by Opal Carew
From the pen of Evangeline Anderson, the writer who brought you Brides of the Kindred, comes The Alien Mate Index series.
* * *
Everyone thinks that life on Earth just evolved —
Wrong.
Our planet, and twelve others, all capable of supporting Terran life, was seeded by the Ancient Ones.
Then Earth was locked away, kept safe in the cocoon of our ozone layer. But now there’s a gaping hole in our security blanket and guess who’s coming to dinner?
That’s right—the Alien warriors of the Twelve Peoples—also descended from the Ancient Ones, are looking for mates and Earth girls are their first choice.
* * *
So many Alien warriors to pick from. (Scroll down below to see them)
Which type of male would you choose?
* * *
Too bad you won’t have a choice, because thanks to the Alien Mate Index,
an agency that abducts Earth brides for alien males, you could be snatched at any time and turned into a massive warrior’s mate or concubine.
* * *
So the real question is—who will choose you?
* * *
* * *
* * *
* * *
So which Alien warrior would YOU want to be chosen by? Find me on FaceBook and let me know! I love to hear from readers. : )
***Can't wait for more Alien Mates? Then check out my other science fiction romance series, The Brides of the Kindred. Here's a blurb of Claimed, book 1, which you can get for free if you join my newsletter (link below--just scroll down past the lovely cover.)
* * *
Brides of the Kindred
A race of Genetic Traders from beyond the stars. Three very different types of Alpha males all focused on one thing… claiming their brides.
In all their years of travel the Kindred have come across only three worlds with species close enough to their own to initiate a trade.
Earth is the fourth.
Olivia Waterhouse is about to be...Claimed.
About Evangeline Anderson
Evangeline Anderson is the New York Times and USA Today Best Selling Author of the Brides of the Kindred, Alien Mate Index, and Born to Darkness series. She is thirty-something and lives in Florida with a husband, a son, and two cats. She had been writing erotic fiction for her own gratification for a number of years before it occurred to her to try and get paid for it. To her delight, she found that it was actually possible to get money for having a dirty mind and she has been writing paranormal and Sci-fi erotica steadily ever since.
You can find her online at her website www.evangelineanderson.com
Come visit for some free reads. Or, to be the first to find out about new books, join her newsletter.
Newsletter
Website
FaceBook
Twitter
Pinterest
Goodreads
Audio book newsletter.
Instagram
The Other Brother, Part 1: Forbidden
Lauren Hawkeye / T.J. Stokes
The Other Brother, Part 1: Forbidden
Lauren Hawkeye / T.J. Stokes
* * *
Copyright © 2017 by Lauren Hawkeye & T.J. Stokes
www.evangelineanderson.com
Dear Reader,
First, thank you for picking up our book! If you have a copy of this in your hot little hands, then we sincerely thank you for taking the time to check it out.
We first met years ago, through the local chapter of Romance Writers of America. Tawny had several publications under her belt, and Lauren had just started writing. But we felt an instant click and Tawny became one of Lauren’s mentors for many years…. And by that, we would like to clarify that Lauren asked a lot of annoying questions and Tawny was kind enough to answer.
Fast forward to 2014, we both were looking for some kind of creative spark. Initially we thought that we’d maybe write a “before Eden” story in the Invitation to Eden series. But then this idea hit and we were both were hooked. It’s been a dream partnership, since each likes to do what the other doesn’t!
This story was heavily influenced by music, so thank you to the artists whose work helped us get into this book—Kreayshawn and Nicki Minaj, Love Me Like You Do by Ellie Goulding, Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran, I Lived and Ordinary Human by One Republic, Uprising by Muse, The Scientist, Clocks and God Put A Smile Upon Your Face by Coldplay, Talking Body by Tove Lo, Call Your Girlfriend by Robyn, Sweet Talker, Strip, Said Too Much and You Don’t Really Know Me by Jessie J… and oh, so many more. We think this lent to the mood of this book, and so we thank these artists!
We also would like to thank Kelli Collins, editor extraordinaire, who kicked our asses to make this the best it could be. Thanks to Tara Gonzalez and Kelly Simmon—go Team Inkslinger! And a big thank you to Sara Fawkes for coming up with the title.
And now we’re done talking… so go on and submerse yourself in Seth and Allegra. We would both love to hear what you think!
Happy reading!
Chapter 1
Allegra
Six Years Ago
Everybody has a story. Isn’t that what the old song says? A story that could break your heart.
I don’t know how interesting my story is—at least, to someone who isn’t me. But the heartbreak?
Oh, yeah. I have that in spades. And as always, the pain starts with Seth.
It’s morning—early morning, way too early for any normal human to be awake. Okay. Or maybe it’s a little bit before noon. The sun shines through the wide panes of my window, blinding me as I squint and try to open my eyes. Rolling over onto my side, I pull the fluffy blanket up over my head.
It’s going to take a natural disaster of epic proportions to get my ass out of this bed. I mutter a quick prayer to whoever’s up there as thanks that it’s not a school day. Not that I’d be the only one walking the halls of Beachside High with the mother of all hangovers, but sharing in the misery wouldn’t make me feel any better.
The vein in my head pulses with repressed pain and my mouth tastes like death. I was at a party last night. I don’t normally drink—I don’t like the loss of control. But despite two shots of tequila, I remember exactly why I wound up drinking.
Seth. My normally inscrutable stepbrother Seth, the guy who never pays me any attention at all.
He’d been there, watching me with those wraithlike gray eyes of his. And I’d wanted to hold his attention. So I’d done two shots of cheap tequila, licking the alcohol from my lips as I stared into his eyes.
And then he’d gone back to the party.
Asshole. Why do I even care? He hasn’t paid a whit of attention to me since he moved in, and he likely never will. My life is just fine that way. So why the hell do I care?
Groaning, I flop to my back, my sweaty sheets tangling around my legs. A buzzing from beneath my pillow alerts me to a text. Snaking my hand beneath the soft cushion, I grab the device and bring it up in front of my face.
* * *
Camilla: Did u hear about Ashley?
Me: Ashley… is she the Kristen Stewart with dreads?
Camilla: Have I told u lately how weird it is that u do that?
* * *
Me: Whatever, Hannah Montana. Now spill.
Camilla: I look nothing like Miley Cyrus.
Me: U do, in fact. And that’s your celebrity lookalike. No changesies. Now spit it out.
* * *
Camilla: Ashley hooked up with Seth @ the party last night.
* * *
Whaaatttt?
Emotion roaring through my veins, I sit up ramrod straight. I’m completely awake now.
* * *
Me: Are you fucking with me?
Camilla: Nope. She told me aaaaaaaaaaaaalllll about it. In great detail. Like… I now know the size of your stephunk’s cock. AKA huge.
* * *
I pause for a moment, contemplating that.
* * *
Camilla: Mmmm, not so gross. Lol. Maybe I should have gone for him instead of Tristan.
* * *
Feeling more than a bit sick to my stomach, I set my phone down back on the table, a little bit harder than is probably necessary. I don’t want to text about this anymore. I don’t even want to think about it.
She told me aaaaaaaaaaaaalllll about it.
Yeah, that I don’t doubt. Camilla and I are best friends, but we couldn’t be more different. She’s a party girl, and her reputation around the school is as… well, as a slut. I don’t think of her that way though—she likes sex, and she has as much of it as she wants. Just like most guys I know. But because she’s a girl, she gets labeled.
My point is… she has friends that I don’t share, friends like Ashley the Twilight chick lookalike, who party together and hook up with whoever they want. So if Camilla says that Ashley hooked up with Seth…
Well, then my stepbrother most likely fucked Camilla’s friend Ashley last night. And if I let Camilla know I’d rather she just didn’t tell me shit like that, she’ll want to know why, and my secret will be out.
Not that it’s a secret, really. It’s not even a fully formed thing. That’s why the fact that I’m angry is ridiculous. What should it matter who my stepbrother does? It’s no business of mine. He’s made that perfectly clear over the past few months he’s been living here.
My dad married Seth’s mom Dinah a few years ago. Seth wasn’t at the wedding, so my brother Theo and I never got to meet him. No, that little meet-and-greet happened when he showed up on our doorstep a few months ago, after Seth’s dad remarried and Seth was kicked out of the house—I guess the new wifey had three little kids, and didn’t much like having a teen with anger management issues around them. So he packed one bag that had really seen better days and took the bus from Boston all the way down to Galveston.
I can’t even imagine the culture shock he must have gone through, from a big city to an island where people identify themselves one of two ways—BOI, or born on the island, or IBC, islander by choice.
Somehow I’m pretty sure Seth would snarl at the idea of being either.
Anyway, ever since he took up residence in our house, he’s been making my life a living hell. It isn’t that he’s mean to me or anything—though there’s no question that he’s an asshole. It’s more just…
He unnerves me. He’s not like anyone I’ve ever come across, not in my entire life. It doesn’t help that he has that dark brooding alpha male thing going for him. And it sure doesn’t help that I instead of grating I find his Southie accent fascinating, and I definitely admire the way he fills out his T-shirts more often than could possibly be good for me.
And his eyes. God, his eyes. He doesn’t look at me very often, but when he does—it’s as if he knows every single dirty little thought I’d ever hidden away.
And he can’t know. No one can ever know my little secret, because it’s about as wrong as wrong could be. Seth is my stepbrother. Which is pretty damn close to being my brother. And though I sure as hell don’t have these kinds of thoughts about Theo, my real brother, it doesn’t make it any more okay.
It’s because he’s the first guy I’ve been forced to be around for any length of time that isn’t actually my blood, like Theo. Other guys? I can run away. I do run away. In fact, the opposite sex unnerves me so much that I’m pretty sure I’ll be a virgin forever.
And given that my dear darling stepbrother is apparently out banging other chicks whenever he damn well pleases, that doesn’t put me in any better frame of mind.
And I’m awake now. Thanks, Camilla.
Glowering as though my friend were actually there, I decide that I might as well drag my ass out of bed. I walk to the window and look out—another picture perfect day in Galveston. It’s spring, so it’s not too hot to sit out in the sun.
Time to slip into a book, my favorite way to escape. I’ll reread some Austen, maybe—one of my favorites, something that will swallow me whole, and let me forget about Seth naked, muscles straining as he braced himself above Ashley and her stupid shiny dreadlocks.
Muscles straining. Sweat dripping. Holy shit, just thinking about that has my temperature kicking up a notch. I’d pulled some shorts and a tank top from my closet, but in defense against the sudden rise in my body temperature, I instead pull out my bathing suit.
After slipping it on, I head down to the kitchen. Dad and Dinah aren’t home. Theo isn’t either; he’s hardly ever home anymore. And I have no idea if Seth is around—he’s not really in the habit of letting me know his comings and goings.
No matter what little thrill I get from being around him, I hope he’s gone out. The idea of an entire day alone when I’m feeling so damn bitchy sounds like heaven.
Still hung over, I grimace at the idea of breakfast, instead grabbing a Coke from the fridge. With it, a towel, sunglasses and my book in hand, I pad out the back door into the yard. The verdant carpet of grass tickles at the bottom of my feet as I search out a nice spot by one of the large trees in the yard. Laying out my towel, I settle on my stomach, put my sunglasses on my nose, and sink into my book.
By the time I look up, the Coke bottle is empty and I’m sweating in the rising midday heat. Setting my book aside, I roll over and lean back on the grass, yawning. The caffeine and sugar from the Coke helped my hang over, but a little nap would be a perfect addition to this day.
Before I can even start to relax into sleep, I shiver as the sun beating down on me is blocked. The shiver of awareness tells me who it is before I can even move, and I’m not surprised when I open my eyes to see Seth standing over me.
Sweet Jesus. He’s shirtless. Nothing I haven’t seen before, since he lived in the main house for a while before moving over to the rooms above the garage. But then he was heading to his room post shower. Now? He’s smirking down at me, rock solid muscles and dark swirls of tattoos tempting me to reach out a hand and touch. Never mind that his jeans are slung way too low to be decent. And because I’m apparently a pervert, my gaze can’t help but fall on the faint line of hair along his ridiculously defined abs that aims straight down into that worn denim.
I wonder if stupid freaking Ashley ran her fingers along that line. The very thought makes me want to snarl.
He grins as if privy to my thoughts. And even when he’s mocking me, he’s ridiculously good looking. Even with my habit of matching people to celebrities that they look like, I can’t quite get him. A lot like that Chris Evans guy from those Fantastic Four movies.
And something else that is purely Seth.
I sit up, feeling very vulnerable in his presence. “You’re in my sun.” I need him to go.
“You’re too pasty pale to be sitting out.” He pokes my shoulder. “No guy’s going to want to date a lobster.”
“Thanks for the observation. Not that I care.” I can’t help but glare at him. “And I’ve lived in Texas my whole life. You and your ridiculous Northern accent don’t get to tell me about staying safe in the sun.”
“Aww, are you making fun of my Southie?” Seth pats a hand over his heart as if I’ve wounded him, though his expression tells me he’s anything but upset. “Why you got to be so mean? I’m just trying to help a girl out.”
Only it comes out like I’m just tryin’ a help a gehl out.
Should sound stupid. Absolutely ridiculous.
Instead it makes my stupid little heart go pitty-pat.
“I don’t need your help.” Sitting up straight, I try to make my expression aloof, anything to create distance so I don’t make an absolute idiot of myself.
Seth smirks. “You looked like you needed help last night.”
Oh my God. What an asshole. I snarl at him, unable to believe he actually brought up the fact that last night I acted like a damn fool in front of Chris Harper, the guy that I’ve had a puppy love crush on since starting high school. On the football team, on student council, on the honor roll, he was exac
tly the type of guy I could see myself dating. You know, if I could ever actually work up the nerve to talk to him.
Chris had been one of the reasons I’d gone to the party, as I usually avoided them like the plague. Not even remotely my thing. But Camilla had been all over me like a hurricane, and when she got into moods like that, it was easier to just give in, rather than the alternative—which was argue till I was blue in the face before, of course, giving in.
And not only had she made me go, but she’d strongly encouraged me to wear this little green sundress that barely covered my ass. She said it worked with my “auburn hair and creamy skin”… read, carrot red and pasty pale. She’d also made me wear these three inch wedge heeled sandals that she’d bought and hadn’t worn yet. Really, I think she just wanted me to break them in for her.
And oh, but I’d broken them in all right. I’d nearly broken my neck as well. Coming into the party, I’d crossed the living room where most everyone was gathered, spotting Chris in the corner. He’d looked up at me and smiled—really smiled, at me.
And then I’d tripped over absolutely nothing at all, my ankle flopping over in the high shoes that I wasn’t used to wearing. I’d landed on all fours on the floor. Needless to say, the skimpy fabric of my dress wasn’t even sort of covering my ass anymore. The skirt ended up nearly over my head.
The worst of it? I was wearing regular cotton panties. Ones with little hearts on them. The ones I wore when I was still twelve and playing with Barbies.
