The Darkest Embrace by Megan Hart Page B

went after him, but Max was already on the front porch. By the time she got to the door, he’d pulled on the boots he’d left there the night before. In another half minute he was off the porch and in the front yard, heading for the trees.
    “You stay here!”
    “Max, wait! Where are you going?”
    He jerked a thumb behind him but didn’t turn. “I saw her, Jessie. I told you I saw her! She ran off into the woods! You stay here.”
    Even with no shoes or coat, Jessie still considered running after him. She paused, though, watching him head for the tree line. It would be stupid of her to follow him without getting dressed and getting a weapon, because no matter what he’d seen, it was better to have protection. As she turned to head back into the house, she saw what had convinced him so strongly that he was running off after his ex.
    On the front door, painted in thick mud, was a giant number one.
    “Oh, shit.” Jessie didn’t waste another second. Inside the cabin she found socks, her still-wet and muddy boots, her jeans still damp from yesterday, but better than the soft pajama pants she wore. She pulled a heavy sweatshirt over her head, but when it came time to get her ankle into the boot, she was stumped.
    It hurt. A lot. She did it anyway, with a low, gritting cry as she seated her foot into the boot and laced it tight.
    She took the rake she’d used yesterday. Also a big kitchen knife from the block on the counter. The irony of that wasn’t lost on her.
    The sun had come up while she and Max slept. Even though the sky was still gray when he’d run off, by the time Jessie was finished getting ready to go after him, the sun had started to burn away the clouds. The air was still crisp, a perfect autumn day. It looked like the rain was going to hold off. With the knife strapped to her belt and the rake in one hand, her tightly laced boot providing sufficient support for her ankle, Jessie was ready to kick some ass.
    No bitch, she thought, was going to get between her and Max.
    In the front yard, she found the gouges his boots had left in the mud. But before she could follow them, the chugging, guttering mumble of an engine turned her toward the back of the house. Freddy came around the side on a battered four-wheeler, his wide grin totally out of place with everything else that had gone on over the past day.
    “Hiya! Great day. Just coming to check on youse since the bridge washed out.” He pronounced washed like it had a letter R in it. Freddy paused. “You okay?”
    “No.” Jessie pointed at the Suburban. “Something slashed our tires. And there’s something in the woods. And...Freddy...”
    She didn’t know how to tell him right out that his sister might have been killed. No matter how creepy Carrie had been, Jessie was still hoping for the best, that she was okay. “We found something in the stream by the waterfall when the thing was coming after us. Carrie’s clothes. Some of her hair. I think whatever attacked us might have hurt her. Or worse.”
    Freddy looked her over, his gaze taking in the knife and the rake, and maybe something in her face. His cheeks drained of color. “Carrie?”
    “Your sister.”
    “Oh, shit. Shit, shit!” Freddy hopped off the four-wheeler and ran to her, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. “What was it? What did you see?”
    “Her clothes, for sure. Her hair,” Jessie repeated, trying to think about what she’d seen in the stream. No blood, but...”
    “It wasn’t my sister. Carrie’s been dead for years.”
    “No.” Jessie shook her head. “She was here when we woke up yesterday. She made us breakfast, and it was pretty freaking creepy, let me tell you. She told us not to go in the woods, but we didn’t listen. And then we went hiking to the waterfall and we were going to have a picnic, but this...thing, this huge thing came crashing out after us, and we ran—”
    Freddy let go of her and started pacing. His boots squelched in the churned