Page 18 of Run, Little Doe

I could end this. One leap, one hand on her waist, and the game would be over, but I don’t. I want her trembling, dizzy with it, unable to tell if what’s chasing her is danger or desire.

Her mask catches the moonlight again as she turns her head, and for the briefest moment, her eyes lock on mine through the dark. The world stops moving. She knows the time is close.

The sound of her breathing hits me like a blow. My control slips another inch, the line between man and beast wearing thin.

I imagine what will happen when I catch her. How she will feel under my hands. How she will taste on my tongue. I can almost feel the heat of her body against mine. My dick pulses in my jeans. I want her so badly my balls physically hurt.

I step closer. The forest tightens around us, thick with smoke, pulse, and hunger.

When she picks up her pace again, and I chase—faster this time, no more patience, no more restraint. The night itself seems to tear open with us, and the rhythm of our bodies merges into one sound, one heartbeat.

She glances back just once, eyes wide, mouth parted in something that looks like fear but tastes like invitation, and that’s all it takes. I break into a run, closing the space between us until I can feel the heat of her skin in the frigid air.

The moment before I touch her feels like the edge of a storm—everything waiting to break. There is a crackle of heat in the air, and I can hear her heartbeat. She wants this as bad as I do; she just won’t admit it aloud yet, but her body is betraying her at every turn.

She slows, breathless, shaking. I stop just behind her, close enough that my breath stirs the loose strands of her hair. She doesn’t move.

Neither do I.

The silence between us hums — hot, fragile, dangerous. The forest watches, waiting to see which of us will break first. She exhales, and the sound of it wrecks me.

The hunt is over.

The claiming hasn’t begun.

But it will.

Soon.

Sirena

The night holds its breath.

Every inch of me feels raw — scraped open by the chase, byhim. The forest presses close, every sound magnified: the hiss of leaves, the call of an owl, the skitter of creatures, the crackle of cooling embers carried from the festival’s fire, the rhythm of my heartbeat tangled with the echo of his.

He’s behind me. I can feel him — not touching, but near enough that my skin knows exactly where he stands. The air between us is consumed with heat and gravity.

I can’t run anymore. My legs won’t obey. My lungs ache, but not from exhaustion — from the pressure of everything I’ve been holding back. My body trembles, chest heaving as I’m trying to catch my breath. I press my thighs together tightly, desperate to feel the friction I need for a release. My body feels as if it’s betraying me, and I am consumed by fear and want all at once.

I close my eyes. The mask sticks to my skin, slick with sweat. I can taste ash on my tongue, and it tastes like him — like smoke and danger and something forbidden.

“Why aren’t you running anymore, Little Doe?”

His voice is a low rasp that moves through me like a physical thing. It’s closer than I expect — close enough that I feel the heatof his breath ghost against the shell of my ear. I swallow hard. My throat feels dry. “Because you’d catch me,” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer. Not in words. But the silence between us changes — thickens, sharpens, like the moment before lightning splits the sky. I can feel him step closer. The heat of his body brushing my back, his hand brushing my waist, not giving me the one thing my body is craving. The tension between us is unbearable. I can’t think straight, can’t see straight. I’m consumed with one feral need — desire.

My body reacts before my mind catches up — a full-body shiver that starts low and spreads upward, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I should be terrified. I should be screaming, but all I can do is stand there, trembling, waiting for him to make his move. The forest feels alive around us. Watching. Listening. Holding its breath with me.

Before I can comprehend what is happening, his hand reaches from behind me to grasp my throat, holding me in place. His thumb grazes the ribbon at the base of my neck, still holding my mask firmly in place on my face. The anticipation of what he is planning courses through my body. I can feel my knees beginning to give out, unable to hold my body weight before he releases my throat, his touch disappearing as quickly as it came.

When he finally speaks again, his voice is distant and rough. “You wanted me to catch you.”

It isn’t a question, and still, I lie. “No.”

His soft laugh cuts through the dark, low and knowing. “Then why are you still here?”

I don’t have an answer.