HUNT (A Shifters Short Story)

I shoved him off and stood, Robyn’s knife sticky in my hand. He lay on the floor, blood pouring from his chest. More bubbled up into his mouth, and I knew I’d hit his lung. He gasped, struggling to breathe, and his eyes were already glazing over. “But girl cats don’t fight,” he wheezed, as his hands fell limp at his sides.

I arched both brows and pulled my phone from my pocket as his last breath rattled from his throat. “Welcome to the new world order.”





Jace got there twenty minutes later, armed with three enforcers and everything necessary to clean up my mess. Before I could even try to explain what the hell I’d been thinking and why he shouldn’t ship me back to my father in handcuffs and a dunce cap, he shut me down entirely with an Alpha glare and a growl worthy of any tom who’d ever held the title.

“Okay, wait, I know you’re mad,” I said. “But Faythe taught me—”

“Stop and think before you finish that sentence,” he said, his voice so deep and gravely I could feel it in my bones. His eyes flashed like bright blue flames, and my breath caught in my throat. “The most notorious rule-breaker in enforcer history may not be the source you want to quote right now.”

My temper sparked and I found my tongue. “Faythe is who she is today because of who she was back then, and I can’t think of a more respectable path than to follow in her footsteps. Just like you did, back when she was your Alpha.”

Jace’s pulse tripped and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly in surprise. For a moment, he looked unsure what to say. Then he pointed to a spot on the floor next to Robyn. “Sit still and stay out of the way. I’ll deal with you when we’re done with the cabin.” Then he stomped off, mumbling under his breath about how I’d used the science of politics against him.

I wasn’t exactly eager to mop up blood and dispose of corpses anyway, so I kept an eye on Robyn while the guys erased all evidence of both shifters and criminal activity from Steve’s hunting retreat.

Robyn was still unconscious but breathing, and with any luck, she’d sleep through everything she shouldn’t see. When the cabin was clean, I would “find” her and call the police, while Jace and his men watched from the treetops. Robyn would tell the cops what she remembered, but they would find no sign of the murderers or of their morbid hobby.

Jace and his men reclaimed all the cat trophies so our dead brothers could have a proper burial. And even if a forensics team found my blood at the campsite, they’d never piece together what had really happened. They’d think their samples were contaminated.

After about an hour, Jace knelt next to me on his way across the cabin, bulging trash bag in hand. “You okay, kiddo?” he asked, for the fourth time. Now that he’d had time to think, he seemed worried about my potentially fragile mental state.

“Yeah.” Better than I’d expected, considering I’d killed three men and seen three friends murdered.

“Good.” He nodded, but his blue-eyed scowl was dark and angry. “You ever disobey an order again, and I’ll send you straight back to your father. Understood?”

“Yes.” I held his gaze hoping he saw both remorse and fortitude in mine. “But you know I did the right thing. I did the same thing you would have done, in my position.”

His frown deepened. “I’m not in your position. I am an Alpha. You are a—”

“Do not call me a child,” I snapped. “I’m not a kid anymore, Jace.” Even if he couldn’t tell that from looking at me—not that he ever looked for long—I’d just written it all over the cabin in the blood of my enemies.

“I know. But you’re not an enforcer either. Yet.”

“Yet?” I blinked, sure I’d heard him wrong, and my heart thumped against my sternum.

He nodded, and his grin warmed me deep inside. “If human government doesn’t hold the same appeal after this, let me know. Pride politics are another beast entirely, but I’ll have a job waiting for you, if you want it.”

My brows arched. “For real?”

Jace nodded, eyeing me carefully. Almost admirably. “Faythe taught you well.” For a second, something painful passed over his expression. “But I can do better. If that’s something you’d be interested in, when you finish school.”

Would I be interested in training under the world’s hottest Alpha instead of moving back home to hang a worthless poli-sci degree in my childhood bedroom?

I smiled slowly. “I’m all yours.” My cheeks flamed when I realized how that sounded—accurate or not. “To train, I mean.”

He grinned and pulled me up by one hand. “Why do I suddenly feel like I’m in over my head?”

“I don’t know,” I murmured, as he knelt to pick up his trash bag.

Because I felt like I’d just then found my footing.





A Note From Rachel:



Dear Reader,