Chapter 31: Hunted

Ben's cheeks burned cold night air and he ran, his breathing harsh, ragged gasps. The forest that surrounded him was a darkness, the towering trees looming over him pitilessly, their bare arms reaching to the skies like skeletal fingers. His boots pounded the damp earth in rhythmic thrusts, his muscles protesting angrily, but he couldn't. Wouldn't. His strength behind was a coarse, brutal terror, an ungovernable need to get away from the unspoken horror which stumbled behind.

He was unable to turn around. The vision of the monster, that loathsome horror of nature, was seared into his mind, a hell of life. Its eyes, with their wicked gleam, had devoured the shadows, slobbering before him with foul greed. He could still sense its quivering, tearing gasp, a ghastly accompaniment to the frantic thudding of his own heart.

The woods were a series of roots upheaved and fallen trees, a killing maze of blackness in the jet black. He tripped, his foot caught in a turned root, and sprawled onto the ground. The wind was driven from his chest as he came crashing out onto the earth, the jolt of shock racing through his already bruised frame. For a few seconds, he just remained on the ground, gulping in coarse breaths, his heart banging against his chest. He detected the rustling leaves, cracking sticks, the unmistakable sound of movement from his tracker approaching. He tried to rise, his palms burning with the coarse earth. Panic struck him, a constricting fear that might freeze him in place. He must move. He needs cover. He must survive.

The moon was a miserable white splinter of pencil thickness, barely gleaming, projecting long jagged shadows twisting and writhing, mocking his eyes. Every crash of the leaves, every creak of the branches was the monster's pursuit to his ears. He ran once more, gasping, his legs encumbered, his brain flying.

He remembered the charred hunter's cabin deep in the woods. It was his last hope. If he could reach it, he might be able to find a weapon, something to defend himself with. He pushed on, driven by adrenaline and desperation.

The wind cut across him, a chill slash through his thin jacket. The trees loomed overhead, the forest a black wall of unbroken wood. He was lost, didn't know where he was headed, his sense of direction lost. He stumbled in the darkness, his hands in front of him, searching for some landmark, some sign that he was heading in the correct direction.

And then, shoving through the thick brambles, he saw it: a light glint in the dark, a lantern. 

The cabin. He could get there. He pushed onward, his legs finding new strength. He stalked through the forest, the cabin waiting ahead of him, a blot in the brightness. He got to the door, his shivering hand wrestling with the latch. He shoved it wide and lurched in, slamming the door shut behind him with a bang that resounded through the quiet forest. He leaned against the door, panting harshly, his shaking body shuddering with fear and fatigue. He was safe, for the moment. But he knew, deep in his belly, the creature would not rest. It waited, out there, in the dark. Not until Jack's men were off his back.

Max was ahead of them, jumping nimbly across the ground. Ben had no notion how he managed it—how he made it look so easy to run for their lives—but there wasn't time to ask. Only to survive.

"Keep moving!" Max called back over his shoulder. "We have to get some more distance between them and us."

Ben gritted his teeth and went back to it, his own heart hammering in his ears. His body was telling him to stop, but terror of being caught—of going back to Jack—propelled him forward.

And then he sensed it.

A ripple in the atmosphere. Something behind him.

Ben did not have a chance to move out of the way before something exploded out of the darkness at him.

A weight landed on his back, and he crashed forward into the ground. He caught himself before he tumbled onto his side, instincts taking over. A figure bent over him—a half-shifted giant werewolf, gold eyes glinting in the moonlight.

One of Jack's men.

Ben's breath was taken. He attempted to struggle, but the wolf was faster. Clawed hands wrapped around him and he was lifted up. Ben struggled around, his body spherical in response, but the grip was too tight.

And then a flash of motion.

Max was close behind him, his own form shifting as he stuck a blade in the side of the wolf. The werewolf howled with agony and released Ben just when Ben struck back. Twisting around reflexively, Ben flung back an attack—a jolt of strength bursting from his hand and colliding with the werewolf in crushing force, slamming the figure to the floor.

There was silence.

Ben's chest heaved and fell. The wolf did not move. His heart thudded on with the residue of the energy that had drained out of his body, his fingers still buzzing with its strength.

He'd won. For the umpteenth time.

Max tugged at his arm, keeping him upright. "No time to gawk. Others are coming.".

Ben's legs shook but he nodded, continuing. They continued moving out into the woods, their legs pounding as hard as they could. The howling boomed through blackness behind them now, louder. Too close.

"We can't outrun them," Ben yelled, fear burning in his chest. "They'll follow our trace."

Max cursed savagely. "We have to cover our track."

Ben's head reeled. He didn't know how to do that. Max did. He took the hard left turn without stopping, sending Ben into a weedy river running through the forest. The water looked dirty, the ice-blocked current black.

Ben's gut tightened. "You can't be serious."

Max didn't blink. "In or die."

Ben did not even have time to gasp when Max shoved him into the river. The icy water cut through him like a thousand blades, stealing his breath. He kicked for a moment before Max yanked him beneath the surface.

They drifted, letting the river carry them downstream, water obliterating their trail. Ben's lungs ached, his body howled with cold, but he didn't fight.

And then finally, Max pulled him out of the water. They came up a step above the riverbank, hidden behind dense bushes. Ben coughed, spitting water out of his mouth, his entire body shaking uncontrollably.

Max breathed a sigh, glancing over his shoulder. The yelping had ceased. The river had worked its magic.

At least for now.

Ben sat back on the riverbank, the mud cold and mushy against the soreness in his back, his head racing. He'd fought Jack. He'd protected himself. But for how much longer? For how much longer before Jack again attempted to murder him?

Max stood looking down at him, his face serious. "You held your own there."

Ben spat out a bitter laugh. "I nearly died."

Max shrugged. "But you didn't. And you're stronger than you think you are."

Ben gazed. He wasn't strong enough. He stumbled.

Max stood up, holding out his hand. "Come on. We have to get out of here."

Ben hesitated no more than a second before he let Max stand him up. His muscles creaked in agony, but he pushed the sensation aside. They couldn't be weak.

They weren't done yet.

And something caused him to think. this was just the start.