Hunted in Holly

Chapter 6

Two hours. I watched time tick by, while the pretty dove ran for her life. Just the thought of her stress, her fear, her dilated pupils, and short, panicked breaths—I wanted to be patient and hunt her slowly, drawing out the game until her mental state was on the verge of shattering, but it would be difficult when her very existence thrilled me so.

It wasn’t just the intensity in her eyes, the boldness, or the determination that enticed me. Nor was it her status as queen, or her foolish courage that brought her all the way to my kingdom on a suicide mission. I wouldn’t even say it was the adorable naiveté that led her to truly believe she’d ever stood any chance against me.

No, she was the entire package, from her heart to her head to her pouty lips, her big, beautiful eyes, her tight and sensitive pussy, and the amount of untapped, unstoppable power that she would one day use only for me. She was the bride I’d been waiting for for thousands of years, and the reason no one else had ever caught my interest.

I’d been reasonably confident she would be my wife from the first quiet sob as I injected the tranquilizer into her neck .

I was absolutely certain when I watched her quivering and clinging to me under my sweetest touch.

I hummed a joyful carol as I stepped into the cold afternoon. A moderate breeze crossed the snowy plains, and the first clouds of the coming blizzard had started gathering in the once clear sky.

I looked forward to bad weather, to be honest. It would not only increase the peril for her, but it would make the hunt much more difficult and enjoyable for me. I wasn’t interested in too easy a catch.

I stepped into her first track, just to get a feel for the depth of her footprint and the compaction of the powder. It was an easy way to read both the speed at which she was moving, and the lightness of her step. The technical reasons aside, I couldn’t help but grin at the sheer difference in our size. My large boot took up nearly both of her foot prints.

Adorable.

But also, impressive. Her movement pattern spoke to both surefootedness and agility. At this pace, she had likely covered several miles already, depending on her strategy.

Did she make as much distance as possible? Or did she stop short to hide? Did she set traps? Leave a trail? I couldn’t wait to see what she came up with. The challenges of hunting a logical, rational being were endlessly thrilling.

I started into the trees, where a clear path of footprints lead me onward without the need for much thought. The snow hid nothing, and it was almost a bore to use such obvious clues. I hoped she had come up with something better than this .

After a few miles, I came upon a crossroads where the footprints split, her route now shooting off in various directions. The most prominent steps led to the west towards the cliff. It looked like she’d started out heading east, then changed her mind and bolted in the opposite direction.

The panicked decision making of a scared rabbit.

The cliffs would be a good choice. If she could scale the stone walls of my fortress, then she could surely climb the rugged rock faces that encased the wintery woods. That route would also leave less of a trail, making her much more difficult to track.

I took one step towards the cliffs, then I stopped as I noticed the mess up ahead. Something about the pure chaos of it all, from the footsteps to the disturbed tree branches, absent of fresh snow cover—when not a single tree had been disturbed until now—felt distinctly off for how she’d been navigating previously. Either she’d let the adrenaline overtake her reason and she’d stopped thinking, or this was her trap.

I ran my hand through my platinum stubble, then I crouched down to a low squat, and I examined her foot prints more closely. I dipped my hand into the small well of snow, and I placed my knuckles at the base.

The tilt of the impression was wrong. The powder was a touch more dense, implying the movements had been slower and more focused, and the way the snow had compacted forward instead of backwards spoke to rear propulsion. Like someone walking backwards, so that their direction and their trail wouldn’t visibly agree.

Clever dove.

But was she clever enough ?

I sniffed the air, but the scent of pine overwhelmed her unique aroma. She was as earthy as the forest itself, and I liked that about her, but it wouldn’t make locating her easy.

No matter. I knew where she’d headed now.

I started down the backwards footprints, noting how much more carefully and slowly she’d chosen her directions. The concentration she’d put into misleading me was as precious as it was pointless, but I appreciated every effort.

I continued until the path stopped abruptly. The trees on either side had both been disturbed, but judging by the uneven piles of powder beneath the branches, it wasn’t that snow that she’d used to refill most of her prints.

I took off my right glove and shoveled a snowball into my bare hand where I suspected she’d stepped, then I examined the crystals carefully. The ice started to melt almost instantly, just as it did whenever my warm soul came in contact with her magic. The resulting water soaked into my skin, leaving behind a hint of that rich, powerful clove scent of hers.

This wasn’t natural snow. That much was obvious.

Satisfied, I lifted my gaze to the oversized trees all around me. I dragged my tongue over my teeth, lingering on my canines.

Yes, I already liked this woman very, very much.