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A Northern Tale	By : WolverMean Category: X-men Comics > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2061 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: X-Men and its characters belong to Marvel and I make no money from this publication. This is for fun only. The rest are my own creations. Trigger warnings for dubious consent, violence, blood and gore. Any and all mistakes are my own.

Chapter List
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Evra Kitney wasn’t the kind of person who went looking for trouble; that didn’t mean that it didn’t follow her around like a starving dog eager for a scrap of food.
Case in point, Marty’s story about Evan was mostly Evra’s, except for a few lies here and there to add colour and entertainment value.
For example, Evra had no younger brother. She was an only child born to immigrant parents, her father English, her mother Irish.
However, her father had died, leaving her and her mother destitute and starving.
She had been sold at thirteen by her mother to a trapper ten years her senior. Evra hadn’t been upset about it; her mother was trying to provide her daughter with a better life. She was scarcely done her first bleed and now she was a man’s wife – and her husband liked to hit.
Stories like Evra’s weren’t uncommon – they were too common, really – but what made her story different was that when Evra had finished her first bleed, she noticed changes in her body, and not the kind of changes that were typical of a woman going through puberty.
Her senses of hearing, sight, and smell became almost unbearable. Simple sounds, such as the chopping of an axe on wood, or the knife against a carcass was too much for her. Even the sound of her husband’s heartbeat was too loud, the steady thump thump of his life’s muscle.
Lights were too bright, hurting her eyes, making them water. Sunlight, moonlight, firelight, it didn’t matter. Evra began to prefer the darkness; she could see perfectly and she didn’t have to worry about illumination.
Smells were a whole new world to Evra. She could tell who was approaching the cabin based on scent, she knew when her husband was going to be too drunk to hit her or not drunk enough. She knew when food was bad long before it turned; she could smell wildlife when it was close.
When the combination of these new senses overwhelmed her, she would cry and scream, hiding under the bed until her husband came home and would try to beat the devil out of her.
He became convinced that Evra was possessed by hell demons – only that could explain her new powers and the fact that any blow he would visit upon her would heal. Some would take seconds or minutes; some would take hours or days.
It wasn’t normal; she wasn’t right.
Her husband wanted to exorcise her himself and began shouting bible verses at her, striking her with the holy book, or tying her to the bed and raping her while speaking the word of the Lord.
When that didn’t seem to work, he began cutting her with his hunting knife, persuaded that bleeding the demons out of her would result in her cure. He dug into her veins, slashed her flesh, and carved off swaths of skin until she would beg and shriek for mercy.
He would burn her flesh in the fire, trying to send the stubborn and persistent demons back to hell where they belonged. The stench of her own skin smouldering in the flames made Evra sick; the vomiting convinced her husband that his idea was working. The demons hated having their living pelt skinned, so they tried to escape via the emptying of her stomach.
When her husband wasn’t trapping or squeezing evil incarnate from his young wife, he liked to drink heavily at the local tavern. And when he was in his cups, he would tell anyone who would listen about Evra, about how she healed every scratch, every cut, every blow.
One man finally had enough of Evra’s husband’s tall tales and uttered the two words that would change her life forever: prove it. The next day, her husband dragged a terrified Evra in by her long braid and deposited her in front of the man who had challenged him.
“Beat ‘er like the ugly mutt she is,” her husband spat. “Ye can try’n kill the bitch, but it seems the devil don’t even wan’ ‘er.”
The man sized up the snivelling, whimpering girl on the floor, shrugged, and dragged her outside to deliver the beating of her life. Others came out and gathered round, watching as the man thrashed Evra, using his huge fists and heavy boots to lay her to the ground again and again.
After twenty minutes, he stopped, panting and sweating, his hands and face covered in her blood. Evra was on her back in the dirt, her eyes swollen shut, sobbing from the sheer amount of pain she was in. The light behind her lids was bright white and blinding. She begged for it to go dark because at least that meant she would be dead.
She couldn’t move her left arm, her cheekbones and nose were broken, the rest of her covered in blood and bruises, scrapes and lashes from when the man had gotten tired and used his belt to whip her across the face, back, and arms.
Grunting, the man knelt next to her and pressed his hand over her chest, making sure to squeeze her developing breast tightly before his hand went still. “I’ll be fucked,” he exclaimed, turning his head to the crowd. “The bitch is still kickin’!”
The group remained quiet until Evra heard her husband walk up to her. A feeling of gratefulness washed over her; he was going to pick her up and take her home, away from this foolishness and violence.
Instead, she gagged as he stomped his foot soundly into her stomach. “You alive, girl?”
Evra groaned out a yes and the crowd went wild, jostling both the man and her husband, congratulating them on their sick victory. “You jus’ wait,” her husband crowed as they all crammed back into the tavern to drink, “she’ll be up an at ‘em in a day or two like nothin’ happened!”
She was left there in the dirt, lying in her own blood and piss like an unwanted dog. After a few minutes, her cries faded away when she realized no one was coming to help or comfort her. She was on her own. Anger exploded inside of her, making her see stars.
Evra could feel the strange tingling feeling that accompanied the healing, meaning that her body was mending as fast as it could. Her left arm and her face should have taken a few days to heal due to the severity of the injuries, but they seemed to be knitting together faster, possibly under the sheer force of rage and will that was boiling inside of her.
It only took another few minutes before she could sit up under her own power, and another five before she was able to stagger to her feet. She lurched towards the door of the tavern, following the voices and the jeers of the men, the clinking of beer mugs.
“Jeezus dat girl is ugly,” a fair-faced French-Canadian was saying as she approached the door. “Why you marry dat?”
“Wanted my own piece o’ pussy. Whores get borin’ and make yer dick rot clean off,” her husband replied, a leer in his voice. “She ain’t much t’ look at but she’s the tightest I’ve ever had.”
The crowd around them laughed heartily, but it died quickly as the Québécois man noticed Evra standing at the door of the tavern, her hand clenched tight on the jamb to keep from toppling over. Her husband turned in his seat, his hazel eyes meeting hers with surprise. That pleased her.
Slowly, Evra wiped some of the blood and grime from her face with the torn sleeve of her dress and gave the roomful of men a broken-toothed grin. “So,” she said clearly, “who’s next?”

~*~*~

Within two weeks, Evra could take down a man three times her size with barely any effort. Within a month, she could defeat two large men at once using only her fists and feet.
Within two months, she became known as the Wolf-Bitch of the West and men travelled from all over the province to either watch or to try and put her down.
Evra never lost a fight. Ever.
She was fourteen-years-old.

~*~*~

Evra was soon going to be fifteen.
Her body, not only having undergone its odd and unexpected changes, had blossomed into womanhood; her breasts were large and firm, her hips wide, her thighs thick. She was shaped as a woman should be shaped with some extra flesh on her bones that was meant to help with survival during lean and harsh times.
This hadn’t gone unnoticed by the men she fought. The fights became less about smashing her to bits and more about getting her to the floor so they could have their way with the buxom bitch in front of the others.
This infuriated Evra. She refused to be topped by any man, including her husband. Fucking had never been a pleasant experience for her and her husband was more interested in drinking than fornicating; when he wanted her, he was vicious and cruel between the sheets and that was no way for a young woman to learn about the art of pleasure. But when she began dealing out what she received from him, he stopped trying to bed her completely.
Evra began to wear her husband’s clothes when she fought – it made it difficult for her opponents to undress her. She started smoking cigarettes and drinking heavily, though no amount of alcohol could get her to the level of drunkenness that surrounded her on a nightly basis. She did these things because they made her feel tough, even though the men insisted she was the toughest motherfucker around. Emulating the folks around her endeared her to them; they liked her though their main goal was to beat her down.
Evra began to find herself attracted to a few of the women that frequented the tavern. Once discovered, it didn’t get her into as much trouble as she thought it would – those around began thinking of her more as a man than a woman. Some women flirted back and more than a few preferred Evra’s lovemaking than that of their husband’s.
The women were softer than the men, more willing to be dominated by her; they also had nothing to prove to Evra, nothing that would make them try to hurt her physically or emotionally. Many of these relationships were brief and came from the need of another warm body that understood what it was like to be a woman in that environment.
Slowly over the year, everyone started calling her Evan. They would shout that name when she walked through the tavern doors, men would scream that name as she was smearing them into the dirt, women would moan that name in her ear as she was making them come.
Evra became Evan and it fit her like a bespoke suit.
Then one night, three weeks before her fifteenth birthday, her husband came at her in a drunken stupor with his prized hunting knife – the one he’d used to skin her with a mere year ago – angry that she no longer wanted to share his bed or give him children.
“Why would I want t’ give ya a child?” Evra had laughed. “Yer a good fer nothin’ drunk an’ a bastard besides. Ya can’t even take care o’ yerself, let alone a wife an’ a baby.”
He lunged at her with a roar, knife out, blade flashing in the light of the cooking fire. The fight was furious but brief, his prized weapon buried between his ribs, deep in his heart. He died with his hands wrapped around the handle, eyes widened in fright and pain, blood bubbling from his mouth.
Evra was completely still for a few minutes, her chest pounding, her hands red and sticky, listening to the life gurgle from her husband’s lungs. A plethora of feelings rushed over her – relief, anger, fear – but the one that was noticeably absent was remorse.
She didn’t feel the slightest bit sorry that he was dead or that she was the one who had killed him. She had liked it, liked the blood as it grew tacky on her flesh, liked the way his ribs had cracked as she had driven the blade deep into him, liked the sounds that had come from his mouth as the life leaked from his body.
Evra didn’t shed a tear.

~*~*~

She didn’t have to look for long to find her husband’s large hunting rucksack. Evra packed it with things she knew she’d need: matches, a canteen, a few fishing lines and hooks, clothes for hot and cold weather, and some food that wouldn’t spoil.
She was still dressed in her husbands garments – a pair of too big boots that she’d stuffed with a few of her old kerchiefs, baggy tan trousers, an undershirt, and one of his shirts that was loose around her bosom. Suspenders helped keep the pants from puddling around her feet.
Evra found the money he’d made on her fights, stuffing it in her boots for safekeeping. Once dressed, with the pack ready by the door, she grabbed the knife buried in her husband’s chest and yanked it out. It made a sick, squelching sound that made her shiver with delight. Impulsively, she ran her tongue along the flat of the blade, licking at the blood that had begun to dry.
The taste sent a zing of gratification through her and she gasped, a sensation of wetness building between her legs. She moaned, squeezing her legs together, loving the pulse of heat that pulsed in her belly. Evra let the feeling roll through her until the wetness seeped down her legs and she threw her head back with a satisfied cry.
She stood still for a minute, revelling in the aftershocks of her orgasm before walking out the door.

~*~*~

Her husband was discovered two weeks later, flat on his back in the middle of the floor, his hands curled around an invisible weapon.
No one mourned him – the only reason he’d been found was that he owed the tavern keeper money – but the talk of the message etched into the wood of the door was gossip around the area for years to come and morphed into a tale to tell those easily scared, those who would be frightened by the Wolf-Bitch of the North.
Heer Lies the bastard Daniel Vargis
kilt by his own knife
I woulde kille him a thousande times over an over agin
Let his vile soule rot in Hell

Evra
So, Evra Kitney wasn’t the kind of person who went looking for trouble, but here it was in the form of Victor Creed, the largest and strongest man she’d ever encountered.
And he’d discovered her secret. Well, one of them, anyway.
Evra felt herself trembling under the huge man, but it wasn’t from fear; she hadn’t been afraid of anything since she found out she was stronger than any man. She was quivering under him due to desire.
She was familiar with the concept of desire – she desired Jasmine at times, desired the feel of another body close to hers, moaning in her ear – but she hadn’t felt pure, naked desire like this before in her life.
It was if everything was stripped bare, all pretence, all words and pleasantries useless, all gestures pointless. This was hunger torn down into its basic element; this was primal and feral lust.
The thing within her recognized the man for what he was – an animal like her – and it wanted him badly. It wanted to mate with this alpha male, not for the purpose of breeding, but for the purpose of experience strong, male heat, wanting Evra to know what rutting with such a well built, virile feral would be like.
Victor’s cock was digging into her ass and his fingers were still massaging the inside of her sex. It was beginning to feel too good, too close. The motions of his fingers were driving her to the edge and Evra’s thighs began to shake, her breath coming in fast, little pants.
Victor Creed was going to make her come, something a man had never done before.

Victor
There was a moment of silence, save for the heavy breathing of Victor and the kid – or frail – under him.
He kept his fingers inside of her, massaging the inside of her slit. Her muscles began to tighten sweetly and a moment before her legs started to quake, Victor withdrew his digits.
The frail let out a frustrated groan, dropping her head to the dirt. Victor chuckled to himself as he listened to her pant, her chest heaving. Denying her an orgasm wasn’t the wickedest thing he could do by far, but it seemed appropriate in order to remind this bitch who was really in charge.
He brought his fingers to his nose, smelling her sharp wetness before inserting them into his mouth to lick them clean, tasting the luscious musk of an alpha female for the first time in his life.
Fuck.
Victor’s mouth watered as his tongue swept over her exquisite essence, growling as he swallowed. It was incredible – beyond incredible. It was practically fucking transcendent. His cock hardened to the point of pain.
Evra
The scent of his lust spiked and Evra had had enough. Victor had eased his fingers out of her just moments before her orgasm, lifting them to his face. He was pleased by what he’d tasted, his rumble of pleasure reverberating through her.
She had denied herself many things in this life; and what could have been the most glorious, primal, satisfying fuck in her whole existence would just be another. Despite the thing inside of her howling with lust and want, Evra gritted her teeth and raised herself onto her elbows. “You figured me out, Mr. Creed,” she spat. “So, you gonna fuck me like I’m a man or like I’m a woman? I ain’t got all night.”
She’d hoped that Creed would want to fight instead of fuck; she could do that and come out no worse for the wear, but her retort seemed to have the opposite effect.
He leaned forward, pressing his muscular chest to her back, letting her feel the raw strength in his body. “What’s yer real name, frail?” Victor growled, his breath hot against the back of her head. It sent a shiver down her right leg.
Frail.
Evra was not that word! She was not! She was tough and hard and could beat any man! ANY MAN!
She twisted under him, trying to free herself. This elicited a snarl from him. The thing inside her took it seriously and sent a message that Evra immediately obeyed: still.
The thing was stressing the importance of compliance with the man over top of her, but Evra hadn’t kowtowed to a man since her husband died and she wasn’t about to start now.
Silence was her weapon of defiance.

Victor
The frail remained quiet, refusing to answer his question. It was a blatant display of alphaness and it charmed Victor slightly. He may have been bigger and stronger than her, but she was letting him know she wasn’t afraid to stand up to him. He liked it more than he thought he would.
Victor flipped the kid over onto her back and straddled her again so he could look into her face. Her skin was flushed, her eyes bright. “Bet you ain’t even sixteen, huh?”
Again, the frail didn’t answer. He could feel her body trembling and he gave her a wide smile, flashing his fangs. She could ignore his questions, but there was no denying the affect he was having on her feral side. The frail was obviously aroused.
“You afraid of me, girl?” Victor purred, running his fingertips over the plane of her cheekbone. His nails left red scrapes on her flesh that faded immediately.
She licked her lips and locked her eyes on his. Another challenge. “No.”
Victor laughed and she squirmed. “Yer lying.”
The scent of raspberries and freshly turned soil was suddenly permeated the air. Victor sniffed greedily and leaned forward to nudge the skin just behind her ear. His tongue licked her flesh, causing her to shudder. The fucking sublime taste of her filled his mouth, his senses.
“I’m not afraid of you,” the frail growled and Victor knew that she wasn’t, not even a little bit.
For a split second, he wondered if he could feel love.

Evra
The scent coming from Victor was beginning to overwhelm Evra; his natural smell of wood smoke and blood threaded through the incredible musk of his testosterone and outright animalistic desire.
He growled impatiently and the thing inside Evra snapped; she released a growl of her own and reached impatiently for the button of Victor’s trousers. He watched her through half-lidded eyes as she eased her hand inside and grasped his cock. It felt hot in her hand and jumped as her fingers closed around it. She ran her thumb over the tip, smearing the precum she found there over the head of his erection. Victor closed his eyes and groaned.
For that moment, it felt good having power over him, knowing that she held his pleasure in her hand. If she wanted to, she could have attacked him right then. Sure, Victor was still on top, but she had the advantage; he was distracted and at his most vulnerable. But the thing wouldn’t let her; it wanted him, this hulking, and powerful male.
Be rough, the thing sent, not soft.
“You haven’t told me if you’re gonna fuck me like I’m a man or a woman yet,” Evra said, as she slowly stroked her hand down his shaft. When she got to the base, she tightened her grip and jerked roughly back up, making Victor gasp.
The thing had been right in its assumption – he didn’t seem like the kind of man who cared for gentleness when it came to sex.
When she reversed her caress, Victor leaned forward. “I’m gonna fuck ya like a feral, girl. Ever been fucked like that before?”
“No,” she whispered.
The thing inside of her howled loud and long and it made Evra shiver.

Victor
“You haven’t told me if you’re gonna fuck me like I’m a man or a woman yet,” the frail said, rubbing her hand down his shaft. When she got to the base, she tightened her grip and jerked roughly back up. Victor gasped. She was touching him in just the right way; he didn’t much care for gentleness – it never got him where he needed to go. Forceful was best.
On her next down stroke, Victor leaned forward. “I’m gonna fuck ya like a feral, girl. Ever been fucked like that before?”
“No,” she whispered. Her body quivered under him.
With a snarl, he buried his nose in her mane of rust-coloured hair, breathing in the smell of raspberries, soil and that delicious, magnificent musk, committing it to his memory. Victor’s claws slid out and he sliced away her shirt, wanting to be able to lick her sweet-tasting skin while they rutted.
He spun her back onto her stomach, drawing a cry from her – a sound that only made him want her more. He quickly discarded his jacket and shirt, keeping one hand between her shoulder blades so she wouldn’t squirm away; though it seemed like her feral nature was desperate to rut with him. Her beast was slowly taking control of her.
The frail spread her legs wider for him, lifting her hips slightly and the satisfying scent of her wetness let him know that she was ready for him and he pushed his trousers down with haste, eager to mate. He grabbed her hips, pulling her onto her knees.
Victor thrust into her with a snarl and she cried out as he pushed deeper and deeper still. She was tight - tighter than any other he’d been with and it made him redouble his efforts. She dug her fingers into the dirt, scrambling for some purchase as Victor drove into her, pushing her forward with each stroke.
Her tightness pleased him, clenching around his hungry cock and drawing a groan from deep within him. His forceful rhythm had the girl mewling in pleasure beneath him while he stretched her open; sweat was beginning to bead on her smooth back. Victor, his grip tight on her hips, leaned down to lick at the perspiration on her skin.
The fucking taste of her was driving him crazy.
He needed more.

Evra
She hadn’t wanted Victor Creed to be the first man to fuck her in two years and she hadn’t wanted it to feel good, but goddamn, he was and it was beyond incredible.
He was filling her completely, consuming her senses, making Evra want nothing else but to be with him, letting his body move in her and within her, and she couldn’t help but respond.
Evra moaned and began to thrust her hips back to meet him; this elicited a cautionary rumble from Victor. His teeth were suddenly pressed against the back of her neck, pricking it lightly.
The feel of his sharp incisors puncturing her flesh angered the thing inside of her and Evra yowled in displeasure, trying to buck him off, shaking her head from side to side in order to dislodge him.
Not mate! the thing cried. This is not mate!
Her struggle seemed to excite Victor further and he ploughed deeper into her, her noises of anger changing to those of pleasure, despite herself. He bit down, his teeth slicing her flesh.
Still, the thing commanded, not claiming bite. Not mate.
Evra stilled under him immediately and he eased up, lapping the blood from the wound before it healed. He made a sound between a groan and a growl and somehow, she knew that he was close to orgasm.
Victor slowed the thrusting slightly, and she moaned, wanting it faster, deeper. But he changed the angle at which he was pushing into her and it hit something within her.
Red stars blossomed behind her eyes, tremors that seemed both cold in her veins yet tightened her very skin wracked her body. Evra tossed her head back and howled as she came, howled long and hard and true.
Release.

Victor
The girl howled underneath him, bucking wildly while her pussy clenched around his shaft tightly. Victor reared up and came with a roar, spilling his seed deep inside of her.
A few more thrusts made sure he was completely drained before he collapsed onto his forearms on either side of her, sweat dripping from his chest onto her back, panting heavily. The frail’s knees gave out and they tumbled to the dirt, Victor still sheathed inside of her.
“Jesus Christ, frail,” he muttered into her ear. He felt her body tense under him.
“Don’t call me that,” she panted, turning her head to the side. One green eye looked up at him.
“Tell me yer name, then,” Victor growled.
“Evra,” she said. “Evra Kitney. Now get th’ hell off me,”
He chuckled at the demand but complied, easing out of her before rolling onto his side. He watched her turn over and sit up, tugging off the trousers that had gotten caught around her ankles. The cloth was still wrapped around her chest and Victor eyed it, his fingers stroking it curiously.
“Binding,” Evra said. “Flattens th’ breasts.”
He sat up, running his hand around the band to her back, which was still damp with sweat. “D’ya ever take it off?”
She titled her head, eyeing him. “Sometimes,”
Victor pricked his talons over the stretchy cotton, letting them catch in the material. “You fully grown, girl?”
She snorted. “You’re worried now after we’re done fuckin’? Yeah, I’m seventeen an’ I ain’t no virgin neither, in case you were frettin’ ‘bout my chastity too.”
Victor normally would’ve bristled at sass like that from a frail, but there was something appealing about it coming from Evra. Rather than anger him, it aroused him. He didn’t run into many women who would dare speak to him that way.
“Seventeen ain’t grown,” Victor chuckled.
“It is for a man,” Evra said, reaching towards her jacket. She fished out two cigarettes and passed one to him before offering him her lit match. She shook the flame out and tucked the used match into one of her bulging pockets. “Seems thirteen’s grown for a girl, besides. Old enough t’ be married, old enough t’ take a cock.”
“Marty’s story true?”
She laughed, shaking her head as she took a drag. “Marty. Yeah, it’s mostly true, I guess. Don’t know what he’s added to it now; shit, he could’ve turned me into th’ goddamn Wendigo for all I fuckin’ know.”
Victor felt a genuine smile on his lips as he took in the frail next to him. She seemed too small to be a predator, yet here she was, unafraid to stand up to him, unafraid to take down men bigger than her. “You kill your husband?”
Evra exhaled slowly, the smoke swirling around her face in the starlight, making her look tired and worn out for someone so young. “Yeah.”
She fell silent and turned away from Victor, looking out over the water. She crushed out her cigarette slipped the stub into her pocket, moving to stand. “Gimme your stub,” she said, holding out her hand. “Ain’t no sense in startin’ a forest fire.”
“Where you goin’?” Victor caught her wrist.
Evra jerked her hand from his grip. “Gotta get back to Marty,” she said, getting to her feet. She started tugging on her trousers and Victor stood.
He didn’t want her to leave; he wanted more of her and he knew that made him greedy, but he didn’t give a fuck. When had being greedy ever bothered Victor?
He stepped towards Evra and began pulling at the binding that covered her chest; her trousers fell back to the ground, forgotten. She pulled out of his grasp and faced him, her eyes flashing with warning.
“Th’ fuck you think yer doin’?” she demanded, her mouth twisted in anger.
“Take it off,” Victor said, reaching out the grab at the cotton again.
“No.” Evra slapped his hand away with a surprising amount of strength.
It made him think of all the damage she could take, how he could be as rough with her as he wanted. He licked his lips as he raised his amber eyes to meet hers; their gazes locked in a challenge.
“Take it off.” Victor commanded, lengthening his claws.
She growled at him, taking a step towards him. “I will not.”
Her defiance sparked a flame in Victor, making his cock jump with want. He was used to women being submissive to him, yielding whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it. Rare was the woman who would stand up to him; rarer still was the woman who would stand up to him and live to tell about it.
With a snarl, he pounced on her, driving her back down into the dirt. One large hand grabbed both of her wrists and pinned then above her head while the other started yanking the binding away from her body. She hissed and yowled under him as it loosened and began to fall away.
Evra was impressively strong; Victor was having trouble keeping her pinioned. The only way he was able to keep her under him was the fact she had no leverage. That didn’t stop her from twisting and writhing against him, making his cock harden. It didn’t help that her scent was filled with heat and want.
“Stop movin’ unless you want me t’ fuck ya again,” Victor snarled, wrenching the loose cloth from her torso.
A low rumble came from her chest and Evra parted her legs, bucking her hips up to collide with his erection. Victor snapped at her as the soft hair between her legs brushed along his shaft.
“Do it,” Her voice was a challenge.
His growl became a groan as she moved herself against him again, her wetness leaving a damp line along his erection. When the binding finally fell away, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to her ear. “Goddamnit, girl,” he murmured. “Are ya tryin’ to make me kill ya? ‘Cause I will.”
Her response was to latch onto his earlobe hard, teeth sinking through the flesh, his blood trickling into her mouth.
With a curse, Victor pushed into her and she hissed, trying to yank her wrists from his unyielding grip. Evra’s body had other ideas though; her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, driving him deeper into her. He jerked his face away from hers, his lobe now detached. Evra turned her head slightly and spat it out.
Laughing breathlessly, Victor rammed into Evra roughly as she snarled at him, her teeth snapping at the flesh of his arms and chest. He kept just out of her reach, amused as he watched her face flush with anger and desire.
Victor didn’t know which one he liked more on her.
He kept his rhythm violent, grinding Evra into the ground with each thrust and soon, the noises of rage she made turned into sounds of need. She met his aggression with her own, slamming her hips up to meet him with incredible force. If she had been a normal woman, the fury in their thrusts would have broken her pelvis.
Victor glanced down and saw Evra’s breasts for the first time, free and bouncing along with their movement. They were bigger than he expected; one filled his large hand as he grabbed it, squeezing firmly. She groaned and let out a little yip as he lengthened his thumbnail and scraped it over the nipple.
Her nipples were darker than Victor presumed based on her Irish colouring; they were the colour of caramel, not the pink or dusky rose he’d seen on woman of that particular descent. He stroked it again, delighted and surprised by the noise she made.
Beneath him, Evra’s breath had changed, her moans more urgent; Victor could smell that she was close to climax. “That’s right, girl,” he urged, releasing her breast and grabbing her wrists with his free hand. He lowered himself slightly, his chest brushing against her rigid light brown nipples. “Let me feel ya.”
Evra writhed under him, gasping and panting; he felt her thighs begin to tremble around his hips. She cried out, arching herself into him.
She came with a shudder, Victor groaning as her muscles clenched tight around his cock. Without warning, Evra’s teeth pierced the flesh of his collarbone, the sharp pain causing Victor to roar and release unexpectedly into her, coating her walls with his seed.
“You little bitch!” he gasped as her silky tongue lapped at the blood that had welled up before the wound had closed. She murmured a sound of pleasure as she licked at his skin and his beast purred contentedly.
Mate, it said, stretching languidly under his skin. Mine.
No!
Victor had never submitted to anything once he had matured, going through life taking what he wanted when he wanted it. But, he’d also never met a female alpha feral before. The few female ferals he had met had been more than willing to submit to a big, powerful male, be bred, and released. Some had hoped to be Victor’s mate, but he’d never felt that connection, that need.
Victor was his own person and he was not about to give up his freedom for a woman who needed his protection, who wanted cubs. Besides, he had Jimmy.
Jimmy was pack. Jimmy could take care of himself.
Jimmy was gone.
Claim mate! his beast insisted, but Victor pushed that urge down.
He looked down at Evra, who was still lapping his flesh, her body beginning to cool from their heated rutting. He released her wrists and pulled away from her. “Don’t bite me again,” he warned.
“Shit,” Evra laughed, sitting up. “It ain’t no pissin’ contest, Mr. Creed. It’s jus’ fuckin’.”
He suppressed a snarl -- stupid bitch. “It’s different with our kind,” he said roughly. “Ferals bite in order t’ claim mates. A bite can connect a pair for life.”
Her body started. “Shit. I didn’t –“
Victor only shook his head. His beast was raging inside of him, roaring for him to take Evra as his. He didn’t come here looking for a mate; he came here looking for Jimmy. Jimmy was who Victor wanted.
Jimmy.
He felt the other man’s presence in the back of his mind, his scent in his nose. He yearned for that togetherness, the two of them brawling and drinking across the continents, fighting side by side in the war, ripping and killing. He missed it; he yearned for it.
The word mate began to blur between memories of Jimmy and urges Evra gave him.
Movement brought him back to himself and Victor watched Evra gather up the binding that he’d yanked from her body. With a sigh, she sat back down next to him and began folding it.
Victor palmed one of her breasts, closing his large hand around it in a firm grasp. “Does it hurt?” he asked, tilting his head towards the binding.
“Like a bitch,” she replied.
“Why do it? Dress like a man?”
“You see the way women get treated? Either wives or whores with no in between,” Evra said furiously. “I’m doin’ what I have to in order t’ survive. If pretendin’ to be a man gets me even half the places I want t’ go, then that’s what I’m gonna do.”
Victor chuckled, releasing her breast. “It ain’t got ya far, kid.”
Evra’s eyes flashed with a determination that sent a thrill through his veins and into his groin. “You just wait, Mr. Creed,” she vowed as she grabbed his hard cock forcefully. “I’ll show you. I’ll show everybody.”

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A Northern Tale