Page 77 of Rescued By the Beast
But behind that desire, there is an even greater one, which makes my heart race just thinking about it.
I need to see Mark again, as Sandra.
I need to see his reaction when he sees me again, to understand what it all means, what there is between us. He's clearly attracted to me, he came thinking about me!
And knowing that, knowing that there is a chance to explore our attraction, even if only for a few brief minutes while I can control my essence...
It's the only thing that makes me feel alive right now.
And so, without thinking, without planning, I'm walking back to the street.
I feel like I can stay in this human form longer, maybe an hour, maybe thirty minutes... It's a risk. But a risk I want to take.
I walk to the house I broke into to steal the clothes. The scent of my cat form is still there, very faint, but present. I can take advantage of that, pretend the cat sneaked into the yard again when he asks if I've seen her.
I just need to get him to come here...
And for that, for that I need to feel fear, I need to activate my collar so that it brings him to me.
I need to think of something scary, the worst thing that ever happened to me.
I close my eyes and force myself to go back to that night.
I remember the bitter cold, the putrid smell of the wendigo, the sound of claws tearing through the air. Of claws tearingmeapart. I think of the pain that came in waves, burning and unbearable, leaving me weak, defenceless, on the verge of death...
But the emerald remains cold, motionless against my neck, indifferent to the terror I try to recreate.
I open my eyes and exhale through my mouth in a frustrated snort.
"Where is the lizard when you need it, huh?" I mutter.
I turn my back on the house, scanning the residential street with my eyes, looking for an alternative. A few metres to my right is the intersection with the main road. Cars pass sporadically, and a terrible idea forms in my mind.
Before rationality can stop me, I dash towards the corner and cross outside the pedestrian crossing. A car approachesquickly. My heart races, but I force myself not to look, to pretend I haven't noticed.
I take one step and then another...
Then the horn pierces the air. The sound is loud, frightening. The tyres screech against the asphalt as the driver tries to brake, tries to swerve. My body reacts and, in a cat-like reflex, I jump back, escaping by a hair's breadth.
But the impact that doesn't happen hits me in another way — my heart pounds, adrenaline burning like ice in my veins, making my whole body tremble.
The man curses something before his car disappears into the distance and I return to the safety of the pavement. My chest rises and falls in frantic breaths, and only then do I realise: the choker is warm against my skin, pulsing, as if following the rhythm of my heart.
"It... it worked," I stammer, still trembling, my chin quivering.
I force my legs to move and dash back, fear still vibrating under my skin as I walk down the street to that house. Each step weighs more than the last, as if the terror refuses to let me go. But it's not the near-death experience that scares me.
What truly terrifies me is the sanity I have lost.
What I am capable of doing just to have a moment with Mark. Just to stand before him as myself. As a woman.
And so I wait.
Four minutes. That's all it takes for his car to appear, pulling into the street with force, its tyres screeching on the asphalt.
I know this because I counted the seconds.
He must have broken every traffic law to get here so fast.
