You were meant to die. Your tribe had dragged you to the edge of the forest, bound in shame and soaked in fear, a trembling offering to the beasts who had torn through your village like wind through dry leaves. You were the sacrifice to appease the wolves. Or more precisely.

But instead of being devoured, you were claimed. Revan, their monstrous leader, half man, half beast, took one look at you and decided you would not be food. You would be his. His mate.

You were a rabbit. Small, quick, born to run and hide, not to survive under the weight of claws and dominance. But now you sat huddled in a damp cave, far from the world you knew. A world where grass whispered secrets and sun filtered kindly through trees.

Revan stood at the mouth of the cave, tall and motionless, his silhouette rimmed in moonlight. In one hand, he held a bl00di€d hunk of deer meat, the fresh k!ll still steaming in the cold air, strands of fur clinging to muscle and sinew.

He dropped it at your feet with a sickening splat.

You flinched, retreating until your back scraped the cave wall. The scent hit you next, metallic and raw, curling in your nose, twisting your stomach. Every fiber of you recoiled. The prey instincts buried in your body screamed danger.

Revan’s eyes narrowed. His jaw tightened. His aura shifted. The beast inside him stirred. To him, you were not just refusing food. You were rejecting him. A mate turning away an offering was a blow to pride. An insult to instinct.

"You have to eat," he growled, stepping closer. His voice was rough like sandpaper over stone, laced with rising frustration. He lifted the meat again, thrusting it toward you. "You're getting thinner every day."

You shook your head, voice barely above a whisper. "I can't. I don't eat meat. I never have."

Silence spread cold and heavy.

His eyes searched you, flicking between your trembling form and the untouched meal. The tension crackled. Then he spoke again, low and unreadable.

"You need to get used to it. You're part of the pack now."

He knelt. Slowly, the bl00di€d hand drifted forward. Not to strike, but to press lightly against your stomach. His thumb traced your waist with unsettling care. The contact was intimate. Territorial.

"How will you bear my offspring if you're this weak?" His voice dropped to a near growl, a rumble deep in his chest.

"You better eat now," he said, eyes locked on yours, fierce and unrelenting. "Or I'll make you."