TRUE MATE REJECTED

Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance

Roderic Penn

I stood at my mother's open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule. While the priest's voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?" When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone-he brought Charla with him. He claimed she'd had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child." He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me. "He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect. Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards.

Modern Crime Revenge

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Axel

I'm balls deep in Trixie, but I can't come. I've tried everything, from domination to trying different positions, but nothing's working. And if we can't come, we can't know for sure whether we're True Mates.

We've tried tilted missionary to get her G-Spot singing. I put her in my lap, but my legs went to sleep. We explored something she called "The Amazing Bee," where she was on top, squatting, which was supposed to allow me to explore different kinds of thrusts. But Trixie said my cock kept jamming against her cervix and it hurt, so she couldn't climax.

It might seem like no great loss. After all, we're friends, but we don't love each other. We're not even particularly attracted to each other. We're here because we got to talking about True Mates, and how you could know that person, the other half of your soul, your whole life and never know they were the mate to both your wolf and your human if you never fucked them.

I have my suspicions that you'd know it somehow, that you couldn't help but feel a soul-bond even without fucking, though you might not know what it was. But you don't get a True Mate mark until you come together-

literally. We were both bored and horny, so we thought we'd try it out and make sure. If it turned out we were True Mates, we'd laugh about how we were right in front of each other all along.

I've heard fucking a True Mate is like nothing else in the world, and seeing as how today we can't even reach the finish line, I'm guessing that once again, I've struck out.

It's entirely possible that I don't have a True Mate. In fact, most wolves don't. Just because I'm the Alpha of the Jacksonville pack, that doesn't increase my chances. I inherited the position, but it wasn't magically ordained. If the older wolf who challenged me soon after I took over had won, he'd be Alpha right now, not me. Fate doesn't choose a pack's Alpha.

Finally, Trixie shakes her head. "This isn't working, boss. I'm going to head home and finish up with my vibrator."

"You can use your fingers while you're here," I say, squeezing one of her little tits.

"Nah. I need a shower, anyway." She climbs off of me, and my cock lands with a sticky, wet splat against my belly. "Maybe next time."

"Sure," I say, peeling off the condom and tossing it. We both know there won't be a next time. Our connection doesn't work, just like none of the other empty lays have worked. Even when I come, it's a disappointment

when I look down and find my arm unmarked, when I feel nothing but the usual release of emptying my seed. No True Mate by my side to lead the pack. No heir to take over when I'm gone.

After Trixie leaves, I pick up my phone from the chipped-wood bedstand and see I missed a text. I'm thankful for the distraction-until I read the message. Then, my blood turns white-hot.

It's a text message from one of my wolf scouts, a guy named Tiva.

The vampires struck again. Six injuries. No fatalities... Yet.

I let out a low growl and snatch up my clothes. I've had just about enough of these fucking vampires. Taking a few deep breaths calms my anger. I direct a glare out the front window to my pack's wet little corner of Jacksonville, Florida.

A half-inch of water covers the road, as usual. At least we didn't get another mega-flood last night. Like many of Jacksonville's homes, the dull beige-colored house across from mine has boards over the windows. It's uninhabitable. Since my small house stands ever so slightly uphill from the houses across the street, I was spared from the last great flood. The house has miraculously remained intact despite the endless storms that hit this region, though I've spent way too damn many hours replacing shingles, shutters, and carpet.

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