Rosalind Claire

Signed Writer

4 Stories of Rosalind Claire

Claimed by the Alpha

Claimed by the Alpha

12.4k Views · Completed · Rosalind Claire
Thorvald gripped my hips firmly, pressing his cock dick against me as he began to thrust violently. He gnawed at my jaw, leaving a trail of sticky saliva that made my skin crawl with each contact.

Growing more excited, he roughly pulled my leg up around his hip, trapping me. I felt my body no longer belonged to me, as if my soul were floating above, looking down at this nightmare.

"Won't be too hard to possess you." He thrust harder. "Fuck, Elsa. I'm going to fuck you until you learn your place, understand?"

Deep within the territory of the werewolf pack, 18-year-old Elsa is the eternal shame of her family. During the coming-of-age ceremony, she failed to awaken the werewolf spirit within her. When the entire pack regards her as a defective being and bullies her, working part-time at a coffee shop and saving money becomes her only hope to escape from this living hell. However, an abrupt order from her father pushes her towards a werewolf gathering, and it is there that she has a forbidden encounter that will turn her destiny upside down.

Can the wolfless she-wolf escape from the ferocious wolf pack and find a new life?
One Night Stand with My Alpha

One Night Stand with My Alpha

4.8k Views · Completed · Rosalind Claire
My head throbbed painfully, and every inch of my body felt as if it was being torn apart. The man I spent the night with was a force of nature, an absolute beast in bed. Glancing at the scattered condoms around, I estimated we’d gone at it five or six times last night. I sighed, convincing myself it was just a one-time fling, a steamy memory I’d cherish. After all, I didn’t even know his name, and I was sure we’d never cross paths again.​

But fate had a twisted sense of humor. The moment I stepped into Silver Moon Pack as a newly - signed actress, I froze. There he was—the Alpha whose eyes held me captive, the same man I’d shared that wild night with. I’d dreamed of this moment, thinking it was my ticket to stardom. Little did I know, this Alpha was infamous as the “Demon Alpha.” Now, I couldn’t help but wonder: Would I survive his clutches?
I Can Dream of You Killing Me

I Can Dream of You Killing Me

606 Views · Ongoing · Rosalind Claire
It was a rainy night, and I was running wildly down the road, that man chasing relentlessly behind me, a malicious grin carved into his face. Desperately searching for somewhere—anywhere—safe, the brightly lit bookstore not far ahead became my only glimmer of hope.

Then I tripped.

I struggled to scramble back to my feet, but the rain and slick pavement betrayed me, sending me crashing down once more. A sharp pain tore through my knees as the sound of footsteps behind me grew louder, closer. Panic surged. I clawed at the gravel submerged in muddy water, my fingertips just brushing against a sharp-edged stone when a low sigh breathed against my ear.

“You can’t run away.”

I turned my head.

He was already standing before me, rainwater streaming down his twisted face, his eyes gleaming with a crazed, cruel light. Slowly, he knelt down. One hand clamped around my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. A blood-curdling laugh slipped from his lips.

“I’ve finally got you tonight,” he said. “You’ll be mine forever.”

Will Claire survive? Will she escape her attacker’s assault?

This is a novel of extraordinary imagination—step inside and uncover the thrill… and the answer.
Waking Up 80 Years Later: Meeting My Son Again

Waking Up 80 Years Later: Meeting My Son Again

540 Views · Ongoing · Rosalind Claire
The room went deadly silent. Christopher, the CEO of Sullivan Group, looked at me with pure disgust. "Get this crazy girl out of here! My grandfather is dying, and you're playing sick games?"

But the old man on the bed... his eyes flew open. He stared at me—not at my young, beautiful face, but into my soul. He saw the sketch in my hand. A secret only a mother and her six-year-old son would know.

"Jimmy," I said softly, using the nickname no one had spoken in decades. "Do you remember the thunderstorms?"

Tears streamed down the old man's wrinkled cheeks. The most powerful man in Boston, reached out his frail hand to grasp mine. "Mama?" he choked out, his voice breaking like a small child's. "You came back?"

Christopher froze. The doctors froze. I climbed onto the bed and pulled my 80-year-old son into my arms. "I'm here, baby. Mommy's home."

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