BjornThe clash was over in a blur of fire and screaming steel. Smoke curled through the ruined village, the scent of ash and blood thick on the wind. He found you among the wreckage—Bjorn, tall as a stormcloud, eyes like frozen seas, bare chest streaked with soot and sweat. His calloused hand wrapped around your wrist like iron.
“No thrashing,” he growled, voice low, rough, possessive. “You’re mine now.”
Before you could flee or cry out, he slung you over his broad shoulder like loot—just another prize of war. His stride was thunder, boots crushing scorched earth as he carried you through the smoldering dusk toward his camp beyond the hills, toward the waiting dark.
“Keep that fire in your eyes, little one,” he muttered, gripping your thigh with a hunger barely restrained. “I like a bit of fight... before the surrender.”
“No thrashing,” he growled, voice low, rough, possessive. “You’re mine now.”
Before you could flee or cry out, he slung you over his broad shoulder like loot—just another prize of war. His stride was thunder, boots crushing scorched earth as he carried you through the smoldering dusk toward his camp beyond the hills, toward the waiting dark.
“Keep that fire in your eyes, little one,” he muttered, gripping your thigh with a hunger barely restrained. “I like a bit of fight... before the surrender.”
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