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Homer knew one other truth:We men are wretched things.
12
PRIMAL MAN
KALLUM
The lust for the hunt always rivals the kill.
At my base core, I’m a primal beast that relishes the chase.
And Halen is by far my favorite prey.
Gazing into the dense thicket of marsh grass and trees, I breathe in deeply, pulling Halen’s intoxicating scent into my lungs. Her emotional arousal is goddamn delectable.
My inner beast is salivating.
The liberation I feel from the tracking monitor stirs my blood into a frenzy. My heart rate climbs with each second that passes. The farther away she gets, the hungrier I become, the deeper the desire to bring us together.
The low rumble of thunder builds slowly, drawing out the tantalizing buzz in my veins until all I can feel is her dark elements tangled with mine, a sinfully wicked seduction as the kill heightens my arousal—how I know it heightens hers.
That’s what my fearful muse is truly running from. Halen is always trying to outrun that darkness whispering in her ear. But today, there will be no escape.
I relent to the carnal demand to give chase and bound toward the tree line.
My feet pound the earth in pursuit as I track Halen’s clear footprints. Adrenaline surges the chambers of my heart, dopamine floods my neuro pathways, and I swear if I catch her too soon, I’m going to make a mess of my meal.
Crossing into the deep brush, I swipe the viny branches to clear my path and push into the coppice of pines and willows. The leafy sprays give off a trace of wintergreen as I brush past, my steps light now as I strain to hear the sounds out of place in the marsh.
My little twin flame will give herself up, because deep down, she wants to be caught.
Plato may have framed the origin, but the terminology is relatively novel—a mystic belief in the union of dual flames and their stages once reunited.
While I spent the vast majority of my time in the yearning stage, made obvious by my years of pining for my muse, once Halen and I were thrust together, we accelerated through the others, raging hotter than a holy fire.
The chase and surrender stage might as well be written in our stars. As the chaser, it’s my sole purpose to pursue my little runner until she’s thoroughly exhausted, where she’s forced to face her fear before she ultimately surrenders.
Fuck, her surrender will taste so sweet.
I don’t have to adopt a new age theology in order to appreciate the symmetry. Being open to new ideas is how one prevents repeating historical mistakes.
Like the day I yielded to my weakness and handed Halen the means to lock me away in a psychiatric hospital. Now, I’m much more cautious with what I let slip past my lips.
Her allegation of lies, while demoralizing, does little to deter my purpose. I have but one desire, one obsession, and I’ve sacrificedeverythingto obtain it.
The distinctsnaphalts my movements.
There’s a rustle of reeds, the telltale squelch of soggy earth being shifted, then Halen’s small gasp.
That’s all it takes, just the breathy cadence of her fear whispered through the canes, and I’m feral.
“You know what happens when the prey runs from the predator,” I say as I duck under the low-hanging sprays. “Are you provoking me on purpose? I’m hard just thinking about how you begged me for the pain, Halen.”
My gaze sweeps the high grass. I hold my breath and wait, my body humming with anticipation.
The alluring scent of her arousal invades my senses, and I close my eyes to taste her. Honeysuckle and clove settles at the back of my throat, the burn so good.
I undo the buttons along the placket of my black Oxford, the desire to feel the natural elements on my skin as demanding as my need to feel her skin against mine. My ethereal fairy creature is well suited here in this secluded wood, hiding from the hunter that wants to devour her.
