Simi2006

Simi2006's Books(2)

The devil's little bride

Fantasy

5.0

BLURB – The Devil's Little Bride She was offered like an animal-stripped, bathed in oils, wrapped in white, and left trembling beneath the red moon. A sacrifice. A girl traded for peace. A virgin given to the Devil. But no one told Lilith that the Devil was a man with hands made for worship and eyes that burned with something worse than fire-grief. The first time she sees him, he doesn't speak. He only watches. Watches her like she's something holy he's not allowed to touch. Like her presence hurts him. Like he's already been broken by her... long before she even arrived. She doesn't understand it at first-why a being carved from sin refuses to lay a finger on her. But Lilith is smart. And silence is its own language. She begins to notice the little things. How he paces when she sleeps. How he breathes when she cries. How his gaze lingers on her lips, always looking away when she catches him. How his monstrous court calls her "the spark that will destroy us all." She's not just his bride. She's his curse. And still, she can't stop dreaming of his touch. She thought she'd be ravaged on her wedding night. Instead, he bound her to a throne with his name etched into her soul-and then left her untouched in a room where time doesn't move, and shadows whisper secrets she shouldn't understand. The people of her kingdom had warned her: "If you speak to the Devil, he will learn your name. If you let him near, he will smell your longing. If you look him in the eyes, you'll never look away." But no one warned her about what happens when the Devil falls in love. Because it's not hearts he breaks. It's worlds. --- Lilith Solara was raised to be nothing. Daughter of a disgraced nobleman. Voiceless. Powerless. Obedient. She wasn't supposed to matter. She was supposed to die in the dark, forgotten like the rest of her cursed bloodline. Instead, she became a queen in a kingdom carved from nightmares. She wears white in a court of monsters. Sits beside a king who doesn't sleep. She walks halls lined with mirrors that bleed and hears voices that sound suspiciously like her own. Sometimes they whisper warnings. Sometimes they scream. But even in a kingdom built on ash and shadows, it's not the demons that frighten her. It's him. Azazel. The Devil King. He is brutal in silence, composed in cruelty, cold as obsidian. He is legend and horror and tragedy all in one. And yet, he never touches her. Not when she falls asleep crying on their wedding bed. Not when her hands brush against his while she serves him wine with shaking fingers. Not even when she stands naked before him and whispers, "If I'm yours, then take me." Instead, he stares at her like her skin is made of knives. And sometimes-when he forgets she's watching-like she's the only light he's ever known. --- But Lilith is not the only one with secrets. Azazel has built his entire kingdom upon silence and survival. Love, in his realm, is not just forbidden-it's lethal. The last time he allowed his heart to beat for a woman, the heavens cracked, and Hell bled. Lilith doesn't know this. Not yet. She doesn't know she's walked into a war disguised as a marriage. That her touch is prophecy. That her smile is damnation. That her name was written in Azazel's story long before she was born. And that no version of this story ends with her surviving him. Unless she changes the rules. Unless she becomes something even the Devil fears. --- What if the sacrificial bride isn't here to be saved? What if she's the fire sent to burn the Devil himself? --- "You belong to me now," he growled against her throat, not touching her but making her feel touched everywhere. "But not the way they said. Not the way they planned. You don't belong to my bed, little bride. You belong to my ruin." --- The Devil's Little Bride is a slow-burning, emotionally rich, fantasy romance that drips with dark sensuality, psychological intrigue, and haunting intimacy. Written for lovers of forbidden desire, power play, and beautifully broken characters, this is not just a story of love-it's a war between fate and feeling. If you love... Dominant yet emotionally repressed heroes who burn beneath the surface Virgin heroines who grow into power instead of shrinking from it A gothic court full of secrets, betrayal, and seductive danger Soulmate bonds with teeth A love that destroys and remakes the world Then you won't just read this story. You'll feel it. You'll live it. You'll burn with it.

The Alpha's Cursed Virgin Bride

Werewolf

5.0

Blurb: The Alpha's Cursed Virgin Bride They told her she was born wrong. Not broken, not wicked-but dangerous. A girl who shouldn't be touched. A daughter kissed by the Moon Goddess under a cursed blood moon. A virgin to be kept, watched, traded. And one day-sacrificed. Lyra Thornveil didn't ask to be the daughter of an Alpha. She didn't ask to be hidden in high towers, whispered about in halls, or raised like an heirloom wrapped in silk. Her life has been one long silence. She knows what it means to be looked at but never seen. What it feels like to ache for a mother's hug and never get one. To sit through birthday dinners where no one touches their food because they're too afraid of her presence. She doesn't remember the last time someone held her hand. And now, at nineteen, her pack is falling apart. A strange sickness is killing their children-one by one, slow and cruel. The Elders need someone to blame. Someone expendable. Someone born under bad stars. So they choose her. They make a deal with the Alpha of Blackthorn, a man no one dares speak of unless they whisper. A man wrapped in shadows and sealed in silence. A man who once loved-and killed the woman he loved with nothing but a touch. Alpha Draven Blackthorn. The cursed Alpha. The untouchable. The myth. She's to be given to him as a bride under the blood moon. It's a marriage with no love, no future, and only one rule: Do. Not. Touch. Because if Draven touches his fated mate-if skin meets skin-she will die. Lyra doesn't fight it. She doesn't scream or beg. There's a strange calm to her. A quietness that isn't fear-it's exhaustion. It's resignation. It's the soft surrender of someone who was never really allowed to live, now being told she's meant to die. But the moment she steps over the border into Blackthorn territory, something shifts. The bond snaps. Not like a sweet spark-but like a burn. A wild, uncontrollable pull. She feels it like a wire under her skin, a heat curling in her bones. A raw, magnetic ache that screams one truth louder than any prophecy: He is hers. And she is his. But Draven won't look at her. Won't speak unless necessary. Keeps his hands locked in black gloves, arms stiff at his sides. His eyes are cold. Calculating. He doesn't trust her-and worse, he doesn't trust himself. Because Draven remembers the last time he fell in love. He remembers the blood. The screams. The way her body collapsed when he reached for her hand. And the Moon Goddess's punishment: to never feel love again without causing death. So he doesn't feel. Or... he tries not to. But Lyra is not quiet. Not like they expected. She's soft-spoken but not weak. She is terrified-but not willing to be forgotten again. She's curious, and brave in small, tragic ways. She asks him why he wears gloves. Why he never sleeps. Why he flinches when she gets too close. And when he doesn't answer, she doesn't give up. Because no one ever tried to understand her either. And now she sees it in him-that same haunted silence. That same hunger to be known. And slowly, painfully, something starts to change. Not with magic or prophecy or fate. But with small things. A look held too long. A dream where they meet-not in body, but in soul-and wake up breathless, shaken. A gloved hand offered during a storm, when Lyra thinks she might collapse. A whisper in the dark: "I'm not afraid of dying," she tells him. "I'm afraid of never being touched before I do." And still-he keeps his distance. Because Draven is terrified. Not of her. Of himself. He's seen death take love before. He won't let it happen again. But the truth is: he's already touching her. In her thoughts. In her dreams. In the way she no longer feels cold when he's in the room. In the way her body aches when he's near-but not near enough. And Lyra? She starts to change too. She stops believing she's cursed. She starts wondering if it was all a lie. Why can she feel his heartbeat in her dreams? Why can she hear his voice when she bleeds? Why does the pain feel more like a prison than fate? And then she uncovers it: The curse was never real. Not in the way they said. Not divine. Not holy. It was put on her. Bound in blood. By someone she trusted. To stop her from loving him. Because the union of Thornveil and Blackthorn? It was never meant to destroy the world. It was meant to save it. But the Elders lied. To keep their control. To silence her power. To break Draven's spirit. And now-now that she knows-there's only one thing left to do. Break the rule. Just once. To touch him. To test the curse. To see if it was real-or just another cage built by people too afraid of what love could become if left unchecked. What happens next? Blood. Heat. Fire. Truth. Draven's gloves come off. Lyra's red thread breaks. And everything-everything they were told to fear-comes crashing down. But in that destruction? There's freedom. And maybe a chance of love that doesn't end in death