by Dawn Steele
THE HOT ALPHA SWITCH
Or:
‘It seemed like a good idea at the time’
A Hot, Paranormal Shifter Romance
By Dawn Steele
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright 2015 by Aphrodite Hunt
Cover art by Kim Price
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dawn Steele is the New Adult/romance/shifter romance pen name of Aphrodite Hunt.
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Dawn Steele/Aphrodite Hunt is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. Her stories have been in the Top 5 of the Amazon overall bestselling charts, the 10 of the Barnes and Nobles overall charts and the No. 1 spot in Amazon's Movers and Shakers. She is a Top 50 Amazon Most Popular author.
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THE HOT ALPHA SWITCH
THE HOT ALPHA BAIT
THE HOT ALPHA TRAP
THE ALPHA SWITCH
THE MEET-UP
“Well, I don’t want to talk about it anymore, and that’s that,” Violet declared.
She was trapped in a limo. That was how she felt – trapped. She stared out of the darkened window, peering out at the godforsaken buildings in this godforsaken town. Why had she agreed to come here in the first place?
Oh, right. Because Taran asked her to. Nicely.
Taran deVere, her boyfriend who was seated next to her in the backseat of the limo. Always impeccably dressed in a bespoke Savile Row suit, he was half-Welsh and half-English. He was also a self-made Internet billionaire, and he wore a pair of black glasses to make himself look older than his real age of twenty-seven.
He was also very handsome beneath those glasses, with his blue-green eyes, straight nose, and strong, well-structured chin. Taran had charm in spades. But not lately. Not where she was concerned. In fact, lately, she had felt trapped.
They had been quarreling over the littlest things lately. The simplest things seemed to set her off.
Taran said in a calm voice, “Maybe now is not the best time to talk about it.”
“Good. I’m glad you agree.”
“When we get back to London, I’ll broach the subject again with my mother –”
“Your mother hates me!”
“She doesn’t hate you, Violet. She just wants everything to be perfect.”
“But it’s my startup company. My business!”
“And she invested in it. It’s natural that she would want a say in how things are run.” Taran spoke in a measured English accent. Very old school. Very posh. It was a wonder how he became that way, because the whole world knew a little about his bizarre and charming rags-to-riches history.
Violet rolled her eyes. It was a mistake accepting money from his mother for her startup online shoe business. But she hadn’t wanted to accept money from Taran. A pity that her own family money was all tied up in trust funds and stocks.
When she had gone to her father, it was all: “The market’s not good right now, Violet love. Not a good time to sell, and not a good time to be starting a new business either.”
“Think of it as a loan between girls,” said Taran’s mother, Adele, with a self-satisfied flourish.
And that was that.
Only –
Oh, Violet didn’t even want to think about it! Adele was the type of woman who made barren cows spurt milk at the sound of her voice. Not to mention that the relationship between Violet and Taran had lost its spark. They had been on the verge of breaking up, but Taran wanted to give it another shot.
“We’ve been together for two years, Vi,” he said. “You don’t throw something like that away. Come with me on my American trip. We’ll reconnect and get to know each other all over again.”
Taran was a good person. She knew that this dissatisfaction was all her.
So she had agreed to give it another shot.
Only it wasn’t glamorous New York or Los Angeles they were visiting. Taran’s company ran a foundation that helped diversely challenged groups – the poor, the outcast, the marginalized. He was on a help mission in Shipshank, Missouri. The middle of nowhere. The armpit of the world, where the redneck Shipshank werewolf clans resided.
Violet supposed she should be proud of Taran for personally taking time off from his empire to oversee charitable acts. But she just felt frustrated and sad. There was a wedge between them that couldn’t be healed by limo rides and swanky hotel rooms.
She couldn’t even remember the last time they had made love.
So she stared out of the window listlessly, not wanting to speak to or look at Taran. He was her first real serious relationship. It broke her heart that it was ending.
How could they mend this? Did they need time away from each other to decide what they really wanted?
The limo drew up to their hotel, the only five-star hotel in Shipshank.
“Vi, we should talk,” Taran began.
She opened the car door and stepped out. They had just come back from a dinner hosted by the mayor of Shipshank, so she was in her red velvet dress and Jimmy Choos.
“Maybe later, OK?” she rasped. “Right now, I need a walk.”
To break up or not to break up? How long to wait? Maybe she and Taran were simply not meant to be together.
“Shall I come along?” he called.
She walked on, ignoring the hotel entrance. Taran started to run after her.
“No. Please, Taran, I need to be alone right now.” Tears stung her eyes.
She could sense him stopping in his tracks. She knew he was hurting, too. But she had nothing inside her for a kind word, a gentle glance. They really needed time away from each other.
Starting from now.
“Don’t go too far, OK?” he called after her. “It’s not as safe here as it is back home.”
She didn’t reply as she walked faster, away from him. She was being a bitch, and she knew it. But her emotions were in turmoil, and she wasn’t a good person to be around when she was in this kind of mood.
“I’ll stay up!” he called again.
She vanished into the night.
*
After a while, Violet slowed down. Her feet ached. These were her most comfortable pair of Jimmy Choos, but she had been walking too fast.
Where the hell was she? She couldn’t have gotten that lost because she walked in a straight line. But she must have walked for several blocks already. She had no idea that the town was so huge. Wasn’t its population only 20,000? Or were they really spread out like the rural Canadians?
It was late. Like a lo
t of small towns, Shipshank kept early hours. The only places that were still open on this block were Applebee’s, a Chinese laundromat, and a girly bar.
Taran was right. She shouldn’t have gotten so far from the hotel at this time of night.
But she didn’t want to head back either. She wasn’t ready to face Taran. Because to face him would be to put what was driving them apart into the open, and she didn’t have the emotional strength for that tonight.
What she needed was a stiff drink.
The girly bar looked good, so she headed that way. There were plenty of cars and trucks in the parking lot. The loud thump-thump-thump of music jarred the front doors as she approached. The walls were lit with colored lights in the shapes of naked women.
Violet wasn’t exactly dressed for the occasion, but part of her was curious as to how backward girly bars were in the Midwest. She was American, but she was born in Pasadena. Her father was an ambassador, so she had been traipsing around the world since she was three. Because she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, she had always been curious about how the other side of the tracks lived.
A bouncer stood at the door. He looked her up and down and grinned.
“No cover charge for you, little lady.”
“Thank you,” Violet said stiffly.
As she walked in, she was well aware that he was checking out her ass. She was a big, curvy woman, and she knew she had a delicious ass.
The bar was dimly lit and smoky. As she suspected, the customers were mostly men. A few half-naked and tired-looking women danced around poles situated in strategic places on the floor. Everyone looked up as Violet strode in.
Pay no attention to them, she told herself. And yet, she reveled in their gazes as their eyes raked over her body. There was nothing more empowering to her than to be made to feel attractive.
She went to the bar.
“Vodka, please. Straight.”
The bartender didn’t say anything as he poured her drink. He slid the glass across the bar.
“That’ll be eight fifty,” he said in a gruff voice.
Violet forked out the necessary cash.
The bartender said, “You know, this is a men’s bar. We don’t see the likes of you often.”
“I’ll bet,” she replied, taking a sip of her neat vodka. It was surprisingly good.
“You be careful now.”
“Thank you.”
Violet turned to watch the strippers/dancers. She wasn’t sure if they were strippers or dancers, since they were already in a state of undress. The girls wore spangled thongs and three-inch heels. They whirled around the poles and did not maintain any eye contact with the patrons.
Several men near Violet were studying her. More specifically, their eyes roamed over her generous breasts – with cleavage that was partially displayed – her waist and her ass. Violet was always on the overweight side, but the extra padding manifested in bountiful curves that always caught the eyes of men, including Taran. So she never dieted or bothered about those extra pounds. She knew she looked good, so she flaunted it.
The man nearest to her approached her.
“Hi, pretty lady,” he said. He was tall, unshaven, and not bad looking. He smelled heavily of beer.
Violet said, “I’m not looking for a hookup.”
The guy grinned as he nestled beside her. “A pretty girl who dresses like you is always looking for a hookup.”
Violet ignored him.
“Hey, Deke. With tits like those, she needs a real man to party with.” Another guy – more heavyset, rough looking, and bald – came up and placed his beer mug next to her vodka glass. “Let me buy you a drink, beautiful.”
“No thanks,” Violet said. Maybe Taran was right after all. This town wasn’t as safe as what she was used to. She took her glass and made to move away from the bar.
Deke’s hand shot out unsteadily and grabbed her arm. “Hey, where are you going?”
“Get your hands off me,” Violet shot back. She wrenched his hand away.
Laughter followed her as she moved towards an empty table beside a pole dancer.
“Let her be, Deke,” the bartender cautioned. “You’re in enough trouble already.”
The dancer beside Violet’s new perch was Latino. She had large, sloping breasts and black, soulful eyes. She stared at Violet as she gyrated. Violet stared back, wondering what possessed any woman to take up a profession like this.
She soon finished her drink. The welcome and delicious buzz in her head suggested that the vodka had gone straight into her bloodstream. OK, so she had her little tantrum. Now it was time to go back.
She walked out of the bar and into the night.
“Had fun?” the bouncer leered at her.
She ignored him. There was no cab that she could catch. Come to think of it, she hadn’t noticed any cabs in this town since she got here. The night was fairly warm anyway, so she didn’t mind walking.
Violet started walking in the direction of the hotel. It was time to face Taran and everything she had been avoiding for the past six months.
*
It was only after walking a while that she realized there were footsteps behind her. She swung her head around suspiciously. Deke and the other guy at the bar were behind her. They had brought along two other guys she vaguely recognized from that place.
Her heart beat a little faster. Were they following her? Or were they merely taking the same route?
She quickened her pace. There weren’t any cops or patrol cars around. What sort of place was this?
She heard laughter behind her, but she didn’t dare turn around. She felt like shedding her shoes and running, but that would only spur them on.
Keep calm, she told herself.
The laughter came again, but this time it was much closer. She turned. The men had closed in. Now she was certain they meant her harm.
Panic made her bolt.
“Hey, beautiful!” called one of them after her. “Where’re you running to all dressed up like that?”
Violet ran blindly. Then she delved into an alley to catch her breath. She was getting herself all wound up. That was the trouble with her. She always thought she could take care of herself everywhere she went because she was bold and sassy. And now she was in this poorly lit alley very far from home.
The alley smelled of wet garbage and cat litter. She blinked several times to acclimate her vision. Then a hand grabbed her ankle. She screamed.
A homeless man was sitting on a piece of cardboard. Half-rotted boxes were piled beside him, and an empty bottle rolled by his leg. He reeked of alcohol.
“You got a dollar, Missy?” he rasped.
“Let go of me!” she shrieked, trying to wrench her ankle away.
The men appeared at the mouth of the alley.
“She wants it, I’m telling you.”
“There she is.”
Violet screamed again. But the homeless man still had his hand around her leg, and she tripped and fell onto the asphalt.
Then there was growling. Violet looked up. A wolf came bounding out of the shadows from the other end of the alley. The wolf was red brown and fairly large. Its teeth gleamed in the light from the distant streetlamps.
The men retreated.
“A wolf?” one of them said incredulously.
“Maybe it’s a big dog.”
“You’re fucking drunk if you think that’s a dog, Gorky.”
The wolf took several steps forward and growled.
“I geddit,” Deke cried. “It’s one of those werewolf things. They live somewhere around here. Get away, you vermin.”
Werewolves! In particular, Shipshank werewolves – the very community Taran had been trying to save and raise into the modern age.
The wolf snarled and leaped at Deke. With yelps, the men bolted. Their footsteps rang in the clear, crisp night.
Violet kicked out at the homeless drunk.
“Get your hands off me!”
Pain lan
ced through her hands and chin where she had struck the road. She touched her jaw. Her hand came away with blood.
“Ohhh,” she groaned.
Her head spun as she tried to get to her feet.
The wolf turned. Before Violet’s eyes, it swiftly transformed – fur receding and bones rearranging themselves – into a crouching human form. A very naked female form.
The she-wolf stood up, and Violet gasped. She blinked, wondering if she was dreaming.
The young woman that stood naked before her was her spitting image – dark hair, flashing blue eyes, curves and all.
SHE-WOLF
Violet’s jaw dropped.
For a moment, she wondered if she had had too much to drink, like the homeless man over there.
Then the homeless man spoke, “Hiya, Kendry, you got some spare change?”
The she-wolf smirked. She did not seem to be perturbed by her nakedness.
“Slumming again, I see, Harry,” she said, walking towards him. She picked up a cloak from one of the half-rotting boxes. “Mind if I borrow this?”
“You never pay me back,” Harry howled.
“I pay you back plenty,” Kendry said. “Who left that pot of soup over there? You’re just too drunk to notice.”
Violet took in Kendry’s breasts, waist, everything. She was her spitting image! Even her straight, dark hair was almost the same length.
Violet’s jaw was still on the road as Kendry donned the cloak.
“Hello,” Kendry said, holding out her hand. “I’m Kendra.”
“Violet.” This came out as a squeak.
Kendra’s grip was strong as she pulled Violet firmly up.
“You’re bleeding.” She pointed to Violet’s chin and palms. “Let me patch you up.”
“Wait . . .”
“You don’t want to stick around here just in case those goons come back,” Kendra advised. “I’ve got my bike over there.”