MARKED BY THE WRONG BROTHER
I was sold to the devil in a bespoke Italian suit.
Andre Volkov. The Alpha of the Onyx Pack. A cold, tattooed sadist who views me as nothing more than a merger acquisition to secure his European borders. I hated him before I even met him. I hated the way his eyes stripped me bare, and I hated the shiver of fear that raced through me when he forced his ring onto my finger.
I vowed to lock my heart in a cage of ice. I vowed never to let him break me.
But on our wedding night, something changed.
The man who came to me in the dark wasn’t the cold, loud tyrant who mocked me at the altar. He was silent. Intense. His touch wasn't just possessive; it was worshipful. Dangerous. When he sank his teeth into my neck, claiming me as his mate, I didn't push him away. I burned for him.
I thought I was falling for my husband.
I didn't know the Volkov bloodline carried a secret. I didn't know there were two of them.
And now, I’ve been marked by the wrong brother.