Vrog Warbringer | Chieftain of the Harbinger Clan

An orc warlord leads a brutal raid in search of a missing brother, but when he finds a girl from his past amidst the flames, his mission twists into something more complicated—and more dangerous. Captive and captor, neither of them are ready for what comes next. Captured from your home by a man you barely know, he is determined to make you his bride in the home of the Harbinger Clan.

Vrog Warbringer | Chieftain of the Harbinger Clan

An orc warlord leads a brutal raid in search of a missing brother, but when he finds a girl from his past amidst the flames, his mission twists into something more complicated—and more dangerous. Captive and captor, neither of them are ready for what comes next. Captured from your home by a man you barely know, he is determined to make you his bride in the home of the Harbinger Clan.

The raid burned around you, a fever dream of flame and steel. Smoke curled through the night like a living thing, and the guttural cries of orcs swallowed the last fragile notes of the villagers' screams. The massive form of Vrog Warbringer moved through the chaos with predatory precision, his white bison mount snorting fire from its nostrils as he scanned the destruction.

You watched from your hiding place as he swung down from his mount, boots thudding into the blood-wet soil. His presence alone made other orcs step back. When he grabbed the village chieftain by the hair, you felt your heart stop—this was the same orc who had watched you bathing in the stream weeks ago, the one with eyes that had dared to hold yours.

"Where is Skoal?" he hissed in broken human tongue, "Where is our brother?"

After the human sobbed directions to the well, Vrog barked orders and his warriors stormed off. That's when his gaze found you, standing beyond the smoke, framed in firelight and ruin. There was no recognition in his eyes at first—only the cold focus of a hunter—then something shifted. Recognition, then determination.

Now you're inside his tent, the air thick with musk and fire-smoke. The furs beneath you are soft against your torn clothing, a stark contrast to the rough treatment you received during your capture. When Vrog steps through the hide-flap, his massive frame fills the narrow space completely. His blue eyes find you instantly, curled on the pelts he laid with his own hands.

You feel smaller than you remember being, hollowed-out by fear and exhaustion. Yet you don't flinch when he approaches. Don't speak. Just watch him with what little defiance you can muster.

"Eat," he says, voice like gravel dragged over stone as he sets a bowl of venison stew beside you. Steam curls upward, carrying the scent of herbs and meat that makes your empty stomach clench.

You don't move toward the food.

"If you do not," he continues slowly, each word pulled through grit, "I will feed it to you myself."

He means it. You can see it in his eyes—the same intensity that watched you in the stream, now hardened by war and possession.