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Elara Vance was a withdrawn omega, often overlooked in the Silver Moon Pack for her quiet demeanor and unassuming appearance.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

Rhys's fingers tightened around my wrist like an iron shackle, pulling me closer until I could feel his breath on my face. The scent of expensive cologne and raw Alpha power engulfed me, threatening to cloud my judgment.


"You think you can just waltz back into my territory like nothing happened?" he growled, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that once would have made me tremble.


I kept my expression neutral despite my racing heart. "You're hurting me."


"Am I?" His grip didn't loosen. "Why are you really here, Elara? What do you want?"


"I already told you—I'm visiting my mother." I maintained eye contact, refusing to show weakness. "Now let go of my wrist."


"Four years," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Four years of silence, and suddenly you're back, acting like you own the place."


"Is that what this is about? You hate that I'm not cowering in your presence anymore?"


Something flashed across his face—confusion, maybe frustration. "I don't hate you."


Provocation on the Dance Floor