Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 75(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 75(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
She casts her eyes down, focusing on the gold flecks on the marble floor. “Are you taking part in the hunt?”
I touch the delicate skin under her chin with my index finger, raising it so she’s forced to look at me. My eyes trail down her body, smiling at the idea of marking her pretty flesh before meeting her dark eyes. “I’ll be taking part in hunting you.”
Chapter Four
Bree
“I’ll be taking part in hunting you.”
The gravel in his voice and the heat in his touch send electric currents surging through my body. The intensity of his eyes has me clenching my thighs and needing a change of panties. He’s a big man. He towers over my five feet four-inch height.
When the whistle blows for the prey, I don’t bother responding to his comment. I scamper off with the deep sound of his laughter following me. He’s got a nice laugh. It’s not menacing like his appearance. It’s oddly jovial, like a mall Santa’s. A guy who can laugh like that can’t be all bad, right?
The blond guy's name was Ted. A pompous jerk who wouldn’t take my “no, thank you” to his advances. Every time his hot breath landed on my flesh, I wanted to tuck my tail between my legs and run. I’ve been around men like him before, entitled, arrogant, and convinced they can have whatever they want. I came here to get off, not to get fucked while my vag was dry like the Sahara. Ted is the kind of guy who would stick his dick in a dry vagina and then make his delusional mind believe he’s a good lover. He’d probably only last a second too. He gave off one-minute-man energy. But the masked man, he was something else.
Yes, Jason Voorhees energy.
He looks dangerous and not in the “bad boy riding a motorcycle” way, but the “he might chop up bodies and hide them in the cellar” way. Yet even knowing the guy is something strange, I’m drawn to his gritty voice and piercing blue eyes. Those eyes. They can’t be normal. Wolves don’t even have eyes that blue.
But the devil does.
I line up in formation with twenty or so other women. Our eyes are locked on the prison gladiator-type gate in front of us facing the forest beyond. It’s a bit dramatic, but I suppose the club wants to set the mood.
A crackling, static sound comes from the loudspeakers above. “Prey,” a deep, ominous voice announces. “It is time to begin.” The creaking sound of the metal gates is jarring as they rise, exposing the lush wilderness beyond. “Run far, run fast, run like your life depends on it.” A pause for effect. “Because it might.”
The tiny hairs on my arms stand at attention, and goose flesh pricks along my skin. My feet make haste over the unleveled slopes and valleys on the ground. There are rock formations ahead of me, pebbled along the lush green grass. Trees complete the landscape, high, looming, and majestic.
Fresh air moves into my lungs as I focus on my breathing. I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into, but there’s a rush, a boost of adrenaline flowing in my veins, a most intoxicating drug I want to be lost in forever.
I haven’t been running long, but the concept of running from something makes me feel like I’ve been running for hours. This is a funny game to want to play. I chase to be caught, yet I still run. A sense of danger builds within me. Theoretically, this is a safe situation. The danger is not the running itself but the chase. The anticipation of what will happen once I’m finally caught. This could be a complete bust, a lackluster experience, a waste of time, or it could be what I’ve been searching for. It all depends on the predator who catches me in his grasp.
There’s a sense of freedom running in the wild. It creates a oneness of humanity and nature, a sense of unity. My hands brace against the trees surrounding me so I can propel my legs to run faster and longer.
Growls can be heard off in the distance behind me, forcing me to sprint. I dash through the sanctuary of the trees, stopping at a large elm with lush leaves.
I turn at the sound of rustling leaves behind me. Mikhail and that creepy Ted guy are at my heels. Growls that sound more like wild animals than men escape from the depths of their mouths. Their bodies are poised for a fight. Mikhail isn’t wearing a shirt, just dark pants, his feet bare. The sight of him has my body in overdrive as if kerosene has been poured on it before the flame sets it ablaze. A foreign sense of desire and longing lingers beneath the surface.