Page 15 of Run Little Fawn

A sob catches in my throat, a mix of fear and frustration and sheer, unadulterated panic. They found me. Of course they found me. What the fuck was I thinking, trying to run from an organization with the resources to infiltrate every corner of my life?

Oh, right. I don't have a fucking choice.

I hurl the phone across the room, a scream building in my chest as it hits the wall and falls to the floor with a dull thud. I bury my face in my hands, my breath coming in ragged gasps as the enormity of my situation crashes over me like a tidal wave.

There's no escape. No way out of this twisted game that doesn't end with me dead or worse. The rules are clear, the consequences deadly. I have no choice but to play along, to dance to the tune of my puppet master until the final curtain falls.

But even as despair threatens to swallow me whole, a tiny spark of defiance flickers to life in my chest. They may have me cornered, but I'm not going down without a fight. If the wolf wants his fawn, he's going to have to work for it.

I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders as I rise from the bed. I retrieve the phone from where it lies on the carpet, my fingers steady as I slip it into my pocket.

Seven in the morning.

That's my deadline, the ticking clock counting down to the start of the most dangerous game of my life.

But I'll be ready.

I have to be.

Because the alternative is unthinkable.

I crawl back into bed, my mind racing with plans and contingencies, with every scrap of knowledge I've ever gleaned from true crime documentaries and survival shows.

I may be the fawn in this fucked up fairy tale, but I'll be damned if I make it easy for the big bad wolf to devour me whole.

Chapter Seven

THE HUNTER

The motel room where I found my fawn mere hours before the real game begins reeks of stale cigarettes and cheap disinfectant, the kind of place where people come to forget or to be forgotten.

It makes sense, in a way. A temporary sanctuary for a fawn on the run, a place to lick her wounds and plan her next move.

Aria doesn't stir as I approach the bed, my footsteps silent on the threadbare carpet. Even in sleep, there's a tension to her, a coiled readiness that speaks of a mind that never truly rests. I wonder what haunts her dreams, what demons lurk behind those pretty green eyes.

I hope it's me.

I could end this now, of course. One quick movement, a hand over her mouth, and it would all be over. But where's the fun in that? The game has only just begun, and I intend to savor every moment of it.

Instead, I reach into my pocket and pull out the burner phone, an exact replica of the one she so foolishly left behind. It's almost insulting, really, how easily she played into my hands. As if a few hundred miles and a cheap motel room could ever be enough to throw me off her scent.

I place the phone on the dresser, a silent reminder that there's no escape from this, from me. And then I step back, melting into the shadows as if I were never there at all.

For a long moment, I simply stand there, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips part slightly as she dreams. She's beautiful like this, all soft curves and delicate features, a far cry from the fierce determination I saw in her eyes earlier.

It's almost a shame I have to break her. To shatter that pretty illusion of safety and control she's clinging to so desperately. But the game must be played, and I've never been one to back down from a challenge.

I lean in closer, inhaling the scent of her—sweat and fear and something else, something that makes my pulse quicken and my blood run hot. She might not make this easy on me, but that's half the fun. And when I finally catch her, when I claim my prize and break her completely? It will be all the sweeter for the chase.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, a harsh electronic buzz that shatters the stillness of the room. I glance at the screen, a slow smile spreading across my face as I read the message.

Remember, Initiate. The only good Hunter is a hungry one.

I slip the phone back into my pocket, my gaze never leaving Aria's sleeping form. Seven hunts. Seven days each. It's not much time, but it won't take nearly that much in reality. She's out of her element.

The entire premise of this game is unfair, but that's the point, isn't it?

Seven hunts. Seven opportunities to level the playing field, even a little.

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