Al Jackson Books Novels & Stories

He looked content, sleepy, and safe. "It’s perfect," Serenity whispered. "It is," Jackson agreed. "Except for my sore back." "Actually, it's about to get better," Margaret’s voice chimed in from the corner. Jackson stiffened. He knew that tone. Margaret walked in carrying a heavy, leather-bound book. It wasn't the Element Journal. It was something far more dangerous. "The Photo Album," Margaret announced, placing it on the coffee table with a thud. "The years 1990 to 1999."

Jackson says as he starts to look at the other books. “So, helping Jessica was, okay?” I ask for clarity. “I would suggest yes. You did not lose your wolf, and you are still alive. I would say that was a good save,” Carleton says with a small laugh. Jackson scowls at him, “No more using those powers,” he says as he finds the chapter he is looking for.

The other two Alphas nodded, wielding the same hope as they brought was was likely their final meeting concerning the project to its natural end. *** Alpha Jackson was a warrior first, and a businessman immensely after. It may sound odd that being a husband or father doesn’t come next, but that’s because Alpha Jackson’s enterprises were his first love. He’d been in love with the family business of producing the finest liquor in existence since he was a little boy and that love has never died out. Right now, he was on a trip to do one of his favorite things; checking out the new warehouses and the new liquor releases that they were producing.

Street vendors sold jewelry, wooden carvings, candles that smelled like rain. At one stall, I lingered over a silver necklace—a crescent moon wrapped in vines, delicate and beautiful. “Like it?” Jackson murmured in my ear. “It’s gorgeous, but—” He already had his wallet out. “Jackson!” He grinned, unashamed. “Let me spoil you.” His fingers brushed my neck as he fastened the clasp. “I like making you smile.” The metal felt cool, but his touch burned. Next was a tiny bookstore that smelled like old paper. I watched Jackson run his fingers over the book spines, his expression serious, almost tender.

I won't be embarrassed anymore. Arriving back at his, we walk in quietly. I don't understand how he got into all this, all the BDSM and the business. He doesn't look abused or broken. Sure, he is heartbroken, but that was clearly after he was involved in it. His eyes are watching me. “What are you thinking, Alena? You have that look where you are considering something.” Jackson's voice is quiet. I guess I will explain.

Jake's office was exactly what I expected—neat, organized, and painfully impersonal. The large wooden desk was stacked with reports and maps, the shelves lined with books and ledgers. The only thing that seemed remotely personal was a framed picture on the far wall. Even from here, I could tell it was of Prisca. I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to look away. Jake was already at his desk, flipping through a folder. "Close the door behind you."