A low chuckle echoed through the trees, igniting a fresh wave of panic in her. It wasn't a joyful laugh, but a quiet, menacing sound, like a predator relishing the chase.
"Faster, cara," Luca whispered, his voice cutting through the moonlit forest with an unsettling clarity, wrapping around her like ice. "Or do you want me to catch you?"
Yasmine didn't answer; she just pushed herself harder, her muscles screaming in protest. Her breath was a harsh gasp with every frantic step. The initial thrill was fading, replaced by a suffocating dread. She was running blind, desperate to distance herself from her hunter. The air felt heavy, an invisible force pulling her back just as she fought to move forward.
Another whisper, even closer, made her trip. "Is that all you have, little bird? Such a weak flutter."
"Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat urging her on. She pushed harder, her lungs burning, the taste of copper in her mouth. The tangled roots and fallen branches became a blur in the dappled moonlight. A misplaced step, a gnarled root hidden beneath a carpet of damp leaves—a sudden snap of wood, and then she was falling. A sharp cry escaped her lips as she hit the ground, the breath knocked from her lungs in a painful whoosh. Pain shot through her ankle, a searing agony that made her teeth clench. She knew instantly that she had twisted it.
"Damn it!" she hissed, trying to push herself up, but the pain was too intense. A whimper caught in her throat, quickly stifled. She sank back down, cradling her throbbing ankle, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against the forest floor. He would be here soon.
Luca emerged from the trees, his silhouette framed by the moonlight, moving with a silent grace that belied his size. He paused a few feet away, his shadow stretching long and distorted over her prone form. His eyes gleamed with a chilling amusement, reflecting the slivers of moonlight.
"Trouble, Yasmine?" he purred, his voice soft and dangerous, like a caress. "A pretty fall for a pretty girl."
She glared at him, defiance flickering in her eyes despite the fear that gnawed at her. "Go to hell," she spat, her voice raspy.
He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent shivers down her spine. He crouched down, his gaze fixed not on her face, but on her injured ankle. "Such a delicate thing," he murmured, his voice laced with mock concern. "It would be a shame to damage it further. Did you think you could outrun me, mia cara?"
She flinched away as he reached out, his fingers brushing the fabric of her trousers near her ankle. Her breath came in ragged gasps. "What do you want from me?" she demanded, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to control it. "Why are you doing this?"