Page 138 of Beautiful Venom
I ignore the other footsteps that barely leave any trace. They’re Preston’s. Jude’s are heavier, but not as irregular and they certainly don’t stink of terror.
The air smells of damp earth and pine, sharp and fresh, but it also reeks of decay. Old leaves rot in the underbrush, the scent mingling with the cold bite of the wind as it snakes through the trees. Although amidst it, there’s the tangible smell of sweat, fear, and a hopeless ending.
But it barely touches me or breaches the surface.
Ah.
I’m bored.
I find no pleasure whatsoever in this sort of chase.
No excitement.
No fucking emotions.
I’d rather be chasing my wildflower as she comes up with all her clever ways to hide. Just the thought of being hot on her trail makes me hard.
Hell, my cock twitches at the memory of the last time I hunted her down at my place and fucked her on the stairs like a caveman.
Stop thinking about her.
This whole thing is meant to help me disassociate from her.
Somewhere in the distance, an owl hoots, its sound echoing through the trees. Small creatures rustle in the shadows before they vanish into the undergrowth.
A larger shadow breezes past me. Jude.
He’s a blur, running at full speed between the tall, leaning trees.
I realize why.
On my other side, Preston is running, too, his lighter weight giving him leverage as he cuts the distance.
The prey skitters, its movements frantic.
I forge ahead without picking up my pace, observing the branches weaving together above like a cage. In a sense, this world has been our cage since birth. I used to wonder where the three of us would’ve ended up if we were born into normal families.
Jude wouldn’t need to be so violent.
Preston wouldn’t have lost his mind.
I wouldn’t have to be this. Whateverthisis.
But I learned to just accept it. Make the most of it, I suppose.
My steps are steady on the uneven ground that’s slick with moss and damp leaves, making each move a potential hazard, but I know this forest like the back of my hand. The man we’re hunting doesn’t.
The moon flickers again, slipping behind a thick wall of clouds, plunging the forest into near-total darkness. A thud sounds in the distance and a muffled noise follows.
I stop.
The air shifts, colder now, brushing against my face as I advance deeper into the woods. My pulse is steady and calm, every muscle in my body coiled.
An outsider is here.
Aside from the target of the day, there are now four of us on the property.
Who the fuck dares to trespass onourprivate property? The Armstrongs own this forest, and we’re the only ones allowed in it. We had our first tests of courage here. We were abandoned in that ‘haunted’ cottage for two days when we were kids and were forced to separate, every man for himself.
