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In a forest where the veil the world, Elara kneels in a circle of runes, a full moon casting a silver light that thrums with forbidden energy. The air is thick with the scent of burning sage and the sharp tang of her blood, offered to the earth to fuel a ritual her coven forbade. Cast out for her ambition, she's done with their fear, their chains. Tonight, she'll seize the power they denied her, summoning forces that haunt the edges of myth. Her chants rise, raw and primal, each word pulling at the fabric of reality until the ground shakes and the air crackles with magic. She's crossed a…mehr

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Produktbeschreibung
In a forest where the veil the world, Elara kneels in a circle of runes, a full moon casting a silver light that thrums with forbidden energy. The air is thick with the scent of burning sage and the sharp tang of her blood, offered to the earth to fuel a ritual her coven forbade. Cast out for her ambition, she's done with their fear, their chains. Tonight, she'll seize the power they denied her, summoning forces that haunt the edges of myth. Her chants rise, raw and primal, each word pulling at the fabric of reality until the ground shakes and the air crackles with magic. She's crossed a threshold, and the thrill of it burns in her veins.

A howl tears through the silence, a bone-rattling cry that sends a pulse of heat to her core. Shadows stir, their golden eyes glowing like molten gold. They're the Wild Hunt, creatures of fur and muscle, their forms shimmering like liquid obsidian under the moonlight. At their head is Fenrir, a beast of terrifying beauty, his silver-streaked fur and scarred muzzle radiating raw power. His growl accuses her of summoning them, his words a dark vow of consequences-and desire. In an instant, he's upon her, his massive frame pinning her to the earth, his heat searing her skin. His claws shred her robes, baring her to the night, his teeth grazing her neck in a claim that's as much seduction as threat.

Elara should resist, should summon her magic to fight, but her body craves him, her hips arching into his touch that ignites a fire she can't quench. His form is primal, his desire a thick, pulsing force that promises both pain and ecstasy. As he takes her, the pack closes in, their growls hungry, their eyes burning with need. Fenrir's voice is a promise: she's theirs, bound to the Hunt by her own reckless magic, and they'll all have their claim. The night becomes a torrent of sensation, each wolf marking her with their heat, their power, their unrelenting desire. She's swept into a maelstrom of pleasure and pain, her body pushed beyond limits, her soul forged in the fire of their touch.

As the moon arcs, Elara is transformed, her body marked by their ferocity, her soul bound to the Hunt's ancient power. Each mark, each pulse of pleasure, awakens a strength within her-a power that could reshape her fate. But with power comes a price, and the Hunt's claim is eternal. When dawn breaks, will she rise as a queen of the wild, wielding their strength to crush her enemies, or will she be lost to the primal force she summoned? In this tale of magic, lust, and vengeance, Elara's destiny is written in the heat of the night.


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Autorenporträt
Hello, beasties. I'm Misty McMoanyour favorite midnight snack with a flair for the freaky, the fanged, and the ferociously forbidden. When I'm not getting lost in dark forests or mysterious caves (usually while "accidentally" dropping my clothes), I'm busy penning steamy tales where monstrous lovers are just misunderstood, overhung, and very eager to please.

My stories are packed with claws, tentacles, scales, and teethand not all of them bite... unless you ask nicely. Whether it's a brooding swamp creature with a heart of gold or a dragon who just wants to keep you warm (and tied up) in his lair, I believe every monster deserves a happy ending... and so do you.

I live in a cozy lair of my own with too many candles, an obscene number of romance paperbacks, and a suspiciously sentient-looking bookshelf. I love writing while wrapped in fuzzy blankets and sipping wine like it's blood from a crystal goblet.

Got a monster kink? You're in the right place. Stay moaning, darlings. Misty 💜