Page 55 of Midnight Moon
The crater was at least twenty feet deep; the bottom hidden in darkness.
The walls of the hole were smooth, revealing the hazard wasn’t caused by a natural collapse of the forest floor.
A trap created by a hunter, perhaps?
But how could this exist in Badlands’ territory without Alpha Kurt knowing about it?
Uncertainty plagued me.
Maybe the host pack had created the hole as an obstacle for the game? It seemed dangerous. At minimum, someone could break a leg if they fell in.
I tapped into my shifter vision to see what waited at the bottom of the deep hole, only to gasp when I saw the collapsed form tangled in camouflaged netting.
Asher.
My pulse skyrocketed when I identified my fallen teammate.
So much for Chase’s ten-story analogy. Clearly, twenty feet was enough to knock out the dark-haired shifter.
My body thrummed with a need to get to Asher, but I forced myself to take it slow and assess the situation. The last thing I needed to do was leap into the hole and get stuck.
A gnarled tree root caught my eye. It wove in and out of the hole’s dirt wall, extending about twelve feet down before branching into thin filaments. If I could tie a rope around the thickest part of the root, I could probably use it to climb into the hole while providing a way back out.
Now, I just needed a rope.
On hands and knees, I searched the forest floor, digging my fingers into the dirt, hoping the creator of the hole had left some material behind.
Surprise, surprise—there wasn’t a rope to be found.
There were no vines in the forest, and I couldn’t exactly cut down a tree branch with my bare hands.
If push came to shove, I guess I could shift. My wolf would have a better chance at leaping back out of the whole, but then I would be disqualified from the game. While winning wasn’t my priority at the moment, I couldn’t bring myself to throw away all hope of ending the day with a victory—not unless it was absolutely necessary.
My search came up empty. I rubbed my dirty hands against my pants, trying to think of another idea, when an idea hit me.
My sweatpants!
I could tie one end of my pants to the tree root and let the other side hang down. That would give me at least three feet of fabric, making the distance to the bottom a manageable five feet.
But would the material hold?
I convinced myself it would.
It wasn’t like I had many options.
Thankful I decided to wear biker shorts underneath my pants, I kicked off my boots and socks to strip out of my sweatpants. Ignoring the air’s frigid bite, I threw the makeshift rope over my shoulder and carefully lowered myself into the hole, using the exposed tree root as foot and handholds.
Reaching the end of the root, I tied a double knot at the bottom of my sweatpants, letting the rest of the fabric dangle into the hole. I gingerly climbed down, grateful when the material held.
Then, with a deep breath, I released my grip and landed in a crouch beside Asher.
“Asher?”
No response.
My hands trembled as I reached down and pressed my fingers against his neck.
Thank the Mother.His pulse strummed strongly against my skin.
