Lumi-
It’s so quiet, every little sound makes me jump. I’ve been walking for so long that I’m too far to turn back, and not close enough to feel safe. The road has disappeared in the darkness, and I’m realizing how big of a mistake I’ve made.The trees no longer sway peacefully in the wind; they’re suddenly silent as if they’re hushing me in a language I don’t understand.
Something is wrong.It’s not just the guilt twisting my stomach; it’s the feeling in my gut that something is watching me. I slow my steps to listen, but I hear nothing at all. It’s the absence of sound that makes my skin itch. I want to be back on Andrik’s couch, or back in my shitty apartment—anywhere but here. I just want to feel safe for once in my life.
I start jogging in the direction I think the road is in, but I freeze when I hear someone whisper my name.
“Lumi.” It’s a whisper so close, the hair on the back of my neck stands up. It sounded like it was breathed right behind my ear. It didn’t sound like Andrik’s voice, but it was familiar.
How did I go from wanting to die to running for my life?
Maybe I just needed to know that someone out there would care if I died. Maybe that’s enough to live for. Andrik would care, I know he would. And Anna... Anna would want me to fight.
So I do.
I hear another noise—a horrifying, animalistic roar that should paralyze me, but instead, it calms every ounce of my fear. I never thought I’d be grateful for a beast's fury, but there’s nothing else that could make me feel safer in this moment. I finally catch my breath, and my heartbeat starts to even out.
“Andrik!” I call back. Please hear me.Please, please, please. “Andrik, I’m over here.”
I hear a final, terrible snarl—then something covers my mouth.
11
A FAWN CALLING FOR HER BEAST
Anonymous-
She screamed for him. The little fawn finally cried out for her beast.But he didn’t come fast enough, did he?
She’s crying, clutching a fallen branch like it’s a weapon—my sweet, brave girl.
I stay behind her for a moment, just long enough to watch the panic consume her. Every few steps, she glances over her shoulder. Some part of her knows I'm here, but she keeps running toward his voice.
Her pace starts to slow when the branch she’s holding cuts through her palm. I step into her path just as she stumbles, and her whole body freezes.
There it is, that silence, that split second of pure terror. I wish it didn’t have to be like this, but she has to learn she can’t wander through the words alone. If she knew who was under this mask, it would terrify her, which is why I can’t let her see me.
“Don’t,” she whispers. Voice shaking. “I’ll scream again.”
“You already did,” I murmur. “And he didn’t come.”
She runs from me. I knew she would.
I give her a head start as I glance down at my watch and count to ten. It’s not a fair chase. I barely have to jog before I catch her. One of my hands covers her mouth, “Shh, Lumi. It’s okay,” I whisper as she thrashes in my arms. “I’m just trying to keep you safe—to get you back home.”
I drop a kiss on top of her head. I don’t drug her right away. I want her to feel the care in my hands. I need her to see how gentle I can be when I know she’s safe.
She fights me like she believes she can win—it’s something I’ve always adored about her. The needle slips in just as she swings toward me. She crumples in my arms, and I hate the feeling. I hate that it had to come to this. She’s lighter than I expected—too light.She barely eats now that Anna’s gone. It’s one of the things I’ve vowed to fix once I have her.
The walkback to my car is longer than the chase, but I don’t mind. I’ve carried far heavier things in my life. The forest is quiet now that the beast’s roaring has stopped, but I know he’s still tearing the forest down in search of her. Even if he finds her, I’ll never allow him to keep her.
I lay her gently in the backseat, buckling her in like the precious cargo she is.
The drive to her apartment is muscle memory. I’ve made this trip a thousand times—watching her windows, checking her locks, making sure she’s safe when she doesn’t even know I’m there.
A soft murmur sounds behind me. I reach back and brush a strand of hair from her face. “Almost home, little dove,” I whisper.
I grab her spare key from beneath the chipped ceramic frog next to her welcome mat. I would have taken it by now, but she misplaces her keys at least twice a week, and I can’t have her stuck outside alone in this area.
