Claimed By The Exiled Tiger King
The last thing I remembered was the blinding flash of my starship crashing. But instead of a rescue crew, I woke up tied to a wooden post, surrounded by hostile beastmen.
My universal translator kicked in just in time to hear their priestess, Chelsea, declare that I was a cursed demon who ruined their hunt. To save the clan from winter starvation, I was to be burned alive.
The flames were already blistering my legs, and jagged stones hurled by the crowd gashed my forehead. I barely negotiated a three-day reprieve to find them food, venturing into the deadly primeval forest.
I found a massive supply of wild potatoes and even gained the protection of Bronson, a terrifyingly powerful saber-toothed tiger beastman.
But Chelsea wouldn't stop.
She labeled my food as poisonous, tried to sentence me to starve in a penitent's cave, and when my agricultural knowledge proved her wrong, she invoked an ancient law. She incited the tribe's savage warriors to fight over me, turning me into breeding property.
I was a scientist offering them endless food, yet their primitive ignorance and one woman's vicious jealousy kept pushing me toward a brutal end. I was terrified, completely powerless against their monstrous physical strength.
As five ruthless challengers drew their bone axes to claim me, I begged Bronson to leave me and run.
Instead, he pulled me against his scarred chest and kissed me fiercely in front of the entire clan.
"She is my mate," he roared, unleashing a soul-crushing aura. "Anyone who wants her, come at me together."
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Chapter 4
A dead silence fell over the square. Every eye was fixed on the massive boar, a greedy, hungry light in them. But no one moved. Bronson's presence was a physical barrier, a wall of quiet menace.
Abigail stepped out from behind him. She patted the huge bundle of vines. "This," she announced, her voice ringing with newfound confidence, "is the food I promised. Ten times what you lost."
A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd. They thought the bundle was filled with more meat.
Abigail untied the knot. The bundle fell open, and a cascade of huge, dirt-covered tubers rolled out onto the ground.
The crowd's excitement died instantly, replaced by stunned, disappointed silence.
Chelsea let out a shrill, mocking laugh. "Is this a joke? You bring us mud and rocks? You are trying to fool the Chieftain!"
An old warrior stepped forward, peered at the tubers, and his face went pale. He stumbled back in terror. "Devil's Root!" he croaked. "Those are Devil's Roots!"
Panic erupted. The crowd recoiled as if the tubers were venomous snakes.
An elderly man leaning on a gnarled staff, his face a mask of grim authority, made his way through the parting crowd. The Shaman, Gifford Martin, supported by Chelsea. He stared down at the tubers, his expression dark.
He struck the ground with his staff. "Decades ago," he proclaimed, his voice raspy with age and power, "clansmen, starving, ate the sprouted Devil's Root. They were dead by morning, foaming at the mouth."
Chelsea seized the moment. "She didn't bring us food, she brought us poison! She means to murder the entire clan! Her heart is black!"
The tribe's fear turned back to fury. Several young warriors raised their spears, their points aimed directly at Abigail.
A low, rumbling growl vibrated from Bronson's chest. He moved in front of her, a shield of tense muscle and killing intent. The sheer force of his aura pushed the warriors back a step.
Abigail leaned around him, her voice urgent. "No! The Shaman speaks a half-truth!" she yelled, her voice desperate. "The Star-Gods warned me: when the Devil's Root grows green skin and sprouts 'serpent tongues,' a dark poison enters it! But these are fresh and pure, filled with the earth's life-giving energy! They are perfectly safe!"
But to a people who still struggled to master fire, even these explanations were met with heavy doubt. The concept of hidden poisons entering and leaving a plant sounded like a demon's incantation, deepening their fear.
The Chieftain's brow furrowed. He wanted to believe, but he could not defy the Shaman's authority, not when it was a matter of life and death for his people. He raised a hand, signaling his guards to seize her.
The situation was hopeless. The wall of ignorance was too high to climb with logic.
Just as the guards moved to grab her, Bronson acted. He reached down and picked up one of the largest, muddiest tubers from the pile.
The square went silent again.
He turned to Abigail, his deep blue eyes holding no trace of doubt, only a question. "You said this is food," he said, his voice low. "You're sure?"
Abigail stared at him, at the unwavering trust in his gaze. A lump formed in her throat. She nodded, her voice thick with emotion. "Yes. Cooked, it's completely safe."
That was all he needed.
He turned back to face the Chieftain and the Shaman. "I will test it," he announced, his voice booming across the square.
The crowd gasped. Chelsea's eyes widened in disbelief. To willingly eat the Devil's Root was suicide.
Gifford snorted. "A fool's death. But it will prove my point."
"If I live," Bronson stated, his voice hard as iron, "it proves she is innocent. And you will accept me as a warrior of this clan."
The Chieftain considered the terms. If Bronson died, the tribe got a free boar. If he lived, they got a new food source and a warrior of terrifying power. It was a win-win. He nodded. "Agreed."
"No!" Abigail grabbed Bronson's arm, her panic rising. "Bronson, don't! It's not poisonous, but eating that much raw starch will cause severe stomach cramps. It will be incredibly painful."
He looked down at her small hand on his arm, then covered it with his own. His thumb brushed the back of her hand, a rough, comforting gesture. "Don't worry," he murmured.
Then, under the weight of hundreds of terrified, hateful, and hopeful eyes, Bronson brought the raw, dirty tuber to his mouth.
A loud, crisp crack echoed in the dead silence as he bit off a huge chunk. He chewed it, dirt and all, his jaw working with grim determination.
Chelsea stared at his throat, her eyes alight with vicious anticipation, waiting for him to choke, to fall, to die.
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9.1
With only fifteen days of cash flow left to save her tech startup, Aida had no choice but to seek a five-million-dollar bridge loan from Brendan Walls, a ruthless billionaire predator.
He agreed to sign the check, but on one sickening condition. He demanded Aida act as bait to get close to his corporate rival, Grayson Lott, treating her like a high-end call girl for a business transaction.
Forced to comply to save her employees, Aida let Grayson take her to a windowless underground club, where he secretly spiked her whiskey.
As the drugs paralyzed her body, triggering horrific flashbacks of a brutal assault from six years ago, Aida locked herself in the bathroom. She had to shatter a mirror and slice her own thigh open with a jagged shard of glass just to stay conscious enough to call Brendan for help.
Brendan's armored SUV immediately smashed through the club's wall to save her, and Grayson was arrested. But lying in the hospital, the horrifying truth finally clicked in Aida's mind.
The rescue was too fast. Brendan’s men hadn't rushed from Midtown; they had been parked outside the entire time. He had watched Grayson drug her and waited for the felony to happen just so he could legally seize Grayson's company. He had gambled her life and trauma for a hostile takeover.
When Brendan casually tossed a signed contract and luxury car keys onto her hospital bed as hush money, the last thread of Aida's sanity snapped.
"The deal is dead. NovaTech is mine. If you ever come near me again, I will kill you."
Bleeding and shaking with icy rage, Aida threw the keys at his chest, formally declaring war on the monster who thought he could buy her soul.
9.3
Born into privilege, Eleanor never imagined her life could shatter in a single night. Then her father disappeared with his mistress, her mother fell from a building and slipped into a coma, and everything she once owned turned to dust.
Determined not to ruin Jonathan's future with her family's disgrace, she ended their relationship and became the bride of a man trapped in a vegetative state.
She believed that was the last time their paths would cross. But two years later, Jonathan pinned her in the dark and whispered, "Long time no see, my sister-in-law."
9.1
He postponed putting my name on the deed 18 times.
Each time, his mentee Ciera had an “emergency.” Each time, he ran to her.
I watched him give her his prized Montblanc pen—the one he wouldn’t even let me borrow. I saw her post their late nights on Instagram. I ate anniversary dinners alone while he “mentored” her.
Then he bought me a necklace—identical to the one she just flaunted online.
That was when I stopped feeling anything.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t fight. I simply packed two suitcases, resigned from our firm, and booked a one-way ticket to London.
He thinks I’m coming back in a week.
He has no idea I’m gone for good.
Nineteen broken promises. One silent goodbye. And a new life waiting across the ocean.
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?
9.4
I was a New York photographer, but I woke up under the brutal sun of the African savanna.
Worse, I wasn't human. I was trapped in the body of a male cheetah, with two starving cubs clinging to my fur, telepathically calling me "Mom."
But I am a real man!
To keep my adopted sons alive, I had to fight hyenas and dodge rogue lions. But the real nightmare was my bizarre survival mechanism. Under extreme threat, I would uncontrollably shift back into my human form—stark, undeniably naked. I was forced to sprint across the plains with my bare skin exposed, carrying two cubs while escaping furious lionesses. I became a freak, the most confusing and humiliating legend of the animal kingdom.
Covered in bloody scratches and mud, I was pushed to the brink of despair. Why was I thrown into this beast's body? Why did my only defense mechanism involve profound social death?
Just when I barely survived a cliff dive to escape the lions, my path was blocked by two massive, highly intelligent prime male cheetahs.
But the alpha, Bradley, didn't want to kill me for my territory.
His intense gaze raked over my naked, bleeding human body with a dark, possessive hunger.
"You are full of surprises."
He purred smoothly, teaching me to magically summon a fur skirt before demanding I join his coalition.
"Oh, you'll come to me. I guarantee it."
Looking into his predatory eyes, I realized I was no longer just surviving the wild; I was the prey of a completely different kind of beast.
7.1
To save my family from ruin, I remarried my billionaire ex-husband, Jaxon Lowe. He held my late mother' s locket hostage, forcing me back into a gilded cage where I endured his cold contempt and his very public affair. I played the part of the silent, obedient wife he demanded, building a wall of ice around my heart just to survive.
But my obedience didn't protect me. He abandoned me in a torrential downpour to rescue his mistress, Ivory.
Then, he broke his one promise. He let Ivory have my mother's locket pulled from auction, the very reason for my sacrifice, simply because she found it "unlucky."
That final betrayal led me straight into the hands of his business rival, where I was tortured and left for dead.
But I survived.
Four months later, Jaxon found me. He stood before me, tears streaming down his face, holding the now-repaired locket and begging for forgiveness.
I took back what was mine.
"I want a divorce," I said, my voice calm and final. "And I never want to see you again."