Ravaged by the Reaper

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!