“Carver, come on. I was just trying?—”
My brother’s protest was cut short as I slammed my door shut, jammed the key into the ignition and tore out of the driveway in a spray of gravel.
The truth was, it wasn’t Casey who I was pissed at. It was the beast inside me.
The curse didn’t seem to affect me in the same way it did my pack, and somehow, that made me more broken than the rest.
My role during the Hunt was simple: plant the sacrifices in the woods—spread them out so there was more sport in it for the pack—and keep humans away the rest of the night.
I sat in a lawn chair in my truck bed, my beer cooler open at my feet with a cold can in my hand and my hunting rifle slung across my thighs. I’d parked along the backroad that ran alongside the woods, beside the bullet-riddled sign that read “PRIVATE PROPERTY – Trespassers Will Be Shot!”
A little nothing town with a population somewhere in the triple digits was nearby. Centuries have passed since our kind messed with the humans before our truce with the bunnies. The stories faded from their memories, and now they just peg the bunny shifters as hippies and us wolves as crazy backwoods hicks. They’ve stayed away from our territory for the most part.
As dusk started to settle, headlights appeared down the road some ways. I took a sip from my beer, eyes narrowing on the station wagon that pulled up beside my truck. Downing the last of my beer, I tossed the can to my feet, slung my gun over my shoulder and jumped to the ground.
I slowly approached the vehicle. A magnetic sign was slapped to the station wagon’s faux wooden siding reading “Watership Farms. Fresh produce since 1792.”
The driver was the same guy who’d been delivering to us since I’d taken on this role for the pack. He was a smug son of a bitch who thought he was safe from us. One day, we’d probably kill him too, sacrifice or not.
He rolled down his window, giving me a flimsy smile while shoving his fingers through his greasy, thinning hair. I didn’t miss the way his hand shook.
“Aw, nervous, Doug?” I wasn’t sure if I remembered his name correctly, and I didn’t care. “For how long we’ve been doing this, you’d think we’d be old friends by now.” I folded my arms on the car door and leaned into the open window. This rabbit shifter was shaking like a damn leaf in a windstorm. He didn’t know my wolf might as well be vegan for its complete lack of interest in rabbit blood. Still, instincts told me this male was a grade above scum, so I took pleasure in rattling him.
“G–got you a fresh batch.”
I nodded. “Good. Love your deliveries. Always fresh. Should really try your produce sometime.”
Missing the sarcasm in my tone, Doug went along with it, laughing. “Y–yeah. Carrots got that same kind of crunch as bunny bones, I bet.”
My expression morphed into something savage, and Doug’s nervous smile evaporated in an instant. “I’m sorry?—”
“Hey, I’m the big bad wolf here. I’m going to make unsavory jokes about my pack’s dinner. We do love playing with our food, after all. But jokes like that about your own kind, some of them probably blood too—knowing you lot and how you love to shag your cousins—that’s just sick, Doug.” I laughed and hated how empty it sounded.
The truth was, I hated this entire ritual, hated marching the bunnies to their deaths. But this was the way of the pack. I didn’t care about pack laws and traditions. Casey did. And my twin brother was just about the only person or thing on this planet that made me feel something.
Ignoring the driver’s pathetic apologies, I peered into the back seat, where three young rabbit shifters sat shoulder to shoulder.
One—a blonde-haired girl in a sundress of all things, almost looked eager. Last year’s bunch had all been pretty bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, just like her. Poor bastards. Their burrow really had them brainwashed. They were just as eager to die as my pack was to kill them.
Next to her sat a male with unkempt brown hair and dark, beady eyes that had me on edge for reasons I couldn’t peg. That one seemed more in touch with reality by his somber expression.
The second girl with wild, hateful eyes struck me the most. Her jet-black hair was tied up in a haphazard bun on top of her head, with a streak of purple dye running through it. Her ears were full of silver rings, and a septum piercing decorated her button nose.
I wondered if the purple stripe translated to her shifted form, and I couldn’t help but imagine a black bunny with ears full of hoops and a shock of purple across its black pelt.
Her chocolate brown eyes locked with mine, and the pure loathing behind them stabbed me in the gut like an ice-cold knife.
For the first time ever, the beast inside me stirred—hungry for a taste of bunny blood.
THREE
RUTH
The back road running through the woods was nothing but dirt, making for a bumpy ride that did nothing to ease the budding dread in my gut.
I’d never been this nervous in my life. It wasn’t every day someone was casually driven to their own brutal blood sacrifice.
To make matters worse, Doug was responsible for delivering the sacrifices this year.
