Mated to the wolf maiden (eBook)

A Mythic Fated-Mate Werewolf Romance

Michael Clanton (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
187 Seiten
Publishdrive (Verlag)
978-0-00-112852-1 (ISBN)

Infos

He rejected her to save his empire. Now, he'll have to crawl to save his soul.

Eira Moonveil is no longer the 'low-blood' exile who was discarded in a rain-slicked alleyway. She has transformed into Manhattan's most elite corporate 'fixer'-a cold, tactical genius who hides her scars behind sharp power suits and an even sharper tongue. She has spent years building a life in the shadows, fueled by the memory of the man who called her a 'mistake of the blood' before casting her out.

But when a necrotic curse threatens to topple Stormfang Global, the billionaire Lycan King Alaric Stormfang is forced to seek her help. Alaric is a man used to dominance, a CEO who rules through psychological warfare and raw Alpha power. He expects a submissive girl he can once again command; instead, he finds a woman who no longer fears him-and a secret son carrying his own golden eyes.

Locked in a high-stakes battle of wits from glass penthouses to the frozen Iron Tundra, the friction between them is immediate and 'infernal.' As a rival Alpha rises to claim the ley lines, Alaric realizes the terrifying truth of the prophecy that once drove him away: Eira isn't the one who will destroy his dynasty-she's the one who will judge if he's worthy of keeping it.

To save his heir and reclaim his mate, the King must do the impossible: surrender his crown, bleed his pride, and become the Omega to her Alpha.

Why you won't be able to put this down:

The Power Shift: A high-octane 'He Falls First and Harder' romance where the heroine holds all the cards.

Sizzling Tension: Slow-burn chemistry that explodes in boardrooms and blizzard-locked cabins.

The Secret Heir: A 'True Lycan' child whose power forces a ruthless King to his knees.

Visceral World-Building: A stunning blend of Succession-style corporate intrigue and ancient, savage mysticism.

The King has met his match. Will he choose his throne, or his family?

Textauszug

Chapter 1: The Fixer in High Heels

Precision was the only thing that kept the ghosts at bay. Eira Moonveil adjusted the lapel of her charcoal-grey Alexander McQueen suit, ensuring the lines were as sharp as the tactical mind operating beneath her silver-blonde bob. She stepped out of the black town car and onto the blistering pavement of Hudson Yards, the summer heat of Manhattan radiating off the glass towers. She didn't feel the warmth; five years in the emotional permafrost of exile had rendered her internal thermostat permanently set to freezing. She checked her watch—8:00 AM. In the world of high-stakes corporate crisis management, being on time was being late. Being early was power.

She looked up at the skeletal remains of the Stormfang Heights project, a half-finished skyscraper that was supposed to be the jewel in Alaric Stormfang’s crown. Today, it looked like a tomb. Yellow police tape fluttered in the wind, and the usual roar of construction had been replaced by a heavy, unnatural silence that made the hair on the back of Eira’s neck stand up. She didn't need a Geiger counter to know what had happened here. The air tasted like copper and ozone—the unmistakable metallic tang of a supernatural leak.

"Ms. Moonveil, thank you for coming on such short notice," a voice crackled with nerves.

Eira turned to see a junior executive sweating through his tailored shirt. He looked like he hadn't slept in forty-eight hours. Most people didn’t when they were tasked with explaining to the city why three laborers had been found drained of their life force in a basement that didn't officially exist.

"The brief said three dead," Eira said, her voice a cool, melodic blade. She didn't bother with a handshake. "I assume the NDRs have been signed and the bodies moved to a private facility?"

"Yes, ma’am. Our medical teams are... confused. They’ve never seen desiccation like this. It’s like the moisture was sucked right out of their marrow."

"It wasn't moisture," Eira muttered, her eyes scanning the upper floors where a strange, violet-tinted mist seemed to cling to the girders. "It was essence. You’ve breached a ley line. A necrotic one."

The executive paled. "The CEO is waiting for you. He’s in the penthouse boardroom of the main headquarters. He’s... not in a patient mood."

Eira felt a phantom ache in her chest, right where her heart used to be before she’d had it surgically removed by a man in a rain-slicked alleyway. She knew exactly what kind of mood Alaric Stormfang was in. He lived in a state of controlled, predatory impatience. She had spent five years avoiding his name on the news and his face in the tabloids, building a reputation as the "Ice Maiden" of the fixer world—the woman you called when a werewolf mauled a senator or a dryad grew an unauthorized forest in Central Park. She was the best because she had no pack, no loyalties, and no fear. Or so she told herself.

She crossed the street to the Stormfang Global headquarters, the flagship monolith of black glass that anchored the skyline. The security guards didn't ask for ID; her face was already in the system as a Tier-1 contractor. As the elevator shot upward toward the 90th floor, Eira caught her reflection in the polished steel. She looked nothing like the girl in the silver silk dress who had begged for a man’s love. Her makeup was a war-paint of neutrals, her eyes were shielded by a professional vacuum, and her scent was meticulously masked by a synthetic chemical blocker that smelled of nothing but expensive laundry detergent and paper.

The elevator doors chimed and slid open.

The penthouse boardroom was a cathedral of power. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the Atlantic, but the focus of the room was the massive obsidian table at its center. And there, standing with his back to her, was the silhouette that haunted her every dream.

Alaric Stormfang hadn't changed, and yet, he was entirely different. His shoulders were broader, his presence more suffocating. Even from across the room, she could feel the gravity of his Alpha status pulling at the air, demanding submission. He was reviewing a holographic map of the city, his fingers flicking through data streams with ruthless efficiency.

"You’re three minutes early," he said, his voice a deep, resonant cello that sent a traitorous shiver down Eira’s spine. He didn't turn around. "I appreciate punctuality in my consultants."

"I don't work for appreciation, Mr. Stormfang," Eira replied, her heels clicking rhythmically against the marble floor as she approached the table. "I work for the retainer your legal department already wired to my offshore account."

Alaric froze. The holographic map flickered as his hand stilled. It took him a heartbeat too long to turn around, and when he did, the expression on his face was a symphony of shock, recognition, and a sudden, violent flare of hunger.

"Eira?"

The way he said her name—like a prayer and a curse—almost broke her composure. His eyes, those piercing gold-flecked orbs, raked over her, searching for the girl he had discarded. He found a woman who looked back at him with nothing but professional boredom.

"It’s Ms. Moonveil in this office," she said, setting her briefcase on the obsidian surface. "Now, let’s talk about your basement. You’ve hit a rift. Based on the atmospheric readings I took at the site, you have approximately seventy-two hours before the necrosis spreads to the subway lines. If that happens, the death toll won't be three; it will be three thousand."

Alaric didn't look at the data she projected onto the table. He walked around the obsidian slab, his movements fluid and dangerous, until he was standing inches from her. The chemical blocker she wore was good, but Alaric was a King. He tilted his head, his nostrils flaring as he tried to catch the scent of the woman beneath the suit.

"Five years," he whispered, his voice dropping into that primal register that used to make her knees weak. "I had my people search every corner of the continent for you."

"Then your people are as incompetent as your surveyors," Eira snapped, stepping back to maintain the distance. "I wasn't hiding, Alaric. I was working. While you were busy building towers, I was learning how to clean up the messes men like you leave behind."

The air in the room began to ionize. It wasn't just the supernatural leak at the construction site; it was the sheer friction between their souls. The fated bond, which should have been dead and buried, sparked to life like a live wire dropped in a puddle. It was a physical weight, a pressure in the lungs that made every breath feel like inhaling sparks. Alaric’s wolf was visible just beneath the surface of his skin, the golden glow of his eyes intensifying until they were twin suns.

"You left," he growled, his hand twitching as if he wanted to reach out and grab her. "I told you to leave the city, not the world."

"You told me I was a mistake of the blood," she reminded him, her voice trembling with a rage she couldn't quite suppress. "You told me you didn't want a liability. Well, look at me now. I’m the only person who can save your multi-billion dollar investment from being condemned by the Supernatural Council. I’m not your mate, and I’m certainly not your liability. I’m your expensive solution."

Alaric slammed his hands onto the table, leaning in until she could feel the heat radiating off his body. He smelled of dark chocolate, rain, and the terrifying, magnetic scent of an Alpha in rut. "Don't lie to me. I can feel the pull, Eira. It’s stronger than it was that night. What have you done to yourself?"

"I grew up," she said, meeting his gaze with iron resolve. "And I realized that a King who chooses his crown over his heart isn't a King worth crying over."

For a moment, the corporate mask Alaric wore slipped. A flash of genuine, raw agony crossed his features, the look of a man who had realized too late that he had traded gold for lead. But as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by the ruthless CEO who ran Stormfang Global.

"Fine," he said, straightening his tie, though his eyes remained fixed on her lips. "You want to be a professional? Then act like one. Rurik Ashbane is already sniffing around the site. He knows we’ve hit something. If he gets his hands on that rift, he’ll use it to poison every pack in the Tri-State area."

Eira felt a cold dread settle in her stomach. Rurik Ashbane was a name whispered in the dark to frighten pups. A cursed Alpha who thrived on decay. If he was involved, this wasn't just a corporate cleanup. It was a war.

"I need full access to your archives," Eira said, forcing her mind back to the mission. "And I need a security detail that doesn't report to your internal board. I don't trust your people not to sell me out to Rurik."

"You’ll have me," Alaric said.

"No. I want Kaelen Ironclaw."

Alaric’s jaw tightened. "Kaelen is my head of security. He’s busy."

"Then find someone else to fix your rift." Eira began to pack her briefcase. "I don't work with Alphas who can't keep their wolves on a leash, Alaric. And right now, your wolf is staring at me like I’m his next meal. It’s distracting, and it’s bad for business."

Alaric let out a low, vibrating hum in his chest—a sound of grudging respect and simmering lust. He stepped toward her again, and this time, Eira didn't move. She stood her ground as he reached out, his thumb grazing the line of her jaw. The contact was electric, a jolt of pure, unadulterated power that made her vision swim.

"You think you’re so cold, Eira," he murmured, his thumb pressing into her skin...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 18.12.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Fantasy / Science Fiction ► Fantasy
• ISBN-10: 0-00-112852-3 / 0001128523
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-112852-1 / 9780001128521