Have you ever seen that documentary in biology class? You know, the one about predator and prey. The way a lion becomes silent, tense, in the moment before it strikes. The way a cheetah will prowl forward, eyes dark and slitted.

The way a wolf watches the lamb, hunger written in the sleek shape of its mouth, lined in the coil of energy that bunches its shoulders.

This is what Hunter looks like now. Her smile is sweet and cold as she watches the man who just kissed me. There is no fear in the way she watches him―someone who is easily three times her size, someone who hasn't yet registered her.

My fingers linger on my lips. They feel raw. Swollen.

What was that for?

His eyes haven't left my face yet. But I can feel Hunter's presence behind me, the energy that radiates from her. The music is lower, a slow song, and people shift away from us as though we're poisonous.

No―they aren't shifting away from me and the boy.

They're angling away from Hunter.

Again, this feels me with frustration. Why is everyone so afraid of her? The receptionist, the muscled man on the elevator . . . and the people here, who seem as though they don't want to be close to her. The same way the lamb will hide from the wolf. Futile, maybe―but a preservation instinct.

A preservation instinct. Is that what it is?

It doesn't make sense, until I stumble away from the man and his eyes slide away from my face. To where Hunter is standing.

Again, I see it: the instant realization. The knife, cutting through his expression. The fear that begins to bleed from every ounce of his body.

This girl, who offered to bandage me, who cleaned my scrapes, who saved me from an evil little dog―there's something off here. She promised to show me to the Wolves, but here she is, in their supposed territory―and they're all afraid of her.

Is she really the bystander I thought she was?

"I―is she―" The man seems almost afraid to say it. His dark, handsome features have twisted into something like terror, no matter how he tries to hide it.

"She's with me," says Hunter, and it's almost casual. If it weren't for the glint of a gun I can see at her waist.

Holy shit.

"Okay―yeah, I―" He swallows. He moves back, farther into the crowd, as though hoping if he loses himself in it, Hunter will forget about him. "Yeah, I'm just―I'll―"

Hunter doesn't let him. Faster than I can blink, her hand is crumpling the front of his shirt.

Her head nods my way. "Apologize to Jude."

He is trembling as he looks at me. "I'm sorry, Jude."

Outrage floods into me, sizzling in my blood like embers. I can fight my own damn fights. I don't need anyone to threaten people for me―I can do it myself, thank you very much.

Instead of accepting his apology, I walk forward and curl my fist―aiming for a punch that will leave a nasty bruise. His head cracks back.

Someone gasps, and the crowd finally notices the scene.

Hunter releases him with a sneer, and I almost don't recognize this cold, cruel girl from the one who patted down my wounds and threw her head back in a laugh.

When she looks at me, she seems almost . . . impressed.

"I don't need you to protect me," I snap. "Let's go."

The audience hushes a little―as though they're holding their breaths. As though I've done something unbelievable. But Hunter only nods once, and I follow her as she cuts through the crowd. Almost immediately, the dancing resumes.

I have to jog to catch up to her as she takes me to a hidden door near the bar. "What was that?" I hiss. "Why did you do that?"

I can't read her face. "Did you ask him to kiss you?"

"No, but―"

"Did you enjoy it?"

"No, but―"

She turns around, faster than I can protest. Her eyes are dark and searing, and it occurs to me that her hands are on my shoulders, and they are warm, and I can't remember what I was just thinking―

"He was using you," she says. "His ex-girlfriend was in the crowd. He used you to make her jealous. She was watching."

"I―"

"Let me make myself clear." Her voice is ice. "This is the Underground. And the only laws here are the ones people uphold. Do you think, if he had tried to take advantage of you, anyone would have stopped him?"

"I would have stopped him."

For a moment, she seems to be faintly impressed. "Maybe," she acknowledges. "But if he had friends . . . could you have stopped four, five of him? You're new here. You set your boundaries without mercy, and you set them fast. The only power you have is the kind you give yourself. So be powerful, Jude."

"Is that what you are? Powerful?"

She turns around, motioning for me to follow her. I don't press her―I have a feeling she is much more connected to the Wolves than I thought. Could she be their ambassador? Their messenger?

The Alpha wants you.

Sylvie's green eyes flash in my vision. I shove the thought of her away.

I just want my mother back. And I don't want to be done with this―this secrecy, these gangs, these people. Whoever they are.

Dangerous. This is dangerous.

And danger is what I have been trying to avoid for eight years.

Except for―

Don't think about the accident, Jude.

I have to focus. Focus on Hunter, and where she's taking me. She leads me through a door, far away from the music and dancing. Almost instantly, a sickening feeling plunges through my stomach, and every instinct in my body screams, Run, Jude, run!

The darkness is overwhelming. I can't see Hunter anymore. Nausea plummets through me. My breath comes out in gasps.

Run, Jude, run!

Too late.

It was a trap.

It was a trap.

Raw, wild panic claws up my throat. I search the darkness for something, anything. All I hear is the lock of a door, and I know I'm alone without even whispering, "Hunter?"

Did she know? Did she take me here on purpose?

Is she a part of the Wolves? Is that why she was willing to take me straight to them?

And then it hits me. Her voice.

I remember Derek hitting the wall through a half-drugged state of consciousness. And her voice. Her voice. "Who will believe her?"

He had . . . listened to her. Obeyed her.

Why?

I stumble against something. It clinks against my fingertips. Glass―hard glass. The kind used in interrogation rooms.

"Hunter," I repeat. Louder.

This can't be happening.

There is no way I fell for this. There is no way I walked myself right into a trap. There is no way I am that stupid.

"Hunter!" I shout.

I followed her. I followed her into the apartment, down the elevator, into the Underground, and I followed her here. She took me here. And it was a trap.

My fingers curl against my palms. Biting the skin.

God. I really am no better than any heart-eyed, love-sick hormonal teenager. Why did I follow a pretty girl into the heart of gang territory? Because she reminded me of . . .

Don't think it, Jude.

Because she reminded me of her. From the dream―the same dream I've been having for over ten years. But she's dead, and I'm here. I'm trapped.

"Hunter!" I scream, pounding the glass.

Do not lose your temper. Do not lose your―

"Let me out of here!" The dark is complete, all-encompassing. I don't understand why I'm here. What the point of this is. Did they want me because they have my mother? "Let me out!"

I wait. One minute. Two.

Time slips by like a fistful of sand. In the darkness, there is nothing. Wherever I am, I'm alone―but Hunter is watching. Unless she left. Unless she doesn't care.

Someone is watching.

I won't break. I won't give them my dignity. I back away until I hit a hard wall―concrete this time. And I sink down against it, keeping my stare locked on the dark ahead of me. I won't bury my face in my knees. I won't give them the satisfaction.

Still, even as my breath wavers, I wonder: How long will this take?

Hours. Or maybe longer―time drips away in the dark. I can't hear or see anything around me, and every once in a while, I dig my nails into my skin. Just to feel the pain. If only so I can remember that I'm alive.

Are you there, God? It's me, Jude. I bite back the urge to laugh hysterically. If I'm being watched through the glass on the opposite wall, I won't give them any idea that I'm weak. I won't be an easy target.

It must be hours, finally, when I hear the soft snick of a door opening.

I don't move. I don't react.

I still have a gun in my pocket. A knife on my thigh. A few other hidden weapons all around me.

As soon as I can pinpoint the location of whoever is in here, I'll―

Light―brilliant, blinding light―bursts through the room. Illuminating the table and two chairs on either end of it. Revealing Derek in all his glory.

I blink as the harsh light stabs my eyes. For a moment, tears well up. After being in the dark for so long, seeing the light is brutal and I have to bite my tongue as my vision adjusts.

"Derek," I say coldly, rising to my feet. "How nice to see you again."

"You know my name," he says, delighted. He scrapes out the chair on one end of the table and sits, legs wide, arms loose. Casual. Careless.

I'm not drugged this time, Derek.

"I remember your name tag from the bar," I say, sitting on the opposite end.

How are you going to play this, Jude? asks my mother's voice. I think over it. Is Derek stupid enough to fall for it if I act afraid?

And the answer comes to me immediately. Yes.

I slump into the opposite chair, curving my shoulders. Becoming meek, tense, trembling.

A wolf, hungry for prey―he licks his lips at my obvious fear and says, "Well, I'm glad you remember me, Jude. You were quite . . . memorable for me as well."

I bet his knuckles are still bruised from the wall he punched.

Underestimate me some more, Derek. I dare you.

I. Dare. You.

Fury, hot and palpable, chokes up my throat. I am shaking with the force of it, the desperate urge to unleash fifteen years of martial arts on him. He seems to think it's fear, and his laughter grates against me. Harsh and jarring.

I.

Dare.

You.

"I see you've finally found what you were looking for," he says. "Are you happy now?"

Temper―I need to get ahold of my temper. If I beat him within an inch of his life, there will be no way I'm getting out of here. It's still a locked room. And I'm still in the territory of the Mafia.

"Quite," I grit out. "Where's my mom?"

He shrugs, giving me a disinterested glare. "How would I know?"

"Because you took her." I can't help the snarl that rises unbidden. And at last, his interest peaks and he regards me with new fascination.

"Why would I have your mother?"

"Not just you," I spit out. "The Wolves. The Alpha."

He stiffens at my mention of the Alpha, and I see it: he resists the temptation to look back. Which means . . . which means . . .

The Alpha must be here. The Alpha must be watching.

Abruptly, I stand and cross through the room―to the black looking glass. I can't see through it, but whoever is there can see me.

"Why the fuck am I here?" I say.

I hear Derek fumble to his feet, the chair scraping back. He moves towards me. Without even looking back, I pull out my gun and aim it at his heart. "Don't move," I tell him quietly.

He pats his pocket.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I say, and I shoot him.

>>>

Jude's in trouble now, I'll bet.

From the moon and back,
Sarai

On a side note . . . is anyone here from Angel's Mafia?