Chapter 11
ELIZA
The suggestion comes at breakfast.
"A hunt." Tessa sets her coffee mug down with deliberate care, her storm-grey eyes—so like her brother's—fixed on me across the kitchen table. "Traditional pack rite. You survive an hour as prey, you earn acceptance. No questions asked."
Declan's fork clatters against his plate. "No."
"It would cut through a lot of the resistance," Tessa continues, ignoring him. "Graeme's wolves, the young ones who think she's a liability—they respect strength, survival, courage. This proves all three."
"I said no." Declan's voice carries the edge of command that makes my spine straighten even though it's not directed at me. "She's not pack-trained. She doesn't know the forest. She doesn't have shifter speed or senses yet. It's a death sentence."
"Tessa's right," I hear myself say, "I'll do it."
Both MacRaes turn to stare at me.
"You don't have to prove anything." Declan's hand finds mine across the table, his grip almost crushing. Through the bond, I feel his fear mixing with anger—fear for me, anger at his sister for suggesting this. "You're my mate. That's enough."
"But it's not." I meet his eyes, let him see my resolve.
"You heard them yesterday at the stones.
Half the pack thinks I'm a trap, the other half thinks I'm incompetent.
I can't investigate a murder, can't work with your allies, can't function if everyone's waiting for me to fail or betray you.
" I turn to Tessa. "What are the rules?"
"Eliza...”
"What are the rules?" I repeat, firmer this time.
Tessa's lips quirk. "You get a thirty-minute head start. Four shifters hunt you through the forest for one hour. You survive without help, you pass. Simple."
"And if I don't survive?"
"Then you don't." Her bluntness should scare me. Instead, it's almost refreshing after all the careful words and political dancing. "But you're not going to die, if that's what you're worried about. The hunters won't kill you. Though Jax might get... enthusiastic."
"Jax." Of course. Declan's beta, who's made no secret of his belief that I'm a walking disaster. "Who else?"
"Rafe, Grayson, and Kian. Finn will keep time and enforce the rules." Tessa stands, grabbing her keys. "Tomorrow morning. Dawn. North woods. Don't be late."
She's gone before Declan can argue further, the door swinging shut behind her with a finality that makes my stomach clench.
"You don't have to do this." Declan's still holding my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "I can handle the pack. I can make them accept you."
"By forcing them?" I shake my head. "That's not respect, that's fear. And fear makes people do stupid things—like work with a summoner to get rid of the human they think is compromising their alpha." I squeeze his hand. "I need to do this. Not for them. For me. So I know I can."
His jaw works, and I feel the war inside him through the bond—the alpha who knows I'm right fighting the mate who wants to lock me away where nothing can hurt me. Finally, he exhales roughly. "Then we train. All day. I'm not sending you into the forest unprepared."
The following day, dawn comes too quickly.
The north woods are old-growth forest, thick with ancient trees whose canopies block most of the early light. Mist clings to the ground, and every sound seems magnified in the pre-dawn quiet—the snap of a twig, the rustle of leaves, my own too-fast heartbeat.
Finn stands at the forest's edge, looking more otherwordly than usual in the half-light.
His aquamarine eyes are distant, unfocused—tracking time in ways I can't perceive.
"The rules are simple. Thirty minutes to hide. One hour to survive. Step outside the boundary markers”.
..he gestures at ancient stones carved with symbols I don't recognize...”and you forfeit.
Use weapons, you forfeit. Call for help, you forfeit. "
"Understood." My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
"The hunters are already in position, downwind and out of scent range. When I give the signal, they'll come for you." His expression softens slightly. "You're braver than most, Eliza Warren. Try to stay that way for the next ninety minutes."
"Comforting."
"I wasn't aiming for comfort." He tilts his head. "Declan wanted to be one of the hunters. I told him no. He's currently secured behind wards at Wolfstone, furious but contained. Try not to get killed—I don't want to be the one who tells him I failed to protect his mate."
Before I can respond, he makes a sharp gesture, and power ripples through the air like a bell tone. "Your time starts now. Run."
I run. The first twenty minutes are pure survival instinct.
I use every trick Declan taught me yesterday—staying off game trails where my scent would linger, moving through water when I can, to break my trail, climbing trees to change elevation and confuse tracking patterns.
My investigative training helps—I've chased stories through hostile territory before, lost tails in foreign cities, disappeared when I needed to.
This is the same. Just with higher stakes and predators who can smell fear.
I'm maybe a mile in when I hear the howl. It echoes through the forest, wordless but clear in its meaning: the hunt has begun.
My pulse spikes. I force myself to breathe slowly, think clearly.
Four hunters. Four different approaches.
Rafe will be silent—panthers are ambush predators.
Grayson will be methodical, using his bear's stamina to outlast me.
Kian will be fast, relying on tiger reflexes to close distance. And Jax...
Jax will hunt me like prey that needs killing.
I double back on my trail, climb a tree whose branches overhang a small creek, and position myself where I can watch the forest floor.
The bark is rough under my hands, and my arms already shake from the climb.
I'm stronger than I was a week ago—the transformation has started, subtle but present—but I'm still mostly human. Mostly vulnerable.
The forest goes quiet. That unnatural silence that means a predator is near.
I hold my breath.
Something moves in the shadows below. Black as midnight, liquid darkness flowing through the underbrush. The panther scans the ground, the trees, every possible hiding spot.
Rafe.
He's the most dangerous of the four—silent, patient, lethal. If he finds me, there's nowhere to run. Panthers can climb trees faster than I can blink.
His head swings toward my tree. Golden eyes lock on mine.
My heart stops.
We stare at each other across twenty feet of space. I see intelligence in that gaze, calculation. He's assessing me—not just my position, but my choices. The fact that I climbed instead of running. The fact that I'm watching him instead of freezing in terror.
Slowly, deliberately, Rafe dips his head. A nod. Recognition.
Then he turns and melts back into the shadows, disappearing so completely I almost believe I imagined him.
I let out the breath I've been holding in a shaky exhale. I'm still breathing. Still alive.
I wait five minutes before moving, giving Rafe time to disappear, then drop from the tree and head deeper into the forest. My arms burn from the climb, and blisters are forming on my palms from scrambling over rocks and rough bark. But I'm alive. Still in the game.
The second encounter comes at the stream.
I'm wading through ankle-deep water, using it to mask my scent, when I feel the ground vibrate. Not the impact of footsteps—something deeper. Seismic.
I look up just as the grizzly crashes out of the tree line.
Grayson is enormous in bear form—over seven feet tall, with claws that could gut me with one swipe. He's not running. He doesn't need to. He's just walking toward me with the inevitability of a landslide.
I back up, feet slipping on wet rocks. There's nowhere to go—the stream banks are too steep to climb quickly, and he's blocking the downstream route.
He keeps coming.
My back hits a boulder. I'm trapped.
Grayson stops ten feet away. His dark gaze—surprisingly intelligent for a bear—studies me. He huffs out a breath, and I smell fish and earth and pine resin.
Then he turns his head to the left, deliberately, showing me the gap in the trees I'd missed. An escape route.
He's letting me go.
I don't question it. I bolt for the opening, scrambling over rocks and roots, my heart hammering so hard I taste copper. Behind me, I hear the bear huff again—almost like laughter—but he doesn't follow.
Two encounters. Two reprieves. How long will my luck hold?
Kian finds me when I'm climbing a ridge.
I hear him before I see him—a low, rumbling sound between a growl and a purr. The sound a predator makes when it's playing with prey.
I turn, and the tiger is there.
He's four hundred pounds of muscle and fang, orange and black stripes that should make him visible but somehow blend perfectly with the dappled forest light. Amber-gold fills his gaze, amused and calculating.
He pounces.
I throw myself sideways, rolling down the slope in a tangle of limbs and leaves. I hit a tree hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. By the time I struggle to my feet, Kian's circling me, moving with that fluid tiger grace that makes my lizard brain scream run.
I don't run. Running triggers chase instinct. Instead, I back up slowly, keeping my eyes on him, trying to remember everything Declan taught me about shifter body language.
Kian chuffs—that same amused sound—and swipes a paw at me. Not trying to hit, just... playing. Testing my reactions.
I dodge. He swipes again. I duck under a tree branch, putting the trunk between us.
He circles. I circle opposite, keeping the tree as a barrier.
This could go on forever. Except I don't have forever—I have maybe twenty minutes left, and somewhere in the forest, Jax is hunting me for real.
Kian lunges. I drop and roll under his leap, coming up on the other side and running flat-out for denser cover. Behind me, I hear that rumbling purr again, but he doesn't chase.