Defy The Alpha(s)

Chapter 887: The Hunting Ground

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?!" Ziva’s voice ripped through the hunting grounds as she used her magic to violently drag Bree across the dirt.

The girl clawed at the earth immediately, shrieking like a creature dragged straight out of a nightmare.

Unfortunately, the hunting grounds only worsened her frenzy. This place meant one thing to Bree and it was food, death and blood.

The hunting grounds stretched deep into the forest behind Duskmoon Village, surrounded by towering trees so thick they nearly blocked out the moonlight overhead. The vegetation had long since overgrown wildly, vines curling around branches like snakes while damp moss crawled over stones and rotting wood.

The entire place reeked of decay with bones littering the grounds. Human skulls.

Broken ribs. Half-buried skeletons disappearing beneath dirt and weeds. It was all evidence of years worth of victims Angus had fed to his little monster.

At the center of the grounds stood several rusted restraint posts hammered deep into the earth. Some still carried dried blood stains while nearby were larger holding structures built from thick iron bars and reinforced wood, more like animal cages than prison cells.

That was where Angus kept victims he wanted alive enough for Bree to hunt slowly. The structures had hooks hanging from the ceiling alongside chains bolted into the floor so prey could not run while Bree fed.

Bree suddenly lunged at Ziva with a guttural snarl. A barrier exploded between them and she was knocked back.

Ziva was beyond furious. Usually Hannah or Lilian handled Bree. Or even the twins. It was never her. This task was beneath her.

Bree slammed herself against the barrier repeatedly, claws scratching wildly over the invisible wall while saliva dripped from her mouth.

The sound alone was enough to make several witches step backward uneasily.

With a curse, Ziva released the chains dragging Bree. Then she raised her hand and dark veins spread slowly beneath her skin.

The witches saw it and stiffened immediately. Blood magic. It was the rare magic she had stolen from her mother after killing her.

Ziva rarely touched that side of her abilities unless absolutely necessary. The ability required lots of effort and wore on the body. It was the reason the ability was rare and those who possessed never lived long — it was either it was stolen or they died from overuse.

But right now Ziva was beyond irritated. She curled her fingers and Bree’s body jerked violently. The girl released a broken howl as her limbs twisted unnaturally beneath the control. One of her leg dragged backward while her shoulders snapped rigid as if an invisible strings had hooked into her bones.

Several witches grimaced at the sight.

Bree fought it desperately, growls emanating from her throat, but inch by inch, she was forced toward one of the iron restraint structures.

Ziva’s breathing grew heavier the longer she maintained control. Sweat gathered at her temple yet she forced Bree forward.

The moment the girl reached the structure, her own hands lifted against her will and slammed the restraints shut around both wrists with a clang.

The chains locked tightly into place. Only then did Ziva finally release her power. The sudden freedom nearly made her stagger backward. A deep breath ripped from her chest while pain throbbed faintly behind her eyes.

Across from her, Bree exploded into violence. The chains rattled furiously as the girl thrashed and snapped at the air, her snarls echoing throughout the hunting grounds like a starving beast trapped in a cage.

Honestly, beast was the perfect word for her. Bree had half-shifted. Her teeth protruded sharply from her gums, longer and thinner than normal wolf fangs, stained yellow and brown from years without proper care. Her nails resembled claws more than fingers at this point.

Dark hair hung around her face in filthy tangled mats filled with dirt, leaves, and dried blood. Her oversized clothes barely clung to her body anymore, ripped apart from years of shifting and neglect.

No one bathed Bree, and that made her smelled horrifically. She reeked of rot, sweat, wet animal fur and old blood. Ziva nearly gagged remembering how close Bree came earlier.

Goddess. The odor alone could kill someone.

Bree suddenly jerked hard against the chains again, foam gathering around the corners of her mouth while her wild eyes darted around hungrily.

The sight would have terrified anyone unfamiliar with her but the witches were unbothered, already used to it.

Ziva wiped her hand slowly against her clothes like she could physically remove the contamination of touching Bree.

Then she looked toward Edith. "She’s all yours."

"Restrain the girl."

Mother Edith had not ordered anyone specifically, but Mother Florence obeyed.

The older witch lifted both hands and the temperature dropped, frost spreading across the ground beneath Bree. It crawled rapidly up the chains wrapped around Bree’s wrists before climbing higher along her arms and legs, while cold mist escaped Florence’s lips with each breath.

The moment the ice touched Bree’s body, an awful scream ripped from her throat. The sound was inhumane and echoed through the trees so loudly birds scattered into the night sky.

The wendigo thrashed harder against the restraints, teeth snapping wildly while the chains rattled from the force.

Unlike wolves, creatures like Bree hated the cold. The Ice weakened them, and Florence knew exactly how much force to use without freezing the girl solid. Even then, hatred still burned inside her wild eyes.

Mother Edith moved through the hunting grounds, navigating the uneven earth and scattered bones as though she could see perfectly fine.

The other witches watched silently. Even Ziva folded her arms and stayed quiet now.

Edith stopped directly in front of Bree’s restraints.

The girl immediately lunged toward her as far as the chains allowed, snarling viciously enough for spit to spray from her mouth.

It was a warning. If she ever got free, she would rip the old witch apart.

But Edith remained untouched by the threat, reaching calmly toward the side of her robes and withdrew a small knife. She slashed cleanly across Bree’s arm.

The wendigo recoiled instantly with a furious hiss, jerking violently against the restraints. Fresh blood welled from the cut immediately.

Bree glared at Edith with open hatred. That hurt!

But Edith paid her no attention. Her focus rested entirely on the blood dripping slowly from Bree’s arm onto the dirt below.

Drop. Drop. Drop.

The blind witch tilted her head slightly as though listening to the sound. Then Edith began to chant and the blood touching the earth suddenly trembled. One by one, the crimson droplets lifted from the ground, suspended unnaturally in midair.