Novels by aPeX

The underground parking garage beneath the defunct textile mill was a tomb of concrete and damp air. Water dripped rhythmically from a rusted pipe, the sound echoing like a countdown in the oppressive silence. Jonathan stood by the hood of his black sedan, his silhouette swallowed by the flickering orange glow of a dying sodium lamp. He didn't look like a Prince here; he looked like a ghost haunting the ruins of his father’s empire.A low, guttural rumble vibrated through the floor before a pair of headlights cut through the gloom. A battered truck screeched to a halt twenty feet away. From the driver’s side stepped a man who looked like he had been put back together by a blind surgeon—Varick, the leader of the Scourge Rogues. He was a mountain of scarred flesh and unwashed fur, his eyes glowing with the unstable yellow light of a wolf who had spent too long away from the civilizing influence of a pack."You’re a brave one, Little Prince," Varick rasped, his voice sounding like dry le

The air in the royal suite was thick with the scent of unspoken secrets and the lingering chill of the previous night’s terror. Elara sat on the edge of the velvet-draped bed, her fingers tracing the intricate embroidery of the duvet as if searching for a hidden escape route. When the door clicked open, she nearly jumped out of her skin, but the tension in her shoulders melted into a different kind of ache when she saw Jonathan slip inside.He looked weary, the sharp lines of his face carved deeper by the weight of a double life."Did he find out?" Elara’s voice was a fragile whisper, barely audible over the hum of the palace’s ventilation. "The switch... Isabella... the blood. Did he suspect anything after he left yesterday?"Jonathan crossed the room in three long strides, taking her trembling hands in his. His touch was a grounding wire in the middle of a lightning storm. "No," he said, his voice low and steady. "He believes the lie. He’s so blinded by his own ego, by the idea of h

Morning crept in like a thief, slipping through the heavy curtains in thin, gray blades. I woke before the sun fully claimed the room, my body stiff against the cold silk sheets. The monstrous bed felt like a battlefield, and I was the lone survivor, heart pounding, breath shallow. The Alpha King’s arm was still draped over me, heavy as a chain. His snores rumbled low, a beast in slumber. I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My mind was a storm, thoughts crashing against each other, relentless.Jonathan. His name was a knife in my chest. Where was he now? In Asante’s arms, her dark hair spilling across his chest, her lips claiming what was mine? The image burned, vivid and cruel. My mate, my fated one, tangled in another woman’s sheets. Would he kiss her the way he kissed me, his hands roaming her skin, his breath hot against her neck? The thought twisted my gut, a sickening ache that made me want to scream into the void. How could I ever be whole, knowing he was hers in the eyes of the pack, th

The door creaked open, slow, deliberate. I froze, sitting stiff on the edge of the bed. Jonathan had played his part, and maybe he had failed. Maguire, my husband is back, I thought.And then she slipped in. Isabella. Her smile sharp as broken glass, her hips swaying like she owned the night."Isabella?"“Get out, bitch,” she hissed, her voice low, poisonous. “I’ll replace you.”My brows knitted. “Replace me? What do you mean?”She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she strode straight to me, grabbed a fistful of my hood, and yanked. My breath caught as she shoved me toward the door.“Wait—”But Isabella was strong, fueled by something darker than desire. Her nails scraped my neck as she pushed again, lips curling in satisfaction. “Tonight isn’t yours, Elara. Go sit in your little corner and pray that the king would be fooled as we have planned. I’ve got this.”The slam of the door echoed in my skull. I stumbled into the corridor, the cold stone biting at my bare feet. My heart thund

The office was cavernous, dim but humming with the weight of history. Maps stretched across the oak desk like veins of a living beast. Candles burned low, throwing shadows over my father’s sharp profile. He hadn’t looked at me once since I entered, his gaze glued to the parchment, fingers tracing borders and red-inked lines like they might bleed beneath his touch. I cleared my throat. “Father.” No answer. Just the scratch of his nail against the map. I stepped closer, the air thick with ink, parchment, and the scent of his dominance — a scent that always made my chest tighten, as if the room itself pressed down on me. “There’s news,” I said. “Whispers from the northern border. Another pack is stirring, one not allied to us. They’re… plotting. Preparing for something.” At that, he finally looked up. His eyes, cold as river stones, narrowed. “From where?” I’d prepared the lie all afternoon, twisting it from nothing into something that sounded like smoke from a hidden fire.

The chamber swallowed me whole. Its walls were draped in crimson velvet, heavy and suffocating, its curtains drawn tight against the night. Firelight flickered across stone carved with beasts and wolves, shadows prowling the edges of the room as though they waited to devour me. At the center, the bed loomed — a monstrous thing of blackwood, carved with snarling wolves, its silken covers a dark river spilling to the floor. The attendants had left me there, dressed in nothing more than a thin robe of pale gossamer. It clung to my damp skin like a second layer, transparent enough to make my heart race. My breath trembled in the silence. My knees pressed together as though I could hold myself inside, safe, untouched. I folded my hands and whispered prayers I could no longer remember, words spilling like broken beads from a snapped rosary. Gods, spirits, anyone… deliver me. Deliver me now. A sound stirred. A shadow shifted at the far end of the chamber. The Alpha King emerged.