Release Tour, Exclusive Excerpt & Giveaway:
The Groovy Alpha by Susi Hawke
West Coast Wolves, Book Four
An omega raised as a wealthy human in the lap of luxury… A Harley riding alpha who rules a pack of pot-growing wolves in a commune… what was fate thinking?
Sky Blackwood is an omega wolf who’s only ever lived a fabulous, all-too-human existence in the wilds of… Beverly Hills. A place where your best friend will smile in your face while stabbing you in the back if there’s money or fame involved.
His Gramps told him all about fated mates and the old-school shifters who still live in packs, but those were just stories. Until they aren’t. Sold by his family, Sky’s saved from the auctioneer’s block by Devon—a sexy alpha wolf who looks like surfer Thor, drives an even sexier Harley, and smells like everything Sky never knew he wanted.
If fated mates are real, what if all those other stories about packlife are as well?
Sky feels like he’s on the best adventure ever as he learns to live like a shifter. With Devon’s help, he’s ready to settle into the peaceful commune life. Only problem? Even paradise can be a camouflage for something darker.
Having grown up among people who hid their evil behind friendly smiles and designer clothes, Sky soon realizes Devon needs help if they’re to survive the unseen threat. He’s not worried, he was taught to “handle people” from the cradle, a few hippies with criminal intentions shouldn’t be too difficult, right?
The pack’s problems are easy to fix, but his real issue… not so much. What exactly is expected of an omega and how is he supposed to actually do it? Fortunately, his mate’s brothers know a few omegas who are all too happy to help.
The West Coast Wolves is an mpreg series about five alphas. A small pack of bikers who spent years riding the highways and helping those in need until fate gave them each a pack to lead. This 78k full-length novel is Devon’s story. Prepare yourself for a dual pregnancy, an omega discovering his power, and more giggles than are appropriate during violent scenes. But then again, this is a Susi Hawke book, so what else can you expect?
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I knew my mate was sexy long before our steamy shower interlude. Hell, he was the embodiment of surfer Thor so the sexiness factor went without saying. Even in sweats and the basic tee, the alpha simply exuded raw sex appeal.
But not even a flash sale at Gucci could’ve taken my eyes off him when I came out of the bathroom and found him dressed to ride.
So damn hot.
My reaction had been to bite my fist like a Red Delicious as I walked a full circle around him. Sure, he could have made it easy and done a three-sixty for me, but why should he?
Hells no. When a man is Grecian-sun-god gorgeous, it’s your job to walk around him to get the full view. And that view was so good, I did a second lap. Mama Mia, Lord have mercy, stick a fork in me—I was done.
His hair was scooped in a low ponytail with a red bandanna folded and tied around his head. His leather vest—his cut, he told me it’s called—bore the insignia of the small biker club he shared with his brothers.
Underneath the cut, he wore a tightfitting black T-shirt with sleeves just short enough for the wolf tattoo on his arm to peek out. It molded to his muscles, hugging his chest and torso in all the right ways. And every one of those ways accentuated his chiseled abs.
I wanted to tear it off with my teeth and start licking… until my gaze dropped lower. The Harley logo was front and center at his waist, thanks to the large belt buckle that I intended to grip as we rode out.
And below that buckle? Hngh. He wore black leather chaps, actual chaps. Chaps that were kind enough to cut away from the crotch area—and highlight it for maximum effect.
The whisker-like crease lines on his faded blue jeans were nearly white. And every one of them pointed like arrows to the big juicy bulge that I knew all too well was real. Thor’s hammer wasn’t only real, it was magnificent.
My pulse was already accelerated, but I damn near needed a defibrillator when my circular path took me around his backside. Fucking A… who knew the drool-worthy front was simply a tease for that ass?
The chaps stopped just under his cheeks, swooping outward and over his hips in a wide arc—perfectly displaying the bubble of his tight, round, oh-so-grabbable butt.
I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do first—put my hands in the back pockets of those Levi 501’s or drop to my knees and take a big bite. Either reaction would’ve been appropriate from his mate. It made sense to me, anyway.
Given the volcanic level of hotness on display, it took until the second lap for me to notice his shit kicking boots. I was still wiping my drool when I realized Devon was looking at me with equal appreciation.
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About the Author:
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