Silent Embrace

KILLIAN

Killian watched as the door closed. Then he shifted to his tiger form, passing through trees to find a well-worn path back to the center.

The ground of the arena reeked.

Killian stalked between the trees, his tiger eyes scanning his surroundings.

Blood everywhere.

The scent coursed through his veins like heroin, spurring him onward.

By now, surely most of the new Runners had either been killed or taken as a mate. The shifters of Lazarus worked quickly, more interested in their own enjoyment than the cameras fixed on them.

But Killian knew better.

He knew that those digital eyes followed him, knew damn well they relished every capture, every kill, every move of tooth and claw.

Though he never left Lazarus, he could imagine the vile cheers of humans every time one of his shifter brethren pulled a girl away with them.

That’s all we are to them, his tiger growled, his fangs slipping out past his lips as he slunk around the tree trunks. ~Animals. Untamed. They’ll kill us all if we ever stop making money for them.~

Killian’s mind churned with rage. He stoked its fire, using it to spur himself on, but a scent pulled his train of thought clear off the rails.

Sweet. Feminine. Terrified. Cornered.

Quietly, Killian snarled. Good. He’d thought there wouldn’t be any left to catch. The cameras were waiting.

Creeping along the shadows, muscles undulating smoothly under his black and orange fur, it didn’t take long for him to find the source of the scent.

A girl, hair dark as the night sky and skin as pale as moonlight, stood frozen in fear. She smelled good enough to eat. And yet, something about her… He felt a different pull.

An attraction.

That was dangerous.

Best to catch her fast and make a good show then find her an exit as fast as possible.

She was gorgeous. Her silky hair stood high in a ponytail and still fell to her shoulders. And her body… Killian growled low in his throat as he studied it. She was an ideal mate.

So why is she still standing there, unclaimed?

It was then that his animalistic senses refocused, noting the clouding scent of two other animals. Feline. Canine. Oh, wonderful.

Killian followed the girl’s line of sight, straight to a snarling wolf and the caracal behind him.

While the wolf seemed dead-set on the human, the caracal looked unfocused, maybe because of the gashes across his snout.

Milo and Jackson. Of course. Those bastards always tried to bite off more than they could chew.

Killian’s feline form tensed, teeth bared.

Milo and Jackson were still fighting each other.

Now’s my chance.

BLYTHE

The only thought in Blythe’s mind was: escape!

But as she scrambled over long, twisting roots while the wolf fought the leopard, of course one foot got stuck to the ankle.

Pain shot through it as she tried to free it.

The leopard and the wolf wrestled just a few feet from her. Beyond them, mockingly glinting on the ground, lay her spear. Blythe grimaced and tried to push the root, but it wouldn’t budge.

I’m a goddamn sitting duck.

The wolf yelped in pain and wriggled free of the leopard, panting. He was bleeding. Blythe started to breathe faster.

Oh no. Oh no. The wolf—~Milo, right?~—seemed nicer than the leopard. ~I don’t want him to lose.~

But it was apparent that he was losing.

A part of Blythe couldn’t believe that she could remember the wolf’s name from when she watched the Running on TV while her life was in mortal danger.

She shook her head, focusing on the present.

She needed to concentrate, or she was dead.

The leopard crouched, muscles bunching in his shoulders and legs, sleek spotted fur unmarred by any damage. He was going to pounce on Milo. Milo backed up one step. Then another. He whined deep in his throat.

Then both of them froze. The animals turned their heads as one. Blythe followed their eyes, straining to see what they’d seen.

The leopard let out a roar and bolted.

What the hell would scare away that leopard?

Blythe dug at the root with her nails, gouging the skin of her hands against the rough bark.

Whatever it was, she really didn’t want to meet it.

But then, moving slowly—with a grace that emanated more danger than anything Blythe had ever seen before—a tiger emerged from the leaves.

He was massive: double the size of the wolf. Long and powerful, with orange stripes that went from deep vermillion at the top to fiery ochre at his lower sides where it met the white fur of his underbelly.

Stark black stripes cut through the ginger and white coat, and startlingly blue eyes stared out from his face. He was gorgeous.

And terrifying.

Milo whined and glanced at the girl. Killian watched as the wheels turned in Milo’s head. She’d gotten a foot caught in the tangled roots of a banyan tree. Easy pickings for an Omega dog like him. But not on Killian’s time.

With a yip of fear and frustration, Milo loped off, casting one backward glance as he went.

Killian sighed. Milo was an idiot, and he was a loyal servant of Hayden. The latter especially precluded Killian feeling any sympathy for him.

He turned his attention on the girl.

Milo had good taste—Killian had to give him that.

She was beautiful: dark hair escaping from a tight ponytail. Big, green eyes the color of the jungle leaves around her. Milky skin. All the right curves. Killian’s tiger side purred, liking what he saw very much.

Easy there, human Killian cautioned. ~Stick to the plan.~

We already let two go—that screechy one and that nice brown-skinned girl, the tiger complained. ~And neither one wanted to do anything other than escape.~

Killian felt the disappointment too.

Sometimes, when the girls realized he had actually led them to a door rather than to their deaths, they were so relieved and elated they could be very…grateful. It was the only time Killian allowed himself any kind of sexual contact. And this year, there had been none.

That’s just how it is, he told his tiger. That brought a growl to his feline throat.

The girl heard it and became frantic, clawing at the root and her own skin.

Shit, Killian thought. With a quick look around, he spotted a camera.

This isn’t the right place for a real scene, he decided. ~Too many others nearby still looking for food or mates. Better to carry her near a door and do a performance there.~

But that didn’t mean foregoing a brief display now.

Give ’em a taste, then we’ll do a real show in a bit, Killian decided.

BLYTHE

The tiger folded in front of Blythe like paper, the process making sounds that made her nearly lose the lunch she’d been provided before the Running.

Bones shattering.

Muscles ripping.

Skin tearing and stitching back together.

But then, in front of her, was a naked man, gracefully getting to his feet.

He was tall, and broad. Nothing but muscle, he towered over Blythe’s five-foot-two frame.

She took him in.

Long, curling, near-black hair spilled over high cheekbones, above contoured shoulders. Every muscle in his chest and abdomen was sculpted as if from marble. His skin was caramel, taut over the hulking muscles. His eyebrows arched over ice-blue eyes, intense with something primal. She saw the feral tiger in him even as a human.

Blythe felt the urge to press her thighs together, unable to tear her eyes away from him as he approached. Instead, her gaze traveled down…down…

His pectoral muscles were covered with old scars that stood out, cream-colored against his otherwise flawless bronze skin. She glanced again at his abs, shadowed and strong, and her gaze slipped lower to the flat of his belly.

Stop there, Blythe. Stop right now, she ordered herself.

The tiger-man tilted his head to gaze down at her, and she watched those blue eyes of his darken a shade as his pupils dilated.

“Killian,” he growled.

Blythe blinked.

Was that his name?

Do shifters always introduce themselves before they kill you?

Each of his hands, the size of plates, planted on the tree at either side of her head, caging her in with his form.

All she could hear was her heartbeat, hammering again, the blood rushing in her ears loud enough to be deafening.

That, and the huffing of his breath, similar to the chuffing sound he made in his tiger form.

Terror warred with desire inside Blythe.

What the hell? What the hell, Blythe? How can you want this man?

But there was no denying his nearness made her dizzy, and it wasn’t just from fear.

Would he tear her apart like this?

Would he touch her instead?

He leaned in closer still, studying her face carefully.

Blythe cowered. What does he want with her? Why does he have to stand so close?

She felt the tree’s bark biting into her back through the fabric of her top.

Oh, God, he’s going to kill me. Of course he’s going to kill me.

Then his right hand came down and gripped at her waist so hard that she yelped—sure a bruise would form there.

In a voice that was deeply resonant yet sharp, he finally spoke, holding her gaze like a vise.

“You’re mine.”