Miss Angelina [2024 Rewrite]

[1] Dalliance

It was too quiet.

The forest unnaturally still. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

My pulse thudded in my ears, a steady rhythm that felt too loud in the oppressive silence. Only the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant flap of wings broke the tension, like small cracks in an otherwise suffocating vacuum.

I let out an almost exasperated noise as I scanned the ground beneath my feet, each step deliberate, my eyes sharp for any sign, any trace. He was here. He had to be.

"You can't run," I called out into the thickening shadows ahead. My voice carried through the trees, swallowed quickly by the growing darkness. The moon hung low in the sky now, casting pale light on the gnarled branches that clawed at the night air.

Somewhere ahead, I heard it—the faint sound of muffled breathing, as if he were trying to stifle a scream. Panic, sweet and tangible, clung to the air like mist. My lips curled in a smile.

I hadn't held this one for long, but he had already begun to unravel. I took him along with another, both from the same town—a spontaneous indulgence, really. The first one had outlived his usefulness weeks ago. The months of toying with that boy had grown too tiresome. The scales had tipped, and the fun could no longer outweigh the effort. But this one... This one had fire. I liked that.

Maybe I liked him too much. That was my mistake. A novice mistake.

He'd slipped away, a rare thing, and fled into the woods—these woods, which stretched for miles. They were close to home, and if he had been more careful, he might have made it farther. But he wasn't careful. Not enough to escape me. If he had wanted to leave at all, that is.

I ducked under a low-hanging branch, my hair catching in the twigs. Blood from my earlier kill stained the tips, dark, sticky and knotting at the edges. I had wanted to clean myself up before chasing him, but he hadn't given me the time. Still, I rather enjoyed the mess. It felt... intimate. A reminder of the hunt. Over the past few days, I'd spent more and more time with this fleeing prey of mine, and that all too comfortable sensation of desire crept up behind me. The desire to kill.

Looking into his eyes still sent a thrill through me, just as it had the night we first met. But that thrill had grown dangerous, so I ventured out to a nearby club and lured in another man—someone I didn't hesitate to sink my teeth into right away. If I were to give my prey the benefit of the doubt, perhaps he had heard me bring that one home, and this whole little escapade was born out of jealousy.

The wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of sweat and blood. His fear. It clung to the trees, swirling through the night air. I inhaled deeply, savouring the mix. Fear always comes with the tang of death, like a shadow lingering just out of sight, waiting, looking over your shoulder, breathing slowly as your mind races. It was here, in these woods, under this moon.