Great Balls Of Fire: Bad Alpha Dads

by Tonya Brooks

  GREAT BALLS OF FIRE

  Bad Alpha Dads

  TONYA BROOKS

  First Edition Copyright © 2018 by Tonya Brooks

  All rights reserved. This book or any portions thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author and publisher except for the use of brief quotations used in a book review.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Acknowledgments:

  To Tonya's Tribal Council Members, Amanda, Ashley, Cindy, Frankie, Karina, Lorrie, Michal, Nicole, Shelene, Stefanie and Susan. Thank you for the honest feedback, the practical advice, and the million and one other things you do. Love y'all!

  The members of Tonya's Tribe for all of your love and support!

  And my wonderful husband, Billy. Thank you for your encouragement, your unwavering patience with my writing obsession, and most of all, for loving me. You are my inspiration.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  BAD ALPHA DADS

  AVAILABLE BOOKS BY TONYA BROOKS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

  PROLOGUE

  The formerly crisp white paint of the window frame was charred and peeling, the blackened panes of glass shattered. What had once been a plastic mini-blind was reduced to dripping blobs of melted goo. The row of plants had burned to a crisp on the sill; their terracotta containers lay in broken shards on the floor.

  A layer of sodden grey ash covered every surface, the acrid stench of burnt wood and plastic permeated the smoke-filled air. Water dripped steadily from the sprinklers, plop, plop, plop, into puddles on the floor. A fluorescent light swung from one overhead bracket, the flickering bulb making the scene appear even more macabre.

  Ainsley Widmark stared at the level of destruction in astonishment. Her daughter stood in the corner, drenched to the skin, red-rimmed eyes filled with fear, her face pasty white. Turning to meet the nurse's compassionate expression, she asked in a horrified tone, "Ember did this?"

  "She sneezed," the other woman imparted solemnly.

  "With what, a blowtorch?" She demanded in disbelief because the nurse's office looked like a pyromaniac had been turned loose in it.

  "Ms. Widmark, your daughter sneezed fire," she clarified.

  "Human beings don't sneeze fire," she denied as she crossed the room to pull the trembling child into her arms. Ainsley couldn't help wondering if the nurse had been sampling the drugs she dispensed. But wait. Schools weren't allowed to pass out anything stronger than Tylenol, so the woman had to be cracked in the head.

  "No, they don't. But there are beings in this world that are… more than human. These beings require guidance from others of their kind to survive," Mrs. Beecham imparted solemnly, and she would swear that the nurse's eyes flashed gold before returning to green. "Ember is one of these beings. I suggest you contact her father because she's going to need his help."

  "Her father?" She asked in surprise.

  "Yes. I would assume he's the one she inherited the ability to breathe fire from," the older woman explained.

  "Breathe fire?" She repeated incredulously.

  Unbidden, the image of Dragan breathing fire in the middle of a concert flashed in her mind. She dismissed the ridiculous idea because that was just a pyrotechnic display. Wasn't it? A look around the room reminded her that the damage here hadn't been caused by pyrotechnics. If the nurse were to be believed, her daughter's sneeze had done it.

  Jesus Christ. If Dragan really could breathe fire, then what the hell was he?

  And what the hell was her daughter?

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Colorado Rockies.

  From the moment she'd first seen them on a beer commercial as a child, Ainsley had been fixated. It wasn't the grandeur of their size or the majestic beauty of their snow-capped peaks, but something about them drew her. The inexplicable yearning to visit them was a compulsion she couldn't explain or resist.

  The longing became all the more compelling when she learned that her favorite rock star lived there. Much to the dismay of her classical music-loving parents, she was obsessed with the hard rock band, Dragon Fire. Not only did she own every album they'd ever made, but she also listened to them day and night.

  So when a group of her college friends suggested spending spring break hiking the Rockies instead of partying it up like their classmates down in Cancun, she had jumped at the chance to go. Coming face to face with the frontman for Dragon Fire halfway up Mt. Elbert had been a dream come true.

  Dragan Pyrrhus (Dray-gun Fire-us), was a living legend and the most gorgeous creature that Ainsley had ever seen. Shoulder length dirty blonde hair, brown velvet eyes and a neatly trimmed beard that her fingers itched to touch. He was tall and muscular with a decadent voice that gave her chills.

  She had stared across the clearing at him in awe, mesmerized by his masculine beauty while he had appeared equally transfixed by her. It had been a magical moment, completely surreal and yet nothing had ever felt more real. She'd had the most insane urge to run to him, throw herself into his arms and never let go.

  The breath had lodged in her throat as he had walked toward her, never breaking eye contact, and taken her hand in his. Ainsley had gasped, and his eyes darkened at the sensual awareness that rippled between them at the contact. The air had felt charged with electricity as if something momentous were about to happen.

  Raising her hand to his lips, he had kissed it and said, "I am Dragan Pyrrhus."

  Forcing her mouth to move, she had whispered, "Ainsley Widmark."

  "Mea bella mate, Ainsley," he murmured with a simply lethal smile, the unknown words in his sinfully delicious voice sending chills all over her and scalding heat to her nether regions.

  The man was absolute perfection, and she had been completely infatuated with him before they'd met. Once he'd turned his wicked as sin smile on her, Ainsley had completely lost her heart, and she'd said yes when he'd invited her up to his mountain aerie, a medieval castle set so high that it had seemed to float above the clouds.

  Dragan had explained that he'd had it shipped over from Europe and rebuilt stone by stone. Its stark beauty was an architectural wonder, and the modern conveniences he'd had implemented were seamlessly integrated into the design. She had loved it on sight and told him that she felt like a princess in a fairy tale.

  The gorgeous rocker had given her a look that smoldered with heat and whispered that fairy tales did come true. Then he'd proceeded to prove that by dazzling her with his old world charm and romantic gestures, which included whisking her away to one of his concerts where he had brought her onstage to sing a song to her.

  Their days had consisted of fun and laughter while the nights were filled with hedonistic pleasure such as she'd never imagined. The heat between them had been combustible, and she had been amazed that they hadn't set the sheets on fire. She and Dragan had been inseparable and their love for each other all-consuming.

  Until the day she ran away.

  Ainsley had been terrified that what he felt for her wouldn't stand the test of time. After all, Dragan was a rock star with a jet and a castle. He had fame, fortune, and women throwing the
mselves at him left and right. She was just a small town girl who had no idea how to fit into the kind of lifestyle that he lived.

  Besides, once the novelty wore off and he grew tired of her, dropping out of college would be one item too many on her list of regrets. She had one semester to complete before graduation, and throwing away four years of education over what might amount to nothing more than a fling would be the height of stupidity.

  Though she would love nothing better than to remain in the fairy tale existence, Ainsley was level-headed enough to realize that she had to leave. Heart heavy with grief and remorse, she packed her backpack and wrote him a letter, pouring her heart out on paper. If he came for her, she would never leave his side again.

  If he didn't… it would destroy her.

  The anguish of leaving Dragan was so intense that when she reached the bottom of the stairs, a debilitating pain nearly ruptured her heart. It felt as if it were being cleaved in two. Wave after wave of excruciating despair washed over her as she was consumed by grief so thick that it choked the breath from her body.

  Tears were streaming down her face, and she could barely think for the agonizing screams ringing in her head. The sound of her soul crying out at the loss of the man she loved more than life itself. Ainsley collapsed to her knees, hands reaching out, blindly searching for something to ground her.

  "Are you all right, Lady Ainsley?" Brendyn Ward asked urgently, concern shining in his blacker than night eyes. He grasped her hands, and raw power flowed from him into her, the letter singeing her tender flesh as a charge of electricity crackled through her veins.

  "All hope will be lost," she had sobbed brokenly before she thrust the letter into his hand, ran out of the magnificent castle and gone back to college to wait. The days turned into weeks; weeks became a month, then two and still Dragan did not come for her. Broken and distraught, her only solace had been the child growing inside of her.

  The child they had created in love.

  The last thirteen years had been pure hell without him, but she had endured, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute with a gaping hole in her chest where her heart should be. But at least she'd had their daughter. Without Ember, she would have never survived the pain of losing the man she loved.

  Now here she was, making that same trek back up to the top of Mt. Elbert. But this time she wasn't a happy go lucky twenty-one year old looking for adventure. She was a thirty-four-year-old mother, worried half to death because something was happening to her daughter that she could neither explain or comprehend.

  A glance over her shoulder revealed that Ember was right behind her, effortlessly making the climb with the exuberance of youth. Ainsley's energy had run out before they were a quarter of the way up. Not because she was out of shape, but because the strain of fear and worry were taking more of a toll than the altitude.

  Sure, she could have driven up to the castle, but then she would have had to deal with the guard at the gate. Right. Like he was going to let a woman and her child enter the compound without an invitation. Not a chance in hell of that happening. She'd seen too many women being turned away during her short stay there.

  The only option left was the path that led up the mountain and through a secret doorway into the walled garden situated just off the rear courtyard. This was the way that Dragan had led her into his lair all those years ago, and she hoped like hell that she could remember where the entrance was located.

  As if she were being guided directly to it, Ainsley stopped at a section of ivy-covered rock and pressed her hand against a perfectly round stone. The wall of rock swung inward, and her daughter gasped in surprise. Flashing her a grin, she asked, "Pretty cool, huh?"

  Ember masked the spark of excitement and the mutinous expression she'd recently adopted covered her face. "It's lame," she countered and folded her arms over her chest.

  God help her, these pre-pubescent mood swings were going to drive her stark raving mad. The hormonal changes that her daughter was going through made her moody, irritable and downright anti-social. Her little angel had become a drama queen, and that was before she started sneezing fire.

  Swallowing an exasperated sigh, she replied, "Once we get inside I want you to stay in the garden while I look for your father." Hopefully, she could find him before anyone spotted her and they got kicked out. Or arrested for trespassing. She hadn't come all this way to leave without seeing Dragan.

  "Whatever," Ember muttered as she stepped through the doorway and slid the backpack off of her shoulders. Ainsley shook her head as she followed and almost plowed into the child when the girl stopped abruptly and said, "Wow."

  It didn't take long to figure out what had caught her daughters attention. Except for the fountain in the middle, the garden was nothing like she remembered it. A profusion of white roses was growing everywhere. They climbed the wall trellises and filled every bed; some even grew in containers.

  She stared at the beautiful scene in shocked disbelief. Because Ainsley had loved sitting in the garden, listening to the sound of water trickling in the fountain and enjoying the scent of roses. She had mentioned once that the white ones were her favorite and every day after that Dragan had given her a perfect white rose.

  "It's like he created your dream garden, Mom."

  "Oh my God," she breathed as tears filled her eyes. Was Ember right? Had he created this magical place just for her, some completely irrational part of her brain queried. She brutally squashed that idea as complete nonsense. It was more likely that Dragan had forgotten her name five minutes after she walked out.

  At least that's what she'd kept telling herself all these years.

  Even though she knew it was a lie.

  The love that they had shared had been real even though it had been fleeting. On his part. She had never stopped loving the man with a soul as beautiful as the melodies he sang. Which was the reason why her nerves were shattered. Knowing that he no longer loved her was painful enough without having to see him again.

  Because he still owned her heart.

  Shaking free of the maudlin thoughts, she slid the straps from her shoulders, handed the backpack to her daughter and instructed, "Stay."

  "Want me to roll over and beg too?" Ember responded dryly and sat cross-legged on a bench inside the rose covered arbor.

  This time the exasperated sigh escaped as Ainsley walked across the petal-strewn pavers to the wooden gate on the opposite side. Her hand trembled as she grasped the wrought iron handle and pulled it open. Standing on the far side of the courtyard, hands braced against the stone balustrade was the man she had come to find.

  As if he had known she was there, he turned his head and looked directly at her. The breath lodged in her throat and once again she had the most insane urge to run to him and throw herself into his arms. Her heart was about to hammer itself out of her chest as she forced herself to walk toward him at a slow and steady pace.

  He hadn't aged a day, she realized in surprise. Dragan looked exactly the same as the last time she'd seen him. Except for his eyes. His beautiful brown velvet eyes looked as ancient and somnolent as time itself. They conveyed a depth of sadness that was incongruous with the fun-loving man she remembered.

  Without warning, the love she had fought so hard to bury roared back to life in vivid color, along with all of the pain and angst that walking away from him had caused. His solemn expression never changed, and he didn't say a word when she stopped right in front of him and said tremulously, "Hello, Dragan."

  CHAPTER TWO

  'Please be real this time,' Dragan Pyrrhus silently pleaded when he saw his mate walking toward him. Not that there was anything unusual about him seeing the ghost of her memory roaming through the castle. Ainsley haunted his soul so why not his home, too? Besides, he'd rather have this little bit of her than nothing at all.

  At times he could almost convince himself that she was really there with him. That she'd never left and taken his broken heart with her. Those instances were bec
oming increasingly rare with the passage of time, yet the love he felt for her never dimmed. And the pain of losing his mate never ceased.

  Nor would it until he drew his last breath.

  For most of the day he'd had the same euphoric sensation that he'd experienced on the day they'd met. He could actually feel her presence, smell her sweet scent on the breeze. Dragan had walked into the courtyard that morning to stare sightlessly at the valley below, hoping against hope that the feeling was real.

  That his mate had returned.

  He'd stood there for hours, his soul basking in warmth it hadn't felt in over a decade. And when she'd walked into the courtyard, what was left of his heart came to life and began to beat again. She was so beautiful, his Ainsley. So perfect in every way. The mate he had waited centuries to find.

  When she stood before him, his starving gaze took in every flawless detail. His battered soul sang with rapture at the sound of her voice speaking his name. "Ainsley, mea mate," he breathed in reverence and lifted a hand to caress her silken cheek. He could actually feel the warmth of her flesh against his palm, hear her sigh of pleasure.

  Dragan could almost believe that this time, the hallucination was real. Much like they had seemed in the early days after she had left him. Of course, back then he had been trying to drown his pain with alcohol until he'd flown into the side of the mountain and crash landed bare-assed naked in the middle of Turquoise Lake.

  His dragon hated water, so he'd shifted before they broke the surface. That sobering experience convinced Dragan that drinking and flying were a risky combination and that his dragon was a vindictive bastard. The two of them had barely been on speaking terms since, and the beast had actually gone into hibernation just to spite him.

  But his unruly dragon had awakened today and kept insisting that their mate was near. Dragan had been afraid to hope, unwilling to suffer the crushing pain of despair if the beast was wrong. But now that she was standing right in front of him and he could see her, smell her, touch her, he finally allowed himself to believe.