Page 51 of Little Red Riding Hood
Perhaps Wim regretted their earlier intimacy? Yes, that was likely it. The wolf had experienced a moment of madness, had simply used Red for cathartic release, and now was wondering how on earth he could get rid of him.
Panic clawed at Red’s throat, making it difficult to breathe.
Finally, unable to bear the tension any longer, Red blurted, “If you’re regretting what happened earlier, you might as well just say it.”
Wim paused mid-motion, his eyes finding Red’s. For a heartbeat, he simply stared, an unreadable expression on his face. Then, shaking his head, he moved to sit beside Red.
“Never that, sweetheart. Don’t let your mind run away with you.” Wim’s deep voice was laced with a weariness that tugged at Red’s heart. Reaching out, the wolf cupped Red’s cheek with a calloused palm. “Nothing would ever make me regret that.”
Red leaned into the gentle touch, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Then what is it?”
Wim’s thumb stroked across Red’s cheekbone as he seemed to consider his words. “I feel… fucking disgusted with myself,” he said at last, his gaze dropping. “Those commoners… they were just trying to protect themselves. And I slaughtered them like animals.”
Red’s stomach twisted, the weight of Wim’s words crashing over him like a tidal wave. He’d witnessed the carnage, seen the mangled remains of the two men torn to pieces by Wim’s claws and fangs. At the time, he’d felt mainly relief that Wim hadn’t been hurt.
But now, faced with the raw anguish etched into the wolf’s features, Red couldn’t help but empathize with his remorse. “You were defending yourself,” he murmured, hating the way his voice shook. “They would have killed you without a second thought.”
Wim shook his head, expression haunted. “That doesn’t excuse what I did. Two people are dead because of me… and then I rewarded myself, taking pleasure from you.” His hand fell away, leaving Red’s cheek chilled by the loss of contact.
Red’s throat tightened, robbing him of words. He wanted to protest, to assure Wim that he hadn’t seen it that way at all. Wim hadn’t been rewarding himself, he’d been seeking comfort and connection in a moment of pure darkness.
Instead, he reached for Wim’s hand, entwining their fingers together. He held on tightly, hoping his presence would be enough of a tether to stop Wim from sinking into melancholy.
That night, Wim dragged their bedrolls together without discussion, combining them to make a larger one to share. Then, pulling Red’s back flush against his chest, he whispered, “Little Red,” into his ear, then promptly fell straight to sleep, his arms locked around Red’s waist like iron bands.
The occasional tremor rippled through Wim’s massive frame, his breathing uneven and ragged. Then a soft whimper broke the silence, and Red’s chest ached at the sound. Was this Wim’s recurring nightmare? Was he currently lost in an endless forest, calling out for his pack until his throat bled raw, but receiving no answer? Always searching, never finding his way home?
With great effort, Red twisted in Wim’s grip, facing him in the darkness. His fingers traced the worried creases between Wim’s brows, smoothing them with gentle strokes. He pressed his lips to Wim’s beard, tasting salt, earth, and something uniquelyhim.
Pulling at his red cloak, he stretched it so that it covered both himself and part of Wim. God, how Red yearned to shelter him, to wrap Wim in the same fierce protection the wolf had shown him. To be his sanctuary, his home. He’d never bepack, but perhaps he could be something akin to it.
Though what right did he have to dream of forever when their paths would soon diverge?
The morning broke crisp and clear as they continued their journey on foot. After hours of trudging through the forest, Red had taken to filling the silence with stories from the palace—partly to distract himself from his rumbling stomach and aching feet, partly to see how often he could make Wim’s lips twitch into a smile.
“And then, wouldn’t you know it, Makellos tripped over his own feet and landed headfirst in the trifle. Cream everywhere. The Queen—”
A sharp shush sliced through Red’s anecdote. Wim’s hand clamped over his mouth, muffling the rest of the story. Annoyance at his hilarious tale being interrupted was quickly replaced by icy dread. What could Wim hear? Had the angry mob of commoners found them? But Wim’s eyes—wide and gleaming—held not fear, but an almost childlike excitement.
“Deer,” Wim breathed, lips barely moving. He inhaled deeply through his nose, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “A big one.” A flicker of his tongue, tasting the air.
“How big?”
Wim looked at him and winked. “Verybig.”
Red rolled his eyes. “Well, we’re going to hunt it, right?” After the loss of their vegetables, the prospect of fresh venison set his mouth watering. Wim would surely make short work of any deer—his powerful jaws could crunch through bone like kindling.
“Only if you’re up for the challenge, sweetheart.” Wim’s smile twisted mischievously.
“Alright, wolf,” Red declared, pulling an arrow from his quiver. “Let’s hunt.”
Wim grinned, teeth glinting in the dappled light. With a subtle nod, he slipped into the shadows of the forest, disappearing behinda trunk as thick as one of the palace walls. Red nocked his arrow, scanning the underbrush for movement.
A low growl drifted through the trees—Wim had the scent. Red followed the sound, and found Wim crouching low to the ground. Together, they carefully traversed the forest, Wim taking the lead.
Fallen leaves crunched in the distance, the sound rapidly drawing nearer. Wim cocked his head. “It’s coming this way.”
Then Red’s breath caught in his throat as an enormous stag burst out of the leafy foliage.
