Bleach Stuffed Animals Novels & Stories

Veterinarian Kalyssa Carran always got along better with animals than with people, and she never knew why. And the boyfriends she had in the past bored her to tears. But everything changes when she accidently hits a wolf with her car, bringing her into a world she never knew existed.Alphas Xander Reed and Elias Samuelson share their power in The Diamond Pack. They always knew they wanted to share the same Mate, something common among wolf-shifters. But they had never found the right woman until they saw her the night of the Blood Moon Choosing Ceremony. Then everything changed.Now, with Nightshade, a band of supernatural hunters, after the new Luna, can the Alphas sworn to protect her keep her safe? Or will her past be their undoing?Magic and power wrestles with love and loyalty in Night Wolves, a world where supernatural creatures are real, just as real as the hunters hellbent on destroying them.Night Wolves is created by Sophie Slade, an EGlobal Creative Publishing signed author.

KEEP OUT OF THE REACH OF CHILDREN⚠️ This collection is not about love. There are no soft confessions, no forever promises, no gentle hands reaching for something pure. These stories are built on raw hunger...men consumed by obsession, dominance, and the need to take what they crave without apology. Inside these pages are ruthless encounters between men who don’t believe in romance. Men who use bodies like addictions. Men who pin, command, consume, and leave bruises where tenderness should have been. Desire here is violent, intoxicating, and shameless. Every touch burns with greed. These are not stories about soulmates. They are stories about dark locker rooms, sweaty midnight encounters, rough mouths, possessive grips, filthy whispers, and desperate cravings that refuse to stay hidden. Men giving in to temptation with no guilt and no restraint. Men chasing release like starving animals, devouring each other simply because they can. No hearts. No healing. No salvation. Just sweat, tension, sin, and the dangerous thrill of men who know exactly what they want from other men and take it hard, fast, and without mercy.

The boy, George Larson, whom I once saved as a child, when he was struggling with asthma, repaid my kindness by imprisoning me for seven long years. "Luna, you're my everything. I won’t let you out of my sight," he said, his voice filled with obsession. He tied my hands and feet, keeping me bound to the bed like a helpless doll, but I did not love him; I wanted to escape. In his madness, he set fire to my family’s ancestral home. The last traces of the Sachs burned to ashes, disappearing into the wind. He said that since my home was gone, I could just live with him and that it would be my new home. However, because I refused to let him touch me, he found someone else—a girl with a beauty mark under her eye, just like mine. The girl, drunk on his affection, thought I was trying to imitate her by faking the same tear-shaped mark. In a fit of jealousy, she gouged out my eyes. My face was covered with tiny, bleeding holes, blood streaming down my body. When George came home, the girl gleefully stuffed me into a trash bag, proud of her handiwork. “George, look! I caught some trash that broke into the house!” George did not even glance at me. He just loosened his tie, his voice calm and detached. “Just toss it where trash belongs.”

On the first day of summer break, my husband, Alfred Manning, cancels the family trip I have booked again. He reasons that his childhood sweetheart, Edna Moore, has just gotten divorced. She needs a trip to Flordale with her son to clear their heads. Alfred finds her pitiful, so that is how the trip my daughter, Bella Manning, has spent two semesters earning with her gold stars turns into another child's vacation. Hugging her stuffed animal, Bella looks up at me with tear-filled eyes and asks, "Is Daddy not coming again?" The word "again" makes my heart throb in pain. Alfred wires some money into my account and sends a soothing voice note. "Just take Bella to a local park or something. She's just a kid, so it's the same to her no matter where she goes." Meanwhile, Edna posts a photo on X, showing Alfred cradling her son in his arms. "You don't need a biological bond to be the best dad in the world." It hits me then that Bella and I are the only ones working hard to protect this family. That night, I change our family passes into two one-way tickets that are bound for the new city where I'm relocated for work. "What about Daddy's pass?" I tear the canceled boarding pass into shreds. "He has already made his choice."

“Fuuuck—ahh!” I gasped, my voice cracking. “That’s it,” he groaned, one hand gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. “Tight little pussy taking my cock so greedily. You were made for this, weren’t you?” *** On campus, she is that timid nerd nobody notices, Oversized hoodies, black-rimmed glasses, quiet enough to fade into the background. Even when facing the notoriously strict Professor Elliott, she would only lower her head, and mutter incorrect phrases. But at night, she became the most intoxicating dancer in the club. She wrapped herself around the pole, bent low, whining her hips, each movement drove men below into a frenzy. Bills were stuffed into the strap around her thigh, eyes couldn’t help but notice her. To cover her mother’s medical bills and to escape poverty, she takes a private party offering an equally obscene payout. The light swept across his face— *** “Don't fight it. I am going to pay you ten times what they pay you here for the rest of the night,” he said with a low voice “If you let me fuck you.” Ten times. *** She knew it was wrong. This was her professor. Her best friend's uncle. The man whose house she’d visited years ago when they were trying to get into UAC. She wasn’t going to do this, never, besides, money couldn't buy her dignity, or could it?

"Manager, it's her! I saw it with my own eyes! She stuffed that limited-edition necklace from the display case right into her clothes!” The weekend mall was packed. Out of nowhere, a woman with that perfectly curated influencer look blocked my path and started yelling at the top of her lungs. The crowd waiting in line for coffee instantly froze and turned to stare. I blinked, caught off guard, and was just about to say something. But she didn't give me a chance. She lunged forward and yanked hard at my work jacket. A few brand-new gold necklaces, still with their tags on, hit the marble floor. "Oh my God, you guys! The evidence is right there! Someone call the cops and get this woman arrested—ruin her life, send her straight to prison!” People whipped out their phones to record. A couple of young guys even rolled up their sleeves, ready to play hero. I looked down at the gold chains on the floor, then patted my pocket—where my plainclothes loss-prevention officer badge was sitting—and let out a dry, incredulous laugh. This was the exact stash of stolen goods I'd confiscated just five minutes ago from a trash can in the women's restroom during an ongoing theft bust. So how did she—a random shopper—know exactly where the evidence was on me? And more than that, how did she manage to track me down and block my route to the security office with mall management in tow, all within a single minute?

If there’s one thing I know to be certain in life, it’s to expect the unexpected. I never expected to become a teen mom or have to flee a toxic relationship years later. And I certainly never expected to go head-to-head with Jacob Harris, doctor of veterinary medicine, to prove I’m worthy of running the struggling rescue full of misfit animals I suddenly inherited. Jacob is as smug as he is good looking, and I refuse to let that cocky grin or sharp jawline distract me. I won’t go down without a fight, and this time, it’ll be easy to stand my ground when my opponent is someone I can’t stand—even though my body reacts whenever he’s around. This time I’m not backing down no matter how much he gets under my skin. But the more I push, the more he pulls..until I don’t know what I’m more at a risk of losing: the rescue or my heart.

My fiancé had a thing for girls who were tiny, pale, and fragile-looking. A month before our wedding, he demanded that I slim down to 80 pounds. So, I starved myself, counted every calorie, and spent my days at the gym. Alas, the harder I tried to lose weight, the heavier I got. … Meanwhile, the girl I'd been supporting stuffed herself with burgers, milkshakes, and late-night takeout every day. Yet, she kept getting thinner. On our wedding day, my fiancé became disgusted the second he laid eyes on me and promptly decided that I was too fat to be his bride. Then, he dumped me and replaced me with the scholarship girl right there at the altar. Not long after, the rapid weight gain wrecked my health. One complication led to another. As I lay on my deathbed, she finally came to gloat. "You idiot," she cooed at me mockingly. "I linked you to a weight-swap system. It doesn't matter how hard you diet because the weight loss always goes to me." Then, everything went black. … When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the time before the wedding. As my eyes focused, I saw the same girl standing in front of me, nagging me to lose weight. I smiled, but scoffed internally. 'If you want to be skinny that badly, fine. However, I'll make sure you end up weighing five pounds this time around, ashes and all.'

In my past life, my boyfriend's childhood sweetheart, Kimberly Thatcher, claimed to be Lady Luck. She insisted on handing out sachets to keep our team safe for a hike. I, Priscilla Jensen, caught the scent and realized the sachets were stuffed with herbs that would attract wolves. So, I stepped in to stop her, saving everyone from an attack. But Kimberly thought I was looking down on her sachets, and that I was targeting her on purpose. Though she was the leader, she stormed off from the group in anger. We searched the forest under the raging storm. In the end, someone broke a leg, someone else was strangled by poisonous vines, and my shoulder was torn open. By dawn, we found Kimberly's corpse at the bottom of a valley. … On the seventh day after her death, her memorial service became an ambush. While everyone mourned for her, their eyes were fixed on me. My boyfriend, Fabian Lowell, was the first to lash out. He ripped off his bandage, revealing his wound. "If you hadn't stopped Kimberly from giving us those sachets, none of this would have happened! How dare you show up to her memorial service?" he yelled. Everyone turned to glare daggers at me. Suddenly, someone shouted, "It's all your fault! You're the reason we ended up like this! Go to hell!" In the next second, they hurled a pot of boiling stew at me. Then they set the private room ablaze and burned me alive. … When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the day of the hike.

My father was one of the first dons to rise out of the Naples mob. My mother was an iron-fisted businesswoman with a reputation that made grown men flinch. When I was ten, somebody had the nerve to hijack one of my father's freight ships. He had the man's arms and legs broken with a crowbar, then stuffed a handful of gold rings down his throat — told him to count his money while he crawled. When I was fifteen, some scheming woman tried to get her claws into my father. My mother hired the filthiest pimps off the docks, shipped her down to a back-alley bar in Marseille, and told her to make her own way. And me — I grew up running the streets of Naples like I owned them. The sons of every other family knew to call me Miss Ferrante and keep their hands to themselves. Then I met him. A rough, quiet man fresh out of the army. For him I put down the knives, traded the silk for plain cotton, and followed him back to that little nothing of a coastal town, Porto Scuro. Today my mother-in-law and my husband went down to the dock warehouses to settle a dispute. They held her face down in a barrel of rotting fish guts. They kicked in three of his ribs. I stared at the salt fish I'd been slicing on the kitchen board, let out a cold laugh, and brought the knife down so hard the oak split in half. Then I dialed my father's private line.