Novelas y relatos de Aly Sloan

The Devotion Pack has been almost empty, after the Alpha disappeared, and rumours of Phantom Wolves roaming around scared Pack members away. Adrian crosses him from the list. "How about Grayson?" I hesitate, lifting my head from where I was brushing lint off my jeans. Grayson? "Who's that again?" I ask. The name Grayson doesn't ring a bell in my head, which is strange, since I'm familiar with most Alphas. "Alpha of Freedom," Adrian informs me. No wonder. Shaking my head, I slip off the edge of the desk, and take the pen from Adrian's hand, proceeding to draw a thick red line over the name. My blonde haired assistant stares at me as I resume my spot.

“I hope that you will still remember when you see me tomorrow, though as large as that mug is, I’m not certain you will.” “He never does,” Shannon offered with a laugh, her freckled face contorting a bit with the heartiness of her glee. She was tall and thin, even taller than Kian, with long strawberry blonde hair, and though Aaron never found her particularly pretty, she was a good match for his friend. He was certain Kian would be announcing an engagement soon, and Aaron looked forward to having him as a neighbor on the new plots the landlord had just agreed to lease nearer the lake once he had Aislyn’s hand as well.

I let silence settle between us, before finally voicing out, “I want to know everything, and not one detail should be spared.” Kaela nodded, a little brightness appearing on her face, “Sloane, that's the name of the lady you saw with the Alpha today. She was a warrior, a major in Alpha Sage's army, and she was respected and highly regarded. Three years after the incident, Sloane gave up her role as major to be Alpha Sage's urm…” Kaela paused as if her next choice of words were hard to pronounce. “Lover?” I asked, filling in the gap.

TESSA I blinked at her. Fake dating? Was she serious? Sloane looked dead serious. Like she just drafted a ten-point strategy plan in her head and was ready to bulldoze through anything—or anyone—that didn’t cooperate. “This isn’t a joke,” she said sharply, crossing her arms like some kind of PR principal ready to give me detention for breathing wrong. “We don’t have time for second opinions. We have a crisis. A real one. And Leo’s image is priority.”

I arrived ten minutes early, mostly because my driver had insisted, and partly because being punctual was the one thing I still controlled. Sloane was already there. She stood near the counter, scrolling on her phone, long coat draped over one arm. She looked exactly like someone raised in rooms where decisions were made quietly and consequences were never hers to bear. Tall, composed, expensive in a way that wasn’t flashy. When she glanced up and saw me, her smile was polite but sharp, assessing. “Ryan Edwards,” she said, extending her hand. “You’re taller than I expected.” I shook her hand. “You’re earlier than expected.”

"Congratulations Olive." "Thanks. I gotta go now, I haven't told Naomi yet." "Okay, I'll see you at home." "Actually, no you won't. I'm spending the night at Ava's." "Okay, see you tomorrow then." "Yeah. Bye." I hung up and hurried on to work so I wouldn't be late. When I got there, I saw Sloan with a Lady that looked like model. She looked elegant in her dress that stopped at her knee, her blonde hair tied up neatly in a bun. She sat cross legged across him and was laughing so hard that I wondered what could be so funny because he was laughing too.

Her eyes locked on Laura, intensity burning. “You don’t believe it?” Laura shook her head. “No. I don’t.” “And what if you find out it’s real?” Sloane asked, tossing her bag onto the couch and walking closer to the bed. “You know I’m the baddest girl in this game,” Sloane added, her eyes serious. She was a private investigator—a well-known one—and had studied criminal justice in school. Sloane had been close friends with Laura and Melissa back then; they were inseparable. Melissa didn’t attend school, but Sloane did.

Sloane was a classic luxury brand. On top of that, it was an established name in South City. When Sabrina had just entered college, she was still living with the Lynn family. Back then, she heard them mentioning the brand when they were holding a coming-of-age ceremony for their precious 18 years old daughter, Selene.

Not the heavy boot of a mercenary, but the light, rhythmic step of someone who knew how to move in the dark. ​"Stay behind the press," Damian commanded, his hand reaching for the heavy iron handle of the proofing press a makeshift club if necessary. ​A figure emerged from the rows of trees. It wasn't Pietro. It was a woman, dressed in a sharp, slate gray suit that looked absurdly out of place in the rustic Italian countryside. She held a small, portable scanner in one hand and a silenced pistol in the other. ​"Aara Vance," she said, her voice like glass grinding on silk. "My name is Sloane. I represent the 'Clean Slate Initiative.' We believe the Great Audit was a mistake a chaotic disruptio

“Sloane was the typical computer hacker who sat in the dark all the time with only the glow of her screen to light her day. She dyed her hair pitch black, wore more black eyeliner than an entire runway of fashion models, and everything from her eyebrow to her septum was pierced.” “Even my tongue,” Sloane grinned at Algernon. “You know my tongue is still pierced.” “Yes I do,” his eyes narrowed on her and a twisted grin pulled his features. “I might be sick,” Anderson complained from where he stood over the bed. He ripped the cloth from Sloane’s hands and draped it on Cruz’s neck. “Buddy, you need to sober up so we can figure out what happened to you.” Algernon was still focused on Sloane. “Yo