Forbidden Alpha Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  A Note of Thanks

  About the Author

  Forbidden Alpha

  Missy Lynn Ryan

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2015 Missy Lynn Ryan

  Cover: L.J. Anderson – Mayhem Cover Creations

  All rights reserved under International and Pan American Copyright Conventions. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express permission of Missy Lynn Ryan.

  FIRST EDITION

  ISBN: 978-0-9890171-3-8

  For Chai Macek, dealing with matters of the heart can be tricky business, especially when her V.I.P list includes one very pompous werewolf that can turn furry at a moment’s notice and rip out her throat.

  As CEO of a successful online dating company and one of only a handful of supernatural gypsies still specializing the sacred art of matchmaking, Chai has a near perfect success rate in helping supernaturals find love. Except for her current clients: Jarret Reynard, a werewolf that can’t shift and his allegedly unfaithful wife, Marci.

  A normal couple would get a shrink, but these two rely on Chai to help sift through the pieces of their broken relationship. Nothing can prepare Chai for the chaos that ensues when Marci’s alleged lover turns up dead. With police detectives, pack leaders, and nosy roommates all demanding answers, Chai must find a way to get to the truth without implicating her clients, ruining her reputation, or destroying her business.

  Forbidden Alpha is the 1st book in the edgy yet romantic urban fantasy series, Love Sex Magick.

  To the lovers of all things dark and creepy…

  “There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable.”

  - Mark Twain

  Prologue

  The reporter leaned in, eyes gleaming and lips curling. He was going for the kill. Excitement swelled inside him like a helium balloon, and I was forced to go along for the ride. It was the downside to being an empath.

  The upside? I always knew what was coming. Well, almost. It wasn't as accurate as telepathy, but most people had just as much difficulty shielding their thoughts as their emotions. Humans especially. The guy interviewing me, Bryan somebody, wasn't human. He was a Witch, and still he reeked of anticipation. He was so high on the idea of dragging out my secrets in front of a live audience his leg began to twitch. I suppressed the urge to tap my pink peep-toe heels back and forth against the metal stage.

  “I think we have time for one more question,” he said. The audience groaned at the idea of letting me go. He gave a false pout, as if he shared their pain. “If only we could keep our magickal love guru on hand for another hour.”

  “Yes, I know,” I said. “Parting is such sweet sorrow, but I'll be around all weekend and look forward to chatting with some of you in person at the expo.”

  “So if they see you milling around, they should just come up and say hi?”

  “Absolutely. Gypsies don't bite. Well, not this Gypsy.”

  The room laughed at my joke, though it wasn't really funny. The crowd was so hyped up on caffeine and magickal feelers they would have laughed at anything.

  “Well, we all know you, Chai Macek, are special. After all, you're the only half-blood Gypsy in existence, right?”

  And there it was. The half-blood question, which would eventually wind its way back to my father. The man who sweet-talked his way into the most powerful magickal circles across the globe and then screwed them over like a kid in a candy store. He was more than just a cunning con man. He was a cold-blooded killer.

  Of course, all of this was hearsay. I had no true memory of ever meeting the man. He'd been on the run my entire life, sixty years and counting.

  “I don't know about you, but I think my half-blood genes have done me pretty well.” And they had. I didn’t look a day over thirty. My body was curvy, my copper skin exotic, my black tresses thick and shiny. Not all Gypsies were as lucky.

  I smiled, flashing a glimpse of teeth, and someone in the audience whistled. I blew a kiss back at the crowd, using them as a stall tactic while I prepared for Bryan’s onslaught. It wasn't uncommon for witches like him to look down on Gypsy magick. His powers were tied to nature and earth, something steady and consistent, while mine were tied to emotions. It's one thing to be able to create a minor windstorm. It's another to help someone fall in love. Sure, they could create a love potion that would mimic our matchmaking, but the effects were not permanent, and as a result, the relationship would never be long lasting.

  Realizing I wasn't going to volunteer any information, Bryan egged me on further. “Come on, Chai,” he said, finally getting the pronunciation of my name right after countless hours of my assistant snapping, “It’s ‘Kai,’ rhymes with guy,” during the walk-through. “What do you think your parents would say if they were still around? Would they be proud of the way you've used your magick to con innocent humans out of their money?”

  This question told me everything I needed to know about Bryan. He was one of those witches that believed the purity of magick was only to be trusted amongst the true descendants of the gods and goddesses. In his eyes, I was an abomination for having the blood of two different supernatural races, even if it wasn’t of my own doing.

  “First off, nothing I do is a con. I provide meaningful services to both humans and supernaturals. The fact that I don't discriminate between the two groups does not mean my business isn't legit. And as for my parents—” I paused as an image of my mother flashed in my memory. The loss still hurt more than I wanted to admit to a room full of strangers. “I don't know. I lost my parents at such a young age it’s impossible for me to even take a guess at what they might think or say about my life today. I'd like to think my mother would be proud of all I’ve done.”

  “So you're admitting your father, the infamous Marius, is dead?”

  “I've never laid eyes on the man, so as far as I'm concerned, he's dead to me.”

  “What would you say to him if you saw him here today?”

  My heart stopped. It was irrational of course. There was no way my father was in the convention center.

  I followed the reporter’s gaze toward the screen. A new image filled the frame. My father was there. Dressed in his standard black-a
nd-red IMC robes. To me, they looked a bit ridiculous, like something a human might buy to wear at a costume ball, but the Inter-Magickal Council was big on two things: formality and tradition. The picture was taken just after he was sworn in as president. A dozen other men and women seated around a heavy stone dais smiled up at it him. Then there was me, a tiny little bundle in a red-and-black sun-dress, clinging to his leg. His face showed no sign of softness. I doubt he even knew I was there.

  It had been more than twenty years since I’d seen a copy of this photo.

  I smiled in an effort to hide the sadness spreading through me and turned back to the reporter who was so desperate to make me crack. “I'm afraid this interview is over.”

  The audience groaned. The spotlights panned away from the stage and danced over the crowd. I made my way behind the curtain to my anxious-looking assistant. Yasmine, a twenty-three-year-old part-time college student was a full-time employee at my company, True Love, Inc. She was one of a half-dozen people in the business aware of our elite services for the supernatural clientele, and unlike the cocky reporter, she never, ever let me down. I took the cup of coffee from her and pulled her into a tight hug.

  Chapter 1

  My fingers trembled with magick as my grip on the oversized martini glass wavered. Fluorescent-green liquor sloshed over the edge, splattering my dance partner's Italian leather shoes. I wanted to apologize, but there was no time. The source of my newfound discomfort rested a heavy hand on my shoulder. Warren Reynard’s ironclad grip effectively ended my swaying with Bradley, a.k.a. the incredibly dull probate attorney.

  Bradley began to protest, but the words caught in his throat. One sniff of the Alpha and he nearly tripped on his own feet as he scampered off the dance floor. Typical werecat. He didn't even put up a fight. If I hadn't been bored stiff by his conversation skills, I might have been more offended.

  Warren lifted my half-empty glass from my fingers and placed it on a nearby table. With the flourish and grandeur of a matador, he spun me around to face him, and the two of us began a slow waltz, gliding across the moonlit patio in a one-two-three rhythm. I was surprised he could do more than the basic box step. His stocky build didn't lend itself to ballroom dancing. Yet even his grace on the dance floor couldn't distract me. I inhaled deeply with the music, anxiety heavy in my lungs.

  Please tell me this man did not just travel more than two thousand miles to see me.

  “I tried to return your calls,” I said, “but they went straight to voicemail. You must have already boarded the plane.”

  “Don't flatter yourself, Ms. Macek,” Warren said with a huff. “I was in Los Angeles on business. Meeting with you in person wasn’t out of the way.”

  Not out of the way? Maui was a good five-hour flight from L.A.

  “That may be true on your end. However, I have work to do, and as difficult as this may be for you to accept, you are not my only client.”

  “Really?” Warren turned his head in Bradley’s direction and smirked. “The overgrown cat didn’t look like work to me.”

  I let go of Warren in a feeble attempt to stop dancing, but he was mid-sway, and I stumbled against the guiding pressure of his arms. I clutched his jacket, certain I was going to fall on my ass, but at the last minute, he adjusted his weight and pulled me back to my feet.

  “Careful.” He smiled and nodded at a nearby couple who had witnessed the entire exchange.

  Great, now they probably think I’m too drunk to see straight.

  It was at that moment my godsend of an assistant Yasmine intervened, greeting Warren with a big smile and a kiss on the cheek. Yas managed to make small talk while I fought off the urge to tell Warren Reynard just what I thought of him. By the time she got over her feigned shock of finding Warren at the Magick Now! Expo, my annoyance had died down to a dull simmer.

  “Perhaps we can move this conversation to our hotel suite, where we can discuss matters in private,” Yas suggested.

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, but the disdain must have been written all over my face. I didn't like the idea of Warren invading my personal space, but I also didn't want to discuss any issues he had with my services in front of potential clients. I let out a slow exhale, not impressed with my options.

  What did I do to deserve an encounter with two self-righteous asses in one day?

  * * *

  Yasmine and I sat on opposite ends of the sofa. Warren took the chair across from us—or at least he did for about five seconds. I asked him to explain what he was doing in Maui, and he jumped out of the seat and started stalking us like a predator. He moved about the room in silence, his eyes fixed on the two of us, until I was ready to throw something at him.

  Finally, he spoke. “I arranged for Mr. and Mrs. Murphy to let you out of your current commitments this weekend.”

  “You what?” My mouth fell open, and Yasmine reached out to grab my arm in case I lunged at him. “You can't do that.”

  “It turns out I can,” Warren said. “Celeste's father and I are old friends. When I explained there was an urgent matter for you to attend to, he insisted you could reschedule your consultation in a few weeks.”

  Something tightened in my chest, like a fist clenched around my heart. Blood raced through my veins. I leapt from the sofa, yanking Yasmine up with me. There was no way in hell I was going to let him determine how I did my job.

  “Where do you get off negotiating terms of business with my clients?” I snapped, but Warren wasn't one to be intimidated. He simply glared back at me. “Is this how you treat all the females in your pack? Barking orders and making decisions without even considering what’s important to them?”

  “Given the situation, time is of the essence. I must take matters into my own hands.”

  “Like hell it is. Your son has his mate. We performed the Bandhati Sacrament. You officiated the wedding! What in God's name could possibly be so important that you flew nearly twenty-five hundred miles to drag me back to San Francisco?”

  “Marci is pregnant.”

  I stopped flailing my arms long enough to ponder the announcement. It was a little surprising but still good news, or at least it should have been.

  “Congratulations… I think. Do you want to explain what that has to do with me?” I wasn't a midwife, doula, or birthing coach.

  “My son isn’t the father.”

  This one took a few minutes to sink in. I heard his words, but they didn't make any sense. The Bandhati Sacrament was permanent. It sealed the human—body, soul, and animal-to-call of an Alpha—to his mate. It was powerful ancient magick, and as a result, the couple existed as one entity from that moment on. Marci would never have been attracted to another wolf, let alone acted on that attraction and gotten pregnant without Jarret knowing.

  Unless she was raped.

  I didn’t think that was the case. Female wolves were just as strong as their male counterparts. I knew of one female wolf that killed the man who tried to force her into sex, and she’d been barely twenty. Marci was a fighter. She would have had to have been outnumbered to make rape a likely scenario. I tossed aside the idea. If it were rape, we’d be having a very different conversation.

  “Werewolves don't accidentally sleep with the wrong mate,” I said.

  He nodded in agreement but didn't offer any further clarification.

  “So what reason do you have to believe Jarret's not the father?” I held my breath, expecting him to share a tragic tale about an attack on their home or the reclusive behavior Marci had shown in the last six weeks.

  “A lot of little things that do not add up. I need you to come back to San Francisco and see for yourself.”

  “You do realize the chances of this being true are a million to one. It's difficult enough for a female from the alphic line to get pregnant, and the chances decrease dramatically if the couple isn’t a mated pair. Besides, if you really don't believe Jarret is the father, get a paternity test. DNA doesn't lie.”

  “I already have
. Dr. Huffman ran a test when he was examining Marci last week, and I’m not satisfied with the results. I don't trust science. Not completely. And I don't think you will either once you understand the delicate circumstances.”

  “Which are?” I hinted, hoping he would share something that actually made sense.

  “I'd rather not bias your opinion. In fact, it will be best if you don't let on that you’re investigating the paternity matter. Come up with a cover story. Be discreet. Talk with Marci and Jarret and find out what's gone wrong. I need to know if they’re still metaphysically bound. If they aren't, we know Marci had reason and opportunity to commit adultery.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, suddenly understanding what he was not so delicately dancing around. “You want me to look into this because you think I botched the sacrament?”

  His eyes met mine, challenging me to prove him wrong.

  “So you automatically assume because your son and his wife are having problems, it must be my fault?”

  “You said it yourself, Ms. Macek. The Bandhati Sacrament between two mates would not have allowed for the opportunity or desire to cheat. It would be near impossible to do so. This leads me to believe if Marci is carrying another man's child, it’s because your spiritual binds didn’t take effect. That, I’m afraid, was your responsibility and is the reason you will leave tonight to address my concerns.”

  “No!”

  Yasmine's jaw dropped. I rarely raised my voice with a client, at least not while standing in the same room. “I'm sorry you doubt my magick, and I’m willing to work with you and your family to address your 'concerns,' but I’m not leaving this convention. You cannot come into my business and make demands that impact other clients or the reputation of my company.”