Page 35 of Big Bad Wolf

The huntsman grips my shoulder, throwing me to my back. “I was going to lead you to my home. I could’ve treated you like a wee thing deserves, laying you out on a bed and showing you how the story is supposed to end. But you’d rather rut in the dirt with the beasts.” Leaning down, he grabs the front of my nightgown, ripping the top wide open with one forceful yank. “If that’s what you need from me, then the huntsman will provide.”

Just in case my shouts haven’t already alerted Wolf to where I am, I take a deep breath as the blond bastard starts to lower himself on top of me, then scream bloody murder with everything that I am.

A quick slap across the face kills my scream, and the way the huntsman’s green eyes burn with violence tells me that the rest of me might follow suit if I don’t shut up and take it. Fuck, no. If I could get a fucking werewolf to understand that he has to wait until his mate agrees to the act, no way in hell am I letting some human monster touch me ever again.

All I wanted to do was survive Blackmoor, and I thought I did. But if this is how I go out… hell, no. I’m not making it easy.

I kick out at the huntsman. In return, he bends low and yanks my hair. I scream again, and he grips my chin, forcing my mouth into an open position.

He lets out a husky laugh that turns my stomach. “There. Stay like that, mäuschen. I’ll let you show your forgiveness to me by sucking my cock and then, if you’re a good little mouse, I’ll fuck you until we both forget you ever let that wolf touch you. And when I’m done, I’ll rip open his stomach and mount his head on our wall so you never forget who you actually belong to.”

He’s crazy. That’s all there is to it. Maybe in his head, he’s supposed to be the good guy, but fuck fairytales. I don’t want the huntsman to save the day. I want the big, bad wolf to come and kick his fucking ass.

Even with the huntsman’s hand squeezing my jaw, I scream out his name. “Wolf!”

In answer, he howls, and the sound reverberates so loudly, I want to cry in relief. He’s here. He’s here. He’s⁠—

The huntsman has the nerve to caress my jaw. “Stay here. I will take care of the wolf, and when I’m done, you will accept me as your husband as I fuck you in his spilt blood. Then I’ll have a cloak made of his carcass, and everyone will know that Red Riding Hood chose the huntsman over her mate.”

It’s how he sneers ‘mate’ like that that catches my attention. Despite all of his posturing that Blackmoor’s version of the fairytale is supposed to end with Red and the huntsman together, why would he say that I’m Wolf’s mate? I mean, Wolf called me that plenty of times over the last couple of days, but the huntsman didn’t say that I was Wolf’s mate. He said that Wolf is mine.

Because he is, I realize. That tug I’ve been unable to ignore… the pull that stretched behind me, whispering that I should return to the cottage… the connection I felt from the moment I looked into Wolf’s golden eyes and saw more than a wolf-man… he is my mate.

He’s coming for me, too, and this bastard knows it.

Without looking back at me—something that Wolf rarely was able to do considering he always had his eyes on me while awake— the huntsman crosses the clearing in time to swoop up his fallen axe just as Wolf comes crashing out of the woods.

I heard him howl. Like before, I thought that meant he was chasing after me in his fur as a four-legged wolf. Like before, I was wrong. But though the two-legged creature that appears between the huntsman and me is definitely the Wolf I’ve come to know, he’s… different, too.

He’s larger than I remember. His body is still hunched forward, all those muscles coiled under a mix of skin and fur, his shoulders wilder, his frame more… wrong. Not fully beast, not fully man, he’s almost a complete meld of man and wolf, with claws and fangs that remind me just how dangerous he can be to anyone that isn’t me.

I’m not afraid of him. I haven’t been since my second day here, but when his wild gold eyes lock on me, I realize that I’m terrified for him. He has claws and fangs, sure, but the huntsman has an axe and Wolf… he has his back to the man.

A low rumbling sound builds up in his chest, part anger and part relief. “Red. Wolf found his Red.”

He did. “I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I didn’t mean to—” I stop. Because that? That’s a lie, and it doesn’t feel right to lie to my mate. I shake my head. “I’m sorry.”

Behind Wolf, the huntsman sneers again. “You’re not sorry enough, little mouse. But you will be.”

Shit. Lost in Wolf’s golden gaze, I completely forgot about the huntsman for a few seconds. Wolf didn’t seem concerned about the man, but maybe that’s because he doesn’t know that the creep ridiculously considers Wolf his rival—or that the man has an axe.

Before I can shout a warning, the huntsman slices at Wolf. In his haste to attack my mate, he doesn’t swing deep enough, but the cut tears a pained yowl out of Wolf before he dances forward on his paws before spinning around, claws outstretched.

He tears a chunk out of the huntsman’s arm. “You took Wolf’s mate,” he growls.

The huntsman tightens his grip on the axe. “She’s not yours, beast. She’s mine.”

Yeah… that was the wrong thing to say. I can finally think clearly enough to realize that hanging around in the dirt while these two guys go at it… not a good idea. I force myself to my feet, hands clasped in front of me as I watch the way that Wolf’s body goes still.

“Red is mine,” he says, so simply I don’t know how I ever doubted it.

And then, before the huntsman can retort, Wolf moves. I don’t even see it. Not really. One second he’s there, and the next? He’s on top of the huntsman.

He tries to lift the axe, but he’s not quick enough. Wolf slashes his claws down the length of the huntsman’s forearm, making him to drop the haft. After that, he slams into the huntsman with a force that sends them both to the ground. They roll, each fighting for the top position, before Wolf pins the huntsman flat on his back.

He touches his nose to the huntsman’s, making sure those green eyes are staring into gold while his fangs flash wickedly. “The huntsman touched Wolf’s Charlotte.”

His words are low. Deadly. And, even so, my heart skips a beat to hear Wolf use my real name like that.