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 7
The great stone pot was scraped clean. The last drops of broth were sopped up with coarse bread by a few warriors, who then practically licked the inside of the pot. The square was littered with the bodies of clansmen, not dead, but lying on the ground, groaning with the unfamiliar pleasure of a full belly. The cloud of despair that had hung over the tribe was gone, replaced by a sleepy, satisfied contentment.
The Chieftain, holding his own empty bowl, walked to Abigail. His face was a complex mixture of gratitude and shame. He bowed his head, a rare gesture for a leader of his stature.
"I was wrong," he said, his voice low but clear for all to hear. "You have saved us. I apologize."
The remaining clansmen fell silent, watching with a new, respectful awe.
Abigail accepted his apology with a gracious nod. "There is more of it in the forest," she said, pressing her advantage. "Enough to last the entire winter."
A cheer went up. The crisis was over.
But a sharp, discordant voice cut through the celebration. Chelsea stepped out of the shadows, her face a pale mask of fury.
"One meal does not solve a famine," she sneered.
She held up a flat piece of wood covered in carved notches. A primitive ledger. "You frightened away a herd of horned beasts. Enough meat for a month," she announced, her voice ringing with legalistic venom. "What you brought back-this boar and these roots-will last two days. The debt is not paid."
The clansmen looked at each other, their happy expressions fading. Chelsea was right. According to the tribe's sacred and unbending law of equivalent exchange, the accounts were not balanced.
The Chieftain's face hardened. He wanted to protect Abigail, this treasure who could find food, but he could not break the law. He was the Chieftain, the law's ultimate guardian.
Shaman Gifford, who had returned to watch, stepped forward, leaning on his staff. "The law is the law," he intoned, seizing the opportunity to restore his bruised authority. "Death is no longer required. But a punishment is."
He looked at Abigail, his eyes cold and unforgiving. "You will be confined to the Penitent's Cave for one month. You will be given only enough water and food to survive."
A gasp of horror went through the crowd. The Penitent's Cave was a cold, damp cavern in the back mountains. A month in there for a female was a slow, agonizing death sentence.
Bronson exploded.
A sound like cracking bone erupted from his body as his muscles tensed. He drew a wicked-looking bone knife from his waist, and his killing intent, raw and unrestrained, locked onto the Shaman and Chelsea. A bloodbath was imminent.
The Chieftain's guards flinched but raised their weapons, preparing to die defending their leaders.
"Bronson, NO!"
Abigail threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his knife arm, holding on with all her strength. "Stop it!" she hissed in his ear, her voice a fierce, desperate whisper. "If you attack them, you become the enemy of the whole tribe! We can't kill everyone and survive the winter alone! Think!"
His eyes were blazing red with fury, but her touch, her logic, pierced through his rage. With a shuddering breath that sounded like a dying animal's growl, he slowly, reluctantly, lowered his weapon.
Abigail let go of him and stepped forward, pushing him behind her. She faced the Shaman's smugness and Chelsea's triumphant sneer alone. Her mind raced, searching for a loophole, a way out. They were using quantity to condemn her. So she had to offer them infinity.
She took a deep breath, and her expression shifted. It became serene, mysterious, and deeply profound. She was about to bluff for her life.
"I can do more than just find food," she announced, her voice taking on a strange, holy cadence. "I possess a sacred art. A secret that can make food grow from nothing. That can make one piece of food multiply a hundred times over."
The square fell silent again. Even the Chieftain stared, dumbfounded. Such power belonged only to the gods.
Chelsea let out a hysterical laugh. "She's insane! A liar to the very end! Drag her to the cave!"
Abigail ignored her, her eyes fixed on the Shaman. She delivered the killing blow. "And I am willing to teach this sacred art to the tribe."
She let the words hang in the air. "But if you lock me in that cave," she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "the secret dies with me. The tribe will lose its chance for endless food this winter. You will be spitting on a gift from the gods themselves."
Gifford's eyes narrowed. As a man of faith, he was a professional dealer in miracles. He was deeply suspicious, but also deeply greedy.
The Chieftain immediately raised his hand, halting the guards who were about to seize her. His eyes burned with a feverish intensity.
"Prove it," he commanded. "Show us this... multiplication art. Now."
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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."