Little Red Riding Hood: Werewolf Slayer (Merlin's Hoods Book 1) Page 4

  The werewolf—for what else could he be?—lunged again, his claws gouging the tree trunk behind me as I dodged to one side. Spying a good-sized stone on the ground nearby, I grabbed it and threw with all my new strength. The rock would have cracked Bernard right between the eyes had he not turned at the last moment. Instead, the makeshift missile caught him on the cheek, opening up a gash that quickly matted his fur with blood.

  He howled in rage, the sound rousing a flock of wood pigeons from their slumber. The panicked birds took flight, and I decided to follow their example. I turned and ran. Bernard crashed after me, crashing through the trees as if he meant to tear the whole forest down just to get to me. I pushed my legs harder, but still he gained. I fancied I could feel his rancid breath on the back of my neck.

  Calm, Giselle. If you can’t outrun him, outsmart him.

  There was Mama’s voice in my head again. I looked around for some way to lose my pursuer. We were running parallel to the closest thing the forest had to a road, more a glorified trail than anything. But even if I happened upon someone passing, what could a farmer or merchant do against a rampaging werewolf? Anyone I asked for help would likely end up dead.

  About two hundred yards ahead, I spied the remnants of a traveler’s camp, little more than a bare patch of earth and a long-cold fire pit. Thankfully, it was deserted, but the fire pit gave me an idea. I swerved toward the camp and bent low, scooping up a handful of ash. Bernard was close on my heels now, and when I suddenly stopped, he nearly crashed into me. I threw the ash in his face and ran deeper into the woods, leaving him clawing at his face and snorting.

  My reprieve did not last for long, but it gave me enough time to find a suitable tree. I leapt for a low-hanging branch and overshot it by a foot. I landed lightly and mentally added “unnaturally high jumping” to my list of newfound abilities. I gauged my jump better the second time and swung into the tree, scurrying up its branches like a squirrel. The venerable old oak had lost more of its leaves than I would have liked, but it would have to do. I hoped that with a snout full of soot, Bernard might not be able to sniff me out. I tried to recall what else I knew about werewolves. Not much, as it turned out. Théodore was the one interested in myths and legends. I could only hope that werewolves, like regular wolves, relied on their sense of smell to track their prey.

  Moments later, I heard the werewolf crashing through the undergrowth. From my vantage point, I could easily watch him as he searched for me. He raised his shaggy head and inhaled deeply.

  “I cannot smell you in that red hood,” he growled, “but I know you’re near. I couldn’t smell your dear old mum either until the wench took off her cloak.”

  I stiffened; how dare he speak that way about Mama! Suddenly, Bernard looked up at my hiding spot. His flat, golden gaze locked with mine.

  “I may not be able to smell you, but your boot prints led me right to you,” he said.

  Cursing myself for a fool, I cast about for an escape route. Bernard was at the base of the tree now, snapping his teeth. If I tried to climb down, I would only be delivering myself into his jaws. There was another tree nearby that would support my weight, but it was farther than I cared to jump. Risking another look down, I saw that Bernard had grown tired of waiting and was now climbing up after me. He did not waste time searching for handholds but simply sunk his claws into the bark.

  I had perhaps thirty seconds before he reached me. There was only one choice before me, but I really, really didn’t want to jump. I drew my legs up, barely avoiding an ambitious swipe from Bernard’s claws, and began inching toward the end of the bough. The branches of the other tree seemed so far away, but I trusted in Mama’s red hood to help me reach it. I closed my eyes, whispered a prayer, and jumped.

  * * *

  In retrospect, perhaps I shouldn’t have closed my eyes after all. I missed the branch I was aiming for and fell, earning a wallop from every other branch on the way down. At least my method of descent had slowed my journey to ground enough that I didn’t break my legs—or worse—when I landed. Or perhaps the hood had protected me after all, for though I was battered and bruised, I was not so hurt that I couldn’t keep running.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Bernard leap from the tree and land on all fours. He lifted his head and howled again before chasing after me. The werewolf ran tirelessly, but my legs were starting to burn. I tried losing him in a bramble thicket, crawling beneath the thorns where he could not follow. That slowed him down, but it was only a matter of time before he simply ripped the brambles away to get to me. I crawled through the thicket and out the other side. Bernard was, for the time being, caught on the other side of a veritable wall of thorns.

  The moon had risen, bathing the forest in eerie silver light. I had spent countless hours in these woods with Mama, but they seemed unfamiliar now. I paused for a moment, trying to get my bearings. From the east, I heard the sound of the river. I frowned; that wasn’t right. Bernard must have forced me farther from my intended path than I thought.

  Wearily, I turned and headed for the river at a brisk trot. I still felt the strength and power of the hood coursing through me, but it had been a long, hard day. Grief weighed like a stone on my heart, but I pressed on. I hid and ran, hid and ran, always staying just ahead of Bernard, until I reached the river. I was about a mile upstream from where I had intended to cross, and the icy water looked deeper here.

  I hesitated at the bank, but as Mama always said, waiting never made the task more pleasant. I gritted my teeth and waded into the water. It was bitterly cold and burned my skin, but I forced myself to walk along the river’s edge instead of crossing immediately. Finally, I staggered to the opposite shore and sank down on a boulder. My teeth were chattering, and my legs were numb from the knee down. Hopefully, Bernard would lose my trail, but I couldn’t rely on it. He was a cunning wolf, and it was more likely that I’d only gained a little time.

  “Best make use of it,” I told myself as I got unsteadily to my feet. Wrapping myself tightly in the crimson cloak, I started to run again.

  7

  I smelled the fire before I saw it. The moon had risen high overhead, but the men at the makeshift camp were still awake, drinking themselves blind and telling each other rude jokes. My keen ears caught every syllable, and I blushed to hear their talk. Still, I knew that I should warn them about the werewolf. I felt it was my duty, now that I wore the red hood, to protect the innocent.

  Well, innocent might not be the right word to describe these men.

  I stumbled into their camp, half-frozen and covered in leaves and twigs. The men leapt to their feet, hands going to their swords or daggers. Apparently they weren’t so drunk that they couldn’t defend themselves.

  “Who goes there?” shouted the tallest of the three. He wore a leather jerkin that had seen better days, and his lank hair framed a face that had seen many a season out of doors. A neckerchief the same weathered color as his skin was knotted around his throat.

  “You need to leave,” I said. “There’s a…a wolf. In the forest.”

  The leader didn’t take his hand from the pommel of his sword. “Aye,” he said, sounding puzzled. “There are many wolves in the forest, boy.”

  “That’s not a boy,” said another man. He had a lute with a missing string on his lap, and he plucked a few notes on it as he continued, “She’s a pretty little thing under that hood, I’d wager.”

  I shook my head. This was not going well. If I said werewolf, they’d laugh in my face, but I tried again. “It’s a big wolf. A bad one. You’re not safe here.”

  One of the other men took a healthy swig from a bottle before passing it to his fellow. I noticed that they, too, had brown neckerchiefs, and I began to have a sinking feeling that I’d stumbled upon a group of bandits. “We’ll protect you from the Big, Bad Wolf,” he slurred.

  “We’re not leaving,” said the leader. “The fire is warm, our bellies are full, and there’s a full bottle of wine left.”

&nb
sp; “Half a bottle,” said the drunkard.

  “Half a bottle of wine,” the leader corrected. “So unless you’d like to offer another way to keep us warm, we’re happy to stay where we are.”

  I took a step back. My boots still squelched with cold water, and I wished that I could warm my feet by the fire. The men were eyeing me, clearly deciding that even a bedraggled girl in boy’s clothing was better than nothing.

  “Why are you dressed like that?” asked the drunk one. “Who do you think you are, the Red Hood?”

  The men laughed uproariously.

  I stuck my chin out stubbornly and said, “Maybe I am the Red Hood.”

  “Little Red Riding Hood, maybe,” chuckled the lute player.

  “Everyone knows the Red Hood is six feet tall, carries a pair of fiery swords, and can kill a man just by looking at him,” said the leader. “You’re just a little girl in a red cloak.”

  Even though most of what he said was nonsense, his words still hurt. He was right about one thing—I was a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes. I’d never be as good as she.

  The lute player and the drunk stood and moved to either side of their leader. Judging by their patched clothes and thin faces, they weren’t very good bandits, but I still didn’t want to have to fight them.

  “Gentlemen,” I said, raising my hands, “I’ll just be on my way. Have a pleasant—”

  Before I could finish my sentence, the leader unsheathed his short sword and swung at me. He was no swordsman, and I could see his next moves as clearly as if he’d shouted them at me. Dodge, feint, lunge, I danced with him, dodging his blows, until I found my opening. The next time he lunged, my hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him past me. At the same time, I yanked downward. His own momentum sent him headfirst into a tree…and now I had his sword.

  The other two bandits made a halfhearted attempt at a charge, but I batted them away as easily as if I were swatting flies. They fell back, clutching their smarting fingers. Their leader lay dazed on the ground, and I planted my boot squarely on his chest to discourage him from getting up. I had no desire to kill them or even wound them, but one of Mama’s duties had always been to keep the king’s lands free of bandits.

  “You two, drop your daggers,” I ordered. The bandits obeyed, and I scooped up the weapons. They were poor, dull blades, but I felt better with them tucked into my belt.

  “Now, I don’t have time to kill you myself, but if you linger here, the wolf will do it for me. So I’m going to give you a choice. Leave now or stay here and die. Which is it to be?”

  “We’ll just get our things and be going, Mistress,” said the lute player. He grabbed his instrument, but when he tried to gather up his pack, I shook my head.

  “Leave it,” I said sternly. The truth was, I was starving. No doubt they had something to eat in their bags. “And remember this the next time you try to prey on a harmless little girl.”

  I kicked the leader just hard enough to get him moving. He limped over to his companions, and the three of them skittered away to lick their wounds. I felt almost sorry for them.

  My search through their supplies yielded a hard yellow cheese, a loaf of coarse bread, some dried beef, and a skin full of water. I allowed myself a few minutes beside their fire, enjoying a meal that, hungry as I was, seemed to rival the finest dining in Paris. Rolling back the sleeves of my tunic, I examined my arms. I expected to find them a patchwork of bruises and cuts, but instead, the skin was unblemished. Remarkable. In addition to its other gifts, the hood seemed to grant its wearer rapid healing, too. I wondered how bad of an injury it could repair. If Mama hadn’t agreed to take off the cloak, would Alison’s dagger have been fatal?

  I pushed the thought away and tugged my sleeves back down. I was tempted to take my boots off and perhaps even take a short nap, but then I heard a howl. Instinctively, I knew that it was no ordinary wolf.

  Bernard had found my trail again.

  * * *

  The werewolf never seemed to tire, but even with Mama’s cloak, the chase was beginning to take its toll on me. Without it, I knew I’d have collapsed long ago. I alternated walking and running to conserve my remaining strength, and although I had managed to avoid detection thus far, I knew it was only a matter of time before Bernard found me at last.

  I had been running in wide zigzags through the forest, occasionally doubling back to confuse my trail, and I was no longer certain of the path I took. Grandmère’s house might still be miles away. And when I did find it, what then? My grandmother wasn’t frail by any means—she was a virile, flinty woman whose arms were still well muscled from baking bread and carrying water—but she was still no warrior. She might have been the Red Hood in her youth, but that had been decades ago. I hated the thought of bringing trouble to her door in the form of an enraged werewolf.

  There was also the problem of Aunt Alison. Yesterday, the idea that she might harm her own mother would have been unthinkable, but today, everything was different. I believed she’d do anything to get the cloak, even if it meant slaughtering her family to get it. Grandmère’s house was likely to be the first place she’d look for me, so perhaps it would be better if I sought shelter somewhere else.

  But where?

  I had no other family. After my run-in with the bandits, I wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about approaching strangers for help. Even if they turned out to be nice people, my presence in their home might get them killed. I supposed I might go to the king for help. He had been my mother’s patron, after all. But it would be impossible to reach Paris on foot. Besides, Alison’s fiancé, Claude, was likely well connected at court. If a nobleman like him was secretly a…what had they called themselves? Lycans? If Claude could hide his true, demonic nature from Paris society, who knew what other monsters lurked among the lords and ladies of the court?

  I forced myself into a trot. My legs were slow to comply, and I didn’t know how much longer I could keep up the chase. I wracked my brain, trying to think of a safe place where I might rest. When I thought of safety, I thought of Mama. Without her, I felt completely lost.

  There was one other person I might turn to for help, but I was reluctant to drag him into this mess. I knew Théodore would do his best to protect me, but I could not live with myself if anything happened to him because of me.

  No, I was on my own. I looked around at the towering oaks and alder trees. My vision was unnaturally sharp even in the moonlight, and I saw that the branches were more tightly woven here than they had been in other parts of the forest. These were old trees, their boughs much wider and sturdier than the narrow branches I practiced on in order to improve my balance. Bernard had admitted that he couldn’t smell me while I was wearing the hood, so if he no longer had a trail on the ground to follow, I might lose him for good.

  Taking a deep breath, I leapt as high as I could and swung myself onto a nearby branch. The leaves shook and the bark scraped my palms, but it felt steady beneath me as I clambered onto it. I climbed higher until I was fairly sure I couldn’t be seen from the ground. I had learned from my earlier mistake, and instead of waiting to be hunted down, I jumped to the next tree and then the next.

  It wasn’t the most pleasant way to travel. I kept getting hit in the face with leaves, for one thing, and I was in constant terror of falling. After a few minutes, I started to get the hang of it, and soon I was leaping from tree to tree like a particularly large squirrel. Eventually, I felt as though I’d earned a rest, and I decided to risk hiding in a tree until dawn. I straddled a branch and rested my back against the tree trunk. It wasn’t a very comfortable (or ladylike) way to sit, but I was so tired that I didn’t care.

  As I fell asleep, I heard the frustrated and distant howl of the werewolf.

  8

  I reached the familiar clearing near Grandmère’s house just after sunrise. The journey, which should have taken me no more than four or five hours on foot, had stretched into a nightmare, but at last it was nearly
over. Bernard had either lost my trail or returned to his master, tail between his legs. I hadn’t seen or heard any sign of him for hours.

  Sinking down onto a stump at the edge of the clearing, I clumsily stretched out my senses. These abilities were still so new to me, and I wasn’t quite sure how I was supposed to use them. I didn’t pick up any hint of the wet dog and copper smell I associated with Bernard, but there was something tickling my newly sensitive nose. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. It was pleasant—and oddly familiar. Fresh-baked bread…sweat…and lavender soap?

  “Théo!” I exclaimed, my eyes snapping open. He was somewhere nearby, I knew it. My heart leapt in my chest, but just as quickly, it dropped to my stomach. I wanted to see him so much, to tell him about everything that had happened, but I could be putting him in danger just with my presence.

  I hesitated before turning away. Then again, I should at least warn him about the werewolf. Théodore, as the son of a woodcutter, often worked alone in the forest. It wasn’t safe for him to be out here, especially not by himself.

  I heard the thwack of an axe nearby, and I followed the sound. When I found Théodore, I hung back, watching him. The early-morning sun glinted on his dark-blond hair, and his linen shirt was unlaced, displaying a wedge of tanned, muscular chest.

  When had he grown into a man?

  He swung the axe again, the movement flowing from his powerful shoulders. The log split cleanly in two. I waited until he had finished his swing and then stepped out from behind the tree trunk. My footsteps made so little noise on the turf that he didn’t notice me until I was right behind him.

  “Théo, you have to get out of here,” I said, placing a hand on his arm.

  He jumped and turned to face me. His blue eyes widened, and for a moment, he seemed not to recognize me. “Madame Adela, what—” he began.