"Judd Archer."
"Right."
"Are you sure it's the same man?"
"Of course I'm sure. He was right there. On that street and at Judd's house. He's tall with dark hair and a scar under his eye. I'm not sure if it's the left or right eye. Left, I think. He's wearing a green jacket. He's here somewhere, at the fair. I can't stay. I have to get out of here. Will you find him for me? Stop him?"
"I'll do my best."
The line went dead.
"That - " Damon began.
" - wasn't Robyn. I know."
* * *
ROBYN
Robyn turned to run from the man. She knew it was futile - he was close enough to grab her. But he didn't. She was so surprised that she stumbled, twisting to look back at him.
He stood there. Smiling. "Ten. Nine. Eight."
Robyn ran.
The forest couldn't be that big. The path had to lead to the other side. Unless it just looped around to where it started...
"Ready or not..."
Robyn dove into the brush. She hit the ground, skidding through the undergrowth, shoulder flaring, a branch scraping her cheek a mere inch from her eye. She scrambled in deeper, every move making the brush crackle and snap like gunfire.
She dropped, turned toward the path and stretched out on her stomach. The vegetation sprang back up, cradling her. Flat on the ground, she watched the man's pale face bobbing along the path. It stopped directly parallel to where she lay.
He turned and crossed his arms. His sigh wafted through the quiet forest. "Oh, come on. If you're going to play, you have to do better than that. I can smell you. I can see in the dark. What the hell did Marsten teach you about werewolves?"
Robyn choked back a laugh. Did he really say werewolves? He was going to have to do better than that if he wanted to scare her.
He couldn't see her. He'd just approximated where the noise had come from.
"Are you going to make me come in there after you, blondie?"
Like to see you try, Mr. Werewolf.
He took a step into the forest. Then another, and another, sauntering along as easily as if he was still on the path, ducking branches she couldn't even see, heading straight for her.
Her shirt.
She'd tried to buy one as dark as possible, but it had white stripes. Against the darkness, she must stand out like a zebra on a dimly lit plain.
She tensed, but held still, hoping she was wrong, that he was still guessing -
He stopped four feet away, his face turning to hers, teeth flashing against the night.
She leapt to her feet and barreled through the undergrowth, glancing over her shoulder to see him still sauntering, unhindered by the brush, not even bothering to run
.
She was veering to circle back to the path when she caught the flash of reflective tape on a tree and ran for it. The path. Thank God. She rammed through the last patch of brush. Vines grabbed her feet, but she yanked free and hit the path at a run.