How to Meet your Alpha

by C. E. Black

  How to Meet your Alpha

  Alpha Singles Series, Cruising with Alphas Series

  C.E. Black

  Gwen Knight

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations are entirely coincidental.

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  HOW TO MEET YOUR ALPHA

  Copyright © 2017 by C.E. Black and Gwen Knight

  Cover Design: CT Cover Creations

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  All rights reserved.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Published in the United States of America

  Contents

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  Note from the Authors

  Makeshift Mate Preview

  Burn For You Preview

  B.A.D.

  About C.E. Black

  About Gwen Knight

  Both Bram and Kate are sick of the single life. They want their Happily Ever Afters and they want them now. After stumbling across each other in a bar, maybe happiness is within their grasps.

  But not all is as it seems. A wannabe witch has her sights set on Bram, and she refuses to take no for an answer.

  1

  Kate

  Never trust anyone who doesn’t like salsa. The food or the dance. No offense to spicy food haters out there, but in my experience, those people rarely spice things up in other areas of their lives. Like the bedroom for example. His distaste for salsa was my second clue that this blind date was going downhill and heading toward a swift and maybe even violent death. The first clue was when he got to the restaurant twenty minutes late—though I had initially forgiven him for that. Hey, traffic happens.

  I looked over at my date, Atticus, as he’d introduced himself. First impression? He wasn’t too bad looking. A couple of inches short of six feet, he had broad shoulders and a lean build. A runner, maybe. His sandy blond hair fell over his eyes and he swept it away, giving me a view of his chocolate brown irises. If he would have just kept his trap closed this might have worked out better. But then he opened his mouth and gave me the first clue that this date was going nowhere fast.

  “I prefer blondes,” were his first words to me. “But redheads are cute, too. Feisty.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I’ll take it. So, you’re Katie, right?”

  “Kate,” I corrected.

  I should have stood up and left right then and there—told my mother again that her taste in men was sorely lacking—but I must have been desperate, because I stuck around for round two. What I referred to as the chips and salsa incident.

  “So, Katie, are you really going to eat those?”

  Atticus pointed to the chip I’d just shoved into my mouth to keep myself from slapping him. I chewed slowly, my brows quirked at the way his face had scrunched up in disgust.

  “Those chips have been touched by at least twenty people or more,” he continued.

  “I don’t believe that theory,” I replied, having another chip, of course. I knew the owners of this place and they would be appalled to hear his accusations.

  He rolled his eyes. “Then you’re an idiot. They just pour the uneaten chips on top of a fresh basket. It’s disgusting.”

  I raised my eyebrows at the insult. I’d tried giving him the benefit of the doubt. So what if he didn’t like chips and salsa? That was hardly a crime, much less a reason to not date him. I’d been told repeatedly that I was too picky. That if I’d just compromise a time or two I’d find my happily ever after. I sighed. So far, compromising hadn’t worked.

  This was my third date this week. The first one had been set up by my friend, Joni. He was a musician she’d met at a concert with her husband. At first, I’d thought he was cool. He hadn’t even batted an eyelash when I’d confessed to being a fox shifter. And though he smoked, which was a pet peeve of mine, I gave him a chance. In the end, he picked up some chick at the bar while ordering me another drink. I had watched the whole incident from a few feet away, frozen with astonishment. The nerve!

  The second date this week was with Chase. I’d met him at the supermarket. He’d grabbed the ice cream; I’d reached for the frozen yogurt, and we’d clicked. He’d taken me to a beautiful creole restaurant in the Garden District. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get a taste of the five-star cuisine. After a sweet compliment on my auburn hair, I let it slip that it matched my red fur, thinking I was being cute. He had freaked out. Apparently, he wasn’t a fan of shifters.

  You would think the third time would be the charm, but if that were the case, I would have been settled with my perfect guy already. Because this might be date number three this week, but I was hardly a newbie when it came to the dating scene. Obviously, I had no luck when it came to men. Either they were creeps, hated shifters or supes in general, or were just plain assholes. Where were the good guys? The normal ones? Obviously, they weren’t looking for me.

  I reached for another chip, dipping it into the spicy salsa before biting down with a soft moan. I might as well make the most of this date. I refused to leave without stuffing my face this time. Hey, don’t judge. A girl’s gotta eat. I could already tell I would be paying the tab anyway. I wasn’t about to owe Atticus a thing.

  “Salsa,” he groaned. “What is the point of it?”

  Oh, he was really getting into his rant now. I continued to shovel chips into my mouth, nodding along as if I cared. I didn’t. Just so we’re clear.

  “I’ve never really understood why some people like spicy foods. The heat only masks the actual flavor. I mean, if you douse an oyster with hot sauce, are you really tasting the oyster?”

  I know what oyster you won’t be tasting tonight.

  When the waitress stopped at our table, her expression read pity in all caps. Then confusion. I bet she wondered why I was still there. I did too. But then again, I was hungry.

  I smiled politely as she took our orders. I had my usual. El Encanto had put a spell on me years ago with their famous shrimp tacos. They were the best in New Orleans. It was owned by a couple of friends of mine who were also part of the supe community. Witches, actually. I enjoyed giving my business to those I understood, and who really got me in return. Because he was one hundred percent human, I’d planned on feeling Atticus out a bit before telling him my secret, but there was no point now. I wouldn’t be seeing him again. I would only put up with him long enough to finish my food.

  As we waited, I tried going the small talk route, but you can guess how well that went. It didn’t. Go well, that is.

  “So, what do you do again? I’ve forgotten,” I asked, taking a sip of water.

  “I’m a mechanic,” he replied.

  “That’s interesting. Do you enjoy your work?”

  “Sure. I’ve always loved working on cars.”

  I began to nod, but stopped when he said, “Women and cars have a lot in common, you know.” He took my blank stare as an invitation to continue. “I like spending time in both of them.”

  He, fo
r real, winked. Twice.

  I coughed, choking on my last gulp of water. “What?” I croaked as I wiped my mouth with a napkin.

  “Cars and women!” he announced as if I needed the reminder of how he was comparing human beings to objects. “They’re both rather attractive. Gorgeous rear ends, look great topless” He gave me a smarmy grin. “And you have to agree, they both are a little high maintenance.”

  Right.

  “So are you a natural redhead?” he asked out of the blue, his gaze slowly lowering to my waist. His expression fell when he remembered the table hid the rest of me.

  That was it. Stick a fork in me, I was done. My mother, for I could not lovingly call her momma right now, would be getting an earful. Did she really think I was this desperate? She had better not answer that question.

  I threw my napkin on the table, ready to split when the waiter returned with our food. I stopped mid stand, my gaze locked on the steaming plates. Without my permission, my butt landed right back in my seat. Saved by the tacos! I wasted no time taking a bite. A moan slipped from my lips. This was the real reason I hadn’t left yet. Dear Lord, these were delicious.

  So enamored with my meal, I’d forgotten I wasn’t alone. And as much as I would have loved to continue ignoring the creep, my momma hadn’t raised me to be an asshole.

  While I’d been drooling over the magnificent splendor on my plate, Atticus picked at his enchiladas, his nose wrinkling. Something was seriously wrong with that man.

  “Why did you agree to this restaurant if you don’t like spicy foods?” I asked, reaching for my second taco. Come to mamma!

  At his sudden silence, I stopped the taco halfway to my mouth—a real travesty, I know—and looked up. We’d been sitting in a booth next to the window and his attention was on something outside, his face beet-red. Almost as red as the offending salsa he’d been complaining about. I followed his gaze but didn’t see anything unusual. A few people walked by on the busy sidewalk. A woman and her two children slowed as they glanced at us, and I gave her a small smile before turning back to my date.

  “Um, Atticus?” When he didn’t answer, I waved a hand in front of his face. “Atticus?

  He looked up, startled, and I narrowed my eyes at him. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his face had turned a slight shade of green.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, suddenly concerned he might throw up. That would definitely take the date to the next level of bad.

  “Sorry, I um, I have to go to the bathroom,” he said, hastily trying to get out of the booth. In his rush to escape, his knee knocked into the table, causing our glasses to topple over. I jumped up, grabbing our napkins as he apologized. I waved him off and was about to ask him to get the waiter when the shrill voice of a very pissed-off woman cut me off.

  “What is going on, Harvey? Why aren’t you at poker night with the guys? And who the hell is she?”

  Should I have been surprised it was the woman from outside? The one with the two kids? ’Cause, I wasn’t.

  My gaze jumped back and forth between her and Atticus, erm Harvey—the new name making so much more sense to me—and wondered how I’d gotten to this point. While arguing, their voices rose enough to gain the attention of the entire restaurant, including the manager, who had rushed over to handle the situation.

  And that, folks, was when the date crashed to its timely death. Or maybe it already had and I’d been too mesmerized by the tacos to care. Speaking of… I gave the last one on my plate a yearning glance before looking back at the car wreck in front of me. I hoped they didn’t take long. That taco wasn’t going to eat itself.

  In a sudden move that I should have seen coming, Harvey’s wife picked up his plate and dumped it on his head. Then proceeded to do the same to me.

  I blew at the shrimp sitting on my nose and sighed when it didn’t budge. Eff this! I needed a drink.

  2

  Bram

  For the first time in a hundred and twenty-six years, I considered staking myself. I even had a plan in place. Break a leg off the table we sat at and drive it through my chest. I only hoped it was real wood. Sometimes these restaurants cheaped out and used particle board. And that wouldn’t work. It needed to be the real thing.

  Not that I actually wanted to die. I just needed out of here. Another moment with this woman, and I’d lose my damn mind. That’s an idea… Start dribbling water and babbling like a baby. Maybe if I started laughing hysterically, she’d excuse herself and give me a chance to dive out the window.

  Either way, first chance I had, I intended to kill Jacob.

  Oh, you’ll love Denise. She’s smart, spunky, beautiful, and a witch.

  Sounded great, right? Should have known it sounded too good. First—she was not smart. When she’d walked into the restaurant, she’d announced that she was here to meet her date, the vampire. Not the way to endear yourself to someone, dear Denise. As for spunky, well, I agreed with Jacob on that one. Not many women showed up to a date wearing two different colored shoes. I couldn’t stop looking at the lime green one, as though it offended me or something. As for beautiful, well, I’d have to take Jacob’s word on that one. The frizzy bleached-blonde hair really didn’t do anything for me. As for the witch part, we still hadn’t spoken of that. Soon, though, I hoped.

  “So, Bram. You’re not what I pictured,” Denise said, her squeaky voice yanking me out of my thoughts.

  “Oh? And what did you expect?”

  She bent her two index fingers, then held them up to her mouth and hissed. I blinked, my thoughts already circling back around to staking myself. She’d seriously just mimicked a vampire hissing at me. I couldn’t recall a single time I’d ever debased myself like that. Hissing was for snakes and cats.

  I was neither.

  “You know, all grrr and rawr,” she continued, oblivious to my mood. “Like Angel and Spike!”

  Oh, sweet Christ. “You do know they’re television characters, right?”

  “Well, sure. But based off real-life vampires.”

  And strike two in the smart category. Jacob’s standards must be incredibly low.

  The waiter approached the table, his gaze widening when he caught sight of Denise pretending to bite me with her imaginary fangs. When he winced, I wanted to nod. But I didn’t. My mother might be going on a century dead, but she’d taught me better than to insult my date.

  “I ordered us some wine. I hope that’s all right,” I said.

  “Is it red?”

  I bit back a sigh. “A sweet red, yes.”

  She cocked a grin. “Called it.”

  The waiter reached across the table and filled our glasses. I’d ordered the wine when I’d first arrived at the table—when I’d still been enthusiastic. Now, I only hoped it was enough to get me drunk. Maybe I should have asked the waiter to spice it up with a little blood. Anything to make this date bearable.

  ’Course, there was another option…

  My gaze strayed to her throat, and for a single moment, I pondered the possibility. She’d probably get a kick out of it, and at least something productive would come from this date.

  I lifted my glass to my lips and inhaled the sweet aroma. Wine would make everything better.

  “Tell me about yourself, Denise,” I said after a sip. “Jacob mentioned you’re a witch?”

  She perked up, her dramatically arched brows darting to the top of her head. “He did?”

  “I hope that’s not a problem?”

  “No, not at all! I’m just not used to people introducing me that way.”

  Fair enough. I generally didn’t like people going around announcing that I was a vampire. Not that it bothered me for others to know. But this was New Orleans—people reacted oddly to vampires here.

  “Well, I’m not part of a coven or anything. I prefer to practice alone.”

  I nodded and took a sip of wine.

  Her eyes lit up, and she leaned across the table. “But I finally performed a class two spell!’

&nb
sp; I blinked. Class two? I’d never heard of this before. Before I could ask, she plowed on.

  “My ex thought he could cheat on me and get away with it. Well, I showed him, didn’t I?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I cursed him,” she said with a giggle, her bright red lips splitting into a wide grin. “Every time he tries to have sex…” She lifted a finger and let it droop, indicating his punishment.

  Oh, hell.

  “He’s just lucky I didn’t turn him into a toad.”

  Turn him into… What the hell was she talking about? I cleared my throat and lowered my glass onto the table. “Most witches I know perform rituals to cleanse their auras or work with herbs for healing. They generally believe in improving oneself as opposed to…cursing others.” Which, last I’d heard, witches didn’t possess that level of power. Spellcasting was the mark of a charlatan.

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Those aren’t real witches.”

  “They aren’t?”

  “Real witches can give you boils, or make you fall in love with someone.”

  Aha.

  Jacob was a dead man. I’d bury my teeth in his throat and drain every last drop of blood. This woman was the furthest thing from a real witch. She wouldn’t know true magic if it bit her on the ass.

  “And these spells work?” I probed.

  “Of course! Why else would they be written down in a book?”

  In a book? Harry Potter, perhaps? The woman was definitely daft enough to believe a fictional story. I was the furthest thing from a witch, but I knew enough of their practices. I’d met more than enough real witches throughout my years. Especially here. And I’d lived long enough to spot the real ones from the fake. Which was how I knew the woman sitting across from me was a fraud. A crux of living in a world where humans and the supernatural cohabitated. Some longed to believe themselves special when they were nothing more than mundane.