Reborn As The Beastmen's Wicked Wife
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.
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Chapter 5
Brennan was the first to break the silence. He sneered, "Even without your memory, you're still cunning. Three months is plenty of time for you to scheme something nasty."
Dangelo twirled the discarded quill between his fingers, his eyes dark. "We have no obligation to play house with a crazy woman," he added coldly.
Isolde knew words weren't enough. She took a deep, shuddering breath. Using every ounce of strength left in her battered body, she pushed herself up from the floor. Her legs refused to fully support her, forcing her to heavily drop to her knees beside the table. She dragged her upper body up, leaning most of her weight against the rotting wood. Before they could stop her, she picked up the quill. But she didn't sign the parchment.
Under their shocked gazes, Isolde raised her right hand and drove the sharp, metal end of the quill hard across the pad of her thumb, slicing a deep, jagged line through the flesh.
Blood welled up instantly. Isolde gasped but didn't scream. She pressed her bleeding palm hard against her own chest, over her heart.
She looked up, her eyes clearer and more resolute than they had ever been. "I swear to the Beast God," she declared, her voice ringing with a raw intensity, "by my soul and my life. If, after three months, you three still wish to annul the contract, I, Isolde Perry, will sign without condition. I will exile myself to the wasteland. If I break this oath, let my soul be devoured by beasts, never to find peace."
As the words left her lips, a faint golden light flickered across the ceiling. The Law of the Beast God had acknowledged the vow.
The three men froze. In this world, no one dared make a false oath to the Beast God. It was a curse worse than death.
Brennan's mouth hung open. He stared at the blood dripping from her palm, a flicker of something complex in his eyes. Dangelo's mocking smile was gone, replaced by a deep frown.
Cameron stared at her for a long moment. Then, he stepped forward and swept the three parchments off the table, tucking them back into his coat.
"Since you've sworn to the Beast God," Cameron said, his voice low, "we will give you three months. But don't expect any care from us."
Isolde's tense muscles finally went slack. She had won the gamble.
But the moment the adrenaline faded, the reality of her injuries crashed over her like a tidal wave. Her vision went black. Her body went limp, collapsing forward like a puppet with cut strings.
Cameron, standing right in front of her, instinctively reached out. His arms caught her falling body, pulling her against his chest.
Isolde's head rested against him. She could smell a faint, bitter scent of herbs on his clothes.
Dangelo and Brennan didn't move to help. They just watched.
Cameron frowned, looking down at the woman in his arms. She was as light as a piece of paper, her face as pale as a ghost. A strange, uncomfortable feeling twisted in his gut.
He carried her to the broken wooden bed and laid her down gently. As he pulled his arm back, his gaze landed on the bloody mat of hair at the back of her head. He remembered the moment, just hours ago, when he had shoved her.
He leaned in close. His eyes traced the gruesome, bloody mat of hair, and for a fleeting second, the cold scholar's mask slipped. He looked at her pale face, and a sudden, uncharacteristic wave of hesitation washed over him. He had pushed her on purpose. It was a calculated move to rid them of a monster. Yet, seeing her broken like this, he questioned his own descent into the very cruelty he despised.
Isolde, hovering on the edge of consciousness, felt the tense, complicated silence radiating from him. Her heart clenched in fear. But she forced herself to keep her breathing steady, playing dead.
Cameron lingered for a moment, making peace with his own guilt. He had been a scholar once, not a killer.
He straightened up and turned to the others. "She's lost too much blood. If she dies before the three months are up, we'll be charged with murder. Get some food."
Brennan cursed under his breath and stormed out into the snow. Dangelo just snorted and walked to the far corner of the room, closing his eyes.
The room fell quiet. Isolde lay in the dark, her mind racing. The heavy, suffocating silence of Cameron's lingering gaze still chilled her to the bone. This three-month battle for survival had only just begun.
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8.6
I was the youngest Paladin in history, the absolute pride of the Azure Blade.
But after a disastrous mission in the snow, I was falsely accused of slaughtering my own squad.
Grand Master Bernardo Rowe didn't just exile me; he surgically severed my connection to the magic Aether, turning me into a crippled mortal.
Desperate to survive, I tried to climb the Holy Stairs to reclaim my legendary sword, "Rebellion."
Instead of answering my call, my own blade shrieked in absolute rejection and blasted me down the thousand stone steps.
My bones snapped like dry twigs, and I was left in a pool of my own blood.
The pilgrims laughed at me. The guards declared me a lost cause and left me to rot in the dirt.
I should have died there, betrayed by the Order and the holy magic I once served.
But a silent, massive laborer named Cato Sims dragged my mangled body into the shadows.
He healed my shattered skeleton in mere days with impossible skill, yet he allowed lowly servants to spit on him and beat him just to keep my presence hidden.
I didn't understand why my holy sword had abandoned me, and I understood even less why this stranger was protecting a condemned criminal.
When I finally snapped and demanded to know his price for saving my life, he didn't ask for money or my body.
"The mountain does not forget its debts. I am reclaiming what was taken from it."
Staring into his unyielding eyes, I realized my exile wasn't the end, but the beginning of a terrifying truth.
8.0
Scarlett Hayes thought marrying James Whitmore would finally make her family see her as more than a burden.
Instead, it destroyed her life.
Framed for crimes she didn't commit, betrayed by the people she trusted most, and sentenced to prison while pregnant, Scarlett lost everything in a single night.
Then came the cruelest blow of all.
After giving birth in chains, she was told her baby had died.
The people responsible believed she would spend the rest of her life rotting behind bars.
They were wrong.
Five years later, Scarlett returns.
No longer the discarded daughter of the Hayes family. No longer the broken woman they left behind.
Now she is Commander Scarlett Hayes-a decorated war hero, the unseen force behind a global intelligence empire, and a woman powerful enough to make governments tremble.
She comes back for one reason only: revenge.
Her ex-husband, the stepsister who stole her life, and the family who buried her alive are about to learn exactly what happens when a woman with nothing left to lose takes back everything they stole.
But as Scarlett tears through the secrets of her past, one truth threatens to change everything-
the child she mourned for years may not be dead.
And the mysterious man connected to the night that changed her life has been watching from the shadows all along.
8.4
My mate, Alpha Santino, brought another woman into our home. She was a pregnant Omega, the widow of his fallen Beta, and he swore to protect her above all others.
He gave her my seat of honor, left our bed cold each night to soothe her feigned nightmares, and ignored me completely. I was the Luna of the Blackstone Pack, but I was becoming a ghost in my own life.
The final betrayal happened in my own bedroom. She stood over my vanity and deliberately shattered my mother's sacred moonstone necklace, the last piece of my family I had left.
When Santino burst in, he didn't see my heartbreak. He saw only her fake tears.
"What did you do to her?!" he roared, his voice laced with the Alpha's Command, a sacred power he used to crush my will.
Then, for her, he did the unforgivable. He raised his hand and struck me, his mate.
In that instant, the love I had desperately clung to turned to ice. The man I had sworn my life to had not only betrayed me but had defiled the sacred bond the Goddess herself had blessed.
As the pain of his betrayal ripped through me, something ancient and powerful awakened in my blood. I rose to my feet and spoke the words that would destroy his world and begin mine.
"I, Alessia Bianchi, reject you, Santino Moretti, as my mate."
9.5
As a highborn succubus, I somehow managed to starve myself to death-thanks to my obsessive cleanliness and ridiculously picky appetite.
When I opened my eyes again, I had transmigrated into Vivian Hartwell-the long-lost "real" daughter with a tragically cursed fate.
I had barely been taken back into the Hartwell family before they forced me to attend a so-called "death matchmaking" event in Kingsford-on behalf of Natalie Hartwell, the fake heiress-to meet Damian Blackwood, the infamous "living reaper."
Rumor had it Damian was brutal and bloodthirsty-every woman who'd ever been involved with him either ended up dead or driven insane.
At the event, over a hundred socialites were trembling on their knees, silently praying they wouldn't be the one chosen.
Just as Damian let out a cold smirk and reached to pick his unlucky victim, I took a deep breath from the back of the crowd.
The scent emanating from him was a rare, potent masculine essence-something encountered perhaps once in ten millennia.
For a painfully picky succubus like me, this was nothing short of salvation.
I kicked aside the girl blocking my way, my eyes practically glowing as I threw both hands up. "Pick me! Hurry, pick me!"
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.
9.4
I was the eldest daughter of the powerful Kirk family, sent away to a Swiss sanatorium to recover from my supposed mental illness.
But my stepmother, Johnie, never intended for me to get better. She sent her personal cleaners to drag me onto a plane back to Washington D.C.
In my past life, I didn't know they were assassins. I was forcefully injected with heavy sedatives and locked in a secret torture chamber inside our luxury estate.
My stepmother and cousin skimmed my inheritance while watching me suffer.
They framed me as a crazy addict, and my own father, a sitting Senator, turned a blind eye to protect his political career.
"Her political value is gone, just get rid of her quietly."
That was the last thing I heard my father say before I was brutally slaughtered by my own family.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand why they hated me so much.
Why did my father let them force those pills down my throat?
Why was my life worth less than my stepmother's public image?
Opening my eyes again, the freezing sensation of lake water filling my lungs vanished.
I was back in the VIP room of the St. Moritz Sanatorium in 2023.
It was the exact morning before the cleaners walked through my door with uncapped syringes.
This time, I wouldn't just survive. I was going to cut the throat of the Kirk family.