Excerpt: Running Down the Moon

Wisps of blond hair framed the hood, but underneath it her expression was distorted by whatever nightmare plagued her slumber. Like a running dog, her foot twitched against the seat, and another soft cry was stifled by her tightly pursed lips.
Emalyn was running. Streams of moonlight clawed through the bare branches above, while her labored breath huffed out in silver puffs before her. A traitorous root caught the toe of her shoe, and she stumbled, but caught righted herself before falling. Pain throbbed in her toe, but she didn’t let it slow her down. He was right behind her, so close she could almost hear the pads of his paws clawing up clumps of dirt as he bounded
A lone howl pierced the silence of the night, and she lifted her ear toward the sound. One thousand feet, maybe less, and he was gaining on her. Soon, he’d be upon her, and she would have to face him. The pistol in her clammy hands felt cold; it always grew cold, like some enchanted instrument, in his presence. As if she knew that even if he tackled her to the ground, maw dripping with thick streams of saliva, she could never kill him.
His bay thick with lament, something inside her soul tore open at the sound. She wanted to go to him, to lie down at his feet and just let him take her because she was tired. Tired of running, tired of fighting for the first time in her life. She wanted to hold him again, to lie beside him in the dark and watch him sleep, but even then her thoughts had been riddled with torment. She loved and hated him, wanted and needed him like a junky needed smack, but to give in meant betrayal and death.
As long as she was running, as long as she lived and breathed, he would never stop hunting her.
Sharp branches slashed at her face like claws as she raced through the thicket. Up ahead she could just make out lights in the clearing, but she didn’t dare expose another to his murderous rage. So many others had died because of her, so many innocent young women. Women built like her, similar features and the same style haircut. He’d left a trail of bodies halfway across the country, and unless she found the courage to stand and face him, the killing would never stop.
Stumbling into the clearing, she gave herself a moment to find her bearings, but the moment was too long, or she had underestimated the distance between them. The force of his monstrous frame tackled her from behind and her gun skittered across the dirt. Her stomach reacted with pounding force; he’d knocked the wind knocked out of her. She struggled to catch her breath, her body writhing almost like a lover beneath his, and then the fabric of her red, hooded sweatshirt caught on the sharp edge of his claws.
As she fought to scramble out from under him and toward the gun just out of reach, the sound of tearing fabric startled amusement from her. Her favorite hoodie hung open in a straight tear beside the zipper. Shit! She’d had that hoodie as long as she could remember. It was comfortable, a little worse for the wear, but had holes in the sleeves that she liked to slip her thumbs into when it was cold outside.
Slashing toward her, she managed to escape and grasped the cold metal in her hand. She spun around on her back, legs half-drawn and one arm down to hold her up. Lifting the barrel in his direction, he reared backward on his hind legs as if to challenge her. Sleek black against the backdrop of night, were it not for the moon, he’d be impossible to see. Mouth agape, his jaw filled with razor sharp teeth that seemed to glisten like metal in the silver light of the moon. He huffed, the snarl of a half-uttered growl caught in the back of his throat. Hot breath steamed like smoke from his dripping lips, and then he dropped down onto all fours, advancing slowly toward her.
“I ought to kill you just for that!” She dug the soles of her feet into the ground, moving backward to buy herself some time. “You shredded my favorite hoodie, you ass! I’ve had this thing for like eight years.”
Head shifted his head to the left, as though recognizing the sound of her voice had touched the distant, human side of him, but that recognition wasn’t enough to overpower the beast. For a moment, it almost seemed like he grinned, a slick, daring reminder of that she had never killed him in the past, and would likely not do so now either.
Hand trembling she brought her other hand up to secure her aim. Instinct screamed inside her to squeeze her eyelids tight and just pull the trigger. The monster advancing on her was not the man she fell in love with, but then the moonlight shone in his eyes, and her own gaze blurred with tears. Slate blue, the color of stone in winter, and she remembered looking up into them while he made love to her. Her steady arm fell, and her intention faltered.
“Connor,” she said.
He lunged at her.