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Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha

Nicole d'Armand never expected to walk into her apartment and find her fiancé *bleep*-deep in another woman's lady bits. What's a girl to do? Well, after obliterating an 18th-century Meissen vase, delivering a punch that would make a heavyweight boxer proud, and embarking on a night of raucous drinking, Nicole figures she might as well embrace the chaos. But when alcohol and pheromones collide, her wild night spins into something unexpected... Like a ride on the Logan Everett express. Which, naturally, leads to a whirlwind of its own: She's his fated mate. Because of course she is. And he rejects her. Because of course he does. Now embroiled in a mystery bigger than her post-breakup hangover, Nicole finds herself the prime suspect in a murder she didn't commit—no matter how tempting the thought might have been. And the only person who believes her innocence? The same guy who shot down the idea of being her fated mate. Great. Just what she needed: her love life is a crime scene, and the man stupid enough to let her go is holding her freedom in his hands. DECEMBER 2024 NOTE-- Author has a broken hand and updates are slower than normal. Deepest apologies. Trying to get updates more normalized again!! -- This is a fated/rejected mates urban fantasy romance. Content warning for: Nudity, more nudity, swear words, inappropriate humor, dead people, undead people, incomprehensible amounts of magic, werewolves and all the fetishes that come with them, did I mention the nudity?, and a questionable level of sanity at times.

Lenaleia · Fantasy
Not enough ratings
130 Chs

A Shield?

"Such potential," she murmurs, her eyes gleaming with an almost feverish light. "Such raw, untapped power. Oh, the things we're going to discover together."

My heart pounds in my chest. Cold sweat breaks out across my skin. There's madness in her gaze, a fanatical fervor that terrifies me more than any physical threat.

No, she's not going to eat me—I think.

Instead, she's giving off all the mad scientist vibes. Am I her personal Frankenstein project? That would be awful.

"Please, just tell me what's going on." The pleading in my voice makes my soul depressed, but I'm not above begging in this situation. I'm pretty sure her sadistic streak spans the globe. No point upsetting her.

Something tells me my life with Jim around is infinitely preferable to even ten minutes in this strange woman's presence.