Forged in Stone - Alyssa Rose Ivy





Also by Alyssa Rose Ivy


1. James

2. Ainsley

3. Ainsley

4. James

5. Ainsley

6. James

7. Ainsley

8. James

9. Ainsley

10. James

11. Ainsley

12. James

13. Ainsley

14. James

15. Ainsley

16. James

17. Ainsley

18. Ainsley

19. James

20. Ainsley

21. James

22. Ainsley

23. James

24. Ainsley

25. James

Bonus Material




Seduction’s Kiss: An Allure Chronicles Prequel


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

© 2015 Alyssa Rose Ivy

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written approval of the author.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Photo and cover design by Sara Eirew Photographer


The Crescent Chronicles

Flight (The Crescent Chronicles #1)

Focus (The Crescent Chronicles #2)

Found (The Crescent Chronicles #3)

First & Forever (The Crescent Chronicles #4)

The Empire Chronicles

Soar (The Empire Chronicles #1)

Search (The Empire Chronicles #2)

Stay (The Empire Chronicles #3)

Savor (The Empire Chronicles #4)

The Allure Chronicles

Seduction’s Kiss (The Allure Chronicles #0.5)

Lure (The Allure Chronicles #1)

The Dire Wolves Chronicles

Dire (The Dire Wolves Chronicles #1)

Dusk (The Dire Wolves Chronicles #2)

The Hazards Series

The Hazards of Skinny Dipping

The Hazards of a One Night Stand

The Hazards of Sex on the Beach

The Hazards of Mistletoe

The Hazards of Sleeping with a Friend


Shaken Not Stirred

On The Rocks

Clayton Falls




The Afterglow Trilogy

Beckoning Light (The Afterglow Trilogy #1)

Perilous Light (The Afterglow Trilogy #2)

Enduring Light (The Afterglow Trilogy #3)


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To anyone who has ever wanted to step through the gate.



The dated rock music was giving me a headache. If not for the alcohol still left in my glass I would have been out of the bar already. Even the redhead hanging on my every word was getting to me. Did girls no longer believe in the chase?

“James?” she said my name with an exaggerated southern drawl that came across as almost fake. It probably was.

“Yes?” I blinked a few times trying to bring things back into focus. I had drunk far too much, but there was nothing I could do about that now.

“Are you even listening to me?” She tapped her fingers on the bar top between us.

“No.” I took in the faded blue paint on the walls. The place had seen better days, but it served my needs perfectly. No one thought anything of the quiet guy getting plastered at the bar. I blended in.

“I asked you if you wanted to take me home. I only live a few blocks from here.” She put her hand on my upper thigh.

I looked into her glazed over green eyes. “Probably not.”

“Oh.” Hurt marred her overly made-up face, and for a second I felt bad, but then it faded. She would be even more hurt when I left her in the morning. Besides, if she was half as drunk as I was, she had no idea what she was asking.

“I am doing you a favor.” I downed the rest of my beer. It was some crappy lager I had no plans to try again. I had chosen it as an alternative to the whiskey that had filled my glass earlier in the evening.

“Oh.” She stared at me blankly. She clearly liked that word.

“See you around.” I moved over a stool to make sure she got the less than subtle hint. I did not particularly enjoy being mean, but I had no time or energy to play nice.

Loud laughter got my attention. “Cold.”

I looked at the aging bartender chuckling in front of me before glancing down at the now vacant stool the redhead had been seated on. “Honesty.”

“You have to admit that was harsh.” He leaned on his elbows. “Do you usually treat pretty girls that way?”

“Would it have been better to have bedded her and never spoken to her again?”

He straightened up. “No, but there is an in-between. There is value in politeness.”

“And what value is that?” I pushed my empty beer glass toward the bartender. “Give me something stronger this time.”

“I can’t serve you more. We both know that.”

“And we both know you make exceptions.” I was drunk. There was no question about that, but I needed more to numb the emptiness. Otherwise there was no point in having made the trip into Charleston.

“I can’t serve you more booze, but I don’t mind listening.”

“Listening?” I raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like I want someone to listen?”

“You’re wasted before nine o’clock at night. You need someone to talk to.”

“Next time I will wait until later to get intoxicated.” I tossed