Page 61 of Little Red Riding Hood
The voice in his head sounded like the Queen’s, cold and cutting. She’d been right all along. He’d never belonged anywhere. Not in the palace, not by Wim’s side.
The Queen had seen it, Makellos had seen it, and now Wim had finally seen it too.
“Right!” Eyepatch cut through Red’s spiral of self-loathing. “Pack it up, we’re moving out.”
Footsteps crunched through leaves, growing fainter. No one spared him a backwards glance as they melted back into the shadows, leaving him bound and alone by the dying fire. The noises faded into the night.
And then the silence pressed in, suffocating.
He’d failed. Failed the Queen’s mission. Failed to save Falchovari from its famine. Failed himself.
Red lay still, tasting blood and dirt, waiting until the last footstep disappeared.
Then his shoulders shook as the first sob tore from his throat. Another followed, then another, until he was crying properly. The sobs tore free from his throat, harsh and ugly in the empty night.The tears carved hot trails down his cheeks as he curled into himself on the frozen ground.
He’d just lay down here, bound, until he starved to death, then the birds could pick at his flesh.
At least he’d be of some use then.
Thirteen
Wim
Wim’s blood sang with one purpose: return to Red.
His paw hit the ground wrong yet again, sending fresh waves of pain shooting up his leg. He ignored it, pushing through the undergrowth as fast as his injured limb would allow. The wine had dulled his senses earlier, making him careless, and he’d tripped, spraining his ankle.
The forest spoke to him differently in this form. Every rustle, every scent, every movement held meaning that his human mind would miss, whereas his wolf-self understood the language of the woods with ancient clarity.
But Wim wasn’t presently paying any attention to the forest.
Mine-protect-return.
The thoughts pulsed through him with each stride. Like a hook beneath his ribs, Red’s scent drew him forward. His pack was heavy with the waterskins he’d filled, a reminder of his promise to return quickly.
The alcohol had quickly left his system, thankfully. He cursed the foolish market purchase, for not only had it caused Red to become intoxicated, but it stupidly allowed him to leave his Red alone in this dangerous forest. The thought of Little Red alone in the darknessmade his chest tight. Strange, this pull. In his thirty-two winters, he’d never felt such an urge to return to anyone’s side.
His nose twitched, seeking that now-familiar scent—wild berries, woodsmoke from all their fires, and something uniquelyhis.
The smell of blood hit him first.
Fear flooded his veins, the beast inside him snarling to life. He quickened his pace, dried leaves crunching beneath his paws. Other scents layered over Red’s—unfamiliar men, steel, sweat. The market trader’s stench.
Through the trees, he caught sight of their camp. Or what remained of it.
His Red sat hunched on the ground, wrists bound behind him, tear tracks cutting through the dirt on his face. A split lip leaked blood down his chin.
The beast roared for blood, for revenge, but Wim forced it down. Red needed him calm. Needed him here.
A whine escaped his throat. “Red! What happened?!”
“Where the fuck have you been?” Red’s voice cracked raw, and the sound pierced Wim’s heart. His Red twisted against the ropes, sitting up with blazing eyes full of hurt and fury. “What do you think happened? Look around! We were robbed!”
Wim shifted back to human form, ignoring the ache of transformation. His hands trembled as they found the ropes binding Red’s wrists—his clever, skilled Little Red who should never be bound like this. He worked quickly to loosen the knots, breathing in Red’s scent to calm the rising beast inside him. Every mark on Red’s skin made his blood boil.
“God, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you.” The words felt inadequate. “The stream was further than I thought and the wine… it slowed me down more than I realised.” His fingers ghosted over Red’s ribs, checking for injuries, marking each hurt done to what washis. “Like a fool, I caught my leg in a rabbit hole. It took a whileto mend.”
After rummaging through his pack, Wim quickly slipped on a large, loose shirt that covered most of him. Wim cupped Red’s face, thumb brushing away a smear of blood from the split lip. The beast howled for vengeance, but he pushed it down. Unlike the feral kills of his past, these men would face something worse—his controlled rage.
