
Alpha's Human Mate
Shadows converge, and the stakes are set. Ivy Carter's ordinary life is about to get a whole lot deadlier.
Caught in the cross hairs of Alpha Damian Blackthorn, the city's most feared predator, and Lucien D'Amato, the vampire CEO with an unholy hunger, Ivy's fate is sealed.
As their fated mate, she's the prize in a game of power and passion, where the rules are brutal and the players are ruthless. Torn between desire and danger, Ivy must choose: surrender to the darkness or risk everything for a love that could be her salvation... or her demise.
In this city, the predators rule, and Ivy's just become the most coveted prey. Will she rise as their queen, or fall as their next victim?
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Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Damian's POV
"Mr. Blackthorn, how do you feel standing here as the youngest billionaire CEO to win this award tonight?"
The reporter's question came fast, sharp, like a blade meant to cut right through me. Flashbulbs popped across the stage, bright enough to blind a weaker man. But I kept my face calm, my shoulders straight, my posture unshaken.
I leaned closer to the microphone. My voice was deep, smooth, controlled. "I don't feel, I achieve. Wealth is not about emotions, it's about power. And power belongs to those willing to take it."
The hall fell silent for a beat. Then the applause came. It was loud, thunderous, waves crashing against me. Cameras clicked, people cheered, and I stood still, cold and steady, as though I had only confirmed what they already knew, Damian Blackthorn was untouchable.
They placed the award in my hands, a crystal plaque, heavy and shining. I raised it once, not in joy but in dominance. The light bounced off it, scattering across the hall, and every single eye in the room locked on me. That was how I liked it: control, attention, fear.
When I stepped down, whispers followed like shadows. Men wanted to shake my hand. Women wanted to be noticed by me, but only one woman decided she would not leave tonight without trying.
She appeared as if the moment had been planned. Tall, elegant, in a black silk dress that clung to her body like it was made for her alone. Diamonds dangled from her ears, glinting under the chandeliers. Her red lips curved into a smile that was not shy, not polite, but a straight invitation.
She moved into my path with precision. "Congratulations, Mr. Blackthorn, I have been dying to meet the man behind Blackthorn Enterprises."
I studied her the way I study every person quickly, sharply. Wealthy, polished, used to winning, used to taking. The type who had never been told no.
"Dying already?" I smirked. "Then let's not waste time."
Her laugh was soft but practiced, echoing above the clink of champagne glasses. "Straight to the point, I like that."
The night stretched on, endless speeches and shallow conversations. I left before it ended. My driver brought the car to the side entrance, far from the noise of the main doors. She followed me easily, her heels tapping against the pavement, her presence bold, certain.
Inside the car, her perfume filled the space. Sweet, thick, expensive but it clung too heavy in my throat. She leaned closer, her fingers brushing my wrist like she thought she could claim me with a single touch.
"So," she whispered, "where are we celebrating, Damian?"
"Hotel." I didn't look at her when I said it. My eyes stayed fixed on the city lights rushing past the window.
Her hand slid onto my thigh, slow and sure. "Perfect."
The hotel was five stars, the kind of place where every hallway smelled of roses and every staff member bowed twice before leaving. I opened the door to the suite, let her step inside, and watched as she crossed straight to the minibar as though she already owned the room.
"Whiskey?" she asked, pulling down a glass.
"Straight." My tie was loose around my neck, but my eyes stayed sharp on her.
She poured, handed me the drink, her fingers lingering on mine like she wanted me to notice. "Men like you are rare. Powerful. Dangerous." Her lips curved again. "I like danger."
I drank, slow and deliberate. The whiskey burned my throat, but the fire that spread inside me wasn't from the alcohol. It was something else. Something darker.
My wolf.
He had been restless since the stage, clawing under my skin, pressing against my ribs like he wanted out. Maybe it was the crowd, maybe it was the flash of lights, maybe it was her perfume too sweet, too false, suffocating me with every breath.
My chest tightened, my pulse hammered in my ears. My vision blurred, my eyes burning with the glow I fought to bury for years.
The glass cracked in my hand.
Her laugh cut short. "Damian?" she whispered. "Are you okay?"
I dropped the broken glass into the trash, my voice sharp. "Stay here."
"What? Where are you going?"
"Out."
I didn't wait for her reply. The tie hit the couch, my steps fast, the door shutting behind me before she could follow.
Heat climbed through my veins, my wolf pushing harder, angrier. I needed air, I needed darkness. If I kept him locked inside, he would tear me apart.
The hotel backed onto thick woods. I moved quickly, long strides carrying me through the lot, past the last golden lamps, until the trees swallowed me whole.
The wolf roared inside me, shaking the cage I had built with years of iron control. My muscles pulled, my skin rippled, my bones ached as if they were breaking and reforming all at once.
My jaw clenched, I gritted my teeth, pain lanced through me, sharp and merciless. My spine stretched, my shoulders cracked, claws tore from my fingers, pushing against flesh that could no longer contain them.
I bit back a growl, but the sound still ripped from my throat, deep and animal. My eyes burned brighter, glowing gold in the darkness. My body trembled, caught between two shapes, neither man nor wolf but something cursed in between.
I dug my claws into the dirt, sucking in sharp breaths, trying to hold onto myself. If I let the shift take me fully, someone would hear, someone would know.
The woods were quiet, but then a twig snapped. My head snapped up, vision sharp, hearing tuned to the smallest sound.
She was there, the woman she had followed. Her heels were gone, her dress dragging against the grass, her hair loose from its perfect shape. Her eyes widened when she saw me, her painted lips trembling.
"Damian?" Her voice cracked, barely a whisper.
I didn't move, my chest rose and fell, each breath rough. My claws gleamed in the moonlight, teeth sharp against my lips.
She stepped closer. "Oh my God..." Her face turned pale. "You....you are not human!"
The scream tore from her throat, high and sharp, echoing through the trees.
My wolf snapped, before she could turn, before the sound carried too far, I moved, fast, deadly. My hand slashed across her throat, claws tearing deep.
Her blood sprayed hot against the night air. Her eyes froze wide, locked in horror, before her body dropped lifeless onto the earth.
I stood over her, chest heaving, half man, half beast. My claws dripped red. My breath came heavy, the copper tang of blood filling my lungs.
The wolf inside me settled, satisfied by the kill. This was what he wanted: blood, silence, dominance.
But then, I heard another sound, it was not the echo of her fall. Not the cry of a bird, it was a gasp.
I spun, my eyes glowing gold, claws still wet, and froze when I saw the figure standing at the edge of the trees.
Someone else had seen.
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7.3
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7.4
MAFIA DESIRE
7.4
In the city where power was inherited through bloodshed and silence, love was the most dangerous liability of all.
She emerged from the shadows like a secret the underworld had failed to bury-elegant, unreadable, and far more lethal than she appeared. Every step she took echoed with intention. Every smile concealed a calculation. Men underestimated her. They always did. And they always paid for it.
He was young, brilliant, and already feared. A rising king in a world that devoured the weak, carrying ambition like a loaded weapon. He didn't trust easily, didn't hesitate, and didn't believe in fate-until her presence began to unravel everything he thought he controlled.
Their connection wasn't born of innocence or chance. It was forged in danger, sealed by secrets, and fueled by a hunger neither of them dared to name. In a world ruled by betrayal, they found something far more terrifying than enemies-each other.
Because when desire collides with power, and love becomes a threat, survival is no longer guaranteed.
And in the mafia, nothing is more deadly than wanting what you're not supposed to have.

9.4
Dorene survived a terrifying night with a bleeding, dangerous intruder in her hotel penthouse, only to receive a far more devastating blow the next morning.
A black and gold envelope arrived. It was an engagement invitation. Her boyfriend of seven years, Kadyn, was marrying her sweet, innocent best friend, Dolly.
Refusing to hide, Dorene crashed the gala in a blood-red gown. But Dolly was ready. Grabbing Dorene's wrists, Dolly purposely threw herself backward into a tower of champagne glasses, shrieking about her stomach and her unborn baby.
"If anything happens to Dolly or my child, I swear to God, I will destroy you!"
Kadyn roared, holding the weeping Dolly in the broken glass. He didn't ask a single question. He branded Dorene a jealous monster. To completely break her dignity, he publicly handed her over to the city's most notorious, sleazy playboy just to appease Dolly's fake tears.
"Give him a shot," Kadyn told her coldly.
Seven years of love were ground into the marble floor. She was framed, publicly humiliated, and discarded like trash by the two people she trusted most.
Dorene didn't shed a single tear. She gave them a smile of pure, freezing mockery and walked out of the gilded cage into the freezing Manhattan night. She didn't know that as she left, the lethal, blood-stained man from her penthouse was watching from the shadows, ready to help her burn their world to the ground.

9.4
I walked into the master suite clutching a positive pregnancy test, convinced this tiny plastic stick would finally mend the cracks in my relationship with Braeden Randall. I was ready to tell him we were starting a family, that our future was finally secure.
Instead of a celebration, a heavy manila envelope struck me in the chest, slicing my lip open. Photos scattered at my feet—grainy images of a woman who looked exactly like me entering a seedy motel with a stranger. Before I could speak, Braeden’s face twisted with a hatred so pure it stole my breath.
"I’m pregnant, Braeden! It’s yours!" I sobbed, shielding my stomach.
He didn’t hesitate. He called my baby "evidence of my filth" and delivered a kick so brutal it sent me crashing through a glass coffee table. As I lay amidst the shards, watching the white carpet turn crimson with the blood of my lost child, he simply adjusted his cufflinks and told me to "clean up the mess" before walking out.
Hours later, I was bound in ropes on a yacht during a violent storm. My stepmother, Brittny, leaned in and whispered the ultimate betrayal: she had murdered my mother, and now she was finishing me off. They threw me into the black, churning ocean like garbage, expecting the waves to swallow my secrets forever.
I sank into the freezing depths, fueled by the memory of that final, desperate flutter in my womb and the cold realization that my life had been stolen by a calculated frame-up. How could the man I loved turn into a monster in a single afternoon, and what else were they hiding?
Now, four years later, I’ve returned to Cloud City with a heart forged in ice and a genius son who looks exactly like the man who tried to kill me. I’m no longer the victim who begged for mercy; I’m a rising star auditioning for the lead in Braeden’s new production. The games are just beginning, and I won't stop until I've dismantled the Randall empire piece by piece.

8.0
I spent three years playing the role of the perfect, silent wife in Elek Hamilton’s penthouse, treated as little more than an expensive piece of furniture.
When I finally gathered the courage to ask for a divorce, he didn't even look at me, dismissing my request as a childish tantrum or a ploy for a new car.
He treated our marriage like a business contract, and my existence as a routine task to be checked off, all while he kept a secret life that shattered my world.
I discovered he wasn't just cold; he was obsessed with his ex-girlfriend, Carlee Kelley, and I was nothing but a living, breathing replica—a placeholder he kept to satisfy his own twisted nostalgia.
The final blow came when I saw the lipstick smudge on his collar and the text from her calling me his "little doll," confirming that every touch and every word of affection he’d ever given me was meant for someone else.
I was never his wife; I was a ghost haunting his home, a prop for his true love.
How could I have been so blind, letting my soul wither away for a man who didn't even see me as human?
I didn't want his money or his empire anymore; I just wanted to stop being a shadow.
I walked out of that penthouse with nothing but the clothes on my back, determined to reclaim the life I had buried, even if he tried to use my family to keep me trapped.