Bound by the Orc

Seven levels have marked her. The eighth wants a fight.

Scholar Eva Berger has been seduced by vines, drowned in fae water, unmade by a dragon’s heat, claimed by elven perception, fed upon by the incubus, and bred by the minotaur. She has been enchanted, altered, and dreamed into. Every surrender has been eased — chemical, psychic, biological — until the path of least resistance ran straight through her own want.

The War Hall of Ash offers none of that.

Grath is a warlord without a war. Seven feet of scarred muscle and blunt intelligence, territorial and direct, who has spent centuries in a fighting hall with nothing left to conquer. He can smell every level on her skin. He can see the dungeon’s claim written on her body. And he has no interest in seduction.

He wants one thing she has been refusing since the moment she walked through the iron door: the sound of his name on her lips when she stops fighting.

She will resist. He will not back down. The dungeon will burn.