Page 93 of Little Red Riding Hood
Red’s heart squeezed. He’d spent his whole life wondering about his parents, dreaming of the day he’d find them. But as he watched Wim’s blood seep across the cottage floor, he realised something with startling clarity—he couldn’t lose him. Not for anything.
Red nocked the golden arrow, drew back the bowstring until it kissed his cheek. Tears blurred his vision as he aimed at the hellhound’s chest.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Father.”
A piercing scream tore through the cottage as Red released the arrow. The sound ripped at his eardrums, his mother’s anguish filling every corner of the room.
The golden arrow struck true, burying itself in the hellhound’s massive chest. The beast staggered backwards, purple flames flickering around its form. The dying embers of its gaze fixed on Red, and for a heartbeat, he saw something shift in those otherworldly eyes—recognition, perhaps. Or accusation.
Red’s stomach dropped. The arrow jutted from the creature’s chest, but nothing happened. The beast took another step forward, acid dripping from its jaws onto Wim’s prone form.
“It will turn her to dust,”the Queen had declared.
Yet Wim had laughed with Astrid at the idea, calling it utter nonsense.
All Red could do was pray that the man who’d captured his heart wasn’t about to be ripped to shreds by his own flesh and blood in front of his very eyes.
Red held his breath—
The hellhound’s next step faltered.
Its purple flames sputtered, sparks fizzing. A strange crackling sound filled the air as cracks appeared across the beast’s fur, spreadingoutward from where the arrow pierced its chest. Golden light spilled from the fissures, growing brighter with each passing second.
The creature threw back its head andhowled—a sound of pure agony that shook dust from the rafters. Its form began to crumble, chunks of fur and flesh dissolving into glittering ash that hung suspended in the air before dispersing like smoke.
Within moments, all that remained of the hellhound was a pile of shimmering dust on the cottage floor. The golden arrow clattered against the wooden boards, its tip still gleaming as if freshly forged.
Red scrambled across the wood, his knees skidding through the hellhound’s glittering remains as he reached Wim’s side. The grey wolf’s massive form shuddered with each laboured breath, blood seeping from the deep gashes across his flank.
Oma’s wails echoed through the cottage, but Red blocked out the sound. His hands trembled as they hovered over Wim’s wounds, unsure where to touch without causing more pain.
“Wim?” Red said around a sob. “Stay with me. Oh, please don’t leave me.”
If Wim died in his arms, right here, right now, Red wasn’t sure what he’d do.
The wolf’s form rippled, bones cracking and fur receding until Wim lay naked and bleeding on the floor. His skin had taken on an ashen pallor, sweat beading across his brow.
“Did good, didn’t I?” Wim’s words slurred together, his eyes unfocused. “Protected… my Little Red…”
“Shut up, you fool.” Red yanked off his cloak, pressing it against the worst of the wounds. The red fabric darkened quickly with blood. “Save your strength.”
Wim’s hand fumbled for Red’s, his grip weak and clammy. “Should’ve seen… your face when you… shot that arrow.” His chest heaved with shallow breaths. “Beautiful… so fierce…”
“I said be quiet!” Red’s vision blurred with tears as Wim’s eyes fluttered closed. He tapped Wim’s cheek roughly. “No, no,no. Look at me.”
Wim’s eyes cracked open, but his gaze wandered past Red’s face. “It’s so cold…”
“Don’t you dare.” Red pressed harder against the wounds, ignoring the way the acidic burns bubbled beneath his hands. “Don’t you fucking dare!”
A weak laugh escaped Wim’s lips, ending in a wet cough. “Always… so demanding…”
His eyes slipped closed again, head lolling to the side. Blood continued to pool beneath him, spreading across the wooden floorboards in a crimson stain.
“Wim?” Red’s voice came out small, broken. He shook Wim’s shoulder, panic clawing at his chest when there was no response. “Wim!”
Red’s tears splashed onto Wim’s bare chest, mixing with the blood that seeped between his fingers. His hands shook as he pressed the cloak harder against the wounds, but the bleeding wouldn’t stop. The acidic burns spread across Wim’s skin like poison, eating away at flesh beneath Red’s palms.
A keening sound filled the cottage. Red lifted his head to see Oma crawling through the hellhound’s ashes, gathering handfuls of the glittering dust and pressing it to her chest. Her wild hair hung in tangles around her face as she rocked back and forth, mumbling nonsense under her breath.
