webnovel

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 · ファンタジー
レビュー数が足りません
130 Chs

Run

Staring at the strange man strewn across my car, I repeat, "Run? Run where?" like a fucking idiot.

He's practically melded into my car.

He came from the air.

Panthers don't fucking fly.

They definitely don't fly fast enough to deform my whole ass car.

And he's telling me to run.

I don't have to be great at math to add these facts up and realize I'm an idiot for ever leaving my damn car.

Shit.

"What did this to you?" Not who. I'm sure I don't know who the fuck they are. Right now, I need to know what I'm dealing with.

"Run," he repeats, glazed eyes looking over my shoulder.

The nape of my neck prickles, and I swear I can feel something hot and breathy washing over me—but when I glance over my shoulder, nothing's there.

I'm a good person. Or at least, I like to think I'm a good person. I'll help out when and where I can.