Page 33 of Big Bad Wolf

My stomach falls straight to my boots.

Oh, fuck. Red Riding Hood… all along, I couldn’t ignore how my time in Blackmoor seems so similar to the fairytale every child knows. Starting with the red cloak, the wolf that stalked me through the woods, the cottage that looks like it belongs to someone’s granny… and now, just when I need him, a huntsman with an axe.

A huntsman with an axe and a goddamn hard-on.

Maybe I shouldn’t have glanced down at the noticeable bulge pushing against his leather pants. I’d meant to watch the way he was so casually carrying his axe—as eager as I am to leave Blackmoor, I’d be a complete idiot not to keep an eye out for any visible weapons a stranger was carrying—when I noticed the change.

I quickly look away, trying my best to ignore the way the pit in my stomach warns me to get the hell away from the huntsman. He’s just showing me the way, right? Once I’m outside of Blackmoor the forest, I’ll put the fairytales all behind me…

“So,” I say after a moment, “do you do this often? Rescue lost girls you find stumbling around creepy forests while you’re using your axe on the trees?”

His mouth twitches, amusement joining the interest in his eyes. “Only the ones who need it.”

I tug my cloak a little closer. “I definitely qualify.”

“Yes, mäuschen. I know.”

You know what? Never mind. The way he says that… there’s something in his tone that I don’t like. Call me suspicious, but I suddenly get the vibe that it wasn’t purely a coincidence that I walked into a small clearing where he was hacking away at a tree.

Like he was waiting for me instead⁠—

Just as I’m about to come up with an excuse to why I don’t need his help any longer, the early morning air splits with a sound so familiar, I nearly drop to my knees in relief.

It’s a howl.

Wolf’s howl.

The huntsman goes still beside me. “That,” he says slowly, “is not something you want to hear out in these woods.”

A moment ago, I would’ve agreed with him. I was desperate to get out of Blackmoor before Wolf could stop me, but now? Something in my gut tells me that I’m much better off with Wolf than I am the huntsman.

He knows it, too.

When I don’t say anything, the huntsman turns to look at me. I mean, really look at me. With the hand not clutching the axe, he grabs my hood, yanking it down with a rough tug so that he can see my face.

I don’t know what exactly he sees, but he doesn’t like it. His face screws up and, with another quick move, he’s torn my cloak wide open so that my rumpled nightgown is on display.

His eyes lock on my nipples. Fuck me, but they went hard the moment I heard Wolf’s howl, almost like I’m Pavlov’s dog and the sound of Wolf hunting me down already has me wet and ready and raring to go.

“You’ve heard that before,” he says, his expression going flat. “The howl of the beast. You’ve heard it, and it doesn’t scare you, mäuschen. You’re not afraid.”

“I—”

“You should be,” he cuts in, his voice dropping low.

As my heart starts to thump wildly, another howl echoes through the trees, closer than before.

I’m not afraid, not of Wolf, but when the huntsman’s gaze drags over me again, assessing, I start to tremble a little.

“He’s coming after you, isn’t he?” The huntsman lunges at me before I can dart away. Grabbing my arm, he wrenches it, pulling me up against his chest. He spits something out in another language—a curse, I’m betting—and shoves his face against my neck before pushing me away. “You smell like the beast.” The flat expression turns furious. “You let him touch you.”

That’s pure accusation there, like he knows. Shit. Good thing he didn’t notice the bite mark on my upper back or the jizz stain on my nightie otherwise he might really lose it…

I take a couple of steps away from the huntsman and find my voice when there’s a little distance between us. “Know what? I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

His jaw tightens. “Of course it is. You belong to me. You always have.” He lifts his axe, smashing the blade into the dirt, kicking up clods of the stuff when he yanks it out again. “It’s the way the story goes!”

“Story?” I echo, though I think I know exactly what he means. “What story?”