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His Stolen Luna

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contract marriage
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Blurb

Lark is prophesied to be the mother of the White Wolf. Yet her ruthless father uses her fame to control her, building his own power while he withholds the only thing Lark wants: A Soul Mate.

John-Paul, the rumored Demon Alpha, refuses to take a mate. He hides a dark secret: He was cursed. Any female he mates will die.

The cursed Alpha, and the broken Luna strike a contract to marry—but never complete the bond—freeing them from the pressures of their packs. Yet, the undeniable craving of a soul bond has them both in its grip.

As they fall headlong in love, John-Paul despairs. Can even the deepest love conquer death?

*** Updates daily! PLUS: If we hit 5000 favorites (click that heart!) there will be a 5 chapter mass release AND Dreame will put the book on a discount for a week in August! ***

“This isn’t happening,” John-Paul snarled, stalking toward her until he stood just an arm’s reach away, bringing those lovely smells with him.

He was even taller than Lark had thought. Her head barely reached his collarbone.

They glared at each other and without thought, Lark began to lean into him. She caught herself, stunned. What the hell was wrong with her?

“Stop. Doing. That,” he seethed.

Lark blinked. “Doing what?”

“Inviting me with your eyes.”

Lark jerked her head back. “I’m not inviting you, you arrogant son of a—”

Taking the final step that put them toe-to-toe, he leaned down in her face, washing her with that delicious scent, and snarled, “I reject you, Larkin Sather. I reject the bond that exists between us. This will not happen.”

Lark’s spine snapped straight. “I don’t know who you think you are,” she growled, holding his glare, her own eyes blazing. “But you don’t reject me… I reject you!”

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1. Stolen
~ JOHN-PAUL ~ JP stood alongside his huge, King-size bed, staring blankly out the window. He’d woken that morning, already aching. His body thrumming with desire and the instinct to hunt—not for food, nor battle. But for his mate. It was impossible. His mate was dead. And yet… Simmering heat churned low in his belly, tugging at him as if something—or someone—had tied a cord to his navel and now pulled him slowly forward. He blew out a breath and tried to shake the feelings off, but they would not abate. What was happening to him? It had never been this bad. Three years he’d fought the draw—the curse!—and won. He’d slowly eradicated every unrelated female from his life to make absolutely certain that he could not be tempted to take one. He'd been cold. Aloof. To all intents and purposes, a lone wolf, despite his Alpha status. And it had been working. What had changed? His mind was suddenly overcome with a vision of the soft, delicate skin of a female, chin high, head arched back and throat exposed, low cries breaking from her parted lips. She called his name, and his body responded like a dog called to heel. But this was no submission. Hands fisted in her hair he tugged her head back and, with a low growl, tasted her chin first, then the soft skin under her jaw, then barely hesitating, he opened his mouth over the elegant line of her throat, his teeth grazing either side. Her hands tightened on his shoulders, fingers digging into his muscles that were rock hard with tension because he knew—he knew!—he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t give in. To take her would be to pronounce a death sentence on her. He couldn’t, wouldn’t put another female through that. And yet… She breathed his name on a sigh and reached for him, stroked him, pleading. JP’s entire body trembled, his flesh at war with his mind—his body was drowning and she was air. But the curse was real and if he took her she would die. Then she whispered his name again, and JP whined as she tilted her hips and drew him along the slick softness waiting, calling for him. Please. Shuddering, his mind shrieking that this couldn’t be, but his body screaming that it must, he clawed one hand down her back to her hip, grasping her, holding her, preparing— “Boss?” JP blinked. His heart was pounding in his ears, his pulse thrumming in his skin, his groin tight and aching. But she was gone. He stood at the side of his bed, watching the glow of the window. Alone. Wait. Not alone. “JP, you okay?” George, his cousin and one of his enforcers, stood in the doorway, eyes wide. Something about him was wrong, but JP couldn’t think clearly enough… and George was staring. He could no doubt scent his Alpha’s discomfort. JP cleared his throat and raked a hand through his hair. “Yes, yes. I’m fine. I’m just… something’s going on. I’m not sure—” “Well, shake it off. We’ve got a surprise for you.” JP went still. George’s face warmed with a smile, and it was then that JP finally paid enough attention to realize that George’s scent was… marred. By the scent of an unknown female. A scent that sucked down JP’s throat and hit him at the base of the spine like a jolt of pure heat. But JP’s stomach went cold. “George… What the f**k did you do?” ***** A few minutes earlier… ~ LARK ~ The car lurched to a standstill. Lark grunted as the momentum shoved her forward. With her hands tied behind her back—too tightly, so blood flow was being cut off—she couldn’t catch herself, and her nose smacked the back of the passenger seat in front of her. Biting off a curse, she winced, blinking away the tears under the blindfold, praying her nose didn’t bleed. The doors on both sides of the vehicle creaked open and the large bodies on either side of her moved to get out, making the whole thing wobble. “Where are we—?” Heavy hands took hold of her right arm, sliding her out of the backseat of the car. She was given a bare second to swing her hips around and get her feet to the ground before they yanked her to a stand, then led her away, her heels clicking on cement. Niggling, chittering fear wanted her to scream, but she pushed it away and kept walking as steadily as she could. Behind her, the car engine roared back to life and that yammering fear clawed up her spine. But there was no time. She was pulled to a halt, bodies circling her—large, male bodies, and one of them needed to try deodorant. Then the sound of a door creaking open, and she was being tugged forward by one elbow again. They had to be at the city wharf—or the airport. Because the building they entered was massive, echoing, and cold. A warehouse, maybe? The men barely spoke beyond single-word commands to each other, which frustrated her. If she could hear the accents she might figure out which bloodline they were. Lark was led through the long building, up a flight of rickety stairs, through a door at the top into a room that sounded softer and felt more comfortable. The floor was carpeted. The room felt warm after the chill outside. And it smelled of clean wood and… male. Lark blinked. She couldn’t place it. Whoever lived in this space had a scent that she’d never caught before. It was tantalizing. Pine. A sweet tang that reminded her of the pipe tobacco her grandfather used to smoke—but before it had been lit. And something else. Something distinctly masculine, that walked the line between arousing and threatening. Before she could analyze it further, she was yanked to a halt and turned around. “Sit down.” The instruction was gruff and came from a thick chest just inches from her ear. Lark huffed but did as she was told, dropping into a chair that immediately swiveled, and was caught by a heavy hand on its back. The bodies around her went still, but no one responded. Glowering inside the blindfold she vowed that when she finally escaped—because she would escape—she would personally castrate every one of these men. “You think you’re the first to try to take me? You think this is the first time one of the bloodlines has attempted—” “Don’t know, don’t care.” The words were muttered like the male was laughing. Lark snapped her mouth closed, but let her lip curl into a sneer. One of the oafs off to her right muttered something about going to get him, and she could smell the anticipation rise in the room. Heavy footsteps crossed the room away from her, then the sound of door opening and closing. The tension in the air crept up another notch as the males around her shifted on their big feet, awaiting the arrival of whomever the him was that the other wolf had gone to retrieve. For minutes they sat there and no one spoke. Lark could hear her own breathing—too fast, too shallow. She made herself swallow and worked through the calming exercises in her mind. She had to keep her head straight, look for any opportunity to— The same door that had creaked minutes before, opened again with no warning and the air shifted, bringing with it the source of that delicious, masculine scent and a strangled curse. “What the actual f*ck?!” “We got her.” The deep voice was one she recognized from the car. He was pleased with himself. “I can see that! Are you lot out of your f*cking minds?!” the man snarled. Lark flinched at the sound of something being hit, slammed into a table or a piece of furniture nearby. She began to tremble but didn’t turn, praying that she’d sense it if one of them came for her. “We brought you the heir to—” “I am not blind!” His roar echoed through the room. Lark forced herself to keep her chin high, to not shrink from him, but when he began to move, muttering as he circled towards her, it was an act of sheer will to not flinch when he got close. “Untie her, you idiots!” “But—” “Do it!” Large hands slid down between the back of the chair and her lower spine where her hands, tingling because they’d tied the bonds just a little too tight, were tied at the wrists. There was tugging, and a curse, but a moment later, Lark groaned as she slowly pulled her hands forward, into her lap, trying to roll her shoulders as shocking jolts of pain zinged from her neck to her fingers. “Thank you,” she muttered. “You won’t thank me in a moment,” he seethed. “Take off the blindfold.” Lark swallowed once, then reached up slowly, her arms aching and alight with jangling pain as she finally reached her temples and, hooking it with unfeeling fingers, shoved the blindfold up. She blinked at the bright light from the ceiling above, wincing, but her eyes adjusted quickly to reveal a tall, muscular man in gray slacks and a white button-down shirt, open at the neck and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, standing in front of her. He was shockingly handsome, but he scowled as if she smelled bad. Lark frowned. The man looked familiar. Just a few years older than her, he was probably thirty. His skin was a dark olive, his hair such a dark brown that it would look black in low light. His startling green eyes stared out from over a strong, square jaw, and the cords of muscle down his neck stood proud as he glared at her like she was his living nightmare. Then she saw the line at his temple, where a scar had turned the hair white in a two-inch line over his ear. No. F*cking. Way. “Larkin Sather, I take it?” he muttered. It was the accent that gave it away. The drawl on her last name that made him sound almost French. Despite his name, she knew he wasn’t. The twist on the words were a bloodline quirk. Though the Baptiste bloodline did hail originally from Europe, they were as American as she was. Lark made herself inhale before she spoke, and meet his eyes evenly. “John-Paul?” He nodded once, a fierce dip of his chin. She blew out the breath she’d made herself take and finally gave in to that laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” “Apparently not.” Lark looked down, trying to look weak or shaken, when in truth she was measuring the spaces between her chair and the table, the two men she could feel hovering behind her, ready to reach for her, and the man himself. “John-Paul Baptiste,” she breathed, shaking her head. “I’d say ‘at your service’ but I don’t think either of us would believe that.” He straightened, leaned back against the conference table, and folded his arms. Lark licked her lips to wet them, but her mouth had gone dry. She cleared her throat, but when she spoke, she made sure to lock eyes with him so he’d know for certain that she would never submit to him. Narrowing her eyes, she hissed, “You’re a fool. This has been a complete waste of your time. I will never, ever invite you.” He stared at her, clouds suddenly skittering in his eyes that softened the rage in his jaw and made him seem far more human than the monster of his reputation. “Yes, you will,” he said flatly. “They all do.”

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