Red Hot Alphas: 11 Novels of Sexy, Bad Boy, Alpha Males (Red Hot Boxed Sets Book 2)

by Jo Raven

GET TO ME

  by Holly Hood

  ELECTRIC BLUE BUTTERFLIES

  by Irma Geddon

  SWEETEST TEMPTATIONS

  by J.C. Valentine

  Disclaimers and Copyright Notices

  Want to know when the next Red Hot Boxed Set comes out?

  CLICK HERE

  To join the Red Hot Mailing List!

  ELECTRIC BLUE BUTTERFLIES

  by Irma Geddon

  ELECTRIC BLUE BUTTERFLIES

  by Irma Geddon

  WILL O' THE WISP: ELECTRIC BLUE BUTTERFLIES © Irma Geddon 2014

  Constance has agreed to an arranged marriage with a man she doesn't know---a tradition that has long been in her family. Unbeknown to her, the handsome man she meets at the altar is her childhood soul mate William, the one that suddenly disappeared from her life so many years ago. But when William dies right after the wedding, Constance is going to learn that love knows no limits.

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE WILL

  I sit in the front row pew in the family chapel, with both my parents and his by my side. My side of the family is silent but has wet eyes, and they’re considerate enough to bow their heads in deference to my husband’s parents’ loss.

  His side is completely devastated, and Emily Wayworth, my husband’s mother, keeps crying even during the priest’s benediction.

  The doctor was called earlier this morning, when my mother-in-law burst into tears once more and could not stop wailing. He gave her a prescription for a sedative to calm her down, and for a while it worked, but she seems to feel her loss even more now. I feel so sorry for us all. Devon Wayworth, my father-in-law, had been able to keep his composure until now and had been the pillar that held everybody together when we heard the news, but he cannot help sobbing, tears flowing from his eyes now, a few minutes away from the burial.

  In front of us, my husband William is lying in a closed casket. I cannot believe he is dead—I met him only two days ago. Literally.

  Our parents arranged our marriage. We met here in this chapel.

  “Hello,” he had said as our parents were conversing pleasantly. He had tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear but not before examining its chocolaty color in his fingers for a second. It had felt so strange but also very intimate, and the room had started spinning around me on its own as my mind tried to rationalize why I felt such immediate attraction to this stranger.

  You’d think it’s something that hardly ever happens in our country nowadays, but it’s actually fairly common for important families to unite by marrying their children. I have known since I can remember that I was going to be a bride and that my parents would be the ones to choose the groom. I know I should have been horrified, but really, it’s been part of my education since forever, and my parents and their parents before them have followed that custom too—for who knows how many generations. I have always been very obedient to my family’s customs and desires. In the light of the recent event, I do have some regrets—but never for having been a good daughter to my loving parents.

  I had never thought I’d be a widow the very night of my wedding.

  I’m feeling more crushed than I should perhaps, given that this marriage had not been the normal kind of link between two people. I feel shocked and disappointed even though I didn’t even know my husband three days ago.

  The ring on my finger feels alien, and I keep sliding it along my finger—I will have to get it sized to make sure I will not lose it. I don’t even like it; it’s way too big and fancy for me. I’m used to simpler things. Small things. It’s a family heirloom, though, so I can’t take it off without insulting my in-laws. It’s a part of me now, and I need to accept it.

  William had expressed a lot of interest in me when we met. Out of shyness, I had tried not to return his sidelong glances as our families discussed the final arrangements yesterday, but my gaze always came back to him. I felt it was not proper until we were legally married to study him in detail, but I couldn’t help to notice how tall he was, how well he was built, and how he had beautiful, very intense dark brown eyes that he never took off me. I had found him very handsome—I least I knew that about him. I wasn’t the type to get carried away in fantasy, but my thoughts were freewheeling, and I wouldn’t have minded being held in his arms at all. I liked to entertain the idea of the way his hands would touch my skin and his lips would crush mine in passion.

  We were supposed to consummate our marriage that night after the wedding party, and I had felt as hot and bothered at the idea as I had felt shy about it.

  He had seemed like a nice man too, polite and considerate. He had spoken with kindness, answering my father’s questions in a baritone voice that was full-on sexy.

  My mother had assured me that, even in arranged marriages, love would develop in time. She was confident William and I would get along. Physically, he looked just right. But love? Could we have had that? Who knows if we would have ever been able to connect anyway, despite my mother’s assurance. It had certainly been in my prayers—who’d choose a loveless marriage?

  As we wait, sitting on the uncomfortable benches of the small family chapel, where darkness is thwarted by rays of color coming from the stained glass windows, I remember the beautiful wedding day we had right there two days ago. My mother had helped me choose a gorgeous gown, and I had walked down the aisle on my father’s arm to that handsome man I did not know. The tuxedo he had worn—all black with an electric blue handkerchief in his front pocket—had accentuated his perfect figure.

  The sweet kiss, quick and chaste, he had given me on the lips when the priest had pronounced us husband and wife didn’t reflect the intensity in his eyes as he had looked in mine. His hand had grabbed mine after we exchanged our vows and had not let go for a long time. Our marriage was part of a strange tradition, but this had given me hope it could be more than a business arrangement for our families. Oddly, he had seemed to care about me already—I was sure of this, I knew it by the way he always made sure everything was perfect for me.

  The group of men who are going to carry the casket all the way to William’s last home take their places around it. I don’t know any of them—probably people from my in-laws’ circle of friends and relatives.

  “Come,” says my mother, trying to comfort me by putting her arm around my shoulders. I look at her, and I see an older version of myself—although time has had an impact on her features, she’s got the same eyes than I have, shaped like almonds, with a blue that is almost a light silvery gray. I can’t help but wonder how she would have felt if my dad had died the night of their wedding. Would have she been as distraught as I feel right now?

  We get up and follow them, pacing ourselves to stay a few feet away. No one wants to talk about it around me or his family out of consideration for our feelings, but I can’t help thinking about the way William died—truly horrific. I am not yet able to make my mind accept it. The experts had said some kind of huge wild animal attacked him as he went for a walk during the festivities outside in the park that surrounded the wedding tent. The police were all over it, but so far no one can tell us what kind of animal it was.

  The wedding had taken place in our future home and its gardens—it is a gigantic mansion with acres of land around, fields and woods as far as the eyes can see—like a small castle really, where we were supposed to have had our happily ever after.

  At the wedding reception, I had had all sorts of mixed feelings. We had not talked much—I supposed that part would have come later, as we got to know each other better. As he had taken me for a spin on the dance floor, he had held me tightly, his head near mine, our faces almost touching. His lips had been so close to mine that I could feel his breath on me, and his eyes bore into mine, making my body feel strange things.

  A few minutes before he died, William had invited me to enjoy the moonlight and the stars in the night sky, alone with him. I had politely declined his invitation and stayed with the guests at the party—mostly because I didn
’t know yet how to act. I was too shy and not really sure how a bride was supposed to act. What did you say to a husband that you have never met? What was he planning? Was he expecting … I don’t know, some light groping? My thoughts were all over the place, and I was anxious at the idea of our first night together…and though I was not at all averse to the idea of being with him, I wanted to delay that as much as possible in order to prepare myself mentally. And so I had refused.

  It had probably saved my life.

  I think he had understood my feelings, and he had given me some space, telling me he would go for a walk by himself, and that I could find him there if I changed my mind. He hadn’t seemed upset by my refusal, which gave him brownie points in my head.

  I spent the next ten minutes thinking about it, my brain switching and hopping between hundreds of scenarios, and I was almost ready to go find him when I heard the commotion.

  His best man was the one who found him. He had stepped between me and the door while the whole family and guests ran to get help and call the police and had forbidden me to go there. You don’t want to remember him like that, he had said, blocking my way. His eyes were glazed with horror, and I hadn’t argued further.

  The family chapel is placed right next to the family cemetery. It’s all located on the property William and I would have lived on. In a matter of minutes, we arrive at the hastily dug grave. I feel like I’m not in my place. This shouldn’t be the biggest loss of my life, and yet I am feeling plenty of conflicting emotions, somehow. How can you grieve someone you didn’t know? To be sure, there had been a lot of sparks between us, but that was just physical. Feelings, love…those would have come later. Wouldn’t they?

  The men place the casket on the machinery that will lower it into the ground. A very short memorial service will take place after the religious ceremony. William didn’t want any religious service—it was written in his will. And this is the one point of his wishes his parents didn’t acknowledge.

  William’s parents had called the notary this very morning to find out what William’s will said. I was horrified—I felt somehow that it was disrespectful and could have waited…but who was I to say what people can or cannot do when they are grieving?

  To my surprise, William had left everything to me in a will he had signed two days before the wedding—before we’d even met. I was expecting his parents to be upset, but they had nodded quietly, no trace of anger on their faces. I had imagined that I would go back to my parents’ house—almost as if nothing had ever happened—and that Williams’ parents would get everything back—the money, the house…That’s how it should have been—after all, we hadn’t even been married for a whole day.

  But that’s not how it’s going to be. I am now one of the richest people in this part of the world. Tonight, I am going to go back to the beautiful home that has belonged to his family since forever, and that both his parents have restored in our name. And I will begin my adult life in a way no one could have anticipated.

  CHAPTER TWO

  BINNIBOY

  I am unable to sleep. It’s way too hot outside, even at night, and the humidity is killing me. Although the house has been undergoing renovations, air conditioning has not yet been installed.

  I have opened the windows in my room, but it’s not helping. I’m lying on my bed—well, the one in the master bedroom, which is now my bedroom—and listening to all the house’s sounds. It creaks and cracks in unison with the insect sounds outside.

  There’s nothing to do here for me yet. I’ll receive my things in a few days, but even then I’ll have to wait a little bit to have internet access installed.

  I don’t have my own computer with me since I’d thought I wouldn’t have time to use it. I’d thought I would be enjoying my honeymoon—well, sort of: William had said that we wouldn’t be going anywhere, but that we would have the whole house to ourselves. That plan was okay with me. I thought I’d be able use that time to familiarize with the house and with William. And now I find myself without any occupation.

  I lie on the bed, studying the patterns on the ceiling.

  I can’t read a book, not because there is no choice—there are three rooms full of books in this gigantic mansion—but because flipping the lights on would draw all mosquitoes in a twenty miles radius directly onto me, and I don’t need that. I already get assaulted by those horrible creatures on a regular basis.

  There’s not a sound in the whole house. My parents and in-laws haven’t really left me alone, though; they are in adjacent rooms and are sleeping.

  I get up and go to the window. Outside, I can see lights in the woods that border the property. The men working here, a bunch of hunters who look like they know what they’re doing and a few people from the nearby village, have gathered on the property and have been trying to find the predator who killed my husband since late this afternoon, after the service.

  I don’t feel right in this place. I have been assured that it was the safest place in the world by my mom, that it has security guards roaming the property and a lot of people in the house to look after me, but after yesterday, how can I ever feel safe in this house?

  My mother, who knows me better than anyone else, left me two pills before going to bed. Those could help me sleep, but I don’t feel like it—I’ve got a lot of crazy thoughts—what if something attacks me in my sleep? I know, it’s stupid, and usually I would never feel this paranoid. William’s death has really shaken me up.

  I’m usually quite the daredevil—a trait my mother has tried to smother in me since childhood, to no avail. I have been raised to be a proper young lady, to follow rules and protocols, to learn how to be a good wife. This part of me, this absence of fear, this will for adventure, is maybe the most defining part of my character. A part I love and cherish. What makes me, me. In this prison of a life—a prison I have accepted willingly—this is the one thing no one has ever been able to take away from me. I hate that I am afraid now—whether for the right or the wrong reasons. I hate that I feel threatened in what has become my own home.

  And now I’m pissed. I walk around in the darkened bedroom, not knowing what to do. I’m fuming. There’s no way I’m going back in bed to sleep now. I need to get my courage and strength back; I’m going to need it in the next few days in order to cope with all the changes and demands that will arise.

  For an instant, the thought of getting dressed and joining the hunters to help find that murderous beast flits through my mind. That would be a great way to deal with this unwelcome state of mind. But I don’t know if I can find my way through the woods to where they are. Also, I’m daring but not suicidal, and the predator might be able to find me before I find the protection of the group. So … yeah, wishful thinking aside, I’m really kind of chicken shit about actually doing something, and it saddens and unnerves me.

  I go back to the window and try to get an idea of how far away the hunters are. The lights are flickering far away in the woods. Meh. No way I’m going to find them now.

  I look around, trying to get my bearings. The wedding tents that had been mounted around the mansion are gone now. The servants have worked hard the night of my husband’s death to make everything disappear as quickly as possible—the tables, the confetti, the cake we hadn’t even cut up yet.

  I sigh in disappointment for all that waste—the waste of all the things that were prepared in our honor, the waste of such a young life and of the future we were supposed to have together—when another flickering light catches my eye. I look down the window and see a very young child walking away from the mansion, a lantern radiating bluish light in his hand. He looks like he’s five or maybe six years old. What the hell is such a young child doing wandering around in the garden at this hour? Could he be the son of one of the employees here?

  No time to inquire whose kid it is. I grab my slippers and run down the stairs to follow him. He’s way too small to be out at night like that—what if the predator is near the house? My heart beats furious
ly in my chest. Fear is coming back to me, but it’s the first time I’ve ever felt fear for someone beside myself. I can’t let anything happen to a child! I rush out of the door, both determined and excited to have found an excuse to take action—any action.

  My feet crunch on the pebbles in the driveway. The little kid is not there anymore. I look around frantically and I see it: the blue light is heading towards the cemetery.

  Dammit.

  I run toward the cemetery, wondering what that young child thinks he needs to do, out at this hour of the night, and cursing his parents in my head. He’s not very quick with his small legs, and in two minutes I’m already catching up to him. I can see him quite clearly now, thanks to the lantern—a young boy with short hair. He is very young.

  “Hey!” I call out to him when I’m just a few meters behind.

  He turns around, and I see his face in the bluish light of his lantern. There is no trace of fear or surprise on his face. I stop dead in my tracks, unable to say another word.

  B—Binniboy?

  I know this face. It’s the face of someone I had forgotten until now, but it’s all coming back to me. Binniboy—my childhood friend.

  There is a lot of sadness in his eyes as he looks at me in silence.

  This is not possible. Binniboy was my age, his parents moved away when I was five or six, and I’ve never seen him again. This young boy looks so much like him—but this must be a coincidence, or my mind playing tricks on me after the stressful and horrible event of these last days.

  The child turns away from me again without a word and disappears in the cluster of trees that borders the cemetery. Where he stood a few seconds ago, now there are only a dozen fireflies, buzzing around, lighting the path lightly with their luminescence.