Page 8 of Run, Little Doe

Then — a whisper, carried on the wind.

“You already know.”

My stomach twists. The sound of him isn’t just in my ears; it’s in my bloodstream; it’s coursing through my veins. I can feel it on the back of my neck, in the base of my spine, evident by the warmth pooling between my legs.

“You’re not real,” I breathe, but it sounds like a lie even to me.

Another laugh — closer. “Then why are you trembling?” I can’t answer. I don’t think he expects me to.

The forest feels alive around me, pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat. Every nerve is awake, electric, waiting to be scorched.

And then —silence.

No footsteps. No breath. Nothing. The absence is worse than the sound. I turn slowly, my own breath coming in short, shallow bursts. “Where are you?”

“Everywhere.”

The voice is behind me now. I spin — too slowly.

A gloved hand brushes my arm — barely a touch, but enough to set every nerve in my body alight. My knees threaten to give. The heat of him is overwhelming — wild, real, undeniable. My thighs clamp together, as if that’s going to make a difference.

I don’t move. I can’t.

He leans in close behind me, his breath warm against the shell of my ear. “You ran,” he says softly, the edge of a smile in his voice. “Good girl.”

My lips part as I shakily exhale a breath, a tremor running through my entire body.

“What happens now?”

He exhales — a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh.

“Now,” he says, “I find out what kind of prey you are.”

The Wolf

She stands just beyond the reach of the moonlight, half in shadow, half illuminated by mother nature herself— a creature caught between worlds. Smoke moves like silk around her, curling through her hair, tracing her throat. Her pulse flutters there, visible even through the flicker of the moon.

She doesn’t run. That’s the first thing I notice.

Every instinct in her body is screaming to. I can see it in the tension of her shoulders, the way her eyes dart from shadow to shadow, the way her fingers twitch around her camera strap. But she stays — rooted, trembling, curious.

Such a good girl.

I step forward, slow enough for the sound of my boots on the forest floor to reach her. I can hear her breath catching in her throat, a quiet gasp swallowed by the wind. The scent of her hits me then — fear and want tangled together, sharp, and sweet as autumn rain.

I circle her without touching. A hunter’s orbit. Each step deliberate, close enough for her to feel the warmth of me, the weight of my attention, the need coursing through both our bodies.

“Do you believe in monsters, Little Doe?” My voice is low, almost lost in the hum of the forest itself, snaking in and out of the shadows.

She turns toward me, camera trembling in her hands. “No,” she whispers, but the waiver in her voice betrays her.

“Then what are you afraid of?”

Her silence is an answer. I smile behind the mask.

She can’t see my eyes clearly, but she can feel them. I let her. Let her know she’s seen. Let her know she’swanted.Let her know I crave to touch her.

Yet when I reach out, I don’t touch her. Not yet. My gloved fingers stop just shy of her jaw — close enough for her to feel the heat, thepromiseof contact. She leans into it before she realizes she’s doing it.