Page 86 of Little Red Riding Hood
“Well…” Red cleared his throat. “No sign of any light. Doesn’t look like anyone’s home. Let’s try again later.”
Wim did not respond to his humour.
“What’s your plan, then?” Wim dropped Red’s hand, causing a surge of anxiety to assault his stomach. “To get inside, I mean?”
“Oh… umm…”
Red had imagined climbing a tree and shooting her when she hung up her laundry or something, but the witch didn’t seem like the sort. He looked down at the basket he’d somehow managed to keep hold of through their harrowing journey. It was a miracle it had survived—the handle was frayed where a vine had nearly snatched it away, and several of the blooms were crushed. Still, some of the chrysanthemums and pansies remained, their vibrant colours a stark contrast to the gloom surrounding them.
Red had clutched that basket like a talisman through the forest’s horrors, refusing to let go even when the spiders descended or the maggots surged toward them. Something about abandoning it felt like surrendering completely to the darkness.
“I’ll knock on the door and pretend to be selling flowers!”
Wim’s laughter cut through the eerie silence. “Selling flowers? To a witch? That’s your grand scheme?”
Red’s cheeks burned. The basket suddenly felt childish in his hands, the bright petals garish against the forest’s gloom. “Well, I don’t see you coming up with anything better.”
Wim’s tone took on an edge. “Because I actually planned for this moment.”
The words stung more than they should have. Red’s fingers tightened around the basket handle, his other hand inching towards his bow. Every movement Wim made now seemed threatening—the way he shifted his weight, how his shoulders tensed, the gleam in his eyes.
This is it. He’s going to attack. He’s going to transform and tear you apart right here.
Wim’s arm shot out suddenly and Red stumbled backwards, heart racing, bow half drawn before he could think.
The hurt that flashed across Wim’s face made Red’s chest ache. Wim had only been reaching for his pack, movements slow and deliberate now as he withdrew something that caught the dim light.
“Just grabbing this,” Wim said softly, holding up a leather cord strung with tiny, pearl-white teeth. “My milk teeth. Saved them all this time.” His thumb traced one of the small fangs. “Waiting for…”
My mate.
Red’s bow lowered, shame flooding through him. The delicate, precious necklace hung from Wim’s finger.
“Why are you showing me them?” Red asked, hardly daring to breathe, his heart pounding rabbit-fast. Was Wim…? Did this mean…?
“I’m going to use it to bait Oma into opening the door. Wildling teeth have magical properties.”
Red’s heart plummeted so fast a wave of nausea punched through his gut. Of course. Of course Wim hadn’t meant… More heat flooded his cheeks as mortification crashed into him. How could he have been so stupid? To think that Wim would choosethismoment, standing before a vile witch’s house, to make some grand romantic gesture?
His throat closed up, chest tight with humiliation. He’d nearly reached for the necklace, like some lovestruck fool. Thank god he hadn’t actually stretched out his hand—that would have been unbearable.
Red turned away, pretending to adjust his cloak while he blinked back the sting in his eyes. When he trusted his voice wouldn’t crack, he managed, “No, you can’t risk those. They’re too precious.”
“They’re just teeth,” Wim said, as gentle as a whisper.
“But they’re not, are they?” Red’s fingers twisted in his cloak. “You’ll need them one day.”Once you’re back with your pack, free from your beast, and free to find your true love.
“Only plan we’ve got.” Wim tucked the necklace into his palm. “Better than peddling flowers to a witch, at least.”
Red couldn’t even muster the energy to be properly offended. His gaze fixed on the cottage door, that bloodstained step. This was where their pretending must end, wasn’t it? This moment. This choice. The culmination of their careful dance of ‘just travelling companions’ rather than enemies turned lovers turned rival witch assassins.
The cottage loomed before them, patient as a spider in its web. Red’s chest ached with words he couldn’t say, promises he couldn’t make. They both had their missions. No amount of wishing could change that.
Wim moved toward the door, necklace dangling from his fingers, and Red followed, diving ahead so he was in front.
A rumbled chuckle burst out from Wim. “Always rushing headfirst into danger, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
Red shot him a look over his shoulder. “Well, one of us has to be brave.”
