Flying Dog Bloodline

They abused her. Used her for their dirty work. Humiliated her publicly. Treated her like filth on their shoes. They called her an omega. A servant. A mistake. But the Moon never forgot her name. Daeira (Day-rah) *Dee* to her friends, doesn't remember the night her family was slaughtered. She doesn't know she's the last living heir of the Seralyn Pack, sacred white wolves descended from the Moon Goddess Selene. Blessed with lunar & healing magic, divine power, and moon fire in their blood. All she knows is cruelty, hunger, and survival in the most ruthless pack in existence. Raised by the wolves who killed her bloodline, Daeira has spent her life in the shadows, beaten, starved, silenced. She hides her strength. Hides her power. Hides the truth of what her wolf really is. Until the night she turns eighteen... and the Moon wakes her. Her wolf rises in a blaze of silver flame, and for the first time, Daeira sees what she really is, chosen, divine, and deadly. But when her fated mate, the Alpha's son, rejects her in front of the entire pack, everything shatters. She doesn't beg. She doesn't break. She runs. Because Daeira isn't the broken little thing they raised in a cage. She's the prophecy made flesh. And the world has no idea what's coming. An ancient evil is spreading through the wolf realm. The rift to the hell realm has cracked wide open. Demons walk the earth. Angels are falling from the skies to stop them. And Daeira? She's the only one who can close the breach. The wolves who cast her out are about to learn: The Moon doesn't bless without purpose. She sure as hell doesn't forgive. ✅ Reverse Harem/Dark Romance ✅ Rejected mate ✅ Dark Magic/Demons ✅ Hidden goddess bloodline

The moment I was born, my mother implanted a chip in my brain and began shaping me into her idea of a perfect daughter. She blocked my sense of hunger so I would only have simple meals daily to maintain the "ideal" figure. She erased my ability to feel pain so she could inject me with endless chemicals to keep my skin smooth and flawless. She tampered with my senses, deleting every trace of negative emotion from my mind, all so I could remain eternally innocent. I couldn't tell right from wrong. I didn't know sadness or anger. I only knew how to smile. When the neighbor's dog died, I smiled and was scolded harshly for being heartless. When my classmates bullied me, I smiled and became the class freak. When my grandfather passed away, I smiled again, and my relatives cursed me for being soulless. Eventually, my father couldn't take it anymore. He left us. Mom, however, didn't seem to care. "They don't understand," she told me. "Everything I've done is for your own good. One day, you'll thank me." … On my 18th birthday, she planned a grand live broadcast, ready to show the world her perfect creation. She never knew that the day before her grand broadcast, I had already lost myself completely. By then, I was no longer human. I had become a machine.

Married for five years, Lorenzo, the underboss of the Moretti family, had never been without a woman. He found my “noble lady” posture stiff and vanilla. Dancers from Trinacria, headliners from the city’s nightclubs, his rotating stream of mistresses could fill the entire estate. Yet whenever I was displeased, whether it was throwing drinks or kicking someone out, Lorenzo never intervened. He’d only lit his cigar with casual amusement and said, “Relax. It’s just fun. No one can touch your position.” Then a clumsy, naive maid appeared. Unlike the others, she wasn’t flashy. However, when Lorenzo returned, bloodied, she’d hand him a cup of warm tea, her eyes red-rimmed. She watched him with pure admiration while he handled the family business. Lorenzo said the estate felt cold and lifeless except for her. He said only when she panicked did he feel like a hero being needed, rather than just a husband in a political marriage. Until she accidentally broke an antique vase left by my mother… Before I could react, Lorenzo stepped in and shielded her trembling form, glaring at me as if I were the enemy. “What’s wrong with you? If you’re crazy, go see a shrink. Don’t scare her like a rabid dog!” Watching his careful, protective expression, I smiled. I guess it was time for the Moretti family underboss to be replaced.

She’s texting him her heart. But she’s got the wrong number… When Isabel “El” Watson applied for a sales job with her company, she had no idea a jelly donut would explode on her blouse, or that her grumpy boss would practically laugh her out of the interview. Accountants could be salespeople, she was sure of it, even if that jerkface didn’t think so. So when a lady at the local wine festival offers her a sales job on the spot at a new boutique winery, El jumps at the chance. She also jumps at the chance to text with the guy who danced with her at the festival. Life was finally looking up. Boston’s friend, Chad, never should have given Boston’s number to the girl at the wine festival as a joke, but the damage was done. When El sends Boston a text later that night, believing he is Chad, he’s too nice to hurt her feelings by telling her the truth. But there are a few other truths Boston might have thought about: Truth #1: He’s her boss Truth #2: She just accepted a job at his mother’s new winery Truth #3: He’s always had a crush on her Even though Boston is no longer El’s grumpy boss, they still work together at his mom’s winery. And while sparks are flying as they get to know each other for real, El’s kind of sweet on the guy who always seems to know just what to say via text too. Obviously, things will come to a head. Will Boston come clean about the flirty texts being from him? Or will El figure out on her own that she’s been Texting With the Enemy?

Today was like the day I met him: Me, riding a bicycle and him, walking down the pavement. I grab the handle of the bicycle and watch him as he make his way towards me. I do not know why I feel nervous. A trickle of sweat drip on the side of my face, my heart beat fast and I could hardly breathe. He was meters away, until it grow shorter to a foot and then bam, he bumped into me and we fall down, him on top of me. This felt like a deja vù, like it was our very first encounter. We scurried to get up but ended up bumping our heads together. I glared at him as he got up, He didn't even offer me a hand. He didn’t even give me a second glance. He just passed by me. Not noticing me. Not even looking at me. I let go of the bicycle and turn to face him. I remove the helmet that I was wearing and grip it tightly before screaming, “YAH! My hands curled into a fist and before I know it, the helmet I was holding was already flying towards him.I raise my hand as if to save him but it collided on his head right before I could even react. It sounded a hollow thump and a pronounced groan. His hands made his way to the back of his head as he turn and face me. With those eyes that seem like it was murdering me, he chase me off and I hastily took my bicycle and ran. I couldn’t help but feel happy instead of guilty as he ran after me. This was like before. This was like that summer, that summer I met him.

Believe it or not, we assume every love tale as cliche until and unless we dive into it. Both above figures had a kind of part to play here which is cannot even say as cliche. This is a story of my most favourite couple. Yeah, it's a love story, obviously! And their love chapters start on a very very boring note. Him flying back to India and her liking post on Instagram of her friends. Most important, based on their real life love series. ***Wiping tears behind the door hold a memory of precious loss in her childhood and a mysterious misunderstanding leads her to hate Avinash like anything. They haven't seen each other for years... But he wanted to meet her, talk to her. Finally, a day came and they meet which doesn't let them cross paths but instead get them together to ride on a bike of love trip. Meanwhile, both of them already had someone to fix with. If anyone thinks that after falling in love is no trouble then it's no way! Will she keep ignoring her feelings? Will he keep dragging the things? And never confess to her. Can they resist the spark they had in between them? The argue to kiss! ***This is a very twisted romantic love story that stirs hearts, that at times leaves you breathless and that manages to make us believe that, and love can do all things. Peek into Ashiyaan and Avinash's beautiful journey of finding love, hope, and magic in their own universe, which holds a passionate spark in between them.*** And Hey!! It was my first work obviously and I'm very much happy and excited to announce that this story is complete and edited. Shower your love on my book. Sure you are gonna love it.

Georgia Brooks, the notorious, troublesome tomboy is the caretaker of Clark Brown, the mysterious, cold man who is an undercover billionaire. Georgia's motive is to uncover him and just make him happy. But what when secrets are revealed and the badass tomboy is close to tears? Join them on this rocky road of adventures which includes their occasional fights and revenge, stolen kisses, trip to a circus, journey to England, landing in jail and much more! Excerpt from a chapter : His lips curled in disdain and just when he was about to unwrap the towel, I quickly turned around showing my back to him. What the fucking hell? What if I saw his thing? "Don't you care? Like honestly, couldn't you just order like your usual self to get the hell out of your bedroom or just . . . turn around for you to change? You could have at least warned me that you were freeing your willy, I would have closed my eyes!" I rambled and felt myself feeling all jittery again. He didn't reply and I could mentally picture him scoffing or rolling his pretty eyes. A part of me which never saw a grown man's buddy down there was curious as to how it looked. Was it really long and monstrous like a huge sausage they describe in erotic scenes? Was it soft like a banana or hard like a radish? Was is it like spring that when you poke it, it would go wagging like a dog's tail? A teeny little peek would do no harm . . .

Three years after I died, my mother sent me twenty dollars for living expenses. Three years before that—the first time I ever asked my family for money—she said to me, offhand, "Sometimes I think you're just putting on an act. What's so unsanitary about a thirty-cent boxed meal? And why can't you wear a five-dollar down jacket? Face it, you're just more high-maintenance than your little brother." Later, when I needed twenty dollars to buy some cheap medicine for my stomachache, she blocked me immediately and cut off all contact—along with every relative we had. "Don't contact me anymore. I'm clearly not a good mother. I can't afford to give my son a life of luxury." But for my younger brother, who had just started high school, she spared no expense—renting him a three-bedroom apartment. Even the family dog got its own room. In the end, on the day my brother became the top scorer in the state, she finally remembered me. She took me off her block list and transferred twenty dollars. "It's only twenty dollars. Was it really worth giving your family the silent treatment for three whole years?" What she never knew was this— On the night my stomach ruptured, three years ago, I had already died. I couldn't afford to go to the hospital. I froze to death in the snow.

At my lowest point that year, I took a job at a pet shop, where I was assigned to take care of a "gentle-tempered" silver-white Alaskan Malamute. Every time I went near him, he would lift his head and bury his nose against my chest, breathing in low, rough sounds that felt disturbingly like a grown man holding himself back. Especially when my hand brushed through his beautiful fur, his body would heat up, and his eyes would darken and burn with unmistakable possessiveness. Thinking he was sick, I rushed to find the shop owner. The owner gave me a long, meaningful glance. "He's not sick. But he only acts like this with you. "You need to bathe him, give him a full-body massage, and try giving him a little kiss. Otherwise, he might lose control." I had my doubts about the whole thing, but I didn't really have a choice. I went along with it anyway. Eventually, I told the friend who had gotten me this job everything that had been happening. After she heard me out, she went quiet for a second. Then, she looked at me strangely and said, "Have you ever thought that maybe you're not looking after a dog at all? What if he's actually a werewolf who can take human form, and he's in heat, using pheromones to mess with you because he wants to… You know, sleep with you?"

I was the Alpha's lost bloodline, raised far from home. I was thin, pale, and covered in ugly scars no one wanted to look at. Lucia Abbott was the pack's jewel, carefully raised and fiercely protected. She was beautiful, powerful, and loved by everyone. Before she fell from the cliff, her soul scream tore through the entire pack. "Lyla joined the enemy! She tried to kill me!" No one questioned it. After all, who would believe a filthy lone wolf over someone as pure as moonlight? My fiancé chained me to the ritual altar. My father lit the Moonfire Trial fire with his own hands. The flames burned through my wolf spirit, ripping my memories apart and forcing them into the sky for everyone to witness. It was a public execution offered to the entire pack. But the truth was worse than death. It was slow destruction, carved piece by piece.