Ivan

He's terrible.


Born and raised in the icy wilds, Ivan only knows the desperate struggle of life and death. He knows nothing of his parents, his family.

He made his living by hunting and fighting, garnering a bit of a name for himself among the nomadic tribes of the mountains. It was a life that suited him, and he was quite content to hoard his coin and glory to keep him warm on cold nights. It was all he wanted, all he needed.

Until he met Romanov

She was loud, obnoxious and boorish creature (though he hardly had any room to talk in that department) with a...unique... proposition for him. He'd be treated to a fight of the ages, and should he prove victorious he'd win a night with her. She wanted a baby, she'd explained. He seemed a suitable sire for such a thing. Even better, he was not expected to stick around afterwards. She had her mate, she'd said. She just needed a sire.

She was hardly a looker, this Romanov. Though neither was he. Also, if he was to be completely honest with himself, he didn't know when the next time would be that he'd come across a warm body that would let him anywhere near them without a considerable amount of coin.

So he accepted. They fought, he won, and that night he claimed his prize.

He slipped out the next morning with the rising sun. No point in awkward goodbyes.

And yet.

At the border of Romanov's clan territory, his feet stuck fast to the mossy earth. His heart pounded in his chest. He thought back to the female he was leaving, to the scent of eggs already brewing in her. His eggs. His.

Something he couldn't name bubbled up inside him. A need he couldn't fathom. A compulsion without a face.

With a full mind and a troubled soul, Ivan turned back.