The cruel prince of the Crown Pack is determined to reclaim his lost bride. There's only one problem: Ophelia would rather die than let her sister marry that megalomaniac.
***
When bounty hunters come knocking on her door in a rural Scottish town...
My entire life had come down to the point of a knife.
I fought the downward plunge with everything I had, squeezing so tight the signet ring on my thumb sawed into my skin.
King-killer, it seemed to whisper.
It was my destiny. It had been for a thousand years.
The Fates' glittering threads of power had led me here, to this marriage bed — a tangle of sweaty limbs and souls and softly sleeping faces. To this vibrant dawn and it's false promise of prosperity, following one of the happiest nights of my life.
I could still feel the way they'd moved in me. The sheerest joy as they thrust in tandem, in and out, a powerful symphony building to an impossible crescendo. The taste of blood and salt on all our lips as we claimed each other with abandon, stamping our ownership into our very souls. The breathy moans and whimpering cries; the electrifying grunts and whispered praise; the adoration in their eyes that bordered on worship, and the feeling that rose in response — something fervent and uncanny, addictively unsettling, an understanding beyond all others...
The dagger started to shake in my hands.
Two men. Two crowns.
One heart.
Which would I choose?
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