Blurb for Alpha Blaze: Both will betray the pack. Can they save each other?
In the Louisiana bayou, the bond between alpha and omega burns hot and dangerous.
Kevin was a beautiful contradiction of vulnerability and fury wrapped in pure sex appeal.
It was all I could do to hold my wolf in check. If I pushed too hard, I'd lose. I couldn't afford to lose Kevin. Already, this omega had become precious. I hadn’t come here to find a mate. That didn’t matter. The omega was mine and I was his, whether we liked it or not.
His name was Blaze, and Kevin was playing with fire.
Our eyes met. It was just dinner. Blaze kept to the boundaries of our agreement, but I wanted more. I’d never felt this way about an alpha. Blaze was everything I wanted and everything I couldn’t have.
Alpha Blaze is an action-packed mpreg romance novel of 64,000 words with hot werewolf bikers, bad language, smutty-times, knotting, and men who get pregnant. Warning: this book contains a tough-as-nails omega struggling to overcome a painful past (incl. rape trauma and miscarriage) and a strong, sensitive alpha who will do anything to win his omega’s heart.
If you love your mpreg romance with a dollop of angst and a healthy helping of action, start reading Alpha Blaze today!
I stood at the top of the stairs to the Scion pack’s kitchen and shuffled through my stack of receipts for a second time. I had no business being nervous. Even if Kevin spotted the duplicates, which he probably would, he'd assume I was just another dumb alpha. Exactly what I wanted.
Even if I hadn't recognized Jeremy's voice, the persistent scent of cigar smoke would have given him away. Jeremy was the right-hand wolf of Red, the pack alpha. At least for today. Jeremy was also a thoroughly uncomplicated dick.
I forced a grin as I turned to face him. “What's up, Jer?” If you called people by a nickname, they thought you wanted to be their friend.
Even inside, Jeremy wore his club jacket—heavy leather with the pack's name “Scions” plastered in orange and red above a mediocre graffiti-style picture of a Harley-Davidson backed by flames.
I bet he wore it thinking it would distract from his massive beer belly, but it just made him sweat more. With the AC running, it was still warm in the Scion lodge. Red was cheap with everyone except himself, and it showed in the amenities. I'd left my jacket in the common room, on top of the pile. Summer in the Bayou was like living in a sauna except more humid.
Jeremy said, “I was going to ask you the same thing. What did you need from the kitchen? Did Red ask you for something?”
So, Jeremy was fishing for information. In Red's pack, all of the alphas were in a constant contest for second wolf. Red enjoyed the infighting. He thought it made the pack stronger. To me, it was just wasteful and exhausting. Once I found out for sure if this pack intended to make war with mine, I'd be out of here faster than Red could throw back a shot of middle-shelf whiskey. Until then though, I had to pretend.
“I needed to talk with Kevin about some receipts.”
“Kevin?” Jeremy ran his tongue over his lips. “How's sweet little Kev going to help you with that?”
“He handles the pack’s bookkeeping, doesn't he?”
“It gives him something to do. Can't trust omegas with the front business or enforcement, and Red won't let any of us keep omegas of our own, so Kev needs an activity.”
Jeremy was such an idiot. Kevin’s accounting was the only thing keeping the rest of the Scions from the eyes of the human authorities. Anyone could run drugs or guns; the hard part is not getting caught at it. And Kevin handled the hard part. Which was why I had to talk to him.
I’d tried stopping by his office, and I’d tried bumping into Kevin casually. No dice. He was never in his office, and he didn't socialize with the pack.
I didn't blame him. Even as “one of the alphas,” I found many of the others grating. Maybe because Red’s “screw omega's on your own time but don't bring them home” policy meant he only managed to hold onto the very worst alphas. Still, if anyone knew what was really going on behind the scenes of this pack, it would be Kevin. I needed to get to know him better.
“I just need to make sure my paperwork is right.” I waved the stack of receipts at him. He wouldn’t ask. People like Jeremy never did. “Don't want to screw up and piss Red off.”
“Uh-huh. Just keep your paperwork on the books and not on Kev’s back,” Jeremy let out a huge guffaw. “You’ll thank me for telling you this. Sweet Kev's got a bite. They say he killed his last mate. Our little black widower.”
As if I'd be stupid enough to get involved with Red's nephew. I shook my head. “Nothing to worry about. I’m not interested.”
“Oh, everyone’s interested. I’m just saying there's plenty of easier ass out there, as long as you don't bring it home.”
Exactly why Red's “pack” was more of a gang than anything civilized. “Got it,” I said. “Thanks for the advice.”
“Want me to go with you? Keep you safe?”
“I can handle one little omega.” Thankfully, none of the omegas of my pack were around to hear me talk about them like this. I’d lose an eye. “I'm just going to check the kitchen to see if he’s there.”
Jeremy wiped the sleeve of his leather jacket over his forehead, smearing the sweat. “Ugh. I don't know how he can stand it in there. We're playing pool in the club if you want a cold one after.”
“Thanks.” I gave Jeremy a wave and then started down the stairs. Thankfully, he didn't follow. Still, the faster I got this done, the better. If Jeremy's curiosity outweighed his very logical fear of heat stroke, then I wouldn't have much time to talk to Kevin before we were interrupted.
As I slipped into the Scion pack’s industrial kitchen, heat laced with tomato and Cajun spices hit me like the leading edge of a storm. My skin tingled. Kevin hadn’t seen me yet. Or smelled me, but he would. Soon. Most of the time, Kevin acted more like a caged animal than the living spine of Baton Rouge’s heroin and gun trade.
Kevin perched on a tall stool in front of the large metal countertops beside the stove. He tapped the nub of his pencil rapidly down what looked like, from the doorway, printouts of a five-column spreadsheet. His attention flitted between those and an open, wire-bound notebook. I'd seen him carry it before. Baby blue pastel with three kittens meowing on the front.
The uncooked books.
Sweat blossomed from my chest, trickling beneath my T-shirt. Kevin didn't look immune either. His short sleeved, white button-down shirt was stained at the pits with sweat, and his blond hair clung to his forehead in sticky strands. He took a heavy dishcloth from the counter and wiped across his forehead.
Kevin looked too sweet to be a criminal. He looked too sweet to have killed his mate when Caleb, with Red’s blessing, had taken Kevin out on the Bayou to claim him. Kevin had been seventeen. Now he was twenty-one with hard gray eyes. A killer’s eyes? Sweet Kevin with a sharp yellow number two pencil, two pots of gumbo, and a notebook with kittens on the cover. Maybe he’d done it. If so, maybe he’d had a good reason.
Kevin cocked his head and bit lightly on the pencil’s eraser. Already half hard from watching him work, my cock rose to full mast at the thought of those lips wrapped around it.
Jeremy’s words came back to me. Everyone’s interested.
To have those steel gray eyes focus on me with the same attention he was giving those papers, to have those lips part as I breached him…what the hell am I thinking? I had better manners, and much better sense than to mix myself up personally with the pack alpha’s nephew.
I must have shifted my weight, or moved, or maybe the scent of my arousal had penetrated the tomato and spice of the gumbo, because Kevin gave a start. He closed the notebook and spun the stool around to face me.
“Dinner is at six,” Kevin said. His expression was guarded.
“I need help with these receipts.” I pulled them out of my pocket, twelve of them folded in the center, along with the income report I’d deliberately fucked up.
“Just drop them at the office. You've been here two weeks. Someone should have told you.”
“They did. It’s these papers, too. They don’t add up.” I closed the space between us, holding the receipts and paperwork out like an offering. He was tense, but trying not to show it. And not the kind of tension I wanted. He smelled of fear. Though to his credit, his expression, one of stiff annoyance, betrayed nothing.
I wanted to erase that crease between his brows and press my thumbs into his shoulder muscles while I nibbled kisses against his neck.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
It wasn't like I'd never seen an omega before. We had plenty in our pack, and I knew how to treat them. Politely and kept at a distance. An omega might smell sweet, and the sex was supposedly mind blowing, but I didn't need any more dependents. I wasn't ready to start my own pack. And I didn't give a shit about breeding.
Kevin, though, I wanted. He had wavy blond hair, darker at the roots, which on anyone else I'd assumed was dyed, but Kevin didn't act like that type. Besides, I'd have smelled it on him. No, his hair color was natural. Like the steel gray eyes that shifted sometimes to blue, or at least did when we were this close.
“Let me see them.” Kevin snatched the papers from my hand and began to thumb through them. “All right, you've got three of the same receipt. What’d you do, print out a couple of extra copies? And the numbers don't add up from what you put in with the receivables.”
He hadn’t even looked at the paper yet. Was he actually citing the numbers off of the top of his head?
Smart, pretty, and a little dangerous. My type, exactly.
Kevin ran a hand through his hair. “If anything, you overpaid us. So I know you're not stealing.”
“I wouldn't steal from Red.”
“Good to know you have a brain underneath all of those muscles.” Kevin put the stack of receipts on the counter on top of his notebook. “I'll take care of these. Was there anything else?”
Was there? I'd gotten plenty from Kevin. I knew he handled the books, and I could take that back to my brother, Lucian. Better not to press my luck. At the same time, the musk of this omega mixed with the thick tomato and spices and the heat from the range, drove me to want more.
I asked, “What can I do to thank you?”
Kevin ran his tongue over his lips. Dear Lord. What if I was to unbutton that shirt and take him against the countertop, his nipples pink and tight, his gray eyes black with desire?
I would make him feel good. So good.
“Just a thank you is sufficient,” Kevin enunciated each word. “I know you're new here, but my uncle doesn't take kindly to wolves trying to get a leg up on his omega.”
His? That was wrong. Kevin belonged to himself. Or me, if he gave himself to me. Which was the last thing I needed. I was running enough risks already, infiltrating Red’s pack for my brother.
This pack felt wrong. More than the drugs and the guns, the hierarchy was held together through a sickly weave of fear and subjugation. A pack reflected their alpha, and Red’s influence was apparent in the brutality of his Seconds, the silence of his betas and the low-grade wariness that permeated Kevin’s body language and scent. An omega didn’t wall himself off from his pack like this overnight. Something spurred him to it. What had Kevin meant exactly by ‘his?’
A cold wave of horror washed over me. “Red hasn’t claimed…not you…?”
Kevin shook his head. But he didn't look surprised at the question. More resigned. “My uncle has some limits. But that doesn't mean he won't rip the flesh from your bones if you mess with his property without permission.”
Alphas did get possessive with their omegas. But property was pushing it. Omegas were werewolves in their own right. Lucian's mate would have ripped out his throat before being treated like property.
“Your uncle doesn't own you.”
Kevin laughed. “Is that what you think? My uncle owns everyone in this pack. He's alpha, and we all have to deal with that. You stick with us, and he owns you too.”
“What if he wasn't alpha anymore?” I blurted out. Like a fucking fool.
Kevin stared at me.
“It was just a hypothetical question.”
“You shouldn't ask questions like that.”
“Probably not.” Definitely not. Kevin wasn’t a victim here, no matter how sweet he looked. He was in it as deep as his uncle. But something about the fear on him, the way he haunted the pack lodge like a wary ghost, made me want to protect him. I asked, “Will you have dinner with me?”
“We’re having gumbo tonight.”
It was a deflection, but it wasn't a no.
I smiled, stepping closer, and slowly, too slowly, I raised my thumb to touch his cheek. His breath caught, and he trembled. The fear was still there, but I smelled something else too. Arousal. His irises had gone black, and his lips parted.
“Just dinner. Just you and me. What do you like on your pizza?”
I ran my thumb over his face, tracing the arc his cheekbone. He didn’t pull away, and so I ran my hand back until my fingers loosely cupped the back of his neck. His hips thrust forward, slightly, and there was a pleasant, growing bulge at the crotch of his well-worn khaki pants. The sweet scent of him filled my nose and clung to the back of my throat like cotton candy and sex.
Maybe that was my excuse for leaning closer and grazing my teeth along the half-moon crest of his ear. “Say yes.”