Page 43 of Crave

Ethan smirked. “Just remember who makes your iced mocha lattes every morning.”

“Harsh.”

Pulling out my phone, I texted Lacey.

Me: Alliance? Peeta and Katniss for the win? We can play baker later and I’ll let you untie my apron.

BabyGotBake: Oh so tempting. Especially the apron.

Me: Expires in five.

The whistle blew. We scattered, the mandatory three-minute nonaggression period ticking down. Immediately, I closed down my connection to the others through the pack bond. Cold nothingness settled over my shoulders like a lead blanket. Turning north, I waded upstream through a shallow creek bed until it converged at the base of a limestone outcropping and small waterfall.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Two-minute warning. Crap. Had to hurry. Further uphill from the tiny pool and waterfall, the trees grew thicker, gnarled, prickly juniper branches clawing at my face and neck as I fought my way through the underbrush. In Texas, every kid memorized the four kinds of poisonous snakes by second grade. Think of it as practical science. And damn straight anyone growing up out in the country knew not to stick their hand anywhere they couldn’t see. Which meant if I stumbled into a nest of rattlesnakes on game night, my brothers would never let me hear the end of it.

With a shudder, I charged out of the cedar thicket, thankfully snake free. A gangly oak stood at its edge, and there, wedged in its limbs—

Double-timing it up to the tree, I yanked down the rifle just as my phone buzzed with the final warning. One minute left, and then all hell would break loose. Everyone was issued your basic kiddie-model laser rifle at the start of the night. These were custom-built rifles, programmed to fire twice as many shots per second, at longer ranges and with more accurate sights.

Powering the rifle on, I checked the screen. And got… nothing. Quickly, I held it up to the moonlight just as my phone buzzed in my pocket.

FriesWithThat: And we’re live. Best of luck, tributes.

Me: Decoy rifles? For real?

FriesWithThat: At last the student has become the master.

Me: I always knew you were a closeted Sith.

It took thirty minutes and two hits to my target vest (fuck you, August) to secure a tricked-up rifle. By then, the virtual cannon app had fired twice, announcing Hayden and Ethan were out (like we couldn’t tell where that was going to end up.) Guillermo had been placed in a fifteen-minute timeout for using his powers. Which, props to my brother. It wasn’t every day you saw one of the most powerful werewolves in North America stripped of two life bars, told to relinquish the assault rifle I was pretty sure he’d stolen off River after some illegal hand to hand, and forced to reenter the arena with only a kiddie gun. With snipers poised to take him out.

God, I loved my family.

Moonlight glinted off something down in the weeds, a pale silver thread thin as a spiderweb. Backing away just in time, I followed its trajectory off into the trees. Trip wire. Crosshatch pattern. No doubt tied to concussion grenades. I cursed under my breath. But if it were one of my brothers waiting up in a tree, they probably would have taken me out by now. Using my phone as a flashlight, I illuminated the ground. Sure enough, a wide grid pattern had been woven expertly into the underbrush. And it had Sofia Montemayor-Caldwell written all over it. I dropped a pin in the location on my phone, made a wide circle around it and retreated up the hillside to where the wild prairie grass grew tall enough to hide me.

My phone vibrated. West’s official game app popped up with a notification. I clicked to open it and a map appeared. Eight of us still active. Seven locator beacons. And up at the top, a two-minute clock counting down.

Me: For real? Brody said—

FriesWithThat: I cleared it. August modified the collars so that they’ll emit a signature that obscures our mass and shape. There are feral hogs all over this area.

Me: What are you saying about the svelte shape of my wolf?

FriesWithThat: That you’d better hurry. We all know how that white fur glows like printer paper on Monday morning when you haven’t had coffee.

Me: No more okra for you. And how come we never play on days it snows?

FriesWithThat: Because the half inch of sleet we get twice a year was totally going to conceal you?

Me: I should get a camo flak jacket. Or Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak.

FriesWithThat: Believe me, River and August have been geeking out like crazy for years trying to reverse engineer that particular tech.

Dropping my phone and rifle in the grass, I tore through the trees towards the nearest locator beacon. We weren’t allowed to remove our target vests without forfeiting the game. If I failed to reconstruct it shifting back, I’d be eliminated.

Branches tore at my face and hair as I descended down a steep hillside, sharp-tongued wild grasses clawing at my fatigues. At least a minute had passed. Maybe more. Then I spotted it. Just across a shallow creek was a black mesh collar.

“Score,” I murmured, and let the change tear me from my human form.