Alphas for the Holidays

by Mandy M. Roth

  I can’t believe I’ve now got two cheesy humans instead of one.

  Krista laughed. “Don’t let Sebastian fool you. He’s just as interested in sappy movies as the rest of us.”

  The cat harrumphed.

  “I think I just might love you, Krista Carpenter.”

  She held his palm against her face and turned to press a light kiss against it. “I think that might just be a good thing, Chase Hamilton.” She scraped her teeth against the palm and watched a smoldering heat enter his gaze.

  “I think I want to give you another kiss. That mistletoe seems to be some pretty potent stuff.” His grin was wicked. “You’re wearing entirely too many clothes.”

  Krista’s breath caught, and she met his grin with one of her own. “Really?” She had on one of his T-shirts and nothing else.

  His hands slid under the cloth and caressed bare skin. A tingling ache began deep in her core. He tugged the shirt up and over her head. Cool air tightened the nipples his thumbs brushed over. She slid her fingers through his silky hair and pulled him in for a searing kiss.

  He pushed her gently against the doorframe and kissed her softly across her chin and throat. His hands warmed a path down her sides to her thighs. A hand cupped her sex and she smiled against his soft hair. “I thought you were going to kiss me. I didn’t realize that meant being ravishing under the mistletoe.”

  He chuckled against the curve of her breast. “I don’t think there’s a limit to the number of kisses under the mistletoe.” His tongue slid against a particularly sensitive spot on her hip and she moaned in appreciation. Teeth scraped in that same area and liquid heat pooled deep within. His fingers slid into her wet heat and pulled out to swirl her slick essence around her aching clit.

  Tension flared down her spine. A soft cry escaped when his fingers slid back inside for a flick of sensation.

  “I love that sound.” His breath blew across her mound, and she gripped his shoulders to stop the trembling in her limbs.

  “What sound?” She had no idea what he was talking about. Every nerve was focused on the way his lips hovered just out of reach.

  His fingers spread her wide and a tongue swiped against the sensitive folds. Krista’s grip tightened, and she tried to keep her knees from buckling.

  He moaned appreciatively and looked up at her. His smile was wicked but there was something warm and amazing in his eyes. Something that drove away the chill of the night air. Or maybe that was the nature of her new form of magic. Just warm enough to be comfortable. He held out his hands and tilted his head.

  She slid her hands into his and let him tug her down to the carpeted floor.

  His mouth and tongue immediately suckled and licked at her pussy. Between decadent sips of her body, he murmured sweet words and encouraged her to let go. Krista fisted the plush carpet and her hips rocked toward his mouth.

  One hand held her still while the other hand began tormenting her with slow thrusts of thick fingers. Tremors of raw pleasure shot through her at every skillful stroke of his tongue. Tension coiled and built deep in her core, and she couldn’t stop the small needy sounds that escaped her lips. The sounds of enthusiastic lapping touched her ears.

  His talented mouth continued its torment. Lips closed over her aching clit and suckled while his fingers continued their flicks of decadent pleasure. His tongue attacked her aching bud and she arched. Fire raced down her spine, and she exploded in sweet ecstasy, trembling against him as her core clenched around his amazingly talented touch.

  He slid free of her body with a soft caress of her sensitive flesh, and pressed reverent kisses up her body to her lips. She tasted her own cream and his unique flavor on her tongue. A dry chuckle erupted from her throat. “I think I like this mistletoe.”

  He grinned back at her and brushed her damp hair from her brow. “Merry Christmas, Krista.”

  “Merry Christmas, Chase.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Now let’s go back to bed. I have all kinds of wicked presents in mind for you.”

  His smile was just as wicked as the one she knew touched her lips. “The gift that keeps on giving, huh?”

  She let her magic wrap around him. “All year long, if I have my way.”

  Good grief. Get a room already.

  They laughed.

  The End

  About Dawn Montgomery

  USA Today Bestselling Author Dawn Montgomery loves to write pulse-pounding action adventure romance for the best fans in the world.

  www.dawnmontgomery.com

  Firebird by Jaycee Clark

  About Firebird

  Legend has it firebirds bring both good fortune and destruction, Reen has become an expert at both…

  Reen is an expert at destruction and annihilation. She’s a Hunter, an elite, one of their best assassins, she’s also a legendary firebird—a creature of lore. Saker, a member of the Falcon order, is her soul mate from a bloody past she desperately tries to forget, but one that haunts her every moment. The two are thrown together in a desperate search for missing women.

  The Collector is a man who loves the hunt, preying on the unusual, on the special—all to keep these women for his own use. The Collector favors shifters, the rarer the better. He traps them, keeps them, and turns them into his own private collectables.

  Saker doesn’t want Reen to be a part of this dangerous mission, but she has other plans. Unfortunately, so does the Collector…

  Prologue

  Laru Mountains

  “Cyzarine, be still,” her mother whispered. Again.

  Carriage rides were boring, especially during the dark of winter. Only snow and more snow. As the celebration time neared, there was only more snow and the nights swallowed more and more of the day. There were no birds to hear this time of year, or flowers to smell, or little animals to see. Why couldn’t they have ridden? She loved to ride the horses.

  “Why—”

  “Shh,” her mother admonished.

  She frowned. Quiet. The forest was silent, the quiet too oppressive to be normal. She didn’t like when the air was still with nothing. Silently humming a holiday song, she settled deeper into the carriage seat next to her mother. Her brother sat across from them talking softly to their father who smiled at her then frowned.

  “It’s too quiet,” Cyzarine said to him, her soft voice carrying on the cold air between them. She reached up to shove the gold velvet curtain aside, but her mother grabbed her hand and smiled. Yet her mother’s smile didn’t reach her blue eyes as it normally did.

  No one in the carriage spoke. They were traveling for her to visit with her betrothed, whom she’d only met once before. The arrogant Rourik. She didn’t like him. He hadn’t wanted to speak with her and had made it clear he didn’t want to have her for a wife. Cyzarine was a princess, her parents the last of mated fabled firebirds. Their kingdom in Western Russia had been in the throes of civil war for years. The alliance was needed, she’d been told. They were always telling her things. Do this, do that, do—

  A shrill cry rent the air followed by the long howl of a wolf. She knew the sound.

  She glanced between her parents.

  The howl was joined by another and then another.

  “Lycans,” she whispered. This was the sound of their enemy, a warning, a promise…

  Their father stared out the carriage, then thumped on the roof. “Derik, do not stop the coach, keep going!”

  But even as her father gave that command, the carriage pulled to a halt, the horses neighed and snorted.

  “Derik! Keep going!” her father repeated.

  But the carriage didn’t move. The night swirled between sleeping and awaking around them.

  She peeked out the window, but her mother pushed her back. “No, stay still.”

  They heard it again, the lone cry of a wolf, followed by others—from one side, then the other.

  “They’re around us, Papa,” her older brother, Gavril, said.

  She checked quickly out the window.


  Her father shared a narrow gaze and slight frown with their mother before he smiled at them both and climbed out. Her mother remained in with them for just a moment before she reached out and laid her hand on their heads.

  “We love you. Stay here.” Snow swirled into the carriage as she climbed out as well.

  Cyzarine looked at her brother, only a year older than she. “What’s wrong?” she whispered. “Why did we stop? Why did they get out?”

  “Shh.” He peeked out the window of the other side. His blue eyes went dark, as they did when he wanted to look beyond what was seen by mere mortals. He startled and his face paled. “We—we need to get out. We must get out now,” he whispered. Grabbing her hand, he opened the carriage door on the side opposite their parents and pulled her out.

  “Gavril? What’s going on?” She tried to tug her hand free, but her legs sank into the snow up to her knees. She wasn’t wearing her boots and her silk slippers were of little help in the snow.

  The wind picked up and Gavril jerked her along behind him. “Run, Cyzarine. No matter what happens, you must run!” He picked up speed and she stumbled along behind him, holding her fur coat and skirts up to move more quickly.

  “What’s…” She glanced behind them, surprised to see they’d gone so far from the carriage. But from here she heard the howl again, the snarl. A low cry rent the air and she saw a burst of flames, a fire of blue, green and bright red.

  Her mother…

  She tried to stop, but Gavril urged her on. She could hear him whispering.

  They were running, the tall trees spearing up and blocking their path.

  For the first time since they’d started their journey, she wished they’d reached her betrothed’s home. He was strong. She knew that, had seen it. Rude or not, they would have shelter there.

  Again she glanced back over her shoulder, not realizing they had climbed up an embankment. “Gavril,” she panted.

  “Come on, Cyzarine.” He jerked her harder and she almost fell. Below, she saw them.

  The wolves, white and grey, some black, closed in a half circle around her parents, who weren’t flying away from the carriage. They’d shifted into firebirds, their feathers brilliant, luminous, but they didn’t rise.

  “Why won’t they fly?” she whispered.

  Gavril turned and saw them. “Oh no. They think we’re in the carriage,” he whispered.

  She opened her mouth to yell. Gavril slammed his hand over her mouth. “No. Hush. Come, Cyzarine. Hurry.”

  But she stood rooted to the spot. Their parents’ wings flapped, snow rising from the motion, the red of their feathers like blood against the snow.

  “We need the falcons,” Gavril whispered. Then he jerked her around. “Call him, Cyzarine. Call your falcons.”

  She frowned. “I don’t have any.”

  One wolf leapt and snapped at their mother.

  Cyzarine shook her head. No. No! Mama!

  “Call them!” He grabbed her shoulders. “Now! Rourik, your betrothed. He’s a falcon, their leader. Call him. You must!”

  She glanced back over her shoulder and thought of the young man she hadn’t liked very much. Remembered the first of the binding ceremonies they’d completed. She focused on his face, felt something in her shift and thought, “Rourik, I need you. Help us.”

  “Come on, Reen! We can’t just stand here.” Gavril pulled her behind him, both of them running and falling in the snow.

  “We should shift,” she panted.

  He shook his head. “I can shift faster than you. You haven’t mastered it yet. I’m not leaving you.” He pulled her up again when she stumbled in the snow. “Hurry, Reen. Hurry.”

  She could hear the wolves baying closer.

  Rourik! Rourik! Please, we need the falcons!

  Something slammed into them from the side. Flames burst all around them as the cold snow covered her face. She felt Gavril beside her one moment, then he was thrown away.

  Growls and snarls filled the air.

  “Run, Cyzarine. Run!” She glanced down the hill and saw feathers littered the pristine snow, saw the wolves jerking apart the body of a bird. “No!” She screamed.

  Cyzarine stumbled to her feet, the dagger her mother had given her pressed against her side. It was a gift from her betrothed. She hadn’t wanted it. Hadn’t wanted…

  Please come! Help!

  Something bit ice cold into her shoulder and she screamed, whirling and falling into the snow.

  “Wait for our leader, he likes them young,” a voice said.

  She wrenched her dagger free. Blood ran down her arm to drip from her fingers, making her grip slip on the dagger’s handle.

  “I’ll be careful.” From the shadow of the trees a force knocked her again to the ground. She could smell the wet wolf, dank and earthy, and yelled, stabbing at it with the dagger in her hand.

  Cyzarine whimpered. Where are you! Help! Please!

  They were going to die.

  The wolf whined, whimpered and lashed out at her. Claws raked across her chest, stinging, and she could only hiss a breath out.

  Another wolf bit her ankle and she kicked out a foot, but connected with nothing.

  Cries, high pitched and warning, screamed through the air.

  Cyzarine’s vision wavered and she turned her head. The snow was so cold. A rock pressed against her back and she could see down the hill. The carriage was now on its side. The wolves circling it, looking up the hill.

  Need to fly…to shift… But she couldn’t. The wound on her shoulder blazed through her to merge with the icy sting of pain in her chest. Her breath puffed out into the cold air.

  Scuffles and growls. A scream jerked her attention to the sound. A wolf ripped into her brother’s throat.

  “Gavril,” she whispered and tried to stand, but again she was flung to the ground by a pair of strong jaws. She could only blink.

  Then shadows arrowed down, swooping, screaming. They have come. She knew that sound.

  Falcons…

  More snarls and yaps, yips and grows mixed with the high-pitched screams.

  Gavril.

  Her parents.

  Something grabbed her, wind rushed against her skin as she felt herself lifted.

  The ground fell away.

  So cold…

  The world disappeared around her.

  Chapter 1

  Present day, 20 years later

  He studied his prey through the glass wall into the room beyond. A white cheetah paced one way, then the other, in front of the glass. From here he couldn’t hear the growl, but he knew she was growling at him. Knew she had learned the Collector liked to watch her. After all, he’d told her he loved to watch her, had shown her, taught her what he liked and what he didn’t.

  She was beauty.

  She was precious.

  She was his.

  From her side, the large wall window appeared to be a wall of mirrors. He’d had it specially made. The previous occupant, an albino panther, had lasted almost a year before she died. Well, she wouldn’t have died if it hadn’t been her time.

  He sat in the velvet chair against the brick wall and pressed the intercom button. He inhaled and wished he could rid the converted warehouse of its lingering factory scent of oil and machinery. Even after he’d completely remodeled the old building, updating, taking special care for all the things he needed, it still often smelled of peasant workers.

  A low growl filled the air. He smiled even as he reached over to the cherry-wood side table and poured himself a snifter of vodka. He sniffed at the warm slide of it down the back of his throat. So many loved the flavored vodkas, as old as Russia itself, but he was a purist. He hated additives.

  Which was why he only went for the perfect, for the rare.

  Nribo, his current find, was perfect. She was fast, so damn fast. He’d seen her in a nightclub in Nairobi. And he’d known, known how rare she was, how special.

  How she would be his.

&nbs
p; “Are you hungry, lovely?” he asked, as he sipped his drink and watched her.

  In human form, she was tall, lithe, her muscles tight and ready for battle. Fucking her had been a wondrous thing. She’d fought him like the cat she was.

  But, in the end, she was no match for him. He was, after all, the demon that guarded treasures. His own personal gift was to find said treasures.

  All part of the job, in his book. Or maybe it was more he was enjoying the fringe benefits. He smiled. “Lovely, pacing like that will wear you out,” he told her.

  As he knew it would, the comment didn’t please her. She hissed, growled and leapt at the glass, her claws scarring the surface.

  He chuckled. “Still so feisty. There’s no way out.” He stood and straightened his silk shirt. “You’ve scratched my mirror, that wasn’t very nice. I guess you’ll just have to wait for your food. But don’t worry, when you get weak,” he said, dropping his voice right against the intercom, “I’ll come revive you.”

  The white cheetah roared.

  He smiled and clicked the intercom off, then killed the lights in her room. Let her sit hungry in the dark. He’d know when to go to her, when to use her, when to appreciate her.

  He petted the golden jaguar beside him, the metal precious beneath his touch. He glanced around his chamber, at all his special statues. Jaguars, tigers, lions, birds of prey, wolves, even a few vamps and gifted, rare humans…

  His pretties, his treasures… Just to show her what happened to those who didn’t appreciate his attentions, he pressed another button and one of her walls faded from dark to be lit behind—revealing one of his favorite rooms.

  The room was lined with furs, tusks, claws, feathers, headdresses—whatever his fancy. Before he’d discovered his golden touch, he had liked to keep something from those which he had to dispose of. He loved to show his prize catches off to the new finds, who often needed a bit of incentive to do as they were told. Barbaric, yes—