An Unauthorized Field Guide to the Hunt Read Free Page B

One, two, three, then the fastener lowered a single notch. One. Two. Three. Then again.
    At this rate dawn would break before Shane freed himself from the motherfucking thicket, but he forced himself to breathe smoothly, evenly. Twenty lifetimes later the zipper had traveled as far as his left shoulder. By the time the bag had loosened to his elbow, Shane shivered from cold instead of fear. He was also convinced that leaving the thicket before daybreak was a mistake only marginally less catastrophic than hiding inside it in the first place, but he couldn’t bundle back into the sleeping bag. The sleep he craved was impossible, and the endless march of time before dawn intolerable. So he lowered the zipper until he was able to comfortably work his hips free. Blind, he groped for the brambles he’d arranged to camouflage his tunnel into the bush and moved them aside until his careful, reaching hand met only cool air.
    He rose, wincing at another inadvertent shake of the thicket, but he aligned his body with the hole he’d re-created without rustling the leaves again. He froze. Listened. A pair of night animals squeaked at each other in a high-pitched chatter that must have indicated no large predators stalked them. Except Shane of course, and he couldn’t care less about whatever forest vermin called the woods home.
    He just wanted a comfortable place to rest.
    He inched from the thicket, squirming forward so soundlessly the thunder of his pulse in his ears was louder than the slide of his body over the cool earth. Instinct prodded him to pause at the opening before wriggling farther, but he couldn’t see anything, including the eyes of the animals chittering at each other so close.
    How a planet populated by cats could have rats astounded him.
    If the rats were lively, Shane was positive he could complete his escape from the thicket unmolested. His speeding pulse calmed with each breath of fresh, free air he drew into his lungs. Threading his legs, still cocooned in the sleeping bag, through the narrow hole in the briars was agonizing. The urge to yank them away taunted him, but he resisted, inching slowly instead. He somehow managed to reach, gracefully silent, inside the brambles for his pack too.
    Now he needed to find that tree.
    In the black, sucking darkness.
    After slithering the rest of the way out of his sleeping bag, he cradled it and his backpack against his chest and awkwardly crawled. Shane had committed his surroundings to memory when he’d chosen the site for his camp. He wasn’t aware of the position of nearby wardens who could draw attention to him, but he knew where he was and where that tree should be. Since he’d invested in moving as slowly and quietly as possible, he’d even familiarized himself with the forest noises by now.
    So when a quiet chuff joined the caroling nocturnal sounds, the rats weren’t the only animals to freeze.
    Shane’s heart stopped. Just stopped.

Chapter Two
    “Never underestimate a horny cat.”
    ~ Shane West
    Shane’s relaxed muscles bunched as he poised to flee, but stunned horror locked him in place. Oh fuck. His Hunt wasn’t starting in a few days. He wasn’t sure when his path had chanced to cross a cat’s, or what he’d done to pique this cat’s interest, but whatever reprieve Shane had thought he’d won by putting distance between him and the festive orgy at the landing pad vanished into the ether. The cat could’ve been stalking him since the pond. Since the berries. Since he set foot in the damn arena. While he’d been congratulating himself on how clever he was, busily believing his illusion of safety, his Hunt had begun.
    Run.
    Panic sweat dotted his forehead and slid down his temple. He reflexively clenched his fingers in the pack and clutched his sleeping bag to his chest. He quaked at the sounds of tearing leaves and the heavy thud of an animal leaping to a limb overhead.
    Lure him to chase. Run, damn it.
    A low warning snarl whispered on the