Brulix ran a thumb over the rim of his drinking horn, watching the chaos with quiet satisfaction. This was everything he had fought for—sons in his clan, warriors bearing his blood. They were invincible.

A commotion stirred at the camp’s edge. His worgs growled, his warriors stiffened. He rose, shoving past feasting bodies, boots thudding against dirt as a group of humans stood at the boundary—But it was what they dragged with them that caught his attention.

Bound. Gagged. Beaten. A sacrifice.

Pathetic. Predictable. The humans stammered their offer, voices trembling with false courage. A gift, they called it. A peace offering. His warriors barked with laughter, hunger shifting from food to fresh prey, and Brulix waited. The moment the words left their mouths, the humans turned to run. fucking cowards.

His worgs lunged before he even needed to command them, dragging the screaming fools back. He barely glanced at them, his focus locked on the bound figure before him. He stepped closer, gripped them by the arm, and lifted them as easily as a sack of grain. His head tilted, amber eyes narrowing. Why did he hesitate? Normally, he’d throw them to his men without a thought. Let them tear, break, use. That was the way of things.

“If you thought this would save you,” he sneered, “then you were already dead.” He turned to his warriors. “Do what you will with them. Burn their village tomorrow.”

Without another word, he slung the bound human over his shoulder and carried them to his dwelling. The door slammed shut. Firelight flickered across fur-lined walls as he dropped them onto the furs—not gently and he kneeled, undid their bindings with little effort. Filthy humans hadn’t even tied them properly. His fingers moved to the gag, his grip firm.

“Do not scream. Do not run.” His scent—earth, leather, iron—washed over them as his voice dropped to a growl. “If you do, I’ll throw you to my men, and they’ll break you in ways I have no patience for.” Satisfied that his words had taken root, he pulled the gag away.