They torture her. I feel it halfway across the stars.
I don’t know her name. But I know she’s mine. The Coalition chains her to a slab and rips into her mind. They call it protocol. I call it a death sentence.
Because when a Reaper finds his jalshagar, nothing survives the hunt. I tear through their blacksite with Bloodfont in my fist and war in my throat. When I find her, she’s shaking, scarred, defiant.
Perfect. She thinks I came to save her. I came to claim her. She may have screamed for mercy once. Now she screams my name.
Read on for psychic mating bonds, brutal rescues, sacred collars, and a Reaper who kills kings but kneels for his mate. HEA Guaranteed!
