Page 84 of Craving Consequences

The trees and descending darkness swallow me. I’d forgotten how dark the woods get even midday. This late in the evening, even with the sun a hot globe in the sky, here, amongst the thick brush, it’s murky black with streaks of dwindling blue.

I hate it.

I already regret this game. I want to run back to them, back to their safe arms and take my punishment.

But there’s no time for second guessing when I’m ready to break an ankle before admitting defeat.

Branches whip at my arms and snag in my hair. Roots hook my ankles, slowing my escape. The rock stabbing my toe is the final straw that stops me. I hobble as I turn in a circle, trying and failing to slow my breathing and only making it worse. My throat is the dry, hot ash of a campfire. My head buzzes.

I can’t hear them. There are no footsteps. No rustle of brush. The silence is weighted. Ominous. The kind of stillness in horror movies before the idiot cheerleader trips on air and gets axed to death.

They’re not chasing me.

They’re hunting.

Stalking.

Messing with my head because I know they would never let me just run off into the woods and not come after me. But it’s deeper than that. This is war. I hit their egos, and they have a point to prove.

A branch snaps behind me. The crack spins me only to find nothing. Just shadows and trees.

I stumble back, eyes sweeping, pulse hammering.

“Everly...” Lachlan’s voice breathes in my ear, low and taunting.

I whirl ... and find nothing.

“Bad girl,” Van drawls, voice disembodied, floating between the trees like fog. “She has no idea what she’s done.”

Goosebumps prickle my skin. My heart is threatening to escape my chest.

I can feel them circling.

Toying with me.

I turn and run.

The ground is a black void I can’t make out. I see nothing, not even the frigid stream of shallow waters I fall into.

“Stop running, little doe,” Van purrs somewhere to my right.

“Surrender and we’ll only torture you a little,” Lachlan adds.

Ignoring them, I stagger out of the stream, slip on the muddy shore, but push to my feet and sprint in the opposite direction of the voices.

I dive behind a thicket of ferns. I crouch, barely breathing, curling up into a tight ball.

And for a moment...

No sound.

No movement.

Then a figure steps into view, long legs encased in jeans.

Lachlan.

“Clever girl,” he murmurs with sweet endearment.

---