Twice Rejected: The Scarred Omega Queen
On the night of the pack celebration, I waited for my fated mate, Alpha Zane, hoping he would save me from my miserable life as a pitied Omega.
Instead, he publicly humiliated me, pointing at my facial scar, and formally rejected me for a beautiful warrior.
The severed bond nearly killed my inner wolf. Banished as a Rogue, I dragged my broken body to my birth pack. But my own father refused to even look at me, letting my stepmother and sister throw me back into the wilderness to die.
Lost in a lawless town, a terrifyingly powerful stranger named Alaric found me. He triggered a rare second-chance mate bond. He kissed my scar, called it a "sacred mark," and promised to protect me forever.
But when I woke up the next morning, he was gone.
He left a cold rejection letter on the nightstand, with a handwritten line at the bottom.
"A king cannot be bound by a cursed omen."
I didn't understand. If I was just a cursed omen, why did his wolf claim me so fiercely? Why did he worship my scar in the dark, only to brutally abandon me at dawn?
What kind of sick game was this, and what was he hiding?
Clutching the piece of paper that shattered my heart for the second time, my despair completely vanished, replaced by an ice-cold hatred.
I wiped my tears and walked out of the room. I was going to find this "king" and make them all pay.
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Chapter 8
Elara Meadowes POV:
Alaric’s command was like a bucket of ice water, shocking me out of the passionate haze. The raw, primal connection we shared was instantly overshadowed by a cold, familiar dread. My hand flew to my face, my fingers pressing against the leather as if to weld it to my skin.
"No," I whispered, my voice trembling. "We had a deal. No faces."
The old shame, the deeply ingrained fear of rejection, came rushing back, choking me. I couldn't do it. I couldn't watch his eyes, currently filled with such raw adoration, transform into the same look of disgust I'd seen in Zane's. I would rather die than see that.
He watched my panicked reaction, his expression softening from command to something more complex. He didn't reach for the mask. Instead, his voice was gentle, but laced with an unshakeable resolve. "That was before. Everything is different now. You are my fated mate. I need to see all of you."
His words were meant to soothe, but they only amplified my terror.
"You'll regret it," I said, my voice thick with unshed tears. "You'll see it, and you'll leave me. Just like he did." The memory of Zane's sneer was so vivid it felt like it was happening all over again.
Alaric was silent for a long moment. Then he leaned down, pressing his forehead against mine. The contact was grounding, his skin warm against my own. His voice was a low, sincere vow that vibrated through my skull. "I swear on the Moon Goddess herself, I will not leave you. No matter what I see."
The oath, spoken with such conviction, chipped away at the wall of ice around my heart. He saw my resistance waver. Slowly, with a reverence that took my breath away, he lifted his hands to the back of my head.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my body rigid, bracing for the inevitable impact.
I felt his fingers deftly untie the leather straps. The mask loosened. Then, the shield that had both protected and imprisoned me was gently lifted away.
The cool air of the room touched my scarred cheek, and I flinched, a full-body cringe of shame.
The silence that followed was absolute. It stretched for an eternity. All I could hear was the frantic, terrified pounding of my own blood in my ears. I waited for his sharp intake of breath, his recoil, the sound of him getting off the bed and walking away.
Instead, I heard a soft, shaky exhale. A sound of pure, unadulterated awe.
Confused, I dared to open my eyes.
He was staring at my face, but there was no horror in his eyes. No disgust. They were wide, luminous, and filled with a blazing, ecstatic intensity. His gaze was fixed on my scar, not as a flaw, but as if he were looking at the most beautiful, miraculous thing he had ever seen.
He lifted a hand, his fingers trembling slightly. With a touch so gentle it felt like a whisper, he traced the jagged line from my brow to my jaw. His touch didn't burn with pity or revulsion; it sent a cascade of warm, tingling shivers through my entire body.
I was too stunned to move, to breathe. I couldn't comprehend his reaction.
"It's beautiful," Alaric whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "The legends... they're real."
"What?" I asked, my voice barely audible. "What's beautiful? It's a curse..."
"No," he cut me off, his gaze locking with mine, fierce and certain. "It is not a curse. It is a mark. A sacred mark."
Before I could process his words, he leaned down. And in a gesture that shattered my entire understanding of myself, he pressed his lips gently to the scar on my cheek.
His kiss was soft, reverent, and full of a profound tenderness. He wasn't kissing a flaw; he was worshipping a holy relic.
A strange, soothing warmth spread from the point of his kiss, flowing through me, healing cracks in my soul I didn't even know were there.
Tears welled in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks, hot and silent. They weren't tears of pain or shame. They were tears of overwhelming, heartbreaking relief. For the first time in my entire life, someone was looking at my deepest wound and calling it beautiful.
He pulled back, his thumb gently wiping a tear from my cheek. "Don't cry," he said softly. "Their ignorance is what scarred you, not this. From this moment on, I will make the entire world see this mark for what it is: a symbol of honor, not of shame."
I looked into his deep, sincere eyes, and for the first time since I was a child, I allowed myself to believe, just for a second, that happiness might actually be possible for me.
"Tell me your name," he whispered, his voice a velvet caress. "I want to know my Queen's name."
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8.9
Just hours after I endured a grueling labor to give Kaelen, my fated mate and the Alpha, two beautiful twins, he walked into the infirmary.
Instead of holding our newborns, his Alpha aura pinned me to the bed as he coldly announced, "I reject you as my mate."
He claimed I reeked of another Alpha. His sister Vanessa threw a stack of photos at my face, showing me at a cafe with a broad-shouldered man. Before I could even explain, Kaelen forced a pen into my trembling hand while I was still bleeding, making me sign away my parental rights. His mother then snatched my newborn son Liam from the crib.
"Take the girl and get out of my territory," Kaelen commanded, leaving me in the freezing room with my severed mate-bond and my crying daughter.
I didn't understand how our sacred bond could be shattered by a single fake photo, or how my fated mate could be so blind and ruthless as to rip my baby from my arms.
Five years later, his precious heir is dying, and Kaelen desperately needs an alliance and a bone marrow donor. But when he finally sees me at a high-society gala, he doesn't find a broken, exiled Omega.
He finds me standing beside that very same "lover"—Dominic, the Alpha of the Silverwood Pack, my older brother. And this time, I am the one holding the blade.
7.1
I was the top commander of a black-ops military program. After slaughtering my way through a hellish mission, I reached the extraction helicopter, trusting my second-in-command to watch my back.
But the moment our hands locked, he didn't pull me up. Instead, he plunged a syringe of lethal neurotoxin directly into my neck.
He aimed his gun at my chest, coldly stating that I was too dangerous to live. My lungs stopped, and I died in a pool of my own blood. But the endless blackness suddenly shattered. My consciousness violently forced its way into a new, broken shell. I woke up in a freezing alley, soaked in muddy rain.
This body belonged to seventeen-year-old Eliza Wyatt. A massive wave of foreign memories crashed into my brain. Her own younger sister had just stood at the top of the stairs with a mocking smile, watching street thugs beat Eliza to death.
"Take good care of the Wyatt family's eldest daughter. Tonight is the night she finally disappears."
The endless humiliation, the cold stares of her family, and the brutal betrayal by her own blood flashed before my eyes. Why was this fragile girl treated like garbage and pushed to her death by the very people who should have protected her?
I looked down at my pale, trembling hands. The top commander was dead, but in this bleeding shell, Eliza Wyatt was very much alive. I picked up a switchblade from the bloody puddle and stood up in the storm. It was time to hunt.
9.5
As a highborn succubus, I somehow managed to starve myself to death-thanks to my obsessive cleanliness and ridiculously picky appetite.
When I opened my eyes again, I had transmigrated into Vivian Hartwell-the long-lost "real" daughter with a tragically cursed fate.
I had barely been taken back into the Hartwell family before they forced me to attend a so-called "death matchmaking" event in Kingsford-on behalf of Natalie Hartwell, the fake heiress-to meet Damian Blackwood, the infamous "living reaper."
Rumor had it Damian was brutal and bloodthirsty-every woman who'd ever been involved with him either ended up dead or driven insane.
At the event, over a hundred socialites were trembling on their knees, silently praying they wouldn't be the one chosen.
Just as Damian let out a cold smirk and reached to pick his unlucky victim, I took a deep breath from the back of the crowd.
The scent emanating from him was a rare, potent masculine essence-something encountered perhaps once in ten millennia.
For a painfully picky succubus like me, this was nothing short of salvation.
I kicked aside the girl blocking my way, my eyes practically glowing as I threw both hands up. "Pick me! Hurry, pick me!"
9.0
I traded my innocence to my fated mate, the Alpha King, just to get a stalk of Moonlight Grass to save my dying brother.
But after a night of agonizing physical connection, he didn't mark me. Instead, he tossed me a single, useless dried leaf and a credit card, treating our sacred bond like a cheap transaction.
When I refused his insulting offer to be his secret, nameless mistress, he choked me against a wall and banished me from his lands forever. I fled to the human city, only to watch from the shadows a week later as he publicly escorted a pure-blood noble female, preparing to make her his Luna. Meanwhile, I was forced to sell herbs in the lawless black market just to survive, where I was cornered by a gang of violent rogues.
I didn't understand. We were chosen by the Moon Goddess. When our skin touched, the mating sparks nearly blinded us both. Why did he look at me with such cold disgust? Why did he throw me away like trash, only to parade another woman as his queen?
Running for my life from the rogues, I tripped and fell onto the asphalt, right at the feet of a convoy of black SUVs.
The man stepping out was the Alpha King who had sworn to kill me if he ever saw me again.
But as the rogues demanded I be handed over, his eyes darkened with a terrifying, primal fury.
"She's mine."
8.1
Pretty Devil
8.1
Maddy worked at an exclusive underground club, always hidden behind a sleek black mask. One night, a wealthy client approached her with a filthy fantasy , he didn't want to just fuck her. He wanted to be her complete slave.
He took her to his luxury penthouse, while she shoved her soaked pussy onto his face and rode his tongue until she came, then mounted his cock and used him mercilessly, slapping and choking him while denying his orgasm until he begged like a broken whore. Even after she quit the club and started a new corporate job, she kept hooking up with him. One day, she walked into the CEO's office... and froze. Her new boss was the same man.
By day, in his luxurious office, he is the dominant, commanding CEO , barking orders, running the company with iron authority, and no one suspects a thing. By night, he becomes her secret pathetic slave: crawling, getting pegged over his own desk, licking her cum off his floor, and having his cock locked in chastity while she laughs at how easily she owns him.
Pretty Devil is a raw, extremely explicit erotic novel packed with intense femdom, heavy BDSM, humiliation, orgasm denial, pegging, face-sitting, and twisted power exchanges that blur the dangerous line between boss and secret slave.
This book is unapologetically nasty and graphic. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
9.0
Isolde woke up in a freezing, ruined stone house with a splitting headache and only five percent of her life signs remaining.
Before she could even process the mechanical system voice in her head, a flood of violent memories slammed into her.
She had transmigrated into the body of a cruel noblewoman who mercilessly tortured her beastmen husbands with a barbed whip.
And right now, she was lying in a pool of her own blood, having been shoved against the stone floor by one of them.
Outside the rickety door, her husbands were coldly discussing her death.
"Just go in and finish her. One stab, and we're free."
"If she hit her head and died on her own, then it's an accident. We walk out of here as free males."
To test if she was faking her sudden amnesia, the snake beastman Dangelo even ground his heavy military boot into her injured hand, waiting for her to snap so he could legally end her.
She was poisoned, freezing, and entirely at the mercy of the men who deeply despised her.
She was bearing the deadly consequences of a monster she never was, with a red system warning of imminent death flashing in her mind.
But they didn't know the new Isolde had awakened a survival system and Life Magic.
She swore a blood oath to the Beast God to buy herself three months of time.
Then, she turned her sights to the dying wolf beastman chained in the shed, deciding to pull him back from hell to become her very first shield.