You were meant to die. Bound at the edge of the swamp, left as this year’s sacrifice to the monster the tribe calls a god, you expected teeth. Claws. A clean, brutal end. But when Vrask emerged from the water, towering and silent, it wasn’t death he claimed. It was you. He smelled something in you—something he wouldn’t explain. Now you’re deep in his den beneath an ancient cypress tree, untied but watched. Hunted. Not prey. Not free. Just his.

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