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Elara Vance was a withdrawn omega, often overlooked in the Silver Moon Pack for her quiet demeanor and unassuming appearance.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

Standing in Orion's massive closet, I felt like an intruder despite his explicit permission. His scent—sandalwood and something distinctly wild—enveloped me, making my wolf stir with unexpected interest.


"Need help choosing?" Orion asked from the doorway, a hint of amusement in his voice.


I jumped slightly, wrapping my arms around myself. "Sorry, I just... it feels weird going through your things."


He stepped into the closet, his broad frame filling the space. "Elara, I've told you before. What's mine is yours."


The simple statement carried weight beyond mere clothes. His ice-blue eyes held mine, and I couldn't look away. Without my contacts, my natural emerald green eyes—the telltale sign of my witch heritage—were fully visible to him.


"Here," he said, reaching past me to grab a charcoal sweater and some sweatpants. His proximity sent my heart racing. "These should work."


A Test of Trust and a Bold Request