The Savage Chief's Coveted Modern Bride
The darkness of the Yale archaeological dig site swallowed Eleanor whole, dropping her straight into a lethal, prehistoric jungle.
Before she could even process the bizarre time jump, a massive prehistoric wolf attacked her, only for her to be saved—and immediately claimed—by Jace, a towering, blood-soaked savage chief who marked her as his mate.
Dragged back to his primitive camp, her nightmare only escalated.
When she used her modern first-aid kit to save a dying hunter whose stomach had been ripped open, the tribe didn't thank her.
Instead, a jealous tribeswoman named Greta and a ruthless Shaman incited a violent, torch-wielding mob.
"Burn the witch before we all die!"
They marched on the Chief's cave, demanding Eleanor be burned alive, claiming her life-saving stitches and antibiotics were dark magic that would curse them all.
Eleanor was terrified and furious. She had just pulled a man back from the brink of death using basic medical science, yet she was about to be slaughtered by a mindless mob simply because they couldn't understand her language. Was she really going to be burned at the stake for an act of pure salvation?
But when the hunter's fever broke and he walked out alive, the angry mob dropped to their knees in absolute reverence.
Looking at her dying lighter and finite supplies, Eleanor realized that fear wouldn't keep her alive in this brutal world.
She pulled out her tactical pen, deciding to drag this savage tribe out of the dark ages herself.
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Chapter 2
Eleanor slammed her free hand against his chest, pushing with every ounce of strength she had. It was like trying to move a mountain. Jace didn't budge an inch.
He lowered his head. His rough nose brushed against the sensitive skin of her neck, right at the collarbone. He inhaled deeply. His Adam's apple bobbed against her forehead.
A violent shudder ripped through Eleanor's body. The sheer animalistic nature of the gesture made her stomach heave.
"Let go of me, you psycho!" she screamed in English. She jerked her knee upward, aiming straight for his groin.
Jace's combat instincts were instantaneous. He shifted his hips slightly, taking the blow against his thick thigh muscle without a flinch. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. He squeezed.
The air rushed out of Eleanor's lungs. Her ribs groaned under the pressure. Tears of pure, physiological pain sprang to her eyes. She stopped fighting, gasping for breath.
Jace paused. He looked down at the moisture gathering in her eyes. A flicker of confusion crossed his harsh features, but his grip didn't loosen. Instead, he grabbed both of her wrists with one hand, pinning them firmly behind her back.
With his free hand, he reached into the leather pouch tied at his waist. He pulled out a thick cord of animal sinew. Strung on it was a massive, pristine white wolf tooth, sharpened to a lethal point.
He held the tooth up to her face. He spoke a single, harsh sentence in a guttural language, his voice vibrating deep in his chest.
Eleanor stared at the bone. She thought he was going to stab her eyes out. She thrashed wildly, throwing her head back to avoid the sharp tip.
Jace frowned. His jaw tightened in annoyance. He reached out and clamped his large fingers around her jaw, forcing her head still.
He slipped the sinew cord over her head. The heavy wolf tooth dropped against her collarbone. The bone was freezing cold against her flushed skin.
The moment the necklace settled on her chest, Jace's eyes changed. The predatory calculation vanished, replaced by a dark, consuming possessiveness.
Eleanor looked down at the tooth. A primal instinct warned her this was a mark. A brand. She shook her head frantically, her pinned fingers twitching as she tried to reach up and snap the cord.
Jace swatted her hands away with a low warning growl. His grip on her jaw tightened, tilting her face up toward his.
He crashed his mouth down on hers.
There was nothing gentle about it. It was a brutal, claiming force. His teeth clashed against her lips, tasting of copper and raw power.
Eleanor's mind went blank with terror and humiliation. She clamped her lips shut, refusing to yield.
Jace growled against her mouth. His fingers squeezed her jaw, applying just enough painful pressure to force her lips apart. He invaded her mouth, his tongue sweeping inside, claiming everything. His rough hand slid down her spine, pressing her closer.
Nausea rolled through Eleanor's stomach. A desperate, violent anger flared in her chest. She waited for a fraction of a second, then bit down hard on his lower lip.
She tasted fresh blood instantly.
Jace grunted in pain and pulled back. A drop of bright red blood swelled on his torn lip.
Eleanor gasped for air, bringing her shoulder up to wipe her mouth violently. She glared at him, her chest heaving, her eyes burning with defiance.
Jace ran his tongue over his bleeding lip. He didn't look angry. He looked thrilled. A low, dark chuckle rumbled in his chest.
Before Eleanor could process the sound, Jace bent his knees. His thick arm swept behind her knees and around her waist.
The world flipped upside down.
Eleanor shrieked as he hoisted her into the air and slammed her face-down over his broad shoulder.
His shoulder bone dug painfully into her stomach. She hammered her fists against his scarred back, kicking her legs wildly.
Jace ignored her completely. He walked over to the dead wolf, bent down, and yanked his stone spear out of the mud with one hand.
Eleanor stared at the ground moving beneath her, the dead wolf shrinking in the distance. The blood rushing to her head made her dizzy.
Jace broke into a jog. His long strides ate up the distance, carrying her deeper into the suffocating green hell of the prehistoric forest.
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8.5
"And that is the reason why I said those words. I like your fear, not because it is a normal thing. I love it because deep down you are a monster like me, schiava. You fear me on a primal level, you can feel my power and dominance, and you know you aren't the strongest here. So you don't fear Renzo Valentino the human, you fear the monster that lurks inside."
My life changed the night of my birthday. What started as a funny dare ended with blood and having a price on my head.
I thought Renzo was the hero who saved me that night, but he was the devil who owned me forever.
I, Misha Yakov, princess of the Russian mafia became Renzo Valentino's slave.
He broke me, tortured me, and molded me into something new, something I hated and craved at the same time.
I, Misha Yakov became my master's pet.
8.7
I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella.
Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark.
But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved.
Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies.
When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel.
While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest.
The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella.
He ordered my father to punish me.
I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth.
That night, the love in my heart finally died.
On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape-the only proof that I was Seven.
Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney.
By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return.
7.8
Elena Voss was sold like a debt receipt.
Her greedy aunt and uncle handed her over to Damien Blackthorn-New York's untouchable billionaire tech mogul by day, ruthless Mafia Don and Alpha of the Blackthorn Pack by night-to settle a family debt they never asked her to pay.
The moment their eyes met in that rain-soaked alley, the fated mate bond ignited like wildfire. For one reckless night, he claimed her body and soul, whispering "mine" against her skin while the Moon Goddess sealed their destiny.
Then came the betrayal.
On their first anniversary, he paraded his pureblood fiancée through their penthouse, let her kneel for him in the study while Elena watched from the shadows, and divorced her in front of the entire pack.
"Wolfless trash," he snarled. "You were never more than payment."
Heart in pieces and two tiny heartbeats growing inside her, Elena fled. She vanished into Seattle's gray drizzle, changed her name, cut her hair, and built a quiet life as a single mother. She swore the Blackthorn name would never touch her twins-Leo and Luna, the secret heirs he didn't even know existed.
Five years later, the children's first uncontrolled shifts rip through their small apartment like lightning. The only place that can teach them control and keep them hidden from rival packs is back in New York-back under Damien's shadow.
The Alpha Don who once threw her away is now obsessed.
The fated bond never died; it only waited. He feels her every laugh, every tear, every protective growl she gives their children. He'll burn his empire, his alliances, and his pride to drag her back.
But Elena isn't the broken girl he discarded anymore.
She's a mother with claws.
A luna who learned to bite.
And this time, if he wants her forgiveness, he'll have to beg on his knees.
Pregnancy. Divorce. Secret babies. Billionaire alpha. Mafia power plays. Revenge that burns slow and sweet.
Some bonds can't be broken.
Some rejections come with claws.
And some second chances are paid for in blood.
8.5
"You are getting married, huh?" A shrill voice asked me from behind. "You don't look happy.'
"It's a complicated situati..." He cut me off.
"I can make you happy."
My eyes darted between his lips and eyes, he noticed my indecision and locked his lips with mine.
While battling with betrayal, Iris melts into a mafia's touch without knowing who he is. Now she must bear all the consequences that follow.
9.1
I drowned in freezing pool water, the mocking laughter of the elite Savage family echoing in my ears.
When I opened my eyes, I was an eight-year-old orphan again, right on the day those monsters came to adopt me.
Terrified of repeating my hellish past, I ran down the hallway and desperately grabbed the shirt of a random, dumpy IT guy, begging him to take me instead.
I thought I had chosen a weak, boring suburban dad to hide behind.
But I was completely wrong.
My new mom greeted me with a ceramic tactical knife hidden in her apron.
My clumsy dad sliced dinner ribs with the terrifying precision of a seasoned hitman.
My ten-year-old brother was a dead-eyed sociopath who immediately calculated my bone density.
They were a family of lethal underworld monsters, yet they frantically pretended to be a normal, pathetic household just for me.
7.4
I was the wife of Damien Valenti, the most ruthless mafia Don in Chicago.
But to cement his power and marry a rival family's daughter, he exiled me to the slums without a single dime.
"Stay not as my wife, Izzy, but as my whore."
That was his final ultimatum before dumping me out of his black SUV like trash.
Terrified of losing me, my five-year-old son, Angelo, secretly hid in the car to follow me.
Two days later, in a squalid Indiana motel, Angelo caught severe pneumonia.
I had no money and no doctor. In sheer desperation, I sliced my own wrist with broken glass, pressing my bleeding arm to his pale lips, begging him to drink and live.
But my little boy died in my arms.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Damien was sipping vintage champagne with his new bride, casually dismissing the life of his own flesh and blood.
The grief turned me into a monster. I spent twenty years clawing my way through the underworld to destroy his empire, only to die with a bullet in my chest.
I gave him my absolute devotion, yet he traded our family for political power without a single ounce of hesitation.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in that hellish neon-lit motel room.
Angelo was burning with fever and fighting for air, but he was still breathing.
This time, I wasn't the naive girl who loved Damien Valenti. I was a woman holding two decades of their darkest secrets, and my vendetta had just begun.