Page 8 of Little Red Riding Hood (The GriMM Tales #1)

R ed’s heart raced like a startled hare as he crouched in the bough of a large gnarled oak, fingers curled around the rough bark, with ridges digging painfully into his skin. He held his breath, waiting for the signal.

Perched on top of the first horse, the slave driver watched the other seven men wrap up their break .

A wave of acid made its home in Red’s gut. Not long now. Red had plenty of experience shooting animals. How different could shooting a human possibly be?

The driver’s gravelly voice cut through the forest air. “One minute, folks! Get ready to move out!”

A low growl rumbled from the foliage down the track.

Red’s muscles tensed. Wim burst from the undergrowth, a massive grey blur of fur and fangs.

His howl pierced the air, sending birds scattering from nearby trees.

The sound stirred a primal fear within Red, but there was no time to calm his stuttering heart.

Chaos erupted—the horses reared up as the slavers shouted in panic, scrambling for weapons.

Cages rattled as the captured elves stirred, fear flickering in their eyes.

One of the elves, a young girl, screamed as she was thrown against the bars, her head cracking against the metal with a sickening thud.

“Bloody hell! Is that a wolf or a wildling?” One of the men stumbled backwards, nearly dropping his heavy crossbow.

Red’s fingers twitched, itching to nock an arrow. But he held back, remembering Wim’s instructions. “Wait for my signal.”

The slave driver’s face drained of colour as he fumbled with his whip. “Don’t just stand there, you idiots! Kill it!”

Red’s stomach twisted into knots. Knots of fear. If Wim was hurt or killed for these random elves…

A high-pitched howl pierced the air. Wim’s signal.

Red’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm as he nocked an arrow, his fingers trembling.

Wim lunged at the nearest trader, jaws snapping around his neck.

The man’s scream was cut short as Wim’s teeth crushed his windpipe, blood spraying everywhere.

Red’s stomach churned with a mix of revulsion and gratitude, the brutal display making his skin crawl.

Wim, still in his wolf form, stood tall, his chest heaving with exertion, as if daring anyone else to make a move.

Red’s gaze lingered on the carnage, his mind struggling to reconcile the violent beast before him with the man he’d eaten broth with last night .

Red’s gaze locked onto the slave driver.

The man’s whip glinted in the dappled sunlight.

Red’s stomach churned, his fingers trembling, shaking the bow.

He’d never killed a man before. There would be no coming back from this.

But then the image of that whip tearing into Wim’s flesh flashed through his mind.

He loosed the arrow.

It whistled through the air, finding its mark with a sickening thud.

The slaver’s eyes widened in shock as the shaft protruded from his throat, blood spurting in a crimson arc.

He stumbled backwards, clawing at the arrow, his eyes bulging as he choked on his own blood.

As he toppled from his horse, a horrible gurgling sound came out of him.

His body hit the forest floor with a dull thump, twitching as his life drained away.

Red’s breath caught in his throat. He’d done it. Killed a man. A slave driver carrying around a dozen captured prisoners, but still. What would Auntie Anne say if she could see him right now? “Life is complicated and filled with choices, Red,” most likely.

Another slaver stumbled away from the body, a splatter of blood on his dirty shirt.

“Show yourself, coward,” he screamed in Red’s general direction.

His eyes scanned the trees, and for a moment, they locked onto Red’s hiding spot.

A cruel grin spread across his face as he raised his crossbow, taking aim.

Red ducked to the side, avoiding the crossbow bolt by mere inches.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Red didn’t sign up to be shot at!

The bolt struck the tree trunk with a deafening thud, sending splinters flying everywhere.

Red forced himself to breathe, peeking back out through the leaves.

Two slavers were advancing on Wim, their daggers glinting wickedly in the dappled light.

Red’s hands shook as he nocked another arrow, gaze darting between the men before he loosed it to slice through the air and into one slaver’s back.

The man crumpled with a strangled cry as Wim’s jaws clamped around the other slaver’s arm, yanking him to the ground.

Red tore his eyes away, focusing on the cages. He aimed at the rope binding the first cart, his arrow severing it cleanly. Yes! He’d done it, and with only one arrow too. A thrill of satisfaction burst through Red, almost dizzying him.

The elves inside surged against the bars, tipping the cage. It crashed to the forest floor, splintering apart. The small, dirty mare that was dragging it bolted with a loud neigh, charging past Wim with the speed of five horses.

Six elves scrambled free, their chains clanking as they bolted for the trees.

Run little elves, run! A slaver sprinted after them, whip raised.

Red’s bow was ready in a heartbeat, and his next arrow found its mark in the man’s thigh, sending him sprawling.

His screams reverberated through the forest as he clutched at his leg, blood pooling on the forest floor.

Around them, the mayhem intensified, the acrid stench of blood and sweat reaching Red’s nostrils. Screams and shouts filled the air as the elves scattered.

One last slaver staggered around, his expression frozen in dismay, palms clamped to his temples.

Hold on.

Red scanned the ground, littered with mutilated bodies. Five dead or fallen slavers, one cowering in terror…

Where were the other two?

Red’s vision was partially obscured by the branches. He shuffled to the left—

Fuck!

The second cart had turned itself around and was now careening back up the track, its wheels kicking up dirt and leaves.

A slaver atop the driver’s seat cracked his whip, urging the horse faster.

He was clearly happy to leave his friend behind—the man on the ground bellowed curses, his face contorted with rage .

Four elven faces pressed against the bars of their cage, eyes wide with terror. They gazed in Red’s direction, as if they could see right through his leafy cover. Their fear-stricken expressions pierced him, stirring a deep ache in his chest.

No! Red wouldn’t let them get away. They would save them all.

Why wasn’t Wim chasing after them? Red’s gaze darted about, searching for his wildling companion. Then he found Wim limping towards the final slaver, favouring his left hind leg. A patch of blood matted the wolf’s fur around his neck, a stark contrast to his grey coat. Was he injured? How badly?

It was all falling apart.

The slavers were getting away with innocent lives, and Wim was hurt, possibly fatally wounded.

The inside of Red’s cheek stung—he’d been biting it.

Though there was no time to panic. The man was raising his crossbow, and Wim was clearly preparing to strike—muscles tensed, ears angled.

But he was going too slowly for Red’s liking.

Red loosed another of his arrows, and just like its previous comrades, it found its mark, burying itself deep within the slaver’s neck.

Red smiled to himself. How many times in a row had his arrow struck true? If only the huntsman could see him now! All of those long, long months of training had finally been put to proper use—and he’d certainly proven his ability to Wim. There could be no further questioning of his skills.

The second cart disappeared around a bend, into the dense foliage, the sound of creaking wheels and panicked elven cries fading into the distance.

Red’s fingers tightened around his bow, an arrow already nocked. He could shoot the horse—bring the whole cart down. The angle would be difficult through the trees, but he’d made harder shots today. More elves could be saved…

But Wim was hurt. Blood matted his grey fur, and he was favouring that leg. What if the injury was worse than it looked? What if that last armed slaver—

Red’s jaw clenched. Damn it all.

Shaking off his dismay, Red scrambled down the tree, his boots hitting the forest floor with a soft thud. He sprinted towards Wim, leaves and twigs crunching beneath his feet. The wolf’s massive form came into focus, and Red’s breath caught in his throat.

He dropped to his knees before Wim, suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer size of the creature whose teeth had torn through human flesh like paper.

The wolf’s head alone was nearly as large as Red’s entire torso.

Wim’s piercing eyes met his, and Red swallowed hard.

His entire body could fit within Wim’s powerful jaws.

Red’s eyes travelled to the matted fur on Wim’s neck, where crimson stained the grey. His hands hovered hesitantly, wanting to help but unsure how. The enormity of Wim’s presence made Red acutely aware of his own fragility.

“Wim,” he whispered, barely audible. “You’re hurt.”

The wolf was silent for a long moment before bursting into raucous laughter. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’s only a scratch—it’ll be gone in a minute. Though if you’re offering to kiss it better…”

Red smacked the side of Wim’s neck, though his blow was cushioned by the dense, thick fur. He couldn’t resist tangling his fingers in the soft strands before dragging his hand away.

Red stared up the road. The second cart was now long gone, and a pang of guilt twisted in his gut. Would he have been able to save them if he’d tried? Now they’d be sold at market to cruel masters.

A faint whimper rang through the air, drawing their attention to the injured slaver. He lay on the ground, clutching at his thigh, his eyes wide with pain and fear. One left.

Wim’s ears folded back, and his tail twitched.

He padded over to the injured slaver, his massive paws silent on the forest floor.

The slaver’s whimper turned to a panicked cry as Wim loomed over him.

Red turned away, but not before he heard the sickening crunch of bone as Wim’s paw came down on the slaver’s head, ending his suffering .

The sudden silence weighed heavy on Red’s shoulders.

He swallowed hard, trying not to think about the ease with which Wim had dispatched the man.

He forced himself to look at the mangled corpse—the skull was crushed, the bone splintered and fragmented, with a sickening amount of brain matter spilling out onto the forest floor.

The slaver’s eyes were frozen in a permanent stare, the pupils blown, and the irises cloudy with death.

A bloody halo surrounded the head, with splatters of grey and pink brain tissue radiating out from the impact site like a gruesome sunburst.

Red retched, bile burning his tongue.

“Keep those eggs down, would you?” Wim growled.

Surveying the sea of bodies, Red said, “You could eat them, you know. It’s meat that will go to waste.” Fuck, what had the famine reduced him to?

Wim growled. “Wildlings don’t eat humans. Not even scum of the earth.” His large amber eyes snagged on the cart behind Red. “But we can eat those .”

Red jumped up so quickly, a wave of vertigo washed over him, causing the world to tilt precariously on its axis. As he steadied himself, Wim trotted over to a small sack, carrots and potatoes spilling out of it.

Gasping, Red took stumbling steps towards it, before snatching up a carrot, shoving it into his mouth. Dirt and sweetness mingled on his tongue, followed by the most satisfying crunch. Red eyed Wim guiltily. It should be him devouring all these vegetables, after the extra food he’d given Red.

Another rumbled laugh. “It’s alright, sweetheart. It’s only a carrot. You’ve earned it.”

Red gathered his arrows, grimacing at the sticky crimson coating the shafts. He yanked off a strip from a dead trader’s tunic—cleaner than expected—and methodically wiped each one before sliding them back into his quiver. He didn’t want his pristine golden arrow getting blood on it .

Wim’s tail swished as he nosed through the scattered supplies. “Take that waterskin—and grab those onions.”

Red stuffed everything useful into his pack—the vegetables, a length of rope, flint, and even a small knife with an elaborately carved handle.

“Now let’s get out of here before anyone else comes along.” Wim’s eyes scanned the surrounding area, his expression grim. “Here, have another carrot. You still look pale.”

As they vanished into the trees, the only sound was the soft crunch of Red’s carrot. The forest was quiet once more, but the silence was oppressive, heavy with the weight of death and violence.

The blood on Red’s hands might wash away, but the knowledge that he’d killed would stain his soul forever. Slave traders or not, he was a murderer now. There was no going back from that.

Red swallowed a large mouthful of carrot.

The strangest thing of all?

The vegetable had never tasted so sweet.