Prey for rabbit a dark w.., p.1
Prey for Rabbit: A Dark Werewolf Romance, page 1
PREY FOR RABBIT
HOLIDAY HORRORS
AIDEN PIERCE
CONTENTS
A Word of Warning
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
A Note from the Author
Other Books by Aiden Pierce
Copyright © 2024 by Aiden Pierce.
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
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Editor: Killing It Write
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A WORD OF WARNING
Prey for Rabbit is a dark shifter romance containing graphic content that may be triggering for some.
Trigger/Content Warnings: Murder, gore, sibling/parental loss, light body horror, violence, choking, knife/ax play, dubious consent, primal play, biting, marking, fear play, ritualistic sacrifices, monster appendages, size difference, breeding without pregnancy, light pseudonecrophilia (necro fantasy) and other graphic sexual content.
Your mental health matters.
ONE
RUTH
“Hope Doyle.”
Hope shot to her feet when she heard her name called out, bouncing on her heels. “I’ve been chosen!”
I stared at the back of my cousin’s head from where she sat in our meeting hall, several rows up. Even from this distance, I could feel her elation at being selected while the rest of the room clapped.
Goosebumps exploded over my skin as I swiveled my gaze around at the mass of rabbit shifters, unable to keep the bewildered expression off my face.
Brainwashed. Every last one of them.
Why else would they be so eager to throw Hope to the wolves?
I understood the need to uphold the truce. Only the blood of our kind calmed the twisted hunger that cursed the wolfpack in these parts. If we didn’t provide sacrifices, they’d lose control of their beasts, and things would go back to the way they were centuries before the truce. We’d lose so much more than three of our own every spring.
Better to keep the carnage to one day a year.
Still, it didn’t explain why everyone treated the grisly event like it was something to look forward to. As if it was an honor to be chosen. The whole thing was serious Hunger Games fuckery, only there was no chance of fighting your way out.
Getting your name drawn out of that hat was a brutal death sentence, and Hope was acting like she’d just won the damn lottery.
Her parents sat beside her, beaming with pride at their daughter’s selection. Just like my parents had when my sister’s name was drawn last year. A chill worked through me as I recalled how proud Mom and Dad had been. Proud to drop my sister off in the middle of the woods to be hunted down and torn apart by wolves.
I wondered if other bunny burrows around the country were as cult-like as ours.
“Can’t you even pretend to be happy for your cousin?” My father leaned over from where he sat beside me, his whisper harsh in my ear. “Hope knows what an honor it is to uphold the tradition of the Hunt. Her sacrifice will ensure our colony can live in peace for the rest of the year.”
The blood turned cold in my veins. That’s exactly what he’d said when Sarah’s name had been drawn last year.
I tried not to hate my family for being so thoroughly brainwashed by the Elders of our burrow. We were born into it, just like the twenty other families that called it home. We’d all grown up with the story of how the Hunt and the truce came to be.
Three hundred or so years ago, there’d been a war between the bunny shifters in our area and the wolf shifters. A war we nearly lost because, well, bunnies—even in crazy numbers—were no match for predators ten times our size. They nearly slaughtered the entire colony.
The beast that lives inside every werewolf is like its own separate entity—monsters that live inside men. And the best thing to keep them sated and in control of their shifting powers? Rabbit shifter blood.
So, a truce between their kind and ours was struck.
The following Easter—because who could resist that irony?—our colony provided three young sacrifices to be set loose in the woods that sat between our territories.
The Hunt was born, and since then, once a year, the soil of the woods is bathed in bunny blood, which satisfies the wolves and gives them better control over their bestial hunger for the rest of the year.
From birth, we’re taught that the good of the colony comes first.
Work. Obey. Breed. Die. Repeat.
That is our duty.
Bunny shifters, especially our colony, don’t take much stock in fated mates like the rest of the shifter world. Our kind doesn’t usually create bonds. The Elders don’t take much stock in meaningful connections. All that matters is that we create more drones.
Bunnies have a reputation for being fervent breeders, and our burrow is no exception. Maybe that’s why no one batted an ear at losing a son or daughter to the Hunt. They had a dozen more to fill the hole.
My parents had thirteen children altogether. After Sarah died, they were down to twelve. Every time she came up in conversation, all they talked about was how proud they were of her. As if she’d gone off to college and she’d be back for Christmas. It was probably just their way of coping.
Me, I couldn’t do that shit. My anger wouldn’t allow me to sit back and pretend like all this wasn’t totally fucked.
I hadn’t always hated how things worked here, but that was before Sarah died.
“Sawyer Keys.”
I froze at the next name called. Sawyer Keys. He’s my age, twenty-four. I’ve known him all my life. He’d always picked on me in school. Years later, he’d asked me if I’d be his mate. I’d refused him. After shredding his paper-thin ego, he’d gotten off on making my life hell.
Now he was going to die.
I searched the crowded meeting hall for Sawyer. Our eyes locked.
There wasn’t so much as a twinge of happiness on his face like my cousin exhibited. He had a better understanding of what was in store for him. After a moment of intense eye contact, Sawyer ripped his attention away from me and put it back on the Elder who’d pulled his name. A beat later, he gave a silent, dutiful nod.
It was all an act. Sawyer Keys didn’t have so much as one brave bone in his body.
“That’s a shame,” my father grunted. “He would have been a good mate for you.”
This wasn’t the first time my parents suggested Sawyer as a mate. It was abnormal for a female bunny my age to have never taken a mate. Most of the girls my age had at least a few kits. I’d rather die a kitless spinster than be mated to someone like Sawyer.
I’d told my parents that plenty of times before, how I’d rather fuck a rotten carrot than carry Sawyer’s offspring. This time, I kept my mouth shut. It didn’t matter now. Tomorrow, he’d be dead, and all the bitter memories I shared with him would be just that. Memories.
“Ruth Thatch.”
Every single eye in the room turned on me as the Elder called my name.
“Way to go, Ruthie!” Someone from the row behind me patted my back as if to congratulate me on a job well done.
As if I’d somehow earned this.
I was in the age group of eligible sacrifices, but I’d never really stressed about being selected. I guess there was a part of me that didn’t care what happened to me… Not after Sarah had been selected last year.
Maybe a piece of me had already died with Sarah.
My father and mother turned toward me and gave me that same look they gave my sister when her name was called. Suddenly, the numbness was gone, and all I felt was pure, dark, dangerous rage.
TWO
CARVER
Easter meant only one thing for my pack.
The Hunt.
It marked the one time of year when we were sanctioned to brutally hunt down and murder a few young rabbit shifters from the local bunny burrow. All for the sake of satiating the thing that made us what we were: werewolves.
It didn’t work like it did in human books and movies. We didn’t transform under the full moon. We could shift year-round at will so long as we maintained control of the wolf within. It took bunny shifter blood to calm that gnawing Hunger, and it would stay in our bloodstream for about a year…
I was different from my pack mates. I didn’t need bunny blood to calm the wolf inside me. It had always been quiet and easy to control. I didn’t need to murder to tame it.
Why was I like this? That was a question I’d asked myself ever since my first shift when all I felt was emptiness. It was twisted to admit, but I sometimes caught myself wi
Even my twin brother had the Hunger.
“You sure you don’t want to join the Hunt?” my brother asked, frowning as he watched me load the cooler of beer into the back of my old Toyota truck.
“Not this shit again, Case.” Irritation underscored my every syllable. “You ask me every year, and my answer is always the same. Do I have to get it stamped on my fucking forehead to have you get the damn picture?”
Casey scrubbed the back of his head with his hand and gave a shrug. “I guess I’m just hoping you’ll say yes this time. I want to hunt with my brother.”
“We go hunting together all the time.”
“Yeah. With guns,” my twin scoffed. “Not as fun as carnivore style, in full shift.”
“You know shifting’s not the same for me.”
I slammed the tailgate shut, and Case pushed closer, lounging his arm on the back of my truck while dropping his voice. “You know there’s nothing like running through the woods Easter day. This would be the perfect time to bond with the pack. Try to fit in.”
I shot the silver-haired wolf a hot glare as I shoved my hand in my shirt pocket and fished out the squished pack of cigarettes, plucking one out and lighting it. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t give a single fuck about blending in?”
There was conviction in my words, but they hadn’t always been true. There’d been a time, not so long ago, that I cared about fitting in with the only family I’d ever known.
“Look.” Casey sighed, waving away the cloud of cigarette smoke spiraling between us. “Lars has been talking shit again. I just think joining the Hunt will get him off your ass.”
My muscles tensed at the mention of our alpha. “Lars has been talking shit since we were kids. That son of a bitch loves to run his jaw, nothing new.”
My twin’s brows gnashed as he helped himself to a cigarette and a light. “Come on, Carver. Now that he’s alpha, the pack actually listens to the shit he spews. He’s been telling them your beast doesn’t speak to you, says that it’s rejected you.”
“Asshole has to get a damn hobby if all he has to talk about is me,” I mumbled. “Anyway, it’s true, isn’t it? I can shift just like everyone else.”
“Yeah, but…” He swept his eyes over the driveway of the packhouse where some of the others gathered, preparing to head into the woods for the Hunt. The promise of prey blood come sundown had the air hot and buzzing with bloodlust. Confident that no one was listening, Casey turned back to me with a weighted expression etched on his face. “Your beast doesn’t speak to you.”
It wasn’t a question. He knew. He was the only one I’d ever told.
“So?”
He chewed on the butt of the cigarette dangling from his lips. “What’s it like? Not having a mental link with it?”
I didn’t like talking about it, and he knew that. Normally, he didn’t press the subject.
“It’s quiet,” I answered with a low growl, warning him I wasn’t in the mood to discuss this now. The sun was setting, and I needed to prepare for my role in the Hunt. I wouldn’t be an active participant, but I had a job to do just like everyone else.
“It’s gotta be weird not having a voice in your head constantly telling you to murder and maim. Even if you don’t need to sate the Hunger, joining the Hunt might make the rumors go away.”
“I ate part of your kill last year. Doesn’t that count as participation?”
It had been a year ago to the day, and I could still taste that poor girl on my tongue. Her fear had made her flesh sour and sweet all at once. It had taken everything in me to stomach the few bites I’d taken.
I’d decided that would be the last I ever try to “fit in” with my pack. And it hadn’t been worth it anyway since my wolf hadn’t so much as a twitch of a reaction.
Casey grinned at the mention of the sacrifice he’d killed last Hunt. “Sorry. Doesn’t count. Eating a sacrifice and being the wolf to catch it are two different things. The wolves who catch the sacrifices are always worshiped for the rest of the year. Good way to get a mate. It’s how I pulled Lila.”
Like magic, the small woman with wavy black hair appeared seemingly out of nowhere and wrapped her arms around my brother’s waist. “What are we talking about?”
Case twisted around to pull Lila into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “How being one of the wolves to kill a sacrifice in the Hunt is the best way to win a beautiful mate.”
“You think you won me because of your trophy kill?” Lila playfully patted her mate’s face, knocking the cigarette from his mouth. “That’s so cute. Everyone knows my wolf chose yours because of looks, babe. And since you and Carver are identical twins, she just eenie-meenie-moed that shit.”
Casey nipped playfully at Lila’s ear, growling that low growl that had her turning to putty in his arms. His hands slid to her belly, which was just starting to show with their unborn cub.
I abruptly turned on my heel and opened the door to my truck. Before I could climb in, Case was in my way.
“Hey, think about what I said, yeah? Taking a mate might help you fit in better. Might get Lars off your ass. And you can’t just wait around for your wolf to select a true mate for you. Since it doesn’t speak to you, it might never—”
I grabbed my brother by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the side of my truck. Everyone turned to look at us, but I didn’t care. “I’m going to say this one last time. I don’t need a mate. So just give it a rest,” I snarled louder than I meant to.
“Yeah, give it a rest, Casey. Don’t you know your brother is content living alone in his cabin, rutting his right hand forever? Probably for the best he doesn’t mate. Wouldn’t want to risk spreading whatever’s wrong with his wolf to a cub.”
I released my brother and slowly turned to find Lars standing behind me.
Our alpha was shorter and had a slighter build than me. I could take him in a fight, in either form. I wanted nothing more than to sucker punch him in the gut. Too bad initiating any physical contact with the pack leader was regarded as an official challenge for the place as alpha. That meant a fight to the death.
It would be fun being the reason this asshole breathed his last breath, but I had no interest in leading the pack. So, I settled with flipping him off, accompanied by a terse grin that was all teeth, before climbing into my truck.
“Carver, come on. I was just trying—”
My brother’s protest was cut short as I slammed my door shut, jammed the key into the ignition and tore out of the driveway in a spray of gravel.
The truth was, it wasn’t Casey who I was pissed at. It was the beast inside me.
The curse didn’t seem to affect me in the same way it did my pack, and somehow, that made me more broken than the rest.
My role during the Hunt was simple: plant the sacrifices in the woods—spread them out so there was more sport in it for the pack—and keep humans away the rest of the night.
I sat in a lawn chair in my truck bed, my beer cooler open at my feet with a cold can in my hand and my hunting rifle slung across my thighs. I’d parked along the backroad that ran alongside the woods, beside the bullet-riddled sign that read “PRIVATE PROPERTY – Trespassers Will Be Shot!”
A little nothing town with a population somewhere in the triple digits was nearby. Centuries have passed since our kind messed with the humans before our truce with the bunnies. The stories faded from their memories, and now they just peg the bunny shifters as hippies and us wolves as crazy backwoods hicks. They’ve stayed away from our territory for the most part.
As dusk started to settle, headlights appeared down the road some ways. I took a sip from my beer, eyes narrowing on the station wagon that pulled up beside my truck. Downing the last of my beer, I tossed the can to my feet, slung my gun over my shoulder and jumped to the ground.
I slowly approached the vehicle. A magnetic sign was slapped to the station wagon’s faux wooden siding reading “Watership Farms. Fresh produce since 1792.”
