Chapter 7

The bonfire in the center of the square roared, sending sparks into the night sky. The smell of roasting meat mixed with the heavy, musky scent of pheromones. The stone steps around the square were packed with clan elders and high-ranking females, their eyes sharp as they evaluated the merchandise entering the ring.

Diann Fitzgerald sat in the place of honor, draped in a stunning snow-leopard pelt, surrounded by males vying for her attention.

Sadie, thanks to the modern bra, was immediately swarmed by a group of burly wolf warriors. She was laughing, the center of attention.

Using the distraction Sadie created, Carin slipped away. She moved to the darkest, most remote corner of the square, pressing her back against a rough totem pole. She pulled her hood lower, leaving only her eyes visible.

The hunting parties began to return. Each group of warriors carrying game was met with shrieks and cheers from the females. Carin's eyes scanned every face. Not him. Not him. Not him.

As time passed, most of the hunters had returned and were mingling with the crowd. A few drunk, low-ranking males stumbled toward Carin's corner, curious about the cloaked figure.

Carin took a step back, the bone dagger sliding into her palm. The blade caught a sliver of firelight.

One of the males leaned in, catching a glimpse of the green dye on her face. He recoiled, spitting on the ground. "Just an ugly freak," he muttered, and they staggered away.

Carin slipped the dagger back into her sleeve, her palm slick with sweat.

The horn blew again. The clan chief, Gareth, stood up. "All hunting parties have returned," he announced. "The mating ceremony now enters the selection phase!"

Carin's stomach dropped. All parties? Where was Brannon?

She overheard two older females whispering nearby. "That genetic anomaly didn't come back, did he?"

"Probably died out there. His cells were decaying anyway. It's a miracle he lasted this long."

Carin bit her lip hard. If Brannon was dead, she had to pivot. She had to find the stupidest, most controllable male in the clan just to survive the night.

Just as Gareth raised his torch to declare the start of the free-for-all, a loud, agonizing creak echoed across the square. The massive wooden gates at the entrance were being pushed open.

The noise in the square died instantly. Every head turned toward the darkness beyond the firelight.

Heavy footsteps. And the sound of something massive being dragged across the ground.

A tall figure, drenched in blood, stepped into the light. It was Brannon Barrett. Half his face was painted red, his silver hair plastered to his forehead. His mismatched eyes, one silver and one amber, burned with a feral, terrifying intensity.

Carin's shoulders sagged with relief. Her target was alive.

But the crowd gasped, their eyes moving from Brannon to what he was dragging behind him. It was a Blade Beast, three times the size of a normal one. Its throat was torn out, the wound ragged, clearly ripped apart by sheer, brutal force.

Brannon grabbed the beast's massive hind leg with one hand. With a final, brutal heave, he dragged it forward and let go, allowing the immense carcass to crash into the center of the square with a thud that shook the ground. Dust and the smell of fresh blood filled the air.

Diann's arrogant expression froze. Even Chief Gareth gaped in shock.

Brannon looked around the silent square, his voice a low, gravelly growl that carried over the crackling fire.

"My kill. Nobody touches it."