
Fated to My Best Friend's Father
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I woke in the Alpha King's bed, a throbbing mark on my neck confirming his undeniable claim. Days after my own Alpha publicly shattered me, I was now Fated Mate to my best friend's powerful, enigmatic father. Caught between ancient magic and devastating family secrets, my world would never be the same.
My body ached with proof: I, a rejected she-wolf, was Kaelen Blackwood's Fated Mate. This terrifying bond, sealed by crimson on his sheets, far surpassed the political alliance I sought after Zane's brutal rejection. This new destiny, tied to my best friend's father, was a complexity I never anticipated.
Kaelen vanished. My best friend, Briar, discovered my Marking Bite, her fury convinced her father assaulted me. My truth-Fated Mates-shattered her. Zane reappeared, desperate, as Kaelen's council debated their "new Luna" and his "lost pup" past. I felt a pawn in a web of secrets.
Driven by a lullaby and Kaelen's silent challenge, I touched the Moonpetal Grotto. Together, we unlocked its ancient magic, confirming our bond. As the sacred cavern glowed, and Kaelen offered a rare smile, I realized this gesture transcended politics, hinting at a truth far deeper.
Fated to My Best Friend's Father Chapter 1
I woke in the Alpha King's bed, a throbbing mark on my neck confirming his undeniable claim. Days after my own Alpha publicly shattered me, I was now Fated Mate to my best friend's powerful, enigmatic father. Caught between ancient magic and devastating family secrets, my world would never be the same.
My body ached with proof: I, a rejected she-wolf, was Kaelen Blackwood's Fated Mate. This terrifying bond, sealed by crimson on his sheets, far surpassed the political alliance I sought after Zane's brutal rejection. This new destiny, tied to my best friend’s father, was a complexity I never anticipated.
Kaelen vanished. My best friend, Briar, discovered my Marking Bite, her fury convinced her father assaulted me. My truth—Fated Mates—shattered her. Zane reappeared, desperate, as Kaelen's council debated their "new Luna" and his "lost pup" past. I felt a pawn in a web of secrets.
Driven by a lullaby and Kaelen’s silent challenge, I touched the Moonpetal Grotto. Together, we unlocked its ancient magic, confirming our bond. As the sacred cavern glowed, and Kaelen offered a rare smile, I realized this gesture transcended politics, hinting at a truth far deeper.
Chapter 1
Elara Thorne POV:
The scent hit me first. Not the pine and rain from his office, but something closer. Pine, yes, but steeped in warmth. And cold mountain air, the kind that bites at your lungs, somehow captured in the heat of a body. His body.
My eyes snapped open. The ceiling was unfamiliar, dark wood beams crisscrossing high above. I was in a bed, vast and swallowed by shadows, tangled in sheets that felt like cool water against my skin. Silk. I was alone.
I sat up, clutching the heavy sheet to my chest. The movement sent a dull ache through my body, a deep soreness in my muscles that was different from the exhaustion of the run. This was the ache of exertion. Of… last night.
The room was immense, intimidatingly masculine. A stone fireplace, cold and cavernous, dominated one wall. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a pre-dawn sky, a bruised purple bleeding into grey over a forest of black-tipped pines. Everything was stone and dark wood and expensive leather. Nothing here creaked.
My hand went to my neck, an instinct I couldn't fight. My fingers brushed against the skin just below my jaw, and I flinched. It was tender, swollen. A faint, electric hum thrummed beneath the surface, a low vibration that seemed to echo in my sternum. The mark. His mark.
Fragments of the night before slammed into me. Grey eyes, not cold like river stones, but dark, like a storm gathering force. The scrape of his jaw against my cheek. A low growl that wasn't a threat, but a promise. The shattering, overwhelming feeling of a bond—not the thin, frayed thread I'd felt in his office, but a steel cable—snapping into place.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. This was a political alliance. A contract signed to save my people from Zane’s retribution, to give a rejected, packless she-wolf a place to stand. I was to be his Chosen Mate, a title, a figurehead. Not… this. Not a Fated Mate.
My legs felt unsteady as I forced myself from the bed, the silk sheet pooling at my feet. My gaze fell to the stark white mattress below. A dark stain, crimson and undeniable, marred the perfect surface. Proof. The consummation of a bond I never knew was possible. The sealing of a fate I had stumbled into.
My wolf, silent for so long, stirred inside me. She wasn't holding her breath anymore. She was… purring. A low, contented rumble that I hadn't felt from her in years. Betrayal lanced through me, sharp and hot.
I stumbled toward a door, finding an adjoining bathroom carved from the same dark marble and steel as the bedroom. I braced my hands on the cold stone of the vanity and forced myself to look at my reflection.
My hair was a wild tangle, my lips swollen. But it was the mark that held my gaze. A dark, possessive bloom of bruises and teeth marks on the pale skin of my neck. It wasn't just a claim; it was an anchor, and I could feel its weight pulling me down into this new, terrifying reality. Kaelen Blackwood, the Alpha King. My best friend’s father. My mate.
As I stared at the dark sigil he’d left on my skin, the image in the mirror blurred, replaced by another scene. A different man. Zane Ryder, standing before me on the ceremonial dais of the Ashford pack, the entire pack watching. His face was a mask of cold duty, his brown eyes holding no trace of the boy I’d grown up with. The air was thick with the scent of burning sage and shattered promises.
His voice, when he spoke, was clear and formal, each word a perfectly crafted blade. "I, Zane Ryder, Alpha of the Ashford Pack, reject you, Elara Thorne, as my mate."
I remembered the collective gasp of the pack. I remembered the feeling of our bond, already weakened by his distance, stretching thin. Tearing. It wasn't a clean break. It was a violent rip, a shredding of my very soul that left me gasping on the floor, hollowed out and worthless. He had turned and walked away without a backward glance.
The memory was so vivid I felt the phantom agony in my chest again. That pain was why I was here. That public humiliation was why I’d agreed to this alliance with Kaelen. I had needed a shield, and he had needed a Luna to appease his council. Simple. Clean.
But there was nothing simple about the mark on my neck or the thrum of a Fated bond singing in my veins.
I turned on the shower, twisting the steel knob until the water was scalding hot. Stepping under the spray, I let it sluice over my skin, plastering my hair to my face. I scrubbed at the spot on my neck, my nails digging into the bruised flesh as if I could somehow wash the mark away, erase the feeling of his teeth sinking into me. The water couldn't drown out the echo of Zane’s voice, a cold, final pronouncement: *I reject you*. And now, it clashed with the phantom feeling of Kaelen’s claim, the possessive, undeniable thrum of our new bond. The emotion that filled the hollow space inside me wasn't relief. It was a cold, lonely dread.
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Fated to My Best Friend's Father of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels

7.3
I was tracing the gold paint on my own tombstone when a hand tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Clayton.
The same man who, five years ago, had left me bleeding out in a ditch because he didn't want to be late for my sister's engagement party.
"Die quietly, Ivy," he had said over the phone before hanging up.
Now, standing over my grave, he dropped his cheap plastic flowers in shock.
"Ivy? You're... we buried you."
They hadn't buried me.
They had buried an empty box to save face, mourning a "troubled" daughter they had actually discarded like broken trash the moment I became a liability.
Clayton's shock quickly turned to that familiar, arrogant anger.
He accused me of faking my death for attention.
He told me I was sick for putting the family through such pain.
He even reached out to grab my arm, intending to drag me back to my father to apologize.
"You're coming with me," he spat. "You owe us an explanation."
But he made a fatal mistake.
He thought he was talking to Ivy Dillard, the soft girl who cried when she skinned her knees.
He didn't notice the town car waiting at the curb, or the man stepping out of it.
Before Clayton's fingers could graze my coat, a hand made of steel caught his wrist.
Collin Richardson, the most feared Capo in Chicago, stepped between us.
"Touch my wife again," Collin whispered, his voice promising violence. "And you lose the hand."
I smiled at the terror draining the color from Clayton's face.
I didn't come back from the dead to explain myself.
I came back to bury them.

7.9
He holds my face firmly between two hands. "Sienna, I'm not going to have you for the first time one of Maren's guest rooms when you're intoxicated."
"You're not?"
"No. It will be in my bed, and I'm going to take my time with you." His gaze falls to my lips. "Fuck Sienna, I'm going to take all night."
***
Sienna has been in love with her Alpha since she could remember.
He's rough, dangerous and the epitome of raw sex appeal. The problem is, he is her best friend, and strictly off limits.
Tradition mandates he marry a woman of noble birth, and that is not her.
She knows this is for the best, until she becomes his mistress, and things start to change. As she falls for her best friend, she must reconcile a deadly secret she has been keeping from him for years, that could change everything.
Onyx has sacrificed everything to become Alpha. So, not marrying for love shouldn't be such an issue.
His entire life he has denied his feelings for his best friend, until he is forced to take her as his mistress to grant her protection.
With threats growing against them, and when his prospective wife candidates start showing up murdered, he make some difficult decisions.
**Dual POV, friends-to-lovers, Alpha, mates, 18+**

7.2
Genevieve woke up choking on her own blood, a fatal gash tearing through her abdomen. The memories of a primitive world crashed into her mind—she had transmigrated into the body of a sadistic beastman Mistress.
But the five powerful beastmen "mates" standing over her hadn't come to her rescue. They had come to watch their tormentor die.
"We should just leave her," Kameron sneered coldly. "The scavengers will clean up the mess."
Gilberto spat in disgust, while Angelo, a silver-scaled snake-man, trembled in pure terror at the sight of her. The original owner had whipped them, humiliated them, and driven another mate to suicide. Now, they were letting her bleed out in the mud, their eyes filled with undisguised loathing and satisfaction.
She was a top-tier apocalyptic survival expert, yet here she was, paying the ultimate price for a stranger's monstrous sins. It was a bitter, unacceptable irony to die helplessly in the dirt while her supposed protectors waited for her corpse to rot.
She refused to accept this ending.
Forcing a chaotic surge of energy through their shared Biological Link, she brought all five men to their knees in agonizing pain, commanding them to carry her back. In the dark cave, without a single scream, she plunged her bare hands into a fire and brutally cauterized her own gaping wound with searing ash. As the beastmen stared in horrified awe at the unbreakable soul now occupying the tyrant's body, Genevieve wiped the blood from her face and began to rewrite her fate.

7.9
I woke up in a sterile hospital room, my head split open from a horrific car crash.
But the pain in my skull was nothing compared to the memory burned into my retinas just before the impact: my billionaire husband, Dawson, walking into a luxury hotel with a woman who looked exactly like his dead first love.
When Dawson finally arrived at the ward, there was no panic or relief in his eyes. He just coldly looked at my bloody bandages.
"Your reckless driving just forced me to postpone the quarterly board meeting."
Even our seven-year-old son, who I almost died giving birth to, didn't spare me a single glance. He kicked my hospital bed in annoyance.
"The Wi-Fi here is garbage. You're a bad mom! Dad said Aunt Angelita should be the one living with us!"
My blood turned to ice. For five years, I had bent over backward, wearing the hideous pale dresses he picked, starving myself to maintain a fragile figure, all to be a perfect, obedient substitute for a ghost.
And this was what I got. An unfaithful husband who would rather bury me in debt than grant me a divorce, and a son who wished I was dead.
The weak, subservient Charlene died on that wet asphalt.
When the doctor pointed to Dawson and asked for his name, I looked at my husband with a hollow, defensive stare.
"Who are you?" I whispered.
Using retrograde amnesia as my shield, I was going to tear their perfect world apart.

7.6
After an exhausting fourteen-hour flight, Katia returned to her Upper East Side penthouse, expecting the quiet comfort of the life she had built.
Instead, she found a pair of familiar red stilettos in the foyer and her fiancé, Caleb, tangled in their bedsheets with his twenty-two-year-old assistant.
She didn't scream or cry. She simply took off her three-carat engagement ring, threw it at his bare chest, and demanded he buy out her half of the penthouse by Friday.
Seeking to numb the sickening disgust, she got blackout drunk and crashed at a luxury hotel, accidentally stumbling into the wrong suite.
Thinking the imposing man inside was a high-end escort hired by her friend, she threw him over her shoulder and spent a wild night with him.
The next morning, she left five thousand dollars on his nightstand with a lipstick-stained note.
"Good Job."
For six years, she had funded Caleb's dreams and built his startup from the ground up, only to be treated like a lifeless ATM.
With ruthless precision, she spent the next two months systematically bankrupting his company, cutting off his venture capital, and erasing his life's work.
She felt no heartbreak, only a cold, calculating need to cleanse herself of his betrayal.
But when Katia finally returned to corporate headquarters to co-lead a massive merger, she literally crashed into the new Vice President.
Strong arms caught her waist, and the sharp scent of cedarwood and whiskey hit her like a freight train.
"You came back," Jackson whispered, his eyes burning as he stared at the woman who had treated him like a cheap gigolo.

8.3
Ayleen Ramirez sat in the sterile Hope Hill Fertility Clinic, her heart shattering as Dr. Finch delivered the crushing news: her third IVF cycle had failed.
Eavesdropping outside a supply closet, she overheard her husband Don on the phone, laughing cruelly. "She's a defective incubator," he sneered to his mistress Alessandra. "I never used my sperm—just cheap bank donation. No trailer trash carries a Bradley heir."
Betrayed, Ayleen confronted him, but her adoptive family ambushed her at home. Her parents and brother sided with Alessandra, now pregnant by Don, demanding Ayleen sign divorce papers to secure family investments. "You're an embarrassment," her mother snapped, threatening to cut her trust fund. Ayleen tossed back their heirloom necklace and walked out.
She stormed the Bradley mansion, slapped divorce papers on Don, packed her bags amid his aunt's insults, and fled into the night.
Drunk in a trendy bar, she stumbled into a powerful stranger—Burdette Guerrero—spilling whiskey on his crotch, then accidentally grabbed a napkin to his trousers. He shoved her away in rage.
Worse, she mistook his penthouse suite for her hotel room, bursting in on his shower, smashing a mirror in panic. He pinned her to the wall, snarling accusations.
How did this arrogant man know her name? Why demand she sign a mysterious contract at 9 a.m.? Devastated and clueless she's actually pregnant—with his stolen heir—Ayleen sobbed alone, the world crumbling.
The next morning, she straightened her spine in the Grand Guerrero lobby, ready to face him and demand answers—no matter the cost.











