Voss's attention kept sliding back to Rose.
Felicity noticed it even before Rose did, not hunger or flirting, just assessment.
The wolf in him bristled without showing teeth. Rose stood easy and loose, tail still, shoulders relaxed and too relaxed, like she had already decided none of this mattered "She doesn't smell right," one of the men muttered.
Felicity felt the ripple go through Snow Team, the subtle stiffening and the recalculating.
Rose didn't react; she flexed her fingers once and looked down at her hands, as if checking invisible threads. "Good," she said quietly.
Felicity blinked. What is happening?
These men were sniffing the air like animals, talking about scent, talking about prey.
Rose was just standing there like this was a brunch argument.
"You're not prey," Voss said to her.
"Neither are you," Rose replied.
The way the air shifted made Felicity's stomach tighten. This wasn't posturing; it was territory, real, raw, like an animal hierarchy settling into place like gravity.
Then Voss turned back to Victor, "You said she's yours."
Felicity's brain stuttered. Here we go.
Victor didn't hesitate "She's my wife."
The word hit her harder than it hit the men; her pulse jumped violently. She had never worn a ring or even seriously talked about marriage. Last week, she had argued with a boy about whether pineapple belonged on pizza. Now she was someone's wife in a post-apocalyptic beast hierarchy; what, in the feral role-play, was happening? Her ears burned. But she didn't deny it; that was the disturbing part.
Snow Team straightened automatically, shoulders squared, and something about the word snapped them into formation.
"First husband, then," Voss said.
First, the word slid into her ribs and lodged there. First, as not the only husband, her brain tried to process it and failed.
Victor inclined his head calmly, as if they were discussing taxes. "That carries weight," Voss continued. "You answer for her, and you fight for her, you bleed for her." That wasn't the part that unsettled him.
"And it means challenges."
Felicity swallowed, challenges? What did that mean?
"Some will honour the bond," Voss said, "some will test it."
Her pulse picked up, "others," he added, voice even, "will try to see how strong it is."
Victor's wings shifted slightly outward.
Felicity felt the movement behind her back.
Her brain whispered, This is madness. What are you doing?
Her body whispered: yes.
"She'll take other husbands," Voss said calmly.
There it was, he said it himself, out loud. Her stomach dropped and flipped at the same time. Her brain tried to recoil, excuse me? Her body did something much more traitorous. Heat pooled low in her belly. Why is that not immediately disgusting, 'what am I? "
Victor's breath paused for half a second. She felt it, the jealousy and the flare of possessive spike that tightened his hand at her waist. He crushed it down visibly "I know."
The words tasted metallic even from where she stood. Felicity stared at the back of his shoulder. He knows? You know? Since when was this decided? Her thoughts crackled like static—betrayal, shock, accusation—but she didn't speak.
Because something about the way they were talking didn't feel optional. It felt… structural.
Voss continued, "We don't know why the shift hit unevenly," he said, "but we're seeing more males stabilise after mutation."
Felicity's brain clung to that, data and facts, something grounded.
"Could be an aggression response," one of the men said. "Could be hormone-driven mutation survival."
Another shrugged, "could just be who was outside when it hit." They didn't know; they were just guessing. That made it slightly less terrifying.
But then Voss looked at her again, "and women like her?"
Her skin prickled.
"They're coming through differently."
Differently great? Seriously, what does that even mean?
Victor stepped more fully in front of her "She's not data."
Felicity's chest tightened unexpectedly at that.
"She's leverage," Voss corrected calmly.
Victor's wings flared wide. The sound of feathers shifting made two men instinctively step back.
Felicity felt the feral vibration in his chest; it felt physical, like he would tear them apart if provoked. And the worst part? She liked it. Her mind shouted: You're enjoying this, enjoying being claimed like territory. What's wrong with you? But there was no denying the warmth spreading through her veins. If she takes another husband, Voss had said, "Not if, but when." Her brain tried to panic, but instead, she pictured Victor's jaw tightening.
She pictured Victor stepping forward, judging. Who would he choose? Her tail twitched. Why does that bother me so much?
"If she takes another husband," Voss said again, steady, "it strengthens her structure."
Structure and protection, it wasn't about romance, it was about survival architecture; her brain latched onto that word, structure. That made it easier to swallow.
Victor's hand slid to her lower back, firm and grounding.
Every man here understood the subtext: she wasn't unclaimed.
She was established, which made her more valuable and, somehow, safer, which was messed up. So messed up but also logical.
"If you fall," Voss told Victor, "they won't test her, they'll fight each other."
Felicity felt something cold slide down her spine. They talked about her as a power source, a stabiliser, an asset and instead of shrinking, she grew. She felt important and central; her heart pounded; she mattered in this system. Not fragile but foundational.
Victor's voice didn't waver, "I won't fall."
She believed him; that was the most dangerous part of all.
Rose stepped closer to her side "I'm still here," Rose said casually. "And if any of you test her without consent, I'll remove something permanent."
The men believed her, too.
Felicity glanced between them: Victor, Rose and Snow Team. Hierarchy forming in real time. A first husband, other husbands, challenges and territory, protection. Why does this feel like stepping into something ancient instead of insane??
Her mind hissed: This isn't roleplay. This is something wild and untethered.
Her body whispered: no, this is instinct.
Victor's thumb pressed into the small of her back, claiming and anchoring.
She inhaled slowly. Not trapped, not traded. She was in the centre. And she hated how much she liked the weight of being needed.
Voss finally stepped back, "survive," he said simply, "and we'll see how the world arranges itself around you", around her, not around Victor or around Snow Team, but around her.
The thought hit like a spark.
Victor's wings folded slowly, but his hand stayed at her waist, possessive.
Felicity stood in the ruined city, heart racing, brain reeling, body humming with something sharp and uncomfortably pleased. Yesterday, she had been invisible; today, men are restructuring power around me. This shouldn't feel empowering. It absolutely shouldn't. And yet, I want to hold onto this. I shouldn't want it, but I can't deny the rush bleeding through me, curling into all the places I thought were numb.
Her tail flicked once.
But she didn't pull away.