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The last thing I need is to draw attention to myself.
I head for the bus station, a low concrete building squatting at the edge of the lot. It's dingy and depressing, the air thick with the smell of exhaust and stale sweat.
But it's perfect for my purposes. Lots of people coming and going, their faces blurring together in a sea of anonymity.
I scan the departure board, my eyes landing on a bus to Syracuse leaving in twenty minutes.
It's not my final destination, but it's a start. A way to throw Lucian off my trail, to make him think I'm zigzagging my way across the state.
I approach the ticket counter, a bored-looking woman with over-plucked eyebrows barely glancing up as I slide my cash across the scratched plexiglass.
"One ticket to Syracuse, please."
Hopefully, he'll think I'm running for Canada.
If I let him catch me in Syracuse, let him think I'm stopping to rest in the anonymity of a city before I cross the border, he'll pounce. And I'll have a better idea of just how desperate he is if he thinks that's my goal.
She punches a few keys on her computer, her long nails clacking against the plastic. A ticket spits out of the printer, the paper still warm as she hands it over.
"Gate six. Better hurry."
I mumble my thanks and hurry away, my heart pounding as I weave through the crowd. I can't shake the feeling that he's here, watching me. That those cold gray eyes are tracking my every move. A wolf stalking a wounded deer.
But I don't see him. Not in the line for the bathroom, or browsing the sad selection of snacks in the vending machine. Not lounging on the hard plastic seats, or pacing the perimeter with predatory grace.
Of course not. He's too smart for that. Too patient. He won't strike until the time is right, until he's sure he has me exactly where he wants me.
The thought sends a shiver down my spine. Fear and something darker, more primal, coils in my belly.
I think of his hands on me in the forest, the brutal strength of his body pinning me down. The hot rasp of his breath on my neck, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered dark words.
What would he do if he caught me now? Would he drag me into a dark corner, hike up my skirt and take what he's been chasing?
Would he make me beg for it? Make me admit how much a part of me wants it, even as I'm terrified of what it means? Terrified of what he's going to do on that seventh hunt?
I shake my head, disgusted with myself.
This is no time for twisted fantasies.
I can't afford to let him get in my head, to muddy the waters between fear and desire. He's a monster, a killer. A sadist who's getting off on the thrill of terrorizing me.
I can't forget that, no matter how my traitorous body reacts to him.
The bus is half-full when I climb aboard, a motley assortment of travelers settling into their seats. I choose a spot near the back, wedging myself against the window with my duffel bag hugged to my chest.
I feel a prickle on the back of my neck, an itch between my shoulder blades like crosshairs lining up for a shot. I fight the urge to turn around, to scan the faces behind me for a glimpse of platinum hair and piercing gray eyes.
He's not here. He can't be. I would know if he was close, would feel his presence like an electrical charge crackling over my skin.
Wouldn't I?
The bus lurches into motion, the driver's gravelly voice crackling over the intercom. "Next stop, Rochester. Arrival in approximately one hour and fifteen minutes."
I lean my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the scenery blur past in a smear of color. The adrenaline is starting to ebb, exhaustion weighing down my limbs like lead. I haven't slept more than a few fitful hours in what feels like a dangerously long time, too wired and terrified to let my guard down for long. Outside of a few bites from one of the granola bars in my duffel bag, I haven't even been able to eat.
I can't afford to be sloppy.
Can't afford to let fatigue dull my edge, slow my reflexes.
