Page 6 of Willing Prey

FIVE

Claire

I don’t want to risk being caught unprepared for summoning, so I’m up at dawn. My stomach feels like it’s hosting a butterfly rave, but I force myself to eat anyway. I need to be well fueled.

It’s day two, and today’s the day. I can feel it in my bones.

It has to be. I need it to be. I’m starving for more.

My blue mood didn’t stick last night. Even thinking of Keith couldn’t completely douse the fire Shane started on the lawn.

I had finally given in and masturbated myself to sleep, but it felt like eating a granola bar in a steak house.

I need something filling. I need to be run down and fucked until my teeth chatter.

Breakfast passes without a beep from my watch.

I meet a woman named Gretchen. She’s Shane’s housekeeper and has short white hair with hot pink tips.

She’s privy to the fact that this is a predator-prey situation and seems thoroughly unbothered.

Within the first ten minutes of our chat, she tells me she’s outlived four husbands.

I like her immensely. There’s no sign of Margot.

I’m amusing myself in the gym, fiddling around on a StairMaster so fancy I wouldn’t be surprised if it doubles as an espresso maker. My wrist vibrates. The watch flashes a seven, an insistent chirp accompanying the number. I almost fall off the machine.

Seven minutes till Shane starts hunting me. Seven minutes to get what I need and run.

Flying out of the gym, I almost collide with Margot in the hall. She opens her mouth to say something, but I yelp as I dash by her.

“Summoned!”

“Make him work for it,” she calls after me. “And be careful. Remember the safe word!”

Three minutes later, I’m running toward the woods.

When I woke this morning, I dressed for the hunt: black leggings, a camouflage long-sleeve T-shirt provided by Shane, and my sneakers.

All I had to do was douse myself in bug spray and grab the small backpack holding a water bottle, a few protein bars, and a flashlight.

I braided my hair and pinned it into a bun at the base of my neck.

I realized he could have grabbed it last night, so I’m not taking any chances with a ponytail today.

Overprepared? Probably.

Unsexy? Definitely.

A challenge? Hell yeah.

The woods surrounding his house are thick and lush. Trees feel like accomplices as I dart between them. Right now, my focus is distance. My watch buzzes again, and I see a zero, which means he’s on his way.

Faster.

I have enough of a lead that I can be loud, but in a minute or two, I’ll need to move silently. Every branch break and rustle will draw him to me. Noisy prey is not challenging prey.

When I’m too tired to keep running, I look for a hiding place.

A tall pine pulls my attention. Objectively, it’s a good-looking tree, as far as trees go.

Thick trunk, dense branches. What makes it perfect is that it doesn’t have any limbs I can reach from the ground.

Shane won’t expect me to be in it. However, this big, perfect tree does have a neighbor with lower branches.

They’re close enough that I can scurry from the small tree to the bigger one.

I can’t lead him to my hiding spot, though. I walk past the tree about a hundred yards, then double back, sweeping away any signs of travel with a fallen branch. Once I reach the small tree, I start climbing.

For twenty-six tense minutes, I perch on a high branch, waiting for a sign he’s close.

The forest is quiet. There’s birdsong off and on and a few judgmental squirrels, but no Shane.

I wonder what he’s thinking right now. Keith was repulsed the one time I broached the idea of me hunting him, so I don’t know what it’s like to be on the other side of the hunt.

What it feels like to have that type of power, knowing someone’s out there running from you.

It must be a different kind of anticipation than what’s tremoring through me, keeping me so tense it’s hard to stay still.

Shane steps into my line of sight. I hold my breath. He’s wearing green tactical pants tucked into hiking boots and a black long-sleeve shirt. He studies the ground, tracking my barely visible footprints. The muscles in his back ripple as he pauses, bending to look at something more closely.

Can a pussy purr? Because mine is right now.

If she had her way, I’d backflip out of this tree, stick the landing, and ask Shane to finish what he started last night.

Thoughts of student loan bills and my unwillingness to lose this high-stakes game of hide-and-seek are the only things keeping my ass glued to the branch.

Every muscle tight, I wait for him to look up and spot me. There’s no way this will work. He follows the decoy. I prepare for my next move. He’ll double back when he hits the end. I don’t want to be stuck here when he retraces my steps.

Note to self: create a longer fake trail next time.

When I can’t see him anymore, I wait a beat, then descend.

Going down is more challenging, and I almost fall transitioning to the smaller tree.

Only a lucky grab keeps me from plummeting to the forest floor.

I slow my pace for the rest of the journey but bolt the second my feet hit the ground.

Each stride feels like it could be the one that gives me away as I head in the opposite direction of Shane.

A sharp bark of a laugh cuts through the woods. He must’ve reached the dead end. He’ll be retracing his steps now. I’m trying to move fast and silent, but my goals are at odds. A branch cracks beneath my sneaker, gunshot loud in the stillness.

Whoops.

Brush crashes somewhere behind me, but I don’t look back. Now that he’s heard me, speed is the only thing that matters. Branches whip my shoulders, urging me on. All I want is to look back. See how much of a lead I have.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from horror movies, it’s that you never look back at the monster chasing you. Even if the monster has great teeth and probably maxes out his 401(k) contributions. Even if you’re kind of looking forward to being caught and secretly hoping you’ll be eaten.

I push harder. Shane is closing in. He has to be.

It’s not a matter of if he’ll catch me, but when.

He can’t catch me yet. I don’t want to end up back at the house, so I veer left, where the brush is thicker.

There’s a deer trail, and I take it, hoping the well-traveled path lets me run faster.

There’s less debris to trip on, less foliage to get tangled up in.

Around me, the forest grows denser, so thick that the shadows cast by the trees feel menacing.

My legs tire. Each breath is more ragged than the last.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles, my shoulders hunching.

I feel vulnerable and exposed, even though branches snag my shirt and pants as I move through the tight brush.

My body tingles with expectation, waiting for the grab, the catch.

The moment when the hunt becomes the fight.

I don’t feel human anymore. I’m a vibrating swirl of dread and anticipation. My brain won’t stop screaming.

Get the catch over with.

End the suspense.

Shane must be gaining, but I can’t go any faster. I’m surprised every time I take a step without being snatched. I can’t help myself. I glance back. Shocked, I skid to a stop.

He isn’t there. I’m alone.

Just me, trees, and the wind toying with my loose hair. My bun-slash-braid has come undone. The bobby pins lost to grasping branches. Maybe the trees are on his side, trying to strip me bare for him.

Where is he?

There’s no way I lost him. Scanning the woods, I’m a coiled spring, waiting for him to jump out and grab me. Leaves shift and branches sway, but it’s the breeze causing their movement, not Shane.

What now?

Going back isn’t an option. He has to be following me, and I don’t want to run right to him. I press on down the deer trail.

I’m no longer running, but I’m hurrying.

A low-hanging branch forces me to duck, the trail growing tighter around me.

I’m worried it will vanish altogether, leaving me elbowing noisily through the brush.

It opens up again after a few dozen feet, and more sunlight filters through the trees.

Ahead, I see what looks like a clearing.

I have no idea how far I am from the house, how far I am from Shane.

I creep into the clearing, pausing to shake leaves from my hair.

There’s a large tree in almost the exact center.

It’s massive, must be decades old, and the way there are no other trees around it only makes it look more impressive.

I’m trying to figure out what kind it is when Shane steps from behind its trunk.

Shit.