In the year 2333, humanity has fallen and ruled by werewolves. Bellatrix Sinclair, an 18-year-old weapons prodigy that despises werewolves for destroying her family has been secretly planning to join the human rebellion.
However, she is forced into the Mate Selection Process and matched with Lazarus De Loughrey, the ruthless Werewolf King obsessed with claiming her.
He shouldn't want her and she should hate him but they cannot resist each other. It's a twisted connection, entirely physical because all I am is his slave.
My heart should belong to my best friend Emmett, a human. Atleast the guilt of betrayal wouldn't be eating away at my insides.
___________________________
“Yes please.” She begs.
“Then fucking let me in.” I growled, this fury exploding with vengeance. I wanted to destroy her pussy.
It was maddening, it was sickening, it was barbaric.
But I never claimed to be saint.
“Here that baby, that’s the sound of your greedy pussy sucking on my cock. Give me more, drench me.”
“Lazarus.” She moans painfully, “Please let me come.”
I’m doused in gasoline and set alight, sweat coats my skin as I pound into her faster and harder. I’m definitely hurting her, “Wanna come?” I rasped, “Not until I say so.”
Pressing my lips onto hers, pushing my tongue into her mouth until I feel the sweetness of hers. The kiss is sloppy and filthy. She cries as I drive my cock into her, the intensity too much to handle, sweet tears sliding onto her cheeks.
“Fuck yes.” I smile sadistically, licking her tears. “Cry for me Ma Cherie.”
“Please, please let me come My King.” She pleads.
“Say it again.” Lightening shooting down my spine as she begged, “My King, please let me come. I’ll be good.”
I chuckled, “Try your luck to kill me Ma Cherie, I dare you.”

From Slave To Wolf Queen

“It’s good right.” Ari, one of the maids smiled when I took a second serving of the meaty stew.


Something about the richness seemed to warm my soul, the lamb practically melting on my tongue and the vegetables were perfectly done. Dipping a huge chunk of the roll into the stew and scarfing it down like I hadn’t eaten for days.


Imogen laughed, taking a huge gulp of red wine. “You came at the right time, if you came tomorrow then you would have been subjected to Deans cooking and that is a death sentence.”


“Hey.” Dean frowned, offended. “That’s just mean, at least I try unlike some people.” He points to Daniella, a cook from the kitchen.


She shrugged, “I never claimed to be a cook, all I do is chop shit.”


“There is this thing called effort.” Dean said, a mischievous glint in his silver eyes. “But you seem allergic to it.”


Her expression was one of boredom, “Of course I am. I don’t want to work; in my next life I want to be a rock.” She deadpanned.


Chapter 80 Stew, Booze and Horror Stories 1