Page 19 of The Stalker
Her lips tremble, but no words come out.That’s all the permission I need.I lunge, and she bolts.Her scream slices through the house as she tears down the hall, fumbling for the back door.I’m faster.Always faster.My hand snags her sweater, ripping it as she crashes through the screen and into the yard.
The cold night air explodes around us.And then she runs, barefoot and desperate, into the woods.
Exactly where I wanted her.
“Yes,”Thomas howls inside me, triumphant.“Now the hunt begins.”
I follow her, grinning like a crazy person, every muscle alive with the thrill of the chase.
Chapter Twelve
This Is It
Bianka
The night swallows me whole.
Cold air knifes into my lungs as I sprint through the yard and into the tree line, branches clawing at my arms, snagging my sweater until the fabric tears even more than it already has.My bare feet slap against cold earth, every step exploding pain through my twisted ankle, but I don’t stop.I can’t.
Behind me, I hear him.Heavy, deliberate steps.He isn’t rushing because he doesn’t need to.Because he knows.
He knows I’ll tire out long before he does.He knows the woods better, knows every path, and every root waiting to trip me.He knows I can’t escape.
And he knows I don’t really want to.
The thought slices through me sharper than the branches.My chest heaves, my heart pounding so hard I think it’ll burst, and still, still, my lips burn from where his nearly touched mine.
God, what’s wrong with me?
The woods feel alive tonight as I run as fast as my sore muscles will carry me.The leaves around me whisper like voices, the wind carrying strange, broken laughter.My breath fogs white in the cold night air, and each exhale feels like it’s snatched away, stolen by something unseen.
Every step deeper feels wrong.Too cold.Too quiet.This isn’t just Griffin anymore.
I felt it when his voice split, when that other sound slithered out between his words.The ghost stories weren’t stories.Something else is inside him.
Something dark.Thomas.
