Chapter 11
M?USCHEN
Alump lodges in my throat. I know he doesn’t have any idea that our time together is over. Still, it feels wrong to watch him go like that. Like I should’ve stopped him or something, but while my heart—and my pussy—say go after him, my head says don’t move a muscle.
So I lie there for a second, staring at the doorway, waiting for him to come back.
He always comes back.
But, like I said, I’ve learned his habits.
If he’s not back in a couple of minutes, then this is probably the only chance I have to go.
I wait for what feels like an eternity—that’s probably only about ten minutes—before I get to my feet.
I rearrange the cloak on my shoulders, pulling the hood up to hide my hair.
That done, I shove my feet in the boots he gave me, count to ten, and creep toward the front door.
I peek my head outside and listen.
I don’t see Wolf. Don’t hear him, either. If he heard something, he’s probably out there right now, patrolling the borders to his territory, making sure I’m safe.
My chest tightens at how protective he’s become of me in such a short time. Biting my lip, I shake my head.
Don’t think about it, Char.
Don’t think about him.
Don’t think about the way he looks at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him…
No.
This is it. This is my chance to get away. If he’s distracted by whatever—or whoever—might be out there, I should be able to get that head start I need so desperately.
After all, this is what I came for. What I want… right? I get in, I survive, I leave, and I’ll get my wish. I have to go because, if I don’t, I’ll stay and then… I don’t think I’d ever leave Blackmoor at all—and that thought scares me more than anything in Blackmoor has so far.
Hefting up my cloak, I step out the door.
Before I can talk myself out of it. Before I can feel that pull again, that quiet, insistent tug that wants me to stay right where I am.
To stay with Wolf.
Go, Char.
Go.
I swallow the lump in my throat and do exactly that.
So, yeah. I don’t get all that far before I realize that I have no idea where I’m going.
I should’ve expected that. When I ran from Wolf the other night, I was completely lost. I could blame how I was unconscious when he first brought me to his cottage, but that’s bullshit, too.
I just have no idea how to navigate Blackmoor and, with every step, I’m not sure that I’m going in the right direction.
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. Hopefully the village council will understand that I got lost and that’s why I’m late, but I’m trying.
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 needed.
“Well,” I say, a hint of relief slipping out with the word. “You scared the crap out of me for a second, but I’ve got to say, you’re a very welcome sight.”
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, m?uschen.”
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, m?uschen, and I will make sure the beasts spare you.”
Holy shit. That was easy.
“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.
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 fairy tale 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 easily 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 fairy tales 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, m?uschen. 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, m?uschen. 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 think 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 few steps away from the huntsman and finally 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, m?uschen. 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 know exactly what he means. “What story?”
His eyes flash in the morning sunlight. “The huntsman saves the girl from the big, bad wolf. And, in her gratitude, he gets to keep her. You, little mouse… you’re meant to be mine.”
Tough shit.
“No.”
He goes still again. “What did you say?”
“I said—”
No!
The huntsman is definitely a part of Blackmoor. Only one of the mythical monsters that lives among these trees can move as inhumanly fast as he does as he lunges at me again. Only, this time, he doesn’t grab my arm.
Instead, he uses the haft of the axe to brain me on the side of my head, and for the second time this week, I’m down.