Burned Synonym

Calen was a benchwarmer on the university swim team, someone who never actually competed. The captain, Karl, was everything he wasn’t, a campus golden boy. Three records broken. A new girlfriend every other week. One night, Calen realized he’d left something behind and went back to the locker room. That was when he heard it. Ragged breathing. Strained, barely held back. And beneath it… the slow, awful sound of metal bending under pressure. He pushed the door open. Karl stood with his back to him. His bare muscles writhed beneath his skin, moving wrong, his spine standing out in sharp ridges. His fingers were dug deep into the steel locker, nails tearing through metal, leaving long, brutal gouges. The air was thick with the smell of blood… and something wild. Predatory. Karl snapped around. His eyes burned gold in the dark. Blood stained the corner of his mouth, and when he bared his teeth, the canines were far too long. Far too sharp. He ran. He barely took two steps before something crashed into him from behind, slamming him to the floor. Karl’s weight pinned him down, his body radiating heat… too hot, almost painful. A low voice brushed his ear. “You saw something you weren’t meant to see.” “I won’t say anything….” Karl lowered his head, his nose grazing his neck as he inhaled slowly, deeply. “…You smell fucking irresistible.”

Adrian Moretti’s adopted sister—She knew perfectly well that I suffered from severe asthma and could not be exposed to smoke or strong scents. Yet during the yacht reception, she deliberately dragged me onto the open deck, where cigars burned nonstop and the wind howled. Within seconds, my chest tightened. When I reached for my inhaler, my blood ran cold. It was empty. I collapsed against the railing, gasping violently, my lungs burning as if they were collapsing in on themselves. She crouched beside me and smiled. “You’re always so dramatic. It’s just a little smoke. You don’t need to act like you’re dying,” she said softly. “You’re too weak. You need to build some tolerance.” I looked toward Adrian, my vision already blurring. “Adrian,” I choked. “Give me my inhaler. If I don’t use it right now, I’m going to suffocate.” He frowned slightly. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” he said coldly. “I’ve never heard of anyone dying from a bit of smoke. She’s right—you’re always seeking attention. We finally gathered tonight, and you’re ruining it.” My heart dropped. I fumbled for my phone and called my mother. “Mom,” I sobbed, barely able to breathe. “I’m being bullied… and I can’t breathe.” My voice shook violently.

The city lights of Valenfort burned bright against the suffocating dark like a gem tainted by blood. Beneath that glittering surface lay nameless alleys where the scent of iron and the echoes of screams intertwined into a symphony of hell. No one remembered the last time they saw a real sunrise for this city had long belonged to the night. Evelyn Cross , a fourth-generation vampire hunter of the secretive order known as The Order of the Thorn , was born in blood and sworn to die for her mission. She had once watched her father torn apart by a pureblood vampire, a creature so fearsome that humans dared only whisper its name in prayer. Since that day, Evelyn lived like a blade cold, unfeeling, and driven by the hunt. Until she met Lucien Draven , the Blood King of Valenfort who ruled the shadows with a calm smile and eyes that could stop a heartbeat. Lucien did not kill Evelyn upon their first encounter. Instead, he saved her from the very comrades who had betrayed her. A vampire saving a hunter such a thing had never happened in the history of either world. Evelyn despised him… yet could not kill him. Lucien desired her… yet knew his love was her death sentence. In Valenfort, a war of blood is rising. The ancient vampire houses are clawing for dominance, while the hunters’ order fractures under betrayal and deceit. Amidst gunfire, betrayal, and desire, Blood War is not merely a battle between species but between the heart and fate itself. “In the world of darkness, truth isn’t written in ink… but in blood.”

WARNING: THIS BOOK MAY CONTAIN STEAMY AND SEXUAL CONTENT WHICH IS STRICTLY NOT FOR KIDS UNDER +18 . "Bryce!". I screamed as I feel his huge cap nudge at the entrance of my womanhood. He groaned as he pressed in deeper before he slides into my wet entrance. My walls clenched around him while he stretched my inner muscles as he kept pushing deep inside me. "Please". I cried and placed the tip of my finger down at his waist in an effort to push myself away from him. "Please". I begged but he only retracted his hip and thrusted into me fully, deeper, stretching me wide enough to accommodate his full length. . He is the handsome, sexy and heartless devil. The sinner. She is the purest, innocent and beautiful angel. Two polar opposites, one single attraction. *** Having lived in the convent all her life, Hera Whitson manages to secure a job as a maid in the household of Bryce Donovan. The inhuman sex god that has the entire female population at his feet. He lives for sex, he celebrates and relish the electricity of it with every fibre of his being and sees no better reason for being alive. One look at Hera and Bryce is smitten. She is like an addictive drug, a moth to a flame and he will do anything to get burned by her. Relinquished by her heat. What happens when Hera finds herself battling against her principles and sexual attraction for Bryce? Will she be caught in the web of Bryce's twisted game of lust?

In my past life, I was a rare treasure: the only she-wolf capable of bearing a pureblood werewolf heir. That singular gift made me a prize, claimed by Leon, the Alpha of the formidable Silvermoon Pack in North America. Leon's ambition burned with the desire for a child. A pureblood heir, he believed, would secure his ascension to President Alpha—the supreme leader of all North American Lycan packs. But fate, as it often does, twisted his expectations. After ten long months, I birthed a pup with gray fur and gray eyes which was different to the golden-marked purebloods. By all standards, a low-ranking wolf. Simultaneously, my sister Eve, wedded to the rival Seurin Pack, delivered a golden-furred, golden-eyed pureblood. Leon's dream of becoming President Alpha shattered in an instant. From that moment, he harbored a strong hatred for me and my pup. He forced wolfsbane down our throats and ended our lives with a silver blade in a cold merciless way. Only in my dying breath did the horrifying truth reveal itself: my own sister had stolen my gift—the ability to bear purebloods—using dark magic, claiming it as her own. Now, I am reborn. I find myself reliving the day Leon and Seurin arrived to propose marriage. Just as before, Leon chose my sister Eve without hesitation. I saw it in his eyes—he remembers everything. He, too, has been reborn. But this time, I possess the knowledge. Without me, he will never father a pup—not pureblood, not even half-blood. Not even a mutt.

Three days before my wedding, I found out that Shane Dawson had changed the venue from Grandma Mae’s home in the South to Castillo de Sol, the Spanish castle that Tania Collins, his childhood sweetheart, adored. I confronted him, only to overhear him complaining to his friend, "Thank God Tania has taste. Otherwise, I’d be laughed at for life." His friend reminded him, "Didn’t you promise her you’d hold the ceremony at her grandmother’s house? Aren’t you afraid she’ll get angry and refuse to marry you?" Shane just laughed, sharp and dismissive. "The Quinns are on the verge of bankruptcy. Marrying me is her only way out. She can’t afford to gamble. I’ve already asked the planner to call her. She’s probably scrambling to change her flight right now." Anger and humiliation burned in my chest. I bit down on my lip and, in the end, turned away. Three days later, the castle wedding went on as scheduled, but I didn’t reschedule my flight. I didn’t show up. Instead, I stood in Grandma Mae’s old courtyard and exchanged rings with another man. To this day, Shane doesn’t understand. I never married him for some so-called escape route. I married him for a love that lasted ten years. However, once the dream was over, it was time for me to choose a different path.

I spent five years taking the blame for a truth that could have destroyed my Alpha. In Blackthorn Pack, everyone mocked me as the wolfless Omega who couldn’t bear an heir. They said I was unfit to be Luna. They said Adrian Hale should cast me aside for a stronger woman. What none of them knew was that Adrian was the infertile one. I burned the report myself and let the whole pack shame me for his weakness. I gave up my studies, my pride, and everything I loved to protect him. Then his mistress got pregnant. And I heard the truth with my own ears. “She has no wolf, no pack, no one to stand up for her. Even if she makes a scene, the Elders’ Council won’t take her side.” That was the moment I understood. For power, for bloodline, for status, Adrian had already chosen Lydia Ashcroft, the Alpha’s daughter carrying a child he couldn’t possibly have fathered. So I severed our mate bond. I took nothing from him except the look on his face when he opened the medical report I left behind. Patient: Adrian Hale. Diagnosis: congenital azoospermia. Infertile. What Adrian never knew was that I was never wolfless. I was the lost daughter of a Lycan King. And in my bloodline, a wolf does not awaken until her family calls her home. The one who could never have children was never me. It was the man who begged the world to believe otherwise.

My mother was asking me and my sister to choose the man we wanted to marry. My sister, surprisingly, did not choose the gloomy STEM student she spent four years pursuing. Instead, she went for the rich but infamous playboy. Shock colored my mother's face. "I know he's rich, Joan, but what if you get all known and unknown STDs? I thought you loved Gil. Are you sure you're making the right choice?" That did not sway my sister's mind. That alone told me what I had been suspecting all along. Like me, my sister was reincarnated. In our previous lives, she happily married Gilbert Terrason, but he left her on read for ten long years. His cold treatment drove her a little gaga. That playboy, however, stopped his philandering lifestyle for me and loved me like his life depended on it. He gave me all his riches, and we became the model couple everyone wouldn't stop talking about. Then, it happened during the ball. On my tenth wedding anniversary, my sister, consumed by rage, burned us into cinders. Here we were, on our second chance in life. This time, I took Gilbert's hand. "No takebacks, Joan. Don't try to do a third take." My sister snickered. "As to you. This time, all the love in the world is coming to me." Ah, yes, love. Joan still did not get it. Love was the most unreliable element in any marriage.

Valerie Thorne: Raven Blackwood was the man I liked since I was a child, made my heart race before I even knew what love meant. But childhood ends. Innocence fades. And Raven… Well. Raven became my worst nightmare. Even the devil would sit back and take notes from him, when it came to torture, harm, use, and kill. His grey eyes, hypnotic, dangerous, and unforgettable, would make anyone fall in love with, but same grey eyes would make anyone feel death. And every time they met mine, I couldn’t tell if he looked at me with the love with the depth of oceans for me, or was I another game he was playing, another pawn he planned to destroy? Raven Blackwood: Valerie Thorne. The girl who once was gentle, the sweetest ever I known. And now looked at me like I burned the sky. She was the light, too soft for the world I lived in, too good for the blood on my hands. But I never claimed to be anyone good. I never promised her good things. I only ever promised her one thing. That she was mine. Her fear didn’t surprise me. Her hate? Maybe. But it’s the way she still looked at me, like she wants to run and stay all at once. Because no matter how many sins I had, and will carry. No matter how deep I’ve dragged her into my hell. She’s the only piece of heaven I ever wanted to keep.

The day I went into labor with the twins, I bribed the family doctor to shoot me up with every heavy-duty suppressant he could get his hands on. Anything to stall the birth. Why? Because in my last life, Vincent—my husband, the Don—claimed to have a low sperm count. To guarantee an heir, he lined up ten mistresses and told the whole house: whoever popped out a son first, her kid would be the next Corleone Don. He promised if I delivered first, he'd ditch the others. Said our baby would inherit the throne. I bought every word. When I found out I was carrying twins, I couldn't stop shaking—I thought I'd won. But after I gave birth, he tossed me and the babies into the freezing wine cellar and locked the place down. "Lucy came from nothing. I just wanted to give her kid a name. You started rumors, pushed her into despair, and now she's dead—her and the baby. You're vile. Not fit to be the Don's wife. Think about what you've done. I'll open the door in three days." Then he had the butler seal it shut. What he didn't know? That night, the cellar caught fire. Me and my babies? Burned alive. When I opened my eyes again, I was back—right before labor. This time, I'm not staying. Soon as I deliver and get back on my feet, I'm taking my kids and disappearing for good.