I had called Addison to tell her how weird it was I got sick. I don’t get sick often, and I never throw up. I was about to tell her about Ryker being there when out of the dark shadows of the treeline, a red wolf sprinted across the road. I had to swerve to miss him. And using my wonderful and smart decision-making skills, I decided to abandon my Jeep and run after the wolf. Fully aware the red wolf isn’t even close to looking like my wolf. But I’m desperate to find him—I didn’t care.
I lost track of the red wolf almost immediately and have now spent the last twenty minutes running aimlessly through the woods. The farther I go, the darker it gets, the moonlight above barely cutting through the thick greenery. And unlike in the dream in which I know where I’m going and don’t fear the dark, I have no idea where I am, and I am most definitely feeling afraid.
“You’re a fucking idiot Pruitt Bailey,” I mumble to myself as I duck under another long hanging tree branch. I’m lucky I saw this one because I ran into the last one and I’m absolutely sure I have a cut on my cheek now. “Who’s going to be able to find your ass out here? Well, knowing Addison, she probably already called the cops, but how long do I have to be missing for them to even consider looking for me? Twenty-four hours? Forty-eight? Well shit. By then, I’m going to be squirrel food.”
The horrible image of my face being eaten by the bushy tail rodents pops into my head, and I shudder. “Yikes, that is not the way you want to go out, Pru.”
I kick at the brush under my feet in frustration. I don’t know what it is about the black wolf from my dream that has me so caught up. I spend all my free time in my little art studio Addison built for me in the barn recreating the wolf’s face. The entire hayloft-turned-art-studio is littered with portraits of him. Golden eyes stare at me from every surface. Remi always asks why she can’t go up there, and I always lie and say it’s where Addison keeps her new top-secret clothing designs. But truthfully, I don’t want to explain to someone I’m not crazy and this wolf appeared to me for a reason.
But I am going crazy. I followed a wild predator into the woods and chased after it. No sane person would ever do something so stupid.
I think back to when I saw the golden glow around Ryker Weylyn. It was the same shimmering aura that surrounds the wolf in my dream. I’m hoping it was just a trick of the setting sun that made the effect. Otherwise, my crazy dreams are actually starting to come true, and that scares the crap out of me. Chasing after wolves in unfamiliar woods is one thing, but a golden aura surrounding my best friend’s brother is another. I will absolutely need therapy if I see it again around Ryker.
That is, if I ever get out of these godforsaken woods.
I pass a tree that looks familiar, and then I laugh at myself for thinking a tree would look familiar. “They all look the exact same,” I grumble to myself.
I yelp when the tip of my boot gets stuck under a rock and causes me to fall to my hands and knees. I hang my head and let out a long breath. “You get lost in parking lots, and you thought you were going to be able to find your way out of these woods?” I question aloud.
I’m just about to pull myself up when the hairs on my neck rise, and I realize I’m not alone. In the dream, I’m never afraid because I know the wolf I’m there with will never hurt me, but something twists in my gut, telling me the thing that is out here with me now is malicious and hateful. I can’t see it, but I know it is somewhere in front of me.
I slowly rise back to my feet, carefully brushing my hands off on my jeans. The stinging on my palms most likely means I broke the skin there, but it’s so dark where I’m standing right now I can’t even see my hand in front of my face. Great, hopefully, this thing isn’t like a shark and drawn to blood, because I feel a slight wetness building on my right palm.
All the shows about animals I watched growing up fill my head as I’m trying to remember if I should make myself seem large or if I should make myself seem small. But my fight or flight response is kicking in and screaming at me to run.
What direction do I go?
Go right, the voice in my head suggests. I don’t know what’s in that direction, but it has to be better than the beast in the shadows that has starting snarling at me.
With one more look toward the dark shape in front of me, I take off as fast as I can to the right, my feet pound into the soft forest floor, but I know there’s no way I can outrun the thing behind me.
My leg muscles are on fire, and my lungs burn, but I push myself to run faster and to not look back. I try not to pay attention to the heavy breathing and snarling right behind me, and instead, try to listen to my gut telling me I have to make it a little bit farther, and I’ll be okay.
I
