Page 87 of Little Red Riding Hood
“Is that what you call it?” Wim’s voice held that dangerous edge that always made Red’s stomach flip. “I’d call it being an impossible brat.”
They reached the door. Lightheadedness struck Red like a thunderbolt.
They were out of time.
Clearly, their unspoken plan was to knock on the door and… see what happened. See if Red could nock an arrow and shoot her through the heart before Wim had time to shift and lunge for her chest.
Wim looked down at the necklace in his palm. Looked at Red with the saddest puppy dog eyes. Looked at the weathered, dark oak door.
Then Wim’s large hand—that same hand that had stroked Red’s, traced every part of his skin, held him clutched tight against him at night—reached for the black metal doorknocker.
No.
“Wait!”
The word escaped before Red could stop it. His chest squeezed tight as Wim paused, those dark eyes fixed on him with an intensity that made breathing difficult.
“You should be the one to kill her.” The words tumbled out in a rush, shocking Red even as he spoke them. But as soon as they left his lips, he knew they were true. “Take her heart. Take your cure.”
Wim’s expression shifted, something raw and vulnerable crossing his features. “Red—”
“No, listen.” Red’s hands found Wim’s chest, pressing against the solid warmth there. “The Queen sent me because she thinks this witch is causing the famine. But… we don’t know that for certain, do we?” It pained him to admit it, after all these miles. “It’s just her suspicion. But your illness—that’s real. I’ve seen what it does to you.”
“The famine is killing people,” Wim said softly. “Children are starving.”
“And if we’re wrong about the witch? If killing her changes nothing?” Red’s fingers curled into Wim’s shirt. “But we know her heart could cure you. You could go home, be with your pack again. With Tobias andAstrid.”
Wim caught Red’s hands in his own, thumb tracing circles on Red’s palm. He looked deeply at Red, his gaze the most sincere thing. “No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“You had the right of it, before.” Wim spoke hoarsely, as if every word cost him. “If killing the witch might end the famine, even the smallest chance… you’ve got to take that shot. Can’t put my needs first. Not with so many folk starving.”
“But—”
“My pack can manage without me.” Wim pressed their foreheads together. “Those little ones in Falchovari might not last the winter.”
Red wanted to argue, to shake sense into him. But Wim’s logic pierced through his desperate need to protect him. How many times had Red walked through the Royal City, seeing hollow-cheeked children begging in the streets? How many graves had been dug in the past month alone?
Still, the thought of Wim living with his curse, slowly losing himself to the beast within… “There has to be another—”
A sharp crack split the air. Red and Wim sprang apart as the door creaked open on its own, revealing only darkness beyond.
“My, my…” A voice like splintering ice slithered from the shadows. “What an interesting pair you two make.”
Red’s blood froze. His fingers found Wim’s sleeve again, gripping tight as that ancient voice continued:
“Do come in, dears. I’ve been expecting you.”
Nineteen
Red stepped through the doorway, every muscle coiled tight. The interior struck him as impossibly vast for such a small cottage, stretching back into darkness that his eyes couldn’t penetrate. He fumbled for Wim’s hand, gripping it tight.
“Get that bow ready,” Wim hissed in his ear. “You know, that fancy golden arrow of yours?”
Ah.
With hands that were onlyslightlytrembling, Red rooted through his quiver to load the golden arrow. After so long waiting to use it, the act felt surreal, as if he had stepped into a dream.
