Page 7

“Vivian?” I call softly, approaching the threshold. No answer.

I nudge the door fully open with my foot, supplies still clutched in my arms. The chair—empty. A smartphone—lying on the floor—with a cracked screen.

Everything tumbles from my hands as reality hits me. She’s gone.

“Fuck. FUCK!” My voice echoes in the small space, panic rising like bile in my throat. “Vivian?”

I drop to my knees, checking under the bed. Nothing but dust bunnies.

The bathroom—empty.

Behind the door—nothing.

“Vivian!” I call louder, desperation threading through my voice. “Come here, beautiful, no need to run away from me! You’re safe, you know?”

I sound like I’m playing a game with her, but my heart hammers against my ribs with genuine fear.

Did she wander into the forest, disoriented from the chloroform?

Is she hiding somewhere nearby?

Or running, trying to find her way back to civilization?

Worse… Did someone kidnap her?

My mind conjures horrifying images—Vivian lost in the dark woods, running away from a creepy guy and falling into the stream. I burst back outside, scanning the uncomfortable darkness frantically for any sign of movement.

“Vivian!” I shout, my voice bouncing back from the trees. No response except the startled fluttering of birds disturbed from their roosts.

I circle the cabin, searching for footprints, broken branches, any sign of which direction she might have taken. There—a snapped twig, a depression in the soft earth that might be a footprint. If it’s hers, she went east, toward the denser part of the forest.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter, running my hands through my hair.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. In the novels, the female main character wakes in a comfortable bed, confused but intrigued by her mysterious captor. She doesn’t flee half conscious into a dangerous forest in the middle of the night.

I was going to prepare a comfortable bed for her, for God’s sake!

This plan is going downhill, and we haven’t even started anything.

I’m about to plunge after her when a thought stops me cold. Wait. In some novels, the FMC runs away from the captor. And it’s one of my favorite micro-tropes.

Primal play. The chase. The hunt.

And I’m wearing a mask.

In my bucket list, right below “Kidnap the woman of my dreams,” I’d written “Primal play in the woods.” Hadn’t I highlighted passages about the thrill of the chase? The predator and prey dynamic that ends with passionate surrender? How I always wanted to try it without being called a creep?

A slow smile spreads across my face as understanding dawns. This isn’t a disaster—it’s an opportunity. Vivian is giving me exactly what I want, whether she knows it or not.

“Clever girl,” I whisper into the darkness, my fear transforming into something else entirely. Something primal, indeed.

I roll my shoulders, feeling the tension in my muscles, the anticipation building in my core.

This is happening. This is really happening.

“I’m gonna ravish you when I catch you,” I call out, my voice carrying through the trees. “So run, run away from me, gorgeous! Enjoy the last moments until I fuck you like an animal!”

The words sound crude even to my own ears, not at all eloquent, but I’m beyond caring. Blood rushes in my ears, in my cock, as I set off into the forest after her. Each cracking twig, each rustle of leaves pulls me forward, following her trail like a predator scenting prey.