Wounded Kiss (To Be Claimed 1)

Every year, Shadow Falls provides an “offering”—it’s so fucked up they call it that—for the werewolves. All the women in town between the ages of nineteen and twenty-one have to gather for the shifters and present themselves. It’s the law, so we have no choice. Once you’re offered, you can’t refuse if they choose you. You could leave rather than participate, but that would mean moving to a different town, leaving your family and forgoing the protection provided by the werewolves. My heart races just thinking about all the implications.

Refusing to participate in the rite or not providing an offering would lead to an end of the treaty. It’s happened before every few years in various other locales. The news is always quick to cover any protesters who no longer want their treaty. Normally, those who want protection take off as soon as the debates start because they don’t want to risk the fallout. Once a treaty is forfeited, all across the country people wait with bated breath to see the repercussions.

The werewolves never attack the towns that break their pacts. The shifters just leave them be. And when the other paranormal and vile creatures of the night show up at the vulnerable homes, there’s no one to help. Sometimes it’s only days after when people go missing, or worse. Other times it’s years. I’ve watched on the news as fathers cry, begging for their daughters to be returned to them. I’ve seen pictures of entire towns burned to the ground, supposedly for nothing more than a witch’s enjoyment. The attacks themselves are hardly ever captured but the resulting aftermath leaves enough evidence to determine what happened.

Vampires and witches are ruthless, taking without shame or apology. People say there are good ones and bad ones, just like every other species and race. But I’ve never seen or even heard of a good deed done by either vampires or witches. The only silver lining is that although they may wreak havoc, they don’t touch what belongs to werewolves. History has proven time and time again that werewolves will win that fight.

It’s been nearly one hundred and sixty years since the violence and tragedy that brought about our arrangement with the shifters of Shadow Falls. According to what Lizzie and I were taught in school, vampires came in the night all that time ago and abducted humans to hold captive for their own pleasure, leaving disaster in their wake. At the time the town had no help, no treaty, no one to beg for mercy. Shadow Falls put up a fight as best they could, but it was useless. Families huddled together at night yet in the morning, someone would be gone without a trace. Or they were massacred. Either way, it was hopeless. The vampires would swoop in, drink their fill, and leave their victims to die. Back then, those sharp-fanged villains were careless. Rather than snatching their victims and hiding like they do today, they’d remain on their hunting grounds and flaunt their kills.

It was only a matter of time before the werewolves came. The thick scent of blood that coated the air might have initially attracted them to Shadow Falls but with so many vampires around, the town was ripe for their picking. Desperate and out of options, the mayor at the time begged the werewolves for help. The wolves agreed, but on one condition—Shadow Falls would have to offer their women to them willingly once a year—forever. He agreed without hesitation, knowing there was precedent in forming treaties with shifters, but stopping the slaughter was his priority. Within days the vampires fled, and the ones unlucky enough to get caught by the werewolves were devoured without mercy.

That year, one woman was taken by the shifters at the offering. Since then, the wolves have upheld their end of the bargain to protect the town, but they haven’t taken anyone else. Only that one woman at the first offering. She went without a word, without a fight. It’s said she went into a trance of sorts and no one ever heard from her again. That’s the story we’re told and taught, anyway. And that’s the reason we’re headed to the local college to “offer” ourselves.

This is our first year and we’ll have to attend for the next two as well. To put it mildly, I’m freaked the fuck out. I try to remind myself that the shifters haven’t taken anyone in a hundred and sixty years. Maybe this is nothing more than an outdated tradition. How the hell should I know? But knowing they haven’t taken anyone in over a century and a half only drops my fear down a notch, a very small notch.

The fact that I’ll be presented to them gives me mixed emotions, but the overriding feeling is complete and utter fear. I finally have a home and safety and a life that I cherish. I don’t want to leave. No one really knows what happens if they take you, but it’s not hard to guess. If you’re chosen, you don’t come back. The very idea throws me into full-on panic mode.