BONE & BITE A Primal Shifter Romance

The rain in Eldridge Hollow didn’t wash things clean; it just made the rot slicker.

I stood on the corner of Main and Ash, the water drumming a relentless, erratic rhythm against the hood of my jacket. It was a cold rain, the kind that didn’t just soak your clothes but seeped into the marrow of your bones, seeking out the heat of your life to extinguish it. The fractured moonlight struggled to pierce the heavy, bruising clouds overhead, casting the street in a palette of greys and sickly silvers. Below, the cracked pavement gleamed like a shattered mirror, turning the puddles into mosaics of shadow and neon reflection.

I, Lila Voss, had come to this forgotten stain of a town on a map because I thought I could outrun a ghost. Not a literal one—though looking at the skeletal remains of the storefronts lining the street, I wouldn’t be surprised if this town had plenty of those, too. No, I was running from the ghost of who I used to be. The city had been a cage, a suffocating construct of steel and expectations where every breath felt borrowed and every day closed tighter around my throat. I had packed my life into a single backpack, tied my dark hair back in a hasty, fraying ponytail, and boarded a bus until the money ran out.

Eldridge Hollow was supposed to be a pause. A breath. A place where no one looked twice at a twenty-five-year-old woman with haunted eyes and restless hands.

I adjusted the strap of my backpack, the nylon digging into my shoulder. The neon sign of the dingy motel down the block flickered with a dying electrical buzz—VACANCY blinking to NO VACANCY and back again, like a warning code I was too tired to decipher. I needed sleep. My body was a taut wire, vibrating with an exhaustion that went deeper than muscle fatigue. It was a restlessness gnawing at my bones, a primitive itch that whispered run even when I was standing still.

I pushed off the brick wall of the drugstore, my boots splashing heavily into the shallow puddles as I decided to cut through the alley. It was a shortcut to the motel, slicing behind the row of decaying shops. Logic told me it was faster. Instinct—that quiet, nagging voice I had spent a lifetime ignoring—told me it was a mistake.

The moment I crossed the threshold from the street to the alley, the air changed.

The wind died. The sounds of the distant highway faded, swallowed by the heavy, damp insulation of the narrow passage. The air here hung thick, almost viscous, laden with the scent of damp concrete, rotting cardboard, and something else—something earthier, wilder. It hit the back of my throat like a taste, sharp and metallic. It smelled like wet fur. It smelled like pine needles crushed under a heavy boot after a violent storm.

A primal chill slithered down my spine, lifting the fine hairs on my arms. It wasn’t just the cold. It was the sensation of being watched. Not casually observed, but seen. The feeling of eyes boring into the back of my skull from the impenetrable darkness ahead.

I stopped. The silence of the alley was deafening, broken only by the steady drip-drip-drip of a leaking gutter somewhere above.

Turn around, my brain screamed. Keep moving, my pride countered. Don’t be the scared little girl the city made you.

I tightened my grip on my backpack strap and forced my legs to move. I quickened my pace, my boots slapping louder against the wet asphalt now, the sound echoing unnaturally against the high brick walls. The flickering neon light from the main street cast long, jerking shadows that seemed to stretch and grasp at my ankles.

My heart began to thud unevenly, a frantic drum against my ribs. I had always possessed a sixth sense, a vague, shapeless unease that sharpened into a blade whenever I was in unfamiliar places. But tonight? Tonight, that sense wasn’t just whispering; it was screaming. It was a siren wailing in my blood.

Something is here.

A low rumble vibrated through the air. It wasn’t thunder. It was too localized, too rhythmic. It came from the shadows ahead, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the soles of my boots and rattle the teeth in my jaw. It was a growl. A deep, chest-rattling sound like thunder trapped in a bottle, waiting to shatter the glass.

I froze mid-step, my breath catching in a painful hitch. The rain seemed to slow down, time stretching into an agonizing crawl.

Ahead of me, the darkness detached itself from the wall.

A silhouette emerged, massive and imposing. It wasn't just a man; it was a mountain of muscle and intent. He was enormous, his broad shoulders blocking out the faint, grey light filtering in from the streetlamp at the alley's end. He towered over the space, his frame seeming to suck the oxygen out of the narrow corridor.

I blinked, trying to clear the rain from my lashes, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

His eyes glowed.

They didn’t reflect the light; they generated it. Two burning orbs of amber fire cutting through the gloom, locking onto mine with a physical weight that pinned me in place. Dark hair, matted with rain, fell wild around a face carved from granite and shadow. His shirt was soaked through, clinging to a chest that looked like it was hewn from iron, rippling with every shallow breath he took. Was it rain dripping off him, or sweat? I couldn't tell.

"Who..." My voice cracked, a pathetic, trembling sound that died before it left my lips. I swallowed, tasting fear, and tried again. "What do you want?"

It came out smaller than I intended, breathless and fragile. I took a step back, my heel scraping against the rough pavement, until my back hit the cold, unforgiving surface of the brick wall.

The massive figure didn't speak immediately. He just breathed. I could hear the air rushing in and out of his lungs, heavy and wet. He stepped closer, and the movement was terrifyingly fluid. For a man of his size, he moved with a predatory grace, silent and smooth, like a stalking cat.

He stopped just feet away. The smell of him washed over me—an intoxicating, overwhelming wave of musk, rain, and raw, unfiltered masculinity. He tilted his head, his nostrils flaring wide as he inhaled deeply, scenting the air around me as if he were tasting my fear.

"You," he rasped.

The voice was gravel and deep earth, laced with something feral that bypassed my logical brain and struck a chord deep in my reptilian hindbrain. It sent a jolt of heat pooling low in my belly, a traitorous spark that flared despite the terror seizing my limbs.

"You're the one I've been tracking," he rumbled, taking another step. He was close enough now that I could feel the heat radiating off him, a furnace against the damp chill of the night. "The scent... it's you. Mine."

Mine. The word hung in the air, heavy and absolute.

"I don't—I don't know you," I stammered, my hands coming up instinctively to push him away, but my limbs felt like lead.

Before I could process his words, before I could scream or run, he lunged.

It wasn't a clumsy grab; it was a strike. His hand, large and calloused, clamped around my wrist with the force of a steel trap. He yanked me forward, pulling me off the wall and into his orbit with an effortless strength that made my knees buckle.

I gasped, the air rushing out of me. "Let go!"

I struggled, twisting my body, pulling against his grip with everything I had. It was like fighting a storm. It was futile. He didn't even sway. He simply pulled me closer until my body collided with his.

He was hard. Unyielding. His chest was a solid wall of muscle pressing against my softness, trapping me between the heat of his body and the cold, abrasive brick at my back. Up close, the scent of him was overwhelming—musk and wilderness, intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure. It made my head spin. It made my pulse hammer in my throat like a trapped bird.

I reacted on instinct. I twisted my hips and jerked my knee up, aiming for his groin.

He anticipated it. He shifted his hip with lazy precision, blocking the blow with his thigh, his body moving faster than humanly possible. A low, dangerous snarl ripped from his throat, his lips curling back to reveal teeth that gleamed white in the darkness.

They were too sharp. Too long.

Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through the haze of confusion. What is he?

His free hand shot up, gripping my jaw. His fingers dug into my cheeks, forcing my head back, exposing my throat. He tilted my face up, forcing me to meet those burning, amber eyes. They were swirling with a madness I didn't understand—a mix of rage, hunger, and possessiveness that terrified me to my core.

"No running, little one," he growled, his face inches from mine. "The moon calls, and so do I."

"Please," I whispered, tears mixing with the rain on my cheeks.

He didn't listen. He lowered his head, and his mouth crashed down on mine.

It wasn't a kiss. There was no romance in it, no gentle inquiry. It was a claim. It was a branding. His lips were rough, demanding, bruising mine as his tongue swept into my mouth with a savage hunger. He tasted of rain and copper and raw power.

I should have bitten him. I should have screamed. But as his tongue invaded, tangling with mine, a whimper escaped my throat—not of pain, but of something else. Something dark and wet and shameful. A spark ignited in my core, flaring into a flame that licked up my spine.

Why wasn't I screaming? Why did my body arch toward him, pressing my breasts against his hard chest? My hands, which should have been clawing at his eyes, found purchase on his soaked shirt, gripping the fabric as if to pull him closer.

He broke the kiss abruptly, pulling back just enough to look at me. Then, he dipped his head and sank his teeth into my lower lip.

Pain flared, sharp and hot. I gasped, tasting my own blood. He licked the droplet away with a guttural groan that vibrated against my mouth.

"Taste of you..." he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Sweet fire."

His hands were everywhere at once. He released my wrist to roam over my body, his palms hot and rough even through my clothes. He grabbed the lapels of my jacket and tore it open. Buttons popped free, pinging against the wet pavement like hail as he exposed the thin shirt beneath.

The cool night air hit my skin, shocking me, but it lasted only a second. His heat enveloped me immediately, chasing away the chill. His hands slid under the fabric of my shirt, skin to skin, his calloused fingertips tracing the curve of my waist, the swell of my breast.

"Stop—please—" I managed to choke out, finding my voice again. I shoved at his chest, putting all my weight into it, but it was like pushing against iron.

The plea died in my throat as his hand moved lower. His fingers hooked into the waistband of my jeans. There was no hesitation. In one brutal, fluid motion, he yanked them down. The denim scraped against my thighs, tangling around my knees.

I gasped, the sound echoing loudly in the alley. I was exposed. Vulnerable. The shadows felt like witnesses to my unraveling, pressing in on all sides.

"You'll beg for more soon," he murmured against my neck, his voice a dark promise that sent a shiver of terrified anticipation through me.

He spun me around, pressing my front against the cold, rough brick wall. The grit scraped my cheek. His heavy weight pinned me there, his chest against my back, trapping me completely.

One of his hands fisted in my hair, yanking my head back to bare the long line of my neck. My back arched involuntarily, presenting myself to him. His other hand slid down my stomach, past the ruined waistband of my underwear, and slipped between my legs.

I squeezed my eyes shut, shame burning my face. I was wet. God, shamefully, impossibly wet. My body was betraying me in the worst possible way, responding to his violence with a slick, eager heat.

He found my slick folds with unerring accuracy, probing, testing. Then, he thrust two fingers inside me.

"Ah!" A cry tore from my throat, echoing off the wet walls. It was rough, deep, invading. His fingers curled inside me, hitting a spot deep within that made stars burst behind my eyelids.

"Jax," he growled into my ear, his breath hot and damp. He was introducing himself. Mid-assault. As if this were a ritual. "Your alpha now. Say it."

"N-no—ah!" My protest fractured into a moan as he began to pump his fingers, harder and faster. His thumb found my clit, circling it with merciless precision.

My knees went weak. My hips bucked back against him involuntarily, chasing the friction. The betrayal burned through me, hotter than the shame. I hated him. I wanted him. The confusion was a dizzying spiral.

He chuckled, a low, wicked sound that vibrated against my spine. "Good girl."

He withdrew his fingers, leaving me empty and aching. I heard the sound of a zipper, the rustle of fabric. Then I felt him.

Hot. Thick. Pressing against my entrance from behind.

There was no preamble. No gentleness.

He drove into me with a single, punishing thrust.

I screamed. The sound ripped out of me, raw and animalistic, echoing down the alley. It felt like being split open. He was too big. Too hard. He stretched me to the absolute brink, filling me so completely that I couldn't breathe.

Pain and pleasure twisted together into something primal, a knotted rope of sensation that choked me.

"Mine," Jax snarled. His hands gripped my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he began to move.

His hips snapped forward in a relentless rhythm. Slap. Slap. Slap. Skin against skin. He pulled almost all the way out, leaving me gasping at the emptiness, before slamming back in to the hilt.

Each plunge was deeper, harder than the last. I could feel him shifting inside me, changing. The base of his cock was swelling. Expanding. It felt like a knot forming at the root of him, threatening to lock us together.

"Jax—it's too much—" I sobbed, my fingers scrabbling at the rough brick wall, breaking my nails.

He leaned forward, burying his face in the crook of my neck. His teeth grazed my shoulder, sharp and threatening. Then, he bit down.

He sank his teeth into the muscle where my neck met my shoulder. The pain was blinding, a white-hot lance of fire that shot through my entire nervous system.

But as his teeth broke my skin, something else happened.

A rush of ecstasy, pure and undiluted, exploded from the bite mark. It flooded my veins, mixing with the adrenaline and the lust. My body clenched around him, seizing in a violent spasm.

An orgasm ripped through me, unbidden and overwhelming.

I cried out, my head falling back against his shoulder. My inner walls fluttered wildly, squeezing him, milking him.

He didn't stop. He pounded through my shudders, his growls turning animalistic, losing all traces of humanity.

One of his hands snaked around my chest to pinch my nipple, twisting it just enough to sting, grounding me in the pleasure-pain. The other hand held my hip steady, keeping me impaled on him.

"Feel it, Lila," he rasped, his voice ragged. "The bond. You're pack now. My mate."

Lila? How did he know my name?

The thought flickered and died, drown out by the sensation of him shifting inside me. He pulled out slightly, only to press firmly against my ass, adjusting his angle.

Panic flared anew. "Wait—no—"

But he was beyond waiting. He was slick from my release, his own fluids mixing with mine. He pushed back in, slow at first, and then buried himself to the hilt with a groan that sounded like a roar.

The burn was intense, fuller than before. His knot had swollen completely. I could feel the bulge of it, a hard sphere at the base of his shaft, forcing its way past my entrance and popping inside to seal us together.

We were locked.

I sobbed, the feeling of being filled so completely bordering on agony. But as he began to rock into me, the pain melted away, replaced by a dark, throbbing pleasure that consumed everything.

His hand slipped down between my legs again, rubbing my clit in time with his thrusts.

"Good girl," he praised, his voice rough with restraint. "Take your alpha."

His pace built, brutal and possessive. I was dissolving. The world narrowed down to the friction of our bodies, the scent of rain and musk, and the amber eyes burning into my mind.

I shattered again. My walls fluttered around him, gripping his knot.

With a roar that shook the alley, Jax came.

I felt it—jets of scalding heat flooding me, filling me, over and over again. The knot pulsed inside me, tying us together, holding the seed deep within.

My legs gave out. I would have collapsed into the mud if not for the fact that we were literally fused together.

We stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. The rain continued to fall, soaking us, but I couldn't feel the cold anymore. I was burning up from the inside out. Jax's arms wrapped around me, pulling me back against his chest in a surprisingly tender hold. His chin rested on the top of my head. His heart hammered against my back, gradually slowing to a steady, powerful rhythm that seemed to sync with my own.

He caught me as my knees buckled further, turning me in his embrace so I was facing him, though we were still joined. His lips brushed my temple, soft now.

"It's done," he whispered. "You're safe with me."

Safe?

The word echoed hollowly in my mind as exhaustion crashed over me like a tidal wave. I looked up at him. The amber glow in his eyes had dimmed, but the intensity remained. He looked at me not like a victim, but like a prize. Like a missing piece of his soul he had finally found.

Beneath the ache in my body and the stinging bite on my shoulder, a strange warmth bloomed. It was the pull of something ancient. Something wild. It whispered to the part of me that had always felt caged in the city.

Jax shifted, breaking the seal of the knot with a wet, heavy sound that made me shiver. He didn't let me fall. He lifted me effortlessly into his arms, cradling me against his chest as if I weighed nothing.

I rested my head against his shoulder, too weak to fight, too confused to scream.

He began to walk, carrying me out of the alley and toward the treeline that bordered the edge of the town.

I watched the neon sign of the motel flicker and fade into the distance. My backpack was gone. My clothes were ruined. My old life lay in tatters on the wet pavement behind us.

In its place? A savage new world. One where I belonged to him.

The alley faded into the darkness. The rain washed away the physical evidence of my claiming, swirling into the gutters. But the mark on my shoulder throbbed, a brand of dominance that whispered of rituals yet to come, of hunts under the moon, and a pack waiting to test my place.

I clung to him, fear mingling with a budding, terrifying hunger. The wilds swallowed us whole, and for the first time in my life, the silence didn't feel empty. It felt like waiting