would you put… that thing away!”

Wim unleashed a booming laugh. “A prude, are you?” He grinned, finally tugging on some well-worn drawers. “Saving yourself for your wedding night?”

“No! As I said, I’ve had many the suitor. And many, many… romps in the hay as well! Too many to count!” Could wolves smell lies? Red could only pray not.

“You’re as red as your cloak again.”

Red turned his face away. Oh, how he regretted this alliance. He’d go mad spending another day with this fool.

“I think you were named after the colour your face favours, not your cloak, after all.”

“Can you just… stop! ” Red’s foot may have performed a tiny stamp of its own accord. “Please!”

Wim laughed as he reached down to pick up Red’s quiver that he hadn’t even realised was on the ground. As he did so, the flap at the top came loose, spilling several arrows onto the forest floor. Among them, a single shaft caught the filtered sunlight, gleaming with an otherworldly radiance.

Red’s heart seized in his chest. The golden arrow.

Of course, it did not escape Wim’s notice.

His large hand closed around it, lifting it high for inspection.

The arrow seemed to glow even brighter in his grasp, its shaft adorned with intricate engravings that spiralled from nock to tip.

The arrowhead itself was a work of art, impossibly sharp and glinting like a fallen star.

“Well, well,” Wim murmured, turning the arrow this way and that. “What have we here?”

Panic clawed at Red’s throat. He lunged forward, snatching the arrow from Wim’s grasp with such force that he nearly toppled over.

“Don’t touch that!” Red clutched the golden arrow to his chest, his heart pounding so fiercely he was certain Wim could hear it. “It’s not to be played with!”

Wim’s eyebrows shot up, surprise etched across his rugged features. “Easy there. I meant no harm.”

Red took a step back, his fingers tightening around the precious arrow. How could he have been so careless? The Queen would have his head if anything happened to it.

“It’s…” Red trailed off. Should he reveal the entire plan to Wim? But he already knew half of it. Surely there was no extra harm in telling him about the arrow? “For Old Oma. I’m to shoot her through the heart with it.”

Wim’s expression darkened, amber eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. For a moment, Red could have sworn he saw a flash of something primal, almost feral, in those depths. But as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, replaced by nonchalance.

“A golden arrow, eh?” Wim’s manner was deceptively casual, but there was an undercurrent of tension that set Red’s nerves on edge. “Bit fancy for hunting, no? ”

Red clutched the arrow tighter, suddenly aware of how exposed he felt. “It’s not just any arrow. It’s… enchanted, I suppose you could say.”

Wim’s eyebrows shot up, interest clearly piqued. “Enchanted? How so? What will happen to her?”

Red hesitated. This was now a lot of questions. But he’d already revealed this much… Besides, a small—well, rather large—part of him wanted to impress Wim with the importance of his quest.

“When it pierces Old Oma’s heart, it will turn her to dust,” Red explained, unable to stop himself from adding a dramatic edge to the statement.

Wim’s face went through a series of rapid transformations—shock, and something that looked almost like… panic? But in the blink of an eye, his features smoothed out, that standard smirk back in place.

Confusion had Red’s breath catching in his throat. Wim was certainly hiding something. But why the devil would Wim care what happened to Old Oma? Could he actually be an ally of Oma’s? No… that was plain silly. But what other reason would explain his reaction?

“Dust, you say?” Wim’s tone was light, yet strained. “That’s quite the trick. And you’re absolutely certain it will work?”

Red nodded, though a flicker of doubt crept into his mind. “The Queen says it’s the only way to lift Old Oma’s curse on our land.” He eyed Wim. “Why all these questions?”

Wim shrugged, his massive shoulders rising and falling like mountain peaks. “Just curious. It’s not every day you hear about magical arrows turning witches to dust.”

Red wasn’t fooled by Wim’s attempt at nonchalance, and anxiety burrowed into his almost-empty gut.

“Hmm.”

“Look, the road is just up ahead.” Wim jerked his head forward.

Red followed Wim. Indeed, it wasn’t long before the path widened, deep-rutted wagon tracks carved into the packed earth—they’d reached the road Wim had spoken about. The well-worn path would be a welcome change from stumbling over roots and rocks.

Red took a step forward, but Wim caught his arm, cocking his head to one side. “Hear that?”

Red strained his hearing. A light breeze, the tweeting of birds… “No?”

“Course not. Too distant for human ears. But there are horse carts coming. With bells .” Wim’s mouth set in a grim line.

“And?”

“Know what those bells mean?”

Red scowled at him. He’d never been this far from the palace before, so of course he didn’t know. “ What? ”

“Slave traders. Slavers are heading this way.”