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“What do you think about this one?” Ryker waved his information tablet in Ethan’s direction. They lounged side by side on the couch, which impressed me...their attitude toward one another was playful exuberance on Ryker’s part, and brooding tolerance on Ethan’s. 

Unless I was sandwiched between them when they turned into pack animals lording over a prize.

I needed to cut that train of thought off.

Ethan had been on the couch first, and then Ryker had flopped down in the seat beside him in that I’m about to press some buttons kind of way.

I sat opposite—alone because I was supposed to be working on some research, which I had claimed was important.

Distracted from my work, I caught only a glimpse of a strange assembly on the data tablet. Not that I needed an additional reason to be distracted. They were stunning Alphas, both in appearance and deed. 

Ethan epitomized everything an Alpha should be. Darkness and menace; there was no obstacle that he would not overcome to protect me. He redefined the word dominant, it was pervasive to his very core. At times I loved being the subject of his intense control, and at others, I hated how far he dragged me from my comfort zone—I barely recognized myself or my reactions. 

Ryker was his polar opposite in many ways, playful and deviant, where Ethan was serious and straight to the point. Ryker loved to coax and manipulate my submission, and even though it was already his. He took perverse pleasure in making me squirm and gasp in shock when he did something that he shouldn’t—usually somewhere that he shouldn’t.

They were dressed casually, having returned from a training session—sweatpants and T-shirts that clung lovingly to their hard, built bodies. Ethan, dark of hair and eyes, was my warrior fallen angel. Ryker, despite his nightmarish tattoos, was oh so pretty. It wasn’t fair to give an Alpha such lush, long, eyelashes. 

An Omega could be forgiven for being overwhelmed by one of them. Two of them were more than I could handle, but they were mine now, and I would die a sinful death gladly to keep them in my life.

I continued to eye them covertly while pretending interest in my data. Ethan rubbed his jaw and frowned, then took the tablet from Ryker. He pinched and swiped the screen. “Not sure…. what’s that part for?”

Ryker grinned and leaned over to tap the screen.

Their heads were close together, shoulders touching, big, capable hands holding the data tablet—I swallowed. I wanted to crawl over and insinuate myself between them.

Ethan puffed out a breath and shook his head, passing the tablet back. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

What the hell were they looking at? My eyes played ping-pong between my research and whatever they were discussing.

“I think we should let Lilly have a say. She might appreciate the extra stimulation.” Ryker winked at me.

I faked sudden avid interest in my research data that might as well have been in another language for all I could make sense of it. My cheeks heated. How could I summon any level of embarrassment after all the things we had done together?

“Still fucking no,” Ethan muttered, shooting a glare at Ryker. “And she doesn’t need any extra stimulation.”

Damn it, I knew they were discussing a deviant plaything for me, and just the thought of it, whatever it was, and especially if it was terrible enough for Ethan to reject, was having a predictable effect.

I froze. Please don’t let them notice. Maybe if I slipped quietly out and went to my nest, I could calm the rising flush and signs of arousal?

Like wolves sensing fresh prey, both heads lifted—one dark, one deviant, both poised to embrace the game.

“For fuck sake,” Ethan muttered. “Stop looking at the damn things while she’s in the room. See what’s happened now?” He gestured toward me, and dumping his tablet into Ryker’s hands, stalked toward me.

Ryker chuckled, and tossing the tablet aside, followed hot on Ethan’s heels.

Prologue, Deviant Games: Controllers Book Eight © L.V. Lane


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Stuck between the inner and outer door was a lonely place to be. I flicked a glance at the semi-automatic in my hand before tucking it into the deep pocket of my coat. It was old and had a tendency to jam, which meant I had a fifty-fifty chance that it would be of any use. That said, I had no desire to be in a situation where I needed to use it. If it came down to killing, or even wounding someone, I prayed that my self-preservation instinct kicked in. Compassion had no place in the post-apocalyptic world.

Still, how a person handled fear was not something you knew, not until you were called upon to face it, and by then, it was far too late. 

The one-minute warning flashed on the door panel, and my adrenalin kicked in. I wasn’t supposed to be out here, and the wrongness was like an over-sized raincoat that no amount of belt-tightening could make fit. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this, Ava?” Lornie had asked. I blinked, driving the memory away. We needed medical supplies. But the combats had been cut off, leaving our community in an unusual situation of needing to fend for itself. Their message had been garbled due to interference, but it was clear something had kicked off. It happened from time to time; the natural ebbs and flows of power and ownership of the surrounding districts were nothing new. The fact remained that the combats would not be returning for several days, possibly weeks.

I was the best of the remaining residents, which wasn’t saying much. 

My past life—the one I had been born to—was long gone. My parents were wealthy, and my life a coveted one. They had aspirations for me; I had plenty myself.

That once joyous future had died along with them. 

The harsh reality of anarchy was that it cared little for who you once were. The good, the bad, the rich, and the poor held no context in the bounds of chaos. I had watched mothers fight over food in those dark days following the collapse. They might have been friends once in the old world, but not anymore. The need to survive ripped everything else away, considerations, respect, even love, they held no sway when your baby was so hungry it had barely the energy to cry. 

Things were better now—a little.

The ten-second count sent a spike to my heart-rate. The belief that I could do this and the determination that I must surely die went to war inside my head.

The hiss of the outer door opening dropped the entire self-discussion because it was now very pointless.

A strange calm replaced the panic. It was dark, and the air felt sharp and cold. It had been so long since I’d felt air on my face and in my lungs, real air, not the processed, filtered stuff inside, that I was cast back to my childhood, and the garden at my home. The memory was so vivid I could almost feel the springy grass beneath my bare toes and smell the sweet scent of honeysuckle from the bush growing along the old stone wall enclosing the sunny courtyard. 

The stench of diesel drifted on the air, thrusting me back to the present with an unpleasant jolt. 

I stepped outside and turned to watch the steel outer-door close behind me, sealing access. Separation became a crushing weight. I was here now, on the streets, and I would not be going back until I had gotten what was needed.

A deep breath helped as I surveyed the immediate area. It was wet, and although it wasn’t raining now, the air held moisture like it could turn at any moment. There was no one nearby; the surveillance before leaving had indicated this, but it could change, and like the weather, it could change at any moment. 

I knew the route by memory, and with a final lingering glance at that sealed door, I headed off.

Excerpt, Owned: A Post-apocalyptic romance © L.V. Lane

If you enjoyed Prey, you will be pleased to know I've been busy working on the second book for Priya.

Pre-order will be available soon...Here is a little teaser :)

On parting ways with Margot, I round the corner…and collide with a moving wall.


All the air leaves my lungs, and I stagger backward a step before landing on my ass.

I look up, a long way up, where I lock eyes with Brook. Another equally impressive lad stands to his right, his older brother, Caden.

They are both Alphas, both being trained personally by Hawthorn, the stern captain of our household guard. Caden’s hair is a sun-kissed brown that curls where it meets his forehead and collar—Brook’s is a shade darker. They have even, pleasing features, and Margot isn’t the only young miss who turns beet-red if either lad so much as glances their way.

I’ve seen my mother's maid Giselle giving both of them the come-hither smirk…A scowl furrows my brow as I blink up at them. “What are pig farmers doing in this part of the castle?” I demand waspishly. They are no longer pig farmers, but they were once pig farmers, and Giselle's mischief earlier has put me in a poor mood.

Ignoring my question, Brook turns to his older brother for direction. “Should I help her up?”

Caden shakes his head. “Nah, haughty brat will dob us in for touching her prissy ass. I’m not getting a whipping because she can’t look where she’s going.”

“Good point,” Brook agrees.

Without further ado, they step around me and continue along the corridor, falling into a conversation about an upcoming patrol.

Excerpt, Prize © L.V. Lane

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