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***
Not a dream. I push up on all fours, swallowing thickly; I peel my eyes open. The floor is steel, hard and cold. My hands convulse against it, my fear catching up to the waking of my body. The sun shines through the tops of the trees, taking the chill off my shivering skin. I’m wearing the same clothes I went to work in. I’m thankful I decided to wear slacks and a long sleeve V-neck to work, but my shoes are gone, and my bare toes are tingling and cold. I stare at the thick metal bars surrounding me, consumed with panic.
All I could hear was static, but my hearing was coming back. Howls, hisses, and growls echo through the forest. The light breeze is whistling through the trees. Distant laughter reaches me.
The last thing I remember is my brother calling me while I was at work. We fought, and I hung up. I went to the breakroom to calm down, demanding Bash give me a few minutes to myself. Then . . . nothing.
Someone drugged me. And put me in a cage. It looks like I have joined the games.
I reach up to my neck, letting out a sigh of relief not to find a collar there. Since I’m human, they must think I don’t pose a threat—there's a thin blanket beside me and an empty dog food bowl in the corner.
“They locked you in about an hour ago.” The scratchy voice comes from my left.
A woman huddles in the middle of her cage. She has short black hair and blue eyes that are dull and lifeless. Her shorts are baggy, hanging loose around her waist, exposing her legs that are scratched and bleeding.
“How long have you been here?” I ask, my throat dry and raspy.
“It’s hard to say. At first, you try to keep track of the days, but you lose time. My best guess is a month.”
“What kind of shifter are you?” I ask.
“I’m a bear. Not like that helps me,” she grumbles. “You are human.”
“Yes,” I reply.
“Why did they take you? I’ve never seen them take a human.” She narrows her eyes.
“To get to someone else through me.”
“Shame. That’s why you didn’t get a collar.” She points to the metal around her scabbed neck.
“Probably,” I sigh.
“If they do, don’t try to remove it. It hurts worse when you don’t comply,” she warns. “Plus, it must send some kind of signal to them when you try.”
“Got it. I assume you tried?” I ask.
“Hope is a horrible thing here. I hoped I would find a way,” she says, shrugging.
“How many games have you been in?”
“Over twenty.”
“Jesus, how did you survive?”
“I wouldn’t call this surviving. I made it to another one. My first one was the worst,” she whispers. Her gaze glazes over. “I have been beaten, shot with an arrow, and tormented. They make sure you are healed enough to make it to the next game.”
“Have the others been here as long as you?” I look down the line of cages. At least twenty men and women reside in them.
“Some. I don’t keep track.”
I look to my other side and see a lone cage apart from all of us. A woman is sitting inside, but she seems better taken care of. She sits on a cushion, and her clothes aren’t dirty or torn. She snacks on a muffin, staring straight ahead.
“Who’s that? Why is she treated differently?” I’m sure she can hear us, but she doesn’t move.
“That’s the witch,” she sneers.
“A witch?”
