by Hart, Alana
“Oh, we built an empire around ours.” Catherine stared at him skeptically. He caught her expression out of the corner of his eye. “What? Angels? Demons? The burning bush? What is religion if not a bunch of myths that a large enough group of people have decided to believe in?”
Catherine stopped, watching the road. She couldn’t argue this point. “I’ll give you that. Still, given that you used to mention their myths in the same breath as alien contact and the Illuminati -”
John chuckled hard at that. “Alright, I admit the Illuminati was an interesting phase.”
“Just the Illuminati? Still into Aliens?”
“Hey, aliens are fuckin real, man!”
Catherine smiled so wide, her cheeks were beginning to hurt. “Aliens and Bear folk. Maybe the Bear Folk are the aliens!”
John reached over and grabbed her thigh, squeezing. “You watch it over there. The aliens might be listening right now.”
She squealed, swatting him away. He returned his hand to the steering wheel and she wished he’d touch her again.
“I’m just saying, what if?”
They rolled over the road mark that signified the borders of the reservation, and John gassed it back up. Catherine watched the way he moved when he drove – the tendons in his hands and forearms, the movement of his legs. Somehow, something as simple as the way he waved to drivers passing on the opposite side of the road made her even fonder of him. She remembered the last time they’d taken a long drive like this. Back then, the Canadian border only required a license to pass, leaving them to roll right into New Brunswick, their families oblivious to the distance of their children.
Now, they’d driven around the corners of their part of Maine for hours, and the evening was creeping in fast. As they reached the far corner of the rez, John pulled off the main road onto the dirt path that offered back access to the Fenn property. Before they were more than a hundred yards in, John pulled onto the shoulder and put the truck into park.
Catherine turned to watch him. “What if Gramps comes down this way? You’ll get me in trouble.”
John smiled, turning to her. “You can blame me.”
She exhaled in a half laugh, but the laugh was stilled instantly as John’s hand touched the side of her face.
She swallowed. “What are you doing?”
John searched her expression a moment as Heroes by David Bowie came on the truck radio. “Do you remember the last time we did this?”
“Did what?”
He chuckled. “You know.”
“Yes,” she said, fighting with everything she had not to smile at the memory.
“Well, I was kinda hoping that maybe you’d let me do that again.”
Catherine gasped. The sheer thought of this man kissing her stole her breath. She couldn’t find the words to say yes, even as her heart screamed out over and over. She wanted it, and it terrified her at the same time.
John unbuckled his seat belt and slid across the front seat toward her. She fought to hold her ground and not pin her back to the truck door. He tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, then leaned in, touching his nose to her ear. He inhaled there, sending chills down her spine. Then he pulled away just enough to meet her gaze. Then he kissed her.
The memory of the last time she felt this sensation flooded her mind – the way her teenage hormones had fired off, and she’d attempted to curl into him, tearing at his clothes there in the front seat of his truck. Yet, he hadn’t taken her then. The same urge struck her now and she grabbed hold of his flannel shirt, clutching it in her fist.
She was no longer a hormonal teenager. She could contain herself, now – maybe.
John pulled from the kiss, glancing at her eyes, then her lips. He exhaled a shaky breath. “You have no idea how bad I wanted to do that this morning.”
“Really?”
He smiled. “Waking up with you in my arms was one of the greatest tests of my life.”
Her face flushed. She’d thought he’d been asleep.
Her hand shot up to cover her face, and he grabbed it, pulling it toward him as he planted his lips on hers again, taking her face in his hands. He shifted in the seat, moving closer to her, pulling her toward him with enough force to collect her into his lap. A second later, he slipped his tongue into her mouth, taking hold of her hair to kiss her properly. Catherine was helpless there, opening to him in every way as his arms wrapped around her, tugging at her shirt to keep his grip on her. She whimpered against the force of his kiss, her body growing weak in his arms. He kissed with the purpose of a man who intended far more, and she knew if he continued, she’d let him have it.
John pulled away, letting her catch her breath as he smiled at her. “As good as you remember?”
She grinned, panting. “Better.”
This time it was her turn to grab him, tugging at the collar of his flannel shirt to pull his lips to hers. He responded to her forceful endeavor with one of his own, hooking his hand under her knee and yanking her leg toward him, forcing her to lean back. He was over her in an instant, the bristles of his facial hair catching at her lip.
She yanked his shirt up, letting her nails run over the bare skin of his back. He growled into her mouth, moving over her with intention. Catherine reached down to his backside, pulling him against her.
Suddenly, John pulled from her arms, sitting upright in the driver’s seat as he ran his hands through his hair.
She lay there a moment, watching him. “What are you doing?”
He shook his head. “Getting my shit together.”
Catherine glanced into the bed of the truck. The sleeping bags and air mattress were still packed there. She exhaled, excited at the notion of having him, just as she’d silently imagined as she drifted to sleep the night before. Ten years had passed, and yet still, she was ready to give herself to this man after less than a day together.
My God, what do you do to me, John? She thought.
John straightened in the driver’s seat, moving to put the key in the ignition.
“What are you doing?”
He wouldn’t look at her. “I should take you back to your truck.”
His body was tense, the muscles of his forearms wound tight.
“You’ve got to be kidding me? John Fenn, if you take me back to my truck after that, I will kill you.”
He snorted in a half laugh, then frowned. “I have to.”
Catherine lunged across the truck and pulled the keys from the ignition before he could protest. “Tell me why, then. If you’re going to open this door and then slam it shut like nothing happened, you tell me why.”
He ran his hands over his face and his body jerked as though he’d almost lunged at her. Dear god, she wanted him to.
“I don’t want to fuck this up,” he said.
Catherine shook her head. “It’s been ten years, and you still give me the shivers. Don’t you dare tell me you don’t want to.”
He glared at her. “I promise you, I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”
“Then come here.”
He licked his lips, letting her take his hand and tug him across the truck. He leaned toward her, returning a soft kiss, before turning away. “Things are gonna go south real fucking quick if we don’t stop.”
Catherine pressed her nose to his ear, nibbling at his earlobe as he was clearly fighting to keep his hands still. “Tell me why,” she whispered.
He shivered to her touch, closing his eyes. “Because what I want will scare you.”
She stopped, turning his face to make him look at her. His blue eyes bore into her then, and she almost had to look away.
“Tell me what you want. You won’t scare me.”
The woods were growing dark around them, the perfect conditions to shag wildly in the back of a pickup truck on a near abandoned dirt road.
He took a deep breath, blowing it out through his nose. Then he stared at her face, unwave
ring. “I want to hunt you.”
Catherine’s brow furrowed as she searched his face. “What do you mean? Why?”
“I can’t explain it. I don’t want you to just give yourself to me, not the first time.”
Catherine swallowed. “Do you want to hurt me?”
“No! I would never hurt you.”
“Then, I don’t understand.”
He took an exasperated breath. “This is when almost every other woman I’ve been with ran for the fucking hills.”
“Just tell me, John!”
“I want to hunt you down. Like an animal. I want to hunt you down and claim you - and make you mine.”
Catherine stared at this man she’d thought about for so many years. His request seemed dark, almost unnerving, but in those blue eyes, there was an almost beseeching nature behind the request, like he needed this.
“You want me to fight you?”
He leaned his head back. “It doesn’t matter. I know it’s a fucked up thing. Don’t even worry about it. I’ll take you back to your truck.”
He turned toward her, his hand out in wait of the keys. Catherine turned from him, pulling the handle of the passenger door. A moment later she was standing along the side of the dirt road, the dark of the woods looming on either side. She moved to the front of the truck, standing in the headlights to let him see her. She unbuttoned her sweater, staring at the dark windshield, unable to see his face.
Dear God, Catherine. What are you doing? She thought.
Then she threw the sweater onto the hood of the truck and took off for the tree line. A moment later, she was crashing through the underbrush, running as fast as she could to put distance between her and the truck – and her hunter.
She heard the truck door slam shut, then nothing more as the sound of branches breaking under her feet drowned out all other sound.
Her heart was racing, pounding in her ears. What was she doing? What about him made her so willing to play this game? She’d never been with a man who wanted anything like this, yet John Fenn asked her to let him terrify her, and in an instant, she wasn’t just willing – she was eager.
She barreled past a massive boulder, ducking down behind it as she listened for sounds coming from the dirt road, well over a hundred yards away.
She heard the familiar crack of twigs from the tree line. She waited to hear the shuffle of feet. Instead there was a second crack, the sound of something breaking under heavy weight. She held her breath, glancing out from the edge of the boulder. The figure was no more than ten yards away, silhouetted by the light of the truck headlights.
She gasped.
The figure moved toward her another two yards and she bolted. Why did it frighten her so? She knew him, knew he would never cause her harm, but that silent figure, so close in the dark of the woods sent a panic through her so strong, she was careening deeper into the woods, blindly. John’s frame was tall and broad shouldered, and he was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, the hood up over his head. She stopped by a tree, glancing back to find him standing stock still by the boulder. He hadn’t given chase. She stared at him a moment, waiting for him to speak. Something about his posture, the ever so subtle sway to his stance unsettled her.
“John. Say something?”
She watched him as he turned toward her, his shoulders drawing up.
He took another step toward her and she jumped back, instinctively. “Just say something, John? Please. You’re actually scaring me.”
She swallowed as the figure clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides. Catherine stepped to the side, slowly, bracing herself against a nearby tree.
The figure lunged forward and Catherine screamed, turning from him and bolting into the dark woods. She leapt over branches and fallen tree trunks, the sound of crashing underbrush betraying the man giving chase close behind now. She screamed wildly, unable to stop herself as her heart raced, pounding in her ears.
A nettles branches tore at her bare ankles, but she barreled through the trees, the world growing darker with each step she took further from the road. She grabbed hold of a wide trunk, glancing over her shoulder to see how close he was. There was no figure to be seen. She pinned herself to the tree, digging her fingertips into the grooves of the ancient bark, and listened.
The only sounds she could hear were the subtle movement of leaves overhead, tussled by an almost imperceptible breeze. She fought to catch her breath, to still the ragged sound of it. He couldn’t have just vanished. He was somewhere, nearby. She inhaled deeply.
The notion of running deeper into the woods frightened her almost as much as John did. Catherine peeked her face around the trunk of the tree, gauging the distance between her and the tree line. She was well over hundreds of yards deep, but the brush was low, she could catch a good speed back toward the truck. If he wanted to hunt her, he should be prepared for exactly the kind of prey she would be – the kind that tries to get away.
She took three long breaths, listening to every tiny sound of the woods, then with the same motivation as ripping a Band-Aid from a wound, she bounded out from behind the tree and began racing toward the truck headlights, still visible through the trees. The underbrush snagged and pulled at her bare skin, but she barreled onward, undaunted, watching as the details of the truck came into focus through the trees. She dodged past a low hanging branch and screamed, flailing against the touch of something tangled in her long hair. She pulled at it, unable to straighten there beneath the branch, her hair pulled taut over her head by what seemed like a thousand branches. He’d have heard her scream, he’d know where she was. She grabbed the branches in her hair and pulled, feeling several strands of her hair break as she pulled the object free. She released her hold on it, and the strange thing swung away - a wooden doll, fashioned from twigs, hanging from the tree branch as though it were hanging from a noose. She felt her heart shoot up into her throat and turned again toward the truck.
Her face slammed squarely into a solid, warm shape. She stumbled back just in time to look up at the hooded figure.
“No! NO!” She screamed, stepping back, stumbling over branches, feeling the swinging doll bump into her back. She knew it was John, knew despite the time that had passed since she last saw him, despite the newness of his company, that he would never hurt her. Still, nothing could prepare her for the cold fear she felt there in the woods – of the blood chilling horror at finding that wooden doll. Jesus, were Bennett and Paul’s stories true?
She turned back into the woods, running again, spotting another strange item dangling from a nearby tree. She dodged behind another tree branch and pressed her back to the tree trunk, shutting her eyes as she waited. John was somewhere nearby.
Suddenly, something moved up behind her, a solid, warm thing, larger than she, pressed to her back with such force that she nearly fell forward. She felt arms, strong and purposeful, wrapping across her shoulders, the other around her waist. She screamed, yet the arm across her shoulders released just long enough to grab her hands, pinning them down. Then she felt the familiar figure clutch her around the middle, pulling her backward. She dug her feet into the earth, tearing at the hands, screaming until one of them clamped over her mouth. She fought to breathe, clutching his wrist as her feet lifted from the ground completely. She wriggled and kicked at him as his face came close to her ear.
“My God, you are perfect,” he whispered.
John, dropped to his knees with her in his arms, rolling her over onto her side, then her stomach.
He pinned himself over her, forcing her cheek against the damp earth.
The terror she’d felt gave way to overwhelming relief. The hunt was over. She knew not what he would do with her, but the hunt was done, and her heart was pounding from both fear and excitement. It startled her just how much she was enjoying this. The sudden release she felt at being terrified, but safe, that she was in the arms of someone that cared for her, was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes.
He pressed against her, his fingers tugging at the waist of her shorts, tearing them down over her hips, baring her ass to him.
Oh my god, this is happening, she thought.
She lied there a moment, still, the smell of the earth filling her lungs. Her heart was pounding, the sound of it pulsing in her ears as the bare skin of her ass grew cool in the open air. Then she heard the sound of his own jeans being unfastened, the belt and zipper being opened. She felt him settle himself over her, spitting into his hand.
She thrust herself up from the ground, just enough to pull her legs free from beneath him, and took off around the tree, back towards the truck, her shorts falling off as he tried to hold onto her. She heard him growling behind her.
She ran bareassed through the woods, blind to the world around her, save for the truck headlights.
You want a hunt you scary bastard, I’ll give you a damn hunt, she thought.
She heard him call after her, a foreboding tone to his voice. “There’s nowhere to run.”
She dodged around another tree and felt a familiar tickle at her shoulder, spinning around the swat it away, another of the twig figures dangling from the tree. This time she took hold of it in both hands and yanked it down from the branch, raging at John. Did he know these were here? Had he put them there to scare her?
Asshole! She thought and flung it into the darkness just as his solid frame slammed against her back, pinning her face to the tree trunk. He pushed her arms flat, forcing her to hug the tree, then without so much as a moment’s pause, slid his hand up between her legs. She screamed against the sudden touch, and screamed only louder as his fingers slid inside her, his lips pressed to her ears, whispering in such warning tones that she shivered against him. The realization that John Fenn was touching her like that nearly knocked the wind out of her.
“Be a good girl,” he said, and she shivered.
Catherine took a deep breath, exhaling in ragged cries as he clenched her ass tight in his hands, opening her to him. A moment later, she felt the hard head of his cock slide against her, missing its target by just so. He retreated, grabbing her hips and pulling her ass away from the tree just enough to redirect himself, and with that, plunged home, pressing his full weight onto her and pinning her to the tree. She cried out, loud enough for anyone to hear. Yet she knew no one would. There was no one for miles in any direction.
