Alek liked to tell his business associates Katarina was his mail-order bride. And in a way, she was. A year ago, he’d wanted to buy home protection dogs from a fellow Slovak. He’d come across the Pes Denˇ website and discovered she was known for training the best of the best. Rather than filling out an application, as required, he’d flown out to meet her.

After only one conversation, she’d suspected he would abuse her animals. So she’d refused him.

Soon afterward, Peter died in a filthy alleyway, the victim of a seemingly random mugging.

And soon after that, her brother was invited to join Alek’s import/export business—importing drugs and prostitútky to the States, exporting millions in cash to be hidden or laundered. Not surprisingly, Dominik quickly developed an addiction to Alek’s heroin.

Just another way to manipulate me.

When Alek summoned her to his estate in New York—Dominik owes me thousands. You will come and pay his debt—she’d once again refused him. Later in the week, Midnight, a cherished mountain dog, was poisoned. She’d known Dominik—and thereby Alek—was to blame. The once-abused canine wouldn’t have taken a treat from anyone else.

She’d quickly found homes for the other dogs. But her fool of a brother had known the few people she trusted, and had given Alek their locations in exchange for a reduced debt. Always one step ahead.

“I’m here for one reason and one reason only,” she said, hating him, hating this, “and it has nothing to do with honor.”

Mr. Baker backed out of striking distance.

Alek grabbed her by the neck, squeezing hard enough to restrict her airway. “Be very careful how you proceed, princezná. This can be a good day for you, or a very bad one.”

“Your vows,” Mr. Baker rushed out. “Say them.”

Alek gave her one last squeeze before releasing her.

Breathing in...out...she skipped her wild gaze around the chapel. Armed guards were posted throughout. The pews were filled with Alek’s business associates, more armed guards and various other employees. The men wore suits, and their dates were draped in formal gowns and expensive jewels.

If she refused, she would be killed—but only if she were lucky. Most assuredly her babies would be killed.

To the back of the building, beautiful stained-glass windows framed an intricately carved altar. Beside each of those windows was a marble pillar veined with glittering rose, and between those pillars hung a painting of the tree of life. The frieze leading up to the domed ceiling depicted angels at war with demons and complemented the swirling design of gold filigree on the ivory floor tiles.

The room offered a fresh start, not damnation, and yet she felt damned to the depths of her soul.

Save the dogs. Save Dominik.

Scratch Dominik. Just the dogs. Then escape.

At last, she repeated the vows. Alek beamed with happiness. And why wouldn’t he? She had, like so many others, allowed evil to win the battle.

But the war still rages...

“You may kiss your bride,” Mr. Baker announced, his relief palpable.

Alek took her by the shoulders and yanked her against him. His lips pressed against hers, and his tongue forced its way past her teeth.

Her husband tasted like ashes.

There was no going back now.

How was she going to survive the wedding night?

As the crowd cheered, the sanctuary doors burst open, banging against the walls. An ominous thud heralded a quick silence. Alek stiffened and Katarina’s heart skipped like a stone over water.

Three males stalked down the center aisle. They were tall and muscled and very clearly on a mission. Law enforcement? Here to arrest Alek? Oh, please, please, please!

The one on the left had black hair and blue eyes. He smiled at the men in the pews, daring them to make a move against him.

The one on the right had white hair and green eyes. He wore black leather gloves that somehow lent an edge of menace to a genuinely relaxed demeanor.

The man in the middle...he captured her attention and refused to let go. He was so beautiful; he put Alek to shame. Despite the specks of blood staining his T-shirt—had he fought the guards outside?—he was an amalgamation of every fairy-tale prince ever written. The kind of man usually only seen in fantasies.

Her mother would have loved him.

He was the tallest of the three, with dark red waves that framed a fiercely masculine face. Every inch of him was defined by such incomparable strength, he could have been carved from stone.

Feminine awareness sparked—this man is the incarnation of dark, dangerous desire, but I’m not afraid...I’m intrigued.