Mostrando resultados por autor "Layla Fae" en Todas las categorías

As king of the ice giants, I must have heirs. But our customs do not satisfy me. I do not want a giantess who will bear me a child and then leave to be with another. I would much rather pursue a union the human way: find a partner who will share my bed, bear my children, and stay by my side. Until death do us part.

Harlow can't live with herself after the traumatic events of a fateful Halloween night two years ago. Half-broken then, she's shattered now. The only way forward is to go back to the abandoned house where it all happened and pay the ultimate price for her sins. But the house isn't empty. Three vengeful spirits lie in wait, vowing to destroy the woman who sent them to hell. Given just one night of freedom, they will bleed every second dry, taking all their rage, suffering, and hatred out on her.

The night of summer solstice, I do something stupid. Drawn to the fire of magic, I approach the gods in their sacred circle. I am just a mortal, one of many. I shouldn't merit their attention. But behind the royal figures of the gods a shadow looms, menacing yellow eyes burning in its gloom. He asks me to dance. His clawed hands circle my waist, turning me to the sound of hoofbeats while his demonic voice whispers seductive lies in my ear. For one night and one night only, I let him touch me.

I am a researcher. I read books, conduct experiments, and live quietly on the fringes of the orc town. All I want is peace, quiet, and a female to satisfy the wild urges of my orc body so they don't distract me from my work. Getting a human wife through the Temple seems like a logical solution—until I bring her home and she starts sowing chaos. She moves my books, cuts my herbs to make bouquets, and replaces the blessed silence with laughter and song. For such a tiny person, she can be very loud. And opinionated.

Liches are almost gone, only a handful of us left. I must marry to keep my race from extinction, yet how? No living female will ever stoop so low as to marry a lich. People fear us. They say we are the harbingers of death, bad luck, rot, and decomposition. In one last bid to carry out my duty, I request a wife through the Temple. She turns out to be a neglected, sickly thing with trembling hands and downcast eyes, seeking an arranged marriage out of despair. And she's perfect.