Sirena
The air still hums where he touched me. Every nerve, every inch of skin, alive with feral need.
I stumble back against the nearest tree, my heart racing so fast it hurts.
The world feels too quiet now — the kind of silence that comes after lightning, the moment before another boom of thunder erupts.
I can still feel his breath on my neck, the weight of him, the heat that lingers long after he’s gone.
I trace my hands along the hollow of my neck, the ghost of his fingertips still on my skin. I can still feel his breath against my ear, and I can hear the breathless way I moaned for him ringing through my head.
The path home lies ahead, faint and silver in the moonlight, but my body turns the other way. Back into the dark. Back toward him.
The forest seems to know. The branches lean close, the ground soft beneath my feet, guiding me toward something inevitable. Each step feels heavy, as if the night itself is pulling at me — drawing me deeper into its clutches.
He’s out there. Watching. Waiting. I can feel him. I know what he’s waiting for.
My pulse is a drum against my ribs. My thighs press together without thinking, searching for friction, for relief.
It doesn’t help. It only makes it worse.
For a moment, I let myself imagine he catches me.
What would he do? How would the calluses of his hands feel against my bare skin, or his tongue would feel lapping at my center, or the heat of his breath on my inner thighs?
“Where are you…” I whisper, though I already know. He’s everywhere. The air smells of him — smoke, pine, something darker that makes my stomach twist and my breath catch.
The first crack of a branch behind me makes my heart leap. He’s close.
I should run, I really should, but the thought of him chasing me again makes my knees weak. My body trembles, not from fear, but from the memory of being hunted. The way it felt to know he could have me at any moment and chose not to.
The sound comes again — a soft footstep through leaves. Closer this time. Without a second thought, I give him what I know he wants and break into a run. I want to give him everything he wants, so he’ll give me everything I want.
The forest blurs around me, lantern light long gone, firelight diminished, the moon fractured between branches. My breath comes hard, uneven, but beneath the panic is something else — something hot and thrilling.
He’s faster. Always faster.
I can feel the wind shift as he follows, the rhythm of his pursuit steady and deliberate. He’s not running to catch me. He’s running to play. To tease. To draw out the night. To see how far I’ll go before I give up pretending that I don’t want this.
I imagine what will happen when he closes in, the sound of his breath behind me, the heat of his body after the chase, the grasp of his hand in my hair preventing me from moving, controlling where he wants me, where he wants my mouth.
I trip over a root and catch myself against a tree, gasping. My thoughts have my head spinning, and I can’t concentrate on running anymore. The bark bites into my palms, grounding me just long enough to hear it — that low growl, half human, half hunger.
My pulse stutters. He’s here.
The shadows shift and there he is — the mask gleaming bone-white, eyes dark and unrelenting. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Just stands there, letting me look at him, letting me feel what he’s doing to me without ever touching me.
Something inside me breaks. The last thread of restraint snaps. I take a step towards him. He doesn’t retreat. I take another.
The air between us tightens until I can’t breathe. My body hums with want, raw and reckless. Every part of me knows this isn’t safe — and yet, I’ve never wanted anything more.
I can’t take my eyes off him. The Wolf mask made of bone has me mesmerized.
I want to see what’s underneath, and I know, this is the moment I surrender and give in to him.
I can’t deny how badly I want this, how badly my body craves to be touched and claimed by this masked man.
I can feel his hunger, and mine is beginning to match.
His head tilts slightly, the mask catching a sliver of moonlight. “What are you doing, Little Doe?” I can’t see his face, but I feel the smile beneath it — the kind that promises ruin.
“Run,” he says, voice low, rough, made of smoke and want.
The word cuts through me like a spark. My breath catches. My heart answers before my mind can stop it. If this is what he wants, I will give it to him. I turn — and I run, as fast as my legs will carry me.
The forest explodes into sound again, the chase reignited. Branches whip against my arms, the air sharp in my lungs. Behind me, I can hear him — steady, relentless. Closer, every time my foot hits the earth.
And all I can think is: Catch me. God, I want you to catch me.