Beastman Romance Short Stories & Novels

After my fox shifter scratched me again, I went to the hospital alone. The nurse looked at the gash running from my wrist to my forearm. "That is going to scar. Did your shifter even go through socialization training?" I smiled. "He did. He was top of his class." My phone lit up. Lucian rarely messaged me, but today he did. [I barely touched you. Was the hospital really necessary?] [I have plans tonight. When are you coming back? I need you to press my shirt.] [Also, can you do something about the laundry smell? It is embarrassing.] [I do not even want to tell people you are my sponsor.] I stared at the screen for a moment. So that was how he saw me. Then I walked down the street to the shelter: "I would like to exchange my shifter." The worker opened my file, and her face went pale. Lucian had always believed I was a broke, ordinary sponsor who was lucky to have him. He did not know I was the only heir to the family that built the Shifter Registry.

I raised three wolf beastmen, and they never stopped wanting me in bed. I collapsed, too tired to even think. And through the fog, I caught pieces of what they were saying. "Tch. With that body and that stamina, she really thought she could handle all three of us." "Relax. Once she's worn out enough, she'll hand us over to her sister." "Her sister will treat us way better anyway." So I gave them exactly what they wanted. I swapped them for my sister's snake beastman—the one who seemed completely uninterested in sex. But strangely enough, they were now so upset that they were nearly in tears. "Carol, we're yours. Only yours!"

I needed money, so I sold myself to that cold, handsome man for seven nights. He left behind a black card and an ice-cold eggshell, then vanished. Three months later, a doctor found six coiled serpentine shadows inside my womb. I discarded every trace of my identity and fled to a snowbound cabin, hoping to stay alive. But the day I gave birth alone in a blizzard, what crawled out weren't monsters. They were six babies with golden slit pupils who called me "Mama." My children were not priceless treasures. To the powerful guys, they were research subjects. To the other species, they were "filthy half-breeds." When cold needles pressed against all six of my children's chests, I heard the blast door torn from its frame. The man who had vanished three years ago stood in the smoke. Six golden threads glowed from his palm, each connected to a child, and black blood still seeped from the wounds he'd torn open breaking through the blockade. "Get your hands off my family."