Blood Moon Rising Box Set (Books 1-6)

by Lola Taylor

  “I know,” Alara said, her chest tightening with the sensation her dreams were crumbling around her again.

  “Ugh,” her mother said with disgust as she worked the zipper up another inch. “What have you been eating for breakfast?”

  “A nonfat fruit parfait, Mother.”

  “What about dinner last night? Lunch?”

  “Salad, Mother.”

  “Sssh, don’t say anything. Suck in your gut, if you can manage that.”

  Be numb.

  Alara inhaled as much as she could, bunching her generous breasts as her mother forced the zipper up. “You’ve been working out?” her mother went on.

  Alara paused, unsure whether she should speak when her mother told her not to.

  “Well?” her mother snapped. “Did you not hear me?”

  “Yes,” Alara said in a monotone voice. “Every day for two hours, just like Izzy.”

  “‘Isabelle,’” her mother corrected. “‘Izzy’ is not the name of a princess. ‘Isabelle’ sounds much more regal. There!”

  Alara gasped as the zipper reached its summit, thus compromising her ability to breathe. Her wolf ears could hear the fabric stretch every time she inhaled. Too much and she’d rip a seam.

  Her mother continued examining her, grabbing her arm and holding it up. “And you haven’t lost any weight? Your biceps are jiggling. I’ll have to speak to your trainer. Perhaps I should call Dr. Rolf again, get you on a different weight loss medication.”

  Alara sighed carefully. “You ever considered maybe I’m built this way for a reason? Maybe I’m not supposed to be rail-thin.”

  Her mother leveled her with an even glare. “If you’re going to be a royal were—one of the high family, at that—there is a certain physical standard of beauty we have to uphold. And ‘fat’ is not it.”

  Alara looked down at her body, at the skin bunched around her arms, hanging over the corset’s rim. She was hardly fat. Sure, she wore a few sizes higher than most she-wolves because she had a round bottom, big, full breasts, and wide hips—and okay, maybe she sported a few more curves around the midsection, too—but come on!

  Her mother’s ruby lips pursed. “If I’d known your arms looked like this, I never would have gone with a sleeveless dress.” She sighed dramatically as if this was all very taxing to her. “No time to change. We’ll just have to improvise.” She went over to the massive dresser and produced a pair of above-the-elbow black lace gloves that complemented the black lace trimming in Alara’s teal, puffy ball gown. “Here. Put these on. They’ll draw the eye away from your fat.”

  Alara felt her cheeks heat as she obediently pulled on the gloves. They were feminine; the dress, despite its size restrictions, made her feel pretty. She smiled at herself in the mirror, her back straightening a bit. But her mother didn’t see her as pretty. She saw her as a failure, a glaring neon sign of how different she was from other werewolves.

  Sharp pain lit up her cheeks as her mother pinched her face. “Ow!” Alara said. “What was that for?”

  “You’re too pale,” she said dismissively. “You need to have some color in you, look like you’re an outdoors kind of woman to attract a suitable mate. Oh, to think! Twenty-two and unmated! And a high were!”

  Alara gritted her teeth. You’d think they were in the 1800s and she was considered an old maid. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to find a mate. She just wanted it to be for the right reasons. Not that she’d have a choice in the matter. “I haven’t marked anyone yet, and no one has marked me,” Alara said simply.

  Her mother chose to completely ignore this logic. “Well, it’s hard to mark someone when you haven’t had your Fever yet!”

  “You’re talking about it like it’s my period.”

  “Don’t say the ‘p’ word. Just because you’ve blossomed doesn’t mean you’re a full-fledged she-wolf yet.”

  “Mother,” Alara groaned, “stop talking about people like they’re plants. People don’t ‘blossom.’ Besides, Isabelle hasn’t had her Fever either.”

  “She’s younger than you,” her mother said, quick to defend the perfect younger sister.

  “By a whole year,” Alara drawled. “Two grown daughters, unmated.” She covered her mouth, feigning shock. “People will start talking if you don’t bend the universe to your will soon.”

  Her mother’s even glare made her shut up.

  Down girl.

  “Enough stalling,” her mother said, clapping her hands. “We have important guests waiting.”

  Alara almost said, “Let them wait,” but instead, she gathered her skirts, straightened her back, and put her “princess face” on.

  Smile. Make mind-numbingly polite conversation. Survive the drudgery of it all. She almost wished she’d hurry up and get her Fever. At least then she might feel something for once.

  Soon as she stepped into the hall, her resolve slipped a bit. A cluster of slender-bodied women in brightly-colored lace and silk approached, all congregated around the tall blonde in the middle. Tiffany, Alara thought with a growl.

  They all stopped and curtsied low for the queen, casting frosty, fake smiles at Alara. “Your Highness,” Tiffany drawled with a wink to her friends, “that color looks great on you.”

  Alara’s anger flared. She knew Tiffany didn’t like the color one bit—she was being snide. She’d been a viper since they played in the sandbox together. “Thanks, Tiffany,” she said with the same mock enthusiasm. “I wish I could say the same for that Pepto-Bismol pink nightmare of yours.”

  The girls all gasped at once while her mother snapped, “Alara!”

  Alara gave them a frosty nod and swept past them. When her mother called after her, she kept walking, in no mood for a lecture. Her mother should have defended her, not thrown her to the wolves, literally. She grew angrier with every step, the sight of those lean, toned girls a reminder of the world she didn’t fit into.

  “Alara! Wait up!”

  Alara quickly composed herself and turned to see Isabelle floating toward her. Izzy always reminded her of Cinderella, the perfect fairy tale princess—who could snap your bones with a flick of her wrist.

  Izzy’s delicate pink lips pouted as she gazed at her sister with concerned blue eyes. “I’m sorry about them,” she said in that sweet voice of hers. “They’re usually really nice girls. I don’t know why they get that way sometimes.”

  “I can tell you—because they’re bitches.”

  “Alara….”

  Alara sighed. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I know they’re your friends, but….” She took Izzy’s hands. “Izzy, you’re so sweet. I don’t want anyone to take advantage of you.”

  “I won’t let anyone take advantage of me,” she said cheerily.

  Alara just smiled back. Her poor, naive sister wouldn’t have a clue if someone was taking advantage of her. She was entirely too trusting for this corrupt world of backstabbing politics and power plays. The two girls had grown up thick as thieves, remaining close well into adulthood. Her mother had started prying them apart as she prepared them for their “separate roles.” Alara would become High Queen someday, and Izzy would be married off to another royal were, no doubt. Members of the high family usually marked other royal werewolves, so both would marry well—if they could find their mates.

  “You do look really pretty,” Izzy said with a small smile.

  Alara dropped her hands, looking away.

  Izzy wasn’t fooled. “You had another run-in with Mother, didn’t you?”

  Alara pressed her lips together. “It’s nothing.”

  Izzy hugged her. People walked by, staring, but neither girl cared. “Don’t pay her any attention,” Izzy whispered. “You’re perfect the way you are.”

  Alara hugged her sister back tightly, close to tears. She hadn’t realized how much she’d yearned to hear that, to hear someone didn’t find her repulsive. “Thank you.”

  They separated and Izzy grabbed her hand. “Come on. Let’s get you some champagne.
”

  Am I ever going to need it, Alara thought as her eager sister dragged her downstairs into the foyer.

  The party was well underway with guests milling about in their finery. Alara thought it was all a bit ridiculous, a pissing contest among the royal werewolves, but this society of jewels and glitter was what she grew up in. They were stopped by a few patrons, at which Alara had to pretend to be happy to see their backstabbing asses. They all adored Izzy. She was usually the center of attention, no matter where they went. Beautiful and kind, she was the perfect lady. Alara wanted to hate her, but she couldn’t. Izzy was too damn nice.

  When it became awkwardly clear Alara wasn’t going to be a part of the conversation, she quietly excused herself and made a beeline for the wine table. If she was expected to smile and pretend to be happy, then dammit she was getting buzzed.

  She scooped up a glass and took a long sip when her wolf senses tingled, and she looked up anxiously.

  Gerard?

  Her eyes landed on the source of the strange sensation, finding a tall, handsome man leaning against the opposite wall. And he was staring right at her. She let her gaze rove over him, inch by gorgeous inch. He was cleaned up, but she could tell by the scar running across his brow and the holes in his ears where multiple studs could be placed he had a wild side.

  And something about that made her flush with heat.

  She blinked. Usually, she wasn’t the type to get all hot and bothered over a guy, but this one made her want to pant.

  Dismissing her carnal urges to a fleeting fancy, she downed the rest of her wine. Then she retrieved another glass before disappearing into the crowd, the feel of the stranger’s eyes hot on her back.

  It was like a radar hit him, with a tracker honed in on the brunette across the room. Without shame, Nik let his sharp eyes rove over her body, the hem of the shiny teal silk suggesting plump curves. It was sexy. She looked healthy, like she actually had an appetite, unlike a lot of the human coat hangers strutting around like they owned the place.

  He started to look away, to dismiss the woman as a fleeting fancy, when the thought of letting her out of his sight terrified him.

  Go after her.

  It was barely a thought, more like a whisper of his subconscious mind, but he followed her through the room. His inner wolf grew restless as he watched his prey, growling as another male came up to her and asked her to dance. He wasn’t snooping, Nik told himself. He was merely curious, concerned for her well-being, even.

  Since when the hell are you so chivalrous? came the taunting voice inside.

  He quickly ignored it and continued watching the woman, smiling as she promptly rejected the man. He was pushy, a typical were. Nik listened, attentive but keeping his distance. That is, until the man put his hands on the woman.

  Nik swiftly stepped forward. “She can’t take the next dance with you because she’s already promised it to me,” he said smoothly, standing beside her and putting a hand on the small of her back.

  The woman blinked up at him, looking surprised, but she didn’t argue. “Yes,” she finally said, “I’m sorry, Drake. Perhaps another time.”

  Nik gave a vicious smile to Drake as the other wolf sized him up.

  Any time, any day, hot shot.

  At last, Drake growled and turned, muttering something about “country wolves.” The insult rolled off Nik like it always did. He was accustomed to it by now after dealing with royals for so long, the stuck-up lot.

  Nik smiled down at his new companion, offering his arm. “Shall we?”

  She stared at him. Her cherry lips had the perfect pout effect. He wanted to nibble on that succulent bottom lip…. “Shall we what?” she asked.

  “Dance?” He gestured to the ballroom with his head. “You did just agree to it.”

  “I—I did not!”

  “You did. Or do I need to go get Drake as a witness?”

  She scowled at him. “I don’t dance.”

  “You do now. Come on. One dance, that’s all I ask.” When she still made no answer, he added in a low, sing-song voice, “It’ll be fun.”

  She swallowed hard, her pupils dilating slightly. “Fine. One dance. But if you so much as put your hands where they don’t belong, I’ll bite you.”

  “Oh, please do,” he purred, and she dug her nails into his arm. He chuckled. He liked this one. She had the same “take no shit” attitude as the other she-wolves, but there was something more vulnerable about her. She looked like a fish out of water, so to speak. He could relate. He hated this whole ordeal as much as anyone.

  The first strains of a new waltz floated through the air as they entered the ballroom and took their place among the dancers. “Come on,” Nik said with a low laugh, pulling her close to him. “I wore cologne today and everything.”

  “Where are all your piercings?” she said with derision, eyeing his ears as they began to turn to the beat.

  “In my jewelry box with all my other trinkets,” he said, perfectly poker-faced.

  She blinked, looking startled.

  He chuckled, and she bit on her lip to hide her smile. “You’re toying with me.”

  “Only because I like to see you smile.”

  She looked at him sharply. “What’s the catch?”

  “Catch?” he asked, taken off-guard.

  “You know what I mean. What’s in it for you, getting on my good side?”

  “Well, if I’m lucky, the privilege of another dance,” he replied smoothly. He could dish out a lot of romantic bullshit—anything to get a woman into his bed for a night of mindless sex—but thing was—he meant it. This time, he wasn’t playing for a booty call.

  A blush colored her pale cheeks, making him warmer. Lovely.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, pulling her closer so their chests were touching. This close, he could feel the press of her round, full breasts against him. Desire stirred deep in his gut, pushing blood south of his navel.

  She was silent a moment. “Alara.”

  “Beautiful,” he murmured. “And unique. Wasn’t that the name of the first High Queen?”

  Her delicate jaw ticked. “Yes.”

  He grinned. “Your parents have a thing for royalty, I take it?”

  For at least the third time tonight, she stared at him as if his hair had caught fire.

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he added hastily. “It’s still a very unique name, obsessions and all.”

  Shit. Just shut your mouth before you ruin this.

  Her gray eyes narrowed. “It’s not an obsession. It’s tradition.”

  “What, naming you after your mommy and daddy’s icons?”

  She started to pull away, disgusted, but he held firm. “Hey, I’m sorry, all right? I can be an ass sometimes—okay, most of the time. My brother says I don’t know how to filter what comes out of my mouth.”

  She snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

  He ignored the jab. She was definitely royal—that haughty way she looked at him, like he was street scum, was the same way all the other “elite” looked at lesser-ranked wolves. She was probably some packmaster’s daughter. But unlike the others, he found her haughtiness amusing more than irritating. It was cute on her, like she was a softie trying hard to be tough. Besides, it was fun getting a rile out of her. She was so damn sexy when she was irritable.

  “I’m not as rough as I seem,” he said carefully. “All I’m saying is you don’t seem to like your name as much as your parents do. But I don’t blame you for getting upset. People tend to wear guises to hide who they really are from the world.”

  She looked him in the eyes then, like, really looked at him. She looked away, seeming bothered.

  Worried that he’d just majorly screwed up made him miss a step. He never missed a step. What the hell was wrong with him? He wetted his lips, at a loss for words.

  “Did it hurt?”

  He looked at her. She was staring at his mouth, and it was giving him dirty idea
s. “Does what hurt?”

  “Your tongue piercing.”

  “Oh. That.” He flexed his tongue, displaying the silver-colored nub he hadn’t taken out. He’d only agreed to remove most of his studs. “Nah. Had it a while.”

  “What on earth would possess someone to poke a hole through their tongue?”

  “Haven’t you ever done anything on a whim?”

  She looked wistful for a moment. He saw the hope, the longing, in her eyes. Then that sad, resigned shade fell back into place, followed by a composed look she’d probably practiced in the mirror dozens of times to perfect. “Some of us can’t afford whims.”

  “You should try it sometime. Live a little.”

  “I live enough.”

  He snorted. “Sure. Doing what, Your Highness? Sewing?”

  She stepped on his foot with the heel of her shoe, and he winced slightly.

  “Point taken—quite literally. Sorry, that was a sexist blow.”

  “Ass.”

  His brows shot up. “Did you just call me an ass? I didn’t think ladies swore.”

  “Who says I’m a lady?” she said in a surprisingly smoky voice.

  He slowly smiled. “Are you flirting with me?”

  She leaned in, eyes dropping to his lips. “Keep dreaming.”

  He laughed outright. “Damn! You had me fooled! You’re pretty saucy, aren’t you?”

  She smiled. “I can honestly say that’s the first time I’ve ever been called saucy.”

  “I could think of a few other adjectives: sexy, confident….” His hand slid lower on her back, his fingers resting along the curve of her bottom. He heard her breath catch as he leaned in, his lips beside her ears. “Beautiful. Captivating.”

  Her breasts rubbed up and down his chest as her breathing quickened. He wondered if she could feel him hardening for her. The effect she had on him… he’d never felt anything quite like it before. He could hear her heart beating wildly, could smell the lust seeping out of her. Oh, yes, she wanted him all right. A cherry, waiting to be picked.

  And he wanted to have her all to himself.

  A man cleared his throat nearby as a figure stepped into their path. Nik had to do some quick maneuvering to keep Alara from slamming into him.