Page 28 of Hunting Harbor

I just call it aneed.Ineedher and she needs me. There’s a pull happening between us that sounds insane to a sane person, but it’s there nonetheless. Walking out of the shed, I make a split-second decision and grab my mask. Pulling it on, I stand in the clearing, staring up at the big window where she’s in full view, her body hunched over her laptop.

Harbor’s jumpy, already paranoid. The wind is hitting the cabin, and I can imagine that every creak is setting her off. Especially since she’s already experienced some light stalking back at her place. It’s in every nervous blink, every shaky inhale. She thinks she’s in control, but the feeling will dissipate the same way it came. Quickly. I imagine how it will feel to have her under me, each cry and whimper my doing.

I let myself sink into the sensation, the reality of knowing she's trapped. Knowing I'm in control, and it's all falling into place.

Finally, she snaps out of her trance. She checks her phone, knowing she'll find nothing. She rattles the locked front door. Her fear seeps through the cabin's rough walls, oozes into the air, stains the very wood. She's not writing now; she's waiting forme, my little prey. She’s out of her mind with panic by the time I return, and the thought sends adrenaline pulsing through me.

She can't escape me. Can't escape herself. The cabin is a perfect trap, an exquisite prison. She's scurrying from room to room, a little mouse with nowhere to hide. The light fades around her, and she looks fragile in the growing dark. Vulnerable. Alone. I savor the way she panics, her breaths coming quick and shallow, her eyes flicking back to the door again and again, waiting for me.

But I stand here, in the clearing, staring. It takes a few minutes, but she finally comes to stand at the window and peers down. Her chest heaves when she catches sight of me. Standing. Quiet. My black and gold demon mask barely visible in the rapidly darkening sky. My favorite one. One I had especially made for the four of us, all in different colors. They were half masks, the top half of them covered, the bottom exposed. Makes more sense not to have to take it off since I planned on using it to devour my beautiful girl.

Yet, within her fear, within those gasps of horror, her thighs clench. It’s almost imperceptible, but for the fact that I’ve tracked her for months.

I know everything about her.

This turns her on.

Which makes her even harder to resist.

My grin stretches beneath my mask as I step into the darkness. She loses track of me as night falls, and finally she goes to sit back on the couch, trying not to lose her mind.

When I finally push the door open, she jumps as if she's been stung, eyes wide, lips parted in a gasp she tries to hide.

"You're back." Her voice is thin, a thread stretched taut, ready to snap.

"I'm back." I let the door close behind me, my arms full, my intentions clear.

Harbor bites her lip, and the small, nervous gesture sends a rush of heat through my body. She can't meet my eyes. "I couldn't get a signal."

"The cabin's remote." I drop the bags on the counter, my movements slow, deliberate, letting her absorb each second. "You said you wanted solitude."

"Yeah, I did." She forces a laugh, brittle and sharp as broken glass. "I guess I didn't expect it to be so... complete."

She doesn’t mention the mask. Neither do I. She’s unsure how to approach it. Worried that if I deny that it was me, it meant another demon was watching her.

And that might shatter her psyche into a million pieces.

I look at her, making sure she sees my certainty, my promise. "You're safe here, Harbor. I promise."

She nods but doesn’t believe me.

"You look cold." I motion to the fireplace. "I'll get a fire started."

Harbor shivers. "Thanks." It's more breath than voice, more instinct than will. She forces a smile and it hangs crooked on her face. "I just need to get used to the quiet.

The quiet will eat her alive.

I crouch by the fireplace, stacking wood, my back to her. I can feel the tension rolling off her in waves, and it's intoxicating. The lighter flares, a small explosion of light, and as I turn, the shadows flicker across her face. She watches me, a hunted animal, ready to bolt.

The fire crackles, filling the cabin with a warm glow. The soft light throws her features into sharp relief, and I can't tear my eyes away. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"You’ll be fine," I say, low and soothing, letting her hear what she needs to.

She backs away, careful, her movements slow, her wariness a kind of music.

I pour her a drink, knowing she won’t refuse. I pour my intentions into the glass, watch her lift it to her lips with hesitant fingers. My pulse quickens as she swallows. I imagine her taking more, taking everything I have to give. The thought rips into me, ignites my blood. The cabin is dark around us, a womb, a tomb. She’s where she belongs, and it’s time to break her open, watch her bleed need and desperation. I sip my own drink and chuckle. The wait is over.

She sits with the drink cupped between both hands, like it might slip away if she lets go, like everything else she thinks she knows. "Thanks," she mutters, eyes glued to the amber liquid, refusing to look up. I want to rip it out of her hands, replace it with myself, make her grip me just as tight. I wait, watching, letting her squirm under my silence.

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