Wrecked: Book One Forsaken Series

Stories

### Chapter 1: Chapter 1

“Love was never promised. Only survival.”

After the colony ship Providence crash-landed on an uncharted planet, time fractured the survivors into three divided groups: the tech-clinging Shipborn, the off-grid Homesteaders, and the violent Ravagers who vanished into the wild.

Calla Rios has spent the past two years trapped in the dim shell of the wrecked vessel, watching rations vanish, hope dwindle, and the cold pragmatism of survival take over. When the Homesteaders return with an offer—food and seeds in exchange for medicine and women—Calla does the unthinkable.

She volunteers.

Traded into an arranged partnership she didn’t choose, assigned to a man who didn’t ask for her, Calla is thrust into a harsh new world beyond the safety of the ship. August is guarded, grim, and clearly furious to be given a partner he never wanted.

In a world where love is a luxury, survival is a currency, and tenderness is dangerous, Calla must decide whether this unwanted life might still hold something worth fighting for.

Spice Rating: 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Heat Level: Survival-Bound Slow Burn to Cabin Fever Combustion

Wrecked simmers with tension until it explodes in stolen nights, heatwave confessions, and explicit open door scenes. There’s no luxury here—just breathless need, bare skin, and the safety and pleasure only one person can offer.

This is open door spice with all the angst and heat 🔥

Complete Chapters 54

Rating 5.0 ( 25 reviews ) Age Rating mature

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A Guide To The Forsaken Series

A spoiler-free orientation for readers:

This story blends grounded science fiction, survival realism, and slow-burn romance. You don’t need a science background—but a little context will help you settle into the world quickly and enjoy the emotional stakes without confusion.

Humanity survives on an uncharted planet after a colony ship crashes on unforgiving soil.

The environment is hot, unstable, and hostile, but not unlivable.

Survival depends on adapting technology - meant for space and the intended new colony - to life on the ground.

This is not a shiny sci-fi future—it’s improvised, patched-together survival.

There are two main human factions:

Enclosed, artificial, controlled.

Governed by hierarchy and rationing.

Safety comes at the cost of freedom.

Live outside the ship, off-grid and using stolen farming equipment from Providence.

They farm, trade, and defend themselves however necessary.

The leader is Gerald and his wife Lucy.

Freedom comes with risk and vulnerability.

Neither system is perfect. Both carry moral compromises.

Food is grown from universal seed pods designed for space travel.

Not all seeds survive the crash or long storage.

Farming is experimental, fragile, and vital.

Who controls it shapes the community.

Native water sources are not fully compatible with human biology.

Filters are essential—and failures are deadly.

Illness can strike fast and without clear treatment.

Water isn’t just survival. It’s trauma, guilt, and fear.

Humans who rejected both ship and settlement.

Live by force, instinct, and territory.

Not supernatural—just what desperation can turn people into.

They are a constant reminder of what happens when society collapses completely.

Power, consent, and protection are central themes.

The romance is not separate from survival—it is shaped by it.

Every touch, choice, and hesitation carries weight in a world where safety isn’t guaranteed.

It is not a comfort read, but it is deeply character-driven and hopeful in quiet, earned ways.

Trust that questions will be answered gradually.

Pay attention to small domestic moments—they matter.

Remember: no one here is fully safe, but everyone is trying.

And what it means to choose someone

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### Chapter 2: Chapter 2

I didn't know why - as the sun rose each day - that the ever-present background static that marked our days on the ship changed pitch and volume.

I didn't even know why the ship was still making that noise at all. No engines were running, and there was no pulling-through space. Just a few hot-wired generators providing the bare minimum of power to the life support systems and communications room.

But just like everything in our life now that made no fucking sense, at six every morning, the buzzing increased until I couldn't ignore it any longer and it dragged me from my bed with a pained groan.

Some of the others in my cabin wore makeshift headphones to block it out. I glanced at their darkened bunks with a roll of my eyes as I passed and made my way to the attached bathroom. That was one of the benefits of waking before the others - getting to use the tiny washroom that contained a sink, toilet and shower - before anyone else. It was why I didn’t try to ignore the noise for the ten or so minutes it went on for before it settled back into its usual hum - one that we barely noticed now.

By the time I had finished and emerged back into the cabin - the showers were set on strict three-minute timers and there wasn't much else to do except brush my hair, change into my regulation grey uniform and use my sonic toothbrush - the mind scratching buzz had gone and the usual rhythm of the ship had started to come to life.

Lights above me - the ones that were still working - flickered on. Others were waking and shuffling to use the washroom or change. Movement outside in the corridor indicated that the other cabins alongside mine were doing the same.

I hurried to the cafeteria and lined up with a few of the other early risers to help myself to breakfast. There wasn't much food left in the supply - a supply only ever meant to last us a few months not years - evidenced by the small offerings of canned beans, jerky and some sort of glob that might have once passed as creamed corn. But it was warm and somewhat filling so I bolted my tiny ration down while managing to avoid the conversations starting up around me.

Nearly everyone was talking about the trade today.

At least it was different to our usual discussions - what part of the power grid to sacrifice next to keep the air and heat going, how long the outer hull of the ship was going to continue to hold up against the hard weather conditions outside, and how no one had made any more progress on getting the communication channels working.

I let it fade into a blur on the edges of my consciousness.

A year ago I would have been central to those conversations. Back then I still believed a rescue was coming.

Now I was resigned to the fact that we were stuck here. We had been here for just over two years. This was life now.

I tidied up my plate and walked back out into the main corridor leading to the large central space we had allocated to what had become known as the market.

Once it had housed the sleeping pods we had all spent the first ten years of our trip through space in. Now they were all abandoned and long since stripped of anything useful.

I obediently adjusted my pace as Meg ran up behind me.

She had been a close friend before . Before the journey and before the crash. We had gone to college together and even dated brothers at one point - joking about how we would be sisters if we both married them.

Then everything had fallen apart. Literally.

Now Meg was a painful reminder of a time I would never get back to.

She was short and slim with long blonde hair, wide blue eyes, never-ending optimism and a peppy attitude that had started to wear thin. In other words the complete opposite of my curvier figure, dark hair and eyes, and brisk efficiency.

Meg hadn't reached the stage I was at yet. The stage of weary acceptance.

“I knew you would be one of the first today.” She said, matching my stride with her usual bounce in her step. “I can't wait to see what they have this month. Reckon there will be any tomatoes? I'd give anything for a fucking tomato.”

I frowned at her excited words. “This isn't a girls' trip to the farmers market, Meg.”

“Well, it kind of is. They are farmers and they are bringing us food.”

“They aren't farmers. They are people - our people - who stole all our agricultural supplies and stockpile of seeds to set themselves up and leave us to die.”

“I know that. I was there too. I nearly lost an eye trying to defend everything. But that was ages ago. We can't do anything about it now except try and make the best of this fucked up situation we are in. Somehow they have learned to grow something out there that is edible - and considering we are low on anything that doesn't make us violently sick then I will take their food with a smile when they come every month.”

“They aren't giving it. We have to trade. That's the deal.”

“Yeah, but we trade things that we have plenty of. We can survive without flashlights and rope and cutlery.”

“I heard rumours that this time they are asking for medicine. A few of them got sick with infected cuts.”

Meg’s excited expression dimmed a little. “Antibiotics?”

“Yeah. Makes sense. That's not exactly something we can just make more of without the resources of Earth or the new colony we never made it to.”

“But we don't have much left. We need it for ourselves.”

“Captain probably already said yes. We are running low on even the tinned food now. We need something or we will be forced to leave the ship.”

Meg shuddered. “Fuck that. I'm not going out there. It's savage. At least here we still have power and heat and showers. It’s safe.” She wrinkled her nose and leaned in close to say in a lower volume. “What if someone from the ravagers gets me?”

“The hell they are. A bunch of them attacked Jenson last month while he was on a scouting mission. He barely made it back alive.”

I shuddered despite the constant cycle of warm-if-not-stale air that was being pushed through the vents.

When our ship - a sleeper ark named the Providence - had crashed halfway through our journey to a new colony - most of the survivors had stayed in the intact part that had landed on the edge of a cliff. It was now barely functional and minus a few sections- but on a primitive unidentified planet, it was better than facing the unknown outside.

Some of the original survivors hadn't agreed with staying though. Out of the thousand-odd people who had woken and made it past the panicked initial first few days on a planet we had collectively called Forsaken - two groups had broken off.

One had staged a mutiny, killed a few dozen people, and left with our only source of sustainable food and a majority of the farming supplies meant for the next colony. They had set up a walled community and were now living a few hours' walk from us. They had somehow not managed to die despite all our predictions that they wouldn't last a few weeks, and now called themselves homesteaders.

The others had disappeared into the thick mist surrounding us and the mountains beyond. There had been stories ever since that those defectors had gone wild and primitive. Occasionally we spotted shaggy-looking men circling the ship with handmade arrows and spears. At night we swore we could hear screams coming from outside. A few of us had never come back from outside scouting trips or external repairs to the ship - with nothing but smears of blood being left behind.

We had called that group the ravagers since the name - violent and harsh - seemed to fit.

As Meg and I entered the market now, a hive of activity today since it was a trade day, I was almost glad that it was the homesteaders we were dealing with. They were still violent and betrayers. But at least they were useful.

Meg almost started jumping up and down next to me as the crates of food came into view - a selection of everything had been stacked high in the middle of the room on a long table so we could see what was on offer.

“Those red things look like tomatoes, right?” She asked, nudging me in my side almost painfully.

I nodded, trying not to let her enthusiasm hook me.

There indeed were the tomatoes she had wanted, as well as potatoes, lettuce, leeks and cabbage. There was also the unmistakable smell of freshly baked bread - or at least something that resembled it.

How the hell they had managed to make that I had no idea.

It was a lot more than the homesteaders usually brought - and something about the spread spiked a sense of unease.

That and the fact that the three homesteader men standing on one side of the room - brown and dirt-smudged and dressed in faded remnants of our uniforms - kept shifting their glances to us with something like anticipation.

But not all of us. Only the women in the room.

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Authors can write and upload their manuscripts on Inkit for free and writers retain 100% of their copyrights while writing on Inkitt

Readers can read all books for free, without any ads and give the authors feedback.

Books that perform well based on their reader engagement are published on our Galatea app.

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