To Live Again

4. Wicked Games

Nothing. There's no sound. Not even the creak of the trees or the rustle of the leaves. Not even an animal scurries beneath our feet, or a bird twitter in the boughs.

And I don't dare break that silence.

I hold myself poised. Spine poker straight, tensed, and ready to rocket forward, or sideways, or dive if I must. This thingis feral. His movements too small and attuned, like he's stalking. It doesn't help that those wounds weep crimson and he doesn't flinch, the only thing giving away that he's remotely aware of them is the occasional tremor of muscles twitching and straining.

His breath finally breaks the deafening quiet. A puff of hot air swirls against the night, then another, and those broad shoulders shift. His head tilting by fractions ... listening.

The tree behind me creaks and a chill shoots my spine when I feel the ground shift ever so subtly under my feet. The roots maybe? Boughs move, groaning, and their shadowy limbs grow, their silhouette engulfing mine. I shut my eyes, hands drawing into tight fists. I've no choice but to move. Whatever magic this demon has over the wild he'll either sense me or force me to move. I'd rather be in motion, at least then I have a shot of surviving. A tiny one. But's he's blind, if I can stay just out of reach it might be enough.

There's pulse under my feet, it rocks my balance. My foot slips forward. The tiny sound is enough to draw his intense focus.

Screw it. It's do or die.

I dig the balls of my feet into the earth. The shoeless foot squelching in rotted leaves. I spin, catching his approach out of the corner of my eye. He's knows where I am. I throw myself forward so hard I nearly hit the ground.

His breath escapes in something short of a growl. The earth pulses, roots visibly arching out of the earth, they ripple like an electrical vibrations and I scramble, tripping over them, but still somehow keeping upright. My breath catches in my throat. Lungs bursting against my chest. I daren't breath, or scream ... he's so close.

So fast.

A hand snaps around my forearm. I go loose and rigid. Ice runs through my veins and my stomach bottoms out.

No. I strive forward despite his hand, but that iron-clad grip yanks me backward. The force so hard my legs buckle. The ice thrilling through my blood melts with the flame-hot fingers searing into my arm. The shock has me reeling, tears pricking my eyes when I bite through the skin of my lips to muffle a scream ... but I can't.

"No!" I cry when that hand is replaced with an arm. A bloody, mottled, disfigured arm that twines around my waist and hauls me upright. "No!" I slam by fists down hard on his arm, then dig my nails, kicking my feet back and flailing in his grip. "Let go."

A snarl. Not animal, but no less vicious sends a shudder through my bones and in one swift twitch of his arm I'm propelled outward and find myself face first on the forest floor. Jackass. So he's going play with his dinner. I grind my teeth and shove up onto elbows, twisting around just in time to see his boots where they land a hairbreadth from my head.

I hiss air through barred teeth and pull my arm above my head, ready for the blow. It doesn't come. There's nothing, only the sound of his laboured breathing. I chance the slightest peek upward. My own breath fast along with the rapid thundering of my heartbeat which sounds way too loud even for me. It booms in my head, disorientating me, but not enough to question why this beast looms over me but won't strike. Instead, his glower is offset, one hand outstretched, palm spread, like ... a shield.

"What do you want?" I spit between gulps of air.

My voice hits him like an arrow. He snaps his head down, gaze focused and for a moment it's like he can see, like his eyes meet mine. His eyes.