She recoiled, stumbling backward and tripping over an exposed root. She plummeted down the mountainside, the world spinning in an incomprehensible whirlwind of green and brown. Rolling helplessly downward, rocks jabbed at her, leaves crunching beneath her, and bracken and thorns ripping at her clothes, each impact jarring through her body.
Kiri let out an involuntary gasp as her descent was forcefully halted. Something sharp dug into her left leg—an agony so raw that it shot through her that made her stomach roil with nausea. The sensation was white-hot, searing its way up into her hip before erupting in anguish that stopped all reasonable thought.
Exhausted and reeling in pain, Kiri lay sprawled out on the mountainside in the fading light of day. She clutched at the moss-covered ground beneath her, teeth gritted against the all-over throbbing pain. Her hand shakily reached down to grasp at her leg, wincing with each attempt to move it. The ankle was swollen and unresponsive beneath her touch—an injury far worse than anything she had ever encountered.
The pain was blinding, relentless; her heartbeat throbbed in her ears, each thump echoing the sharp sting in her leg.
Kiri’s mind raced with grim possibilities—of infection, of blood loss, of being injured and stranded alone in the heart of the dense mountain forest ridge on an island filled with monsters. A cold chill of fear settled over her as she fought to keep herself from spiraling into panic.
“Damn this leg,” she muttered under her breath, frustration mounting. She knew she was in trouble, with nightfall fast approaching and storm clouds darkening the sky in the distance.
Summoning every ounce of her stubborn determination, Kiri pushed herself upright with shaky hands, the world around her swimming in dizzying circles. She bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from crying out, her eyes squeezed shut against the pain. After what felt like an eternity, the spinning slowly lessened, and she cautiously allowed her eyes to flutter open.
Kiri looked around and found that she’d landed on a trail at the edge of the clearing, her gaze drawn to the narrow path that snaked its way to a serene lake embraced by the dense forest, protected by mountains.
“Wow.” Kiri’s eyes widened at the sight, the beauty of it stealing her breath away.
The picture-perfect scene was marred only by the gathering storm clouds on the horizon, the first rumbles of thunder echoing ominously across the lake. Night would fall soon, and with it, the rain. Shelter was imperative; being caught in a downpour, especially in an unfamiliar forest, in her current condition could be dangerous.
“Okay, focus,” she told herself, scanning the edges of the clearing. “There’s got to be somewhere to hunker down.”
Her heart pounded in her chest as she heard a rustle echoed throughout the forest, sending a flock of birds squawking into the evening sky. The sound of heavy footfall crashed behind her—rhythmic thuds growing louder and steadier as it approached.
Slowly turning her head toward the sound, Kiri’s breath hitched in her throat as she caught a glint of something sharp amidst the undergrowth.
Her eyes widened as she made out the form of a minotaur standing before her with an imposing double-edged axe in hand.
Kiri’s breath hitched as she took him in. He was massive and powerful, muscles rippling beneath his tanned hide, yet despite his formidable presence, his dark eyes held no malice. Rough scars traced patterns over his body, signs of past battles hard won. His hair was wild and unruly like the forest around them, and he wore it pulled back from his face in intricate braids.
Their eyes locked for what seemed like eternity—each assessing the other with caution.
Suddenly, his nostrils flared, and she knew he caught wind of her scent: human, vulnerable, and wounded.
Her first day on Monster Island, and here she was, a hopeless prey lying injured at the mercy of a battle-worn predator…
Two
Monte
Dappled light from the fiery sunset filtered through the dense forest canopy, casting eerie shadows on the forest floor. A severe storm was coming, and the nearby animals knew it from their lack of calls and movements, in preparation for the worst.
Only the sounds of heavy thuds of his hooves as he stalked through the underbrush of his makeshift trail filled the air.
He had been tracking an intruder for hours now, and every instinct screamed at him to protect his territory.
The neighboring lycan pack who lived across the lake enjoyed their full moon games, which included racing around the secluded body of water or swimming to the lonely isle.
He would’ve ignored such an intrusion, for he had a mutual deal with the Lone Lake Pack about traveling amongst one another’s territory, but it was too soon for their nocturnal festivities and there was a lack of howling and growls in the air.
Suddenly, shrill cries reverberated through the woods, followed by a skittering rush of small animals fleeing in terror. The nearby landslide—a thunderous crash and rustling bushes—caused even birds to take flight, squawking a cacophony of alarm while darkening the sky with their sheer number.
An avalanche?
No…something else.
His nostrils flared as he picked up a scent: strong, pungent, akin to skunk but...different. It was then he realized—it was fear; primal fear that only surfaced in one’s darkest nightmares, an unpleasant tang that made his lips curl back in a low growl. The scent was foreign, not of the usual woodland prey he was accustomed to hunting—or a monster that he’d come across, yet horribly familiar.
“Who dares enter my domain?” he growled under his breath, his voice low and gravelly. “These are my parts—and rightfully so—and no creature or pack will dare claim it.”
