Flared Teeth

She was invisible her whole life. Just another human slave in a world ruled by wolves, keeping her head down and surviving one day at a time. But when she accidentally bumped into the most feared wolf in the kingdom during the Sacred Mating Ritual, everything changed in an instant. The mate bond ignited between them like lightning. She, a worthless human slave, fated to the Cursed Alpha himself, the King's deadliest weapon and the one wolf even the King fears. They call him cursed because every woman chosen as his mate has died. Now she's supposed to be next, but he protects her. “Touch her and die!” He roared when the guard reached for her. The King gave her three trials to prove herself worthy. A death sentence disguised as a trial. But then something awakener in her, and the truth about what she really is could change everything. Now she's done being invisible, done being prey, and she'll fight with claws and teeth to claim everything they tried to take from her.

“Get off me,” I demanded, leaning forward and sinking my teeth into his shoulders, drawing out blood in the process. He growled and yanked me away from the wall, spun and shoved me back into it. Tears stung my eyes when my head connected with the wall but I immediately blinked it back. He might be my captor but I wasn't going to give him that privilege of watching me cry. His fingers dug into my skin as he impaled me on his cock, “You’re mine now Natalia…I call the shots here not you.” ~~~~~~~~ To Natalia, the plan was simple. Get in. Show him a little bit of her titties. Make sure he drinks the spiked whiskey. And then walk out with whatever penny or luxury he owned. But little did she know that the most ruthless Mafia lord in Voyeur was going to be after her. And when he did, he wasn't only interested in reclaiming what she took from him. He wanted to possess her entirely.

When finding evidence is by the skin of one's teeth, what price are you willing to lay to find the culprit?~~~She was just a typical girl from a not so typical family, who will seek justice after her loved ones' death. She was the only survivor in that death trap or at least that was what she knew. Their death wasn't just a mere tragedy, it was intentional. The purpose was to eradicate her clan, but they failed when she survived.When her only reason for living was taken away from her... What was left in her being were: hatred, anger and the burning fire to have her revenge, but it was hard to find since no obtainable evidence could uncover the culprit behind the terrible scheme.When her boss, turned lover, started to show affection, a beam of light was flashed in her being. The newly found solitude with him gradually replaced her negative feelings. But as another guy entered into the picture and claimed her to be his, it drifted her back to her intentions which led her to unravel some secrets she never thought existed. Join me as I lay pieces of information about the Culprit's real identity.

BLURB: 18+ Explicit Content Reader Discretion Strongly Advised Content warning ⚠️ This collection contains graphic sexual content, including rough sex, big age gaps in relationships, and subjects that are considered taboo or wrong. If you are easily upset by dark, shocking, or extreme topics, this book is not for you. He walked me backward until my spine hit the wall beside the television. His hands shoved my crop top up, yanking it over my head and tossing it somewhere. My tits spilled free and he stared at them for a second like he could not believe they were real, then in seconds what I knew was his lips were on me. He sucked my left nipple hard, his teeth grazing me, flicking his tongue, while his hand pinched the other one until I cried out. I clawed at his back, trying to pull his boxers down with one hand while the other tangled in his hair. He pulled off my nipple with a wet pop. “Slowly Aria,” he growled. “ I've been waiting too fucking long to rush this.”

The Lycan King's Slave Island 1797. Westbay, Southwest England. Old fishermen spoke in hushed voices of black ships that moved without sails, hunting through winter fog. They whispered of an island fortress where monsters kept slaves—a place they called "Girl's Hell." I thought them fools telling penny dreadful stories. Until that cursed vessel came for us. My sister Davelina and I were dragged aboard that legendary black ship. My boyish disguise fooled the lycans, landing me among male slaves while Davelina was taken to their King. Days of scrubbing blood from stone floors taught me the castle's horror. Guards whispered of the Wolf King who devoured every woman sent to him. None survived dawn. But even disguised, I wasn't safe. Yellow eyes lingered too long. Nostrils flared, testing. The awful truth revealed itself quickly—some lycans were so starved they'd take any warm hole. Young slaves vanished. The lucky ones died quickly. My binding slipped. For one heart-stopping moment, curves showed through fabric. I hunched forward, pulse hammering. Voice cracks. Suspicious stares. Close calls that left me shaking. Every mistake brought me closer to discovery. Every day meant Davelina suffered somewhere in those breeding chambers. How long could I survive in this island of monsters? How long before they learned I'm a girl? In this hell of stone and screams, I am running out of places to hide. AUTHOR'S NOTE: This book is an extremely dark fantasy romance inspired by real-world horrors but set in a fictional universe. This story contains extremely dark content including graphic violence, forced captivity and sexual themes that may disturb readers. Please prepare yourself morally and emotionally before proceeding. For mature readers only.

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.

My younger brother had opened a high-end beauty salon, so I took my mother there for a facial. We picked the most expensive package, but the moment the mask was applied, Mom's face began to burn. When we peeled it off, her entire face was covered in rashes. I called for the director, but she looked impatient. "Oh, that's just a normal detox reaction." I was stunned. "Her face is practically ruined! What products are you even using?" "Ruined?" She flared up like someone had stepped on her tail. "Your mom's skin is just too bad to handle premium nutrients! Once our products are opened, they're non-refundable—got it?" I pointed to the brochure. "It says right here—'gentle and non-irritating, full refund if any adverse reaction occurs.' Is this how Stellan Fallow taught you to run a business?" She crossed her arms and lifted her chin high. "I am the boss! You and your mother look broke as hell—clearly here to mooch a free treatment. Now that it didn't work, you're trying to scam us for money? "Let me tell you something—this set costs 38 thousand, and with my emotional damages and lost wages, that's a total of 100 thousand. If you don't pay up today, I'll have the police take you both in!" A hundred thousand for a product that ruined someone's face? It was no wonder Stellan suddenly wanted to open a salon—it turned out he and his girlfriend were running a scam together! I was about to call Stellan, but before I could, she hit the video dial first. "Bubby, get over here—two broke idiots tried to freeload a treatment and now they're trying to shake us down for money!"

I saved my husband, Raffaello, the Don of the mafia, from the hands of a rival family. In return, he forced me to kneel before his childhood sweetheart, Sofia, and bark like a dog just to cheer her up. Our son, Lorenzo, wandered into the family's chemical plant out of childish curiosity, so I dragged him out with my own hands. Only for him to look me in the eye and said that I wasn't worthy of being his mother. What my husband didn't know was that when the assassins came for him, I had deliberately drew them away, letting them capture me instead. They had injected a virus into body, which burned my throat and destroyed my voice forever. What my son didn't know either was that inside the chemical plant where I rescued him, I had inhaled an overwhelming amount of toxic powder, which later caused me to have severe asthma. That night, when my asthma flared up and my lungs began to fail, I used what little strength I had left to call my husband. He impatiently rebuked me, "Grace, stop bothering me for once. A person who is really dying wouldn't make such a scene. Don't think that I don't know that you're just jealous, trying to compete with Sofia for my attention." I collapsed into the snow, greedily gasping for the final breath of air. Then, everything went still. Later, Raffaello, who never loved me lost his mind. He injected the same virus over and over again into his body, just to feel the pain I once endured. Lorenzo, who refused to acknowledge me, attempted suicide repeatedly, begging fate to trade his life for mine. But, sadly, by then, I no longer loved them.

On the night of her birthday, Clara receives a crescent pendant and overhears a secret that splits her life in two. Hours later her mother is taken, Ronan—the rogue who collects the broken—calls from the trees, and Jasper drags her behind the walls of the Holdfast. Inside, Clara survives the Trial of Teeth and tastes the edge of the wolf living under her skin—becoming the problem the pack cannot agree on. Vivian sees a survivor; Jason sees a threat; the forest keeps blinking ash eyes while human cameras bloom among the pines. As a fated pull to Jasper presses closer and Vivian’s missing sister hints at what Ronan does to the taken, Clara must decide what to be: weapon, heir, or something the old laws have no word for. When betrayal leaks through the ranks and the border turns into a stage, mercy may prove sharper than fang—and the story others try to name for her is the one she’ll have to rewrite in blood and moonlight. A dark, romantic werewolf fantasy about power that refuses to be inherited, love that asks for consent, and a girl choosing the kind of Alpha she will become.

From first crush to wedding vows, George Capulet and I had been inseparable. But in our seventh year of marriage, he began an affair with his secretary. On my birthday, he took her on vacation. On our anniversary, he brought her to our home and made love to her in our bed... Heartbroken, I tricked him into signing divorce papers. George remained unconcerned, convinced I would never leave him. His deceptions continued until the day the divorce was finalized. I threw the papers in his face: "George Capulet, from this moment on, get out of my life!" Only then did panic flood his eyes as he begged me to stay. When his calls bombarded my phone later that night, it wasn't me who answered, but my new boyfriend Julian. "Don't you know," Julian chuckled into the receiver, "that a proper ex-boyfriend should be as quiet as the dead?" George seethed through gritted teeth: "Put her on the phone!" "I'm afraid that's impossible." Julian dropped a gentle kiss on my sleeping form nestled against him. "She's exhausted. She just fell asleep."