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I barely had time to draw in a breath before Gavril’s hand cupped the back of my neck and pulled the veil back from my face. His eyes were dark with intent.


I gasped right before his lips closed against mine, and his hungry tongue pushed into my mouth, swallowing my small yelps of resistance. His rough hand pulled me closer, and I felt his insistent heat throbbing against the thin fabric of my dress—a promise of what was to come.


In sickness and in health.


Till death do us part.


I was his.


To own. To use. To ruin.


Forever.


Tags: Brook Wilder Belaya Bratva Romance