Page 67 of Seek Me Darling

I'm being hunted.

Because of course I fucking am.

This was never going to be a real opportunity to escape.

It was just another fucking game.

I bolt, heart hammering, ducking through dense brush and weaving between trees thick with shadow. My bare feet thud softly against damp earth, and still, every instinct screams that each step is a countdown. The forest is wild. Untamed.

I feel the wire hit my shin, too thin to see until it’s too late. It doesn't trip me—it snaps and something shifts above me. A sudden rustle, then a downpour of dry leaves and forest debris rains down, noisy enough to give away my position. Not intended to harm. Just sound and exposure. Enough to rattle me. Enough to alert them.

Fucking brilliant.

I take off again, moving quickly through trees and underbrush, my pulse hammering in my ears. I hadn’t been thinking about traps—I’d been thinking about distance. I was thinking about speed. But they’re smarter than that.

A sharp jerk yanks my leg backward mid-stride. I crash to my knees, barely catching myself. Another wire. Thin and low to the ground, tied between two trees. Enough to trip hard— enough to slow me down. To delay. Humiliate.

I scramble up, breath hissing out between my teeth.

The forest is rigged.

“Come on, Seanna. You can do better than that.”

The voice is distorted but unmistakable in its tone—confident, crisp, commanding.

I barely make it ten more feet before a branch I duck under triggers something above—rope netting drops from the canopy like a snare. I twist and dive out of the way just in time, heart racing.

Fucking hell. They’ve built a primal playground.

I veer left, keeping my pace controlled. I find broken branches angled unnaturally, forming a funnel path that leads downhill. A clear route. Too clear. I double back instead, using the underbrush to obscure my movement.

The same voice speaks again, closer this time. “You’re making me work harder than I planned. I respect that.”

I push forward harder, doubling my efforts to disappear. I climb into a tree and wait—counting every breath, every creak of bark, the sweat sliding down my back.

Hearing a sound further away I drop from the tree and land in a crouch, ignoring the sharp sting in my ankle. I tear through the trees again in the opposite direction, weaving through brush, leaping over fallen logs.

Then pain flares.

I stop and hide in a thick patch of shrubs as a cramp doubles me over with a vicious intensity. I drop down to one knee, dragging air into my lungs like it’s made of glass, my arm wrapped around my middle.Fucking timing. Fucking body.I breathe through the pain, forcing my muscles to unclench.

"Run faster, darling. You’re prettier when you sweat."

My breath stutters. That voice—smooth but sharp, too precise, and too close.

I lunge forward again, weaving through brambles and low-hanging branches. I leave false trails, kick mud in patterns that don’t track straight, double back through my own footprints. It’s textbook.

And it doesn’t matter.

He’s better.

“Sloppy,” the voice comes again.

Every turn I take, he’s just behind it. Every time I think I’ve bought myself a second of distance, I hear that voice again. Cool. Infuriatingly calm.

Definitely Rule.

I press on, pushing past low branches and thick moss-draped roots. I haven’t heard any voice but the one taunting me. No sweet teasing. No coaxing. No purr like velvet over knives.

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