Chapter 8: The Prey Runs

Around me, the other girls scattered in panicked bursts, their pale slips vanishing into the undergrowth. I broke away from them, cutting westward into the untamed timber where the pines grew dense and treacherous. Running in a herd was an invitation for a coordinated ambush; if we stayed together, the hunters would corral us like sheep.

I searched the shadows for an escape route—a maintenance trail, an access fence, a line of boundary markers leading toward open water.

There was nothing. Centuries of tradition hadn't built roads through this ridge; they had built an inescapable slaughter pen.

Every stride drove sharp shale and broken flint into my bare soles. Fresh cuts opened along my heels, leaving wet crimson streaks across the damp moss. In these woods, pain wasn't the enemy; the scent was. I was laying down an open invitation for any predator with a working nose.

A heavy, reverberating clang rolled across the gorge.

The gong.

Ten minutes were up. The hunt was officially open.

Men like Rafe wouldn't sprint out the gate. They would step onto the terrace, rolling their shoulders while the updraft carried a dozen frantic scents straight to them. But once an Alpha caught the trail he had signed for, the game changed. He would track without pause until his canines found flesh.

Valka, I called inwardly, staying low to keep the brush between me and the ridge. Are you with me?

Her presence stirred, faint and flickering like a candle in a gale. Two days of mandatory fasting had hollowed us out, leaving nothing to fuel our pace.

I'm running on fumes, Wren, her voice scraped across our link. We need meat.

Regret flared sharp in my thoughts. When the transport truck had slowed around the muddy hairpin turns on the climb up, I should have rolled off the back into the ravine. A single missing tribute might have gone unnoticed until dawn. Instead, I had waited for a safer opening, and now I was running barefoot through a locked arena.

A dry branch snapped thirty paces ahead.

I pressed my back against the rough trunk of a hemlock, holding my breath.

A young doe stepped out from behind a thicket of ferns, its dark eyes alert in the crimson wash of the moon.

There, I urged, muscles coiling. If I could bring it down, if Valka could feed, we would have the strength to shift. Four legs could outrun any Alpha on two.

Don't waste the breath, Valka growled, her tone flat with defeat.

We need to shift!

We can't shift, Wren. The Chalice ritual bound our wolves away. Shifting is barred until the final horn sounds at sunrise.

The ground seemed to drop out from beneath me. The elders hadn't starved us just to break our pride; the ritual itself had locked us in vulnerable human skin. We weren't just weakened—we were defenseless.

The doe caught my scent on the wind and crashed through the brush, vanishing into the night.

Before the branches settled, a woman's shriek tore through the timber.

It was high, frantic, and cut short by a violent, muffled gasp. Two heartbeats of dead silence followed, shattered by a deep, echoing howl that shook the leaves above.

One girl down.

Every female in the pack understood the brutal reality of that sound. A fated mate bond was natural, recognized by the moon, but a Chosen Mark was an act of pure conquest. When an Alpha tore into his quarry, his venom forced an irreversible brand, rewriting her biology and chaining her will to his. It wasn't a union; it was a permanent subjugation.

I forced my aching feet forward, turning away from the ridge.

If I had to bear a mark before sunrise, it would not be under Rafe's teeth. I just had to outmaneuver him, keep to the deep ravines, and pray Conrad crossed my trail first.

I scrambled down a rocky incline, aiming for the dense thickets below.

A heavy rush of displaced air hit me from above.

The impact struck like a falling boulder, driving me face-first into the damp soil. Dirt and rotting leaves filled my mouth, knocking the air clean out of my lungs.

Before I could push off the ground, thick hands clamped around my bare ankles.

He yanked.

I was hauled backward across the rough earth. Sharp stones scraped my stomach, tearing through the thin slip as he dragged me toward the shadows of the clearing.

Fear gave way to immediate fury. If he pinned my neck, the chase was finished.

I clawed wildly at the forest floor. Wet mud slipped through my fingers. Twigs snapped under my palms.

Then my knuckles struck something solid.

A heavy, jagged stone half-buried in the dirt.

I locked my fingers around the rough edge.

Channeling the last reserve of strength in my starved frame, I twisted my hips, drove my free heel backward, and kicked with everything I had.

The blow connected.

My heel slammed directly into his cheekbone with a sickening crack.

A rough grunt tore from his chest as his grip gave way. The sudden release sent me skidding through the dead leaves.

I scrambled onto my back, raising the jagged stone high, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

The shadow rose from the brush, towering over the clearing.

He didn't stumble. He wiped a streak of dark red from his cheek with the back of his hand, a slow, predatory chuckle rumbling in his chest.

Alpha Rafe.

He lunged before I could bring the rock down. His massive weight slammed over me, driving me flat into the mud. His hands pinned both of my wrists above my head, crushing my arms against the frozen ground.

His breath smelled of stale whiskey and burning wood, scorching against my cheek. His lips pulled back, showing long, lethal canines gleaming in the red moonlight.

"Did you think I wanted the one I broke on the sofa?" he sneered, his mouth hovering a fraction of an inch from my bared throat. "I prefer mine untouched.