Seventeen million crowns. That is what the Bureau has decided my body is worth.
I am Soren Vance. Back-alley alchemist. Presented omega at twenty-six, six years past the cutoff. My mana circuit has awakened into King of Pheromone Court, and the Hunter Association has classified me as a Tier-One Strategic Asset. Six weeks under one A-rank knight.
Then he walks into my hospital room.
Knight Eskil Bjornsen. The cleanest record in the Iron Halo. A man who will not joke, will not flirt, and will not look at me below the collar.
He is also the only man on this continent who can smell the bottom note of my own skin. The note is bittermoss. The same salve a back-alley healer once pressed into a half-frozen recruit, ten winters ago, in a tannery alley.
Neither of us remembers the face. Both of us remember the verdict.
An S-rank alpha has just paid the upper council to make me his bride. He has no idea who he just challenged.
Slow-burn MM omegaverse hunter fantasy. Witty capitalist omega, devoted military alpha, bonded bodyguard, touch-him-and-die, fated bond with no memory, ranks and dungeons, S-rank antagonist.
Reader advisory: Intended for readers 18 and older. Contains on-page sexual content, strong language, and mature themes including power exchange, biological heat dynamics, on-page violence, dubious-consent political plotlines, and explicit alpha/omega bonding. Please read responsibly.
