Novels by Steven Olu

I obeyed, my heart hammering. The bond flared hot between us.“Simon Sinclair offered you a job,” Zach said flatly.“Yes.”“And?”“And what?” I crossed my arms. “You want to know if I’m leaving? If I’m taking it?”“Why are you still here?”I raised a brow.“You have an out. A good one. Simon’s rich, charming, actually gives a damn about people. So why haven’t you packed your bags?”“Maybe I like washing dishes.”“Don’t be smart.”“Why not? You’re being an ass.” I was already saying before I could stop myself, “You rejected and humiliated me. Then made me your slave. Ignored me. And now you are mad someone finally saw me as human? You don’t get to care!”“I care!” He yelled, getting up.“Oh really?” “I said I rejected you. Those are different things!”“How? Explain it to me like I’m stupid, since apparently I am for still being here!”“I was trying to protect you! Because everyone I’ve ever loved has died or betrayed me! Because being my mate is a death sentence and I’d rather hurt yo

I’d heard of the Crescent Moon Pack. They bordered Blackwood territory. Rich. Powerful. More civilized than us, according to pack gossip.“Arabelle,” I said, because ignoring him felt rude even though I wanted to.“Beautiful name.”He looked over at the flowers.“These are Bourbon roses. Antique variety. Someone here knows their horticulture.”“That would be Gerald, the actual gardener. I’m just the grunt labor.”Simon laughed. It was a nice sound. Warm. Real. Nothing like Zach’s rare, cold amusement. “Well, you’re doing a great job. These cuts are perfect.”I glanced at him, suspicious. “Is there something you need? Because I’m pretty sure important Betas don’t chat with servants.”“Maybe I’m not like other Betas.” His smile turned softer. “And maybe I know exactly who you are, Arabelle Gwyneth.”I froze.“Zach’s mate. The one he rejected.” Simon’s voice was gentle now. “The one he’s keeping here like… well. Like this.”“He’s settling a debt. My father…..”“Marcus Gwyneth, notorious

Helen thrust a silver pot at me. My hands shook.“He wants coffee.”“Now?”“Dining room. Through those doors. Pour and leave. Don’t speak unless he speaks first.”I walked through into a room straight out of a home magazine. Windows overlooking gardens that probably had their own staff. And sitting at the head of it all, scrolling through his tablet like he owned the world, which he basically did, was Zach.He didn’t even look up. I reached for his cup.“You’re shaking.” His voice was dead flat. “Spill coffee on me and you’ll regret it.”I steadied my hands and poured. The silence was suffocating. This close, I could see the dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t slept either.“Anything else, Alpha?” The words tasted wrong in my mouth.“No.”I turned to leave.“Wait.”I froze.Zach set down his tablet and actually looked at me. Really looked.“Your cheek. How is it?”I blinked, confused. Then remembered the glass from Marcus’s bottle. I’d almost forgotten.“Fine.”“It’s infected.” He

Three days in hell.The bond didn’t break. That was the sick joke. Rejection needed acceptance from both sides, and I’d been too shocked, too broken to say the words. So now I was stuck with these golden threads connecting me to someone who hated my existence.I felt him constantly. His rage. His presence in the pack manor on the hill.The pack got worse. Before, I was invisible. Now I was target practice. They whispered when I passed. “Even the Alpha didn’t want her.” “Rejected the second she shifted.” “Pathetic.” They shoved me into walls, knocked things over for me to clean, laughed when I flinched away.Marcus’s beatings got creative. He blamed me for embarrassing him.One night I heard a knock on the door.Marcus answered it.“Marcus Gwyneth? You owe Alpha Blackwood fifty thousand dollars.”My hands froze on the brush.Marcus’s voice went high and panicky. “I can get it! Just give me another week!”“Time’s up. The Alpha wants his money tonight, or else.”Fifty thousand. My stomac

The basement was cold and smelly.I pressed my back against the wall, my eyes on the moon outside my window.I was waiting for midnight. In less than three hours, I would be 18. Three hours until everything changed, or three hours until I proved Marcus right. That I was worthless. Wolfless. The mistake that killed my mother.My skin felt too tight. It felt like something was scratching to get out.“Arabelle!” Glass shattered. “Get your ass up here!”It was the voice of my drunkard father, Marcus, calling me from upstairs’.I refused to call him father. I called him by his name, Marcus.Because he was nothing like a father to me. All the bruises and broken bones I’d gotten from his beatings and abuse were backings to my decision.“Arabelle!” He roared again, then I heard him add, “Where’s that little bitch?”I quickly rushed upstairs to where he was. As soon as I got there, the foul stench of the room hit my nose. Bottles were scattered about. Cigarettes and whiskey filled the air.He