Where Can I Read Slewfoot: A Tale Of Bewitchery Online Free?

These are the tales society whispers about but never dares to speak aloud: the aching pull of step-parents and step-children, the dangerous heat of family secrets, and the kind of love that thrives in shadows. From scorching heterosexual passion to steamy lesbian and gay encounters, every flavor of forbidden ecstasy awaits. Here, rules are shattered. Hearts betray reason. Characters surrender to the raw, uncontrollable urge to touch what they shouldn’t, step-fathers, step-mothers, blood-bound temptations, and every wicked variation in between. This is not gentle romance. This is wild, sinful, unapologetic lust wrapped in love. A dance on the razor’s edge between control and chaos, guilt and surrender. Between the crushing weight of sin and the sweet sting of redemption, these lovers become entangled in secrets, temptation, and pleasure so intense it borders on madness. Because sometimes the most dangerous thing isn’t the sin itself…

Seven Classic Faery Tales are given a very adult makeover. You are entering a world of myth, magic, and Immortals. Throw in the humans for the added spice of erotica and violence. Mix together and you have dark adult faery tales ........ Do not read if easily offended!

When Anastasia, a lower level green witch, finally flees from a vengeful wolf pack, she finds herself soul-bond to the very thing she hates, a Lycan. Not only is he a Lycan, but he’s none other than Dominiko, the Lycan King himself! She thought struggling to accept him was the worst of her worries until she is faced with a catch 22. She must overcome her prejudice, embrace her power, and choose between the witches and Lycans, all while a war threatens to tear both worlds apart. Could she really go against her own people? Or will the Lycan kings hope for peace work?

Saraid is your average witch hidden in a small town in Alabama. A blind date set up by her best friend and faerie, Wendy sends Saraid's ife spiraling out of control as the evening ends with her magically bound to Liam Maddox, a man with a secret all his own. Liam Maddox, born and raised in Ireland used to be one of the highest-ranking warriors of the Guardians of the Celtic Coven. An unforeseen attack left him cast out of the ranks for what the witches he protected called impure blood. Hired in secret to locate the true heir to the throne of the Celtic coven, Liam moves to the states where he meets Saraid. The one whom he has been tasked to find. A simple date flips their entire world on its axis as the two are magically bound together, leaving them sporting strange and unusual powers. When the truth is revealed Saraid finds herself traveling to Ireland to protect the lives of her closest friends and the man she unwillingly fell in love with, but when she is faced with the choice of her magic or love, will she choose to surrender her powers for the people she loves or is she strong enough to have both?

Princess Avalea, a Venusian Witch and the heir to the throne of the magical kingdom of Altair, finds herself on the run after witnessing the assassination of her father, the King. Helpless and hurt, she is forced to seek refuge with Aldrich, a Werewolf, a Cursed One. While Venusian Witches are the highest, the purest amongst all magical beings in Altair, the Werewolves, also known as the Cursed Ones are the lowliest, the crassest, the crudest. They're savages who have gained entry into Altair by deceitful means. Or at least, that's what Princess Avalea has been led to believe. With assassins after her own life and a traitor to weed out, the only person Princess Avalea can trust, ironically, is Aldrich the Werewolf. As he nurses her back to health, her prejudices begin to dissolve, and a bond develops between the savagely handsome werewolf and the pure, ethereally beautiful witch princess. But Aldrich has secrets. Deep, dark secrets that can shatter Avalea's heart and leave it broken beyond repair.

I stood at the edge of Ironwood territory, boots sinking into mud as cold seeped through my coat. I hated being this close to their land. It smelled like wet dog, testosterone, and trouble. “You’re late, witch.” The voice hit low and deep, vibrating through the ground before it reached my ears. I didn’t flinch. I refused to give him that. I turned slowly, amethyst eyes narrowing as I found him at the tree line. Guilermo Santander. He stepped into the gray light, rain sliding off his broad frame. Six-foot-five of pure menace. Dark hair plastered to his forehead, silver streaks catching the gloom, and those amber eyes—burning straight through me. “I’m not late,” I said calmly, though my pulse spiked. “You wolves just don’t understand patience.” He stopped three feet away. My skin prickled as the runes along my ribs flared hot, reacting to the dense magic rolling off him. Suffocating. Intoxicating. “And you witches don’t understand territory,” Guilermo said. He didn’t sound feral. He sounded tired—like a man carrying a century of weight on deceptively young shoulders. He leaned in and sniffed near my neck. I stiffened. “You smell like sage and burnt sugar,” he murmured, voice dropping, darker now. “It’s giving me a headache.” “Then stop breathing,” I snapped. One corner of his mouth lifted, a flash of sharp canine. “Make me.” The air between us snapped tight. My magic stirred, violet haze curling from my fingertips without permission, brushing the leather of his jacket. He didn’t pull away. He leaned closer. And standing there in the freezing rain with a man who could tear my throat out, I realized two things: Elder Sibal was wrong—Guilermo wasn’t a monster to be chained. And I was in serious trouble.