Free Hunting the Huntress by Ember Case

Nilana has one night to make the choice of a lifetime: Accept the love of two men, or keep hunting-alone. No man has ever tempted Nilana to give up her freedom. Life as a huntress has given this shapeshifter everything she thought s

    I need to find a way out─now! The desperate thought chased Nilana through the night.
    Behind her, she sensed the pair of cougars drawing closer. The warrior and the shaman hunted her tirelessly, their paws passing without sound over the rock-strewn canyon bottom. If she couldn’t find a path out soon they would have her trapped. The hunt had been underway for too long. She was tiring quickly.
    She ran on under the full moon. Tall canyon walls cast shifting shadows in her path and rose above her on each side. Too steep to climb. Too high to jump.
    Dust flew in the air behind her, tossed up by her paws as she raced down the dry riverbed. Crouching lower, she sped on.
    Tonight was the harvest moon. Under a moonlit sky, the unmated warriors hunted the maidens. Generations of Chimaga had found their mates during the harvest moon hunt. The moon blessed those who chose under her light.
    For six years now, Nilana had run the harvest hunt. Six hunts she had been happy to remain unmated with the rising sun. The only female hunter of her tribe, she’d enjoyed the power which the honor carried. No male had been able or daring enough to run her down the year of her first hunt. After the first hunt, none of them seriously tried.
    Unfettered by the bonds of a mate and the duties of family, she had been happy to run without pursuit under the harvest moons since.
    Until now. Tonight she was chased by not one, but two men blessed by the powerful totem of the cougar. Men intent on claiming her for their life mate. Men who could take away the freedom she treasured so much.
    She sped on.
    They ran soundlessly behind her. Pebbles lay undisturbed beneath their flying feet as they followed her into the moonlit night. Their breath was steady, not like the short gasps for air coming from her chest. They gave no sign of letting up before cornering their quarry.

    5

    A year of good hunting and the late fullness of the autumn moon meant this year the tribal gathering was bigger than any Nilana remembered. For the last two weeks, tribes from as far north as the Rock Yellow River had traveled to be here for the mating harvest.
    There had not been this many warriors gathered in one place since the Great Plains Wars of her grandfather’s age. Warriors came hunting for a wife, a mate to skin their furs under the sun and warm them under the moon. She had no interest in a life as any man’s fur warmer.
    Curse the traditions. And curse the men who make them!
    The weeks of gathering were meant as a time of celebration. She had enjoyed the large, daily hunts required to keep the many tribes fed. Just as entertaining were the nightly fireside dances, where the many families would meet and mingle. Size alone had made this a harvest celebration the tribes would talk about for generations.
    Its place in lore was guaranteed when members of the seldom-seen Meskwaku , the northernmost tribe of the Chimaga, had ridden in late yesterday to join the harvest hunt.
    The mighty warrior chief known as Tate led the small group. He had led the Meskwaku for nearly a decade now, since the hated, nomadic Jurunga tribes had killed his father.
    Tate had been only fifteen, but he had led his people into a bitterly-fought battle against the murderous invaders. It ended with the few surviving coyote shifters of the Jurunga fleeing the north lands for good.
    Tate’s reputation as a fierce warrior had spread southward in the years since. The tales of his bravery and strength grew with each retelling, until a listener who had never heard the stories could easily believe he was more godlike than man.
    When he rode his stallion into camp at the head of his group, riding in his shadow had been his shaman, Cheveyo. The tribal tongues