121 Book(s) Related to jupiter drops lyrics

“If you are looking for a town to fall in love with, then you can't go wrong with the Jupiter Point series.” Welcome to charming Jupiter Point, where a sexy new crew of wildfire fighters is taking the town by storm. SET THE NIGHT ON FIRE Crew leader Sean Marcus is out to prove he’s no longer the troubled boy who left Jupiter Point after a night of violence. All he wants is to clear his name. Falling in love isn’t the plan, but everything changes when he sets eyes on his best friend’s sister Evie, all grown up and more gorgeous than ever. He’s the only one who knows her secret—but will she trust him to help heal her heart? BURN SO BRIGHT Josh Marshall is all about fun, firefighting and flirting. But there’s one woman who keeps him at arm’s length--honeymoon-planner extraordinaire Suzanne Finnegan. Her life plan has no room for someone she thinks is a player—until he’s injured rescuing a crewmate in a wildfire. Then she can’t resist a hometown hero who needs her help. Besides, if they’re so wrong for each other, why do the sparks between them burn so bright? INTO THE FLAMES His hotshot crew knows him as Rollo, but to his family he’s Rollington Wareham III, a banking heir with responsibilities he can’t escape. His days of freedom are almost over, which means it’s the worst time to realize how sexy and adorable his friend Brianna is. Besides, Brianna’s comfort zone is with plants, not high society. But a limited-time fling can’t hurt, can it? Especially when they’re both sure it can’t possibly lead to anything… This box set includes Books 1-3 of the Jupiter Point series. Each book can easily be read alone, but you will find familiar characters and settings as you go. “Jennifer Bernard is an author who knows how to write the perfect yummy alpha hero and a kickass modern heroine.” Harlequin Junkie “The dialogue in Bernard’s stories is always, always quick, fun, and super smart & sexy.” HJ “Jennifer’s writing is so realistic and descriptive you feel like you are part of this community, that these are your friends and family. I was emotionally invested with these characters, their lives, their stories, the battles they had to overcome.” “I can’t wait to see what Jupiter Point has to offer next!”

"Say, who sent you?"
"I... I just want to..." get my money back.
Before Vichy can finish her sentence, Makino interrupts. "Want to be my woman?"
Sure enough, this is another woman who drugs him and tries to get into his bed.
"If you want to die, I will let you get what you want."
"Asshole, you let me go!
"Drugs dare to take, now play with me sex so even..."****

Vichy Colman saved a man, and it turns out to be Makino Field, the richest man in Iugi City.
He is hearsay ruthless, unscrupulous...His has only profit in his eyes without any other thing even his family. When Vichy rescued him, he promised $100 million in reward.

But when that $100 million turns into a pride price to marry her, Vichy shouts, "I only want the $100 million reward, not you!" "You give your life to save me, I can only repay you with my own life."

"Why? Did you ask my opinion about marrying you?"
"So will you marry me?" 'No!
"Then I might as well condescend to marry to your family."
"Makino Field, you has no face."
"Face is worth less than a wife."

"So... I don't want the money then."
"The money has been transferred to your account already. Now it's too late to change your mind."

Vichy is about to crying. She saved a person, and now she needs to devote all of her, TO HIM!

Warning: Explicit content
"How do you feel?" He asked as he played with my breast.
"I feel... I feel like I'm addicted to you...."I hissed in pleasure as he bit on my nipple.
"Go on I want to hear it," he said in a low tone that made my skin heat up again.
"You're a sin I can't fight against. You make me want more of you even when it's not right and it's toxic." I said almost whispering still trying to catch my breath.
"And you love it even if it feels forbidden."
" S-scott we shouldn't...."
"Shhh...." He ordered as he stroked my wet clit with his fingers making me moan. "I don't want to hear more of your guilty confessions, I want you..." He paused and drew his face closer to my ears to whisper to it. "I want you to forget everything and just think about you and me and the feelings that come with our body bonding in each other's heat."


She is a stripper, entangled in the men's world. All she ever wanted was to have lots of money, a successful career, and lots of men to satisfy her sinful desires. Her name is Thea, flip through the pages of this book to find out how she lives out her erotic fantasies and the lifestyle of guns and men.

Triffany never expected her life will change after an unpleasant encounter with a
stranger she never knew, this wasn't the life she dreamt of, force into a marriage she did not
sign up for but will things really go well for her after getting married to a wealthy man who
has no love for her.

Triffany never expected her life will change after an unpleasant encounter with a stranger she never knew, this wasn't the life she dreamt of, and force into a marriage she did not sign up for, but will things really go well for her after getting married to a wealthy man who has no love for her.

Orphan Fae was fostered by the wealthy Eastons ‘til she’s handed her modest inheritance. Carl, the Easton’s heir, is her childhood friend and all-time crush. A few years later, she's an uninvited guest to his wedding to her bestfriend, in an island resort owned by his Best Man Jigo.

That night, drunk and reeling from a heart break, she did the unthinkable and begs Jigo, the ultimate snob, to help her forget.

Well, he’s the most gorgeous, sexiest man she’s ever met. Stoic and ruthless, she thinks he's only ever seen her as a love-sick fool and his nonchalance is disguised disdain for her behavior. But not only did he oblige, he’s amazingly the sweetest teddy bear behind closed doors!

And so, after that weekend—she runs. She was in need of a short distraction, not another obsession that will break her heart again! But her perfect rebound appears in her door, slips inside her condo, her bed and into her life seamlessly. Next thing she knew, they're married.

That leaves their families and friends—and the just gotten back from his honeymoon Carl—spinning with either joy or dismay. He thinks she needs saving. Sarah, his wife, isn't happy that he's meddling. But when Sarah’s dirty past gets exposed, her crumbling marriage and Carl’s new feelings for Fae threaten his friendship with Jigo.

While that’s how Fae finds herself—again—in the crosshairs of Sarah’s vindictive machinations.

In my past life, when the apocalypse hit, I relied on my training as an ex-Special Forces soldier to escort a group of arrogant corporate executives safely to a military base, fighting tooth and nail the entire way.

Yet, just to steal the vital supplies I had risked my life to gather and trade them for special privileges, they locked me out of the escape route the moment a zombie horde closed in.

When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn. It was the third day of our office building being surrounded by the undead.

A military rescue armored vehicle was waiting right downstairs. However, these corporate "elites" merely sneered in disgust. Still clinging to their superiority, they arrogantly demanded to stay on the 36th floor to wait for a supposedly incoming "private helicopter to a tropical island"—a rescue that I knew didn't exist.

In my previous life, I had practically begged and dragged them onto that rescue vehicle, a decision that ultimately got me killed.

This time, I just let out a cold laugh, grabbed my backpack, and boarded the armored vehicle without a single backward glance.

The building's backup generators were about to die, and the ground-floor electronic doors were on the verge of failing. Without my protection, trapped on the top floor by tens of thousands of ravenous zombies... I can't wait to see how many days these big shots manage to survive this apocalypse!

I'm a folklorist. Folk traditions are my field.
At first, I thought it was just an ordinary rhyme, a scrap of oral history set to a tune.
"A rag doll in the mire, swinging high up to the sky..."
We all thought it was just a prank.
Until the first person drowned in the bog. Then the second fell from a tower crane. Then the third somehow drowned in a bathtub.
I stared at the black symbol surfacing on the back of my hand.
And then I saw the dean—the one who was supposed to be dead—standing outside my dorm window in a long black dress, smiling at me with impossible tenderness...

My mate, Valerius, was struck by a soul-splitting curse from hunters, fracturing him into a dual personality.

The rabid persona is brutal and cold-blooded. His heart holds only his childhood sweetheart, and he casts me aside like worthless trash.

Yet, when lucid, he is my deeply devoted lover—the man who sees me as his absolute salvation.

But the man who deeply loves me is slipping away.

It culminated on the night of the hunter ambush.

I dragged my shattered leg, barely surviving a sea of fire. Yet, to comfort his startled childhood sweetheart, he turned his back and walked away.

In the moment he left, I finally let go.

Because the eyes that had just abandoned me for her... were the deep, dark gold of his lucid state.

Later, when I accepted a deal to erase all traces of my existence and give them their happy ending, he completely lost his mind...

Three years ago, I was the sole surviving legendary mage of Ash Valley. To fulfill my comrade's dying wish, I married into the Robert family, becoming a despised and bullied son-in-law . For three years, I endured torment and humiliation; my entire family treated me like trash . My wife handed me divorce papers , then accepted the marriage proposal of a nobleman. On my wedding day, I walked into the hall in old clothes, and everyone laughed, thinking I was crazy. Until I shattered all magic with a wave of my hand, my legendary presence overwhelming everyone present, the woman who had once despised me finally cried and asked me: Why did you lie to me?

Clutching her thighs and hitching her up on the vanity. Dragging her legs over his waist. Her hands over her head held by his as he closed the gap between them. Taking her lips fully in his. Hungry for her. His body had ached and yearned for her for so long. Running his tongue up her neck before biting her earlobe. Her nails in her chest. Moans in his ear.


The Wild's of Nakuru is a realm tucked away hidden in plain sight on the Hawaii Islands of Kauai. It's said to be a place the gods created long ago. A place of magic, rare supernatural beings, and peace.

Ruled by Lelani the Enchanted Goddess. Soon to be married to the Lycan King Montai also known as the protector of the realm. A marriage that would bond the most powerful beings together. A marriage that would keep earth and its people safe. However, when things take a turn and Lelani is separated from Montai before their bonding ritual could be complete Nakuru lands slowly die, dangerous creatures of the night start to roam the earth, and Montai is in a mad rage no longer connected with the Queen.

A romantic, mysterious adventure. A journey that must be taken. Get lost in the realm of Nakuru, the magical beings, and the heated lustful romance between Montai and Lelani all in The Wilds of Nakuru.

Quick Note: Story does start off jumping between different time eras. Bold Italic captions will be placed whenever the time setting changes. The story does have romance and explicit scenes but is also meant to be an adventure mystery.

At seventy-two, Richard Hayes finally asked my mother for a divorce.

He thought he was setting himself free.

He did not know Eleanor Hayes had been waiting ten years for him to say the words.

By sunset, his new woman would be calling my mother cruel.

By winter, he would be standing on her porch with two suitcases and nowhere soft to land.

And my mother, who had spent nearly half a century opening doors for him, would finally learn how peaceful a locked door could sound.

Dr. Mara Venn had survived twelve years in trauma medicine by trusting what she could prove: blood pressure, pupil response, scan results, time of death.

Then blue letters appeared in the air outside Mercy Gate Medical Center, warning her not to enter an operating room.

The patient was already dead.

The surgery was a trap.

And if Mara went back inside, a powerful hospital family would bury a man's death under her name.

Evan Hale had spent three years being invisible.

In the port city of Grayhaven, that meant midnight towing calls, grease under his nails, a cheap apartment above a closed pawnshop, and a daughter who still believed the world could be repaired with pancakes and tape. He let people call him broke. He let his ex-wife call him a failure. He let rich men look through him as if poverty had made him harmless.

Then Lily came to the tow yard with a hospital bracelet on her wrist and terror in her eyes.

The paperwork said Evan had lost his rights. The doctors said it was an emergency. The heir to Grayhaven's largest medical charity smiled like the city already belonged to him.

They were all wrong.

Because before Evan became a night-shift tow driver, he had been the man federal teams called when protected witnesses vanished, sealed evidence moved, and dangerous people needed to be found before sunrise. He had buried that life to keep his daughter safe.

Now the people hunting Lily had put her name on a list he recognized.

And Evan Hale was done hiding.

Zeke and I always said we’d be best friends forever since we were pups. Everyone always assumed we’d end up as mates but we laughed it off. So when we both turned 18 and the string of destiny snapped into place tying us together, I was over the moon. But why is Zeke looking at me like I have two heads? Why is he telling me he’d never mate with a mutt like me? What happened…to best friends forever?

He was dragged onto a debate stage as a replacement.

He could barely order lunch without apologizing to the cashier.

Then he took one wrong sip from the bottle in his bag, stood up in front of six hundred people, and made the national champion forget how to answer.

For six years I kept the books nobody wanted to touch.
They called me the help. My husband signed my name to a loan I never saw. His mother told the whole family I was the reason there were no grandchildren.
At the anniversary gala, they planned to retire me quietly — and hand my desk to the woman my husband had been paying out of company accounts.
They forgot one thing.
Before I married into this family, I spent six years catching men who move money the way they do. I never stopped keeping a second set of books.
I let them think the game was already over.
It was — for them.

"Louis, what are you—oh fuck!"

He was thrusting into me while I was still coming, and the sensation was incredible. My body was hypersensitive, every movement sending shockwaves through me.

"Can't stop," he growled against my throat. "Need more."

Holy shit, he's not done. He's actually getting harder.

I couldn't form words anymore. He was fucking me through my orgasm, and I was already building toward another one. My nails dug into his shoulders as he moved with renewed intensity.

"So good," I gasped, my legs wrapping around his waist. "Don't stop, don't fucking stop."

Louis was like a man possessed, his movements becoming more desperate and hungry. When I came again, even harder this time, he followed with a roar.

We collapsed together, both of us breathing hard, my body still trembling from the aftershocks. I felt completely wrung out, like I'd been turned inside out and put back together.


Sloane, a birthmarked outcast from her werewolf pack, saves a dying stranger with no memory. For three months, they find love in their hidden world where her birthmark don't matter. But when black-ops soldiers take him away, she discovers he's far more dangerous than she knew, and she's developing strange powers.

To survive, Sloane assumes a dead woman's identity, living her life and wearing her face. When she finally sees him again, he's changed, no longer the gentle man who called her beautiful. She's changed too, hidden behind another's identity.

Now they're both different people than when they fell in love. Will he recognize the woman who saved him when she's disguised as someone else?

Three years ago, Nora Hart's seventeen-year-old daughter died after a charity party hosted by Hartley's most powerful medical family. The official record called it a voluntary overdose. Nora knew better: her daughter had called for help, the ambulance had been delayed, and someone had rewritten the truth before sunrise.

Now Nora has a new name, a quiet job inside Calder Health Network, and access to the files no grieving mother was ever meant to see. She will not beg the Calders for justice. She will let their own payments, reports, recordings, and betrayals lead them into the open.

But when the first accomplice panics, Nora discovers the cover-up reaches deeper than one spoiled heir. The man who buried her daughter's name is preparing to announce a billion-dollar merger in front of donors, cameras, and politicians.

This time, Nora intends to make sure everyone hears what really happened at the lake.

Mara Vale knew how to save ruined things.

Rotten silk. Smoke-stained lace. Wedding gowns torn by jealous hands or careless lovers. In the old brick shop her mother had left her, Mara could lift a century of dirt from a veil and make every hidden stitch disappear.

But on the night of her own wedding, there was nothing she could save.

Her fiance was in the hotel bridal suite with her stepsister. Her father called her ungrateful when she refused to smile through the betrayal. By midnight, Mara had lost her groom, her family, and the deed to the shop that carried her mother's name.

Then rain drove her into a garage on the wrong side of downtown, where a dangerous young mechanic caught her before she hit the concrete.

Dante Cross smelled like motor oil, wore a dirty white tank under his coveralls, and looked at Mara as if he had been waiting eight years to find her.

Everyone thought he was poor.

Everyone was wrong.

And when Mara's enemies dragged her onto a livestream and called her a thief in front of fifty thousand strangers, the man from the garage stepped between her and the slap meant to break her.

He did not ask permission.

He simply said, "Touch her again, and find out who owns this street."

After the crash, everyone told Mara Ellis to be grateful her husband survived.

Evan Vale came home breathing, walking, smiling when people told him to smile. But the man in her kitchen no longer cared about the tiny rules that had once held his brilliant mind together: the blue mug facing east, the dry workbench, the exact order of every file name. His stepmother called it healing. His half brother called it a second chance.

Mara called it a warning.

When Evan's family moves to take his company, his money, and his legal voice, Mara discovers the real Evan saw the attack coming. He left her a trail hidden inside the ordinary life they built together. To save what remains of him, she will have to stop begging people to believe her and become the one person his enemies forgot to fear.

A hundred years after the war where werewolves lost against humans, Kaiya finds herself imprisoned in an island park where they are hunted weekly for human entertainment. However, when the ownership of the island park changes, she finds her mate, who coincidentally, is the new park owner.


“You are the first freed werewolf. It does not mean that you will be the last,” he says.

“Is that why you freed me? To set an example?”

“No. I freed you because you will be my woman.”

My breathing stops. The way he puts a claim on me makes me want to claim him too. “I—”

“Ah! Don’t worry about answering me now. I will give you time to consider me.”

I look at the table and entwine my fingers together. I take a deep breath and look back at him. “I want that too,” I whisper. “I want to become your woman, too.”

I answer the surprise on his face by flushing scarlet. Then, he looks away and I can see a blush creeping on his face, too.

“So, starting now, are we together?” he asks.

“Before that, we need to do a promise.”

“A promise?”

I take his hand to mine and say, “You are my mate, whom I promise to love and cherish forever, until the gods and fate separate us.”

He squeezes my hand and answers, “You are my mate, whom I promise to love and cherish forever, even if the gods and fate may try to separate us.”

When Cassie discovered that her boyfriend of six months was cheating on her with a married younger woman, she looked for the cheating woman's husband and insisted to have sex with him. However, after the deed, she found out that she got the wrong person and had a tryst with the billionaire Liam Chapman instead.

Soon, her life spirals out of control—Liam's expelled son enrolls in her school. Her ex-boyfriend’s cheating goes out. Students complain about her teaching methods. And her co-teachers think that she is having an affair with the education minister because of the speed of her promotion and the number of her awards.

Wanting to escape the drama, she resigns and goes to another city, only to meet Liam Chapman again. This time, he has an offer she can't reject. A contract marriage of three years. He will provide all her needs, but in return, she will provide his, and that includes focusing on his little monster of a son who hates studying because he thinks it's very uncool.

However, as she stays with husband and son, she falls more and more for Liam and loves his kid as if he is her own. But, time is running out. Soon the contract will end, and she will need to leave the life she learned to love.

Rye: I'm out for revenge. I just saw Lauren Blakewell on national TV. Twelve years after she and her con woman mother scammed my father and ruined our lives, there she was. Looking like a goddess. Engaged to the son of a U.S. senator. She and her evil mother never paid for what they did. But I’ve never forgotten. Now I’m going to DC and I’m out for justice. I’m Rye McAllister, heir to the former McAllister fortune, and I’m going to stand up for my family. Lauren will pay. One way or another, I’ll get her back. Lauren: I’m so close to freedom. So close. One more job, and Bliss will let me go. That’s why the sight of Rye McAllister is such a shock. Not because he was the subject of all my childhood fantasies. Not because he looks like a tough and sexy cowboy now. But because he can ruin everything for me. I have to stop him. Whatever it takes. I have to make him an offer he can’t refuse. A proposition he can’t resist. If I enjoy it too…that’ll be my secret. And I have more secrets than Rye can ever imagine.

I've married sixteen dead men for a living. My seventeenth husband just opened his eyes.
I was born knowing one thing: the dead can speak one last time — but only to a spouse.
So I marry dead men. Rich families pay me to wed their fresh corpses, carry the last words sealed inside me, and read the testament out before the heirs. Then I burn the marriage certificate, and the marriage ends at the grave. Starting price: six hundred thousand dollars.
This morning, the Crane heir drowned in his own pool. Twenty-eight, obscenely rich, not one word left behind. The family offered five million and a private jet. By my count — my seventeenth husband. By a wide margin, the handsomest.
I said "I do" to a corpse for the seventeenth time. Then I called for his last words.
Silence. Sixteen weddings, sixteen voices. Husband number seventeen had nothing to say.
Because my seventeenth husband just opened his eyes.

Eight times. That's how many boyfriends my best friend Sera has "tested" for me. Eight times she's proven they weren't good enough by stealing them away with her perfect smile and fake concern.
"I'm just looking out for you, Lia," she always says. "If he really loved you, he wouldn't be tempted by me."
But this time is different. This time, it's Ryan—my boss, my almost-something, the first man who's ever made me believe I might be worth loving. When Sera comes back to town asking about my love life, I panic and lie. There's no one, I tell her. Nothing happening at all.
Big mistake.
Now she's got her sights set on him, and I'm watching her work her magic all over again. The late-night texts, the red lace lingerie, the hotel room invitation. I should just accept it like I always do. Let her prove once again that I'm not worth fighting for.
But I'm done being the girl who hands over everything she wants. This time, I'm fighting back.

"Baby, lend me Stella for the movie."
When my fiancé Damon said this, I thought it was the most romantic thing ever. My guide dog starring in his Oscar-worthy film—what a perfect love story.
I'm Aria Sinclair, 26-year-old blind film producer with perfect pitch and endless money, but no eyes. So when he said "The press will go crazy for our story," I stupidly agreed.
Three weeks later, in the editing room:
01:47:23—Dull impact.
01:47:31—Familiar whimper.
01:47:35—Silence.
My perfect pitch never lies. That wasn't CGI—that was real impact. Worse, I knew that whimper. That was Stella, my guide dog, my eyes, my most loyal companion.
They killed her. For a goddamn trophy.
On premiere night, when Damon walked the red carpet with a strange German Shepherd, when I touched her paw and found no white star-shaped mark—
"This is not my dog!"
I broke down in front of hundreds of reporters.
"Honey, you're under too much stress," Damon said gently. "Maybe you need rest."
Whispers from the audience: "Poor blind girl..." "She really needs help..."
Just like that, I became the crazy one.
Abandoned by the world.
Betrayed by the man I loved most.
But they made one fatal mistake—they thought stealing my eyes would silence me.
Now it's time to let them hear what despair sounds like...
[Click to watch me destroy them both...]

"Where is my son?"
My husband wouldn't look at me.
I had just come out of anesthesia. The bassinet next to my hospital bed was empty — except for a stack of cash, a christening card, and a ring pinned to the corner of the card.
The card had another woman's name in the godmother box.
That woman walked in behind my husband. She picked up the ring and slid it onto her own finger.
"He's safe, sweetheart. We've been talking about this for months."
My husband is Damiano Marchetti. He runs the family that runs this city. The woman wearing the ring is his father's young widow.
The baby on that card is my son.
For four years now I have been the woman this house pretends not to see. The wife told to use the servants' entrance. The mother of a boy who calls another woman Mommy.
Last night I asked my husband for a divorce.
He laughed in my face.
He has no idea how much that's going to cost him.

To stop the merfolk from being slaughtered, I went ashore to seduce the boy I grew up with — Lucian Voss, now one of the world's top scientists.
He still had feelings for me. He kept me in his bed for seven days and seven nights, refusing to let go.
I woke from the haze of pleasure to a pair of pliers prying the scales off my back.
Lucian watched me arch in agony, his expression ice-cold.
"Mermaid scales can repair genetic defects. You don't mind sharing a few, do you?"
"After all, what your kind owes me is worth far more than a handful of scales."
Two years. For two years I watched him marry another woman.
He held my kind's lives over my head and forbade me to leave. Every few days, he'd pry the scales from my spine, grind them into powder, and feed them to his new wife Vivienne to strengthen her body.
He shackled my ankles and ordered me to stay up all night washing his bedsheets. I had to kneel outside their bedroom door, motionless, listening to them together until dawn.
When Vivienne got pregnant, she started complaining about the color of the scale powder.
"Honey, these last few have been so dull. Is she running out?"
Lucian glanced at me.
The look on his face — he was counting. Calculating how many scales I had left.
He hated me to the bone, yet every time I nearly passed out from the pain, he was the one who pulled me off the floor. Forced medicine down my throat, fingers clamped around my jaw until I swallowed.
"You're counting on the fact that I still care about you. So tell me — where are my parents?"
I stayed silent and let the contradiction hang there.
It wouldn't matter soon. I wouldn't have to keep that secret much longer.
A mermaid who stays on land for three years without returning to the sea will die. No exceptions.
And I had three days left.

I woke up the morning the contract was due, picked up the pen, and crossed out my own name.
Wrote my sister's instead.
Last time, I packed away every leather jacket I owned and let Stefano Mastroianni's stylist dress me in things that needed dry cleaning. I sat straight at his family dinners and smiled until my face hurt. I let him correct my posture in front of his mother like I was something he hadn't finished training.
I did all of it, and I still ended up in the ground.
So this time I gave him Chiara. Took Pier Nine from my father as the price, and got out.
He thought he was getting his perfect bride.
On the wedding day, he reached for her hands—and felt it immediately. Smooth palms. Not a mark on them. Not the hands of a woman who'd been gripping a steering wheel since she was sixteen.
He pulled the veil up.
Chiara looked back at him, flushed with triumph.
Stefano stripped the Mastroianni ring off her finger in front of every powerful family in the city, kicked over the altar, and put one question through the cathedral walls:
"Where is Tessa."

The night Declan Ashford announces his chosen mate, everyone in the pack expects me to show up and fall apart.
I don't go.
What I do instead: I'm sitting on the floor of Cael Voss's dorm room in a training jacket that isn't mine, asking whether his mattress is filled with rocks. Cael is Declan's packmate at the academy. His equal in rank. His roommate. The last person I had any reason to call tonight.
I called him anyway.
Here's what he doesn't know: I'm not actually Beta. My real rank was sold before I was old enough to understand what that meant. I've been suppressing it for years.
Here's what I don't know: he's had something of mine under his pillow for two years. Something small. Something I spent three days looking for before I gave up.
Neither of us has said anything about it yet.

My roommate put a Blood Binding Curse on me — my own bloodline power, along with every resource I receive, gets automatically rerouted straight to her.
My ex helped her set it up. For six months she lived off my bloodline playing noble princess, him always on her arm, while I walked around hollow. The harder I fought to prove myself, the more I fed her.
Then I died. Came back knowing everything.
Here's what I figured out: the curse reroutes everything I receive.
Including debt.
I went to a guild and borrowed a batch of elixirs. Opened the contract.
The debtor on the line wasn't me.

For six years, I wore Pack silver. I sold my blood. I scrubbed silver out of Pack den floors. I slept on a basement floor — all to pay off my mate's Pack debt and buy my brother's wolfsbane antidote.
Today, with the receipt finally signed, my brother looked at me and said:
"Seren, I was never poisoned. Our parents aren't dead either. The Rogue raid six years ago — I arranged it. The only wolf hurt that night was you."
My mate stepped up behind him: "I never lost my Pack rank either. I've been at the estate the whole time."
Then my parents — the ones I'd buried seven years ago — walked through the door.
The Pack physician had given me forty-eight hours left to live.
They were going to remember every single one.

I just got out of prison after three years, and my family wants me to go back in.
"It's only three days," they said. "You survived three years—what's three more days?"
What they don't know: I'm dying. The only thing keeping me alive is my mate bond. Three days away from Everett means death.
For three years in prison, someone sent me food every week. No note, no name. I thought it meant my family still loved me.
I was so grateful.
I didn't know it was my twin sister. I didn't know what was inside.

I spent five years loving Beckett Calloway.
When his ex-girlfriend died saving his life, I held him through every nightmare. When he said he "wasn't ready" for marriage, I waited. When he whispered "soon," I believed him.
Then her sister showed up. Crying about some terminal illness. Begging him to take care of her.
He let her move onto our private island—the one he promised would only ever belong to us.
He introduced her at the gala where he was supposed to announce our engagement.
He got her pregnant.
And when I told him she was lying about everything, he looked at me like I was the monster.
Then came our wedding rehearsal. She walked down the aisle in my dress. He slid his ring onto her finger. The chapel caught fire. I collapsed, bleeding.
He scooped her up and ran. Didn't even glance back.
So I burned my vows, deleted every trace of myself, and vanished.
This time, I wasn't coming back.

A hundred years ago, that curse was meant for him. I'm the one who threw myself in front of it.
It cost me my elven heart, shattered on the spot—and a name I could never wash off. Traitor.
I never argued. Because the moment I speak the truth, the curse goes straight back to him.
So I stayed. I became his blood servant and let him drain me, one bottle at a time, to feed the woman he'd waited a century for. I told myself that if I endured long enough, someday he'd see my heart for what it was.
Then the healer told me my heart had thirty days left.
And he walked in, knife in hand, to say his beloved needed more of my blood.
This time, I'm not enduring anything.
I'm going to give him back this heart—at the exact moment he's most sure he's won.

There are no unmated males in our pack.
Every she-wolf in Hollowfen is promised to someone when she turns eighteen. We just don't get to know who until we walk into the Choosing Hall.
Girls go in wearing white. They come out flushed, shaking, barely able to stand. Some laugh. Some cry. None of them talk about what happens inside.
My sister Thessaly turned eighteen this spring. Gran told her she couldn't attend the Choosing.
She went anyway. She came back on shaking legs, with blood between her thighs and a smile she couldn't wipe off her face.

I took a bullet for my husband five years ago. He married me in the ICU before the anesthesia wore off.
Raffaele Santoro—heir to the most powerful mafia family in Italy—told me I was his everything. He bought a castle and named it after me. He reserved a grave beside his parents so we'd lie together for eternity.
While I was pumping my body full of hormones for our fourth round of IVF, he was across town watching his childhood sweetheart give birth to twin boys.
He named one of them Dante—the name I'd chosen for our future son.
The night I found out, I was seven weeks pregnant with his child.
I didn't tell him.
I called my best friend and said: I need everyone to think I'm dead.

The ultrasound photo caught fire slowly, curling at the edges before the flame swallowed it whole.
I watched it burn in front of my mother's grave.
Eight weeks. That was how far along I had been.
Three days ago, on the anniversary of her death, I came here to talk to her. To tell her she was going to be a grandmother.
Instead, I found my husband fucking his ex-girlfriend against the oak tree twenty feet from her headstone.
I lost the baby that night.

My husband never wore condoms with me. Said they ruined it for him. So I swallowed birth control pills for four years until they made me sick.
Then I found a half-empty box in his glove compartment. And a thong under his backseat.
That wasn't even the worst part.
The necklace I'd made from my mother's ashes—the one I'd been grieving over losing for a year—was dangling between his twenty-three-year-old trainee's tits. He stole it from our bedroom and gave it to her.
She caught me staring. She smiled.
When I confronted him, he slapped me. Then drove off with her crying in his passenger seat.
Her friends came to my hospital with a livestream, demanding I apologize for "bullying" her.
I led them straight to the parking garage.
They found her on a stretcher. Legs wrapped around my husband. No condom.
The whole internet watched.

After the wedding, my husband moved his dead fiancée's mother into our guest room. The whole town called it the kindest thing they'd ever seen.
Every morning, Dione made me a green smoothie. Her grandmother's recipe, she said. Good for the nerves.
I never drank a single one. I poured them all into the chicken feed.
In my last life, I drank them. One a day, for thirty days.
Then I started losing time. I would blink at breakfast and come back at dinner. I found notes in my own handwriting that I never wrote.
I begged Julian to take me to a doctor. He held my shoulders and smiled. "You're just tired, baby. Drink your smoothie."
On the thirtieth night, I fell asleep in my own bed, in my own body.
I never woke up. Someone else did.
This time, every glass went to Nugget, the smallest of my backyard hens.
And one night, a hen crowed in my backyard.
Hens don't crow. And we don't have a rooster.

In my last life, my boyfriend's childhood best friend handed out jars of homemade sunscreen on the boat ride to the island. I'm a marine bio major — one sniff and I knew the mix had something in it that could drive the island's feral hogs into a frenzy. I told everyone to throw them out.
They did. But Brynn didn't look at the group. She looked at me. Eyes red, jaw tight. "You just can't stand seeing people appreciate anything I do, can you?" She turned and ran into the woods alone.
We searched for her all night in a storm. By morning we found her body at the bottom of the cliffs.
A week later, at her memorial bonfire on the beach, every person who'd gotten hurt during the search turned on me. My boyfriend ripped off his bandage and showed his stitches. "If you hadn't humiliated Brynn in front of everyone, she'd still be alive."
Someone said I should burn for what I did to her.
Then hands on my back. The fire. I burned alive on the sand while seventeen people watched.
I opened my eyes. Salt air. Engine noise. I was back on the boat — the morning of the trip.

My brother Soren is a figure skating prodigy. Every dollar in our house, every hour, every scrap of attention — all his.
Me? I'm the kid who doesn't need to be seen.
The night before Nationals, I told my mom my stomach hurt so bad I could barely stand. She said I was making trouble. Dad told me to take a painkiller and tough it out. Then they loaded up the car and drove two hundred miles to watch Soren skate.
They didn't come home until Sunday night. By then, I'd been dead for over a day.
I called her. Again and again. She had her phone on airplane mode.
Now I'm a ghost, drifting behind their car on the highway home. They're laughing, complaining I didn't even text Soren a congratulations.
I wonder what their faces will look like when they walk through that door.

My husband told me our daughter was brain-dead. He put a pen in my hand and told me to sign the organ donation form. He said it was the merciful thing to do.
I signed.
Then I watched her heart get cut out and transplanted into another child — his mistress's son.
He'd been planning it for months. The fake diagnosis, the doctor who happened to be his college girlfriend, the night his mother lured me away from the hospital so they could drug my little girl.
When I found out the truth, he killed me for it.
But somehow, I woke up back at that desk. Same pen. Same form. Same lying face waiting for my signature.
This time, I'm not signing. This time, they pay.

My daughter died on her fifth birthday.
Her first real wish—the first one she was old enough to make herself—was to go to the beach with Daddy.
Gideon promised he would take her.
She waited for him all day. She was still asking for him when she took her last breath.
He never came.
I brought her ashes to the beach she'd always dreamed of. Let her finally see the ocean.
That's when I heard it—a woman's moan, low and breathy, coming from behind the rocks.
Then his voice. Then his name on her lips.
"Between me and Lily, who do you love more?"
"You. Obviously."
He was fucking his mistress on our daughter's dream beach—while I stood there holding her ashes.
When I finally confronted them, I didn't get an apology. I got a slap across the face.
And when his mistress caught my eye and smiled, I realized something.
She knew exactly when my daughter would die.

I was a scholarship student with thirty extra pounds. Del Ashford had two hundred thousand followers and her family's supplement brand on every wall of the athletic center. First week of school, she decided we were going to be best friends.
She said she wanted to help me get in shape. What that actually looked like: I carried her product shipments up three flights of stairs, drafted her emails, and picked up her lunch from the place across campus that didn't deliver.
My roommates started calling me her errand girl behind my back. I let them.
She also introduced me to Beckett Hale. After that, things went the way they went.
She knocked my protein shake over and said I'd burned her. She planted her limited-edition earphones in my bag and told everyone I'd stolen them. The school opened a conduct review. My roommates stopped talking to me.

Beckett said I was the kind of girl who got a little attention and started thinking she deserved more of it.
I couldn't prove any of it. By spring, I was gone.
Some people just aren't built for this, Wren. You know that, right?
Del hadn't even been looking at me when she said it.
Then I opened my eyes and I was back at the party. The night she introduced me to Beckett.

The idea came from Cora.
She ran into the kitchen while I was making dinner, wrapped both arms around my waist, and looked up at me.
"Mommy, can we go to Grandma Ellen's? Just us two? Just us girls?"
"Why?" I asked.
She thought about it, very serious. "Because every time I wake up and you're not home, I miss you. Even when Daddy's there, it's different." A pause. "Grandma Ellen probably misses you just as much as I do."
Reid was leaning in the doorway. He smiled at me—that easy, certain smile—and said, "She's not wrong. You've been running on empty for months. Take the trip. I've got everything covered."
The flights were booked before I finished washing the dishes.
I should have noticed how fast that was.
The call I made the night before we flew home changed everything. I thought I'd hung up.
I hadn't.

In my last life, I fell for every word out of Ryan's mouth.
To save his shot at attending physician, I volunteered to take the fall for his medical malpractice case.
My license was revoked. I went from being a surgeon to being a housewife trapped in his family's home, wasting ten years of my life chained to a kitchen stove.
I thought my sacrifice would earn me his gratitude for the rest of our lives.
Turns out, he'd been sleeping with that doe-eyed little nurse, Lily, for God knows how long.
When years of exhaustion finally caught up with me and my heart gave out, I collapsed on the freezing basement floor.
My husband Ryan was upstairs, arms wrapped around Lily, sleeping in the master bedroom we'd bought with my dowry.
"That bitch is finally kicking the bucket. Once she croaks, this house is ours."

My mate died in a border skirmish with an enemy pack.
The woman he loved, Wren, died with him. She came from the pack we'd hated for a hundred years.
They left me two sons who weren't mine by blood.
Eighteen years passed.
I raised those boys like they were my own. I even got them into the Alpha King's Guard — the kind only a handful of pups make in a whole generation.
But the day they were chosen, my mate, dead all these years, walked back through the door with his forbidden lover.
She smiled at me like we were old friends.
"Thank you for turning our sons into the pride of the Guard."
"We couldn't have stayed hidden all these years without you."
Then my mate said he wanted the bond broken. He wanted her as his mate instead. He wanted his sons back.
I didn't cry. I didn't argue.
I just smiled.
"Okay."