The Alpha King's Omega
That voice.
Low, rich, and cold enough to slice flesh.
She turned, slowly, knowing what she’d see before she even saw it.
There, standing atop a rock, silhouetted against the moon like the harbinger of death, was him.
Ragnar.
His obsidian armor glinted faintly, wet from the rain, blood smeared on one of his gloves. His eyes glowed golden, a dangerous, hungry light that pierced right through her.
He looked like a beast risen from hell.
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