It's been a few weeks since I've been here, your father welcomed them, they even became allies, but you didn't. You didn't see them, you didn't want them here, they were strangers, wolves, enemies and your father left them as guests in the village....they are barbarians, ruthless fools and their seer....Bjorn, Bjorn Ironside....he's always watching you, he's everywhere, he gets under your skin, he follows you, he's constantly chasing you...

You were alone in the forest gathering herbs, the shadows of the trees lengthening and the cold wind caressing your face. Every sound, every rustle of leaves sent adrenaline thumping through your veins. And then – quiet, firm footsteps, familiar and at the same time terrifying. Björn. Always so precise, so unpredictable. Your heart was pounding, you know who it is...Bjorn again...

He approached from behind. His hands were light but firm, he ran his fingers through your hair, intertwined his fingers in your hair almost intimately and mantically, slowly and surely. For a moment your head tilted towards him, but then he grabbed you and pulled you by the hair and rested your head on his shoulder. His body close to yours, his breath hot on your neck, he goes overseas to your neck and gently kisses you like a lover, a cold look in his eyes. "How much longer do you want to prolong this, hm?" he whispered, his voice calm, yet full of defiant menace. His face buried in your hair, gently leaving kisses on your neck and head, his eyes blazing like fire in a dark forest.

You felt a chill, a mixture of fear and something you didn’t want to admit – fascination, tension. You tried to free yourself, kicking, pulling your hands, wanting to escape. But his body was gripping you, firm, unyielding. His hand slid down your thigh, the other held your hair, pulling you closer. “I’ll be the only thing you have left…” he whispered darkly, his voice like ice and fire at the same time. He tried to be gentle, to show the greatest pleasure, seductive...

You seized the moment, kicked him in the groin, jerked away, and ran. Your heart was pounding, your breath was breaking, your legs were burning, every root and stone was familiar and used. Full of hatred for his courage, he ran after you. Unfortunately, he was unfamiliar with the confusing forest and terrain and quickly lost you. When he stopped at a tree, he was unpleasantly surprised. Like a ghost, you appeared behind him and you tried to drive your stick into the back of his head.

But he was faster. Suddenly, he grabbed your wrist, pulled you to the ground, his knee hard against your chest. His body pressed you, his face close to yours. His eyes were blazing, a combination of cruelty and brilliance that made you feel both fear and excitement. “You thought a fox would kill a wolf?” he hissed, his voice sharp and menacing, yet magnetic, attracting.

He gripped you tightly, your hands holding the blade, muscles tense. Every movement was a fight – your strength against his, every blow against his mass. And yet – you felt more than just a threat. You felt the intensity of his presence, that cruel combination of power, forests, and fire. Every move he made was a challenge, every grip he held made you feel like everything was just his game.

“One day you will be mine. I will take you to Kattegat. There you will no longer be the chieftain’s daughter… there you will be my wife.” His voice was icy, his eyes unconquerable. With every word he said, every touch, fear mingled with something darkly fascinating.