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 7
Bellatrix Sinclair
"You are not my master." I rebuffed sharply, yanking my hand away.
Rubbing my thighs together that were greeted by dampness. I stood by my words although I would wallow in self-loathing another day. In this moment, I was completely entranced by his malevolent beauty.
The personification of darkness in the flesh.
"Is that so?" he returned, his orbs glittering with excitement, "I think you might like it."
Arching a brow as my jaw tensed, 'Why would I want you to control me when your kind has been doing it for centuries." I seethed, his ignorance only fuelling my hatred.
Lazarus's regarded me through lowered lashes, his callous fingertips caressing my thighs, stretching higher until my dress bunched at the waist. His eyes darted to my lacy panties, "Lies will get you cursed Bellatrix." He inhaled, shutting his eyes for a second.
When he opened them, pupils dilated as they pierced my own. It was magnetic, hot-blooded – dangerous. If I touched the flames, it would destroy me.
Yet, he seemed unescapable..like I wanted to be consumed by him.
He diminished the distance between us, ensuring that any oxygen I breathe was of his making. Tracing the curve of my body, brushing against my breast gently before curling his fingers around my throat. "Although, the lies are pretty from that venomous tongue." He coaxed, placing a gentle and soft kiss at the corner of my mouth.
My breath hitched, a thrill shooting down my spine like gasoline ready to explode. "I'll speak the truth then," I say, visibly agitated by my own body's betrayal, "I hate you."
Lazarus's eyes darkened with desire, "You might hate me, but your body certainly doesn't." He palms my pussy through the lace, smiling wickedly, "Bellatrix, do you know how fucking addicting this scent is? It's like cherries, wine and dark chocolate – enough to drive a man wild."
"Well, you aren't a man but a beast."
"That I am sweetheart and don't forget it." He affirmed arrogantly, pressing the pads of his fingers against the soaked spot.
My brain was seizing to function, I was a stranger to pleasure, and I never felt like this – maddened in a way that it made me dizzy. "I like you better this way." He breathed, his voice lethally hypnotic, "So pliable in my hands, so eager to release that frustration."
There must be magic behind his touch otherwise why am I getting turned on by him?
Lazarus smirks, desperation flaring in my chest and itching at my fingertips. "Must be aggravating to carry all that pent-up anger around." He chided, fingers to moving down towards my cleavage, my nipples tightening in anticipation. "Relinquish your control to me and I'll give you power of not being devoured by your thoughts."
The pounding of my heart thundered in my ears, his offer tempting as I peered through my lashes at the intensity of his inky orbs. I'm being swallowed by his abyss, his intoxicating scent of saffron that should be illegal.
I was powerless to his charm, to his way of coercion because it's like he knew what I craved before I did.
Lazarus dipped his head low, darting his tongue out to lick a path from between my breasts to my throat. I exhaled, shuddering. My mind losing its traction and thought while he dipped his hand into my panties.
"Soaking my fingers already." He teased, "Fuck, you're dripping down my wrist and I haven't even started."
I panted, "Do something, don't stop."
He ran two fingers between my folds, my clit pulsing with desperation that it stung. "I'll give you that free pass since your body is actually begging for me." he taunts, tracing my hole with his thumb. "See how it's fluttering, desperate to have my cock full it."
"Lazarus." I groaned, aggrieved. Dragging my palm down his muscular chest until I reached his hardened length. He was throbbing beneath those slacks, his abs tightening at my touch.
"I see you want to play with fire Ma Cherie." He smirked in appraisal, a taunting ember flickering in his piercing orbs, "Let's see what you can do."
He halts all movement; except he doesn't retract. Clamping my thighs together, trapping his hand at my pussy. He lifts a teasing brow, "You can use my hand to get yourself off, but I promise I can make it a thousand times better."
"Is that a challenge Lazarus?" I questioned, grinning, "Because I don't like to lose."
"It's only a challenge if you have a chance of winning." He replied smugly.
Flexing my fingers over his button and zipper, moving quickly as my rage fed my adrenaline. Lazarus cheeks flushed as I tugged him out of his boxer briefs, his expression remained composed and yet I could feel his muscles pulled taunt at my touch.
His cock throbbed, hot and scorching to the touch. Curling my fingers to make a fist, thumbing his head that was slicken with pre-cum. I wasn't going to yield in this battle, even if I was inexperienced.
The first few strokes were slow and sloppy. Lazarus was massive and it was intimidating that my fingers could barely wrap around him. "Tighter." He growled, heavy lidded, "Faster."
Following his instructions and jerking him off until my wrist ached. His velvety cock throbbed with a craving for a release, growing so fucking hard that a twisted thought made its way to my mind. I wanted him in my mouth, even if it was just the swollen red tip. I wanted to taste his desire and release that I held the power to conjure.
Transfixed by the way Lazarus's lips parted to release a breathy moan, his voracious eyes devouring my soul on impulse. "You want it don't you. I can see you aching for it."
He glances at my lips, emphasizing the innuendo while I continued to earnestly pump his length, "Fucking hell." He cursed, prying my thighs apart and thumbing my clit in controlled circles.
Releasing a needy moan, "Lazarus. Fuck."
"In due time." He responded smugly.
We moved in unison, my mind hazy as my body demanded release. Seeking it out, moving my hips further into his hands while his cock settled right above my pussy. Lazarus traces my entrance with his fingers and I'm clenching with need, begging for him to plunge them inside of me.
It's like he can read my thoughts, my strokes becoming slow as he pushes a finger inside of me. "So tight." He rasped, "That's a good girl Bellatrix."
He thrusts in a languid motion, loosening me up before pushing a second finger. Throwing my head back, trembling in his grasp. "Yes, fuck. Please." I splutter incoherently, "Oh my fucking god."
"I am your god now." Lazarus growls ardently, "Say my fucking name while you fuck my fingers."
"Lazarus," I mewl breathlessly, an insatiable yearning erupting in my chest while a fire roars in my belly.
Heat envelops my skin, his thrusts deepening, hitting a resistance that has him freezing for a second before he twists his fingers in controlled strokes while thumbing my clit in a fast pace. This was pure torment, clenching tightly around his fingers as I felt the embers of my orgasm. Fearful of this explosion, scared of the way my body was so reactive to his touch.
"You're a virgin Ma Cherie." He said, his voice filled with amusement.
"You don't fucking say." I sarcastically retort.
Lazarus moved faster, my first orgasm erupting like a volcano and blasting me into oblivion. My muscles were laxed as I saw stars, he squeezed my hand on his length and continued to fuck my fist with fervour. "Fuck, Bellatrix." He groaned loudly, his body freezing on top of me as he squirted ropes of cum onto my dress.
Dropped into an inferno of ecstasy, sweat coating my skin, overwhelmed by the sweltering heat and high I couldn't come down from.
Lazarus pants heavily, "I win." He announced, a mischievous grin that morphs into something sinister when he meets my eyes. His gaze darkening with acrimony as he scans my face, familiar spots that I knew I covered this morning.
The concealer melted off from the sweat and he was staring at my bruises. Suddenly, we were no longer in a blissful bubble, the atmosphere thickened with tension and animosity. Lazarus became an entirely different person, exuding the aura of a menacing King.
"Who did this to you Bellatrix?" He demanded angrily. "Who hurt you?"
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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.