Page 65 of Little Red Riding Hood
Before Red could stop him, Wim gave one final determined yank. The cloak slipped free with a sharp snap of fabric—
Eyepatch jerked upright, blade already in hand. His good eye fixed on them, widening with recognition at the sight of Red.
Fuck. Red’s blood turned to ice.We’re dead.
“INTRUDERS! MEN! TO ARMS!” Eyepatch’s bellow shattered the night’s quiet. His blade slashed through the air where Wim had crouched moments before.
Shapes burst from blankets across the camp, metal glinting as weapons emerged from sheaths. Curses and shouts filled the air as bandits stumbled over each other, some still half-asleep and confused. Red clutched his bow, frozen still for a precious moment.
The ropes cutting into his wrists, the taste of blood in his mouth, their cruel laughter as they’d bound him and left him sobbing in the dirt.The memory crashed over him like icy water, threatening to drown him in panic.No. Not this time.He wouldn’t be helpless again—this time he had his bow, and this time he had Wim.
The camp transformed into a nightmare of moving shadows and steel. Three bandits charged towards them while others searched blindly in the wrong direction, their eyes not yet adjusted to the darkness. Red’s fingers trembled as he nocked an arrow—the close quarters made his stomach twist. He’d trained for distance shots, not this frenzied mess of bodies mere feet away.
A snarl ripped through the air as Wim pounced—his massive form bowled into the nearest bandit, sending the man flyingbackwards into a tree trunk with a sickening crack. Before anyone could react, Wim’s jaws closed around another man’s arm. The bandit screamed as Wim shook him like a rag doll, tossing him aside where he lay still.
Well, at least Red hadtriedto get Wim to promise no more murder.
Red drew back his bowstring as a third bandit lunged at him with a rusted sword. At this distance, Red could see every detail of the man’s face—the crooked teeth, the week-old stubble, the whites of his eyes. The arrow felt wrong in his fingers, too close, too personal. But there was no time for doubt. Red released the string. The arrow struck true, burying itself in the bandit’s throat. Blood sprayed across Red’s face as the man crumpled, gurgling his last breath mere inches from Red’s feet.
Red stumbled backwards, tripping over the dead bandit at his feet. His bow clattered to the ground as rough hands seized him from behind. Instinctively, he knew who’d caught him—Eyepatch.
Terror clawed up Red’s throat, threatening to choke him. His body remembered those same hands pinning him down before, remembered the helplessness, the violation of being touched against his will. The world narrowed to pinpricks of sensation—the blade’s cold bite, the nauseating press of Eyepatch’s body against his back, the stench of his foul breath.No! Not again.Heart stuttering, Red’s legs turned to water beneath him, and only Eyepatch’s bruising grip kept him upright.
Across the clearing, Wim had one of the remaining bandits trapped in his jaws. The man thrashed and screamed, blood seeping from puncture wounds in his shoulder.
Red’s eyes locked onto Wim’s. The wolf paused, his ears flattened against his skull, a deep growl rumbling through his chest.
“Well, well.” Eyepatch’s gravelly voice sent shivers down Red’s spine. “You’re this one’s friend, aren’t you? The brute the merchant described? A real life wildling! I bet your pelt would fetch me a pretty penny.”
Wim’s growl grew louder, his teeth sinking deeper into his captive’s flesh. The bandit’s screams reached a fever pitch.
“Drop him,” Eyepatch commanded, pressing the blade harder against Red’s skin. A warm trickle of blood rolled down Red’s neck. “Or I’ll paint the ground with your friend’s blood.”
Red’s breath came in sharp gasps. His legs trembled as Eyepatch’s free hand slid up his thigh, squeezing painfully.
“Once I’m done skinning you,” Eyepatch purred. “I’ll take my time with this odd little thing…”
Something shifted in Wim’s eyes. The warm amber Red had grown familiar with disappeared, replaced by something savage. The wolf’s hackles rose, his muscles bunching beneath his fur. Blood dripped from his muzzle as he released his victim, who crawled away whimpering.
His already massive form seemed to grow larger, his teeth longer, his claws sharper. The air around him crackled with violent energy.
This wasn’t Wim anymore—that feral creature that lurked beneath his skin was back.
The monster that had torn those villagers apart.
It was as if Eyepatch could sense it as well—his grip loosened, the blade trembling against Red’s throat. The bandit’s swagger evaporated as Wim stalked forward, each step deliberate and predatory. Saliva dripped from the wolf’s jaws, mixing with blood on the forest floor.
“Stay back!” Eyepatch growled out. His fingers dug painfully into Red’s arm as he dragged them both backwards. “I’ll kill him! I swear I’ll—”
The wolf’s muscles coiled. In the split second before he launched, Red caught a glimpse of those large, fearsome eyes—no trace remained of the man who’d held him through the cold night, who’d cooked him countless meals and teased him about his howl.
Red dropped his weight, twisting free as Wim struck. The knife sliced a shallow line across his collarbone as he fell, but he barely noticed the sting. Eyepatch’s scream pierced the night as Wim’s teethfound his throat. The sound cut off in a wet gurgle, replaced by the crack of bone and tear of flesh.
Blood sprayed in an arc, coating the ground, the trees, Red’s face. Eyepatch’s body convulsed, his good eye wide with terror as he choked on his own blood.
“You… monster…” The words bubbled from his ruined throat, barely intelligible.
Wim’s jaws clenched. One sharp twist, and Eyepatch went limp.
