The Mating Run by Leeka

Trust

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my eyes on

I snap a scream clawing its way out of my throat.

The sudden jolt, the disoriented panic-reality blurs into focus as my surroundings
crystallize. I'm back in the hut, but something is different. My heart races, and my
gaze darts around, seeking the source of my alarm.

I hadn't even realized that I had fallen asleep.

Ettie is there, her eyes locked on mine, and beside her stands a figure I hadn't
expected a man, Elijah. His presence injects a surreal quality into the otherwise.
familiar confines of our makeshift haven.

“He's not a threat, Alina. I promise.”

Ettie’s voice cuts through the lingering echoes of my scream, a lifeline tossed to a
drowning soul.

Elijah offers a gentle smile, his curly hair falling effortlessly around his face.
There's an air of calmness about him, an aura that seems alien recently ace.

His glasses perch on the bridge of his nose, and freckles adorn his features,
creating a stark contrast to the ruthless image that the word “Hunter” has carved
in my mind.

“Hey, Alina,” Elijah’s voice is a soothing balm, a melodic contrast to the
dissonance of the outside world. “Ettie’s been telling me about you.”

The wariness clings to me, an invisible shroud woven from the threads of distrust
and survival instincts.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

My words are sharper than I intended towards Ettie, a defensive reflex born from
the brutal lessons the Mating Run has etched into my consciousness.

Ettie steps forward, her eyes pleading for understanding.

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“Alina, I told you, Elijah’s not like the other Hunters. We've been helping each
other survive. He's a friend. There's no need to be scared of him.”

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Friend a word that resonates with an echo of something almost forgotten. The
concept feels foreign, a relic from a time when alliances weren't measured by the
ticking seconds of a deadly countdown.

Elijah extends a hand, a gesture meant to bridge the gap between the known and
the unknown.

“I know it's hard to trust, but I'm here to survive just like you. We've been sharing
information, helping each other find supplies. We're all just trying to get through
this.”

His words hang in the air, a delicate equilibrium threatened by the shadows of
doubt that cling to the walls of our shelter. I glance between Ettie and Elijah,
caught in the crossfire of conflicting emotions.

“Alina, please,” Ettie implores, her eyes mirroring a vulnerability that resonates
with my own. “We need allies in this, real allies. Elijah is one of the good ones.”
Reluctantly, I extend my hand towards Elijah's, a gesture acknowledging a
tenuous alliance forged in the crucible of our shared predicament.

The scent of sizzling meat wafts through the air, a fragrant reminder of the world
beyond the confines of our makeshift hut. Elijah, now positioned near a small fire,
expertly tends to cuts of steak with a finesse that belies the harsh reality of the
Mating Run. His movements are deliberate, each action a testament to a survival
skill set I hadn't associated with Hunters.

Ettie, perched beside me, watches Elijah with a warmth in her eyes that speaks.
of camaraderie and shared survival. The anticipation heightens the atmosphere,
the dance of flames casting shadows on the walls of our refuge.

“I've never seen a Hunter cook like this,” Ettie whispers, her voice a delicate
murmur that barely traverses the space between us. It echoes my own thoughts-
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the incongruity of witnessing a Hunter, traditionally a symbol of danger, crafting a
meal that speaks of a nuanced existence beyond the brutality of the Run.

Elijah, as if sensing our gaze, turns towards us, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Survival tastes better with a touch of flavor,” he remarks, the simplicity of the
statement carrying a weight of truth that resonates with the primal instincts
driving

us all.

He plates the steaks, arranging them with an artistic flair that feels out of place. in
the midst of our survivalist surroundings. The meat, seared to perfection,
releases tendrils of aroma that tease our senses. A small pot simmers beside the
steaks, emitting a sweet fragrance that hints at a berry sauce-a touch of luxury in
a world dominated by the raw necessity of sustenance.

us.”

Ettie’s eyes light up, and a soft chuckle escapes her lips. “Elijah, you're spoiling
He shrugs, his gaze meeting mine briefly before returning to the culinary creation
before him. “Sometimes, a little spoiling helps us remember there’s more to

life than the Run.”

As he serves the steaks, placing them before us with a gesture that holds a
strange kind of reverence, I feel a twinge of something unfamiliar-an emotion that
flirts with the boundaries of awe. The steak, a departure from the monotony of
berries and the tasteless ration bars, embodies a rare indulgence, a culinary
escape from the grim reality we face.

1 pick up my fork, slicing into the steak with deliberate slowness, savoring the
momentary diversion from the relentless urgency of survival. The flavors explode
on my tongue-a symphony of richness and tenderness that transcends the
pragmatic function of food.

“Good, isn't it?” Elijah observes, his eyes glinting with satisfaction born not only
from culinary success but from the subtle alteration of the narrative unfolding
within the walls of our refuge.

1 nod, unable to articulate the complexity of emotions that accompany each bite.
The steak, seemingly Inconsequential in the grand scheme of the Mating Run,
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becomes a conduit for a shared experience, a testament to the resilience of the
human spirit even in the face of overwhelming odds.

Ettie, beside me, mirrors my silent acknowledgment.

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As we continue to eat, the atmosphere shifts. The flames flicker with an ethereal
dance, casting shadows that seem to dance in tandem with the nuances of

our shared meal.

As Elijah’s silhouette vanishes beyond the threshold of our haven, Ettie, with a
grace that defies the harshness of our reality, unfolds a blanket and arranges a
cluster of pillows. A softness creeps into her eyes, a transient vulnerability that
speaks of shared fears and unspoken assurances.

“Here,” she says, her voice a gentle murmur that seeks to counterbalance the
looming threat outside our haven. “Take these. Get some rest.”

Gratitude swells within me as I accept the offering, fingers grazing the fabric of
the blanket-a simple gesture that resonates with a significance amplified by the
stark simplicity of our surroundings.

“Thank you,” I whisper, the words laden with an acknowledgment of the fragile.
sanctuary Ettie and Elijah have created. In the solitude that defined my nights
before, sleep had been an elusive companion, a luxury sacrificed to the
coaseless vigilance demanded by the Mating Run.

Ettle, ever perceptive, catches the tremor In my volce, a subtle manifestation of
the vulnerability that lingers beneath the surface. “Alina, we're In this together
now,” she reassures, her gaze unwavering. “You don't have to endure this alone
anymore.”

The words, delivered with a sincerity that resonates beyond the immediate.
context, etch a promise-a commitment to shared survival amidst the tumultuous
landscape of the Run. The blanket, as It envelops me, becomes a metaphorical
shield, a tangible emblem of the newfound solidarity that transcends the inherent
dichotomy of Hunter and Hider.

As I settle against the pillows, their embrace a stark departure from the
unforgiving hardness of the forest floor, Ettie lingers beside me. The silence.

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between us holds a gravity, punctuated only by the distant rustle of leaves-the
ambient soundscape of a world ensnared in the throes of the Mating Run.
“When I was alone,” I begin, my voice a tentative admission to the vulnerabilities
harbored in solitude, “I slept on the floor. There wasn't much else.”

Ettie’s expression softens, an unspoken understanding passing between us. In
the simplicity of that shared acknowledgment, the chasm between our respective
journeys seems to narrow-a convergence of experiences that defies the isolation.
of the past.

“That changes now,” Ettie declares, her tone firm, eyes reflecting an unwavering
resolve. “Elijah and I are here for you. You won't face this alone

anymore.”

The weight of those words, infused with a commitment to mutual protection,
resonates within the confines of our refuge. In the vulnerable space between
waking and slumber, the promise of shared guardianship casts a tentative glow-a
beacon of reassurance amidst the encroaching darkness of the Run.

As I succumb to the embrace of the blanket and pillows, the echo of Ettie’s
pledge lingers-a whispered assurance.

I jerk awake, the tendrils of sleep torn away by the oppressive weight on my
mouth. Panic, immediate and unbridled, seizes me as I find myself face to face
with Elijah, his eyes veiled in a disconcerting haze. His labored breaths, heavy
with an ominous intensity, fog the air between us.

In the ghostly glow of the room, I see a version of Elijah I never fathomed-an
intruder within the supposed safety of our refuge. His face, normally familiar, is
now etched with a crimson flush, a manifestation of something unsettling lurking
beneath the surface. Droplets of sweat trickle down his forehead, merging with
the fear that now slickens my own skin.

Time hangs suspended in that breathless moment as Elijah, an apparition of
malice, holds me captive with a frenzied gaze. His hand, clammy and oppressive,
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mu ffles any sound that might escape my lips-a prelude to the terror that unfolds
in agonizing silence. And then, I feel the cold steel of a knife pressing against the
tender skin of my throat.

“Shhhh.”

Elijah hisses, the command fraught with a malevolence that quivers in the air.
The glinting blade, a grim implement of coercion, reflects the malevolent dance of
shadows in the room. His eyes, once familiar pools, now mirror a turbulent storm
of madness and obscured intent.

“Keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you.”

Fear, a relentless torrent, surges through my veins, paralyzing my every instinct.
I dare not move, dare not speak, as the cold reality of the blade against my
neck-

His hot, rancid breath washes over me, and I recoil as Elijah’s words slither into
the air-a venomous blend of desire and malice.

“You're so pretty.”

Elijah mutters, a twisted compliment that echoes with ominous intent. His eyes,
clouded with a sinister longing, bore into mine, stripping away any semblance of
safety.

“Who knew a mate like you would just come walking right inside my door?”

His words, a per verse invitation, drip with unsettling possessiveness. I feel the
weight of his gaze, an oppressive force that seeks to claim more than just my
presence.

“Can I taste you, darling?” he leers, the question more a proclamation of
dominance than a genuine inquiry. The knife, an extension of his ominous desire,
presses harder against my neck, a cold reminder of the precarious balance
between

survival and submission.

14:56 Fri, 8 Mar DG

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Tears well in my eyes as I shake my head, a feeble attempt to convey my refusal,
my terror. Elijah’s grin widens, a macabre expression that revels in my
vulnerability.

“Make you mine..."

Elijah murmurs, the words a chilling promise that reverberates through the
claustrophobic space.

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cry, silent s obs that echo the desperation of a prey ensnared in the merciless
clutches of its predator.

I don't know why he’s doing this to me. I don’t know why I trusted him. I don’t
know why I even came with Ettie. I should have known better when I saw her
from up the tree. When I saw the blood that covered her, when I saw that she
looked like a full-fledged Hunter.

I should have known better-that everything is different now.

Ettie’s not going to coddle me. I'm not back home or in the safety of my comfort
zone. I'm out here in the forest. And as I glance around, my eyes spotting the
cameras, I realize that everyone from the pack will see me be forcefully claimed.
And I can't do anything about it.

While these thoughts swirl inside my head, I feel Elijah pulled away from me.
Then I smell a scent of anger that unmistakably comes from Ettie.

7s,

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