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  • Freigeschaltete Kapitel: 1K
  • Romanrezensionen: 1

Lieblingsromane

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Aktualisiert
  • 👁 13.9K
  • 10.0

"Say it like you mean it, darling," he purred, leaning in and licking my neck, "and I might stop." My mother got remarried... and cursed me in the process. I thought moving into this mansion would be the worst part of it. I was wrong. Because living here means living under the same roof with them. The Varkas brothers. Beautiful. Dangerous. Possessive. And absolutely, devastatingly off-limits. They call me "stepsister. " But the way they look at me? The way they touch me? It's anything but brotherly. There's something wrong with them. Something not... human. I can feel it in the way their eyes flash when they're angry. In the way their bodies burn hotter than they should. In the way they move, like predators in the dark. I don't know what they are. But I know one thing... whatever's hunting me now, I won't survive it. Not if I keep letting them close. Not if I keep letting them ruin me with their hands, their mouths, their filthy words. I should run. I should fight. But the truth is... part of me doesn't want to escape. Because whatever they are... I crave it. And once they claim me, there's no coming back. One more thing... All three of them touch me, all three of them make me feel things, but there's one in particular... One... AUTHOR'S NOTE: A fair warning before you open this book; this isn't a sweet romance kind of book. It's dark, filled with sensual fantasies, fleshing longings, erotic musings, and lots, and lots of smut. So if this is your kind of vibe, "Welcome, princess and make sure you wear your seat belt. " But if this is not, then...

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Empfohlen
  • Autor: Darma Day
  • Status: Abgeschlossen
  • Altersfreigabe: 18+
  • 👁 103.4K
  • 10.0

Isla- a young, and underestimated warrior. After surviving years of traumatic abuse, she is left orphaned, and alone. She strives to prove to herself, and others, that she is not weak. Though she is beautiful and strong years of psychological abuse, she doesn’t believe she is worthy of love, or that the Moon Goddess will grant her a fated mate. Alpha Zac is the fair and strong leader of Clear Creek. Secretly a hopeless romantic, Zac wants his fated mate more than anything. But after waiting years to find her, he has accepted a playboy lifestyle. When a unique she-wolf warrior joins his pack, she does more than fulfill his fantasies, and she tests how far he will go to protect her from her past. “WEAK” he yells as he swiftly brings the whip at me. I quickly try to cover my face but am not fast enough. I hiss in pain as the unforgiving leather slices my hand and eyebrow. I try to swallow the sob that wants to escape me, but instead, I throw up. Maybe he would have stopped there if I would have missed his boots.** (ISLA) I feel a pang of jealousy; she has what I've always wanted. A loving family, support, friends, and stability. Audrie doesn't have to question if she belongs here or try to prove her worth. (ZAC)My whole chest tightens, and my wolf presses forward. “MATE”. The urgency to hold her, to take away the pain, intensifies. I reach out and lift her head, and that's when I see the gash trickling blood onto the already blood-covered rock. I scoop her up and head straight to the infirmary. I just found my mate, I can't lose her on the same night.

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  • 👁 42.2K
  • 8.6

When I was a child, my grandma used to tell me stories. At the time, I never gave them much thought. Thinking they were just that… stories. Growing up, I soon realized that they weren’t lofty fantasies and fairy tales but memories of her past, memories of our ancestors before our world turned to sh*t. You see, what comes from legend, no matter how exaggerated the story becomes, there is always a sliver of truth. You just need to weed out the fiction from fact. My grandmother used to tell me stories of the Chosen One—the one who would save us all. When I was younger, I used to believe that what she said was true. Eventually, someone would be born, just as the Oracle predicted—someone who could save our souls and bind us back to our magic. Once I grew up and saw the world unfolding around me, I no longer believed in salvation. The chosen one seemed to be more of a prayer than reality. Some dream we wanted desperately to come true. Something in which we needed to find hope when there wasn’t any left. When our ancestors turned their backs on us, how were we expected to believe in this so-called salvation? Especially when all we witnessed was death and carnage ever since the great war. Nothing except pain and poverty. I used to believe the stories and used to pray for the mysterious chosen one that would rid our world of its evil. Now, though, I see it for what it really is, just a dream of hope. Some out of reach fairy-tale. A story to create hope. Hope is dangerous; it makes you believe things will get better. I stopped hanging on to hope when I witnessed firsthand that it caused nothing but heartache.

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