Fuck. Why did I care? I didn’t know shit about these people. They were here for one purpose: To feed my pack.
“Follow me.” I pushed forward into the woods, leaves crunching as her tiny legs worked to keep up with my stride.
“Shouldn’t I go first? What if I shift and run?”
Without turning around, I patted the rifle slung on my shoulder. “Easy. I’ll just shoot you. I’m an excellent shot, even with small game.”
“I’m a fast runner.”
“Can’t outrun a bullet.”
I kept walking as I waited for the sound of her shift, something resembling anxiety pulling low in my gut.
I’d hate to shoot her. Her death was inevitable, but something about her presence roused my wolf. It felt closer to the surface than usual, and I wanted to savor it. So, the longer I could prolong my time with this curious bunny, the better.
The tension in my stomach loosened when she seemed to decide against chancing an escape and jogged to keep up with me.
“Why does a werewolf need a gun anyway? Why not shift and hunt me down? Isn’t that why I’m here?”
“The Hunt doesn’t start until midnight.” I didn’t bother telling her I didn’t like to shift. I didn’t like giving over control to something I didn’t consider an ally.
“Where did you take Hope and Sawyer?”
“Planted them in different parts of the woods. It makes it more of a challenge to find all three of you, and it limits the chances of one wolf killing more than one sacrifice. Makes it fair.”
“Fair?” Her voice jumped an octave, frightening a bird from a nearby thicket. “It’s hilarious to pretend even for a second that werewolves understand the concept of fairness.”
Stopping in my tracks, I whipped around to face her, and she nearly crashed into my chest.
“Listen carefully. You have a small—averysmall chance of making it out of these woods before one of my kind catches you. But it’s still a chance. Your odds of surviving drop to zero if youannoy me to the point where I snap your neck before the Hunt can even start.Capiche, Little Bunny?”
Her eyes sparked with defiance. “I’m not afraid of you.”
She was lying. Her heart thrashed so hard in her chest that I practically felt it on the tip of my tongue. “All bunnies are afraid of wolves. It’s instinct for you.”
“My hate is stronger than any instinct.”
I wasn’t sure what response I expected, but it wasn’t that. All I could do was stare at her for a tense beat.
I’d been doing this job, escorting rabbit shifters to their death, for years. No sacrifice was ever like her—spiteful and full of fire. She was far too alive for someone doomed to die.
There was something magnetic about this little female that had me bending to breathe her in. The sweet aroma of her lavender shampoo and something else that was uniquely her filtered into my lungs. Her scent was like smelling salts, rousing something inside me to life.
My wolf. This was the closest I’d ever felt to it. Being close to this bunny shifter seemed to rouse it.
A sinister idea unfurled in my mind. Maybe I could make it speak to me.
I wasn’t particularly drawn to the idea of scaring her, but I’d do anything to connect with the beast inside me.
She must have sensed the danger boiling just below the surface of my skin as she started to back away from me, her eyes flaring wide. “What’s wrong with you?”
I took a step toward her, then another. She slowly backed away—her instincts telling her to keep as much distance between us as possible. Her back hit a tree. Christ, she was small. She had to crane her head to glare up at me.
For a beat, she looked as though she was about to make a break for it. My threat to shoot her must have come back to her because she stayed rooted where she was.
I held out my hand. “Give me your clothes.”
A barbed silence stretched between us. Not even the woods dared make a noise. The only sound was her hammering pulse.
