Page 10 of Run, Little Doe

The game has only just begun.

I retreat one step, and her breath catches — like she’s falling. She can’t see me clearly now, only the faint shimmer of bone-white mask through the fog.

“Run, Little Doe,” I whisper, softer this time, not a command, but a promise.

Her body reacts before her mind does — instinct taking over. She bolts, the ribbon of her mask flashing like blood in moonlight, floating behind her as she takes off deeper into the forest.

Again, I follow.

Not to catch her yet.

Just to remind her, I could.

She stops again to catch her breath, chest heaving as she leans against an old oak tree.

“Run,” I whisper. Not a threat. A vow.

For a heartbeat, she doesn’t move. Then her breath catches, and instinct takes over. She turns —[4][5]fear and something that looks like desire flashes in her eyes — and bolts further into the trees.

The forest swallows her.

I wait. Just long enough for the distance between us to stretch taut. Then my feet begin to carry me towards her.

The sound of her — quick breaths, heavy footfalls, snapping twigs, the whisper of fabric against bark — threads through the dark like a melody I’ve known all my life. I move silently, keeping to the shadows, letting her think she’s lost me. Letting her feel the thrill of being hunted.

That’s the thing about prey like her — they don’t run to escape. They run tobe caught.

The moonlight slips between the trees, silvering her skin where her tank top has torn. She glances back once, eyes wide behind the mask, pupils blown wide. Her lips part, a sound escaping — half gasp, half laugh. The sound of someone who’s forgotten where fear ends and wanting begins.

I pace her easily, never letting her see me fully. Just a flicker here, a shadow there — enough to keep her pulse racing. Enough to keep hersearching.To keep her wondering when I will finally catch her.

She stumbles over a root, catches herself on a tree, presses her back against the bark as if trying to disappear into it, as if she thinks it will hide her from me. Her chest heaves. Her camera dangles around her neck, utterly useless now.

The forest hums with her breath, her heartbeat, the wild rhythm I’ve been chasing since dusk.

I step close enough for her to feel me, not see me. Close enough for my voice to slip against her ear like a touch.

“Oh Littleeee Doeeeee…”

Her head jerks toward the sound. I hear the soft intake of her breath — sharp, trembling. She doesn’t run this time.

Every nerve in me strains to close the distance, to press her against the rough bark and feel her pulse stutter under my hand, to have my way with her. But I hold back. The restraint is exquisite, a blade drawn slowly across my own skin.

Instead, I circle. The wind shifts, carrying her scent toward me— ash, wildflowers, the faint metallic edge of adrenaline. My hunger deepens.

She whispers something — too soft to catch. Maybe my name. Maybe a plea.

When I finally step into the thin wash of moonlight, she sees me. Her lips part again, breath fogging in the frigid night air. Her eyes lock onto mine through the hollow sockets of the wolf’s skull.

She doesn’t move. Neither do I.

The world narrows to the space between us — a single pulse, a single breath. Just when I’m close enough that she could reach for me — I step back.

She gasps, startled, the sound breaking the spell. Confusion flickers in her eyes, then something sharper — frustration, hunger, need.

Good. She should want. This isn’t over. It’s only just begun.

The forest closes around her again as I vanish into the dark, leaving her with her heartbeat, her trembling hands, and the echo of my voice in the trees.