I’m not his bondmate. I’m the body he’ll claim until he snuffs me out.
The Warlord has waited centuries—long before the Sigil burned itself into my skin, marking me for what I am: the sacrifice. The vessel.
The body that will carry his bondmate’s soul while mine ceases to exist.
He’s not coming for me. He’s coming for her. I hate him for it. Hate the centuries he’s spent sharpening himself into the thing that will end me.
Except when he touches me, everything goes quiet but the urges waking between us.
Violent. Forbidden. And I want him to ruin me before he hollows me out.
Everything she knows about her world is a lie. Including him.
