Donna_Sheldon

Three rejections. Three shattered dreams. That was Layla’s reality, all because she was different—a half-shifter in a world obsessed with purity. Ostracized, shunned, and finally sold off like a pawn to the most feared ruler alive—the Lycan King. He was ruthless, a king with a graveyard of brides, each one a ghostly reminder of a fate worse than death.

Layla loathed him. Hated the way his gaze cold and fathomless, held no warmth for her. Hated how his touch, both thrilling and terrifying, sent an uninvited chill down her spine.

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“I hate you!” I screamed, hands clenched so tight my knuckles ached.

He sighed, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips, his tone mocking as he closed his book with a deliberate snap. “Stressed, are we?” he asked, strolling toward me, each step reminding me exactly who held the power here.

“Lucky for you,” he drawled, rolling up his sleeves as he stopped just inches away, “I know exactly 70 ways to ease those nerves.” His fingers brushed my cheek, a touch that seemed to burn into my skin. “The first… a hug.” His voice dropped to a rough whisper as he leaned in, breath hot against my ear. “And the rest... well, that's 69? what do you say about that?"

I swallowed hard, my heart thudding wildly as he tilted his head, waiting for me to react, that insufferable smirk still in place. 

“What’s the matter, darling?” he murmured, a taunt lingering in his gaze.

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A Dangerous Obsession

Can she resist the pull, or will she dance into the flames of her own destruction?

A dark dive into obsession, raw need, and the razor’s edge between desire and devastation.

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LYCAN KING CASSIAN

I will tear her apart piece by piece, feeding the wildfire that grips her with each shuddered breath. Like air to flame, I’ll claim every inch, drawing heat from her skin until it sinks into her bones.

Her pulse will race under my hands, her breaths shallow, pleading. Her eyes may scream, but her lips will still murmur my name. That first taste of fear will only feed something deeper—a need that burns through her veins, molten and fierce.

And just when she’s too far gone to turn back, I’ll twist the knife, giving her the pain she’s learned to crave. 

She’ll be the moth to my flame, helpless against the very thing that will consume her.

A Dangerous Obsession

CHLORENDIA DOWNHILL

Dinner in our house was always an event. Not the kind with warmth or conversation, but the kind where silence stretched tight, every clink of silverware amplified, and the air so thick with tension you could choke on it. Tonight was no different.

I sat at the long dining table, staring down at my plate. The food looked immaculate, as always. The roast meat glistened under the chandelier's light, the vegetables arranged with an artist's precision, and the wine in my goblet was the deepest shade of red. But I could barely taste any of it.

My father sat at the head of the table, as he always did, his posture as perfect as the spine of a sword. His cane rested against the edge of his chair, a silent reminder of the man he used to be and the limitations he refused to acknowledge.

CHAPTER 86