The Savage Chief's Coveted Modern Bride

Gravity vanished.

The darkness of the Yale archaeological dig site swallowed Eleanor Strong whole. She had been trailing her professor into a newly discovered burial chamber, her backpack heavy with his tools, when the ancient floor gave way beneath her feet. One moment she was a diligent graduate student-the next, she was falling into the unknown. Air rushed past her ears in a deafening roar, tearing the scream from her throat. Her stomach violently shoved its way into her chest. She flailed her arms, her fingertips scraping against the slick, damp rock of the cavern wall. Sending sharp spikes of pain up her forearms, but she found no purchase.

Below her, the pitch-black void split open.

A jagged tear of blinding blue-purple lightning ripped through the darkness. The air pressure shifted so violently her eardrums popped. A massive, invisible force latched onto her body, yanking her straight into the center of the electrical storm.

The light vanished.

Eleanor slammed into the ground. Her heavy tactical backpack took the brunt of the impact, but the kinetic force still rattled her skull. Her teeth clamped down on her tongue. The metallic taste of copper flooded her mouth. She coughed, a wet, hacking sound, and spat blood into the dirt.

She curled into a tight ball. Every breath felt like a knife dragging across her ribs. She forced her eyes open.

The dry, dusty air of the Nevada desert was gone. Instead, thick, humid heat pressed down on her skin, heavy with the stench of rotting vegetation and animal musk. She pushed herself up on trembling hands. Through the tangled mess of her blonde hair, she saw massive tree trunks, thick as concrete pillars, stretching up into a dense canopy that blotted out the sky.

A sharp, rhythmic beeping cut through the silence.

Eleanor looked at her left wrist. The battery warning on her smartwatch flashed. The GPS signal icon in the corner was a stark, solid red X. Dead.

Panic, cold and sharp, flooded her veins. Her hands shook violently as she reached for the zipper of the tactical pouch on her waist. She needed her flashlight. Her fingers fumbled, slipping off the nylon fabric. The zipper was stuck.

A low, vibrating growl vibrated through the soles of her boots.

Eleanor froze. The breath trapped itself in her lungs.

Ten yards away, the dense ferns parted. Two eyes, the color of sickly yellow-green bile, locked onto her. A head emerged. It was a wolf, but the proportions were entirely wrong. The skull was massive, the dark gray fur matted with dried blood. It was the size of a grizzly bear.

The prehistoric beast opened its jaws. Thick, viscous saliva dripped from teeth the size of hunting knives, hitting the dead leaves with a faint, acidic hiss. Its front shoulders dropped. The muscles in its hind legs coiled.

Eleanor's brain screamed at her to run. Her legs refused to obey. They felt like lead. She scrambled backward on her hands and heels, her boots slipping in the wet mud.

The giant wolf launched itself.

It blotted out the sparse light, a mountain of muscle and fur flying straight for her throat. The stench of rotting meat washed over her.

Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut. She let out a piercing scream and threw her arms over her face, bracing for the agony of teeth tearing into her flesh.

A sickening, wet crunch echoed through the trees.

The impact never came. Instead, a spray of hot, foul-smelling liquid splattered across Eleanor's pale cheek.

She flinched, her eyes snapping open.

The giant wolf was gone from the air. It was pinned against the trunk of a massive tree five yards away. A man stood over it.

He had dropped from the canopy above. His landing had left deep craters in the mud. He was a towering wall of muscle, his skin deeply tanned and crisscrossed with thick, jagged white scars. He wore nothing but a rough animal hide wrapped around his waist.

The wolf thrashed, snapping its jaws at the man.

The man didn't flinch. A low, guttural war cry ripped from his throat. He twisted his torso, the muscles in his back bunching like coiled steel cables. His right arm snapped forward.

A thick spear, tipped with a jagged piece of black stone, tore through the air. It entered the wolf's open mouth and punched straight through the back of its skull, pinning the beast to the dirt.

The wolf convulsed violently. Its massive paws tore at the mud, then went entirely limp. Blood pooled rapidly around its head.

The man stepped forward. He planted a massive, bare foot on the wolf's snout, gripped the wooden shaft of the spear, and yanked it free. A geyser of dark blood followed the stone tip.

He flicked the gore off the weapon. Slowly, he turned his head.

His eyes locked onto Eleanor.

In that burning stare, the alien whisper in her mind grew sharper: This male is on the brink of frenzy. His beast craves a female's touch to ground him. Without it, he will either die or turn into a mindless killer. And you-you are his only chance.

Jace stared at the strange female. Her skin was blindingly white, covered in odd, unnatural leaves. His nostrils flared. Beneath the scent of wolf blood and mud, he caught it. A sweet, clean scent. Nothing like the females in his tribe. His pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black.

He took a step toward her. The dead leaves crunched under his heavy weight. He blocked out the light, casting a long, dark shadow over her trembling body.

As he closed the distance, Eleanor's survival instinct kicked in. She threw her weight sideways, her hand frantically clawing at the zipper of her pouch. She ripped it open and yanked out the canister of bear mace, pulling the safety pin with her teeth. She aimed the nozzle directly at his chest.

"Stay back!" she screamed, her voice cracking.

Jace didn't even blink at the metal cylinder. He didn't understand the sounds coming from her mouth. They were sharp, like a frightened bird. It only made the blood pound harder in his veins.

He moved.

He was a blur of motion. Just as her thumb moved to press down on the trigger, a massive, calloused hand clamped around her wrist like a vice.

Pain shot up her arm. She gasped, her fingers springing open. The bear mace dropped into the mud.

Jace didn't stop. He used his grip on her wrist to yank her forward. Eleanor's feet left the ground. She crashed hard against his chest. His skin was burning hot, slick with sweat and wolf blood, as solid as a brick wall.

And in that crushing embrace, Eleanor felt the faintest pulse of something impossible-her own dormant psychic energy stirring awake, reaching toward him like a key finding its lock. The world had turned upside down. She was no longer a graduate student. She was a female in a realm where her kind ruled, where men knelt and killed for a single touch. And the beastman who held her had just claimed his first lesson in that new order-whether he knew it yet or not.

Eleanor slammed her free hand against his chest, pushing with every ounce of strength she had. It was like trying to move a mountain. Jace didn't budge an inch.

He lowered his head. His rough nose brushed against the sensitive skin of her neck, right at the collarbone. He inhaled deeply. His Adam's apple bobbed against her forehead.

A violent shudder ripped through Eleanor's body. The sheer animalistic nature of the gesture made her stomach heave.

"Let go of me, you psycho!" she screamed in English. She jerked her knee upward, aiming straight for his groin.

Jace's combat instincts were instantaneous. He shifted his hips slightly, taking the blow against his thick thigh muscle without a flinch. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. He squeezed.

The air rushed out of Eleanor's lungs. Her ribs groaned under the pressure. Tears of pure, physiological pain sprang to her eyes. She stopped fighting, gasping for breath.

Jace paused. He looked down at the moisture gathering in her eyes. A flicker of confusion crossed his harsh features, but his grip didn't loosen. Instead, he grabbed both of her wrists with one hand, pinning them firmly behind her back.

With his free hand, he reached into the leather pouch tied at his waist. He pulled out a thick cord of animal sinew. Strung on it was a massive, pristine white wolf tooth, sharpened to a lethal point.

He held the tooth up to her face. He spoke a single, harsh sentence in a guttural language, his voice vibrating deep in his chest.

Eleanor stared at the bone. She thought he was going to stab her eyes out. She thrashed wildly, throwing her head back to avoid the sharp tip.

Jace frowned. His jaw tightened in annoyance. He reached out and clamped his large fingers around her jaw, forcing her head still.

He slipped the sinew cord over her head. The heavy wolf tooth dropped against her collarbone. The bone was freezing cold against her flushed skin.

The moment the necklace settled on her chest, Jace's eyes changed. The predatory calculation vanished, replaced by a dark, consuming possessiveness.

Eleanor looked down at the tooth. A primal instinct warned her this was a mark. A brand. She shook her head frantically, her pinned fingers twitching as she tried to reach up and snap the cord.

Jace swatted her hands away with a low warning growl. His grip on her jaw tightened, tilting her face up toward his.

He crashed his mouth down on hers.

There was nothing gentle about it. It was a brutal, claiming force. His teeth clashed against her lips, tasting of copper and raw power.

Eleanor's mind went blank with terror and humiliation. She clamped her lips shut, refusing to yield.

Jace growled against her mouth. His fingers squeezed her jaw, applying just enough painful pressure to force her lips apart. He invaded her mouth, his tongue sweeping inside, claiming everything. His rough hand slid down her spine, pressing her closer.

Nausea rolled through Eleanor's stomach. A desperate, violent anger flared in her chest. She waited for a fraction of a second, then bit down hard on his lower lip.

She tasted fresh blood instantly.

Jace grunted in pain and pulled back. A drop of bright red blood swelled on his torn lip.

Eleanor gasped for air, bringing her shoulder up to wipe her mouth violently. She glared at him, her chest heaving, her eyes burning with defiance.

Jace ran his tongue over his bleeding lip. He didn't look angry. He looked thrilled. A low, dark chuckle rumbled in his chest.

Before Eleanor could process the sound, Jace bent his knees. His thick arm swept behind her knees and around her waist.

The world flipped upside down.

Eleanor shrieked as he hoisted her into the air and slammed her face-down over his broad shoulder.

His shoulder bone dug painfully into her stomach. She hammered her fists against his scarred back, kicking her legs wildly.

Jace ignored her completely. He walked over to the dead wolf, bent down, and yanked his stone spear out of the mud with one hand.

Eleanor stared at the ground moving beneath her, the dead wolf shrinking in the distance. The blood rushing to her head made her dizzy.

Jace broke into a jog. His long strides ate up the distance, carrying her deeper into the suffocating green hell of the prehistoric forest.

The brutal bouncing knocked the breath out of Eleanor with every step. She didn't know how long he carried her. Eventually, the dense trees began to thin. The sharp scent of woodsmoke and roasting meat hit her nose, followed by the chaotic noise of human voices.

Jace stepped out of the tree line.

Eleanor's upside-down view opened up to a massive clearing. It was a sprawling camp built into the side of a rocky cliff, dotted with natural caves and crude huts made of branches and hides.

Several heavily muscled men, covered in blood and holding stone knives, stopped butchering an animal carcass. They let out loud, barking cheers at the sight of Jace, but their eyes immediately locked onto Eleanor.

Her bright blonde hair and pale skin stood out like a beacon. The entire tribe stopped what they were doing. Dozens of pairs of eyes-curious, hungry, and hostile-stared at her.

Eleanor felt a suffocating wave of panic. She buried her face into the rough fur of Jace's loincloth, trying to hide from the piercing stares.

The crowd suddenly parted. A young woman shoved her way to the front. She wore a pristine white animal pelt and a necklace of vibrant bird feathers. Greta's face was twisted in an ugly sneer.

Greta's eyes darted from Eleanor's face down to the white wolf tooth resting against Eleanor's collarbone. Her face went pale, then flushed with violent rage. She let out a piercing, ear-splitting shriek.

She lunged toward Jace, pointing a trembling finger at Eleanor, screaming in their harsh tongue. Though Eleanor couldn't understand the exact words, the venomous translation was clear from the crowd's gasps: "The Chief's mating token! You give the sacred claim to this pale outsider? !" The hatred in her eyes was palpable.

Jace barely glanced at her. He let out a single, deafening roar that shook the dirt under their feet.

The surrounding tribe members flinched and took a collective step back. Greta froze, the color draining from her face. She clamped her mouth shut, but her eyes burned holes into Eleanor's back.

Jace didn't stop walking. He carried Eleanor straight through the center of the camp, heading toward the largest, highest cave carved into the cliff face.

He stepped into the shadows of the cave. The air instantly cooled, smelling of dried grass and male sweat.

Jace bent down. He dropped Eleanor onto a massive slab of stone covered in a thick, striped pelt that looked terrifyingly like a saber-toothed tiger.

Eleanor scrambled backward the second her hands hit the stone. She clutched her tactical backpack to her chest, pressing her spine against the cold cave wall. She stared at him, her breathing ragged.

Jace watched her for a moment. He turned his back on her and walked to the cave entrance. He grabbed a boulder the size of a mini-fridge and effortlessly dragged it across the opening, blocking half the wind and the only exit.

He walked over to a clay pot in the corner, poured water into a crude wooden bowl, and walked back to the bed. He held the bowl out to her lips.

Eleanor's throat was parched, but she looked at the dirty water, then at the dried blood still smeared on his mouth. She turned her head away sharply.

Jace didn't force her. He brought the bowl to his own lips and drained it in three massive gulps. He tossed the bowl aside.

He looked at her, pointed a thick finger at the wolf tooth on her neck, then thumped his own chest twice. The message was clear. Mine.

He turned and walked out of the cave, his heavy footsteps fading down the path.

Eleanor waited until the silence settled. Her muscles turned to jelly. She slumped against the wall, dragging in deep, shaky breaths.

She had to get out.

She crawled to the edge of the cave and peeked around the boulder. The path led straight down into the main camp. Two massive men with spears stood guard at the bottom. Greta was standing near them, glaring up at the cave.

There was no sneaking out the front door.

Eleanor scrambled back to the bed. She unzipped her backpack. Her hands shook as she pulled out her inventory: a multi-tool knife, two bottles of water, three energy bars, a first-aid kit, a lighter, and her heavy tactical flashlight.

She grabbed the flashlight. It was made of aircraft-grade aluminum, heavy and solid. She checked the battery indicator. Four green lights. Full charge.

She gripped the textured metal handle, hiding it inside the long sleeve of her windbreaker. She forced her breathing to slow.

Heavy footsteps echoed outside. The smell of searing fat and blood drifted in. Jace was back.

Eleanor threw herself back onto the tiger pelt. She hid the backpack behind her and pulled her knees to her chest, feigning absolute terror. But inside her sleeve, her thumb rested firmly on the flashlight's rubber switch.

Jace's massive frame blocked out the remaining sunlight. He held a massive chunk of roasted meat, grease dripping down his forearm. His eyes were dark, fixated entirely on her.