Rabid Synonym

Verssa Yanng, at a youthful nineteen years of age, boasts an undeniable allure, his striking visage, height six feet in stature, lean yet sturdy. His attractiveness is undeniable; he possesses a universally pleasing look that captivates from every angle. By the tender age of eighteen, Vers had already ascended to the summit of the fashion world as a coveted Top Super Model, dominating the runways of fashion weeks across nearly all continents. At nineteen, his cameo appearance in a movie unexpectedly seized the spotlight, with the supporting role eclipsing even the film's protagonist. Yet, the rosy facade of fame conceals its thorns. Beneath the dazzle lay the shadows of terror: malevolent letters, corrosive threats, and the persistent nocturnal intrusion of rabid fans knocking on his apartment door. Vers recalls having relocated over five times due to the relentless leakage of his whereabouts to his fanatic followers. One night, after a midnight shoot, Vers almost get kidnaped by a group that blocked his car and forcibly pulled him out. An escape landed him in a hospital bed, where he awoke to the presence of a mysterious figure in black. Gale Anderson, a former war veteran turned professional bodyguard, now stands as a sentinel for Vers. A very quiet and mysterious man, handsome yet frigid. His countenance rarely betrays emotion, six feet and five inches tall. His broad hands lifted Vers's slight frame with ease that rendered him akin to a mere child in his grasp. His aura is shrouded in enigma, withholding the identity of his employer, yet his mission remains unwavering: to keep Vers safe by any means necessary. For Vers, unfortunately, it's like a living nightmare; his freedom was robbed as his watchful bodyguard trailed him incessantly, even to the restroom.

“Just as pathetic as I remember you to be, sweetheart.” “I sleep with you because I’m unfortunate to be married to you so don’t bother reading between the lines.” Slapping his treacherous lips away from my own, I huff frantically. “I detest the sight of you, bastard.” He smirks throwing me against the filthy wall of the cave before whispering against my lips, “I know, sweetheart.” Fisting his shirt, I pull him in, “I’ll kill you someday for all your bullshit. The best part is I’ll be hailed as a hero for it.” I dig my nails into his side while digging my heels in his toes. Chuckling, he kissed me with a novel fervour. Too consumed with his taste on my tongue I don’t realize he had taken me off the floor. In times like these he made his hate achingly obvious by his rough groping. When after several seconds he is still ravaging my mouth, I slap his arm to gasp for air but he takes his sweet time devouring life out of me. He let me go only when my life flashes before my eyes. Caressing my hair as I huffed out puffs of air, he smirked. “Good Morning, Nafasm.” I'll remember to add getting away with murder on my bucket list. .... I had everything in life figured out and about half a year to get out of college and finally experience life (Breathy tone) but that's when Sienna, my bitch of a friend, asked me for a favor. Why the hell am I kidnapped? And what is with these people growling like rabid dogs? And please, can anyone tell me why the f*ck, AM I GETTING MARRIED TO THEIR HUNK OF A GANG LEADER WITH UNNATURAL GLOWING EYES?

The Bloodfang Pack’s Alpha has declared a grand warrior match. A test of strength, cunning, and dominance. The werewolf who emerges victorious will not only earn the title of champion but will also claim his most beautiful daughter as a mate. But everyone knows this is just a formality. No matter who wins, I should be the one to marry Harken Shadowfang. He and I grew up together, our wolves intertwined by years of shared hunts and whispered promises beneath the full moon. He has always been my destined mate—or so I thought. The match begins, and Harken deliberately loses. I watch as he kneels in the dirt, breathing heavily, his sharp golden eyes flicking toward me with something cruel, something mocking. A chill runs down my spine. Why? Why would he do this? The victor stands tall, his fur still bristling from the heat of battle. Alaric Jaggedmane. A warrior through and through, his aura is heavy with the weight of a true Alpha—something Harken never had. Without hesitation, I step forward, lifting the warrior’s wreath. "Congratulations," I say, my voice steady. "You're now my husband." A furious snarl rips through the air. Harken storms toward me like a rabid beast, his fangs bared, his hands trembling as he snatches the wreath from my grasp. "Why didn't you pick me?" he demands, his voice bordering on madness. I meet his gaze without fear. Because in my past life, I did. I chose him. I thought he loved me. I thought we would be happy. But I was a fool. After my father’s death, Harken locked me away, keeping me weak with silver-laced drugs while he took his true mate, Ravyn Evermoon, to public events at his side. I was nothing but a tool. A stepping stone for his ambitions. A title to secure his rule. It was only then that I learned of his betrayal— of the three children he had already fathered with her. And so now, with this second chance granted to me by the Moon Goddess herself, I do not waver. I will not be Harken’s pawn again.