Page 100 of Bookish Girl’s Emergency Contact Is a Lycan King

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Fable

I can’t outrun a lycan.

I know this. I’ve always known this, it’s basic biology, or whatever passes for biology when you’re discussing supernatural creatures that have no business existing. He’s faster by orders of magnitude, stronger, built for the hunt in ways my soft human body could never match even if I trained for a lifetime.

But that’s not the point.

The point is the chase.

The point is the crash of underbrush beneath my feet, the scratch of bare branches against my arms, the way the moonlight silvers the snow until the whole forest looks like something out of a fever dream. The point is the knowledge that something massive and ancient is running behind me, getting closer with every stride, and instead of being terrified…

I’m exhilarated.

A laugh tears out of me, wild and breathless and probably slightly unhinged.

My heels lasted approximately thirty seconds into the forest before I kicked them off, stupid shoes, definitely ruined, probably buried in a snowdrift somewhere behind me. Now I’m running barefoot through the cold, and my feet should hurt, will definitely hurt later, but right now I can’t feel anything except the adrenaline singing through my veins.

The trees blur past. Ancient oaks give way to younger pines, their branches heavy with snow that glitters in the moonlight. I duck under a low-hanging limb, feel the cold brush of needles against my face, and push harder.

Behind me, closer now, definitely closer, I hear him.

The soft pad of enormous paws on frozen ground. The occasional crack of a branch giving way under his weight. He’s not trying to catch me yet. I can tell, the unhurried rhythm of his stride, the predatory patience of something that knows its prey can’t escape but wants to savor the pursuit.

“Cocky!” I yell over my shoulder.

The growl that rolls back through the trees sounds insufferably like confident. There’s a difference.

I dart around a massive oak, hoping the obstacle will slow him down. It doesn’t help. I hear him circling, cutting off the escape route I’d been aiming for, herding me with predatory precision. I change direction, plunging through a gap in the underbrush that looks wider than it actually is, and branches catch at my dress, tear at my hair, leave scratches on my bare arms that I’ll find tomorrow and try to explain to absolutely no one.

The path opens into a small clearing, a pocket of space where the trees fall back and the moon pours down unfiltered, turning the snow to liquid silver.

I push harder, lungs burning, heart pounding, knowing I’m almost…

He catches me.

One moment I’m running; the next, I’m being spun around, my back hitting a tree trunk hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. He’s shifted without me noticing, human again, naked, his hands planted on either side of my head, caging me against the rough bark.

“Got you.” The words come out barely human, rough and deep and vibrating with something primal that makes my whole body clench.

“Took you long enough.” I’m breathing hard, chest heaving, but I manage to make my voice sound unimpressed. “I thought lycans were supposed to be fast.”

“I was savoring the view.” His eyes rake down my body, dress torn, hair wild, skin flushed with exertion. “You’re beautiful when you run.”

“I’m beautiful all the time.”

“True.” His mouth curves into something that’s more predator than smile. “But especially when you run. Something about the prey instinct, I think.”

“Did you just call me prey?”

“Did you not want to be caught?”

I don’t have a good answer for that.

He kisses me before I can find one, fierce and hungry, the kind of kiss that feels like a claim. His hands find the zipper at my back, drag it down with more urgency than care, and the dress pools at my feet before I can decide if I mind.

The cold hits my bare skin, but I don’t feel it. Can’t feel anything except the heat of him pressed against me, the rough bark at my back, the way his mouth moves down my throat like he’s trying to consume me.