LOGINJasmine Wembley was born an Omega…the lowest rank, a nobody. Left to fend for herself in a world where power is law, she used the only tools she had: her body, her charm, and a mind sharper than any wolf’s claws. Branded a whore by her pack, Jasmine carved her way into the dens of powerful men, stealing secrets from pillows and whispers. But her endgame was never just survival…it was domination. When Alpha Roger Fitzgerald, the most feared and untouchable leader, takes notice of her, she sees a doorway into power. But Roger is not a man easily swayed…especially not by a woman the pack sees as disposable. Their connection burns hot, violent, and forbidden. As desire turns into a dangerous game, enemies emerge from the shadows….rival Alphas, jealous pack members, and a hidden bloodline that could change everything. She’s not just playing for Luna. She’s playing for the throne. She must seduce the Alpha, rule the pack… or die trying.
View MoreThe throne room hadn’t changed...not in stone or glass or the high, arched ceilings that still groaned with memory...but something in the air had.It wasn’t incense or blood this time.It was Jasmine.She stood before them barefoot, a sheer mantle of silver smoke draped over her shoulders and nothing beneath it but skin and intention. The floor had been swept clean after the war, but the scent of what had happened still lingered in the cracks… just like her.The Court waited.Old Alphas. New soldiers. Rogues made tame. Women who had once been chained.Roger stood at her side—not in front, not behind. His bruises were still fresh, his lip still split from the night she reminded him how submission could be beautiful if it was chosen.She didn’t sit on the throne. She stood beside it.Let them wonder if she would ever need to sit.Let them burn.A low murmur rippled through the gathered wolves, thick with expectation and unease. Jasmine raised one hand. Silence rolled in like smoke.She
They tried to put her in white.Jasmine stood before the grand mirror... shattered now, cracked like an omen... and stared at the dress someone had dared lay across the bed. Pure silk. Pale. Virginal. As if the past two hundred days of war, of heat, of teeth in her throat and power in her hips, hadn’t happened.She ran her fingers along the fabric.Then let it fall to the ground like a dead thing.She didn’t need silk to be sacred.She didn’t need white to be worthy.When she stepped out into the hall, barefoot, blood still dried beneath her nails, a gown of deep crimson wrapped around her body like hunger made flesh, no one dared stop her.The pack was waiting.And they were starving.The throne room smelled of wolves and ash, the air still thick with the scent of the bodies they’d burned. Soot coated the marble columns. The old banners had been torn down, replaced with rough fabric dyed in shades of wine and rust. Her color. Her claim.Eyes turned as she entered. Dozens of them. Alp
They said the coronation would happen at dusk.But dusk came and went... and Jasmine did not arrive.The court waited—tight-lipped, coiled, dressed in mourning-black and expectation. Candles burned down to stubs. Goblets remained untouched. The throne at the center of the long obsidian hall sat draped in velvet, vacant. Too many eyes flicked to it and then away.A queen who kept them waiting was a queen they feared.Outside, the winds howled through the stone bones of Blackfang’s keep. Smoke coiled up from torches, refusing to rise clean. The air was wrong. Wild. As if something in it remembered teeth.Roger stood at the far end of the chamber, his arms crossed over his chest, blood still crusted beneath his fingernails from the night before. His jaw was locked. His body, bruised and burning from Jasmine’s touch, carried itself like it had been marked from the inside out.And maybe it had.Because he felt it too.The change.The shift.A hum beneath his skin that didn’t come from his
The fire had long since burned out. All that remained were the embers—simmering, stubborn, hot in a way that stayed in the bones long after the flames had stopped trying to devour the sky.Jasmine stood at the edge of it all. The courtyard, the blood, the silence that came after a pack had screamed themselves hoarse. Smoke clung to her hair. Her robe was open, her skin streaked in ash and sweat and grief. There was no one left to seduce. No one left to fight.Only him.Roger sat on the steps like a war beast too tired to bare his teeth. His shirt was ripped open, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, wounds healing beneath blood that refused to dry. The silver in his hair caught the moonlight. His mouth—usually curled in something cruel or cocky—was soft now. Slack. Human.Jasmine walked to him without sound.Not like prey.Not like a queen.Just a woman who had finally stopped running.He didn’t look up when she sank to her knees in front of him, didn’t move when her fingers b






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