45

If I bit the big one on day one, the showrunners wouldn’t bat an eye. With death around every corner on The Reject Project, they always had a few women waiting in the wings. Sentimentality was not a word associated with this show. They’d toss my body in a bag and call up the next female in line. It happened a lot. In fact, when the prize mate died, the show’s ratings went through the roof. But I’d be damned if I let some other woman take the prize. I had too much at stake.

Tired of waiting for me to react, the tiger shifter snarled and leaped at me. The orange-and-black fur streaked forward faster than any natural animal. With its claws extended, the shifter swiped at the air by my face. The only thing that saved me from having my throat opened was my reflexes. I bent backward, pulling my face out of range, then danced back to put space between the shifter and myself.

I regained my balance just as the cat lunged again, swinging both paws forward to catch me in some kind of deadly hug. I rolled forward beneath its legs. Before I’d even stopped moving, I fired the gun. There was a hissing yowl as the bullet tore a small chunk of flesh from the tiger’s hind leg.

My eyes darted around, searching for an opening. Some of the men were still cheering and yelling.

“You know,” I said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “if I’m going to fight another shifter, I’d prefer it be hand to hand, not claws to gun.”

The cheering died as the realization sank in that I wasn’t fighting a regular animal. I was fighting something faster, stronger, and smarter than that.

A voice I recognized as Omar’s called out, “Shift and fight it!”

The tiger and I circled each other, eyes locked. Blood oozed from its hind flank. Lifting the silver knife, I bared my teeth in a snarl.

Von Thornton appeared at the side of the amphitheater stage, a floating camera trailing him.

“This is a tiger shifter who has gone feral,” Von said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “As we all know, once a shifter’s internal animal has taken full control, they are no different from animals.”

I spared a glance toward the vampire. Von raised an eyebrow, obviously amused by my hesitancy to kill a fellow shifter. I thought about cursing him, but that idea vanished when the cat struck again.

Wyatt’s voice rang out, high and clear. “Kira, jump!”

I leaped backward, nearly somersaulting. Two of the tiger’s claws snagged on my fatigues, ripping the fabric slightly. Heart hammering, I spun around to frame the tiger in my sights again. I cursed myself for letting Von distract me.

“Let go!” Wyatt shouted.

I spared the barest of glances toward the audience. J.D. and Abel were holding Wyatt back. It seemed to be taking all their combined power to keep him from rushing to my aid. Idiot. He had to know the staff wouldn’t let any of the men interfere. Seeing the distress on his face, I was a little surprised that he hadn’t already shifted. Maybe the weird magic bracelets prevented it. The showrunners would want to be in control of as much as possible, and I wouldn’t put it past them to neuter the men in that way.

The shifter attacked again, but this time, I anticipated where he would swipe. I side-stepped and lashed out with the knife. My blade dug a thin trough into the beast’s side. It turned, its ears flattening as it roared at me. A deep and terrifying sound burst from its throat, loud and harsh enough to make me wince. Yellow teeth shone in the moonlight as a gaping jaw expanded like a tunnel of teeth, showing what awaited me if I failed.

This didn’t feel right. I didn’t like the idea of fighting a feral shifter. It could happen to any shifter. When a shifter grew sad, anguished, desperate, lonely, or distraught enough, the animal side could fully take over. When that happened, they were too far gone to ever come back.

The men were all shouting at me to shift, begging, demanding, and asking. All but Wyatt. His voice was notably absent for obvious reasons—he knew my story. I didn’t need to shift. I’d spent years honing the strength and speed of my shifter abilities in human form. I could be powerful and explosive without transforming into a wolf.

The shifter charged again, madness swirling in its eyes as it came at me. Learning its lesson the last two times, it dived in low instead of coming high. He came at me, and the whole world slowed down. Adrenaline sped up my reflexes to the point that everything but me was in slow motion.

The tiger went for my knees. If those claws struck, they would slice me to the bone, and I’d bleed out before any of the fae medics could get to me.

At the last second, I jumped, jerking my hips to do a backflip. I landed exactly where I wanted—on the beast’s shoulders, right above its skull. Letting my legs slide down its chest between its forepaws, I flexed my thighs, pulling the paws backward as I wrapped my arm around the beast’s throat and hauled back, cutting off its blood and oxygen supply.

With its front legs effectively useless due to my legs pressing them back, the creature kicked hard with its hind legs, trying but failing to claw at me. The six-hundred-pound beast thrashed around, but I twisted its head. It tried to spin backward and crush me with its weight. I forced it to stay on its belly, and finally, after what felt like years and my arms were shaking, the tiger’s strength began to wane. Then, blessedly, it slumped to the ground, unconscious.