Wrong Target Novels & Stories

Sundown passed. I lost. “Do it,” I say. Wrath closes his eyes. “Yes, Mother.” He leaves. Draven and I stay. Silent. Mates. Enemies. The war for Duskbane starts now. And I’m on the wrong side of the door.

Elara Hart is the Infernal Pack’s omega, the girl everyone pushes around and the laughingstock of a pack that has never shown her an ounce of respect. For years, she has been hopelessly in love with Kevin Blackwood, the District Alpha’s son and the boy she’s given her all since childhood.On the night of Kevin’s initiation as the new District Alpha, Elara expects her life to finally change. Instead, it shatters.Standing before the entire pack, Kevin announces Mira Clark as his mate. As cameras flash and laughter erupts around her, Elara watches the last pieces of her dignity crumble. Humiliated, rejected, and betrayed, she finally realizes a painful truth:She has spent her entire life begging

Fear coiled in my empty stomach as the werewolves moved toward me. My limbs were too weak to fight back, but that didn’t stop me from trying. I pushed against the ground, attempting to stand, but my knees buckled instantly. Beta Henry clicked his tongue. “Pathetic,” He muttered.

“But that’s not the truth. I was forged in blood and magic. I shouldn’t exist. Nothing like me should exist. I'm a fucking abomination.” Joel slapped Troy on the shoulder, and for the first time in hundreds of years, two enemies became friends. “I am sorry for what has happened to you.” He rose. “I like your plan. It might just work, but before I leave, we should establish a mind link.” “I agree. I will find Eduard and Magnus and forge an alliance with them. You go to Gadrial and do the same.” “Why don’t you go to Gadrial?” “I can’t go to the East, and you cannot set foot in the North. The risk in the West is the same for both of us, but I have a better chance of surviving an attack.”

Every day, she wore heavy makeup at home, and as soon as night fell, she would go out clubbing with her good-for-nothing friends. When Jacob saw me arrive, he excitedly turned on the TV, which was broadcasting the moment of the lottery draw. Jacob held his lottery ticket and checked the numbers one by one, terrified of missing a single thing. When he realized the numbers didn't match, he froze in place. "How is this possible? How? I was sure it was today!" he mumbled. His face went white, and his lips trembled. After he returned to his senses, he yelled at Quinn, "This isn't right! This isn't the jackpot number! Quinn, what's going on?"

She’d already informed nearly everyone they knew about the upcoming wedding. That alone nearly triggered Arielle into a panic attack at 6 a.m. Then, during lunch break, Instagram—armed with its usual cruelty—that damned, no-good app—did its bit in taunting her with pictures of Daniel and Miss Right on their fifth trip together. Yes, she had been counting. What broke her wasn’t even the trip. It was the location. Greece. Their planned honeymoon destination. But instead of crying at work, she had powered through her tasks, held herself together, and slipped into Midnight Halo immediately after closing hours.

“As it should be.” Neither man realized that they were standing on opposite sides of the same misunderstanding. William believed Raymond was confirming the match with Sarah Kensington. Raymond believed William was speaking about Marilyn. Both were satisfied. Both were certain. And neither suspected the disaster quietly building beneath their feet.

/

"You just have to know it's not your fault. And that you have proof." I looked at the two confirmations again, the numbers steady and unambiguous in a way nothing else about tonight had been, and understood, with a clarity that made my stomach drop all over again, that Friday's deadline wasn't actually the real problem anymore. The real problem was figuring out exactly what Maevra had done with my money — and why.

Just clocked out. My bestie, Chloe, texted. Begging me to go wild with her at a bar. I collapsed onto my bed. Exhausted. “No way. My legs are jelly. I can’t tonight.” I splashed some water on my face and stared at my reflection. Pale. Drained. Suddenly, I knew I needed a release. Anything to forget my inhuman, tyrant werewolf boss. I grabbed my phone again, ready to text Chloe. I wanted to type: “My whole body aches. No energy for the bar. I desperately need a rough, deep-tissue massage session tonight.” But my brain was fried. I just typed: “Just need a rough, deep session tonight.” Five minutes later, my screen lit up. But it wasn't a message from Chloe. It was from my cold, untouchable A