Alphas of Seduction Read online

  COPYRIGHT © 2018

  VICTORIA BLUE THREADBARE

  COPYRIGHT © 2018

  M. CLARKE ALWAYS AND FOREVER

  COPYRIGHT © 2018

  AVERY FLYNN LITTLE TEASE LOST SEDUCTION

  COPYRIGHT © 2018

  ANISSA GARCIA LOST SEDUCTION

  COPYRIGHT © 2018

  JENNA JACOB SEDUCING SOPHIA

  COPYRIGHT © 2018

  ISABELLA LAPEARL JUST A LITTLE MISCHIEF

  COPYRIGHT © 2018

  MICKEY MILLER PICKED UP

  COPYRIGHT © 2018

  LAUREN ROWE THE SECRET NOTE

  COPYRIGHT © 2018

  KM SCOTT HARD AS STONE RED AND WHITE

  COPYRIGHT © 2018

  SIERRA SIMONE RED AND WHITE

  DISCLAIMER

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  NOTICE

  This is an adult erotic romance book with love scenes and mature situations. It is only intended for adult readers over the age of 18.

  Published: Once Upon An Alpha 2018

  Cover Design: Cover Me Darling – Marisa-rose Shor

  Cover Model: Eric Jacob

  Photographer: Keeton Designs

  Editor: Blue Otter Editing, LLC

  Proof Reader: Fedora Chen

  Formatting by: Shayla Fereshetian

  eBook

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9982222-4-0

  ISBN-10: 0-9982222-4-0

  Paperback

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9982222-5-7

  ISBN-10: 0-9982222-5-9

  Introduction

  Welcome to Alphas of Seduction, Once Upon An Alpha’s third anthology. We have brought you a collection of stories from authors who we love and admire. Each novella features an alpha with a twist in the story. We’re bringing seduction to the table! We hope you’ll fall in love with them.

  Proceeds from the sale of this book will go to 4 Paws for Ability: a worldwide agency that enriches the lives of children and veterans with disabilities by training and placing quality, task-trained service dogs. For more information about this amazing nonprofit organization: http://4pawsforability.org.

  In this anthology you’ll read stories from the following authors, who have graciously donated their time and work to this great cause.

  This anthology contains stories from the following authors who have graciously donated their time and works to this great cause. I’d like to give a HUGE thank you to all the contributing authors, and to the designers, model, editor, proofreader and formatter. With out the generous donation of their time and phenomenal talent, none of this would have been possible. I thank you all for the support you’ve given 4 Paws for Ability, and for being as passionate about the cause as I am.

  AUTHORS

  VICTORIA BLUE

  M. CLARKE

  AVERY FLYNN

  ANISSA GARCIA

  JENNA JACOB

  ISABELLA LAPEARL

  MICKEY MILLER

  LAUREN ROWE

  KM SCOTT

  SIERRA SIMONE

  DESIGNER

  COVER ME DARLING – MARISA-ROSE SHOR

  COVER MODEL

  ERIC JACOB

  PHOTOGRAPHER

  KEETON DESIGNS

  EDITING

  BLUE OTTER EDITING, LLC

  PROOF READER

  FEDORA CHEN

  FORMATTING

  SHAYLA FERESHETIAN

  This anthology would not have happened without the strength from my own salt circle.

  May we all be so lucky to find our very best salt circle. And may the circle be protected by the strength of fire breathing dragons which happens to lie within us.

  To Delta, my little girl Autumn’s personal best companion and service dog. Welcome home. You’re truly a “FurReal friend”.

  To you, the reader. Thank you.

  We hope you enjoy our anthology. Read at your own risk. Overheating can occur thanks to these very steamy stories.

  With Love,

  Shannon Hunt

  Once Upon An Alpha

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  About Victoria Blue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  About M. Clarke

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  About Avery Flynn

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  About Anissa Garcia

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  About Jenna Jacob

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  About Isabella LaPearl

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  About Mickey Miller

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  About Lauren Rowe

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  About K.M. Scott

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  About Sierra Simone

  Chapter 1

  Jane

  “How long has it been since you stood in this room?”

  “Longer than I care to remember. And in some ways… not long enough.” One of my dearest childhood friends, Anna, and I hadn’t seen each other in over a year, and it’d felt like just yesterday when we embraced at the airport the day before. She would stand by my side later that day when I buried my father, just like she had three years ago when I went through the same procession with my late husband.

  The world had become an empty
place in the span of a few short years, but somehow, as I stared out the picture windows of my father’s study, I felt a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in quite some time. Being among his things brought me solace and comfort, and I decided to not overthink it all for once in my life. My mother would be along any minute to do that for me.

  “When do you expect your mom to bust in here and tell us we’re going to be late?” Anna broke into my reflections.

  “God, I swear we still share a brain—you and I.” I smiled warmly at my sister-like pal. We’d grown up together, gone to college, and only when I’d married Jonathan and moved to the West Coast had we parted ways. A part of me had died that day, but I vowed to honor my husband, in the eyes of god and all our friends and family—all four hundred and sixteen of them to be exact—so that’s what I did. I uprooted every part of me that felt safe and secure in this uppity Long Island town and moved to the Golden State—California, where I never felt more out of place in all my life.

  But that’s what my husband wanted, so that’s what we did.

  “Do you think he’ll show up for the funeral?” She dropped her voice to a near whisper.

  “Who’s he?” I asked in a dramatic whisper, too.

  “Oh, don’t be obtuse, Jane. It doesn’t work with me and you know it.”

  “Obtuse? I see we’ve been hanging out at the club a bit too often, hmmm, Annalise?” I intentionally used her full name like all the snooty society ladies did.

  “Do I need to smack the shit out of you and remind you which side of this island I’m from?” She laid the New York accent on extra thick to make me laugh. Of course, it worked, because honestly, nothing sounded funnier than a girl raised in East Hampton trying a Brooklyn accent on for size.

  “Don’t think you’ve succeeded in changing the subject, either,” she added.

  “I have no idea. How would he even know that my father passed? I don’t think Katherine would exactly welcome him with open arms, you know? And why were you whispering in the first place?”

  “Well…” She paused and looked around, for what, I wasn’t quite sure. “You know. Because of your history.”

  “History? Anna, stop being so damn dramatic. We don’t have history. We lived in the same foster home. This one, to be exact. I ended up being adopted. He didn’t. If that’s what you mean by our history, then okay, yes, we have a history. But other than that? No history.” I sliced through the air as if calling a runner safe at home plate.

  “Okay, why are you acting as though I’m one of the tartlets from California? I’ve been your best friend since we were eight. Jonathan is gone, Jane. You don’t have to hide your feelings anymore. I was here when all hell broke loose. I was here when you cried yourself to sleep every night. I was here when—”

  “When what?” A third voice, much louder and shriller, entered the conversation.

  “Oh, fucking perfect.” I cradled my face in my hands. Charlie, the third point in our triangle, picked that exact moment to waltz into my father’s study, enormous carry-on bag, clearly part of a luggage set, still slung over her shoulder.

  “Let me help you with that.” Anna struggled to lift the thing off her shoulder and ease it to the ground. “My god, is there another human in here?”

  “No, it’s Diana. They wanted me to put her in a pet carrier, but I told the prune-faced flight attendant to go fuck herself and also look into some Botox injections when she had some down time. I just don’t understand why people don’t take care of themselves, you know?” Our friend Charles prattled on as if she’d been in the middle of our conversation for hours instead of just entering the room.

  “Okay, enough of this nonsense. If we don’t get ready, Mother will have a tantrum, and none of us wants to deal with that on top of everything else today.”

  After moving to my bedroom, we stood in front of my vanity in silence, one of the few times in our lives I could count that we didn’t have something to chat about. I sifted through memories of my father while blowing out my hair, thinking of all the things I adored about him. My father was the man of reason in my life. Where Jonathan was overbearing and controlling, my father indulged my every whim—even after I married and moved away. A fact that used to drive my deceased husband mad. There were few people who didn’t bend to his demands, and my father was one of them. In fact, my father didn’t play puppet to anyone’s strings.

  When I was a child and the house was still full of other foster children, my father had laughed and watched the mischief we would get into with a deep appreciation for life, likely wanting to adopt every one of us. But Mother had eyes for only one. A tall girl who developed way too early for her age, who never really fit in with the other children. A girl, she later explained to me, who reminded her very much of herself at that age. She said she knew the moment I came to their home, all my belongings in a single trash bag, that I would never leave.

  Daniel had already been living with my parents for a few months. The day I arrived, he was out on the lawn in front of a large wooden easel, manically drawing something that only he could see. I was mesmerized by him instantly. He moved with grace while seeming completely out of control. Everything about him was a contradiction. His wild blond hair stuck in every direction, as if he had raked his hands through it in frustration, but his khaki slacks were neatly pressed, and his blue pinstriped shirt was as well, even though the tails hung free on one side but remained tucked in the back.

  He was intriguing—eccentric even in youth. His mind and spirit always at odds with the tempo of everyday conversation, making it difficult for him to get along with the other kids in the house, and sometimes the adults, too. My father had far more patience for Daniel than Mother did, but he was a kinder person all around. Where she had strict rules and high expectations, he would have a wink and a conspiratorial grin and a quiet request to promise not to let it happen again. Most of my foster brothers and sisters took to my father right away, while my mother remained the disciplinarian and the parent no one dared to cross.

  Except for me, of course. By the time I was a teen, and Charlie and Anna were fixtures in my life, I tested every “shall not” and “will not” issued from the woman’s mouth. It wasn’t until I was leaving for college that I realized what an ungrateful brat I had been and felt the miserable anvil of guilt for the heartache I’d caused her. A barren woman, unable to carry a child of her own, so desperate to have a daughter she brought in unwanted strays that other parents discarded, trying them on for size, hoping one would be the right fit to fill the gaping hole in her heart.

  What a sad notion, really. So many melancholy thoughts went through my mind as I put another coat of waterproof mascara on my barely noticeable lashes. I pulled the black skirt from the dry cleaner’s bag. It had been neatly stowed away in the far side of the closet after Jonathan’s funeral. Certainly hadn’t thought I’d have a designated funeral outfit in my repertoire at age twenty-eight, but the two most important men in a woman’s life, passing within a few years of each other, would probably leave most ladies wrought with sorrow.

  “Anyway,” I said aloud, closing off the uncomfortable line of thinking, “are you ladies almost ready? You both look absolutely beautiful, as always.”

  “So do you, Jane,” Anna answered first.

  My mother bustled into the room, without knocking, of course. “Oh good, you’re ready.” She gave each one of us a quick once-over, stopping when she came to me. “Jane, darling. Is that what you’re wearing?” Her silent disapproval was something I should’ve been used to after all the years she’d been doing it, but it still hurt like the first time.

  “Yes, Mother.” I bit the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from saying something more.

  “Hmmm.” She went to adjust the lapel of my blazer and I moved from her reach.

  “Stop. If you need to say something about what I’m wearing, please just do so. I don’t need you fussing with my clothes. They fit just fine and I’m capable of dressing myself.” My th
erapist would be so proud.

  “No. You look fine, dear. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She turned to my friends. “So, if you ladies are ready, I’ll have the car brought around.” She strolled toward the door as if she hadn’t just insulted me in front of my friends. Not as though they hadn’t seen it a hundred times before.

  “Thank you, Mother,” I mumbled, grinding my molars with pent-up rage.

  As soon as she was out of earshot, I buried my face in my hands, both friends rushing to my side.

  “She’s a piece of work,” Anna growled.

  “Honestly, who says something like that?” But then Charlie shrugged and answered her own question. “Well, Katherine the Great does. A leopard doesn’t change its spots, after all.” We had given my mother the nickname when we were teens and had studied Russian history in school.