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Alasdair’s large family drove him crazy. Six loud boisterous alpha brothers made family life hell for a quiet alpha and as soon as he could, he moved out into his own home. Now the only thing missing was his mate.

His wonderful submissive beautiful little mate who was out there somewhere. He just knew it. And Fate answered him. Just not the way he had it planned out. Now he’s stuck reforming his biker bum alpha mate into something that will fit into his life.

Dash, short for Dashiell Williams Parkes III, was testing the new prototype motorcycle his company was going to produce when his mate, an alpha, slammed into him with a car. And then he proceeded to yell at him for breaking his ’61 Corvette!

After the first whiff of mate, there was no way he was letting this wolf get away even if he was a prig. He let his mate assume he was an out-of-work biker bum who fixed motorcycles to pick up cash while he worked on his mate’s attitude and plan to reform him into being a suitable Alpha Mate.


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Letting out a sigh, he started the car up and put it in reverse. The crunch registered as he was flung forward. Shit. He threw the car into park and looked back. A motorcycle lay behind the car with the rider on the road beside it. Son of a bitch. His mint, all original 1963 Corvette. That fucking asshole hit his car. His rage returned. Slamming the car door, he heard something fall off the back. The growl was audible.

Listen, you asshole. You hit my car. My mint ‘63 all original Corvette.”

The man sat up. Pulling off his sunglasses, crystal green eyes glowed. Shit. Another alpha. Alasdair, his eyes glowing crystal blue, growled. The biker growled back and scrambled to his feet. Huh. Almost as tall… no, taller than he was. His torn clothes did nothing to hide his well-developed muscles. He yanked off his helmet. Dark curly hair framed his face.

Alasdair mentally shook himself. He wasn’t thinking the man was attractive. That asshole hit his car, his baby, his wonderful mint ’63 … Something else clunked and Alasdair looked back at the ripped rear end, then turned to see the biker looking at his bike.

The glowing green-eyed alpha roared, “What the fuck is your major malfunction?”

Loud. A big pissed alpha.

You damaged my car.” Alasdair wasn’t backing down. “My mint ‘63 Corvette. You moron. Can’t you see a car?”

Asshole, you hit my motorcycle. Where did you get your fucking license? Sears?”

The wind changed, and the man’s scent slapped him around the face. Alasdair stopped dead. No. No. No. No. No. His mate was a beautiful delightful little twink who would look good on his arm, and in his car, and be a sweet little morsel in bed like the luscious little redhead, Carter, who caused the fight with Ewan. His mate would be a submissive. He could not be a fucking tall dominant alpha with long muscular legs, a nice trim waist, broad muscular chest and back with a nice tight little ass that… Fuck no. The Fates couldn’t do this to him. His mate would be a twink. A beautiful little twink.

The glowing crystal green eyes darkened with lust as the biker rushed forward and roared, “Mate.”

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