Taming My Vicious Feral Wolf Slave
Kaylee woke up to the smell of rotting leaves and blood, realizing she had transmigrated into the grimdark fantasy novel she was reading last night.
A robotic system in her head immediately delivered a death sentence: she was the tribe's vicious cannon fodder, and the male lead—a brutally tortured slave named Elijah—was currently dying on a totem pole outside.
"If he dies, you will face instant soul-detonation."
Kaylee rushed to the plaza, using her villainous authority to stop the execution and drag his mangled body back to her hut.
But saving him was a nightmare.
The original owner's sadism had traumatized him so deeply that her gentle touches and clean bandages only triggered his PTSD.
His feral energy spiraled out of control, his golden eyes burning with paranoid terror as he waited for a new, twisted psychological game.
To keep his energy from detonating and killing them both, Kaylee was forced to act like a monster.
"I didn't save you because I care. A dead slave is useless to me."
Only her cruel insults and threats of future torture calmed his broken mind.
Adding to her despair, she stumbled upon the novel's supposedly innocent heroine in the forest, only to hear her system detect a terrifying anomaly.
The fragile heroine had her own cheat system.
Trapped with a paranoid future-tyrant and a rival player manipulating the tribe's strongest warriors, Kaylee shoved a bowl of hot stew at the bleeding slave with a mocking sneer.
To survive this hell, she had to play the villain perfectly.
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Chapter 7
Kaylee stared down at Elijah, her eyes narrowed in a look of absolute, unfiltered disgust.
"Stop flattering yourself, slave," Kaylee spat, her voice dripping with venom.
Elijah blinked. The sudden shift in her tone-the familiar, degrading arrogance-was like a bucket of ice water. It shocked his spiraling mind, halting his panic for a split second.
Kaylee pointed a rigid finger at his bleeding chest. "I spent a fortune on rare herbs to seal those wounds. I didn't do it because I care about your pathetic life. I did it because I refuse to let you die and rot in my house."
She took a step closer, her shadow falling over him.
"If you die, who is going to do my heavy lifting? Who is going to go into the forest and hunt for my food?" Kaylee sneered. "You think I'm going to let Silas destroy my property before I've gotten my money's worth out of you?"
It was a brutally utilitarian, selfish argument. It was exactly the kind of twisted, self-centered logic the original Kaylee operated on.
The wild, paranoid terror in Elijah's golden eyes slowly began to recede. It was replaced by a cold, bleak understanding.
This made sense to him. She wasn't saving him; she was preserving an asset.
"Chaos Index stabilizing," Alex reported, the blaring alarm fading to a dull hum. "Index dropping to 80%."
Kaylee mentally collapsed in relief, but she kept her physical posture rigid and imposing.
She turned on her heel, marching over to the fire pit. She snatched up the wooden bowl filled with the warm pomelo water.
She walked back to Elijah and shoved the bowl roughly against his chest.
"I order you to drink this," she commanded.
Elijah looked down at the cloudy liquid sloshing in the bowl. He didn't move his hands to take it. The suspicion was back.
"Afraid I poisoned it?" Kaylee mocked.
She snatched the bowl back. Maintaining eye contact with him, she lifted the bowl to her own lips and took a large, deliberate swallow. The sweet, acidic juice hit her stomach, and she fought the urge to sigh in relief.
She slammed the bowl back into his hands. A few drops of the warm liquid splashed onto his bare collarbone.
"Drink. Now," Kaylee ordered, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Or I will drag you back out to the plaza and have Silas whip you again."
At the threat of the whip, Elijah's jaw clenched. His muscles tightened.
Slowly, his trembling hands came up to grip the sides of the wooden bowl. He lowered his head and pressed his cracked lips to the rim.
The warm, sweet liquid hit his tongue. His body, severely dehydrated and starved, reacted instantly.
He meant to take a small sip, just to appease her, but instinct took over. He began to gulp the water down greedily, his Adam's apple bobbing in rapid succession. He drank so fast that he choked, a harsh cough racking his battered chest.
Kaylee's hands twitched at her sides. She desperately wanted to kneel down and pat his back, to tell him to slow down.
Instead, she dug her fingernails into her palms and sneered. "Drink slower, you animal. If you spill that on my floor, I'll make you lick it up."
Elijah drained the last drop. He lowered the bowl, wiping his wet mouth with the back of his hand.
He looked up at Kaylee. The madness was gone from his eyes, leaving behind a guarded, exhausted emptiness.
"Chaos Index stable at 75%," the system confirmed.
Kaylee turned her back to him immediately, pretending to inspect a pile of dried roots in the corner.
She pressed her hands hard against her chest, feeling her heart threatening to beat its way out of her ribcage. Her knees were shaking so badly she had to lock them to stay standing.
Behind her, Elijah watched her slender back. His golden eyes narrowed slightly.
He noticed the way her shoulders were pulled tight. He noticed the faint, uncontrollable tremor running through her hands.
She was shaking.
Why was the cruelest woman in the tribe shaking?
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8.1
She thought patience would earn her love.
She was wrong.
After years of waiting for her best friend to finally see her, she meets the one man she should never want-his older brother. Dark, forbidden, and dangerously perceptive, he sees through every excuse she's ever made for being overlooked.
Now she must choose between a safe fantasy that keeps breaking her heart and a dangerous truth that offers no escape once it begins.
Because the brother who looks at her like that?
He doesn't believe in halfway love.
7.1
I was the top commander of a black-ops military program. After slaughtering my way through a hellish mission, I reached the extraction helicopter, trusting my second-in-command to watch my back.
But the moment our hands locked, he didn't pull me up. Instead, he plunged a syringe of lethal neurotoxin directly into my neck.
He aimed his gun at my chest, coldly stating that I was too dangerous to live. My lungs stopped, and I died in a pool of my own blood. But the endless blackness suddenly shattered. My consciousness violently forced its way into a new, broken shell. I woke up in a freezing alley, soaked in muddy rain.
This body belonged to seventeen-year-old Eliza Wyatt. A massive wave of foreign memories crashed into my brain. Her own younger sister had just stood at the top of the stairs with a mocking smile, watching street thugs beat Eliza to death.
"Take good care of the Wyatt family's eldest daughter. Tonight is the night she finally disappears."
The endless humiliation, the cold stares of her family, and the brutal betrayal by her own blood flashed before my eyes. Why was this fragile girl treated like garbage and pushed to her death by the very people who should have protected her?
I looked down at my pale, trembling hands. The top commander was dead, but in this bleeding shell, Eliza Wyatt was very much alive. I picked up a switchblade from the bloody puddle and stood up in the storm. It was time to hunt.
8.1
Pretty Devil
8.1
Maddy worked at an exclusive underground club, always hidden behind a sleek black mask. One night, a wealthy client approached her with a filthy fantasy , he didn't want to just fuck her. He wanted to be her complete slave.
He took her to his luxury penthouse, while she shoved her soaked pussy onto his face and rode his tongue until she came, then mounted his cock and used him mercilessly, slapping and choking him while denying his orgasm until he begged like a broken whore. Even after she quit the club and started a new corporate job, she kept hooking up with him. One day, she walked into the CEO's office... and froze. Her new boss was the same man.
By day, in his luxurious office, he is the dominant, commanding CEO , barking orders, running the company with iron authority, and no one suspects a thing. By night, he becomes her secret pathetic slave: crawling, getting pegged over his own desk, licking her cum off his floor, and having his cock locked in chastity while she laughs at how easily she owns him.
Pretty Devil is a raw, extremely explicit erotic novel packed with intense femdom, heavy BDSM, humiliation, orgasm denial, pegging, face-sitting, and twisted power exchanges that blur the dangerous line between boss and secret slave.
This book is unapologetically nasty and graphic. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
9.0
Isolde woke up in a freezing, ruined stone house with a splitting headache and only five percent of her life signs remaining.
Before she could even process the mechanical system voice in her head, a flood of violent memories slammed into her.
She had transmigrated into the body of a cruel noblewoman who mercilessly tortured her beastmen husbands with a barbed whip.
And right now, she was lying in a pool of her own blood, having been shoved against the stone floor by one of them.
Outside the rickety door, her husbands were coldly discussing her death.
"Just go in and finish her. One stab, and we're free."
"If she hit her head and died on her own, then it's an accident. We walk out of here as free males."
To test if she was faking her sudden amnesia, the snake beastman Dangelo even ground his heavy military boot into her injured hand, waiting for her to snap so he could legally end her.
She was poisoned, freezing, and entirely at the mercy of the men who deeply despised her.
She was bearing the deadly consequences of a monster she never was, with a red system warning of imminent death flashing in her mind.
But they didn't know the new Isolde had awakened a survival system and Life Magic.
She swore a blood oath to the Beast God to buy herself three months of time.
Then, she turned her sights to the dying wolf beastman chained in the shed, deciding to pull him back from hell to become her very first shield.
9.2
I woke up suffocating in the dark, only to find my mind trapped inside a tiny, plump, and entirely uncoordinated body.
A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my brain, announcing that I was dead in my original world and had transmigrated into a corporate revenge novel as the six-month-old illegitimate daughter of Edward McClure, the story's ruthless villain.
The system mercilessly outlined my doomed fate. Tonight, my cold-blooded father would abandon me to a state orphanage. By age two, he would officially sign my rights away, leaving me to die miserably at the hands of human traffickers. Outside my nursery, I could hear his terrifying footsteps approaching, his voice devoid of any human warmth as he debated throwing me out like garbage. I was completely helpless, trapped in a baby's body, staring up at a man who looked at me with pure, visceral disgust.
Why did I have to be reborn as the tragic cannon fodder of a tyrant destined to put a bullet in his own head? How was I supposed to win over a severe germaphobe when my unequipped infant reflexes made me literally pee and vomit all over his pristine Tom Ford suits?
"Your ultimate mission is to prevent Edward McClure's self-destruction. Step one: Survive tonight's abandonment crisis."
Hearing the system's terrifying ultimatum, I swallowed my adult panic, forced a pool of pitiful tears into my large eyes, and reached my chubby little hands toward the monster.
7.9
Estrella Ward gave five years of her life to her husband, draining her trust fund to save him from bankruptcy and raising his son as her own.
But one night, she woke up in a freezing hotel room, drugged, with a stranger's bite marks on her skin.
Her husband burst through the door with cameras, his vicious family, and her ten-year-old stepson, publicly framing her as a cheating whore.
The horrifying truth soon surfaced: her husband had drugged her himself, selling her body to his Wall Street boss to secure a senior partnership.
Estrella fought back with hidden security footage, blackmailing him into submission after discovering she was pregnant with his boss's child.
But fate dealt a cruel blow. She was diagnosed with aggressive, terminal breast cancer.
She refused to abort the baby to keep her leverage, but the cancer spread too fast.
She died alone in a cold hospital room, her vengeance unfinished, while her husband and his cruel family celebrated.
They thought they had successfully buried her and her secrets forever, escaping unpunished for destroying her life.
But when she gasped for air and opened her eyes again, she wasn't in a cold grave.
She was in a sterile hospital bed, looking at the perfectly manicured hands of Brooklyn Thompson—the notorious, empty-headed socialite everyone despised.
Estrella's soul had survived the abyss.
"You're going to pay for every drop of blood."
She clenched her new fists, the fire of her vengeance burning brighter than ever.