Jasper's Soul Mate (18+)

Chapter 16: Hunt

Jasper

A warm, iron taste fills my mouth and coats my fur.

I can scent death at every turn. But I can't see it—my vision is consumed by a dark and red haze. I'm burning with rage, exhaustion, and restlessness. I only know why the rage is there, I've been feeling it for so long that it's familiar like the scars on my body and the primitive part of my soul.

Every step I take is heavy and clumsy with fatigue that grows as I eliminate the wolves in my path. I don't waste my time in toying with them. If I could, I wouldn't end their lives at all. They were probably taken as pups as I was, molded to obey. They don't know anything but anger, pain, and barbarity.

Even after watching the others fall, snarling and spitting rage, the last standing wolf in front of me remains firmly in his challenging stance.

I was like him. Oblivious to death, yet not afraid to cause or test it. Driven by the need to get out pent up fury and to satisfy the predator inside me with blood. Hardly man. All beast.

The feral shifter attacks first, going straight for my throat and carelessly leaving his own vulnerable to strike.

My teeth sink into flesh, muscle, bone... He meets a quick death.

As soon as his corpse slips from my fangs, the first silver arrow of defense from the hunters comes from the high wall to my left. It rips through my ear and sends a dull sting throughout my body that dissipates almost instantaneously.

The hunter is smug, alone, and waits for me to waver on my feet. He must not recognize me or the scars embedded in my skin—the ones that could only be caused by the sharp clash of silver weapons and years of battle with it.

I meet his eyes and take in the sight of the natural hue in his irises. It explains it all, he hasn't triggered his change yet. Hunter's are born with a lenient gene that changes them once they trigger it. Taking the life of a shifter does exactly that.

This one's hands are clean, but wouldn't be that way for long with how easily he shot at me without blinking. That's fine. I don't owe him or the others the courtesy of compassion. They stole so many shifters before they were old enough to walk, to grow into their animal side... I'll show them the same gesture and destroy their fates before they've even begun.

When my form lurches forward and I set at a dead run toward the hunter, his eyes round with fear and he fumbles as he loads his crossbow. Just as his useless arrow has clicked into place, I leap from the ground and latch onto his arm with my canines, bringing him down with me.

The hunter wails in agony as he tumbles on the ground. He clutches at his bleeding limb, crawling back toward his fallen weapon.

I slink closer, slow enough for him to take hold of the stock.

I may not have toyed with the other shifters, but I've been tracking hunters to this camp for weeks since leaving Stone Ridge. The wolf half of me wants to tear them all to pieces, we both do, and we will. Slowly, thoroughly.

I lunge at him, only to pull back seconds before collision. He fires another arrow in panic. It shoots past my shoulder and sticks somewhere in the ground behind me, the dull snick cacophonous to my raging senses.

I give a last growl before I tear away the weapon in his hand, his arm along with it. His agonized screams ring through the entrance of the compound. I tear out his vocals just as the first set of pounding steps rein against the ground.

"Shit," the approaching hunter curses when we lock gazes. He lifts his bow at me and fires, his aim better, honed. The arrow would have torn through my shoulder if I weren't faster than it. I charge him, watching another hunter out of the corner of my eye as he sneaks out of a tower and walks along the wall.