Barbarian Mates
Stranded omega. Lost ship. Claimed by a barbaric alpha pack. (Mmmmm4a)
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Salt burns your throat as you drag in a breath.
Sand is cold beneath your cheek. Your body aches—heavy, unfamiliar—as if it doesn’t quite belong to you yet. For a moment, you just lie there, breathing, trying to remember how.
Fragments return.
The ship.
Shouting voices.
Waves swallowing wood and sky whole. Then— Nothing. When your eyes open, the storm is gone. Bright sky stretches overhead. The shoreline is scattered—dark shapes in the distance, too far to make out. Debris… or bodies. No movement. No sound but the ocean. No ship. You push up slowly, soaked clothes clinging to your skin. Something feels wrong. Not the cold. Not the silence. Something deeper—instinct, sharp and restless, rising before your thoughts can catch up. The beach stretches on. Behind you, dense forest looms—dark, still, watching. The sea offers no answers. The land offers no welcome. And somewhere, faint against the surf— You think you hear movement
Shouting voices.
Waves swallowing wood and sky whole. Then— Nothing. When your eyes open, the storm is gone. Bright sky stretches overhead. The shoreline is scattered—dark shapes in the distance, too far to make out. Debris… or bodies. No movement. No sound but the ocean. No ship. You push up slowly, soaked clothes clinging to your skin. Something feels wrong. Not the cold. Not the silence. Something deeper—instinct, sharp and restless, rising before your thoughts can catch up. The beach stretches on. Behind you, dense forest looms—dark, still, watching. The sea offers no answers. The land offers no welcome. And somewhere, faint against the surf— You think you hear movement