HUNT (A Shifters Short Story)

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t push beyond the fact that they knew. That they’d lured me to their cabin to be butchered, stuffed, and mounted. And I’d fallen for it. “You’re hunters?”


“Technically, yes, but that’s like describing a world-renowned chef as a short-order cook. We hunt the most dangerous species on the planet.” One side of Steve’s mouth turned up into a creepy grin. “You didn’t really think no one knew your little secret, did you?”

Actually, I had. I’d always assumed that if anyone in the human world knew about us, everyone would know. But exposing our existence would have put an end to their private safari, and they were obviously unwilling to risk that.

Sick bastards.

“Damn, Steve, look at this!” Billy grabbed my chin, and I gasped as he turned my face toward the light. My fist tightened around the knife handle, but I was biding my time. I couldn’t afford to miss. “She’s got cat eyes. Never seen that before. Maybe we should just cut her head off and mount it like this.”

“Hmmm. Dramatic…” Steve ambled closer for a better look. I jerked my chin from Billy’s grasp, clenching . Waiting for the perfect moment. It would come.

Please let it come…

“Especially with all those pretty red curls,” he finished.

When Steve was close enough, I closed my eyes and sent up a silent prayer. Then I dropped from my heels onto my rump and shoved my left leg out, grunting as I swept both of his out from under him.

Steve shouted as he went down. Billy reached across me for Steve, trying to pull him out of the way. I swung my knife underhanded, as hard as I could. The blade slid into Billy’s stomach, pointed straight back toward his spine. Warm blood poured over my hand. I shoved the blade up, and the knife ripped through flesh toward his sternum.

Billy grunted, but never screamed. I pulled the knife free, and his eyes widened. He hunched over the gruesome gap I’d opened in his torso.

Steve scrambled backward and leapt to his feet as a spray of blood arced up his shirt and over his face.

Billy fell over. His skull smacked the floor and he blinked slowly, staring at nothing. His mouth opened and closed, and more blood leaked from the corner. Then his chest stopped moving.

Steve gripped his own knife tighter, his knuckles white from the pressure. And finally I stood, arms out at my sides, knife ready, feet planted for stability. Just like Faythe had taught me.

We faced off, circling slowly as my pulse raced and my heart pounded. I tried to draw him away from Robyn, who was still breathing shallowly. I could see the lump on the side of her head. She’d been bait for me, but now she was just a witness to his crimes, which meant Steve had no reason to keep her alive.

“You should probably know, guns are the most effective way to hunt a cat,” I said, wishing I could wipe blood from the slippery grip of my knife.

“Didn’t think we’d need them for a little girl. You’re more trophy than challenge.”

I circled toward the couch and a rickety-looking end table. “This ‘trophy’ is gonna spit on your corpse in about three minutes.”

“Yeah, I’m scared of a five-foot-nothin’ scrap of meat in borrowed boots.” He rolled his eyes, sidestepping me. “A couple of your fellow shifters talked our ears off before they died, hoping for a quick end to the pain, and they all agreed on one thing. Girl cats are rare, and they don’t fight.”

My gaze narrowed on him. “Your intel is outdated.”

“And your luck has run out. Billy practically fell on your knife, because he was still green. But this isn’t my first hunt. In a couple of days, your pretty little head’s gonna be mounted in a cabin in Mississippi, where the next shifter will get one fleeting glimpse of pointed pupils and red hair before we nail him up right next to you.”

Mississippi was free territory, crawling with strays, most of whom wouldn’t be missed. How many had Steve already killed? How many had talked before they died?

Edging to the right, I glared at him with all the force of my hatred and let my right foot snag the leg of the end table. I tripped and went down on my ass, hard, cursing to make it look real. My knife slid across the floor, just out of reach of my grasping fingers.

Steve dropped on top of me, blade ready. I shoved my right hand into my jacket pocket. He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my head back, exposing my throat. I faked a terrified whine as I pulled Robyn’s folding knife from the pocket of my borrowed jacket. Steve’s eyes widened. I pressed the button, and the blade popped out as I shoved it forward.

The three inches of steel slid between his ribs. Steve grunted. I twisted the knife as hard as I could. He screamed and dropped his weapon to clutch at mine.