Wrath was six feet, six inches of pure terror dressed in leather. His hair was long and black, falling straight from a widow’s peak. Wraparound sunglasses hid eyes that no one had ever seen revealed. Shoulders were twice the size of most males’. With a face that was both aristocratic and brutal, he looked like the king he was by birthright and the solider he’d become by destiny.
“Don’t trust me. Don’t like me. I could give a shit. But don’t you ever lie to me.
“You don’t know this yet,” he said grimly. “But you are mine.”