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Life Is Not a Ball
Last Updated:
2023-03-25 06:12:50
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The Alpha King's Breeder A Lapse
ArisWillow is exactly the type of girl Miles, our friend from our early warrior training days, would fall for. It’s a damn shame she’s all over Roman at the moment. Miles tilts his pint of beer back and sighs, shaking his head while Roman and Willow stand at the bar across the room. Tate raises a brow, his close cropped black hair catching the dim, flickering neon lights plastered across the wall to our backs. “What?” Miles gripes, running his fingers through his dark, equally short, hair. Both men are in the Ghost forces, low ranking, low enough that taking several weeks of leave wasn’t that big of a deal. “Roman’s not interested in her, man. He’d love someone to save him right now.” Tate shrugs, hazel eyes glistening. “Just go talk to her.”Miles grumbles something incoherent and twists his empty glass in a circle. I roll my eyes to Tate, who shrugs again before sipping his beer. “She’s staying for a while, according to Roman,” Tate offers. Miles glares. “She doesn’t seem lik
The Alpha King's Breeder Summer Home
Book 17Posey“Oh, my Goddess.” Willow’s sleek dark brown hair fans around her face as she pulls her baby blue convertible to a screeching halt, the smell of burning rubber scorching my nostrils. She pushes her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose and gasps as the shadow of a massive, three-story stone house from a begotten era swallows us whole, stained glass windows glaring down at us, four spires twisting to the clouds and nearly blocking the sun. “This is where we’re staying? How old is this place?”“That’s a very good question. Probably ancient. Everything this size in Veiled Valley is–” Her door slams shut. She’s already out of the car and falling into the shadow of the–well, I suppose it’s a castle. A miniature castle, probably the home of some long-dead aristocrat or Alpha that built it during the time of the original Firestone Witches. Two wings branch off the center of the structure with perfectly trimmed hedges juxtaposed against a remarkably modern and meticulously land
The Alpha King's Breeder Aris's Story
ArisThe Next SummerVeiled Valley bakes under the glare of early summer sunlight. It’s around noon, I think, as I stumble up the stairs to my room, fumbling with the suitcase I haven’t even seen in probably five years, let alone used in that time. It’s been a while since I’ve gone anywhere for an extended amount of time–just to be somewhere else. Normally, all I need are my ghost-issued gloves that turn into a full suit of armor and the clothes on my back. It’s not like I can’t just, I don’t know, snap my fingers and be somewhere else whenever I want to. I’m giving that a rest this summer. This summer, I’m just Aris. Not the Shadowsynger heir. Not the Prince of Veiled Valley. Not an Alpha in the making. Just me.My bedroom door opens on a phantom wind, thanks to the ever lingering spirit of the house, and my room expands around me–a wash of deep blues, silver, purples, and blacks. It’s a lair of masculine darkness–every Shadowsyngers’ dream. A four-poster bed with a satin bedspread
The Alpha King's Breeder Down the Aisle
LexaSpringKaleb’s hand is a solid, warm presence on my lower back as we move through Aunt Sarah’s rose garden. Most of the flowers are in bloom, which is the doing of her powers, or someone’s powers, seeing as the air still feels crisp, and the grass is a sharp, neon green–fresh and slightly crunchy. The deep emerald green satin of my gown stretches to its limits over the swell of my belly. My skin aches and itches, and it’s taking all of my strength not to scratch. I fill my lungs, letting a breath out slow. We move through the haze of spring greens surrounded by the soft scent of roses, but Kaleb’s fingers curl into a fist against my lower spine, pressing just enough to relieve some of the pressure there. “I’m going to find you somewhere to sit down,” he whispers through the hum of conversation taking place all around us. “I’m okay, really,” I insist, glancing around at familiar, and not so familiar, faces. There’re a lot of people here. More strangers than I’ve seen since the T
The Alpha King's Breeder The New Bride Price
KalebA Few Weeks Later“Has anyone seen my wife?” Logan asks as he parts a small crowd gathered around one of the many open fires scattered across the festival grounds. The tall, dark-haired man with eyes so similar to mine it’s almost like looking in a mirror has his son, Kieran, on his shoulders, as he sidesteps to where Lexa is perched on my thigh while I rest on a bale of hay. He sinks down beside us, unceremoniously dumping his son onto the hay bales stacked behind us, and Kieran shrieks with laughter, scrambling and begging to do it again. I’m not used to this yet. This many people just milling about for fun. I recognize so many of the faces, even if they weren’t in the Glade with us because we’re… one people. We always have been, just separated by an ocean, by magic and invisible chains. “I think Brie’s hiding from him.” Lexa smirks, jabbing a thumb in Kieran’s direction. Her hair is loose and falling down her back in spiraling curls beneath a hat of pure white rabbit fur. A
The Alpha King's Breeder Where Am I?
LexaTime is a construct in my mind with no beginning and no end. I remember being dragged onto the baking sand, my fingers slipping free from Kaleb’s. I remember being carried and laid on hard metal, hazy figures hovering over me dressed in white, like angels, their masked faces haloed by blinding fluorescent light. I have a feeling there were times when I was awake, when I’d open my eyes to slits and catch Kaleb’s scent all around me, my cheek pressed to his chest. I remember swaying. Constantly swaying. “We’ve kept her mostly sedated,” says a voice I don’t recognize, and suddenly I’m being lifted again, my body little more than skin and bones as a scent I haven’t encountered in ages hits me like a brute force directly to the chest. “And her man? I was told she has a mate now. Where is he? Was he on that boat?” Logan’s voice is rich and stern as he shouts the question over a barrage of overlapping voices. If there is a reply, I don’t hear it. I curl my fingers in Logan’s shirt, my
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