Chapter Fifty-Seven
Jay
Torches illuminate the path to the medieval stone castle. It rises, dark and strong at the bottom of the grassy field.
I was told to join any pack’s group of females that enters. There isn’t a lack to choose from, so I pick one at random and hop in line. When I do, no one says anything.
Everyone is too enthralled with the witch with silver hair and matching eyes. Her fingers dance and silver sparkles shimmer in the air in its wake as she plays the air like a piano. You would’ve thought she was sprinkling glitter.
The group I joined is instructed to line up single-file.
Only one group at a time can go in, as it would be too much of a ruckus to have all the women paraded at the same time.
As the group ahead steps through, snarling rises and alphas inside shout for their men to calm down, fall back and control themselves.
I swear I hear one alpha call for the backup of another as two wolves fight over a she-wolf. Cages rattle as the women make through the castle to the royal courtyard.
A few minutes later, it’s our turn. One by one, we file in.
This is a bad idea. Why did I do this?
To move on from Mate.
Right.
But I don’t want to move on. I knew that all along, although I tried to convince myself otherwise.
The decision to join the Hunt was logical, not emotional.
Caleb won’t fight for us. I have to move on.
It’s only been a week, but I’d rather be alone than settle for a unfated mate, now that I’ve felt what one feels like.
Maybe Jemma has the right idea. And she seems happy, right?
Maybe I should turn back.
The moment I consider chickening out someone from behind bumps into me, and I cross the threshold. I stumble but catch myself before I fall, and I scan the castle around me. Gone are the intricate details, the grand staircase, the dark academia vibes.
The witch cast a mirage, altering this home completely and stripping any sense to smell our mate. Instead of a grand castle, it resembles a penitentiary. Two stories of caged wolves line either side of the wall. Their alphas stand guard outside the cage.
Except for one alpha in particular.
Wolves roar louder than I’ve ever heard, reminding me of the arena before a big fight. Some wolves pace some whimper, while others literally throw themselves at the bars, pining for our attention.
I don’t like this. It’s triggering all the wrong things for me. And there’s no way to know what they’re thinking—it appears they’re seeking a fight. This isn’t true, but I can’t seem to convince my racing mind otherwise.
I breathe deeply and evenly and let a claw leave indents in my skin but not enough to break flesh. I can see them, but it’s the wolves I can’t see that I worry about.
They want us, my wolf warns.
I know. But why?
I don’t know. But I’m thinking it has to do with our aura.
Once the last group has made it into the royal courtyard, a howl goes off, and the other she-wolves take off running.
They disappear as they dive into the forest. Except for a few stragglers who have alpha energy.
All of their faces are covered in paint and glitter of their pack’s colors, creating war paint and tribal lines.
They stay behind like I do. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but they look relaxed.
Why did they stay behind? Why did the rest run? Why didn’t I ask more questions?
They all carry strong auras, reminding me of what my wolf said during the parade. The only thing I can conclude is the more dominant she-wolves aren’t in a rush to run. One smirks at me—she knows something I don’t.
I scan her and find she has ink on the side of her ribcage in a pretty vine design.
“I like your tattoo,” I say.
She smiles. “Thanks.”
Upon closer inspection, I notice its rough texture beneath the color—a scar in the shape of large claw marks.
Every woman has tattoos covering various scars.
“You all have them.”
The women at Bloodhound didn’t have visible scars, and if so, I never saw them.
“This world can be cruel to strong women. Our scars are proof of survival, and the tattoos are our way of saying, ‘Fuck you, we’re still here.’”
I always thought it’d be disgraceful and disrespectful to consider my scars as something to celebrate, considering the people I killed to stay alive. I never looked at it as a fuck-you to the people who tried to break me.
There was something uplifting, empowering and validating about being surrounded by a woman who found community in their imperfections. I may not find my mate, but perhaps I just acquired friends.
“Huh,” I say appreciatively. “I like that.”
“Thanks. Are you thinking about getting that beauty inked?” She points to my leg.
“After seeing yours, I might.”
“You should. It’d look really cool. I’m Michelle.” She extends her hand to me, and I take it.
“Jay.”
“Welcome to the Hunt. First time?” Michelle asks.
“Yeah.” I look around. “Did any of you find your mate?”
“No,” one says.
Another one down the way yells, “Nope!”
There are more no’s, until finally, one says, “I did.” I turn my head to see a she-wolf finish putting her hair in a ponytail.
She joins us, crouching. “But let’s see if he can live up to the name mate.”
She’ll make him work for it.
One laughs in approval. “I hear that. There’s an alpha in there I know wants more than anything to sink his teeth into this.” She outlines her figure with her hands. “But he’ll be working for it.”
“Girl, tell me about it.” says a she-wolf with a short black bob is clipped back half-up half-down in a claw.
The freckles that pepper her nose are shaped like miniature stars.
She turns her head to face me. “These men get in the presence of an alpha female and salivate at the idea of our submission. What they forget is that I won’t roll over for just any male. ”
“For the right one, I would do more than just roll over,” another says, “just as long as he knows that’s the only time he’s in charge of me.”
I crack a smile at her bluntness. I’m starting to understand why they stay behind. It’s about destiny and duty. They’re meant to lead. And they don’t want to waste any more time unmarked. These are women with goals, visions, plans—all to create change and better their pack.
Which brings me to my next conclusion: They all have luna potential in their blood.
They’re making a statement, a first impression. It says, “I may roll over for you, and only you, but you only caught me because I wanted you to.”
A luna is meant to uphold her alpha’s commands, but this act reminds the male who comes first. These females were leaders prior to their mate bond—and they always will be.
I’m honored to be among dominant she-wolves.
The silence that spreads across the clearing to the forest is loud, but I know chaos awaits me.
I look up at the clouds and notice a storm is passing through. Thunder pounds and crackles and lightning flickers through the thick puffs, adding to the moody ambience.
I jump at a blaring alarm.
“Here we go!” Freckles cackles.
“What’s happening?” I ask.
“The gates are unlatching.”
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
“What’s that?” I look between the two she-wolves beside me.
“They’ve released the hounds,” the blunt one says. “Run.”
I peer behind me and sure enough the first- and second-floor gates drop, thudding as heavy metal hits the dirt.
Collectively, we take off into a sprint. My feet hit the ground hard. I’m running as fast as I can. Suddenly, I’m starting to wonder if maybe I’ve made the wrong decision. Do I really want to be chosen by someone I don’t know?
The wind breezes by me through my hair and playful growls echo behind us. I make eye contact with another she-wolf keeping pace. In this moment, I never felt freer. I didn’t think I’d see the day where I’d run freely with other wolves like this—pack wolves for that matter.
When I break through the tree line, it’s like I’ve entered an entirely different world—one resembling a warzone. The teeth of wolves are clashing and fur is flying as they fight over females. Everywhere I look, I see feral behavior and bloodshed.
Cries of passion come from wolves mating, cries for help and cries to stop the fighting. Above me, women are climbing trees to get away from wolves chasing them.
It’s sensory overload for me. Flashbacks from the dog fights I endured creep into my vision and make my heart pound. It’s blackening, and I am losing control.
My wolf whimpers.
I can’t see.
With my hands out in front of me, slowly and cautiously, I fumble as I try to feel around for a tree—something. Anything.
Twigs snap and bushes rustle. Low growls surround me, but the thumping of my heart is making it difficult to pinpoint exactly from where. Once I find a trunk, I lean against it, giving myself a chance to get control of my breathing.
Alright, Jay, come on, push through it.
I’m able to regain some tunnel vision. It’s not much, but it’s enough to see where I am, so I can find a place to hide. But that’s not enough for this situation. I’m not safe out in the open like this, I can’t keep going like this. It’s not enough, I need to lay down.
I’m trying to breathe through it when a sharp pain seers through my neck as someone sinks their teeth into me.
Screaming and flailing, I search for the source. I reach over my shoulder and find a face full of fur. I grab the wolf’s head, drop to my hip, shift into him and roll to slip my hands under his neck. As I roll, his hold on my neck tears free, taking flesh with it. Nausea sets in, weakening my grip.
I’m completely disoriented from my surroundings. Confused, bleeding and marked against my will, my panic attack comes in full force.
Fuck! This is the most inconvenient time to have a panic attack.
I locate a thriving fern in higher ground. I need to lower my blood pressure, breathe, then recoup.
The fern will have to do.
I crawl under and lay face up, making sure my body is covered. Thankfully, there are enough wolves out here to throw off my scent—hopefully. I only need a few minutes.
Okay, breathe in . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . Hold . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . And out . . . two . . . three . . . four.
After more breaths, I feel better. My sweating subsides and a cool chill cascades over my body. My breathing regulates, and my vision slowly returns to focus.
Just as I catch my breath, a voice sings, and it’s for me. “Come out, come out, wherever you are . . . I know you’re here . . . I can smell you.”
A sitting duck, all I can do is lie down and pray he doesn’t find me.
When I don’t answer, he chuckles. “Fine, I can wait. It won’t be long before the strength of the bond kicks in, and you won’t be able to resist.” A twig crunching nearby catches my attention.
He’s close.
“Tell you what,” he starts, “you come out now, and I won’t make you crawl to me when you’re begging me to take you back.”
Mate, my wolf says.
The bond must be setting in.
I’m going to have to kill this guy. He’s going to leave me no choice. I refuse to be anybody’s slave ever again.
Just as I mentally prepare for a fight, I hear a vicious growl, followed by a bloodcurdling scream.
I step out of the bush to face a bloodied Caleb.