THE CLAIMING (The Chosen Series #1)

ESCAPE

"Fine, I'll be there in 45. No, need to feed her first." His frustrated voice echoes from downstairs, the clatter of pots and pans emphasizing his agitation. "Don't push me," he continues, his tone escalating, "I'm a man of my word."

Who's he talking to? Oh God. He's leaving. It's time!

Strength has gradually returned to my limbs over the past 24 hours. However, I've held back, biding my time with the stranger, anticipating this exact moment.

My heart races, fear pulsating through my veins. Each passing second feels like an eternity, the looming threat growing heavier. The room shrinks, the air thickens, suffocating. Urgency surges within me, urging action, but I take a deep breath, fighting the rising panic.

All I need is 15 minutes.

With no other explanation for my fatigue over the past few days, I've concluded that he must be drugging my food, the doses reduced over time, and I know that this may be my only opportunity to run. Since waking up 2 hours ago, I've allowed him to use my body while meticulously planning my escape.

Now fully charged, my phone is ready, and I've used this time to slowly move about the room, pretending to use the bathroom. During these trips, I've located my keys, my essential items from the bathroom, and collect my discarded clothes, stashing them into my suitcase.

I know I'll be leaving somethings behind, but my focus is getting out of here.

Being cautious and not wanting to raise suspicion, I ensure a few items are left out and scattered about, within easy reach, either on the ground or in front of the case. Placing the last of them in the top drawer of the dresser, I wait as he enters, dressed in dark jeans and a form-fitting plaid shirt, breakfast in hand.

My heart does an annoying flip at the sight of him. He's less disheveled than the night I hit him, but there is a wildness about him that makes him look almost feral.

"Cleaning our nest, good girl." He purrs and I obediently stumble my way back to the bed. Time to put my drama classes to use. I know he won't let me feed myself, so I wait for him to take his place on the bed before curling into his lap. I make sure my movements are slow, imitating exhaustion.

I can't help the little shiver of pleasure that runs through my body at being this close to him. He smells so good.

Accepting the spoonful of sweet oatmeal, I try not to gag and allow my body to become limp against his, leaning my entire body weight against his chest, closing my eyes, and sagging my head. A deep rumbling sound comes from his throat, the sound soothing. I don't even get halfway through the meal, and I can already feel the drugs kicking in.

"My Doe, sleepy, must have exhausted you, such a good little mate." Setting aside the remaining food, he carefully eased me onto the pillows. Despite my attempts to feign slumber, the relentless pull of sleep tugs at me.

He presses a gentle kiss on my lips, the scent of pine and musk lingering in the air as he pulls away. His footsteps echoe softly as he leaves, closing the door with a barely audible click.

I open my eyes, straining to catch the sound of the front door shutting. After the lock clicks, I count to thirty, timing the distant growl of a car's engine as it starts. When the tires crunch on gravel, I leap out of bed and rush to the window, hiding behind the thick curtains and holding my breath.

Relief floods me as I see the rear of what looks like a black Ford F150 Raptor exiting the driveway, my car still parked where I left it.

Without hesitation, I race to the bathroom, forcing two fingers down my throat, expelling the syrupy mixture. Bitter bile mixes with the saccharine taste in my mouth. Thankful as my stomach empties, I grab a bag and hurriedly stuff the remaining items before turning to the dresser.