My sister wants Lycan's love, but I want him to die
In the year 2333, humanity has fallen and ruled by werewolves. Bellatrix Sinclair, an 18-year-old weapons prodigy that despises werewolves for destroying her family has been secretly planning to join the human rebellion.
However, she is forced into the Mate Selection Process and matched with Lazarus De Loughrey, the ruthless Werewolf King obsessed with claiming her.
He shouldn't want her and she should hate him but they cannot resist each other. It's a twisted connection, entirely physical because all I am is his slave.
My heart should belong to my best friend Emmett, a human. Atleast the guilt of betrayal wouldn't be eating away at my insides.
___________________________
"Yes please." She begs.
"Then fucking let me in." I growled, this fury exploding with vengeance. I wanted to destroy her pussy.
It was maddening, it was sickening, it was barbaric.
But I never claimed to be saint.
"Here that baby, that's the sound of your greedy pussy sucking on my cock. Give me more, drench me."
"Lazarus." She moans painfully, "Please let me come."
I'm doused in gasoline and set alight, sweat coats my skin as I pound into her faster and harder. I'm definitely hurting her, "Wanna come?" I rasped, "Not until I say so."
Pressing my lips onto hers, pushing my tongue into her mouth until I feel the sweetness of hers. The kiss is sloppy and filthy. She cries as I drive my cock into her, the intensity too much to handle, sweet tears sliding onto her cheeks.
"Fuck yes." I smile sadistically, licking her tears. "Cry for me Ma Cherie."
"Please, please let me come My King." She pleads.
"Say it again." Lightening shooting down my spine as she begged, "My King, please let me come. I'll be good."
I chuckled, "Try your luck to kill me Ma Cherie, I dare you."
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Chapter 6
Bellatrix Sinclair
Fuck no, the universe was playing a twisted a game and I wasn't going to be a part of it.
Under the intensity of his intimidating gaze, I declare, "I, Bellatrix Sinclair, reject you, Lazarus de Loughrey, as my mate."
Everyone gasps in shock while I lost all ability to breathe. His obsidian eyes burned with the essence of rage, "You think you can reject me human." He snarled menacingly, "You are mine if I want you. Humans don't get to oppose the Mate Selection; you don't have a choice."
Trepidation was rapidly consuming me from the revelation that I was the Werewolf King's human mate, however his words had shattered the cloud of dread. Now I was fucking pissed. My blood was boiling, igniting a fire in my belly that spread like wildfire.
"And whose fault is that?" I snapped unconsciously with a bitter tone.
Lazarus's eyes darkened malevolently; sparks explode from his fingertips as they curl around my bicep with a punishing grip that I can't escape from as he drags me out of the doors and away from the crowd. Guards close them behind us, giving us privacy.
And I wasn't going to keep quiet, he will feel my fury.
He lets me go and the sparks instantly disappear, making me question if they were a figment of my imagination. However, he wasn't granting me mercy because in this solitude – I had to face his wrath.
"You, human, dare defy me, dare reject me. You need to be reminded who owns you, you should beg for my mercy after that fucking stunt." He spat venomously.
"Mercy?" I scoffed condescendingly. "Your majesty, you don't know the meaning of something you never enforced. Don't hold your breath because I won't be begging for anything."
He chuckled darkly, a deeply sinful sound. "Oh Bellatrix, I was going to give you an out, I was going to reject you. But you need to be disciplined, you need to face the consequences of your actions."
Lazarus's eyes grew cold, "You are weak, you are useless like all the other humans. There are no choices for you. That little tantrum did nothing but showcase your stupidity, you have no power to reject me." He stated callously, his lips twisting into a devilish grin, "I own you now human."
He shredded the threads of my self-control, letting my hatred wreak havoc upon my insides until I was violently shaking. "I HATE YOU!" I roared, pounding my fists against his chest over and over.
He let out a scornful laugh, "Scream and cry all you want. No one will save you."
"I would rather die than ever be your mate." I spat, my voice dripping with venom as I glared at him with pure disdain.
"That can be arranged," he seethed.
I exploded into a fit of rage, feral screams tearing my lungs as I lunged for him. My mind was racing, unable to process anything aside from causing him harm. Biting, kicking, punishing, scratching – I didn't care if he was King, I wasn't going to be his breeding machine.
My emotions were too overwhelming, my body unable to handle the vicious tremors. Black dots tainting my vision and my heart pounding so hard and fast that I couldn't breathe. Movements became sloppy and sluggish as my consciousness faded to black.
The incessant pounding stretched to my ears; a zealous fire cracking open my sternum. Releasing an audible gasp, drawing in a cool breath as I open my eyes. My mind groggery, slow to register my surroundings.
Staring at the ceiling of mosaic tiles, different shades of black blending into a pattern that was hypnotic. Freezing as memories rush to the surface and I'm keenly aware that this wasn't my room, it was his.
Lazarus's chambers radiated his opulence, walls replaced by floor-length windows that wrapped around me in an endless whirlpool. Fluffy clouds that imitated cotton candy as the sun descended. Silk sheets adorned my skin, a long rectangular coffee table near the window that was vertically sliced to showcase the illuminating glow of a firepit.
Everything shimmered of wealth that werewolves were privileged to. Such knowledge triggered my enmity and scorching my insides with resentment. They lived in luxury while humans lived in squabble. They enjoyed the lavishes of life at the expense of our suffering.
Boiling with rage that had my body quaking, heavy breathing as I stewed in silence. "You seem angry?" his rich voice teased.
"Behold, his majesty." I mocked dryly, watching him come into view.
Lazarus closes the distance and captures my chin, forcing us to lock eyes. "That attitude of yours will only get you in more trouble." His voice acidic, steeped in malice. "You better get familiar with this place Bellatrix, because until you give me an heir – this is your prison."
"Fuck you."
He smirks, "I plan to."
Lazarus's fingers slip from my chin, walking over to the single leather sofa near the fireplace. His mischievous orbs bore into mine as he crossed his ankle over the knee, exuding an affirmative energy was suffocating.
There was something diabolical about the mask he portrayed behind that dark humour. I was skilled at reading people therefore I knew it wasn't lust dancing in eyes, it was calculation. He was studying me, the situation and the future.
"If you are successful at providing me an heir, I will consider rejecting you." He reckoned.
Rejection would mean he would discard me, giving me freedom. I narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously. "Why? As far as that goes, it's too nice for even you."
"We share a similar dislike for each other. I wasn't fond of having a human mate but alas this is my current predicament." His steely voice said.
"So, all I need to do is pop out a baby for my freedom?" I grit through my teeth.
"Freedom," he chuckles sinisterly, "There is no such thing for humans."
My lips tug into a sneer, "As long as I'm away from you, that's freedom."
Lazarus laughed, a deeply coarse sound. "I'm glad I could be of your entertainment." I retort sarcastically.
He arose from the chair with ease, advancing towards me. Lazarus traces my cheek with his fingertips, an electric current branding my skin from his touch as I'm locked in a trance. His lips curl into a malicious smirk, "You are my slave Bellatrix."
There was no escaping him. Lazarus aura was magnetic and powerful, devouring anything he set his sight on. His burly figure loomed over me, a perfectly tailored three-piece suit that blended with the night sky. He was the epitome of malevolence, jet-black hair with faded sides while the top was sleeked back except for a few strands cascading over his forehead, his face carved of stone and perfection.
However, his dark eyes were the most enchanting. They were truly evanescent, an art of sorcery and sin. Lazarus was the physical embodiment of my destruction, dragging me into an unholy abyss that the darkest parts of me craved.
Lazarus is my curse, a sickening part of me already felt corrupted by his vile soul.
Unknowingly, he captures my wrist. Tension thickening the atmosphere between us, the sugary and spicey taste of our catastrophe on my tongue as he placed my palm over his hardened cock. He throbbed against my palm, leaving me in a daze of fear and lust that I can't seem to escape. Swallowing thickly as my pussy fluttered, I shouldn't be this attracted to him, but I was.
Lazarus exhales against my ear, coating my skin in goosebumps of anticipation and arousal. "Bellatrix," his voice smooth and rich like whiskey, "Please your master." He commands.
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8.6
"What do you think people would say if they found out you don't have a dick?" Christian asked, his voice low and dripping with seduction. His hand pressed firmly against my crotch, fingers exploring the flat, unfamiliar emptiness there. A devilish smirk curved his lips. "Or if they discovered these voluptuous breasts you've been hiding so well?"
A strangled moan slipped from my throat as his hand slid under my shirt, his fingers brushing over my hardened nipples, teasing them with slow, deliberate strokes.
"Which do you think they'd call you?" he murmured, eyes gleaming. "A boy with tits... or a dickless little fraud?"
I stared into his hungry blue eyes, words failing me.
"The term you're looking for is 'girl,'" came Xavier's smooth voice from the bathroom doorway. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click, his gaze raking over me with open interest. "So tell me, little girl... what the hell is someone like you doing in an all-boys dorm?"
Christian's smirk widened. "She wants to be devoured by boys like us." His fingers gave my nipple one last firm pinch before he leaned in closer, breath hot against my ear. "And I'll be more than happy to give her a taste."
7.4
Forced into an unwanted marriage, quiet schoolteacher Delina Brooks is bound to Andrew Kingsley.He is a ruthless billionaire musician, cold and arrogant, and he hates Delina from the moment they wed.
But Andrew's world is not just his own. His glamorous ex-girlfriend, Camilla Laurent, and his manipulative sister, Veronica, are determined to destroy Delina-and reclaim Andrew for themselves. Surrounded by lies, secrets, and relentless enemies, Delina must fight for her dignity, her family, and her future.
As fate twists and turns, one question remains: Will the woman he despised become the only one he can't live without?
9.7
Sienna woke up in a hospital room, her body screaming from a severe car accident. Through the glass, a man paced with violent rage, a dark shadow she felt absolutely nothing for.
Her friend Julia burst in, eyes bloodshot, dropping a bomb: "He didn't even try to help you." Dante, Sienna's fiancé, had protected another woman, Valeria, in the crash, leaving Sienna to burn alive.
Her past life unspooled – seven years sacrificed, an architecture degree abandoned, all to serve Dante. Her phone was a shrine to him: his photos, his "taboos," and even "Valeria's preferences," with no trace of Sienna herself.
But amnesia brought no heartbreak, only a cold, calculating fury. She felt disgust for the "idiot" she'd been, stripped of dignity. The memory loss was a release, a blank slate.
With chilling resolve, Sienna deleted every trace of Dante. Ripping out her IV, she declared, "The wedding proceeds." Not for love, but as a weapon: "I need to take back everything that belongs to me before I disappear."
8.5
To the Dark Moon Pack, I wasn't just invisible; I was a stain. Dean Lee, the Alpha designed for my soul, treated me like a shameful secret while he paraded his mistress, Karina, in red silk.
The night of the Charity Auction, Dean bought my late mother's moonstone pendant—the only thing I had left of her—for a hundred thousand dollars.
I begged him for it. Instead, he clasped it around Karina's ankle.
With a cruel laugh, Karina stomped her stiletto heel, crushing the moonstone into dust. Dean just watched, his eyes cold and unfeeling.
"It was just a cheap rock," he said. "I'll buy you diamonds."
But the cruelty didn't stop at emotional torture. When rogues attacked, Dean used me as live bait to distract them from Karina.
He threw me into the Blood Pit, a gladiator arena, to fight a massive Feral wolf while he sat in the VIP box with Karina on his lap.
"She won't last three minutes," I heard him say through our dying bond.
He watched with bored detachment as I was ripped apart, refusing to save me even as I screamed his name. He saved the mistress and drowned the mate.
I died on that arena floor. Or so he thought.
Years later, the mysterious and world-renowned artist "H.Y." returned to New York for a gallery opening.
When Dean saw me on stage, he rushed forward, tears streaming down his face, trying to claim the wife he had mourned.
"Hayley," he choked out, reaching for me. "You're alive. You're mine."
I didn't cry. I didn't run.
I unleashed a shockwave of ancient White Wolf energy that blasted him across the room, shattering the glass displays.
"I don't take orders from dogs anymore," I said, looking down at him.
"I, Hayley York, hereby reject you."
7.1
I never should have let my mother hold my future hostage.
She paid my tuition with his father's money. Locked my birth certificate, my transcripts, every scrap of paper I need to survive in a safe I'll never open. And the one thing I had left of my dad, his old watch, she dangled like a noose.
Run, and I lose my education. Fight, and I lose the last piece of the man who actually loved me.
So I moved into the Hunters' mansion. Into the lair of the boy who spent years making my life hell.
Chase Hunter. Six-foot-five of pure venom wrapped in muscle and money. The senior who cornered me in empty hallways, who whispered filth in my ear just to watch me flinch, who smiled that sharp, cruel smile every time I broke a little more.
I thought graduation meant freedom from him.
I was wrong.
Now he's my stepbrother.
He hates that I'm here. Hates my mother for sinking her claws into his father. Hates me most of all, for breathing his air, for walking his halls, for daring to exist where he can reach me.
But hate isn't clean anymore.
It's tangled up in heat. In the way his grey eyes strip me bare every time they land on me. In the way his hand closes around my throat, not to hurt, but to own. In the way he punishes me over his lap, in his car, against walls, until I'm shaking and soaked and furious at myself for wanting more.
He calls me Little Lamb like it's poison on his tongue.
I call him every name I can think of under my breath.
How long until we stop fighting the deadly inferno raging between us and finally let it consume us both?
7.3
I was never supposed to step into his world.
I was just a daughter trying to survive the wreckage of a father's mistakes. A quiet girl living a small, careful life-until one night shattered everything I thought I knew about fear, power, and possession.
They say the mafia doesn't forgive.
They say debts are paid in blood.
They never warned me that sometimes, the price is a woman.
Luciano De Luca.
The name alone makes men lower their voices and avert their eyes. A king without a crown. A devil in a tailored suit. He rules the underworld with calculated brutality, commanding loyalty through fear and obedience through bloodshed. To him, mercy is a weakness-and love is a lie told by foolish men before they die.
Luciano is not a man you reason with. He is power, violence, and control wrapped in a deadly calm. A mafia king who destroys without mercy and takes without permission.
When my father fails to pay his debt, Luciano takes me instead.
I become his collateral.
His punishment.
His possession.
Trapped in his world of blood and secrets, I am nothing more than a reminder of betrayal-kept under his watch, bound by his rules, and stripped of every illusion of freedom. Luciano made it clear from the start: I am not his guest. I am not his lover. I am not free. I am his possession. He watches me like a predator studying prey-cold, assessing, waiting for me to break. He expects fear to reduce me to nothing. He expects me to beg. To submit.
But I don't.
And that defiance ignites something far more dangerous than hatred in him.
But somewhere between the locked doors and the whispered threats, I realize something dangerous: the man who owns me is far more broken than he wants the world to know.
Luciano De Luca is ruthless-but he is not heartless. He is controlling-but barely. And every time I challenge him, every time I look him in the eyes without flinching, something dark and volatile stirs beneath his calm exterior.
Luciano doesn't love. He claims. He controls. He owns.
Yet the more he tries to crush my spirit, the more obsessed he becomes. His protection turns violent. His control turns suffocating. His eyes follow me like a promise and a threat all at once.
He says I am his weakness.
His mistake.
His curse.
Yet when enemies circle too close, it is Luciano who shields me with his body. When danger threatens, it is his voice that growls warnings, his hands that tighten possessively, his presence that promises violence to anyone who dares touch what is his.
Because once a mafia king decides you belong to him...
escape is no longer an option.
I am trapped in a golden cage built from power, luxury, and danger-but the greatest threat isn't the guns, the blood, or the men who would kill for him.
It's the way Luciano looks at me when he thinks I'm not watching.
The way his control fractures when I'm hurt.
The way his name feels dangerous on my lips.
Because loving a mafia king is not a fairy tale.
It's a war.
A war between survival and desire.
Between freedom and obsession.
Between the girl I used to be and the woman his darkness is shaping me into.
The deeper I fall into his world, the more I uncover secrets buried beneath his cruelty-betrayals that made him this way, scars that never healed, enemies that would destroy us both if given the chance. And as the line between captor and protector blurs, I'm forced to face a devastating truth:
The man who owns my body may soon own my heart.
But loving Luciano De Luca comes at a cost.
Because in his world, love is a liability.
And the moment he chooses me...
is the moment he paints a target on my back.
Will I escape the man who claims to own me?
Or will I surrender to the darkness that refuses to let me go?
In a world ruled by blood, power, and betrayal, one innocent woman will discover that the most dangerous thing of all...
is being loved by a ruthless mafia king.