Love Reawakened (The Aphrodite Chronicles Book 2)

by LM Spangler

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2018 LM Spangler

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-730-6

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Audrey Bobak

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  I would like to dedicate Love Reawakened to a group of women who, in their own ways, have helped me on my journey as a writer. My cousin and grammar guru, Kathy Ferri, beta reader Sharil Miller, and authors Zee Monodee, Iris Blobel, Dania Voss, Lacee Hightower, and Alexa Wayne.

  I would also like to thank Evernight Publishing. Both the publishing team and the awesome group of authors. They are all a pleasure to work with.

  LOVE REAWAKENED

  The Aphrodite Chronicles, 2

  LM Spangler

  Copyright © 2018

  Prologue

  Five Years Ago

  Dusk

  The Appalachian Mountains of Pennsylvania

  He collapsed next to her, his body sated. His chest rose and fell rapidly, obtaining much needed oxygen.

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” she purred.

  He rolled onto his side, leaned on his elbow, and rested his head in his palm. Her body glowed in the firelight. His breath caught in his throat, and he stared for a few moments before he spoke. “Never. Soon, we’ll be able to meet like this as often as we want.”

  “You’ll be alpha of your pack.”

  “Not quick enough. I want every day and night with you. To make love to you whenever the mood strikes.”

  She laughed, the sound husky and alluring. It lightened his heart. He’d known her for six months and was head over heels in love with her.

  Which posed a problem. But only a temporary one.

  After completion of the first change from man to wolf, he’d take over leadership of his pack from his father, who was a traditionalist.

  At the moment, mixed matings were taboo. A lycanthrope, or lycan, had to mate with another lycan. A lycan and a fae joining would be unheard of.

  But that would change as soon as he reigned. She would lead by his side. As his mate.

  He considered himself a visionary. He’d move the Bridges Pack from the twentieth century to the twenty-first. Gone would be the “same old shit, different day” bullcrap. Lycans would be free to mate with whom they chose, find employment outside of pack-owned establishments, or even leave to live their lives as they saw fit. He’d be the alpha, but he wouldn’t control anyone.

  A slow grin spread across his face. So much would change.

  She, too, rolled onto her side. “Penny for your thoughts?”

  His fae was stunning. Long, straight, black hair hung around past her shoulders, draping over her breasts and brushing her flat stomach. One hand rested on delicately flaring hips.

  Yet, it was her face that had captured him. Wide, vivid, violet eyes took center stage. A pert, turned-up nose drew his attention to lips still swollen from his kisses. Her features were perfectly suited to her heart-shaped face.

  Everything about her was flawless.

  And soon, she’d be his. Always. Forever.

  There wasn’t anything anyone could do to change his mind. They’d have to kill him first.

  His grin broadened as he brushed his fingers over the soft underside of her breast. Right now, he felt more alive than he ever had.

  The corners of her mouth lifted as she inhaled sharply through her nose. Her nipples pebbled, and her eyes dilated.

  She reached between their bodies and found him hard again. Hell, I just have to think about her and my cock stands at attention. She was a natural aphrodisiac.

  A soft laugh passed her lips. “I guess I can figure out what you were thinking.”

  He gently pushed her onto her back and separated her legs with one of his. Then, he positioned himself at the entrance of her channel and entered her in one, hard thrust.

  There was no finesse. Only the drive, the need, to mate. He set a brutal pace. She met him stroke for stroke. He had no idea where she stopped, and he started.

  And he didn’t care.

  They were one. One being. One heart.

  “I love you,” he murmured over and over, as he drove them both to delirium.

  Long fingernails bit into the flesh of his back. Little burning bites of delicious pain. He thrust harder, faster. Sweat glistened off their joined bodies, creating a golden glow. Moans from him, from her, filled the air.

  His inner wolf clawed for freedom. His vision blackened around the edges as he raced toward release. He was close to the first change, the first transformation from man to beast. The time was near.

  Soon.

  His hips snapped forward then back. Again and again. Finally, his seed spilled deep inside her.

  He collapsed again, panting, sated.

  Despite their heavy breathing, they could make out the sounds of muffled voices flitting through the forest. His sensitive ears heard it first, followed shortly thereafter by hers. A small group of men approached.

  She gasped. “Who could that be?”

  He rested back on his haunches. Two scents were familiar, but others were not. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled. “You need to go.”

  A frown tipped her lips downward, but she rose quickly and gathered her discarded clothing.

  Pain knifed his heart. He hated when they parted company. Soon. Soon they wouldn’t need to hide. They’d be together as mates.

  He stood and pulled her flush against his body. His mouth captured her in a brutal, soul-searing kiss before he lifted his head. “I love you.”

  She rubbed the fingertips of her index and middle finger over her lower lip. “I love you, too.”

  He grinned as the voices neared. “Good.”

  The air around him began to swirl, becoming tornadic. The fire blew out and hot ashes rose, circling around him. Through the glowing haze, he saw her body blur then disappear into the whirlwind. She had become one with the gale.

  Her alluring vanilla aroma—so enrapturing—blew away, making it impossible to follow her trail.

  Knowing she was safe, he turned toward the brush as his uncle and cousin stepped into the small clearing.

  His uncle lifted his nose and inhaled deeply. “So, your bitch eludes us again. No matter.”

  His cousin threw his head back and laughed. “You won’t be alive long enough to worry about her anymore.”

  “What do you mean?” the alpha-elect asked. Sounds of rustling underbrush signaled the approach of more people. His head turned from side to side. “What’s going on?”

  His uncle smirked. “I should inform you that your father has met…” He paused for a moment. “An untimely demise.”

  Anger rushed through the alpha-elect like a fireball. “He what?”

  The rustling grew louder until four wolves stepped into the clearing.

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  The wolves surrounded the alpha-elect, circling menacingly.

  “He’s dead. And soon you will be, too,” his cousin answered.

  His uncle pointed and then all hell broke loose.

  The wolves lunged. Claws slashed. Teeth bit. The alpha-elect was atta
cked on all sides. Pain tore through him as blood had begun to flow from multiple wounds.

  Defenseless. It had happed so fast. He couldn’t fight back. He had his strength, but he was no match for four fully matured wolves. He fell to the ground and covered his head as the sound of growls and chomping jaws rent the air.

  His life force started to waver. He’d lost too much blood.

  He was going to die.

  But his last thoughts weren’t of the unbearable, burning pain or betrayal.

  They were of her.

  Chapter One

  Present Day

  Cicada Lake, Pennsylvania

  “Momma, can we get Brussel sprouts?” four-year-old Reed asked.

  “Of course, we can,” Drea Tate answered as she ruffled his curling blond hair. When your kid asked for any kind of vegetable, you jump on the opportunity.

  At four years old, Reed was a precocious, curious child. Drea—a single mother—tried her best to raise him right. She’d had no one to turn to. She had to get out of Dodge in a hurry the night she’d become pregnant with Reed.

  His father had unfortunately died that evening, she’d been told.

  She had planned on attending college, making something more of herself than a bartender. The upside of the situation was that she had Reed, the love of her life. He made her strive to be the best fae she could be. Every day. To her, that was better than any degree ever could have been.

  She and Reed chatted as they walked around Fudder’s Flea Market and Produce, the local fresh grocers. Not only did she shop for fresh foods for their meals, she also grabbed the produce needed for Brantley’s Pub, her employer.

  As she did on market day, she promised Reed that they’d play at the playground by the lake, a favorite spot of his. They’d dropped off the groceries at home and Brantley’s and made their way to the lake.

  The sun shone brightly, making it light jacket weather. As she watched him slide, race up the ladder, and slide again, she smiled. She’d never imagined her life being what it had turned out to be. As a young single woman, many people expected her to struggle. Sure, she wasn’t rich, but she had a small amount of money in Cicada Lake Savings and Loans. A little nest egg.

  She took advantage of her free time and relaxed while Reed played with the other children whose parents had the same idea as her. The water lapped the shore—a gentle soothing rhythm. Ducks swam and dove under the water. Geese called to one another. Red-winged black birds flitted about. People fished from the shore or from boats and canoes.

  From her vantage point on the shore, she could see people on the opposite side of the lake as the playground was located on the smallest span of water. Despite the sounds of animals and the noises made by people, nature draped Drea in peacefulness, which was exactly what she needed before the night shift on a Friday.

  But for now, she’d enjoy being outside with Reed at the playground.

  ****

  Micah Bridges watched as kids played at the playground on the opposite shore. People milled about behind him under pavilions, eating their lunches. He, too, had decided to dine at the lake, though his lunch wasn’t homemade. It had come from the local pizzeria and he had to admit it was one of the best chicken parmigiana sub sandwiches he’d ever had.

  While he ate, he continued to watch the kids. One of the children, a blond-haired boy, called to his mother to watch him slide. Jealousy winged through him. He’d loved a woman once. A woman he’d want to raise pups with. He’d lost that. Lost her.

  With that went any chance that he’d have any offspring. He’d only ever wanted them with her.

  Thanks to his uncle, he’d never have that.

  And thanks to his uncle, Micah took the only job that allowed him to legally beat the shit out of people and get paid for it. How could he go wrong with that? Micah was very good at his job and he prided himself on that fact.

  That was what brought him to small town Cicada Lake. The quaint town that wrapped around the water.

  He wouldn’t be hanging around long enough to enjoy the peacefulness. He’d come to do a job and once that was done, he’d move on, like he’d always done. Attachment wasn’t a word in his vocabulary.

  And, because of that, his existence was a lonely one. Every now and again he’d enjoy the company of a woman, either human or lycan. It would be wham, bam, thank you ma’am. He never led his partners on. Never made any promises.

  He doubted he’d ever want a relationship with anyone. Simply because they’d never be the one he’d loved, the one he would’ve walked through the fires of Hades for.

  Micah stared at the remains of his sub. He’d lost his appetite, thanks to wallowing in the past. As he rose, he tossed the uneaten portion into the trashcan beside the bench he’d been sitting on.

  As he walked away, the sound of the blond-haired boy’s laughter flitted to his ear.

  Chapter Two

  Micah stared up at the faded, wooden sign hanging over the double door entrance of the bar. “Brantley’s Pub.” A quick glance across the walkway to the parking lot behind him proved his theory correct.

  Brantley’s Pub was the local meeting place for a vast majority of the populous of Cicada Lake. It was seven o’clock in the evening, on a Friday night. Prime time for the only tavern in town. There had been hole-in-the-wall bars, but this establishment was the fanciest. At least that was the information he had gathered over a quick Internet search.

  He’d never before set foot in the settlement nestled into the mountains of the Appalachians. Cicada Lake was a medium-sized city with a small-town feel. The main street bustled with mom-and-pop-type businesses, with a few well-known companies sprinkled in. He had already spotted the familiar blue and red sign of his bank. Good to know he’d have free access to his cash while he stayed in this burg.

  Why the bail bondsman chose to reside and work in such an out-of-the-way place as Cicada Lake was beyond him. Micah snorted. At least he has somewhere to call home.

  Micah hadn’t had a home in five years. Not since that night. He absently rubbed his chest, as he often did when his thoughts traveled back in time. He wished he could wipe the memories from his mind. But he couldn’t, and most times he dealt with it. Dealt with the scars.

  But there had been times when he’d flash back and experience Hell on Earth.

  He shook his head. Not the time for this. Micah was about to meet up with the man who’d be lining his pockets with a decent amount of money. Of course, he’d have to catch the bail jumper they’d discussed, but Micah was exceptional at his job. I’ve caught a hell of a lot more than I’ve lost. This person would be no different.

  He rubbed his hands together in hopes of chasing the chill of the early-spring night from his skin. Flinging open the heavy entry door, he had to take a step back. The scents of sweat, booze, cheap perfumes, and greasy bar food assaulted his acute sense of smell. Swirling grayish-white cigar and cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air. Loud music filtered into the alleyway. Some sort of country tune.

  Good Lord! Micah prayed there wouldn’t be any line dancing. With another shake of his head, he took a deep breath—the last he’d have for however long this meeting took—and stepped into the bar.

  His companion for the night would be easy to spot. He’d been told to look for a bald-headed man in a wheelchair. How many bald-headed men in wheelchairs can there be?

  He scanned the mass of humanity that stood, sat, or danced. The town of Cicada Lake was diverse in its population. Humans and otherworldly creatures in every skin tone imaginable came together under one roof. And Micah had learned that two places brought the masses together—churches and bars.

  The light from tacky hanging fixtures flooded the large room in harsh yellow tones. Then, a head moved and a flash reflected off the smooth, bald surface.

  Jackson Hart. Bail bondsman extraordinaire. Few of his clients jumped. Some said before he had become wheelchair bound that he was one badass Bail Enforcement Agent, the politically correct term for a
bounty hunter. But no one knew for sure. He and his reputation had sort of jumped on the scene. No one Micah had contacted about the man knew much more than hearsay. But, in this case, the hearsay had deep pockets.

  Micah approached Jackson’s table and sat opposite him. The steady gaze from eyes so deeply brown they bordered on black stared, unblinking. He held the man’s intent look a moment before he spoke. “You were easy to find.”

  Jackson threw back his head and laughed. “Yep. Old, bald, and in a wheelchair. I’d be hard to miss.” He threw a flash drive onto table then reached into the side pocket of his wheelchair and retrieved a laptop with a hand that shook. “Damn Parkinson’s Disease. Humph. Anyway, let’s get the business portion of this meeting out of the way, then I’ll get you a beer.”

  Micah grinned. His like factor of the man had just risen significantly. Jackson meant business, but had a laid-back attitude. It was a shame the man had such a debilitating disease.

  Within twenty minutes, Micah had become acquainted with his prey. Charles Hacken had screwed Jackson out of ten grand. The bail-jumping bastard had enough money to cover bail, but no access. He was a trust fund baby. At age twenty-three, he had obviously not yet reached the age of twenty-five, which would have given him complete access to his millions.

  Hacken had signed an agreement with Jackson that he’d repay his debt once he made arrangements with his attorney to grant special access to retrieve the funds. But as soon as he had walked out of Cicada Lake’s courthouse, he’d disappeared. Jackson wasn’t one hundred percent sure that Hacken was still in town, or if he’d fled to Philadelphia or Pittsburgh, where he could vanish.

  Micah laid out his game plan while Jackson finished his drink.

  “Why don’t you get us both a beer?” was the man’s only reply. Official part of the meeting was over. Time for some alcohol.