The Rejected Omega's Secret Royal Lycan Bloodline
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I spent two years scrubbing locker room floors and collecting trash just to buy gifts for my girlfriend, Sylvia. I thought she was the only one who didn't care that I was a "wolfless" Omega.
But the day before my eighteenth birthday, I caught her in the arms of Dixon, our pack's future Alpha.
She laughed in my face, calling me a scentless puppy and admitting our entire relationship was just a cruel bet. When I lunged at him, Dixon beat me half to death. He pinned my bleeding face to the wet tiles with his combat boot and used a permanent marker to scrawl "WOLFLESS LOSER" across my chest. My pack cheered, and even at a party later, the people I thought were my friends treated me like a contagious disease.
I laid in my cramped dorm, suffocating under the crushing despair. Why was I born so weak? Why did I have to endure this brutal humiliation just for existing?
Then, my phone buzzed with an unknown number, and a cold, elegant voice spoke.
"Your trial is over, Aden. You are a royal Lycan, and your hundred-million-dollar trust fund has been activated."
Looking at the impossible string of zeros on my screen, the ancient beast in my blood finally woke up. It was time to make the Alpha who broke me choke on his own arrogance.
The Rejected Omega's Secret Royal Lycan Bloodline Chapter 1
Aden POV
The stench of stale beer and dried sweat clung to the bleachers of the Jork University Arena. I crushed another empty aluminum can and tossed it into my trash bag. Fifty bucks. That was what a day of cleaning up after the Black Moon Pack’s young Warriors got me.
Tomorrow was my eighteenth birthday—the day I prayed the Moon Goddess would finally grant me my *Inner Wolf*. But right now, I was just a "wolfless" Omega. I had no scent, no strength, and no respect. I was the bottom of the food chain. Still, I swallowed my pride and picked up another sticky cup. I needed the money. Sylvia’s birthday was coming up, and I wanted to buy her that silver necklace she’d been eyeing. She was the only one in this brutal world who didn't look at me like I was a disease.
The heavy double doors of the locker room banged open, shattering my thoughts.
Brennon Collins strutted out, flanked by his gang of Warriors. The air instantly thickened with their aggressive, musky pheromones—the scent of pure, unadulterated Alpha-complex arrogance.
"Hey, Omega!" Brennon barked.
Before I could turn, a foul-smelling, sweat-soaked sock hit me square in the face. The Warriors erupted into mocking laughter.
"Smell that?" Brennon sneered, dumping a massive pile of filthy, week-old gym clothes at my feet. "That’s what a real wolf smells like. Wash these, wolfless waste."
I clenched my jaw, my fingernails digging into my palms. Deep within my chest, a strange, dark heat flared—a violent, heavy pulse that felt entirely too big for my scrawny body. I forced it down, taking a slow breath. *For Sylvia,* I reminded myself.
"Fifty bucks," I muttered, staring at the floor.
Brennon scoffed. He pulled a crumpled fifty-dollar bill and a five from his pocket, letting them flutter onto the dirty floor right next to my worn-out sneakers. "There’s a package at the front gate for Dixon. Bring it to the Warriors' Changing Room. Consider the five a tip for being such a good little scentless puppy."
They shoved past me, their laughter echoing in the empty arena. I knelt, my knees touching the sticky floor, and picked up the cash.
Ten minutes later, with Dixon Cooper’s package tucked under my arm, I stood outside the Warriors' Changing Room. It was a semi-sacred space for the Pack's fighters, a place an Omega like me was strictly forbidden to enter. The air seeping from beneath the heavy oak door was thick with the scent of leather and male musk.
I raised my hand to push the door open, but a sound from inside froze the blood in my veins.
A muffled, breathy moan.
It was followed by a low, rumbling growl—a sound vibrating with dark, possessive Alpha energy. My heart dropped into my stomach. I knew that moan. I had heard it whispered against my neck just last night.
I leaned closer to the wood, my breath catching in my throat.
"Oh, Dixon..." Sylvia’s voice panted, laced with a sickeningly sweet submission I had never heard from her before. "You're a real Alpha. Not like that scentless, wolfless puppy..."
A wet, slapping sound echoed against the lockers.
"I can't wait until we can finally tell everyone he was just a stupid bet," she giggled, the sound driving a physical spike through my chest.
The world stopped spinning. Two years. Every extra shift I worked, every humiliation I swallowed to buy her gifts, every time I thought I actually meant something to someone—it was all a joke. A cruel, calculated bet to see how long she could string the pathetic Omega along.
The heartbreak shattered me, but it didn't leave an empty void.
Instead, a terrifying, volcanic fury erupted from the deepest marrow of my bones. It didn't feel like a human's anger. It felt ancient. Lethal. My vision edged with a predatory red haze.
Without thinking, I raised my leg and kicked the heavy oak door.
It exploded inward with a deafening crack, the metal hinges tearing from the wooden frame with a force I shouldn't have possessed. The door slammed violently against the concrete wall.
There they were. Dixon Cooper, the future Alpha of the Black Moon Pack, had my girlfriend pressed hard against the metal lockers. The air in the room was suffocating, thick with the sickening, slick scent of their mixed arousal. They froze, their eyes snapping toward the doorway to find me standing there, my fists trembling with a rage that was begging to be unleashed.
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The Rejected Omega's Secret Royal Lycan Bloodline of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7
Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels
7.1
The last thing I remembered was the blinding flash of my starship crashing. But instead of a rescue crew, I woke up tied to a wooden post, surrounded by hostile beastmen.
My universal translator kicked in just in time to hear their priestess, Chelsea, declare that I was a cursed demon who ruined their hunt. To save the clan from winter starvation, I was to be burned alive.
The flames were already blistering my legs, and jagged stones hurled by the crowd gashed my forehead. I barely negotiated a three-day reprieve to find them food, venturing into the deadly primeval forest.
I found a massive supply of wild potatoes and even gained the protection of Bronson, a terrifyingly powerful saber-toothed tiger beastman.
But Chelsea wouldn't stop.
She labeled my food as poisonous, tried to sentence me to starve in a penitent's cave, and when my agricultural knowledge proved her wrong, she invoked an ancient law. She incited the tribe's savage warriors to fight over me, turning me into breeding property.
I was a scientist offering them endless food, yet their primitive ignorance and one woman's vicious jealousy kept pushing me toward a brutal end. I was terrified, completely powerless against their monstrous physical strength.
As five ruthless challengers drew their bone axes to claim me, I begged Bronson to leave me and run.
Instead, he pulled me against his scarred chest and kissed me fiercely in front of the entire clan.
"She is my mate," he roared, unleashing a soul-crushing aura. "Anyone who wants her, come at me together."
7.6
When the Pollard family kicked Alyssa out into the freezing rain, Walter threw a ten-thousand-dollar check into a dirty puddle.
"Take it and get out. Don't ever come back," he sneered.
Her adoptive mother and stepsister stood on the mansion's porch, mocking her as a worthless country girl who tarnished their wealthy name. They laughed, claiming she wouldn't even be able to afford community college and would be begging on the streets in a week.
They looked at her cheap clothes and worn backpack with absolute disgust.
They were completely unaware that for the past five years, Alyssa was the secret mastermind who had built their failing gallery into a multi-million-dollar investment empire.
Every key investment, every fortune they made, came from the anonymous notes she had slipped into their unread books. They genuinely believed they were business geniuses, while treating the true architect of their wealth like a stray dog.
Looking at their smug, arrogant faces, Alyssa didn't feel a shred of sadness, only a cold, sharp irony.
They actually believed they had raised her.
She stepped close, whispered the master code to Walter's most secret offshore account, and watched the blood completely drain from his face.
"I raised you," she said, turning her back on the mansion without hesitation.
Walking into the storm, she pulled out a heavily encrypted phone and gave a single, cold order.
"Initiate a full hostile takeover of the Pollard Group."
It was time to end this little game and step into her true life—as the world's most elusive medical genius, and the long-lost billionaire heiress of the Summers dynasty.
7.4
Evelina Barrett was the legitimate daughter, yet she was framed for a disgusting sex scandal, expelled from the Ivy League, and locked out of her late mother's massive trust fund.
While she was thrown out to rot on the streets with a jagged, hideous red scar covering half her face, her father and step-family were throwing a lavish charity gala to celebrate her total ruin.
They laughed as they officially published her disownment notice in the Times to cut her off forever.
"Without the school halo, that ugly freak will be begging on the streets by tomorrow," her sister Aspen sneered.
Her stepmother Annabella toasted to taking out the trash, perfectly happy to steal Evelina's inheritance while ignoring the fact that Evelina knew exactly how they had murdered her mother.
For years, Evelina had been locked in a dark basement, abused by bodyguards, and treated worse than a stray dog.
Why should she, the true heir, suffer in the gutter while the leeches who destroyed her life enjoyed the wealth that rightfully belonged to her?
She refused to be their victim anymore.
Washing away her fake scar to reveal her true, breathtaking face, Evelina blackmailed New York's most lethal billionaire into marriage to secure the ultimate shield.
Then, she put on a black mourning dress, ordered a dark web ghost crew, and climbed into a heavy semi-truck.
At exactly 6:00 PM, she smashed through the iron gates of her family's elegant gala, delivering three pure black coffins directly to the lawn.
9.0
Allegra woke up in a sterile alien hospital with no memory, no ID chip, and a terrifying snow leopard General claiming responsibility for her crash.
But a routine ID scan at a local boutique shattered her fragile cover.
The machine shrieked, flashing a fatal red warning: NO NEURAL LINK DETECTED.
She was a "Ghost"—an illegal, unregistered biological entity in a ruthless Hybrid Empire.
The boutique locked down instantly. Heavily armed police swarmed the plaza, laser sights painting her chest red.
She was dragged into a subterranean military black site, where a manic geneticist tested her blood and discovered the impossible truth.
She wasn't a Hybrid. She was a pure Homo Sapiens—an extinct race whose mere presence could cure the Hybrids' fatal Psyche collapse.
To keep her all to himself, the scientist lied to the General, branding her a toxic, mutating bio-weapon.
Forced by Imperial law, the General abandoned her to the scientist's cruel custody.
Allegra was locked inside a reinforced glass cage in the deepest isolation ward, waiting to be dissected.
She huddled on the floor, trembling in absolute despair.
She didn't belong in this nightmare world. Why was she being treated like a monster? Why did this madman look at her like a prize to be torn apart?
Watching the scientist's fox ears twitch in manic stress outside the glass, her human empathy momentarily overrode her terror.
She stood up and pressed her palm against the glass, perfectly aligning it with his.
"Don't be so nervous, Mr. Fox."
Instantly, an invisible wave of human resonance flooded his core, shattering his genetic madness.
The terrifying predator was reduced to a whimpering, devoted puppy, pressing himself against the window in absolute submission.
Allegra slowly pulled her hand back, her heart skipping a beat.
Well, she thought, that changes things.
7.2
Stepping out of the women's correctional center, Karli took her first breath of freedom in three years.
But the luxury SUV waiting for her didn't bring her home. Instead, her adoptive parents tossed a prenuptial agreement onto her lap.
They demanded she marry a violently unhinged, disfigured man so their company could secure a massive commercial deal.
When she refused, her adoptive mother slapped her hard across the face.
The blow brought back the suffocating nightmare from three years ago—how they had drugged her, framed her for a crime she didn't commit, and sent her to prison just so her stepsister could steal her fiancé.
Now, to break her again, her adoptive father ordered his bodyguards to drag her into the estate's freezing, pitch-black basement.
"You can rot in the dark without food or water until you sign that paper!"
Sitting on the damp cement, bleeding and shivering, a white-hot fury burned away Karli's panic.
They had stolen her youth, her reputation, and her grandfather's inheritance. She would rather die than be their sacrificial lamb again.
She smashed the basement window with a hammer, dragged her bleeding body through the shattered glass, and sprinted blindly into the stormy night.
Under the flickering neon sign of a convenience store, she grabbed the sleeve of a terrifyingly cold stranger.
"Are you single? Marry me right now."
She just needed a legal marriage to escape her family, entirely unaware she had just proposed to the most ruthless billionaire in Chicago.
9.7
Alya Harrell was the illegitimate daughter of a wealthy Long Island family, treated worse than a stray dog in her own home. Tonight, her family finally found a use for her.
Her stepmother and half-sister, Chloe, forced her into a scandalous, plunging red dress. They were offering her as a bargaining chip to Warren Thorne, a ruthless, sleazy hedge fund manager known for collecting and discarding young girls.
Just to ensure her absolute humiliation, Chloe intentionally "tripped" and spilled a glass of red wine all over the silk dress.
"Now you'll have to wear that hideous little black thing you own," Chloe sneered, leaving Alya to face the high-society dinner looking like a beggar.
When Alya tried to escape Thorne's groping hands, her own father hunted her down. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back, and raised his hand to strike her for embarrassing the family.
She was nothing but a pawn to them, a cheap product to be sold and abused for their financial gain. Alya's heart turned cold as she realized her blood relatives would gladly destroy her just to secure a lucrative business deal.
But when she was sent to the cellar to fetch a $50,000 vintage wine for their billionaire VIP guest, Alya caught her perfect sister hooking up with a personal trainer next to the priceless bottle.
Quietly stealing the vintage wine and burying it in the garden dirt, Alya returned to the ballroom with a dangerous smile.
"I think I saw Chloe carrying a bottle down to the cellar," she told her furious father and the VIP, leading them straight toward the trap that would completely ruin her sister's perfect life.
