The Last Wildcard

CHAPTER THREE

Little Miss Scared

“Let’s go,” Fantasy said, fingers curling around Riven’s wrist before she could protest.

Riven stumbled half a step as she was pulled forward, boots scraping over stone. “Do you usually kidnap people before introducing yourself properly?”

Fantasy laughed, light and musical. “Only the interesting ones.”

Riven shot her a look. “So what’s your power? Or is it a secret until you drown me in a lake or something?”

Fantasy’s smile deepened, a flicker of something ancient passing behind her bright eyes. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

They emerged into the camp clearing.

Firelight bathed the space in gold and shadow. A massive pit burned at the center like an altar, flames licking upward, sending sparks into the night. Long wooden tables curved around it, already crowded with contestants. Witches in flowing dark fabrics. Wolves with alert, predatory stillness. Shifters whose casual postures radiated coiled violence. Sirens whose beauty shimmered unnaturally in the glow.

Laughter rang out, too loud in places, too careful in others. Riven recognized it for what it was: performance. The kind people put on when they knew they were being watched.

Because they were.

Floating cameras drifted above the clearing, lenses catching every smile, every glance, every calculated touch. Somewhere beyond the jungle, viewers were already choosing favorites. Already shipping couples. Already deciding who deserved to stay and who could disappear.

Riven halted at the edge of the firelight. She didn’t move toward the tables. Instead, she sat on a low stone near the pit, hands resting loosely on her knees, eyes fixed on the flames. They twisted and reshaped endlessly, never settling into one form. She found herself studying the patterns without meaning to. Which sparks burned brighter. Which flames starved first.

Food was laid out in abundance. Roasted meat, still steaming. Bread that tore apart in soft clouds. Fruit gleaming too brightly, too perfectly. It all felt like a gift offered by something that would demand payment later.

She stayed where she was.

Around her, alliances were forming with quiet urgency. A cluster of witches leaned close, whispering behind their hands. Two wolves sat shoulder to shoulder, bodies angled outward, guarding each other instinctively. A siren laughed softly as a shifter bent closer, her voice curling around him like a promise.

This is a dating show, she reminded herself. Or at least that’s what they call it.

It didn’t feel like one. It felt like a hunting ground.

“Are you planning to sit there all night,” a voice drawled, “or is that part of your strategy?”

Riven didn’t flinch. She’d heard him approach long before he spoke. She turned her head slowly.

Jace stood beside her, the firelight carving sharp lines along his face. Dark hair. Broad shoulders. Simple black shirt, dark trousers. No visible symbols, no flashy display of power. There was something restrained about him that felt more dangerous than the others’ open aggression.

“Depends,” she said. “Does watching people eat tell you anything useful?”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Sometimes.”

He sat beside her without asking, close enough that she felt his heat through the cool night air. She shifted just slightly, reclaiming a sliver of space.

“You didn’t eat,” he observed.

“You noticed.”

“You’re the only one acting like the food might bite back.”

Riven glanced at the flames. “You’re assuming I’m acting.”

That earned a low chuckle. It wasn’t mocking. It was…intrigued.

“I’m Jace,” he said.

She didn’t answer. Not because she was hiding but because there was no point. Everyone here already knew her name. The cameras made sure of that.

He studied her in silence for a beat. Then, “Riven.”

Her gaze snapped back to him. “I didn’t tell you that.”

“You look like a Riven,” he said. “Like someone who cuts through things instead of going around them.”

Something tightened in her chest. “You’ve known me for less than a minute.”

“And yet you survived the first trial by doing exactly that.”

“So did everyone else.”

His eyes flicked toward the firelit crowd, the laughter that felt just a little too brittle. “Not everyone.”

The words settled between them. Heavy. Ominous. Riven didn’t ask who hadn’t survived.

After a moment, she asked, “Should I eat?”

Jace followed her gaze to the food, studying it like it might study him back. “I did. I’m still breathing.”

“You’re probably an Alpha or something,” she said lightly. “Hard to poison a walking apex predator.”

“Glad you didn’t say Omega,” he replied, a flash of teeth in his smile. “Eat. I’m not lying to you.”

Honesty was rare here. That alone made her suspicious.

She stood, brushing ash from her palms, and moved toward the tables. The shift in attention was immediate. Conversations dipped. Eyes followed her. Some curious. Some predatory. Some calculating how she might fit into their plans or how useful she might be as leverage.

She took a plate. Not much. Bread. A small portion of meat. She chose a seat far from the densest clusters, half in shadow, half in firelight. Jace didn’t follow right away.

She ate slowly, listening.

“…she looks terrified…”

“…human wildcard, what were they thinking…”

“…pretty, though. Shame she won’t last…”

Riven kept her head down, counting her bites, forcing herself to swallow. She wondered when she’d stop being a spectacle and start being a player.

Someone slid into the seat across from her. Her pale hair caught the firelight, almost glowing. Her eyes shimmered an unnatural blue, depthless and bright at the same time.

“Mind if I join you?” Fantasy asked, already smiling.

“You’re already sitting,” Riven said.

Fantasy laughed softly. “I like you.”

“That makes one of us.” Riven hesitated, then asked, “Is Fantasy actually your name?”

Fantasy’s smile didn’t falter. “Does it matter?”

Riven glanced past her, catching Jace watching them from across the clearing, his posture casual, his attention anything but. “It tells me you’re not here to be honest.”

Fantasy followed her gaze, head tilting. “Stay away from him.”

“That’s your advice?”

“He’s dangerous,” Fantasy said lightly. “He can’t be your love interest. Look else where.” 

Riven nodded, setting her plate aside. “I’m not looking for anything here.”

Fantasy’s lips curved. “Then why are you here? Well, that’s why this place is fun.”

She rose and melted back into the crowd. Jace approached the moment she was gone.

“She wanted something from you,” he said.

“Everyone does.”

“And you?”

Riven stood. The fire cracked, sending sparks into the dark. “I want to make it through tomorrow.”

“Ambitious,” he murmured.

She turned to face him fully. “Why are you really here, Jace Draven?”

His gaze sharpened at the sound of his full name on her lips. “Stay away from Fantasy,” he said after a pause. “She’s collecting things.”

“That’s vague.”

“It’s meant to be.”

Riven searched his face for mockery. Found none. Only warning. And something else she didn’t want to name.

“Stay sharp, Riven,” he added quietly. “Dinner is the easy part.”

Then he walked away, leaving her alone with the fire, the cameras, and the uneasy realization that on a dating show built to sell love, danger seemed far more honest than affection.