Brutal Lycan Prince
His dark hair was down now to frame his square jaw, and he was wearing some kind of black fur cloak—although he was still shirtless beneath it, displaying those chiseled pecs and that strange tattoo in the center of his chest.
Damn, I thought. He was born into the wrong world; could have been a successful model back home.
“I don’t believe you,” he finally grunted.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “You can look me up online,” I said, growing a bit desperate. “Like I said, I’m a model and entrepreneur. I’m not a spy or whatever you seem to think I am.”
The prince of the Lycans was silent for several long moments. Those blue eyes raked over me, studying me, appraising me.
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