Rj Choppy

"Two hundred pieces of gold." I whipped my head in the direction of the voice. It was sexy and authoritative. "No. Make it three hundred pieces of gold. I want that woman." The crowd gasped. My eyes frantically looked for that person and came face to face with a man whose hair reminded me of the ashes after burning the wood. His gray eyes bore into mine. 'Mine,' my wolf uttered. "Going once. Twice. Thrice. Sold!" Master Henderson was all smiles. "The item goes to His Majesty King Elio. You will never regret it, Your Majesty." King Elio? I knew that name. The Lycan King was my mate? ------------------------------- Flora was desperate to look for Sabrina, her sister who was suddenly missing five years ago. She believed it had something to do with the Lycan King. 'Cause why not? Their cruel custom of selling or killing unmated she-wolves every five years started because of the Lycan King.

I was stupid enough to fall for Drake, my husband. Foolish because I thought I was able to stick to my plan of not loving him.  My marriage life became hell when everyone and my husband were pressuring me to give my husband a child, but could not. It was not easy to conceive. Fed up by my inability to get pregnant, my husband shoved the divorce papers in front of me. What choice did I have? I signed the divorce papers. To my surprise, a day after the divorce, it turned out I was pregnant with my ex-husband's child. Wanting to punish him for what he did, I vowed never to tell him about our child but a year later, my ex-husband saw me carrying our child and wanted to have us both.  

A rough hand covers my mouth, muffling my cry of surprise when I'm pushed against the fence. A muscular thigh pushes between my legs, and I stare at a red eyed Haeden. "Haeden?" It comes out on a heavy exhale. His pupils dilate, and I squirm against him as he presses even closer. "Fuck," he mutters. He roughly tangles his fingers into my hair and I cry out in pain. He tilts my head back not once loosening his hold on me. He leans in and forces his tongue down my throat.  I gasp. He produces a deep groan that vibrates through me. I whimper when he bites my bottom lip. He tilts my head and licks a trail up the length of my neck. "Haeden," I whisper, my voice thick. He finds my pulse and sucks, teeth grazing along my tendons.  "Do you know how much I hate you?" he hisses into my ear, "Yet here I am, going crazy after seeing you dance with Ivy like that." His voice is husky. I gasp when he bites me, the points of his teeth digging into my skin. "We were just dancing," I whisper. He scoffs and presses his knee tighter against me. "You're fucking adorable, but you must be a niave little bitch if you think that didn't affect me, Stone, or Kingston," he growls into my ear. *** Ariella went from prized virgin to psycho pariah in less than a day. Her father, the Pastor of a church, mass murders a group of it’s members. She's the one to catch him red handed, literally.  She becomes an outcast, with a target pinned to her. Making unlikely friends with delinquents, Ariella gives a sacrifice. Psychopathy is hereditary. Stone, Haeden, and Kingston just want to see if it's true.

Freya's life turned three hundred sixty degrees when she found out her mate and boyfriend, Dominic cheated on her. As a sort of revenge, she rejected Dominic right in front of the crowd after being installed as an alpha of their pack and ran away until she bumped into some mysterious man who looked like Dominic and turned out to be her ex' uncle namely Alpha Percy of the other neighboring pack. Alpha Percy was deeply smitten with Freya even when at first met. He was one of the sought bachelors among all the alphas in the north, but no woman appealed to him. Until he met Freya. There was one problem— regardless of offering her the world, she continued driving him away saying he was too old for her. And Alpha Percy vowed to show her what an old man was capable of. He will have Freya regardless if she is his nephew's mate.

My boy friend Caleb Ford's childhood sweetheart, Julia Leclair, is losing her hair from chemotherapy. So, he orders me to cut mine off and make her a wig. "Julia's allergic to synthetic wigs. You've been growing your hair for ten years—it's perfect." I refuse, but his friends tie me down. Someone shaves my head to the scalp, buzzing through my thick, glossy hair until nothing's left but a butchered mess. Julia sits in her wheelchair and laughs, saying I look like a toad. Caleb smiles and nods in agreement. He adds with a chuckle, "It's just some hair. Was that really necessary?" But back when I was bullied for having uneven, choppy short hair for six straight years, it was he who stood in front of me. He had his arms spread wide as he shielded me from harm. Now he's the one wielding the blade. One by one, their little circle chimes in. They tell me not to hold a grudge against someone who's sick. Caleb snaps impatiently, "Stop trying to talk sense into her. She can get lost! Did you see that fit she threw over a few strands of hair? It's not like they won't grow back." I turn around and walk away. I never look back. Later, I hear that Caleb begs for my forgiveness by kneeling his way up 9000 steps until his knees are ruined.