Chapter 2

TWO

CARVER

E aster meant only one thing for my pack.

The Hunt.

It marked the one time of year when we were sanctioned to brutally hunt down and murder a few young rabbit shifters from the local bunny burrow. All for the sake of satiating the thing that made us what we were: werewolves.

It didn't work like it did in human books and movies. We didn't transform under the full moon. We could shift year-round at will so long as we maintained control of the wolf within. It took bunny shifter blood to calm that gnawing Hunger, and it would stay in our bloodstream for about a year…

I was different from my pack mates. I didn't need bunny blood to calm the wolf inside me. It had always been quiet and easy to control. I didn't need to murder to tame it.

Why was I like this? That was a question I'd asked myself ever since my first shift when all I felt was emptiness. It was twisted to admit, but I sometimes caught myself wishing for that same brutal bloodlust as my pack members. It had to be better than feeling nothing at all from the thing inside me that was supposed to be my entire identity.

Even my twin brother had the Hunger.

"You sure you don't want to join the Hunt?" my brother asked, frowning as he watched me load the cooler of beer into the back of my old Toyota truck.

"Not this shit again, Case." Irritation underscored my every syllable. "You ask me every year, and my answer is always the same. Do I have to get it stamped on my fucking forehead to have you get the damn picture?"

Casey scrubbed the back of his head with his hand and gave a shrug. "I guess I'm just hoping you'll say yes this time. I want to hunt with my brother."

"We go hunting together all the time."

"Yeah. With guns," my twin scoffed. "Not as fun as carnivore style, in full shift."

"You know shifting's not the same for me."

I slammed the tailgate shut, and Case pushed closer, lounging his arm on the back of my truck while dropping his voice. "You know there's nothing like running through the woods Easter day. This would be the perfect time to bond with the pack. Try to fit in."

I shot the silver-haired wolf a hot glare as I shoved my hand in my shirt pocket and fished out the squished pack of cigarettes, plucking one out and lighting it. "How many times do I have to tell you that I don't give a single fuck about blending in?"

There was conviction in my words, but they hadn't always been true. There'd been a time, not so long ago, that I cared about fitting in with the only family I'd ever known.

"Look." Casey sighed, waving away the cloud of cigarette smoke spiraling between us. "Lars has been talking shit again. I just think joining the Hunt will get him off your ass."

My muscles tensed at the mention of our alpha. "Lars has been talking shit since we were kids. That son of a bitch loves to run his jaw, nothing new."

My twin's brows gnashed as he helped himself to a cigarette and a light. "Come on, Carver. Now that he's alpha, the pack actually listens to the shit he spews. He's been telling them your beast doesn't speak to you, says that it's rejected you."

"Asshole has to get a damn hobby if all he has to talk about is me," I mumbled. "Anyway, it's true, isn't it? I can shift just like everyone else."

"Yeah, but…" He swept his eyes over the driveway of the packhouse where some of the others gathered, preparing to head into the woods for the Hunt. The promise of prey blood come sundown had the air hot and buzzing with bloodlust. Confident that no one was listening, Casey turned back to me with a weighted expression etched on his face. "Your beast doesn't speak to you."

It wasn't a question. He knew. He was the only one I'd ever told.

"So?"

He chewed on the butt of the cigarette dangling from his lips. "What's it like? Not having a mental link with it?"

I didn't like talking about it, and he knew that. Normally, he didn't press the subject.

"It's quiet," I answered with a low growl, warning him I wasn't in the mood to discuss this now. The sun was setting, and I needed to prepare for my role in the Hunt. I wouldn't be an active participant, but I had a job to do just like everyone else.

"It's gotta be weird not having a voice in your head constantly telling you to murder and maim. Even if you don't need to sate the Hunger, joining the Hunt might make the rumors go away."

"I ate part of your kill last year. Doesn't that count as participation?"

It had been a year ago to the day, and I could still taste that poor girl on my tongue. Her fear had made her flesh sour and sweet all at once. It had taken everything in me to stomach the few bites I'd taken.

I'd decided that would be the last I ever try to "fit in" with my pack. And it hadn't been worth it anyway since my wolf hadn't so much as a twitch of a reaction.

Casey grinned at the mention of the sacrifice he'd killed last Hunt. "Sorry. Doesn't count. Eating a sacrifice and being the wolf to catch it are two different things. The wolves who catch the sacrifices are always worshiped for the rest of the year. Good way to get a mate. It's how I pulled Lila."

Like magic, the small woman with wavy black hair appeared seemingly out of nowhere and wrapped her arms around my brother's waist. "What are we talking about?"

Case twisted around to pull Lila into his arms and kissed the top of her head. "How being one of the wolves to kill a sacrifice in the Hunt is the best way to win a beautiful mate."

"You think you won me because of your trophy kill?" Lila playfully patted her mate's face, knocking the cigarette from his mouth. "That's so cute. Everyone knows my wolf chose yours because of looks, babe. And since you and Carver are identical twins, she just eenie-meenie-moed that shit."

Casey nipped playfully at Lila's ear, growling that low growl that had her turning to putty in his arms. His hands slid to her belly, which was just starting to show with their unborn cub.

I abruptly turned on my heel and opened the door to my truck. Before I could climb in, Case was in my way.

"Hey, think about what I said, yeah? Taking a mate might help you fit in better. Might get Lars off your ass. And you can't just wait around for your wolf to select a true mate for you. Since it doesn't speak to you, it might never?—"

I grabbed my brother by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the side of my truck. Everyone turned to look at us, but I didn't care. "I'm going to say this one last time. I don't need a mate. So just give it a rest," I snarled louder than I meant to.

"Yeah, give it a rest, Casey. Don't you know your brother is content living alone in his cabin, rutting his right hand forever? Probably for the best he doesn't mate. Wouldn't want to risk spreading whatever's wrong with his wolf to a cub."

I released my brother and slowly turned to find Lars standing behind me.

Our alpha was shorter and had a slighter build than me. I could take him in a fight, in either form. I wanted nothing more than to sucker punch him in the gut. Too bad initiating any physical contact with the pack leader was regarded as an official challenge for the place as alpha. That meant a fight to the death.

It would be fun being the reason this asshole breathed his last breath, but I had no interest in leading the pack. So, I settled with flipping him off, accompanied by a terse grin that was all teeth, before climbing into my truck.

"Carver, come on. I was just trying?—"

My brother's protest was cut short as I slammed my door shut, jammed the key into the ignition and tore out of the driveway in a spray of gravel.

The truth was, it wasn't Casey who I was pissed at. It was the beast inside me.

The curse didn't seem to affect me in the same way it did my pack, and somehow, that made me more broken than the rest.

My role during the Hunt was simple: plant the sacrifices in the woods—spread them out so there was more sport in it for the pack—and keep humans away the rest of the night.

I sat in a lawn chair in my truck bed, my beer cooler open at my feet with a cold can in my hand and my hunting rifle slung across my thighs. I'd parked along the backroad that ran alongside the woods, beside the bullet-riddled sign that read "PRIVATE PROPERTY – Trespassers Will Be Shot!"

A little nothing town with a population somewhere in the triple digits was nearby. Centuries have passed since our kind messed with the humans before our truce with the bunnies. The stories faded from their memories, and now they just peg the bunny shifters as hippies and us wolves as crazy backwoods hicks. They've stayed away from our territory for the most part.

As dusk started to settle, headlights appeared down the road some ways. I took a sip from my beer, eyes narrowing on the station wagon that pulled up beside my truck. Downing the last of my beer, I tossed the can to my feet, slung my gun over my shoulder and jumped to the ground.

I slowly approached the vehicle. A magnetic sign was slapped to the station wagon's faux wooden siding reading "Watership Farms. Fresh produce since 1792."

The driver was the same guy who'd been delivering to us since I'd taken on this role for the pack. He was a smug son of a bitch who thought he was safe from us. One day, we'd probably kill him too, sacrifice or not.

He rolled down his window, giving me a flimsy smile while shoving his fingers through his greasy, thinning hair. I didn't miss the way his hand shook.

"Aw, nervous, Doug?" I wasn't sure if I remembered his name correctly, and I didn't care. "For how long we've been doing this, you'd think we'd be old friends by now." I folded my arms on the car door and leaned into the open window. This rabbit shifter was shaking like a damn leaf in a windstorm. He didn't know my wolf might as well be vegan for its complete lack of interest in rabbit blood. Still, instincts told me this male was a grade above scum, so I took pleasure in rattling him.

"G–got you a fresh batch."

I nodded. "Good. Love your deliveries. Always fresh. Should really try your produce sometime."

Missing the sarcasm in my tone, Doug went along with it, laughing. "Y–yeah. Carrots got that same kind of crunch as bunny bones, I bet."

My expression morphed into something savage, and Doug's nervous smile evaporated in an instant. "I'm sorry?—"

"Hey, I'm the big bad wolf here. I'm going to make unsavory jokes about my pack's dinner. We do love playing with our food, after all. But jokes like that about your own kind, some of them probably blood too—knowing you lot and how you love to shag your cousins—that's just sick, Doug." I laughed and hated how empty it sounded.

The truth was, I hated this entire ritual, hated marching the bunnies to their deaths. But this was the way of the pack. I didn't care about pack laws and traditions. Casey did. And my twin brother was just about the only person or thing on this planet that made me feel something.

Ignoring the driver's pathetic apologies, I peered into the back seat, where three young rabbit shifters sat shoulder to shoulder.

One—a blonde-haired girl in a sundress of all things, almost looked eager. Last year's bunch had all been pretty bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, just like her. Poor bastards. Their burrow really had them brainwashed. They were just as eager to die as my pack was to kill them.

Next to her sat a male with unkempt brown hair and dark, beady eyes that had me on edge for reasons I couldn't peg. That one seemed more in touch with reality by his somber expression.

The second girl with wild, hateful eyes struck me the most. Her jet-black hair was tied up in a haphazard bun on top of her head, with a streak of purple dye running through it. Her ears were full of silver rings, and a septum piercing decorated her button nose.

I wondered if the purple stripe translated to her shifted form, and I couldn't help but imagine a black bunny with ears full of hoops and a shock of purple across its black pelt.

Her chocolate brown eyes locked with mine, and the pure loathing behind them stabbed me in the gut like an ice-cold knife.

For the first time ever, the beast inside me stirred—hungry for a taste of bunny blood.