The City Of Alphas - The Complete Paranormal Romance Novel

ABOUT THIS COMPLETE NOVEL

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New York City. For some it is the city of dreams, for others it is the city of dark secrets.

Tara is a curvy artist from Manhattan and sparks fly when she meets her sexy new neighbor Alex. It is not long before she and Alex are enjoying some of the steamiest sex she has ever had and Tara has fallen heavily for her ruggedly handsome lover.

However, Alex has a secret.

He is the ex-Alpha of a wolf pack from Michigan and he came to the city to flee the pack life and live a more human life.

In a city of 8 million humans, Alex figures he would just fade into the background and go unnoticed but he was wrong. Very wrong.

Little did Alex know, that by coming to the City he was not escaping anything. He was actually running into even more danger as it becomes apparent that he is not the only Alpha in the big city.

So when Sebastian, the Alpha Of Manhattan, learns of Alex's relationship with human Tara the death penalty is expected to follow but first he has an interesting proposition for the star crossed lovers...

Contents

Book 1

Book 2

Book 3

Book 4

Book 5

BOOK 1

THE CITY OF ALPHAS

JASMINE WHITE

CHAPTER ONE

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I wasn't trying to make scrambled eggs in the apartment elevator, of course.  And yet, maybe it appeared that way when the doors opened, revealing me standing there, surrounded by a dozen cracked eggs,  to my hunky new neighbor And actually, hunky didn't even begin to describe him. Nor did handsome. At six-foot-two or three with dark, nearly black, hair, charcoal-gray eyes, and a square, masculine jaw, there was only one way he could be described: absolutely gorgeous.

His face appeared made for modeling.  His body looked like it was made for modeling underwear, specifically. Every millimeter of it was composed of lean, rock-hard muscle, if the way his fitted, navy blue t-shirt highlighted the chiseled contours of his abs and broad chest was any indication. And if the lightly tanned biceps peeking out from the sleeves of that t-shirt were any indication.

It made me a little weak in the knees just to look at him.

He surveyed the cracked-egg mess at my feet, his dark gray eyes twinkling, before lifting his gaze to my face. I don't think they'll cook very well on the floor. Might need a bit more heat.

My face flamed with heat. Probably enough to cook a thousand eggs.

Although, probably depends on how you like your eggs cooked. If you like them very, very over-easy, the elevator floor might do just fine.

His voice was rich and deep. Manly. It sent a little thrill rippling through me.

Somehow, despite my embarrassment, I managed a weak laugh. I was actually hoping for an omelet this morning.

I really had been. I worked as a stained glass artist, selling my creations online, and I'd been up since dawn that particular Saturday morning in May, working on a few different projects I really wanted to finish. Around nine, I'd taken a break, starving, but realized I didn't really have much breakfast food in the house. Or much food at all. So, I'd left my Lower East Side apartment and headed to the neighborhood bodega, which was a teeny-tiny, yet well-stocked, corner grocery store.

It was one of those May mornings that made a person happy to live in New York City, happy to live in Manhattan's Lower East Side, and happy to be alive, period. The air was warm and fresh-smelling, something that was somewhat rare in such a smoggy city. The sun was bright and the sky a perfect clear blue. The residents of a neighboring building had been putting big terracotta pots full of red geraniums out in front of their building, and I'd stopped to admire the flowers and chat for a bit on my way to the store.

At the bodega, I bought eggs, cheese, fruit, and a big paper bagful of other staples. So many that bag was a bit heavy and chock full, but rather than carrying two bags, I'd decided to just hold the carton of eggs in the other hand. The carton had somehow popped open in the elevator and several eggs fell out. When I’d instinctively stooped over to make some sort of attempt to clean up the mess, the rest of the eggs tumbled out as well. Which had, of course, led to my current state of embarrassment in front of my beyond-handsome new neighbor.

He'd moved into my building a few months earlier, and I'd seen him, always somewhat at a distance, like outside the building, or at the end of the hallway, a handful of times. But we'd never formally met or spoken. I knew he lived on the fifth floor, which was the top floor of our building, same as I did, but other than that, I knew nothing about him. Except that right now, his twinkling, charcoal-gray eyes were making butterflies race around my stomach.

The elevator door began to close, and he stopped it with one lightly tanned, long-fingered hand. Let me grab something to prop this open with, and I'll help you clean up. Be right back.

I couldn't hold back a smile. Thank you.

I took over the elevator door-holding, and after giving me a half-grin that turned my insides to jelly, he dashed away.

I thought how it was very kind that he was going to help me. I was pretty sure he wasn't doing it in any sort of hopes of scoring a date with me, or anything like that. I was fairly certain I wasn't his type. With his looks, I imagined his type was probably supermodels. Probably chesty, slim-waisted blondes. Or long-legged brunettes. Neither of which described me.

I wasn't ugly. That I knew. I knew I was maybe even a bit pretty. And in fact, while I was out and about, I often received random compliments about my smile and golden brown, almond-shaped eyes from complete strangers, both male and female. Which was saying a lot, because in Manhattan, complete strangers usually didn't stop to compliment other complete strangers.

But I was a heavier girl; there was no denying it. And at five-foot-four, I was also on the shorter side. I knew I didn't have the physique most men went for. However, despite carrying around some extra pounds, I was at least reasonably fit from lots of walking to get from point A to point B in the city, and my figure was a definite hourglass shape, which I knew some men found quite pleasing. Although, I'd never been able to find a man who appreciated my body the way I'd always hoped a man would. I'd had a few boyfriends, a couple of them semi-long term, but they'd all seemed to merely tolerate my heavier, curvy body.  What I really wanted was for a man to love it.

Aside from my smile and eyes, I suppose maybe my skin color could be considered attractive. My ancestry was mostly African-American, with some Native American blood on my mom's side, and I'd gotten her warm, caramel-colored skin. I'd also gotten her somewhat textured wavy black hair, which I loved. I wore mine long, although I tended to have it up in a loose, messy bun the great majority of the time.

But at any rate, despite a few possible positives looks-wise, while I stood in the elevator surrounded by cracked eggs, I was pretty sure I wasn't my beyond-handsome neighbor's type, and he was just being neighborly and kind.

He soon returned with a broom, which he used to prop open the elevator door, a plastic bag, some paper towels, and a soapy sponge. He went to work cleaning up the mess.  I tried to help, of course, but he wouldn't let me.

He glanced up from scrubbing the elevator floor with the sponge. Frankly, you're not the kind of woman who should ever have to lift a finger, not when there's an able-bodied man around.

I stood speechless, wondering exactly what kind of woman I was. But certain that it was a kind my gorgeous new neighbor thought highly of for some reason. Which thrilled me, even though it left me slightly bewildered at the same time.

While he worked, he asked me how long I'd lived in the building. It had been so long I actually had to think.

Mm, almost nine years now, I guess. Since I was eighteen. I moved in the same month I graduated high school.

He paused in his scrubbing and looked up at me. That's so young to be out on your own.

I won't disagree. The first couple of months were really hard. And lonely. But.... I took a deep breath, loathe to remember those days. It was all out of necessity. The art college where I was taking classes didn't offer dorm living, and my.... I paused, swallowing. My parents had just died in a car accident and I have no other relatives. So, I had no choice but to make it on my own.

He sat back on his heels, his dark brows angling upward in an expression of sympathy. I'm so very sorry about the loss of your parents.

The genuine concern and compassion in his voice suddenly made my eyes a bit misty.  I still missed my parents terribly, and I wasn't used to talking about them much.

I thanked him and then cleared my throat, eager to change the subject so that I wouldn't humiliate myself by openly crying or anything. Humiliate myself further, that is, since I'd already done a pretty good job of that with the eggs.

"So...how long have you lived in the building? You just moved in pretty recently, didn't you?"

He nodded, going back to work on the egg mess. Three months ago, I think. Moved here from Detroit. Decided on this particular building because it's so close to work.

Where do you work?

He glanced up. At the fire station about three blocks away. I'm a firefighter.

A firefighter. I had no clue how it was possible that a hunky, well-muscled firefighter, maybe the most handsome man I'd ever met in my life, was cleaning up my egg mess in the elevator. But I thanked my lucky stars that it was happening.

Soon he finished cleaning up the mess, put all supplies in the plastic bag, and stood. I'm sorry. I haven't even properly introduced myself. I'm Alexander Ford. But please feel free to call me Alex.

He extended his hand, and I took it. His touch was firm and warm. And so pleasantly dizzying that I practically forgot my own name.

Tara Foster. It's nice to meet you, Alex.

The pleasure is all mine, Tara.

I made the mistake of looking directly into his charcoal-gray eyes, dazzling me even further, before remembering my manners.

Thank you so much for cleaning up my huge mess. I'm so sorry that I was clumsy enough to-

Please, please don't apologize for anything. It was my pleasure to help.

Our handshake had been a lingering one, and he finally broke it, somewhat to my dismay. The feel of his skin on mine was one I could definitely get used to.

Realizing he'd been about to enter the elevator when he'd come across me and probably had somewhere to be or something to do, I smiled and thanked him again for his help. Hope I haven't held you up from anything or made you late.

Not at all. Was just heading out for a walk. No destination in particular.

Well, it's a beautiful morning for it. Hope you enjoy it.

Thank you. I smiled at Alex again, my heart hammering in my ears just from looking at his more-than-handsome face, with his broad shoulders and chiseled chest kind of in the periphery of my vision. Well, anyway...it was nice to meet you. I'll see you around.

It was nice to meet you as well, Tara, but wait. Can I make you some breakfast right now?

I stood speechless, flattered, but more than a little confused. But also more than a little excited, all at the same time. I was having a hard time believing that Alex might be interested in me on a more-than-neighborly level. But he seemed so genuine about his interest. I was maybe starting to become a tiny bit convinced. Although, I figured, maybe he was just lonely and trying to make platonic friends in the building. He had just fairly recently moved in, and he was brand-new to the city as well.

He gave me a little look with his gray eyes sparkling. "You said you wanted to make an omelet, but I have a feeling your plans for that were thwarted by what happened here in the elevator. So will you come over to my apartment and let me cook for you? I have a carton of eggs in the fridge, and if you want to help in the cooking, by moving the carton from the fridge to counter, and if I sense you beginning to spill the eggs out...if I sense even a hint of you beginning to lose your grip on the carton...I promise I'll catch all the eggs in my hands before they fall. I promise you I'll save our omelets with my lightning-fast reflexes."

I couldn't help but burst into laughter, earning myself a dazzling grin from Alex. His teeth were white and straight.

Okay. Thank you.

He grinned even bigger. Great.

I'd set my paper bag of groceries down in one corner of the elevator, and he picked it up and then offered me his arm, which struck me as somewhat of an old-fashioned, gentlemanly gesture. And I loved it.

We can drop off your groceries at your apartment first.

I smiled and took his arm, my pulse accelerating.

CHAPTER TWO

Alex and I left the elevator and went down the hall a little ways to my apartment to drop off my groceries before going to his place for breakfast, and I invited him inside while I unpacked a few cold items and put them in the fridge.

My apartment, which was a one-bedroom one-bath, wasn't very large, though it wasn't teeny-tiny, either. The building itself, though it had been updated and renovated several times over the years, dated from the early nineteen-hundreds, when Manhattan's Lower East Side had been populated mostly by newly-arrived immigrants. The exterior of the five-story structure was all original brick, with original steel fire escapes in back, and I liked living in a building with such history. I knew that if the walls could talk, they'd have many stories to tell.

While I unpacked my groceries, Alex surveyed the open living room and kitchen area, his gaze finally settling on the stained glass projects on my work table in the living room. My living room, which had a hardwood floor so it could also serve as my art studio.

You're an artist?

I glanced up, smiling. Yes. I paint and draw, but stained glass art is how I make my living, I have an online business selling my work.

He stepped closer and scanned some of the half-finished projects. Your pieces are absolutely beautiful.

I smiled, while a blush rose to my cheeks. Thank you.

The situation of having Alex in my apartment, and about to have breakfast at his, was starting to seem a bit surreal. I'd never had a man even a fraction as attractive interested in me. Though I certainly wasn't complaining. And I knew that different men were attracted to different looks. I was just still trying to wrap my head around the fact that he seemed to be attracted to mine.

He gestured to several tiny stained glass angels, in varying stages of completion, lining one side of the work table. These are especially beautiful.

I paused in my grocery-unpacking, beaming, I was sure. Thank you again. Those are more of a 'love project' than a work project. I make about a dozen of those little angels a week. About half I donate to local hospitals, for them to give to patients, particularly patients who haven't had any visitors. I like to tuck a little note under each angel's arm...just little messages saying things like, 'Someone cares,' or 'Feel better soon.' Just something to brighten people's days. And then the other half of the angels I make every week, I sell on my website and donate the profits to a charity that buys school supplies for disadvantaged kids here in the city. Just backpacks and binders and stuff. I finished placing several oranges in a bowl in the fridge, shut the door, and turned to face Alex. I guess I've always felt so lucky to be able to do what I love for a living that I like to give back through what I do...even just in tiny little ways.

He nodded, his sober expression almost seeming to be one of tenderness. I think that's wonderful and beautiful that you do that. Though, I might disagree that you give back in 'tiny little ways.' I'd say you give back in some pretty profound and meaningful ways. And I'm sure your efforts are greatly appreciated.

I smiled, a blush rising to my cheeks once again. Thanks.

We soon left my apartment and went down to the end of the fifth-floor hallway to his, which, like mine, was also a one-bedroom, one-bath unit. But unlike mine, his was clearly a bachelor pad. The furniture was minimal, but what little of it there was looked comfortable. Decorations of any kind were almost nonexistent, though a single, nondescript watercolor print hung on one of the cream-colored walls in the living room. A few forest-green area rugs gave the space some color. A pile of clothes hung over one arm of a plush tan couch. The whole tableau reminded me of Alex himself: straightforward and masculine.

He sat me down on a bar stool around an island in the kitchen and began getting out various foods to make our breakfast.

I offered to help cook, but before he could respond, I remembered what he'd said in the elevator when I'd tried to help clean up, and I gave him a little smile. Or am I the kind of woman who should never have to lift a finger in the kitchen when there's an able-bodied man around.

He smiled in return, setting a package of shredded cheese on the island. Now you've got it. Although you can grab the eggs if you'd like. Get right back up on the horse and all.

Giggling and making a mental note to maybe ask him sometime exactly what kind of woman I was that should never have to lift a finger, I got up, grabbed the eggs from the fridge, and handed them to him. Success. Didn't even begin to lose my grip on the carton this time. So now, despite my mishap earlier this morning, I don't think I'll have any long-term hang-ups about handling eggs.

His full mouth twitched with a smile.

Egg-cellent.

Seized with another giggle fit, and suddenly beginning to feel completely comfortable with him, as if I'd known him my entire life, I gave him a playful punch to the stomach.

You're very punny.

My loosely curled fist seemed to meet a wall of brick. While he grinned, revealing his straight white teeth, my giggles tapered off.

Work out much, Alex?

His deep gray eyes twinkled.

A bit.

I smiled, suddenly a little self-conscious, because I was currently picturing his rock-hard abs without a shirt, and I couldn't help it. I can definitely tell.

I took my seat up to the island again, a little surprised by the friendly, easygoing, fairly outgoing way I was acting and feeling around him. I'd always been somewhat of an introvert, and I tended to be shy around new people at first. It always took a while for me to completely come out of my shell. But with Alex, I felt like I could be myself, and right away, even though we'd just met. I wondered if I could possibly be genuinely falling in love with him already, not just lust but love, but I mentally reminded myself to slow down. I wasn't even a hundred percent sure that he even liked me in a romantic sort of way yet, and I didn't want my feelings to get way too ahead of themselves.

While he cooked deluxe omelets with broccoli, ham, and cheese, made buttered toast, and sliced a grapefruit, we chatted a little more and got to know each other a little better. I learned that he was thirty, three years older than me, and that in his spare time, he liked running and reading, mostly history books and biographies of important historical figures. I'd already deduced that from a stack of biographies on one of the kitchen counters. It struck me as a very appealing combination: a fire fighter who was also something of a bookworm.

I also learned that, like me, Alex was charity-minded. He told me that at his old fire station back in Detroit, he'd been in charge of the annual Christmas toy drive for needy kids, and he'd also organized an annual 5K run fundraiser that benefited single-parent families. Additionally, he'd created a mentoring program that matched up firehouse personnel with disadvantaged kids. Sort of like the Big Brothers Big Sisters of America program, only with fire fighters.

And I hope to continue on with similar types of programs here in New York.

I was more than a bit impressed.

But he seemed to clam up a little when I asked why he'd moved from Detroit.

After a long drink of orange juice, he sprinkled a pinch of sugar on a grapefruit half while avoiding my eyes. It was just time for something different, I guess.

While I figured that might be true, at least partially, I could tell there was a lot more to the story. But I knew it was most likely a painful one, maybe involving a death in the family, or a bad breakup, or something similar, and I figured if we were going to become friends, or maybe, hopefully, possibly even more, though I could still hardly wrap my brain around that possibility, he'd tell me about it when he was ready. So I didn't ask any more questions about Detroit, or why he'd left.

Soon all the food was ready, and we moved to a circular, polished blonde oak table at the far end of the kitchen. Alex wouldn't even let me carry any plates, silverware, coffee mugs, or juice glasses.

While carrying our omelets, he glanced at me, mouth twitching with a smile. You should know by now what kind of a woman you are, Tara. The kind who shouldn't have to lift a single finger while there's an able-bodied man around. Especially a man who's more than happy to wait on you hand and foot. He gave me a look from beneath his thick, dark lashes. Like you deserve.

A rush of heat rose to my cheeks, and butterflies danced in my stomach. There was no denying it now; I now knew without a doubt that he was interested in me in a romantic sort of way, as improbable as that seemed to me. And, needless to say, I felt the exact same way.

While we ate the delicious breakfast he'd cooked, we talked mostly about the city, our neighborhood, and our building. I asked him if he'd yet met one of our neighbors named Shirley, who was a very sweet elderly woman who lived on the third floor. He nodded. Yes, I have. Absolute sweetheart of a lady. And in fact, she gave me a bit of help. I owe her.

Curious, I set down my fork. Oh, really? What did she help you with?

Shirley, or Grandma Shirley, as some people in our building called her, was seventy-seven years old. I knew whatever help she'd given most likely hadn't been anything moving-in related, at least as far as actual moving and lifting of things.

Now it was Alex's turn to have a little heat rise to his cheeks, if the faint wash of pink coloring them was any indication.

With a little sheepish grin, he pushed a bite of omelet around on his plate, avoiding my eyes. Oh, it was nothing, really.

Now I had to know, and I told him that.

If you don't tell me what Shirley helped you with, I'll come back when you're sleeping and crack a dozen eggs all over your kitchen. And we both know I'm good at doing it. We both know I'm pretty talented at cracking eggs.

That got a chuckle out of him, and he finally put his fork down and met my gaze.

All right. I'll tell you what Shirley helped me with, even though it's a little embarrassing.

Almost without even realizing it, I scooted forward to the edge of my chair, now intensely curious. Whatever it is, I'm sure it can't be half as embarrassing as the level I experienced earlier this morning when the elevator door opened and you saw me standing there, surrounded by a giant egg mess. So go ahead and tell me. And no matter what, I promise I won't laugh.

Alex took a deep breath. Okay. Well, it's this. Even though, before this morning, I'd only seen you from afar, I've had somewhat of a crush on you since I moved in. And I mean...the very first day I moved in. It was snowing outside, and you were helping Shirley into a cab outside the building. And I just thought.... He gave his head a little shake. Wow. I've gotta meet that girl. I've gotta talk to her.

I wondered if some sort of joke was being played on me, though everything Alex had said and done that morning seemed awfully elaborate for a prank.

But I was maybe a little intimidated. I didn't know if you were single or not. And also.... His gaze darted to the side. I guess maybe I just needed to be by myself for a while after my move. Just needed some alone time to think. He returned his gaze to my face. But during that time, I still had a crush on you from afar, whenever I caught a glimpse of you. And then finally, maybe a week ago, I knew it was time to meet you. So, I struck up a conversation with Shirley in the lobby a couple of days ago; we had a nice conversation and I casually, though I'm sure my intentions were pretty obvious, asked her if you had a boyfriend. She said no, and after that, I said to myself, 'Okay. Now the next time you see her, you're going to go up and talk to her. No matter if you say something stupid, no matter if you mess it up, no matter what.' I just didn't know how soon our next chance encounter would come about. Or what a terrible little mess maker you'd turn out to be.

A little gleam in his charcoal eyes told me he was kidding about the last part, and I laughed. He chuckled along with me, the sound a low rumble in his chest.

So, anyway, Shirley helped me by telling me that you were single, which gave me a bit of confidence when we met today. At least I knew I had a chance.

Him doubting that he had anything but the very best chance with me was just possibly the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard. I debated telling him that, but eventually decided against it. For whatever reason, or reasons, it was, of course, crystal clear that he liked me, despite the fact that he could have easily had any supermodel-type girl he wanted. And I figured if I registered too much surprise or disbelief about that, it might seem as if I was running myself down, something I wasn't in the habit of doing. Not to mention that I knew that running oneself down usually wasn't considered an attractive quality, by either of the sexes. So I didn't. And soon he changed the subject anyway.

He spent the rest of breakfast asking me about myself, and I filled him in on some of my hobbies and interests. Like him, I was a reader, and we discussed books for a while.

After we'd finished eating, he cleared the table and did the dishes, not letting me help, naturally, because I was the kind of woman who shouldn't have to lift a finger. But I was the kind of woman who got to sit on a bar stool beside him and watch his strong, long-fingered, wet hands wash the dishes while we talked and joked, and for that I was grateful.

It was nearly lunchtime before I realized I had work projects to finish and ship to customers on Monday. I told Alex this, and he walked me back to my apartment. We came to a stop outside my door, and I thanked him for the wonderful breakfast, wondering if he was going to ask me to have dinner with him sometime soon. Hoping he was going to ask me to have dinner with him sometime soon. And to my complete delight, he did.

Maybe even tonight? If you're free, that is.

I definitely was, though even if I had had plans, I probably would have broken them.

I nodded. Yes, I'm free. And I'd love to have dinner with you.

He grinned. Wonderful. I'll come by for you around eight?

I nodded again. Perfect. See you then.

See you then, Tara.

And with that, he picked up my hand and kissed it. The feel of his warm, firm mouth on my skin seemed to send a current of electricity racing from my hand all the way to my stomach. Before turning and walking back down the hallway, I watched him for several moments, studying the way his slim hips contrasted with his broad shoulders. I wondered how I was going to make it through the next eight or so hours before our dinner date. And if it went well, like I was sure it would, I