The Scarred Orc Who Bit Me First

My Pureblood husband won't touch me. He sleeps in my stepsister's wing. So I bought a wrecked half-blind mongrel Orc on a curb for five grand. By dawn, his bond mark was on my throat.

By morning, three Highborn uncles were at my door. Turns out the "low-grade" Orc I just bought is the lost heir to an eight-hundred-million-dollar Drennan estate. And every relative in that house paid to disfigure his face when he was eight. They're about to find out what I do to people who hurt what's mine.

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