Page 119 of The Fire Went Wild

I roll my eyes, even though I like hearing him say it. “I want the kill,” I whisper. “But you can help.”

“Fair enough.”

The prey’s approach is so loud even a human could hear it. He rips through the tangled vines and splashes in the stagnant water, his breath fast and panicky.

Jaxon looks over at me, eyebrow raised. I check the watch.

“Two more minutes,” I whisper.

“Corral him to the left,” Jaxon whispers back. “Get him away from Ambrose. He always wins these things.”

I can sense Ambrose now, drawing closer with careful, calculating steps. When he arrived yesterday morning, I reacted almost like my old sort-of human self: with a surprising bout of terror. He came into Jaxon’s house, fixed his eyes on me, and I was pinned into place—by his age, his knowledge, his strength.

The first thing he said to me was, “I’m going to find your parents.” I knew he meant by birth parents. The Hunters I came from. When I asked why, he said, “So you know more of us.”

Jaxon swats me on my ass, a habit from our joint hunts. It’s his way of telling me to focus.

“Move,” he rasps.

And I do. I launch out of the undergrowth just as the prey runs past. He does a double-take when he sees me, then shouts, “You have to get out of here! Run! He’s fucking crazy!”

I’m not sure if he’s talking about Ambrose or Jaxon. My answer’s the same regardless.

“He’s not crazy,” I say sweetly.

The prey’s eyes widen, and he looks at me with a prey’s wariness.

“But you should definitely run.”

That’s when Jaxon jumps up, grinning manically, clutching his hooked cleaver. The prey screams and stumbles backward—to the left, just like we planned, sliding into the underbrush.

Ambrose is close. I can sense his dark, imitating scent.

“Fuck,” I mutter. “Ambrose?—”

My watch beeps.

“Time’s up,” Jaxon says. “Run him down, cher.”

I take off as fast as I can through the swamp, weaving through its thicket the way Jaxon taught me. I’m still not as good as he is, but I’m getting better. My knife bounces against my hip, and I pull it out as I run, following the prey by scent instead of sight. His fear and confusion are like the cocktails I used to drink in back in California, lush and burning all at once.

I need his blood on my hands.

But then I hear footsteps off to my right. They’re not Jaxon’s, which are heavier. These are light. Experienced.

Ambrose.

Suddenly, he’s running along my side. “Thought you could fool me, eh?” he says in a gravelly voice. “Let me guess. Jaxon’s idea?”

“No,” I say, even though it was. I won’t let him intimidate me.

Ambrose glances at me. Grins. “Then it’s all down to speed, isn’t it?”

I narrow my eyes—and then push forward with every ounce of my legs’ strength. Up ahead, there’s a tumbling crash. The crack of broken wood. A cry of pain.

The salty tang of blood.

That urges me forward more than anything. More than wanting to prove myself to Jaxon’s friends, the only otherHunters I’ve ever met. More than wanting to prove tomyselfall that I’m capable of.