

In the darkest hour, Jason didn't give up. He worked with Tim, Cindy, and other partners to defend their homeland and deal with crises with courage and an unyielding spirit. Through fire and death, they bore responsibility and answered the call of duty. In the end, they brought forth a new age of peace.

"After she abandoned her duty, I married the ruthless Vampire King in her place. For six years, I protected his kingdom and endured everything, only to hear: “You are just her replacement.” When the true queen returned, I no longer fought for his love. I burned my crown, severed the Blood Bond, and walked away from a throne that was never truly mine. This time, no one could ever treat me as a substitute again."

After the werewolf leader Akasha was forced into suicide by the vampire Eric, her soul was transferred into the body of a recently deceased girl by the Grim Reaper. The Reaper offered her a deal: if she married Eric within 49 days, she could be brought back to life. Reluctant at first, Akasha's resolve hardened when she learned of her family's fate at the hands of the new leader, Francis. Driven by vengeance, she reluctantly agreed to strike a bargain with the Grim Reaper.

After breaking up with her boyfriend, Nina has a one night stand with the star hockey player Enzo Rivers. Nina swears off of hockey players, but Enzo isn't done with her yet and is hiding a big secret.

Seraphina once believed she was the vampire prince Alistair's one true love. Five years ago, he rescued her and declared her his soulmate. But when she was attacked by werewolves while pregnant, he sent all the healers to her stepsister Isabella, who had forged a "life bond" with him, causing her to miscarry. Over five years, he favored Isabella—stealing Seraphina's paintings, giving her the studio key, and planting flowers that Seraphina was allergic to. After the truth came out, she faked her death and escaped under the alias Phoebe Miller. She later became an art restorer, was discovered by gallery owner Julian, and rebuilt her life independently. Isabella died in prison, and Alistair, consumed by regret, became an arbiter. A year later, her Light and Shadow series succeeded, and holding Julian's hand, she finally found a peaceful life.

Seraphina once believed she was the vampire prince Alistair's one true love. Five years ago, he rescued her and declared her his soulmate. But when she was attacked by werewolves while pregnant, he sent all the healers to her stepsister Isabella, who had forged a "life bond" with him, causing her to miscarry. Over five years, he favored Isabella—stealing Seraphina's paintings, giving her the studio key, and planting flowers that Seraphina was allergic to. After the truth came out, she faked her death and escaped under the alias Phoebe Miller. She later became an art restorer, was discovered by gallery owner Julian, and rebuilt her life independently. Isabella died in prison, and Alistair, consumed by regret, became an arbiter. A year later, her Light and Shadow series succeeded, and holding Julian's hand, she finally found a peaceful life.

My younger sister and I spent ten years fighting over Rowan Vale, the Alpha of Silver Ridge Pack. In my first life, I became his mate. Everyone said he was obsessed with me. Why else would he keep me carrying litters for seven years and give Silver Ridge six heirs? When I went into labor with the seventh, I nearly bled out. Rowan sent the healers away and forced wolfsbane down my throat himself. Only then did he tell me the truth. If it were not for the fact that only a daughter of the Hart bloodline could bear pureblood Alpha heirs, he said, he never would have claimed me at all. I had been useful for one thing only: giving him heirs. Now that he had enough, I had none. I died hating him. In my second life, I handed the bond papers from Silver Ridge Pack to my sister. “Go,” I told her. “You’re the one he wants.” Five years later, she was sent back to me half-starved, shaking, and marked by restraints. Through sobs, she told me Rowan had never loved her either. He had kept her because she was still a Hart daughter, because she could give him heirs, and because her scent could calm him during rut. She died less than two months later. When I opened my eyes again, I was in my third life. The unsigned bond papers from Silver Ridge Pack lay on the table between us, and my sister and I could only stare at each other. Who, exactly, did that Alpha want?

I was born broken. My Alpha mother was the one who branded me. She said emotion was a sin. A weakness. Especially for a werewolf. Especially for an Alpha’s heir. The day we were born, she clamped emotion-suppressing collars around our necks. Mine and my twin sister's. The slightest flicker of emotion, and the collar flashed red. My mother would then push the button, injecting me with a diluted "silver solution" to suppress my feelings. But my sister Cassia's collar? Always a calm, steady blue. Even when she shattered Mom's precious moonstone, it just pulsed gently. And me? I’d just whisper, "Mom, the thunder scares me," and my collar would erupt in a violent red. Then came the sting of silver poison burning through my blood.. I used to argue. But Mom always said the same thing. "The data doesn't lie. Pain is a teacher. This is for your own good." After thousands of these injections, I started to believe it, too. That I was born out of control. The night of the alliance's Moon Goddess Festival, Mom was taking my sister to the rooftop party. Something scared me during the day. The collar flashed red, and my mother started the punishment. But this time, the collar malfunctioned. It shot a dose a thousand times stronger into my neck. I collapsed on the carpet, begging, "Mother, the collar... it hurts so much... help me." My collar was flashing a frantic red. My mother just looked down at me, drenched in a cold sweat, and pressed the button for the maximum dose. "You'd lose control like this just for attention? You're a lost cause." She turned, took my sister, and slammed the door. I couldn't help but think, Mom must be right. The collar is red. It doesn't really hurt. I'm just being dramatic, looking for pity again. I'm sorry, Mom. In my next life, I'll be the perfect daughter you always wanted.

I was born broken. My Alpha mother was the one who branded me. She said emotion was a sin. A weakness. Especially for a werewolf. Especially for an Alpha’s heir. The day we were born, she clamped emotion-suppressing collars around our necks. Mine and my twin sister's. The slightest flicker of emotion, and the collar flashed red. My mother would then push the button, injecting me with a diluted "silver solution" to suppress my feelings. But my sister Cassia's collar? Always a calm, steady blue. Even when she shattered Mom's precious moonstone, it just pulsed gently. And me? I’d just whisper, "Mom, the thunder scares me," and my collar would erupt in a violent red. Then came the sting of silver poison burning through my blood.. I used to argue. But Mom always said the same thing. "The data doesn't lie. Pain is a teacher. This is for your own good." After thousands of these injections, I started to believe it, too. That I was born out of control. The night of the alliance's Moon Goddess Festival, Mom was taking my sister to the rooftop party. Something scared me during the day. The collar flashed red, and my mother started the punishment. But this time, the collar malfunctioned. It shot a dose a thousand times stronger into my neck. I collapsed on the carpet, begging, "Mother, the collar... it hurts so much... help me." My collar was flashing a frantic red. My mother just looked down at me, drenched in a cold sweat, and pressed the button for the maximum dose. "You'd lose control like this just for attention? You're a lost cause." She turned, took my sister, and slammed the door. I couldn't help but think, Mom must be right. The collar is red. It doesn't really hurt. I'm just being dramatic, looking for pity again. I'm sorry, Mom. In my next life, I'll be the perfect daughter you always wanted.

I open my eyes to a twisted corridor, the air thick with rot and roses. I'm thrown into a deadly game with 99% mortality, forced by a system to court non-human beings—a crying stitched monster, a time-controlling puppeteer, an abyss lord who feeds on fear. While others flee, I read love poems to vengeful spirits and dance with skeletons. Fail, I die; succeed, I survive. But when romance meets horror, can I trust my heart?