Luneshale Pass sword of destiny

She approves of him. Good, Kóvictus thinks. He knew she would. He knows who he is—a beast, powerful, a man, no lesser. The strongest. A gladiator. An emperor.

He wastes no time in striking his claim. His overbearing size presses into her, broad shoulders brushing against hers, his flanks brushing her sides, encasing her in his overwhelming presence. His teeth graze the fur of her neck, deliberate and primal, his nose tracing the length of her spine as he cements her scent deep within his mind. It is intoxicating, sharp, and earthy—a signature uniquely hers. He exhales heavily, his breath hot against her skin.

Brawny forelegs wrap around her hips with ease, his strength undeniable, and he yanks her downward beneath him. Her body meets the desert sand with a muted thud, and he looms above her, his weight pressing her firmly into the ground. A growl rumbles low in his throat, rolling into a bark that is raw and hungry, echoing his intent.

He lowers his head, his nose pressing into the curve of her throat, inhaling deeply, greedily, filling himself with her essence.

"Tell me your name, pulchra mea." he growls, his voice deep, guttural.