A Hunting Ritual: Part 2

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She was a fool, he thought, for she was easier to see now that she was in moonlight. He locked his gaze upon her, sprinting parallel to her, and she was completely unaware. Unlike her heavy footfalls, he was practically silent. His foot found a stick and it snapped, and then her eyes were fixed on his direction. She turned, started running away from him, but he slowed just enough to turn with a hand hugged around a tree to swing him, and he was then back to full s***d within two strides.

 

She had that awful feeling, when you sense something is about to grab you from behind, but she refused to look back. She knew that her fate was sealed. He was an inhumanly-***istic man when he wanted to be, and she knew that she stood no chance. A claw sc***d over the edge of her shoulder and she shrieked with ***, turning away from it and narrowly missing a tree. She used her hands to ricochet away, doubling back the way she had come. She heard him slip and grunt; the equivalent of cursing, if he were still human.

 

His knuckles sank into the ground and he was on all-fours, charging again and back on his feet within mere seconds. He doubled his s***d, powered by the rage of losing her once. He snarled, seeing her golden hair flowing in the chilling wind of the night. Rapidly he closed the gap between them.

 

She felt a pressure from the fabric that covered her chest. There was a tugging from behind her, slowly beginning to tear the top of the thin fabric, by *** alone. He had stopped trying to silence his running, and now she ***ked over her shoulder to see his bared teeth. She whimpered loudly, still running, and was glad that her bra had torn off. It distracted him long enough for her to gain some ground, and she heard his cry of defeat.

 

He bent one knee, clenching her tattered bra in his tight fist, and then he straightened his leg, tensed his ankle. His body felt almost horizontal, kicking his weight away from the floor so that again, within two strides, he was bounding after her at top s***d.

 

She could no longer hear him, though she knew this was his intention. Her breasts were now held down by nothing, large and bouncing and making it harder to keep a steady rhythm with her feet. It was cold, and she desperately wanted to hold her arms over her chest. To hold her breasts down and shield some of her skin from the cold. But folded arms meant less momentum, and so she carried on sprinting for her life. He was probably enjoying the sight of her even more now, and that filled her with some relief. He stepped out in front of her and she collided with him.