Summary:
Kings of Hell, MC #1
Kings of Hell, MC #1
Nothing can stop true love. Not time. Not even the devil himself.
1805. Laurent. Indentured servant. Desperate to escape a life that is falling apart.
2017. Beast. Kings of Hell Motorcycle Club vice president. His fists do the talking.
Beast has been disfigured in a fire, but he’s covered his skin with tattoos to make sure no one mistakes his scars for weakness. The accident not only hurt his body, but damaged his soul and self-esteem, so he’s wrapped himself in a tight cocoon of violence and mayhem where no one can reach him.
Until one night, when he finds a young man covered in blood in their clubhouse. Sweet, innocent, and as beautiful as an angel fallen from heaven, Laurent pulls on all of Beast’s heartstrings. Laurent is so lost in the world around him, and is such a tangled mystery, that Beast can’t help but let the man claw his way into the stone that is Beast’s heart.
In 1805, Laurent has no family, no means, and his eyesight is failing. To escape a life of poverty, he uses his beauty, but that only backfires and leads him to a catastrophe that changes his life forever. He takes one step into the abyss and is transported to the future, ready to fight for a life worth living.
What he doesn’t expect in his way is a brutal, gruff wall of tattooed muscle with a tender side that only Laurent is allowed to touch. And yet, if Laurent ever wants to earn his freedom, he might have to tear out the heart of the very man who took care of him when it mattered most.
1805. Laurent. Indentured servant. Desperate to escape a life that is falling apart.
2017. Beast. Kings of Hell Motorcycle Club vice president. His fists do the talking.
Beast has been disfigured in a fire, but he’s covered his skin with tattoos to make sure no one mistakes his scars for weakness. The accident not only hurt his body, but damaged his soul and self-esteem, so he’s wrapped himself in a tight cocoon of violence and mayhem where no one can reach him.
Until one night, when he finds a young man covered in blood in their clubhouse. Sweet, innocent, and as beautiful as an angel fallen from heaven, Laurent pulls on all of Beast’s heartstrings. Laurent is so lost in the world around him, and is such a tangled mystery, that Beast can’t help but let the man claw his way into the stone that is Beast’s heart.
In 1805, Laurent has no family, no means, and his eyesight is failing. To escape a life of poverty, he uses his beauty, but that only backfires and leads him to a catastrophe that changes his life forever. He takes one step into the abyss and is transported to the future, ready to fight for a life worth living.
What he doesn’t expect in his way is a brutal, gruff wall of tattooed muscle with a tender side that only Laurent is allowed to touch. And yet, if Laurent ever wants to earn his freedom, he might have to tear out the heart of the very man who took care of him when it mattered most.
I am not going to say "I forgot so much in the 5 years since I read this story" because frankly it just wouldn't be true. Were there moments that didn't come back to me until I heard the scene? Sure, but never forgotten. I think that statement alone speaks volumes to how amazing this story really is, how much it sucks the reader in, how overwhelmed(not in a suffocating way but in a powerful way) one is by Laurent and the Beast's journey.
As for the narrator, Joel Leslie, I can't think of a better voice to portray both the sweetness and naivete of Laurent as well as the gruffness and overpowering Beast. I felt as if I was watching the whole thing unfold in front of me, not just in my head but right there in the room. To me that ability in audiobooks is what makes the difference between good and great. Joel Leslie breathes life into KA Merikan's characters so realistically that I can't imagine anyone else doing even half as good a job.
Spot on all the way around.
Original Review May 2017:
Paranormal, romance, motorcycle club, what's not to love? Laurent and the Beast is an amazing tale with a little bit of everything. I will say that I debated on appropriate tags, should I use paranormal, supernatural, or science fiction? Despite there being a science fiction element with time travel, I went with paranormal because of the how and why Laurent went from 1805 to 2017. No matter whatever category you decide on, just know that you will have read an incredible story that sucks you in from the very first word.
I have read some time travel stories before, not a vast amount but definitely a few, more often than not the main character is going back in time so when Laurent moved forward more than 200 years I expected mentions of automobiles, electricity, and clothing. I was surprised but delighted to see the author reflect on little things that most of us take for granted such as light switches, refrigeration, bathtubs, and especially Laurent's fascination with plastic. These might be small scenes that don't seem very significant to most but to me they stood out and made it all the more realistic, well as realistic as time travel can be, and showed the attention the author made to details which is always an important factor to me when dealing with historicals, frankly it can be a make or break moment and in this KA Merikan work it is without a doubt a make it moment.
Despite the many differences between Laurent and Beast there is actually many similarities and the chemistry is off the charts. This is a tale that will make you cringe but warm the heart, will make you hate a few but love even more, and short circuit your brain a time or two but when you hit that last page you will be begging for more. Luckily for us, there is more to come and frankly I'll be waiting in line when book 2 comes out. Although I have featured their work on my blog before this is the first time I've read anything by the duo that makes up KA Merikan but Laurent and the Beast will definitely not be the last.
RATING:
Paranormal, romance, motorcycle club, what's not to love? Laurent and the Beast is an amazing tale with a little bit of everything. I will say that I debated on appropriate tags, should I use paranormal, supernatural, or science fiction? Despite there being a science fiction element with time travel, I went with paranormal because of the how and why Laurent went from 1805 to 2017. No matter whatever category you decide on, just know that you will have read an incredible story that sucks you in from the very first word.
I have read some time travel stories before, not a vast amount but definitely a few, more often than not the main character is going back in time so when Laurent moved forward more than 200 years I expected mentions of automobiles, electricity, and clothing. I was surprised but delighted to see the author reflect on little things that most of us take for granted such as light switches, refrigeration, bathtubs, and especially Laurent's fascination with plastic. These might be small scenes that don't seem very significant to most but to me they stood out and made it all the more realistic, well as realistic as time travel can be, and showed the attention the author made to details which is always an important factor to me when dealing with historicals, frankly it can be a make or break moment and in this KA Merikan work it is without a doubt a make it moment.
Despite the many differences between Laurent and Beast there is actually many similarities and the chemistry is off the charts. This is a tale that will make you cringe but warm the heart, will make you hate a few but love even more, and short circuit your brain a time or two but when you hit that last page you will be begging for more. Luckily for us, there is more to come and frankly I'll be waiting in line when book 2 comes out. Although I have featured their work on my blog before this is the first time I've read anything by the duo that makes up KA Merikan but Laurent and the Beast will definitely not be the last.
Summary:
The Escape Trilogy #1
Andrew is a vampire from New Orleans, exiled to a tropical island in the 1800s as punishment for his human bloodlust. During a storm, a ship crashes off shore. After rescuing a sailor from the cannibals native to the land, Andrew becomes fascinated with his brilliant, beautiful new companion, Edmund.
Edmund is a British naturalist who has sailed the world seeking new species. Intrigued by creatures that might kill him, immortal Andrew is this scientist’s dream—but so is making his way back home. Edmund will fight to survive, even while wrapped in the arms of a monster.
As light touches and laughter turn to something much more passionate, the cannibals creep ever closer to Edmund. Can the ancient vampire keep his human alive long enough to escape exile and explore their newfound love, or will Andrew’s bloodlust seal his own doom?
Summary:
Crimson Cliff Pack #1
When fate is determined to send you a mate—there is no hiding…
Alpha Maxim Young, heir apparent to the Crimson Cliff Pack has no desire to find his true mate and be forced to take over the pack from his alpha father. He likes his life just as it is. As the Omega Moon approaches, the night when shifters can see the true mate fate has sent for them, he wants no part of the pack celebration—or as he thinks of it, their night of desperation. Maxim does the only thing he can think of and heads to the local human bar.
Bartender Ollie begrudgingly takes an extra shift when his coworker calls him last minute. His grandmother always warned him to stay away from what she called the Omega Moon, going so far as to send him reminders in the form of recycled greeting cards. It was hogwash, and he knew it, but something about her pleas had him obeying—until now. What harm could it do to help out his single-dad coworker? It was just a stupid moon phase.
When Maxim takes a seat at the bar, Ollie is instantly drawn to him in a way he never has been to anyone before—he just can’t keep his mind, both upper and lower, off of the man. He decides to throw his no-one-night-stand rules out the window and give in to his desire at the end of the evening. It isn’t until they walk out of the bar to part ways that things get—weird.
Omega Moon is the first book in the Crimson Cliff Pack series of super sweet with naughty heat m/m mpreg shifter romances. It features a stubborn alpha, his fated mate who is shocked to discover he is not quite human, an adorable kitten, a new job Maxim never wanted, and the magic of true love. While this is book one of the Crimson Cliff Pack series, each story stands alone and gives the couple their happy ending, including the birth of a sweet baby who steals their hearts. If you love your alphas hawt, your omegas strong, and your mpreg with heart, this book is for you.
Summary:
The Fantastic Fluke #4
It’s been a long year for Sage and his friends, and all of Junction, California, and it’s not over yet.
Freddie's school of magic is still a mystery, and figuring it out would be enough work, but the investigation leads them to the mysterious coded notes of Junction’s long-dead first magical artist, and then to the last place any of them ever expected to end up: the nineteenth century. Worse yet, when they get there Fluke is missing, and Sage isn’t sure he can get back home without his best friend.
Now—or is it then?—they just need to find Fluke, decode the notes, avoid changing the past, dodge evil Uncle Jonathon and the shady French nobleman at his side, and maybe most importantly, find their way home.
But there's more in the past than trouble, and Gideon might want to stay there with his wife. If Sage has to leave him behind, is it worth returning to his own time at all?
Summary:
Cold Case Psychic #2
When the spirit of a young male prostitute comes to psychic Tennyson Grimm asking him to find the john who brutally murdered him, Tennyson can’t say no. Only able to communicate through the use of images, rather than words, getting any information out of the young man is frustrating and slow going.
Cold Case Detective Ronan O’Mara has been on a roll solving cases since he and Tennyson last teamed up to solve the Michael Frye case. Unfortunately, the red-hot romance that had blossomed between them during that investigation is now off in a ditch, thanks to Ronan’s self-confessed pigheadedness.
Agreeing to work together despite the rift in their relationship, Tennyson and Ronan discover they are in for more than they bargained for when more victims start to reveal themselves to Tennyson.
Realizing they might have a serial killer on their hands, the two men work tirelessly to stop this madman from killing again, but when the killer targets the son of a prominent member of the Boston Police Department, can Ronan and Tennyson save him before it’s too late?
Laurent and the Beast by KA Merikan
Dead Reckoning by Pandora Pine
Hound’s alarmed growling was coming his way, along with whines, when he reached the right door and opened it, only to have the massive Rottweiler’s body rush past him and into the corridor. Beast expected his pet to rush toward the room where the accident happened just minutes ago but Hound looked back at Beast, as if signalling he wanted to be followed, and rushed the other way, stirring the worst of feelings in Beast.
Was there an intruder somewhere in the house? With the sheer size of the former asylum that has served as the Kings of Hell Clubhouse for the last fifteen years, it was easy to overlook things happening in the disused parts of the property. They once had a bunch of teenagers who came over wanting to spy on the orgy. That thankfully didn’t end in blood, and out of the whole mess they got Jake to join their ranks.
Beast wondered whether he shouldn’t go back to the armory and get himself a gun but ultimately decided against it. There would be police and emergency services coming for Davy, and he didn’t want to run around with a firearm, no matter how good their relationship with the local police was.
Hound moved as if he were following a clear trail, but Beast couldn’t smell anything apart from dust and dampness. They were leaving behind the shouting and even the sound of the ambulance approaching, and eventually entered a corridor so disused it had a thick layer of dust on the floor. Now even Beast could see faint footprints in the dust, and next to them, dark droplets that could be blood.
Hound smelled the traces, looked back and broke into a run, which had Beast following him with the worst of expectations as to what he would eventually find. His heart beat faster as they ran down the dark hallway.
The building was a labyrinth, and this far away from where they all lived and worked, it wasn’t even wired anymore, so he breathed in the smell of mildew and followed Hound through the darkness in hope he would not stumble.
Windows in the doorless rooms on both sides of the corridor were the only source of light, now delivering a faint red and blue glow of the approaching ambulance. For all Beast knew, this could have been a gothic castle, something out of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, with bloodthirsty monsters waiting for their next victim in one of the endless hallways, and yet he only ran faster, listening to the steady tap of Hound’s paws.
Without any hesitation whatsoever, Hound rushed inside one of the rooms and gave a growl so vicious something inside Beast mourned his decision not to take a gun with him. But no one shot at him when Hound let out a single bark. Beast pushed past the empty doorway, jumping over a fallen chair, only to see someone hiding in the shadows.
Judging by the long, wavy hair and small stature, Beast at first thought it was a woman, but then the person spoke with a distinctly male voice.
“I… I’m not certain where I am.” The stranger took half a step out of the shadow, and into the flashing light coming from outside. His accent was distinctly foreign. French maybe?
Beast took him in with a scowl. Blood covered the stranger’s face, hair, dripped from his chin, from the tips of his trembling fingers, and stained the outfit that looked as if he’d stolen it from the set of a costume drama. Knee-high boots, fitted pants, a vest worn under a tailcoat.
“What the fuck are you doing on our property, boy?” hissed Beast, watching the soft features of a very young man. “Whose blood is this?” he asked, still cautious. In his experience, a non-threatening presence could hide an adept fighter, so he was not taking any chances as he joined Hound in front of the stranger, who was so short in comparison to Beast’s own six foot five form that his red-stained head only reached Beast’s pecs.
The stranger backed away into the corner, whimpering in fear the moment Hound growled at him again and lowered his head, but Beast wasn’t having any of it and grabbed the boy’s arm. “Is the blood yours then? Someone attacked you? Where?” he asked, not hesitating to pat the intruder down, to make sure there were no weapons hiding under the fancy coat.
The boy tried to weasel out of his grip, but he didn’t seem adept at using force. “N-no. I don’t think it’s mine. I don’t know. Is this hell?”
Beast groaned, staring at the silly-looking young man, whose white shirt was completely drenched in red. Someone must have died to produce this much blood.
“You will explain yourself to King.”
Was there an intruder somewhere in the house? With the sheer size of the former asylum that has served as the Kings of Hell Clubhouse for the last fifteen years, it was easy to overlook things happening in the disused parts of the property. They once had a bunch of teenagers who came over wanting to spy on the orgy. That thankfully didn’t end in blood, and out of the whole mess they got Jake to join their ranks.
Hound moved as if he were following a clear trail, but Beast couldn’t smell anything apart from dust and dampness. They were leaving behind the shouting and even the sound of the ambulance approaching, and eventually entered a corridor so disused it had a thick layer of dust on the floor. Now even Beast could see faint footprints in the dust, and next to them, dark droplets that could be blood.
Hound smelled the traces, looked back and broke into a run, which had Beast following him with the worst of expectations as to what he would eventually find. His heart beat faster as they ran down the dark hallway.
Windows in the doorless rooms on both sides of the corridor were the only source of light, now delivering a faint red and blue glow of the approaching ambulance. For all Beast knew, this could have been a gothic castle, something out of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, with bloodthirsty monsters waiting for their next victim in one of the endless hallways, and yet he only ran faster, listening to the steady tap of Hound’s paws.
Without any hesitation whatsoever, Hound rushed inside one of the rooms and gave a growl so vicious something inside Beast mourned his decision not to take a gun with him. But no one shot at him when Hound let out a single bark. Beast pushed past the empty doorway, jumping over a fallen chair, only to see someone hiding in the shadows.
Judging by the long, wavy hair and small stature, Beast at first thought it was a woman, but then the person spoke with a distinctly male voice.
“I… I’m not certain where I am.” The stranger took half a step out of the shadow, and into the flashing light coming from outside. His accent was distinctly foreign. French maybe?
Beast took him in with a scowl. Blood covered the stranger’s face, hair, dripped from his chin, from the tips of his trembling fingers, and stained the outfit that looked as if he’d stolen it from the set of a costume drama. Knee-high boots, fitted pants, a vest worn under a tailcoat.
“What the fuck are you doing on our property, boy?” hissed Beast, watching the soft features of a very young man. “Whose blood is this?” he asked, still cautious. In his experience, a non-threatening presence could hide an adept fighter, so he was not taking any chances as he joined Hound in front of the stranger, who was so short in comparison to Beast’s own six foot five form that his red-stained head only reached Beast’s pecs.
The stranger backed away into the corner, whimpering in fear the moment Hound growled at him again and lowered his head, but Beast wasn’t having any of it and grabbed the boy’s arm. “Is the blood yours then? Someone attacked you? Where?” he asked, not hesitating to pat the intruder down, to make sure there were no weapons hiding under the fancy coat.
The boy tried to weasel out of his grip, but he didn’t seem adept at using force. “N-no. I don’t think it’s mine. I don’t know. Is this hell?”
Beast groaned, staring at the silly-looking young man, whose white shirt was completely drenched in red. Someone must have died to produce this much blood.
“You will explain yourself to King.”
Escaping Exile by Sara Dobie Bauer
Chapter One
The crack as the hull breaks echoes across the beach, into the woods, and inside my head as I try to sleep. I was just beginning to dream of New Orleans. I almost smelled whiskey and muddy streets—almost. Instead, I jolt awake, still surrounded by the fresh flowery scent of this blasted tropical island in the middle of… Well, I don’t know really. That’s the point of exile.
I pull on a worn linen shirt. For the first few months here, I slept with my clothes on in case the cannibals came knocking. They never did. I think they knew this strange white man would make a disgusting meal. As if they could smell death on me. I wonder if eating my flesh could actually kill them. Wouldn’t mind offering a bite if only for some entertainment. I haven’t watched a human die in ages, but now, here we go: a shipwreck. There’s bound to be death in abundance tonight.
It’s not raining when I step outside my house. Yes, I have a small house on a tropical island in the middle of the ocean, overrun with cannibals and all manner of man-eating beasts. Michelle wasn’t that cruel when she sent me here. She did provide me with a home. Congratulations, you heartless bitch, you gave me a house in which to spend eternity alone.
I didn’t even mean to kill that last human back home in Louisiana.
Or maybe I did.
A leathery leaf to the face brings me back to the present as I stomp in tall boots through thick foliage. Despite the lack of rain now falling on my island, a flash of lightning illuminates the beach ahead long enough for me to see them—the natives who’ve managed to steal so many meals from me.
The irony would make me crack a smile if not for my ever-growing bitterness. I once considered capturing a cannibal, but then, they might come hunting me and I’m not half as strong as I once was. And I don’t think Michelle means to leave me here forever. I must wait out her overblown sense of justice.
From where I stand, sheltered behind a fence of palms, I see remnants of a great ship washing to shore. Thunder cracks as a man screams. My focus darts toward the dancing orange light of the native’s torches, and I see but outlines of their naked bodies as they tug and pull on a creature wrapped in white fabric. I squint and identify a man in his sleeping clothes. Dinner is served.
My gaze skims the beach, but it’s mostly detritus and dead men. Dead men are no good to me as their blood is most certainly not part of my unique diet. Oh, but then, there’s a scent on the wind. There is something alive nearby, and it’s bleeding. The smell of blood mixes with the salt of the sea and bitter stress-sweat.
I hone my senses to find the source of blood, but it’s been so long. Once a master, my hunting skills are now out of practice. I take a step back into the jungle and move to my right, away from the dancing torches and the man’s screams, and almost trip over a body. Out of practice is apparently a gross understatement as he was near me this whole time.
Unlike his soon to be devoured compatriot, this man is fully clothed in a coat and trousers. His hair is dark, and he wears black gloves. He’s but a shadow on the sand as I lift him and carry him farther into the woods.
Finally, a meal they won’t steal from me.
Safely inside my little house, I lay the man on the floor and poke at the fire until it roars like the thunder outside. Now, it rains. The ocean storm falls heavy, rocks on the roof, and an animal howls nearby, woken wet from its slumber.
I peel off his soaked clothes as the wound on his head continues to bleed. Unconscious, it’s a wonder he wasn’t pulled away by the current to die in the arms of some mythical mermaid. As I look at him in the firelight, I realize he is indeed a wonder. Perhaps it’s been too long since I’ve felt another man’s skin, but perhaps not. This injured sailor might be beautiful.
Looking at his hairless face, I would have guessed him barely a man. The thick muscles of his chest, arms, and legs dictate otherwise, as do the calluses on his hands. Not only is he a full-grown man, but he’s also a man who works hard. He is lean with hair the color of the ocean on a moonless night—and if I don’t stop his head bleeding, my curse of nothing but dead flesh could continue.
“Don’t die,” I say to him. It’s the first I’ve spoken to a human in ages.
I move him, naked and dry, to my bed and cover him in blankets before wetting a cloth and wiping his wound. It’s a sizeable gash high on his forehead. The dark creature inside me wrestles at the sight of his blood, but I woo it with promises of later, later.
I hold the rag to his head and realize I have no bandages. It’s not as though I need them. I’ll just have to sit here then. I perch on the side of my bed, and my thumb touches his bottom lip. Like a sunrise, this man is becoming more beautiful by the minute. I want to ravage him. I push the blankets away enough to run my hand over his chest. An angry scrape mars the pale skin, and I bet my guest will be covered in bruises by morning. The sea is not a gentle mistress. I know. I’ve tried to escape my exile by swimming out into white waves to no avail. The crushing currents always bring me back.
A log pops in the fire as the rain continues. My house now smells of smoke, mud, and him. I climb farther into the bed and recline at his side. I still hold the cloth to his head as I wrap him in my arms and run my nose up the side of his neck.
I think Michelle would be angry to see how happy I am.
Omega Moon by Lorelei M Hart
Chapter One
Maxim
“Clearly, you have misunderstood what I’m saying to you, Maxim. There is no choice. You must go.” Of course he said this after closing the door to his office. Wouldn’t want the rest of the pack and anyone lingering in the alpha house to overhear the alpha’s son didn’t want a mate or anything to do with the Omega Moon ceremony.
Because that was me. And I didn’t.
“Alpha, Father. I’ve tried this before. You and every other pack member have been witness to me trying to find a mate. All it brings me is headaches and anger and betrayal. There is no one for me. I’m sure of it.”
And by headaches, anger, and betrayal, I really meant heartache, sadness, and overwhelming loneliness, but those things I could get over.
My father sighed and stroked his graying beard as he sat behind his desk again and spun his chair toward the window overlooking the pack lands. He was nearing the age of retirement, had been for some time, and wanted nothing more than for me to take over. But I wasn’t ready. I needed more time.
Plus, the alpha of a pack like Crimson Cliff had to be mated.
And I certainly wasn’t ready for that. Mostly because I couldn’t find anyone I could trust and who saw me as more than just the next alpha.
“There is someone for everyone, Maxim. Of that, there is no doubt. The moon goddess designed us for our mates and our mates for us. You simply haven’t found him yet.”
“Dad, come on.” I could only use the casual form of address behind closed doors. “This is bullshit.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be alpha. I just knew the rules, and they said I had to be mated.
I was born to lead this pack. So, why couldn’t I find my mate?
A knock at the door startled me and jerked me from my thoughts. “Come in,” my dad said, waving two fingers in the air. It must’ve been someone he’d expected.
My senses told me immediately who it was, my brother, Hutch. The beta apparent. So, this was the game he was going to play? Funny, I hadn’t pegged my father for games before this moment.
“The fuck are you doing here?” I asked him as he strolled in like he owned the place.
“Nice to see you, too, Maxim. I was asked to join this meeting by the alpha since, apparently, it involves me indirectly. Trust me, I’m not happy about it either, but I will step up where I need to for the good of the pack.” He sat in the chair next to mine and blew out a weighted breath. I knew Hutch like the back of my hand. He could act smug about this shit all he wanted, but he’d rather be out hunting or working.
He wasn’t really the desk-job type.
“The beta apparent is necessary in this meeting since you are being so obstinate. If you refuse to do your duty and get mated and rise to the position of alpha, I will have no other choice but to relinquish the power to Hutch, who has no problem participating in the Omega Moon ceremony. Do you, Hutch?”
Hutch smirked. “I do not, alpha. I would be greatly blessed to receive a mate on that night and serve my pack.”
What an asshole. Father was doing this on purpose. Goading me so I would give in and do what he wanted.
Fucked if I did and fucked if I didn’t. Perfect.
“I’m going to check on my own omega. I’m about done with this. I’m clearly getting nowhere with you, Son. Hutch, talk some sense into him, will you?” My father clapped Hutch on the shoulder before he left and shut the door behind him.
“Is your nose brown? I mean, do you need a shower after all that ass kissing?” I asked.
He barked out a laugh. “No. I’m just being a good obedient beta. Anyway, what’s your deal? So you’ve had a few duds in the omega department. They can’t all be that bad. You were born to be the alpha of this pack. You know this, dude. Grow a pair for goodness’ sake. And then use them. I don’t want to be alpha, chained to this fucking desk, having meetings and listening to bullshit pack business all day.”
“Then, what the fuck do I do?”
He shrugged and picked at his shoelace. “Find an omega and quickly. Because whether I want to or not, brother, I will take the position of alpha if it’s offered to me. I’m loyal as fuck that way.”
He did not just accuse me of not being loyal. Shit. Fuck all this shit. I needed a drink.
Fluke and the Frontier Farce by Sam Burns
CHAPTER ONE
As it turns out, figuring out what kind of magic someone is good at is actually pretty hard. I didn’t know how the magisters tested every single school kid across the country, but it was starting to make sense that people like Freddy and me slipped through the cracks in those tests.
My specialty, arcane magic, wasn’t an acknowledged one, so how would they test for that? As for my cousin Freddy . . . well, we still didn’t know what Freddy’s was.
With our grandmother’s boyfriend Anson’s help, we had quietly put him through all the usual tests again, to no result.
And really, as the local head of the biggest worldwide magic organization—the Aurora Aureum—Anson was in a better position to help than almost anyone.
Unfortunately, Freddy didn’t seem to be your average elemental, body, or any other common sort of mage. Which was why we were at Anson’s house for a semi-clandestine morning meeting.
I know, I’m disappointed they don’t usually take place at night in dark, smoky back rooms at nightclubs too.
“So why are we doing this at his house?” Freddy asked me as we approached Anson’s front door, his toe tapping against the concrete step with nervous energy as Fluke twined around his legs, barely avoiding tripping him. “Why couldn’t we have done it at Grandmother’s? They’re dating. Aren’t they?”
It would have been odd how twitchy he was, but I sort of got it. Freddy had gotten used to the idea that he wasn’t a mage. He’d reconciled it in his mind, and now we were dangling it in front of him. And worse, if we couldn’t figure out what kind of magic it was, it could simply be snatched away again without explanation.
It certainly explained why my poor familiar was feeling so protective.
“They are, Freddy. You know they are. But Anson asked to meet at his house.” I leaned in and whispered to him as I rang the bell, so that if Anson’s housekeeper was the one to answer she wouldn’t hear me. “He’s helping us a lot by keeping this quiet. What if we found out you were a time mage? The government would snatch you and we’d never see you again.”
“I’m not,” he told me, accompanied by a glare that was out of character for my laid-back cousin.
This situation was keeping us all on edge, but it was definitely hardest on Freddy, the poor guy who would be most affected by whatever we found out.
The door flew open to reveal not Anson or his housekeeper, but a man I didn’t know. A tall guy, relatively nondescript, he was handsome in a generic middle-american way—well built, with brown hair and eyes, but no single feature that stood out.
Well, unless you counted that ready-for-a-fight stance, the gun on his hip, and the badge attached to his belt that marked him—
“Quaesitor.”
He met my eye when I said it, and gave me a short nod. “Quinn.”
“Well,” I answered, plastering a giant, fake smile on my face. “I think maybe Freddy and I have chosen a bad time to visit Anson. We’ll just go and leave you be.”
Instead of nodding me away or denying me, or even saying he was just leaving and Anson said we should go in, Quinn opened the door wider. Fluke, taking his cues from me, planted himself between Freddy and the quaesitor, legs braced wide and tail low, ready for an attack. He didn’t growl, but I suspected he was barely holding it down.
The guy took all that in and for some reason, smiled. “You must be Sage. Jordan said you’d be squirrelly about talking to a quaesitor.”
At that, I froze. Jordan Maines was the only quaesitor I knew whom I also trusted. Sure, she’d also kidnapped me one time, but once you’ve escaped a life and death situation together, there’s a bond there.
See, quaesitors were the magical equivalent of cops, and frankly, they terrified me. Probably something to do with the fact that three of the four I’d met prior to Quinn had tried to kill me, and Jordan, the fourth, had helped kidnap me on the orders of the others. So bond with Jordan or not, she was the occasionally iffy best of a bad bunch.
“Did she mention why, by chance?” Freddy shot back, always ready to leap to my defense, even when he’d been annoyed with me a moment before. He even reached down and scratched Fluke’s head, trying to calm my tense familiar.
Quinn put up his hands. “She did not. She and Anson said it’s need to know, so I figure it’s none of my business.” He lowered his head, meeting my eye with a strong, earnest expression. “And I’ve got my own stuff I like to keep off the books, so I get it. Heck, I’m pretty sure that’s why we’re here—the place where my off the books stuff and yours meet.”
And that, at last, interested me enough to risk truly talking to an unknown quaesitor. I did have a list of people who had sided with those other quaesitors—a cult that called themselves the Believers—and it hadn’t had Quinn’s name on it. Not that I thought my list of twenty-some names was exhaustive.
Still, I took a deep breath, steadied my nerves, and stuck out my hand. “Sage McKinley.”
“Quinn Pike,” he offered in return, shaking my hand with a strong, steady grip—but without any hint of silly posturing contests of strength.
I mean, anyone who would try to outdo scrawny, short little me wasn’t even going to get an ego boost from doing it. There were schoolchildren who could take me in a fight, and Quinn had probably been one of those who could have in his day, given his current muscular over six-foot frame. Not that I knew he had been a bully—I didn’t know him well enough to make judgments like that.
“Come on back, they’re waiting for us in the sitting room.” He motioned for me to follow, but turned back to meet my eye, and I was once again reminded that brown eyes might be “average,” because they were the most common eye color, but they really never were “nondescript” as I’d thought of them at times. His eyes were a warm light brown, and the reassuring smile he shot me made them sparkle. “That’s what you rich people call it, right? The sitting room?”
I snorted and waved at Freddy. “Ask him, not me. We used to call it the living room in my house, but we only had one, not like ten rooms for all different kinds of company.”
Freddy waved us both off, but far from his usual blasé attitude, he was tense, carrying himself stiffly and not smiling the usual playboy grin that he offered every new person he met. “Call it whatever you want. It’s an outdated concept. Why did Anson invite a quaesitor here for this?”
“He didn’t invite me.”
Freddy stiffened and slowed his walk, so I put a reassuring hand on his back.
I didn’t like the answer either, but I did trust Anson, as well as my burgeoning ability to handle threats to my friends and loved ones—two groups that both contained Freddy. I had one hand tucked into the convergence, fingers swirling inside the magic, ready to summon it up instantly in case of attack.
“He invited my husband,” Quinn continued, “and Sterling doesn’t visit strange mages without me there to back him up.”
And that, well . . . that was entirely unexpected. I loosed my fingers, twined in the magic. Oh, it was still there, but I was maybe one step further from grabbing a fistful and throwing it at him.
Sure enough, in the living room—sitting room?
Dammit, now he had me doing it.
Anyway, when we got there, we found Anson, as expected. The well-built six-foot-plus silver fox who was the head of the Aurora Aureum in Junction, California, was sitting there in a Wedgwood wingback chair with his silver headed cane casually draped across his lap. Sitting on a sofa kitty-corner from him was someone I didn’t know at all.
I couldn’t tell for sure since he was sitting, but I’d have guessed he was closer to my height than his husband’s. He was on the small side—thin, if not scrawny—and his unlined face made me think he was maybe twenty-five or thirty.
On the other hand, like Anson, his hair was silver. More silver than Anson’s salt and pepper, in fact—almost white. And his eyes were a striking light gray that matched it. The nervous way he tucked a lock of silver hair behind one ear, stopping to toy with it, said maybe it was a new cut. Or maybe he was just shy and looking for something to fidget with, as he didn’t meet either of our eyes.
“Boys, this is Sterling Bright and his husband. As I’m sure you noted, Quinn is a quaesitor.” Anson waved to a couch opposite where Sterling sat, his knees tight together in front of him, fingers now tucked underneath them. “Sterling, Quinn, this is Sage, Freddy, and Fluke. They’re very good friends.”
Quinn gave me a nod then slouched into place next to his husband, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him in tight. The gesture was more for Sterling than Freddy and me, I thought. The poor guy couldn’t have looked less comfortable if he’d been the target in a dunking booth.
Sterling Bright. Was it a chosen name or his legal one? It was a little on the nose, what with his hair and eyes. Probably rude to ask though.
Fortunately for me, Freddy had barely dropped onto the couch before he jumped in—so, before I had a chance to open my mouth. “Since you invited them, I’m assuming you trust them, so let’s get to it.” Freddy looked Sterling in the eye. “How exactly can you tell what kind of magic someone has?”
It was a little brusque for my cousin, a little forward—the whole approach had none of his usual grace. Poor guy was completely off his game. Usually, discomfort made him even smoother than usual, not almost rude.
But then, I supposed that usually discomfort was born of annoyance or worry or embarrassment, and he was used to covering those up. This? This was fear, pure and simple.
And with an unknown kind of magic, Freddy had reason to be afraid. People had tried to kill me repeatedly because of mine, after all.
Fluke continued to stand in defense of my cousin, planting himself right in front of Freddy, leaning back into him and watching the strangers with sharp eyes.
“I can’t,” Sterling answered after a moment, his voice soft and sweet. “But I might be able to get you to do it.”
Freddy’s eyes narrowed, and Anson threw up a hand. “Nothing to get worried about. Sterling is just a little bit literal. He’s not planning to force you to do anything. He’s just—” he broke off and looked to Sterling, lifting his brows in some kind of request. Permission to continue, I assumed.
“I’m a temporal mage,” Sterling elaborated instead of waiting for Anson to do it. “I might be able to find future you, and see what kind of magic he’s using.”
Freddy blinked, staring at him wide-eyed for a long moment.
And why not? We’d just been talking about how time mages were rare, and tended to be forcibly disappeared by the government. Quinn hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he had things he liked to keep “off the books.”
Anson handed Sterling a teacup, patting him on the shoulder. “The dominus of San Francisco sent Quinn and Sterling here after an incident in the city last year that left them in a similar position to how you find yourself.”
Vague enough not to say much, but enough information to tell me that Sterling was probably in danger if anyone found out what he was. And well, I’d known that, just knowing he was a time mage.
I scooted forward on the couch and stuck my hand out between us. Hesitantly, Sterling reached out and shook as I gave him my most reassuring smile. “I’m Sage McKinley, and I’m an arcane mage. I know, we don’t exist. Surprise! I know I was.”
Sterling’s eyes went distant for a fraction of a second as our hands touched, his lips parting as he breathed in, long and deep, and his magic showed around him like a nimbus of misty white light. “Oh.” Then he blinked and shook his head as it faded. “You might want to be ready for everyone to be surprised.”
Freaking yikes.
With determination, I did not ask what he might have seen . . . in my future? I thought it was hard to be an arcane mage when no one knew I existed. I couldn’t begin to know how hard it would be, being a subject of fascination for everyone on the basis of my magic.
So I held my questions about what “everyone” might be surprised by, hoped it wasn’t a worldwide arcane magic revelation, and nodded to him. “Thanks, I’ll do my best.”
His answer was an enigmatic smile and a, “you always do.”
And well, it was true enough. I always did when it mattered, anyway.
When I looked over at him, Quinn’s nod was subtle but approving. My heart went out to the guy, almost as much as to Sterling himself. How often did he have to watch people treat his husband like a disposable resource instead of a person?
Sterling turned to Freddy. “You want to know what kind of magic you have.” At Freddy’s nod, Sterling drew himself up and steeled his spine. “It might not work. It’s not that specific. If I focus on what you want to know when I touch you, I might be able to see something related to it. It’s . . . maybe fifty-fifty?”
“That’s more than the zero I have,” Freddy said, and his tone had gone a little less formal and a little more Freddy smooth.
I glanced over at Quinn to make sure he wasn’t going to get offended if Freddy flirted with his husband. It was just Freddy’s way—he flirted with everyone. Fortunately, Quinn looked more curious than annoyed, his head cocked and brows scrunched together.
Sterling didn’t seem to know what to make of the flirty tone, so he gave a confused little quirk of his lips before holding his hand out to Freddy.
“It might help if you think of it too,” Sterling suggested as Freddy reached out. “We haven’t figured out if that makes any difference yet.”
Their hands met for a second, and almost instantly, Sterling sucked in a deep breath, his eyes rolling back as his body fell forward. The white light around him went wild, like a million tiny strobe lights out of sync with each other, all firing in different directions and intensities.
Fluke leaned forward, like he wanted to jump in and help but didn’t know how. Freddy yanked his hand back, staring at poor Sterling in horror.
Quinn . . . well, he didn’t react quite like I suspected my own man, Gideon, would have. There was no shock or shouting. He just slid forward in his seat, grabbed Sterling before he could collapse, and pulled him into his lap as the lights of his magic slowly dimmed and went out.
He shot Freddy a concerned look, which was seriously not reassuring, and held his husband tight, using his free hand to brush the hair out of his eyes.
“Does this happen often?” I asked. “Or should we maybe get a healer?”
Quinn shook his head, shooting Freddy another concerned look before answering. “It usually means it’s going to be bad. It happened the first time we met, and it was . . . Someone was trying to destroy San Francisco.”
It was Freddy’s turn to pull himself into a smaller form and hide his hands under his thighs.
After a moment, Sterling’s eyes fluttered open, followed by his mouth, as he stared at the ceiling in shock.
“Sterling? Baby, you okay?”
He shook himself at the concern in his husband’s voice, and pushed up. “Fine. I’m fine. Just . . .”—he turned to stare at Freddy in confusion—“your future is in the wrong place. At least the part I saw.”
“What on earth does that mean?” Anson was the first to ask what we were all doubtless thinking.
Sterling shook his head. “I’m not sure. It wasn’t . . . I mean, everything was fine. He was learning about his magic. There was”—he turned and pointed at me—“you were there, and your familiar. Fluke, you said? And a woman in a long dress, reading something in Latin. She said it explained everything about Freddy’s magic. Fluke brought him something important that he needed to figure things out. And . . . you said something about a Doctor Almasi?”
I perked up at the mention of the doctor. My familiar and I didn’t know a damn thing about other kinds of magic, but I did know Doctor Aliyah Almasi. She worked at the local university, and occasionally for the Aureum, and we had built at least a pleasant acquaintanceship over the previous year. She’d banished my father’s spiteful ghost, so asking her for another favor felt pushy, but I could try to find a way to pay her back. Heck, I could literally pay her, since she was a freelance mage.
For Freddy, I was more than willing to do that.
Sterling shook his head, staring off into space, squinting like he was trying to see something specific. “It was so blurry. It’s strange, the future is never blurry. It’s like high-definition widescreen, all the time. This was . . . small and faded.” For a moment, he continued to stare, mouthing words as though he intended to speak, but couldn’t find his voice. Then he turned back to me. “The King notes have the answers you need.”
I blinked. The what?
At my blank look, he shrugged. “It’s what you said. Or something like it.” With that, his eyes started to go heavy-lidded, and he let his head fall back against his husband’s chest. “Sorry. That was . . . a lot.”
Anson waved him off and looked at his husband. “If you want to put him to bed?”
Quinn nodded, picked his husband up, and turned to go. “It was nice to meet you both. Good luck finding what you need.”
“Thank you,” I answered instantly, inclining my head. “If you two ever need anything, Anson can tell you where to find me.”
He gave a twisted smile and winked at me as he left. “Bet you didn’t think you’d say that to a quaesitor today. And I don’t even see the future.”
And no, I definitely had not. I hadn’t expected a single thing of what had happened that afternoon, and I suspected we weren’t done with surprises. Sterling Bright had already said as much, after all.
Be prepared for everyone to be surprised.
Given the number of times in the past year the surprise had been someone trying to murder me, I couldn’t say I was looking forward to a new one.
Dead Reckoning by Pandora Pine
PROLOGUE
Tennyson
November 2017…
It was just another day at West Side Magick. Psychic Tennyson Grimm was preparing for his next reading with a client. His 2pm appointment was with a young lady who wanted to reconnect with her husband who had tragically died in a car accident six months ago.
Tennyson had been chatting on and off with his client’s husband, a young man named Martin, and got the idea from him that this reading was more about getting Martin’s blessing on the wife moving on with his best friend than it was about saying goodbye to the husband she’d buried too soon. That was sometimes the way of things. Not all readings were filled with tears and weepy “I miss yous,” like you saw on episodes of Long Island Medium.
If only they’d give a medium a realistic television show. Tennyson would love to show viewers the real side of what his job was like. There were clients demanding to know why they’d been written out of their father’s will. Others wanting to know where Grandma Tilly had hidden her diamonds, and more who wanted to continue the family drama beyond the grave. Now that would be must-see TV!
Ten sighed. There weren’t going to be television producers knocking down his door any time soon. To be honest, that was okay with him. He loved his life in the Witch City. After growing up in the very religious town of Union Chapel, Kansas, population 588, he loved his adopted hometown of Salem, Massachusetts.
He’d escaped to New England after high school, the ink still wet on his diploma. His parents had disowned him after Tennyson confessed that he was gay and psychic. His choices of where to spread his wings had been between New Orleans and Salem. Since gay marriage had been legal in Massachusetts as of 2004, he’d caught a bus to Boston only hours after graduation and had never looked back.
Life had settled down for Tennyson and he’d quickly established himself as a working medium with his own set of clients through word of mouth and the internet. His big break had come a few months back when he’d gotten a phone call from Carson Craig, the West Side Psychic.
Carson and his brother, Cole, were the sons of Bertha Craig, the founder of West Side Magick. Bertha had passed away from breast cancer nearly two years ago and it had been her dying wish that her sons keep her legacy alive. The problem was that neither of her sons had shown any signs they’d inherited her gifts, until one night nearly a year ago when Carson had his first vision in this very shop.
That vision had sent Carson on a crusade to find Truman, the man destined to die according to that vision. They’d fallen in love along the way and now were happily married. As it turned out, Cole Craig had also started developing his own psychic powers around that same time. The brothers decided they needed a teacher and mentor to help them learn how to use and harness their new-found abilities. That’s where Tennyson had come in.
Now, nearly eight months after meeting the Craig brothers, Tennyson was a permanent member of the staff at West Side Magick and more like the third Craig brother than best friend to Cole and Carson.
“I’ll see you next Tuesday, just like always, Mrs. Salazar,” Carson was saying to a tiny Dominican woman as he escorted her out of the reading room.
Tennyson couldn’t help smiling at the two of them. Luisa Salazar was Carson’s best customer. She came in for a reading with him every Tuesday and referred all of her friends to the shop for their psychic needs. Some of those referrals had spilled over to him when Carson’s calendar was too booked to handle them all.
“There’s my Tennyson,” Luisa chirped from near the cash register. She waved before heading off toward the candle section of the store.
“She’s a peach.” Carson grinned.
Nodding, Tennyson followed Luisa’s progress through the aisles. Mrs. Salazar had been a huge support to Carson during the time he’d spent in the hospital last year. She’d organized meal deliveries to Truman’s house and even helped run the store and book appointments while Carson recovered from his injury.
“What time is your next reading?” Carson asked.
Turning to answer the question, Tennyson spotted a young man standing at the end of the counter that featured various healing stones and crystal balls. Ten took a step forward to greet the young spirit who looked nervous. “Hi, I’m Tennyson.”
The young man chewed his lower lip and looked back and forth between Carson and Tennyson. Surprise registered in his eyes.
Ten held a hand up to Carson, signaling him, as he took another step forward. The man, boy actually, looked to be about seventeen years old. He was wearing light-colored jeans and a white sleeveless, half-tank with the logo of a grunge band printed on the front. His blue eyes popped with perfectly applied liner and mascara. “What’s your name?”
The young man took a step forward and set a hand on Tennyson’s shoulder.
The psychic jolted as if he were being electrocuted. He thought he heard Carson shout his name, but that sound was drowned out by a flash of images assaulting his brain. It reminded him of a movie on super fast-forward where the pictures were moving so fast that your brain could only process a few at a time.
Tennyson couldn’t keep up with the flow of information coming at him. He tried to pull back from the man’s touch and found he couldn’t move at all. He tried to take a deep breath and couldn’t bring air into or out of his lungs. Panicking, he realized that if he couldn’t break this connection it could kill him.
The last image he saw before the world went black was of a young man’s naked body in a frozen field.
K.A. Merikan are a team of writers who try not to suck at adulting, with some success. Always eager to explore the murky waters of the weird and wonderful, K.A. Merikan don’t follow fixed formulas and want each of their books to be a surprise for those who choose to hop on for the ride.
K.A. Merikan have a few sweeter M/M romances as well, but they specialize in the dark, dirty, and dangerous side of M/M, full of bikers, bad boys, mafiosi, and scorching hot romance.
K.A. Merikan have a few sweeter M/M romances as well, but they specialize in the dark, dirty, and dangerous side of M/M, full of bikers, bad boys, mafiosi, and scorching hot romance.
Bestselling romance author.
Bisexual witch.
Feminist. Pro-choice. Anti-censorship.
Timothee Chalamet freak.
Horror movie aficionado.
Vampire mermaid in a past life.
Sara Dobie Bauer somehow survived her party-hard college years at Ohio University to earn a creative writing degree. She lives with her precious Pit Bull in Northeast Ohio, although she’d really like to live in a Tim Burton film.
Lorelei M. Hart is the cowriting team of USA Today Bestselling Authors Kate Richards and Ever Coming. Friends for years, the duo decided to come together and write one of their favorite guilty pleasures: Mpreg. There is something that just does it for them about smexy men who love each other enough to start a family together in a world where they can do it the old-fashioned way ;).
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.
Sick of the slogging rat-race of her 9-5 job, Pandora Pine put pen to paper (literally!) to make her ambition of becoming a romance novelist a reality. She cut her teeth in the dog-eat-dog world of fan fiction, still dreaming of the day when she would be a published author.
In her spare time, Pandora fancies herself an amateur nature photographer. She enjoys mucking around in swamps, hiking through the woods and crawling around on her hands and knees in her backyard seeking out the perfect shot. Pandora is a fan of roadside seafood shacks and always thinks Mexican food is a good idea at the time.
Some of Pandora's favorite things are chocolate, writing longhand with purple pens, and handsome men falling in love with each other.
Sara Dobie Bauer
Lorelei M Hart
EMAIL: Lorelei@mpregwithhart.com
Sam Burns
EMAIL: sam@burnswrites.com
Omega Moon by Lorelei M Hart
Fluke and the Frontier Farce by Sam Burns
Dead Reckoning by Pandora Pine
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