Stolen (Tribes #2) - Milana Jacks Page 0,25

Mas inside. I crouch to leap after him, then freeze as the portal closes.

Cheating motherfuckers! Feli played us. They fucking separated us. I snap my head toward Feli, who whistles, announcing the start, never mind that they forced Mas into a portal before the whistle. The remaining four portals gleam open, and about fifty males, their skins all stretching, bones moving, readying their hunters to pounce, start circling me. My feet sink into the ground, so I step back, trying to find a firmer position. Their boots are also sinking. We can’t stay on this terrain much longer, and I can’t make the first move. They’ll all follow me into the portal of my choosing, probably a dead end where they can corner me and kill me.

Gur designed the games to kill us. We knew this going in, and when I won the night with the female, I wounded Gur’s pride and thereby his reputation among his males. Or, wait, not his males. The ones circling me aren’t his males. These males came to him from another tribe. There are many Ra subtribes, and they wage territorial wars with each other more than they wage them against the Ka. Though they war with our tribe as well, a territory grab will unite them against the same enemy.

That’s it. That’s what Gur wants. United Ra. It’s the same thing Ark, the Ra Alpha, wants, except Ark wants peace and this earl wants war. He won’t risk his males to start one, though. He assigned the subtribe to me so if they kill me, Gur won’t be blamed.

The viscous mud reaches my ankles. I lift my left foot, then my right, deciding I’m not going into any of the four portals. Mas isn’t in any of them. He’s alone somewhere, trying to figure out how to beat the other half of this subtribe. They look like southerners, maybe Ra long-hair, maybe not. I can’t tell until I see their hunter, and I’m not provoking them. If I do, I’m dead.

“The games,” I shout, “had a false start.”

They boo me. I push through a group of males blocking my way to the platform. I force my hunter to the surface so they can smell his dominance. A good number of them step back in submission of the scent my hunter emits, and the aggression they smell makes their hunters uneasy. But not all move aside for me. A few males remain in my path. Nine, to be exact, and I sigh, annoyed that so many hunters feel equal to mine. They probably are, and that’s even more annoying. Hunters don’t suffer from false modesty or false superiority. They honor their instinct.

“A false start has to be corrected,” I say, watching Gur up there while he stands with his hands crossed over his chest as if he has not a care in the world.

“Nobody here saw a false start,” Gur says.

“I did,” the female says.

What the fuck is she doing? I give her a pointed look, hoping she’ll sit and be quiet, but no. She continues, “William L. Marcy said, ‘To the victor belong the spoils.’ Is that not what these games are?”

“That’s right,” Gur says.

“Where I come from, the games are fair because only with fairness can there be a true winner.”

Gur walks toward her, his arm lifted as if he intends to strike her. I head toward him, but the subtribe males form a living wall and push me back. I slip, nearly falling on my ass. Straightening, I snarl.

The female stares at Gur, seemingly unafraid, but her small fists are clenched at her sides. “I can accept anyone’s gift. Isn’t that right, Feli?”

“That’s right.”

“I refuse to participate in an unfair game. I will give pups to the winner, not a cheater.”

Gur swings.

The sky clears, and a firelight bolt strikes his arm. The bolt sears a path from the top of his hand to his shoulder and sets the fur he’s wearing on fire. He screams and dances, shaking off the fur. He throws it and stomps on it, putting out the fire. Smoke rises, and with it the scent of burned hunter flesh, one we associate with Aoa, for she burned the camp of the males who tried to avenge her father’s death.

As one, we all lift our noses and inhale the prayer smoke, letting the spirit of the goddess into our bodies. I close my eyes, enjoying the moment of the divine brushing my hunter.

A whine escapes Gur’s chest, and