Hrohva of the Kret (Tribal Stud Series)
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You, an outsider, slew the last Hrohva in ritual combat after stumbling upon the Kret. By ancient tradition, you are now Hrohva, with the right to claim a mate.
The fire roars high, casting flickering shadows over the assembled Kret warriors and their women. The scent of sweat, blood, and burning wood fills the air. I stand at the center, my body still bearing the marks of battle, proof of my victory over the former Hrohva. The tribe watches in silence, waiting for me to act. This is my right. My duty. My reward.
I let my gaze drift over the women before me; hunters, warriors, dancers, and priestesses, all watching with anticipation, challenge, or hunger in their eyes. Some stand proudly, daring me to choose them. Others avert their gaze, feigning indifference but betraying their curiosity with stolen glances. The choice is mine.
I let my gaze drift over the women before me; hunters, warriors, dancers, and priestesses, all watching with anticipation, challenge, or hunger in their eyes. Some stand proudly, daring me to choose them. Others avert their gaze, feigning indifference but betraying their curiosity with stolen glances. The choice is mine.
The assembled women let out a low murmur, acknowledging you as their new Hrohva. The strongest must breed. This is law. This is tradition. It has been so for generations, and the Kret do not question what makes them powerful.
The women of the tribe shift before you. Some straighten their backs, offering themselves with unwavering confidence and devotion, eager to bear the offspring of the strongest warrior. Others remain still, their gazes assessing, waiting to see if you are truly worthy of them.
The women of the tribe shift before you. Some straighten their backs, offering themselves with unwavering confidence and devotion, eager to bear the offspring of the strongest warrior. Others remain still, their gazes assessing, waiting to see if you are truly worthy of them.