Loved by the Alpha Wolves (Crescent Moon Shifters Book 3)
Anastasia Chase
© Copyright 2018 by STAMPS PUBLISHING - All rights reserved.
This book is only for personal use. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission. The contents of this book may not be reproduced, duplicated or transmitted without direct written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters are represented as 18 or over._
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Also by Anastasia Chase
Crescent Moon Series
Are you all caught up with these protective, dominant dragon shifters’ stories? Don’t miss any of the books.
Book 1- Saved by the Alpha Wolves
Book 2 – Mated to the Alpha Wolves
Book 3 – Loved by the Alpha Wolves
Book 4 – Coming Soon!
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1
The air was filled with the smells of wine and perfume, the sound of music, and a cheering crowd. Just a typical Thursday night down at the Silk Panther, a local dive that had gained notoriety as of late for its live music and excellent cocktails. I, on the other hand, wasn't privy to enjoying any of it, seeing as I was backstage and would soon have my turn in the spotlight.
My heart beat against my ribcage with a nervous energy that never failed to make an appearance. I have no clue as to why; I had gone on stage a dozen times, without incident. Yet, here I sat, feeling butterflies fluttering in my stomach as if this was amateur talent night. And an amateur I was not.
Another roar from the crowd stole my attention away from my anxiety as I listened to the performance on the other side of the wall. It was too muffled to make out, but they must be good if they were stirring the crowd up that much. I wish I could say that that made me feel any better. It could honestly go either way. A highly energized crowd meant they were sufficiently warmed up, which was easier to work with than a cold crowd at the start of the night. On the other hand, if I didn't meet their expectations with my performance, then it wouldn't take much for a small riot to start, and that could spell the end of my impromptu singing career.
Not that I should expect as much. I had a talent that had snagged me gigs in the spotlight, and many times the opening show. "The voice of a Siren." Many said. I’ve nodded and smiled when people make that comparison. If only they knew the truth.
Still, I couldn’t make my nerves sit still for one second. I would hasten to call it stage fright; more like the anticipation of going out there and putting on a show. Revealing what I could really do to a crowd that had probably waited all night to see me. I could have them eating out of the palm of my hand if I wanted, if I demanded. And they would have no say in the matter.
I had never disappointed a crowd, never had a criticism of my performance. Alternatively, after every performance, I walked away with more phone numbers than I knew what to do with. Many of them were from talent scouts, some other bar and restaurant owners who wanted my presence to draw bigger crowds. Others were personal numbers from customers, both men and women, who wanted me to give them "private shows" in their homes. Flattered as I was, I had no interest in socializing. I was still too jaded to consider joining any kind of social circle anytime soon.
I glanced at the mirror and saw my reflection staring back with a hint of determination in its eyes. The butterflies faded, and a solid steel weight of confidence replaced them. I squared back my shoulders and drew my chair closer to the mirror to retouch my makeup; the backstage had never been good at maintaining a steady temperature. Another issue to raise with management on fixing the air conditioning, I supposed.
I never had this problem a few months ago, back when I was with my own kind in the wilderness of Alaska. Roaming free, no curfews, no pesky city streets flooded with traffic, or drowning out the star-filled sky...how I longed to be back there again.
Only I could never go back. I had been exiled, kicked out because of our numbers and partly for our own safety. It made sense at the time, with our kind, but that didn’t make the pain any less. To walk away from the only home I have ever known, from the only people I had grown up with...it wasn’t fair, and even though it had happened months ago, I still felt bitter about it.
But it was that or the females of our pack fighting to the death. That was what happened during the mating season for werewolves when there were too many females. A fight for dominance with a display of teeth and claws and prowess, just to be one of the few remaining to mate with the males. It was all we could do to maintain our numbers, which were already dwindling from a different problem entirely.
Since the beginning of time, there has been a war with the bear shifters. We liked to tell ourselves it’s over territory, but the original source of the conflict was lost long ago. Not that it mattered, there was no reasoning with their kind anyway. They were more animalistic, more unreasonable, and more stubborn than our kind. Which was a big problem when it took a handful of our numbers just to take down one of theirs. Which made it even more important to keep our population up...and if that meant leaving, then I didn’t have much of a choice.
I could still recount the sleepless nights when they had told us we had to go. Instead of playing preferences, they made the choice through a random lottery. I remembered my heart sinking into my stomach when I had heard my name called. I had been stunned into silence and fainted on the spot. I had woken up with a few of my closest friends around me, including another woman whose name had been called. A woman named Brianna, who had joined the army not long before. Duty to country and all that...only to have her own pack exile her to a world that was unsafe for our kind.
I remembered crying so much that I almost threw up as I packed my things. The small treasures that I had gathered throughout my young life that kept me tied to those still living and those who weren’t any longer. Trinkets of hurdles that I’d had to overcome, to display that I could pull my weight in any hunt and help take care of the pack.
The most important of all was my diary. It was a record of all the important moments I had gone through, the names of people that had touched my life growing up and had helped me to become the woman I was now. There were lists, doodles, random daily thoughts, and meaningful entries to my future self when I didn’t feel at my best. It was my pick-me-up book when I needed a reminder of why I did what I did...and now it would have a new start: serving as a record of my lonely time in the world of humans so that I could slowly start to appreciate everything that I had left behind.
I wrote about being homeless on the streets, visiting shelters for daily meals, and rummaging through discarded boxes to find clothes to keep me warm on cold nights.
I wrote about the it
ch of my wolf’s skin, how bottling it all up for so long had driven me ill for a time that I had to sneak away into the dark and remove my clothes just to let it out for a few minutes at a time. I always retched afterward as I redressed myself, never wanting my clothing to stink of puke and have the other homeless people I communed with to ask questions. They had already hounded me about my life: how a pretty girl like me ended up homeless on the streets, or if I had family waiting for me somewhere. I had to make up a story just so they wouldn’t pry any longer, a story about being in the foster system and running away on my own when I was old enough, and how it had all taken place years ago, in Alaska.
I would give them that small sliver of truth because my accent was easy to hide, and no one was going to expend the energy to do any research about the far-away state that not many people cared about.
I wrote the names of those who had watched out for me too: Barbara and Georgina, the other homeless women who smuggled me an extra roll when no one was looking; Fred, a slightly older man who had more spare coats than he knew what to do with; and Sam, the man with the dog who could play a guitar like nobody’s business.
It was his talent that had spurred on my own when I found myself making up songs alongside him whenever he played. I hadn’t put much thought into it until I saw the faces of the other people around me, how mesmerized they looked. Then I remembered what my kind could do with their voices. We could enchant humans to do anything we wanted with a song, and that’s when I put two and two together: instead of panhandling and eating at soup kitchens, I could sing my way into the largest bars and clubs and never have to worry about food or clothing ever again.
It had been Georgina who had shown me a post for talent night at some karaoke bar and encouraged me to go. Of course, I had been racked with guilt because I would be leaving them behind to continue this sordid way of life. But they had all assured me that this was for the best, that at least one of their numbers would be making a name for themselves...and it might as well be me, the "pretty one."
I still call them and stop by the shelter to say hello and drop them off items I know they can use. They were like a second family I had never expected, and I wasn’t about to make them feel forgotten when they had helped me through one of the most difficult points of my life. How their positivity had kept me from sinking into an even darker place and kept me afloat enough to find my calling. They were my good friends, even if I could never share the truth of what I really was because that would put all of us in danger.
My kind had never had a good history with humans in the few times they encountered us in our true form. It always ended in bloodshed on either side, and that is why we mostly isolated ourselves now. It was too painful to try and fit in, and humans were too stubborn to consider accepting anything that was outside their norm. Hence the secrecy and my unwillingness to share even with those I trusted with my life.
"You’re on in five," a voice said through a crack in the door and it shook me from my thoughts. I had lost myself in the nostalgia and lost track of time. I had a few minutes left to finish my look: a red sequined dress, black choker, hair slicked into a long ponytail that cascaded down my back, black studded leather bracelets adorned each wrist. The final touch was a choice to blend the rough with the demure, to give the audience an illusion that I was more than just a pretty face with a pretty voice. How right they would be but not for the reasons they thought.
Satisfied with my look as I turned in the mirror, my dress clinging to my every curve, I took one final sip of my cocktail before slipping out the door to the stage. Just on the other side was the stage manager. A mousy of a woman with dark hair tied into a tight bun, and clipboard in her hands. She was immaculate to a fault—always pressed skirt suits, nothing out of place—save for the smallest sign of teenage rebellion in the form of a small gold stud in her left nostril. Maryanne, I thought her name was; this place had been changing their staff around every other day, it seemed.
"You look lovely, Miss Kiara," she said with a smile as she looked me up and down. I swore in this dim lighting that I saw a light blush on her cheeks.
"Just Kiara, please, and thank you. How does the crowd look?" I peeked around the corner to get a look at the audience as the previous act started clearing off the stage.
"Good, good. You shouldn’t have any problems. No rabble-rousers as far as I have seen."
"Rabble-rousers," I snorted. "I swear, you use the weirdest words."
"Yes, well, blame that on my love of reading." She suddenly went quiet as she touched the earpiece of her headset. "That’s you." She gestured and stepped back so I could make my grand entrance.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and centered myself for a few seconds before walking into the heat of the crowded club.
2
The crowd fell into a hush as I stepped out onto the stage, and then immediately broke into a roar. Apparently, news of my performances had spread so that there was a full house tonight. When the crowd had cheered, I spied figures moving around outside and pressing themselves to the windows. I hadn't expected this big of a crowd and I was flattered beyond belief. But instead of becoming shy and withdrawn, I allowed the flattery to fuel my determination to give the best performance tonight. I pulled the mic out of its stand, the stage completely barren otherwise.
"That was The Rodeos, let's give them another round of applause." I gestured toward the band, who were now at the bar getting their drink on. They looked a little sweaty and raised their pints in my direction in gratitude.
The crowd, on the other hand, was entirely focused on me, and I heard a few catcalls that would have made any woman blush. But I wasn't just any woman. I knew what I had and how to flaunt it.
"Well, isn't that a wonderful welcome." I winked at no one in particular, and a chorus of whistles broke out in response. Leading them on and fulfilling some element of the fantasy was going to earn me some big tips tonight.
I cleared my throat and nodded toward the curtain that I was ready. A slow, piano solo started to play over the speakers that I succumbed myself to. It was set in a minor key, but the tune was upbeat enough to dissuade anyone from thinking this was a sad song. And it was one of my favorites too, a song I had performed on many nights beforehand. I decided it was a good choice for this crowd, especially with how good I was feeling.
Thought you'd be back by now
With my broken heart fixed anew
Never thought I'd have to wait
For a trusty man like you
The crowd instantly went silent as I began, and I knew I had them wrapped around my finger. Every eye and ear was trained on me, and I could practically smell their pheromones filling the room. Intoxicating as it was, none of these humans had anything to offer me but disappointment and fear. None of them were trustworthy enough for me to come clean with, but what I could do was keep them enthralled with my performance and make them believe I was the best thing since sliced bread. It was better than being chased with guns and spears because the last thing I needed was to pack up and move all over again.
Now your foot's in the door
And my fist's in your face
What a torrid love affair
With the money I had saved up, however, I couldn't see a replay of my earlier situation, but it did mean starting all over again. A new cover story, a new identity, possibly a new job if it wasn't safe for me to start singing again. Who knew how far news would travel from here...
I belted out the final note with everything I had left, and the audience certainly wasn't disappointed. They were out of their chairs and applauding before I was even finished, and they had the courtesy to keep their whooping and hollering until the last note from the piano faded away. The bar exploded in a cacophony of excitement and satisfaction with the entertainment I had provided. I could even see the people outside jumping up and down as well. Not the biggest venue I have performed at, but it was definitely the largest response I had ever witnessed.
I to
ok a few bows and thanked them for coming out tonight, reminded them that there would be autographs within the next half hour, and plugged a promo for my next performance. I blew the audience a kiss before heading off stage, in much need of a drink and to shed this clingy dress.
I didn't realize how much I had been sweating until I had sat in my chair and felt the leather sticking to my arms. The room had already been hot to begin with, but now it felt stifling. I beckoned to one of the stagehands to bring a few bottles of water, who disappeared through the door and back into the still-excited crowd. There were even a few trying to climb onto the stage to get back here, but security was doing a good job of keeping them in line.
I guzzled down a bottle of water and was already starting on the other when my manager, Madeline, strolled into the room with a definite pep in her step. I didn't know if she had been in the audience during the performance, but something was definitely making her excited.
"I hope you are ready for the big show, Kiara." Madeline nudged her glasses a little higher onto the bridge of her nose with a clever smile. That look of hers was always infectious and I found myself smiling along with her.
"Big show?"
"I just got off the phone with the manager of "Fat Bastards" and they want you to open for them."
I just about snorted water out my nose.
"Fat Bastards?!? What the hell kind of name is that?" All I could picture was a bunch of overweight balding men on stage, wearing ironic t-shirts, cargo shorts, and flip-flops. That wasn't the kind of gig I wanted at all and I was sure Madeline had made a mistake.
"Their name is kind of the point. They are anything but Fat Bastards. Take the covers of all those cheesy romance novels you read as a teenager and smash all the hot, attractive men into one. Then multiply that by three, and you have...them."
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