Chapter 2
1204 Words
Avery’s POV
Just when I found a clear path, they found me.
Hunters.
Massive, muscled rogue hunters, their sharp amber eyes glinting through the trees like fire, their movements as quiet as shadows.
They didn’t look like the type to sit down for tea.
“Look what we have here… a wolf,” one of them hissed in an odd accent.
I took a step back. “Evening, fellas.”
“Evening, little lady. You look a bit lost. Join us. We’ll show you the way.” He ran his tongue over his lips, and I nearly gagged.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit late for that?” I asked, scanning my surroundings. It was nearly dark, but if I ran, I might just escape.
“Not at all.” He smirked.
Shit.
I turned on my heels to run, but they were faster.
A hand yanked at my shirt, and I screamed.
“Let go of me!” I elbowed my assailant, but it wasn’t enough.
He twisted my arm behind me and dug his knee into my back. “You’re quite the fighter, aren’t you, you little s**t!”
“Why don’t you let me go and find out?” I struggled against his weight.
“Look at you, squirming like a bug,” he whispered against my ear.
“Let’s gut this one. Her fur will cost a fortune.”
“No. She doesn’t smell like a wolf.”
I froze.
No. They can’t know.
“She’ll make good prey for the hunting festival.”
“No…” I whispered.
“Wait till the king hears this.”
“No!”
A sharp blow to my head sent me spiraling into darkness.
When I came to, I was surrounded by shadows.
My head throbbed like it had been slammed against a wall.
I groaned, lifting myself off the cold, filthy floor. Everything spun. My mouth was dry, my wrists ached, and there was dried blood on my arm.
Great.
Where the hell was I?
The room was dark and cramped, and the smell was awful—sweat, piss, and despair.
Girls hunched around me. Maybe ten, maybe fifteen. Some shook. Others stared blankly.
“What is this?” My voice was hoarse, my throat dry like I’d swallowed ash.
A girl beside me jolted. She couldn’t have been older than seventeen. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. “They took us,” she mumbled, eyes distant. “We’re slaves now.”
I stared at her, waiting for the punchline. None came.
“Slaves?” I repeated, louder. “As in, actual slaves?”
Before she could answer—or before I could completely lose my mind—the door slammed open.
Blinding light flooded in, and I flinched.
Guards. Big, armed, and angry.
“Move!” one of them barked.
“Okay, okay! Hands off!” I snapped, swatting away a shove. “God, ever heard of personal space?”
They didn’t care.
They didn’t even look at me.
We were herded like animals through a stone corridor—barefoot, bruised, terrified.
The girl in front of me stumbled. I caught her before she hit the ground.
And then we stepped into hell.
An arena.
Like, a literal arena.
Bleachers packed with people screaming, cheering, hollering. Their painted faces and smug grins made my stomach churn.
“What is this?” I asked the air, though I already knew nothing good happened in places like this.
“It’s the Hunting Ceremony,” someone muttered behind me.
I turned slowly. “I’m sorry, what ceremony?”
She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “The hunt. It’s tradition.”
“Right.” My voice cracked. “So… where are the prey?”
“We are.”
“What?”
Time stopped.
I didn’t breathe for five seconds. My mouth opened, but no sound came out.
“You’re kidding.” My laugh came out sharp, broken. “You have got to be kidding me.”
But she wasn’t.
The guards were already forcing us into the pit.
One knocked me to my knees.
“Watch it, asshole!” I snapped, twisting away, but he didn’t even blink.
Then I overheard them.
“The princes are joining today.”
“Even the cruel one?” another asked.
“Especially him. You know how he is—doesn’t play, doesn’t chase. Just kill.”
My body went ice cold.
Fear crawled up my spine, but rage followed close behind—boiling, bitter, bone-deep rage.
How dare they? Who gave them the right?
I clenched my fists.
I was scared out of my damn mind, but if they thought I’d go down quietly, they’d picked the wrong girl.
I might be prey, but I’d go down biting.
The arena gates slammed shut behind us.
We stood in the center like trophies—barefoot, bruised, some crying, some frozen.
Me? My heart pounded so loud I could barely hear the crowd.
I kept my chin high, even though my knees shook.
I refused to be some broken girl in their sick little game.
I didn’t know what exactly they meant by “hunt,” or how many princes were coming, but one thing was clear:
We weren’t leaving here the same.
If we left at all.
A trumpet blasted overhead, sharp and ceremonial.
The crowd hushed.
A voice boomed across the arena, polished and theatrical.
“Presenting the Royal Heirs of the Blood Hunt!”
What now?
The giant gates creaked open.
Dust swirled. Light poured in.
Out rode five men on horseback, armor gleaming like nightmares.
Tall. Dangerous. Smirking like this was all a game.
The girls around me trembled.
One dropped to her knees, screaming.
I didn’t.
I stared. Memorized their faces.
If this was the day I died, I wanted to know who to haunt first.
The first prince waved like this was some parade.
The second wore blood-red war paint across his face.
And then the third one came out.
The crowd went silent.
He didn’t wear armor. Just black, head to toe. No house colors. No smile. No interest in the ceremony.
His hood shadowed most of his face, but his eyes—cold, sharp, calculating—found mine.
That was him.
The ruthless one.
I felt it.
He wasn’t here to chase or play or entertain.
He was here to kill.
My breath hitched.
My chest tightened.
Every instinct screamed: Run.
But I couldn’t. None of us could. Guards stood behind us like walls.
The hooded prince scanned the line of girls. His gaze slid past me, then stilled.
Our eyes locked. And for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
No mercy. No hunger. Just silence.
Cold, bottomless silence.
He didn’t see prey.
He saw a problem.
I raised my chin, swallowing my fear.
If he expected me to cower, he could go to hell.
Something flickered in his expression.
Interest?
No. Amusement.
As if I’d just challenged a god.
Great.
The trumpet blared again.
The announcer droned on about rules and blood and honor, but I wasn’t listening.
Because he hadn’t stopped looking at me.
And I had a very bad feeling he’d just chosen his prey.
Me.
- Writer
