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.

his expression a mix of confusion and frustration.

connection. I can’t help but shake my head. The simplicity of his logic is almost endearing,

of her flesh, Victor. That’s all you

a release 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

wipe away tears of laughter, realizing that in

from the weight of Victor’s failed attempt at claiming. It’s like a weight lifted

The pain throbs in my neck, and I feel a bit woozy. Zeke tears

pressing on it,” he says, his voice steady. “But not too

confusion etched on my

persistent pain and the growing sense of faintness. But Zeke doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stands up, his expression hardened, and grabs Victor by the

impact echo in the air, sharp and jarring. Victor stumbles backward, his hand flying to his nose, blood trickling between his fingers. I blink, trying to make sense of the scene unfolding before me. Zeke, the usually calm and composed

and

of

words hang in the air, a palpable threat that adds another layer of tension. to

a strange mix

sees my bewildered expression. “I’m here, Alina.

I press it onto the bleeding wound. The pain intensifies, but Zeke’s presence is a reassuring constant. I steal a glance at Victor, who’s still recovering

care.

Safe

me momentarily, and I feel a twinge of vulnerability. But then he returns with a water bottle, offering

a few sips, the water providing a momentary respite from the throbbing pain. Zeke watches me, his eyes a mix of concern and determination. “We need to get you out of here,” he says, his

a fog of confusion. Zeke’s voice cuts through the haze, urgent and

words a lifeline in the disorienting swirl of sensations. “Come

to comply, but everything feels heavy, like I’m sinking into a dark pool. 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

Zeke’s voice is firm, a lifeline in the growing storm. I blink,

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

Victor scoff, his

time for dramatics,” he declares, dismissive and callous. “Just f**k off

disorientation. I try to nod, but it

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

i cling to Zeke’s voice,

a symphony of chaos, each note playing a part in the disorienting melody that surrounds us. I want

about certain animals being attracted to it, drawn to the metallic tang that hangs in the wind. And now, as I feel the warmth trickling down my neck, I

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

drawn to the scent of blood like moths to a flame. In those stories, the protagonist is warned not to bleed,