Chapter 1

                                                                                  MY BIG BAD WOLF

                                                                                  A werewolf Trilogy

                                                                                     by  Alisa Selby

                                                                                           ↜↜↝↝

PLEASE NOTE THIS BOOK IS BEING RE-DONE AND THE NEW VERSION WILL BE AVAILABLE MAY 1st. Thank you for your patience.

Book 1-Alex 

PLEASE NOTE THIS BOOK IS BEING RE-DONE AND THE NEW VERSION WILL BE AVAILABLE MAY 1st. Thank you for your patience.

Chapter 1

Prologue…

A fierce battle raged between the tyrannical Alpha and the oppressed. The air was thick with the scent of blood and fear, the weight of clashing wills. In the throes of this brutal war, as the blood of wolves and men alike stained the earth, the Prophecy of the Order of the Phoenix was born. A prophecy of one whose eyes would gleam with spirit, her heart a beacon of hope. Her voice would be a clarion call to those who believed in a brighter future…

↜↜ 🖤🖤↝↝

~ELYSIA~

It was time to face the judge, and the sound of the latch being turned on my cell door was like a death knell in my ears. 

“Crinshaw, it’s time,” the burly guard murmured, unlocking the door of my cell. As soon as he entered the cramped space, he placed a pair of handcuffs around my wrists. At the feel of the cold metal against my skin, a sense of dread skated down my spine: a harsh reminder of what I was facing.

Minutes later, the guard was leading me through the prison’s hallways. Though I could feel his contempt as we moved forward, I refused to let his opinion take away my sense of worth. Yeah, I'd been caught doing a B & E, arrested, booked, and then placed in this six-foot-by-eight-foot box of concrete and metal bars, but I refused to allow his opinion to shake me any further than I already had been.

It didn’t take nearly as long as I'd hoped it would before we were approaching what I assumed was the courtroom. I could hear voices, the rustling of papers, the creaking of a chair. But instead of entering through the courtroom doors, we continued past them. 

When the guard finally stopped, we stood before a door further down the hallway. Raising a hand, the guard knocked on it with his knuckles. When he received the bid to enter, he pushed the door open and ushered me inside. The cold light of the fluorescent ceiling lights illuminated the room like a beacon of judgment, and in the middle of the room, was a giant of a man sitting behind a large wooden desk, his eyes rising from the papers spread before him and focusing on me. 

I couldn’t help but squirm a little under his cold pale-blue gaze before he finally asked, “So, you broke into the Landry estate? Do you have anything to say for yourself?” His voice betrayed the coldness of his gaze as it emerged in a warm and thick Cajun accent.

I tipped my head and narrowed my eyes as I took in his appearance, the well-groomed hair, the expensive suit, the slight scruff of a beard on his jaw-line. “If you’re a judge, then I’m the Queen of Sheba,” I declared with a nervous laugh.

Amusement slid across his model-like features. “Yeah, I’m no judge. But I do have an invested interest in your case. Now, are you guilty or not?” he inquired, his voice like smooth silk wrapping around me.

In the back of my mind, I could hear Papa urging me to be the person he knew I was: not who I’d been forced to become.

I took a deep breath. Damn, I couldn’t believe I was fixing to do this! Looking the man squarely in the eyes, I stated, “Guilty, sir. Guilty of all I have been accused of.”

My words settled in the room, and the man behind the desk raised an eyebrow, as if surprised at my admission. Then with a small shake of his head, he questioned, “You do realize you’ll get five to seven with your admission, right?”

“Five to seven?” I gasped. My voice barely above a whisper. Oh sweet mother of God, what had I done?

The man’s expression remained unyielding, his eyes narrowed as he studied me with a critical gaze, and an icy dread crept up my spine. Yup, I'd made a terrible mistake. I should have kept my big mouth shut. However, I hadn't, and I couldn’t take back what I'd said; it was too late.

“I'd no idea,” I breathed, voice weak.

Shifting in the too small chair, the man leaned forward, propping his elbows onto the top of the desk, then steepling his fingers, he murmured, “I bet we can work…something…out."

I rolled my eyes. Seriously? Why is it, men always go there? Okay, so, yeah, the man was drop-dead gorgeous. But… really?

The man must have read my mind, because a smirk of  amusement spread across his lips before he stated, “Miss Crinshaw, though that's an interesting proposition, it’s not quite what I was offering. However, I am willing to get your charges dropped for a price. You come work for me.”

I eyed him wearily, finally asking, “What kind of work?”

Cocking his head, that same maddening smirk spread across those sexy as fuck lips again. “The kind that will keep you out of prison?” he suggested.

Shifting a little as my body seemed to be strangely coming awake in an unexpected manner beneath his periwinkle-blue eyes, I mumbled, “Okay, suppose I do come work for you. What exactly would I be doing?” 

Despite his assurance of seconds earlier, I was still suspicious.

The man's smirk eased into a smile, revealing a set of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth, before with that damn panty-melting accent, he murmured, “I’ll reveal that, when you agree you’ll work for me.”

I couldn’t help myself, I stared at the man in astonishment. He was absolutely bonkers. Who in the hell would think anyone would take a job unknowing of what it was? 

I gave a shake of my head, then asked in astonishment, "Why in the hell would I agree to something that sounds fishy as fuck?"

He gave a shrug, then, his smile still in place, he held out his hand in my direction. "Deal or no deal?"

As I looked at him, I thought over my options, or rather the lack of them. With an inward shrug, I reached out and took his hand, shaking it. "I guess we have a deal," I returned, unable but to wonder what in the hell I was getting myself into.

With the agreement in place, the man stood, his handshake firm, his grip surprisingly comforting. "Good. You won't regret it," he stated. Then, handing me an envelope, he continued, "Come to this address tomorrow morning at eight sharp."

Seconds later, I gazed at the envelope in my hand, my stomach twisting into knots as the guard escorted me out of the room.