Monica was afraid.

Monica was a hunter, she hunted, she killed. Sometimes she killed for fun. Sometimes she killed for training. Sometimes she hunted and let go. Some were soft ones, some were hard ones.

Monica had started weak, all hunters started weak. Weak and small and weak. When Monica was little, she had hunted cautiously. No fear, only caution. There were bigger hunters, but Monica hunted, and learned, and hunted. Until she became strong enough to hunt the hunters, until none could hunt her.

Even when she was being hunted, Monica did not feel fear.

Because the hunters smelled of blood, of their prey, and it was a scent Monica had. Of dead prey, many dead prey. So many dead prey that her cavern could have been filled with the blood of all her prey.

But this strong one was not like that.

She was a hunter, just like Monica, and she smelled of blood.

But it was so much blood.

Every breath Monica took made her want to run away. The pale strong one had killed.

And killed. And killed. And killed. And killed so much, so much blood, there was so much blood. Monica breathed and she could see it. No cave full of blood, but a mountain. So many prey, so many dead. So much blood.

Rivers and rivers, deep and endless, fear, so much fear and blood.

Monica could drown in it.

Red eyes and laughter, it gave coldness to Monica. She snarled and clawed, and the strong-one turned to mist. That trick again, Monica leapt into the shadows, chasing the feeling, the smell of blood. She had to protect Rick, she had to fight the bloody one. She chased after the scent, until it became the pale red-eyed strong one again.

Monica pounced from the shadows, an explosion of movement and power.

She missed, passing through a fake.

Another fake. So many fakes.

The bloody one laughed, and the laughter echoed all around her, from every direction. The mist and scent of blood thickened. Monica tensed and knew something was wrong. She moved, leaping up and trying to get out of the mist. The feeling of fire struck Monica’s body. Not on her skin or her fur, her blood was burning. A scream, but she couldn’t stay still.

Being still when being hunted was death.

She had to find the bloody one. She sniffed, ignoring the fire in her chest and legs and arms. It was burning, but…

But it was stopping?

Monica frowned, claw reaching for her chest, touching its center. Confusion. And then realization.

Rick.

He was taking the burning away. Monica thought of the forest, of her fight with the Barons, of the pain going away. Again? But this was different, it felt wrong. Something was wrong. He was trying to hide it, but she felt it. He was hurt.

Badly hurt.

The laughter returns, the red-eyed one speaks from every direction, and Monica stops paying attention. The words don’t matter, the bloody one is scary.

But not as scary as Rick being hurt.

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Monica inhales, a deep breath, a deepest breath. She pulls in her power and strength, pushing it into her belly. Her chest expanded and she fought to hold her breath as she pushed for more power.

And then, she roared.

The loudest roar, the strongest roar. A challenge and a call and a trick. A very good trick.

The smell of blood goes away, just enough, just barely enough. Monica inhales and detects something else.

Something dangerous.

Something like Monica.

She could not stay here, Rick was in danger.

She will not wait and continue the fight, she begins running towards Rick. He is getting further away and that was bad. Something tries to chase, the bloody one attacks with mist and more false things, but Monica ignores them, even as the bloody one talks and tries to stop her.

Then there was pain. The fire within her flared. Pain and fire and burning blood. Monica stumbled, crashing into the stone ground, her body refused to move as she wanted it to. Rick was screaming, she could hear him. Monica claws at the ground, sinking her grip into the stone and pulling herself, she has to stand, she has to find Rick, she had to stop the fire.

Her legs are shaking, she is afraid.

The bloody one is here, talking again, laughing, so much blood. The blood is approaching.

But Rick is hurt.

Monica takes another step, and this time her ears twitch at the sound of something coming. Something fast. She moves to the side, something hard hits the stone and explodes in a spray of… blood? Blood destroying stone? Monica stared, confused, burning, hurting, afraid, and confused.

The blood was moving, pooling, sharpening into a spike of dark red.

Monica moves again, but this time there are more spikes, several more. They come from the fog, they smell of blood but not the bloody one. It is the blood of someone else, a weak one? Monica cannot tell, she dodges and struggles. Fear and fire and fakes. She had to fight, but how to fight if she could not see or touch?

What would Rick do? Rick didn’t fight, Rick could not fight. But Rick had been weak and still won against Monica. He was smart, the smartest. What would Rick do? Her ears perked at the realization.

More spikes, Monica moves, and… stops. Too slow, a spike hits her, she stumbles and the fire burns hotter. She falls, and more spikes of blood come, Monica avoids, a bit, a little, she has to be weak, she has to be prey. She allows some of them to hit, crying in pain, loudly. The laughter is louder, and more spikes come.

The fire is unbearable, Monica stumbles and more spears of blood. Her body is burning from the inside and she doesn’t know how or why. It burns, but she has to keep going, Rick was in danger. She stumbles and falls, spears come and she cries. Weak prey, she was weak prey, she had to cry and whimper and yowl in agony.

More spears.

Her wounds are bleeding, she can barely move. Monica falls, and does not get back up.

Her power shrinks and whimpers like she does. And the laughter only grows louder.

Her breathing is shallow, she is weak, she is prey. Her body screams in fire that she cannot see and that burns inside, deep inside.

More laughter, the scent of blood thick and full and disgusting.

And then, a touch.

The hunter had come to finish the hunt. The fire inside Monica burns so hot it was hotter than the bright light of day. Hotter than the tough-one with the thickest hide. Hotter than anything she had felt. She was weak, she was prey.

She is turned, red eyes, fangs. The predator will eat the prey.

With a thrust and a snarl, Monica’s claw pierces through the bloody one’s throat. It is not deep enough to kill, there is something there that slows Monica’s claw. But it is enough, blood spills on the stone.

Red eyes widen in shock and surprise. The fire stops burning, Monica heaves and thrusts, but the surprise is over, the bloody one turns into mist before she can finish the predator. There is a trail of blood in her wake.

Monica does not chase. If the bloody one lives or dies Monica does not care.

Rick is in danger.

With slow trembling limbs she stands. The burning is over.

The fear is over.

She thinks, carefully, licking the worst of her wounds as she starts to slowly stumble through the stone. Rick is in danger, another strong one had taken him. Monica could feel something was wrong, very wrong.

Sucking in sharply, Monica touches her chest, the warm part that was warmest when with Rick. She feels him, his pain. He is burning. He had been burning for her, to make her stronger.

Monica touches and draws from him, draws the burning.

She winces and stumbles again, but she walks faster, she is gaining speed again. She is being fast again.

She would rescue her mate.

But she remembered the scent of the other strong one. Someone like her. She could not go as she was now or she would die.