Pemburu Wanita Novels & Stories

Racing towards my teams trap I didn’t notice when he appeared Infront of me, skidding to a stop I dropped down and narrowly avoided his clutches, I rolled to the side jumped up and got close enough to my team to know that he was surrounded. Our target Prince Dagon was a ruthless killer and thousands of years old, not that he showed it. I braced myself for his attack, but he paused and looked at me, confused. “Why do you run from me? You are my Bride.”

My hatred of The nonsense Concept-of-Women's-Happiness-bullshit sister Elise taught me once, two years ago. I remember she said, "--at the end, a woman's ultimate happiness was to fulfill her destiny. To do so, thou shalt be modest but charming, full of smiles, calm in her nature, smooth in her speech, forgiving, loyal and devoted to thy husband, never rejects the will of thy husband and thy attitude towards his wives has no prejudice; sincere and full of understanding--,"

This was going to be almost too easy. “We want your women.” I raised my eyebrow. “For what?” “Mixing bear and wolf DNA will make us stronger.” “Well, you can’t have our women,” I reply.

Wilbur started to scroll once he logged into the dark web. He saw posts about murder, treasure hunting, firearms and ammunition transactions, and also women. Of course, the users were not looking for ordinary women. One post claimed that he was looking for a woman who was exquisite in appearance and body. He also requested the woman to be at least a beginner Ambience level cultivator, noting that he was willing to accept all sorts of torture. The price was negotiable.

“Naive and foolish as usual. Nothing's changed. Perhaps that's why you got in quicker than I expected.” “I don't know who the hell you are. Leave before the…” She cut the words out of my mouth. “The guards? You would call the dogs to protect you?” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t be silly.” My heart pounded wildly. My instincts were screaming at me that this woman was bad news. The woman raised her right hand. Her fingers moved in a sharp, circular motion, and a spark of dark purple light erupted from her palm. I gasped. “What are you…?”

There’s a faint, resinous tang in the air—old iron, oiled wood, and what I can only as gunmetal. I approach slowly, drawn instinctively to the table, but something about the arrangement makes me hesitate. Swords, knives, axes, blunt instrument hybrids I can’t name, their shadows pooling on the dark tabletop like stains. A half-wall of glass-fronted cabinets along one side displays even stranger things: what looks like a flintlock rifle, a crossbow the size of a cello, an array of silver-tipped arrows in a velvet cradle. “Hunters are matched to their weapon,” Edward says, coming to stand beside me. “But it’s not like picking out shoes. It’s more… ancestral.”