The alpha king's heart (eBook)

A Rejected Mate Fated-Mates Werewolf Romance

Michael Clanton (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
171 Seiten
Publishdrive (Verlag)
978-0-00-112287-1 (ISBN)

Infos

The King sacrificed her for his crown. Now, the price is the son he never knew.

When exiled Beta Selena Hartwood shared a reckless night with the lethal, untouchable Lycan King Alaric Thornwyn, the result was a secret son-and his immediate, brutal rejection. Four years later, Selena has built a protected life far from the shifter world, raising her uniquely powerful boy, Dorian, in safety. But when a ruthless Syndicate targets Alaric's corporation, fate slams Selena back into the King's path as an independent security expert.

The moment Alaric catches the scent of his long-denied heir, his icy control shatters. Driven by primal instinct, he forces Selena and Dorian into his secure Royal Citadel. But Selena won't submit. She demands a strictly platonic pact, forcing the King to earn his way back into her heart with trust, not brute force.

Trapped together in a gilded cage, their shared fear for Dorian ignites a desperate, forbidden passion. But as Alaric's fiancée, Queen Seraphina, orchestrates a vicious plot to expose Selena as a traitor, the King is forced to choose: maintain the political lie that guarantees stability, or publicly claim his true Mate and risk the full-scale civil war his betrayal was meant to prevent.

Discover a rejected mate romance where the stakes are life, death, and the soul of an entire kingdom.

Will the King risk his throne to win back the woman he shattered, or will his final choice cost him everything?

Start reading this intense, steamy Billionaire Werewolf Saga today!

Textauszug

Chapter 1: The Consultant in the Den

Analyzing the breach reports was the only thing that kept the constant hum of anxiety at bay. For four years, Selena Hartwood had lived by the clock, the spreadsheet, and the unyielding metric of her own success, carving out a life of professional rigor that left no space for the soft, fatal mistakes of the heart.

She sat in the sterile, high-tech conference room of Veridian Dynamics, a cybersecurity subsidiary of the massive Dravenridge Global conglomerate. Sunlight, filtered through the smog of Thornwyn City, was barely visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The room was standard corporate fare: too much chrome, too little soul, and a table large enough to seat an entire pack of rivals.

Selena wore a tailored, slate-gray suit—armor more effective than her faded denim jacket ever was. Her scent mask, a professional-grade blend she sourced from a private, non-shifter lab, held tight. It muted the distinct, potent scent of her inner wolf, replacing it with the neutral, clean aroma of high-grade paper and ozone. She was a consultant here, an independent contractor specializing in hostile digital infiltration, a professional brought in to solve a problem that Veridian’s in-house security hadn’t cracked. She was, pointedly, not a werewolf.

“The intrusion originated externally, but the data leakage suggests an intimate knowledge of your internal structure,” Selena summarized, her voice cool and measured as she clicked through projected slides. Her audience—a handful of pale, nervous human executives and two grim-faced, middle-management shifters—shifted uncomfortably. “The data targets were highly specific: resource allocation, energy contracts, and proprietary extraction formulas. This wasn’t a random hack; it was strategic reconnaissance.”

“Strategic for whom?” asked Finnian Graypelt, a fidgety Alpha who looked like he’d rather be running through a forest than sitting in a suit.

“That’s what we’re here to discover,” Selena replied, meeting his gaze without blinking. “But the signature aligns with aggressive corporate espionage—or something more organized. Something military. Something supernatural.”

She watched the shifters recoil slightly at the last word, the tension in the room spiking. In Thornwyn City, the supernatural world existed under a strict veneer of silence, maintained by the iron fist of the Lycan monarchy—which meant Alaric Thornwyn.

A low, resonant sound—more felt than heard—vibrated through the soles of her polished heels. The subtle, systemic change in the building’s atmosphere was her only warning. The air became heavier, thicker, charged with an immense, silent authority that made the shifters in the room visibly stiffen.

Selena’s breath caught, a cold, sharp blade plunging through her practiced control. It was the scent she had spent four years scrubbing from her memory, the scent she would recognize if she were deaf, blind, and buried alive: cedar, ancient stone, and raw, untamed power. The scent of King Alaric Thornwyn.

Her inner Beta gave a painful, involuntary lurch, a sudden, desperate longing tearing through the carefully constructed walls of resentment and professionalism. She fought the physical reaction, tightening her core, refusing to show a flicker of the anguish his presence resurrected.

The heavy door to the conference room opened without a knock.

He didn't walk in; he arrived.

Alaric Thornwyn was more imposing, more sculpted, and more dangerous than her memory had allowed. He was dressed in a suit of dark charcoal that might as well have been armor, its tailoring incapable of hiding the sheer breadth of the Lycan power beneath. His hair was meticulously kept, his jaw set in a ruthless line of perpetual command. And his eyes—those chilling, brilliant golden eyes—swept the room with the silence of a territorial predator.

He was the epitome of the King who chose duty over desire.

“Report,” Alaric commanded, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that vibrated the glass on the table. He didn't look at Selena. Not yet. He addressed the group, but his authority centered the room like gravity itself.

The human executives stammered, shuffling their papers. Finnian Graypelt stepped forward, visibly intimidated. “Your Majesty, we were just receiving the analysis from the independent consultant, Ms. Hartwood–”

Alaric’s head finally shifted, his gaze snapping directly to Selena.

It was a physical impact. Not a look, but an intrusion. Four years of distance, pain, and separation collapsed instantly. The air cracked with their shared, violent history.

The gold in his eyes deepened, becoming molten, dangerous. He didn't acknowledge the suit, the professionalism, or the scent mask. His Lycan eyes saw only the Mate he had sacrificed, the scar he carried on his soul. A small, almost imperceptible muscle twitched in his iron jaw.

Selena met his gaze, refusing to flinch. She allowed the resentment to flash—sharp, cold, and clear—a shield she desperately needed.

“King Thornwyn,” she stated, her voice unnaturally steady. “I am summarizing the digital breach. It is strategic reconnaissance, aimed at our—your—core supernatural energy assets.”

She noted the subtle, agonizing way his gaze snagged on the word 'supernatural,' a clear signal that he understood the gravity of her findings. But then, Alaric’s golden gaze dipped, not to her face, but lower.

He inhaled, deep and slow.

The scent mask was good, but it wasn’t perfect. The shift in his demeanor was immediate and terrifying. The cold, controlled King vanished, replaced by the primitive, possessive Lycan. His nostrils flared, and his body tensed, radiating an immense, silent power that pressed against the walls.

He had caught the faintest echo of a different scent, one she had tried desperately to mute: the potent, unique scent of their son, Dorian.

The moment stretched, thick and silent, broken only by the frantic hammering of Selena’s own heart. The scent of a four-year-old Lycan cub—their cub—was clinging to her suit, a residual marker from the school run that morning.

Alaric took one deliberate step closer to the table, his eyes still burning, now locked on her. The Lycan was roaring inside him, demanding answers, demanding its child.

“I require a private debriefing on these findings, Ms. Hartwood,” Alaric’s voice was low, strained, the command barely disguised as a request. “Now.”

Selena knew this was it. The professional facade was shattered. The past had collided brutally with the present. She had to protect Dorian’s secret, her hard-won independence, and her bruised heart, all at once.

“The briefing is ongoing, Your Majesty,” she challenged, her voice dropping to a dangerously calm pitch. “The time allocated is one hour. I operate on schedule.”

Alaric’s eyes narrowed, a flash of pure dominance washing over the room. He was used to instant, unquestioning obedience. Selena’s defiance was a physical affront to his kingship and his primal wolf.

He ignored her statement, addressing the nervous executives instead. “The meeting is adjourned. Ms. Hartwood will remain.”

The shifters practically scrambled out of the room, leaving Selena and Alaric alone in the charged silence.

Alaric didn't move toward her immediately. He simply stood at the end of the long table, a devastatingly beautiful, lethal sentinel.

“Four years,” he said, the word a heavy accusation that resonated deeper than the walls. His voice was a rasp, stripped of its Kingly authority, revealing the raw male beneath. “And you return to my city. To my company.”

“My business is professional, King Thornwyn,” Selena said, gathering her papers and shoving them into her briefcase, avoiding the agonizing eye contact. “I accepted a contract to fix a security issue. Nothing more.”

“Liar,” Alaric snarled, the sound a low, primal vibration that made the hairs on her arms rise. He finally moved, crossing the vast space between them in two fluid strides. He placed one enormous, warm hand on the polished table, effectively pinning her to the chair.

“You carry the scent of a male cub,” he stated, his golden eyes burning into hers, their closeness agonizing. “A young Lycan, powerful and unique. And you dare tell me this is professional?”

Selena leaned back, desperate to maintain space. The closeness, the overwhelming scent of him, was destroying her defenses. “The life I choose to lead, and the company I keep, is not subject to the approval of an exiled former mate, Your Majesty.”

She watched the pain flash across his face before the Kingly mask slammed back into place, harder than before. He had been hurt, but she had been destroyed.

“Who is the child?” Alaric demanded, his voice low and dangerous, his primal wolf on the edge of snapping. “Tell me his name.”

Selena gripped her briefcase until her knuckles were white. She wouldn't tell him. She wouldn't give him the power to take Dorian or reject him again.

“I am done with the briefing,” she said, pushing back her chair, forcing Alaric to move or be shoved aside.

He didn't move. He stood his ground, radiating pure, suffocating Lycan dominance. His other hand shot out, not touching her, but slamming the briefcase down on the table, silencing the movement.

“You will answer me,” he commanded, the authority absolute. “Tell me his name, Selena.”

Her breath hitched on his use of her name, a painful echo of their shared...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 14.12.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-10: 0-00-112287-8 / 0001122878
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-112287-1 / 9780001122871