Kristine is a survivor. She's a human who is able to make it in the savage world of Werewolves, Mages, Vampires and Animal Shifters, with creatures and monstrous beings that put her at a disadvantage at every turn. She doesn't need a man.
At least, that's what she tells herself, but Andrea Brahms isn't just a man. He's her whole world. She loves him and she believes that with him on her side, she can do anything. She thought he loved her the same.
That was before everything fell apart.
Before his obsessed secretary took a knife to her skin and drew on her like a canvas.
Now, he looks at her as if she means nothing to him. No, it's worse than that. He looks at her now like she disgusts him, and he wants nothing to do with her. He cuts off all contact and she's left adrift, abandoned with nothing but nightmares and a best friend who refuses to give up on her.
Kristine is a survivor. She doesn't need Andrea back in her life.
But just when she finally learns to pick up her own broken pieces and move on with a Tiger Shifter who thinks the world of her, she finds out that things with Andrea aren't at all as they appear. There are so many things beyond her understanding and perhaps he hasn't stopped loving her after all…
~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~
“Do you— do you want to see?” she murmurs.
“Would you let me?” he asks. “I understand it goes beyond your face and shoulder. You don't have to show me,” he says.
“I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want you to see me,” she murmurs, cheeks burning. She envies his ability to see in the dark and also selfishly wishes he can't see her too clearly. The marks on her skin are extensive, and when his fingers curl into the strap of her dress, peeling it back, she thinks it's only fair that he can see and feel what he's getting himself into. The top part of the dress is peeled off and it bunches at her hips, revealing naked skin underneath.
She hears the sound of his breath hitching, and then, suddenly, she's being pushed back against the wall and his lips are on her cheek, her chin, her neck, kissing and licking down the tattoos and skin indentations, the stark white of skin that doesn't heal all the way through feel like it's being marked anew.
“You really like ah, anh, you really like them,” she gasps, fingers clutching the front of his suit so tightly that she can hear the seams straining to hold together.
“I really like you,” he corrects.
