Mate's VENGEANCE
To destroy him, I've traded my pride for a maid's uniform.
My plan is simple: infiltrate his estate, seduce him into breaking his royal engagement, and lead his enemies to his doorstep. I want to see his pack burn. I want to see the light leave those storm-grey eyes as how he did to my mate
Chapters
Share
Chapter 2
The rain soaked through her coat now, but Sera didn't move. She needed to say this. Needed Marcus to hear it, even if he was beyond hearing anything.
"Seduction is an art. It's not about being the most beautiful-though I'll make sure I'm beautiful enough. It's about timing. About reading what someone needs and becoming that thing. It's about making them think pursuing you is their idea."
She'd watched Marcus fall for her with barely any effort on her part-they'd been true mates, destined, inevitable. But she'd learned from that experience. Learned how to read desire, how to feed it, how to manipulate the space between wanting and having until it became unbearable.
She would use every weapon she had.
"I'll engineer encounters that seem accidental. I'll dress just provocatively enough to catch his eye but not so much that it seems deliberate. I'll be vulnerable at exactly the right moments. I'll share carefully calculated pieces of truth wrapped in lies. I'll make him want to protect me, save me, possess me."
Her voice dropped to barely a whisper.
"And when he's completely in love with me, when he's canceled his mating ceremony, when he's made himself vulnerable in every possible way..." She looked up at the grey sky, rain streaming down her face. "That's when I'll destroy him. That's when everything he loves will turn to ash. And in his final moments, before his world ends completely, I'll tell him why. I'll tell him it's because he killed you."
Somewhere in the hollow space where her wolf used to be, she felt the faintest flicker. Not life, exactly. But acknowledgment. Agreement.
This was right. This was justice.
"Wait for me," Sera whispered, pressing one hand to her chest where the mate bond had once lived, warm and golden and perfect. Now there was just scar tissue and ice. "This won't take long. Six weeks-maybe eight at most. And then..."
She didn't finish the sentence. Didn't say what would happen then, after the revenge was complete and Kael Stormridge was destroyed and Marcus was avenged.
She didn't know if there would be anything left of her after. Didn't know if she cared.
Sera turned and walked away from the grave without looking back. The rain fell harder, washing away her footprints, erasing the evidence that she'd ever been there at all.
By the time she reached her car at the cemetery gates, she'd wiped the tears from her face and straightened her spine. Sera Blackwood, the grieving mate, was dead. She'd died six months ago in that alley along with Marcus.
In her place was something colder. Sharper. More dangerous.
A weapon with a single purpose, wrapped in soft skin and false smiles.
A hunter who'd already chosen her prey.
She started the car and pulled out her phone, checking her messages. One new email, received three hours ago:
From: Elder Moira Silvermoon Estate
Subject: Employment Opportunity
Dear Miss Blackwood,
Thank you for your application to the housekeeping position at Silvermoon Estate. After reviewing your references and qualifications, we would like to invite you for an interview. Would tomorrow at 2 PM be convenient?
Please respond at your earliest convenience.
Regards,
Elder Moira
Head of Household Staff
Sera's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Tomorrow," she said to the empty car, to the ghost of Marcus that would haunt her forever, to the cold and pitiless thing she'd become. "Tomorrow it begins."
She typed out a response with steady hands:
Dear Elder Moira,
Tomorrow at 2 PM would be perfect. Thank you for this opportunity. I look forward to meeting you.
Sincerely,
Sera Blackwood
She hit send.
Then she sat in the car for a long moment, engine running, watching the rain stream down the windshield like tears the sky was crying on her behalf.
Inside her chest, where her wolf used to live, there was still only silence. No excitement. No anticipation. No fear. Just cold, focused determination.
She felt nothing when she thought about Alpha Kael Stormridge. No instinctive response to his power, no curiosity about him as a potential mate. Her wolf was too broken to recognize anything anymore, and her human half was too consumed with revenge to care about anything else.
Perfect.
Emotional detachment would make this easier. Would let her do what needed to be done without hesitation or guilt.
Sera put the car in gear and drove away from the cemetery, leaving Marcus behind in the rain. She had preparations to make. A role to perfect. A monster to become.
"I'm coming for you, Alpha Kael," she whispered to the storm. "And you'll never see me coming until it's far too late."
The rain washed away her words, but the vow remained, carved into her heart like Marcus's name on that headstone.
A mate for a mate.
You may also like
9.6
One hundred years ago, the witches cursed every she-wolf to be barren.
It was vengeance for their slain matriarch. It was meant to end the war. Instead, it nearly ended the werewolf race.
Werewolves were forced to interbreed with humans to survive, and the once-proud kingdoms fractured. Only one bloodline remained untouched by the curse, the ancient Lycans of Lupenreich, protected by powerful shamanic magic. Coveted by werewolves, hunted by witches, despised by vampires, the Lycans became both salvation and threat.
And now, only one true heir remains...
Sybil von Rosen was never meant to grow up among humans. Born a Lycan princess through a human surrogate, she was stolen from the castle as an infant by the very woman meant to nurse her, a woman who turned out to be a witch.
Hidden beneath a powerful spell that caged her wolf and erased her scent from the supernatural world, Sybil was raised knowing exactly who she was... and exactly what she had been bred for.
A womb. A crown. Her bloodline's legacy.
But Sybil was never meant to be a broodmare queen.
She grew up human with the strength and senses of a shewolf and the magic of the witches, which got transferred to her while she was still in the womb of her surrogate.
She's strong, intelligent, disciplined, and lethal. An MMA champion. A combat instructor for a private military contractor. A woman who learned to fight before she ever learned to howl.
When the magic of her witch mother begins to fade, and the werewolf King finally tracks them down, Sybil is summoned back to a kingdom that remembers her only as its missing heir.
Betrayed by her hybrid fiancé, who abandoned her to marry the princess of their kingdom, Sybil made a decision that will shake three kingdoms.
She returned. Not for love. Not for duty. For revenge...
But the throne comes with chains.
Instead of marrying one Alpha, she is bound to four-the Alpha Guardians of Lupenreich. Ruthless. Powerful. Pureblood. Feared across kingdoms. And fate claims they are her mates.
There's only one problem.
Sybil cannot feel her wolf, for it was caged deep within her soul. She cannot smell her mates. She is a Lycan princess trapped in a wolfless body.
While her four Alphas believe they are claiming their future Luna and Queen, Sybil is already planning something far more dangerous.
She will not stand beside a king.
She will not be used to breed to secure bloodlines.
And she certainly will not be ruled.
If the kingdom wants a queen... They're about to kneel to a rebel queen.
Because Sybil von Rosen is not an ordinary Luna.
She is the last Lycan heir. The forbidden daughter of witches. The mate of four Alpha Guardians.
And she intends to take the throne for herself and will bow to no one.
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.
8.9
I lay on a mildewed mattress in a run-down motel, my body trembling from withdrawal. Once the most feared "Gossip Queen" in Hollywood, I was now a forty-three-year-old ghost staring at a cracked mirror, waiting for the end.
The door clicked open, and Brittany Potts stepped in, looking immaculate in a beige trench coat that cost more than my life. She didn't come to help; she tossed a waiver of marital assets onto my bed and handed me a cup of coffee laced with something that smelled like bitter almonds.
She laughed, telling me my husband, Bennet, was already in the Bahamas celebrating my death. I froze when I saw the sapphire pendant around her neck—my mother’s necklace, which had vanished the day she died. As the poison began to burn through my chest, Brittany leaned in and whispered her final secret: she was the one who cut the brake lines on the car that killed my father when we were teenagers.
My entire life had been a lie. The pills, the scandal, the bankruptcy—it was all a masterpiece of betrayal orchestrated by the two people I trusted most. I died on that filthy floor, suffocating on my own rage and the taste of chemicals, praying for a single chance to make them pay.
But when I opened my eyes, the pain was gone. I was sitting in my old bedroom, the morning sun shining on a calendar that read September 15, 2024. My mother’s voice, warm and alive, called me for breakfast from downstairs. I was eighteen again, back in my senior year at Crestview Academy, and the monsters who destroyed me were still pretending to be my friends. This time, I’m the one who holds the shears.
8.3
I never thought I could find myself sucking the dìck of a man I should call father and made him moan out so loud. I found myself going back to have him finger and pound my clit, ripping moans off my throat as day passed by. I found myself moaning to him every single day, taking all his sexual command and fantasies, being daddy's naughty girl and wishing for nothing other than his 8 inches dick buried deep into my wet clit.
I grew up invisible, the illegitimate daughter of a woman who valued status more than motherhood. While she chased elite society, I learned to survive on my own, retreating into art and quiet fantasies of being chosen by someone who would finally see my worth.
Everything changes when my mother marries Calder Rhys, a billionaire widower seeking stability, not love. Thrust into a world of wealth and rigid expectations, I moved into the Rhys mansion and met Wells, Calder's polished and charismatic son. Drawn to him despite knowing he is unavailable, I mistake attention for affection, unaware that my longing is about to pull me into something far more dangerous.
A single mistake blurs boundaries that should never be crossed.
Caught between a mother who sees me as a liability, an elite society eager to destroy me, and a man whose influence could either protect or ruin me, I must decide who I want to become.
9.1
"Stop this God forsaken wedding!!" I boom, my voice resonating through the halls of the church.
Murmurs fill the air as eyes turn to me, dressed in nothing but rags. My grip tightens on the bat in my right hand.
How dare they? How dare he?
My eyes burn as I match forward, my body trembling with rage.
"Clara, what–"
His words are barely out before I send my hand forward, swinging the bat at him.
Thick red blood spurts out as screams fill the air.
~~~~~
Clara Anthony thought it was love when she took the fall for a theft her husband committed just a few weeks after she gave birth.
Thought she was doing the right thing for him, for them, but she was wrong because on the day she came out three years later, she found out he was getting married to her best friend of ten years.
Her whole world shatters as she watches her best friend take her life, her husband, and her daughter.
Left with nothing but pain and a deep ache for revenge. She teams up with the one person she swore never to look at again, the one person everyone thought was dead.
Spencer Anthony, twin to her husband and her first love, the same man who left her without a word.
Now he is back from the dead, not as the same man she once knew, but a cold, heartless mafia man who wants nothing but destruction.
As Spencer offers her a chance to reclaim her life and daughter. Filled with nothing but hate, she takes up the offer, determined to make everyone pay.
But what she didn't know when going close to Spencer was that when dining with the devil, you use a long spoon.
7.6
I was the Chicago Outfit's princess, and Luca and Matteo were my sworn protectors. We had mixed our blood at ten years old, promising that nothing would ever touch me.
But that oath turned to ash the night Sofia Ricci aimed a Roman candle at my chest.
The firework slammed into my shoulder, igniting my silk dress instantly. As I rolled on the concrete, screaming while the flames ate into my skin, I waited for my boys to save me.
They didn't.
Instead, I watched through the smoke as they rushed to Sofia. They wrapped their jackets—the ones meant to shield me—around the girl who had just set me on fire, comforting her because the "kickback" had scared her.
They let me burn to keep her warm.
When I woke up in the hospital with permanent scars, they brought me a letter of apology from her and defended her "accident." They even cut their palms to pay her debt, ignoring the fact that I was the one in bandages.
That was the moment Elena Vitiello died.
I didn't scream. I didn't beg. I simply packed my bags and defected to the one place they couldn't follow: the arms of Dante Moretti, the lethal Capo of New York.
By the time they realized their mistake and came crawling back to beg in the rain, I was already wearing another man's ring.
"You want forgiveness?" I asked, looking down at them.
"Burn for it."