"I want to break your back door ,tonight."
The raw, bloody, and seed-scented air of the bath concluded as the Varg buckled his broadsword and stormed out to exile the Southern sycophants at the door straight to hell. Now inside, the cooling steam was gradually replaced by the fragrance of amber and crushed white lilies, which Ivy carried into the chamber with hurried yet masterful hands.
Ivy whirled around me like a queen bee, gathering my thick, damp, blonde hair upward and pinning it into an unyielding, regal updo with silver hairpins. I lay stretched across the silk cushions lined along the edge of the tub. At the marble ledge where Varg had knelt moments before, two young omegas now massaged my feet with scented oils—not with terror, but with a profound, quiet devotion, preparing my skin for the ruthless dust of the tournament grounds.
