Lenaleia

Nicole d'Armand never expected to walk into her apartment and find her fiancé *bleep*-deep in another woman's lady bits. What's a girl to do?

Well, after obliterating an 18th-century Meissen vase, delivering a punch that would make a heavyweight boxer proud, and embarking on a night of raucous drinking, Nicole figures she might as well embrace the chaos.

But when alcohol and pheromones collide, her wild night spins into something unexpected... Like a ride on the Logan Everett express.

Which, naturally, leads to a whirlwind of its own: She's his fated mate. Because of course she is.

And he rejects her. Because of course he does.

Now embroiled in a mystery bigger than her post-breakup hangover, Nicole finds herself the prime suspect in a murder she didn't commit—no matter how tempting the thought might have been. And the only person who believes her innocence? The same guy who shot down the idea of being her fated mate. 

Great. Just what she needed: her love life is a crime scene, and the man stupid enough to let her go is holding her freedom in his hands.

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Update schedule: 3-4x a week

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This is a fated/rejected mates urban fantasy romance.

Content warning for: Nudity, more nudity, swear words, inappropriate humor, dead people, undead people, incomprehensible amounts of magic, too much supernatural whosits and whatsits, werewolves and all the fetishes that come with them, did I mention the nudity?, and a questionable level of sanity at times.

Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha

"My sincerest apologies for being such a perplexing puzzle, Chancellor. Had I known I'd cause such trouble for you, I would have scheduled my magical awakening at a more convenient time."

Damn it. My troublesome mouth is not getting the memo.

Logan's fingers dig deeper into my hip—a warning. But it's hard to hold myself back when I already hate this man.

Just as I tell myself to shut the fuck up, my mouth opens again.

"Perhaps next time I'll pencil in my existential crisis between tea with the Queen and lunch with the Pope." My smile stretches wide, brittle as glass. "Though I suppose that would require advance knowledge of my apparent significance, which seems to be privileged information."

Vale's expression hardens, those cold gray eyes narrowing to slits. The temperature in the room drops several degrees.

"Your flippancy does you no credit, Ms. d'Armand."

Subtle Pheromones