Page 48 of Silent Prey

“I’m letting you go,” he said cheerfully. “You’re free.”

She propped herself up on one elbow and stared at him. “I don’t believe you.”

Christopher shrugged, then stood, stretching his long limbs. He looked down at her from his towering height, his features harsh in the morning light. "You don't have to believe me," he said. "But you're free, one way or the other. Run away, hide if you can. Do anything you want."

Beverly hesitated, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she squinted against the sunlight that hit Christopher’s face. Despite her skepticism, it was clear she couldn’t resist the urge to hope that maybe, just maybe, she really could escape.

"What's the catch?" she asked cautiously, sitting up. "What's your game?"

He ignored her question, instead bending down to lift a small canvas bag he'd brought with him to the entrance of the cave. From inside, he produced a canteen of water and a small bundle wrapped in a leaf.

"Eat," he ordered, tossing them toward her. "Drink. You'll need your strength."

Beverly still seemed hesitant but took what was offered. She drank from the canteen first, relief washing over her face as water moistened her parched throat. Then she unwrapped the leaf and found some slices of dried meat and berries inside. She wrinkled her nose at the meat and tossed it aside.

Christopher felt a flare of anger. Then it died down.

“What do you want from me?” she asked again.

Christopher chuckled. “I told you already. You're free."

"But…" Beverly paused, her deep brown eyes flickering with uncertainty and confusion. "You're just letting me go?"

"More or less," he said. "Consider it an opportunity to live another day." He was silent for a moment before adding, "Or more accurately, an opportunity to prove your will to survive."

"What are you talking about?" Her brows knitted together in confusion.

He stood up. “I am going to give you...let's say, a ten-minute head start. Then I'll come after you. If you manage to evade me until sunset, you live. If not..." He let his words trail off, shrugging nonchalantly.

"You're insane," Beverly hissed through gritted teeth, her fear morphing into pure defiance. "You think I'm going to play your sick game?"

He chuckled and spread his hands out wide. "You can choose not to play, of course." He stepped closer to her, his dark eyes never leaving hers. "But then I’ll just have to deal with you right here."

He could see the fierce determination sparking in her eyes, mixed with a healthy dose of fear.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

Christopher shrugged. Why indeed? Because he could. Because he liked it. Because he was bored and because he needed to feel alive again. All that mattered was the thrill of the chase, the adrenaline surge when he closed in on his prey, the pulsating energy of the kill.

But that wasn’t really true, was it? No—on the surface, maybe, but not deeper down. The deeper truth was that, several months ago, he had come back from a hunt to the cabin he shared with his mother in Wyoming—offering her tribute, as he had so often as a child—when he found her dead on the floor beside her bed.

A heart attack, more than likely.

He’d felt both grief and profound relief. He was finally free of the cruel, mercurial woman…and yet he knew at the same time that he would never truly be free of her, for she was part of him. She was the huntress in him.

Driven by a primal need to move on, he’d burned the cabin and taken his mother’s truck, heading wherever the wind took him.

Soon, however, his love of the hunt had gotten him into trouble. He found himself in a small town in Nevada, stalking a waitress who had caught his eye. But he had miscalculated, been too reckless. A local cop had stumbled upon him just as he was closing in. There had been a fight, and he had killed the officer.

Now wanted for murder, he had fled again, this time ending up in Coldwater County, Utah. With the help of a distant cousin, he’d forged a fake identity before stalking new prey: lone women who ventured into the wilderness of the Great Salt Lake area. He made them his quarry, their fear fueling him, their deaths providing him some semblance of satisfaction.

Beverly was watching him.

"Just consider it...a challenge," Christopher said, returning to the present moment. "Your determination against my skill. Your will to survive against my will to hunt."

He saw the moment she accepted her fate, her shoulders squaring as she took a deep breath. "Fine," she said finally, her eyes blazing with defiance. "But I won't make it easy for you."

His lips curled into a smirk. "I certainly hope not," he replied, relishing the anticipation of what was to come.

---