by R. E. Butler
Jaguar shifters were a matriarchal society. The rules had long been in place that females controlled almost every aspect of their people, including choosing their mates. Every male had twenty-five years to find his mate through a chance encounter, like Savage had been hoping to accomplish by going to every bar and dance club within a hundred miles of his hometown of Moss Ridge. If a male didn’t find his mate before he turned twenty-five, he was forced to participate in the annual Mate Hunt. At sunset, the males donned special necklaces and headed into the extensive woods of their prowl’s territory. An hour later, the females followed. If a female caught a male, he had to give her his necklace which temporarily bound them as mates, then the female would take the male to her home and they’d mate officially. The male had no choice but to mate the female who caught him, whether he liked her or not.
He’d never heard of another shifter group with a mating ritual that gave the females all the power and the males virtually none, but it was his lot in life. He’d considered leaving the prowl, but if he did, he’d never see his parents again, and he wasn’t willing to give up his family simply because there was one female who had her eye on him. The prowl princess, Sybil.
She was five years older than him and had made it very clear from an early age that she planned to mate him. She’d thrown herself at him constantly, and he’d spent the better part of his life fending her off. It wasn’t that she wasn’t attractive, it was simply that his cat wanted nothing to do with her. He was one hundred percent certain that they weren’t meant to be together, and no amount of him telling her that he wasn’t interested in any way, shape, or form had done nothing to ebb her attentions.
So he’d resorted to this: spending nights at bars and clubs, looking for his mate. He’d know her on sight and feel an instant connection that went soul deep. For jags, it was like love at first sight on steroids. He’d know her and she’d know him, even if she was a human or another shifter or supernatural creature. He actually didn’t care what his mate could or couldn’t shift into, he only cared that he found her. It wasn’t simply that he worried about being trapped for the rest of his life in a mating with a female that he detested, but he wondered what would happen to his intended mate if Sybil succeeded. Would she be alone for the rest of her life, pining for a male she didn’t know but unable to move on? Or would she find happiness in another male’s arms when Savage became unavailable?
His hand tightened on the beer bottle and he heard a cracking sound. Releasing his grip before the bottle shattered in his hand, he put it on the counter, slid a few bills across to the bartender, and stood. He inhaled deeply, sorting through the scents of perfume, cologne, sweat, and lust, coming up empty. Tomorrow was the full moon, the designated night of the Mate Hunt. He’d failed in finding his mate, which meant he’d face the single females in the prowl at sunset.
He was a big guy. Muscular, strong, with a beast that excelled at hunting and tracking. In any other shifter group, he’d be the one hunting for his mate, picking from eligible females and making the choice himself. But because his people were matriarchal, the choice was taken from him. His only hope would be to hide himself in the territory well enough to survive undetected until dawn.
He walked out of the bar and unlocked his truck. He sat down heavily and curled his hands around the wheel, staring at the neon signs in the bar’s windows. He hadn’t really thought he’d meet the female of his dreams there, had he? A dive bar in the middle of nowhere? He’d been at the end of his rope, but his endeavor had brought him up empty-handed. Turning on the engine, he headed toward prowl territory. He had less than twenty-four hours to figure out how to hide in the woods of Moss Ridge.
* * *
Unable to sleep well, Savage found himself up before dawn and on his computer, searching for ways to hide in the woods at night. His cat was stealthy and solid black, which would make it easy to hide. But unfortunately, there were rules related to the Mate Hunt and the first one was that the males couldn’t shift. The males were always shirtless so the necklace couldn’t be hidden in clothes, so he’d planned to wear black jeans and boots, and was toying with the idea of covering his skin with camouflage paint.
His best friend, Cannon, who he shared a home with, leaned over his shoulder. At twenty-four, Cannon was a year away from the Hunt. “I don’t think you can paint yourself.”
Savage looked at him. “No?”
“My dad told me that when he went through the Hunt, a male hid body paint on himself beforehand and concealed himself in the woods. At dawn, he washed off the paint in the creek, but he didn’t get all of it and the queen saw it. She punished him severely, and then she allowed the females to fight for him and he was forced to mate with one anyway.”
“Who was it?” Savage couldn’t recall hearing a story like that.
“His name was Percy. My dad said he went through with the mating but was so miserable he took off, and apparently died on the run. The female was Gywinn, and she left our prowl and joined another. I guess she was embarrassed that a male would rather live in hiding than with her.”
Savage closed the browser and let his head fall back to the couch with a deep sigh. “I fucking hate this.”
“It’s part and parcel of being a jag.”
“I’d rather be human.”
“Ugh, seriously? Then you wouldn’t be able to shift and hunt.” Cannon shivered in mock disgust.
“At least they get to pick their own mates.”
Cannon hummed. “I heard that in some lion prowls, the males battle and the winner gets his pick of willing females.”
“I think the main word there is ‘willing,’” Savage pointed out. “I feel like Mate Hunts wouldn’t be a bad idea if the queen didn’t force males to participate. I was thinking about just picking a human to mate with because then I wouldn’t have to go through with it.”
“You could.”
“Yeah, but my cat doesn’t want just anyone. He wants the right one for us.”
“And that’s definitely not Sybil.”
“No chance in hell.”
“My only advice is what I plan to take for myself if I don’t find my mate and have to join the Hunt next year – go as far into the territory as you can, dig deep, and stay hidden.”
Like Savage, Cannon didn’t want to mate any of the single females in the prowl, either. Their prowl was average-sized at seventy members. There were six single males and eleven single females. He’d rather mate any of the other females besides Sybil, but it was well known among their people that she’d spread the word she’d kill anyone who tried to catch him. He suspected if one of the others stumbled on him, she’d run away screaming in the other direction.
“I suppose if I can’t paint myself in camo colors then I can’t use anything to disguise my scent either.”
“Nope. Nice try, though.”
He chuckled mirthlessly. “I need a beer.”
“It’s six a.m.”
“I don’t care. It might be my last day of freedom.”
Cannon sobered swiftly, his brow furrowing. “Don’t give up. There are plenty of males who have gone through the Hunt more than once without being caught and gone on to find a mate on their own. Sunset to sunrise tomorrow is eleven hours. You can do it. Then you can find your mate on your own terms. My only request is that she have a hot, single friend that I can choose as my mate so I don’t have to go through this bullshit next year.”
“I’ll do my best.”
* * *
Hours later, as the sun began to set, Savage gathered at the prowl’s meeting site, where a huge bonfire sputtered and sparked. Queen Angmar sat on a wooden chair on a raised dais and watched the prowl gather. To her left, the eleven single females stood. Some looked happy, some looked wary, and some looked downright bored. And then there was Sybil, who stared at Savage with a look that could only be described as a cross between hostile and turned-on. His cat wrinkled its nose in disgust, furious at the twist of fate that had landed them unmat
ed on this fateful day.
He’d talked to his parents earlier in the day, thinking once more about choosing to leave the prowl rather than mate a female he loathed.
“We support you in whatever you choose,” his father, Brom, had said.
“I don’t want to lose you, but I want you to be happy,” his mother, Millie, had said.
He’d stood in his parents’ kitchen, torn between saving himself and losing his family. In the end, he’d chosen to stay, praying to whatever deity was in charge of jaguar matings that he’d remain hidden from Sybil for the duration of the Hunt.
As the queen went over the rules of the Hunt, Savage found his parents in the crowd and smiled at them. They looked concerned but hopeful, and that’s how he was feeling. His cat was ready to disappear far into the woods and stay good and hidden.
“Remember,” Queen Angmar said, looking steely-eyed at the single males, “if you’re caught and you do not submit, you’ll be punished. If you leave our territory, you’ll be punished.”
Savage felt the weight of the necklace on him. It was a metal chain with carved, wooden beads interspersed with rough-cut emeralds. Each necklace was unique and passed down through family members. Savage was the last male in his family, and if he would ever happen to have a son, he’d be passing it to him eventually, too. Unless, somehow, he managed to evade capture tonight and find his mate elsewhere. Only purebred males were required to be in the Hunt, so if he had a son who wasn’t a purebred, he could save him from this fate.
Suddenly, nothing was more important to him than protecting his future unborn son.
In his mind’s eye, he could see him. Not a purebred jag, but something else, a mixture of himself and his mate. Maybe he’d have Savage’s dark hair or chocolate eyes. Or maybe he’d look just like his mother. Either way, Savage was determined to make his own choices tonight and in the future. He’d find his true mate and he’d make a great life with her, filling a home with love and laughter and children.
“You have one hour, males,” the queen said. She raised a bullhorn and pressed a button. A deep horn sounded, echoing through the trees.
Savage raced into the woods. In no time, he’d lost the other males as he circled, backtracked, and ran like hell to make his trail hard to find. Their people’s gathering place was in the center of the territory. He’d started off in the same southerly direction as the other males, who were heading to where the woods were the thickest. But Savage was now heading north, moving as close to the territory’s edge as he could, where he could find cover around the rocky outcroppings and dense brush that bordered the creek.
Splashing through the creek, he stayed in the water to naturally lose his scent trail. He smiled when he saw the edge of the woods – a perfect place to hide. He settled under a rocky ledge, the babbling water a few inches from his boots. Squatting low, he rested on his heels and slowed his breathing to bring his racing heart under control. Once he could focus on something other than his pounding heart, he listened for abnormal sounds to alert him to anyone’s approach. He was fairly hidden and was feeling mildly confident in his ability to stay that way. His legs would start to cramp soon, but he vowed to not move a muscle as long as no one came near.
In the distance, the horn sounded again, alerting him that his one hour was up, which meant he had ten hours to stay hidden.
He closed his eyes and focused his senses, hopeful he’d make it through the night without being caught.
Chapter Three
Thea turned off her car and opened the door. She’d driven to the southern-most part of town, to the forest that looked as if it went on for miles. Using a satellite map, she’d located the creek that ran through the woods and driven as close as she could. There was a big park by the woods, full of concrete picnic tables and playground equipment. Nearing sunset, it was mostly empty save for a few kids and parents using the play structures.
She got out of the car, shouldering her backpack that contained the plastic bag filled with wet paper towels and a vial of ingredients for the location spell. She’d also brought a few granola bars and a bottle of water in case it took her a long time to find the flowers.
Locking her car, she headed into the woods and walked a few yards, looking over her shoulder to ensure that she wasn’t visible to the park visitors. It wasn’t that she was doing something illegal, it was simply that she wanted privacy. In the distance, a horn blew, the sound echoing on the breeze. It was the strangest out of place sound, but after standing still and listening for a few moments, she decided it must have come from somewhere far away. She couldn’t imagine a reason for someone in the woods to blow a horn. Shaking her head at the minor distraction, she dropped to one knee and opened the pack. Withdrawing the vial, she sprinkled the contents – a mixture of herbs and minerals – into her left palm. She used her free hand to cover the contents, recited the spell to help her locate the Spike-Tipped Apple Blossom, then pulled her hand away. With a sharp blow of her breath, she freed the powder into the air.
The sparkling concoction seemed to float and bob aimlessly, then suddenly began to swirl. She rose to her feet, brushed off her hands on her jeans, and pulled the flashlight from the pack before shouldering it once more. Clicking the power button, she swept the bright beam in front of her and followed the swirling mist. It was a cool night, and she was glad she’d worn a hoodie over her favorite t-shirt. She hummed softly as she walked, the powder dancing and swirling in front of her, the particles glowing in the beam of the flashlight.
Her mind flitted to her sister, who’d spent the day putting on a brave face. Thea had been able to see through the façade, though, and was even more determined to help.
The swirling mist spun to the left suddenly, and Thea nearly missed it. She hurried to catch up, her stomach lurching as she realized that her distraction had nearly cost her the ability to find the flower.
She grinned when she heard water babbling. The mist floated down an embankment to a creek, where it seemed to hover. She followed it down, nearly slipping twice on the loose stones until she reached the edge of the creek. The mist stayed put, and Thea swept the beam back and forth until the light caught something that sparkled like it was covered with tiny diamonds. Pumping her fist in the air, she let out a soft “woo hoo” and mentally patted herself on the back.
After carefully stepping along the edge of the creek, she reached the flowers. There were two separate plants and she counted five blooms on each. Kneeling, she touched one of the glittery petals and then looked at her finger, which sparkled in the flashlight beam. She set her pack next to the plants and unzipped it, pulling out the thin shears and the bag of wet paper towels.
Then a scent caught her by surprise. She lifted her head and sniffed the air. The scent was a mixture of sweetness and spice, like the cinnamon sugar she liked to sprinkle on toast, or her favorite snickerdoodles.
“How... odd,” she muttered. Why on earth would she be smelling cookies in the woods? Maybe it was a campsite, and someone was making them over a fire?
Or I’m going crazy, she thought. Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to the flowers, clicking the shears together a few times. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the smell. It felt like it was drawing her somewhere. No matter how she tried to put it out of her mind, she wanted nothing more than to find the source of the scent.
Reaching into her pack, she pulled out a glow stick, cracked and shook it until it turned a bright, neon green. She set it by the flowers, put her tools away, and stood. Leaving her bag, she kept only her flashlight and followed the scent. She glanced behind herself several times as she walked, careful to keep the glow stick in her sights. She followed the creek as it bent and wove through the woods, the scent growing thicker and making her stomach flip in anticipation. Sweat slicked her brow and she stopped long enough to take her hoodie off and secure it around her waist. Fanning herself, she looked around, her flashlight bobbing. She was standing on an outcropping a few feet above the cree
k.
She couldn’t see anything but the scent was so strong she felt like she was drowning in it. Cinnamon and sugar mixed in a way that made the image of naked, writhing bodies appear in her mind. Her body tightened, her stomach flipping as she stared into the darkness of the woods, seeing the shadows cast by the trees and the moonlight streaming overhead.
Something below her moved, with the faintest purring sound. She turned to look behind her and her foot slipped on the mossy rocks, sending her tumbling down. She shrieked in surprise, then gasped as she was caught midair. Instead of hitting the rock-filled creek, she’d been saved. The purr she’d heard was now vibrating against her, and even though she’d lost her flashlight when she fell, she could see clearly enough in the moonlight to know she was cradled in the arms of a man.
A man who smelled like cinnamon and sugar, a wall of muscle and strength that made her feel safe.
“Are you all right?” The man’s voice was deep and touched with a huskiness that made her body heat even further.
She exhaled, her hands flexing on his strong shoulders.
“I... don’t know.”
He chuckled. “Oh?” She heard him inhale and felt the brush of his lips over her throat, sending a riot of sensations down her spine. “You don’t smell injured. But you do feel like heaven.”