webnovel
#R18
#MAGIC
#WEAKTOSTRONG
#DARK
#SURVIVAL
#WEREWOLF
#APOCALYPSE
#FATEDLOVE
#FASTPACED
#ABUSEDFL

Love at World's End

[World's End: 02:23:59:53] Lauren Whittaker thought she had enough to deal with: a ruthless stepfamily, a neglectful father, and a life of endless work. But when a mysterious countdown virus appears on her phone, ticking toward what seems like the end of the world, things go from bad to apocalyptic. As society crumbles and terrifying monsters emerge, it seems no one is safe. Not even the military can hold back the tide of destruction. Just when Lauren thinks it can't get any worse, a blood-soaked stranger appears before her, speaking a language she doesn't understand. But there's one problem. She's seen him before... in her dreams. Kylar's pack has only one route for survival: to escape their dying world, as prophecy foretold. There's only one problem... Their ancient prophet has passed. In the new world, they enter into unfolding chaos. Monsters pour in from their world and others. It's a fight to survive, but there's hope. This new world is a land of abundant resources. He just needs to find their new prophet, and they can all survive. But when he does, everything's wrong. For one, she isn't Lycan. She's human. And he's inexplicably drawn to her, wanting to claim her for his own. Chaos is unfolding. Bodies line the streets. Lauren's fight for survival becomes a battle against fate itself. What secrets do her dreams hold, and why does this man want to keep her for his own...? -- [NOTICE: JANUARY 2024] LAWE will be paused until later in 2025, in order to give the author time to work on her WSA competition entry and allow her hand and wrist to heal further before putting it through the stress of too many daily updates of books. -- This book contains: Dark themes, death, smut. (All hail the smut.)

Lenaleia · Fantasia
Classificações insuficientes
45 Chs
#R18
#MAGIC
#WEAKTOSTRONG
#DARK
#SURVIVAL
#WEREWOLF
#APOCALYPSE
#FATEDLOVE
#FASTPACED
#ABUSEDFL
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Kylar: Patience

KYLAR

The Prophet is terrified of us.

Her fear, and that of the other human with her, flood the building, leaving the air acrid and bitter. No one complains—many of us thrive on the scent of fear—but it drives me half-mad with frustration.

"That cannot be the Prophet," Nira insists. Her earlier compassion for the humans seems to have disappeared after this night. "It can't even talk to us."

"She is the Prophet." Leaving the conversation at that, I ignore my third-in-command's complaints as I grab one of the larger furs. It's enough for both humans to use in this cold.

They both seem unable to maintain their core body temperature in this weather, yet another in the long list of human weaknesses. It's no wonder they didn't survive in our world.

The Prophet flinches as I approach with the fur. Her heart pounds so hard, I can hear its frantic rhythm from across the room. Such a delicate thing. Such a weak vessel for so much power.