Page 21 of Willing Prey
SEVENTEEN
Claire
Time continues to pass too quickly. On day twenty-two, I’m surprised when my watch vibrates while I’m grading quizzes in my room.
After realizing how much free time I had—even Shane cannot fuck constantly—I found a side gig.
Now I’m instructing summer sessions of anatomy and physiology online for the local community college.
Since I stepped in to take over for a teacher who had to quit unexpectedly, the lessons are already created.
All I have to do is answer questions and grade assignments. Tedious but not difficult.
This is the first time Shane’s summoned me before getting home from work.
He gives me a five-minute head start, which has me tearing from the house without even turning off my computer.
His SUV is coming down the driveway as I sprint across the yard.
The clouds are low, a storm about to roll in.
That explains the urgency, the cloud of dust behind his SUV.
“Two minutes, little deer,” Shane calls, his voice booming across the yard as I slip into the safety of the trees.
My sole focus is getting as far away as possible, as fast as possible.
The woods feel as familiar as the house.
I’ve learned which deer trails lead to walls of briars too thick to squirm through without losing a layer of skin and which are clear.
I know where the ground gets too marshy to move fast, and four different trails to the lake.
I take a hard left at a fallen tree dotted with moss and mushrooms. The path I follow now is less of a deer trail and more of an absence of trees.
Following the natural path will take me in a horseshoe to the far side of the lawn behind the house.
I’ve never led Shane down it, and I think it will confuse him.
He won’t expect me to head back toward the house, not when I’ve always gone for distance.
As the path grows narrower, I slow my pace to a walk. Ears pricked, I listen for the sound of Shane. I know he’ll be on my trail, tracking me by my footsteps and the branches I break.
Even though I’m facing forward as I navigate the trail, my focus is behind me, alert for any hint he’s closing in and it’s time to run again.
I’ve learned he loves the chase best when I let him get close and give him hell.
Glancing over my shoulder, I scan the trees to make sure he hasn’t managed to sneak up on me.
No Shane.
I turn back to the trail in time to see Shane come flying around the bend ahead of me. He’s at a dead sprint. It doesn’t matter that he’s too far away for me to see the glint in his eye or the hard set to his jaw; I know they’re there.
“Bastard,” I breathe, pivoting to bolt back the way I came. He’s fast, and this trail’s wide enough to let him build up speed. This isn’t going to last half as long as I’d hoped, which means I’ll need to make it tough for him in other ways.
The odds of him coming up the trail from the other way are too slim.
He had to have cheated, likely saw where I entered the woods and guessed I’d end up here.
He needs to pay for that. Darting from the trail, I head for the thickest patch of brush I can find.
It’ll suck, I’ll be scratched, but it’s worth it because I’m faster through the brush than him.
“Oh no you don’t,” he growls from way too close. I’m almost to the brush. Three more steps.
So close.
Just as I reach it, my arm is grabbed, ripping me back to him.
I throw an elbow, enjoying his grunt when it connects with his abdomen.
Shane doesn’t let go. Every time I pry a hand off me, another takes its place.
He doesn’t say yield , so I don’t, thrashing and fighting like he’s a stranger.
Like I’m not already dripping for what’s to come.
Thunder rolls in the distance, the sound startling me.
I freeze for a second. That’s all Shane needs.
He spins me, hurling me up and over his shoulder before I can do anything but yelp.
I’m so stunned he can carry me that I forget to fight.
The world is upside-down, and my head is inches from his ass.
That’s when I realize he’s wearing work clothes.
Dress pants, dress shoes, and what looks like an undershirt.
The one benefit of being carried in this undignified position is that he’s left his ass vulnerable. I smack it so hard my palm stings. He makes an annoyed sound.
“Where are your hunting clothes?” I ask, adding another smack at the end of the question.
“No time.” He spanks me, and I realize my ass is as vulnerable as his.
Damnit.
I smack him again anyway, then try to roll off his shoulder.
It works, almost. When Shane tries to catch me, he loses his balance.
As he staggers sideways, I throw myself to the ground.
This time, it works, but too well. I crash onto the ground with a rock stabbing me in the ribs, and Shane sprawled on top of me.
There’s no time to inspect the damage. Scrabbling from beneath him, I shove to my feet.
Then I’m being yanked by the ankle, pulled back to the ground. I wrench my leg free and run.