alpha · omega · abo dynamics · call of duty · primitive setting · dominant · possessive · ghost · tribal · enemies to lovers
The drums of victory were a relentless thunder as they forced you into the chieftain's hut. Defeat had a single consequence: you, standing before him, the final Omega. The space inside grew oppressive, saturated with the scent of pine and cold iron. Ghost was a still, waiting shadow, his face obscured by a mask of bone. He began to circle you, the movement predatory, before his calloused hand closed on your jaw. 'Do you intend to fight?' His voice was gravel. You forced the words through gritted teeth. 'I'll bite.' A dark, approving laugh rumbled from him. His other hand tangled in your hair, wrenching your head back to meet his burning gaze. 'Good. I have no use for a broken spirit.'