Goodbye Alpha, I'm No Longer Your Blood Bag
Zarelle Feymere-heiress to the most powerful werewolf dynasty in the world-made one mistake: she fell for an Alpha who saw her as nothing more than a rare blood bag.
For three years, she endured the humiliation of a loveless mating, her veins tapped like a commodity to sustain the woman Calden Ashmoor truly loved, Thessaly. His fated mate, who rejected him to marry his brother.
When a web of lies and betrayal is uncovered, Zarelle does the unthinkable: she walks away.
Now, stripped of her disguise as a docile omega, the true daughter of the Missatian Pack returns to claim her birthright-and her revenge.
Calden always thought he'd married a nobody.
He never expected his discarded mate to come back as a queen.
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Chapter 4
_Zarelle's POV_
The tires crunched over the estate's gravel drive, each sound making my pulse jump. Through the tinted windows, the ancestral oaks stood like silvered sentinels, their branches swaying in a welcome I wasn't sure I deserved.
Cyric's hand settled on mine before I could start chewing my nails. "Breathe, little wolf."
I stepped out into air so thick with pack magic it made my teeth hum. Three years. Three years since I'd last smelled the crisp mountain sage woven through our territory markers, heard the wind chimes singing from the west garden where Mother's memorial stood.
The double doors yawned open before we reached them.
Father stood framed in the doorway, the morning light gilding his broad shoulders. The newspaper crumpled in his grip betrayed his pretense of nonchalance.
"So," his voice rumbled like distant thunder, "my runaway pup finally slinks home."
I didn't let him finish.
The collision knocked the breath from us both. His arms-those same arms that had swung me onto his shoulders when I was a cub-locked around me with terrifying gentleness. Vanilla and aged whiskey, the scent that had always meant safety, flooded my senses.
"You didn't even let me deliver my prepared Alpha speech," he grumbled into my hair. I felt his lips brush my temple. "Twelve bullet points about responsibility. Historical examples. Everything."
I laughed wetly against his chest. "Recite it now. I'll listen."
He held me at arm's length, his calloused thumbs wiping tears I hadn't realized were falling. When his gaze dropped to the faint scars circling my inner elbows, something feral flashed in his gold-flecked eyes.
Cyric's growl harmonized with Father's. The pack bonds thrummed between us, alive with shared fury.
No words needed. They'd seen everything. Known everything.
"Sunlight Ridge won't touch you again." Father's voice carried the weight of centuries-old Alpha bloodlines. "That Ashmoor pup wouldn't survive the conversation if he dared set paw on our territory."
I exhaled the last of Calden's hold on me. "I'm done with him."
Father's nostrils flared, testing my resolve. Whatever he found made him nod once before pulling me back into the shelter of his embrace. "Welcome home, princess."
Beyond the windows, the pack howls began-first one, then a dozen, then hundreds-a rising tide of voices celebrating the return of a daughter they'd never truly lost.
Father held me tight, his Alpha scent wrapping around me like armor.
"The Moon Goddess didn't make you to be some Alpha's footnote, pup." The words rumbled through his chest. "Your true mate will recognize your worth."
I leaned into his touch, the last of my tension dissolving. "I know."
Cyric's boots thudded against the hardwood as he sprawled across the sofa arm. "Reservation at Lutter & Wegner at eight. Private dining room."
Father's eyebrow arched-the only warning before his Alpha voice dropped like a gavel. "Shouldn't you be reviewing the Tokyo acquisition?"
"Delegated." Cyric flashed his canines in that reckless grin that always made our accountants weep. "Priorities, old man."
The corner of Father's mouth twitched. For all his bluster, he'd never been able to resist Cyric's charm.
"Speaking of priorities," Cyric continued, nodding toward me, "Elle's agreed to take her seat at the table."
Father's gaze sharpened. Three years ago, he'd been preparing me to oversee our European holdings-an omega breaking traditions in a world of Alpha CEOs. The fact that he'd kept the position open...
My spine straightened. "I'm ready to serve the pack."
No more chasing phantom love. No more shrinking myself to fit some Alpha's narrow expectations. Sunlight Ridge had tried to make me invisible, but here-
Here, I was a Feymere.
Father's approving growl vibrated through the room. "That's my blood." He clasped my elbow, steering me toward the grand staircase. "Tavion kept your nest ready."
"Uncle Tavion still remembers my midnight snack raids?" I laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in years.
"Please." Cyric rolled his eyes. "The man has a spreadsheet of your fruit preferences. Those Japanese grapes cost more than his monthly salary."
My childhood bedroom smelled of lavender and pack-of safety. Po the panda sat propped against the pillows, his threadbare arms outstretched as if he'd been waiting. I buried my face in his familiar softness, the last shards of Calden's hold on me crumbling to dust.
Father lingered in the doorway, his silhouette backlit by the afternoon sun. "Rest, pup. We'll howl the roof down tonight."
As the door clicked shut, I curled into the downy embrace of my nest. Somewhere beyond the leaded windows, the wind carried the distant chorus of packmates going about their day-the cooks preparing tonight's feast, the sentries changing shifts, the pups tumbling in the gardens.
The rhythm of a pack that had never stopped being mine.
***
_Alpha Merek's POV_
The door clicked shut behind me with the finality of a vault sealing. After three years, my daughter was finally home.
Downstairs, my son Cyric waited like a shadow at the foot of the grand staircase-my heir in every way that mattered.
I settled into my study chair, the ancient leather creaking under my weight. The light sliced through the window blinds, painting tiger stripes across the dossier in Cyric's hands.
"Show me."
No pleasantries. No preamble. Just the command of an Alpha who'd waited three years for this reckoning.
No one could leave unharmed after using my baby girl.
Cyric's smile was a blade unsheathed. The glow from his tablet painted eerie shadows across the sharp planes of his face as he tapped the screen.
"Thessaly Ashmoor," he murmured, the name dripping with disdain. "Born Thessaly Voss. Former mate to Calden... until she traded up for his older brother Daelen."
I leaned forward, the leather of my chair groaning in protest.
"Smart move," Cyric continued, swiping to a coronation announcement. "Daelen was Sunlight Ridge's heir apparent. Until..." A tap brought up a grainy battle report. "That convenient border skirmish three years ago."
My claws punched through the armrests. "You're suggesting-"
"-That grieving 'widow' just happened to return to her childhood sweetheart before the blood dried?" Cyric's golden eyes glinted. "And then our girl has been bled dry to keep that viper alive?"
The air thickened with the scent of burning cedar-my wolf rising to the surface. Three years. Three years I'd allowed this farce to continue for Zarelle's sake.
No more.
"Dig deeper," I growled. "I want every skeleton in that she-wolf's closet. Every whisper about that 'accidental' death."
Cyric's fangs gleamed in the dim light. "Already on it."
Good. Let's peel back Thessaly's lies layer by layer.
I stood, my shadow swallowing the moonlit wall behind me. "There's another important thing."
"We're hosting a banquet. Make it worthy of our bloodline-and Zarelle's homecoming."
My heir didn't need notes. I saw the calculations flashing behind his dark eyes-caterers, security, the delicate balance of politics and power. "Guest list parameters?"
A slow smile pulled at my lips. "Every Alpha worth their fangs." I let my claws extend just enough to score the armrest. "And ensure those Ashmoor pups receive their invitations personally."
The emphasis wasn't subtle.
This wasn't just a celebration-it was a hunt dressed in silk and champagne. Let the entire werewolf aristocracy see my daughter radiant in Missatian jewels. Let Calden watch as the omega he'd treated as disposable reclaimed her birthright.
"Understood, Father," Cyric bowed slightly before turning to leave. "I'll ensure the invitations reach everyone who should be there."
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7.6
Johana walked half a mile through a brutal blizzard just to secure a tutoring job with the elite Black family.
But the very night she was hired, she received a terrifying call from the ER—her quiet roommate, Hazelle, had been drugged and severely traumatized at a Hamptons party.
When Johana rushed to the hospital, she didn't find the police. Instead, she found a team of ruthless billionaires erasing the crime.
Leading them was Dalton Black, the cold, arrogant older brother of her new student.
Within minutes, Dalton's fixers wiped the hospital's security footage, deleted all digital evidence, and forcefully transferred Hazelle to a locked private psychiatric facility.
"We are ensuring her privacy."
Dalton's voice was devoid of emotion, treating the horrific assault like a minor PR glitch.
His friends mocked Johana's powerlessness, while Dalton authorized a blank check to pay for the private ward, effectively burying the scandal and buying their silence.
Johana stood in the sterile hallway, trembling with a mix of despair and absolute rage.
How could they destroy an innocent girl's life and simply pay to make it disappear? Why was the truth so easily erased by money?
She had no wealth, no connections, and no proof, but she refused to be a victim of their cover-up.
Staring directly into Dalton's intimidating, icy blue eyes, Johana made a vow.
"I don't want your money. I will find out what you monsters did to her."
She thought the billionaire heir would crush her on the spot, but instead, he watched her walk away and quietly ordered his assistant: "Find out everything about Johana Neal."
9.4
**Fortune between Us** is a fast-paced, dramatic tale of ambition, love, and power in the glamorous world of billionaires. Isabella Carter, a brilliant and determined strategist, navigates high-stakes corporate intrigue, rivalries, and sabotage while forging a complex, slowly unfolding romance with the enigmatic Alexander Blackwood. As secrets, betrayals, and crises threaten to unravel everything, Isabella must rely on intelligence, courage, and intuition to survive-and thrive-in a world where wealth, influence, and desire collide.
8.8
I spent three years hating Damien Castillo, the ruthless mafia Don who kidnapped me from my engagement party and ruined my reputation.
But in the end, it was my perfect fiancé, Julian, and my sweet half-sister, Sophia, who slipped the deadly poison into my wine.
As the venom burned through my veins in that freezing cellar, I watched Julian smile. He and Sophia had orchestrated my brutal death. She had been sleeping in his bed all along, intentionally miscarrying his bastard child just to frame me as 'impure' and strip me of my family's protection. My own father used me as a political pawn, letting them throw me away like garbage.
And Damien? The monster I had fought and despised for years marched straight into a suicide ambush for me. He was riddled with bullets, turning his body into a human shield just to buy me a few more seconds of life.
"Touch her and you die."
I died in that blood-soaked basement, clutching his lifeless body, suffocating on my own blind trust. Why did I ever believe the golden boy who betrayed me? Why did I fight the only man who truly loved me?
Opening my eyes again, the stench of copper and mold was gone, replaced by the scent of Cuban cigars and black silk.
I was back in 1928, on the exact night Damien stormed my engagement party and locked me in his penthouse.
This time, when the ruthless Don approached me, I didn't scream or run back to my killers. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him.
7.5
I spent ten years blindly devoted to my husband, Kyler, building a perfect life together.
When I went into premature labor, he held my hand and promised everything would be fine.
But the moment I woke up in the VIP delivery room, the doctor coldly declared my newborn daughter dead.
Kyler rushed in, his face a mask of grief, insisting on taking her body away immediately to handle the arrangements.
If I hadn't heard my supposedly dead baby's telepathic voice echoing in my head, I would have handed her over.
She told me Kyler had poisoned my prenatal vitamins to induce early labor.
He bribed the medical team to fake her death so he could harvest her rare stem cells to save his sick mistress.
And worse, he had pulled the security detail from our eight-year-old son's school.
He was letting cartel kidnappers take my boy just to force me to sign over my family's billionaire trust fund.
The man I kissed every morning was a monster wearing my husband's skin.
How could he smile at me while planning to murder our children and drain my family's wealth?
The sheer terror and betrayal tore my heart into a thousand jagged pieces.
But I didn't scream or confront him.
Instead, I faked a hysterical breakdown, clutched my baby tight, and quietly contacted my family's private mercenary team.
"File the injunctions. I want him destroyed by morning."
9.4
Sign these papers. Our marriage is over."
Amelia Hart froze. Her stomach tightened. She was carrying Damian Blackwood's child, and he had no idea.
For five years, she raised their son in secret, building her own life, her own career, and her own strength. But when Amelia returns to the city as a successful architect, she finds Damian standing in her path, the man who abandoned her without a second thought.
As the little boy she loves grows closer to the father he's never met, Amelia must navigate betrayal, ambition, and lingering heartbreak. Meanwhile, Vanessa Cole, Damian's former lover, schemes to keep them apart.
Will Damian be able to earn back Amelia's trust? Can Amelia forgive the man who left her alone to raise their child? Or will Vanessa's manipulation destroy any chance at redemption?
This is a story of love, loss, and the secrets that can shape a family, and the second chances that might heal it.
8.6
I was on my knees in the Ohio dirt, frantically scooping wet coffee grounds back into a torn trash bag while my foster mother screamed that I was a useless waste of space.
Then, ten black Escalades rolled into our rotting trailer park like a funeral procession, and a woman in silk fell to the mud, sobbing that she had finally found her "Elara."
I was whisked away to a mansion that looked like a castle, but the nightmare didn't end with a warm bed and sterilized air.
My brother Harlen looked at me with pure disgust, and when he slapped a chicken leg out of my hand at our first dinner, I instinctively dove under the table to eat it off the rug, begging for mercy through my tears.
My billionaire father, Arthur, watched in silent agony as I tried to wash my own rags in a gold-plated sink at dawn, terrified that I would be starved if I didn't "earn my keep."
He promised me a thousand silk dresses and ordered the trailer park bulldozed to the ground, but I still felt like a prey animal caught by very large, very sad predators.
The trauma wasn't a smudge I could wash off; it was a map of cigarette burns and bruises that I was desperate to hide from the family that had spent millions searching for me.
Just as I thought I might be safe, a black helicopter banked over the lawn, carrying a medical team and a cold order from my oldest brother, the "Shark" of New York.
"No one is ever taking you away," my father growled, shielding me from the men in white coats.
But as the rotors shook the windows, I realized that being found was only the beginning of a different kind of war within the Bridges empire.