Cherreads

The Divine and the Damned

Riley_Ruth
Dragos didn't look away, his gaze glued to my throat, and I saw his eyes gradually start to turn red, revealing his bloodlust. But he pulled back, flinching as if in pain. "No. No. No," he muttered repeatedly, his back to me. When he turned, his eyes were fully red, and the veins around them stood out. "I haven't even fed from you yet and look… look how out of control I am." He sounded frustrated, but I didn't care, I was turned on. This was how hard it was for him to resist me. This was how much he wanted me. "It's okay," I whispered, moving closer, but Dragos fell another step back each time I neared him. "Please, Dawn, don't," he begged. I stood still and began to remove my pyjama top. I had pulled it halfway up, exposing the underside of my breasts, when Dragos hissed in disapproval, scolding me for trying to tempt him. "Don't" he warned, but I could feel his eyes linger on my exposed boobs. "Or what?" I asked in a daring tone, stepping closer and letting my hands wander down to caress him through his pants. I wasn't surprised to feel him hard beneath the fabric, and I looked up with a teasing smile. "What will you do, Dragos?" ††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† Dragos Nicolae Vlad III has chosen solitude over his destined role as the leader of vampires. But when Dawn Carter, a young woman with financial struggles, lands a job at the Vlad mansion, her immunity to Dragos' compulsion stirs something long dead within him. Worry. He needs to find out why. Dawn has no idea vampires exist, let alone that she's living among them or that the dangerously gorgeous Dragos is their chosen one. As feelings start to grow between them, old wounds and new desires surface, but their love isn't meant to be. She is something else. Something pure. And he? A being forged from dark magic, forever damned. A vampire, and not just any kind. Will Dragos give up the first woman to touch his heart in over four hundred years? Or can their forbidden love create a path to peace for both human and vampire species? *Warning* This book contains mature content. (Graphic violence and explicit scenes) Reader discretion advised. ††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† Check out my Tiktok @rileyruth_xo for exciting edits about each character. My Instagram is @grey__matter3 Thank you!!!
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A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

There is a sense for greatness. Some people carry it around like a bad smell. They make us stop on the street, and look their way, whether we wish to or not. Their appearance might be ordinary, but there’s something about them, something beyond the norm. Something that makes you almost wish to bend the knee to them. Our kings have likely had that something, those that came from nothing but ashes and ruin, in times of trouble and famine, where the hearts of the masses are restless, and they need a cause to bind to. What makes them choose one man over another? It is my contention that there is a true gravity to such individuals. That progress, or competence, or greatness itself carries a weight. That a man might grow greater in the dark, and whether he wishes it or not, by the sheer gravity of his existence, tigers will make their way towards his door, catching his scent in the wind. The tigers hide themselves in the forests, in villages unknown, amongst the peasantry, but sooner or later, it does seem, that they are always cast into the light. It requires an immense effort of will to keep them hidden. A man of such a gravity will see themselves risen, without will, to ranks beyond that of the norm – in times of peace, they might rise high indeed. But in times of chaos? When the world is in upheaval, when every piece in up in the air? Then a tiger from the most lowly of starts, with a competency – a density – beyond belief, as if they were a different creature entirely – they might go all the way. They might be the creature that – though a peasant themselves – the peasantry themselves kneel to. They might go further, and make the soldiery kneel, and then even the nobles after them. And a special class, beyond all others, might go even further still, and snatch a crown the head of a king, on a flurry of brilliant victories, on a story so overwhelming it almost might have seemed preordained. It is those men that we ought to fear, and it those men that we will eternally be at the mercy of. It is those men that we do the honour of addressing as our kings, and our emperors.
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The Good Girls

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