Page 81 of Prey

The morning air hits my lungs like ice water as I burst from the compound. No hesitation this time—I know the terrain now, know where the ridgelines lead and where the valleys trap you. Four hours. Two hundred and forty minutes to become more than prey. As long as he sticks to the head start today.

I head southwest, away from yesterday’s route. The knife bounces against my hip with each stride, a constant reminder of what I could do but won’t. My legs eat up ground, muscles remembering three months of training in underground gyms, of hunting collectors through Chicago.

You’re not trying to escape,my mind whispers as I vault over a fallen log.You’re performing for him.

Shut up. I push harder, breath misting in the cool air. The forest opens into a meadow, and I sprint across, knowing I’m exposed but needing the speed. Yesterday he herded me. Today I’ll make him work for it.

Twenty minutes in, I find a stream. I step into the shallows and follow it upstream to break my trail. The water’s freezing, but I welcome the shock—it keeps me focused on something other than the heat still pulsing between my legs from last night.

He kept his cock inside you for twelve hours. Claimed you even in sleep.

I stumble on a wet rock and catch myself.

Focus.

The stream curves north, and I abandon it, cutting up a steep embankment. My thighs burn, but I embrace the pain. Pain is clarity. Pain drowns out the memory of how good it felt when he?—

No.

At the top of the ridge, I pause to scan the valley below. Dense forest stretches for miles, but I spot what might be an old fire road cutting through. Roads mean options. Roads mean?—

Roads mean nothing. You could find a car, and you’d still circle back.

My own subconscious is at war with itself. I check the sun’s position. Forty-five minutes down, one hundred ninety-five to go. The knife’s weight pulls at my hip, and I adjust the strap. Such a pretty lie, this weapon. We both know I’d rather die than kill him.

I killed five collectors. Slit their throats while they begged, watched their blood pool on concrete floors. I became what he made me—a predator, a hunter to help women like me kidnapped with the intention of being sold to the highest bidder. But with Nikolai…

With Nikolai, I want to be caught.

The fire road is closer than I thought. I drop down the far side of the ridge, using trees to control my descent. Bark scrapes my palms, but I don’t slow. Can’t slow. If I stop moving, I’ll start thinking about?—

His hands. His mouth. The way he calls mebabylike he owns the word.

A branch catches my shoulder, and I bite back a curse. Focus, Jenna. You’re supposed to be dangerous now. You’re supposed to be?—

His.

The word slams through my defenses, and I actually stop running, hands on my knees, breathing hard. Approximately one hour down based on the position of the sun. Three to go. And I’m already losing the battle inside my own head.

I force myself to move again, jogging now instead of sprinting. I need to pace myself if I’m going to last the full four hours so when he catches me?—

When. Not if. Never if.

The fire road is overgrown but passable. I follow it west, every sense alert for sounds of pursuit even though I know he won’t come yet. He’s probably watching me on some satellite feed. The thought should disturb me. Instead, it sends heat spiraling through my core. Let him watch.

Two hours. Halfway point. I’ve covered maybe five miles, zigzagging through difficult terrain. My legs shake slightly, but I push through. The survival pack has water, and I drink sparingly, knowing I need to ration. The knife has shifted, and I adjust it again, fingers brushing the handle.

You could hide. Set an ambush. Make him bleed a little before he takes you down.

The fantasy unfolds before I can stop it: Nikolai stepping into my trap, surprise flickering in his expression as my blade finds flesh. Not deep—just enough to mark him the way he’s marked me. Just enough to prove I’m not weak.

But then what? He’d disarm me in seconds. Pin me down and fuck me right there in my own blood-scented trap, growling about how I need to be taught a lesson. How I need to remember who I belong to.

My steps falter. God, I’m sick. Broken. Three months of killing collectors didn’t fix me—it gave my damage a different shape. I’m still the girl who got aroused in a cage. Still, the woman who came while her captor?—

A hawk screams overhead, and I jerk back to awareness. Two and a half hours. The sun’s climbing higher, warming the forest floor. I need to keep moving, need to?—

Need to find somewhere good for him to catch you. Somewhere that will make a pretty picture when he breeds you.