I have always known my purpose in life was to marry a powerful laird and bear his sons to cement alliances…I just expected him to be, you know, human. But I forgot the old legends. The ones about the others who come a’raiding through the stone circles during a full moon. The ones about the beasts who steal maidens and make them do terrible things on their altars to the carnal gods. The eve before my marriage, I am one of those stolen, and I know I should be terrified of this monster and what he’s going to do to me…as a public spectacle. But is this not what I was born—and bred—to do? Another super-spicy, instalove romp featuring the Harlot’s Guide’s list of positions.

My captor had best understand one I am not easy prey. Being stolen by orcs was bad enough, but now I have been saddled with one who thinks himself charming. Aye, so mayhap he is handsome—for an orc. But he is still a tusked, green, seven-foot-tall barbarian, and I have no intention of staying his prisoner. However, he is a hunter, and when I escape, he tracks me down and makes me…apologize in the best sort of way. I shouldn’t think of this as a game, but I can’t deny the way it makes my blood pound to be chased through the forest by such a male, and with such pleasure at stake. He doesn’t realize I am a determined sort of female, and I know what I want. If running from him will obtain it, then I will run. And he will hunt. Another super-spicy, instalove romp featuring the Harlot’s Guide’s list of positions.

I am no stranger to being owned by a male, but my new master is something I never imagined… In my years in the Tarbert household, I have learned my worthlessness, and I pray that being sent with my distant cousin on her way to her new marriage might grant me a chance at some value. I see that hope disappear when our small party is attacked on the way to the wedding…by orcs. I never imagined the old legends to be true, but I cannot deny them now; these primitive beasts have stolen me and can do what they wish with my body. But one…one protects me. He takes me as spoils of a wager. I know what I must I must make him value me so he will not share me with the others. I must be bold, brazen, and hope he claims me as his own. Why does such a thought not fill me with dread? Another super-spicy, instalove romp featuring the Harlot’s Guide’s list of positions.