Jaxson (River Pack Wolves 1) - New Adult Paranormal Romance

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Jaxson (River Pack Wolves 1)

Copyright © 2015 by Alisa Woods

September 2015 Edition

All rights reserved.

Sworn Secrets Publishing

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author. For information visit:

Alisa Woods
 

Cover by
Steven Novak

Jaxson
 (River Pack Wolves 1)
—
New Adult Paranormal Romance (BBW)

Three brothers. Three Secrets. One hope to save the shifters in Seattle. 

Former SEAL Jaxson River would give his life for his brothers and his pack, but if he doesn’t claim a mate soon, he’ll be forced to step down as their alpha. There’s only one problem: Jaxson’s dark secret would kill any mate he claimed. With someone kidnapping shifters off the street—and only Jaxson and his brothers, Jace and Jared, to stop them—now is not the time for his secret to come out. 

Curvy Olivia Lilyfield is a half-witch orphan with a dark secret of her own. She wants to atone for it by doing good in the world, so when she finds a wolf being tortured in an alley, she doesn’t hesitate to help… even though wolves and witches mix like matches and TNT. 

Olivia’s dangerous magic means she can’t let anyone get too close—but Jaxson can’t keep his hands off her, and his kisses are more than she can resist. As they race to save the disappearing shifters of Seattle, the true danger lies in loving each other. 
They’re playing with magical fire… and their secrets could end up destroying them both. 

Olivia stared out the window of her boss’s office. The gleaming towers of downtown Seattle looked bright and innocent, but she knew darkness lurked in the corners of the city. Not least in the dingy offices of the local celebrity rag, the
Tales.
Olivia crossed her arms over her chest. There had to be some way out of this assignment.

“Can you do it?” her boss demanded. William Cratchton, editor of the
Tales,
took a long draw on his vape-cigar and puffed out a single noxious plume. He needed to shave off the scraggly salt-and-pepper half-beard before he started looking like a crazy old mountain man.

Olivia unlocked her arms and shook the manila folder of glossy photos clutched in her hand. “Yes, I can do it. I’ve got a hacker on speed dial who’d love the job. I just was hoping for something a little less…
sleazy.
”

A trail of vapor leaked from his smirk. “I pay you for sleaze, Liv.”

You hardly pay me at all. 
But she couldn’t afford to voice that thought. In her twenty-five years on the planet, she’d worked every job from barista to pet sitter to a human-sized hot dog advertising some new fast-food place. But she’d never been able to get ahead. Now that she’d finally landed a position in her dream job as a reporter, her finances had just gotten worse. The rent was due. Her phone had been hacked with all kinds of charges she was still paying off. Thank God it was June, and she didn’t actually need heat—she was two months past due on that. She really couldn’t afford to turn down this assignment.

She held in all her thoughts and went for begging. “What about that story on the homeless shelter I floated last week? There’s something rotten there, I’m sure of it. Too much funding and not enough people getting meals—”

“The public’s not looking for
righteousness,
Liv.” Cratchton gave her a look like she had morphed into a nun before his eyes. “Nobody gives a shit about the homeless. We need naked celebrities to sell copies. Come on, you’re a smart girl. You know the score.”

This was not what she imagined doing with her life.

Last week, Cratchton had her bribing her way into high-end restaurants with a photographer, just to get a shot of the latest teen hottie out on a date. This week, he wanted her to hack into private cloud accounts for celebrity pictures, hoping to score a sex tape. What next? Actual breaking-and-entering the bedrooms of the rich and glamorous? Where would she draw the line?

Maybe he’d understand if she told him the truth. She softened her voice. “It makes my stomach turn, Bill.”

“Yeah, well, give it a few years.” He took another draw on his vape. “You’ll get used to it.”

A sour taste rose up in the back of her throat—he was right. She could feel it getting easier already, like a black ooze that crept in, filling up your lungs more and more until you forgot what clean air felt like. It was easier that way…until, suddenly, it was drowning you.

“I want you on this, Liv. But if you don’t want the work…” He put the vape down and leaned forward in his chair. His leering gaze focused on her chest. “We can work out something so you can keep your check this week.” He literally licked his lips.

God. Ew.

Her face heated. She crossed her arms over her chest again, and Cratchton’s face scrunched in disappointment. She wished she’d worn a turtleneck instead of a button-up blouse that liked to pucker at all the wrong times. 
She’d always been on the plump side, both ample up top and generous in the hip department, but that only seemed to make her a magnet for lecherous old guys. She ignored Cratchton’s surly expression and turned to look out the grimy window of the 14
^th
floor again.

There was darkness in this city, but there was also
goodness
—or at least the potential for it. Good people doing good things, making a difference in the world.
I want to do something that matters with my life.

“Yeah, well, I’m not paying you to win the Pulitzer.”

She blinked and looked back at her boss. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. And she didn’t need to win awards—this wasn’t about being famous or winning accolades. She just wanted her work to
mean
something. 

She’d always been on her own. Ever since her parents died, and she’d spent half her childhood in Seattle’s foster care system, bouncing from one lecherous foster-parent to another. All she had wanted was to
survive.
Grow up. Make a difference in the world. She’d couldn’t afford the university, but she’d managed to take a few journalism classes at the local community college. She figured she could work her way up… but she didn’t count on wading through slime along the way.

Trolling for celebrity sex tapes was even more pathetic, given she was always alone in her own bed. She was too busy working to stay afloat and get the rent paid, all while spending her nights at the public library, trying to teach herself how to be a journalist. There was no time for boyfriends.

Besides, her first boyfriend had cheated on her. And the second one.
He
had wanted a sex tape, too.
Bastard.
She’d kicked him out when she found the other tapes he’d made with a dozen other girls. But she already knew the only person she could really rely on was herself. And with what had happened to her parents… well, it was better if she never fell in love. She wasn’t fit to be in a relationship. Not now. Not ever. All she would ever have was her work—and now, even that had been reduced to hacking into the personal lives of celebrities.

“You know what?” She flung the folder at her boss, and the glossies spilled out on the floor. “I’m not doing your dirty work any more, Cratchton.”

He scrambled after them, clearly not expecting that response. “Come on, Liv, be smart—”

But she was already halfway to the door, her low heels pounding on the cheap linoleum. She paused in the doorway. “You’re a sleazy little mole, Cratchton, chasing sleazy little dollars. I am
not
going to end up like you, sucking down vape and that scotch I know you keep in your drawer. I’m going to do something with my life that
means
something.” His face was turning red. She yanked open the door to stop from saying something worse.

“When you come crawling back, don’t expect—”

She slammed the door on her way out so she wouldn’t have to hear the rest. The drama caught the notice of everyone in the office—which was really just two Cratchtons-in-the-making, only younger and less lecherous, and the girl who hid in her cubicle until someone needed a computer fixed. Olivia had worked there for six months, but she didn’t really know any of them. Which was par for the course for her. She didn’t bother telling them she wasn’t coming back… she just held her head high and marched to the elevator with a glorious
I quit!
expression on her face. She was alone in her triumph on the ride down, and when she reached the street level, she strode out into a burst of rare Seattle sunshine.

It only took a block of striding down the sidewalk before the doubts began to creep in.

What had she done? 
No assignment meant no check at the end of the week… which meant no rent money. She already had been late a couple times—once more, and her landlord would just toss her out. The churning in her stomach returned with a vengeance. Which only reminded her that she wasn’t going to have much in the way of food at the end of the week, either.

She slowed her furious pace. She’d get by somehow—she always had—but she had to admit she’d never pushed it quite this far. Never quit when she had no idea where the next job was coming from. It was a long haul to her apartment on foot, and through a pretty seedy neighborhood as well, but she couldn’t afford bus fare now.

She squared her shoulders and kept marching. The walk would give her time to think. Make a plan. Figure out where to start looking for a job, any job, that would hire her right away. Then she could figure out how to do something worthwhile in the world. Something that wouldn’t slime her soul.

She glanced at the shops as she passed, looking for
Help
Wanted
signs, but most were abandoned in this part of town. Then she realized she was near the homeless shelter—her stomach gave another lurch. She was convinced, from passing it every day on the bus, that something wasn’t quite right about the place. Now she had a decent chance of landing there herself. Maybe she could use that—go undercover, find out why there were always people being turned away, like they didn’t have enough food or beds or something, even though the place was enormous, a converted warehouse taking up an entire block. And what little research she’d done showed they had tons of money from the government.

It was a great plan—except doing an exposé on the homeless shelter wasn’t going to pay the rent. And then she wouldn’t have to
pretend
to be homeless. She sighed and came to a stop at the end of the long storefront of the shelter. The street was empty, and now that her heels weren’t clacking on the concrete, she heard a strange electric twitching sound, like something was shorting out. Then a low groan.