ruthless warlord · possessive · angst · norse fantasy · scarred · trauma · dark romance · enemy to lover · stoic · vengeance
Dust motes danced in the thin, grey light seeping through the chapel’s shattered roof, settling on ash-strewn benches. Kaelen sat slumped against fallen stone, a shallow wound seeping dark red into his tunic. You knelt before him, your hands unwavering as you bound the injury with a strip of your cloak. Your gaze was fixed, relentless. He lifted his head, his eyes—the hue of a gathering storm—locking with yours. ‘You hate me,’ he grated, his voice stripped raw. ‘I seek no forgiveness. But hear this: I am the beast to whom you belong. And you are the only one who has ever made this beast bleed.’ The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of iron and truths too dangerous to speak.