Bound By Contract To The Beast Warlord
I woke up in a freezing, desolate wasteland, my body weak and covered in sores. A mechanical voice in my head informed me that I was a defective rabbit-mutant, and if I didn't conceive within twenty-four hours, I would die permanently.
The terror was suffocating, but the system left me no choice. To survive the brutal cold and the decay of my own heartbeat, I had to force a pregnancy with a stranger.
I stumbled through the snow, my fingers turning blue, until I found a massive, wounded Arctic Fox-mutant in a dark cave. He was a Tier-9 predator, dying and radiating the exact heat I needed to stay alive. I threw away my dignity, crawling into his fur to merge our energies, desperate to trigger the life-reset protocol before my time ran out.
I felt like a monster, forcing myself onto a man who didn't even know I existed, just to keep my own heart beating. How could I ever face him if he woke up? Why did I have to be the one to pay the price for this twisted, mechanical ultimatum?
The fusion was a success, but when I woke up the next morning, the apex predator had me pinned under his massive claws, his fangs inches from my throat. I didn't beg for mercy. I stared into his feral, ice-blue eyes and made a deal that would change everything: I would be his anchor, and he would be my protector. But then I dropped the final, terrifying truth: I was pregnant, and he was the only one who could save us.
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Chapter 8
Arthur stared at the wooden box Dax had pushed back. The sheer conviction in the younger man's voice hit him like a physical blow. Fresh tears tracked through the dirt on his cheeks. He nodded frantically, his heart overflowing with gratitude. His daughter had found a male who truly understood devotion.
But Arthur was stubborn. He picked up the box and shoved it directly into Cora's hands. His tone left no room for argument. "No matter what, you keep this. For emergencies. A female must always have resources of her own."
Cora felt the heavy, pulsing warmth of the crystal against her palms. She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, slipping the box into her pocket.
Arthur wiped his face with his sleeve. His expression shifted to serious concern. "Even though you signed a private contract, you must go to the Tribal Healer for official registration and a physical checkup. Your status as a claimed female must be recorded. "
He looked at Cora, his eyes scanning her pale face. "Your body has always been fragile. You spent a night in the freezing wasteland. Dr. Dorathy Clarke needs to make sure you didn't suffer any hidden damage."
The word checkup made Cora's stomach drop. Her pulse spiked. If a healer examined her, the triplets would be exposed instantly. And her lie about the ex-boyfriend would unravel.
Dax, however, nodded in immediate agreement. His brow furrowed in deep concern. "Arthur is right. You suffered a massive 'trauma' before I found you. You need to be examined. Your health is my responsibility now. "
Cora looked at Dax's deadly serious face. He was talking about the emotional and physical trauma of being abandoned by her "ex." She wanted to scream.
She tried to backpedal. "Honestly, I feel great. We don't need to bother the healer-"
Dax cut her off. His large hand clamped around her waist, pulling her flush against his side. His voice was gentle but brokered no argument. "Be good. We aren't taking chances with your health. If she finds anything wrong, I will fix it. That is my duty as your husband."
Cora was half-carried out of the hut, Arthur watching them leave with a relieved smile. His daughter had a strong male to care for her. It was all a father could ask for.
As they walked down the muddy street toward the clinic, the whispers started again. Mutants pointed from the shadows.
Dax's sharp ears caught the venomous words.
"Look at that useless defect. Can't believe she survived..."
"Must have spread her legs for that brute. She thinks she can act like a proper female just because she caught one male... "
Dax stopped dead. His ice-blue eyes darkened to the color of a freezing ocean. A wave of pure, suffocating killing intent exploded from his body, sweeping down the street like a physical shockwave. They dared to insult his female. They would die.
The gossiping mutants choked. Their faces turned ash-white as the air was sucked from their lungs. They clamped their hands over their mouths, terrified they were about to be slaughtered.
Cora tugged hard on his sleeve. "Ignore them. They're just cowards hiding behind a fence. They are beneath us. "
Dax wrapped his hand around hers, his grip tight enough to bruise. His voice was a low, lethal rumble. "If anyone in this settlement disrespects you again, I will rip their tongues out of their skulls. You are a female. They will kneel or they will bleed."
They stopped in front of a large, sturdy wooden cabin draped in dried vines. The pungent, bitter smell of medicinal herbs wafted through the door.
Dax pushed the door open. Inside, the walls were lined with clay pots and hanging roots. An older, stern-faced female owl-mutant wearing a necklace of animal bones was grinding herbs in a stone bowl. This was Dr. Dorathy Clarke, the settlement healer.
Dr. Clarke looked up. The stone pestle slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the table. Her jaw unhinged. "Cora? By the gods, you're alive!"
The curtain to the back room was violently thrown aside. A bouncy female rabbit-mutant sprinted out. It was Niamh, Dr. Clarke's apprentice and Cora's childhood best friend.
Niamh let out an ear-piercing shriek and tackled Cora into a bone-crushing hug. "You stupid girl! I thought you were dead!"
Cora hugged her back, a genuine smile breaking through her panic.
Niamh pulled away and finally noticed the towering, terrifying man standing next to her friend. She squeaked and dove behind her mentor's back.
Dr. Clarke swallowed hard. She forced herself to step forward, her eyes darting nervously to Dax. "And... who is this?"
Cora kept it brief. "This is my first husband, Dax. My contracted partner. My dad sent us for a registration and a checkup."
Dr. Clarke instantly switched to her professional healer persona. She nodded and pointed to a wooden cot covered in a clean animal skin. "Lie down. I'll use my Wood magic to scan your vitals. We must ensure the female is healthy. "
Cora dragged her feet to the cot. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her brain spun wildly, trying to invent a lie to explain the impossible pregnancy.
Dax stood right beside the cot. He crossed his massive arms over his chest, glaring at Dr. Clarke like a guard dog ready to rip her throat out if she made a mistake. No one harmed his female. Not even a healer.
Sweating under the intense pressure, Dr. Clarke took a deep breath. She held her palm a few inches above Cora's stomach. She closed her eyes, and a soft, pulsing green light ignited from her skin.
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9.1
My family and fiancé begged me to donate my last remaining kidney to my twin sister, Kyleigh. They didn't know I was already dying.
My fiancé, Axel, gave me an ultimatum.
"Donate the kidney, or I'll break our engagement and marry Kyleigh. It's her dying wish."
I agreed, only for them to frame me for plagiarism with my own thesis, forcing me to confess on camera. They never knew I was the one who secretly saved our father with my other kidney five years ago-a sacrifice Kyleigh had stolen all the credit for.
As they wheeled me into the operating room, they celebrated with Kyleigh, promising her a future built on my death. I was already a ghost to them.
But I died on the table. The surgeon, seeing the old surgical scar and the poison riddling my body, walked out to face them.
"This wasn't a donation," she announced, her voice cold as steel. "This was murder."
9.3
She thought their love could survive anything. She was wrong.
For five years, Amara Hayes was the perfect wife - loyal, gentle, and endlessly forgiving. She believed her husband, Ethan Blackwell, when he said his late nights were for business. She trusted him when he swore his heart was hers.
Until the night she walked into his office and saw him making love to another woman.
Humiliated, heartbroken, and betrayed, Amara left without a word - leaving behind her wedding ring, her identity, and the man who destroyed her faith in love.
Three years later, she returns to New York as a powerful businesswoman with a new name and a cold smile. She's no longer the naive wife he controlled - she's his rival, his downfall, and his punishment.
But Ethan isn't the same man either. He's haunted by the woman he lost and desperate for redemption. And when fate throws them together again, old flames reignite amid a storm of revenge, pain, and forbidden desire.
He once broke her heart. Now, she'll make him wish he never did.
9.2
I woke up suffocating in the dark, only to find my mind trapped inside a tiny, plump, and entirely uncoordinated body.
A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my brain, announcing that I was dead in my original world and had transmigrated into a corporate revenge novel as the six-month-old illegitimate daughter of Edward McClure, the story's ruthless villain.
The system mercilessly outlined my doomed fate. Tonight, my cold-blooded father would abandon me to a state orphanage. By age two, he would officially sign my rights away, leaving me to die miserably at the hands of human traffickers. Outside my nursery, I could hear his terrifying footsteps approaching, his voice devoid of any human warmth as he debated throwing me out like garbage. I was completely helpless, trapped in a baby's body, staring up at a man who looked at me with pure, visceral disgust.
Why did I have to be reborn as the tragic cannon fodder of a tyrant destined to put a bullet in his own head? How was I supposed to win over a severe germaphobe when my unequipped infant reflexes made me literally pee and vomit all over his pristine Tom Ford suits?
"Your ultimate mission is to prevent Edward McClure's self-destruction. Step one: Survive tonight's abandonment crisis."
Hearing the system's terrifying ultimatum, I swallowed my adult panic, forced a pool of pitiful tears into my large eyes, and reached my chubby little hands toward the monster.
9.3
Ginny was chained to a concrete pillar in an abandoned warehouse, bleeding and betrayed by the two people she trusted most.
Her fiancé, Brant, and her adopted sister, Coretta, had just slashed her face open. Brant coldly admitted she was nothing but a disposable key to a vault, right before he tossed a lighter onto the gasoline-soaked floor.
As Ginny burned alive in the roaring inferno, the heavy iron doors were violently smashed open. Bedford Parks—the notoriously ruthless, germaphobic "monster" of Silicon Valley whom Ginny had always feared—charged straight into the flames. Ignoring the blistering heat, he shielded her charred body with his own. A massive steel beam collapsed, snapping his spine.
"I love you."
He coughed up blood, whispering his final words against her blackened skin before dying to protect her.
Hovering as a ghost, Ginny's soul screamed in agonizing realization. She had spent her life terrified of Bedford, yet he was the only one who truly loved her, while her supposed family laughed at her gruesome murder.
Suddenly, a blinding white light swallowed the warehouse.
Ginny gasped for air, opening her eyes to find herself sitting in the back of a luxury Maybach. She was eighteen again, wearing the humiliating clown makeup Coretta had tricked her into wearing on the day she was brought back to the wealthy Steele estate.
Ginny stared at her reflection, her dark eyes turning cold and sharp.
This time, she would tear her betrayers apart piece by piece, and she would protect her "monster."
8.9
I died in the apocalypse, only to wake up as Kenzie Banks, a bankrupt high-society monster in an interstellar beast-world.
But before I could even process my new reality, a cold AI voice informed me of my impending death.
"Your contract beast-husbands possess the legal right to execute you at the end of the two-month trial period."
I rushed to the basement and saw the horrific truth. The original Kenzie had starved them, whipped them with thermal blades, sent their brothers to die as cannon fodder, and framed the youngest to rot in a maximum-security prison.
Now, these lethal, broken men were methodically planning to rip my organs out the second the contract dissolved. To make matters worse, she had squandered her fortune on a man who despised her, leaving me two million credits in debt and facing imminent exile to the deadly wastelands.
I had survived rotting zombies on Earth, only to be trapped in a weak, universally hated body, doomed to be butchered by the very people I was supposed to call family. Why did I have to pay the ultimate price for a psychotic woman's deadly sins?
I refused to just sit around and wait for my execution.
Tapping into my apocalyptic subspace inventory, I hauled out military-grade rations, healed their bleeding wounds, and slammed a legally binding divorce contract on the table.
If I wanted to survive this sixty-day countdown, I had to turn my executioners into my loyal allies—starting with breaking the husband she framed out of prison.
9.2
Celestia woke up heavily sedated, her wrists bound tightly to the legs of a grand piano in a cold, opulent room.
Before she could even process the panic, a towering billionaire named Sterling Sinclair IV stepped in, looking at her like a possessed piece of art.
The head maid then handed Celestia a thick surrogacy contract with her perfectly forged signature.
"You are here to bear an heir for Mr. Sinclair," the maid stated flatly.
Celestia screamed that they had the wrong person, but her desperate cries bounced uselessly off the soundproof walls.
Stripped of her clothes, phone, and identity, she was trapped on an isolated island surrounded by high-voltage electric fences and armed guards.
When she furiously fought back, Sterling physically overpowered her, punishing her resistance with brutal, terrifying dominance until she lost consciousness on the marble floor.
She didn't understand who had kidnapped her from her normal life.
Why was her biometric data perfectly faked in a classified dossier?
Who had framed her as a willing, ten-million-dollar premium product for a ruthless billionaire?
Driven by pure survival, Celestia began aggressively consuming raw garlic and bathing in harsh white vinegar to destroy her fertility and repel his touch.
And when Sterling finally reviewed her bizarre, self-sabotaging dietary logs, the terrifying truth hit his calculating mind like a physical blow.
The broken, innocent woman he had been brutally tormenting all week was never his hired surrogate.