Sirena
The word hits me like a strike of lightning.
Run.
It echoes through the trees, low and rough, wrapping around me like smoke. For a moment, I can’t move — every muscle trembling, my breath caught somewhere between my throat and my chest. The air feels too thick to swallow, yet too sharp to breathe.
He’s close. I can feel it — the heat of him, the weight of his gaze pressing against my skin, his warm breath on the back of my neck.
Run.
My pulse answers before my mind does. My legs move on their own volition.
The forest swallows me whole. Twigs snap beneath my boots; leaves kick up against my calves.
I wasn’t expecting to run through the forest tonight, and my skirt and fishnets aren’t exactly the best attire for this.
I can feel a cut already bleeding on my leg as my fishnets snag on another twig.
The lantern light completely fades behind me, devoured by the dark.
The only sound louder than my footsteps is my heartbeat — wild, frantic, animalistic.
I don’t know if I’m running from him or for him. The craziest part is that I can’t bring myself to care either way; I just keep running.
The deeper into the forest I go, the more the world seems to tilt on its axis.
The ground dips, rises, and twists beneath me.
I’ve gone off the main trail, worn flat with its countless years of hikers and dog walkers enjoying the Briar Hollow forest, and my feet are unused to this terrain.
My lungs burn, but I don’t stop. Every breath tastes like smoke and night — the scent of him still clinging to it.
Somewhere behind me, I hear it — the steady rhythm of another pair of footsteps. Not rushing. Not chasing.
Following.
Hunting.
My pulse stumbles. The sound of his footsteps grows louder, more deliberate. He’s letting me know he’s there. He wants me to know he isn’t far behind.
The thought sends a shiver down my spine that isn’t entirely fear. There’s a kind of music in the chase — a rhythm between his steps and mine, between the pounding of my heart and the drag of my breath.
“Stop,” I whisper to myself. “Stop running. Just go home.” But I don’t.
The trees thin just enough for the full moon to find me — a pale, silver glow cutting through the canopy. It glances off my mask, my skin damp with sweat, my trembling hands gripping the camera like it could save me.
It’s then that I hear him again. Closer this time, as if he’s right beside me. A low chuckle, dark and amused, curling through the dark like sin and caressing my eardrums with its silk.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “You do know how to run.”
The words root me to the spot. Heat flushing between my legs. What did he call me?
I whirl around, searching the shadows, but see nothing — only movement at the corner of my vision, a flicker of black against the trees.
“Who are you?” My voice shakes.
Silence.
Then — a whisper, carried on the wind.
“You already know.”
My stomach twists. The sound of him isn’t just in my ears; it’s in my bloodstream; it’s coursing through my veins. I can feel it on the back of my neck, in the base of my spine, evident by the warmth pooling between my legs.
“You’re not real,” I breathe, but it sounds like a lie even to me.
Another laugh — closer. “Then why are you trembling?” I can’t answer. I don’t think he expects me to.
The forest feels alive around me, pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat. Every nerve is awake, electric, waiting to be scorched.
And then — silence.
No footsteps. No breath. Nothing. The absence is worse than the sound. I turn slowly, my own breath coming in short, shallow bursts. “Where are you?”
“Everywhere.”
The voice is behind me now. I spin — too slowly.
A gloved hand brushes my arm — barely a touch, but enough to set every nerve in my body alight. My knees threaten to give. The heat of him is overwhelming — wild, real, undeniable. My thighs clamp together, as if that’s going to make a difference.
I don’t move. I can’t.
He leans in close behind me, his breath warm against the shell of my ear. “You ran,” he says softly, the edge of a smile in his voice. “Good girl.”
My lips part as I shakily exhale a breath, a tremor running through my entire body.
“What happens now?”
He exhales — a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh.
“Now,” he says, “I find out what kind of prey you are.”