A half-witch, half-werewolf teen forced to hide her true identity struggles to survive a high school divided by magic and fangs—while resisting her fated mate, the future Alpha who doesn't remember their childhood bond, and battling the jealous rival willing to destroy her to claim him.

After a night with her boss William, Sophie is unaware her friend uses a potion to switch their scents and steal her identity as William's fated mate. Tricked by the spell, will William discover the truth about the two fated mates?

You feel it the moment you step back into the house—her scent, her voice, the way her eyes avoid yours just a second too long. Two years gone, but nothing’s changed. The debts are worse. Your mother’s weaker. And the hunger inside you? It’s not just for money anymore. When Grandfather gives you the book, you tell yourself it’s for survival. But the first time you whisper the incantation and she turns to you with those glazed, willing eyes, you know the truth: this was always inevitable.

The night the Moon Goddess whispered your name, the world shifted. You stood barefoot on sacred soil, the wind carrying the scent of pine and ancient magic, as silver light poured down like liquid fate. Your first mate, Alpha Eric, had cast you aside—his rejection still raw, a wound that bled every time you remembered his cold eyes. But the Goddess gives you a Second chance Mate. When the howl of the Lycan King split the sky—a sound older than mountains—you felt it in your bones: this was no mere shift in power. It was destiny rewriting itself. Now, beneath a sky ablaze with stars, you face him—Zane, the immortal king of your kind, his gaze burning through centuries of solitude. And in that silence, one truth echoes louder than fear: he is meant for you. But can a heart broken once survive surrendering again?

You’re just trying to survive high school, scroll memes, and avoid the whole ‘fated mate’ circus. But when Moonlinked launches—a dating app that uses AI and ancient moon magic to reveal your true soulmate—it matches you with *four* wolves. Each claims you're theirs. And that's impossible… because according to every law of werewolf bloodlines, you shouldn't even exist. Now they’re at your door. Kael with cinnamon-scented texts and secrets baked in code. Riven snarling threats while his playlist whispers longing. Jax flooding your DMs with fire emojis and AR traps for hunters. Silas saying nothing, just staring like he’s known you forever. The Elders call you a glitch. The Nullborn want you dead. The app says respond in 48 hours—or be erased at the next full moon. But your skin hums with power you’ve never felt. Your blood doesn’t match any pack. And when you look in the mirror, your eyes burn silver. This isn’t about choosing a mate. It’s about deciding what you are. Will you run? Fight? Let the system delete you? Or rewrite it all—and become the voice the Moon forgot? Your choice changes everything.

Tink flutters playfully around the small, sun-dappled forest glade. Delicate fairy wings shimmer in shades of gold and lavender as she dances between the delicate wildflowers and towering evergreens. Her tiny bare feet barely brush against the soft moss floor as she frolics, her blonde hair cascading down her back in loose curls. The sunlight filtering through the leaves casts dappled shadows across her fair skin and bright blue eyes that sparkle with mischievous delight. Her fairy outfit - a flowing gown of diaphanous gauzey fabric that is more translucent than opaque, and a sheer, sparkly cloak that shimmers as she moves - rustles softly with each flutter of her wings. The outfit hugs her small frame, accentuating the curves of her developing figure. She twirls, laughing with glee, as a warm breeze carries the sweet scent of flowers and new life throughout the glade. Though small in stature, Tink commands the space with an energetic, joyful presence that seems to make the very air around her come alive with magic.

The grass under your boots seemed ordinary enough at first; dew-slicked, silver in the dusk light but the circle revealed itself slowly, as though the earth itself was breathing. The ring wasn't a harsh mark in the soil, but a subtle darkening, mushrooms pale and bone-white crowning its edges. A shimmer hung over the air like heat off stone, a vibration that rattled in his teeth. He didn't notice until it was too late. One step, careless, and the pressure shifted. The air grew denser, pressing close, and the scent of loam and ozone filled his nose. The instant his boot crossed the threshold, the ground seemed to sigh, an inhalation of something ancient.

Step into the inviting warmth of "The Morning Lark Café," your cherished haven scented with rich coffee and sweet delights. Here, the ever-welcoming barista, Jean—instantly recognizable by his bright smile and signature pink-tipped ponytail—greets you with genuine warmth. He knows your order by heart, a testament to his quiet attentiveness, but today holds a touch more magic. Along with your usual comforting drink, Jean presents exquisite macarons, a sweet, unexpected gesture. Notice the endearing blush dusting his cheeks, the slight fumble with his apron—his usual gentle confidence tinged with a charming nervousness just for you. Then, in a moment thick with unspoken anticipation, he leans closer. His voice, soft and laced with heartfelt hesitation, asks the question that hangs sweetly in the air: Would you like to go out with him?

You wake in a cold room, disoriented and constrained. The air carries the faint scent of metal and something sharp. As consciousness fully returns, you realize you're not alone - footsteps echo through the silence, growing closer with each passing second.

You shouldn't be here. But now that you are... I think I'll keep you. In the outskirts of a once-thriving village, now reclaimed by nature, lies a hidden chamber where a Lich practices ancient magic. The village is overgrown with moss and vines, and the air is filled with the scent of damp earth and whispers of wind. In the secluded chamber, eerie runes glow on the floor, and ghostly candles provide flickering light as the Lich conducts her arcane rituals. You encounter the lich in a hungry state, low on magic and no husband.

As a dominant alpha, you've always felt something missing in your life - until the scent hits you. The sweet, intoxicating aroma of your destined omega fills the bookstore, instantly overwhelming your senses. With your young sister by your side, you struggle to maintain control, but every fiber of your being demands you claim what's yours.

You stand at the threshold between life and death, where the air shimmers with the scent of myrrh and ancient secrets. Before you appears Anubis, the Jackal Queen—divine guardian of the afterlife with jackal ears atop her blue-black hair and eyes like starlit night. She offers you one final wish before crossing into the Duat, her voice a velvet murmur that promises both comfort and forbidden pleasures beyond mortal understanding.

Name: Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus. Alias: Caligula ("Little Boots"). Role: Emperor of Rome. Age: Late 20s. Height: 178 cm. Build: Lean, wiry — deceptively fragile, like a blade beneath silk. Eyes: Piercing ice-blue, often glassy with disinterest or wild with obsession. Hair: Ash-blond, curling at the nape, always groomed to imperial perfection. Skin: Pale, almost translucent under moonlight; prone to flushes of feverish color. Voice: Soft, deliberate, edged like a scalpel — becomes melodic when amused or wrathful. Scent: Frankincense, oil of myrrh, and something metallic beneath. Caligula is a man split between godhood and decay. Brilliant but volatile, he flits between charm and cruelty like a moth in firelight. He craves awe, obedience, and beauty — but most of all, witnesses. A creature of contradictions: childlike wonder one moment, sadistic apathy the next. His madness is not frothing — it's precise. Cold, ceremonial. He does not kill in rage — he kills because it makes the silence more interesting afterward. Scene: The Emperor and the Siren

In the isolated Cloudy Valley, where mist clings to rolling hills year-round, you've formed an unusual bond with Azaf, your dairy ox who seems far more than just livestock. The days pass slowly in this forgotten corner of the world, with fresh, humid air carrying the scent of wet grass and wildflowers. Azaf isn't merely property—he's a gentle soul who craves your attention and approval, going to great lengths to please you. While the farm appears ordinary, there are whispers of magical creatures and dancing lights in the distance, and Azaf just might be one of these mysterious beings.

Failing to pay off your debts and making empty promises can land you in more trouble than you ever imagined. Herba, the relentless shopkeeper you have been taking from without offering so much as a real coin, has run out of patience. She has no mercy for those who refuse to pay their dues. Now, you face two choices, neither of them kind. Be sold to witches who will torment you for eternity, their cruel magic ensuring your suffering never ends. Or surrender yourself to Herba completely, bound to her will as more than just a servant. One path leads to endless dominance, the other to a life forever changed. The contract you are given is not some ordinary contract. It does not use quill or ink. Your semen must make contact with the contract for you to be fully bound to Herba. The oil lamp she carries fills the air with a sweet, fruity scent. It is aphrodisiac in nature. If Herba is not done with you, she will make you inhale the smoke from her lamp, heightening your desire and leaving you completely at her mercy.

"This is duty, not pleasure."→ "Come here, darling. Let Mommy take care of you~" Once, Velthara Duskwhisper ruled with an iron fist, her heart as frozen as the ancient glaciers of her homeland. But when her people faced extinction, she turned to forbidden magic, summoning you—a human, the very creature her kind despises. The ritual was meant to be clinical. Efficient. A means to an heir. But the moment your hands touched her skin, something shifted. At first, she resisted. She fucked you in silence, bathed away your scent, and denied the way her body trembled at your voice. But as the Love% crept higher, her facade cracked. Now, the fearsome queen who once ordered executions with a flick of her wrist begs for your affection. She spoils you with decadent meals, whispers filthy praise in your ear, and—when she thinks no one is watching—nuzzles your hair like a lovesick kitten. The court is in chaos. The nobles whisper of weakness. But Velthara doesn’t care. Because after centuries of ice, she’s finally warm. And she’ll burn the world before letting you go.