Page 1 of In Love With the Leshy

Chapter 1

Thump! Thump! Pop! Crack! Thump!

The rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs ring loud as I race through the trees, searching for safety. A home. A shed. Someone I can ask for help. A shelter I can hide in. Something! Anything!

Men trample the ground behind me with heavy thudded feet. Sick, twisted men determined to find me and . . . Don’t think about it. Keep moving.

“There she is!” One of them shouts.

They’re getting closer. I feel it. I hear it. I can’t know for sure unless I glance over my shoulder, and if I do that . . . Don’t look back! I tell myself. It will slow me down, and they’ll gain ground. Don’t look back! I repeat my mantra over and over, hoping it will drown out the fear and give me the strength to hold steady.

I can’t keep this up much longer. I’m not fast enough to outrun three grown men, especially with my lungs burning with each strained gulp of air. Puffs of smoke leave my mouth as my warm breath commingles with the cool air around me. Keep going!

What if they catch me? I have no weapon to use against them. The only thing I can do is keep running and hope I find something to swing at them when my shaky legs give way under me. Unless my lungs fail first. Either way, I’ll be easy prey when I crumple to the ground.

Ouch! My right ankle lands on the ground funny. I’m not sure if I rolled it or twisted it. I don’t have time to focus on that at the moment. Panic takes over as the dirt path I’m on ends and the trees close in on me. I gasp, unable to suck in enough oxygen. My chest heaves; my body trembles like the leaves on the branches reaching for me from every direction. My peripheral vision narrows. Don’t pass out. Not now!

“Give up.” Nikolai yells. “You’re trapped. There’s nowhere to go.”

As if accentuating his point, thick, hulking trunks surround me. Block me. Impede my progress. There are so many, so close together, it’s hard to navigate through them. They’re an intricately woven net holding me in place and daring me to forge forward.

I struggle to convince myself that getting lost in this brawny forest will help me. That these woody giants extending from the ground and stretching to the clouds will intimidate the men behind me. The menacing tentacles of twigs and branches poke and jab at my body, emphasizing my point. I hope they do worse to my want-to-be-captors, like decapitate them somehow. Wishful thinking.

I glance at the barely visible sky above. Little light penetrates through the canopy of green shading the ground from the setting sun. Hundreds of trees surround me, but there isn’t one branch low enough for me to take hold of and use to hoist myself up.

Cool air whirls around me. I no longer see my feet in the tall grass. Suddenly, it’s hip high. I can’t see where my feet fall or what I’m stepping on. I pray there are no snakes or quicksand in this wooded area, or the men may not be the worst thing that will happen to me.

Men.

They’re killers. They killed the crazy old lady across the hall from me. Beat the life out of her. I thought she was off her rocker for going on and on about a granddaughter that I don’t believe exists and some sort of overlord of the forest that protects her. As if any creature could change its shape, size and form at will, let alone a lumberjack.

Okay, the woman was nuts. But also harmless.

“Erin,” the aged voice calls as I close my apartment door.

I let out a long breath. I’m already running late for a fabulous twelve-hour shift of aching feet and serving tables of entitled customers. I can ignore her and pretend I didn’t hear, but what if it’s important? She can barely walk, even with her cane, and doesn’t leave that apartment. No one checks up on her. That rude ass she calls a grandson hasn’t been here in over a month. Not that I’m keeping tabs, but the walls are paper thin, and all he does is yell at her in Russian when he does show his face.

I head to her open door, let out a frustrated sigh, then plaster a smile on my face. “What’s up, Ms. Irina?”

Her large blue eyes fill with tears. The wrinkles set deep in her leather-like skin tease her age. Seventy? Eighty? Honestly, I don’t have a clue. My eyes drop to the kitchen table where she sits with an open can of dog food, a fork, and a piece of stale bread.

Poor woman. Seems she’s as financially robust as I am. Tears stream from her eyes, and her body racks with sobs. I don’t know what she’s saying. The words are foreign, but the overwhelming sense of despair isn’t.

“Do you want me to call someone? Your grandson?” I offer, approaching the table and getting down on my haunches so that we’re at eye level.

“No! No! Nyet!” She panics.

“Okay. Okay.” I pat her hand. “Do you want me to cook something for you? Scrambled eggs?” I stand and head to the refrigerator.

“No.” Her voice is low. She sounds broken. “Pozhaluysta. Find my Masha.”

I look around the tiny kitchenette, only I don’t know what I’m looking for. A dog? A cat? A person? I never hear barking, so that rules out dog. I don’t see anything that suggests cat, so Masha must be a person? At least I think it’s a person. I can’t do anything now. I can make a few phone calls when I get home, but that’s about it.

“I have to go to work, I’m sorry. But I’ll help you look for Masha when I get home.”

She doesn’t speak. A fresh stream of tears streaks down her ruddy cheeks. Could I feel like more of a heel?

“I really do have to leave, but I’ll be back. I promise.”

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