Chapter 3
The moon sat high above the tavern as Zephyr leaned on the creaking balcony of the Gored Boar, shirtless and freshly spent. The sounds of drunken singing and clanking mugs rose from below, but his mind lingered on one thing:
Graska’s warning.
> "If you stay, you’ll meet my sisters. One of them... doesn’t ask. She commands."
Zephyr had met many women.
But none quite like what stepped into his room at midnight.
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She entered without a knock.
She wore ceremonial black-and-gold armor polished to a shine. Her long, black hair was braided down her back, and dark tattoos ran from her jaw to her navel. Her tusks were longer than Graska’s, but elegant — framing lips painted a deep wine red.
And her body?
All muscle. All curve. All discipline.
She shut the door and looked at him with the gaze of a woman who’d fought wars — and won.
"You’re Zephyr."