Slung

On the eve of our mating ceremony, Asher, my Alpha-to-be, slung his arm around his childhood sweetheart, Selena. “If I had never been with such a hot Selena,” he said, “I think I would regret it for the rest of my life.” "Ella, grant us one night. After tonight, I will be forever faithful to you. You'll be Silver Pine Pack's irreplaceable Luna." I stared at him for a moment, seeing he was serious, and nodded my agreement. He swept Selena into his arms and walked into the forest. As he passed by me, he smirked. "Tonight, Ella, you're free to find another wolf too. I won't mind." "No need to look far," I replied evenly, turning toward the figure waiting in the shadows. Lucas, Alpha of the Black Stone Pack, our rivals... and my first love who ended before it truly began. "Alpha Lucas," I whispered, meeting his intense gaze. "Tonight, make me yours... please."

By the fifth year of my marriage to Noah Lester, everyone insisted that I, Emma Newman, was his eternal muse. But I knew the truth. Behind my back, Noah cycled through a parade of fresh-faced, eager lovers. He even flaunted them at social gatherings, swapping one for another with shameless ease. When friends teased him—"Didn’t you swear Emma was the love of your life? Why the revolving door of mistresses?"—he’d just laugh, arms slung around his latest conquests. "Once you’ve caught your muse the glow fades. Give me someone new and tender any day—at least they keep things exciting." So I began plotting my escape. What Noah never realized was that I had grown tired of him, too. Tired of this life, of these performances. I was done.

On Benedict Bradford’s birthday, he posted a link on social media with a taunting offer: [$1.99 buys you a prank—target: Sansa Stormcloud.] So when I arrived at his party, the guests drenched me in water, hurled glasses, smashed cake in my face, and shoved me down the stairs. Benedict sneered as he stood over me, arm slung around Lina Kipling. “You think you’re fit to marry into the Bradfords? Pathetic. “You’re not even in Lina’s league. You’re worth nothing more than a couple of dollars!” I picked myself up, dusted off my dress, and handed him an invitation. “You know, Benedict, the Bradfords have another heir. “And shortly afterwards, you’ll address me respectfully as your sister-in-law.”

The first time I lived, my sister and I found two dragon eggs. The black one pulsed with raw, untamed power. My sister, Isabella, claimed it without a second thought. The white one was left for me. A cracked, forgotten thing. It held only a whisper of magic. I took it out of pity. Within a year, the black dragon shattered his shell and emerged a man so beautiful it was a curse. He became Isabella's devoted weapon, his power forging her path to godhood. Meanwhile, the white egg fed on me. I poured everything I had into my white egg. My magic, my money, my soul. For ten long years, it gave me nothing. Everyone said to abandon it. But I couldn’t. I was an orphan, ignored by my sister. I just wanted a companion. But as the dark plague swept the lands, the egg I'd nurtured for a decade hatched overnight—while I was dying, he soared past me to save Isabella. He could have hatched years ago. Could have been human all along. But he chose Isabella. He mistook her for his savior. Then I was back to the day it all began. This time, Isabella lunged for the white egg first, afraid I'd take it. I slung my worn satchel of herbs over my shoulder. Turned my back on them both. "You can have them both," I said calmly. "I choose myself." This life, I swore I would have nothing to do with Adrian. But now, he's the one filled with regret, willing to give his own life just to have me look at him one more time.

"She was sweet and pretty, so I dated her. Didn't expect she'd take it seriously." "Why did you string her along then?" "For kicks, you know." From high school to college, Caroline Whitley poured her soul into Laurent Holt, believing she had found her forever. The truth was, he was only obsessed with the unspoken rhythm they shared in bed. That night, his arm slung around another woman, his eyes wild with reckless charm. Caroline's world imploded. He had a fiancée all along, while she was just his toy. Now he was bored with her and scheming to get rid of her. The betrayal cut like a knife, but she didn't scream or beg. Instead, she wept, packed her things, and left without saying a word. Months later, she married Roderick Reed. The news struck Laurent like a thunderbolt. When their paths crossed again, his gaze burned. "Why haven't you divorced that loser yet?" Her eyes flashed, cool and cutting. "What's it to you?" "You walked out on me, and now you talk to me like that?" he growled, stepping closer. "Why is he the one who gets to marry you? Why not me?" Caroline blinked. "Seriously?"

The next thing she knew was that she was slung on his muscular shoulder. She thrashed her legs, but he carried her as if she weighed no more than a bag of feathers. "Caelum please!" She begged him but he ignored her as he walked through the corridors and into the bedroom. And threw her on the bed. While she was busy recovering her breath, he threw his coat on the floor and started unbuttoning his shirt. "W-what are y-you doing?" she asked. Her face paler than paper. "Exactly what married couples do, love." He said dropping the shirt on the floor, His voice so full of viciousness that she almost choked on them. She dragged herself back on the bed sobbing, "no.." He grabbed her legs and pulled her towards himself. He crawled on top of her. He looked into her terrified eyes and whispered, "You make me do terrible things, my dear Rose." He wiped a stray tear from her chin before grabbing it. "I will bruise your lip and scar your knees and love you too hard.." he brushed his lips on hers, "I will destroy you. And when I leave, You will finally understand why storms are named after humans." ........................... Rosette never had an easy life, and after the death of her mother, when she thought things couldn't get worse, her life started going fully downhill. She was tortured beyond repair in her own house. She could only dream of being loved. She dreamed of getting married and finally breaking free from all these cages, but fate had other plans for her. Her life going totally downhill, turned upside down when she was married to the biggest business tycoon in the city. Will this marriage totally wreck her? Would she ever be able to break free?..

Crimson Bloomed: Ascend Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | Coming - of - Age | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Burn The city looked like it had been devoured — chewed up by fire, time, and whatever came after — then spit back out in jagged pieces. Dead drones dangled from power lines like rusted ornaments. Neon signs flickered above fractured pavement, their broken scripts glitching into gibberish. Down the block, a half - melted smartcar burned slow, casting warped shadows across the skeletal remains of a coffee bar. Behind a crumpled tram car, someone crouched low, breath tight in her lungs. The shrieking hadn’t stopped. It came again — sharp, bone-deep, the kind of sound that latched onto your spine and refused to let go. She checked the signal jammer at her hip. Still blinking. Still active. Not for long. They were tracking her. She moved fast — boots silent over broken glass, slipping through the breach in an old laundromat’s wall. Her body moved from muscle memory now: slide through, duck left, over the washer, don’t look at the corpse slumped by the dryer. Out the back. Up the fire escape. On the rooftop, she halted. Not alone. Someone was already there — silhouetted against the bleeding sunset. Combat jacket. Short - cropped hair. Pulse rifle slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Like this was just another rooftop, just another war. “Don’t move,” the voice snapped. She lifted her hands slowly. “I’m clean.” “Everyone says that.” “Scan me.” beat. Then the girl stepped forward, rifle still raised but gaze locked in. Dark eyes, sharp, searching — not just for weapons, but tells. Fear. Lies. She lowered the rifle half an inch. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” That wasn’t the line she expected.