Claimed By The Possessive Silver Wolf

The camp erupted.

Whistles and catcalls broke out from the crowd of males. They surged forward, forming a loose circle around Caleb and Cora. Their eyes were glued to her, roaming over her modern clothing, her pale skin, her unusual features.

Cora shrank back, pressing herself tighter against Caleb. She had never felt so exposed, so much like a piece of meat in a butcher shop.

Caleb stopped in the center of the clearing. He let out a sharp, piercing howl. It wasn't human; it was the sound of a wolf asserting dominance. The sound wave hit the crowd, and the men closest to him staggered back, clutching their ears in pain.

He dropped the tiger carcass. It hit the ground with a heavy thud, sending up a cloud of dust. He gripped her waist and lifted her smoothly off his shoulder, setting her down on her feet in front of him. Before she could stumble or step away, he pulled her tight against his side, one arm wrapped securely around her waist.

"She is mine," Caleb declared, his voice echoing in the sudden silence. He stared down the crowd, his eyes promising violence to anyone who challenged him.

The males took a step back, cowed by the display of power and the sheer size of the kill. But their eyes still lingered on Cora.

A short, plump man with a ledger pushed through the crowd. The Trading Officer. His eyes weren't on Cora; they were on the tiger.

"A Fourth-Tier mutated saber-tooth," the officer breathed, practically drooling. "The pelt alone is worth a fortune. The crystal core..."

"Trade," Caleb said shortly.

The officer looked up, startled. "You want to trade this? For what?"

"Food. Fruit. The best you have."

The officer's eyes flicked to Cora, then back to the tiger. A Fourth-Tier beast for some food? It was a steal. "Ten fat sheep! And a basket of fresh cloud berries!"

Caleb nodded. He didn't care about the value. He only cared that Cora said she wanted cooked food and fruit.

The officer snapped his fingers, and a group of males rushed forward to haul the carcass away. Caleb's arm shot out, palm raised, stopping them in their tracks. His free hand dropped to his belt—Cora hadn't even noticed the crude knife sheathed there—and he drew the blade. He carved a thick slab of meat from the tiger's hindquarter, the knife slicing through sinew with practiced ease. Only then did he jerk his chin at the waiting males, dismissing them to drag the rest of the carcass to the butchering shed. He wrapped the fresh steak in a broad green leaf plucked from a nearby bush and tucked it into the sack of fruit that a slave had just delivered.

The officer lingered, trying to peer around Caleb at Cora. "Where did you find a female with such strange coloring? Is she from the eastern tribes?"

Caleb shifted his body, blocking the man's view entirely. His lip curled in a silent snarl.

The officer got the message and scurried away.

Just then, the crowd parted again. A woman sauntered in.

She was tall and curvy, wearing a dress made of brilliant, iridescent bird feathers that left little to the imagination. Her hair was elaborately braided, and she walked with the confidence of someone who owned the place.

Jana Cline.

She was used to being the center of attention. She was the most fertile female in the mountain tribe, and she wielded that power like a weapon. But today, no one was looking at her. Every male eye was fixed on the strange, pale girl hiding behind the wanderer.

Jealousy, hot and ugly, flared in Jana's eyes. She marched right up to Caleb, puffing out her chest and giving him her best seductive smile.

Caleb didn't even glance at her. He took the heavy sack of fruit from a returning slave and checked the contents.

Jana's smile tightened. She couldn't stand being ignored, especially not for someone like Cora.

"Look at her," Jana sneered, pointing a manicured finger at Cora. "She's so skinny. A strong wind would blow her away. She'd never survive a breeding season, let alone give you strong cubs."

The crowd murmured. The males, who had been momentarily distracted by the trade, looked at Cora with renewed doubt. In this world, a woman's worth was tied directly to her fertility.

Cora looked at the venomous woman, her jaw clenching. She wanted to snap back, but she knew she was out of her depth here.

Caleb's arm tightened around her waist. He turned his head slowly, his icy gaze settling on Jana like a physical weight.

"Scram," he said. The single word was laced with lethal intent.

Jana flinched back, but her pride wouldn't let her retreat. She looked behind her at her primary mate, Flint, a hulking brute with arms like tree trunks.

Flint stepped forward, his face red with anger. "You dare speak to my mate like that, wanderer?"

He threw a punch, a wild, powerful swing aimed at Caleb's jaw.

Caleb didn't let go of Cora. He didn't even step back. He simply twisted his upper body, the fist whistling past his ear.

Before Flint could recover, Caleb drove his knee upward. It connected with Flint's solar plexus with the force of a freight train.

Flint's eyes rolled back in his head. He spat out a mouthful of saliva and crumpled to the dirt, unconscious.

The entire clearing fell dead silent. Flint was one of the strongest warriors in the tribe, and he had been put down like a misbehaving dog in a single move.

Jana stared at her fallen mate, her face draining of color. She looked up at Caleb, the seduction gone, replaced by pure, unadulterated fear.