Novels by Favour Odhomo

"Property." The word echoed in the cavernous Throne Room, dropping the ambient temperature to absolute zero. King Silas did not shout. He did not roar. The low, gravelly vibration of his voice was far more terrifying than any explosion of rage. It was the sound of a predator calculating the exact angle to snap a spine. The thousands of Lycans, still kneeling on the obsidian floor, remained frozen. They had just sworn fealty to me, and within sixty seconds, an inferior southern pack had marched to their borders demanding I be returned like stolen cattle. The insult to the Northern Shadows was unprecedented. The insult to the Lycan King’s mate was an automatic death sentence. Silas slowly turned his head to look at me. The crimson fire in his obsidian eyes was no longer a flicker; it was a roaring inferno. "Torin," Silas commanded, never breaking eye contact with me. Beta Torin shot up from his kneeling position, his massive chest heaving, his amber eyes locked on his King.

The silk of the gown Martha brought me felt less like clothing and more like liquid armor. It was a breathtaking piece of midnight-blue velvet, cut with a dangerous, elegant precision that clung to the new, subtle curves of my healed body. The neckline was high and regal, but the back plunged low, leaving my spine where Kaelen had violently severed our bond completely exposed. It was a calculated choice by Silas. He wasn't hiding my scars. He was weaponizing them. As I stared at my reflection in the massive, silver-gilded mirror of the King’s chambers, I barely recognized the woman staring back. The grime, the bruises, and the hollow, sunken cheeks of the Blood Moon floor scrubber were completely gone. My skin possessed a luminous, almost predatory glow. My silver eyes, once downcast and filled with permanent terror, now swirled with a faint, unnatural luminescence. I was terrified, my pulse hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, but beneath the fear, the massive white wolf

The heat of King Silas’s hand on my chest was not just physical; it was a branding iron of fate. The severed bond with Kaelen had been a raw, oozing wound in my soul, a void where my purpose and future had been brutally excised. But this—this explosion of light, electricity, and raw, predatory need was an annihilation of everything I thought I knew about werewolf biology. A second-chance mate. And not just any mate. The Lycan King. Silas’s lips were a fraction of an inch from mine. I could feel the microscopic vibrations of his rumble against my own skin. My inner wolf was screaming, scratching at my ribs, begging me to tilt my head, to expose my neck, to surrender every inch of my body to his overwhelming dominance. For a heartbeat, the darkness of my past dissolved I wasn't the floor scrubber. I wasn't the rejected omega. I was his. But then, the logical, battered human side of my mind clawed its way back to the surface. Fear, sharp and cold, cut through the chemical

The darkness this time was different. It wasn't the violent, crushing oblivion of pain. It was a suffocating, velvety weight like being submerged in warm, heavy water that refused to let me surface. I couldn't feel the freezing snow anymore. The metallic tang of rogue blood had evaporated from my tongue, replaced by a strange, residual sweetness that clung to the roof of my mouth. The frantic, ear-piercing shrieks of the Rogue Woods were gone, replaced by a low, rhythmic thumping that I didn't recognize as a powerful heartbeat until I fought my eyes open. The first thing I saw was fire. Not the destructive, consuming fire of a burning packhouse, but the controlled, civilized blaze of a massive hearth. The flames, burning with a strange blue and purple hue, were trapped behind a formidable screen of wrought iron. The heat radiating from it was intense, a tidal wave of warmth that immediately sought to bake the cold out of my very bones. I wasn't in the dirt. My bruis

The agony was not a metaphor. It was a biological detonation. My spine bowed so violently I thought it would snap in half. A scream tore from my throat, but it didn't sound human. It was a jagged, ear-piercing shriek that vibrated with a terrifying, unnatural frequency, echoing through the dead canopy of the Rogue Woods. The massive rogue mid-lunge faltered. Its heavy, mud-caked paws hit the dirt a fraction of an inch from my face, a whine of sudden confusion escaping its rotting jaws. The shockwave of heat radiating from my skin was so intense it actually pushed the beast backward. MINE! The voice in my head roared again. It was no longer a distant echo. It was the absolute, dominant master of my nervous system. And then, my bones began to break. It started in my hands. I watched in horrified, paralyzed fascination as my fingers elongated, the joints cracking with the deafening sound of dry branches snapping under a heavy boot. Thick, razor-sharp black talons ripped th

The darkness did not last long enough. Consciousness returned not with a gentle waking, but with a violent, full-body flinch. I gasped, my lungs expanding against ribs that felt like they had been shattered with a sledgehammer. The air I pulled in was stale, thick with the smell of damp earth, mildew, and the sharp, metallic tang of my own dried blood. I wasn't in the grand hall anymore. The freezing marble had been replaced by rough, jagged stone. I forced my eyes open, blinking against the stinging crust of dried tears. A single, flickering bulb hung from a rusted cage in the ceiling, casting long, skeletal shadows against the walls. The pack dungeons. I tried to push myself up, but my arms buckled instantly. A sickening wave of vertigo washed over me. The space at the base of my spine where the mate bond had been anchored just hours ago throbbed with a hollow, phantom agony. It felt like an amputated limb. Kaelen’s rejection hadn't just broken my heart; it had p