Big Bad Wolf (The Beasts of Blackmoor #4)

Prologue

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holyshit!

Grabbing handfuls of the long red cloak I swore I’d wear, hefting it high so I don’t trip, I stumble over the ground in bare feet, alternating between cursing with each panicked breath and wishing like hell that the council members had approved my sneakers.

They hadn’t. In fact, apart from the two pieces of clothing they gave me, I wasn’t allowed to bring anything with me.

I guess, when you agree to walk into a magical, mythical forest full of monsters, aesthetic matters.

Maybe I should’ve known. If it wasn’t for me being a natural redhead in the first place, no way would I have been chosen for this adventure.

Adventure? Try disaster.

Look at me. Here I am, weighed down by a heavy hooded cloak, thighs rubbing together beneath the black nightie I’m poured into as I try my best to navigate my way through the trees all because I thought a born-and-bred Jersey girl could handle a little camping trip.

What I hadn’t expected? Was to waltz right on the edge of a fairy tale, only I’m not so sure that I’m the heroine who’s going to get her happy-ever-after.

Right now? I think I’m going to be dinner.

“Fuck,” I spit out, nearly eating dirt as my foot catches on a root that it was too dark to see until it was unavoidable. “This can’t be happening—”

Another howl rips through the trees, a reminder that: yes, Char, this is totally happening.

The echo of the howl reverberates all around me. I can’t tell where it’s coming from, only that it’s closer than I want it to be. It was bad enough when I swore I sensed something out there watching me—stalking me—but to hear the animalistic cry split the night?

I freeze for half a second, long enough for the unexpected sound to just about rattle my bones, before I dig my fingers into the fabric and bolt.

“Oh my God, oh my God, ohmyGod—”

You think my eyes would’ve gotten used to the gloom after hours of walking.

Yeah, right. I can’t see where I’m going, and the full moon over my head does little to illuminate my path when the caps of countless trees block the damn thing.

Not all of them are behemoths, either. As I run, branches—from low trees or tall bushes—slap against my bare arms as the cloak streams behind me, getting snagged more than once.

It’s August in the real world, but tell that to the dry leaves crunching under my steps, giving my pursuer a big, honking neon sign to follow saying: she went thataway.

I’m twenty-eight years old, more than a decade removed from mandatory gym classes.

Despite my claim that I went to Europe for a backpacking trip, my idea of exercise lately consists of taking the stairs to go from one level of the mall to the next.

Running? I haven’t done more than a light jog in years, and the way my lungs burn like I’m breathing fire instead of air is proof of that.

Do you believe in monsters?

I know monsters. I’ve met my fair share of them during my time as a down-on-her-luck foster kid with a habit of attracting creeps, but Sandy could have been a little more clear what she meant by the term—by monsters, by beasts—because I never expected I would be chased by something that makes a sound like that.

Only that’s what’s happening now, and I’m beginning to think I fucked up big time.

Three days, they said. Survive three days in Blackmoor and you get your wish.

Hide out in the woods, find some food and shelter, and do what it takes to walk out again after seventy-two hours…

if I did that, I’d get the only thing I’ve ever wanted, plus enough cash to return to my most recent apartment in the middle of Massachusetts and start over with my very own HEA.

Three days for forever… that’s what I read about online, and what I signed up for.

The three-person village council didn’t say anything about—

A third howl booms behind me, nearly knocking me out of my skin, I jolt so fiercely. A moan tears out of my throat. It was louder this time. Closer.

More than that, it sounded hungry.

“Yeah, okay,” I pant, heart hammering so hard I can barely hear myself think, though maybe that’s the blast from the howl messing with my ears. “Message received. Monsters… super real… got it—”

Just go away. Leave me alone.

Fuck! The red isn’t a deep enough shade to blend into the shadows.

Sandy made it clear: I couldn’t be the one to remove it.

Why? No clue, but if it meant that I forfeited my prize, I was listening.

So the slinky black nightgown might’ve been better than the ruby-red cloak—almost exactly the same color as my hip-length hair—but I clutch the damn thing closer as I catch something moving through the dark of night off to my left.

What was that?

One thing for sure? It was fucking fast. There and gone again, darting around the trees, I whirl, the hem of the cloak twisting around me as I squint, searching for whatever the hell that was.

Another frightened moan that I strangle behind clenched teeth.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t just fast. It was huge, even though it was moving on all fours, and any hope that it was one of the villagers fucking with me by pretending to be a beast goes out the window when I strain my hearing and catch the pounding of paws fading as it slows.

It’s circling me. The beast had chased me down like prey, and I’d stupidly stopped running, standing still like a sitting duck as I searched for it.

A snuffling sound. A twig snapping as though the monster has decided there’s no point in hiding its approach. A soft rumble that has the little hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

I shiver, and then I realize that I’m still just standing here, waiting for the beast to make me its meal.

“Nope,” I choke, spinning and running with the cloak clutched in both of my hands. “Nope, nope, nope. Not today, Fido.”

Was it a dog? It was dog-ish. Thinking it of a massive German Shepherd—like, I’m in Germany, right, so maybe that’s what it is—is much better than accepting that I’m being chased by a—

Behind me, something big crashes through the underbrush. I spare a quick glance over my shoulder even though I know I shouldn’t, and the one word that I’ve been trying desperately not to think pops into my brain.

Wolf.

That’s a fucking wolf.

I didn’t know those suckers could be that big, and it’s moving way quicker than something of that size should be able to before slowing to a predatory stalk, its ears arrowed back and its muzzle open enough to show off its fangs.

So it’s not running full-out anymore. Doesn’t matter. It’s still coming after me.

I gasp, and at the same time, something happens to the forest. It shifts, I swear it does, and I stumble backward before thinking: run.

But where?

The narrow path in front I was desperately following changes just like the forest did. It bends, disappearing into the woods as the trees close in on each other. Shadows multiply while the moon dims.

The air feels thicker, or maybe that’s because I can’t fucking breathe.

“Go, Charlotte, you fucking idiot,” I rasp to myself. “Go.”

I go, but as though the forest has decided to help the wolf, another root pops into existence perfectly in time to snare my big toe.

I can’t stop my momentum. I go down hard enough that I lose my breath.

Dirt and pebbles and forest debris scrape my palms as I scrabble against it, determined to push myself back to my tender feet even as the cloak tangles around my naked legs.

“Get up,” I hiss at myself, unable to keep my trap shut even with death breathing down my neck. “Get up—”

I manage to get to my knees before a heavy weight lands at my side, no noise, just an unavoidable presence that appears two seconds before the bristle of the beast’s fur brushes against my cheek.

My head snaps in time to come face to face with the gold-tinged, beady black eye staring at me with such hunger, I nearly piss myself.

Instead, I whimper, and the wolf huffs, its hot breath slapping me in the face. For a second, I freeze. In the next? You better yell ‘timber’ because Charlotte Linden is going down.

I’m down and I’m out, and my last thought as unconsciousness overtakes me is that I really hope I don’t feel it when the big, bad wolf eats me.