Forsaken for a Fake: The True Luna's Revenge
My husband, Alpha Kaeden, once looked at me with adoration. But after he brought Clemmie home, his eyes turned cold, glazed over by the "herbal tea" she fed him.
Now, I lay chained to a steel table in the dungeon, the smell of my own burning flesh filling the air.
Kaeden stood over me, indifferent to my screams. He ordered the guards to electrocute me through silver cuffs—the poison of our kind—even though he knew I was carrying his pup.
But torture wasn't the end goal. I froze when I heard the doctor’s question.
"The transplant carries risks, Alpha. Taking a heart from a living donor..."
Clemmie didn't just want my husband; she wanted my heart to cure her "sickness" and steal my White Wolf power.
I waited for Kaeden to refuse. Instead, he rubbed his temples and delivered my death sentence.
"Harvest the heart. Dispose of the rest."
"And the fetus?" the doctor asked.
"Incinerate it."
Those words killed me faster than the silver. I died on the operating table that night, my heart flatlining for three minutes to stage my death.
Kaeden thinks I am ash in a jar. He thinks he saved his mistress.
But when I opened my eyes in the safe house, they weren't brown anymore. They were glowing silver.
Beside me, my daughter slept, alive and radiating ancient power.
The weak Luna is dead. The White Wolf has risen.
And I am going home to take back my pack.
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Chapter 3
POV: Alois
I hacked the electronic lock on the dungeon door in fourteen seconds.
As a former Gamma-the tactician and strategist of the pack-I knew the security protocols better than the Alpha himself. I had been demoted to the IT department because Clemmie didn't like the way I looked at her.
She was right to be suspicious. I knew a snake when I saw one.
The door hissed open. I sprayed a cloud of "Scent Mask" aerosol over myself. It smelled like chemically synthesized mud and ozone, designed to hide a wolf's natural odor from other predators.
I stepped inside and nearly retched.
The smell of blood was overwhelming.
"Luna," I whispered.
Daria lay on the table. She looked like a broken doll. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, contrasting with the dark red stains soaking the metal beneath her.
I rushed forward, pulling a lockpick from my pocket. My hands shook. Not from fear, but from rage.
I remembered two years ago. I was dying from a Rogue bite that had gone septic. The healers had given up. Daria had come to the infirmary. She sat by my bed for three nights, wiping my fevered brow. She even gave me her own blood for a transfusion when the supplies ran low.
Her blood had burned like fire in my veins, but it healed me in hours.
I owed her my life.
"Alois?" Her voice was a cracked whisper. Her eyes fluttered open. They were glazed with pain.
"I've got you," I said, working the pick into the silver cuffs. "Hold on."
Click.
The cuff sprang open. I freed her hands and feet. The burns on her wrists were deep, the flesh raw and angry.
I scooped her up into my arms. She weighed nothing. It felt like carrying a ghost.
"Leave me," she murmured, her head lolling against my chest. "He will kill you."
"Let him try," I growled.
I carried her out of the cell, moving silently through the corridors. The pack house was quiet. Most of the warriors were at the border, distracted by a fake Rogue sighting I had generated in the system ten minutes ago.
We reached the underground garage. My modified SUV was waiting, the engine idling silently.
I opened the back door and laid Daria gently on the seat. She was shivering violently. Shock was setting in.
"Stay with me, Daria," I said. "We're almost out."
I jumped into the driver's seat and gunned the engine. The tires squealed on the concrete as we shot toward the exit ramp.
Suddenly, a figure stepped out from the shadows, blocking the exit.
It was Marcus, the Beta. The Alpha's second-in-command.
He stood with his arms crossed, his massive frame filling the lane. His nose twitched.
He couldn't smell Daria because of the blood loss and the silver in her system suppressing her wolf. He couldn't smell me because of the masking spray.
But he could smell the fear.
I slammed on the brakes, the car skidding to a halt inches from his knees.
Marcus walked to the driver's side window. He tapped on the glass.
My heart hammered against my ribs. If I shifted now, I would destroy the car and kill Daria. I had to bluff.
I rolled the window down two inches.
"In a hurry, IT boy?" Marcus asked, his eyes scanning the dark interior of the car.
"Server crash at the downtown office," I lied, keeping my voice steady. "Alpha Kaeden will skin me alive if the financial data is lost."
Marcus sniffed the air again. He frowned. "I smell... ozone. And something metallic."
"Cleaning supplies," I said. "Spilled some in the back."
Marcus leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. He looked at the backseat. Daria was covered by a blanket I had thrown over her, but a stray hand was visible.
"What's under the blanket?" Marcus asked, his voice dropping an octave.
I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white.
"Marcus," I said, dropping the act. "Look at me."
Marcus met my eyes. He saw the desperation there.
"You know what's happening upstairs," I whispered. "You know it's wrong. You have a daughter, Marcus. Would you let Kaeden carve her up for that witch?"
Marcus stiffened. His gaze flicked to the blanket, then back to the gate controls. He had always been loyal, but he wasn't blind. He hated Clemmie as much as I did.
He reached for the door handle, hesitated, and then pulled his hand back.
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8.2
After years of marriage, Adrian Foster still only spoke to me in bed.
The moment he got out of it, the warmth vanished, replaced by cold indifference.
I, Nora Bennett, had endured it all in silence, hoping that if I stayed obedient, he might show our daughter, Nina Foster, a little more care.
Yet in his eyes, Sophia Graham was his one and only-the woman he put on a pedestal, shielding and indulging her at every turn.
For her child, he had even taken my daughter's bone marrow.
In that moment, I finally understood. I was nothing more than a pawn in his battle with the woman he truly loved.
So I stopped holding on. I took my daughter and left without hesitation.
8.7
Bloodhoundhearts
8.7
Aiden is the Bloodhound the Council's most feared assassin, a vampire prince whose soul has been hollowed out by centuries of shadow and state-sanctioned slaughter. Elena is a Seer of the Vance line a woman of the mountain whose silver flame was meant to heal, not to spark a revolution. When their paths collide in the high spires of a corrupt capital, they don't just find love; they ignite a war that spans from the depths of the Sunken Vaults to the spectral currents of the Forbidden Coast.
Now, fleeing the ruins of a broken empire, they carry the ultimate secret: Caelum, a child of the Harmony. Born during a solar eclipse, he is the Third Way a hybrid heir with the power to either unite the warring forces of light and dark or become a beacon of chaos that levels the continent.
With the mechanical genius of a mad inventor, the iron will of a blacksmith's son, and the cryptic guidance of a five-hundred-year-old Oracle, Aiden and Elena must protect their son from enemies both ancient and new. From the obsidian breach-engines of the Council to the void-stained magic of Lyra, the first fallen Seer, the hunt is on.
In a realm where blood defines destiny, can a monster become a father? Can a healer survive the abyss? And when the choice comes to sacrifice half of his soul, will the Child of the Harmony have the strength to forge a new dawn?
7.6
When the kidnapper pressed a tactical knife to Falon's throat and demanded a one-million-dollar ransom, she was certain her fiancé would pay.
Instead, Jerod's annoyed voice echoed through the speaker. He was busy cutting a cake with his fragile, manipulative mistress, Abby.
"Do whatever you want with her," Jerod told the thug. "I am done."
The call disconnected. Left to die, Falon was injected with a lethal black-market aphrodisiac. She fought her way out, escaping into the freezing rain, and threw herself at the mercy of a stranger in a black Maybach. That stranger was Bell Farrell, a ruthless billionaire and Jerod's biggest corporate rival. To survive the burning drug and shatter the memories of her fiancé's betrayal, she gave herself to the devil that night.
The next morning, Falon woke up in a stranger's bed, staring at her bruised skin. For four years, she had endured her abusive family's cruelty, watching them treat her fake, adopted sister like a princess while using Falon as a corporate pawn. She had compromised everything for Jerod, only to be thrown away like garbage.
Why did she have to suffer while the people who destroyed her played the victims?
Falon took off her five-carat engagement ring and threw it in the trash.
She put on a sharp black suit and crashed her family's elite ballroom gala, ready to burn their high-society facade to the ground.
7.6
The drill's whine was the only thing in my world, vibrating through my skull and drowning out my own screams.
I was strapped to a cold metal table, paralyzed by wolfsbane, while surgeons bored into my hip bone to siphon my essence.
"Just a little more," the surgeon muttered. "Isabella needs the boost for the wedding photos."
They weren't saving my sister's life. They were harvesting my marrow just to make her skin glow for a picture.
I looked at the observation window, begging with my eyes.
Dante, the Alpha I had dragged from the jaws of death, stood there. He wasn't looking at me. He was holding Isabella's hand.
He didn't know I was the one who healed him. He believed her lies.
"Take it all if you have to," Dante's voice drifted through our fading mate bond. "Don't let her fade."
The drill punched through. My heart stuttered and stopped.
I died on that table, a hollowed-out husk used to feed my sister's vanity.
"Seraphina! Are you deaf?"
A sharp voice snapped me back into existence.
I gasped, clutching my hip. No blood. No drill. No pain.
I looked at the calendar on my father's desk.
I was alive. And I had exactly one year before the surgery that killed me.
I looked at my trembling hands and felt the ancient anger of my White Wolf stirring.
I wasn't going to be the sacrifice this time.
I was going to be the arsonist.
8.9
I was the lead architect for the Pack's billion-dollar tech company, and I was secretly carrying the Alpha's heir.
I thought the merger would finally make Caleb Mark me.
Instead, I walked into my office to find a mistress sitting in my chair.
Caleb didn't just fire me. When I refused to hand over the encryption keys to the system I built, he locked me in a reinforced closet lined with silver mesh.
For a pregnant wolf, silver is poison.
I pounded on the door until my knuckles bled.
"Caleb! Please! It burns! I'm losing the baby!"
I screamed until my voice broke, feeling the life drain from my womb.
But outside the door, his mistress laughed. "Don't listen to her, Caleb. She's just a weak Omega faking it for attention."
And my Fated Mate believed her.
He left me in that dark box while our son died in a pool of my own blood.
He thought he had broken me. He thought I would die a silent death so he could parade his fake heir around.
He forgot one thing: I wrote the code that runs his entire life.
Three days later, I didn't show up to the hospital morgue.
I rolled my wheelchair onto the stage of his global press conference, flanked by the rival Alpha he feared most.
I held up the remote to the main server.
"You killed my son for a lie, Caleb," I smiled into the microphone as the screens behind him broadcast the footage of his crime. "Now, say goodbye to your empire."
9.1
The Billionaire's Blood Debt
Two empires. One scorched-earth debt. No mercy.
Elara Vance was never supposed to be more than a pawn-the brilliant architect daughter of a man who traded souls for power. But when the world's financial foundations crumble, she finds herself signed over to the one man capable of burning her father's legacy to the ground: Dante Moretti.
Dante is no savior. He is the "Lion of the Underground," a billionaire predator fueled by a decades-old vendetta. He didn't just buy Elara's freedom; he bought her life, her loyalty, and her every breath. In his obsidian tower, the lines between prisoner and queen blur in a fever dream of high-stakes espionage and raw, primal obsession.
As they hunt a shadowy global cabal from the neon streets of London to the ancient ruins of Greece, Elara discovers that the only thing more dangerous than Dante's enemies is the "disgusting" heat of his touch. In a world where every secret is a weapon and every kiss is a betrayal, she must decide: will she dismantle the system that caged her, or become the ultimate weapon for the man who owns her soul?
The debt is blood. The price is total surrender.