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 9
The soft green light of Dr. Clarke's Wood magic swirled over Cora's stomach.
Suddenly, the healer's face froze. The color drained completely from her cheeks.
Her eyes snapped open, her pupils shrinking to pinpricks. She stared at Cora's abdomen as if a monster was about to burst out of it. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead and dripped down her nose.
Dax saw the terror on the healer's face. His instincts flared. He lunged forward, grabbing Dr. Clarke by the collar of her tunic and lifting her off her feet. His voice was a terrifying, icy snarl. "What is it? Is she hurt?! Tell me now! "
Dr. Clarke gasped for air, her hands clawing at Dax's iron grip. "No! Not hurt! It's... it's life!"
Dax dropped her. Dr. Clarke collapsed against the wooden table, pointing a shaking finger at Cora's stomach. Her voice cracked hysterically. "She's pregnant! And... and there are three incredibly powerful life forces in there! Three cubs! "
Niamh slapped both hands over her mouth, a muffled scream escaping her lips. "Goddess! Cora, you're pregnant?!"
Dax already "knew" this. But hearing the official confirmation sent a fresh wave of agony through his chest. His female was carrying another male's cubs. And yet he would protect them as his own. His fists clenched so hard his knuckles popped. He glared at the floor, fighting the urge to destroy something.
Cora lay stiff on the cot. She covered her face with both hands, burning with humiliation. She screamed at the system in her head to make her disappear.
But Dr. Clarke wasn't done. "I need to check the father's energy signature through the Beast Mark to determine the cubs' growth rate," she stammered. She closed her eyes again, her hands trembling as she reached out to sense the energy pulsing from the faint blue fox-tail tattoo on Cora's collarbone.
A second later, she yanked her hands back as if she had plunged them into boiling water. The absolute, terrifying suppression of a Tier-9 apex predator violently lashed out from the mark, slamming into her senses. She stumbled backward, crashing into a shelf. Clay pots shattered on the floor, scattering dried herbs everywhere.
"Impossible... this is impossible!" Dr. Clarke muttered, her eyes wide with absolute despair and sheer terror as she looked up at Dax.
Dax grabbed the healer by the shoulders, shaking her violently. "What is wrong?! Tell me!"
Dr. Clarke looked up at Dax, her teeth chattering. "Your energy... the Beast Mark! You are a Tier-9 mutant! An apex warlord! And you have submitted to her as her first husband!" she gasped, the revelation shattering the fragile peace of the room. Her eyes darted back to Cora in horror, completely misunderstanding the situation as she sensed the resonance. "And the cubs... they are drawing on his Tier-9 anchor to survive! Their innate energy levels are terrifyingly high. They are high-tier mutants! They will kill a defective mother! "
The clinic fell into a dead, suffocating silence. Even Niamh stopped breathing.
In the wasteland, the laws of biology were absolute. A mother's energy had to match her cubs. If a low-tier female carried high-tier cubs, it was a death sentence. She was carrying three ticking time bombs.
Dr. Clarke turned to Cora. Her eyes were filled with pity and profound grief. "Cora... your genetic defect is too severe. Your body cannot provide the massive amount of energy they need to grow."
She swallowed hard. "In less than a month, those high-tier cubs will drain your life force completely. The energy backlash will cause you to... explode. You will die. Your first husband's power is too great for your body to support. "
Even though Cora knew the system would keep her alive, hearing the words explode and die sent a violent shiver down her spine. Her stomach cramped in fear.
Dax heard the death sentence.
His brain snapped.
A guttural, demonic roar ripped from his throat. His eyes flashed a blinding, glowing red. The sheer, unadulterated fury of a Tier-9 apex predator exploded from his body. His female was dying because of his power. His strength was killing her.
The wooden window shutters blew outward, shattering into splinters. The remaining clay pots exploded into dust. The crushing pressure forced Dr. Clarke and Niamh to their knees, pinning them to the floor as they gasped for air.
"I will not let her die!" Dax roared, his voice shaking the foundation of the cabin. "She is my female! My purpose! I will find a way!"
He spun around and dropped to his knees beside the cot. He dragged Cora into his chest, wrapping his massive arms around her. He held her so tight her ribs ached, burying his face in her neck. His massive body was trembling violently. He was terrified. He had finally found a female to serve, and he was going to lose her.
Cora gasped for breath against his chest. She lifted her hands and wrapped them around his broad back. "Dax, stop. Calm down. I'm not going to die. Trust me. Your female commands you to calm yourself. "
Dax took a ragged, shuddering breath. He forced the violent energy back into his core, his eyes still burning red as he glared down at Dr. Clarke. "How do we save her? Tell me the price. I will pay it. I will tear the world apart. "
Dr. Clarke wiped the sweat from her eyes, struggling to speak under the lingering pressure. "The only way... is to forcefully raise Cora's energy tier before the cubs form. She needs to reach at least Tier-2 to survive the drain. She must become strong enough to wield the power her husband has given her. "
She shook her head in despair. "But it's impossible. Her defect makes absorbing cores incredibly slow. We don't have the time-"
A flash of absolute, manic determination crossed Dax's face.
He reached into Cora's pocket and yanked out the wooden box Arthur had given them. He flipped the lid open. The Tier-3 Wood core pulsed with green light.
Dax grabbed the crystal in his fist. He looked down at Cora, his voice hard as steel. "Then we upgrade you right now. I will force it into your veins myself. You will not die. I refuse to lose my female."
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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.