Chapter 1 - American Princess

Eyes fired, gasping for air, the blonde fled through the woods. Rustling leaves and snapping branches blurred into a steady rhythm under her swift feet. Cool breath of a spring night poured over her frantic tears. With her assailant only a footfall behind her, and her chest cramping, she ran deeper and deeper into her grave.

With every trip, each stumble, and every obstacle she lost precious time. Branches she pushed forward lashed at her pursuer’s face, but the fact remained: he was better dressed for running through the woods than she was.

The red velvet dress was designed for standing and talking, dancing maybe, but not running. Even a track star like her would have trouble running in a slimming evening gown. The split on one side that had once gone only to her left knee had ripped all the way to her hip, allowing her to run much better. That aside, the dress had cost her a lot of ground early on, and her allies had gotten far ahead. Afforded new hope by the ripped dress, she faced a new challenge: her shoes.

Pump heels made every step an obstacle. Every footfall had a chance of curling her ankle under and sending her to the forest floor and into the jaws of the beast.

“Wait!” she gasped. The desperate call echoed ahead of her. “Wait up!” she pled with tears welling over her cheeks. “Help!”

Adrenaline had long ago chased the pain out of her bleeding palm. The killer was close enough that the red liquid flinging from her hand splashed onto his chest. She could hear his breath and footsteps closing the gap on her.

A downed tree blocked the path ahead. It was only waist high–an easy hurdle. It seemed unlikely that her pursuer would be able to keep up with her in hurdles. She stepped more steadily into the last few feet before the log, falling into a proper sprinter’s gait.

She forgot all else, and powered into the jump. One leg over, then the other; a textbook hurdle. This was something she was sure she had on any guy. The faint light of the moon revealed her folly: The clasp on her shoe had broken, allowing the high heel to slip half off her right foot.

The blonde came back to earth on the crooked shoe with an awful crack, breaking her ankle on impact. She stumbled to a halt chest-first in the slick mud. The killer’s shadow draped over her body as he stood atop the log. Quivering, she rolled over onto her back to plead for her life.

He towered over her. Heaving and panting from the chase, he stared her down. The moon over his shoulder made his face difficult to make out. Dark, hidden eyes looked to her face and then to her hand. At the sight of the bloody cut, he leveled a crossbow on her torso, his chest heaving now with rage rather than exhaustion.

“No! Please!” she propped herself up on her uninjured hand, trying to escape the silvery tip. She looked from the arrow to his face and her expression changed.

“You!?” Her lips wrapped around the word as her horrified eyes ran red with the wrath of betrayal. His finger clenched the trigger and a bolt pierced her chest, pinning her to the muddy ground. A hollow thud echoed off the trees.

The killer watched her helpless body flail, her pretty face grimacing in increasingly painful expressions. After only a few seconds her bloodcurdling screams wore thin on his conscience. He pulled a pistol, changed clips quickly and leveled the muzzle on her. After another second or so he looked away and pulled the trigger. The gun spoke twice as blonde fell silent.

His wary eyes turned back to the now-dead woman. He knelt to grab the arrow. As the harpoon pulled out of the mud a faint wheeze came through her nostrils. He jumped back and pointed the gun at her again. Reflexes got the better of him and he pulled the trigger twice.

Horrified, he set back to work. Every tendon and muscle in her chest and back held fast to the barbed bolt. He looked up to the path she had been running down. Frantically, he yanked on the bolt. A gruesome, crisp sound echoed through the night as her chest finally surrendered the harpoon. He didn’t notice the necklace wrapped round the tip as he dropped it into the quiver.

Nearly panicking he turned and ran back through the woods toward his escape. He ran doubled over, clenching his gun with both hands. Every few yards he slid against a tree and whirled around, immediately dropping to one knee and leveling the pistol on the path behind him, slowly surveying the dark woods. Trees and shrubs and thorn brush filled his view in every direction. Any shrub or brush could be harboring the others.

Panting, he dashed a few more yards. Knee-jerk reflexes turned him round at the sound of a snapping twig. His heart jumping, he swapped back to the first clip of ammunition. Pulling back the slide, he looked to the lake off through the trees. He had been so close.