Irons in the Fire

By Lyra Evans

Two Alphas, drawn together and pushed to the edge of the Worlds...

Lane Irons, Alpha of the Seventh Sector of Connor’s Court, only has time for one kind of love in his life—love of his pack. He sleeps around because he has no interest in a long-term commitment. It isn’t worth it. After all, his pack comes first, and Lane’s pretty sure he’s going to be leading them alone for the rest of his life.

But when a new family joins Lane’s pack, they bring with them more trouble than anyone expected. One of the children isn’t a child at all, and Lane isn’t ready for just how gorgeous—and dangerous—this twenty-one-year-old Werewolf is.

Full-grown and now of age to challenge, Phoenix Weston is a born Alpha, and he plans to make a name for himself. It’s no secret that he intends to challenge Lane for Alpha, constantly questioning Lane’s every move.

Travelling to the Samhain festival in the Fae Court should mean relaxation—sun, surf, and sex. But Phoenix’s habit of making Lane’s blood boil, in more ways than one, means relaxation is not in the cards. As tensions rise between them, Lane is running out of options to handle Phoenix. Seeing their fight coming to a head, a mischievous Fae offers a solution—a challenge.

But the challenge is unlike anything they can imagine and dangerous beyond reckoning, walking the line between the veils of the worlds and shaking loose feelings Lane tries hard to forget. Can they work together long enough to make it out? Or will their stubbornness cost them their lives? Pasts and futures collide, and Lane may find that, this time, he’s at the mercy of his heart.

Irons in the Fire is a steamy, standalone m/m fantasy romance with a HEA and no cliffhangers. It is set in the world of the Three Courts and follows the events of the Worth Series. It is not necessary to have read the Worth Series to enjoy this book. It includes, Werewolves, Wizards, Fae, a masquerade, coarse language, and explicit sexual content. It is not appropriate for readers under 18 years of age.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lyra Evans
• Release date: Jul 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005325930

Lyra Evans

Lyra Evans has been making up stories since she was a kid and writing them down since her best friends informed her that was actually a career. Though plot and fantasy are what drive her worlds, she's got a particular love for M/M romance that she can't quite kick (though who would want to?). She tries her best to mix those three elements in her novels. A lover of books, games, food, and travel, she's always excited to try something new.For updates on her novels and what inspires her, follow her on Twitter.If you'd like to receive an email alert every time one of her books goes live, you can subscribe to the newsletter here: eepurl.com/cm-Af2 (you'll only receive emails for new books, no spam).

Book preview

Irons

in the

Fire

Lyra Evans

Copyright © 2016 Lyra Evans

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Twitter: @WriterLyraEvans

Cover design by Designran

This book contains scenes of explicit sexual content and is not suitable for readers under 18 years of age.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Fall used to be my favourite season. It’s dreary skies and flame-touched leaves always felt like the perfect backdrop to my desperate bid to mass murder my own brain cells before Winter and the accompanying holiday season set in. And everyone knows the holidays are the worst. After age six, the shining pixie lights and jolly tunes sort wear out their welcome. Wonder turns to frustration and the tunes suddenly sound a lot more eerie than jolly. And as for Summer—well, let’s just say as fun as it is to take in all the sleek, half-naked bodies lying about in the sun, sweating my fur off in direct sunlight, drunk off my face from fruity cocktails and sugary drinks, isn’t really my idea of excitement.

Not that I’ve had that much excitement in the last ten years. There was more than enough of it before then. I was at my lifetime quota.

But Fall is all about the cooling weather, the dripping rain, the riot of orange and red in the trees. It’s about comfort food and warm drinks, just before your balls freeze off in the Winter chill and you wonder why it was you ever condemned Summer to begin with.

I mostly spent my fall days in my garage, tinkering away at my dad’s old bike, hoping I’d get it into riding condition before the weather turned. Five years trying, though, and it still wasn’t making more than wheezing sputter when I turned the key, so I think maybe the mechanic’s gene skips a generation. Bet it’s connected to the lucky gene, which I also apparently missed out on.

The rest of my time was spent doing the things every Alpha does—taking care of pack business, solving problems, settling debts, and taking names. The usual. But things slowed down in Autumn, maybe because everyone’s suddenly more tired, more sluggish from the dropping temperatures and the fading sunlight. Usually, not much goes on in Fall, so I’m left to my own devices for a long while.

Of course, after the events of this Summer, I should have known that was all long behind me. Gone were the days of rolling off the couch at ten a.m. and dragging on a pair of jeans before wandering into the garage for the day to take stock of what I might consider trying to do. The Summer brought with it bonding ceremonies and political upheaval and shocking twists all around, and now my Court had itself a new Alpha, and suddenly the Three Courts were more unified than they have been in a thousand years, and we had to celebrate.

I knew that Oliver Worth was trouble the moment he waltzed into Hunt, all wrapped up in Connor Pierce like a vine through a tree, and Connor lapping up every moment of it. It wasn’t even a year before they were mated, though the odds stacked against them were harrowing. And now I had Connor as my Court’s Alpha and Oliver at his side, and I was wondering if it really was such a good idea to reaffirm our peaceful alliances to the Courts of Nimueh and Maeve. It was just so many galas.

Every other week there was some kind of event or ball or benefit or groundbreaking meant to tighten the ever-growing bonds between our Three Courts and the peoples that lived in them. And as an Alpha of Connor’s Court and his close friend, I’m forced—I mean, honoured to represent my pack at these functions. Which means a lot of tuxedoes and shiny, laced shoes, and a hell of a lot of less time alone, music blaring in my garage while I lie under the useless engine of the broken motorcycle, wondering if anything I did even made a difference.

And, honestly, I’m not usually one for all that existentialist crap, but there comes a time, somewhere around the fourth or fifth bourbon, where everyone begins to question their role in the universe and the utter pointlessness of it all. And that was just how I liked my Fall days, thanks.

But as I trudged back through the winding, wooded pathway up to my place, the Moon nearly vanished in the lightening sky, I couldn’t help but feel like something had gone awry and Fall got lost on it’s way through the Three Courts and landed us straight in Winter instead.

I pushed my key into the lock on the door, turning it without thinking, and I was inside, shoes off and tails tossed over the banister before I even realized there was someone else in my house. My nostrils flared, the scent of an intruder slicing through to my hazy, bourbon-soaked brain a heartbeat too late. I reacted before I could even process the smell, pivoting on the spot with one leg kicked out in an arc, knocking the intruder off balance, and launching forward to pin him against the uneven brick of the fireplace. It was only when I had my hand to his throat, my body effectively crushing him to the brick, that I realized that it was only Blake.

Fucking shit fuck piss on a fucking stick, Blake, I said, releasing him and stumbling backward as the drunken haze rushed back over me full-force. Adrenaline is a kick-ass drug—bloody helpful when you’re about to die, but the moment you aren’t, it turns tail and bolts, leaving you feeling a lot like you did fucking die. I was sweating and shaking, though I couldn’t figure out why, and just dropped onto the worn leather couch. What the fuck? I finally managed, and when I looked up at Blake I found him staring back at me halfway between amusement and guilt. The result was a face like he’d just O.D.’ed on laughing gas and lemons.

Sorry, Lane, sorry! he said, settling for guilt and peeling himself off the fireplace. I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you said I could crash here this weekend. Remember?

I blinked blearily at him. Blake Murphy was a tall, dark drink of rum. Thin as a willow branch and beautiful as a shooting star and absolutely not bent, in any way, in my direction. Pity for me, but lucky for him, I guess, because I’m not always the best Alpha when it comes to Wolves I’ve had. And Blake needed me to be a good Alpha. More than most.

It took much longer than I care to admit for me to remember that I had, in fact, told him he could crash at my place, and then to remember exactly why he needed a place to stay. As quickly as Oliver had wandered his way to Connor’s heart and our Court got itself a new Alpha, so too had someone wandered their way out of Blake’s life. Oliver crossed the border from Nimueh’s Court to ours in order to investigate the murder of Blake’s Fated love, Eloise Carmichael. Not even a year ago, Blake had taken the loss hard, and this weekend was the anniversary of the day they’d met.

I know, I know. It’s a bit precious, or it would be, if Eloise were alive to celebrate it with him. But Blake’s mourning the loss of his genuine other half, of the person who finally made him understand the meaning of love, and I’m certainly not going to be the one to tell him to suck it up and get over it. Some people aren’t meant to have Fated Love. Some people aren’t meant to share Forever with an other half, smiling into kisses and fucking under the naked Moon in the ancient wood.

There’s a voice saying those exact things at the back of my mind all the damn time; I’m not going to give it a microphone to pontificate at Blake. No.

So instead, I pull a face and say, Right, though that doesn’t explain why he was in the living room waiting to pounce on me when I got in. Sorry. Had another of Connor’s galas last night. Something about improving Wizard-Werewolf relations through shared culture. A few too many drinks in me now to remember. That and a few too many sexy waiters with poor work ethic. Mind wandering back to the slick-haired server with hazel eyes and a very long tongue, I felt the smile sliding across my lips but shook it off. And you didn’t scare me, I added, pride demanding I say it, though neither of us believed it. I gave Blake a look, and he smiled sheepishly. It’s not often a Beta can say they caught an Alpha off-guard. Point to you, Blake.

I waved off the brief moment of insanity I’d displayed and forced myself off the couch and toward the stairs across the hall. Everything seemed so much farther than it usually was, though the lead that seemed to settle in all my limbs could account for that too, I guess. My foot landed on the bottom step, and a sense of satisfaction flooded through me, as though I could feel in my bones how close I was to rest. I guess Blake felt it too.

So I take it you drank away your memory of the meeting you have this morning, huh? he asked, and I was about an inch away from chucking Blake out on his sorry ass, anniversary or no anniversary, just so I could sleep in peace.

What are you talking about? I shot, only half-turning back to him. My hand was firmly planted on the banister, my lifeline to my bedroom. I don’t have any meetings until Monday, and then it’s just the official welcoming of the new Wolves to the pack. That’s at eight-thirty in the morning.

Blake stared at me. It is Monday, he said. And it’s eight–twenty-four. Shit. I’ll get the Perk-Up Potions and the Sobering Solution. You should go shower and change. Fast.

He disappeared into the kitchen, and I stood rooted to the ground at the base of my stairs, dreams of sleeping off the bourbon-haze flitting away. Why had I ever thought being Alpha was a good idea?

Chapter 2

The wind whipped at my face and hair, sending droplets from my sodden locks to bead on the visor of the helmet I gave Blake to wear. His arms wound tightly around my middle, I tried not to enjoy the feeling as I pressed harder against the seat and into the wind. I was such a hot mess. Blake was my friend, my Beta, not some twink Wolf grinding against me in a dark nightclub. He deserved better than my messed up brain could offer. I was only grateful he couldn’t read my thoughts. As far as I knew, no one had that power yet. Thank the Moon and Stars. No one needed to see the inside of my mind. Bad enough I had to.

The cold air bit at my face, sobering me more effectively than the potions did. I pulled a sharp turn, nearly scraping my knee to the ground as I did, Blake squeezing me ever tighter, and made my way down the winding path toward the Meeting Place. The road here wasn’t so much road as trail, the asphalt of the main road through Connor’s Court giving way to packed earth, littered stones, and brambles. It wasn’t great for the bike, but I’ve never been one to treat my rides well. Yeah, I guess that’s a pun. I went through bikes almost as quickly as I went through lovers.

The Meeting Place came up on us like a brick wall, and I skidded the bike to a rough stop, letting Blake dismount carefully before I parked it properly. Blake went on ahead of me as I got off, and I took the time to breathe in the fresh, crisp air of the woods. Pine and maple, ash and birch with just enough redwood to spice things up—there was nothing like the smell of the woods. Trees of all kinds, some spiced and rich, some clean and crisp, others flavoured with the slightest hint of fruit, made up the best bouquet a Wolf could ask for. And then the peat and moss, the earthy musk, the bitter undercurrent of chalk, the ripe smell of leaves turning orange to top it all off—these were the smells I lived for. The hallmarks of the forest.

I took it all in, grounding myself in the area in order to muster up my senses, my wits, and to shed the remaining film of drunkenness. Shaking it off myself like a spider’s web, I stepped into the Meeting Place.

There was one at every intersection between the lands of two packs. Connor was Alpha of all his Court, the lands all belonging to him, the Wolves all pledging him their loyalty, but within his Court were packs. Breaking up the population of his Court into twelve packs made maintaining law and order a much easier job. Each pack was given one post of Alpha, to be filled by the Wolf who earned it, in the way of the old traditions. The pack hierarchies were mostly set individually in a territory, but they tended to be generally the same. There were a group of born Alphas—Wolves who identified as being of the blood of the Ancient Alphas, born to lead, to fight, to protect—who served as a kind of council to the Alpha of their pack, in the same way as the Alphas of each pack served Connor.

Then, below them were Betas—a group of Wolves born of that blood, whose souls speak to order and clarity, to care and craft. The Betas named to serve alongside the council of Alphas were ones who showed a particular autonomy and sense of family; they were the most reliable Wolves in the pack. But Betas, by nature, made up the majority of the rest of the pack, not all of them meant to work alongside the council, and many of them not wanting to at all. It was a great responsibility.

At the base of the pyramid were the Omegas. These Wolves were rarer and sometimes considered of great purity. The old traditions suggested that Alphas should only ever mate with Omegas, but given so few Wolves were born of the bloodline, so few touched by the depth of vision afforded an Omega, it’s a tradition we long-since dropped. Omegas generally had a clarity of perception, a deep understanding of the world, and a spiritual connection to the Moon and her stars unparalleled in any other Wolf. They served as guides for the Alphas and Betas of a pack. I had two Omegas in my pack—and I was about to receive another.

The Meeting Place was a small clearing in the woods, almost unnatural in shape and size, but they each occurred without Werewolf intervention. There were circular marks in the ground, outlined by stones set deep into the earth and barring the trees from growing within the face of the circle. The grass in these clearings grew dense and soft, never marred by weeds or sprouting shrubs. As I stepped inside, I found myself standing before my own Alpha. Connor Pierce leaned back against a tree trunk just outside the ring of the Meeting Place, his white-blond hair falling carelessly into his bright blue eyes. There was a smirk on his lips, soft and full of pleasure, no doubt put there by the man standing next to him. Shorter than Connor by at least a head, Oliver Worth whispered something into his mate’s ear, his own face a mask of amusement. Oliver’s amber eyes shone with mischief as he confided his thoughts in Connor, then both of them glanced over at the Wolves gathered on the side of the Meeting Place opposite my land.

There stood Donna Rose, Alpha of Connor’s old pack, along with the Wolves who would be transitioning from her pack to mine. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, Wolves moving from one pack to another, and the Alpha of all the Court wouldn’t necessarily need to be present to witness it. But this happened to be the first event of this kind since Connor took over the Court, and I suppose he wanted to start his time as Alpha off right.

Blake nodded gently at me, and I stepped forward into my place as Alpha. Blake’s brother, Gregory appeared at my other side. Very much the opposite of his brother in look, Gregory was a boulder where Blake was a birch tree. His hair cropped short, in tiny curled tufts, his skin was as dark and inky as Blake’s, but his eyes were less full of wonder, less calf-like. His jaw was set wide, his shoulders broad and his entire body a work of muscle even I would consider climbing. Not that I would, given Greg was one of my council of Alphas and very much mated to the voluptuous Wolf with shining red curls standing opposite us in the clearing.

Everyone present that needs to be? Oliver asked, his voice tinged with the upward lilt so common in Nimueh’s Court. His amber eyes found me a moment, one eyebrow quirked, and I shrugged a quiet laugh. He knew me well by now, Oliver did. Spent enough time with him and Connor at Hunt or Black Moon. More than once I’ve stumbled into one of the alcoves at Hunt, some hot Wolf making his way into my pants, only to find the place already occupied by Connor and Oliver. You’d think being mated would slow things down a bit but apparently not.

Connor stepped forward when Oliver nodded, took Oliver’s hand, and each stood on one side of the border that crossed the Meeting Place. Oliver stood on Donna’s side, Connor on mine. The golden points of Connor’s circlet, poking through his blond hair, as though he were growing antlers, glinted in the early morning light and reminded me of just how far we’d come, from being pups, roughhousing at pack meetings, then teenaged boys making out in closets