Page 21 of Brutal Mate

With her mother out at her monthly book club meeting next door, her father was sitting in the den watching golf. And it was no surprise that the drunk ass’s eyes started to droop not half an hour after turning on the television.

It was a usual thing for the third Friday of every month, and Miley watched from the top of the stairs, waiting for her father’s head to loll to the side as it always did.

Then, with only a small rucksack on her back, she made her break for it. Her heart hammered heavily in her chest as she held her breath, tiptoeing down the stairs as fast as she could, stepping over the ones that she knew were loose or overly creaky.

And just when she thought she had made it to the door without a problem, she realized she had forgotten the creaky floorboard right by the door itself.

“Fuck!” she hissed under her breath, silently cursing herself for having spoken out loud even as the creaking of the board under her boot made her father groan and shift in his plush armchair. That goddamn chair smelled awful and looked even worse with its sweat and whiskey stains and its cigarette burns. She’d be happy if she never saw it or its owner again. And so, she remained stock-still, her hand on the door handle with her breath caught in her throat, waiting to see if her father would stand up.

In her head she counted, one…two…three…four…five…

It was all she could think to do to keep herself sane, to keep from screaming at the top of her lungs in the hopes she might scare him badly enough for her to make a break for it.

And by the time she had counted to ten, her father was still again, his head lolled back in its usual position.

Barely daring to breathe, Miley twisted the doorknob and tiptoed out onto the porch.

She didn't allow herself a moment's relief. She just darted down the porch steps, across the lawn and down the street in the opposite direction of the neighbor's house where the book club was being held that evening.

Why her mother attended book club, anyway, she didn’t know. She hadn't seen her mother read in, well, ever. Likely, it was an excuse to get away from him. Miley glanced over her shoulder only once to be certain her father hadn't actually awoken and followed her out onto the porch.

Then she headed in the direction of the only place in town she had ever felt safe, the woods.

She tried not to think of the last time she had been in there, when she had felt as though somebody was watching her from the trees. Or the time before that, when she had been in the ravine with Lauren and the others, and had seen a wolf. No matter what Kane said, she knew that was what it was.

All she needed to think about right now was the fact that the woods were her ticket to freedom. She just had to get to the other side of them and find the bus stop on the old dirt road that passed by Nightstar to take her to Pine Valley, and then from there she would catch a bus to the next town and the next until she managed to get close enough to walk to the Peters farm. Someone, somewhere, along the way would be able to point her in the right direction. She only hoped she had managed to stash enough money over the years to get her there safely.

But she wasn't even out of the woods when she felt that familiar sensation creeping down her spine.

She was being watched again. She just didn't know by who.

Stopping dead, she tightened her hands into fists, gritted her teeth and yelled, “Whoever you are, stop following me! I'm in no mood for games!”

Maybe it was Lauren. They'd snuck up on each other enough times over the years. Or maybe her mother had seen her leave, after all. Maybe it was even one of Mayor Blackwell’s men out on one of their patrols that seemed to be growing more and more frequent.

Whoever it was, she wasn't about to let them stop her from getting away. Not this time.

She turned to run again, only to stop dead when the shadows between the trees ahead moved.

A man dressed all in black slunk out from the trees as if materializing from them. If Miley didn't know any better, she might have thought he actually did step out of the tree trunk itself, not just the shadow it cast in the moonlight.

She gulped, a lump forming hard in her throat when the man started to chuckle. It was a low, calculated sound that she was certain was meant to strike fear into her heart. And it worked.

“Who…who are you?” she stammered, trying to keep her head held high even though she was terrified.

What kind of idiot was she to ever have believed she could escape Nightstar? It was as if there was some invisible force field keeping her there, holding her prisoner, and this hooded man dressed all in black was the keeper of it.

“Who I am does not matter,” the man said, shaking his head. His hood slipped a little, and Miley caught sight of sickly pale skin. “What matters is what I can do for you.”

Miley's chest tightened, but her insides hardened. She straightened, her hands wrapped in tight fists as she glowered at him. “What you can do is get out of my way and leave me in peace!”

Her response appeared to amuse the man. From beneath his hood, he laughed haughtily and reached up to pull back his hood.

For a second, Miley thought she might recognize the man. He was pale, overly pale, as if he hadn't seen the light of day for an age. And the black bags under his eyes suggested that perhaps, like her, he had trouble sleeping.

But no matter how she tried to think of where she might know him from, Miley couldn’t quite place his face.

“You're a little minx, aren't you?” the man said, his tone still darkly amused. He took a step forward, and Miley stepped back, keeping the distance between them the same.

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