Taming My Time-Traveling Lover in My Bed: The Savage King
I bought an antique four-poster bed at Sotheby's, said to be the final resting place of a long-dead European king.
A week later, I woke up to the thick smell of blood, only to find a massive, heavily wounded man in my bed holding a forged steel sword to my throat.
He was dressed in ruined velvet and gold, bleeding out from a massive abdominal gash. When I tried to save him with modern medicine, he called it sorcery and nearly choked me to death. He destroyed my expensive appliances, treating my home like a witch's lair. I thought he was a lunatic cosplayer who broke in, until he tossed me a massive ruby ring as a down payment for my help. I looked it up online. It was the lost coronation ring of King Cain the Cruel, valued at thirty million dollars.
I was terrified of this savage who could snap my neck in an instant. I couldn't comprehend how a tyrant who had been dead for 135 years was breathing in my attic, until he lay back down on the antique mattress and literally vanished into thin air before my eyes.
The bed was a time portal.
The police would lock him in a psych ward and confiscate the priceless artifact, leaving me with nothing but bloodstained sheets and trauma.
"I can give you more wealth than you can imagine."
So, when he reappeared and offered me the lost Fabergé eggs of his fallen empire in exchange for modern shelter, I didn't call 911. I took his hand and became the 21st-century gatekeeper for a time-traveling king.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 5
When Katherine walked back into the bedroom the next morning, carrying a tray with a glass of water and some toast, he was awake.
He was sitting up in bed, looking much better. The fever had broken. His skin still looked pale, but it wasn't the sickly gray of the night before.
He wasn't looking at her. He was scanning the room, his eyes wide, taking in the alien textures of the drywall, the strange, sharp angles of the modern furniture, the unnatural silence. His gaze finally settled on the ceiling.
Specifically, he was staring at the recessed lighting.
Katherine set the tray down on the dresser. "You're up."
He didn't acknowledge her. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling fixture.
She walked over to the wall and flipped the switch.
Click.
The room was flooded with bright, white light.
He flinched violently, his hand flying to the sword that lay beside him on the pillow.
"What sorcery is this?" he barked, his eyes wide as he stared at the light bulb. There was no flame, no smoke, no wax. Just pure, blinding light.
"It's electricity," Katherine said, keeping her distance. "It powers the lights."
"Electricity," he repeated, the word foreign on his tongue. He clearly didn't believe her.
He looked around the room, his paranoia growing. His eyes landed on the air purifier in the corner. It hummed softly, a blue light blinking on its surface.
"What is that box?" he demanded, pointing. "It makes a noise."
"It cleans the air," she said. "It's an air purifier."
He didn't look convinced. He suddenly looked up, his nostrils flaring. "There is a draft. But no window is open."
Katherine pointed to the vent near the ceiling. "That's the HVAC. Central air conditioning. It controls the temperature."
Every word she said seemed to chip away at his sanity. He was a man out of time, literally, and the modern world was a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.
He threw the blanket off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up, swaying slightly, and stalked over to the window.
He grabbed the curtain and pulled it back.
The view was of the manicured lawn, the long gravel driveway, and beyond the estate gates, the main road.
A black SUV sped past, its tires humming on the asphalt.
He dropped the curtain like it had burned him. He stumbled backward, his face draining of color.
"Where are the horses?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "Where are the carriages? What are those iron beasts?"
He spun around, his eyes wild with a fear that was far greater than anything he had shown the night before. The sword was in his hand again, pointed at her chest.
"Who are you?" he shouted. "What have you done to me? Where is this place?"
Katherine raised her hands, trying to calm him down. She had to break through the panic. She had to take control.
"My name is Katherine Davenport," she said, her voice loud and clear. "This is New York."
She paused, letting the words sink in. Then she delivered the blow.
"And you are Cain Finley. The King of Ethelgard."
Keep Reading
The story is getting intense! Switch to App to
Unlock All Chapters
You may also like
9.3
Content: (Warning! + 18 Sexual elements, Alpha Wolf, Witch, Cursed Love, Small Town, Young Wolf, War, Age Gap, Passion, Consensual Fantasy, Psychological Elements, Strong Female Lead, Drama, Romance)
Bound by blood, sealed by magic. You have finally come, Rose's daughter...
Eva Rose is the last and most powerful heir of a sacred witch bloodline.
Kael is a cursed Crimson Alpha King.
Centuries ago, on the night they discovered they were fated mates and were about to be married, their enemies attacked to destroy them both. To save Kael, Eva made a desperate choice , she trapped him in a magical sleep for 200 years. The price was her own life.
But their love was so powerful that Eva did not truly die , she was reborn. Through her own bloodline, she returned to the world as the same woman, with the same soul, the same heart.
Now, who is friend and who is enemy? And why does this man feel so strangely familiar? How can you escape someone who even visits your dreams?. 📌📚🔥
7.6
I woke up to the suffocating smell of copper and sulfur, my fingers wrapped around a blood-soaked leather whip.
Hanging from an obsidian cross in front of me was a boy with silver hair and dead, golden eyes.
His pale chest was torn open to the bone.
I recognized those eyes immediately. I had spent three years describing them on my laptop.
He was Kamari Monroe, the tragic, overpowered protagonist of my own web novel.
And I wasn't just a bystander. I was Benedict Guerrero, the sadistic academy headmaster. The ultimate villain.
A reel of images flashed in my mind: my original ending. Kamari, fully awakened, skinning me alive and burning my soul in a furnace for forty-nine days.
My loyal attack dog, Gideon, stepped forward with a basin of glowing green liquid.
"Headmaster, let me wake him up with this bone-rot acid so you can resume."
If that acid hit Kamari, his hatred would become permanent. My gruesome death would be sealed.
But if I broke character and apologized, the magical world would sense the shift, and Kamari would just think it was a sicker, more twisted trap.
How was I supposed to survive a death sentence I wrote myself?
I couldn't show weakness. I had to play the monster to survive.
Suppressing my terror, I smashed the acid basin, healed his ruined flesh with agonizing dark magic, and lied straight to his face.
"Someone had to be the monster to push you into the fire."
This time, I will rewrite my own fate.
7.4
Bridget, a ruthless twenty-first-century Wall Street analyst, woke up violently coughing up murky lake water in a decaying 1978 slum.
She quickly realized she was trapped in the body of a naive, marginalized teenager who had just committed suicide over a boy's cruel rejection.
The original girl had been mercilessly bullied by a fake rich kid named Kurtis and his cruel followers. They had publicly read her desperate love letters out loud, mocking her as a toad trying to eat swan meat, and simply watched as she threw herself into the freezing water. Now, her impoverished mother was left weeping by the bed, facing catastrophic debt and total social ruin in their small town. Everyone expected the surviving girl to wake up begging and crying for the boy who humiliated her.
Instead, a cold, calculating fury took over Bridget's analytical mind.
"I already died in that lake. That stupid girl is never coming back."
How could anyone throw their life away for a pathetic, vain clown wearing a mass-produced fifty-dollar watch? To Bridget, those uncollected love letters weren't symbols of teenage heartbreak. They were toxic assets. They were reputation landmines left out in the open that threatened her new family's survival.
Locking away the dead girl's weak emotions, Bridget forced her freezing, exhausted body out of the clinic bed. She set a hard three-month deadline to drag this family out of tier-one poverty. But first, she was marching straight to the volunteer camp to liquidate those liabilities and completely destroy the people who drove this body to death.
9.6
I was the devoted Luna of the Blackwood Pack, bound to my fated mate, Alpha Ryker.
But he coldly rejected our sacred bond for a pure-blooded she-wolf, tossing me aside like garbage.
That was when a cold voice in my head revealed the horrifying truth.
"Your fate is to be rejected, a tragic footnote in their epic love story."
My entire life was a scripted prophecy controlled by a twisted entity.
According to the script, I was supposed to be locked away, my inner wolf withering from the broken bond until I died in agony.
The entity even confessed to orchestrating the murder of Alpha Gideon, the only father figure I ever had, just to keep our bloodline enslaved to this sick narrative.
I refused to be a ghost in someone else's happily ever after.
Why should my family die and my soul be erased just to serve a predetermined fate?
Instead of crying like the prophecy demanded, I tore my own soul apart to shatter the ancient Scroll of Fate, destroying the entity itself.
Opening my eyes again, I was back to being a ten-year-old child.
It was the exact day my lifelong trauma began.
"Do as I say, Elara. Do not make any more trouble for me."
My mother was trying to force me to take the blame for a bully, just to save her own reputation.
This time, I am writing the script.
9.2
Chelsi was down to her last fourteen dollars. After a humiliating job rejection for being "too low-class," the threat of eviction forced her to try live-streaming. Terrified of her exhausted, tear-stained face, she cranked the AR beauty filter to the max, morphing into a bizarre plastic alien.
She was immediately dragged into a forced streaming battle with Kamron, the platform's most arrogant top streamer. Seeing her distorted filter, Kamron sneered, unleashing fifty thousand fans to flood her chat with toxic insults.
Kamron set a ruthless penalty for her inevitable loss.
"You're going to take a bar of soap, scrub your face completely clean, and shove your bare face right into the camera."
Desperate to keep the fifty dollars she had just earned for rent, Chelsi begged for a different punishment, but Kamron coldly refused. With her heart pounding, she walked to the freezing bathroom, her hands shaking as she scrubbed her skin raw, bracing for the cyberbullying.
She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling utterly humiliated by the cruelty of the internet. Why did she have to be stripped of her dignity just to survive? She clicked off the filter, waiting for the tidal wave of disgust to destroy her.
But the insults never came. The high-definition camera revealed a breathtakingly delicate, flawless face that no algorithm could ever replicate. The chat went dead silent, Kamron was so stunned he dropped a ten-thousand-dollar virtual yacht, and a silent war between two mysterious billionaires was about to begin.
9.1
One day, I was the fat, unwanted girl rejected by the Beta's son.
The next minute, the Alpha's son himself showed up... and claimed me.
I didn't know why, why Osborne came for me when I was at my lowest.
But I quickly learned something-he doesn't just want my body.
He wants all of me.
He says I'm his mate.
But the way he touches me, holds me, breathes me in...
This isn't just fate.
It's an obsession, raw, wild, and consuming.
And the craziest part?
I think I want to be consumed.