Silent Embrace

KILLIAN

Another Running.

Killian sighed and rolled off his mattress, stretching his limbs. Today was the day. In a matter of hours, the guns would sound.

The girls would be released into the arena.

In the center of the arena, in Lazarus’ heart, the mad Shifters would soon be released from their cells in the Dungeon. This one day a year, they’d be let out to play.

Killian hoped to avoid them as much as possible.

The day stretched out ahead of him. He had his plan for it, and there was no sense tangling with mindless, ravening Shifters to get it done.

Catch as many Runners as possible. Put on a good show.

The cameras were watching.

The Producers were watching.

This is it, Killian thought. ~This is the year. I’ll meet their quota. I’ll earn my freedom.~

No point tying back his hair, as he’d spend most of the day shifted.

Time to prepare, eat, limber up. It was going to be a long day.

BLYTHE

Blythe ran until her lungs burned.

It felt like a dream. She was sprinting, but her legs could never take her fast enough. The pile of weaponry stood like a mirage ahead of her, the distance yawning. Until, suddenly, she was right on top of it.

As she skidded to a halt in front of the pile, her mind reeled. She didn’t know how to use any of these.

Quickly, Blythe, her mind urged, digging her haphazard survival plan from the anxiety-ridden wreckage of her scattered thoughts. ~Grab the spear.~ It was light enough to run with, long enough that she didn’t have to throw it or get in a shifter’s face.

Good. Now get out of there!

As she bolted away from the clearing, self-doubt crept under her skin.

Have I chosen correctly? Or will this be my downfall?

No. You’ve been over this.

A bow and arrow would be useless, thanks to her incredible lack of aim. But a dagger was too up close and personal. If she got that close to a shifter, she figured she would be dead or, at the very least, pinned before she could make any move to attack.

Rope seemed useless too. It could help her climb the trees, maybe, but Blythe didn’t know any knots above the ones to tie shoes, and even those came loose often enough to have her tripping over herself constantly.

Swords were too heavy.

Blythe would have neither the coordination nor the upper body strength to lug that around and still manage to get away from an assailant. The heaviest thing she’d ever wielded was a rolling pin, and those were only a few pounds at the heaviest.

She had to hide, and she had to hide now.

As she took off again, she heard a blood-chilling roar in the distance, and she swore her heart skipped several beats.

The shifters were out, and they were hungry for their prey. Even worse, that roar had been notably feline. If she were to climb, she’d have to do so quickly and go up quite high.

Blythe raced into the thick of the forest, teeth clenched. She knew climbing was a false hope. Even if she were to out-climb a shifter for a short time, there was no doubt they’d catch up and overtake her.

From somewhere else, she heard a howl. That meant the canines were part of the Running this year too. Canines and felines.

Her mind’s eye flashed with images of what was surely to come: razor-sharp teeth digging into flesh, claws ripping apart clothing and skin. Last year had been brutal to watch. Frail bodies lifted into the air, massive talons digging bloodily into shoulders and backs as they took the girls God-knew-where.

She kept running, the spear in her hand cutting through the air ahead of her.

More screams. Human this time.

Tearing sounds.

Wet, sickening noises.

Crunching.

Blythe’s eyes landed on a log—long, thin, and close to the ground.

She could probably slide into it; she was small enough. If she could just get to the middle of it, a shifter wouldn’t be able reach in and grab her.

Safety, her mind prayed.

Crack.

A chill ran up Blythe’s spine as she stopped and whipped around. A stick had definitely just snapped.

Get in the log, her mind urged. ~But what if I try and whatever that is grabs me from behind?~

Just then, a snarl cut through the air.

Blythe stumbled backward, her back hitting hard against the trunk of a tree as she gasped.

There, in front of her, leered a large tan wolf, amber eyes transfixed on her.

She couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t speak.

Her eyes flicked to the left of the beast and noticed her spear on the ground there. She must have dropped it when she tripped—stupid!

Her mouth opened to scream, but before the sound could leave her throat, another creature leaped into view, its large frame tackling the wolf to the ground.

They rolled, a mess of tan and white mixing with a tornado of ginger fur. Then, suddenly, angry red spattered across the forest floor. Blood.

They were fighting—over her.

Blythe stood frozen, her fingers clinging to the bark behind her hard enough to nearly draw her own blood.

When the two animals finally stopped rolling, they scrambled to their feet. A wolf and some kind of big cat, maybe a mountain lion, both baring their teeth and glaring murderously.

Blythe’s heart seized in her chest.

I’m so screwed.

Milo

The fur on the back of Milo’s neck stood up straight as he growled, his razor-sharp teeth dripping blood.

He lunged forward again, moving to bite the caracal, Jackson, in the neck. Milo had him on weight and height.

Finally, an opponent I can fight with and come out on top!

He struck, teeth just grazing Jackson’s torso.

Damn it; the cat has speed!

Jackson tried to get the jump on him, to slash at his snout, but Milo barreled over him, managing to bring him down.

The wolf snapped his jaws again, teeth sinking into Jackson’s shoulder.

The caracal’s hind legs pushed into his gut, kicking him clean off, knocking the wind out of him.

Forget the feline, his inner human snapped. ~I should get the girl. Get her and get the two of us out of here.~

But Milo’s wolf refused to ignore the rage and frustration coursing through his veins.

Instead, he jumped forward again, his claws raking across the caracal’s face and making him hiss in pain

BLYTHE

Blythe tried to crawl back.

She had to try to climb up the tree, but fear of turning her back on the fight gripped her heart.

The two beasts in front of her fought on tirelessly, seemingly to no end, their blood spurting out—punctuation of the violence.

Her eyes caught sight of her spear. She could reach it.

Now’s my chance!

Blythe bolted, reaching down mid-run to grab the weapon.

But once it was in hand, the weight of the spear, combined with her momentum, had her stumbling forward, forcing her to catch herself on her hands. She scraped them hard enough to make her hiss.

Still, she got it. She got it! She was armed again.

But then, she realized, finding her footing, ~why have the noises of their tussle stopped?~

Blythe whipped around, her eyes the size of saucers, only to meet the gazes of the pointy-eared caracal and the wolf staring her down. Murderous. Hungry.

Swallowing into her paper-dry throat, she gripped the spear with both hands, widening her stance. That was what her father had told her to do.

Her gaze ping-ponged between the canine and the feline, watching as their muscles rippled under their fur.

She wondered, then, if it was now that the cameras were watching her. They always, in the years she stood to watch, managed to find the girls in the most dire situations.

Blythe could feel the weight of death looming over her shoulder.

She wanted the earth to swallow her up, save her from these lethal animals and the voyeuristic public. Coward.

Her hands shook, but she steeled herself. I will not die lying down.

MILO

Had he been in his human form, Milo would have laughed. Who are you kidding with that spear, princess? You think you’re fooling anybody?

He could sense Jackson still behind him, but he didn’t care. This one was his.

With his upper lip curled, he snarled in the girl’s direction. Don’t be fucking stupid. You don’t even know how to hold that thing. Come quietly.

But, of course, she didn’t listen.

Why the hell did I think she could hear me? Humans never learned how to reach out with their minds to the outside.

Instead, he made quick work of easily dodging as she thrust the point of the spear at him. It was almost cute how pathetically bad she was at this.

When she moved to strike again, Milo pounced, grabbing the wood of the spear just above the girl’s hand and pulling it hard from her grasp. Nice try, princess.

His jaw clamped down, snapping and shattering the spear in half, all the while watching his prey—no, his future mate—look down upon him in horror.

He spat out the splinters, his maw now wet with drool as he approached her, step by step.

She wants to do this the hard way? Fine.

There was one thing Milo knew for sure—whether it be for fuck or food…

He was starving.