The Hunt

Chapter 10: Part 1

Emily sighed as she put down the pencil in her hand. She blinked, her hand reaching for the piping hot coffee that sat at one corner of her desk.

The night had not been kind to her. Like every other night, strange visions of gigantic canines and gory violence had haunted her dreams, until she woke breathless and sweaty, too afraid to go back to the phantoms that plagued her mind.

Emily yawned. Sleep had now become a luxury for her.

She picked up the pencil, doodling on the writing pad in front of her. She could see her lack of rest beginning to take a toll on her. When she had jolted awake at three in the morning, images of the aggressive canines still flashing in front of her, she had forced herself to abandon the comfort of her bed and fish out the plain paraphernalia from the drawer in the desk. She had hoped the scraping of lead against paper would bring her some comfort, perhaps soothe her anxious heart, but it did little to no good. She could barely focus, especially considering the now nearly non-existent piece of lead at the tip of the pencil and the noticeable lack of a sharpener in the room.

She had not brought her stationery along, thinking she would be too busy spending time with her father to sketch, a decision she now regretted. She glanced at her phone, which read five-fifteen. Breakfast wouldn't be delivered for the next sixty minutes and her father was unlikely to wake up before that, which gave her enough time to run to the nearest store and return before he did. Emily knew he wouldn't approve of her going out at this hour alone, especially in a place she wasn't necessarily familiar with. But Henry had always been an overprotective father, and the restrictions were beginning to suffocate her. The rules he imposed felt almost like a handicap to her.

What he didn't know couldn't hurt him, Emily thought as she quickly jumped to her feet. The thrill of doing something she knew she wasn't supposed to pumped in her veins. She threw on a coat and a scarf, and sunglasses for good measure.

Just in case, she told herself.

Nervous and excited, Emily carefully locked the door behind her and strode out of the cottage. Unaware of the large lycan that followed her down the snowy roads.

~~~

Emily sighed as another apple rolled away from her. After she had selected her set of equipment, an assortment of snacks had caught her eye, which had been followed by a pile of apples. She did need something to munch on when she awoke at ungodly hours every night, she had thought.

Emily thoroughly regretted her purchase.

The apples seemed to have some sort of aversion to paper and a passionate attraction to snow or soil or both, because they kept poking holes in her bag to tumble out one after another onto the road. And while Emily had begun with five apples, like any unreasonable fifth-grade math problem, she was now left with three.

On top of that, when she had left, the air had been cold and unforgiving. But now, she could feel sweat form under her armpits. This was what she hated about winter clothing- your hands could be numb with cold, but the covered parts of the body were bound to be sweaty and disgusting. And the cherry on the cake was boob-sweat.

Emily hated boob-sweat.

She watched another apple roll away in despair. It kept rolling, treading the thin layer of snow to stop at boot-clad feet. She traced the figure with her eyes, from the shiny boots to the humble clothes all the way up to the pale, handsome face framed with blonde hair. A pair of curious green eyes shone with what she identified as amusement, lips curved in a suppressed smile. Emily nearly groaned in embarrassment.