Eleanor backed up slowly until her spine hit the rough bark of a massive ancient tree. There was nowhere left to run.

The wolves were slightly smaller than the monster Jace had killed, but they were still the size of lions. Saliva dripped from their jaws in long, thick strings.

A sharp hiss sounded directly above her head.

Eleanor jerked her chin up. A snake as thick as her forearm, covered in vibrant, toxic-looking scales, was slithering down the trunk. Its triangular head was pointed straight at her face.

Her breath hitched in her throat. Trapped.

Eleanor ripped her backpack around to her front. Her mind flashed through countless hours of wilderness survival courses, panic threatening to override her logic. She forced her trembling hands into the main compartment, desperately fumbling for the two specific items she had packed as an absolute last resort. She pulled out her windproof lighter and a small spray bottle of 90% isopropyl rubbing alcohol from her first-aid kit.

The alpha wolf let out a low bark and charged.

Eleanor flicked the lighter. She aimed the spray bottle at the wolf and squeezed the trigger repeatedly.

A three-foot jet of roaring orange flame erupted from her hands.

The fire caught the alpha wolf straight in the snout. The beast shrieked, a high-pitched sound of pure terror. It twisted mid-air, crashing into the dirt, and scrambled backward, the smell of singed fur filling the air.

The sudden burst of heat and light made the snake recoil instantly, slithering rapidly back up into the dark canopy.

The rest of the pack flinched away from the fire, whining, but they didn't leave. They widened their circle, pacing nervously.

Eleanor knew the alcohol wouldn't last. She dropped to her knees, keeping the lighter lit, and frantically swept dry leaves and dead twigs into a pile in front of her. She sprayed a tiny bit of alcohol on the pile and ignited it.

A small, crackling campfire flared to life.

The wolves hated the light. They stayed just beyond the edge of the illumination, their green eyes glowing with predatory patience.

The temperature dropped rapidly. Eleanor shivered violently, her teeth chattering. She kept feeding the fire with whatever twigs she could reach without stepping away from the tree.

Within an hour, the fuel within her reach was gone.

The flames began to shrink. The circle of light tightened.

The wolves noticed. They stopped pacing. They lowered their heads, creeping forward inch by inch as the fire died down to glowing red embers.

Eleanor pulled a collapsible metal trekking pole from the side of her pack. She snapped it out to its full length, gripping the rubber handle with both hands. Her palms were slick with cold sweat.

A faint rustle sounded behind her right shoulder.

The snake had returned. It launched itself from the brush, aiming straight for her calf.

Eleanor caught the movement in her peripheral vision. She threw her weight to the left. The snake's fangs grazed the fabric of her pants, leaving two streaks of clear venom on the nylon.

Eleanor swung the trekking pole like a baseball bat. The metal shaft cracked against the snake's body, sending it flying into the darkness.

But the violent swing threw her off balance. Her boot slipped on the damp moss. She fell hard, her left hand landing directly in the hot ashes of the dying fire.

She screamed, yanking her burned hand back to her chest.

It was the opening the wolves were waiting for.

The alpha howled. Three wolves lunged simultaneously, leaping over the smoking embers.

Eleanor swung the pole blindly from the ground. She caught one wolf in the shoulder, but the wolf on her right clamped its jaws around the metal shaft.

The beast yanked its head back violently. The force ripped the pole from Eleanor's grip, tearing the skin off her palm.

She was defenseless.

The alpha wolf was right on top of her. Its jaws opened, aiming for her face. The stench of rotting meat washed over her.

Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut and threw her arms over her head.

A roar tore through the forest.

It wasn't an animal. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated human rage, so loud it vibrated in Eleanor's chest.

The wolves froze instantly. The alpha snapped its jaws shut, its ears pinning flat against its skull. The predators looked into the darkness, their eyes wide with sudden, absolute terror.

A massive shadow exploded from the tree line.

Jace moved faster than humanly possible. He was shirtless, his chest heaving. Fresh, dark blood was still flowing from the jagged wound on the side of his head where Eleanor had struck him. His steps carried a faint, almost imperceptible stagger from the severe concussion, but the sheer, unadulterated rage in his bloodshot eyes entirely masked the trauma. He pushed through the debilitating dizziness, his gaze fixed entirely on the wolves.

He didn't have his spear. He didn't need it.

He launched himself into the air and drove his bare heel straight down into the spine of the wolf closest to Eleanor. A sickening crack echoed through the trees. The wolf collapsed instantly, paralyzed, without making a sound.

The alpha wolf abandoned Eleanor and lunged at Jace's throat.

Jace let out a feral snarl. He didn't dodge. He reached out with both hands and grabbed the wolf's upper and lower jaws mid-air.

Eleanor watched in paralyzed horror. The muscles in Jace's arms bulged, thick veins popping against his skin. With a roar that tore from his lungs, he wrenched his arms apart.

The sound of tearing flesh and snapping bone was deafening. Jace ripped the alpha's jaw completely out of its socket.

A spray of hot, dark blood coated Jace's chest and face. He tossed the dead alpha aside like a broken toy.

The remaining three wolves didn't hesitate. They tucked their tails between their legs and bolted into the darkness, whining in terror.

The forest fell dead silent, save for Jace's heavy, ragged breathing.

He turned slowly. His blood-soaked chest heaved. His dark eyes locked onto Eleanor, who was curled into a ball against the tree, trembling violently.

Eleanor shrank back. She had hit him. She had run away. He was going to kill her.

Jace closed the distance in two long strides. He towered over her, blocking out the stars.

Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the blow.

Instead, Jace dropped to one knee. His massive, blood-stained hands reached out. He didn't strike her. His rough fingers gently, almost hesitantly, touched her arms, checking for injuries.

His eyes scanned the scratches on her face, the torn skin on her palm, and the dirt covering her clothes. The violent rage in his eyes melted away, replaced by a deep, agonizing panic.

Suddenly, Jace's gaze snapped to the ground near her leg.

The snake had slithered back. It coiled, ready to strike Eleanor's ankle.

Jace's hand shot out like a whip. He grabbed the snake right behind its head before it could move. The snake wrapped its thick body around his forearm, hissing violently.

Jace didn't even blink. He squeezed his fist. A sharp pop sounded as he crushed the snake's skull to mush. He casually tossed the dead reptile into the bushes.

He turned back to Eleanor. She was staring at him, her chest heaving, her eyes wide with shock.

Jace let out a soft, rumbling sigh. He reached out and used his thumb to gently wipe a smear of black ash off her cheek.

The extreme gentleness of the gesture, coming from a man covered in gore who had just ripped a wolf apart with his bare hands, shattered the last of Eleanor's defenses.

The adrenaline crashed. Tears spilled over her eyelashes, tracing hot paths down her dirty cheeks.

Jace looked panicked at her tears. He clumsily tried to wipe them away with the back of his hand, only succeeding in smearing a bit of wolf blood on her jaw.

Eleanor didn't care. She looked up at this massive, blood-soaked man. Fear and profound gratitude waged a violent war in her chest. He was savage, terrifying, and the very reason she was trapped in this camp. Yet, at this exact moment, he was also the only impenetrable barrier between her and a gruesome death. Logic screamed at her to keep her distance, but the primal, overwhelming instinct to survive crushed every rational thought. The terror of the wolves, the cold, the absolute isolation-it all crashed down on her. She lunged forward and buried her face into his broad, burning-hot chest.

Jace went completely rigid. For a second, he didn't breathe. Then, his massive arms wrapped around her, pulling her tightly against him. He buried his face in her blonde hair, inhaling deeply.

Listening to the steady, powerful thud of his heartbeat, Eleanor felt the first sliver of safety she had known since falling into this world.

Her exhausted body simply gave out. The darkness rushed in, and she went limp in his arms.

Jace caught her easily. He stood up, cradling her against his chest as if she weighed nothing.

Torches flickered through the trees. Amos and Clay burst into the clearing, spears raised, panting heavily. They stopped dead, staring at the massacred wolves and their leader holding the strange female.

Jace shot them a cold, warning glare. He didn't say a word. He adjusted his grip on Eleanor and began the long walk back to the tribe.

Jace carried Eleanor into the camp.

The tribe was not asleep. The central square was lit by roaring bonfires. Chaos reigned. The air was thick with the copper stench of fresh blood.

In the center of the dirt square, a man lay on a blood-soaked animal hide. It was Silas, one of the tribe's best hunters. His abdomen had been laid open by the claws of a saber-toothed cat. Bright red blood pulsed from the wound in a steady, lethal rhythm.

His mother, Martha, knelt beside him, her hands pressed desperately against his stomach, weeping hysterically as the blood slipped through her fingers.

Malachi, the tribe's Shaman, stood over them. He held a handful of dried herbs and gray ash. His face was grim. He spoke loudly to the crowd, declaring that Silas's spirit was leaving and preparing for the death rites.

Jace frowned. He handed the unconscious Eleanor to Amos and strode toward Silas to inspect the wound.

The noise and the sharp smell of blood jolted Eleanor awake. She gasped, her eyes snapping open. She pushed out of Amos's grip and stumbled forward.

When she saw the gaping abdominal wound and the Shaman preparing to dump dirty ash directly into the open cavity, her modern medical training overrode her fear.

"Stop!" Eleanor screamed.

She shoved her way through the crowd and slammed her hands into Malachi's chest, pushing the old man away from the dying hunter.

The crowd gasped in collective horror. Malachi stumbled backward, dropping his ash. His face twisted in outrage.

Greta leaped forward, pointing a trembling finger at Eleanor. "The outsider! She curses him! Chief, throw her out!"

Jace stepped instantly between Eleanor and the crowd. He let out a low, vibrating growl that silenced the murmurs. He gripped his spear, his eyes daring anyone to step closer. He looked at Eleanor, confusion in his eyes, but he held his ground.

Eleanor ignored them all. She dropped to her knees beside Silas. She ripped open her backpack.

She pulled out a pair of latex gloves and snapped them onto her hands. The taut rubber pressed against her nails, sending waves of tingling sensations up her arm. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper, forcing her violently trembling fingers to remain perfectly steady despite the excruciating pain. She grabbed a bottle of sterile saline solution and a pack of gauze.

Eleanor didn't waste breath on English words Martha couldn't understand. She grabbed Martha's hands, her grip bruising, and forced them down onto a specific spot above the wound. She pressed with all her body weight, locking eyes with the older woman, and let out a fierce, commanding yell that transcended language. Martha flinched, but the absolute, unquestionable authority in Eleanor's fierce glare made her instantly understand.

Eleanor squeezed the saline bottle, flushing the dirt and ash out of the wound. She located the severed artery.

She grabbed a pair of stainless steel hemostatic forceps from her kit. With a quick, precise motion, she clamped the bleeder.

The pulsing flow of blood stopped instantly.

The tribe let out a collective gasp. They stared at the shiny silver tool pinching the flesh, unable to comprehend the magic they were witnessing.

Greta shrieked, "Dark magic! She is drinking his blood!"

Jace shifted his weight, his massive body completely blocking Greta's view. He shot her a glare so lethal she instantly clamped her mouth shut.

Eleanor pulled out a curved suture needle and a packet of catgut thread. She had no anesthesia. This was going to be brutal.

"Hold him down! He's going to fight!" Eleanor yelled, looking up at Jace.

Jace understood the urgency. He dropped to his knees on the opposite side of Silas and pinned the hunter's shoulders and arms to the ground with his massive weight.

Eleanor pierced the skin.

Silas's eyes flew open. He let out a blood-curdling scream and thrashed violently. Jace's muscles bulged as he held the man completely immobile.

Eleanor's hands were steady. She worked with frantic precision, stitching the muscle layers, then the skin, pulling the gaping wound tightly closed.

Ten minutes later, she snipped the thread. She swabbed the area with iodine and taped a large sterile dressing over the stitches.

She dug into her bag and pulled out a blister pack of broad-spectrum antibiotics. She popped two pills out, forced Silas's jaw open, and poured a splash of water down his throat to make him swallow.

Eleanor stripped off the bloody gloves and collapsed backward onto the dirt, her chest heaving, sweat dripping from her forehead.

Silas's screams had faded into a weak groan. His breathing, previously shallow and erratic, settled into a steady rhythm. Color faintly returned to his pale lips.

Martha touched her son's chest. She felt the steady heartbeat. She let out a wail of pure joy, threw herself at Eleanor's feet, and kissed the mud on Eleanor's boots.

The square was dead silent. The tribe stared at Eleanor. The suspicion and hostility were gone. In their eyes, there was only absolute, terrifying awe.