Page 9 of The Stalker
Ghost stories.That’s what it should be.That’s all it should be.But in Ashburne, ghost stories have teeth.
I slow, clutching my side where a stitch stabs beneath my ribs, sucking in air.My sweater clings to my body, sweat wetting my skin.My scar burns hotter, and I press my palm against it as if I can smother the fire.
That’s when I hear it.Footsteps behind me.Slow and measured.Not rushing.Not frantic.Like a hunter who knows his prey can’t escape.Like he knew exactly which way I would run and where he would find me.
I whirl, my eyes wide, scanning the shadows.Nothing moves and the street is empty.The houses across the street are dark, the porch lights turned off for the night.The only sound is the rustle of leaves and the echo of my own ragged breath.
But Iknowhe’s here.Watching.Waiting for the right moment to show himself.
“Griffin,” I whisper, voice cracking.“Please ...stop.”
The silence answers.And then a laugh, low and dark, slips through the air, curling around me like smoke.Scaring and comforting me at the same time.But it’s not just his laugh.It’s something deeper and my blood turns to ice.
I should run but my legs won’t work.They do allow a step as he stalks closer but that only traps me further.My back connects with the cold stone wall of the old church.My hands splay against the rough surface, seeking purchase to help me stay upright.
He watches every move, not missing a single thing, and my skin feels electric beneath his gaze.I know this is the worst place I could be when someone is chasing me—trapped, like a rat in a maze.
But I have a feeling that no matter where I ran or what I did, I’ve always been trapped.I just didn’t know it.
Chapter Five
Nowhere To Hide
Griffin
She runs.Barefoot, with her sweater flapping, and her hair flying behind her, she bolts down the street like a frightened little deer.And God, she’s gorgeous like this.
Desperate.
Terrified.
Mine.
I don’t chase her right away because I don’t have to.I know Ashburne better than she does now.I know the shortcuts, the dead ends, and the places where the streetlights flicker and die, leaving nothing but shadows.She’ll wear herself out before she realizes the trap she’s in.
Besides, the sound of her running?It’s better than music.
