Apocalypse Expert in a Beastman World
Genevieve woke up choking on her own blood, a fatal gash tearing through her abdomen. The memories of a primitive world crashed into her mind—she had transmigrated into the body of a sadistic beastman Mistress.
But the five powerful beastmen "mates" standing over her hadn't come to her rescue. They had come to watch their tormentor die.
"We should just leave her," Kameron sneered coldly. "The scavengers will clean up the mess."
Gilberto spat in disgust, while Angelo, a silver-scaled snake-man, trembled in pure terror at the sight of her. The original owner had whipped them, humiliated them, and driven another mate to suicide. Now, they were letting her bleed out in the mud, their eyes filled with undisguised loathing and satisfaction.
She was a top-tier apocalyptic survival expert, yet here she was, paying the ultimate price for a stranger's monstrous sins. It was a bitter, unacceptable irony to die helplessly in the dirt while her supposed protectors waited for her corpse to rot.
She refused to accept this ending.
Forcing a chaotic surge of energy through their shared Biological Link, she brought all five men to their knees in agonizing pain, commanding them to carry her back. In the dark cave, without a single scream, she plunged her bare hands into a fire and brutally cauterized her own gaping wound with searing ash. As the beastmen stared in horrified awe at the unbreakable soul now occupying the tyrant's body, Genevieve wiped the blood from her face and began to rewrite her fate.
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Chapter 3
Genevieve's nails were anchors in Angelo's skin, the only thing tethering her to the world of the living. Blood, hers and now his, trickled over her pale knuckles.
Angelo whimpered, trying to pull his foot away, but the deep-seated terror of his Mistress was a more powerful chain than her physical grip. He was too afraid to kick her off.
Gilberto, however, was not.
"Get your hands off him!" he roared. A massive leg, corded with muscle, swung back, ready to stomp Genevieve's wrist into the mud.
Genevieve's eyes flashed. There was no time.
She didn't hesitate. In her mind, she yanked on the chaotic threads of the Biological Link, pouring her will into it like gasoline on a fire.
An invisible shockwave of pure agony erupted from her.
The five men connected to her seized up as one.
Kameron, whose link was the deepest, was hit the hardest. It felt like a red-hot poker was being twisted in his brain. A strangled groan escaped his lips and his knees buckled, sending him crashing to the ground. He clutched his head, his sharp features contorted in pain.
Gilberto's kick stopped mid-air. A vise of crushing pain clamped around his heart, forcing the air from his lungs and bending him double.
In the trees, Jameel lost his balance, his wings flapping uselessly as he tumbled from his perch, landing hard on one knee.
Dalvin turned white as a sheet, clutching his chest and gasping for air, his eyes wide with shocked disbelief as he stared at the woman on the ground.
The backlash hit Genevieve like a physical blow. The world swam in a red haze. A sweet, metallic taste flooded her mouth, and she coughed, a spray of bright red blood splattering onto the dark mud.
But she didn't let go of Angelo. The pain, excruciating as it was, made her feel alive. It made her feel sharp.
She lifted her head, her lips stained with blood, and fixed her gaze on the kneeling, agonized form of Kameron. Her voice, though weak, was imbued with the unshakeable authority of a commander on the battlefield.
"You," she rasped. "Carry me. To the cave. Now."
Humiliation and a flash of murderous rage warred in Kameron's eyes. But the Link was absolute. A direct command, fueled by such a violent exertion of will, was impossible to disobey. His body moved before his mind could consent.
He snarled, a low, guttural sound of pure hatred, and staggered to his feet. He stalked towards her, each step a testament to his resistance. He bent down, his movements rough and contemptuous, and hooked one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees. He ripped her from the mud.
The sudden movement tore at her wound. The world went black for a second, but she bit down on the inside of her cheek, forcing herself back from the brink. She didn't make a sound.
Her hand, which had released Angelo, shot up and clenched the fur of Kameron's tunic, holding on for dear life.
As he turned and began the humiliating march back to the cave, Genevieve craned her neck, her gaze finding the hawk-man, Jameel, who was just getting to his feet.
"You," she commanded, her voice a thin thread of sound. "Dry wood. And dry grass. Lots of it. Now."
Jameel's jaw clenched, but the pressure of the Link was undeniable. He gave a stiff, resentful nod and vanished into the trees with a gust of wind.
Gilberto slammed a fist into the ground, his roar of frustration echoing through the clearing. He was helpless.
Dalvin rushed to Angelo's side, helping the still-trembling snake-man to his feet, murmuring soft words of comfort, his eyes filled with a bleak despair.
The cave was a dark, damp maw that smelled of mildew and old sorrow. Kameron didn't slow down. He strode past the main sleeping area, a nest of soft, luxurious furs, and headed for a bare, flat slab of stone at the back of the cave.
Without a word, he dumped her.
Genevieve's back and head cracked against the unyielding rock. The impact sent a jolt of pure agony through her, and she curled instinctively into a ball, a choked gasp escaping her lips.
Kameron stood over her, his chest heaving, a cruel smile finally returning to his face.
"You made it inside," he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "But you won't live to see the morning."
Genevieve didn't answer. She didn't have the breath or the energy. She forced her body to uncurl, to lie flat on the cold stone. Her hands pressed down hard on her bleeding abdomen.
She just had to hold on. Jameel was coming.
A surgery with no anesthetic, no tools, and no help was about to begin. And she was the only surgeon.
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8.0
On the night of their third wedding anniversary, Ashley was ready to reveal a secret to her husband-
She was pregnant.
But moments after their passionate intimacy, her Alpha coldly delivered the blow-he wanted a divorce.
His fated mate had returned.
Stripped of her wolf spirit, abandoned by the pack, and carrying his child, Ashley was cast aside like a disposable Omega.
Just as she prepared to leave alone-
The boy she had once rejected had now risen as the most formidable Alpha King. The possessive hunger in his gaze sent shivers through her-did she dare face him? Was this vengeance, or something more? But did she even have a choice?
9.5
The first clue my life was a lie was a moan from the guest room. My husband of seven years wasn't in our bed. He was with my intern.
I discovered my husband, Brendan, was having a four-year affair with Kiya-the talented girl I was mentoring and personally paying tuition for.
The next morning, she sat at our breakfast table in his shirt while he made us pancakes. He lied to my face, promising he'd never love another, just before I learned she was pregnant with his child-a child he'd always refused to have with me.
The two people I trusted most in the world had conspired to destroy me. The pain wasn't something I could live with; it was an annihilation of my entire world.
So I made a call to a neuroscientist about his experimental, irreversible procedure. I didn't want revenge. I wanted to erase every memory of my husband and become his first test subject.
9.6
She was sold as a broodmare. He was a warrior with no memory. Together, they'll burn down the world.
Lyra has been called many things: half-blood, mongrel, dirty blood. Rejected by every pack she's approached, she's given one final chance-as a bride to Ronan, the cruel Alpha of Red River Pack. But when her wedding night becomes a nightmare, she stabs her new husband and flees into the frozen wilderness.
Stellan remembers nothing. Not his name, not his past, not the ancient tattoos covering his body. He only knows that when he sees a terrified woman falling from a cliff into an icy river, he must save her-even if it kills him.
On the run from a vengeful Alpha and his army of hunters, Lyra and Stellan discover an impossible bond growing between them. The moon has chosen them as mates. But Stellan's memories are returning, and with them, a devastating truth: he's not just any wolf. He's the Alpha of the North Star Pack. And a half-blood can never be his Luna.
Now Ronan's brother has sworn revenge, an ancient prophecy awakens, and three packs prepare for war. Lyra must prove that bloodlines mean nothing-and that the most powerful bond of all is forged in ice and fire.
He lost his memory. She lost her freedom. Together, they'll find everything.
9.0
Once a pampered princess, Alaina now clutched a deactivated American Express card, staring out at Central Park. Her family’s fortune was gone, her life, over.
Her family's Hamptons estate, a four-generation legacy, was seized by Dyer Capital. The name hit her: Hardin Dyer, the poor boy she’d once scorned, had returned.
Hardin marched in, serving a divorce agreement. He'd orchestrated her family's downfall for revenge, giving her 24 hours to vacate his property. Penniless, her father faced prison, needing $50 million. Her mother forced her to beg Hardin, who sneered, offering the money for her body. Alaina ripped up the contract.
Hours later, her father had a heart attack. Desperate, she became "Lexi," a club girl enduring humiliation. In the Viper Room, Hardin's lackeys demanded she lick whiskey off his shoe for $10,000. Hardin watched. Outside, her brother Ashton's hand was threatened for a $3 million debt. Spirit shattered, Alaina returned, knelt on broken glass, offering to sign. But Hardin declared her family "dead," offering $10 million for her body, commanding her to use her mouth.
In a furious act of defiance, Alaina threw whiskey in his face, snatched the check, and fled. Yet, when he finally took her, a searing, foreign pain and blood on the sheets revealed a shocking truth: he had never touched her three years ago. Why had he let her believe such a monstrous lie?
7.6
Top DEA agent Kaitlynn Bruce woke up to a heavy, chemical lethargy, only to realize she was trapped in the body of a weak, abused war widow.
Before she could even process her new reality, she heard her sister-in-law counting cash, selling her unconscious body to a local thug for a measly two hundred dollars.
The thug dragged her new seven-year-old son, Cason, into the bedroom.
"Mommy!"
When the boy reached out, the man brutally kicked his small body into a wooden doorframe, leaving him gasping and bleeding on the floor.
Memories flooded Kaitlynn's mind. Her predecessor was a pathetic doormat whose husband's military pension had been bled dry by these greedy in-laws, leaving her children to starve and suffer endless abuse.
But as Kaitlynn looked at the bleeding boy's dark, unnervingly alert eyes, a chilling piece of DEA intelligence clicked in her mind.
Cason Richmond.
The name, the town, the abusive aunt—it all matched the classified files of the "Director of the Hive," the most ruthless and feared cartel puppet master in the criminal underworld.
How could this battered, starving child be destined to become the ultimate monster she used to hunt?
The original widow's tragic death was supposed to be the catalyst that pushed this boy into total darkness.
But Kaitlynn Bruce was not a victim.
Adrenaline burning through the drugs, she cracked the thug's neck with a brass lamp and choked the sister-in-law against the wall.
Looking down at the boy who was supposed to become a global nightmare, she made a vow. She was going to rewrite his script, even if she had to burn the whole world down to do it.
8.4
Arlene was the illegitimate daughter of the wealthy Boone family, treated worse than a stray dog. To keep her meager scholarship, she had to swallow her pride and apologize to the frat boy who tormented her.
But he didn't just want an apology. He forced her to drink twenty shots of liquor laced with pure capsaicin extract.
"Drink us under the table, or take off your clothes and crawl out."
Arlene drank until her stomach tore, vomiting blood and collapsing on the filthy club floor.
When she dragged her half-dead body back to the Boone estate, her biological father and half-sister didn't care. Instead, her sister ground Arlene's SAT admission ticket into the dirt with her stiletto.
"Throw her out. Dad doesn't want to look at her before Hardie's engagement."
The guards threw her onto the gravel, leaving her bleeding and barefoot in the freezing night.
Arlene sat shivering at a dark bus stop, her dignity completely stripped away. She never wanted a dime from the Boones, so why did they insist on crushing her only way out? And why did Dr. Hardie Boone, the untouchable head of the family, look at her with such a twisted, terrifying obsession?
When Hardie's black Aston Martin pulled out of the shadows, he scooped her up, took her away, and locked her inside his penthouse.
"You carry the Boone name. Whether you live or die is my decision."
Trapped by the dangerous man who demanded total control over her life, Arlene finally realized that simply running away was no longer an option.