Alphas on the Prowl

Shifter Paranormal Romance Boxed Set

Alpha shifters are on the prowl, and they're used to getting what they want. But there's more to claiming a destined mate than raw power, and they'll have to prove themselves worthy – in more ways than one.

Alphas on the Prowl is page after page of passion and pleasure in this box set featuring eleven tantalizing shapeshifter tales from NY Times and USA Today best selling authors.

Wolf Fever by Catherine Vale

Curvy Isabella is about to discover exactly why she can't stop crushing on the gorgeous, and mysterious Marshall Reede. Can the plus size beauty handle the explosive passion of a sexy and edgy wolf?

A Shot At Lover by Gina Kincade

Micah mistakenly walks away from the man he loves. He watches from afar, suffering jealousy at the first sign of another man in his lover’s house. Will he convince Jason they belong together?

Dragon’s Dream Dancer by Jami Brumfield

Trey is on the hunt for a dangerous dream assassin and runs into a woman that shatters his reality. One problem, she's the sister of the woman he is duty bound to turn over to the authorities.

Hers to Protect by Amy Lee Burgess

Hailey Green is the girl who got away. Ryan Campbell needs to prove he’s worth a second chance, but first he must accept the wolf as well as the woman.

The Talented Mr. MacGregor by Tasha Black

Mild-mannered alpha JD MacGregor is every schoolgirl’s crush. Passions ignite when he ends up looking for clues (and his pants) at a dinner party where the guests are far from innocent.

Exiled: A Lunar Falls Novella by Lashell Collins

Exiled from his pack for conspiracy to commit treason against his Alpha, fate – and a beautiful woman from home – brings Zach Mason face-to-face with the one man who has vowed to kill him on sight.

On the Run by Bethany Saw

Declan served his alpha until the day his sister was disgraced. On the run himself with his siblings he discovers the beautiful white wolf. Marcia. Now, to prove he’s not a threat...

The Wolf In The Neighborhood by Phoenix Johnson

What do you do when your past comes back to haunt you?

Could a dark secret revealed by a new lover be something you could overlook just to have him?

Scent of a Scandal by Annie Nicholas

Awe and Isnay have been secretly flirting, but they can’t be together since neither of their packs will bless the union. Is desire to follow pack law stronger than their desire for each other?

Desert Wolf 2 by Anna Lowe

Nothing has ever scared this big, bad alpha as much as his mate’s pregnancy, especially when their quiet weekend getaway doesn't go according to plan. A whimsical tale of hope, fear, and undying love.

Captive Moonlight by Sarah Mäkelä

When her betrothed, Joe, is taken captive by a group of men looking for werewolf laborers, it’s up to Charlotte to track him down and win him back—even if that means putting her own life on the line.

Table of Contents

Wolf Fever by Catherine Vale

A Shot at Love by Gina Kincade

Dragon’s Dream Dancer by Jami Brumfield

Hers to Protect by Amy Lee Burgess

The Talented Mr. MacGregor by Tasha Black

Exiled: A Lunar Falls Novella by Lashell Collins

On the Run by Bethany Saw

The Wolf In The Neighborhood by Phoenix Johnson

Scent of a Scandal by Annie Nicholas

Desert Wolf 2 by Anna Lowe

Captive Moonlight by Sarah Mäkelä

BBW Paranormal Shifter Erotic Romance (Short)

Copyright © 2015, Wild Hearts Press

By Catherine Vale & Adriana Hunter

Website:
http://www.CatherineVale.com

Facebook:
http://www.Facebook.com/CatherineValeBooks

Isabella knew one thing and one thing only:
she absolutely needed to get laid.

Hard. Fast. On the floor. In the shower. Pressed up against the wall of a shady back alley, or spread across her work desk.
For God’s sake, she just didn’t care anymore. As of lately, she felt like she was going to combust into flames if she didn’t do something about this sudden and intense desire to just feel him buried deep inside of her.

Him
being that impossibly sexy stranger that now lived next door to her.

Isabella closed her eyes, legs spread wide, and around the closed toilet seat, head thrown back so her long, dark hair spilled over and around the tank. Her button-down shirt was open so one hand could fondle a breast, her slacks and panties around her knees so she could rub her clit between a thumb and forefinger.

Whimpering, she imagined she was lying on a soft bed in a magnificent room, and it was Marshall Reede’s fingers that were sinking into her wet, aching pussy right now, instead of her own. He would prop himself up on elbows and knees, those massive biceps and muscular thighs supporting his weight so as not to crush her, and look down at her with those vivid blue eyes, made even more stark against his swarthy complexion. He would crush those sculpted lips against her own, the stubble of his chiseled jaw scraping lightly against her cheeks, and he would taste as heavenly as he smelled—like sandalwood and spice, and something just a little dangerous.

Damn him. What the hell had come over her ever since he moved in? It was as though her mind wasn’t her own anymore, as though he controlled her every waking thought.

She pumped her fingers faster, fought to suppress a strangled moan as she imagined his soft lips trailing down her jawline, her throat, to latch onto her left nipple and suckle hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive, pink bud. Her fingers would grip handfuls of his thick, dark hair, which would be silky-smooth to the touch…

“Isabella? Are you alright in there?”

Isabella bit back a curse as she was snapped out of her daydream by a loud knock and the sound of her boss’ voice, plaintive through the doorway. She took a few deep breaths to keep from cussing her out—she had been so close to an orgasm, she could feel it! If she could just get her to leave her alone for a few more minutes…

Honestly, it wasn’t even embarrassing anymore—the only thing she felt was frustration at having been interrupted. She’d done this so many times in an attempt to gain some kind of relief from the raging hormones that it was becoming a kind of ritual. She snorted.
Masturbation, a ritual? If only her Catholic-raised mother could see her now!

“Isabella?”

She groaned.

“Yes, Janet. I’m okay. I’ve just been having a bit of… indigestion, lately. I’ll be out in a moment.”

“Alright, but remember, you need to get those arbitration letters out by the end of the day.”

“Got it.”

For Pete’s sake. I’ve sunk to an all new low. Interrupted in the bathroom while masturbating? What the hell is wrong with me?

Isabella waited until his heavy footfalls receded, then let out a gusty sigh. Standing up, she pulled her panties, and slacks back on, biting back a hiss as she closed her legs, feeling the tender flesh of her pussy rubbing against her thighs. She wished for a fresh pair of panties—hers were soaked through—but she’d forgotten to bring extra pairs today.

Before Marshall Reede had moved in next door, she hadn’t
needed
to carry around extra pairs in her purse.
How crazy is this?

She shook her head as she redid the clasp on the front of her bra, and started buttoning her shirt back up. She barely spoke to the man at all, except when passing him in the hall on the way to the gym on the bottom floor of the apartment complex to say good morning. And whenever she did pass him, she had to look away to keep from staring into those intensely blue eyes of his that she felt could see through anything—including the fact that she desperately wanted him. It was obvious to her he wanted nothing to do with her—his greetings were always polite, but his expression could never be called anything more than aloof. She would be mortified if he ever discovered just how badly she craved his touch.

Which really didn’t make sense. She’d never craved sex in her entire life. Sure, it was fun and all, but she wasn’t that girl. You know, the boy-crazy can’t-stop-crushing-on-him kind.  Not her.
At least not until now.

Isabella smoothed her shirt down before stepping over to the mirror above the sink to run her hands through her hair, straightening it out as best she could. She wished she had some concealer in her makeup bag—the bags under her eyes from lack of sleep could certainly use some cover-up. Whenever she was in her apartment she was acutely aware of just who was on the other side of the wall, and every time she thought of the blasted man she became instantly, sopping-wet horny. It was all she could do not to tear down said wall so she could jump his bones—and in fact, things would be easier if she could just give him a quick ride to get him out of her system. God knows her friend Sandra would have. But Isabella had no illusions about herself—she wasn’t the type men threw themselves at to get into her bed. There was nothing
wrong
with the way she looked, of course—she had blemish free skin, nice hair, and white, even teeth. But she wasn’t nearly skinny or glamorous enough to attract men to her the way Sandra did

As a result she now avoided the place at all costs, like an angry child who stayed away from home to get away from parents who were constantly fighting. Only she was trying to get away from the constant throbbing between her legs and the tight, achy feeling in her nipples.

Too bad it wasn’t working.

Heaving another sigh, she pushed open the door and clicked across the tile corridor in her pumps as she made her way to the front of the law firm. She’d been working for Brown and MacDonald nearly a year now, as their main receptionist, and since they specialized in debt collection it meant she had to spend hours taping away at the keyboard, cranking out form letters to those poor sods who couldn’t afford to pay their credit card bills. Of course, her boss had interns for that sort of thing, but she claimed they were so overloaded she would never get all the letters out if Isabella didn’t pitch in.

Janet stood up from the swivel chair located behind the crescent-shaped workstation as she approached, and narrowed her eyes from behind black spectacles.

“Your face is flushed. Do you have a fever?” She stepped closer, reaching out a hand to her forehead, which she had to steel herself against sidestepping to avoid—Janet was easily offended. “You had better not be getting sick on me, girl. I don’t want to have to hire a temp.”

Isabella snorted. Heaven forbid she actually care about her as a person. She was just an efficient machine she put coin in to do her bidding. “No, I’m alright,” she insisted, grateful her boss was too thickheaded to come up with other reasons for the high color in her cheeks.

“Well alright then. I’ll get back to my office now.”

Isabella simply nodded, as she seated herself in front of the computer, preparing to dive into hours of cramp-inducing letter writing, but she was saved when the phone rang. “Brown and MacDonald, Isabella speaking.”

“Hey girl, just reminding you to be my place by five o’clock.” Her best friend, Sandra chirped brightly into the line.

Isabella blinked. “Uh…”

“Don’t tell me you forgot what day it is?”

Isabella glanced at the small date book sitting on her desk. OCTOBER 31
st
, it read in bold, black type.
Shit
. “The Halloween party you’ve been gushing about? Oh, Sandra, I don’t…”

“I hope you’re not about to try and refuse me after promising me last Saturday you were going to come. You
know
how big this is, Isabella. You can’t let me down here. I can’t exactly go alone.”

Isabella rubbed her thumb, and forefinger against her temples, trying to ease the pressure from the onset of a headache. This party was supposed to be the crème-de-la-crème of Halloween parties; Sandra had been thrilled beyond words when one of her upper-crust friends invited her. As a hotshot journalist, she had formed some pretty sweet connections, but she wasn’t considered important enough to be on anybody’s A-list. So she had wheedled Isabella into coming with her simply so she could have someone around she was familiar with.

“Okay, okay. I’m not backing down. But I never did buy a costume.” Which was not an oversight on her part—on the contrary, she’d deliberately avoided it in hopes she could use it as an excuse not to go.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that, honey. It’s all been taken care of.”

* * *

“No way! I am
not
wearing that.

“Yes, you are.” Sandra tossed her siren red hair, crossed her arms over her ample chest, and stood firm. “You had your chance to go buy a costume, and you turned it down. It’s too late to back out now—the party is starting in an hour.”

Isabella groaned, and picked up the black leather outfit from the box perched atop her friend’s bed. The pants, covered in fake claw marks, looked like they would be tight and form fitting, and the halter-top would do absolutely nothing to cover her midriff.  “You seriously expect me to walk around in public wearing this? What if someone I know is there?

Sandra laughed. “You have been working at that company for
way
too long. They’ve turned you into a prude!

Heat suffused her cheeks, and her back automatically stiffened. “Give me a break, Sandra. I am not a prude!” She hated that word. It made her think of wrinkly, old grandmothers who peered down at you from their owl-eyed spectacles, and twittered amongst themselves whenever a woman showed so much as a naked
ankle
. She was a proud believer in shorts, capris, and even the occasional skirt, so clearly that disqualified her from prude status.

Right?

“Then put on the outfit, you chicken shit! Your co-workers are too stuffy to show up at a gig like this anyway. And even you know someone there, it’s a slim chance they’ll recognize you dressed like this.” Sandra pulled out a black cat-woman mask, complete with cat ears, and handed it to Isabella. “Don’t worry baby. I’ve got you covered.”

Isabella took the mask from her and giggled. It would only ‘cover’ the upper half of her face, but she supposed it would have to do. “Alright. Now leave me in peace so I can prepare to make a fool out of myself.”

“Thatta girl!” Sandra replied with a Cheshire smile.

Isabella shook her head as she watched her friend leave the room, then stared at the outfit in her hands for a full minute before she tossed it on the bed so she could strip down. She glanced at the box and, noticing it wasn’t quite empty, picked it up. She pulled out and placed on the bed a detachable cat’s tail, a pair of elbow-length black leather gloves with silver-tipped claws. Her jaw dropped as she picked up a black, lacy thong, and her eyes widened further as she saw it was crotch-less. There was also a pair of black, flower-shaped pasties, showcased in a clear plastic container.

You have got to be kidding! This just went from bad to worse.

Biting her lip, she seriously debated just tossing them and wearing her bra and panties. She’d never worn a thong in her life, to say nothing about pasties! Not that she’d never thought about it before—there was many a time at the mall where she’d wandered into Victoria’s Secret or Frederick’s of Hollywood and browsed their lingerie collections. But between the price tags, and the fact that there simply wasn’t a man in her life worth dressing up for, she’d never given into temptation, even during the past month when she’d been so horny she’d resorted to bar-hopping in an effort to find someone approachable enough to jump into bed with—someone who actually looked like they
wanted
to have sex with her. And while she’d found a few, her constant ardor would immediately cool whenever she tried to picture herself in bed with them. It was almost as though her body was trying to tell her Marshall was the only man out there who could satisfy her.

Balking at the thought, she made up her mind and stripped off her clothes. That was impossible. There were
billions
of men out in the world. It was ridiculous to think Marshall, the sexy next-door neighbor she knew next to
nothing
about, was the only one for her. Maybe wearing sexy underwear under this revealing outfit would attract a man to her who would put her out of her misery—a man
other than Marshall
. There had to be one out there somewhere, and when she found him, she’d drag him off to some dark corner, bang his brains out, then go on her merry way. Then she’d no longer be fantasizing about her sexy neighbor while working, or escaping from the desk for one of her long, frustrating ‘bathroom breaks’. She could go back to being cool, collected, and career-driven.

Yes, it was the perfect plan.

Or hell, at least it was
something.

* * *

Marshall rested against a pillar, his eyes scanning the crowd from behind his white ‘phantom of the opera’ mask, as he sipped from a martini glass. He felt ridiculous in the fancy suit and cape, but as this was a masquerade ball
and
a Halloween party, he’d needed to pick a suitable costume to wear, and as a lover of the classics he’d decided that this one would just have to do.