The Werewolf Hunt

. The iron bars dig into my back as I crouch, every muscle coiled. Torchlight flickers,

not a

he Hunt. Blackthorn Hollow's sick tradition. Every year, the nobles descend, picking their pr

we are not peop

ove-drunken, cruel, filled with antici

His scent reeks of terror. His hands are too human,

spers, his voice hollow.

don't need to. We

of heavy boot

Lior, trembling at the sound of app

m a

t three months in this hell-three months waiting for a chance. Watching. Learning. Counti

they have

no idea wh

ot the only th

il

y people.

nd the memories fl

on the

my brothers

betr

ns tightening a

I am a prisoner, waiting to

t of my past settles deep in

unt i

r, the rules

e chamber. A figure steps inside, flanked by two guards in polishe

es. Some werewolves cower in the corners, too broken to fight. Other

nt of me. His lips

ys smoothly. "Sti

move. Do

Stronger, faster, smarter than most of your kind. I suppose th

a

My claws press

k easily." Alric tilts his he

his guards

door sw

xpl

my teeth into his throat. A wet gurgle spills from his li

de. Too slow. I grab his wrist-snap-and drive my elb

r erupts i

wfound hope. I snatch the fallen guard's key

e. Kill i

nce. Then-all he

mber. Some werewolves bolt for the exit. Others tear into

oots slick with the blood of his ow

im here. Rip h

t

ghtening my bones, sharpening my senses. By the tim

appens... they

my path-a towering brute with a massive axe. He swings. I dro

rting forward, inside his reach. My

tines spilling

ightly ajar. Beyond them, I hear pa

ve th

bandoned, goblets knocked over, roasted meat half-eaten. The n

stares at me, wine dribbling down his chin. I see her, Blackthorn prince

ng his dagger. Blood stains his pristine hunting leathers.

oice measured. "Be

forward

hurl th

e blade whistles past h

atter. I'm a

table, shattering plates, spilling wine. I

unds beneath

he rasps. "You think killi

t against his skin. "I'

flickers i

drive it through his hand, pinning

I s

ht calls to me. The wind carries the scent of pin

s flood into the great hall, f

sses my skin. The forest stretc

es wante

about to

me, we are