Prologue

A Song for Charley Preview 

 

 

Raw and Unedited
Subject to Change

A few weeks ago …

Devon Hale was on top of the world. And why wouldn’t he be?

He was the world’s biggest rock star after all, selling millions of albums, winning tons of music awards, and of course, gaining the adoration of fans all over the world. Earning more money than the GDP of many small nations, he owned five homes on three continents, a collection of exotic cars, and not to mention, had his own music production company that only increased his wealth.

Anything he didn’t already have, he could get at the snap of his fingers—even things that didn’t have a price tag. His life was filled with the proverbial sex, drugs, and rock and roll, and he didn’t know anyone who wouldn’t trade places with him in a heartbeat.

But there were some days where he didn’t feel like he was on top.

Like this morning.

“Fffuuck …”

Nausea hit him as soon as he opened his eyes. Rolling over to the side of the bed didn’t help, as the bile hit his throat. Nothing could stop the hot vomit from escaping his mouth.

“It’s all right … just get rid of—Jesus Christ, how much did you have to drink, Dev?”

The relief he felt once his stomach emptied was indescribable. In fact, the dizziness and nausea cleared enough for him to be able to swing his legs over the side of the bed and sit up straight. “Jeff … thanks, man.”

Jeff Clary, his manager, stood over him, a trash can in one hand and a small towel in the other. “Feel better?”

Taking the offered towel, Devon wiped his mouth. “Yeah, man. Good catch,” he joked, eyeing the trash can. “You’re always in the right time and place.”

“Yeah, lucky me.” He grimaced in disgust, then placed the trash can gingerly on the floor. “Can you pull yourself together soon? We need you for sound check.”

“Sound … check?”

“Yeah. Show’s in a couple of hours.”

Devon took stock of the unfamiliar surroundings—the modern bedroom furniture, white sheets and feather pillows, neutral color scheme. Generic, boring, and just like every other luxury hotel suite he’d been staying at the last couple of weeks on his tour. “Uh, where—”

“Cincinnati,” Jeff said drolly.

“Right.” The sheet covering the lower half of his body fell away as he rose to his feet. Thankfully, he still wore his briefs. Glancing around, he saw a pair of lace panties on the bed. “Did you—”

Jeff snorted. “How drunk were you last night, Dev? You had her in here for five minutes, then passed out. She went hysterical, thinking you’d OD’d or something.”

Devon scrubbed a hand down his face. “Fuck.” It was coming back to him. He’d polished off at least two bottles of champagne backstage at the after-party. Some hot chick sat on his lap. Then they stumbled out to his limo, and they finished off another bottle. Somehow, they got up to his suite and then … “Is she—”

“Took care of it. Snuck her out of the back, gave her the usual NDA to sign, and a generous gift.”

“Thanks, Jeff.”

He racked his brain for her name—Chelsea, maybe? Or Christine? Doesn’t matter. She was just another piece of ass who wanted a piece of the rock star. And he was very happy to oblige. Women threw themselves at him all the time, after all. And she was hot—at least from what he could remember. Tall, leggy, blonde. He was pretty sure he wanted to fuck her, and the feeling had been mutual. Did he really pass out before having sex?

Reaching into his briefs, he rubbed his dick and then took a sniff of his fingers. Definitely didn’t smell like pussy. He shrugged. If it wasn’t Chelsea/Christine, it would be any of the dozens of women waiting backstage.

“So? Can you pull it together, or should I make some excuses? Want an ibuprofen?”

“Nah, I’m fine. Just need a shower.”

His manager shook his head. “You’re probably the only person I know who can recover from a hangover faster as he gets older. I remember you used to get trashed after a concert, and not even a demolition team could get you out of bed.”

“Must be my good genes. Thanks, Jeff. Have the limo sent around, I’ll be ready in thirty.”

Jeff clucked his tongue. “All right. I got you breakfast, it’s waiting for you in the limo. I’ll see you at the stadium.”

Striding toward the bathroom, Devon pulled the glass door open, whipped his briefs off, and stepped inside, turning the handle to the coldest setting. Ignoring the icy needles of water as it hit his skin, he rested his forehead against the tile.

Physically, he was fine. Never better, in fact; not even a hint of a headache.

But there was something else messing with his head this morning.

The hot, pungent breath.

Glowing eyes.

Sharp teeth.

Run.

He slammed on the shower handle so hard, he thought he heard a crack in the tile. Grabbing the towel hanging from the rack behind him, he began to vigorously dry himself off.

Ever since he could remember, he’d been having the same nightmare once or twice a year. It was only in the last couple of months that they’d come more frequently. They became so bad the only way he could have a restful night’s sleep was if he was dead tired or trashed. So, he worked on his latest album night and day, then when that was done, had gone straight into rehearsals and preps for the tour.

Then when the actual tour started, the nightmares got worse. On stage, he’d never been better, but afterwards, only copious amounts of alcohol and sex could help him stave off the impending night terrors.

But if last night’s episode was any indication, maybe that wasn’t working anymore. He’d turn to pills, but he wasn’t going to go the route of so many before him, not when he was at the top of his game. After begging, scraping, and crawling his way to the top, he wasn’t going to throw it all away.

He was Devon Hale. Superstar. Multi-millionaire. Rock god.

Not bad for a poor, orphaned boy who bounced around from one foster home to another for most of his childhood.

Leaving his suite, he followed the burly bodyguards waiting for him outside as they led him to the elevators and straight down to the garage where his limo and the rest of his entourage—an SUV with even more bodyguards—were waiting. His limo was empty as he liked it. He didn’t like sharing his space and oftentimes, driving around was the only time he had to himself. There was a paper bag waiting for him in the seat—his breakfast of oatmeal and fruits, just as Jeff had promised.

As the limo made its way through the streets, he stared out the window, watching the Cincinnati cityscape pass by. In the early days when he was a struggling musician touring out of a cramped van with four other bandmates, whenever he passed through a new city, the same questions always bloomed in his mind.

Could this be the place he was born in?

Did he have family here?

Parents?

Why did you give me up?

But over the years, he’d stopped thinking of that. After touring through hundreds of cities and towns, there was just no point. Besides, he didn’t need to know the answers to those questions anymore. And if he ever did find the parents who abandoned him at that train station when he was just five years old, the only thing he would have to say to them would be, Look at what I am, despite what you did.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he grabbed the remote for the small TV mounted overhead and turned it on.

“In breaking news,” the anchor on the local channel began, “the senate has decided to gather a special committee to form an inquiry into the so-called Supernatural Beings. The existence of these creatures, thought to be half-wolf, half-man, was revealed to the world a few weeks ago when hundreds of humans were kidnapped for their rituals—”

Devon tsked and changed the channel to an entertainment news show. “Crazy shit.”

These Supernaturals seemingly had taken over the news cycles all over the world. Like everyone else, he’d been fascinated about the events of that night, though no one really had any definitive information, except for eyewitness interviews from the people who were supposedly kidnapped by these creatures. But after a while, Devon had lost interest, mostly because it was taking away attention from his own tour.

Initially, his publicist had suggested some kind of PR stunt—maybe getting papped with some rising new starlet or starting some kind of scandal—to drum up some publicity for the tour, but Devon had vetoed that idea. He was Devon Fucking Hale, after all, and all his tour dates had sold out the moment they released the tickets. He didn’t need any fake controversy or relationships to get bodies into his concerts.

The limo finally stopped outside the stadium, and as he stepped out, the familiar screams of his fans greeted him. The barriers that kept them away from the side entrance of the venue were placed far away, but he could still hear them shouting his name. He waved at them, making them screech even louder.

Ducking in though the entrance, he walked down the long, fluorescent-lit hallway, all the way to the backstage area. As he entered his private dressing room, he saw Jeff was already there, but he wasn’t alone. He was talking to someone wearing a baseball cap whose back was turned to Devon.

Irritation irked him as Jeff knew better than to let strangers into his private space. Hands curling into fists at his sides, he strode over to the pair. He was about to tear his manager a new one, when Jeff glanced up.

“Oh good, you’re here.”

“What the fuck, Jeff?” he said through gritted teeth. “You know you can’t just let anyone into my dressing room, especially when I’m not here.”

“What? Oh, no, no.” he shook his head vigorously. “This isn’t just anyone. Meet Charley, your new personal assistant.” He gestured to the person in front of him. “Edward’s replacement.”

“Edward?”

“Yes,” Jeff said in a droll tone. “You know, your last personal assistant who quit two days ago?”

“Oh, that Edward.” Edward had been one of many PAs he’d had over the years. Many of them didn’t last long due to the demands of the job, the long hours, and weeks on the road. Devon stopped trying to remember their names as he knew they would eventually quit anyway. This next guy would be no different.

“Charley, this is Devon.”

Charley spun around. “Hello, Devon, nice to meet you.”

“I—” Devon stopped short, his gaze riveted on Charley’s face. Charley was not a guy at all, but rather, a woman. She was of average height making her noticeably shorter than his own six foot two frame, and her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail under a green ball cap. When she looked up, however, he froze as he found himself staring into her eyes.

The most mesmerizing light brown eyes he’d ever seen.

Devon had met a ton of gorgeous women over the years—actresses, singers, models, blondes, brunettes, redheads. When he first started in the business, he’d been awestruck by the beauty of all the women around him, and over the years as he gained fame, many of them flocked his way.

However, he’d never been literally struck—like being hit by lightning—until this moment as he stared into the depths of her spellbinding eyes.

They were the color of rich, luscious toffee.

Would she be just as sweet?

“Excuse me?” She blinked at him.

The fuck? Did I say that out loud? “I said”—he cleared his throat—“get me a latte, will you, sweet cheeks?”

Her jaw dropped.

“Almond milk, extra hot,” he added. “And next time, make sure it’s ready in my dressing room before I get here.” He brushed past her—a mistake, he realized too late, as he got a whiff of her perfume—fragrant and fruity, like biting into a juicy peach on a summer day.

Gritting his teeth, he marched over to his mirrored dressing table, casting his eyes downward to avoid glancing at Charley in the reflection.

“There’s a coffee shop just across the street,” Jeff said, clearing his throat. “Here’s your company card, whatever Devon needs, just charge it there.”

“Of course. Thanks again for this opportunity, Jeff.”

“Your resume is fantastic. I hope you stay with us.”

Devon waited for the sound of the door closing before he lifted his head.

“Really, Devon?” Jeff admonished as he came up from behind, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “You didn’t have to be rude, you know. Charley was highly recommended, and to be honest, way too overqualified to just be your assistant. She has a decade of backstage crew work under her belt and could have her pick of jobs with any tour or production company in the country, but wanted a chance to work with you.”

Devon snorted. “She knows what she signed up for then.” He gripped the edge of his table as he stood up. “I just hope she stays longer than the last one.”

Jeff shook his head. “I wasn’t sure about hiring her since, you know, she’s a woman. And we know the last time—”

“I don’t fuck my employees, Jeff,” he reminded him. “It’s my number one rule.”

And one he never, ever broke. While Devon was known for being a manslut, he never screwed around with people he had power over. It was just too messy. But that didn’t stop them from trying.

“Tiffany was the one trying to sneak into my hotel room at the after-party.”

Tiffany had been one of his first assistants, who not only tried to get into this pants but had the nerve to attempt to sue him for sexual harassment when she was fired. They had settled out of court, but it was a painful and expensive lesson. Ever since then, he and Jeff instituted a rule that personal assistants—female and male—were off the clock and off the premises as soon as the show was over.

“I know but …”

He spun around. “But, what?”

Jeff looked like he wanted to say something, but bit his lip. “Nothing. I just trust you’ll do the right thing and focus on the tour. Don’t get distracted.”

“Since when have I ever let my career come second?”

Fucking around didn’t get him to where he was.

Of course, some might say, fucking over other people did.

Devon had started his career with his old band, Speed Run, back when he was only nineteen years old. They had broken out of the indie rock scene and into the mainstream with a string of number one hits, but Devon had been the undeniable star of the group. He was both frontman and lead guitar player, not to mention, the sex appeal that oozed from his every pore caught the attention of people, and he played up the raunchy hot rock star image to his advantage. After a couple of contentious years with his bandmates, he finally left them and went solo, and his career skyrocketed.

Jeff shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. All right, you got thirty minutes till sound check. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Thanks.”

Devon wiped his hands down his pants and glanced up at the clock. He wondered how long it would take Little Miss Toffee Eyes to get his drink. He didn’t even get a chance to check out the rest of her, and he wondered what her body looked like under that baggy shirt and jeans.

Focus, Devon, he warned himself. And not just on how big her tits might be.

He yanked his Les Paul guitar from the stand nearby and placed it on his thigh, then gripped the neck with his left hand. Strumming a few chords, he let the music fill his ears and drown out the world as he concentrated on the music.

Devon usually took this time alone to loosen up his hands and his voice before sound check, playing scales and humming along to warm up. Today, for some reason, a song had made its way from the deep recesses of his mind, inciting his fingers to play the chords of a song he thought he’d long forgotten—or at least one he wanted to. Despite himself, the melody came back to him, taunting him almost and goading him to strum and sing the words he hadn’t uttered in years.

“‘First Feelings.’”

Devon’s fingers faltered, and a sour note screeched from his guitar right as he transitioned to the second chorus. He didn’t need to lift his head to find out who had entered the dressing room. But he did anyway because he wanted to. “You know that song?”

Charley nodded and walked toward him, coffee cup in hand. “It was a single from your first solo album, right?”

His gaze fixed on her, unable to turn away. How could she possibly remember an old song that no one else remembered? It was the one single in his debut solo album that critics panned.

It was also the only song he ever wrote.

Despite his success and fortune, that song was his number one sore spot. While he was a talented singer, guitarist, and frontman, he really couldn’t write for shit. The real genius behind Speed Run’s hits was Kurt Chambers, their bassist. Ever since his first disastrous foray into songwriting, Devon never did it again and instead hired the best songwriters in the business.

“You know,” she began, placing the cup next to him. “Despite what critics said, I really liked that song when it came out.”

She was so close, he got a whiff of her sweet perfume, and his throat turned dry as a desert. “Y-you did?” Those enchanting eyes locked onto his and sweat built on his palms.

“Mm-hmm. I’ve read your interviews and articles.” Her teeth sank into her luscious lower lip. “Rhythm Magazine ranked you number eight in their list of ‘Top 10 Musical Geniuses’ last year. You didn’t have any formal music education, but thanks to your perfect pitch, you basically taught yourself to play guitar and piano. ‘First Feelings’ was technically a good song, it just lacked … something, you know?” Her fingers rubbed at her thumbs as if she were itching to do something. “It needed a little more … warmth and emotion maybe.”

Devon blinked, and the spell of her perfume and enthralling gaze broke.

Who the fuck did she think she was, telling him—Devon Hale—about music?

Shooting up to his feet, he shoved the guitar at her. “Here, take this to the sound guys so they can hook it up.” Swiping the coffee cup from the table, he took a sip, then quickly spat it back. “Ugh. No, no.” He shook his head and tossed the coffee into the trash can. “They burned the coffee. Go back and grab me another one. Tell them to do it properly this time.” Without a second glance, he marched toward the bathroom, opened the door with a violent yank, and slammed it shut behind him.

Leaning back, his closed his eyes.

Why was his heart going a mile a minute? And there was a stabbing pain in his chest, too, like he was being clawed from the inside.

A maelstrom of emotions swept over him, and he ran toward the toilet, heaving the contents of his stomach into the porcelain bowl. Once he was done, he felt much better.

Trudging over to the sink, he washed out his mouth, cursing to himself internally. What the fuck was wrong with him today? Why did he let that nobody get on his nerves?

Fuck this shit.

He was Devon Hale. No one talked to him like that. He would tell Jeff to fire her by end of day.

 

* * *

“Murder is still a crime, right?” Charley Forrest huffed as she burst into the costume room.

Kevin Lopez, the tour’s stylist, paused in the middle of steam ironing a white button-down shirt, then placed a hand on his hip. “What did he do this time?”

Trudging toward him, she opened her mouth, nearly letting out the fierce growl rumbling in her chest. She quickly snapped her mouth shut.

Not here!

Her inner wolf paced around, sensing her agitation. It was raring to burst out.

As a Lycan, Charley shared her body with a creature, who for the most part listened to her and behaved when in the company of humans. Normally it stayed quiet within her, and while she knew it was there, it remained mostly dormant. Recently though, it had a bad habit of making its presence known more, as if pushing Charley’s boundaries, prodding at her and testing her control.

Not that she could blame it, considering what had happened recently. The wolf was probably still on edge because their enemies, the mages, had not only tried to kill all of their kind and bring on the apocalypse, but now their existence—which had been a secret for hundreds of years—had been revealed to the world.

Having no combat experience, Charley hadn’t been part of the big battle in Connecticut herself. Though the Alpha of her clan, Lucas Anderson, had called all his Lycans back to New York, she had been assigned to stay back and protect their base in the city, a compound on the Upper East Side known as The Enclave. It was where their human members, including her mother, had been sheltered during the final battle. A few of them had been assigned there in case of a breach or if the battle turned sideways for the Lycans. And while she didn’t get a chance to fight or free her she-wolf, it had been agitated and on guard the entire evening, right up until the moment they found out the mages had been defeated and everyone in her family who had been in the battle had survived.

“Hello?” Kevin waved the handle of the steam iron around, sending a puff of smoke toward Charley. “Are you okay?”

She plopped down on the couch next to him. “He wants me to go back to the restaurant and get him something else to eat. He says the pasta salad I got him was definitely not gluten free.” She gritted her teeth. “I called the restaurant three times last night and once more this morning to make sure they prepared it with only gluten-free ingredients, using separate utensils to prevent cross contamination. He takes one bite and tells me they used regular pasta, not the chickpea pasta he specifically wanted. How could he even tell? Grrr!” She pounded her fists on her thighs. “He wasn’t even gluten free last week. I saw him scarf down an entire pepperoni pizza.”

The stylist hung the steam wand up on its holder, then sat down next to her. “There, there, Charley,” he said, patting her hand sympathetically. “He’s probably having a bad day.”

“More like a bad couple of weeks.” She groaned. “I should quit, right?”

Kevin gave her a sympathetic smile. “Only you can answer that, sweetheart.”

Charley knew what the answer was—a resounding yes. Everyone on the tour gave her that same pitiful expression each time Devon berated her for the silliest things. Last week, it was because he had forgotten to plug in his phone, and so it was her fault she didn’t anticipate it and charge it while he was on stage. The week before that, his extra-hot almond milk latte was lukewarm—because he arrived late to the venue, and so it had been sitting there for almost an hour.

I’m too good for this job.

In the last ten years, Charley had built a career in backstage production in various regional theater tours, music shows, and other live events. She had started at the bottom as a production assistant, then worked her way up to stagehand, then to stage manager and was well on her way to becoming a producer.

With her resume, experience, and glowing recommendations, she could work on any tour or show she wanted, but when this chance to work on the Devon Hale world tour came up, she couldn’t pass on the opportunity. This was the big leagues, and even if she had to work as his personal assistant, it would be worth it.

At least, that’s what she thought at first.

I should have quit. She snorted. Like yesterday.

Yet here she was, weeks into this crappy job with her crappy boss. Actually, crappy barely covered the walking nightmare that was Devon Hale. In fact, she and her cousins Lizzie and Olivia had come up with the perfect nickname for him in their group chat—The Douche Hole—a combination of douchebag and asshole because one nickname wasn’t enough to cover what a total SOB he was.

Still, she stayed.

Her inner wolf let out a sigh and laid its head down.

Kevin clucked his tongue. “I don’t know why, but he’s got it in for you. What the heck did you do to make him act like the spawn of Satan whenever you’re around?”

Charley cringed inwardly, thinking of her first day on the job.

Okay, so maybe insulting her new boss’s songwriting skills wasn’t the smartest thing to do. She was still flabbergasted she hadn’t been fired right away. However, considering what Kevin said, and now that she thought of it, Douche Hole probably kept her around just to torture her after her insensitive remarks.

It was true, though.

“First Feelings” had all the technical earmarks of a great song, but it was just not quite there. If Devon had worked on his skills more, he could be a phenomenal songwriter with a string of number one hits.

And Charley should know. After all, she’d been working in the music business since she was ten years old and had been exposed to it all her life, much longer than he had been. While Speed Run was still playing seedy LA clubs, Charley had had her own hit TV show with a giant entertainment conglomerate, not to mention sold-out tours, merchandising deals, and several hit songs on the charts.

Back then, she’d been known as Charley Star, one half of popular teen sensations, The Wonderland Divas, along with Renée Rose. At the height of their success, they had been Spencer Corporation’s biggest teen superstars.

But that was a million years ago.

Her life was different now, thanks to the choices she made.

Choices she had to live with.

Dismissing those thoughts, she turned back to Kevin. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure, sweetie.” Kevin fished his phone out of his pocket. “So, crazy news about those Supernatural Beings, huh?”

“What?” Charley’s spine stiffened. Though the existence of Lycans was no longer a secret, no one on the tour knew that she was one of them. It wasn’t something she advertised. “W-what about them?” Her heart began to hammer in her chest. Did Kevin discover what she was? Would she be fired?

“Oh, you haven’t heard the latest?”

Sweat built on her temples. “N-no,” she stammered. “I mean, I hardly have time to read news when I’m running around the place getting Devon’s coffee order or finding the right kind of linen spray for his bedsheets.” The man was obsessed with peaches for some reason. “What is it?”

“The latest person to come out in support of the Supernatural Beings is none other than stage and screen darling and legend herself, Evie King.”

“What. The. Fuck?”

If Charley hadn’t been sitting down, she would have fallen over.

“I know, right?” Kevin shoved his phone screen in her face, and sure enough, splashed on the front page of a gossip news site was a photo of Evie King as she accepted her second Oscar.

AKA Broadway’s favorite composer and leading lady.

AKA everyone’s favorite animated princess, thanks to her hit animated princess movie and soundtrack.

AKA, one of the only EGOT winners in the industry.

And more commonly known to Charley as Mom.

“Can you believe it? It says she’s one of them—oh wait.” Kevin scrolled down the page. “Sorry, damn clickbait headlines. It just says she supports the Supernatural Beings as she’s the daughter of a Lycan and her husband is one, as well as her childr—hey!”

Charley knocked the phone out of his hand and shot to her feet. “Er, sorry about that! We should get going, show’s about to start.”

“What?” Kevin exclaimed, glancing up at the clock. “Oh fuck, I need to get this to Devon, but I have to do one more sleeve. Will you stall for me?”

“Of course.” She breathed out a sigh of relief as Kevin had seemingly forgotten his phone. Darting out the door, she made her way toward Devon’s dressing room. She itched to take her own phone out and read about what her mom had said to the press.

Well, maybe if you picked up last night, you would have known.

She gave herself a mental slap on the forehead. After last night’s show, she saw about ten missed calls from her mother and a text that said “call me.” But she’d been so exhausted, and the night before had been spent on the road in a bunk on the tour bus with ten other people, so there was no privacy to make a phone call anywhere. Then she had to get up at frickin’ butt o’clock in the morning when they arrived here in Phoenix to unpack their gear and get ready for tonight’s show.

Now she knew why her mother wanted to talk.

Stopping, she blew out a frustrated breath.

Great timing, Mom.

Of course, with the bad publicity the Lycans had been getting the past couple of weeks, Charley knew they could use all the help they could get. From a PR standpoint, it was a smart move to release a statement from someone as famous and well-loved as Evie King. Having her support would help humanize Lycans and garner support for their kind. Lycans were still everyday people who just wanted to exist peacefully alongside their human counterparts. Yes, getting outed sucked, but that was their reality now, and trying to hide their existence would be like attempting to put toothpaste back into the tube.

Charley flexed her fingers as she inhaled a deep, cleansing breath. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered to herself.

She hadn’t been Charley Starr in over a decade, and few people remembered or even recognized her, not even her coworkers on this tour. Keeping her head down and not making any close friends at work helped.

But now, with her mother’s revelation splashed in the headlines across the globe, someone would dig up their connection, and there was a possibility that her carefully hidden identity would come out—both as a former teen superstar and a Lycan.

The timing of it all really sucked.

“Damn it.” Stopping short, Charley fished her phone out of her pocket. But before she had a chance to check it, Jeff burst out of Devon’s dressing room.

“Where the hell have you been?” he bellowed.

Oh fuck! “Sorry!” She hurried toward Devon’s manager. “Was that last dish okay? Did he eat it?” Douche Hole could honestly starve for all she cared, but it was still her job to get him fed.

Jeff blew out a breath. “Yeah, it was fine. But he needs to be on stage in two minutes!”

“Right.” Brushing past him, she marched inside the dressing room. “Devon, position. Now.”

Wearing nothing but leather pants, Devon rose from the couch with cat-like grace, brushing his loose blond locks with his fingers as vivid sky-blue eyes narrowed at her.

Charley groaned inwardly. His attitude toward her from the beginning should have shriveled up her ovaries and turned her as dry as the Sahara, but for some damn reason, one look from those blue eyes and she was wetter than a beaver’s pockets.

Devon Hale was a douchebag and an asshole, but also so goddamn hot.

“You’re late,” he said in the sexy, signature Devon Hale rasp that sent female fans swooning.

And whose fault was that, Mr. I’m-Gluten-Free-Now? But Charley could only bite her tongue. “Come on, you have to be on stage in sixty seconds.”

His hands motioned down his naked torso. “And how am I supposed to go on without my shirt?”

Charley could barely keep her eyes from the bulging muscles of his shoulders, wide chest, and his six-pack abs. “I—”

“I’m here!” Kevin burst through the door, shirt in hand. In his haste to get to Devon, he crashed into Charley, sending her staggering forward. She dropped her phone so she could grab onto the dresser to stop herself from falling.

“What is this? Fucking amateur hour?” Devon shouted as Kevin scrambled over and began to dress him.

“Calm down, Devon,” Jeff said. “The show won’t start without you.”

Devon ignored his manager. “Get it together, both of you.” However, he was only looking at Charley.

“Done!” Kevin declared, taking a step back.

“Finally.” Devon sent Charley one last glare. “Let’s go.”

She followed him as he made his way to the stage, reaching the wings just in time as the band finished the intro to the first song. A roadie handed him his Les Paul, and he stepped out on stage, the bright lights burning Charley’s retinas. The roar of the crowd was deafening as the first few notes from Devon’s guitar blasted through the speakers.

Charley held her breath as she waited, her eyes never leaving his tall, lean form as he approached the mic stand in the middle of the stage. The moment his sultry, low voice filled the air, every nerve ending in her body lit up.

At this point, she’d seen him perform live in dozens of concerts, and each time, she was so mesmerized by his voice, his playing, and his stage presence that she could barely keep her eyes off him. Devon had a way of making each song riveting, whether it was an energetic rock anthem or a sentimental ballad. Charismatic and electrifying, he knew how to read a crowd and played with them until they were putty in his hands. For those two hours on stage, Charley forgot all about the Douche Hole and could only focus on Devon and his music.

The man was truly a god on stage.

But, as soon as he finished his second encore and stepped off the stage, the spell was broken. As he did every night, he walked past Charley without a second glance as he made his way to his dressing room.

While illogical, she couldn’t help but feel a stab of hurt in her chest at his snub. Once before, she’d even tried to get his attention by congratulating him on a great show, but he just brushed past her like she was invisible. She tried not to let it bother her—she was just his assistant after all. A nobody to him.

Besides, this was the moment she was off the clock. Due to an unusual clause in her contract, Charley’s work hours ended exactly as soon as Devon stepped off the stage. Before and during the performance, she was on-call, catering to all his needs, whether that was getting his meals or handing him towels and water between songs, but once he was done for the night, so was she. Jeff had explained that all non-essential staff left as soon they were done for insurance purposes, but as far as she could tell, she was always the first one out.

Charley didn’t question it as long as they cut her a check every two weeks—and to be honest, it was a pretty big one—but she had her suspicions why no one was allowed to hang around once the concert was over. She wasn’t blind after all; she’d seen all the gorgeous women hanging out right outside the stage doors and the security team checking IDs and letting them in after hours. She was also not deaf as she’d overheard members of Devon’s band and some of the roadies talking about those women the day after concerts, and not always in the most respectful way. Perhaps she was glad for the rules so she didn’t have to get mixed up in that and she could just focus on the work. Besides, they were adults and could do what they wanted—including Devon.

But for some reason, thinking of him with all those groupies made her want to punch something.

Her wolf, too, let out an unhappy growl.

None of my business, she reminded herself—and her animal.

After grabbing her bag from the costume room and waving goodbye to Kevin—who was still putting away tonight’s costumes—she made her way outside. Instinctively she reached into her pocket to fish out her phone to call for a car.

“Damn it!” she cursed when her hand came up empty.

She had dropped her phone in Devon’s dressing room.

No one was allowed in there after a show, especially her, since she was supposed to be off the clock. But she needed her phone to call a ride back to the hotel.

I suppose I could wait for Kevin or other people on the crew.

But Kevin could be another hour or so, plus, she needed her phone. Had she forgotten about the looming threat of the press finding out about her being a Lycan? She had to call her mom right now so she could get ahead of the news cycle. Her gut tightened, thinking about how Jeff—and Devon—would react when they found out. Would she even have a life or a job by this time tomorrow?

I’ll deal with that when the time comes, but first, I need my phone.

Straightening her spine, Charley took determined strides back to the stadium. Perhaps she’d be lucky and Devon was already gone.

Or maybe off with some groupie at the after-party.

She ignored that hot stabbing in her chest and continued to make her way toward Devon’s dressing room. Using her enhanced hearing, she listened for any sounds coming from inside. There were no voices or rustling of movements of any kind, though she did hear the spray of the shower from the bathroom, which meant Devon was in there.

I’ll be real quick, she told herself as she carefully turned the knob and pushed the door open. Using her Lycan speed, she swiftly darted inside and toward where she dropped her phone by the mirrored dressers. Thankfully, it was right by her feet, so she crouched down to pick it up.

And now I’ll just—

“You! What the hell are you doing here?” came the familiar low baritone from behind her.

Oh crap. Of course Devon chose that exact moment to exit the bathroom. Huh, that’s funny. As far as she could tell, water was still running. Did he decide to just run out in the middle of his shower?

“I-I can explain.” Slowly, as if Devon were some wild animal she didn’t want to startle, she rose to her feet. “I left my phone—”

“I said, what are you doing here?”

Charley’s heart slammed into her rib cage as she felt Devon’s presence just behind her. How did he move so fast—

“Answer me.” He had taken a step closer, effectively trapping her between himself and the dresser.

Lifting her head, she met Devon’s sky-blue eyes in the mirror. “I d-dropped my phone here and—”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said in a low whisper that made the backs of her knees tingle.

“I-I know, but I need my phone to call a car and …” She closed her eyes and inhaled a quick breath as Devon leaned forward. He was so close she got a whiff of his shower gel.

Clary sage. Lavender. With a tinge of leather.

“Do you like to break the rules, Charley?”

The way he said her name in that low, raspy voice of his made her shiver. She didn’t think he even knew it, since he’d only called her “Sweet Cheeks” that first time and “You!” since then.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, the reflection of his blue gaze catching hers in a magnetic stare. Her mouth turned dry as she realized he was bare-chested and only wearing a towel. His hair still hung in dripping ringlets around his face, indicating he had indeed been in the middle of a shower.

“I-I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” She attempted to twist around, but Devon’s next move made her entire body seize up.

His arms trapped her on either side, caging her against the dresser, their eye contact through the mirror never breaking.

“Hmmm … God, your perfume smells so fucking amazing. It drives me crazy, and I can’t think whenever I smell it.” Tilting his head to the side, he leaned in closer, his nose nearly touching the skin on her neck but not quite. “Peaches. Juicy and sweet. I could go in for a bite.”

I should push him off and get the fuck out of here!

Yes, that was the right course of action. He was her boss. This was sexual harassment. She was also trained in at least two forms of self-defense, not to mention, she could easily overwhelm him with her Lycan strength.

Knocking him into next week and running away was the right move.

Yeah, I really need to do that.

But then she caught that delicious scent again, and her brain fried. As if her body had a mind of its own, her hips pushed back so her ass brushed against the front of his towel.

Oh shit.

That was definitely not a banana in his pocket.

He spun her around with a low growl, lifting her up so she sat on top of the dresser. Nudging her knees apart, he pressed his growing erection between her legs.

“Tease.” The corner of his mouth lifted up. “But then again, you and your sweet perfume have been teasing me all this time. You want this, too, don’t you?”

“Devon—”

His head descended toward her, but to her surprise, he nuzzled at the spot under her ear. He let out another growl and pressed closer to her, the friction making her shiver. “Charley … what are you doing to me?”

She could only answer with a whimper.

“I swear to God, you’re some kind of witch. I can’t stop … I need …” His hands fumbled for his towel, and it dropped to the floor. “Say you want me as much as I want you.”

“I …”

It was so tempting, to just give in. She was pretty sure it would be epic hate sex between them.

But that was the problem.

She despised him.

He was hot and all, but she still had principles. The thought of having sex with this man who’d treated her like dirt these past weeks made the haze of desire clouding her mind evaporate.

With that sobering thought in mind, she planted her hands on his chest and pushed him away. Attempted to anyway, but he was like a rock wall—unmovable and solid.

Lifting her head, she met his blue gaze head-on. “We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” He didn’t back off, but he didn’t make any move to advance either. Instead, he licked his lips. “Say. Yes.”

Despite herself, she let out a small sigh at the sight of his tongue running across his firm mouth. How would it taste? How would it feel?

“Devon …”

“Charley …”

He leaned his head in, sending her pulse skyrocketing. His mouth hovered over her lips so closely she could feel the warmth of his breath.

They couldn’t.

She couldn’t.

“No.”

“No?” He lifted a sardonic brow. “You know a million girls would do anything to be where you are right now.”

If he thought that would make her change her mind, well, he was dead wrong. Rage simmered in her, and her wolf, too, made its displeasure known with a fierce snarl.

“Then go fuck one of them!” She gave him another push, this time mustering enough of her Lycan strength to make him stagger back.

However, he quickly regained his balance. “And how the fuck am I supposed to do that?”

“They’re practically lined up outside!” She waved her hand wildly toward the door. “All of them ready to drop to their knees at the snap of your fingers.”

For a brief second, his blue eyes flickered with a familiar, eerie glow.

Glowed?

What the fu—

“I can’t!” He trapped her again, but this time his hands slammed against the mirror behind her with a resounding crack. “Tell me how I’m supposed to do that when I can’t stop thinking about you! I haven’t fucked anyone else since you walked in that door.”

The confession was so raw and out of left field that it took her brain a second to process his words. “You can’t … that’s not …”

“Whenever I see you, all I want to do is rip off every piece of clothing you have on and lick you from head to toe. I want to make you come with my fingers, my mouth, my cock. I want to know what it’s like to be inside you and—”

“Devon, stop!” This time she put all her strength into shoving him away, sending him crashing against the wall.

Oh shit!

For a second, her heart completely stopped as she stared at his prone, naked body on the floor. When his eyes flew open and he made a motion to sit up, Charley dashed outside, her pulse pounding at a mile a minute.

Everything was a blur as she made a beeline for the outside. The minute the cool, fresh air hit her lungs, she slowed her pace but didn’t stop walking. She had to get away and put as much distance between herself and the stadium.

And Devon Hale.

Idiot. I’m the biggest idiot in the world.

They almost kissed. But even before that …

Warmth pooled in her belly, thinking of how close he’d gotten. His smell. That bulge under his towel.

And the things he said he wanted to do to her.

His confession about not sleeping with anyone else.

She shook her head.

No, that wasn’t true.

There was no way he hadn’t had sex with anyone else all this time.

He was Devon Hale, for God’s sake.

He was a superstar, not to mention, a normal, red-blooded man who screwed anything that moved. Nearly every guy in the business was a horny motherfucker who said and did anything and everything they needed to get into a woman’s pants.

Honk! Honk! Hooooonk!

“Oh fuck!”

Her hands slammed down on the hood of the car that nearly collided into her. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t notice she’d walked right into the parking lot where the concertgoers were now making their way out.

“Sorry!” she shouted at the irate driver who stuck his head out the window, screaming expletives at her.

Weaving through the maze of cars, she found her way out of the lot, onto the lone road leading away from the stadium where cars were lined up bumper-to-bumper toward the on-ramp leading to the highway.

She continued walking, unsure what to do or where to go. Her thoughts were consumed with what had happened. Humiliation flooded her, not because Devon’s action made her feel dirty, but rather, she knew that she’d wanted it too. That despite the terrible things he’d said to her these past weeks and how he’d demeaned her, she wanted him.

Wanted his smell, his touch, his mouth.

And she did want to know what it would be like to have him inside her. God help her, she wanted him so bad, that if he offered again, she wouldn’t have the strength to say no.

That’s why she couldn’t go back there. Because she’d lose the last shreds of her dignity to Devon Hale.

And so, she could never see him again.

Ever.

---

Pre Order A Song for Charley now!

Releases October 4th, 2023

 

Chapter Two

Until Arch Preview 

 

 

 

 

Chapter One

Raw and Unedited
Subject to Change

“… And that’s it! Take five everyone!” Tyler, the choreographer, shouted as they finished the grueling dance routine. “Renée, luv, you were fabulous as always. Perfection.”

Renée gratefully accepted the towel and bottle of water her assistant, Nadia, handed her. “And you, Tyler, were brutal as always.”

The choreographer laughed. “And that’s why they call me Tyler the Tyrant.” He wiped a towel over his face and bald head. “I think this video is going to be your best one yet. The song is chef’s kiss.” He made a kissing gesture with his pinched fingers to his mouth. “I smell another award. Lots of them.”

“If this music video does get an award, your awesome choreography will be part of the reason.” She gave him a kiss on cheek. “Listen, Ty, I have a meeting in about fifteen minutes. Can I come back to rehearsals with everyone once I’m done?”

“Like I could say no,” he joked. “Yeah luv, you take care of business. Someone’s gotta make the multi-millions, right? Wait—are you meeting with that French fashion house for that collab?”

She laughed, then made a zipping motion across her lips with her fingers. “You know I can’t say anything, but between you and me”—she leaned close to his ear—“you’ll be one of the first one to get a sample.”

Tyler shrieked, clapping his hands together. “And that’s why I love you.”

“You just keep working on the tour choreography.”

“Luv, I am yours, heart and soul, ever since you saved me from having to work on those dreadful West End musicals.” When the dancers started filing back into the rehearsal space, he nodded at her. “Go on then, come back when you’re done.”

“Thanks, Ty.”

Renée crossed the large, airy space toward her dressing room, her assistant trailing behind her. The rehearsal space was a converted loft in DUMBO and had massive windows with an amazing view of the East River and Manhattan skyline. She always loved coming to New York, as the energy here was so different, especially from where she grew up in Atlanta. These days  though, having just finished recording her last album and preparing for her next tour, she spent most of her time in L.A. But she hadn’t stepped foot in her house in the Hollywood Hills, not since—

“Oomph!” She staggered forward as Nadia bumped into her from behind.

“Hey—I’m so sorry!” Nadia disentangled herself from Renée and stepped back. “Didn’t mean to bump into you like that..”

“It’s fine. My fault for just stopping.” Renée took a deep breath and blinked, then glanced around. She did, indeed, abruptly stop right outside her dressing room door. “I’m sorry. I’m just … tired.” You can do this, she told herself as she stared at the doorknob. It’s fine. No one can get in here. With another deep breath, she turned the knob, her heart going a hundred miles a minute as she pushed it open, and …

Nothing.

Relief poured through her as the sight of her empty dressing room greeted her. It was just as she’d left it before she began rehearsals. Her racks of costumes and clothes were on the right side, while the makeup table and mirror were set up on the left. A lounging area was set up in the middle with a white couch, arm chairs, and some refreshments. Her manager wanted to post a bodyguard both inside and outside the dressing room, but Renée thought that was too much considering that there were already six bodyguards downstairs at all of the entrances and exits. Besides, even though she’d been in the music business over a decade, she still couldn’t get used to having guards so close in her personal space.

Sinking down on the white couch, she took another sip of her water.

“Do you need anything else, Renée?” Nadia asked. “Some food? Or a smoothie?”

She waved her away. “I’m good, Nadia. I’m just waiting for—” A knock on the door interrupted her. “Can you see who that is?” She prayed that was who she thought it was.

Nadia darted to the door and opened it a crack, then pulled it all the way. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s … it’s you!” The assistant stepped away. “Please, come in.”

Renée shot to her feet as she saw the other person come in. “Charley!” she screamed as she ran toward the door. “Oh my Lord!” She enveloped her friend in a hug. “It’s been too long.” Tears welled in her eyes.

“I know, I know.” Charley stepped back, and her toffee brown eyes too, were wet with tears. “A few years at least.”

“Ten years and four months. My eighteenth birthday party.” They decided to part ways soon after that and while their professional breakup had been hard on Renée, she understood why her friend had to leave and supported her all the way.

“This is too cool,” Nadia burst out. “I mean … I’m sorry!” The poor girl’s face turned all red. “It’s just … you two were my jam growing up, you know? You guys were all over my bedroom wall.” She gestured in the air, making a shape like a marquee. “Renée Rose and Charley Star! The Wonderland Divas! I’m so thrilled seeing you two together. Ms. Star, it’s an honor.”

“Er, thanks.”

Renée shot Charley an apologetic look. “Nadia, could you go find Hailey and tell her to come here, and then maybe grab us some coffees? Iced americano, extra ice, right Char?”

“Of course,” she said with a laugh. “You remembered.”

“And an iced latte for me.” Renée gently pushed her assistant toward the exit. “Thanks, Nadia.” Closing the door behind her, she leaned back and let out a breath. “Sorry, about that Char.”

“No worries,” Charley chuckled. “I’m surprised she remembers who I am, especially when you’re the bigger name now.”

“Ah, those were the days, eh?” She looped her arm through Charley’s and led her toward the couch. “Back when we were Spencer’s brightest stars.” The Spencer Corporation was a mega-corporation that specialized in family-friendly entertainment.

“With our own TV show on the Spencer Channel,” Charley said wryly.

“And tours all over the US, and of course, appearances at all Spencer theme parks.” Renée sat them down on the couch. “Remember when you threw up on Chase Mountain?”

“That’s because you dared me to eat all that ice cream before we got on.” Charley waved a finger at her. “Oh God, I could reminisce with you all day, Renée.”

“Me too.”

“But I’m here because you called.”

“I know.” Her voice lowered. “Thank you.” She moved in for another hug. “I didn’t think you’d come so fast though. I just called you the day before yesterday.”

Charley’s expression turned dark. “We’re talking about your life here, Renée, I wasn’t going to dilly-dally. And I’m glad you called me. You should have done it sooner.”

She shrugged. “It was harmless at first, you know. But also, I heard you’ve gone through a lot in the last couple of months. So, you’re really … one of them? A Supernatural?” She put her hand over her mouth. “I mean, sorry, is it okay to say that? I hope it’s not offensive.”

“No, no, not at all.”

“I called, you know. Left you a message.”

“I heard it. Thank you. I’m so sorry I couldn’t call you back, it was a crazy time.” Her lips pressed tight together, and she paused, as if trying to decide if she should say more or not. “But you understand why I had to keep it from you, right?”

“Of course. But I still can’t believe all this time … you-you can turn into a wolf?” Everyone had heard about the Supernaturals of course, after that incident in Connecticut followed by the congressional hearings.

“Yep, pretty much.”

“But how did the press find out you were one of them?”

“My mom, of course,” she said. “She came out in support of our clan.” Charley’s mom, Evie King, was a superstar in her own right, a multiple-award winning Broadway star, singer, and composer of several hit stage shows and soundtracks for blockbuster movies.

“Is she—”

“No, it’s my dad who’s a Lycan. I mean, she’s human, but her mom is—er, it’s complicated. Can we talk about something else?”

“How about telling me why you quit the tour with—”

“Except that.”

Renée didn’t miss the way Charley’s lips pursed and her arms crossed over her chest defensively. “All right, not now maybe. But, you said you were bringing someone who could help me? Your uncle or something?”

“Oh yeah. See, my family has a security firm based here in New York. Uncle Killian’s the head honcho, but he’s letting his son, my cousin Arch, handle everything. He’s downstairs waiting to meet you. I said I wanted to have a few minutes alone with you before he came up.”

“So your family … all of them are—”

“Lycans, yes. And if this guy who’s stalking you is as dangerous as you said he is, then they can help, not to mention, they’re very discreet. They work on extremely high-level stuff. Foreign governments and big corporations, that kind of deal.”

“All right, I’d like to meet him. And so will Hailey, my manager.”

Charley stood up. “I’ll go get him then. Be right back.”

Renée smiled to herself as she watched her friend hurry out the door. Same old Charley. They’d known each other since they were teens and even after all these years, they’d picked up that easy friendship as if they hadn’t spent a day apart. But that what was real friendship was, and it was a good reminder for herself that such relationships could exist for someone like her. Honestly Renée couldn’t think of anyone else she could consider a real friend. It really was lonely at the top.

I’ve become a cliche.

She’d worked her ass off to be where she was, transforming herself from plain old Lisa May Johnson to Renée Rose, international superstar. Every musician on the planet wanted to be her. She had multiple music awards under her belt, over two hundred million records sold worldwide, and numerous accolades from the music and entertainment industry.

I deserve this.

Yet, she was still only human. There were times she craved what others had. A normal life, being able to walk to the corner store without being recognized and surrounded by fans and papparazzi. Maybe even time for a family of her own, a husband and kids. She often wondered what life would have been like if she had stayed Lisa May Johnson.

The knock on the door knocked her out of her thoughts. “Come in.”

“Hey, kid.”

It was Hailey Ashton, her manager. At five foot flat, with long platinum blonde hair and a big smile, most people thought Hailey Ashton was an angel. And she was—until you crossed her. Then she turned into a bulldog. She was the best manager in the industry, and she helped guide Renée’s career into what it was now by being ruthless and cutting only the best deals for her.

“Nadia said you needed me.” Walking in, Hailey sat down next to Renée. “Is Charley here already?”

“Yeah, she just went to get someone and she’s coming right back up. How’s everything?”

Hailey sat down with her and they chatted about business until another knock came at the door. “That should be them.” Renée stood up and strode across the room. “Charley, are you—” She stopped short as it wasn’t her friend on the other side of the door when she opened it. Craning her neck up, she looked at the stranger.

Oh Lord.

Renée had seen her share of hot men in her life and she’d even dated a few of them—movie stars, models, fellow musicians. However, attractive didn’t even begin to describe the man on the other side of the door. He was over six feet, with broad shoulders that not even his expensive suit could hide. He was handsome in that classic, Hollywood way with dark brows, a straight aquiline nose and a square jaw, but what had knocked the air out her body was the intense stare from his violet eyes. They were the color of irises and right now, they were fixed on her.

“Ahem.” Charley peeked from behind the handsome stranger. “Renée, this is my cousin, Arch Jones.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Rose.” His low, rough baritone caused a shiver to run down the backs of Renée’s knees.

“I … uh … yes …” Get it together, girl. “Mr. Jones, come in.”

Somehow despite her wobbly knees, she made it back to the couch. “Charley, Mr. Jones, this is Hailey Ashton, my manager.”

They all exchanged pleasantries and handshakes. “Please, have a seat,” Hailey said, gesturing to the two chairs across the couch. She and Renée settled down.

“Mr. Jones—“

“Arch, please,” he said.

“Arch,” Hailey began. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Have you been briefed on the matter?” Being swift and efficient, Renée was not surprised that her manager went straight to business. Time was money, after all.

“Not on the details. Charley said Ms. Rose had a stalker and that he had to be dealt with quietly.”

“And quiet is your specialty.” It was statement, not a question. “I did some initial searches on the Internet about Lone Wolf Investigations and Security and couldn’t find anything. Except about what’s been written about Connecticut and the hearings.”

“Then you’re aware of what we are,” he stated. “And you have no problem with that?”

Another shiver ran through Renée, though for a different reason this time. This man turned into some kind of animal with fur and teeth and claws. Would he be able to help her or was she putting herself in more danger around him. There was no way to answer that, of course, but she had to at least trust Charley would never let anyone—or anything—hurt her.

“I’ve seen a lot of things in this business, Arch, nothing can surprise me anymore,” Hailey said, a smile touching her lips. “But no, I have no problem with that. And when it comes to protecting Renée, I’ll do anything.” She sent Renée a reassuring smile.

Arch leaned forward, his stare intensifying. “Tell me what you know about this stalker. Everything from the beginning.”

“At first it was harmless,” Hailey began. “I mean, nothing out of the ordinary for someone in Renée’s position. She gets tons of fan mail and a lot of them are … well, unhinged, to say the least. I have a whole team whose job is to open her physical fan mail and emails, and they get the craziest things. Letters, packages, and yes, some not so nice. The worst ones we pass to our security company—sorry, former security company—Blackthorne International.”

“Former?”

“Soon-to-be former,” Hailey clarified. “After the incident the other day, we’re in the process of firing them, which is why you’re here.”

“I see. Please go on.”

“Aside from Renée’s security, they’re in charge of assessing any threats. Apparently, we’ve been receiving letters and packages from this same guy but they never thought him a serious risk. Until the other day.”

“What happened?”

Hailey opened her mouth to speak, but Renée raised a hand. “It’s okay,” she said before Hailey could protest. Her chest squeezed tight at the memory, but she pushed herself to speak. She didn’t know why, but she had to do this herself. “A couple of days ago, I came home from a dinner party in Beverly Hills. I opened the d-door and …” Her lips trembled. “The entire living room was covered in rose petals and candles. A-and …” Hailey squeezed her hadn’t and she nodded at her gratefully. “H-he was there, standing in the middle of the room, h-holding a bouquet of flowers.”

Arch muttered something under his breath. “What did he do?”

“H-he welcomed me home, like … like he was supposed to be here.”

Hi, honey, welcome back.

“I screamed and h-he lunged at me. Thankfully, the door was still open and I ran out.” Her heart rapped out a rhythm like a snare drum. “He started screaming at me … begging me to come back. My security team came in, and chased him down, but he managed to get away.”

“He’s crazy,” Hailey continued. “Apparently he has some delusion that he and Renée are together. The letters … they were sweet at first, then they escalated when she didn’t reply. The last one, dated a few days before the break-in, said he’d be coming for her.”

Renée shivered. “I never knew … no one told me.”

“And that’s why we’re firing our security company,” Hailey said. “They didn’t lift a finger, not with all the red flags.” She grit her teeth. “They even had the guy’s name for god’s sake!”

“So, who is he?” Arch asked. “And how did he get into the house?”

“Scott Dawson,” Haley informed him. “Thirty years old, former Navy SEAL, dishonorably discharged a few years ago.”

Arch clasped his hands together. “Makes sense. He’d know how to infiltrate a heavily-guarded house and plan out an escape route if things went south. It would take a lot of work, but it’s possible. Do you have a file on him?”

“Just arrest records from the LAPD. He’d been booked once before for disorderly conduct.” Hailey’s nostrils flared. “We called them, but we haven’t filed any formal reports. We couldn’t risk getting a squad car out there. The press has Renée on their radar twenty-four seven. You can understand why we would want to keep this under wraps, given who she is. Opening an official investigation with the LAPD will be messy, plus they’ll want to interview her and who knows what could leak out?”

Arch turned his violet gaze on her, his expression turning soft and comforting. “What can I for you then, Ms. Rose?”

A sense of calm swept over her. “I just want the guy caught and turned over to the police.”

“Along with all the evidence needed to put him away, without Renée having to testify,” Hailey added.

“The police and DA’s office are overworked enough as it is,” Renée added. “I don’t want to take away resources that could be used to fight real crimes.”

“Stalking is a real crime,” Arch pointed out. “But, I understand. You want us to deliver the whole package—evidence and your stalker—to the cops and the system can take care of the rest.”

Hailey nodded. “Exactly. With her being so high-profile, I’m sure the police and the DA will want a quick trial.” 

“So, security for Renée and locating the suspect.” Arch rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “We can definitely do that. In fact that’s right in our wheelhouse.”

“And everything needs to be above board and legal.” Hailey pressed. “The last thing we need is for him to get away on a technicality and bad press for Renée if there’s even a hint of anything illegal or violation of civil liberties.”

Violet eyes intensified. “If that’s what you want.”

Renée saw something in Hailey she’d never seen before—fear. It was fleeting but it had been there. She couldn’t blame her manager though as she felt it grip her too, not because of what Arch said but that he didn’t say aloud: that if they didn’t want to do things within the bounds of the law, he could make that happen too.

“When can you start?” Hailey asked.

“As soon as we iron out all the details and sign the contracts. From what I gather … we’ll need round the clock protection for Renée, which means four of my guys will be with her at all times. Then I’ll assemble another team to track down Dawson.”

“Four?” Hailey raised a blonde eyebrow. “Right now we have sixteen bodyguards working for us.”

“In shifts,” he said. “My guys don’t need to sleep much, plus they have special skills yours don’t.”

“I see. But that won’t cover what we need when she’s at events and definitely not on tour. Aside from her personal bodyguards, we have forty people on staff guarding her homes in LA, Atlanta, Miami, and New York. Plus security staff for her tours alone are about minimum a hundred people, and that’s just in the smaller venues .”

“I wasn’t aware that your current contractor handled everything, but it makes sense why they could get sloppy and complacent. But, don’t worry, I’ll talk to the CEO of our parent company. He’ll have that kind of human personnel who can handle crowd control, as well as home security.”

“Human?” Renée asked. “I thought Charley said you were an all-Supernatural crew.”

“Lone Wolf is, yes. But we don’t have three hundred agents. Currently we have forty-two Lycans and hybrid agents.”

Charley spoke up. “I think there’s about, oh, three or four hundred Lycans in total in New York? Despite what the press says, there’s not that many of us. Hybrids even less, and two of them are my cousins.”

Curious, Renée asked, “What’s a hybrid?”

Arch hesitated, but after a nod from Charley, he said, “A cross between a witch or warlock and Lycan. They inherit traits of both parents. They can turn into wolves, but also possess special magical powers, like controlling fire or teleportation.”

“Goodness.” Renée pressed a hand to her chest. “Magic and witches, too?”

Arch cleared his throat. “I assure you, Ms. Rose, Ms. Ashton, we have more than enough capability to handle all your needs.”

Hailey turned to Renée. “Why don’t we talk about this first?”

“Of course.” She stood up. “If you don’t mind, Charley, Arch …?”

“Not at all.” Arch rose to his feet. “Please, take your time. I’ll put a proposal together nonetheless and send it over.” He handed Hailey his card. “And call me anytime if you have any questions.”

“Thank you, Arch. We’ll be in New York until the end of the week finishing up this music video.”

“What are you doing in the meantime to keep her safe?” he asked. “I noticed you only have six guys posted at the exits and entrances. What about her home? And the other floors in this loft? Your security company should also have at least a couple guys scoping out the nearby buildings.”

“I’m a singer, not the president,” Renée said with a laugh. Arch, however, kept the same serious expression on his face. “No one except the people inside this building know I’m here and they’re all bound by NDAs. I borrowed a friend’s jet which landed in Boston, then we drove down here. Nothing can be traced back to me or my production company.”

“I’ve tipped off the press that she’s possibly in Atlanta and I’ve limited Renée’s schedule for now so she’s not doing anything in the city, and she’s staying in an apartment around the corner. I’m not even letting her see the outside. She goes from here, to the garage, then a car drives her to the garage of the apartment building where she’s staying.”

Violet eyes darted toward Renée briefly before focusing on Hailey. “All right then, Ms. Ashton, I’ll get that proposal to you as soon as possible.”

Charley got and hugged Renée. “I know you’re busy with rehearsals and your music video shoot. But I’ll be in the city, at least for the foreseeable future. I’m here if you need me.”

“Seeing as you have some free time on your hand, maybe you can write me that hit song you’ve been promising me for … oh, about ten years now?” Aside from being a great singer, Charley was a phenomenal songwriter, yet for some reason, she’d never released any of her own stuff. As far as she knew, Charley had only shared her songs with Renée. “You owe, me girl.”

Charley laughed. “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”

“Never.” She hugged Charley. “But thanks so much. For everything.” She turned to Arch and held her hand out. “And thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome.”

As the large hand wrapped around hers, the most curious zing of electricity shot up her arm, startling her. When her head snapped up to meet his gaze, she could have sworn she saw his eyes flash with an unearthly glow.

What the—

He quickly pulled his hand away. “We can find our way out.” With that, he and Charley left.

Once they were alone, Hailey let out a breath. “I was lying earlier. I can still get surprised. And unnerved.” She plopped back down on the couch. “Witches, wolves … this is the world we live in now, I guess.”

“Times are changin’,” she sing-songed with a nervous laugh. She rubbed at her right arm, wondering if she’d hallucinated that sensation. “What do you think? About going with Lone Wolf for my security?”

Hailey shrugged. “I mean, what have we got to lose? Anyone else we hire will just be like Blackthorne. Maybe this unique problem requires a unique solution.”

Renée let out an inner sigh of relief, glad that Hailey wasn’t going to fight her on this. “I’m tired of being scared, Hailey,” she confessed. “The past couple days, I haven’t been able to sleep. Even opening doors turns me into a wreck.” Whenever she closed her eyes, all she could picture was the sight of Dawson in her living room. “I just want this over with. Knowing that he’s behind bars will make me feel safer.”

“I know, kid.” She wrapped an arm around Renée’s shoulders. “How about a trial run? If they can catch Dawson, we’ll hand over the entire contract to them. That’s millions per year in revenue for them. That should be enough to light a fire under their asses so we can contain Dawson.” She got up to her feet. “I’ll see if I can catch them before they leave.”

“Thanks Hailey.”

As soon as her manager left, Hailey bounded over to the large windows, which had a view of the parking lot and exit below. A few heartbeats later, Charley and Arch emerged and walked across the lot to the lone Jeep Cherokee in the far end, stopping only when Hailey caught up to them.

Renée held her breath, watching Arch as he spoke to Hailey. A sliver of heat shot through her as she remembered the way her skin tingled when they shook hands.

Oh no.

Don’t you dare, find him attractive Lisa May Johnson.

Please no.

Don’t. You. Dare.

Renée softly banged her head on the windowpane.

It was too late.

 

 

Pre Order Until Arch now!

Releases April 2023

 

Chapter One

Until Arch Preview 

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Chapter One

Order, neatness, and control were three things that Arch Jones required in order to function. That’s why he liked to come into the offices of Lone Wolf Investigations and Security before anyone else did. The smell of the fresh, clean office, the silence, and the general peace and quiet soothed him and his inner wolf. Even now, as he walked into the his darkened office, his wolf let out a satisfied rumble.

Everything was clean and in its place, just the way he liked it. The hint of wood pine cleaner, his desktop clear of folders and papers, and even his worn leather chair pushed up against the desk—signaled to him that it was a brand new day.

Sitting down at his desk, Arch booted up his computer, ready to start the day. As VP of operations, he was essentially the second in command of the entire organization. His father, Killian, was the current President, but he had made it clear he had his sights set on retirement soon and everyone assumed Arch would replace him. Arch had known that most of his life, and had been groomed for it. He’d spent summers working there as a teenager, had worked part time as an agent while he was completing his business degree at NYU, and joined as a full partner when he graduated.

While Lone Wolf was pretty much a family-run company that consisted mostly of his uncles and cousins, Arch made sure he earned his position at the table. He worked harder than everyone else, even on the not so fun stuff—hence why he was coming in early to do paperwork. He also had his own ideas on how to make the company grow. Technically, they were still a subsidiary of the larger Creed Security corporation, and functioned mostly as an internal agency for them. Since almost everyone who worked at Lone Wolf was a Lycan or a hybrid—a lycan with powers inherited from a witch or warlock parent—they were able to accomplish things human employees could not. But that also meant they had to keep their identities a secret from the human world.

That, of course, changed a few months ago when a literally apocalyptic even happened and their secret was revealed to the world. Most Lycans feared the changed, but Arch was one of the few people to embrace it. He saw it was not a threat, but a burden being lifted.

And that’s when he started making plans.

He wanted Lone Wolf to expand and grow under his charge. That meant taking on more clients outside Creed and using their expertise for other people and organizations. Naturally the three original Lone Wolves—his father, Uncle Quinn and Uncle Connor—had been resistant. Which Arch sympathized with, but he also understood that the world was changing.

They’d warmed up to idea somewhat, at least, until one of the first clients Arch had onboarded had nearly killed his cousin, Lizzie.

Arch winced. Talk about a total miscalculation. While no one blamed Arch, he still felt responsible for bringing Maxim Silver into their lives. If Lizzie hadn’t been pregnant with her True Mate’s child, she would have died when Silver had kidnapped her and given her belladonna, a substance lethal to their kind.

And that was why he even more determined to work harder. Lone Wolf Investigations and Security would grow and thrive under his leadership. Silver had been a bump in the road, and he would not make the same mistake again.

The knock on the door made his head snap up. “Come in.”

“Hey Arch!” Lizzie poked her head in. “Uncle K isn’t around, can we talk to you?”

Arch pushed away from his desk, rubbed his eyes, and looked at the clock on his desk. Hours had seemingly passed and it was nearly noon. “Of course.” But what did she mean ‘we’? “Who else is with you?”

Lizzie walked in and Wyatt Creed, current CEO of Creed Security—and technically the big man in charge—walked in. While Creed was mostly hands off when it came to Lone Wolf, Arch wasn’t surprised at his boss’s presence because he also happened to be Lizzie’s True Mate, fiancé, and father of her unborn child.

“Wyatt,” he greeted as he stood up from behind his desk. “I—“

A third figure filed in behind the couple. “Hey Arch.”

“Charley?” He strode over to his cousin and enveloped her in a big hug. His inner wolf yipped in happiness, recognizing her and her she-wolf’s presence. Growing up, all the cousins had been close, and they always considered themselves a mini-clan of their own.

“It’s been so long. I didn’t even know you were back. Weren’t you touring somewhere?” Charley worked as a production assistant with musicians who toured around the country and the world. “Is anything wrong?”

“Nice to see you too, Arch.” She stepped back. “No, nothing’s wrong.”

Lizzie smirked, but said nothing else. Arch could sense there was something going on, and as the eldest of all his cousins, there was that need to press her and find out what, so he could fix it. But, he pushed that away for now. Charley, after all, was a grown woman and a Lycan who could take care of herself.

Charley sent Lizzie a warning look. “I just missed home and so I quit my last tour. There was talks of extending it to Europe, but I got tired of  life on the road. But, I’m glad I did because something came up.”

He did not miss the serious tone of her voice. “What is it?”

“That’s why I came here. Can we talk?”

“Of course.” He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk, and walked around to his own. The two women sat down while Wyatt pulled up a third chair and set it beside Lizzie’s. “What can I do for you, Char?”

Charley pushed a lock of her brown hair away from her face. “I have a friend and she’s in trouble. She’s being stalked.”

“Has she called the police?”

“Yeah. Kind of.” Charley shifted in her seat. “I mean, she’s spoken to the police, but everything’s hush-hush so there’s no official report. She’s not just anyone, you see. Do you guys remember this friend of mine… Renée Rose?”

“Renée Rose?” Lizzie interjected. “The Renée Rose?”

“Yes, that Renée Rose,” Charley chuckled.

“Say, didn’t you and her—”

“Yes.” Charley interrupted. “A long time ago.”

“Sorry, I don’t understand.” Arch folded his hands together. “Who is she?”

“She’s the biggest pop star in the world,” Wyatt said.

“And you know she’s big if even this Luddite knows of her,” Lizzie teased, poking her mate with her elbow.

Wyatt only smirked at her, then turned to Charley. “How do you know her, exactly?”

“Wyatt, you don’t remember?” Lizzie snapped her fingers. “Oh right, you lived in England for most of that time. Charley and Renée Rose were like, the most popular teeny bopper music duo back in the day.”

Charley fidgeted in her seat. “A million years ago.”

Arch had nearly forgotten that time in his cousin’s life, as well. And it was clear she didn’t want to rehash it either. “I think I remember her.” He’d never met Charley’s former music partner, but then he wasn’t exactly into pop music back then or now. He was more of a classic rock guy. “I didn’t make the connection.” He’d heard of Renée Rose, of course, who on planet earth hadn’t? She was everywhere—on TV, radio, billboards, magazines, on videos and pop-up ads on the Internet. “So, she’s being stalked? Do they know who it is?”

“I’ve only spoken with her over the phone and she gave me a few details. She wants it handled privately and she needs protection.” Her dark brown eyebrows furrowed together. “She sounded real scared, Arch. And so I thought, Lone Wolf could maybe help out? As a favor to me? I know things are hairy right now because everyone knows about us, but if you wouldn’t mind at least talking to her and her team, I would really appreciate it.”

Arch rested his chin on his interlocked fingers. Had this been a few months ago, before their big secret had been revealed, there would have been no way his father or Sebastian Creed would have agreed to this. It would have risked exposing their secret. But now …  “What do you think, Wyatt?” He was probably the wrong person to ask, seeing as Arch’s last client had nearly gotten his mate killed, but he was still the boss.

Wyatt’s keen hazel eyes narrowed. “I know what my father and yours would think. No way. Too risky.” He leaned forward. “But, I also know things aren’t what they used to be. Lone Wolf is more or less run independently by you guys, but you still only do work for Creed, Fenrir, or other Lycan clans. I think now that we don’t have to worry about keeping our existence a secret, it’s time Lone Wolf expands. And a client like Renée Rose could be just what we need, not just for the money, but it could be good exposure for our kind.”

“Glad we see eye to eye.” And that Wyatt apparently didn’t hold a grudge about the whole Maxim thing.

“We need to handle this carefully, of course. One wrong move—”

“I’ll supervise everything myself.” Nothing could go wrong with such a high-profile client. If he had to babysit her himself twenty-four seven, he would do it.

“Good. If Killian has any objections, I’m sure you can handle it, otherwise, let me know if I should speak with him.” He stood up. “I need to be getting back to the office. Lizzie?”

“I’ll walk you out. Want to grab lunch, Char? Arch?”

“Sure,” Charley said. “I am craving for the wonton soup from Emerald Dragon.”

“You girls go ahead,” Arch said. “I have some work to do.”

“I’ll be right back,” Lizzie said as she and Wyatt left.

“Still a workaholic, huh, Arch?” Charley teased.

He chuckled. “What else do I have except work?” He lived for Lone Wolf, everyone knew that. Craved for the activity, to do something productive, and to take action. No, he wasn’t a sit down and relax type of guy. His wolf too, longed for the thrill of the hunt.

“That’s not a very healthy way of living.” She nodded at the door. “No female caught your eye yet? No one you care to have babies with and make goo goo eyes at, like those two?”

“Those two are something else. My eyes would have probably rolled into another dimension each time Wyatt snarled at any male who came too close and how oblivious she was.” But that was Lizzie in a nutshell.

Still, he was happy for them, but a mate for him? Not gonna happen. He wasn’t a monk or anything and enjoyed the occasional fling or one night stand. But he was much too busy with Lone Wolf for anything or anyone else.

“Arch?” Charley waved a hand in front of him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. But how about you? You know you can tell me anything right? Like why you quit your job?”

Charley laughed nervously. “Always the big brother, the alpha of the cousins, aren’t you? I’m fine. I told you, I just missed home. And I can always find work.”

“Have you seen your dad yet?”

“I just got back, so haven’t seen anyone else yet.” 

Arch did not miss the non-answer, but didn’t press it. Charley and Uncle Connor were just too alike, which was why they butted heads frequently. However, according to Arch’s mom, their relationship was much better these days, especially now that Charley was more independent and had flown the nest, so to speak. He just hoped her coming back to New York wouldn’t put their relationship under strain again.

She stood up. “All right, so I’ll let Renée know you agreed to meet and send you the details. She’s landing in New York tonight so maybe we can set something up tomorrow? I’ll let you know as soon possible what time.”

“Sure.” He came to her and gave her a hug. “Hey, it’s nice to have you back.”

“Thanks, Arch.” With a last wave, she left.

Walking back to his chair, he sat down at his computer, and opened up a browser window to do a search on their potential client. As soon as he hit enter, the search results returned with millions of hits, and the top of the page was filled with glamorous shots of Renée Rose, international pop superstar.

He clicked on the first one, a photo of her at some awards show from a few years ago where she carried two trophies. She was dressedin a sparkly silver strapless dress, showing off her smooth, dark copper skin. A halo of natural golden brown hair surrounded her beautiful face, her full lips pulled back into a genuine smile.

Arch clicked through the rest of the photos and results and saved them so he could read more about her later. However, he couldn’t help but go back to that first photo of her. There was something about that shot that made him come back, and he just couldn’t put his finger on why. All the other photos were much more glamorous and sexier even—hell, he was a man after all and he couldn’t not stare at a picture of a  scantily-clad woman.

But this one, with her smile like she was on top of the world, tugged at something deep in him. He found himself reaching out to touch the screen, wondering if her skin was as soft as it looked.

He pulled his hand back and shook his head, then clicked the page off.

Research later, work now. Hell, maybe he’d even listen to one of two of her songs, provided his ears didn’t bleed. Not that it mattered what he thought of her music, because if things went well with this Renée Rose, it could be the biggest win for Lone Wolf and his years of work and planning would pay off.

 

 

Pre Order Until Arch now!

Releases late March 2023