Page 2 of Ours
The mating run was notorious—wild, dangerous, intense. Some humans came back changed, electrified with life or haunted by what they'd experienced.
Either would be better than this… thisnumbness.
Cole stepped out into cool night air, goosebumps prickling on his skin. A trickle of nervous-looking humans were moving toward the tree line, their body language screamingsecond thoughts. He fell in behind them, letting their momentum carry him forward when his courage faltered.
He took a deep breath of forest air—leaves, soil, and something muskier that made his pulse jump. His boots crunched dead leaves as he followed the others into the trees.
The forest closed around him, vast and ancient. Shadows played between massive trunks. Every tiny noise shot adrenaline through his system.
As a kid, Cole had been afraid of the dark. As an adult, he feared the emptiness that came with too much light—the harsh reality of seeing exactly what was (and wasn't) there. But here, in this halfway place of shadow and moonlight, he felt strangely alive.
The faint glow of lanterns appeared ahead, where a figure waited in the shadows. Too tall to be human, but the darkness obscured everything else. Cole's steps faltered.
This was real. He was really doing this.
"Registration for the run?" The voice was feminine but held an edge that made his skin prickle. Not quite a growl, but close.
Cole's throat tightened. "Yes."
He couldn't see her face, just the vague outline of her form, but he felt her studying him. The weight of that invisible gaze made him want to fidget, to explain himself, to run. She held out a contract, her arm extending from the shadows. Her fingers were too long, tipped with something that caught the moonlight.
"Take your time," she murmured, but her tone said she already knew why he was here. Another lonely soul looking to be devoured.
His fingers trembled as he signed the liability waiver. How did you even put "might be mauled by werewolves" into legalese? The absurdity of paperwork for this almost made him laugh.
In the gloom, it looked like she cocked her head. “The run can be... intense. Especially for first-timers."
Cole's jaw clenched. He didn't need her concern. Didn't need anyone's pity.
Marcus's voice echoed in his head—too needy, too desperate.
"I need this," he said, raw truth scraping his throat.
Needed to feel something again. Needed hands on his skin that wouldn't leave. Needed to lose himself in something real and wild and uncomplicated by human expectation.
She watched him a beat longer—or at least, he assumed she did, though he couldn't see her eyes—then nodded. Took his form with finality.
"Follow the path to the gathering point." Then as he turned to leave: "And child? Be careful what you wish for."
The trail wound deeper into the forest. Moonlight filtered through leaves, dappling the ground. With each step, the constraints of his life fell away—schedule, routine, expectation. Out here, none of that mattered.
The past year flashed through his mind in snapshots of loneliness. Sleeping in a bed too big for one. Watching friendships drift into casual acquaintances. Working himself into exhaustion just to avoid his empty apartment.
He'd tried to move on. A handful of first dates that went nowhere. One drunken hookup that left him feeling hollower than before. Eventually, he'd stopped trying. Easier to be alone than to keep offering pieces of himself, only to have them handed back.
But tonight would be different. Tonight, he wouldn't be measured and found wanting. Tonight, he would be enough simply because he was here, offering himself up to the hunt.
The trail opened into a clearing bathed in moonlight where a dozen humans stood waiting. Some shifted nervously, casting glances toward the trees. Others appeared excited, exchanging grins like this was just another extreme sport to conquer.
Cole moved among them, heart pounding against his ribs. The air tasted metallic with fear—his own and everyone else's. Sweat prickled along his spine despite the cool night. Someone nearby was breathing too fast, almost hyperventilating. Another person kept cracking their knuckles over and over.
A guy about Cole's age stood near the edge of the group, rolling his shoulders and flexing his hands. When their eyes met for a split second, Cole saw his own desperate hunger reflected back. They both looked away. Neither of them belonged here, probably. Both of them needed to be.
All volunteers. All willing prey. Christ, what kind of fucked up people signed up for this? The self-loathing curled in his stomach, mixing with the growing anxiety until he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
No one spoke above a whisper, as if breaking the silence would somehow make this all too real.
Cole flexed his hands, surprised to find them steady now. The knot of anxiety in his stomach was transforming into something else—a sharp, sweet tension that hummed along his nerves. He was hyperaware of everything: the pine needles crushing under shifting feet, the way the cold air burned his lungs, how his heartbeat seemed too loud in the oppressive quiet. His skinfelt too tight, like his body was already preparing for what was coming.
