Elara Veyne

"Ahh!" She writhed in a haze of moans, her body trembling with conflicting sensations. She loathed this man, yet every fiber of her being reacted to his touch. As his hands began to roam along her waist, she sucked in a sharp breath—the sudden pull of her back zipper sent a shiver down her spine. The metal slider halted at the small of her back, and as it opened, her upper back and waist were exposed, baring her skin to the cool air. "D-Don’t—mmph!" Her protest was smothered by the pillow as his fingers caressed her bare spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. With a deep, angry growl, he whispered harshly in her ear, "I'll make you forget every touch, every kiss, every thing about him. From now on, when you're with another man, you'll only see me."

Elara Vance was a withdrawn omega, often overlooked in the Silver Moon Pack for her quiet demeanor and unassuming appearance. But beneath her thick glasses lay a hidden crush on Rhys Knight, the pack's future Alpha and a notorious campus playboy. Rhys scoffed at mate bonds, treating relationships as disposable—until Elara's eighteenth birthday, when he publicly rejected her, turning her into the butt of every joke.

Now, Elara returns transformed—glasses discarded, her hair styled sleek and confident—and Rhys can't take his eyes off her. What if her blood holds a sacred heritage chosen by the Moon Goddess? What if the "humiliation" was part of a larger scheme? And when Rhys, the alpha who once dismissed her, kneels before her new love interest, Liam Thorne, begging for a second chance, who will claim victory in this battle of pride and passion?

Rejected by My Alpha Mate

I woke slowly, my body feeling like lead. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting golden patterns across the rumpled sheets. Every muscle ached in unfamiliar ways, especially between my thighs. The soreness was a stark reminder of the night before—of Rhys and everything we'd shared.


Turning my head carefully, I found Rhys still asleep beside me. His face was relaxed in sleep, all the hard lines of anger and arrogance smoothed away. He looked younger, almost vulnerable. His injured arm was draped protectively around my waist, holding me close even in sleep.


I couldn't help but stare at him—at the sculpted planes of his chest, the dark stubble shadowing his jaw, the way his eyelashes fanned against his cheeks. Last night, he'd called me his fairy after we'd finished, cradling me against his chest as if I was something precious. The memory made my heart flutter.


Innocence Claimed, A Morning's Shyness