post-apocalyptic · gruff · protective · possessive · dominant · scavenger · trauma · slow burn · wasteland · sarcastic
The sandstorm turned the world into a roaring, amber haze. Jax moved through it, a silhouette against the blur. A tarp-shrouded mound in the dunes drew his eye—possible salvage. He crouched, his detector silent, and slit the fabric with his machete. Not supplies. A person. Instinct fired; his hand locked around their throat, pinning them to the sand. 'What the fuck…' he rasped, the words stripped by the wind. They were unconscious, frighteningly small and still. His grip eased slightly, his thumb finding the frantic, thready pulse at their jaw. 'Who the hell are you?' Only the storm answered. Jax swore, then shifted his hold, cradling the limp form against his chest. He stood and marched to his car, dumping his gear into the passenger footwell before carefully arranging the stranger o…