Years ago I left the Questorian pack after my mate rejected me, and turned to another. Cast out of my pack because I almost ripped him apart, after almost killing his lover, I'm surprised they still remember I exist. Haden Horn is a mateless wolf shifter and our new Alpha. I know I'm not supposed to like him, and stay away, but the way he growls my name when he is angry, and flashes his fangs when I disagree with him, makes me want to taste him in ways I know is dangerous. I'm here to help solve the murders happening in the pack and leave the Pack this time for good and live my life in the human world. But what happens when my new Alpha might just be the killer? And the black wolf across the river might just be my true mate? Will I reject my new mate and choose Haden? Or will I take the road to hell and choose my mate? And what the hell is Haden hiding? Since I got back he is acting strange. Could he be the killer? or is there a much larger game at play?
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Questorian Valley If I were to sum up my life in a simple yet pitiful story, it would be this: John Brook and I will never be. The simple part? He’s in love with her. The blonde with the forever-long legs, the too-white teeth, and the laugh that sounds like it was pulled straight from a shampoo commercial. The pitiful part? It’s my fault. I knew. I knew John wasn't built for loyalty. I knew it the first time he flirted with her in front of me, eyes glazed over with that dumb alpha charm he oozed when he thought it would distract people from the fact that he had all the emotional depth of a teaspoon an empty one at that. But still, knowing the cheating dipshit scum is cheating is very different from hearing it from the entire pack. The whispers, the looks, the not-so-subtle silence when I walk into a room. It’s humiliating in a way that cuts deeper than any blade. Our house, scratch that, my house, looked like a mix between a hippie retreat center and an overgrown herb garden. I lived in a converted caravan that sat stubbornly on the edge of the woods like a creature too wild to be tamed. The porch was a mismatched mosaic of wood planks and colorful rugs I'd salvaged from the packs discarded stuff and small town markets. I had to clean it for days to get the scent of others off but it was worth it in the end. Wind chimes tinkled constantly, strung from every edge of the roof. Inside, the walls were covered in tapestries of moons and mandalas, paintings of wolves howling at purple and dark blue skies, incense burning in every corner. It was chaotic and warm and smelled like sage, lavender, and wet earth. John hated it. Too many smells. Too much clutter. Too me. He stood in the middle of the room like he didn’t belong, which was funny, considering he’d been crashing here for over six months. Using my space, eating my food, sneaking out at night thinking I wouldn’t notice. I wasn’t stupid— I was just tired of being right. “You said go on, do what I want, Ash,” he had the audacity to say. "I SAID, do what makes you happy. Not do her. And don't call me Ash—it’s Ashlyn to you.” My voice cracked more from fury than pain. He lifted his hands like I was being unreasonable. As if I hadn’t just caught him lying to my face for the hundredth time. “You’re not acting sane. I’m allowed to reject you. I’m allowed to choose another.” I laughed, sharp and humorless. “I’m not acting sane?” I repeated. “Was your pants around your ankles sane? Or the stolen money from my wallet sane? Or the fact that you live here while screwing her, was that sane, John?” He flinched. Good. "Ash...Lyn," he said, dragging out the syllables like they were poison. "Let’s face facts. You and me were never going to work. You’re cruel most days, nice like, one tenth of the time. We have nothing in common. Why we were picked as mates? I don’t know.” Cruel. That word clanged inside me like a bell struck too hard. Cruel. It was what everyone said behind my back when they thought I wasn’t listening. That I was the hot-headed troublemaker. The bully of our year. The wild girl with the bite sharper than her bark. Maybe I was. I’d broken more than one nose in a fight. Told off teachers, challenged elders, questioned every single tradition this damn pack had clung to for generations. People didn’t know what to do with girls like me. Especially when we didn’t cry when they left. Cruel. “I cook for you,” I muttered, the words choking on their way out. “I let you sleep in my bed when your stupid Alpha pride kept you from asking your parents for help. I defended you when you got suspended for fighting because I thought maybe, just maybe, you were hurting like me.” John rolled his eyes. “Oh please, you loved that I needed you. You don’t want a partner, Ashlyn. You want someone who’ll worship you. And when they stop, you turn into this… this hellcat.” My hands shook. I walked to the small kitchenette, trying to distract myself with something, anything. The sink was full of chipped mugs stained with coffee, jars with dried herbs sat on every counter, some labeled, most not. A kettle whistled from earlier, forgotten. I yanked it off the stove and slammed it onto the wooden slab of a table I’d built with my own two hands. No one helped me build this place. No one helped me survive my shift. No one helped me when my parents died. And yet everyone expected me to be soft. Forgiving. "You think being nice is easy for me, John?” I turned to him, eyes burning. “You think kindness just shows up like magic when you've spent your whole damn life fighting to breathe in a world that keeps trying to drown you?” He stared at me like I was speaking a language he never bothered to learn. Because he didn't bother to learn it. To learn me. John was an Alpha gene wolf shifter. A pureblood. Our future Alpha. I was always the girl they warned their sons about. Pretty in a dangerous way. Quick to bite. I didn’t cry when my first boyfriend cheated. I broke his ribs. I didn’t beg when my best friend left me behind. I erased her name from every notebook, every photo. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to plead now. Still, it hurt. I pointed to the door with a trembling finger, my voice low. “Get out.”Krav Flight always cleared my head. Not tonight.The city dropped away under me into a clean grid of dark roofs and blue ward lines. The tower spires cut the clouds. My wings drove hard. Air burned through my lungs clean and hot. I pushed higher until the hum of the lower nets faded and only the high lanes held me.Catan wanted the cold and the height. My panther wanted ground and walls. I ignored both. I needed the sky.Three days since Ashlyn’s vision. Three days since Keiral said the name none of us should have said. Three days of sleep broken into pieces. Every time I closed my eyes, the seams moved. Every time I landed, the ground felt wrong, like it wanted to tilt.I banked east and cut for the ridge. The mountains held steady in the dark, black lines against a washed moon. I rolled, locked my wings, and let my body fall until the wind screamed in my ears. At the last second I snapped open, flared, and climbed again. Muscle. Bone. Heat. Simple.Then my vision blurred.It hit fa
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Keiral For many moments we stood in silence, contemplative of what this all meant.Ashlyn. Me. Mira. The deaths. The god. It was hard to come up with anything worth saying.The lab around us hummed — the steady pulse of tech, the low thrum of the generators under the floor. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, and the air felt too still, too tight.Ashlyn stood with her arms crossed, eyes distant, as if she was somewhere else entirely. I sat on the edge of the counter, legs dangling, trying to make sense of the puzzle pieces that refused to fit. Mira sat near the door, her head low, fingers fidgeting with the charm Ashlyn had given her weeks ago.It wasn’t just fear that hung between us. It was confusion — a thick, heavy kind that doesn’t let thoughts form straight.“I keep thinking maybe it’s all connected,” I said finally. “The deaths. The dreams. The god.”Ashlyn didn’t look at me. “They are.”Her voice was quiet, but final.Mira lifted her head. “Then why us?”That was the questio
Ashlyn In all my years, I knew someday death would find me like a calling card, waiting to show me its face.It came that night.Krav’s apartment was quiet except for the hum of the city through the windows. My skin still burned from where his hands had been, slick with sweat, the room thick with the scent of us, saalt, musk, heat, and something electric that always came after we touched. My hair clung to my neck. His heartbeat pressed steady against my back as I lay half across his chest, eyes half closed, lungs trying to remember what calm felt like.We didn’t talk. We never did right after. It wasn’t awkwar, just silent. The kind of silence that said everything we didn’t have to.Krav’s fingers traced along my shoulder, lazy. His breath warmed my ear. “You’re quiet,” he murmured.“I’m thinking.”“About what?”“Whether the gods still remember who they made us to be.”He gave a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “If they ever did.”I smiled faintly, but it faded almost as quick. S
KeiralIt had been a month since they found out about the god, and not a single day since that day had passed without me worrying about it. The labs were quieter now, but my mind wasn’t. Every night the dreams came.The black horse.The shadowed figure.The voice whispering about choices and fire.It was never the same, yet it always ended the same — a feeling that something inside me was ticking down, waiting.The rain started late that afternoon, soft against the window glass. I sat cross-legged on the couch, hair pulled up, surrounded by folders and half-empty tea cups. The apartment Ellan had given me was too big. Too polished. Chrome counters, slate floors, a single plant that kept dying because I forgot to water it. It didn’t feel like home — just a pause.A knock came at the door.I didn’t move. “I’m working,” I said.“You’re lying,” Ellan’s voice answered through the door.I sighed, got up, and opened it.He stood there holding a brown paper bag that smelled like soy sauce, ga
Krav Curt leaned his elbows on the table. “We’re splitting three ways then. Valley, Panther, Rat. What about Dragon Valley.” Rhyse straightened. “I can take a message. If Krav writes it, they’ll open the gate.” He glanced at me and then at Haden, checking if that was true. “It’s true,” I said. “But I’m not writing a polite note. I’ll fly it myself tomorrow after we set the first seam test.” Ashlyn nodded. “Make it clean. We need their witch and we need their eyes. Gretorian was helpful, but we can’t bet the whole board on one smooth talker in red and green.” Chase grinned. “Speak for yourself. I bet anything on that guy.” Haden gave him a look. “Don’t.” Chase shut up and drank. Mira’s gaze cut to me, then to Ashlyn. “What about me.” “You stay here,” Ashlyn said. “Ellan will house you in guest tier three. Keiral will check you every morning and night until we know how your wolf is handling the bond. You do not meet Rhyse alone.” Mira nodded, then looked at Rhyse and waited,
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