Page 55 of Hunting Harbor
A branch whips across my cheek, leaving a stinging trail that brings tears to my eyes, but I don't slow down. Can't slow down. Every cell in my body knows what's coming for me, and the thought sends another surge of energy through my limbs.
My lungs burn as I push myself harder, leaping over a fallen log and ducking under low-hanging branches. Behind me, I know Kairo is preparing. I can almost feel him, a presence in the back of my mind, methodical and patient while I run wild and frantic.
God, I hope he wears the mask.
The first time he wore it for me, I'd almost run for real. The sight of him transformed from the man I thought I knew into a fucking demon, had nearly broken my mind. But then he'd caught me, held me, shown me that the monster and the man were one and the same. And I'd surrendered to both.
I can't see him secure the mask over his face, can't see the way the wood seems to meld with his skin until the division between man and demon blurs. But I can imagine it. And the image makes me run faster, harder, my bare feet finding the soft spots on the increasingly uneven ground as I plunge deeper into the heart of the forest.
Darkness settles in around me and I should be afraid of getting lost, but I know these woods better than I've known any place in my life. Kairo made sure of that, taking me on hikes every day since I finally acknowledged that I was his, teaching me the landmarks, the patterns, the secrets of navigating by sun and stars.
I reach a small stream and splash through it, the cold water shocking against my overheated skin. For a moment, I consider following its course—water might mask my scent, make me harder to track. But Kairo isn't tracking me by scent. He's tracking me because he knows me, knows which way I'd turn, which paths I'd choose.
So instead, I veer sharply left after crossing the stream, heading toward rockier ground where my bare feet will leave fewer traces. The stones are sharp beneath my soles, but the pain is clarifying, anchoring me in my body as my mind races ahead, plotting my course.
How long has it been? Seven minutes? Eight? I've lost track of time in the rhythm of my flight.Maybe I lost him. He said I’d only have three.The forest continues to darken around me, the spaces between trees filling with deeper shadows. I should be frightened—a woman alone in darkening woods, pursued by a man in a demon mask. But the thrill coursing through my veins feels nothing like terror. It feels like coming alive.
I pause for just a moment, pressing my back against a tree trunk to catch my breath. The rough bark digs into my shoulder blades through my thin t-shirt. Sweat trickles down my spine and beadson my upper lip. The forest has grown quiet around me, as if holding its breath. As if waiting.
Then I hear it… a twig snapping somewhere behind me. Too deliberate to be an animal. Too perfectly timed to be coincidence. He wants me to know he's coming.
My heart kicks against my ribs, and I push off from the tree, surging forward once more. But now my movements have a new urgency. He's coming. The demon is coming for me.
The forest floor begins to slope upward, making my legs burn with the effort of climbing while maintaining speed. Branches claw at my hair, pulling strands loose from my ponytail until it's a wild tangle around my face. The air grows thinner as I ascend, or maybe that's just my imagination, my lungs struggling to keep pace with my thundering heart.
Another sound behind me—closer this time. The soft crunch of leaves beneath a careful foot. He's gaining on me. Of course he is. He's always been the stronger one, the faster one. And unlike me, he's not running blindly. He's hunting.
And I’m easy prey.
I glance over my shoulder, seeing nothing but shadows and the twisted shapes of trees. But I know he's there. I can feel him drawing nearer with each passing second, moving through the forest like a shadow himself, his masked face transforming him into the stuff of nightmares.
My nightmares. My darkest fantasies. The truth I've never been able to admit to anyone but him.
The twilight has almost completely faded now, leaving me in a world of grays and blacks. I should be afraid of tripping, of falling, of injuring myself out here where no one would hear me scream. But all I can think about is the moment when he'll finally catch me. When the chase will end, and something else, something even more primal, will begin.
My calves start to camp, but I push myself harder, ignoring the burn in my lungs and the ache in my legs. Just a little further. Just a little longer. Make him work for it. Make him earn it.
Because when he catches me… and he will catch me, I want him to be as hungry for me as I am for him.
That's when I hear it. A low, throaty chuckle that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. The sound raises goosebumps along my arms despite the heat of exertion flushing my skin. He's toying with me.
I risk a glance over my shoulder and instantly regret it. A flash of movement between distant trunks—too quick to be anything but him, too deliberate to be mistaken for animal or wind. The demon mask catches what little light remains, its hollow eyes seeming to glow with an inner fire. I stumble, my foot catching on an exposed root, and barely manage to right myself before continuing my desperate flight.
"I can smell you, Harbor," his voice calls, closer than I expected. "You’re fucking delicious."
I bite back a whimper and push myself harder, ignoring the sharp pain as a branch slashes across my already cut cheek. He's herding me, I realize with sudden clarity. Each time I try to veer left or right, there's another sound, another glimpse of his masked form that drives me back toward my original path. He's been controlling my direction all along, guiding me exactly where he wants me to go.
The realization should terrify me. That he’s so good at this, there’s no escape. Instead, it sends another rush of heat through my body, pooling low in my stomach and between my thighs. This is what I've always wanted—to be seen completely, to be known so thoroughly that there's nowhere to hide, not even from myself.
My breath comes in ragged gasps that tear at my dry throat. I can feel my heart pounding against my ribs like it's trying to escape, to offer itself to him before the rest of me. My legs are leaden, muscles burning with the effort of continued flight. But I can't stop. Won't stop. The rules of this game require me to run until I'm caught, to fight until I surrender.
The trees begin to thin, and suddenly I can see the clearing ahead. A small meadow bathed in the last fading light of dusk, where tall grasses wave gently in the evening breeze. If I can just reach it, maybe I can spot him coming, can prepare myself for his attack instead of being ambushed in these dense, dark woods.
I burst from the tree-line into the open space, my feet finding softer ground cushioned by grass and moss. For one brief, glorious moment, I feel a surge of triumph. I've made it this far. I've led him on a proper chase.
Then the feeling evaporates as I realize the terrible mistake I've made.
The clearing offers nowhere to hide. I'm exposed, visible from all sides, a perfect target silhouetted against the night sky. And worse—I've run exactly where he wanted me to run all along. This was never my escape route. This was his trap.
