The rain outside had turned into a violent deluge, hammering the small village house until it felt like the walls themselves were trembling. Inside, the air was suffocatingly hot, thick with the scent of damp earth and the primal musk of a man who had finally reached his limit.

Shivom moved with a terrifying, predatory grace. At twenty-nine, his strength was absolute, and tonight, he wasn't interested in being the gentle protector. He was the master of this house, and Payal—his seventeen-year-old bride—was about to learn exactly what that meant.