She fled her wedding in silk and fear. Now she wears my furs and carries my child. I find her half-dead in the snow. Frostbitten. Frantic. Soaked in the scent of another male’s claim.
I should have left her. Instead, I carried her home—and put my mark where his ring was supposed to go. She doesn’t know what I am. Not just a warrior. Not just exile.
I’m the heir to a clan that answers to no one… and she’s about to give me the first orc-human heir born under prophecy. The others want her gone. Dead, even. But she’s mine now. The storm chose her.
The bloodline remembers. And I will raise my blade against gods before I let her be taken. She says I saved her. But I know better. She’s the fire I’ll burn the world for. She stole my cloak.
Now I steal her every morning breath.
