A. Vitiosis

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.
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“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

Cassandra’s cackling laughter echoed within the library, cutting through the silence. “This is so stupid; I can’t believe this stage involves a fucking dumb elf.”


I shook my head at the sheer disrespect, such bold insolence would be the cause of her demise. Emmett’s jaw tensed, acrimony seeping into his eyes as they darkened. “How dare you speak to our guest that way.” He snapped, barely containing his fury, “Thalion is a Prince and you better show him respect.”


She scoffed, a cunning smile creeping upon her face. “It’s not like he can understand me; Elf’s don’t speak English.”


In the Elven culture, their language is a combination of French and Ancient Latin. One cannot begin to grasp the level of difficulty in trying to learn it and I might have went overboard in my research. Truthfully, I believed they existed within history and became extinct as the centuries went by since no one has spoken about them.


Chapter 106 The Prince Of Fairytales