Her Cultivation Diary - Chapter 1167 - 1143. Stay or not for the New Year

The antique market that is filled with treasures and trash.

She is not a weak nor submissive type of woman. She is Dominant! A female alpha, the rarest of her kind, who could match up the strength of the most powerful creature, the Vampire King.

As the war between the two races continues, the Alpha Princess falls for the Vampire King. Their fated bond will be tested by their past and origins. Will the two be able to break the loop of revenge and hatred between their clans?

Bound by blood and revenge, can love set them free?

*****

Excerpt:

“You. Are. Not. Going. Anywhere!” His scarlet eyes settled on her face, blazing in a raging fury.

“No way! You just want me for your revenge,” she responded mockingly while meeting his intense gaze. “Just leave me alone!”

In a flash, he closed their gaps, pushing her down on the bed while trapping her in his arms. “I can't... because my kind of revenge means... Trapping you here…” he brought her hand into his chest, pointing to his heart.

“and by enslaving you here… in my bed,” his mouth moved over hers in a sensuous exploration, traveling down her throat to her neck. His hand was already caressing her soft flesh.

“I will get what I want by making you mine!” Before she could complain, a ripping sound was heard as he tore her clothes apart.

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”