His Fingers Itch to Pinch
The Northern Wastes.
The ancestral territory of the Frostfang Clan.
A low, guttural moan rolled from the cave mouth.
It was deep, rhythmic, and visceral.
Thrust.
Gasp.
The wet, squelching sound of hot, swollen flesh pounding into a soaked entrance.
Layla stopped in her tracks, her face burning.
She stood several yards from the cave, paralyzed by the raw, obscene symphony of a male taking his female.
She had come to ask Sylvia if she wanted to help dry some fruit in the sun.
But for the third day in a row—midday, dusk, and now the break of dawn—the sounds had been the same.
The cave.
The moans.
The heavy, animalistic grunts of Brennan as he claimed his mate with a violence that sounded almost painful.
Layla’s breath hitched.
The scent of sex drifted on the morning breeze—musky, thick, and smelling of spent seed.
It wrapped around her like a physical hand, sliding down her throat.
Her thighs pressed together, crushing the sudden, throbbing heat that began to pulse between her legs.
Her nipples peaked into hard, aching points against her thin tunic, reacting to the primal vibration of the mating.
She shouldn't be listening.
She should turn and run.
But her core was already leaking, a thin trail of slick moisture coating her inner thighs as she watched the shadows move.
Inside the darkness of the cave, the visual was even more brutal.
Sylvia was on her hands and knees, her back arched so hard it looked ready to snap.
Brennan loomed behind her like a mountain of scarred muscle.
His massive Alpha cock—veiny, dark, and terrifyingly thick—was buried to the hilt in her.
With every savage lunge of his hips, Sylvia’s body was flung forward.
Her cries weren't just cries; they were jagged, high-pitched shrieks of a female being thoroughly possessed.
"Harder—fuck—split me open, Brennan!"
The wet, smacking sound of his heavy balls hitting her backside echoed in the clearing.
Layla’s heart hammered so hard it hurt.
She could almost feel it—the way Sylvia’s tight walls were being stretched to their absolute limit, forced to take every inch of that relentless, pulsing heat.
Layla stumbled back, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a whimper.
Her own pussy was throbbing now, a dull, demanding ache that she didn't know how to silence.
This was the world she’d been thrown into.
A world where survival was written in blood and semen.
Five days ago, Layla had been in her rented apartment, relaxing with a face mask.
Then a blinding white light had swallowed her whole.
She woke up in the middle of a prehistoric nightmare.
An endless forest where the air tasted of damp earth and ancient secrets.
Not far from where she first landed, massive beasts had been locked in a life-or-death struggle.
Trees were being shaken like saplings.
The sheer force of their collision sent tremors through the earth.
The shock had paralyzed her.
In her frantic attempt to flee the carnage, she had tripped and tumbled into a ravine, blacking out instantly.
Sylvia had found her and dragged her back to the clan.
With Layla’s delicate doll-like face and small stature, Sylvia assumed she was an undernourished, underage female.
She had been given a small, lonely cave to call her own.
It took Layla days to digest the reality of the Northern Wastes.
This world was ruled by three seasons: the Scorch, the Gale, and the Frostbite.
During the Scorch, fruits and vegetables were plentiful.
But during the other two, a weak female without a male protector was as good as dead.
Layla had no family.
No mate.
She was entirely alone.
If she didn't gather and dry enough food before the Scorch ended, she wouldn't survive the first freeze.
As for finding a mate?
The thought of a male like Brennan—or worse—pinning her down and ramming himself into her until she cried like Sylvia...
It made her blood run cold, yet a traitorous spark of desire licked at her clitoris.
The morning air was still cool as Layla stood beneath a wild fruit tree, trying to shake the mental image of Brennan’s cock from her head.
The crimson globes hanging from the branches looked delicious, but the thick, straight trunk was her greatest enemy.
Thud. Thud.
Two large fruits suddenly plummeted from the canopy.
They landed barely inches from her toes.
Layla jumped back, her heart leaping into her throat.
"That was close," she whispered, clutching her chest.
She looked up warily, pulse racing.
But there were no shorter trees.
If she didn't climb, she didn't eat.
On her third attempt to scale the trunk, she slipped halfway up.
The rough bark scraped the sensitive, tender skin of her inner thighs.
The friction sent a sharp sting through her already sensitive, swollen pussy.
Layla winced, her eyes stinging.
She took a shaky breath, gripped the bark again, and hauled herself up.
Then she heard it.
The sound of heavy, deliberate footsteps.
Layla froze.
She slid down the trunk and turned around, her eyes widening as she pressed her back against the bark.
The man standing before her was a god of silver hair and terrifying masculinity.
He was massive.
Easily seven feet tall.
His muscles were carved like granite, veins bulging along his thick, tan arms.
The sunlight caught his sharp jawline and the wild mess of his silver short hair.
But it was his eyes that trapped her.
Deep, piercing emerald green.
He stood there with an air of savage indifference, his gaze dropping immediately to the way her tunic clung to her damp, aroused skin.
Layla’s breath became shallow.
She could smell him—sweat, bitter musk, and pure, unadulterated Alpha.
It mixed with the lingering scent of sex from the nearby cave, making her head spin with a sudden, dizzying lust.
She stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "Brennan and Sylvia are... in their cave."
Kael’s brow twitched.
Did she really think he cared about who Brennan was rutting?
In this world, another male's mating was none of his business—unless he wanted to steal the female.
And he didn't want Sylvia.
His eyes were locked on the small, trembling creature in front of him, noting the way her nipples poked through her clothes.
The heat was oppressive.
Beads of sweat rolled down Kael’s broad, scarred chest, trailing over his abdominal muscles before disappearing beneath the low-slung fur around his waist.
He watched the little mouse.
She looked at him with the same terrified, defensive eyes as a doe.
But there was something else in her scent.
Underneath the fear, there was the sweet, honeyed aroma of a female who had been listening to a mating—a female whose body was primed and ready to be mounted.
He had watched her for three days.
Watching her struggle.
Watching her climb and fall, her small, pale thighs straining against the wood.
The frustrated little grunts she made... the whimpers when she slid down... they had kept him awake in his own cave.
They had made his blood boil and his cock grow heavy and rigid against his furs.
He’d come here to scare her off.
But now that he was standing in front of her, looking at that pale, translucent skin that looked like it would stain under his touch...
A strange, violent urge to bend her over that very tree and fill her until she couldn't stand flickered in his chest.
Kael leaned back against a nearby rock, stretching his long, powerful legs out.
His eyes raked over her, lingering on her lips and the rapid, frantic rise and fall of her chest.
"Little female," he rumbled, his voice like gravel. "I haven't eaten in days. Give me those fruits by your feet."
Layla felt her scalp tingle.
She knew how strong these males were.
If she crossed him, he could snap her in half without breaking a sweat.
She scooped up a fruit and scurried over, holding it out with trembling fingers.
Kael’s hand brushed hers as he took it.
The contact sent a jolt of raw electricity straight to Layla's clitoris.
She scrambled back instantly, her heart hammering.
She picked up the second fruit and began to eat it herself, her movements hurried and desperate.
Kael bit into his fruit, his gaze never leaving her.
He watched her small mouth bite from the bottom of the fruit, her eyes darting toward him like a cornered animal.
He let out a sudden, dark laugh.
Layla nearly choked, her cheeks turning a bright, dusty pink.
She watched him from the corner of her eye.
He sat there with his legs spread wide, an arrogant, untamed posture that showcased the thick, heavy bulge between his thighs.
Kael finished his fruit in seconds and sent the core flying into the brush.
"The trees here are all high," Kael noted, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous purr.
"You won't gather much. And what you do gather will rot."
He stood up abruptly, wiping his hands on his thighs.
He began to walk toward her, his shadow swallowing her whole.
Layla backed away until her heels hit the tree trunk.
She was trapped between the wood and a wall of pure muscle.
"I can make them into dried fruit," she answered nervously.
"The sun is strong enough."
Kael leaned down until his face was inches from hers.
He could smell her now—she was soaked.
The sweet scent of her arousal was calling to the wolf inside him, begging to be tasted.
His hand lifted, his knuckles brushing her soft cheek.
His fingers were rough, hot, and smelled of the wild.
"Why are you so afraid, little mouse?" Kael whispered, his eyes dark with a promise of what was to come.
"I don't bite... unless I am asked."
