Page 98 of Ignite

Then I hear it. A crack that sounds like a punch landing hard against bark.

I freeze. Leaves crunch underfoot as I slip behind the nearest tree, my back pressing flat against its rough trunk.

“Hallie, Hallie, Hallie…where are you?” His voice floats through the trees.

I bolt. Again. Deeper into the woods, deeper into the dark. The moon spills in through the gaps in the canopy, a silver blur through the branches.

My foot sinks into a puddle, sending me sprawling.

“Fuck,” I hiss, palms slamming into the dirt. Mud sucks at my sandals as I clamber upright, soaked and panting.

A pain radiates in my ankle, but I try to ignore it. I have to run.

“You better still be running, trouble.”

His voice is closer now. So close it sizzles down my spine.

I spin, breath ragged, eyes flicking left and right. No end. No clear path.

Panic and anticipation twist into one as I dart left, weaving through the trees. I hear his footsteps now.

A thick arm wraps around my waist.

I scream, kicking back. But it’s too late.

I look up. All I see are his green eyes, wild and glowing in the moonlight. The rest of his face is hidden beneath a black balaclava.

He tosses me to the grass like I weigh nothing. I scramble backward, chest heaving, but he just stalks forward. I’ve never been more turned on in my damn life.

“Looks like I caught my prey. Too easy.”

I shake my head. No way. Not like that.

I leap up and tear off again, bare legs pumping, dress flying. I can still feel his hands on me. I can smell him—dark spice and danger.

I don’t care. I’m not giving him the satisfaction.

This is foreplay. Twisted. Raw. Addictive.

He’s right behind me again. I zigzag through the woods, whipping a branch behind me, hoping it smacks him across the face.

This is the most alive I’ve felt in years. No rules. No walls. Just heat and adrenaline. It’s like being on the track, but hotter and hornier.

“Come on, beastie. I thought this was your thing?”

I don’t hear him. I risk a glance over my shoulder, and my body slams into something solid. Stone? No…him.

His hand wraps around my throat before I can recover.

“What were you saying?” he rasps, voice low, lethal.

Fuck.

I claw at his grip, nails scraping his black shirt, desperate. He doesn’t let go.

“Make me bleed, trouble. I dare ya’.”

I scream as he slams me back against the bark of the nearest tree. I dig my nails into his throat, leaving marks.

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