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.