Claimed By The Ruthless Lycan Warlord

The wind tore at her clothes, a violent force ripping away any semblance of control. Areli's stomach lurched into her throat as the ground rushed up to meet her. This wasn't a dream. This was a goddamn freefall.

She opened her mouth to scream, but the air was a solid wall, shoving the sound right back down her throat. Her lungs burned. Her eyes watered. Below her, a thick mesh of giant vines appeared, a desperate patch of green against the dark rock.

Instinct took over. She tucked her chin, wrapped her arms around her head, and braced for impact.

The first layer of vines snapped like dry twigs. The second layer slowed her down just enough to keep her from splattering, but the third layer hit her like a freight train. A sickening crack echoed in her chest. Ribs. Definitely ribs.

She slammed into the damp, rotting earth. The impact emptied her lungs completely. Pain, sharp and blinding, exploded through her torso. She coughed, tasting copper. Blood splattered onto the dark soil inches from her face.

Then, the memories hit. Not hers. Someone else's. A woman with the same face, screaming as two figures loomed over her on the cliff edge. A blonde woman with a vicious smile-Gloria. A man with cold eyes-Eugene. The shove. The fall. And beneath that horror, deeper still, the inherited knowledge of this savage world seeped in-a world where females were as rare as gemstones. The Beast Realm's iron law: females ruled, males served. A single female could take multiple mates, building a family around her protection and provision. Harming a female was an unforgivable sin, punished by the entire clan. Matriarchs commanded, and even the strongest warrior bent his knee. Because without females, there was no future. Areli's original self had known this bone-deep, and now so did she.

Areli gasped, her fingers digging into the mud. She wasn't just a survivor; she was a mark. A target. And if those two thought she was dead, she needed to stay that way for as long as possible.

Heavy footsteps. Not human. The crunch of dead leaves under massive weight. The scent of musk and raw power hit her nostrils.

Move. Now.

Areli grabbed a handful of wet dirt and smeared it across her face, caking her pale skin, hiding the delicate features. She squeezed her eyes shut, slowing her breathing, forcing her racing heart to quiet even as her ribs screamed in protest.

A snort. Hot, fetid breath washed over her neck. Something wet and rough-no, a nose-sniffed her skin. Every muscle in her body locked up. Fear, primal and absolute, sent a violent shudder through her frame.

A blinding flash of light seared through her eyelids. The heavy weight shifted. The sound of bones popping, flesh stretching, and a low groan filled the silence.

When Areli dared to crack one eye open, two massive men stood over her. They wore crude leather armor, muscles bulging beneath the hides. One had hair like a lion's mane, the other sleek and dark as midnight.

The lion-man crouched down. His voice was a gravelly rumble. "Still breathing, little female?"

Areli forced her eyes open fully. The primal terror of a wild beast's hot breath still clung to her skin, making her heart hammer frantically against her broken ribs. But as she registered their humanoid forms, the rational mind of a modern survivor forcefully suppressed the animalistic panic. Beasts could not be reasoned with, but men-even savage, towering men like these-had motives, rules, and egos. And in this female-scarce world, her gender was a shield. She was a rare female; they would not dare harm her without cause. That meant she had more than a chance-it was leverage. She looked past the intimidating exterior, assessing the tactical situation. Two Tier-1 shifters. Maybe higher. Fighting was suicide. Running was impossible. Her only weapon was their perception of her.

She let her lower lip tremble. "P-please," she stammered, her voice raspy and weak. "I fell... I was gathering herbs... I slipped."

The dark-haired man-Doyle-stepped closer. His eyes were like chips of ice. He grabbed her wrist, yanking her hand up to inspect it. His thumb rubbed roughly across her palm.

"Herbs?" Doyle sneered. "These hands are softer than a cub's ass. No calluses. No stains. You're lying."

Areli's heart skipped a beat. Shit. She was a biochemist in her past life, not a botanist. Her hands were pristine.

Panic flared, but she channeled it. She whimpered, yanking her hand back as if burned. In the same motion, she rubbed her palm frantically against the jagged edge of a nearby rock. The rough stone tore into her skin, leaving angry red scratches and smearing dirt into the wounds.

"I-I wear gloves!" she cried out, clutching her injured hand to her chest. "Matriarch Erline demands it! She says our hands are meant for healing, that we must protect them from the volatile toxins of the plants we harvest. If we are caught bare-handed, we are beaten... I lost my thick hide gloves when I fell! Please, I just want to go home."

Doyle's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

"Back off, Doyle." A new voice.

Areli looked up. Another man had arrived. He carried a tactical backpack and moved with a predator's grace. Curt. He looked annoyed, but not cruel.

Curt knelt beside her, unscrewing the cap of his canteen. He held it to her lips. "Drink."

Areli grasped the canteen with both hands, making sure her trembling was visible. She gulped the water down, deliberately letting some spill down her chin and neck, highlighting her vulnerability.

"Easy," Curt grunted, pulling the canteen away. His hand reached toward her torso. "Let me check your ribs."

Areli flinched violently. She scrambled backward, her back hitting the rock wall, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. It wasn't entirely an act; the pain was real, and the memory of Eugene's hands shoving her was fresh.

Curt froze instantly, his ingrained male code screaming at him never to cause a female distress. His hands shot up, palms out. "Hey. I'm not going to hurt you. Just checking for breaks."

The lion-man-Brown-scratched his beard, looking uncomfortable. "Don't scare the female, Curt."

Areli swallowed hard. She forced the tears that had been pooling in her eyes to spill over. Big, fat drops rolled down her dirt-streaked cheeks. But she lifted her chin, a stubborn glint in her eye.

"I don't want your pity," she whispered, her voice cracking but firm. "I can walk."

Brown shifted his weight, looking even more unsettled. "Nobody said you couldn't."

Curt sighed, pulling off his heavy jacket. He draped it over her shoulders. The warmth was overwhelming, smelling of pine and smoke. "We'll take you out of here. Can't leave you for the scavengers."

Doyle scoffed. "She's dead weight. We have a mission."

Areli looked up at Curt, her eyes wide with a terror that was only half-faked. The fear of being left behind, of being found by Gloria's people, was a genuine ice pick in her gut.

Curt stepped between her and Doyle. "We're taking her. That's final."

Brown nodded. "Let's move."

Before Areli could protest, Curt scooped her up into his arms. She let her head fall against his chest, hiding her face in the fabric of his shirt. As the group began to move through the dense forest, Areli closed her eyes.

The fear faded, replaced by a cold, calculating stillness. She had survived the fall. She had survived the beasts. Now, she just had to survive the war. And when the time came, Gloria and Eugene would pay.

The sound of rushing water grew louder as the group pushed through the underbrush. Curt's stride was steady, jarring Areli's ribs with every step, but she bit her lip and stayed silent.

They emerged into a small clearing by a stream. Curt set her down gently on a flat, sun-warmed boulder. The sunlight felt good on her chilled skin.

Doyle immediately moved to the perimeter, his back to them, scanning the tree line. Perfect. The cold one was gone.

Areli pushed herself upright, wincing dramatically. She looked at Curt, who was sorting through his pack.

"I need to find some medicinal herbs," she said, her voice steadier now. "To stop the bleeding. I can't just sit here and be a burden. I need to pull my weight."

Curt paused, looking at her with a mixture of surprise and respect. "You're injured. Rest."

"I can't rest," Areli insisted, swinging her legs over the edge of the rock. "Please. Just let me do this."

Curt sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. But I'm right behind you."

Areli limped toward the edge of the clearing, where a patch of weeds grew near the water. Curt followed three paces back, watching her like a hawk.

She scanned the ground. There was nothing useful here, but that wasn't the point. She spotted a thick root snaking out of the mud, perfectly positioned.

She took a deep breath. This is going to hurt.

She stepped on the root, letting her ankle twist sideways. She let out a sharp yelp, pitching forward headfirst into the dirt.

Curt moved like lightning. His arm shot out, catching her inches before her face hit the ground. He pulled her back against his chest, his breath warm on her ear.

"I got you," he muttered.

Areli clutched her ankle, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. Tears-real ones this time, from the pain-welled up instantly. "It's my fault," she sobbed, her voice trembling. "Gloria was right. I'm always so clumsy."

Curt stiffened. "Who is Gloria?"

Areli froze. She had said the name on purpose, but now she had to play the part. She clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes darting around like a trapped rabbit. "Nothing! Forget I said that. Please, don't ask."

Brown appeared, dropping a load of firewood nearby. His ears perked up. "What's going on?"

Curt's face was like thunder. "She mentioned someone named Gloria. Said she was clumsy."

Brown's expression darkened. He walked over, crouching in front of Areli. "Who is she? Why would she say that?"

Areli shook her head violently, her hands twisting the hem of Curt's jacket. "I shouldn't have said anything. It doesn't matter."

"Tell us," Curt ordered, his voice low and dangerous.

Areli sniffled, looking down at her lap. "She's... she's the senior Medical Officer. She says I'm useless. That I'll never be a real healer." She paused, letting a fresh wave of tears fall. "She takes my work and claims it as her own. And her mate, Eugene... he says things. Terrible things. About how I'm only good for..."

She trailed off, hugging herself.

Curt's fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. "That's abuse. That clan is garbage. You don't owe them anything."

Areli looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy. A faint, brave smile touched her lips. "It's fine. As long as I work hard, they'll acknowledge me eventually. Right?"

The sheer absurdity of the statement-the classic victim rationalization-hit both men like a punch to the gut. Brown looked away, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Curt looked like he wanted to punch something.

"You don't have to prove anything to scum like that," Curt growled.

Areli reached out, her fingers lightly brushing Curt's sleeve. "Thank you," she whispered. "For believing me."

Curt's ears turned a faint pink. He cleared his throat, looking away, but his body shifted closer to hers, shielding her from the wind.

Brown stood up, his earlier suspicion replaced by a gruff sympathy. "We'll get you sorted," he said.

Areli nodded, wiping her eyes. As she lowered her head, a shadow fell over her face. In the darkness, away from their eyes, her lips curled into a cold, triumphant smile.

She had them. Hook, line, and sinker.

A twig snapped. Doyle emerged from the trees, two dead rabbits dangling from his grip. He stopped, his sharp eyes taking in the scene-the weeping female, the angry males, the tense atmosphere.

"What did I miss?" he asked flatly.

Areli's smile vanished instantly. She shrank back against the rock, the picture of a frightened mouse once more.

The fire crackled, casting long, dancing shadows across the campsite. The smell of roasting rabbit filled the air, but Areli had no appetite. She sat wrapped in Curt's jacket, staring into the flames.

Brown sat across from her, his sharp eyes studying her face. The sympathy from earlier was gone, replaced by a calculating intensity.

"Areli," he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. "You said you slipped and fell off the cliff, right?"

Areli nodded, her stomach tightening. "Yes."

Brown leaned forward. "Then why don't you have any scrapes?"

Areli blinked. "What?"

"If you rolled down a rock face," Brown said slowly, enunciating every word, "you'd be scraped up like a side of beef. But your skin, aside from the dirt and the bruises, is smooth. The only injuries you have are impact wounds. Like you were dropped."

The silence was deafening. Areli's heart hammered against her ribs. She had underestimated them. They weren't just muscle; they were trackers. Hunters.

She couldn't tell them the truth. If she said she was pushed, she'd be admitting she was involved in a clan power struggle. They would dump her-or worse, hand her back.

She had to lie. But the truth was too obvious. She needed something bigger.

Areli didn't answer. Instead, she stared at the fire, letting her pupils dilate. She forced her breathing to hitch, then accelerate. Her chest heaved. Her hands began to tremble, violently.

"No," she whispered. "No, no, no..."

Brown frowned. "Areli? I asked you a question."

She didn't hear him. She was somewhere else. She clutched her head, her nails digging into her scalp. A raw, guttural scream tore from her throat.

"It was huge!" she shrieked, her eyes wide and unseeing. "The wings... the claws... it grabbed me! It picked me up and it dropped me!"

Curt was on his feet in an instant. He shoved Brown back. "What the hell are you doing? You're triggering her!"

"I'm asking a simple question!" Brown protested, though he looked rattled.

Areli grabbed Curt's arm, her grip bruising. "Don't let it eat me!" she sobbed, her body shaking uncontrollably. "Please! It was so big! The wind... and then nothing!"

Curt pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her. "It's okay. It's gone. You're safe."

He glared at Brown. "Are you happy now? You gave her a panic attack."

Brown looked stunned. He rubbed the back of his neck, his face flushing with guilt. "I... I didn't know. I'm sorry. I was just doing my job."

Brown muttered an apology, handing her a clean skin blanket. "Here. I'm sorry, little female. I shouldn't have pushed. What you're saying makes sense... the Blackwind Cliff area is a known hunting ground for Wind Drakes. They dive from the clouds, snatch their prey, and leave no tracks. If one of them dropped you mid-flight, it explains everything."

Areli took it with a trembling hand, offering him a weak, watery smile. "It's okay. You were just being careful."

Curt handed her a piece of roasted meat. "Eat. You need your strength."

She took a small bite, chewing mechanically. As she ate, she let her gaze drift over the three men. They were powerful. Disciplined. And they answered to someone called a "Warlord."

That Warlord was the key. If she could get to him, she could use his power to crush Gloria and Eugene.

Suddenly, a strange energy ripple pulsed through the forest. The fire flickered wildly. The hair on Areli's arms stood up.

Doyle materialized out of the darkness, his face grim. He made a sharp, urgent gesture with his hand.

Brown and Curt were instantly on their feet, all traces of relaxation gone.

"Move," Curt ordered, pulling Areli up. "Now."