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Eden O'Neill

Eat You Alive

Eat You Alive

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 2897 5-Star Reviews

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Ares “Wolf” Mallick has it out for me. He’s one of four self-imposed gods at Pembroke University, and unfortunately for me, I was on his radar well before that.

He single-handedly blames me for ruining his junior year of high school, and three years later, he’s come to collect. He says I owe him. He says he owns me, and he’s determined to destroy everything I’m working toward unless I bend to his will.


It seems Ares is in need of a fake girlfriend. He says he needs a shield to keep his fangirls off his jock, and apparently, I fit the bill. He wants someone he can control and gives very few details beyond the initial ask.

Let alone where he was for most of last year.

It appears the big bad wolf has secrets, and he intends to use me to execute his schemes. If he wants someone he can control, though, he’s howling in the wrong place. I don’t break easy, and this phony relationship may prove to be just as much of a nightmare for him as it is for me. Ares “Wolf” Mallick and I can’t stand each other. So why, regardless of whoever’s watching our “fake” relationship…

Are we both having such a hard time keeping our hands off each other?

Warning: Eat You Alive is an enemies-to-lovers, fake dating romance that contains dubious consent and situations some may find triggering. Please see note inside the book for listed trigger warnings. The book is recommended for readers 18+ and is book four in Eden O’Neill’s Court Legacy series. Eat You Alive is not a standalone and is the first part of a duet. Part one also ends with a cliff hanger, so please be advised.

Author's Note: Court Legacy is a spin-off series about the children of characters featured in Eden O'Neill's Court High and Court University series. It's not necessary to read the previously released series to enjoy Court Legacy. This is a new series that can be read completely on its own.

*Hardcover and Paperback books purchased after 1/26/24 will include author's stamped signature

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Chapter One

Fawn - the present

“I have to say, Ms. Greenfield, I’m very happy with what I’ve both seen and heard from you today. You have a very good chance at this internship. A real good chance.”
Sitting across from Kurt Ackerman, Kurt from the New York Times Ackerman I had to say, I felt what he said. The interview had gone well, and I’d provided my best work for him today.
Even still, I played that off, sitting professionally before him. “Thank you, Mr. Ackerman.”
“Call me Kurt,” he passed off before picking up my portfolio. He grinned. “Quite a body of work for someone so young. In fact, it feels like you’ve lived a thousand lifetimes in only a summer.”
He was speaking about what I’d provided for him today, of course. I’d spent the summer of my senior year traveling cross-country. My camera and a bus ticket had taken me to some of the most impoverished communities in the country, many of them forgotten about and neglected. I wanted to show their stories, show the people, and most of my focus had resided on those who couldn’t even call those communities a home. They were the ones living off the beaten path and trying to get by from shelter to shelter. Before I knew it, I found myself immersed in their stories, my camera the looking glass on those who truly were passed over. They had a story too, and my body of work reflected that.
I folded my fingers. “Thank you, Kurt.”
“No, thank you. It’s extraordinary to see,” he said, closing the portfolio I’d provided. I had to say I was still in shock by this meeting. I mean, I was confident about my work but never expected to be given the opportunity for an internship in photojournalism this soon. Let alone my freshman year of college.
And my dream internship at that.
That’d been the plan upon enrolling at Pembroke University and getting into their prestigious photojournalism program. It’d been the only plan, and one I’d set course on years ago. I’d had some speed bumps along the way, but I’d ended up getting there.
We’re almost there, Dad.
A position at the New York Times was the real goal, the main goal. My dad used to grace those halls, and I planned to do the same.
“And definitely not expected from the photographer who had so much buzz her sophomore year of high school.” Kurt lounged back, folding his fingers. “I, of course, looked into you and definitely assumed the young woman who took the photos of the Chaos in the Heartland story would be providing me a completely different body of work.”
He was speaking about what I was known for and probably one of the big reasons he’d reached out to me. When Kurt had emailed me about the internship, he’d said my name was on a short list of applicants the school had provided, and needless to say, when someone googled Fawn Greenfield, only one thing came up.
I tried not to shift in the secondhand suit I’d purchased literally for today. I typically wore things that were unrestricted, comfortable. I traveled a lot taking photos, and comfort was key. “Uh, yeah. Had a lot of excitement in high school.”
Too much excitement, and I definitely didn’t want to talk about it. I happened to be the only one who got decent pictures of the fight that broke out, and so much so, the local and national papers reached out to me after seeing my photos in my high school gazette. I was Fawn Greenfield, the high school sophomore who happened to have her camera that day and had been the only one not swept up in the fight enough to capture it.
There was some irony in that, my mouth dry as I thought about how the fight had occurred. It’d been weird, crazy, and something I’d fought hard to forget in the time that had passed. Even still, it had opened up a lot of opportunities for me, and one hundred percent bulked up my Pembroke University application. This was definitely something I’d needed. At the beginning of my high school career, there’d been more than a fair bit of truancy on my part.
I shifted again, and Kurt smoothed my portfolio across the conference table. He’d flown all the way from New York to be here at Pembroke’s school of journalism today, my name on a short list like he’d emailed. I could imagine when his office had inquired, the school had told him about me and the Chaos story. Again, it opened a lot of doors. Kurt nodded. “Well, what you’ve done since has definitely shined.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Again, Kurt.”
“And Fawn Greenfield. Any relation to a Jack Greenfield?” He leaned back. “I didn’t know him personally, but he used to work at the Times. Quite prolific.”
I hesitated for a moment briefly but only because it still took me a beat whenever people mentioned my dad. I wasn’t sure that would ever change. I nodded. “That was my father, yes.”
“Ah, a lot’s making more sense now. Sense about you and your already expansive body of work. From what I understand, Jack was hitting the pavement hard as a young lad, and probably one of the youngest to ever work for the Times.”
I smiled, definitely knowing this. “That was my dad. Never could turn down an opportunity to lift his camera.”
“And he was great at it.” Kurt’s smile faltered a little. “I was very sad to hear about his passing. The world definitely misses him and his work.”
My mouth dry, I could simply nod at what Kurt said. Again, it took a second when talking about my father, and though his passing wasn’t exactly fresh, it wasn’t like it’d been a million years ago.
Nor how it had happened.
Kurt gratefully moved on from that part of the conversation, and I was happy when the conversation got back to the internship. He told me I had a good chance at it, a great one actually.
“We’re still in the middle of the selection process, Ms. Greenfield, but I don’t think it’s too early to let you know you’ll be getting a second interview.” He reached over, shaking my hand. “You’ve already made so many great contributions to the medium, and I can definitely see a bright future ahead of you. You’re one hundred percent Jack Greenfield’s daughter, and that shows all over your work.”
He had no idea the compliment he gave me, truly. I strengthened my shake. “Thank you, Kurt. Just… thank you.” He didn’t know what this meant, meant to me. A lot of times these internships led to actual jobs, and to be offered something like this my freshman year was crazy.
Is this life right now? Really?
It was like I had an angel looking out for me, my dad certainly present. Outside of my work over the summer, I’d done other human-interest projects and had very little roadblocks along the way. People allowed me to capture their stories, and in general, doors just seemed to open for me when I needed them. Doors like this internship and getting into Pembroke with a less than desirable GPA.
Thanks, Dad.
He was definitely in here, and even though Kurt and I had wrapped up, he still entertained all the probing questions I had about the Times and his own work. He let his assistant outside the room know we were done, but he still stayed to chat with me. I really appreciated it as I was excited to hear about the Times and my dad’s old stomping grounds. This was certainly the dream for me, and it was seeming closer and closer to being fulfilled. Kurt was actually telling me about some work he’d done in Australia recently when the door opened and his assistant came inside the room.
“He said he’s all wrapped up if you want to head in,” she said, followed by someone who had to dip their head to enter the room. The conference room had a wide door, a long door, but even still, the guy with curly dark hair had to lower his head to make his way inside.
He took up most of the width too, shoulder to shoulder nearly touching wood, and I just about dropped my portfolio.
But that had nothing to do with his size.
Those eyes, dark and dusky like a buck’s fur, I’d captured behind the lens of my camera once. They’d been rage-filled and extremely violent, and his fist was covered in blood in the end.
He’d been beating a man near to death.
That had been what the byline said. Though, I had nothing to do with that. I couldn’t do anything about what the papers said once they got one of my photos. I was just there to tell a story visually, and that was what the reporters had said about him. This guy. This…
“Ares,” Kurt exclaimed, calling him by a different name. He waltzed over to the guy, shaking his hand and his basically disappeared in this guy’s. Lengthy digits completely covered Kurt’s, but it wasn’t the guy’s hands that captured my attention.
Well, much.
He had a strong jaw, a tight jaw that was well defined. His thick curls waved just below it, and he had a gold hoop looped around his left nostril. He had two actually, close together and pressed tight to his flesh. I rocked a silver one myself but mine looked more like a piece of metal in my nose where his was an accessory. It caused him to look even edgier in the all-black ensemble he wore. A black hoodie hugged his broad shoulders, his dark jeans low on his hips. He rocked solid-black high-tops below them, expensive-looking like the rest of him, and that said something considering he was wearing jeans and a hoodie.
And he was looking at me, his eyes on me while he shook Kurt’s hand, and my entire body sweated, pits and under-boobs first. The double-Ds were definitely catching perspiration, and I had good reason. I’d captured photos of this guy who’d taken a fan toward the brink of death, and though that should have been the worst part, it wasn’t. The worst was what had come after, and something I’d definitely noticed since I had provided the photos for all those news stories about this guy my sophomore year. He’d been one of the best players in the state at the time.
And I had cost him his junior season.

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