Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by the King

The morning mist clung to the forest floor as I knelt beside the torn fabric, my heart hammering against my ribs. The metallic scent of dried blood mixed with something else—something floral and distinctly familiar that made my stomach clench with dread. Lillian's scent. I pressed the fabric to my nose again, hoping I was wrong, but there was no mistaking that cloying sweetness of jasmine and vanilla that always seemed to follow Julian's childhood friend. My hands trembled as I carefully placed the evidence in my collection bag, alongside the broken branches and disturbed earth that told the story of last night's rogue attack. Three pack members had been injured in this coordinated assault on our eastern border. The timing had been too precise, too calculated. Someone had known our patrol schedules, had known exactly when this section would be most vulnerable. And now I held proof of who that someone was. The walk back to the pack house felt like a death march.

Chapters

Chapter 3

The monthly pack run was supposed to be a celebration—a time when our entire pack came together under the full moon to honor our wolf spirits and strengthen our bonds. Instead, I watched in growing horror as it became the stage for my family's public destruction.

I stood at the edge of the clearing, my healer's bag clutched uselessly in my hands, as pack members began their ritual transformation. The silver moonlight painted everything in stark relief, making the scene feel surreal, like watching a nightmare unfold in slow motion.

My sister Emma stood with the other young adults, her face pale but determined. She'd been so excited about this run—her first since turning eighteen. The pride in her eyes when she'd shown me her new running outfit yesterday felt like a lifetime ago.

"Beautiful night for a run," Lillian's voice drifted from behind me, sweet as poisoned honey. "I do hope everyone manages their shifts properly. It would be such a shame if someone... struggled."

I turned to face her, my wolf bristling at the malicious satisfaction in her pale blue eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, nothing specific." Lillian's smile was razor-sharp. "Just hoping for a smooth evening. For everyone's sake."

The transformation began, dozens of wolves emerging as pack members shed their human forms. I watched Emma close her eyes, her face scrunched in concentration as she began her shift. Everything seemed normal at first—the familiar shimmer of magic, the graceful flow of change that every werewolf mastered by adulthood.

Then something went wrong.

Emma's transformation stuttered, freezing halfway between human and wolf. Her body contorted at an unnatural angle, caught in the agonizing limbo of an incomplete shift. Her scream—half-human, half-animal—cut through the night air like a blade.

The entire pack turned to stare. Whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire. "Incomplete shift." "How embarrassing." "At her age?" "Must be genetic weakness."

I lunged forward, but Julian's hand clamped down on my arm with bruising force. "Don't," he commanded, his Alpha tone freezing me in place. "She needs to work through this herself."

"She's in pain!" I struggled against his grip, watching my sister writhe on the ground as her body fought between forms. "Let me help her!"

"Some lessons can't be learned with help," Lillian said softly, her voice carrying just far enough for nearby pack members to hear. "Perhaps the family line isn't as strong as we thought."

The cruelty in her words hit me like a physical blow. This wasn't an accident. Somehow, she'd caused this. The way she stood there, calm and satisfied while my sister suffered, told me everything I needed to know.

Emma finally managed to complete her shift, collapsing into her wolf form with exhausted whimpers. But the damage was done. The humiliation, the public display of weakness—it would follow her for years. In werewolf society, an incomplete shift at eighteen was seen as a mark of inferior breeding, of fundamental weakness.

As the pack dispersed for their run, I caught fragments of mind-link conversations that made my blood run cold. Lillian's mental voice, crystal clear and deliberately loud enough for me to intercept: "Did you record that? Perfect. Make sure the angle shows her face clearly. We'll need it for later."

She'd orchestrated this. Planned it. And now she had evidence of my sister's humiliation to use against me.

Two days later, I stood before the Pack Council in the great hall, my hands trembling as I prepared to destroy everything I'd ever stood for. The council members sat in their ceremonial robes, their faces grave as they waited for my testimony about the rogue attacks.

Alpha Marcus Reeves leaned forward, his weathered face kind but expectant. "Healer Foster, you investigated the eastern border incident. What did your examination reveal?"

I opened my mouth, the truth burning on my tongue like acid. I wanted to tell them about the fabric, about Lillian's scent, about the coordination that suggested inside knowledge. I wanted justice for the injured pack members, for the fear that now plagued our borders.

Instead, Julian's threat echoed in my mind. The image of Emma's humiliation. The sound of my mother's labored breathing in that silver-poisoned cell.

"I found no evidence linking any pack member to the attacks," I heard myself say, the words falling like stones into still water. "The rogue wolves appear to have acted independently, without inside assistance."

The lie tasted like ash in my mouth. I watched the council members nod, accepting my testimony without question. My reputation for honesty, built over eight years of faithful service, was the very weapon being used to pervert justice.

Lillian sat in the gallery, her face a mask of innocent concern. But I caught the satisfied gleam in her eyes, the tiny smile that played at the corners of her mouth. She'd won, and we both knew it.

After the session, I rushed to the dungeons, my heart hammering with desperate hope. Maybe now that I'd done what Julian wanted, maybe now he'd release my family.

But when I reached their cell, only my father and sister remained.

"Where's Mom?" The question came out as a whisper.

My father's face crumpled. "This morning. The silver... her heart couldn't take it anymore."

The world tilted sideways. I gripped the stone wall to keep from falling, my legs suddenly unable to support my weight. "No. No, that's not—she was fine yesterday. Weak, but fine."

"She asked me to tell you something," Emma said, her voice hollow with grief. "She said not to let our suffering be in vain. She said to find the courage to seek justice, no matter the cost."

I stared at my sister through the silver bars, seeing the echo of our mother's determination in her young face. My mother was dead. Dead because I'd been too weak to stand up to Julian's threats, too afraid to risk everything for the truth.

But she'd died believing I still had the strength to make things right.

The question was: did I?

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Nathan finally came on the seventh day after my death. He did not come to pay his respects. He came to smash my mother’s urn. My spirit hovered, watching as he led Ariana inside. “Kimberly, I know you’re here. Enough theatrics.” Nathan’s voice was cold, flat. “Faking your own death to force me to call off my engagement? How pathetic can you be?” Beside him, Ariana’s voice trembled with a practiced sob. “Nathan, please—maybe she just needed to get away. Let’s not push her.” “Get away?” He raised his voice, addressing the empty air. “Kimberly, I’ll count to three. If you don’t come out, don’t blame me for what happens next.” From the inner room, my father rushed out—white-haired, leaning hard on his cane. A retired detective, now just a broken old man. “Nathan! You monster! Kimberly is dead! Dead because of you and that poisonous witch! What more do you want from us?” Nathan’s brow furrowed at the sight of him. “You’re in on this insanity too, old man? Move aside.” “I won’t! Not unless I’m dead!” “Fine. Have it your way.” He gave a slight nod to the bodyguard behind him. “Smash it.” He was pointing at my mother’s urn. The one I’d nearly died retrieving from a drug cartel’s revenge blast. … I watched, powerless, as the two men in black moved toward the altar. My father roared and lunged—only to be shoved easily to the floor. Ariana gasped and buried her face against Nathan’s chest, her shoulders trembling like a frightened fawn. He patted her back gently, his voice softening. “Don’t look, Ariana. I’m here. This ugliness is beneath you.” How laughable. The “pure, kind-hearted Ariana who couldn’t bear anything dirty” was the same woman who, just ten days earlier, had stood before me and spoken the vilest words in the sweetest tone. “Kimberly, you know… when your mother was blown up, they say there wasn’t a single piece of skin left intact. What a *hero*.” I was a prisoner in the villa then. It began at a party. I overheard Ariana and her friends laughing, calling my mother “a worthless fool who got herself killed.” I couldn’t hold back—I threw a glass of red wine straight into her face. Nathan slapped me. Hard. In front of everyone. He dragged me home and locked me away, his reasoning crisp and cold: “Ariana’s naive. She spoke without thinking. Was that necessary? You’re too angry, Kimberly. You need to cool down.” He stripped the villa of every phone, every line out, leaving only four bodyguards to “watch over” me. Ariana came later. She had the master access card Nathan had given her. After dismissing the guards, she settled gracefully into the chair across from me, wearing a perfect, placid smile. “Nathan says you’re too full of rage, Kimberly. I have to agree.” She tilted her head, a portrait of innocent cruelty. “But don’t worry. Soon you’ll be with your heroic mother. Oh, and Nathan’s given me the highest clearance at his Group. He says he feels safe with me beside him.” I thought she was only here to gloat. Then she took out her phone, dialed, and recited the villa’s address, casual as ordering takeout. “Just one woman here. Unarmed.” That’s when I understood. She hadn’t come to taunt me. She had come to end me.

Modern Mystery Romance

9.3

After My Husband Wore Matching Bracelets with His Mistress

9.3

The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the apartment. Two a.m. New York was never truly quiet, but high up in our Brooklyn unit, the world felt muffled. I stood at the kitchen island, the cold marble seeping through my socks, waiting for the kettle to boil. Chamomile and lavender. It was my private ritual for when my brain refused to shut down, a quiet moment carved out of the dark. On the counter, Jaden’s phone lit up. I didn't normally look. Five years of shared history, of a love that felt as comfortable and worn as an old sweater, meant I didn't have to. But the screen was glaring in the unlit kitchen, and the notification banner was large.

Modern Mystery Romance

8.4

BASTARD SON OF THE VIKINGS

8.4

Palermo does not forgive. Neither does it forget. When Guerrero Valenti, the feared leader of the Vikings, vanished, the city exhaled a dangerous calm-but only for a moment. In the shadows, enemies waited. Rivals sharpened their knives. And one woman bore a secret that could ignite every street in the city. Lucia Romano carried the child of a man who had disappeared into legend and rumor. A son who had not been claimed, not protected, not named. The city whispered of him with venom: the bastard of the Vikings. The boy was fragile, but he was a storm waiting to erupt. And every night, Palermo tested him. Masked men tried to snatch him from his crib. Fire, steel, and blood became his lullabies. Yet he survived. Every threat only sharpened his instincts, every scream hardened his mother's resolve. But whispers spread faster than steel through the night-rumors of a man returning. A shadow that would claim everything, sparking fear in every heart: Guerrero Valenti. The father who abandoned him. The legend whose name alone commands obedience. The storm that will rise, carrying vengeance, blood, and fire. And when he comes, Every man who dared call the bastard his enemy will fall. Every street, every roof, every whispered corner will bow to the son of Guerrero Valenti or be washed in blood. This is the story of survival. Of fire and steel. Of a mother and her son. Of a father's return. Even the earth is getting ready to absorb blood ... the blood of those who call the legitimate son of the Vikings a "BASTARD", and collect necks........the necks of those fallen by the sword of GUERRERO VALANTI. And upon his return Heads will bow to the one they called a BASTARD .

Action Modern Mystery

8.7

Faking It With The Hockey Playboy

8.7

Lila Richmond has a secret that could destroy her,she's harboring feelings for her stepbrother Ryan Callaway. When her worst nightmare comes true and her old bully Cassandra becomes Ryan's girlfriend, Lila thinks things can't get worse. But she was wrong.Hockey bad boy Derek Stone knows her secret, and he's offering a dangerous deal - fake date him to throw everyone off her trail. But as their pretend romance heats up, Lila discovers that Derek's cold reputation hides something she never expected. Will their fake relationship survive when real feelings get in the way? And what happens when the truth comes out?

Modern Mystery Romance

8.1

Her Voice, Her Revenge

8.1

After five years of prayers, Judith—seven months pregnant—went into early labor. Uncontrollable hemorrhage followed, her life hanging by a thread. The husband who had always adored her was nowhere to be found. He had vanished, along with the young maid of sympathetic humors he kept privately for her sake. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, but another contraction ripped through her—a searing pain that threatened to tear her apart. “Vincent… Where is Vincent?” Seeing her sister’s face pale with agony, Ariana wept as she sent everyone out to search. The only replies were helpless shakes of the head. “The bleeding won’t stop! We can’t wait any longer!” “Didn’t they say that maid’s very vitality was the key? Where is he?!” Facing the physician’s furious shouts, Ariana trembled, sobs choking her voice. “I’ve sent everyone… His Highness still can’t be found…” Before Judith could speak, another violent contraction twisted through her. Before darkness claimed her, her last blurred glance fell on the tightly shut door. Vincent had not come. She did not know how much time had passed when she finally woke in her bed. Her hand moved to her flat, empty stomach. Dread and grief crashed over her like a wave. “My baby…” She struggled up, desperate to find her child, but saw only her sister, eyes red from crying. “Sister… I thought you’d never wake…” “The baby… where is my baby?” Her voice was frail as she clutched Ariana’s sleeve, tears brimming. “The physician said… the situation was critical. Saving you took everything he had.” Ariana could not bring herself to finish. “And Vincent?” Ariana’s expression darkened. “I’ve been by your side for three days and nights. He hasn’t come. Not once.” The world seemed to spin. A pain so sharp it nearly knocked her unconscious again. Her precious child, nurtured for seven months, filled with countless hopes and dreams—gone, without ever opening its eyes to this world. This was the child Vincent had longed for day and night. Yet the father had not come to see them, not even once. Gasping, her voice ragged, Judith summoned Vincent’s most trusted subordinate. “Where is Vincent?” Faced with her demand, Aaron wiped sweat from his brow. “His Highness… is occupied…” His hesitation turned her heart to ice. “Tell Vincent to come see me!” Finally, with her sister’s support, Judith saw it—a tiny, cold form beside the midwife. Her child, the one she could not save. A little girl. Judith breathed warm air onto the small, cold hand. “My child, Mother will take you away.” Cradling the baby, she took a carriage directly to a certain place—the private residence where Vincent kept that maid, Leah. She wanted him to see their child one last time. But at the door, she saw him. Vincent, gently soothing a weeping woman in his arms, his voice soft as silk. “Shhh, now, don’t cry.” “Hush, my love. We won’t go if you’re frightened.” Leah’s face was streaked with tears, eyes red. “I want to go too, but I’m so scared…” “Shh, don’t be afraid. We simply won’t go.” Judith stood outside the door. It felt like a thousand blades piercing her heart, the pain so sharp she could barely breathe. While she had hovered between life and death, the man she loved was comforting another, younger woman. The Vincent who had once risked his life for her had finally become faithless. Yes, Vincent had risked his life for her three times. At eighteen, caught in a skirmish while they were out, he had shielded her for three days and three nights, ensuring her rescue first while he nearly died. At twenty-one, he charged alone into a bandit den to save her, taking three knife wounds—the last a hair’s breadth from his heart. He fought for seven days and nights in the infirmary before clinging to life. At twenty-five, when everyone opposed their marriage, Vincent endured the family’s judgment: a hundred lashes. His back was flayed open, not a patch of skin left whole. After their wedding, Judith had basked in that hard-won happiness. So when Vincent said he wanted a child, despite her difficulty conceiving, she tried with all her might. Years of prayers and bitter tonics later, she finally carried his child. Once she was with child, the man grew even more devoted. Not only that—Vincent had found and installed a maid in a private residence, a girl whose constitution was said to harmonize with Judith’s, a safeguard, he said, for the birthing bed. Judith had questioned this once, but his smile dispelled her doubts. “You’re carrying our child, and still you get jealous?” “Don’t overthink it. It’s just a precaution. I want you safe, our child brought safely into this world.” She had believed him. And so her child had died. Judith did not speak. Instead, she tightened her hold on the cold bundle, turned, and took her child to be laid to rest. Only after watching the tiny urn buried did she take out the carrier pigeon she had raised so long and send a message far away: “Barbara, I trus

Modern Mystery Romance

9.5

Life is full of regrets

9.5

Ellie lay in bed, burning with yet another low-grade fever. Ever since her pregnancy began, her body had struggled to adjust. The daily low fevers had become a relentless routine. Her husband David was always attentive. Whenever Ellie felt unwell, he would bring a glass of warm water and personally feed her a vitamin C tablet. Half an hour after taking it, she was drenched in sweat from the pain. “David…” She rolled off the bed in agony. But David, unlike his usual gentle self, simply stood by the bed, looking down at his wife. “Just endure it a little longer. Once the baby’s gone, you’ll be fine.” Gone? Ellie’s fingers dug into the concrete floor until they bled, but she felt nothing. “What I just gave you wasn’t a vitamin. It’s an imported abortion pill. You’re a doctor—you understand. Once this pain passes and the embryo dies, everything will be fine.” Ellie looked up at the man before her. No. He wasn’t a man. He was a monster. After the educated youth returned to the cities, she had risked cutting ties with her own family to marry David, a fellow returnee from her class. Back then, he’d had nothing. Two young people from vastly different social standings had come together—for love. Ellie got into medical school and, after graduation, was assigned to City Hospital as an OB-GYN. David, through Ellie’s father’s connections, entered the local Machine Tool Plant. He rose swiftly. In less than five years, he achieved what others spent a lifetime dreaming of: becoming the head of the largest factory in the area. Just two days ago, Ellie’s father died of a heart attack. She had lost her usefulness… “David, abortion pills aren’t fully developed yet. It won’t be a clean process.” Tears in her eyes, Ellie begged him. She couldn’t die here. Not like this, for no clear reason! “Medical abortions are dangerous. They can cause hemorrhaging. Please, take me to the hospital.” Her abdomen grew hotter, warmth churning inside her. She shifted slightly—and a warm gush surged from between her legs. The excruciating pain came like a tidal wave, smashing her broken little boat into the ocean. Just then, the door opened. Carolyn stepped in. Seeing Ellie on the floor, she gasped and hid behind David. “Oh, dear, what’s happened to you?” This woman was David’s sister-in-law. After his brother passed away, David had brought Carolyn to the city under the pretext of medical treatment, claiming her health was poor. She had been living with them for nearly half a year. “Hurry, take me to the hospital.” Ellie looked at the two of them, a terrible premonition settling in her heart. David frowned, crouched halfway down, and took out a handkerchief to wipe Ellie’s forehead. “Can’t you just endure it a little longer? Once the bleeding stops, you’ll be fine.” Gripping her teeth until they ached, Ellie knew the truth: drug-induced abortions were still underdeveloped. There had been many clinical accidents—that’s why hospitals hadn’t adopted them widely. “I can’t endure it. I’m dying!” David’s gaze turned vicious. “Endure it! It’s just a bastard. I’m already being merciful by letting you abort it. If you don’t listen, I’ll divorce you right now!” “What? A bastard?” Ellie was in such extreme pain her words slurred. Her child—how could it be a bastard? David was her first love. She had given him her virginity. How could he say such a thing?

Modern Mystery Romance

Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by the King

Chapter 3

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