Claw Foot Dining Table Novels & Stories

Kiara Retania, or Kia, has just had her heart broken. The man she loves is about to marry—but not her. She was merely the mistress of Alex Guntoro, her boss, who is set to wed the woman chosen by his parents, leaving Kia behind without a second thought. To mend her broken heart, Kia decides to go to a club and pick a man to spend the night with. In a reckless game, she spins a bottle on the table, intending to let fate choose her companion. But to her surprise, the bottle points directly at a charming and handsome bartender. But... is he really just a bartender? Or is he a man determined to make Alex pay for the pain he caused Kia—and to claim Kia, both her heart and body, for himself?

I ran into my ex-boyfriend at a friend's birthday party. He was now the Godfather of the Barzan family. He looked handsome and polished, and he'd arrived with his gorgeous fiancée on his arm. She smiled at me and said, "If you hadn't broken up with him back then, you'd be the lady of the Barzan house—the Godfather's wife." Across the table, his arm around her, Nico wore a cold expression. "Why bring up the past? We ended things ages ago. You're my fiancée, the future matriarch of the family." Under the crowd's watchful stares, I quietly covered the scar on my wrist and forced a tight smile. "Right… it's been such a long time."

"He drags me from wall to table to wall again, like he can’t decide which surface deserves this. Wood bites my spine, the table squeals. His hands are everywhere, rough, greedy, feral. He palms my throat, my jaw, my hips. He fists a hand in my hair and angles my mouth. The kiss is vicious. He grinds me open with it. 'Kneel,' he says. The command is a shove under the skin. My legs fold. It’s humiliating how fast I go and how much I love myself for it." He owns my mouth. My body. My fucking soul. But I never said he could have my heart. Eli’s been chained before and it damn near killed him. So when he’s caught running through Blackthorn pack lands by Ronan Vale, the savage Alpha of Blackthorn, he's horrified when the brute marks and claims him. But Ronan doesn’t just bite. He binds. With ropes, with rules, with a voice that makes Eli's knees go weak and a touch that turns resistance into hunger. The bond between them is feral. And Eli hates how much he wants it, how much he wants Ronan, even when he has him spread out and shaking, marked and owned, begging to be filled so he’ll stop feeling empty. Eli swore no one would ever own him again. Then came the Alpha whose bond feels like a brand and a promise all at once. He hates how much he wants it. Ronan’s voice. Ronan’s hands. Ronan’s brutal, worshipful need. This isn’t love, it’s obsession. And Eli is afraid that he's starting to like it.

My daughter, Annabelle Turner, was diagnosed with hereditary heart disease. I spent the past five years searching for a compatible heart donor for her. Now, I finally found one. Right before Annabelle is sent into the surgery room, my husband and renowned cardiologist, Gabriel Turner, tearfully makes me a promise. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make sure Annabelle gets a shot at life again." Yet halfway through the surgery, Gabriel suddenly leaves in a hurry without giving any explanation. I stumble into the surgery room and see Annabelle lying on the operating table, covered in blood. Her chest is cut wide open, laid bare for all to see. Tyler Rotwell, Gabriel's assistant, stammers out, "Dr. Turner said… that Anna can still hold on a little longer, but Ms. Byron's son can't. "Dr. Turner took the heart that was meant for Anna and left…" I immediately break down and repeatedly call Gabriel's number, but Gabriel never answers a single call, not even when Anna's blood has completely dried… While settling my daughter's post-mortem affairs, I happen to see a newly posted update on Gabriel's childhood friend, Suzanne Byron's social media. "Turns out it was just a misdiagnosis," was what the caption read. "In that case, let's give this useless little thing to our good boy Oscar as a treat!" The video attached depicts Suzanne's dog Oscar tearing into the heart that was supposed to be donated to Annabelle. As I turn to look at Annabelle's cold body, the last shred of love I have for Gabriel starts crumbling apart. By the time Gabriel finally remembers Annabelle, whom he left on the operating table, only an empty bedroom and an urn containing her ashes would greet him…

Zara Storme was the ghost in the machine at Sterling Global. For three years, she wasn’t just Mark Sterling’s fiancée she was The Architect. The unseen force who patched his weaknesses, outplayed his rivals, and quietly engineered a billion-dollar empire while he collected the applause. Then, over an elegant dinner, Mark slid a severance check across the table instead of a ring. To him, Zara was indispensable but temporary. Brilliant, yes. Loyal, certainly. But she lacked the pedigree required for his permanent throne. So he chose optics over love, trading her for a strategic merger and a well-bred socialite. Mark expected tears. Begging. A woman unraveling. What he didn’t know was that abandonment had trained Zara long before him. Her father had taught her the art of leaving without looking back. Fueled by a quiet rage, Zara committed one final act of treason which was leaking Mark’s most valuable upcoming deals to his greatest rival, Asher Vane. It was meant to be her clean exit. Then fate intervened. She was pregnant. Five years later, Zara returns to the city reborn as the formidable CEO of Lucent Capital. No longer the woman behind the throne, she is the throne. A venture-capital titan whose influence eclipses every man who once dismissed her. At her side is Luca her five-year-old masterpiece. Disciplined. Brilliant. And unmistakably the son of the man who walked away. When Mark Sterling’s empire begins to collapse under the weight of its own lies, desperation drives him to seek salvation from a firm powerful enough to save him. He comes to the boardroom expecting mercy. Instead, he finds Zara Storme seated at the head of the table untouchable, and finally holding his fate in her hands. This time, she’s here to watch it burn.

I'm the daughter of the Alpha King of the Werewolf Alliance that's based in Valdoria. In order to give my Alpha fiance whom I've never met before, Lucas Howell, a surprise, I've specifically hidden my scent as a royal she-wolf. Clad in a seemingly ordinary white T-shirt and a pair of jeans, I walk into the venue, where the Dark Shadow pack is hosting their annual celebration. As soon as I take my seat at the main table, which has been reserved for me, I feel someone dumping a glass of red liquid onto me. A she-wolf wearing a red dress that comes with a deep V-neck can be seen standing in front of me. Her expression is one of disdain. "Where did you come from, you filthy Rogue? You really think you get to sit at the main table, huh?" As I wipe the wine stains off my clothes, I do my best to suppress the ferocity of my wolf. "Lucas has specifically reserved this seat for his mate. Why can't I sit here?" The she-wolf acts as though she's heard the biggest joke ever. She then point at her work badge that's pinned on her chest while saying mockingly, "I'm Lucas' personal secretary as well as the future Luna whom everyone has acknowledged. In this pack, my word is the law here. "Guards, drag this delusional half-breed away and throw her out!" What a coincidence. Lucas has just texted me, pleading with me to announce our relationship as soon as possible. I dig out my phone and dial his number. Then, I put my phone on loudspeaker mode. "Your personal secretary claims that she's the future Luna, and she has commanded the guards to throw me out. What's your explanation for this matter, hmm?"

My name is Ember Haiven. I’ve been alone and on the run my entire life. Everything changed when I became Kieran’s surrogate in exchange for his protection. I had no idea that I would fall in love with this dragon shifter and enter a world that I believed existed only in my dreams. “Is that what you want?” he asked. “Yes…” I said feeling myself go breathless in his arms. “I never thought I’d be able to touch another person like this and now, I just don’t want this feeling to end.” He kissed me sweetly, pulling me closer and then rested his forehead against mine. I could see the color drain from his face and his shoulders sag like I’d ripped the heart from his chest. And maybe I had. It felt like my own was trying to claw its way from my skin. He moved to take a step forward but then thought better of it. Surrogate of the Sleeping Dragon is written by Claire Wilkins, an eGlobal Creative Publishing signed author.

"Mom, what if she dies!, then I lose another mate granted to me after three decades, You know how hard it is to find your mate as a Lycan." Every supernatural being has a chance to find who they want to be with. For werewolves, Mates are easier to find than for Lycans. Thousands of Lycans have lived and has being put to rest but never found their mate. The Lycan Prince Reagan Maynard has given up on finding his mate after he lost the first one before he could even meet her. Heartbroken by his loss, He loses hope about any forever after and buries himself in his businesses. A business trip to New York introduces him to the sassy, headstrong human female; Alix Stone. Everything about her infuriates them and also draws him in. What will happen to the most chaotic combination the moon goddess has ever placed? Even if they were to fall heels in love with each other, How will they mate? As the bite of a Lycan kills a human instead of turning them like that of a werewolf. Find out in The Lycan's Bite, Book One of the Claw series.

"Just help me out this once, man. I just made it to the final round, and I can't leave the game. Help your little brother out for a change? You're the best, J." It was 2:00 a.m. Chad asked me to go downstairs and pick up his takeout. I wanted to refuse because I was still recovering from a broken foot, but he did not look capable of tearing his eyes from the screen for even a second. Thus, I agreed and stepped outside. Without warning, something like a stream of comments flashed across my mind. [No! Somebody stop him!] [That delivery guy is your brother's roommate! He's got a knife!!!] [Lil' Bro knows that already, J! He's using you as a human shield to buy himself time!] I froze. I turned to go back inside. The door would not budge. Chad had already locked it. The elevator chimed down the hall. The comments in my head spiraled into chaos. [The killer is here! Get out of there, Big Bro!]

On our wedding anniversary, I canceled all my meetings and made a reservation at a restaurant. That evening, my wife, the renowned investigative journalist Amaya Shaw, called me. “Efim, I’m sorry! I just received a tip from a source. It’s urgent. “It involves inside information about a well-known company. I have to go verify it immediately!” But the next day, I saw that Javor Furey, the junior she had brought along, had posted a collage on his social media. The central photo showed Amaya wearing a childish birthday hat. Her head was pressed against Javor’s, as they made a wish together in front of a cake covered in candles. This was the caption. [Thanks, my dear Ms. Shaw! Even in the midst of her busy schedule chasing big stories, she remembered to give me this surprise birthday!] [Chasing big stories.] I stared at those three words. Then, I glanced at the limited-edition bag on our dining table. It was the one she had been raving about for half a year. It was the anniversary gift I had prepared for her. I felt absurd. I commented just two words under that post. [How touching.] Her call came in almost the second I hit send. She sounded furious. “Efim, do you have to be so sarcastic? “It’s just an anniversary. How old are you? Why are you still celebrating such childish anniversaries?” From our first year of marriage to the present, her “tip-offs from informants” and “special circumstances” always took precedence over our promises. This time, she could not even be bothered to come up with a plausible excuse. I did not say anything. I hung up and blocked her number. This marriage was over.