Jessica Delaney

“Daddy, please! Please don’t do this!” I begged with my hands. “It’s done, Tegan, the contract is signed. You will leave tonight to be the Alpha King’s contracted mate. You will bare him an heir within three months, or you will regret it!” He roared out, his face showing me just how angry he truly was. I silently wept at the cards fate played me. I will be nothing more than a baby-making machine for the cruelest Alpha known Ezra Hendricks. Tegan Declan was a shy she-wolf who was born deaf. Starting a new life as a disabled wolf in a new pack. She is the new contracted mate to the Alpha king, Ezra Hendricks. “Being deaf was a quality I would hate my son to have. As a wolf, you need all your senses to be able to lead, protect, and stay alive. Lacking hearing would not benefit anyone, it could lead to mass destruction and the loss of many lives. It would not be a good quality for a king. This brought me back to my question. What makes her think she is fit to be my Queen? I want to know what she thinks her strengths are. Would they outweigh her weaknesses?”

Selene Adams was the orphan who nobody wanted to be friends with. Forced to leave her home as a child and live with her aunt at a neighbouring pack, Selene had no memories of the past. She vowed to leave and survive on her own the second she gained her wolf. But what happens when the Alpha wants her for keeps and her real family comes looking for her, a family that nobody crosses? Selene is pulled in two directions and must make a choice but unraveling secrets may cause her to lose everything as another Alpha steps in and stakes his claim.

When I was a child, my grandma used to tell me stories. At the time, I never gave them much thought. Thinking they were just that… stories. Growing up, I soon realized that they weren’t lofty fantasies and fairy tales but memories of her past, memories of our ancestors before our world turned to sh*t. You see, what comes from legend, no matter how exaggerated the story becomes, there is always a sliver of truth. You just need to weed out the fiction from fact. My grandmother used to tell me stories of the Chosen One—the one who would save us all. When I was younger, I used to believe that what she said was true. Eventually, someone would be born, just as the Oracle predicted—someone who could save our souls and bind us back to our magic. Once I grew up and saw the world unfolding around me, I no longer believed in salvation. The chosen one seemed to be more of a prayer than reality. Some dream we wanted desperately to come true. Something in which we needed to find hope when there wasn’t any left. When our ancestors turned their backs on us, how were we expected to believe in this so-called salvation? Especially when all we witnessed was death and carnage ever since the great war. Nothing except pain and poverty. I used to believe the stories and used to pray for the mysterious chosen one that would rid our world of its evil. Now, though, I see it for what it really is, just a dream of hope. Some out of reach fairy-tale. A story to create hope. Hope is dangerous; it makes you believe things will get better. I stopped hanging on to hope when I witnessed firsthand that it caused nothing but heartache.