Kael POV
I was going to die protecting a female I'd known for five minutes, and my wolf couldn't have been happier about it.
Twenty Stone Tribe warriors ringed the canyon rim, all in beast form, all ready to rip us apart. Zyra Stoneheart stood at the center in her human form, looking at Maya like she was a prize pig at market. Behind me, the female—my female, my wolf insisted—breathed in short, panicked gasps.
The math was simple and brutal. Four exiles against twenty trained warriors. We'd last maybe three minutes.
Best three minutes of my pathetic life.
"Last chance, Ashfang," Zyra called down. "You and your broken pack of rejects can walk away. We only want the girl."
"Her name is Maya," I snarled, not bothering to shift out of my wolf form. Let them see the beast. Let them know I'd die fighting. "And she's under my protection."
Zyra laughed, the sound echoing off canyon walls. "Your protection? You're an exile. A traitor. You have no rights, no territory, no claim. That female belongs to whoever's strong enough to take her."
Beside me, Oryn shifted partially, his panther form's claws extending. "They'll have to go through all of us."
"That can be arranged," Zyra said coldly.
This was it. This was how we'd die. Not from starvation like I'd expected when I first stumbled into these cursed Wastelands six months ago. Not from the coming winter that would freeze us solid. But protecting something precious, something worth fighting for.
My father would have approved. He'd died protecting my mother from a rival tribe. I was twelve when I watched them cut him down, my mother screaming beside him until they silenced her too. The tribal leaders called it "the price of loving too much." Said emotions made you weak, made you careless.
Maybe they were right.
But as Maya's small hand suddenly gripped my silver fur, trembling but steady, I decided I didn't care.
"Wait," Maya said, her voice cutting through the tension like a surgical blade. She stepped forward, moving past our protective line before I could stop her. "You want me? Fine. Let's talk terms."
"Maya, no—" I shifted back to human, grabbing her arm. "You don't understand how this works. They won't negotiate. They'll take you and—"
"And what? Force me into some arranged marriage?" She looked up at me, those dark eyes fierce despite her fear. "I'm a doctor, Kael. I've dealt with plenty of people who thought they could push me around. Watch and learn."
She pulled free and walked forward three more steps, chin up, shoulders back. The stance of someone who'd walked into operating rooms and made life-or-death decisions without flinching.
Zyra's eyebrows rose with interest.
"Here's the deal," Maya called up. "I'm not going anywhere with you. But I'm willing to make a trade."
"Females don't make trades," Zyra said, amused. "Females are claimed by the strongest males. That's the law of the Beastlands."
"Well, the Beastlands' laws are stupid," Maya shot back. "Where I come from, we have something called consent and personal choice. Revolutionary concepts, I know."
Soren made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh or a prayer. Thorne's tiger form paced anxiously, unable to decide if he should drag Maya back or fight everything in sight.
"You're entertaining," Zyra admitted. "But also delusional. What could you possibly offer that's worth walking away from a female?"
Maya was quiet for three heartbeats. I could practically see her brain working, calculating, planning. Then she said something that changed everything.
"I can make food grow in the Wastelands."
The canyon went silent.
"Impossible," Zyra said flatly. "The Wastelands are cursed. Nothing grows here. The soil is dead."
"The soil is depleted, not dead," Maya corrected. "Big difference. With the right techniques—crop rotation, composting, irrigation—I can make this canyon produce more food than your entire tribe hunts in a season. Grain, vegetables, herbs. Year-round, regardless of winter."
I stared at her. Was she insane? Making promises she couldn't keep would only make things worse when they discovered the truth.
But Zyra looked intrigued. "You're claiming you can perform miracles."
"I'm claiming I have knowledge you don't." Maya crossed her arms. "Think about it. Your tribe spends all its energy hunting. What happens when the herds migrate early? When winter lasts too long? You starve. But if you had a steady food source that didn't require hunting..."
"We'd be unstoppable," Zyra finished quietly. "We'd never face famine again."
"Exactly. So here's my offer: Give me three months. Let me and these four males stay here, undisturbed, in the Wastelands. If I can't make food grow by first frost, I'll come with you willingly. But if I succeed—and I will—you leave us alone. Forever. We establish our own territory here, and you get trading rights to our surplus crops."
The warriors on the rim shifted restlessly. I could smell their confusion, their hunger, their desperate hope that this strange female wasn't lying.
Zyra studied Maya for a long moment. "And if you're lying? If this is just a trick to buy time?"
"Then you'll know exactly where to find me in three months." Maya spread her hands. "I'm not going anywhere. Unlike you, I don't need to hunt. I'll be too busy turning this wasteland into paradise."
The absolute confidence in her voice made even me half-believe her.
Zyra's eyes narrowed. "You'd bet your freedom on dirt and water?"
"I'd bet my life on it," Maya said simply. "Because I'm that good."
For ten agonizing seconds, no one breathed. Zyra's face was unreadable, calculating risks and rewards. Finally, she smiled—a dangerous expression that made my wolf bare its teeth.
"Three months," Zyra agreed. "But with conditions. First, you'll teach my tribe your farming techniques once you succeed. Second, if you fail, you marry my son Brutus and bear him strong cubs. Third—" Her smile widened. "You'll accept a binding oath. Break your word, and the Earth Mother herself will strike you down."
Maya hesitated. I saw the fear flicker across her face, quickly hidden. She had no idea what a binding oath meant—that the magic of the Beastlands would actually enforce it, that breaking her word could kill her.
"Maya, don't—" I started.
"Deal," Maya said firmly. "I accept your conditions."
The air around us shimmered. Power crackled like lightning, invisible but heavy. The oath was sealed. Maya gasped, pressing a hand to her chest where I knew she'd now feel the oath's mark burning beneath her skin.
Zyra laughed, triumphant. "Three months, little female. I'll be counting the days until you're mine." She shifted back into her massive bear form. "Warriors! We leave. For now."
The Stone Tribe vanished as quickly as they'd appeared, their heavy footsteps fading into the distance.
The moment they were gone, Maya's knees buckled. I caught her before she hit the ground, and she looked up at me with eyes full of terror she'd hidden from Zyra.
"Did I just make a huge mistake?" she whispered.
"Yes," Oryn said bluntly, shifting back to human. "A binding oath is serious magic. If you can't deliver on your promise—"
"Then I'll die or become a broodmare for some guy named Brutus. Yeah, I figured." Maya took a shaky breath. "So we'd better make sure I deliver. How fast can you four learn farming?"
"Farming?" Thorne spoke for the second time that day, his voice rough with confusion. "What is farming?"
Maya looked at each of us—four scarred, broken exiles who barely knew how to survive day to day—and laughed. It was slightly hysterical but also determined.
"We're going to find out together," she said. "Because I just bought us three months to build a miracle, and I've never failed a patient yet."
Soren cleared his throat. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there's one small problem with your brilliant plan."
"Just one?" Maya asked weakly.
"First frost comes in six weeks, not three months." Soren's usual smirk was gone. "Zyra lied about the timeline. She's given you an impossible deadline."
Maya's face went white. "Six weeks? That's not enough time to—"
A low, menacing growl cut her off. We all spun around.
At the canyon's narrow entrance stood a lone figure. Male, massive even in human form, with a cruel face and dead eyes. He smiled, and every survival instinct I had screamed danger.
"Mother sent me to watch," Brutus Stoneheart said, his voice like grinding rocks. "To make sure you don't run. To count down the days until you're mine, little female." He inhaled deeply. "I can already smell how sweet you'll taste when I claim you."
Maya's hand found mine and squeezed hard enough to hurt.
Brutus's smile widened. "Six weeks, bride. Hope you like the cold."