Do Cheetahs Eat Giraffes

WARNING! This book contains strong matured contents which includes (lots of it), trauma, abuse. Read at your own risk! . "Do you know what smells better than fear?" His voice was a replica of the male. Deep, dark, and dangerous. "What...?" She squeaked, terrified. He was standing so close to her... "Lùst. Desire." He spat the words like they tasted bad, his eyes cold, his face inscrutable. "The scent of your wetness is driving me insane. I can practically taste your hunger for my cóck." Then, he shocked them both. With a savage growl, his head lowered completely and his mouth crashed down to hers. . ************ There are rumors... Whispers around in secret. Murmurs in pitch darkness. Of the most powerful 'man' in Naturiah. The most fearsome creature. The fiercest predator Naturiah ever has. A man who is the 'impossible'. Rumors has it that his powers and strength surpass that of all 'men'. Powerful. Fearless. Highly Séxual. Instinctive. Dominant. Predators. He is their Alpha. Most species has an Alpha, but this 'man' is the Alpha of all Alphas. The ultimate Alpha. The Alpha King. They think him god. He is respected like one. He is feared like one. They call him god. Because, he is a crossbreed between the two most powerful creatures. He has the strength of a mountain lion and the power of a werewolf. He can take the form of a mountain lion or a werewolf. Or a man. Why? Because, he is a werewolf AND a mountain lion. His name is Wolfariane Daminor Throne. The Alpha King of Naturiah.

Animal Biologist, Isobelle Harding, lands the opportunity of a lifetime when the University sends her abroad to study a rare species of wolf. Unaware that the remote state of Whitehaven is a sanctuary for shifters, her presence captures the attention of the Bennett Brothers. The quadruplet werewolves want Isobelle for themselves, and the smoking-hot rangers are keen to study her anatomy intensively. Isobelle is about to find out exactly what it means when brothers who play together, stay together.

I hid behind a thick tree trunk and watched silently as a grizzly bear attacked my husband. In my previous life, I was a guide. I led my husband—an environmental photographer—and his female colleague into a nature reserve to film wildlife. While scouting the route, I discovered a nursing grizzly bear and immediately warned them not to take any photos and to retreat slowly. To my shock, they intentionally bumped into me, causing my right leg to be cut and bleed. The scent of blood enraged the bear, and it charged straight at me, sinking its massive jaws into my abdomen. After the bear left, my husband calmly stripped me of all my equipment. Then, wrapping his arms around his female colleague, he kissed her. He turned to me with a sinister smile creeping across his face. "Kate," he said, "I'll be honest. I never loved you. You're dying. Now, all your assets will be mine." I bled out and died. When I opened my eyes again, it was the morning of the day we entered the mountains.

My father died of esophageal cancer. For the final two years of his life, he could barely swallow anything. By the time he passed, he was nothing but skin and bones. The first New Year after his death, he came to my mother in a dream. "I'm starving," he said. "I just want to taste the thick-cut steak you used to make." My mother believed it without question. That very day, she pan-seared a large platter of steak and carried it to his grave. The next morning, she suffered a sudden heart attack and died on the spot. Devastated, I handled my mother's funeral together with my husband. That same night, my husband dreamed of my father as well. "Chester," he said, "I haven't eaten in so long. I want your pâté, served with some strong liquor." When my husband woke up, he bought the finest liver pâté, opened a bottle of single-malt whiskey, and went straight to the grave. However, not long after returning home, he collapsed from acute liver failure. He was rushed to the ICU and died three days later. I was on the brink of collapse myself. I left my daughter in the care of a close friend while I tried to handle the endless wave of tragedy. That evening, my daughter never came home from school. I searched everywhere, and finally, on the road to the cemetery, I found her. She was clutching a bowl of spicy stew, several grilled sausages floating in the broth. "Mom," she said, "Grandpa and I used to eat this all the time. I dreamed he said he was hungry." I finally lost it. I knocked the bowl from her hands and carried her home. That night, my father appeared in my dream once more. "I suffered so much while alive," he said. "Have some pity on me. "New Year's is coming. I want to come home for a meal. Make sure you cook fish." I woke in terror. Holding my daughter, I sat before the three framed portraits for two full days without eating or drinking. On New Year's morning, I realized she was no longer breathing. Clutched tightly in her hand was a packet of spicy dried salmon. I could not believe it. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my mother, her eyes red with worry, said she was going out to buy steak.

My mate has a human girlfriend but wants me to stay so he doesn't weaken. What about me and what I want. Is death the only way out.

When the zombie apocalypse hit, pets leveled up into guardians. Three per person. That was the cap. My buddy dropped serious cash on three Caucasian Shepherds. My landlord dumped his fish and started raising crocodiles. My girlfriend bolted to the zoo and came back with a lion. Me? I had three strays. Bubba—blind. Missy—lame. Snowy—barely a month old. The second the system locked pet slots, I knew I was screwed. I barricaded myself inside with my three "broken" cats and kept my head down. Day one—fear. Day two—helpless. Day three—the cats strolled back in, tails up, dragging something I didn't recognize. Bubba looked at me. "Dad, I bit off every zombie head on the block. I'm solid, right?" I just stared.