Run Little Fawn (Hunter’s Mark #1)

Chapter 12

THE FAWN

I jolt awake in the cheap motel room, my heart slamming against my ribcage as the shrill buzz of the phone pierces the gray dawn. My hand shakes as I pick it up, already knowing what I'll see on the screen.

The second hunt begins soon.

I’m coming for you, little fawn.

Lucian's words chill my blood as I take a deep breath, trying to steel myself for what's to come. For the dangerous new game I've decided to play.

This time, I'm not going to run.

I'm going to let Lucian catch me.

Let him think he's bested me, that I'm weak and broken and his for the taking. And all the while, I'll be studying him, learning what makes him tick, searching for any weakness I can exploit.

It's a desperate gamble, one that could easily get me killed.

Or worse.

But what choice do I have? I can't run forever. He's proven time and time again, there's nothing I can do to physically get away from him. And if I'm going to beat the twisted bastard at his own game, I need to understand the rules.

Not just the ones on the surface.

I dress quickly, my movements precise and methodical despite the adrenaline thrumming through my veins.

I leave a few things behind. Let him think I left in a panic, too frightened and frazzled to cover my tracks.

I step out into the chill morning air, suppressing a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold. The parking lot is deserted, the rusted truck waiting exactly where I left it. For a moment, I'm tempted to climb in and peel out, to put as much distance as I can between me and this godforsaken place.

But that's what the old Aria would do.

The frightened fawn cowering from the big bad wolf.

I force myself to walk past the truck, my stride purposeful as I cross to the road.

I stick out my thumb, the universal sign of the hitchhiker. It feels strange, reckless, like I'm tempting fate.

But what's the worst that could happen? I get picked up by another serial killer? At least it won't be one that's been hunting me like an animal.

I've always been the careful one, the girl who follows the rules and plays it safe. Standing on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, soliciting rides from strangers? It goes against every instinct I have.

But that's the point, isn't it? To do the unexpected. To throw Lucian off balance, keep him guessing. He probably thinks I'll steal another car, or hop on a bus.

And I will. But not yet. Not until I've left a trail of false leads and dead ends for him to follow.

He wants a challenge? Fine. I'll give it to him.

It's almost ten minutes before a truck rumbles to a stop beside me. The driver leans out, his bearded face creased with concern. "You okay there, miss? You need some help?"

I paste on my most disarming smile, channeling every ounce of innocent charm I can muster. "I'm headed to New York. Any chance you're going that way?"

He hesitates, clearly torn between his better judgment and the desire to help. I can see the moment he makes his decision, his shoulders slumping with resignation. "Climb on in. I can take you as far as Philly."

I scramble into the cab before he can change his mind, my duffel bag clutched to my chest like a shield. "Thanks. I really appreciate it."

"No problem. I'm Hank, by the way."

"Anna," I lie smoothly. My real name is too unusual. I don't need him to remember it.

We ride in silence for a while, the miles rolling by in a blur of trees and telephone poles. I keep my eyes glued to the side mirror, my heart leaping into my throat every time a car appears on the horizon.

Is it him?

Has he found me already?

But the cars pass without slowing, their drivers oblivious to the high-stakes game being played out on the asphalt.

I allow myself to relax fractionally, my death grip on my bag loosening.

Hank clears his throat, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. "If you don't mind me asking, what's a young lady like you doing hitchhiking all alone? It's not safe, you know."

I shrug, the lie coming easily. "My boyfriend dumped me. Wanted to surprise him for our anniversary, but I found him in bed with my best friend instead."

Hank makes a sympathetic noise, shaking his head. "That's rough. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I'm better off without him." I stare out the window, watching the landscape change from rural to suburban to industrial as we approach the city. "I just want to start fresh, you know? Put the past behind me."

It's not entirely a lie. I do want to start fresh. But not in the way Hank thinks. I want to shed my skin, to transform from prey to predator.

To become someone Lucian won't see coming until it's too late.

We lapse into silence again, Hank humming tunelessly along with the country station crackling from the radio. I'm grateful for the quiet, for the chance to gather my thoughts and shore up my nerves.

All too soon, the truck is slowing, the Welcome to Philadelphia sign looming ahead. Hank pulls into a rest stop, his expression apologetic as he turns to me.

"This is as far as I can take you. You gonna be okay from here?"

I force a smile, my hand already on the door handle. "I'll be fine. Thanks again for the ride."

I hop down from the cab before he can say anything else, my feet hitting the pavement with a jarring thud.

I feel exposed, vulnerable, like a rabbit darting from cover to cover. Every instinct screams at me to run, to find a dark corner to cower in until the danger passes.

But I force myself to walk calmly across the parking lot, just another traveler stretching her legs.

I keep my head down, my hair falling forward to obscure my face. I can feel eyes on me, curious and assessing, but I don't acknowledge them.

The last thing I need is to draw attention to myself.

I head for the bus station, a low concrete building squatting at the edge of the lot. It's dingy and depressing, the air thick with the smell of exhaust and stale sweat.

But it's perfect for my purposes. Lots of people coming and going, their faces blurring together in a sea of anonymity.

I scan the departure board, my eyes landing on a bus to Syracuse leaving in twenty minutes.

It's not my final destination, but it's a start. A way to throw Lucian off my trail, to make him think I'm zigzagging my way across the state.

I approach the ticket counter, a bored-looking woman with over-plucked eyebrows barely glancing up as I slide my cash across the scratched plexiglass.

"One ticket to Syracuse, please."

Hopefully, he'll think I'm running for Canada.

If I let him catch me in Syracuse, let him think I'm stopping to rest in the anonymity of a city before I cross the border, he'll pounce. And I'll have a better idea of just how desperate he is if he thinks that's my goal.

She punches a few keys on her computer, her long nails clacking against the plastic. A ticket spits out of the printer, the paper still warm as she hands it over.

"Gate six. Better hurry."

I mumble my thanks and hurry away, my heart pounding as I weave through the crowd. I can't shake the feeling that he's here, watching me. That those cold gray eyes are tracking my every move. A wolf stalking a wounded deer.

But I don't see him. Not in the line for the bathroom, or browsing the sad selection of snacks in the vending machine. Not lounging on the hard plastic seats, or pacing the perimeter with predatory grace.

Of course not. He's too smart for that. Too patient. He won't strike until the time is right, until he's sure he has me exactly where he wants me.

The thought sends a shiver down my spine. Fear and something darker, more primal, coils in my belly.

I think of his hands on me in the forest, the brutal strength of his body pinning me down. The hot rasp of his breath on my neck, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered dark words.

What would he do if he caught me now? Would he drag me into a dark corner, hike up my skirt and take what he's been chasing?

Would he make me beg for it? Make me admit how much a part of me wants it, even as I'm terrified of what it means? Terrified of what he's going to do on that seventh hunt?

I shake my head, disgusted with myself.

This is no time for twisted fantasies.

I can't afford to let him get in my head, to muddy the waters between fear and desire. He's a monster, a killer. A sadist who's getting off on the thrill of terrorizing me.

I can't forget that, no matter how my traitorous body reacts to him.

The bus is half-full when I climb aboard, a motley assortment of travelers settling into their seats. I choose a spot near the back, wedging myself against the window with my duffel bag hugged to my chest.

I feel a prickle on the back of my neck, an itch between my shoulder blades like crosshairs lining up for a shot. I fight the urge to turn around, to scan the faces behind me for a glimpse of platinum hair and piercing gray eyes.

He's not here. He can't be. I would know if he was close, would feel his presence like an electrical charge crackling over my skin.

Wouldn't I?

The bus lurches into motion, the driver's gravelly voice crackling over the intercom. "Next stop, Rochester. Arrival in approximately one hour and fifteen minutes."

I lean my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the scenery blur past in a smear of color. The adrenaline is starting to ebb, exhaustion weighing down my limbs like lead. I haven't slept more than a few fitful hours in what feels like a dangerously long time, too wired and terrified to let my guard down for long. Outside of a few bites from one of the granola bars in my duffel bag, I haven't even been able to eat.

I can't afford to be sloppy.

Can't afford to let fatigue dull my edge, slow my reflexes.

I need to be sharp, alert. Ready for anything.

Even as the thought crosses my mind, I feel my eyelids growing heavy. The rumble of the engine is strangely soothing, the rhythm of the road lulling me into a hazy half-sleep.

I'm drifting on the edge of a dream when I feel it. A whisper of breath on the back of my neck, a phantom touch trailing down my spine. I stiffen, my heart slamming into overdrive as I whip around in my seat.

But there's no one there. Just an elderly woman dozing beneath a crocheted blanket, her mouth slack and her chin wobbling with each bump in the road.

I slump back against the seat, my pulse gradually slowing. Just my imagination, conjuring phantoms out of shadows and nerves. I need to get a grip.

Before I completely lose my mind.

I close my eyes again, willing myself to relax. To sink into the faux leather and let the road carry me away, just for a little while.

I'm safe for now—at least, as safe as I can be with a wolf on my heels and a target on my back.

The next thing I know, the driver's voice is jarring me awake. "Ladies and gentlemen, we'll be arriving in Syracuse in approximately fifteen minutes. Please gather your belongings and prepare to disembark."

I blink groggily, my neck stiff and my mouth dry.

I can't believe I slept the whole way, dead to the world as the miles rolled by. Anything could have happened. Anyone could have...

No. I can't think like that. I'm still here, still in one piece.

I stretch, my joints popping as I reach for my bag. I'm halfway down the aisle when I see it. A flash of blond hair, a glimpse of a broad shoulders in a black leather jacket. My heart stutters, adrenaline spiking through my veins like a shot of pure terror.

It's him. It has to be.

He's found me.

Just like he promised he would.

But when I push my way to the front of the bus, elbowing past grumbling passengers, there's no sign of him. No tall, menacing figure waiting on the curb. No cold gray eyes burning into me with predatory hunger.

Just a busy street, people hurrying past with their heads down and their eyes glued to their phones. I stand there for a moment, my heart hammering and my palms slick with sweat.

Was it really him? Or just another trick of my fraying nerves, my exhausted mind playing cruel jokes?

I don't know anymore. I don't know anything, except that I can't let my guard down. Can't assume I'm safe, even for a second.

I hoist my bag higher on my shoulder and step out into the flow of foot traffic. I keep my head down, my eyes darting behind dark sunglasses as I scan the faces around me.

Looking for him. Looking for danger.

But the truth is, he could be anyone.

The businessman in the sharp suit, the construction worker in a hard hat and reflective vest. The delivery guy on a bike, the homeless man slumped against a building with a cardboard sign.

He's a chameleon, blending seamlessly into any crowd. A predator in plain sight, stalking me through a concrete jungle instead of a forest of trees.

I walk faster, my stride eating up the sidewalk. I don't know where I'm going, just that I need to keep moving. Need to stay one step ahead, even as the distance between us closes with every passing second.

I'm crossing an intersection when I hear it. A sound that stops me dead in my tracks, my blood turning to ice water in my veins.

A whistle, low and piercing. Two short, sharp blasts, cutting through the city noise like a blade.

It's him. It has to be.

I whirl around, my eyes frantically scanning the crowd.

And there, on the opposite corner, I see him.

He's leaning against a lamppost, his arms crossed over his chest and his ankles casually crossed. He looks like any other guy, just another face in the crowd.

But I know better.

I know the coiled strength in those shoulders, the lethal grace in those long legs. I know the hunger in those eyes, the cruel curve of that mouth.

I know him, even if I don't want to.

Even if every cell in my body is screaming for me to run, to hide, to get as far away from him as I can.

But I don't.

I take a deep breath, my fingers tightening on the strap of my bag. And then I step off the curb, into the street.

Into the wolf's waiting jaws.