Page 95 of Little Red Riding Hood
“Aye,” he eventually whispered, barely audible in the cottage’s stillness. “Yes, it is.”
Red’s heart plummeted as his fingers trembled against Wim’s skin. After everything they’d been through—the fighting, the revelations, his mother’s sacrifice—the bloody cursestilllingered? The beast still threatened to consume the man Red had grown to love?
“But…” Wim’s eyes opened, and his hand found Red’s chin, tilting his face up until their eyes met.
“But?” Red hardly dared to breathe.
“Old Oma told me something, right before she… disappeared.” Wim’s thumb traced Red’s bottom lip. “Said I needed to claimyourheart. That’d be my cure.”
Red’s pulse quickened, and he placed a hand on his chest. “What does that mean?”
“Reckon…” Wim’s eyes glowed with sudden intensity. “No, Iknowit now. If you’d give me the gift of being my mate, trust me with that precious heart of yours… then this curse’ll break.”
Red’s breath caught in his throat. The word ‘mate’ echoed in his mind, carrying with it the weight of forever. Of belonging. Of home.
“Yes.” The word tumbled from Red’s lips before he even knew what he was saying. “Yes, yes,yes, Wim. A thousand times, yes.Please!” Red’s cheeks flushed as he caught himself. Here he was, practically throwing himself at Wim like some lovesick fool again. He straightened his spine, attempting to gather the shreds of his dignity. “I mean… that would be… acceptable, I suppose.”
A grin spread across Wim’s face, transforming his features from weary to radiant. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he gazed up at Red. “Acceptable, is it?” His large hands tightened on Red’s hips. “That’s quite the shift from ‘a thousand times, yes.’”
“Oh, shut up.” Red swatted at Wim’s chest, but couldn’t hide his own smile.
Wim surged up, capturing Red’s lips in a searing kiss that stole the breath from his lungs. When they broke apart, Wim pressed their foreheads together, his voice rough with emotion. “My fierce, beautiful Little Red.”
“So… are we mates now?” Red nervously laughed, eyes darting between Wim’s very much unchanged bite mark and his face.
Wim scratched the back of his neck.
“Just say it!”
Wim’s voice dropped to a low, rumbling growl that sent shivers down Red’s spine. “I need to bite you.”
“Bite me?!” Red’s hand flew to his neck, eyes wide.
Wim shrugged apologetically, though his eyes gleamed with something primal. “Just a little bit.”
Heat flooded Red’s cheeks as his pulse quickened. The thought of Wim’s teeth against his skin, marking him, claiming him… He tilted his head, exposing the pale column of his throat. “Do it! Do it now!”
Wim’s gaze darkened as he stared at Red’s offered neck. His nostrils flared, and a soft growl rumbled in his chest. But then he glanced around the cottage, taking in the hellhound’s scattered ashes and the lingering scent of death. He shook his head, pressing a gentle kiss to Red’s throat instead.
“Not in this old shack,” Wim murmured against his skin. “I want to take you somewhere proper.”
Wim slipped into his spare clothes, and then they were out of the house within the minute, Red throwing his stained cloak back on. He might never get Wim’s blood out of it, but he didn’t care one bit.
As they travelled back up the path towards the woods, Red turned to stare at the cottage. The chimney no longer puffed its thick grey smoke. Indeed, it was as if the house had died with Oma—it had none of its earlier presence. Now it looked sad, and alone.
As a child, he’d imagined his mother as a beautiful princess, swept away by tragedy. Or sometimes as a common woman who’d been forced to abandon him. In his darkest moments, he’d pictured her cold and cruel, leaving him on those palace steps without a backwards glance.
The reality had been… altogether something else. A witch driven mad by love and loss, twisted by isolation and grief. Her cottage had reeked of decay and desperate survival, her eyes wild with a darkness that spoke of too many winters alone with her memories.
And yet.
She’d loved him. Red could see that now, in the way she’d touched his face, studying every feature as if committing them to memory.In how she’d protected him from the monster who would have destroyed him simply for his imperfect eyes. In her final sacrifice, giving up her very essence to save the man Red loved.
His throat tightened as he watched the cottage fade into the forest’s gloom. She hadn’t been the mother of his childhood dreams, but she’d given him something far more precious than those fantasies—she’d given him a future. With Wim.
Red glanced at the man walking silently beside him, his massive form a comforting presence in the growing darkness. Soon they would find somewhere private, somewhere safe, and Wim would claim him properly.
Red would have somewhere to belong.
