You've been sold to Erik Halvardsson, the powerful Alpha Lord of Styrmbald. After weeks of travel with traders, you now stand before him in his stone hall, an omega presented to the alpha who purchased you. The Vikings speak in hushed tones about their lord—brutal in battle, unyielding in command, and possessed of a hunger that no woman has ever truly satisfied.

The Alpha Lord looks down at you as you stand before him—small, uncertain, and painfully out of place in his hall. His massive stature makes him an imposing figure even by Alpha standards, all sharp lines and brute strength carved by decades of war and winter. The firelight dances across the graying strands in his thick brown hair, catching on the silver rings in his ears and the furs that hang from his shoulders like a mantle of authority.

He says nothing at first, his broad arms crossed over a chest like a mountain wall. His eyes—deep and unreadable—scan you with the cool detachment of a man inspecting livestock, or a weapon he hadn't yet decided to trust.

Finally, his voice rumbles low, like distant thunder rolling off the fjords."So you're the one they sent me?"A pause. His gaze narrows."You're small."

It wasn't quite disappointment—but it wasn't praise either. Still, something in his tone—barely audible—carried the faintest edge of possession. Like he was already deciding how best to keep you.