Run Little Fawn (Hunter’s Mark #1)

Chapter 9

THE FAWN

I press down on the accelerator, the engine roaring in protest as the speedometer climbs higher and higher. The road stretches out before me, an endless ribbon of asphalt cutting through the darkness.

In the distance, the sun is just starting to peek over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. It's a beautiful sight, one that would normally fill me with a sense of peace and wonder.

But all I can feel is the cold grip of fear, the icy tendrils of dread that curl around my heart and squeeze until I can barely breathe. Because I know that somewhere out there, a wolf is on my trail, his hunger growing with every passing mile.

And he won't stop until he's devoured me whole.

The burner phone buzzes again, the sound as loud as a gunshot in the quiet of the car. I flinch, my heart leaping into my throat as I fumble for the device with shaking hands.

Four messages from him, the words stark and chilling against the bright screen.

Tick tock, little fawn.

The clock is ticking away, and I'm getting closer with every second.

Can you feel me breathing down your neck yet?

- H

I hurl the phone into the passenger seat with a strangled cry, my eyes blurring with tears of rage and terror. He's in my head, the sick fuck. Burrowing into my thoughts like a parasite, feeding off my fear and desperation.

The phone has to be tracked. And yet, he hasn't found me yet. The only reason I didn't hurl it out of the window miles ago was the fact that the message said not to, and I don't know what he'll do if I disobey a direct order. Will he take it out on my family and Nat?

So far, he seems to be playing by his fucked up rules. So will I. I at least need to lull him into a false sense of security by making him think I am. And the rules of the game state clearly that my life isn't in danger until the seventh and final hunt.

I shudder at the thought of the consequences the other six times, my knuckles going white on the wheel, but I can't let myself dwell on that now. I have some time at least to learn the ropes of the game, to test whether he really is tracking me with this damn phone.

And if he is… if he catches me the first few rounds, he won't be expecting me to ditch the phone on one of the following hunts.

Especially not if I abandon it in another vehicle, so it looks like I'm traveling. Or better yet, a fucking cruise ship where he can spend two weeks tracking my ass across the Atlantic ocean only to realize I'm not there.

It would at least give me long enough to get help, and get Mom, Ava and Natalie out of this twisted freak's reach.

Long enough even to evade him for seven days.

It's far from a foolproof plan, and it's dependent on the Order following their own rules, but after nearly a full day of agonizing, it's the best one I've come up with. Not like I have many options right now.

The nearest port to me is in New York, but I'm a far cry from being able to implement that plan, so I figure I'll just get as close as I can tonight without tipping him off. He'll probably think I'm planning on going into a city to disappear.

That's probably not the worst way to spend round one, I have to admit.

The important thing is to just keep moving and not give in to the part of me that's already tempted to give up.

I'm stronger than that. I have to be.

I focus on the road ahead, on the steady thrum of the engine and the whisper of the wind outside the windows. I lose myself in the monotony of the drive, the miles blurring together until I'm not sure how long I've been behind the wheel.

Hours pass, the sun climbing higher in the sky until it's directly overhead, beating down on the battered metal roof of the truck like a physical weight. My eyes feel gritty and raw, my muscles cramping from too long spent in one position.

But I don't dare stop. Not now, not when I'm finally putting some real distance between myself and my pursuer. Every mile I put behind me is another small victory, another step toward freedom.

Or so I tell myself.

The truth is, I'm running on fumes.

Both literally and figuratively.

The gas gauge is hovering just above empty again, the needle dipping dangerously low with each passing minute. And my mind feels like it's about to splinter into a thousand jagged pieces, exhaustion and adrenaline warring for dominance in my veins.

I need to rest. To eat something, to stretch my legs and clear my head before I drive myself straight into a ditch. But the thought of stopping, of being still for even a moment, fills me with a sickening sense of dread.

The next exit sign looms ahead, the faded letters promising fuel and food. My stomach twists at the thought of either, but I know I don't have a choice. The truck is running on fumes, and so am I.

I take the exit, my heart pounding as I pull into the deserted gas station. It's one of those old, run-down places, the kind that looks like it hasn't seen a customer in years. The perfect spot for an ambush.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the paranoid thoughts. He's not here. He can't be. I would know if he was close, would feel his presence like a physical thing, a weight pressing down on my chest until I can barely breathe.

I climb out of the truck, my legs wobbling like a newborn colt's as I make my way inside. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting eerie shadows on the grimy linoleum floor. The air smells of stale cigarettes and desperation, a cloying scent that clings to the back of my throat.

The guy behind the counter barely glances up as I approach, his eyes glued to the small TV mounted on the wall. I clear my throat, my voice sounding alien to my own ears as I ask for a fill-up and a bottle of water.

He grunts in response, his gaze flicking over me with a mix of disinterest and disdain. I can only imagine what I must look like, my hair a tangled mess, my clothes rumpled. I probably reek of fear and exhaustion, a walking target for any predator with half a brain.

I hand over a crumpled wad of bills, my fingers trembling as they brush against his. He counts the money slowly, deliberately, as if savoring my discomfort. I want to scream at him to hurry up, to just let me get back on the road and as far away from here as possible.

But I don't. I can't.

Drawing attention to myself is the last thing I need right now.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, the vibration sending a jolt of pure terror through my veins. I fumble for it with numb fingers, my breath catching in my throat as I see the messages on the screen.

You look succulent even in those baggy clothes, little fawn.

I could just eat you up.

- H

The world tilts on its axis, the dingy gas station fading away as a wave of dizzying panic crashes over me. He's here. He has to be. How else could he know what I'm wearing? What I look like right now?

I spin around, my eyes darting wildly as I search for any sign of him. But there's no one there. Just the bored cashier and a few racks of stale snacks and motor oil.

I'm losing my mind. That's the only explanation. The stress and the fear are finally taking their toll, making me see threats where there are none. He's just fucking with me.

But even as I try to convince myself of that, I can feel his eyes on me. Watching. Waiting. Like a wolf stalking its prey, biding its time until the perfect moment to strike.

I grab the water and my change, mumbling a barely coherent thanks to the cashier as I all but run back to the truck. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely get the key in the ignition, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps as I peel out of the parking lot.

I don't know where I'm going. I don't know what I'm doing. All I know is that I have to keep moving, have to put as much distance between myself and this place as possible.

Because if I don't, if I let him catch me now...it's game over. And I'm not ready for that. Not yet. Not ever.

So I drive, the miles blurring together once more as I lose myself in the endless stretch of highway. And all the while, his words echo in my mind, a taunting reminder of the fate that awaits me if I falter.

Tick tock, little fawn. Tick tock.