Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 763(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
It was supposed to be find the drug maker. Find her, and drag her back to the dragons to deal with. She deserves death for what she's done.
For someone like Weston, the best alpha in the world, the one who shuts people up just by walking in the room, it would've been.
Until he learns what she is…
Finding a fated mate is nearly impossible. Very few are able to do it. But the call of their bond is unmistakable. Against all odds, and in the worst situation imaginable, he's found his true mate. Her.
Worse? If there could be anything worse than a true mate that has brought the world to its knees - she doesn't seem to realize what she is. Her animal is suppressed. Locked away, leaving her nearly without magic. She doesn't know what the feeling is, and she doesn't care. She claims innocence. She thinks he's the villain in this story, and she aims to kill him before he destroys her.
It doesn't change his duty. He must bring her in, nature be damned. Regardless of how much it hurts, he'll resist the sweet taste of her lips and the heaven between her thighs. She must pay for what she's done.
He just hopes he doesn't die inside for the part he's forced to play in the destruction of his true mate.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
This is a dark and very spicy Red Riding Hood retelling in the Ruin World featuring an anti-hero, a strong heroine, and a humorous supporting cast. It is not necessary to have read the Ruin series to enjoy this installment. Check the website for TWs. This is an enemies-to-lovers and forced proximity story suitable for 18+. It's the first of a dualogy, ending on a cliffhanger.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Aurelia
“Once upon a time, in a land far away . . .”
Fairy tales. What bullshit.
I’d heard it all in my youth. Handsome princes and thrones made of gold. Dresses and balls and animals that talked.
Sure, why not.
And yeah, maybe I’d believed it as a kid. I’d sit with my mom, reading until the small hours of the morning even though I should’ve been in bed hours before, lulled by her soft tone, held tightly in her arms. I’d dream of one day flying like the dragons. Of leading a hunt with the wolves. She’d said I could be anything, live anywhere. It wouldn’t matter where I started because my prince would find me. He’d save me. He and I would eventually lead the kingdom wearing gemmed crowns and creating a safe space for everyone to co-exist, even those who couldn’t quite feel the magic they were supposed to be blessed with.
Turned out, there were no princes for the magically inept. No friends, either. Most of the time, especially in my youth, there was not even kindness. We were the outcasts. The unwanted. If I wanted to be saved, I’d have to do it myself. There was a freedom in that which I valued, an empowerment to claim my future. Though I will admit . . . it would’ve been nice for a prince to sweep me off my feet.
I inhaled the slightly stale air of the work shed where I spent the majority of my time. Two windows let in the light and a few desks acted as work stations, positioned around the single room space. My fingers moved quickly from years of experience, twisting a particular vine around the Nimfire leaf. After this batch was done, I’d take to my rigged-up contraptions to add pressure and heat, turning the contents into a powerful hallucinogen.
A drug, in other words. The fun kind. The kind that was against the law and would get us all brought in by the royal guards and put to death if anyone should find out we created it.
My life was anything but a fairy tale.
I yanked the vine into a knot. A thorn sliced my calloused finger and little spots of crimson welled up along the cut. The sting of it barely registered.
Another knot, and I dropped that piece into a basin of warm water before picking up another vine.
“You about done?” Razorfang asked. His name was one he’d chosen for himself after taking too much of the particular product I was making. A scratch ran down his cheek and frown lines etched into his ruddy face. The grizzled older man had a slight hunch from many years of tending the village gardens, a necessary element to our operations.
He stopped a few paces away from my workstation, a rickety little desk tucked into a corner with a slight lean to the right. He never dared get too close, which was fine by me. He didn’t bathe as much as he really needed to.