Bound to the Tusk
She sees a monster.
That’s good. I am one.
I was forged to kill. To burn villages. To drag bodies and bury honor.
But when I look at her — tied, trembling, trying not to beg—
I feel something savage stretch awake inside me.
She’s my fated mate. The gods made her weak so I’d never be soft.
I swore I’d protect her.
But when she kneels? When she whimpers and obeys?
There’s no honor left in me.
Only need.
Only the beast.
Only the sound of her voice breaking when I claim her throat and fill her with my fury.
And if anyone tries to take her?
They can die knowing their blood made the snow warm.
Read on for fated mates, forced proximity, ownership heat, savage tenderness, and an orc who split kingdoms before he ever split her. HEA Guaranteed!
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