Mated to My Vampire Instructor

Mated to My Vampire Instructor

Hazel Bennett · Completed · 239.7k Words

505
Hot
795
Views
45
Added
Add to Shelf
Start Reading
Share:facebooktwitterpinterestwhatsappreddit

Introduction

Carlyle de Noct, the blood prince undefeated for three thousand years,
believed he would spend eternity rotting away in solitude.
Until, in Dust Alley, he was saved by a wingless girl of the blood.

Chapter 1

The screams from the arena nearly crack the obsidian benches.

Not ordinary cheers—these are the shrieks of bloodkind, high and hungry, wild with excitement. Three thousand students crammed together under the domed roof, their breath turning the air thick and almost alive. Blackwood cologne from the noble boys. Cheap bloodrose oil from the Halfbloods. And underneath it all, the rot and rust from the bottom-feeders who crawled out of Ashen Row and never quite scrubbed the stink off. The heat mixes it all into one suffocating mess.

I sit in the highest corner, my back pressed against the cold stone wall. Ancient blood-runes are carved into the surface—symbols blessed by the Progenitor Queen herself when the first arena was built. They're supposed to glow silver under moonlight, but the dome is lit by hemalume lamps now, and the runes stay dark. Blind eyes. Shut mouths.

The black metal band around my wrist digs into the bone.

Suppressor. Slapped on the day I enrolled. Never taken off.

Three lines stamped inside: Number Seventeen. Vane. Nullblood.

The metal is worn smooth at the edges, polished by three years of rubbing. There's a faint silvery ring around the inner rim—scratches from every time I tried to pry it open. Every failure whispers the same truth: I have no bloodgift. I can't grow wings like the Purebloods. Can't mist-walk like the Halfbloods. Can't even manage a basic mind-link.

Three thousand students attend Obsidian Moon Academy. Less than thirty are Nullbloods. I memorized that number on day one, carved it into my brain beside every other humiliation.

The hierarchy is stamped into our bones: descendants of the Progenitor Queen are born special, their children sprouting leathery wings in the cradle, membranes traced with house-specific blood-runes;

the Princes' children wield the same power, and they say the Third-Rank Prince's wingspan can cover the entire Council Hall;

the nobles can at least mist-walk, dissolving into red vapor when death gets too close.

What about Halfbloods and Nullbloods? We're allowed to exist. Forbidden to shine.

But I refuse to accept it. The thought has lived inside me for so long that sometimes I forget it's there—like a seed buried too deep, stubbornly waiting for rain that never comes.

Until tonight.

Below, Lucian's crimson chains punch through his final opponent's guard.

Scarlet light explodes across the black basalt floor, scattering into a thousand sparks. The glare makes me squint, but through my lashes I can still see him—Lucian, Prefect of the Adjudicators, Pureblood heir, the name whispered by eighty percent of the academy's girls behind closed doors. The obsidian stud in his left ear catches the light, marking him as House Frost property now—three months ago, when his engagement to Valeria Frost was announced, Nullbloods carved protest slogans into the arena walls in their own blood. The messages were burned away by dawn.

His opponent is a Halfblood who lasted seventeen minutes. On the Crimson Pit sand, seventeen minutes for a Halfblood is a miracle.

But miracles always end.

Lucian's chains spear through the boy's chest, hungry snakes of condensed blood, sucking out the last spark of life. The boy drops to his knees with a dull grunt.

The roar hits like an avalanche.

I crush the handmade bloodrose in my lap, bloodsilk petals biting into my thumb hard enough to leave a mark.

"Lucian's too strong," one of the girls in front of me says. Adjudicator cadets, perfumed with night-owl blossom—noble-only scent. "Who do you think he'll ask to the Bloodmoon Ball?"

"Not some Arcanum bookworm, that's for sure." The other one laughs, voice bright and sharp as broken glass. "Hey, did you hear about the new Prince-instructor? Kael. Third-Rank. Officially starts next week, but he's already humiliated a Pureblood girl in open council. Told her her blood-magic looked like a circus act." She leans closer, her house crest necklace swinging. "My brother says House Noct should have died out three centuries ago. The Progenitor Queen used her own heart's blood to save them—price was every heir inherits the Bloodthirst. On full moons they turn into mindless beasts."

"God, that's terrifying." The first girl gasps, but the thrill in her voice makes it sound like she's describing something deliciously forbidden.

"Gorgeous, though. Silver-black hair. Ice-blue eyes. And a tongue like a razor."

My fingers freeze on the bloodrose petals. Each strand of Bloodsilk was looped by hand, fine as hair and strong enough to cut skin. The last craft my mother taught me before I stopped going home. She said Bloodsilk can carry blood-memory—if you pour enough feeling into the weave, the bloom will show the maker's heart. My fingertips are covered with tiny cuts from three sleepless nights of weaving. Last night under the blood-moon, the petal tips briefly showed smeared letters: Free.

Kael. The name on the announcement board. Transferred from Council to Senior Adjudicator.

They say he comes from the oldest Noct bloodline, direct shield-descendants of the Progenitor Queen three thousand years ago.

Those names sound as distant to me as myths told around someone else's fire. They have nothing to do with my world.

My world has only ever had Lucian.

The bloodrose burns against my palm.

Hidden in the center are three drops of distilled bloodrose essence, extracted from a plant I grew in the Glasshouse for an entire semester. The petals catch moonlight and turn faintly silver—only the purest extract does that. Three nights of weaving. Every knot tied with the care I'd use to protect every memory of him.

A year ago, I was still in the basic track. A blood-moon night in late autumn, three Pureblood girls cornered me in the Glasshouse. They wanted to see my Suppressor, wanted to know if a Nullblood's registration number was stamped as clearly as livestock branding. They pulled my hair and crushed two weeks of shadowmoss samples under their heels—samples I'd waited three months to grow their first purple fuzz, the key material for my Arcanum final.

They said Nullbloods belong on their knees scrubbing floors, not touching magical plants.

That's when Lucian showed up. The door opened, moonlight pouring through the glass dome, stretching his shadow across the floor. He caught the lead girl's wrist hard enough to make her flinch. Then he crouched, lifted me up, and draped his expensive black velvet coat over my shoulders.

His scent on the fabric—rust and something colder, like winter frost on a blade.

"Don't let them see you cry." Soft enough to be a secret. A snowflake landing on the ear. "I'm Lucian."

First time someone didn't walk away when I was being torn apart. First time someone looked at me like I was a person instead of a numbered failure.

I didn't notice then that the crushed shadowmoss residue on my palm made my fingertips flash silver for a heartbeat—later I found the entry in the Arcanum codex: the first sign of Progenitor bloodline awakening. The bloodroses near me always bloomed brighter, stems threading with silver veins that matched the bite scar on my neck, as if answering a silent call.

I also didn't notice that when Lucian helped me up, his eyes weren't on my face. They were on the corner of the Glasshouse behind me—where Blake stood holding a hemacrystal chronometer. Later I learned it was a surveillance device for "unusual bloodline carriers," and Lucian's "Nullblood Observation Program" was a Council bill pushed by House Frost.

I placed first in the Arcanum entrance exam, promoted to the advanced academy on raw talent.

Test day, I memorized forty-seven advanced ritual recipes in three hours. The proctor looked at me like I was a bug that had learned to speak.

Nullbloods don't have that kind of memory. That's what his eyes said.

But test scores don't lie.

Lucian sometimes carried old books for me at the library, or stepped in when someone cornered me at the dining hall. Every gesture got stored in my chest like evidence in a case I was building against loneliness.

He remembers I hate kelpblood broth.

He slows down when he passes me in the hallway.

Once at the library, when he handed me a book, his fingertips brushed my knuckles and stayed two seconds longer than necessary.

Maybe he's different. Maybe this time, fate finally turned its kinder face toward me.

The arena noise dies down. Students funnel toward the Shadow Hall in twos and threes. Hemalume light rains from the dome, painting black basalt diamonds on the floor. I stand, pocket the bloodrose, and walk down the steps. My heartbeat drowns out the lamps' hum, a war-drum inside my ribs.

Each step is worn glass-smooth by centuries of feet, the edges carved with runes I don't bother to read. One. Two. Three. The bloodrose bumps against my thigh through the fabric, alive as a second heartbeat.

Lucian sits alone beneath a bloodvine at the arena's edge. Bloodvines are native to the Obsidian Moon gardens—deep crimson tendrils that glow under moonlight. His dark hair is still damp, water droplets tracing his jawline and darkening the silk of his shirt. He changed into a simple black silk shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, showing the silver chain that marks the Adjudicators' highest academic rank. It glitters like a tiny shackle.

When I approach, he glances up. His gaze rests on me for less than half a second, then drops back to the tactical manual in his hands. In that half-second there is none of what I'm hoping for. No surprise. No warmth. Not even annoyance. Just... nothing. Furniture. A hallway. A wall. His fingers tighten slightly on the manual's edge, and the blood-gem on his chain catches the light—House Frost's token, accepted three days ago at his engagement party.

"I watched your match," I say, voice half a pitch higher than usual, thin in the arena echo. "You were amazing."

"Thanks."

Polite. Kind. And a wall. A wall I should have seen a year ago but chose to ignore. He keeps flipping pages, every movement saying the conversation is over. The manual's cover is stamped with the Adjudicator crest—a night-owl gripping chains, its eye sockets set with blood-gems.

I suck in air, fingers finding the bloodrose in my pocket. My palm is slick, dampening the Bloodsilk edges. There's also a fancy card in the pocket, the calligraphy checked seventeen times, every curve perfect.

"Lucian, I want to give you something."

He looks up. His dark eyes are flat, the patience of someone waiting for a stranger to ask directions. For some random announcement. For a leaf to drift past a window.

I hold out the bloodrose. The petals rotate slowly under the hemalume glow, silver light pulsing from the center like a tiny, frantic heart—the essence reacting to my emotion, my racing pulse. The fancy card peeks between the petals, written in my best handwriting: Bloodmoon Ball. Tomorrow at dusk. Will you honor me with a dance?

He stares at the flower for a long time. Long enough that I start counting heartbeats. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Each second an eternity. My fingers shake; the flower trembles.

Then, with the distant courtesy of an adult accepting a kid's crayon drawing, he takes it. His fingertips touch the petals for less than a second. He doesn't look at the card. Doesn't look at the silver glow. Just takes it, like taking a flyer.

"Well, well!"

The voice explodes behind me. My shoulders jerk like I've been stabbed. The bloodrose scent, Lucian's frost-rust smell, the arena's warmth—everything flash-freezes into a single block of ice.

Blake walks over, Adjudicator kiss-ass, Lucian's constant shadow. He wears an over-tailored black coat, the cuffs embroidered with his house crest—a fanged mouth in crimson. His eyes go wide when he sees me, then twist into something almost pitying, almost excited. A hunter watching prey step into the trap.

"Lucian," Blake claps his shoulder hard enough to rock him, "I thought the bet was off once she made it to the advanced track. Your father's Council seat is hanging by a thread, and Frost support can't afford mistakes."

My hand hangs in mid-air. Blood drains from my fingertips, retreats all the way to my heart, and my heart turns cold.

Bet.

The word hits harder than a slap. No—worse. A knife through the eardrum, twisting inside the skull. I turn from Blake to Lucian, searching for denial. Searching for embarrassment, apology, anything.

Lucian sits there, the bloodrose pinched between his fingers, face blank. No shame. No regret. Just waiting for this to end. Watching the final act of a play he's already seen.

"What bet?" My voice shakes like a wire pulled to breaking.

Blake grins, teeth too white, bleached with hemacrystal powder like all the nobles. "Last year in the Glasshouse, I told Lucian there was no way a random Nullblood would ever fall for him. You were so pathetic, so small, cowering in the dirt like a crushed bug. But Lucian said it'd be easy. 'Give them sunlight, weeds grow themselves.'"

He leans in. His breath is acid-wine sweet, thick enough to turn my stomach. "We made a bet. If he could make you confess your feelings, make you embarrass yourself in public, he'd win my grandfather's First-Prince hemacrystal pendant—a token the Progenitor Queen gave the original Prince three centuries ago, said to suppress Bloodthirst. Market value? Enough to buy your kind a lifetime."

The bloodrose slips from Lucian's fingers. It hits the step with a soft chime, deafening in the arena silence. The sound of something breaking.

"Guess you won," Blake tells Lucian, voice dripping with delighted admiration. "She even made you a handcrafted bloodrose. God, Lucian, you didn't tell me she'd bring a gift. Does that count as bonus points?"

I turn to Lucian. His lips part.

"Tell me he's lying." My voice is Bloodsilk-thin, ready to snap. "Please."

He pauses one second. His dark eyes are dry wells. Then:

"It never mattered." His throat works, knuckles whitening around the rose, but his gaze never reaches my face.

Not an apology. Not an explanation. Just a statement. A final verdict on me, on the bloodrose, on every tender moment of the past year.

Heat explodes from my chest. Not grief—rage. Burning, lung-searing rage. Who do you think I am? You think Nullblood hearts are cheap chips to toss on a table? You think three months of kindness, a year of waiting, three nights of weaving, meant nothing?

I try to scream it. My throat locks. The rage burns for one blazing second, then cools into the familiar, heavy sludge of self-hatred.

I stand frozen. The air tastes of copper and distant bloodrose perfume, a mix that twists my gut. The Suppressor at my wrist suddenly flares hot, the inner number burning like fresh iron—first time it's ever reacted to emotion, as if fighting something about to break its cage.

Maybe he's right.

Maybe none of it ever mattered.

The Bloodmoon Ball invitation in my pocket has been there three days, edges worn soft from touching. Now it's an anchor. A slap. The year's cruelest joke.

Lucian didn't even work hard for his performance. He draped a coat, spoke three sentences, then watched like I was a bug in a petri dish as I offered up my whole heart and placed it on his betting table myself.

The year flashes back. His crouched silhouette in the Glasshouse. The coat's warmth. Don't let them see you cry. All staged. He caught the bully's wrist not from justice—Blake was there, witness to the bet taking effect. He learned my name not from caring, but from needing to tag the specimen. His library "coincidences" were scheduled visits to move the game forward.

Every tender moment, scripted.

The wind shifts. Arena noise fades, replaced by wind moaning through the colonnade. A strange scent drifts from somewhere distant—thick, ancient, blackwood bitterness wrapped around blood-orange sweetness. It makes my Suppressor vibrate, the inner symbols writhing like live snakes, burning enough to rip off—this is bloodline resonance, the reaction only triggered by direct Progenitor descent. It's nothing like the academy's usual bloodrose perfume; older, more dangerous, like something sealed for a thousand years waking up. I lift my head, instinctively searching for the source.

The Forgotten Walk's pillars stand silent in the moonlight, ancient guardians. Academy forbidden ground, entry punishable by bloodline stripping. They say the Progenitor Queen's relics lie within, that her heart's blood is sealed at the deepest point—three centuries ago House Frost tried to steal it, and seventeen high-ranking vampires were reduced to ash. Since then, Council blood-oath: trespassers lose their bloodline. Students dare each other to spend a night inside. No one ever has.

The entrance is less than fifty paces from where I sit.

I push off the wall. My knees still shake.

Behind me, the noise continues—someone mimicking my voice, others discussing bet odds. Each word is a knife in the back. The laughter spreads on the night air, mixing with bloodrose scent into a suffocating syrup of cruelty.

I walk toward the Forgotten Walk. Slow steps. Sure direction.

Night wind pours down my collar, cold as ice. With every step, Lucian's voice replays in my head. It never mattered.

Never mattered. Never mattered.

I bite down, nails digging into my palms, using pain to drown out the sound.

Everything behind me is falling apart. I just need a place to break down.

Last Chapters

You Might Like 😍

A PRINCESS IN DISGUISE; BOUND TO THE ENEMY KING

A PRINCESS IN DISGUISE; BOUND TO THE ENEMY KING

5.3k Views · Ongoing · Jennifer Nwabueze
"You will be married to the King of Grok on the fourth night, and that's final!"

I fell to my knees, the cold marble digging into my skin. I had studied for years in the flickering candlelight, memorizing every herb and poison to pass the healer's exam. I wanted freedom. I wanted to save my mother from the servant's quarters. I placed second. I thought I had won my life back.

But the King didn't give me a badge of honor. He gave me a death sentence.

"Raven Thorne shall be wed to the King of Grok," he announced, his voice echoing in the silent hall. Princess Ellie, the woman who had tormented me for years, slapped her hands over her mouth to hide her cruel laughter. She was supposed to marry the Beast. Now, I was the lamb being sent to the slaughter in her place.

They say King Liam drinks the blood of his enemies. They say he is more monster than man. And now, I have to walk into his bedroom, wearing the Princess's silk gown, and pray he doesn't tear me apart.

I looked at the King, tears streaming down my face. "I'll do it," I whispered, my voice trembling. "But my mother must be safe."

I sold my body and soul to a monster to save her. But when the carriage door opened and I finally looked into the Beast's golden eyes, I realized the terrifying truth...

He wasn't a stranger. He was the man I met in the woods.
First Taste in a Century​

First Taste in a Century​

1k Views · Ongoing · Sherry
Fresh out of college and fumbling through his first year in the real world, twenty-two-year-old Lysander wanders away from a friend’s party and into an isolated forest. There, he stumbles upon the high-tech laboratory hidden within the ancient castle of Vivienne—a vampire who has spent one century cultivating solitude. Disgusted by the intimacy required to hunt, she long ago withdrew from humanity, passing the endless decades perfecting homemade synthetic blood rather than sampling the countless varieties of plasma she grew tired of.

But Lysander’s arrival spells disaster. In a clumsy accident, he doesn't just ruin dinner; he obliterates her state-of-the-art scientific instruments. With her life’s work destroyed and her synthetic supply cut off, the scent of his living blood overwhelms her engineered senses. Forced to break a century-long abstinence, she takes what she needs, only to find herself addicted not just to his taste, but to the man himself.

Using the equipment as a flimsy excuse to lure him back, Vivienne battles a terrifying new obsession. She craves his body despite believing he’s taken, despising her own weakness. Meanwhile, Lysander’s initial terror curdles into a forbidden fascination. Can a relationship survive when one person feels everything, and the other only hungers?
Reborn: My Biased Brothers Beg Me To Come Back

Reborn: My Biased Brothers Beg Me To Come Back

8k Views · Completed · Eleanor Sterling
In her past life, Arabella Oberon was the lowest-ranking member of the Oberon family.

She genuinely took in Regina, the butler's daughter, only to be constantly manipulated by this cunning and manipulative woman.

Regina gradually stole the love from her three brothers.

Arabella was forced to give Regina blood transfusions time and again, her weight plummeting to a mere eighty-eight pounds.

Ultimately, under the relentless pressure from her brothers, she jumped out of a window in despair and died. Her last words were,

"What about Regina's blood transfusions?"

When she opened her eyes again, Arabella found herself reborn three years earlier—the very day Regina appeared at her doorstep crying, begging for help.

Looking at the pitiful, tearful girl before her, Arabella smiled.

No more soft-heartedness.

No more groveling.

Instead, she "kindly" arranged for Regina to move into the servants' quarters, to earn her own living through honest labor.

Faced with her brothers who sided with her, she no longer bothered to please them.

And towards her former fiancé, Theodore, whom she had once fawned over, she remained cold, distant, and indifferent.

Moreover, in this life, they would discover that her identity was far more than just the eldest daughter of the Oberon family.
The Alpha & The Vampire Queen

The Alpha & The Vampire Queen

1.2k Views · Ongoing · Kassy Rae Wall
Ambrosia, the Vampire Queen, believed her only duty was to safeguard the hard-won peace; yet, due to her brother Xander’s descent into chaos, she finds herself once again ensnared in a vortex of destiny. Ambrosia must make one of the hardest decisions she has ever had to make before, she must hunt her brother down and get a handle on the chaos that he is so determined to create. With the help of her sister in laws and a head dive she is able to see and know that her entire life she has had forbidden magic used against her to block her memories. As her sealed memories gradually reawaken, she uncovers a history of brutal betrayal suffered in her childhood—and discovers that her true enemy is none other than her own father. She tasked herself with finding Xander and saving him, her need for vengeance grows and she makes the choice to challenge her father to the death. Rising from Queen to the ultimate Guardian, Ambrosia will exact her vengeance amidst blood and fire, undergo a rebirth to claim her true crown, and face the final battle that will determine the ultimate fate of the throne.


Whips crack against her skin, blood pooling on the cold stone floor, while her mother's pleas fade into silence, abandoning her to the monster's wrath. Xander's protective cries turn to accusations under Penny's dark spells, fracturing their sibling bond into shards of mistrust and isolation.
Pawn of the Starless God

Pawn of the Starless God

1.8k Views · Ongoing · Dee Fietz
I was supposed to die alone in an alley.

Instead, a god found me.

One moment, I was bleeding beneath the neon glow of the city, my life slipping through my fingers. The next, a glowing blue screen appeared before my eyes, offering me a choice that was never really a choice at all.

Accept the Summoner’s Mark. Or die.

Now I belong to the Death Game — a brutal cosmic system where ordinary people are turned into Players, thrown into impossible missions, and forced to survive horrors designed for the amusement of gods.

Every trial has rules.
Every monster has a weakness.
Every victory comes with a reward.

And every reward makes me less human.

My name is Nerissa Valehart, and I refuse to be anyone’s pawn.

But surviving the Game means trusting the one man everyone warns me to fear.

Veyren Ashford is ruthless, powerful, and dangerously beautiful — a veteran Player with blood on his hands and secrets in his soul. He says attachment will get me killed. He says love is a weakness the Game always punishes.

Yet when death comes for me, Veyren is the one standing between us.

In a world where gods gamble with mortal lives, monsters hunt from the shadows, and desire may be the deadliest weakness of all, I have only one goal:

Survive long enough to cross the board.

And make the Starless God regret choosing me..............
Goddess Of The Underworld

Goddess Of The Underworld

950.2k Views · Completed · Sheridan Hartin
Left at a pack border with a name and a stubborn heartbeat, Envy grows into the sharpest kind of survivor, an orphaned warrior who knows how to hold a line and keep moving. Love isn’t in the plan…until four alpha wolves with playboy reputations and inconveniently soft hands decide the girl who won’t bow is the only queen they’ll ever take. Their mate. The one they have waited for. Xavier, Haiden, Levi, and Noah are gorgeous, lethal, and anything but perfect and Envy isn’t either. She’s changing. First into hell hound, Layah at her heels and fire in her veins. Then into what the realm has been waiting for, a Goddess of the Underworld, dragging her mates down to hell with her.

When the veil between the Divine, the Living, and the Dead begins to crack, Envy is thrust beneath with a job she can’t drop: keep the worlds from bleeding together, shepherd the lost, and make ordinary into armour, breakfasts, bedtime, battle plans. Peace lasts exactly one lullaby. This is the story of an orphan pup who became a goddess by choosing her family; of four imperfect alphas learning how to be better. Steamy, fierce, and full of heart, Goddess of the Underworld is a reverse harem, found-family paranormal romance where love writes the rules and keeps three realms from falling apart.
Cursed Fates

Cursed Fates

1.6k Views · Ongoing · Taylor Ashcraft
Charlotte Sinclair was murdered at the hands of her abusive boyfriend. After dying, she wakes up in the body of another. She pieces together information from her first day as Aribella Voss, realizing that she's been reincarnated into a book she knew all too well. The only problem: She was fated to die in this story as well. She sets out on a mission to ensure that doesn't happen, but when she begins changing important parts of the story, she also changes the plot of the story she knew. Without the upper hand, Aribella no longer has idea what lies in her future.
Pregnant by My Husband's Rival Alpha

Pregnant by My Husband's Rival Alpha

13.8k Views · Completed · Christina
I woke up three years into a marriage I barely remembered—pregnant with twins that weren't my husband's.

Those words should have destroyed me, but the truth was worse: I'd been used as a broodmare by the man who swore to love me, set up in a hotel room with a stranger because My husband Alexander Cross couldn't father children himself, and now I carried the secret babies of Damon Lester—the most powerful and dangerous Alpha in San Loris—while my own family replaced me with the daughter they'd always wanted. But when that same stranger's doctor appeared at my door, when twenty million dollars exchanged hands over a fake perfume bearing my secret identity, and when Damon's gray eyes locked onto mine with recognition I couldn't afford, I realized my carefully hidden life as the legendary perfumer Vera was colliding with a pregnancy that could cost me everything.

Could I protect my babies from the husband plotting my death, hide my true identity from the Alpha who's been hunting me for years, and reclaim the freedom I'd buried along with my dreams—even if it means standing alone against the wolves who see me as nothing more than a womb to be used and discarded?
Survival Island

Survival Island

3.7k Views · Ongoing · Jacky Westbury
Zara lived a steady life. She was a primary school teacher and loved her job. She was not a social butterfly and only had one person she considered a friend and that was her best friend, Ivy. She liked her quiet life after growing up in foster care, the quiet was nice.Until her best friend’s husband and his mistress decided to kill Ivy and frame Zara. Now she has been sent to Survival Island--a deadly prison where convicted criminals fight to the death for a chance at freedom and a $10 million prize.
Zane, a powerful vampire and the island's owner, has spent centuries unable to feel desire for any woman. But when he notices Zara's intelligence, resilience, and determination to survive, she awakens something in him that no one ever has. For the first time in his vampire life, he is interested in a female, and his member is also starting to come to life. Who is this woman and why does he suddenly crave her and not just for her blood?
BROKEN TRUST

BROKEN TRUST

6.8k Views · Completed · O.J Thewriter
She broke their marriage. He walked away.

Neither of them knew she was carrying his child.

Emily’s affair didn’t just end her marriage—it erased the life she thought was guaranteed. Ryan left without looking back, carrying his anger like armor and leaving Emily alone with regret she would never outrun. Three years later, fate drags them back into each other’s world, along with a little girl who has Ryan’s eyes and a truth that shatters everything he thought he knew.

Old wounds reopen, grief masquerades as rage, and love refuses to stay buried. As parenthood binds them together and the past demands accountability, Emily and Ryan must face the question neither of them is ready to answer: is broken trust the end of their story… or the beginning of a love forged through loss, forgiveness, and brutal honesty?
Accidentally Crossing the Tycoon

Accidentally Crossing the Tycoon

496.2k Views · Completed · Riley
My name is Audrey, and I'm the adopted daughter of the Bailey family.
Four years ago, the Bailey family faced a devastating financial crisis.
Just when bankruptcy seemed inevitable, a mysterious benefactor emerged, offering salvation with one condition: a contract marriage.
Rumors swirled about this enigmatic man—whispers claimed he was hideously ugly and too ashamed to show his face, possibly harboring dark, twisted obsessions.
Without hesitation, the Baileys sacrificed me to protect their precious biological daughter, forcing me to take her place as a pawn in this cold, calculated arrangement.
Luckily, in those four years, the mysterious husband never asked to meet in person.
Now, in the final year of our arrangement, the husband I've never met is demanding we meet face to face.
But disaster struck the night before my return—drunk and disoriented, I stumbled into the wrong hotel room and ended up sleeping with the legendary financial mogul, Caspar Thornton.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
Where The Ice Gives Way

Where The Ice Gives Way

47.4k Views · Completed · Sheridan Hartin
Charlotte Pierce is used to surviving in motion. New towns, new schools, the same old house on the edge of nowhere, and the same rule that keeps her standing. Keep her twin brother, Charlie safe. Keep his hockey dream alive. Keep her own needs quiet. She works too much, sleeps too little, and saves the one thing that still feels like hers for the middle of the night, when she can lace up her worn skates and carve freedom into dangerous frozen ice. Charlotte and Charlie shifted once, years ago, and never understood what it meant. They had no pack, no guidance and no protection. Just two twins clinging to each other and pretending the voice in their heads was stress, imagination, or loneliness. Then they move to Wellington.
Blake Atlas scents his mate the moment Charlotte arrives. The bond hits hard and unmistakable, but Charlotte doesn’t recognise it. She doesn’t know why her chest keeps pulling toward the one boy she absolutely cannot afford to want. Blake is Charlie’s new hockey captain. Charlie’s chance at making something good. Charlie makes it clear; his sister is off-limits and Blake tries to do the right thing, but secrets don’t stay buried forever. Rogues prowl the edges of town. The ice cracks. The bond tightens. Then Charlotte’s rare white wolf awakens, the very thing that makes her powerful, also makes her a target.
Shanti needs Shakti. (Peace needs strength.)

Where the Ice Gives Way is a slow-burn YA paranormal romance filled with fated mates, protective alpha energy, fierce sibling loyalty, found family pack bonds, hurt/comfort, and quiet, aching tension. It’s a story about first belonging, learning to be cared for, and what happens when the girl who has always held everyone else up finally falls, and someone catches her.