Three days later, the atmosphere in the dormitory was suffocating. The air was thick with the smell of cheap perfumes and nervous sweat. It was the afternoon of the mating ceremony.

Carin was hidden in the deepest shadows of her corner. In her hands, she was carefully folding a piece of black fabric. It was a modern lace bra, the only piece of her old life she had managed to save from the crash. She had washed it and kept it hidden under the straw.

Suddenly, a head popped over the partition. It was Sadie. Her eyes were glued to the black lace in Carin's hands.

"What is that?" Sadie breathed, her voice full of longing. "Some kind of magical chest-pelt?"

Carin immediately covered the bra with a piece of animal hide, her eyes wary. She didn't answer.

Sadie swallowed hard, her usual arrogance gone. "Lend it to me," she pleaded. "Just for tonight. I want to catch the eye of a strong tiger warrior, but he thinks I'm too flat. I need... help."

Carin's mind raced. She hadn't planned to wear the bra herself. It would draw too much attention, the wrong kind of attention. She needed to be invisible tonight.

"I'll lend it to you," Carin said, her voice cold. "But you owe me. Tonight, you keep the heat off me. You block anyone who tries to look my way."

"Deal!" Sadie nodded eagerly. She snatched the bra and ran to a corner to put it on.

A few minutes later, Sadie emerged, her face flushed. The push-up effect of the modern underwire was dramatic, giving her a figure that defied nature. The other females in the dormitory gasped and whispered in jealousy. Sadie puffed out her chest, looking smug.

Once Sadie was distracted showing off, Carin finally had a moment to herself. She picked up a basin of water and a rough cloth. She scrubbed her face and neck, wiping away the layers of mud and grime.

The water reflected a face that didn't belong in this world. Deep-set eyes, a delicate nose, and skin so pale it seemed to glow. It was a face that would start a war in this clan of beasts.

Carin stared at her reflection for a single second. Then, she picked up a pot of dark green plant dye she had prepared. With a steady hand, she painted ugly, mottled patches across her cheekbones and forehead. She rubbed gray dust into her neck and arms until her skin was rough and dirty once more.

She pulled out a large, frayed gray hooded cloak. It was several sizes too big, swallowing her slender frame and hiding her curves. She pulled the hood deep over her head, casting her face in shadow.

Outside, the guards shouted, ordering all single females to the ceremony square.

Sadie came running over, grabbing Carin's arm. "Come on! Don't miss the best warriors!"

Carin quietly pulled her arm free. As she did, she slipped a sharpened bone dagger into her sleeve, the handle snug against her wrist.

She followed Sadie out into the cold, dry autumn wind. The path to the square was crowded with females in their best clothes, the air thick with the pungent smell of aphrodisiac herbs.

Carin walked at the very edge of the crowd, a ghost in a gray cloak. Her eyes looked past the noise and the lights, focusing on the central platform in the distance.

Her heart began to pound. This wasn't a party. This was a gamble, and her life was the stake.

She gripped the dagger in her sleeve, silently repeating Brannon's name. Then, she stepped into the fire-lit square.

The bonfire in the center of the square roared, sending sparks into the night sky. The smell of roasting meat mixed with the heavy, musky scent of pheromones. The stone steps around the square were packed with clan elders and high-ranking females, their eyes sharp as they evaluated the merchandise entering the ring.

Diann Fitzgerald sat in the place of honor, draped in a stunning snow-leopard pelt, surrounded by males vying for her attention.

Sadie, thanks to the modern bra, was immediately swarmed by a group of burly wolf warriors. She was laughing, the center of attention.

Using the distraction Sadie created, Carin slipped away. She moved to the darkest, most remote corner of the square, pressing her back against a rough totem pole. She pulled her hood lower, leaving only her eyes visible.

The hunting parties began to return. Each group of warriors carrying game was met with shrieks and cheers from the females. Carin's eyes scanned every face. Not him. Not him. Not him.

As time passed, most of the hunters had returned and were mingling with the crowd. A few drunk, low-ranking males stumbled toward Carin's corner, curious about the cloaked figure.

Carin took a step back, the bone dagger sliding into her palm. The blade caught a sliver of firelight.

One of the males leaned in, catching a glimpse of the green dye on her face. He recoiled, spitting on the ground. "Just an ugly freak," he muttered, and they staggered away.

Carin slipped the dagger back into her sleeve, her palm slick with sweat.

The horn blew again. The clan chief, Gareth, stood up. "All hunting parties have returned," he announced. "The mating ceremony now enters the selection phase!"

Carin's stomach dropped. All parties? Where was Brannon?

She overheard two older females whispering nearby. "That genetic anomaly didn't come back, did he?"

"Probably died out there. His cells were decaying anyway. It's a miracle he lasted this long."

Carin bit her lip hard. If Brannon was dead, she had to pivot. She had to find the stupidest, most controllable male in the clan just to survive the night.

Just as Gareth raised his torch to declare the start of the free-for-all, a loud, agonizing creak echoed across the square. The massive wooden gates at the entrance were being pushed open.

The noise in the square died instantly. Every head turned toward the darkness beyond the firelight.

Heavy footsteps. And the sound of something massive being dragged across the ground.

A tall figure, drenched in blood, stepped into the light. It was Brannon Barrett. Half his face was painted red, his silver hair plastered to his forehead. His mismatched eyes, one silver and one amber, burned with a feral, terrifying intensity.

Carin's shoulders sagged with relief. Her target was alive.

But the crowd gasped, their eyes moving from Brannon to what he was dragging behind him. It was a Blade Beast, three times the size of a normal one. Its throat was torn out, the wound ragged, clearly ripped apart by sheer, brutal force.

Brannon grabbed the beast's massive hind leg with one hand. With a final, brutal heave, he dragged it forward and let go, allowing the immense carcass to crash into the center of the square with a thud that shook the ground. Dust and the smell of fresh blood filled the air.

Diann's arrogant expression froze. Even Chief Gareth gaped in shock.

Brannon looked around the silent square, his voice a low, gravelly growl that carried over the crackling fire.

"My kill. Nobody touches it."

The silence lasted only a second before Diann's shrill voice shattered it. She stood up from her seat, pointing a clawed finger at the dead beast.

"By the rules of the clan, the best meat goes to the elders and to me!" she demanded. "Cut it!"

A few of the stronger males who served Diann stepped forward, their knives drawn, moving toward the Blade Beast.

Brannon's eyes narrowed. In a flash, he drew the bone blade from his hip. The blade was a blur, and a sharp crack echoed through the square. The stone slab at the male's feet was split open, a deep gouge marking the stone.

The male stumbled back, falling on his ass. Brannon's voice was ice. "I said, nobody touches it."

The crowd erupted in whispers. Chief Gareth frowned, walking down from the platform. He tried to use his authority. "Brannon, you are a member of this clan. Your strength is a gift from the clan. Your kills must be shared."

Brannon let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Gift? I was thrown out of the inner circle when I was six. I survived on rotting meat. What gift did you ever give me?"

The old shaman, Cyprian Frye, hobbled out, leaning on his staff. He began the guilt trip. "You are selfish, Brannon. You would let the clan's cubs starve this winter? You have no heart."

A few pregnant females were pushed to the front. They rubbed their bellies and wailed about the coming cold, begging for the high-energy meat to feed their young.

The crowd's mood shifted. They began to shout, calling Brannon a monster, an ungrateful beast.

Carin watched from the shadows, her disgust for this hypocritical clan turning her stomach.

Brannon stood tall, his spine straight, refusing to yield an inch. He stared at the shaman. "Last month, when the hunting party was ambushed by wolves, who stayed behind to save your son? How do we settle that debt?"

The shaman's face went red, then pale. He had no answer.

Diann, seeing her advantage slip, went for the jugular. She attacked him personally, her voice dripping with venom.

"What's the point of guarding that meat? You're a cripple who can't even shift into a full beast! No female will ever choose you!" she screamed. "You won't survive this winter! Your cells are rotting! You are a curse!"

The words hit Brannon like physical blows. The leopard ears on top of his head flattened back, a primal sign of pain and defense. The hand holding the bone blade tightened, his knuckles turning white.

Chief Gareth saw Brannon's hesitation. He gave a sharp nod to the guards.

A dozen spears leveled at Brannon, encircling him.

Brannon didn't attack. Instead, he raised the blood-stained bone blade and pressed it against his own throat.

The crowd gasped. Gareth shouted, "Are you insane?"

Brannon's eyes were wild, a man with nothing left to lose. "One more step, and I destroy the core. You won't even get a piece of rotten meat."

It was common knowledge that if a high-level beast's core was forcibly detonated, the meat would instantly carbonize. The guards froze, their spears hovering uselessly.

A standoff. The air was thick with the smell of blood and tension.

Carin watched the lone figure, surrounded by enemies, willing to destroy himself rather than submit. A sharp, painful empathy twisted in her chest. She knew what it felt like to be cornered, to have nothing.

She couldn't wait any longer. If he died, or if he was exiled, her shield was gone.

Carin took a deep breath. She pulled her hood even lower and stepped out of the shadows, walking straight toward the volcano that was about to erupt.