Romans & histoires Alexandra Grant Nude

My family is the oldest healing bloodline in the Frostmoon Pack, and I am the most promising talent to become the pack's Chief Healer. My destined mate, who promised to mark me on my 20th birthday, instead chose my stepsister Eliza on the very day that was meant to be mine. Then Alaric Blackwood, the legendarily powerful and cold Alpha of the Blackwood pack, openly pursued me after I was abandoned. For five years after becoming his mate, he treated me with tender care and bone-deep devotion. He told me not to work so hard as a healer and to focus on being his Luna. Until I accidentally overheard a conversation between him and his loyal Beta. "Alpha, Eliza has already become Chief Healer. How long will you continue pretending to love Amara?" "It doesn't matter since I can't be Eliza's mate anyway. Besides, as long as I'm with Amara, she won't interfere with Eliza's happiness." Every night, he prayed to the Moon Goddess, and every word was filled with longing and love for Eliza. "May the Moon Goddess bless Eliza. May she find peace in body and spirit." "May the Moon Goddess grant Eliza all she desires, and protect all that she loves." ... "Eliza, we're not destined for each other in this life. I only pray we become fated mates in the next." Only then did I realize that my mate—his body belonged to me, but his heart belonged deeply to my stepsister. I've prepared a fake identity and planned a staged death at the hands of rogue wolves. From now on, we will never meet again, in this life or any other.

At my own wedding, I find out the woman behind the veil isn't even the one I'm supposed to be marrying. Instead of getting mad, I give her the wedding of the century. It's all because of what happened in my past life. I'd exposed that she wasn't my bride in front of everyone and blew up the whole ceremony. That forced Jessie Clarke, who'd been at the hospital with her childhood sweetheart, Oliver Grant, to rush over reluctantly so we could still get married. Because of that, Oliver refused treatment and died on the operating table. When I heard he was gone, I told Jessie she should see him one last time, but she refused. All she said was, "Blame it on his bad luck." After we got married, we acted just as in love as before. I kept getting money from my family to save her company every time it was on the verge of collapse. But on the anniversary of Oliver's death, Jessie shoved me off the top floor of her company. I hit the ground hard enough to end up a broken, bloody mess. As I fell, I caught one last look at her face, streaked with tears. "If you hadn't forced me back to marry you, Oliver wouldn't have died! You get to keep me, but I lost him for good! Why do you get to live a happy life?" So that was it. She'd blamed me for Oliver's death from the start. She'd never loved me at all. The next time I opened my eyes, I was back at our wedding ceremony.

“We signed the divorce papers six months ago. Tonight I’m wearing the lingerie he bought me on our honeymoon…and I’m not leaving his penthouse until he remembers why he put a ring on it.” Lila Grant never begged,not when Ethan built his empire on her late-night sketches. Not when he shut her out with silence colder than the marble floors of their Manhattan tomb. Not when she scrawled her signature on the line that severed them. But six months of celibate nights and whiskey-soaked memories have carved her hollow. One look at him across a crowded gala with his new fiancée draped on his arm like a cheap trophy and something primal snaps inside her. She kisses him in front of the cameras. Claims the mouth that once whispered mine against her throat and then she issues the ultimatum that detonates their carefully buried war: Thirty nights. His Hamptons fortress. One bed. No safe words. No surrender. If either of them says the word divorce, the other walks away with everything,money, pride, the last shred of sanity. Ethan never lost until Lila walks back in wearing red silk and the scent of ruin. What begins as a vicious game of who-blinks-first spirals into something darker. Jealousy that tastes like blood on the tongue. Sex that leaves bruises shaped like vows. He wants to punish her for leaving. She wants to burn the memory of his touch out of her skin. Both get exactly what they came for,until the one thing neither planned explodes between them: She’s pregnant. And the man who swore he’d never beg is on his knees

"Luna Seraphina, are you certain you wish to proceed with the breaking of the mate bond? Once we begin the ritual, the bond between you and Alpha Kaden will be gone forever. Your power, your standing, and everything you hold within the pack will no longer exist." The aged priest of the pack held Seraphina’s hand, her weathered eyes reflecting worry. Seraphina nodded, her voice unwavering with determination. "I’m sure." The priest persuaded Seraphina, "The ritual will bring you unimaginable pain, and Alpha Kaden will suffer greatly too. Please, could you reconsider it?" Seraphina broke the skin of her finger with a silver pen and pressed her blood print on the ancient werewolf script to seal the deal. "Let’s begin." "Very well. After the ritual, you will forsake the name, Seraphina Mor, and in return, the Moon Goddess will grant you a new life. You will go by Kathryn Flint, is that correct?" "Yes." Kathryn would leave and begin a new chapter in a forest. It was a path she had set out for herself. She was going to leave and break free from the pack that had been nothing but lies. After the ritual, the priest handed her a new human ID and passport. "Can I leave the territory now?" "Yes, you may. The confirmation slip holds the Moon Goddess’s blessing, which has the power to mask your scent from the Alpha seeking to track you, but it can only last for a week." Seraphina prepared her departure with haste. She would bring nothing else with her, neither her Luna staff nor her registered name on the pack’s records. Seraphina was leaving with her new passport in a week anyway. The Luna title could remain with the pack for good, for she no longer needed it.

It was the apocalypse. A zombie apocalypse. We should've been running for our lives, but my girlfriend, Yvonne Brown, refused to. She wanted to buy as much time as she could for her incompetent childhood friend, Yves Claude, to hop into the last helicopter that would take survivors away. But the retreat was our group's only way to survive in this apocalypse. Yves was not showing up anytime soon. I had no choice but to knock her out and drag her into the chopper. And Yves, the one she could never seem to forget, died in the swarm of undead. I, however, survived thanks to what I did. Yvonne and I lived happily in a safe zone. And then that fateful day came. I was going to take over the territory and lead humanity on an attack against the zombies. The night before that decisive strike, Yvonne spiked my water with anesthetics. When I was caught helpless, she tossed me into the horde of zombies. The swarm of undead tore my flesh open, and the pain killed me. Yvonne? She stood on the wall coldly, a sneer decorating her lips. "Yves could've lived, but you took that chance away from him! You selfish monster, you killed Yves! I will make you suffer what he suffered! You'll pay for it with your life!" Death took me, but it tossed me all the way back to the day of the retreat. The day Yvonne adamantly insisted on waiting for Yves. Well, if she was so happy to live through a world like this with her friend, who am I to say no? I would grant her that wish, even if she would end up as zombie food.

Aurelio Bertram, 24, a dangerously handsome billionaire with a legacy drenched in power and shadows. Grandson of a notorious mob boss. Son of one of the city’s most respected businessmen. Aurelio was a perfect storm—charming, ruthless, and reckless. But at the moment, he was temporarily nothing. Until he fulfilled their one condition. Just as he was plotting revenge on a childhood rival and preparing to attend one of the biggest underground events of the year, the unexpected hit—his family wouldn’t grant him the reins to their empire unless he produced an heir. Easy enough, right? After all, Aurelio Bertram was known in his circle as the king of flings—a man who could charm a woman in seconds and leave her breathless. Getting someone pregnant? A walk in the park. Except… it wasn’t. Weeks turned into months. Not one woman came back with a positive test. Not a single one. Until Erica James. A simple, middle-class hotel waitress with curves that could stop time and a heart hardened by abandonment. Her parents had written her off in high school, convinced she’d never amount to anything. But Erica didn’t need their approval. One night. That’s all it took. Aurelio never expected it. Neither did she. And when the test turned positive, Erica wanted nothing more than to disappear—run far away from the shame, the chaos, and the power that surrounded Aurelio Bertram. But how do you run from a man who owns the city? From the father of your unborn child? From a man who refuses to let go? "Even in the woods, I’d find you, babycakes," Aurelio whispered into her ear, his voice low and possessive. "From now on, you belong to me. You, and everything that has to do with my baby."

At a college alumni gathering for werewolves, someone jokingly asks my Alpha mate, Ian Glover, a question. "Ian, who is the she-wolf you wanted to mark the most back in college?" Ian takes a sip of his blood wine and looks past me toward Sherry Lark, the most beautiful she-wolf in college back then. He answers bluntly, "Sherry." Sherry is stunned for a moment, and disbelief fills her eyes. "Me? But... When I gave you the scarf carrying my scent and hinted that I wanted to be your mate, why didn't you respond?" Now it's Ian's turn to be stunned. "Didn't you give your scarf to Archer Grant?" It turns out Sherry placed the scarf in the wrong spot back then, causing them to miss out on each other. Her eyes redden instantly, while Ian has a longing and regretful look on his face. Our classmates begin teasing them. One wolf suddenly chuckles and says meaningfully, "How can there be such a perfect coincidence? It's not likely for one to mistakenly give such an important gift to the wrong wolf. Think about it, everyone. Could someone have deliberately intervened?" The moment those words fall, every wolf's gaze turns toward me. Ian and I have formed a mate bond, but we never make it public. So, everyone only remembers how shamelessly I chased after him back in college. But none of them know that Ian is the one who first approached me and sent out signals that he wanted to be my mate. Now, he says nothing. He doesn't even spare me a glance and is just gazing deeply at Sherry. At that moment, I know our mate bond is over.

The day I decided to donate my body to science, my family gathered around my adopted sister, Hailey, celebrating her acceptance into a cutting-edge experimental treatment program. The one with brain cancer was supposed to be me. But Hailey used my husband Zane's position at the hospital to swap her healthy medical records with my terminal diagnosis, stealing the one chance I had to survive. And the worst part? Everyone cheered her on. The pain became too much. I fought to stay present, only to overhear the nurses whispering, "It's a good thing Dr. Zane secured that spot for Hailey. They said she only had three days left." So, in the last 72 hours of my life, I quietly let go of everything. When I gave Hailey the original manuscripts of my novels I had poured my heart and soul into, my father and brother gave me a satisfied smile. When Zane decided to grant Hailey her dying wish by marrying her, he handed me the divorce papers. I signed without a moment's hesitation. He sighed and praised me for finally being "so reasonable." And when I was the one who coaxed our daughter, Olivia, into calling Hailey "Mommy," Olivia gushed that her new mom was the best. "Don't worry," Zane soothed. "We're just keeping it safe for now. Once she's gone, it'll all come back to you." I gave Hailey everything I had, just like they wanted. So why, when they find out this was all Hailey's vicious lie, do they come crying, saying I'm the one they wanted all along?

"Have sex with me," Mustering all her courage, she said in a very desperate tone. It was not a request but it was more of a command. Emily Greyson, no boyfriend since birth, has never been dated, never been touched, and never been kissed. A certified virgin asking boldly to a superstar whom she held dearly in her heart. "You are not worthy of me!" Charles Adam exclaimed disgustingly. His cold eyes bore deeply into her. Despite his strong rejection, Emily held her chin high then her trembling hands started to undress herself in front of him. Emily was going to marry his brother but she didn’t love him. She would only do it for Charles because she loved him so much but he never loved her back. Charles had a woman he loved and he was going to marry her. Emily’s silk nightgown dropped on the floor leaving her body covered only with her white laced underwear. Charles’s cold eyes scanned her hourglass figure with flawless glossy skin. “Get out!” He roared. “No! I demand you to grant what I want! If you don’t agree then let’s forget the wedding!” Emily refuted. Suddenly, Charles walked forward exuding a very dangerous aura. Her body instantly shivered out of fear but she held her ground. “You are getting bolder, Emily. How dare you threaten me?” He suddenly scooped her like a bag of potatoes. When she thought, he was going to throw her outside, he tossed her to his bed.

On the night of our ninth wedding anniversary, my husband—Damian Grant, the man who ruled the mafia by day and once ruled my heart by night—did not bring me roses. He gave the bouquet that should have been mine to Serena Lane, his personal assistant. Beneath the chandelier where we once danced on our wedding night, he turned to me with that same cold charm he once used to whisper sweet nothings in my ear. “She's pregnant.” Finally, everything fell into place. “She's a picky eater. From today onward, you’ll cook three meals a day for her. And no repeats. “She’s sensitive and hates sleeping alone, so you’ll need to move your things into the guest room.” The room fell silent. I did not raise my voice, nor did I shed a single tear. I simply picked up my packed suitcase and walked to the door. The butler tried to stop me, but Damian did not even blink. “She’ll come back.” He lazily swirled the wine in his glass. “She’ll come back crying and begging within three days.” Our guests burst out laughing. They placed a million-dollar bet right in front of me. They were betting on whether I would be back before the night was over, begging Damian to let me back in like a pathetic stray dog with my tail between my legs. However, they did not know I had already received the family heirloom from my real father. I booked my flight to get far, far away from everyone I used to know. This time, I really left.