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Elara Vance was a withdrawn omega, often overlooked in the Silver Moon Pack for her quiet demeanor and unassuming appearance.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 lips blazed a trail down my neck, every kiss scorching my skin like a brand. His hands were everywhere—tangled in my hair, sliding down my sides, possessively gripping my hips. My dress had been pushed up, bunched around my waist, exposing me to his hungry gaze.


"These lips," he growled against my mouth, nipping the sensitive flesh, "are mine."


I gasped as his teeth grazed my bottom lip, unable to respond with my wrists still bound to the headboard by his belt. The leather bit into my skin as I instinctively strained against it.


"This body," he continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble as his hand splayed across my stomach, fingers inching lower, "is mine."


My breathing faltered, heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. Despite everything—despite all the pain and betrayal between us—my treacherous body responded to his touch like a violin to a master musician. Every nerve ending sang under his fingertips.


Scars of the Soul