My Mate Is Another Woman's Fate

The door to my café opened with a soft chime, signaling that someone had entered. I caught a pleasant, familiar scent drifting through the air.It can’t be!My legs tangled in surprise, and I almost dropped the tray of drinks and snacks. Gathering my inner courage, I raised my eyes—and saw HIM.He stood in a tense pose, his fists clenched, staring at me from beneath furrowed brows. His eyes burned with a mixture of anger and something unspoken, something that sent a shiver down my spine.I froze, rooted to the spot, unable to move. I just stood there, staring back.Was he really looking for me? But why?The she-wolf inside me howled, clawing at my insides at the sight of her mate. She wanted to throw herself at him, wrap her arms around his neck, and never let go.Oh no, friend.We tried that already, and it didn’t work. He’s human; he can’t feel the connection as strongly as we do. To him, it was just an affair—something fleeting. As they say, “I’m not the first, and I won’t be the l

Because of my total lack of control and the overwhelming panic that gripped me, my room turned into pure chaos.Shredded bedsheets, torn pajamas—my claws had ripped through everything. The mirror was smashed, things were strewn all over the place, and somehow I had even trampled my favorite ficus tree.I don’t even remember how I did it, but I broke down the door—my paws, my muzzle—and bolted outside, running blindly, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn’t know where I was going. I just needed to hide, to get away, to survive this... nightmare.I was terrified—terrified of what I’d become, terrified of what I might do. My parents are human. And my little sister… she’s human too. At least, for now.There are stories—horrible stories—about first transformations going wrong. Werewolves injuring themselves, losing control, hurting loved ones. And sure, we heal fast, almost instantly—but humans don’t. If I ever hurt my family… I wouldn’t survive the guilt. I couldn’t live with myself.So

On my grandfather’s farm, I met Arthur — a kind, good-hearted, and handsome guy. Blond, with light brown eyes — “whiskey-colored,” as they say — he had a natural way with animals and was studying to become a veterinarian. He was a bit skinny and had only recently started working for his grandfather. He was the same age as Eli. We quickly became friends. Arthur always knew how to keep a conversation interesting, and his sense of humor was spot on. One day, when Eli came to visit us on the farm, I whispered shyly, “Eli, I think… I have a not-so-friendly kind of crush on Arthur.” We were standing in the garden, and I couldn’t take my eyes off Arthur, who was fussing over a mare about a hundred meters away. “He has such hands… And his gaze? It goes straight into a woman’s soul. Here’s a secret — I think I’m in love,” I confessed softly. Eli snorted and laughed — not very ladylike. “You just realized this today? What about yesterday?” “Well, yesterday I didn’t have those thoughts.

"Did Eli say it was an apartment?" I muttered to myself, stunned as I stepped inside. No way. This was no apartment—it was a freaking mansion in a luxury high-rise! A massive kitchen with high-end appliances in dark tones, a gigantic living room with a flat-screen mounted on the wall, two bathrooms, and four bedrooms. All for me? I didn’t need that much space. But hey, who was I to complain? Thank you, Eli, for the royal treatment. I unpacked my things, stocked up on groceries, made dinner, and decided to get to bed early. Tomorrow will be the big day—my interview—and I needed to be in top shape. The closer it got, the more my nerves acted up. The next morning, I woke up before my alarm. After a quick shower, I applied a light day makeup and styled my hair into a neat bun. I chose a dark blue pantsuit that flattered my figure without screaming for attention. A pale blue blouse with a subtle neckline completed the look. Tasteful. Elegant. Professional. Eli and I had spent hours pori

Konstantin: The morning began, as usual, with a light breakfast and a cup of coffee prepared by my chef. My mood was lifted by a recent major deal—one that wasn’t just profitable, but truly interesting to me. Our firm had finalized it only a couple of days ago, and it involved some very influential people. As an inventor, I thrived on complex tasks and challenges. My mind was constantly buzzing with projects and ideas for such assignments. While mulling over yet another invention that could be improved, I drove myself to MoTech—my brainchild. I had a personal driver and security detail, of course, but whenever I needed time to think, I preferred to get behind the wheel myself. My men always followed in another car and had long since grown used to my quirks. Though, why call them quirks? I bought expensive, sometimes exclusive cars, and I enjoyed driving them myself, feeling the raw power of the machines. Driving helped me think. In fact, whenever ideas came to me, I could fix