The Predator’s Night

Bradley had always been the most feared and respected hunter in the region. He could track without making a sound, read the terrain like an open book, and never missed his target. But arrogance always comes with a price.

During his latest expedition, Bradley made the mistake of underestimating the natives of the land. Tired of seeing their forests invaded, they had already prepared their revenge—a punishment so unbelievable that no one in the village would ever dare speak of it afterward.

Through ancient rituals and clouds of sacred smoke, they called upon the ultimate curse:

The hunter would become the hunted.

Bradley was gone.

In his place stood Brandy—a stunning woman with a sculpted figure, graceful curves, and long, dark hair. And to make the mystical punishment even more humiliating, her clothes always materialized in outrageous animal-print designs.

Tonight, she found herself wearing a skin-tight leopard-print jumpsuit, complete with little feline ears, lounging helplessly on a luxurious green velvet sofa.

Every night, Brandy tried to escape the hungry gazes of the new “hunters” surrounding her. Men who once respected Bradley for his steady hand and deadly aim now looked at her as the most valuable prize of the night.

The worst part wasn't the flawless makeup or the transparent high heels she now wore.

The real horror was what the magic was doing to her mind.

Brandy looked down at her crossed legs, feeling the soft fabric against her skin. Somewhere deep inside, the old anger that had once defined Bradley was slowly fading away.

She was tired of fighting.

And then she heard it.

A quiet, almost playful whisper somewhere inside her mind.

Perhaps running from the hunt wasn't the point anymore.

Perhaps it would be much more fun to decide which of those hunters would earn the privilege of catching her.

For the first time, Brandy smiled.

Maybe the hunter hadn't really disappeared.

Maybe he had simply learned what it felt like to be the prey.