Page 81 of Little Red Riding Hood
Red squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face into Wim’s chest. “Please, Wim, I can’t take it anymore. Just say whatever it is!”
Wim’s fingers stilled in Red’s hair. The silence stretched between them, thick as mud.
“The truth is, Red, we’re both going to the same place.”
Red pulled back just enough to glare up at him. “I know that! That’s why we’re bloody travelling together, isn’t it?!”
“No, Red,” Wim said quietly. “Theexactsame place.”
“Oh…” Red’s brow furrowed as understanding dawned. “Old Oma’s? But… what? Why?”
“This bloody kills me to say, but I have to say it. I can’t let you shoot that witch through the heart with that arrow, Red.”
Like a complex puzzle box finally clicking into its solution, each piece of their journey slotted into place in Red’s mind. Every lingering glance, every hesitation, every time Wim had changed the subject when discussing their destination, Wim’s dismissal of his quest… it all formed a complete picture that Red hadn’t been able to see until now.
“Your… cure.” The words felt strange on Red’s tongue, as if speaking them might make this new reality more concrete.
Wim nodded, drawing Red closer to him, in case he might try to escape. His warmth seeped through Red’s clothes, a stark contrast to the cold revelation washing over him.
“Whether she turns to dust, or simply falls to the ground dead, it matters not. I can’t let you shoot her, becauseIneed that heart. I need to claim her beating heart.”
Red’s stomach lurched. The image of Wim, wolf-formed, tearing his teeth into a still-pulsing heart made his non-existent breakfast threaten to make a reappearance.
The realisation hit him like a punch to the gut—they were both assassins. Both on their way to murder the old witch in her home. The only difference was their method and their reasoning.
Red pressed his forehead against Wim’s chest, breathing in his familiar scent of pine and leather. How had he not seen it before? All those times Wim had questioned the Queen’s motives, tried to make Red doubt his mission—had he been protecting his own agenda?
But then, why share this now? Why not continue the deception until they reached Old Oma’s cottage? Why risk everything by confessing?
“I did wonder, you know.” Red traced patterns on Wim’s chest with his fingertip. Really, he should have been untangling himself from the wildling, forcing himself to sit an arm’s reach from him. But he couldn’t resist. “I was confused as to why you didn’t tell me the exact nature of your cure. But can’t you find another witch’s heart to have? Why does it have to bemywitch?”
Wim’s arms tightened around him. “Has to be Old Oma’s heart. Her soulstealer’s the one that did this to me.”
Red’s finger stilled. “You know that for sure? What even was it, exactly? This soulstealer?”
“A creature she created. A dark thing that feeds on people’s essence—probably what powers her magic.” Wim’s volume was barely above a whisper. “The healer who examined my wound found her magical imprint. Said there was no mistaking it.”
Red shifted in Wim’s lap to look up at his face. The morning light caught the stubble along his jaw, the shadows under his eyes seeming deeper than before.
“So…” Red’s throat felt tight. “If I do succeed in turning her to dust with the arrow… what will happen to you? Is there another way you can cure yourself?”
Wim’s gaze dropped to where his fingers were tangled in Red’s cloak. “I don’t know.”
The simple words sliced through Red with the precision of a huntsman’s blade. His chest constricted as the implications sank in. If he succeeded in his mission—if he killed Old Oma with the golden arrow—he might condemn Wim to a life of slowly losing control, of becoming more feral until… until what? Until his pack had no choice but to put him down? Until he hurt someone he cared about?
The image of Wim’s wolf form, eyes glazed and savage, tearing through human flesh, flashed through Red’s mind. But worse was the memory of Wim afterwards—broken, guilty, horrified by hisown actions. How many more times would that scene repeat if Red took away his only chance at a cure?
Red cleared his throat. “So why now? Why attack the arrow this morning?”
“I just… couldn’t bear it anymore. After you were angry with me, I hated myself for it. Wasn’t thinking clear. Thought if I could just make that cursed arrow disappear, I could take Old Oma’s heart, get cured, and then…”
“And then?” Red held his breath, every muscle tensing.
“And then…” Wim inhaled one ragged breath. “Then I’d finally be free. No more beast taking control. No more fear of hurting innocent people in the forest. I could live a proper life again. Could go home to my pack.”
“Right, yes, of course. Your pack.” Red couldn’t quite hide his disdain.Don’t be stupid. He’s a wolf. Of course he’s primarily concerned with his pack!
“And perhaps…” Wim whispered, arms tightening around Red. “Perhaps free to properly court a particular mouthy little thing in a red cloak. If he’d want me.”
