The King Without a Queen - Book cover

The King Without a Queen


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Moving back to her hometown after years on the road, Phoebe just wants to live a normal, stable teenage life: school, friends, boys, pizza. But after meeting handsome and mysterious stranger Silvic, it’s clear that life has other plans for her. Phoebe finds herself irresistibly drawn to the werewolf alpha, but he is haunted by memories of another woman. As danger threatens the pack, Phoebe has to come to terms with her past—and her feelings—in this new world.

Age Rating: 16+

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46 Chapters

1: Chapter 1

A smile spread across my face as we drove past the familiar field, the one that held so many memories from my childhood. But there was no time to stop and reminisce; the scenery soon changed, and I found myself gazing at the neighborhood where I'd spent a decade of my life.

I was finally home, and the happiness bubbling inside me was impossible to contain.

As we passed each house, I recognized some and noticed the changes in others. Eventually, the car slowed to a stop, and there it was—our house. Our real house. Home.

I couldn't help but giggle with excitement, and my mother laughed along with me. "You seem ecstatic, Phoebe," she said, unbuckling her seatbelt.

I mirrored her actions and replied, "Yes, Mom. Look." I pointed at our house. "We're finally home."


Growing up, all I ever wanted was to stay in one place and make lasting memories. Sure, I'd made plenty of memories while traveling with my mom, meeting countless people along the way. But they were all strangers, and I never felt like I truly belonged with them. They had their own lives before I entered the picture, and I only caught a fleeting glimpse of their world.

I longed to be with someone who knew me from the very beginning.

My mother smiled warmly. "Come on, let's go inside." She pressed a button, unlocking all the doors.

Eagerly, I opened the door and stepped out into the cool air, relishing the way it kissed my skin. I didn't linger outside for long, too excited to see our house again.

I followed my mom to the front door and waited patiently as she unlocked it. My eyes wandered to the lawn, wondering if she would plant flowers there again like she used to. I remembered her love for gardening before she discovered her true passion for photography and took me on the road with her.

Just last week, she'd decided she'd had enough and wanted to return home. I was shocked when she told me, but I kept my emotions in check and didn't ask too many questions. I was afraid she might change her mind.

My mom was impulsive, which explained a lot about her life, including my existence. I wasn't exactly planned—on her twenty-first birthday, she decided to hook up, and nine months later, I was born. I never knew who my father was, and neither did she. She'd been too drunk to even remember his voice.

All she remembered was his name: Aaron. That was all I knew about my father.

I looked like my mom—short, barely reaching five-foot-five, with curly hair and a small nose. My eyes were gray, and I guessed that was the only thing I inherited from my father, whoever he was.

The sound of the door creaking loudly pulled me from my thoughts. I had a tendency to zone out.

My mom stepped inside the house, and I followed. The smell of dust assaulted my nostrils, and I covered my nose instinctively. Light filtered in through the windows, illuminating the empty living room.

I was finally home.

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