Page 32 of Big Bad Wolf

Outside Wolf’s cottage, the trees close in almost immediately, swallowing up the faint path that might have once existed, leaving me surrounded by towering trees that all look the same to me.

It doesn’t matter. The forest isn’t endless. If the best I can do is pick any direction and go, I’ll have to do it. Right now, the most important part is getting away from Wolf’s territory before he goes back to the nest and finds me gone. Eventually, I’ll find the way out. I only hope the village council will understand that I got lost and that’s why I’m late, but I’m trying my best not to be.

I look around, decide that the gap in the trees ahead of me might kind of, sort of pass for a path, then run toward it. I keep up the same pace for close to an hour, taking small breaks when I think I can afford it, pouring on the speed when I swear I feel someone watching me again, but I never stop.

I’ve got a wish at stake, and now that I have honest-to-God proof that the beasts of Blackmoor are real, I need to escape them before I run into one that doesn’t treat me as well as Wolf did.

The soft sounds of the forest seem amplified as I breathe heavily. Maybe that’s why, when I hear a loud whacking sound, a sudden thud, I jump a foot in the air before whirling around, landing on unsteady boots as my cloak swirls and wraps around my hips.

A deep chuckle is quickly stifled. My head jerks up and I see that I’m not alone in this corner of the woods like I was hoping I was.

About fifteen feet ahead of me, a man is standing in the clearing like he stepped out of the shadows of Blackmoor itself. He’s leaning casually against the trunk of a tree with a few notches in it, arms crossed, and a hand gripped securely around the wooden handle of a super sharp-looking axe.

Fuck me, he’s a human, too. And a pretty fucking handsome human guy at that.

I’d put him at six-two, six-three which is more than a head taller than me, though it makes him seem like a slouch compared to Wolf. His shoulders are wide yet relaxed, his dark blond hair cut short, and his eyes are as green as the trees surrounding us.

His jaw is shadowed with just enough scruff to make him look rugged instead of wild and unkempt. His clothes are practical—leather and linen—but well-kept, like he takes care of what he owns.

And that axe… shit. One swing and it would be ‘off with her head’.

But he’s human. He’s human and he’s in the woods, and as long as he can speak English and communicate with me, this might be the lucky break I need.

“Well,” I say, a hint of relief slipping out with the word. “You scared the crap out of me for a second there, but I’ve got to say, I’m really glad to see you.”

His mouth curves into a warm, easy smile. When he speaks, it’s in English with a slight accent. German? Probably. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” I admit, keeping my distance just in case this is a bad, bad idea. I’ll be the first to admit that humans… they can be even more monstrous than a beast like Wolf. “You see, I’m lost.”

“I’d say you are,” he tells me, pushing off the tree, his boots moving soundlessly over the ground as he takes a few steps toward me, his axe at his side. “This part of Blackmoor is not safe for such a wee thing like you. Here there be monsters, or didn’t you know before you stepped foot into our forest?”

Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good. “Um, yeah. I know. Actually, that’s why I’m trying to find my way out again. I just… I don’t know how.”

He stops when there’s still enough space between us that I’m not going weak-kneed beneath my cloak just yet. “Then you’re very fortunate to have found the huntsman, mäuschen.”

Moy-schen? “It’s Charlotte. My name, I mean.”

If he realized I was trying to get his in return, it doesn’t work. He just jerks his head and walks past me, hopefully leading the way.

Okay. Huntsman it is, then.

I trip over my boots to keep up with him. His stride is probably three times as big as mine so it isn’t easy, especially thanks to the blisters I’m developing thanks to running in boots with no socks, but I manage.

Once I’ve caught up to the huntsman, I say, “If you could just tell me how to find the way out of Blackmoor⁠—”

His eyes slant to the side, a small smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. “What do you think I’m doing? Stay close, and I will make sure the beasts spare you.”

Holy shit. That was way easier than I thought it would be.

“Really?”

He nods.

“Wow. Okay. Sorry if I sound so surprised, but that was unexpectedly easy.”

“Most things are,” he murmurs, tapping his thigh with the flat of the axe head, “when you meet the right person. Especially in Blackmoor.”

There’s a look I can’t quite describe when he glances at me, but by the time I turn to face the huntsman fully, it’s gone. I try to tell myself that I missed it. Yeah, right, Char. Friendliness mingled with interest, the huntsman seems to think that he’s the right person for me.