Piglin Brute

In a world where humans are 'mythical creatures'. Werewolves rule the world. Power, brute strength, and money are what one must need to survive. One must belong to a group, an assassin, a witch, healer, or the greatest race of werewolves. No exception. Seris is from the Silver Pack. The smallest pack of the werewolf territory, but also a respected pack that produces Amours. Born of proud warrior parents, Seris also wants to become a warrior like her parents, but fate has another thing in store for her. She sees herself working in the palace as a maid because she is a disgrace to her pack and the werewolf race. Seris meets the man whom she only hears stories of, The Protector, also known as the “Descendant of the moon” His origins instil fear in the heart of many. The descent of the moon goddess. He is the heir to the throne of the great were-kingdom, the largest civilization on earth. Seris meets Kael in an iridescent situation where a rebellion was taking place within the palace walls on how to kill the young Beta. Seris saves Kael, mistaking him for the young beta and saves his life, and starts a spark of fate. The wheels of fate start moving, and Seris origins are coming to light. From being the most useless speck of dust, she becomes the most valuable and most wanted person. How do Seris and Kael protect each other from the evils lurking in the shadow aimed at the total ahnaliation of the were-wolf race. "Seris, what is this cruel fate you have?"Alma, the oldest woman, also a descent of the first witches, said to the young girl who stared at her with confusion in her eyes. "Is my fate cruel?" The young girl asked, crying.

She was backed up against the tree and I took a branch, breaking it in half to reveal a sharp end, and going straight for his neck. It might not do much, or at least that's what I thought, but it should be enough to get him away from her.To my surprise, he plummeted to the floor. I looked at Illyria and walked towards her like a predator. With my bloodied hands, not sure if it was mine or his blood, I put them on Illyria's collarbone while dragging it up to her neck and ending up in her face, painting it just like the red rose in her hand, while she looked at me with panic in her eyes.“Don't fear me, little rose. I won't hurt you, but next time you decide to run away, make sure you do it without anyone noticing. I have eyes everywhere” I said in a low growl, that sounded even more dangerous than what I usually sound. ~~~~~~Illyria Abbot was meant to choose a husband on her 21st birthday. When her mansion is attacked by rebellious vampires, she barely escapes with her life. Lost in the woods she’s found by Kieran Moore, a brute vampire who will make her life hard while falling in love with her. But there are secrets who will keep testing them and their love. Will they be able to overcome it, or will it be their doom? Author’s Note: This story contains Latin Language. I am using a program that might not be accurate on the translation, so I apologize in advance if the translation is wrong. Thank you for reading this story and enjoy.

This book is authored by amy worcester. “I started boxing lessons with the boys when I was twelve, I had some issues to work through. I’ve been in the fight for the last eleven years.” Twenty-three, he thought. That was too young for his thirty-nine years. But he sure as hell planned to enjoy the view. She currently hid her body under baggy clothes, but he was willing to bet that she was all muscles underneath. He had dated the soft curvy women before, he liked the ones that he was certain that he would not break. “How old were you when you moved in with Brute?” “Seven. Right after my parents were killed.” She said softly and he froze just before the stairs. Sixteen years ago. Right around the time he reenlisted with the Army. When the club went straight. When the Ridgeview president, Sinner, his wife and sons had been shot to death. And his daughter barely survived. The only survivor from that day. “I'm sorry.” He murmured and she shrugged. “I’m trying to remember you.” He was so much like the men that she grew up around. The kind of man that she swore she would avoid. The same type that her father had been,there were even tattoos on the backs of his hands. Jasmine was born and raised in the Devil’s Saints Motorcycle Club. A rival club caused the deaths of her family. After an incident at the mother house, she stepped away to focus on her MMA career under the name Taz.

When a eighteen-year-old virgin decided to leave Louisiana, her home town for Texas, an alien town she was oblivious that the journey of her independence would become one of longing for a man's love and attention. With her love built on a misconception, she was unaware that Charles Jackson; the multi-billionaire, was an egocentric, cold-hearted, proud and unforgiving man who locked his heart to love, the aftermath of the brute conditions under which he grew up. But yet, Maureen Thompson was bent on earning her bosses attention at all cost. Though not pushy or... flirty, she developed partial-obsessive tendencies; one that kept her dwindling in the thoughts of having sex with him—even as a virgin! Forgoing his harsh countenance, overly exaggerated reactions, she envisions Charles in the portrait of cold-nineteenth century men that spew flavors of love to their lovers—indoor. But Charles Jackson, built in grace and glamor, could win a medal in egocentrism, rudeness malevolence, prudishness and of course, beauty! And yet, she judged his reactions to the plane crash wrongly, unaware that December had scared his heart. It appeared that the plane crash became memorable either through breaking hearts or eventually mending them. Be it the crash itself or the incidents after the crash, it changed people's lives and Maureen was not left out. In readiness to be true to her love, Maureen ignored warnings and hit the wrong target. Lurking in the shadows of her emotions and fated to be bewitched by perfect blue eyes that defies morality, she might discover that Charles Jackson, heir to Jackson Companies PLC and CEO of Westland Airlines was truly born of STONE and FROST. And worse, everything that she believed might just be a lie!

"He drags me from wall to table to wall again, like he can’t decide which surface deserves this. Wood bites my spine, the table squeals. His hands are everywhere, rough, greedy, feral. He palms my throat, my jaw, my hips. He fists a hand in my hair and angles my mouth. The kiss is vicious. He grinds me open with it. 'Kneel,' he says. The command is a shove under the skin. My legs fold. It’s humiliating how fast I go and how much I love myself for it." He owns my mouth. My body. My fucking soul. But I never said he could have my heart. Eli’s been chained before and it damn near killed him. So when he’s caught running through Blackthorn pack lands by Ronan Vale, the savage Alpha of Blackthorn, he's horrified when the brute marks and claims him. But Ronan doesn’t just bite. He binds. With ropes, with rules, with a voice that makes Eli's knees go weak and a touch that turns resistance into hunger. The bond between them is feral. And Eli hates how much he wants it, how much he wants Ronan, even when he has him spread out and shaking, marked and owned, begging to be filled so he’ll stop feeling empty. Eli swore no one would ever own him again. Then came the Alpha whose bond feels like a brand and a promise all at once. He hates how much he wants it. Ronan’s voice. Ronan’s hands. Ronan’s brutal, worshipful need. This isn’t love, it’s obsession. And Eli is afraid that he's starting to like it.

Ninety-nine lashes. That was the price of loving the Alpha’s son. Bettoni Williams gave everything to Ardon. Her heart. Her trust. Her dignity. In return, he accused her of witchcraft, stripped her of her rank, and watched as she was whipped ninety-nine times in the public square. Broken, disowned, and demoted to a Gamma, Bettoni swore she would never trust a royal again. She planned to rot in the slums, to remain invisible and forgotten. But fate, and a bored Alpha Commander, had other plans. When the kingdom's most feared war hero, Commander Zachery, returns home, Alpha Jaceon fills the grand hall with silk-dressed noblewomen and forces him to choose a wife before the blood moon or lose everything he has. Annoyed, Zachery slips out the back. Bettoni, hiding from the feast in a dark alley, stumbles upon him in a moment that would make any sensible woman run. She doesn't run, but calls him a wild animal to his face, and this only makes him immediately obsessed with her. He drags her into the feast by the wrist, declaring; "You're going to be my Commandress tonight." Now, Bettoni is trapped in a marriage with a brute who collects wives like trading cards. Zachery is uncouth, violent, and dangerously seductive. He treats the palace like a playground and his brother, the King, like a joke. Bettoni intends to use this monster to climb back to the top and destroy the family that ruined her. But Zachery is not a ladder. He is a cliff. And he has no intention of letting his new sweetheart go. Revenge is a dish best served cold. But the Commander likes his nights scorching hot. ~•~ ️ Mature Content Warning (18+): This story contains 18+ content including explicit erotica, detailed sexual scenes, and mentions of sexual violence including rape and assault. If such themes make you uncomfortable, please read with caution.

Mon compagnon, ainsi que mon frère, m'ont détestée pendant douze ans. Ils croyaient toujours que j'avais volé les recherches sur les herbes médicinales de leur précieuse Sarah, et que je l'avais harcelée pendant douze ans pour la réduire au silence. Lors de ma cérémonie de marquage, ils ont dévoilé mes « crimes » au monde entier. « C'est une brute qui maltraite les membres de sa meute, et une voleuse, qui a volé les formules d'herbes de Sarah ! » Mais Sarah a souri à travers ses larmes : « La formule n'a plus d'importance. » « Du moment qu'elles peuvent sauver notre meute du poison d'argent, peu importe qui les a créées. » « Je lui ai déjà pardonné. » Elle est devenue l'ange miséricordieux de la meute. J'ai été condamnée par tous, jusqu'au jour où le loup-garou que j'avais sauvé grâce à mes remèdes a versé de l'eau argentée sur ma tête. Et dans mon désespoir, j'ai entraîné Sarah dans la mort avec moi. Quand j'ai rouvert les yeux, j'étais de retour en deuxième année de lycée. Sarah tenait une petite lame en argent et se tailladait le bras tout en me demandant avec un sourire : « T'as réfléchi à comment t'allais t'excuser ? » Quelque chose en moi a soudain craqué. Ma puissance d'Alpha a jailli, la forçant à se mettre à genoux. J'ai arraché la lame : « Laisse-moi te montrer ce qu'est une vraie coupure. »

— «Tu aurais dû fuir, Mira, je ne suis pas celui que tu crois. » Et sans me laisser le temps de réagir, il se penche sur moi et m’embrasse. Pas doucement, pas tendrement non plus, mais avec cette intensité brute et affamée qu’il contient… comme s’il attendait ce moment depuis une éternité, comme si retenir ce désir l’avait torturé. Il grogne contre mes lèvres, ses doigts s’enfoncent un peu plus dans ma nuque, son autre main descend, glisse le long de mon corps et attrape ma hanche avec force… Elle, c’est Mira, bientôt vingt ans : une petite humaine ordinaire, avec des rêves plein la tête, qui s’apprêtait simplement à rejoindre ses grands-parents dans la réserve d’Eyden-Stood. Un lieu isolé, paisible, presque figé hors du temps. Elle pensait y trouver du calme, un peu de répit, mais cette semaine va changer toute sa vie. Quand la lune est devenue rouge, quand elle s’est mise à briller haut dans le ciel, et que les loups ont hurlé à l’unisson. C’est cette nuit-là qu’elle a compris que les loups-garous n’existaient pas que dans les contes de fées. Mais ce n’était que le début… Ce que Mira va découvrir par la suite dépassera tout ce qu’elle aurait pu imaginer. Des secrets enfouis, mais aussi des vérités que personne n’ose prononcer, et qui vont changer tout ce qu’elle était, mais aussi, tout ce qu’elle pensait ne jamais être.

​"Le jour où ils m'ont tout pris, ils ignoraient que je possédais déjà le monde." ​À Douala, Ngaba n'est qu'une ombre. Un orphelin aux mains calleuses, homme à tout faire pour la dynastie Koffi, l'une des plus riches familles d'Afrique centrale. Méprisé, battu par Marcus Koffi, et humilié quotidiennement par la cruelle Morelle, Ngaba endure l'enfer pour une seule raison : financer l'opération cardiaque de sa mère adoptive. ​Mais la tragédie frappe. Par pure négligence et cruauté, les Koffi laissent mourir sa mère. Alors que Ngaba, brisé, est sur le point d'être jeté à la rue, un convoi de limousines blindées bloque le quartier. Un homme en costume sur mesure s'incline devant lui : « Monsieur Ngaba, la Dynastie d'Ébène vous attend. Votre héritage de 500 milliards de dollars est activé. » ​Du jour au lendemain, l'homme qu'on forçait à laver les voitures devient le propriétaire secret de la banque qui détient les dettes des Koffi. Mais Ngaba ne veut pas d'une revanche rapide. Il veut une destruction méthodique. ​Tout en protégeant Oxane, la seule femme qui l'a regardé avec humanité et qui est désormais vendue comme un trophée aux Koffi, Ngaba infiltre la haute société sous une fausse identité. Entre jets privés, duels de pouvoir à Genève et combats de lutte traditionnelle où sa force brute terrasse ses ennemis, Ngaba entame son ascension. ​Ceux qui l'ont piétiné devront ramper. Car l'Héritier du Trône de Fer ne pardonne jamais.

Compilation d'histoire érotiques très explicitee , ce livre est pour un public averti . Le jour où Sofia pousse la porte du bar pouilleux de ce village qu'elle a fui dix ans plus tôt, elle ne cherche pas les ennuis. Elle cherche juste un verre, un peu de chaleur, et surtout, à éviter les fantômes de son passé. Mais le passé, elle lui rentre dedans. Mathéo est adossé au comptoir, une bouteille de whisky à la main, le regard aussi tranchant que les cicatrices qui balafrent ses jointures. Mauvais garçon, brute épaisse, cœur de pierre , c'est ce que tout le monde dit de lui. Lui, il la regarde, et il voit la fille qui est partie sans un mot, celle qui l'a laissé pourrir dans cette misère. Elle s'attend à des cris. À des insultes. Pas à ce qu'il l'attrape par les cheveux dans la ruelle, pas à ce que sa bouche écrase la sienne avec une violence qui sent l'alcool et la rage. "T'aurais pas dû revenir", souffle-t-il contre sa peau. Elle répond par un coup de griffe, un baiser sanglant, et la promesse silencieuse qu'elle ne sera jamais à personne d'autre. Entre eux, il n'y a que des dettes de souffrance, des corps qui se souviennent et un désir aussi toxique que le poison qui les ronge. Il veut la briser. Elle veut le consumer. Et dans ce village où tout le monde les regarde, ils vont s'aimer comme on se fait la guerre : sale, brut, et jusqu'à ce que la mort ou la rédemption , les sépare.