Leather

"I hate you." I gasp,clutching his leather jacket as his hands tighten around my waist. "The feeling is mutual." Then he crushes his lips against mine,making me forget my name. ------------- In my world,veltrith dominion,I am only my parents and my older sister's younger sister. But that changes when I am forced to marry the boy I hate. I become a fiancée,then a wife. My secret becomes hard to hide. The Secret that I am a dragon. A girl that weirds magic. In veltrith Dominion,I ought to be killed along with my family. But I am good at hiding it. when everything begins to unravel and tensions rise,I have no option but to work with my enemy to survive. It would be simple if my heart knew not to change course and start falling in love with him. A system where gods do nothing but their silence demands obedience. People pray with terror in their hearts- out of fear not out of love- for survival. Nobles fight among themselves while the commoners bleed for bread. Magic,the one thing that could free humanity is punished by brutal death. Faith is currency and yet,those who believe the most are poor. Welcome to Veltrith Dominion.

In Alabama’s rot-soaked bayous, Drucilla Drakes survives by three rules: silence, scars, and never letting Louise—her Bible-thumping captor—catch her hoping. But when a schoolyard ambush leaves her bleeding beneath a stranger’s leather jacket, invisibility becomes a death sentence. Enter Dragon Morales: New Orleans’ most notorious runaway, a cartel prince turned outlaw mechanic with grease-stained hands and a death wish. He doesn’t save people—he survives them. Yet in Dru’s lashed flesh and hellfire gaze, he sees his own shattered reflection. Their bond is gasoline and matches. Dragon’s father—Colombia’s cartel kingpin—hunts them relentlessly. Louise, armed with voodoo rites and the chaos-hungry loa Marinette, vows to break Dru. Their only allies? The Lou Nwa, a bayou biker gang trading in bullets and black magic, and Papa Legba, the crossroads spirit who offers Dru a lethal bargain: *“Her soul or yours.”* Fleeing through the Deep South’s cursed underbelly, they dodge cartel hitmen, haunted swamps, and safehouses reeking of betrayal. Dark magic seeps into old wounds; family secrets tighten like nooses. Dragon swears he’s too ruined to love. Dru knows she’s too shattered to trust. But in the bayou’s choking heat, desire is a grenade they can’t outrun. This isn’t a fairytale. It’s switchblade kisses and saintly curses—a collision of fire and ruin where protectors become predators. Dru doesn’t need saving; she needs an inferno. And Dragon? He’s got a lighter and nothing left to burn. Will they raze the South to ashes, or become the sacrifice the crossroads demands? One truth remains: in the bayou, even survival leaves scars. **Warning:** No princes here. Just bayou smoke, blood-soaked magic, and the kind of love that devours.

She was sweet, soft, and sheltered. He was danger and sin in a black leather suit. Ramona Martins lived in her father’s bubble. Protected, pampered and untouched by the world. But when he arranges a marriage with a man she despises, she finally snaps and makes one reckless decision: to hire a stranger to destroy the wedding. Her naivety lands her in the right place…But with the wrong man, and he didn't mind playing along. Lance Brown is dangerous, seductive, a man who breaks rules and women’s hearts. He ruined her wedding, and they were supposed to part ways. But she didn’t know the force she’d just unleashed… or what it would turn her into. “All she wanted was freedom, but she got handed obsession, danger and him.”

Every Thanksgiving, my husband, Salvatore, brings home a showgirl from one of his clubs. He makes me kneel and serve them drinks. A lesson, he calls it, in how to please a man. This was the eighth Thanksgiving, and this time, he brought back a girl poured into a tight leather dress. "She doesn't have any decent jewelry," Salvatore announced. "Give her your heirloom diamond ring. Your grandmother's pearl earrings, too. And take off that silk choker for her." He smirked. "And listen, she's young, doesn't know the rules. You'll have to show her the ropes. Especially how to handle a man in bed." Every member of the Genovese family was watching, waiting for my humiliation. I didn't disappoint. I opened my mouth and asked Salvatore for a divorce. Salvatore let out a sharp, ugly laugh, his eyes full of contempt. "Francesca, you pull this same shit every time," he jeered. "Your act is pathetic. Even more dramatic than your performance in bed." He leaned in. "You really want to divorce me? Fine. I'll give you five million in cash if you actually walk out that door." The living room erupted in laughter. They all said I was playing hard to get, that I didn't know my place. But they didn't know. This was the 88th time I had asked for a divorce, and it was the first time I truly meant it.