4. Fresh Meat

4

Fresh Meat

FLOR

T he words "fresh meat" hung in the air, and I shifted my stance, ready to run or fight.

Painted a pale turquoise shade, the room was long and narrow, taken up almost entirely by a long walnut table. There were crystal bowls with flowers floating inside, along with some pretty blown-glass centerpieces that looked kind of like seals, and fancy lace placemats for the diners.

Every seat except one was filled with a shifter, young men at one end, and women at the other. I didn't recognize any of them, except one: Vanessa.

"Our guest!" a blonde woman called out. "Finally. I'm starved."

I wanted to laugh. Not one of these shifters knew what starved was. They all glowed with health, and wore muscle and even a thin layer of fat. The scent of food in the room had my stomach growling again, even though I'd just eaten with Brand.

Before I knew what was happening, the unranked maid had pulled out the remaining chair and I was seated at the table, wondering where the hell Brand and Glen were.

The women seated near me murmured their hellos as I placed a starched napkin on my lap and looked around. Everyone was about my age or a little older, most of them between twenty or thirty, but I felt a lot older than the way they acted and spoke. Besides me, the whole table was dressed like they were going to a fancy job interview or something, and the women were wearing so much makeup, I wasn't sure if they even had pores.

A maid set a plate filled with rich food in front of me, and I let out a sigh, noting the abundance of shining cutlery. Eenie, meenie, I thought as I wondered if it mattered which fork I chose.

I didn't make eye contact with anyone else as I decided not to use a fork, and began with a dry bread roll, though I could tell Vanessa was watching me closely. She'd changed into a different dress already, an emerald green one that matched her eyes, and her long dark hair was pulled into a fancy knot. She really did look like a younger version of Margarette.

"Did you hear me?" Vanessa repeated, loud enough that a few shifters near us winced.

"No." She hadn't said anything. Giving up on the roll, I grabbed a fork. I ate what I hoped was an appetizer—some sort of meat paste piled up next to the tiniest salad I'd ever seen—as quickly as possible, unsure how long I was going to be able to stand the charged atmosphere in the room.

"Right. I was just telling my friends that you're the one who hacked off Aunt Margarette's hair." She mock-frowned, and a few of the other girls at the table giggled.

One glared at me, but I had no idea why. Most of the girls, besides the glarer and Vanessa, seemed fairly decent. A little self-absorbed, talking about the males clustered at the other end of the table, who were mostly ignoring us.

Them, I kept an eye on. I didn't think any of them had been chasing me, but I wasn't certain.

Someone had called me "fresh meat." Someone knew they'd been hunting me.

"Was it you?" Vanessa asked slowly, like I hadn't understood her.

"That's what they tell me." I stared down at the new plate the servant had placed in front of me, glad I couldn't exactly remember that gory moment. My main course was some sort of fish in pastry, swimming in a buttery sauce. My stomach churned.

She smiled with tight lips. "The story I heard was you cut it off with a butter knife, in the middle of a battle. And then you cut off the head of a Southern shifter—one of your own —with the same knife."

"It wasn't a butter knife." I kept my face serene, though inside I was rolling my eyes. There was no butter knife in the world that could decapitate a shifter. "It was a steak knife."

The girls around me flinched. I hoped like hell they weren't going to ask to see it.

"Why're you asking me about all this?" I stared directly into Vanessa's face, challenging her. Her eyes were narrowed, and her bright red lips pulled tight, as she dropped her gaze.

"Well, I just wondered how much of what I heard could be true." She picked at the fish on her plate. "I mean, if they were mistaken about the butter knife, they must have been mistaken about the even more… unsavory things."

"What things?"

The room had gone quiet, everyone clearly listening in. "I heard you were unranked, and we can all see your charming earring." She giggled, like that was funny. "And yet, here you are, sitting at the table with the highest ranked unmated shifters at Northern. So, you must think you're somehow special. Above the rules."

"Here we go," I muttered, feeling dozens of eyes on me. I set my napkin on the table. "Does it matter?"

I fought to quiet my wolf, who was howling to put this shifter in her place. You're not a lot of good here, I thought to that new presence. Unless you can shift and overcome all these wolves?

She went quieter at that, merely snarling.

I thought so.

"I'm a guest of the pack. A visitor. Margarette invited me to stay here. She told me I'd be safe." I didn't tell them she'd adopted me into the pack, more or less. If they knew that, and knew I was unranked, it'd put me in a very tenuous position. As a new, unranked pack member, I most likely had no rights. And if anyone came after me—hunted me—I still didn't have any places carved out to hide for more than a few hours.

Not safe, my wolf whimpered. Not safe not safe not safe.

Suddenly, I felt utterly exposed. Where was Brand? Where the hell was Glen? Where was… No. Finnick could go fuck himself. He'd been such a rat bastard the last time I'd spoken to him, I'd be fine never seeing him again.

My mind went to Luke, shied away, then settled on the black wolf, Joaquin. I wouldn't even mind him showing up, magic or not.

"Well, yes, Aunt Mags makes a lot of promises," Vanessa murmured. "She told me you want to be an Enforcer. That she offered to adopt you."Her eyes swam with an ocean of pain for a moment, and I was shocked into answering honestly.

"She called me her foster daughter, and yeah, I am going to be an Enforcer."

Like a door being slammed shut, the pain I'd seen was closed off in an instant. "Then your rank matters rather substantially. So, tell me, Florida, " she drawled louder now, revealing that she knew more about me than I wanted her to. Brand wouldn't have shared any of this. But Glen might have told her my name. I'd knife that asshole if it was him. "Tell us all what you told me. About that tag in your ear."

The room had gone utterly still, too silent, like the forest when a predator was on the hunt. "If you'd been at Conclave, you'd know what it means. Why weren't you there, Vanessa?"

"Oh shit," one of the guys muttered. The blonde woman sitting closest to Vanessa gave her a sympathetic look, then glared at me like I'd insulted her.

"Southern is a trash pack. I'm sure I didn't miss anything," Vanessa spat back. "But you didn't answer me. That tag means you're unranked."

I nodded calmly, but my instincts were screaming. Her eyes glittered with a dark excitement, and her scent changed to one I recognized from years of being hunted.

I had my steak knife in my hidden belt sheath, but now I stood slowly with a table knife in my hand, eyes flicking once more to the exits. I already knew there were three: two doors and one window. The door I'd come in led to the hall, but it was too far. The other door led to the kitchen, I supposed. I could smell more food and hear the noise of dishes there. The window was a last resort. It was a large picture window, and I would have to jump through it, breaking it to get away.

It might be worth the pain.

"What are you doing, Florida?" Vanessa asked, blinking innocently. "We're still eating."

The whole table was staring at me now. I sat back down, slowly. How did she know my full name?

"The other stories might be true, then." Vanessa leaned closer, like she was trying to keep the conversation between us. But from the way she glanced around, and the pitch of her voice, I wasn't fooled. "Did the males there really play a game with you called the Hunt?"

My heart raced. I gave one curt nod.

"And is it true"—she smiled, her teeth glinting in the light—"that they hunted you ?"

I didn't nod this time. I tensed, my muscles ready to spring.

"And the prize, if they caught you, was they all got to fuck you?" I stared into her cold eyes, waiting for the attack. I could feel it coming. "So you fucked all of them?"

The blonde woman growled. "Stay away from Glen. He doesn't need the Southern pack whore sniffing around him."

At the other end of the table, one of the males stood. I wasn't sure why, whether he was going to speak, tell the girls to stop, ask for clarification.

Or ask if he could have a turn.

The movement alone, and the scent of an interested male, triggered my instinct to flee. To hide.

In my mind, the Hunt was on.

I bolted for the nearest door, but Vanessa quickly stepped in front of me, her arms wide. "You're not excused. Sit back down."

Suddenly, the steak knife was in my hand, and at her throat. "Let me go," I growled.

Her eyes went wide, her voice panicked. "Someone help me! She's gone feral. She's got a knife!"

The male shifters were there instantly, surrounding me. "Girl, put down the knife," one demanded. He was a scrawny male, about twenty, but full of himself. I sniffed, recognizing his scent. He was one of the males who had chased me.

My voice was a warning snarl. "No."

Even if they weren't planning to hunt me inside, I wouldn't survive in a strange pack with no weapons. I lunged for him, and he fell back, shocked and angry. "You bitch! "

Two other males reached for me, but I was already gone, leaping for the second door, yanking the tablecloth as I ran the length of the table, pulling all the plates and food onto the carpeting. That would hopefully trip a few of them.

Voices called out after me as I ran, my heart sinking.

"Get her!"

"Stop her!"

I had no idea where to go.

I prayed that whatever was through the door was better than where I'd just been. Listening to the boys taking up the howl of the Hunt behind me, I had to hope there was someone there who would help me hide, who might protect me.

Hope again, you stupid idiot? Stop. Fucking. Hoping.

As I ran, I scrambled for a plan. If I could find my way out of the house entirely, I'd run for the lake. I was a decent swimmer, and the food I'd had over the past few days had made me stronger. They'd lose my scent in the water. There had to be another shore, and I'd swim until I found it, run and run and never look back.

I plunged through another door, down a short hallway, and found a door unlocked. I burst into the room, slamming the door on the faces of the males who were chasing me.

"Flor?" Someone called my name.

I whirled, holding the knife in front of me. Large hands— male hands—landed on my shoulders, and I darted to one side, slicing an arm to escape.

"Let me go!" I shouted.

"Let her go, son," a voice filled with command, a feminine voice, ordered.

Margarette? I skidded to a stop.

She would protect me. I knew she was still weakened from the attack at Southern, but my wolf saw her as the one in charge. "Help me," I whimpered, running to her at the same moment the males burst through the door.

Margarette grabbed a carving knife from her table, thrusting me behind her. "Stay behind me, Flor," she yelled. I almost protested, but there was a closed door on the wall at her back. A weakness in her defenses.

I obeyed her command, feeling guilty that I'd brought the battle to her while she was still recovering. She was right, though. I could already hear howls and running feet from behind the second door.

I would protect her or die trying.