Mya Anderson pushed through the foliage, following the barely discernable trail that if her calculations were correct, would put her on the beach. Normally she wouldn’t think of walking in this thick copse of trees at night, while wearing a red bikini the size of a postage stamp that barely covered her ample curves, but this was her fantasy and she only had forty-eight hours to live it. Actually, forty-seven point five hours remaining – time was passing much too quickly. This was a once in a lifetime chance and she planned to live it to the fullest extent.
A harvest moon rode high in the sky, but under this canopy of tropical trees, shadows ruled. Mya suddenly halted mid-step, some primitive instinct warning her she was being watched.
“Hello?” she called out.
There was no answer. Stepping a bit closer to the trunk of the tree nearest her, she glanced cautiously around. “I’m safe,” she murmured. “This is Fantasy Island, not some inner city back alley.”
Her Id wasn’t buying it. Something was out there, something dangerous. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see or hear it. Her psyche knew and it was screaming at her to get the heck out of there.
“Maybe it’s the dark playing with my imagination,” she reasoned as she cautiously crept forward, keeping close to the tree line. “Once I hit the open space of the beach and stand in the bright glow of the moonlight, I’ll realize it was just my mind playing tricks on me.”
Still, she moved a bit faster, this time as quietly as she could.
There was a rustle in the bushes to her left. Mya froze, scared to call out again. If it were her hero, surely he would have answered earlier. Something was tracking her. Uneasily, she realized she’d forgotten to ask if there were any wild animals on the island. She assumed it would be safe. Too late she remembered what the saying about assumptions.
The rustling came again, closer this time. Glancing automatically in that direction, Mya saw a pair of glowing eyes. They were accompanied by a long, low, and vicious-sounding growl.
Mya’s flight-or-fight response kicked in and she took off running. All she wanted was a simple fantasy fulfilled, to be the heroine of one of the many werewolf romance novels she veraciously devoured. A nice, safe, erotic romance novel, darn it. She did not sign up to be the dumb blonde in a horror flick.
She heard a thud behind her. “Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look back,” she chanted under her breath. The stupid characters—the ones who looked back—always ended up dead in the movies.
As she cleared the tree line and hit the soft, white sand of the beach, she heard a roar coupled with the crashing sounds of foliage being trampled. Instinctively, she glanced over her shoulder.
What she saw sent terror streaking through her. Fear lent wings to her feet and she literally flew over the sand until she hit the more firmly packed beach. Breath bellowing, she ran even as her thighs burned and a sharp pain struck her on her right side. She pressed her hand against it and kept running. Can’t stop. Got to keep moving. If I survive this, I promise I’ll never skip the gym again.
Her legs churned so hard, the little white cover-up she wore across her hips loosened and drifted to the ground. Mya’s heavy thighs were rubbing together so fast, it’s a wonder they didn’t spark and catch fire. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep up this pace.
Helplessly, she glanced back again. It was still there and gaining fast. Mya cried out as just like in the movies, she tripped over something, hit the ground hard and went rolling. Before she could scramble to her feet, it was on her.
A large, hairy arm flipped her over onto her stomach, hooked her by the waist and jerked her hips up off of the ground. “Mine. Mate. Caught. Claim.”