RED | A dark retelling of Red Riding Hood | WATTYS 2021 SHORTLIST

Chapter Eleven: A Spark

Author's Note: 

Hopefully I don't lose you in this chapter. Sorry for late update! Busy bee this week! :D Please, enjoy all! 

The same moment a deafening howl ripped through the air, the first drop of rain hit Marjorie's warm cheek. It stayed there, and a second later, a splatter of blood joined it.

She moved into frantic motion, not positive of where to place her feet or hands, but knowing that it mattered what she did next. Her hands, small against the wide surface of Petyr's bicep, wrapped around his arm. She yanked back, using every ounce of strength to halt his rage.

"You will kill him!" Marjorie screamed.

A crack of thunder released from above them. Both men had little reaction to the noise, but Marjorie's bone rattled from the power of the rising storm.

She leapt on Petyr's back in an attempt to bring him down. Beneath the blade of his axe, Fenris whined in growing pain. "Do you hear me, Petyr!" Marjorie continued. Her lips moved right above the shell of his ear, forcing every single word into his mind.

Either Petyr could not hear her above the rushing blood in his eardrums, or he was lost to the adrenaline of a fight. He took the blade out of Fenris's shoulder and swung his arm backward. This time, he aimed for the Wolf's temple.

And Petyr's mark was nearly always true.

Marjorie didn't think. She acted.

Her hands thrusted forward and wrapped around the hilt of the hatchet. A burst of pain slid through the tips of her finger-pads—the edge of the blade narrowly missed the delicate tendons in her palms. She yanked hard against the strength of Petyr. For the most part, it was useless.

But he noticed the unwelcome drag in his weapon and turned around to face the young woman. Horror flashed through his dark eyes before he dropped the hatchet. It cracked hard against the cobblestone path below. On its blade, Fenris's and Marjorie's blood mixed together in a seamless mess of red.

"Marjorie—" Petyr rushed out. Every single thought of the Wolf dissipated completely. Suddenly, all he could see was Marjorie.

His gaze slid up and down her body, checking her over for any kind of injury and froze at the sight of her ruined hands. With gentle fingers, he pulled her palms forward by her slender wrists.

She tried hard not to make a sound of discomfort, but it was impossible. Her sliced skin burned from the cold winter air.

"I told you to stop," she whispered.

His hands trembled as if he were the one bleeding. He scrambled into the pockets of his trousers and fished out a thick handkerchief made from canvas. He pressed it over her palms with a gentle touch and cursed as she squealed from pain.

"Move," a deep voice said from behind Petyr. "Pushing the dirt back into her wound will do nothing but cause infection."

Marjorie's gaze shifted to the man standing behind her friend. Fenris was naked, but seemingly unbothered by the lack of clothing. If it weren't for the pain traveling through her hand, to her wrist and finally decreasing to a light throb in her shoulder joint, she would have allowed herself to take in the sight of his bareness. Underneath his clothes, he was more muscular than he appeared while dressed in one of his silk tunics. Thin, dark scars lined nearly every inch of his chest, and Marjorie couldn't imagine how a man so young could earn so many.

Despite the fresh blood pouring out of his open wound, Fenris swatted Petyr's hands away. His warm fingers replaced the trembling touch of Petyr. He pressed gently around the tender cut, a crease between his eyes deepened