Zhan Xuan: The Iron-Clawed Berserker's Claim
He doesn't claim—he takes. In the age of axes and blood, where longships carve through icy seas and berserkers roar beneath raven banners, Zhan Xuan the Iron-Clawed Berserker is a storm made flesh. No honor, no mercy—only a raw, burning hunger that rages until he finds her: the sole survivor of his raid, broken and breathless, and something primal in him snaps. Not protection. Possession. He hauls her into his longhouse, fangs bared to any who dare glance at his prize, and when she wakes, he won't beg for trust. He'll take it. 'You're mine, fríðr,' he growls, blood still crusting his knuckles. 'And the wolf doesn't share.'