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Updated
  • 👁 26.8K
  • 8.0

My name is Katia; I want to find my fated mate and live a peaceful life raising our pups. The problem is I have holes in my memories and don’t understand who or what I am. I know I am a werewolf, but I am also something else. Rejection is the last straw! I am not worthy is the reason he gives. The pain doubles me over; my wolf is whimpering in my head, and tears are running down my face. I whispered my acceptance of his rejection and took off running. I ran through the pack house out across the green manicured lawn into the forest. "I'm sorry, my sweet girl," I say to my wolf. I'm sorry you have been stuck with me, and our life has been difficult. She whispers," It's not your fault, Katia." I don't know how long or far we ran, but we came to a cliff with a waterfall. The pain from the rejection is unbearable, and the hurt keeps pounding at me. I know I am missing something. Aza, my wolf, feels it, too; she says we are more than regular werewolves and are here for a reason. We cannot remember the reason. I stand staring at the water running over and down, creating the fall. I wonder what the reason is for the millionth time. Why can I or Aza not remember? Does it have something to do with the way others treat us? The way we have been sent to live with different people since the death of our parents? Does it have something to do with why my fated rejected me? I am tired of figuring out why our memories do not make sense. My sweet girl and I want peace, but we do not know how to obtain it. I stand staring into the oblivion of the pool at the bottom of the waterfall. So I stand there rejected, half a wolf, speaking with my Wolfie, my nickname for Aza, debating what we should do next. Someone was yelling my name from the direction I ran. I do not want to go back there. I hear laughter. Turning, I glance down over the cliff. There is another pack having a barbecue. The adults are laughing and watching the pups play. What looks to be the Alpha, beta, and gamma of the pack are in the water playing Marco Polo with some of the children. They look so happy and carefree. I want that. I wonder if Aza and I ever have a life like that.

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  • 👁 37.5K
  • 8.8

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.

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Book cover
Updated
  • Author: AM
  • Status: Ongoing
  • Age Rating: 18+
  • 👁 32.1K
  • 9.8

"You can't be weak, wife. You now have three husbands to please. Tonight's the night we claim you. You can't let a simple wedding tire you, for our nuptial night holds trials far more demanding." Ezra whispered huskily, tucking my hair behind my ear. -- "Oh god!” I cried. "Not god, baby. We are your demons," Ezra growled, pounding faster. -- "Call my name, Xanthea,” Asher groaned and a tight flutter erupted in my belly. -- "I can't… I can't take this… anymore…" And then he hit a spot, and he kept hitting it again and again with every thrust. Sparks charged throughout my body like the lightning cracking in the stormy sky again and again until it was too much to hold back, too hard to… resist. *** Xanthea Plath, an illegitimate child of the Alpha of Virgo pack, was an omega and omegas weren't allowed to dream, yet she never stopped dreaming. She wanted to be a doctor just like her mother but the luna of the pack, her stepmother would break her physically and mentally and stop at nothing to crush all her dreams. Xanthea had still found a way though all the abuse her steps put her through. But one day her world came crashing down right before her entrance in a medical college when she found out that she was being offered as a bride to the ruthless triplet alphas also known as the demon lords of the Infernal pack of the underworld. Xanthea had heard the horrifying stories of several suitors who had come before her, all of whom had met a gruesome end. Dark Reverse Harem Romance with 18+ explicit content. Readers discretion advised.

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Heroes

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