Page 285 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

He doesn't either.

Then the shadow slides left, circling. The unhurried, measured gait of something that knows exactly where its prey is and isn't in any rush.

I bolt.

Straight downhill, crashing through the undergrowth with zero regard for stealth because stealth is over, I've been made, and the only advantage I have now is speed and the fact that I'm small enough to fit through gaps he can't.

Branches slap my face. My boot catches a root and I stagger but don't fall, momentum carrying me forward, my arms windmilling for balance and duffel bag swinging wildly off my shoulder.

Behind me, the undergrowth parts. Something huge and fast is simply flowing through the trees after me.

Fuck!

I cut hard to the right, ducking under a fallen pine that's wedged between two standing trunks at chest height. I slide under it on my back, the bark scraping my coat, and roll to my feet on the other side.

I freeze, crouched on the other side of the fallen pine, and look back through the gap I just slithered under.

Moonlight.

Empty forest.

He could be anywhere.

I scramble backward on my hands, putting distance between me and the fallen tree, then turn and run again. Quieter this time. Picking my steps, using the balls of my feet.

This time, I go uphill. My legs are burning so bad I have to grit my teeth to power through it, but the terrain gets rougher as I climb and that's what I want.

More obstacles.

More gaps too small for a predator his size.

I fumble with my zipper as I run, pawing through the clothes I stuffed in the duffel bag that are covered in my scent. I fling a balled-up pair of panties in another direction.

That'll slow him down.

I toss another pair of panties into a tree above me before vaulting a crumbling low rock wall and land hard on the other side, my ankle protesting.

A cluster of young pines grows thick here, their branches low enough to form a wall of needles. I stuff my bra between the stones and pack in earth to hide it.

I hear him behind me now, and I know it's because he wants me to hear him. The soft crunch of his boots on pine needles, measured and unhurried, perfectly in rhythm.

I hear him pause further back and wonder if he found my panties.

Good fucking luck, Valek.

I shove through the wall of pine needles, the branches scraping my face and hands and snagging the strap of my duffel bag, and push out the other side into a small clearing lit by a single shaft of moonlight.

The ice-blue glow of the wolf mask appears at the edge of the pines behind me.

Shit.

There's a tree at the edge of the clearing. A big one, an oak, its lowest branch about seven feet up. Too high for most people to reach.

I'm not most people.

I take three running steps, jump, and catch the branch with both hands. The bark bites into my palms as I swing my legs up, hooking one knee over the branch and hauling myself up with pure adrenaline and stubbornness.

Second branch. Higher. I grab it and pull, my arms shaking, my boots scraping the bark for purchase.