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Best werewolf novels💥💥

Chapter 1 Kiana My mother died bringing me into this world. My father never forgave me for that. Every memory I have of him comes with pain. His fists. His boots. His belt. His voice telling me the same thing over and over until it became a second skin. It should have been you. Not his Luna. Not his mate. Not the woman he called the light of his life. Me. I was the mistake that lived. The curse that breathed. The daughter he should have buried instead. My father was Alpha Ragor of the Snake River Pack. To everyone else, he was strong. Powerful. Respected. To me, he was a storm that had learned how to wear a crown. For fifteen years, he had looked at me like I was the wolf who killed his soul. Maybe if he had done it only once, I could have called it grief. But grief doesn’t beat a child until her ribs bruise. Grief doesn’t lock her away. Grief doesn’t erase her. Hatred does. After my mother died, he took another woman. Not a true mate. A chosen Luna. Ellara. Beautiful. ambitious. cruel in that polished way some women are when they know no one will ever hold them accountable. Together, they turned my life into a sentence. Tonight, the Wolfspire Pack was coming to visit. Which meant the packhouse had to shine. Which meant I had to work until my hands bled. “Kiana!” My father’s voice cracked through the lower floors like thunder. I flinched so hard I dropped the rag in my hand. Then I ran. Down one narrow stairwell. Then another. Then into the grand lower level of the packhouse I was never allowed to belong to. He stood there waiting. Tall. Broad. Six-foot-five of scarred muscle and controlled rage. A black shirt stretched across his chest. His silver-threaded dark hair was slicked back from a face that should have been handsome if cruelty hadn’t hollowed it out. “Apologies, Alpha,” I whispered, lowering my eyes immediately. He liked it better when I looked afraid. “I told you we have guests arriving tonight,” he barked. “The Wolfspire Pack will be here within the hour. That ballroom had better shine.” “Yes, Alpha.” No excuses. No questions. Never any delay. I turned fast and hurried toward the laundry room before he could decide I had moved too slowly and backhand me for it. Wolfspire. I had heard the name before, of course. Every wolf had. They were known for strength. Discipline. Battle skill. The kind of pack other Alphas respected and lesser wolves feared. If my father was acting this nervous about their visit, then they weren’t just important. They were dangerous. I filled a metal bucket with hot soapy water, grabbed rags and a scrub brush, and hurried back toward the ballroom. Then I ran straight into Ellara. The bucket jerked. Water splashed up the front of her gown. Silence. My whole body went cold. Ellara looked down at herself slowly, then back at me. “Watch where you’re going, you worthless brat.” “I’m sorry, Luna,” I said instantly. Too late. “Ragor!” she shrieked down the hallway. “Your daughter just soaked me!” He appeared almost immediately, like he’d been waiting for a reason. His hand struck my face so hard I saw white. I stumbled backward. My cheek burned. Ellara smiled. Then she looped her arm through his and let him lead her away like I wasn’t worth another second of their attention. That was the worst part of life here. Not always the violence. Sometimes it was how normal it felt to them. I bent, picked up the brush with shaking fingers, and dropped to my knees. The ballroom was massive. Too big for one girl. Too filthy to finish quickly. Too important to leave half-done. I scrubbed and scrubbed until my knees burned and my back ached and my fingers turned raw from soap and stone. Time blurred. Pain became rhythm. At some point, voices drifted from the adjoining room. Male voices. Unfamiliar. I froze and crouched lower, inching toward the kitchen doorway without letting my feet make sound. “Some omega left a bucket out with half the floor still wet,” one man said. “Let the Alpha catch her,” another answered with a laugh. “He’ll teach her what carelessness costs.” I stayed very still until their footsteps faded. Then I rushed back into the ballroom and shut the doors harder than I meant to. Outsiders made this house feel even less safe. The rules had always been simple. No one was supposed to see me. No one was supposed to speak to me. As far as most wolves knew, Alpha Ragor didn’t have a daughter at all. Maybe that was the story he told after my mother died. Maybe he said I was dead. Maybe he just never said my name again. Either way, the message was clear. Disappear. Be useful. Be silent. By the time the last tile shone and I returned the supplies, my body felt like it had already worked through the night. But I wasn’t done. I never was. The banquet still needed preparing. In the kitchen, I threw myself into the work. Roast in the oven. Biscuits from scratch. Vegetables seasoned and set to bake. Apple sauce. Cranberry sauce. Fruit platters. Dessert trays. Cakes. Cheesecake. Chocolate ganache. Mousse cups crowned with whipped cream. I moved fast, because speed meant fewer chances for punishment. Still, hunger gnawed at me. A single mango slice sat near the edge of the cutting board, golden and bright and sweet-looking enough to make my mouth ache. I stared at it for one second too long. Then forced myself away. If one piece went missing, someone would notice. And if they didn’t notice, Ellara would make sure they did. In this house, even hunger had to stay quiet. When the last dessert was plated, Ellara swept into the kitchen like she was entering a ballroom instead of a workspace. Emerald sequins clung to her body. Jewels flashed at her ears and throat. She smelled like expensive perfume and victory. “Why aren’t you done yet?” she snapped. “I just finished, Luna,” I said, stepping back from the counter. “Everything is ready.” “Good. Now disappear.” I nodded once and slipped through the hidden pantry stairs before anyone else could look at me too closely. Up one floor. Then another. Then another. At the very top of the packhouse was the attic. My place. My cage. My secret. I unlocked the door, slipped inside, then locked it behind me. Only then did I breathe. Dust and old furniture crowded the room. Cobwebs hung in the corners. A narrow cot sat beneath the window, and under the mattress I hid the few things that were mine—two worn books, a blanket, and a life no one downstairs would ever care about. I curled onto the cot and opened one of the books, but I didn’t read for long. Engines hummed below. I went to the window instead. Limousines pulled into the drive one after another. Well-dressed wolves stepped out like royalty. Men in dark tailored suits. Women laughing behind jeweled hands. Grace. Power. Beauty. From my hiding place, I watched them and felt the old ache tighten in my chest. For one weak, stupid moment, I felt like the forgotten girl in a fairy tale. The one hidden in an attic while everyone else danced below. Only this wasn’t a fairy tale. No prince was coming. No magic was waiting. Just me, my books, and the life I was supposed to survive quietly. I closed the curtain and went back to the cot. The muffled sound of music and laughter floated upward through the floorboards. Eventually, my eyes closed. I must have slept. Because the next thing I knew, someone was rattling the attic door. I shot upright so fast my heart crashed against my ribs. The door shook again. Panic hit instantly. I ran to check the lock. Still in place. Still safe. Then a man’s voice came through the wood. “Is someone in there?” Deep. unfamiliar. calm. I pressed both hands to my mouth. Silence. “I know you’re in there,” he said. “I can hear your heartbeat.” My pulse kicked harder, and of course that only made it worse. “It’s racing,” he added. I squeezed my eyes shut. If my father found out someone had spoken to me tonight, I would pay for it. “Go back to the party,” I whispered through the door. “Please.” “Who are you?” the stranger asked. No one. That answer came too easily. Because it was the one I had been living for years. “No one,” I said softly. “Please just leave.” “I’m not leaving until you open this door.” My breath caught. Then another voice cut down the hallway, colder and far more dangerous. “What is going on here?” My father. And just like that, whatever happened next was no longer dangerous. It was deadly.

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ARIA The key turns the lock with a soft click that sounds too loud in the quiet hallway. I'm practically vibrating with excitement as I push open the door to Marcus's apartment, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor. The promotion letter is still warm in my purse—Senior Director of Marketing at twenty-six. After years of caffeine-fueled nights, endless presentations, and fighting twice as hard to be taken seriously, I finally made it. And I can't wait to celebrate with Marcus. He’ll be proud. I know he will. He’ll kiss me, spin me around, and whisper that he always knew I could do it. The apartment is dark when I step inside, the faint scent of cedar and cologne wrapping around me. A single sliver of light leaks from beneath the bedroom door. My smile deepens. He’s home. I slip off my heels, tiptoeing across the hardwood floor. The diamond on my finger catches a ghost of light. two carats of carefully selected princess-cut diamonds. We chose it together three months ago. Our wedding is in eight weeks. Eight weeks until everything I’ve ever dreamed of becomes real. I reach for the bedroom door, with my heart full, and my mind already painting the moment I tell him. The feeling of his arms around me. His deep, throaty chuckle that does wonders in my body. The champagne we’ll open... A sound cuts through my thoughts. Low, rhythmic, and sexy. I stop breathing. It takes a second for my mind to catch up to my body to process what my ears already know but refuse to accept. No. No, it can’t be... My hand trembles as I reach for the doorknob. A voice inside me begs to turn around, to leave before everything changes. But my fingers keep moving, like they belong to someone else, pushing the door open. The scene before me moves in slow motion and all at once. Marcus... My Marcus is behind a woman bent over the edge of our bed. His hands grip her hips, hard and possessive, dragging her back against him with brutal rhythm. The air fills with the sound of skin meeting skin, obscene and unmistakable. My vision blurs, and my mind refuses to believe what my eyes see. The woman’s hair falls in long, dark waves, and it's a familiar wave, for a fact. No. Please, God—no. She turns her head. And I see my own face. Or rather...my twin sister’s. Vivienne. Her green eyes lock on mine. And then she smiles. Slow, deliberate, cruel smiles, that vicious curve of lips I've seen a thousand times when she's won something, taken something, or destroyed something that belongs to me. “Fuck me harder, baby,” she moans, voice dripping with mockery, not even bothering to look away from me or trying to act shocked. She's performing for me now. The sound pierces through me, and my lungs seize. I can’t move, think, or speak. Marcus doesn't stop. Not immediately. It takes him several more thrusts before he follows her gaze and sees me standing in the doorway. "Aria." His voice is flat. Not shocked or apologetic. Just... flat. Like I was a curious child who walked in on her parents going at it, and now they are disappointed in me for not playing elsewhere. The engagement ring suddenly feels like a chain that weighs a thousand pounds on my finger. "How long?" The words scrape out of my throat like broken glass. Vivienne laughs as she pushes herself up, completely shameless in her nakedness. Marcus pulls out of her and reaches for his pants, but there's no urgency or panic in his movements. Because this isn't a mistake. This isn't a moment of weakness. This is something else entirely. "How long?" I repeat, my voice breaking. "Does it matter?" Marcus asks, buttoning his pants with steady hands. Yes. Yes, it fucking matters. But I can't seem to make my mouth form the words. Vivienne wraps herself in Marcus's robe, the one I bought him for his birthday, and walks toward me. Every step is deliberate and calculated. She's always been like this. Always knew exactly how to wound me in the places that hurt most. "Want the truth, sister?" Her voice drips with false sweetness. I should leave, run. But I'm rooted to the spot, watching my life implode in real-time. Vivienne leans against the doorframe, so close I can smell her perfume. The same one I wear. The same one our mother bought us for our sixteenth birthday. "He was mine first." The words hit me like a physical blow. "What?" "Marcus." She gestures lazily toward him. "He was my boyfriend for eight months before you ever met him." No. That's not possible. We met at a networking event two years ago. He pursued me. He said... "The conference in Boston," Marcus says, and his voice is far gone from the sexy, throaty voice that pulled me to him. He sounds like he's presenting at a board meeting. "Where we 'met'? Vivienne told me you'd be there. Told me exactly where to stand so I'd 'accidentally' bump into you." The room tilts. I grab the doorframe for support. "She gave me everything," he continues. "Your favorite flowers. Your coffee order. The way you twist your hair when you're nervous. How you always wanted to wait for marriage because you thought it would mean something." The virgin comment lands like he knew it would. Heat floods my cheeks. Vivienne's smile sharpens. "You're so predictable, Aria. You always have been. The good daughter. The responsible one. The one who does everything right." "Why?" My voice breaks completely now. "Why would you..." "Because I'm sick of watching you have everything I deserve!" The words explode out of her. "You got the job I wanted. The respect I should have. Everyone loves perfect Aria, so smart, so accomplished, so genuine." She spits the last word like it's poison. "I'm your sister," I whisper. "Exactly." Her eyes flash. "My twin. We're supposed to be equal. But you've always had more. Not prettier...we're identical. Not smarter...I'm not stupid. But somehow, you always win." "So you decided to destroy me." "So I decided to bring you down from your high horse for once." She straightens, crossing her arms. "And it was so easy. God, Aria, you fell for every line. Every carefully crafted text message. Every manufactured 'spontaneous' date. Marcus played you perfectly." I look at Marcus, searching for any sign of the man I thought I knew. The man I thought I loved. "You were a job," he says simply. "A very lucrative job. You had the connections I needed. The respect in the industry. Dating you, getting engaged to you...it opened doors." "And destroying me?" I force the words out. "What did that open?" Vivienne answers instead. "My satisfaction. Finally, watching perfect Aria lose something. Watching you hurt the way I've hurt every time Mom and Dad praised your accomplishments while barely noticing mine." This isn't happening. This can't be happening. "The sex would have been decent," Marcus adds, and I want to vomit. "But you were always so hesitant. So worried about being perfect. Your sister, on the other hand..." Vivienne preens under his attention. Three years. Three years of my life with a man who was my sister's puppet. Who never loved me. Who was actively plotting my destruction while I was picking out wedding invitations and dreaming about our future? The promotion letter in my purse feels meaningless now. Everything feels meaningless. "Get out," Vivienne says, like this is her apartment. Like she has any right. I should say something cutting. Something that puts them both in their place. But my throat is closed and my eyes are burning, and all I can think is that I need to leave before I completely fall apart in front of them. So I do. I turn and walk out of the apartment on numb legs. Behind me, I hear Vivienne's laughter follow me down the hall.

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