Infernal Affairs by Jordan L Hawk
Summary:Ralgath wants nothing more than to work as a crossroads demon. Too bad he botched his first assignment when a very sexy mortal turned the tables on him. Now he has one chance to get his job back: find two demons who vanished in the human realm. Unfortunately, doing so means teaming up with Chess—the mortal who cost Ralgath his job in the first place.
Chess has spent the last three years using their infernally granted powers to do good. But now Ralgath has a new offer for them: help find the missing demons, and he’ll return Chess’s soul.
After their last encounter, Chess is the last person Ralgath should be interested in. But the passion that initially drew them together still burns hotter than the flames of the Underworld. Chess claims they never meant to hurt Ralgath, but can Ralgath afford to trust them? Because while Ralgath may have Chess’s soul, he’s increasingly certain Chess owns his heart.
Note: Infernal Affairs originally appeared in the Devil Take Me anthology. This new edition is the author’s preferred edit.
Infernal Affairs is a short, sweet and not-s0-sweet-at-times tale of selling one's soul to the devil, or demon as it is in this story. An often used plot about devil coming to collect but this is far, far better. Honestly, even though it's often used there is nothing typical or over-used in Infernal Affairs. Ralgath and Chess are an interesting pair in many many ways, ways that I won't spoil😉. I love the whole concept of different departments in the underworld and needing a crossroads as a portal to enter the mortal world and back again.
I love the connection between Ralgath and Chess, and having a non-binary main character is brilliant, the author tackles Chess beautifully and realistically(which is a bit odd of a term in a paranormal setting but nonetheless true). Some might call their connection "insta-love" but it never really crossed my mind, truth is it's hard not to have some level of insta-love in a short story but either way, when done right it's believable and Jordan L Hawk has done it right. My grandparents were a kind of insta-love so I know it happens and I know it lasts.
One last thing: Infernal Affairs was originally in the anthology Devil Take Me, personally if the author wished to continue this into a series I know I would jump at the chance to read it. I just love the world building Hawk has started in this short story and would love to see it expand. Continued or not, Infernal Affairs is a delightful, spooky gem of a read.
RATING:
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Summary:
Magic Emporium
Cillian Roarke is the world’s sweetest dragon. He’s a great boss, a good person, and he spends his days making honey-glazed caramel treats in the shape of bunnies for his bakery, Honey Bunny. Still, the highlight of every day is watching the adorable college student who’s Much Too Young For Him stuff his face full of Cillian’s sweet buns.
Finnick West is a college student who dreams of baked goods, much to the consternation of his figure-skating partner. She’s not offended by the temptation, but by Finnick’s continuing failure to ask out the cute baker. With pressure from all sides, Finn knows it’s time to take something for himself, if only he can catch Hot Baker’s eye.
While the two of them work up the nerve to ask each other out, an assassination attempt reveals forces working to not only stop their interspecies romance in its tracks, but destroy everything and everyone they love.
A Dragon’s Fortune is part of the Magic Emporium Series. Each book stands alone, but each one features an appearance by Marden’s Magic Emporium, a shop that can appear anywhere, but only once and only when someone’s in dire need. This book contains dragons, ice skating, a whole bunch of sugar, and a guaranteed HEA.
Openly Yours by Colette Davison
Summary:Offbeat Shifters #2
Falling in love was the easy part. When we have to face more tragedy, will it bring us closer or drive us apart?
Now the tour is over, Isaac has to adapt to depending financially on someone else for the first time.
When my world gets thrown into turmoil again, I need to learn that relying emotionally on others isn’t a bad thing.
We have to face our biggest challenge together—creating a different dream from the one we had envisioned.
Openly Yours is an m/m paranormal romance with a loving tiger shifter, a sweet monkey shifter, enthusiastic family members, and lots of cuddles. Whilst it is set in an alternate universe where omegas give birth, there are no pregnancy or birth scenes in this book.
Trigger warning for scenes revolving around infertility.
Summary:
The Guardians of Gaia #1
Evan St. John, a young fashion photographer running from the pain caused by the death of his younger sister, is thrilled when he is offered a job with House of Nadasdy, a leading fashion house in Paris. What he doesn’t know is that Elizabeth Nadasdy, the elegant and powerful owner, is a centuries-old vampire with a penchant for collecting beautiful people. To Evan’s horror, he is turned into one of her “children.”
Unable to bear what he has become, Evan flees to New York and to his best friend, police officer Will Trask. For years, Evan has nursed an unrequited love for Will, but he also knows Will is the one person who might be able to help him. As Evan and Will try to deal with Evan’s condition, they are drawn into the world of the theriomorphs: shape-shifters who are guardians of life and the sworn enemies of vampires. Caught in an ancient war between two powerful supernatural forces, Evan and Will find they must choose sides – because if they are to have any chance of a future together, they must destroy Elizabeth Nadasdy before she destroys them.
Summary:
Fae Out of Water #1
Temp worker David Evans has been dreaming of Dr. Alun Kendrick ever since that one transcription job for him, because holy cats, that voice. Swoon. So when his agency offers him a position as Dr. Kendrick’s temporary office manager, David neglects to mention that he’s been permanently banished from offices. Because, forgiveness? Way easier than permission.
Alun Kendrick, former Queen’s Champion of Faerie’s Seelie Court, takes his job as a psychologist for Portland’s supernatural population extremely seriously. Secrecy is paramount: no non-supe can know of their existence. So when a gods-bedamned human shows up to replace his office manager, he intends to send the man packing. It shouldn’t be difficult—in the two hundred years since he was cursed, no human has ever failed to run screaming from his hideous face.
But cheeky David isn’t intimidated, and despite himself, Alun is drawn to David in a way that can only spell disaster: when fae consort with humans, it never ends well. And if the human has secrets of his own? The disaster might be greater than either of them could ever imagine.
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Random Paranormal Tales of 2021
Infernal Affairs by Jordan L Hawk
I stared into his dark eyes. “I want to find our forever home, Jesse. And I want to get married.”
Chapter One
Ralgath appeared in a perfectly timed flash of smoke and flame, accompanied by just a hint of brimstone. Not too much—the stink of sulfur would never come out of his hair otherwise. He’d learned that the hard way during his apprenticeship.
He manifested with his back to the mortal who’d called him to the crossroads—purely for dramatic effect, of course. Let the human see him framed by the sinister light of the moon rising over the swamp. It would establish the mood and give Ralgath a chance to take a deep breath or two.
His first day on the job as a crossroads demon. His first solo contract. This was going to be a memory he’d cherish forever.
“You have summoned me, mortal,” he said. He put a bit of infernal power into his voice, so it echoed ominously through the trees. Perfect. “I will give you whatever you seek…in return for your immortal soul.”
Ralgath spun, cape swirling around him, on the last words. He intended to fix the mortal with a dangerous-yet-sexy look that would further establish his dominance. Getting the upper hand to begin with was critical to these sorts of negotiations.
Instead, he found himself gaping.
The human looked as wildly out of place as possible on the dirt roads bisecting the swamp. Their car was all wrong, to start with. Ralgath didn’t know enough about human vehicles to guess any details, only that it certainly looked big and powerful. Convertible.
And screaming, shocking pink.
Not powderpuff. Not even blush. This was a pink that grabbed you by the eyeballs and demanded you pay attention.
The vanity plate read NBINARY, beside a THEY/THEM bumper sticker.
As for the mortal themself…
Ralgath wasn’t certain where to rest his eyes. On the flowing hair twisted into a braid? The light brown skin? The spaghetti-strap top with a glitter rainbow on the front?
Definitely not on the tight, tight pants that didn’t leave much to the imagination.
A slow grin settled over the mortal’s firm lips. “Nice to meet you.” Their southern accent softened the edges of the words into a languid drawl: Nice ta meet ya. “Name’s Chesapeake Richards. But you can call me Chess, sugar.”
Ralgath realized he was staring. He swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat and tried to ignore the fact his neatly pressed slacks were starting to feel rather tight themselves. “Chess,” he repeated. Damn, he’d forgotten to use his ominous voice already. Clearing his throat, he tried for a more impressive: “Tell me what dark desire you have summoned me to fulfill.”
Oh gods below. That sounded…not at all how he’d intended it.
Ralgath’s face heated, and he hoped his dark cheeks didn’t show enough of a blush for anyone without heat vision to notice.
The grin on Chess’s mouth widened, and they ran their gaze up and down Ralgath’s form far too deliberately to miss. Ralgath knew he looked good—style was part of what being a crossroads demon was all about. An old-fashioned suit of cream linen, expertly tailored to his body, its red tie chosen to match the color of both his eyes and of the diminutive horns peeking out of his thick black hair. The cape was lined with the same red, just to make sure his silhouette stood out. He wasn’t the tallest crossroads demon, but his broad shoulders and trim hips had caught the eye of more than one Underworld denizen.
Still, he’d never expected to be so blatantly admired. He wasn’t an incubus, after all.
“Well,” Chess said. They leaned back against the trunk of their car, showing off those long legs as they did so. “I can think of several desires I’d like fulfilled, now that you mention it.”
This wasn’t going according to the training scenarios.
Training. Yes. He needed to fall back on his training, that was all. With a flash of fire, Ralgath produced a scroll and a quill. Absurdly out of date, but it would never do to ask a mortal to use their finger to sign a digital screen. After all, where would the blood go?
“I can offer you much,” he said. “Riches. Fame.” There was already a bit too much heat in the air between them, so he left out the usual offer of sex. “Whatever you want. All you have to do is ask.”
A sultry smile played over Chess’s lips. “Oh, I mean to ask,” they murmured. “But you were talking about the contract.” They cocked their head. “I want to hunt monsters. To track them, fight them, and kill them.”
Ralgath blinked. He’d expected Chess to ask to be a supermodel, or maybe a world-famous actor. “You…why?”
He shut his mouth with a snap. Why was one of the questions his trainers had cautioned him against asking. Infernal Affairs conducted its business with a strict nondiscrimination hiring policy. It didn’t matter why some mortal wanted to sign over their soul, only that they did.
Chess gave him a long, searching look. Lords of Hell, they had thick eyelashes. “I want to make a difference,” they said at last, all the flirtatiousness stripped from their voice. “Protect those who can’t protect themselves.”
Oh. Oh dear. Had there been some sort of mix-up? Ralgath looked around quickly, but no, this was definitely right. Two roads, stretching off into the lonely swamp. Midnight. New moon. Graveyard dirt. Black candle. A picture of Chess grinning and flashing the peace sign.
They had definitely meant to summon a crossroads demon.
“What?” Chess straightened. “Is something wrong?”
“Not…exactly.” Ralgath coughed. “Um. It’s just that my department doesn’t usually handle this sort of request.” He shuffled his feet, feeling unaccountably embarrassed. “If you want to be a supermodel, I can do that.”
Chess looked at him for a long moment…then patted the trunk beside them. “Come over here, sugar.”
“I…um…all right.” Even though part of Ralgath wasn’t sure this was a good idea at all, the rest of him didn’t want to pass up an opportunity to get closer to the gorgeous mortal.
He leaned against the trunk beside Chess in what he hoped was a nonchalant pose. So near, the scent of sandalwood and musk teased his senses, rising from Chess’s warm skin.
Chess turned to face him, plump lips curved into a small pout. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting to be turned down. Are you sure you can’t help me out?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Ralgath said quickly. “It’s just that this sort of request is more the thing Celestial Affairs handles. They’re in charge of superheroes, Chosen Ones, that sort of thing.”
Of course, Celestial Affairs didn’t take requests. They did all the picking, and the ones they chose just had to live with it.
Which didn’t sound fair at all, now that Ralgath thought about it. At least Infernal Affairs offered mortals an option to say no.
Chess ran their hand up Ralgath’s arm. Even through the layers of his suit, the touch went right to Ralgath’s cock. A light sweat broke out over his brow. “So it isn’t so much that you can’t…”
“Er, no. I mean, I could.” Ralgath swallowed heavily. “I just…I might get into trouble.”
Chess’s lips drew closer and closer to his own. “Maybe you ought to let trouble get into you.”
*****
Ralgath sprawled over the trunk of the car, his cheek pressed into the metal and his nails peeling strips out of the bright pink paint. His pants lay on the side of the road somewhere, and Chess’s fingers pressed tight into his hips.
“Oh gods,” Ralgath gasped. “Yes, yes, right there!”
“Uh. Yeah, baby,” Chess grunted into his ear. “How about super strength?”
“Y-Yes,” Ralgath gasped. His demonic quill obediently scratched the terms into the scroll on the trunk beside them. “I’m so close.”
“Same.” Chess pressed their lips into the back of his neck. “Fuck. Okay. Accelerated healing.”
“Yes, anything, please!”
The quill added another line. Ralgath writhed beneath Chess. “I can’t…I can’t…”
“I’ve got you, sugar,” Chess murmured. Their hand closed over Ralgath’s cock, barely having the time to stroke it before their touch sent him over the edge. A moment later, Chess tensed and let out a groan of their own.
“Mmm.” Chess sighed happily into Ralgath’s hair. Then they pulled free, flicked out a knife, and cut the tip of their index finger. Humming, they signed their name to the contract.
Ralgath’s mind began to piece itself back together from the mind-blowing orgasm he’d just had. He stood, though his legs weren’t entirely certain about the process. “Um…”
Chess pressed the contract and quill into his hand, then leaned in for a kiss. “Thanks, sweetie!”
A few seconds later, the pink car took off in a spray of dust. Ralgath stood alone in the crossroads, his pants in the bushes someplace, the contract in his hands, and a sinking feeling in his stomach.
“Oh dear,” he said. “Mr. Gizrun is not going to be happy about this.”
A Dragon's Fortune by Sam Burns & WM Fawkes
1
Finn
At some point in the very near future, I was going to have to figure out what the hell I wanted to do with my life. But right that second, I couldn’t choose between the table by the window and the one closest to the coffee bar, so any bigger decisions would undoubtedly crush me.
There were cafes closer to campus, but Honey Bunny was the best place in the world to get a coffee. The drinks were every bit as good as the ones in specialty coffee shops, and the place always smelled like cinnamon and fresh-baked cookies. When Wallace and I had picked our apartment, proximity to the bakery had definitely factored.
For me, at least. She’d been way more interested in moving close to the ice rink. Thankfully, we both got our way.
And there I was, stuck and blocking the door, weighing my options in the half-filled dining room.
Pros of sitting near the window: it was more secluded, I could watch people on the sidewalk, and it was always a little cooler than in the back where the ovens and magical kitchen contraptions were. Ovens, I understood, but some of the things these bakers used looked like medieval torture devices.
Between the bar and me, there were a couple at a table splitting a fruit tart, a girl who looked like she was also a student with a latte bowl and a croissant shoved to the edge of the table beside her laptop, and an old man reading a paper.
“Finn?” Wallace raised her eyebrows, and I sighed. I had to pick somewhere—and it was completely up to me. She wasn’t staying.
Decision time.
Pros of sitting near the bar—okay, pro. There was just one: Hot Baker.
He was magnificent—all dark hair, gorgeous scruff, eyes like melted chocolate. He was tall, his jawline square, and I don’t know why, but his hands just did it for me. He kept his nails short, but his fingers were wide, the tendons stood out on the backs of his hands when he tapped my order on his point-of-sale system. All that kneading dough had made his hands gorgeous. And everything I liked about them—about him—was perfectly reasonable and not at all weird and specific, thank you very much.
More than a year of coming to Honey Bunny, and I’d never gotten up the courage to ask the guy’s name. He owned the place, was there almost all the time, but he only came out from the back in the evenings after sending the rest of the employees home.
Clearly, that meant the best time for me to hunker down and do my homework was late in the evening, when he was out of the kitchen and I had half a shot of catching his eye.
I’d been trying to flirt with him for ages, but he either didn’t notice or wasn’t interested. I’d almost convinced myself it was the latter. After a while, a guy could get a little down on himself, you know?
But the way he bit his lip and looked away on the rare occasion when I actually caught his gaze? That made it seem like maybe there was something else going on that I didn’t understand, and I was absolutely willing to put in the work to figure it out.
That, alone, made my decision for me. I adjusted my messenger bag and lifted it off my shoulder, dumping it on the round table nearest the coffee bar and bakery case. Just because I had work to do, didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy a little eye candy too.
“How much more do you have left?” Wallace asked as I dug my laptop out of my bag and set it on the table. She propped her knee on the chair across from mine. The only thing that betrayed her impatience as she stretched out her calves was the slightest thinning of her lips.
She wanted to get out on the ice, skate, and I didn’t blame her. I’d give just about anything to escape the mountain of work on my plate.
In fact, there was nothing in the world better than skating with Wallace. We’d been figure skating partners for years, but since we’d started college, I’d been spread a little thin.
“Ten pages?” I grimaced.
I’d been working on this paper for weeks. Hell, I’d known it was due all semester. It didn’t matter. Per usual, I was hunkering down to finish the thing at the last minute.
Half the time, if I did get a head start on my homework, I ended up throwing away all the halfhearted work I’d done and starting over at midnight when it was due in the morning.
Her dark brown eyes flashed dangerously. “The whole essay is ten pages.”
Wallace wasn’t the kind of girl who put off her homework. She knocked it out, got her “A,” and moved on. Usually, I got a decent grade with a suggestion from the professor that I leave myself more time to edit in the future.
“Yeah, but I, like, outlined it. It’ll be easy to knock out.”
“If you stay up all night, maybe.” She huffed, throwing her head back to stare at the ceiling. “I’m going to have to practice with Julio. You’re going to make me skate with Julio. Again.”
Julio wasn’t a bad skater, but Wallace and I had been practicing together since before either of us had hit puberty. If not for her—if not for the fact that she needed me there—I might have dropped out of skating entirely, not because I didn’t love it, I just needed that push of someone expecting me to show up to see things through sometimes, especially if it was something I really enjoyed. I had this super-healthy idea that having fun meant I wasn’t working hard enough.
So Julio was a decent replacement, but he didn’t have the trust we’d built over more than a decade. And as much as I could say it might be good to practice with somebody who moved different, I knew better. And she wouldn’t want to hear it. “I am so sorry. I swear, this’ll be done tomorrow. It has to be done tomorrow.”
“And you’ll be wiped out all day.” She’d turned her glare on me again, crossing her arms so even when her gym bag slipped down her shoulder, it caught on her elbow. She didn’t take her eyes off me.
“I’ll still practice with you after class,” I promised. If I slipped in a nap, I’d be fine.
“Genevieve’s gonna know you’re tired,” she accused.
“I’ll be fine.” Coach Genevieve wouldn’t be disappointed after all the effort I’d already put into letting her down.
Wallace huffed and crossed her arms. “I get you all day Sunday.”
“All day,” I swore, hand over my heart.
That knocked some of the air out of her. “Fine. Have a good night. Do your work. Focus.”
In case I didn’t understand her, her gaze snapped sharply toward Hot Baker and back to me. “Get it done.”
“I will,” I insisted.
It was a huge relief when she hefted her bag back up her shoulder and headed out. If I waited too much longer to announce my crush to Hot Baker, she’d march up to the guy and announce that I wanted to dip him in chocolate sauce and lick it off.
Once I’d set up all my stuff at my table, I wandered up to the bar and stood behind another couple who’d come in—they ordered decaf espresso and tiramisu.
With my tongue pressed into the sharp edge of my teeth, I watched their fingers slip together and tried to ignore the pang of jealousy in my chest. Closest I’d gotten to a relationship in a year was making moon eyes at an older man who clearly wasn’t interested.
And that didn’t stop me from shooting a bright smile at him when I stepped up to place my order. “Heya. Can I please get a quad Americano?”
Hot Baker raised a thick brown eyebrow at me. He glanced past my head at the clock over the door. It was already past seven. They didn’t close until nine, but it wasn’t an hour that sane, well-adjusted people started downing that much caffeine.
“And if I can bribe you to stay open late, I’ve got—” I dug in my pocket and pulled out my student ID, an open roll of Tums, and half a pen.
Half . . . a pen.
Oh god—I reached back in and grabbed the other half. My fingertips came back stained inky black. I frowned down at my pitiful messy fingers and sighed, forgetting the whole reason I’d come—to woo my baker man.
Nope . . . Nope. To get my paper done.
“How about I make you a double dirty chai?” he asked.
Dirty? That word, dripping from those lips, had me perking up in interest. He had a wide, full mouth, and his bottom lip was usually flushed from biting it so often. Who cared about inky fingers when he was throwing words like “dirty” around?
“Double dirty?” My voice was absolutely overflowing with innuendo; he had to hear it.
Already, he’d turned away toward the espresso machine and the pitcher of chai they made every day. “You’ll get the kick from the espresso, but the caffeine in the tea’s more drawn out.”
I’d lined up cupid’s arrow, pulled, and let it fly, and Hot Baker stayed as oblivious as ever.
Oh well. I wiped my inky fingers on my jeans and shrugged. “Oh. Okay. Yeah, that sounds really great. I’ll have one of those.”
Nobody else came up behind me in line, and good thing, too. It took him a few minutes to make my drink—pouring the tea and milk, pulling espresso shots, warming the cup.
When he passed it across the counter to me, there was a little heart in the foam, barely visible with the tea and espresso such similar colors of warm brown.
“Thanks.” I lifted it to my lips and took a sip.
He’d sweetened the drink with a little vanilla, but it was rich and spicy with cloves and cinnamon. The milk was frothy and warm, and I smiled into my cup.
“This is perfect.”
Behind the counter, the guy ducked his head, already reaching for a rag to wipe down the perfectly clean bar. “Glad you like it.”
I pulled out my wallet. He waved me off.
“It’s not what you ordered.”
But it was what I needed, and I’d seen the guy make my Americanos often enough that I knew it’d taken way more work.
Even if I didn’t like arguing, it still felt wrong to take something from a small-business owner without paying, especially when my aunt still took care of all my bills.
I pulled a ten-dollar bill out of my wallet and stuffed it in the tip jar. When he saw, he scowled at it, then at me, and back again before I could enjoy the honey-gold flecks in his eyes.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
“No, thank you. This is great, really.” I smiled again, lifting the cup, and hoped he’d look at me for just a second. Every time he did, my pulse quickened and everything around me seemed sharper, brighter.
He didn’t, so I retreated to my table with a warm mug and a tremor in my chest that felt too much like defeat.
For a second after I sat back down, I watched Hot Baker clean up after himself, shooting steam from one of the espresso machine’s many startling knobs and sticks and . . .
Paper. I had a paper to write.
Surprising no one, least of all myself, I ended up scrapping the outline I’d spent days developing. At least I could still use a lot of the research.
At the end of this school year, if all went according to plan, I’d graduate with a degree in history. This particular paper was on the historical application of mundane legal precedents over dangerous supernatural beings. I swear, it’s less boring than it sounds.
Not every supernatural being was considered dangerous. There were the obvious suspects—vampires, dragons, and werewolves—and the fae caused more problems than you’d expect, looking at them. But there were also creatures like shifters, centaurs, and merpeople who didn’t cause much trouble at all.
At some point or another, most supernatural beings faced discrimination, but I was trying to prove that treating anyone as dangerous only increased the likelihood of violence perpetrated by, but more importantly against, that community.
I’d fallen into the paper, gotten through three and a half pages of points and facts that backed up my claim that the U.S. wasn’t incredible at dealing with its supernatural citizens, when someone slid a plate in next to my laptop.
My head snapped up, and I realized I was the only one left in the bakery. Hot Baker had put a bunny, round and golden brown, glistening with syrup, beside me.
“You looked like you could use a snack,” he said. Again, he was so quiet it was almost hard to hear him, even though he’d turned the music off and nobody else was there.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” I hopped out of my seat, the legs of the chair scraping back across the floor. “I didn’t—I wasn’t seriously asking you to stay open late.”
“It’s fine,” the guy said with a shrug. “I have to clean up the kitchen anyway. You can stay till I lock up.”
But this place was a bakery. He served coffee. He was bound to have an early morning.
“No, really. It’s fine. I should get home before it’s too late anyway. I can totally finish this at home. Could I just get—” I sucked in my cheeks, biting them between my molars. It wasn’t like he could put the tantalizing bun back in the case and serve it. “Could I get a to-go bag, maybe?”
“Of course.” He went behind the counter and I followed him to the edge. He passed me a brown paper bag. There was a stamp on the front with the logo of the place—it looked like the kind of thing he or one of his employees had pressed into the bag, not something that’d been professionally printed, and it was all the more charming for the effort.
“Thanks.” I pinched the sticky rabbit by his ears and dropped him in, then pushed the needlessly dirtied plate across the counter at him.
I should have just gone, got out of his way before I caused any more trouble and let him clean my dishes, but I lingered there feeling like a jerk, clutching the paper bag to my chest. “Um, I’m Finnick, by the way.”
For a second, he just stared at me, and I worried that was all I was going to get. Finally, he bit his lip and when he opened his mouth, a name tumbled out. “Cillian.”
Twelve whole months, and at long last, I’d gotten it. He didn’t see me grinning, but I didn’t care. “It’s really nice to meet you, Cillian.”
I left Honey Bunny muttering “Cillian” under my breath like I’d lost my mind, but in the mess of facts and quotes in my head for the paper, the one thing I wanted to remember from that night was Hot Baker’s name.
Openly Yours by Colette Davison
“You had news. Is it about the Arches?”
I grinned, unable to keep it from him.
“They accepted our offer?”
“Yes.”
Jesse bounced up and down in my arms, squealing excitedly. “That’s fantastic!”
“We’ve got to get all the building and land checks done and a survey, so it’s not a done deal yet. But all being well, our youth centre is one step closer to opening.”
Jesse grasped my face and kissed me hard. “It’s exciting, isn’t it?”
“Very.”
His eyes widened. “You should invite your dads to come and stay so we can show them the Arches.”
“I’d been thinking about that.” I carried him over to the sofa and sat down with him on my lap. “Maybe it’s about time we moved out of this flat.”
Jesse tilted his head to the side. “Why?”
“Well, right now, if we want to invite my family down, they have to stay in a hotel.” I paused, measuring my next words carefully. “And at some point, we’re going to have a family, Jesse. There’s not going to be room for children in a one-bedroom flat.” I stroked my thumbs over his lower back. “You wanted a house filled with music and the patter of tiny feet, remember?”
Jesse nodded, but he didn’t speak. His eyes were brimming with tears, and his chin wobbled.
“And I wanted a big bath.”
That made him laugh. “We need a huge bath.”
Jesse frowned. “We can’t, not until—”
I silenced him with a kiss. “We know roughly when your heats will be. We can plan around it. We’re already mated. You know I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Now I want to show everyone else that—your family and mine.”
“And the world?” Jesse asked. “Because we’re not gonna get a cosy little wedding.”
I smiled. “The whole world. I’m yours, Jesse, now, always, and openly.”
Jesse gasped. “I’ve got it!”
“Got what?”
“The title of the song I’m going to write for you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Will you share it with me?”
He smiled mischievously. “Nope. I think I’m gonna keep it a secret.”
I tickled him until I reduced him to a giggling, writhing wreck on my lap. Then I flipped him onto the sofa and lay over him, tickling him more until he was gasping for air.
“Now are you going to tell me?”
He put his hands around my neck as his breathing slowly returned to normal. “‘Openly Yours’.”
I nuzzled his nose with my own. “That’s beautiful.”
“So are you.”
We looked at each other, my heart filling as I saw how much love radiated from his eyes and smile. I kissed him, teasing his mouth with my tongue. “Let’s set a wedding date and start looking at houses.”
Jesse nodded. “Okay.”
Like the Night by Rachel Langella
Will had always been protective of those he cared about, and Evan was no exception, especially since Evan's attractive face, slender build and "out and proud" attitude had occasionally made him a target on campus. It had been that way since their freshman year, and it was no different now. It was ridiculous, perhaps, and no doubt part of that White Knight thing Evan had always teased him about, but Will couldn't help it; it was just the way he was.
"You might as well 'fess up now, because I'm going to get the story out of you one way or another. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you if I can do anything about it. We stick together, right?" Will's tone grew serious. "I mean it, Evan. You know you can count on me. You're my best friend." It was still true, even though they hadn't been face-to-face in years. No one had ever taken Evan's place in his life; no one ever could.
"Even if I tell you I've been working for a vampire?" Evan asked softly. "I don't mean that figuratively, either. I mean literally. She's a monster. She's killed her own models. She turns people into monsters like her."
For a long moment, Will couldn't do anything but stare at his friend, wondering if this was a joke and he was somehow missing the punch line. Evan's blue eyes were haunted but guileless; the man was a lousy liar, at least when it came to Will, and there was too much pain in Evan's gaze for it to be some elaborate trick. Whatever was really going on, Evan, at least, believed what he was saying, and that was the most horrifying part of it. Whatever had happened to Evan in the last few months had damaged him in a way that Will was afraid he wasn't going to be able to fix.
It was painful to face the fact that his best friend had apparently suffered some sort of mental breakdown, and Will cursed himself for not having tried harder to get in contact when Evan's communications had grown infrequent. Obviously Evan had been going through something terrible, and Will knew that he had to do whatever he could to get Evan the help he needed. Which meant making sure that Evan remained here for now, until Will could figure out how to get him to a doctor.
"Let me make sure I understand what you're saying," he replied, keeping his voice quiet and reassuring. "Elizabeth Nadasdy, the famous fashion designer, is a vampire who kills people. That makes sense, I suppose. Or at least it explains why the models all look as though they weigh five pounds." His attempt at humor sounded hollow, but it was the best he could do at the moment. "And she's after you?"
Evan leaned back away from Will. "You don't believe me. You think I'm crazy."
Will hated to see that look on Evan's face, the question of sanity aside. "Evan, it's not that I don't want to believe you, all right? But you know how it sounds, don't you?" He knew his tone was pleading. "Vampires don't exist. I can tell you believe it, though, and that makes it hard, because I know you'd never lie to me. But how can I believe it? How can you believe it?" He reached out and touched Evan's arm in mute appeal. "How?"
Evan met Will's gaze, his expression steady and calm, no trace of madness lurking in his gaze. "I don't just believe it. I know it. I know it because I'm one, too."
"You might as well 'fess up now, because I'm going to get the story out of you one way or another. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you if I can do anything about it. We stick together, right?" Will's tone grew serious. "I mean it, Evan. You know you can count on me. You're my best friend." It was still true, even though they hadn't been face-to-face in years. No one had ever taken Evan's place in his life; no one ever could.
"Even if I tell you I've been working for a vampire?" Evan asked softly. "I don't mean that figuratively, either. I mean literally. She's a monster. She's killed her own models. She turns people into monsters like her."
It was painful to face the fact that his best friend had apparently suffered some sort of mental breakdown, and Will cursed himself for not having tried harder to get in contact when Evan's communications had grown infrequent. Obviously Evan had been going through something terrible, and Will knew that he had to do whatever he could to get Evan the help he needed. Which meant making sure that Evan remained here for now, until Will could figure out how to get him to a doctor.
"Let me make sure I understand what you're saying," he replied, keeping his voice quiet and reassuring. "Elizabeth Nadasdy, the famous fashion designer, is a vampire who kills people. That makes sense, I suppose. Or at least it explains why the models all look as though they weigh five pounds." His attempt at humor sounded hollow, but it was the best he could do at the moment. "And she's after you?"
Evan leaned back away from Will. "You don't believe me. You think I'm crazy."
Will hated to see that look on Evan's face, the question of sanity aside. "Evan, it's not that I don't want to believe you, all right? But you know how it sounds, don't you?" He knew his tone was pleading. "Vampires don't exist. I can tell you believe it, though, and that makes it hard, because I know you'd never lie to me. But how can I believe it? How can you believe it?" He reached out and touched Evan's arm in mute appeal. "How?"
Evan met Will's gaze, his expression steady and calm, no trace of madness lurking in his gaze. "I don't just believe it. I know it. I know it because I'm one, too."
Cutie and the Beast by EJ Russell
Chapter One
David Evans carried his aunt Cassie from her bedroom to the sun porch, laughing at her squeak of protest.
“Put me down, you dreadful boy. I’m capable of walking through the house on my own.”
“I’m showing off for you. Stop fussing or you’ll wound my masculine pride.” He settled her on the chaise, angling it for a perfect view of her beloved garden. The morning sun was flooding the room with the crisp light of almost-summer. From a big cage in the corner, her zebra finches beeped in cheerful counterpoint to the lazy buzz of bees in the hollyhocks outside the window screens. “And you know how I love to pamper you.”
She patted his arm, smiling up at him as he smoothed a coverlet over her knees. “You look very handsome this morning, Davey.” A faint Welsh lilt still shaded her voice, even after six decades of living in Oregon. “I’ve not seen that tie before, have I?”
“What, this old thing?” David flicked the corner of the blue-on-blue polka-dot bow tie he’d saved for this exact occasion. “I start a new gig today, Auntie. Temporary office manager for a real live health care provider, so I dress to impress.”
“Really?” Her fragile skin puckered between where her eyebrows used to be. “Ms. Fischer assigned you to a medical practice?”
David dodged her shrewd gaze by fiddling with the blinds, adjusting them so the sun didn’t shine directly in her face. “Sandra’s out with a nasty flu. Her assistant is the one who placed me.”
When poor frazzled Tracy had called with the offer, he’d almost reminded her he’d been permanently exiled to telecommuting limbo. But then she’d told him the job was for Dr. Alun Kendrick.
Just once, a few months ago, he’d had a very small transcription assignment for the psychologist. He’d prayed for another, because, God, that voice. A British accent that put Colin Firth to shame. No doubt about it, the man was total ear candy.
So he’d neglected to mention that Sandra had banned him from office positions for life. On paper, he fit this position perfectly. In practice . . . well, there was always a first time. Besides, forgiveness? Way easier than permission.
“Are you sure this is wise?” Aunt Cassie’s mouth quirked up in a ghost of her old sly grin. “The last time, you caused a riot. In a dentist’s office.”
“I did not cause the riot.” He propped her cane within easy reach and dropped a kiss on her rainbow head scarf. “I was merely present when it occurred, and clearly those men were either unbalanced or laboring under the severe stress of looming root canals.”
He nudged her hip gently with his knee and sat beside her, his arm around her thin shoulders. “It’s the ideal job. Swing shift, two until ten, so I can still handle my billing and transcription assignments in the morning. Plus, it’s indefinite, maybe permanent. Tracy hinted that the regular office manager might not return from maternity leave.”
Aunt Cassie plucked at the blanket on her lap, pulling out tiny tufts of green and blue fluff. “Don’t hope for someone else’s misfortune, Davey. It’s bad for your spirit.”
“I’m not. Truly, I’m not. But if she chooses to spend longer at home with her baby, I’m more than happy to keep her chair warm and her desk competently staffed.”
She sighed. “All right. You know best. Show me your lucky earring.”
David turned his head to flash the onyx stud his aunt had given him on his thirteenth birthday. “Never without it.”
“You have your worry stone?”
He pulled the purple quartz oval out of his blazer pocket, thumbing the shallow dip in its top face, the familiar shape smooth and cool in his hand. “Always. Now . . .” He stood up, brushing green fuzz off his gray trousers. “I won’t be home until eleven, but I’ll have my cell phone with me every minute. Lorraine should be here any second to sit with you until Peggy brings your dinner at six, but if you need me, you call. Understood?”
“Pooh.” She scrunched her face in a near-pout. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
He picked up her pill bottle—just as full as it was yesterday. On days like today, when he’d sent off yet another partial payment to the clinic, begging for patience and an extension, he missed the time when the only things he had to worry about were studying for his next anatomy exam, or wondering why his latest sort-of-boyfriend had suddenly turned into a jealous douche bag.
And when Aunt Cassie wouldn’t even comply with the doctor’s orders for the treatment that kept David working as many hours as he could swing—and still barely earning enough to keep them from losing their home? Argh.
“Auntie, how many times do I have to—” He took a deep breath. Don’t be a jerk. You can’t browbeat someone into getting better. He rattled the pill bottle, waggling his eyebrows. “Could you at least try to do what the doctor says?”
Pink tinged her pale cheeks, but she met his gaze calmly. “I’ve been an adult for several times your lifetime. I’ve earned the right to control the end of my own.”
David’s heart tried to scrunch itself into a fetal position. No. No. No and no and no. Life without his aunt? The thought made him want to lie down on the floor and drum his heels against the hardwood like he’d done as a temper-prone toddler, or hide in the closet and rock in denial like he’d done during his years in foster care.
Instead, he dropped to his knees and took her hands. “Auntie, you’re the only family I’ve got. I want to keep you around as long as possible. Please?”
“Ach, Davey. How can I say no to that?” She sighed and took the pills from him. “Revolting little objects.”
“I know, so thank you.” He kissed her forehead. “Love you. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Be careful, cariad.” She rested one palm against his cheek. “You leap into things, heart first. Don’t be too quick to believe this your belonging place. Wait a bit. Learn how the days play out.”
David dropped his gaze from her bird-bright eyes. She had a point, but he couldn’t help it. Something about this job felt so right, as if the ultimate assignment had come along exactly when he was able to snag it.
His cheerful honorary aunt Peggy, one of his aunt’s six closest friends, would say his stars were in alignment. Aunt Regan, the more mordant one, would call it fate. But he didn’t care what any of them called it; he called it perfect.
He’d make it perfect, damn it. This time for sure.
***
A beast loomed in the stairwell, hulking and monstrous and far too savage to be contained by the glass door panel with its flimsy safety mesh.
Alun Kendrick’s pulse bucked like a frightened mare. He grabbed the door handle, teeth bared in the battle rictus of a Sidhe warrior.
Undeterred, the beast mirrored him, grimace for grimace, scowl for scowl, glare for glare.
Oak and thorn, not again. He released the doorknob with a groan. It’s been two hundred years, Kendrick. You ought to be accustomed to your own reflection by now. But intellectual acceptance didn’t trump his instinctive revulsion at the sight of his grotesque features.
Beauty was a prerequisite for admittance to the Seelie Court, a tenet so basic he’d never thought to question its fairness. There’d been no need—he’d met that restriction for millennia—but he bloody well violated it now.
As long as he wore this face, the gates of Faerie were barred to him. He’d have preferred a death curse to this exile and all-consuming guilt, but he’d not been given that choice.
He shoved the stairwell door open and took the stairs two at a time, down the six flights from his top-floor flat to his clinic offices. With the curse robbing him of nearly all his former abilities, he knew better than to take the elevator. He could pass unnoticed as long as he was moving, but his paltry glamourie of not-here couldn’t stand up to the scrutiny of a bored human in an enclosed space.
Stairs were by far the safer choice.
When he emerged from the stairwell into the corridor that led to his clinic, his nerves flared again.
Intruder.
Stomach jolting toward his spine, he rushed halfway down the hall, reaching reflexively for his sword. Fool. You haven’t worn a scabbard in two centuries. He stopped and rested his hand against the wall, willing his battle reflexes to stand down. You carry a briefcase now, not a broadsword.
Besides, this intrusion, while not welcome, was anticipated. His office manager, a werewolf expecting her first child, had taken early maternity leave, collateral damage in the F1W2 flu that had approached epidemic proportions in the shifter community. Although it only affected the big cats, her father-in-law had demanded she retire to their compound to await the birth. Something about impending grandfatherhood had turned the normally tough and pragmatic alpha of the Multnomah wolf pack into a skittish old hen.
Alun opened his clinic door and slipped into the reception lobby. While the need for a temp irritated him, he had no intention of frightening her senseless before she brewed the coffee. He might be a monster, but he wasn’t an idiot.
“Hello? It’s Dr. Kendrick.”
A narrow band of sunlight spilled through open blinds, gilding the carpet with a stripe of gold, and Alun rethought his don’t-frighten-the-temp-senseless policy. Damn it to all the hells, hadn’t she bothered to read the office procedures manual?
Blinds must remain closed during daylight hours.
Throughout most of the year, the north-facing windows wouldn’t admit enough sunlight to injure any but the most helio-sensitive of his clients, and his clinic hours—midafternoon through evening—were arranged to further minimize exposure. This close to the solstice, however, the sun’s angle was acute enough to bleed into the room. She should know that. Every supe in the Pacific Northwest knew that.
A growl rumbling in his throat, he yanked the cords, plunging the room into soothing shadow. He stalked down the hallway, searching for the temp. No one was cowering in the break room, nor the restroom, nor the supply closet that housed the copier and printer.
Where the bloody hells was she? As a rule, people didn’t run until after they’d gotten a look at him, although few supes had cause to balk. Many of them looked nearly as bad at certain phases of the moon or after an ill-considered blood bender.
Cursing under his breath, he threw open the door to his inner office and came face to posterior with the most perfect arse he’d seen since the day he left Faerie.
A human arse.
Flaming abyss, had everyone at Fischer Temps run mad, or only Sandra Fischer herself?
The slender man in indecently well-cut trousers and a fitted dress shirt was standing on Alun’s desk atop the latest Physician’s Desk Reference and two of Alun’s heftiest old text books, arms stretched overhead as he fiddled with the light bulbs in the track lighting. His shirttails, partly untucked, displayed a tantalizing arc of skin over one hip.
Alun’s mouth went dry, an unexpected surge of want sizzling from the base of his outsized skull to his bollocks.
No, damn it. He’s human. Humans were off-limits for so many reasons, not least of which was that heavy sedation and years of therapy lay in store for any unlucky enough to see his face. No non-supe was allowed knowledge of the supernatural world without the express permission of the all ruling councils, under pain of . . . well . . . pain.
Excruciating, never-ending pain.
He thrust his unwelcome desire away, which his strict century-old vow of abstinence made more difficult than he wanted to admit. He tossed his briefcase on the love seat next to the door and stalked across the office to stand behind the human.
“What in all the bloody hells do you think you’re about?”
“Dr. Kendrick.” Despite Alun’s less than hospitable words, the man’s mellow tenor held welcome, not alarm.
He turned. Eyes widening under a slash of dark brows, he inhaled sharply and his smile faltered. Alun caught a brief impression of an upper lip shaped like the longbow he had last held the day he left Faerie. Enchanting.
Then the man lost his footing on the teetering pile of books, and stumbled backward, slipping on a stack of Psychology Today. His feet flew out from under him, along with a spray of magazines, and he toppled right into Alun’s arms.
Merciful Goddess. Alun hadn’t been within intimate-touching distance of a man since 1898. No wonder then that his breath sped up, his blood burning like molten silver in his veins. His cock suddenly hard behind his fly.
He inhaled, slow and deep. This was what a man’s skin smelled like when he was fresh from the bath and not the battlefield. Vivid and forest wild, with a faint undertone of salt and a hint of musk. This was what a man’s hair looked like, shiny and flyaway, gold threads glinting among the peat brown, finer than any pelt yet coarser than a woman’s or child’s. This was what a man felt like in his arms, alive and warm and—
Shite. Human.
To the human’s credit, he didn’t shriek or faint, nor did he struggle or try to escape. Instead, he remained cradled in Alun’s arms, tilted his chin, and blinked eyes the color of a storm-clouded lake. An erratic pulse beat in the angle of his jaw, betraying that he wasn’t as calm as he pretended, a bright—and undoubtedly false—smile curving that tempting mouth.
“How do you do? I’m David Evans, your new temp office manager.”
“I don’t think so.”
Alun set the man on his feet and escaped behind his desk before the state of his trousers could reveal his inconvenient reaction. Thank the Goddess he no longer wore doublet and hose.
The human, David—although despite endless years in exile, Alun mentally translated the name to its Welsh form, Dafydd—sidled away under the guise of picking up the scattered magazines and reshelving the books he’d used as an impromptu stepping stool.
“Yes, indeed I am.” He didn’t lift his gaze to Alun’s face, and who could blame him? “Don’t worry. Tracy filled me in—”
“Not Sandra?”
David shook his hair out of his eyes. “Sandra’s out with that bug that’s going around, I’m afraid, but you know she trusts Tracy to fill in for her or she wouldn’t employ her. Sandra insists on the best.”
She did, and she’d hear about this outrageous infraction, flu or no flu. Supe business, supe temps. That was the foundation—the absolute guarantee—of her company. She was a panther shifter, damn it, with the responsibility to adequately brief her staff.
“You’ve no business in here. My office is off-limits.” Especially to humans, however beautiful they might be.
“The lights above your desk. They . . .” David cast a brief glance at him from under unfairly long eyelashes and swallowed, his Adam’s apple sliding beneath the honey-smooth skin above his collar. “They were failing. I wanted to change them before they burned out so—”
“Did you not consider that I keep them dim on purpose?” Alun thrust his head forward into the merciless light. Flinching, David stumbled back, the unmistakable tang of fear tainting his seductive clean-man scent. Good. He should be afraid. He should be afraid, and he should be gone. “You think anyone wants to look at this face too closely while they’re spilling the secrets of their soul?”
David pressed his lips together, no doubt to hide their trembling. Alun should have felt gratified that he’d succeeded in intimidating the man. A necessary evil, for his own sake as well as for the safety of the supe communities. But a whisper of regret, the shadow of sorrow for something he could never have again, raised a lump in his throat and tightened his chest.
Yes, the human must leave, no matter how much Alun’s awakening libido regretted the necessity.
Instead of bolting out the door, however, David took a deep breath, a mulish cast to his pointed chin, and stared Alun straight in the eye. “If you prefer to remain in the dark, that’s your choice and privilege. After all, you’re the doctor.”
Jordan L. Hawk is a trans author from North Carolina. Childhood tales of mountain ghosts and mysterious creatures gave him a life-long love of things that go bump in the night. When he isn’t writing, he brews his own beer and tries to keep the cats from destroying the house. His best-selling Whyborne & Griffin series (beginning with Widdershins) can be found in print, ebook, and audiobook.
If you want to contact Jordan, just click on the links below or send an email.
Sam lives in the Midwest with husband and cat, which is even less exciting than it sounds, so she's not sure why you're still reading this.
She specializes in LGBTQIA+ fiction, usually with a romantic element. There's sometimes intrigue and violence, usually a little sex, and almost always some swearing in her work. Her writing is light and happy, though, so if you're looking for a dark gritty reality, you've come to the wrong author.
W.M. Fawkes is an author of LGBTQ+ urban fantasy and paranormal romance. With coauthor Sam Burns, she writes feisty Greek gods, men, and monsters in the Lords of the Underworld series. She lives with her partner in a house owned by three halloween-hued felines that dabble regularly in shadow walking.
Colette’s personal love story began at university, where she met her future husband. An evening of flirting, in the shadow of Lancaster castle, eventually led to a fairytale wedding. She’s enjoying her own ‘happy ever after’ in the north of England with her husband, two beautiful children and her writing.
Rachel Langella and Ari McKay are the professional pseudonyms for Arionrhod and McKay, who have been writing together for over a decade. Their collaborations encompass a wide variety of romance genres, including contemporary, fantasy, science fiction, gothic, and action/adventure. Their work includes the Blood Bathory series of paranormal novels, the Herc’s Mercs series, as well as two historical Westerns: Heart of Stone and Finding Forgiveness. When not writing, they can often be found scheming over costume designs or binge watching TV shows together.
Ari McKay is a retired systems engineer turned full-time writer and seamstress. Now that she is an empty-nester, she has turned her attentions to finding the perfect piece of land to build a fortress in preparation for the zombie apocalypse, and baking (and eating) far too many cakes.
Rachel Langella is a creative writing teacher who has been writing for one reason or another most of her life. She loves all things spooky and/or vintage, and she’s given in to Ari’s corruptive influences and learned to sew so she can make her own vintage-style clothes and costumes. Given she has the survival skills of a gnat, she’s relying on Ari to help her survive the zombie apocalypse.
Multi-Rainbow Award winner E.J. Russell—grace, mother of three, recovering actor—holds a BA and an MFA in theater, so naturally she’s spent the last three decades as a financial manager, database designer, and business intelligence consultant (as one does). She’s recently abandoned data wrangling, however, and spends her days wrestling words.
E.J. is married to Curmudgeonly Husband, a man who cares even less about sports than she does. Luckily, CH loves to cook, or all three of their children (Lovely Daughter and Darling Sons A and B) would have survived on nothing but Cheerios, beef jerky, and satsuma mandarins (the extent of E.J.’s culinary skill set).
E.J. lives in rural Oregon, enjoys visits from her wonderful adult children, and indulges in good books, red wine, and the occasional hyperbole.
Jordan L Hawk
EMAIL: jordanlhawk@gmail.com
EMAIL: waverly@fawkeswrites.com
Colette Davison
Rachel Langella/Ari McKay
WEBSITE / NEWSLETTER / AUDIBLE
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EJ Russell
Infernal Affairs by Jordan L Hawk
A Dragon's Fortune by Sam Burns & WM Fawkes
Openly Yours by Colette Davison
Like the Night by Rachel Langella
Cutie and the Beast by EJ Russell
