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Chapter 1

ONE

RUTH

" H ope Doyle."

Hope shot to her feet when she heard her name called out, bouncing on her heels. "I've been chosen!"

I stared at the back of my cousin's head from where she sat in our meeting hall, several rows up. Even from this distance, I could feel her elation at being selected while the rest of the room clapped.

Goosebumps exploded over my skin as I swiveled my gaze around at the mass of rabbit shifters, unable to keep the bewildered expression off my face.

Brainwashed. Every last one of them.

Why else would they be so eager to throw Hope to the wolves?

I understood the need to uphold the truce. Only the blood of our kind calmed the twisted hunger that cursed the wolfpack in these parts. If we didn't provide sacrifices, they'd lose control of their beasts, and things would go back to the way they were centuries before the truce. We'd lose so much more than three of our own every spring.

Better to keep the carnage to one day a year.

Still, it didn't explain why everyone treated the grisly event like it was something to look forward to. As if it was an honor to be chosen. The whole thing was serious Hunger Games fuckery, only there was no chance of fighting your way out.

Getting your name drawn out of that hat was a brutal death sentence, and Hope was acting like she'd just won the damn lottery.

Her parents sat beside her, beaming with pride at their daughter's selection. Just like my parents had when my sister's name was drawn last year. A chill worked through me as I recalled how proud Mom and Dad had been. Proud to drop my sister off in the middle of the woods to be hunted down and torn apart by wolves.

I wondered if other bunny burrows around the country were as cult-like as ours.

"Can't you even pretend to be happy for your cousin?" My father leaned over from where he sat beside me, his whisper harsh in my ear. "Hope knows what an honor it is to uphold the tradition of the Hunt. Her sacrifice will ensure our colony can live in peace for the rest of the year."

The blood turned cold in my veins. That's exactly what he'd said when Sarah's name had been drawn last year.

I tried not to hate my family for being so thoroughly brainwashed by the Elders of our burrow. We were born into it, just like the twenty other families that called it home. We'd all grown up with the story of how the Hunt and the truce came to be.

Three hundred or so years ago, there'd been a war between the bunny shifters in our area and the wolf shifters. A war we nearly lost because, well, bunnies—even in crazy numbers —were no match for predators ten times our size. They nearly slaughtered the entire colony.

The beast that lives inside every werewolf is like its own separate entity—monsters that live inside men. And the best thing to keep them sated and in control of their shifting powers? Rabbit shifter blood.

So, a truce between their kind and ours was struck.

The following Easter—because who could resist that irony?—our colony provided three young sacrifices to be set loose in the woods that sat between our territories.

The Hunt was born, and since then, once a year, the soil of the woods is bathed in bunny blood, which satisfies the wolves and gives them better control over their bestial hunger for the rest of the year.

From birth, we're taught that the good of the colony comes first.

Work. Obey. Breed. Die. Repeat.

That is our duty.

Bunny shifters, especially our colony, don't take much stock in fated mates like the rest of the shifter world. Our kind doesn't usually create bonds. The Elders don't take much stock in meaningful connections. All that matters is that we create more drones.

Bunnies have a reputation for being fervent breeders, and our burrow is no exception. Maybe that's why no one batted an ear at losing a son or daughter to the Hunt. They had a dozen more to fill the hole.

My parents had thirteen children altogether. After Sarah died, they were down to twelve. Every time she came up in conversation, all they talked about was how proud they were of her. As if she'd gone off to college and she'd be back for Christmas. It was probably just their way of coping.

Me, I couldn't do that shit. My anger wouldn't allow me to sit back and pretend like all this wasn't totally fucked.

I hadn't always hated how things worked here, but that was before Sarah died.

"Sawyer Keys."

I froze at the next name called. Sawyer Keys. He's my age, twenty-four. I've known him all my life. He'd always picked on me in school. Years later, he'd asked me if I'd be his mate. I'd refused him. After shredding his paper-thin ego, he'd gotten off on making my life hell.

Now he was going to die.

I searched the crowded meeting hall for Sawyer. Our eyes locked.

There wasn't so much as a twinge of happiness on his face like my cousin exhibited. He had a better understanding of what was in store for him. After a moment of intense eye contact, Sawyer ripped his attention away from me and put it back on the Elder who'd pulled his name. A beat later, he gave a silent, dutiful nod.

It was all an act. Sawyer Keys didn't have so much as one brave bone in his body.

"That's a shame," my father grunted. "He would have been a good mate for you."

This wasn't the first time my parents suggested Sawyer as a mate. It was abnormal for a female bunny my age to have never taken a mate. Most of the girls my age had at least a few kits. I'd rather die a kitless spinster than be mated to someone like Sawyer.

I'd told my parents that plenty of times before, how I'd rather fuck a rotten carrot than carry Sawyer's offspring. This time, I kept my mouth shut. It didn't matter now. Tomorrow, he'd be dead, and all the bitter memories I shared with him would be just that. Memories.

"Ruth Thatch."

Every single eye in the room turned on me as the Elder called my name.

"Way to go, Ruthie!" Someone from the row behind me patted my back as if to congratulate me on a job well done.

As if I'd somehow earned this.

I was in the age group of eligible sacrifices, but I'd never really stressed about being selected. I guess there was a part of me that didn't care what happened to me… Not after Sarah had been selected last year.

Maybe a piece of me had already died with Sarah.

My father and mother turned toward me and gave me that same look they gave my sister when her name was called. Suddenly, the numbness was gone, and all I felt was pure, dark, dangerous rage .

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