Reborn As The Alphas' Hated Mate
I woke up in a lavish bedroom, only to find a man built like a god of war chained to my wall, glaring at me with pure, unadulterated hatred.
A glowing apparition appeared and told me I had died in a car crash and transmigrated into the body of Elara, a tyrant Luna. Worse, the chained man was Ryker, one of my six fated mates whom the original Elara had brutally tortured.
Because of her sadistic crimes-starving them, exiling them, and sending two of them on a suicide mission-my affinity with them was at negative five hundred. The apparition delivered my terrifying death sentence.
"In three days, at the Marking Ceremony, you will be killed by your six mates."
No matter what I did-freeing Ryker, sharing my food, or lifting their brother's exile-they viewed every act of kindness as a sick, twisted trap. They were just waiting for the punchline to my cruel joke, ready to expose me and end my life.
I was just a librarian who organized book clubs and paid my taxes. Why did the Goddess throw me into this doomed vessel to pay for a psychopath's blood debts? How was I supposed to survive when the men destined to love me were actively plotting to rip my throat out?
Cornered by their righteous fury, I realized playing defense wouldn't work. I grabbed a dagger, sliced my own palm over the ceremonial stone, and swore a blood oath to bring their missing brothers home-or initiate a soul-shattering Rejection Ceremony myself.
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Chapter 3
Elara Valerius POV:
Ryker stared at the key in my hand, his molten gold eyes narrowed to slits. He didn't move, didn't speak. He was a predator, coiled and wary, assessing a trap he couldn't yet comprehend. The silence stretched, thick with suspicion.
I understood. Why would he believe me?
Slowly, so as not to spook him, I bent down and placed the heavy iron key on the cold stone floor, about halfway between us. Then I took three steps back, raising my empty hands to shoulder height. It was a universal sign of surrender in my world, a gesture meant to show I was unarmed and not a threat. Here, I wasn't so sure what it meant.
He watched my every move, his gaze flickering from my face, to my hands, to the key. After a long, tense moment that felt like an eternity, he finally moved. He didn't walk towards the key. Instead, he used the length of his own chain, hooking the end of it around the key's loop and dragging it towards him across the floor. Clever. He never put himself in a vulnerable position.
As he worked the lock on his first wrist, his eyes never left me. They were burning holes into my soul, daring me to make a move, to reveal the punchline to this cruel joke. The lock clicked open. Then the second.
The moment the last silver chain fell away, clattering onto the floor, his power slammed into me. It was a physical wave of raw, untamed Alpha energy, a crushing force that buckled my knees and stole the air from my lungs. It was terrifying and, to the traitorous wolf inside me, utterly intoxicating.
I braced myself for the attack. For him to cross the room in a blur and snap my neck.
But he didn't.
He stood there, rubbing his raw, chafed wrists, his gaze fixed on me. It was a look I couldn't decipher, a maelstrom of hate, confusion, and something else I couldn't name. Without a single word, he turned and strode out of the room, his bare feet silent on the stone.
The heavy wooden door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone in the suffocating silence.
I collapsed onto the floor, my body trembling, my heart beating a frantic rhythm against my ribs. A faint shimmer in the corner of my vision drew my attention. The game-like panel was visible again.
**Ryker Blackwood:** Affinity: -495 (Abject Hatred)
It was a ridiculously small change. Five points. But it wasn't -500 anymore. It was a start.
Outside in the corridor, Ryker leaned his back against the cold stone wall, his head thrown back, his knuckles white. His wolf was a raging tempest inside him, a confusing mix of elation at its freedom, fury at its captor, and a deep, agonizing pull towards its mate. It was a bond he despised, a connection he wanted to sever with his own claws.
He slammed his fist into the wall. Pain flared, sharp and grounding. He welcomed it. It was a barrier against the confusion, a reminder of the hate that had kept him sane.
The sound drew his brother. Zane appeared at the end of the hall, his hazel eyes widening first with shock, then with concern as he saw Ryker standing free.
"Ryker?" He rushed forward, his voice a low whisper. "She… she did this?"
Ryker gave a curt, sharp nod, his jaw tight. "She's not right today. This is a new trap. I can feel it."
Zane's expression hardened, mirroring his brother's suspicion. "The more she deviates from the script, the more careful we need to be."
They moved into Zane's room. It was a stark contrast to my own—a simple cot, a wooden chest, a weapon rack on the wall. It was the room of a warrior, not a prince.
"I don't care what game she's playing," Ryker said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "The plan doesn't change."
Zane's gaze was grim. "At the Marking Ceremony?"
A murderous light flared in Ryker's golden eyes. "Yes. In front of the whole pack. We expose her for what she is, for what she's done. And then… we end her." It wasn't just about revenge. It had to be a public execution, a sanctioned act, to cleanse the pack of her poison.
"But Corbin and Silas…" Zane began, his voice laced with pain.
"We will avenge them," Ryker cut him off, his tone absolute. "It's all we can do for them now."
Back in my gilded cage, the adrenaline was fading, replaced by a gnawing, desperate hunger. I hadn't eaten in… I had no idea how long. I pushed myself to my feet and began to search the room.
I found wardrobes filled with exquisite gowns, drawers overflowing with glittering jewels, but not a single crumb of food. The original Elara had lived a life of pure indulgence, never concerning herself with something as mundane as sustenance. Servants brought her what she wanted, when she wanted it.
The hunger was making me dizzy, black spots dancing in my vision.
I heard footsteps outside the door and froze.
The door swung open and Zane stepped inside. His eyes, so much softer than his brother's, widened slightly as he took in my pale face and the disarray I'd created in my frantic search. He was here to watch me, I realized. To see what I'd do next.
This was my chance. My one and only chance to reach out to another of them.
I swallowed, my tongue feeling thick in my dry mouth. I licked my chapped lips and forced myself to meet his wary gaze. My voice was small, hesitant.
"Please… is there anything to eat?"
Zane stared at me, his face a mask of utter shock. He had likely come in here expecting screams, or demands, or some new, cruel decree. He had never, in a million years, expected the tyrant Luna to beg him for a piece of bread.
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7.6
He hated my gut!
I detested his arrogance!
I was supposed to be his ex-stepmother,but I hated pack politics and returned to the human community after Alpha Holt's death.
I was forced back to heal the wounds of the one that hated me the most, my stepson Adrian.
To the world he was the famous NHL golden boy of hockey and to the Frostfang pack, their feared Alpha.
But the moon goddess had another plan.
On the night he was crowned as Alpha, his father's mark faded from my neck and Adrian's mate bond burnt harshly on my skin. But fate wasn't done yet.
We were expected to team up to fight a common foe when we could barely stand each other.
Was our fate strong enough to overcome physical hatred?
7.6
I woke up to the suffocating smell of copper and sulfur, my fingers wrapped around a blood-soaked leather whip.
Hanging from an obsidian cross in front of me was a boy with silver hair and dead, golden eyes.
His pale chest was torn open to the bone.
I recognized those eyes immediately. I had spent three years describing them on my laptop.
He was Kamari Monroe, the tragic, overpowered protagonist of my own web novel.
And I wasn't just a bystander. I was Benedict Guerrero, the sadistic academy headmaster. The ultimate villain.
A reel of images flashed in my mind: my original ending. Kamari, fully awakened, skinning me alive and burning my soul in a furnace for forty-nine days.
My loyal attack dog, Gideon, stepped forward with a basin of glowing green liquid.
"Headmaster, let me wake him up with this bone-rot acid so you can resume."
If that acid hit Kamari, his hatred would become permanent. My gruesome death would be sealed.
But if I broke character and apologized, the magical world would sense the shift, and Kamari would just think it was a sicker, more twisted trap.
How was I supposed to survive a death sentence I wrote myself?
I couldn't show weakness. I had to play the monster to survive.
Suppressing my terror, I smashed the acid basin, healed his ruined flesh with agonizing dark magic, and lied straight to his face.
"Someone had to be the monster to push you into the fire."
This time, I will rewrite my own fate.
7.7
I gripped the wheel of my Porsche through a Manhattan downpour, staring at the positive pregnancy test on the passenger seat. Haden's voicemail was my only answer.
A semi swerved into my lane. Brakes failed. I slammed into the guardrail, airbags exploding, pain ripping through my gut.
Headlights pierced the rain. My sister Corrie stepped out under an umbrella, smiling coldly. "Beauvais Fashion is liquidated. Dad's dying." Haden stood beside her, eyes dead, shoving equity papers through the window. "Sign, or no ambulance."
I tore them up. Corrie lit a flare, tossed it onto the gas-soaked seats. Flames whooshed as they walked away.
I woke strapped to an operating table, agony tearing me apart. "No heartbeat," the doctor said. Nurses pinned me down. Instruments invaded. Corrie dropped a death certificate on my chest, then set the room ablaze with alcohol and a cigarette flick.
Smoke choked me. A cabinet blocked the door. I collapsed, burning. Then a man in black burst in, scent of cedar and tobacco, scooping me from the fire.
Five years later, I'd rebuilt myself as Sloane, flawless and cold. I signed a sham marriage to Donavan Mason, nursing his dying grandfather in their estate—the house that swallowed my father's legacy.
Betrayed by my lover and sister, child ripped away, identity erased—how could they do this? Who was the man who saved me?
Now, I infiltrate their world, armed with secrets and scars, ready to burn them all down.
9.4
I was lying in a sterile hospital room, dying of cancer, with only a fake infertility report to keep me company.
Right before my heart monitor flatlined, a stranger walked in and handed me a medical file.
He told me that my fiancé, Garret, had zero sperm viability. The baby my adoptive sister, Beryl, was carrying wasn't his.
When Beryl got pregnant years ago, my adoptive parents forced me to break my engagement and take the blame for being barren.
I was discarded by Garret, mocked by Beryl's triumphant smiles, and kicked out of the house.
I was left to rot alone in a hospital bed while they lived the perfect life stolen from me.
My entire existence had been a cage built on a single, disgusting lie.
The anger burned away my despair. Why was I the only one who didn't know?
Why did I let them use me as a maid and a shield for their filthy secrets?
As the darkness swallowed me, I prayed for just one more chance.
I opened my eyes to the sound of my adoptive mother yelling my name.
The calendar on the wall read March 15, 2019—the exact day they forced me to give up Garret.
This time, I didn't cry or beg.
"You want Beryl to have Garret? Fine," I told my shocked adoptive parents. "But I want a cash buyout, and we are legally severing this adoption."
Then, I set my sights on Douglass Ward—the stranger from the hospital room.
8.6
Temptations, a world of investigation, mystery, and the supernatural, unfolds through tales set in the Lovecraft County universe, where magic and science intertwine, magical families vie for power like imperial houses, and cosmic entities observe from the veils of reality. This saga, born from intrigues of power, mystery, debauchery, and passionate bodies, is a testament to this.
Tsuki, the man with red and white hair, is heir to a cursed lineage, always entangled in passionate affairs between men and women. Whenever his eyes meet, they reveal secrets that should not be seen.
His heart is always divided between forbidden passions and ancestral responsibilities. Throughout his life, his dealings, intrigues, and mysteries unfold, amidst love affairs, sex, and passions, as he becomes involved with his witches, each representing aspects of desire and seduction, bringing with them mysteries, intrigues, and dangers, amidst intrigues, love affairs, passionate affairs, darkness, light, and the entanglements of bodies and their moments of passion.
From masked balls to blood pacts, from living paintings to endless towers, Tsuki traverses scenarios that blend the cosmic horror of Lovecraft with the political intrigues of Dunes and space planets embroiled in political intrigue, where the magical atmosphere of magical worlds, amidst romances, is enveloped in conspiracy, each passion a prophecy, each choice a risk.
Temptations is more than a saga of love and magic. It's a universe of family intrigues, secret pacts, and cosmic entities.
While wandering among thrillers and detective cases, amidst the story of a man torn between temptation and destiny, between chaos and passion.
In the midst of embarking on a dark, mature, and captivating epic, where each page is an invitation to the abyss-and each temptation is a choice between living and being lost.
Tsuki was born under the reflection of this Mirror, his red and white hair a sign of the curse, and his eyes revealing secrets that should not be seen.
Still always involved, since he was a child, he was haunted by visions of witches and shadows, and each family saw him as a threat or prophecy, among demons and supernatural beings, in the midst of dark cities, warm beds, and his passions.
After traversing masked balls, blood pacts, living paintings, endless towers, and enchanted seas, Tsuki reaches the end of his journey.
As he embarks on stories that show the mirror, now broken into nine fragments, revealing its truth: every witch he loved, every intrigue he faced, every temptation that consumed him, was part of the same destiny.
In the final reflection, Tsuki sees himself-not as an heir, not as a lover, not as an artist, but as a bridge between worlds.
At various moments, he understands that love and desire are not curses, but forces capable of challenging even forgotten gods.
9.1
"You're already soaked, aren't you?" Jax growled, his fingers teasing under the hem of her tight janitor dress. "Three of us... and you're dripping before we even start."
Shy, curvy Lila only took the late-night cleaning job for the money. She never expected to become the prize in a filthy bet between the three hottest guys in the dorm.
Cocky Jax, intense Miles, and playful Theo made a wager: the first one to make the chubby cleaner come wins.
But when they discover how easily she gets wet and how desperately she's fantasized about being shared by multiple men, the bet turns into something much greedier.
Now every shift ends with Lila bent over in her sexy uniform, soft body worshipped and passed between three hard cocks - moaning, shaking, and living out her dirtiest fantasy.
She knows it's wrong. She knows it's risky.
But why stop when three gorgeous men are competing to ruin her every night?