Time To Hunt Book Novels & Stories

This time, they weren’t running. They were hunting.

He straightens. "Doesn't matter right now. What matters is I've read about this in my father’s bestiary. The far-shelf books, the ones he calls a waste of paper because they're not local. Small. Lives in water. Webbed hands. Drags people by the ankle. Obsessed with... hold on." He stops and turns to me with an expression I've never seen him wear on a hunt. He looks delighted. Noah Hunter. Delighted when I’m not fucking him. Mark the calendar.

“Okay, It’s decided then, I prefer hunting anyways... it’s quiet. But if I may ask, why would you want to take up such a task on your hands?” Zique glared over at Gabe and Damion noticed it, that look that pleaded to them to just go. “Uh...Gabe, that doesn’t matter, does it? Let’s just go, the Pack’s waiting at the edge of the forest...the hunt starts at 6:00 a.m sharp and plus we have a message to relay.” He grabbed Gabe's hand, waving at Zique before hauling him out the front door. “You really are dumb, aren’t you? So dumb that you could’ve even gotten yourself killed. Let them be, he’s probably doing what I told him to yesterday.”

She had plenty of time. The hunt was just getting started.

Sweat had soaked through his shirt despite the cave's freezing air. “He was injected with a rut-inducing venom.” The line was silent for a few seconds. “Get the doctor now!” A moment later, a voice came through, older and calm. “This is Dr. Emily Suee. Your Highness, I need you to describe the venom.” “It looked like liquid gold. It shimmers.” The doctor inhaled sharply. “How long ago was General Evander injected?” I glanced at my wrist display. “Almost three hours.” Another sharp intake of breath. “Three hours?”

In the right hands, they'd triple in value within a year. I closed my phone. A text from the lawyer: two more weeks. Everything was moving. The morning of the Hunting, I dressed in dark jeans and a plain black jacket. Practical. Warm. Nothing that would draw attention. The entire Pack streamed toward the hunting grounds — a vast stretch of old-growth forest that bordered Harrison's territory. Banners lined the path. The smell of roasting game and woodsmoke drifted from the preparation tents. Pups chased each other between the stalls while their parents shouted after them.

RUNE True to Xavier's words, the hunt didn't start till I made my appearance. Dylan shot me a look that said "I know what you did." For my sanity, I ignored him. We got briefed on the rules and sent out. My hunting tool was a bow and arrow. Dylan got a whole ass sword. Five year winner privileges, he said. More like gloated. The rules were simple. Scattered throughout the forest were "prey" cardboard animals hidden in the foliage. Every hunter had a unique color which they would mark their prey with. At the end of thirty minutes, the hunter with the highest kill wins.

Away they went. Three hours had elapsed, yet the tournament raged on. The Red Moon pack held its lead, though the Dark of the Gods pack was a close second. In the third game, referred to as the hunt, both teams would venture into the woods together with ropes for hiding and seeking. The hunt begins with a gunshot once they've found their hiding place. Whoever gets tired will lose, and the winner will have to bring the loser to the front to see everyone in the crowd. When it was Dawn turn, she wasted no time finding a place to hide. Her familiarity with the area allowed her to pinpoint the best hiding places. What excited her most about the hunting game was competing against Malachi, her best

I snarled, claws flexing, dripping. He froze three feet away, hands raised, throat bared in submission. “The Hunt begins in an hour, my lord,” he said carefully. “The new stock is ready. The council is waiting.” The Hunt. Normally I lived for it: naked prey released into the snow, arrows whistling, claws raking flesh, screams echoing for miles beneath the frozen moon. I’d fuck the survivors on the blood-soaked ground while the rest watched and wished they were next. Tonight the thought made bile rise in my throat.

She said, trying to remember the vague of memory, “I'm hunting-” “The hell misty!” “My lady should let me finish my words please?” She giggled, kinda amuse. “And what's wrong hunting if it's for the love of my life?” “How can hunting be related to love, Misty?” My mind spun to the idea, given a destructive results if relates the act to love. She shiver, and somehow a thing last night came to her mind. She murmured, “So if ever, I was hunt... for love?” Misty's eyes widened. “Are you being hunt, my lady?”