The Mating Run by Leeka

Safe

So, here I am, watching Victor scratch his head in confusion, wondering out loud why his claiming bite didn’t work.

“Something’s not right.”

And honestly, I can’t help but laugh. It’s like watching a magician who messed up a trick, and now everyone is left wondering what went wrong. But in this case, the trick was supposed to be some mystical bond, and all I got was a painful reminder of my naivety.

He mutters something about it not working as expected, and Zeke, always the voice of reason, asks if Victor even bothered to read the pamphlet. I can’t contain my laughter at this point. The pamphlet, the one that probably no one reads until things go south.

Classic.

But then Zeke drops a bombshell. The trackers inside us aren’t just trackers- they’re pheromone inducers. And apparently, every single thing in the field was a pheromone inducer. I try to wrap my head around it.

I can’t decide whether to be relieved that there’s no mystical bond or irritated that Victor literally took a bite out of me. It’s absurd, and I find myself laughing again. Maybe it’s the sheer ridiculousness of the situation or the fact that life has a way of turning expectations into a chaotic mess.

Victor looks like he’s about to say something, but Zeke beats him to it.

“You’re a f**king idiot, that’s what you are.”

Zeke declares, and for a moment, I appreciate the simplicity of his words.

No sugarcoating, just a straightforward assessment of the situation.

Safe

I look at Zeke, and we share a moment of understanding. The absurdity of it all hangs in the air like a punchline to an inside joke.

Victor finally speaks, his voice a mixture of frustration and confusion.

“But the claiming bite is supposed to create a bond!”

He protests, as if the universe owes him an explanation. I roll my eyes. The universe doesn’t owe anyone anything, especially not an explanation for failed magical bonds.

Zeke shakes his head, a bemused smile on his face.

“Did you even read the pamphlet?”

He asks, his tone a mix of exasperation and amusement. It’s a rhetorical question at this point. Who reads the pamphlet until everything falls apart?

Zeke explains the intricacies of Hunters and Hiders, and how Victor’s claim was nothing more than a physical act with no mystical repercussions. I feel a strange mix of relief and irritation.

a

he protests again, as if the act of biting should have automatically triggered a cosmic connection. I can’t

a huge chunk of her flesh, Victor. That’s all you did. Congratulations, you played

of pent–up tension and absurdity. Victor’s face contorts with a mix of embarrassment and anger. It’s a priceless reaction, and I revel in the absurdity of the

that in this moment, I’ve found

of Victor’s failed attempt at claiming. It’s like

woozy. Zeke tears a piece of his hoodie, and without a word, he

he says, his

etched on my face. Why?

world seems hazy, the edges blurred by the persistent pain and the growing sense of faintness. But Zeke doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stands up, his expression

Victor’s face. The sounds of impact echo in the air, sharp and jarring. Victor stumbles backward, his hand flying to his nose, blood

voice low and menacing. “Lucky that I

care of her

the air, a palpable threat that adds another layer of tension. to the already charged

feel a strange mix of

turns back to me, his eyes softening as he sees my bewildered expression. “I’m here, Alina. What do you need?”

wound. The pain intensifies, but Zeke’s presence is a reassuring constant. I steal a glance at Victor, who’s still recovering from Zeke’s

care.

Safe

then he returns with a water bottle, offering it to me. “Drink.” he instructs, and I obey, the cool liquid

mix of concern and determination. “We need

world around me blurs, edges fading into a fog of confusion. Zeke’s voice cuts through the

disorienting swirl of sensations.

The pain in my neck throbs, a persistent reminder of Victor’s reckless actions. Zeke’s hand is on my shoulder, a steadying presence in the midst of chaos. I want to ask him what’s happening, why there are growls and sirens echoing in the distance, but my words get lost in the

is firm, a lifeline in the growing storm. I blink, struggling to

growls intensify. It’s a cacophony that mirrors the chaos within

Victor scoff, his voice a grating

for dramatics,” he declares, dismissive and callous. “Just f**k off and leave me alone this time, you

through the disorientation. I try to nod, but it feels like a heavy effort. The sirens, the growls, Victor’s dismissive words–they all swirl around me, a chaotic dance that threatens to pull

that matches the ominous sounds in the distance. The world is

to Zeke’s voice, the anchor

note playing a part in the disorienting melody that surrounds us. I want

that hangs in the wind. And now, as I feel the warmth trickling down my neck, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve become a beacon

the way his eyes scan the surroundings like a hunter on high alert. We’re not alone. I know it. The forest seems to hold its breath, and I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. The scent of my blood, a vulnerable

moths to a flame. In those stories, the protagonist is warned not to bleed, not to become prey to the unseen dangers