Best Fantasy Novels

A modern chef trapped in an ancient blood feud, must choose between the timeline she knows and the Alpha she loves before history repeats itself. Can a woman from the future rewrite a destiny written in blood, or is she just the final meal for an Alpha king marked for the grave?

I was dying in a rusted warehouse, paralyzed in a wheelchair while the man I loved and my own stepsister watched with smiles on their faces. The air smelled of old oil and damp concrete, and my vision was fading into a milky haze. Dillon, the man I’d sacrificed everything for, smoothed his custom suit and pulled out a syringe filled with a clear, lethal neurotoxin. Beside him, my stepsister Bianca toyed with my mother’s sapphire ring—the one they’d just pried off my hand while I was too weak to even make a fist. She leaned in and whispered that my father’s trust fund was already offshore and that they’d sent my husband, Kade, to the wrong coordinates to ensure he’d only find my corpse. Dillon slid the needle into my vein with the chilling efficiency of a man who had done this before. "This will stop your heart in thirty seconds," he said, sounding as bored as if he were explaining a tax form. Ice flooded my chest, and my lungs seized, fighting for oxygen that wasn't there. As the warehouse lights blurred into white streaks, an explosion echoed in the distance. Kade had come for me, but he was too late. I died staring at the ceiling, my heart giving one last violent kick of pure, unadulterated hatred. I had been such a fool, believing Dillon’s lies and running away from the only man who actually cared for me. I died with a single thought: if I ever get another chance, I will drag you both to hell with me. Then, there was nothing. And then, there was air. I sat up gasping, my silk pajamas drenched in cold sweat. The rusted beams were gone, replaced by a vaulted ceiling and the glittering Manhattan skyline. I grabbed the digital clock on the nightstand—it was five years ago, the exact night I first tried to run away with Dillon. The bedroom door slammed against the wall, and Kade Mullen stood in the doorway, looking dangerous, furious, and very much alive. I looked at my shaking hands, then at the man I had once hated. This time, I wasn't going to run. I was going to make sure Dillon and Bianca lost everything.

Rory, navigates the pain of being rejected by her mate. In their world, a 'reject,' is considered impure, evil, and cursed. As a result of a split second decision, she's able to find her freedom. Will she survive till the end?

Athena was pregnant with Lucian's child. Yet he couldn't recognize her as his mate, due to the spell cast on her since birth, she had finally gotten rid of it and hoped that Lucian would recognize her but he didn't. She hoped that once he claimed her as his chosen mate, she'd finally tell him that he was going to be a father. But then the palace caught fire. Lucian held Athena close leading her to safety, but Helena pulled him back. Athena fell, landing on her stomach on a burning pillar. She bled and lost the child. "Lucian!!" She called out to him. A burning curtain collapsed, scarring half her face. She fell unconscious, her heart slowed and her body was loosing warmth.Lucian rushed back cradling her burnt body. When he touched her, only then did he feel it. His wolf Growled MATE. But it was too late. Rogues attacked the palace as Lucian ran out carrying Athena bridal style. He called Helena and left Athena in her care. But Helena betrayed him, handing Athena over to the rogues. "This is what suits you. You wanted to take Lucian from me? No he is mine and mine alone." Four years later, Lucian searched endlessly for Athena but he never found her. Until now. She stood before him, eyes full of hate. Then a little boy ran up to Lucian pulling his sleeve and said: "Dad. Mom is calling you." Their story is one of legend. The story of a Hybrid whispered among packs as a tale of destiny and courage. Athena's journey was difficult. But even with all the hate she had in her heart. The power of love is greater than that of the mind.

The world was a symphony of agony, played on the strings of my own body. I was tied to a chair in a damp basement, the metallic tang of blood filling my mouth as my fingernails were ripped from their beds by a pair of rusty pliers. My best friend, Corrine, stepped into the flickering light wearing my favorite Chanel suit and the engagement ring that was supposed to be mine. Beside her, my fiancé Aldo held the pliers, his voice smooth and cultured as he demanded I sign over my entire inheritance to them. As I struggled, a news report flashed on an old TV in the corner: Hunter Gallagher, the man I had treated like dirt but who had always tried to protect me, was dead in a horrific car explosion. Corrine laughed, whispering in my ear that they had lured him to his death using a fake kidnapping tip. He died trying to save me from a trap set by the people I trusted most. They didn't just want my money; they wanted to erase me. They plunged a needle full of heroin into my neck, watching with cold, mocking eyes as my heart hammered against my ribs and finally seized into nothingness. I died in that basement, a blind, spoiled girl who had let her true protector be murdered. As the darkness closed in, my soul burned with a single, silent vow: If I ever get another life, I will drag you both to hell with me. Suddenly, I gasped for air, my lungs fighting against a weight that wasn't there. I wasn't in the basement; I was in my own bed, my fingernails intact and my skin unbroken. I checked my phone, and my heart stopped—it was May 20th, exactly one year before my death. Hunter was still alive, and this time, I wasn't the prey.

I thought marrying into the Barrett dynasty would be my fairy tale, but my wedding day felt more like a business merger. My husband, Jarret, didn't even look at me as he checked his watch at the altar, treating our marriage like a political chore. Two months later, the world shattered when Jarret's diplomatic convoy was bombed. The news reported him dead, with his twin brother Jayden as the sole survivor. When "Jayden" returned to the estate limping on a cane, the house became a tomb. My mother-in-law and our cousin Cristine immediately moved to freeze my bank accounts and strip me of my rights, calling me a "greedy climber." I was a widow in a house of wolves, but the real nightmare started when I saw "Jayden" drop his cane and passionately kiss Jarret's mistress in the dark. I crept to the study and heard the bone-chilling truth: Jarret wasn't the one who died. He had murdered his own brother in the blast to steal his identity and become a "surviving hero." Even worse, he was already planning my "accidental" overdose once I signed over the family trust. My blood ran cold as I realized the gentle, calloused hands that touched me on my wedding night hadn't belonged to my husband at all. I had fallen in love with Jayden, the man Jarret had just vaporized for a promotion. I tried to escape, but they caught me and forced a sedative into my arm. When I woke up, the family doctor was standing over me with a predatory smile. "Congratulations, Elise. You're ten weeks pregnant." Jarret leaned over my bed, his eyes cold and victorious. They aren't going to kill me anymore. They've turned me into an incubator for an heir, trapped in a golden cage with the monster who murdered the father of my child.