The Hunt - Megan Shepherd Page 0,24

Already, not even a full week in, she had bruises from being elbowed by the others.

“Take this.” Mali thrust a threadbare blanket at her, just before the clock clicked to Showtime. “You are cold last night. I hear you shivering.” She frowned and scrunched up her face. She was missing a tooth from where she’d gotten in a fight with Pika the night before over the only magazine, an old Seventeen with half the pages torn out. “I mean . . .” She scrunched her face up more. “You were cold. I heard you.”

Cora hugged the blanket close. “You’re doing good, Mali. Thanks for this.” Mali smiled, seeming pleased with her progress toward acting more human.

The clock clicked to Showtime.

“Already?” Makayla yawned from behind them. “I seriously could have used another hour of sleep.” She took a step, wincing on her bad knee.

“You okay?” Cora said, nodding toward the bandage.

Makayla gave a dark laugh. “What, my knee? Yeah. I did it to myself.” She stretched her leg out, wincing slightly. “You know that clingy guest, Roshian? He decided I’m his personal pet. He used to take me out on the savanna every day and ask me to run. Thought the exercise was good for me after I’d spent the night in a cramped cell, you know? Like he was doing me a favor. It got old fast, so I smashed my knee into the cell bars. Thought it might get me out of dancing too, but no such luck.”

Cora’s own knee ached with phantom pain. “Couldn’t the Kindred heal you?”

Makayla rolled her eyes. “They wouldn’t expend the extra effort. Not on us.” She shouldered open the door.

The low lights and chatter of the Hunt spilled out. It looked like afternoon already, the artificial sun lowering over the savanna horizon. A few Kindred guests were already there, waiting for their servers and entertainers. Cora’s eyes immediately scanned the room for Cassian, but he wasn’t there, and she felt slightly disappointed. He hadn’t returned since the first day. Lucky had once accused her of being captivated by their caretaker—and maybe he was right. She’d told herself after Cassian’s betrayal that any attraction was over. And yet, anger or love, it was still Cassian who consumed her thoughts.

She followed Makayla toward the stage. One Kindred guest perched on a stool at the bar. Two danced stiffly together, even with no music. Another was seated at a table near the stage, his eyes sunken and dark. He stood as soon as they entered, as though he had been waiting.

Roshian.

He stepped toward Makayla, petting her head. “Has your knee improved, girl?”

Makayla bent down to massage her knee—with an exaggerated wince. “I think I need to stay off it another few days at least. A real shame.”

Roshian looked displeased. He picked at his human clothes, blinking a little fast with black eyes that were only slightly cleared at the edges. He was uncloaked, Cora knew. All the Kindred, even the hostess, were uncloaked in the menageries. If he hadn’t been, he’d have sensed Makayla’s hatred of him in a second.

His eyes shifted to Cora.

“You.” His voice was different from the other Kindred’s. They tended to act a little loopy when they were uncloaked, almost like their flood of emotions made them drunk, but Roshian seemed completely in control. “You are new, girl.”

“Um, yeah.”

“Such unusual hair,” he mused. He wrapped a curl around his finger, running his thumb over the strands delicately. “Blond hair can catch quite a price on the trading floor. The Axion believe consuming parts of the lesser species gives them strength. Your hair would be quite a trophy.” He spoke so casually, comparing her hair to the heads of wild game that hunters displayed on their walls. Her stomach turned at the thought.

“You must be eager to stretch your legs,” he continued. “I could take you to the savanna, where you could run. I would like to see how fast you are.”

“Um . . .” She glanced at Makayla, who only gave a slight shrug, as though to say, Good luck. Makayla signaled to Dane to put on some music, and she began leading dancing couples in stiff swaying motions around the lodge. Roshian’s eyes slid to the nearest dancing couple, and Cora prayed he wasn’t going to ask her to dance.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the main door open. She caught sight of a familiar figure over Roshian’s shoulder.

“Cassian! I mean . . . it’s the Warden. He just