Emperor of Dragons by Davidson King
Summary:Black Veil #2
Peace has descended on Black Veil once more, and hope is on the horizon.
Until a new threat arises…
Emil is the head of security, first line of defense for Cain and Black Veil. He takes great pride in his job, is fully prepared to sacrifice everything in order to keep everyone he cares about safe and the world from crumbling. But the Tritons and Sirens have approved a treaty, and the dragons will most likely agree to allow vampires to use their blood for sustenance and protection once again, so all is as it should be. Then Emil meets the emperor of dragons, and his life goes from calm to chaotic in the blink of an eye—loyalty and love now battle for dominance in his head.
Aldrich is the emperor of dragons, and he cannot afford to make mistakes. He and his clans enter Black Veil in the hopes that The Blood Boss will join them in the fight to save his family. Aldrich is ready to lay down his life and for anything else thrown his way—except the crystal-eyed vampire who immediately captures his interest. Emil is everything he has always wanted and would never dare dream of, and when all he holds dear is threatened, it’s Emil who keeps his dragon grounded.
When unimaginable dangers swarm into Black Veil, the vampires and dragons join forces and call upon every living creature in Black Veil to defeat the enemy. While love blooms, lives perish, all to fight a war against the darkness threatening to consume the world. Will Emil and Aldrich claim victory and have their happily ever after, or are they doomed to an eternity apart?
Original Review May Book of the Month 2021:
She's done it again!
From the very first page, Davidson King pulls you in to this paranormal world she has created. You find yourself so hooked that if you looked up you expect to see vampires, dragons, witches, oh my! Each character has burrowed in and won't let go until they are done telling you their journey.
I don't want to spoil anything, even the minutest detail because experiencing this journey is pure magic and not just in a paranormal way but in a "Holy Crap! Where did that come from?" kind of way. So this review won't be touching on any specifics plot-wise but more on an overall emotion grabber. When reading paranormal/fantasy, there is obviously a level of reality that doesn't even begin to enter one's mind but at the same time, when that fantasy world does begin to spark a flash of realism into one's soul, you know that you have found a winning gem.
And simply put, that is exactly what Davidson King's Emperor of Dragons has done: feels real.
As for the characters? Once again we see Cain and Jayce navigate and rule over Black Veil(so Cain is the one in charge of the territory but come on! We all know Jayce has a level of control where Cain is involved). This time around, the threat at large is not openly directed at their vampires but at the dragons which is where Aldrich enters the picture. Emil, one of Cain's top security vamps finds himself drawn to Aldrich and Aldrich is vice versa. Will they get the opportunity to become what it meant for them? You know my answer to that one: read for yourself.
Oh but the fun you will have finding out. I just finished reading this minutes ago but I know I wish I could experience it for the first time again.
Back to characters. There are new ones, there are returning ones, there are ones you will love with every fiber of your being, there are ones you will absolutely hate with a passion, and then there are those that will probably be a blend of each. I already have a couple of them that I think will be front and center of future entries and even though I just finished Emperor of Dragons, I'm already on tender hooks waiting for the next Black Veil adventure.
I know that Davidson King is all about the HEAs, the romance, and the heart but she is Queen of mayhem and danger too. I've read and watched plenty of fiction that involve world building universes, character driven drama, emotional battered heart and some are poorly done, some are well written, and then there are those that are exceptionally crafted. It is the exceptionally crafted ones that are storytelling at it's finest and Davidson King's Black Veil universe belongs in that category. To create something that can't possibly be real, that not only entertains but leaves the reader feeling lost when the final page is closed because they are no longer living in that world, well that's a whole other level of talent very few reach.
A final note: Some might say The Blood Boss and Emperor of Dragons can be read as standalones because they feature different couples, tackle different dangers, I honestly can't say that. For me, they have to be read in order. Not only are there characters from Blood that play a huge part in Emperor but I can't help but feel there is a larger picture at play here and each entry has a part in the complete adventure(hopefully there will be many layers to the complete picture because I am in no way ready to say goodbye to Black Veil). The author lets you in on things from book 1 so you wouldn't exactly be lost but I truly believe you'd be saying "huh, I wonder what happened there?" more than once. Not too mention, The Blood Boss is brilliant and was my personal choice for Best Paranormal Read of 2021.
Summary:
My Ghost Roommate #2
Halloween is the day I met the love of my life.
It's also the day my roommate died and became a ghost - and a pain in my ass.
Now, two years later, it's about to become my wedding day.
But that's the least of my worries. I'm about to move out of my apartment, which has my ghost roommate freaking out. My paranoid landlord is growing more suspicious of me by the day. And my fiancé's weirdo dads are on the verge of performing a full-blown exorcism on me.
It's just my luck that mere days before the wedding, I come face-to-face with death itself, shatter my soul into pieces, and compromise my very existence.
Will I even survive Halloween to finally achieve my happy-ever-after?
"My Pumpkin Prince (And The Ghost Between Us)" is the spooky and hilarious direct sequel to "My Ghost Roommate (Who Helps Me Get The Guy)". It is recommended to read the books in order. Expect hilarious over-the-top situations involving ghosts, romance amid very unusual circumstances, and a surprise ending that will leave you with all the feels and chills of the Halloween season.
Summary:
Monsters & Mayhem
Kittisak Amarin is not a scientist—he's barely a student, but he joined his college professor's research team for an expedition into the Amazon as a last ditch effort to pass his biology course. His professor thinks they're going to discover a new species out here, but Kittisak is more worried about being eaten alive by giant mosquitoes and staying awake while the team studies test tubes of dirty water.
When he sees a fantastic amphibian creature watching over him one night, he thinks it's just a dream.
Until it comes back.
A fatal misunderstanding leaves Kittisak wounded and unable to flee once the creature has taken him prisoner. As the creature nurses him back to health and shows him the wonders of his mysterious jungle home, Kittisak has to confront his growing attraction to his enigmatic captor and his dwindling desire to escape. He begins to realize that the creature may not be the monster he appears to be...
And that even amongst darkness and dank, the sweetest romance can blossom.
In Darkness and Dank is an MM Horror Retelling of Creature from the Black Lagoon, as part of the collaboration Monsters & Mayhem: An MM Horror Collection, adapting some of your favorite classic horror stories with an MM romance twist.
Summary:
Welcome to Morningwood #7
A young man with a turbulent past meets the only man with a hand steady enough to tame him.
Seamus is a nineteen-year-old falcon shifter with a bad reputation, just ask anyone. Growing up in the insulated all-shifter town of Morningwood, there isn’t a person around who doesn’t remember each of his mistakes and they aren’t afraid to throw them in his face at every chance. He’d leave town entirely if it weren’t for his little brother and his stupid hope that Morningwood is where he belongs.
Leo Thibodeaux recently returned to Morningwood after his father died, leaving the leadership of the rabbit clan up to Leo. Widowed and a single father, Leo tries to do the best he can for his son, his pack, and his town.
When Seamus nearly burns down Morningwood University, he’s given a choice, go to jail or do the repairs under the tutelage of Leo. Seamus expects Leo to treat him like everyone else does, but amazingly, while Leo does command respect, he doesn’t look down his nose at Seamus. It doesn’t take long for Seamus to realize that Leo isn’t at all like the others. He makes Seamus feel protected, like he can turn his life around, he can be a friend, a better brother, a mate.
Leo recognizes that the timing isn’t ideal. He was meant to mentor Seamus, but there is nothing he can do when the beast inside him recognizes his mate. They agree to keep their relationship behind closed doors, at least until the repairs can be done, but even that comes with its own risk.
Meanwhile, there’s a spooky mystery in Morningwood. Someone—or something—is digging up old bones from the local cemetery and leaving them around town. It sounds like a stunt Seamus might have pulled, but this time he’s innocent. But as his past deeds place him under suspicion, Seamus knows the true culprit must be found, or he’ll lose everything.
Pumpkin Cream Pie is the seventh book in the Welcome to Morningwood series. It can absolutely be read as a standalone for total enjoyment and features an age gap romance, a new and steamy way to eat pumpkin cream pie, themes of family and redemption as well as all the sexy, sultry, fun you expect from Morningwood!
Ivy Grove #2
Secrets lie within the walls of Redwood Manor.
The murders, alleged curse, and ghost stories have fascinated Carter ever since he moved to Ivy Grove. After attending a Halloween ball at the mansion and meeting a man almost too beautiful to be real, Carter is captivated even more.
But the man disappears after that, leaving Carter with nothing but the memory of a kiss.
Despite the warnings to stay away, Carter delves deeper into the mystery of Redwood, desperate for answers. He soon finds himself tangled up in a century old curse, one that has claimed countless lives in the past. And at the center of that curse is the man who’d swept him off his feet.
Who is Ezekiel Warren? And how is he connected to the curse?
As Carter unravels the secrets of the mansion, he begins to fall in love with the charming blond who haunts its halls.
Redwood is a place for dead things, yet Carter’s never felt more alive than when in Ezekiel’s arms.
One thing is clear: Redwood Manor has a hold on Carter now. And it’s not only his life on the line, but his heart as well.
*The Curse of Redwood is Book 2 in the Ivy Grove series and features a paranormal romance with an elegant but grumpy ghost, a meddlesome twink, and a few scares. Best to read in order. HEA guaranteed. *
Emperor of Dragons by Davidson King
CHAPTER ONE
Emil
The storm currently raging outside the estate wasn’t the only indication the emperor of dragons was arriving today. There was a tornado named Jayce rushing about, making sure everything appeared as perfect as it could. I watched from the top of the stairs as he tutted over the choice of floral arrangements that Cain, The Blood Boss, had chosen.
My job was to guarantee all security was in place and the estate was secure. Oh, and that I wore the ridiculous five-piece suit Jayce had asked me to wear.
When Jayce’s life had been in danger a little over a year ago, Cain made the ultimate choice to change him into a vampire. Add into play that Jayce was the son of the deceased Queen of the Sea, Asherah; and a star god, Rigil; and he had a lot going on in his DNA. The power he held inside his tiny body wasn’t fully known, and there were days I found myself hoping that when it all reached its peak, it would be to our benefit.
“Emil, are you going to stand there all day? They’ll be here in minutes, and you’re daydreaming. Why are you staring?” Jayce smacked Cain on the arm. “Why is he not answering me?”
“Jayce, my love, please. It will be fine. All is in order, and Emil is staring because he is old and wise and knows there is no answer that will be suitable.”
Jayce looked at me with raised brows, and I simply nodded. Cain was right; silence was best.
“Fine…okay. I’m sorry, I’m nervous. I mean, this guy is the emperor of dragons. That’s huge, right? That’s a big deal?” Again, his frantic gaze flitted from Cain to me and back to the vampire he loved.
“Aldrich is very powerful; he holds more magic than any of us would know what to do with. I have met him only the once, but he was kind and respectful. I think he will find you quite endearing.” Cain pressed a kiss to Jayce’s forehead. “How about we go sit in the library and await news of his arrival?”
“I can let you know.” I took the rest of the steps down to the foyer. “And, Jayce, I haven’t met Aldrich ever, either. We’re in the same boat.” I leaned closer to him and lowered my voice. “Just let Cain do all the talking, and smile and nod a lot.”
That earned me a chuckle. “I can do that…I think.”
Once the two of them were out of sight, I went in search of Petru. He and I always oversaw all security and safety procedures. We dealt with humans and other creatures who broke laws in Black Veil and would be the ones torn apart if this very important meeting went south.
I found Petru outside, under the large awning, speaking with the guards. I held back and waited until he was done and once they all dispersed, I approached.
“Everything in order out here?”
“Yes.”
“Inside is good as well. You will be outside when the emperor and his entourage arrive; I will be in the foyer with Cain and Jayce.”
“Understood.”
“Due to the weather Cain wants the meeting to take place in the library, but they are to be shown to their rooms to relax and settle in.”
Cain needed this visit to go well. We were all surprised—not only when the dragons accepted the invitation to talk, but that the emperor himself would be in attendance.
“Is the staff not doing that?” Petru asked.
“They are. I’m just telling you the order of things, big guy.” I patted his arm. “Nervous?”
“No. I do not like dragons.” Petru wasn’t a talker. His Russian accent sometimes made it hard for others to understand him, but I’d known him for a ridiculously long time and had no issues.
“I’ll admit, I wish this whole thing was over already. But it should only be for a week. We listen, watch, and let the boss do the talking—at least we’re not him.” Petru nodded in agreement.
I didn’t envy Cain in this endeavor. Getting the dragons to come back on board with sending some of their own over twice a year, so we could all feed from them, was going to be tricky. Since the merfolk had started attacking anyone or anything in the seas trying to get to Black Veil, the dragons had broken their agreement to assist. Now that a treaty was in place with the new king of the sea, we were hoping Aldrich would revert to our original agreement.
Honey, Cain’s newly acquired assistant, approached Petru and me. “I received word the dragons have entered Black Veil. It shouldn’t be long now.”
“Thanks, Honey.” I faced Petru. “Would you update Cain?”
“Yes.” He stalked off toward the library while I did one more sweep of the bottom floor.
I wasn’t nervous like Jayce, nor was I irritated like Petru. I didn’t have an opinion of the dragons. They’d gotten the call hundreds of years ago like the rest of us that this world needed our help. They’d answered it, and without them it would have crumbled. We all had jobs to do and needed to work with each other. I could understand that.
What I wasn’t happy about was how pretentious they were. I’d held congress with quite a few dragons in my life, and each thought they were the best of all creatures. They sneered at anyone not born of dragon blood and never had a good word for humans. This visit would be very interesting; I could only hope Aldrich was as kind and respectful as Cain said he was.
The kitchen was bustling when I went to check on the staff. The dragons’ appetites were plentiful and specific, keeping the cooks on their toes and causing a lot of chaos. I left them to it and went to double-check the rooms the dragons would be using.
“I gave the largest guest room to the emperor.” Mancy opened the first door. “I was told his sister, Aubrianna, would be in attendance as well; her room is beside his.”
“Very good, Mancy. And the others?”
“Directly across the hall. I figured they’d like to be close to each other. It also gives them the feel that they have a whole wing.”
“Well done. Let Honey know if you need any extra help up here during their stay. It can be arranged.”
“Thanks, Emil.” Mancy hurried off, likely to complete last-minute duties.
“Emil, they’re ten minutes out,” Honey said when I reached the foyer.
I went to the library to inform Cain and retrieve Petru. “Sir, they’ll be here soon. Petru, take position.”
“Jayce, would you like to stay in here and be introduced when we come into the library?” Cain gathered Jayce’s hand in his. There was no hiding Jayce’s nervousness.
“No…no, I can do this.” He stood and, hand in hand, Cain and Jayce left the library.
Petru took a few vampires with him outside and I waited with Cain and Jayce. Honey was by the door, and we were ready for our guests.
As stoic as ever, The Blood Boss waited for the emperor of dragons, and I remained vigilant for any outcome that would present itself when those doors opened.
My Pumpkin Prince by Daryl Banner
-1-
And Then You’re Dead
It all happened so fast.
One night, my boyfriend Byron and I were strolling down 13th Street on our way back to his place. It was the closing night of a big Theatre production for which he designed the costumes. I smiled and clung to his arm—the one his designer suit jacket wasn’t hanging from—and admired how well the color of his fitted dress shirt and tie complemented his warm bronze complexion. He teased me about how I blushed like a maraschino cherry when he kissed me in front of the actors and crew in the green room backstage. Then the two of us stopped under a streetlamp, caught by a look in one another’s eyes, and kissed until we couldn’t feel our faces.
The next morning, we woke up engaged.
I guess it wasn’t much of a surprise to anyone on Earth but us. Everyone already knew Byron and I were inseparable. My parents met him several times and fell in love with his sweetness and charm. (He has a magical way of stealing hearts, I guess.) I got to meet his dads, who are an eccentric pair of English professors whose interests range from new age botany to ancient Egyptian pharaohs, Norse mythology, and 13th century art—and now their latest obsession is me and how happy I seem to make their son. No one has to be in the room very long to note how magnetic our attraction is.
It shouldn’t be much of a surprise to us, either. Ever since the day I met Byron—the adorable, tight-shirted barista on the other side of the counter at Spooky Beans Café on 13th and Fortune Street—I knew I was ruined. No guy would ever treat me with as much kindness and patience as he does. No guy would ever send my heart into a gallop the way his touch can do. Byron had me since the very second he smiled and handed me a cup of caramel latte with the wrong name written on it.
To this moment, I still don’t know whether it was the wrong name on the cup or the smile that did it.
But one way or another, Byron claimed my heart.
“We have so much to figure out before Halloween,” I carry on, phone pressed to my ear, as I walk down the block on my way home from the store. I sidestep around a witch’s cauldron set on the sidewalk outside a bakery, its windows lined with plastic bats and ghost stickers. “I think there was some issue with the caterer Dad wanted to use. Can you ask him about it? Oh, and have we still not found a slightly more available pianist who doesn’t have four other gigs that day?”
“Sweetheart, dear, goodness, you’re spinning my head straight off my neck,” sighs my mom in her warm southern drawl. The poor woman has had to put up with my neuroticism this whole past month.
“Sorry,” I apologize with half a laugh as I cross the street when the light changes. Loud teenagers pass by me, laughing and noisy, and I press a finger into my spare ear. “I know I’m stressing about every little thing. I just want the day to go perfectly.”
“I told you it wasn’t gonna be a good idea to have your wedding on Halloween.”
I smile, suddenly picturing my fiancé’s face when I first made the suggestion. He was so caught off-guard, making that cute expression of surprise I love, his full lips parted, his eyes wide and sparkling. Then it was joy that took over his face, and at once, it was the greatest idea ever. “It’s our two-year anniversary. That fateful, beautiful day we met. Byron loves it.”
“Yes, and your sweetie always comes first.” I hear my mom’s delighted sigh through the phone. “I can’t wait until I hear …” The noise of the street becomes so loud, I can’t make out her words.
Squinting, I press a finger into my free ear even firmer, trying to hear. “What was that, Mom?”
“I said I can’t wait to hear the moment y’all say—”
I take another step.
I look up.
The front of a bus rushes forward.
My eyes flash with terror.
I’ve never believed in that weird slow-motion effect that supposedly happens in a time of trauma. There have been reports of people in terrifying or highly stressful situations who describe how the world literally slows down to a crawl. Apparently there is science behind it, too. Something to do with adrenalin flooding your body and enabling your brain to see the world in more frames per second—just like a camera, capturing the moment like a scene from a film. Perhaps it’s nature’s way of allowing us to react quicker. An instant fight-or-flight response. A remarkable design of our bodies, giving us a chance to save ourselves from some inevitable fate.
In this moment, you utilize milliseconds to try and steer yourself away from death’s greedy embrace.
Milliseconds to save your own life.
As your brain processes a hundred frames a second. Then two hundred frames a second. Then a thousand.
The world drawing to a standstill.
Just you, and the front of that bus rushing forward.
I may never know if the bus driver saw me. If he or she turned the wheel ever so slightly. If a subtle twist of my foot keeps me from slamming head-on into that charging body of metal and glass.
But the next thing I know, my phone flies straight out of my hand, and a blast of wind with the fury and unmatchable power of a jet engine rockets past my eyes.
I don’t even have time to scream.
I am completely silent at the time of my near-death.
The next moment, the bus is gone, and I’m standing on the edge of the curb as stiff as the streetlamp next to me. I feel like it’s only my body that stands here; my soul was taken by the front of that bus, ripped straight out of me, gone before I knew it was there.
My hand still hovers near my face where my phone was a second ago. My other hand, hovering near my ear where I was plugging it.
It must be a full ten seconds before I take my first breath, as if realizing I still can.
The commotion of the city around me continues on, completely oblivious to what just happened. No one at all seems to have paid witness to the demise of my poor phone—or the fact that I nearly lost my life.
Have I ever been so close to death before?
My life didn’t even flash before my eyes. Only the gray-white blur of metal and glass and nothing else.
Is that what death’s like?
To be honest, I’m kind of underwhelmed.
It’s a mere eight minutes after my dance with death that I’m back in my dusty apartment sitting at the table by the fire escape with slices of sunlight painted across my face. I stare at my hands as my poor heart jogs on its never-ending treadmill of worry.
“Griffin, dude, seriously, it’s not that big a deal.”
This profoundly useless opinion comes from my roommate Westley Harmeyer. He’s in his usual plain white t-shirt and jeans, looking like a college jock who spends all his free time in the basement smoking weed with his buddies while comparing figurative trophies of their latest chick-scoring conquests. A total bro. Straight as they come. Pigheaded, boorish, and argumentative.
A limp slice of pizza hangs from his hand, which he just took a rough and gooey bite out of, and now chews with annoyingly demonstrative flair.
I lift my weary eyes to Westley’s. “Not that big a deal that I almost fucking died …?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. I’m basically an expert. I went through it myself. Not much to it. It’s like a hangover that never ends. Or a sneeze where you accidentally fart at the same time in front of your high school crush.” He takes another bite of his pizza, then talks through it. “Yeah, it’sch schomething like that.”
Yes.
Westley is dead.
As dead as dead can be.
Westley Harmeyer died on Halloween three years ago in an inglorious way involving that creaky fire escape outside. Halloween is also his birthday. It’s also the day, two years ago, that Byron and I went on our first date. It’s a complicated time of year for all of us, to say the least.
And it’s about to become my wedding date, too.
“I’ll tschell you what the real ischue is,” he starts.
I wince and shoot him a look. “Can you tell me without a bite of pizza in your mouth? It’s gross.”
He doesn’t swallow; instead he merely arranges the bite in his mouth so he can speak more clearly. Typical Westley. “The real issue is: you’re freaking out because you’re about to marry a man who still doesn’t know you live with a ghost.”
He isn’t wrong.
In a number of days, Byron and I will be husbands. Husbands who share each other’s lives. Who share one another’s hearts and souls. Many successes and failures. Experiences. Thoughts. Fears. Hopes. Dreams.
And secrets.
Yes, I’ve shared all of my secrets with Byron.
All of them … except this one.
“I mean, if I was your husband,” West goes on, “I’d think it’s pretty bad-ass you have a ghost roommate.”
“Do you even realize what that entails? Telling my fiancé about you? Even if I can convince Byron that it’s true in the first place, I’d also have to spell out what else it’s meant for the past two years.”
“That a ghost hangs out in your apartment?”
“Yeah. In my apartment … all the time.” I give him a pointed look. “Even when Byron and I are … having some private time.”
West snorts. “Dude, I’m not a pervert. I keep in my corner of the apartment when you guys are doing your thing, so long as there isn’t any stupid candle lit.”
It’s an odd, unexplainable piece of pseudo-science, the fact that my dear roommate Westley can’t be seen or heard unless a candle is lit in this apartment. Westley, as the lucky resident ghost, can see and hear everything, no matter if a candle is lit.
But that’s not even the worst part. “Are you simply forgetting the other thing?”
West squints at me. “Other thing …?”
“Yeah. The other thing.”
“What other thing?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
He chomps off another bite of pizza and shrugs. “I obviouschly don’t,” he says through his mouthful.
I clear my throat. “The Patrick Swayze, Whoopi Goldberg, Ghost, sharing-my-body thing.”
His chewing stops. “Oh. That.”
“Yeah, that.”
West gives the notion exactly four fruitless seconds of consideration before swallowing his bite. “He doesn’t have to know that part. Tiny omission. No need to tell.”
I rise out of my chair. “Really? No need to tell him the first time we went on a date, you were also inside of me, sharing my body, mind, and thoughts?”
“It … It was all for a good purpose. Don’t make this out to be worse than it is. I gave you confidence, the confidence you needed to even get his attention.”
“Debatable, whether I really needed it in the end.”
“Dude, you could barely form a sentence around him without me inside you. Hell, it’s also thanks to me you even have the job you’ve got. I gave you the push to go back to them and demand they hire you.” He gives me a look. “You got a crummy way of being grateful.”
I step toward him. “And what about the countless dinner and movie dates Byron and I have gone on …?”
“I was just a silent third wheel. Lover boy doesn’t have to know.” He takes another bite and chews away.
I come right up to West’s face, startling him. “And the first time Byron and I had sex?”
West swallows his bite, staring at me blankly.
Yep. He was there for that, too. Inside my body. My mind. My thoughts and my racing heart. Marveling at how amazing it felt, without an inch of disgust inside his totally-straight-as-a-bone, heterosexual soul.
I mean, if we’re being literal here, we did have inches inside of us. Byron’s inches.
But we change when we’re together. When Westley and I share my body, we’ve realized over the years that we become something completely different. Not quite him. Not quite me. Something new. Someone new.
And we experience it together.
But we’ve since learned to manage our schedules better. After that first time, West and I decided never to share my body on a night when Byron and I may get intimate. It was too deceptive to Byron. It robbed me of having a true first time with him. It was dishonest.
Of course, it isn’t the easiest thing to plan. When Byron is feeling frisky and spontaneously starts to go to town on me here in my apartment—and West is inside me from whatever movie date we were on—I’ll excuse myself to the bathroom, West slips out of me like a shiver on a cold winter night, and I’ll return, fresh and ready to have Byron all to myself.
But a few times, Byron has surprised me and taken me to his place instead of mine. Because the pair of us have never separated outside of my apartment, I always have to make an excuse for not having sex. I pull the old I-have-a-headache trick. Or the I-have-a-bellyache trick. Or insist I feel more snuggly instead.
In all honesty, I’m not sure what would happen if West exits my body when we’re not in our apartment.
We’re both scared of the possibilities.
But that’s the least of my worries. I don’t think over the past couple of years that either of us truly considered the consequences of our actions. How will Byron take it if he found out about West? How bad is this betrayal, to have kept this a secret all this time?
What does it say about our marriage before it’s even properly begun?
West puts a hand on my shoulder. “Look, you’re just stressing out over the wedding. Your parents will be in town. His weirdo dads, too. There’s gonna be a cake you’ll complain about. Friends from your Pixelomenon office and his Spooky Beans Café. Making sure you still fit in your wedding dress.” I elbow him for that. He chuckles. “You’re just spiraling out. It’s totally normal. You need a hard drink and a night of porn.”
“Yeah, and I almost just got hit by a bus,” I remind him. I think my heart still hasn’t returned to a normal rate since the encounter. Did that all really happen?
West’s voice turns sensitive. “Look, I know you’re probably still in shock. I don’t mean to … like …”
“Ignore that I almost died …?”
“Yeah, that. I’m just trying to say, like … from the perspective of someone who literally has died, that’s just what life is. You’re drinking a beer one second, you try to impress your friends by standing on the railing of the fire escape, you wonder for a second if you would make a good barber, and then you’re dead.”
“A good barber …?”
“Never mind. Look, don’t worry about the stupid bus, okay? It’ll give Byron a reason to pamper you all night if you tell him. Also, you need a new phone.”
I eye the crushed and flattened thing on the table. My heart grows heavy again, as if reliving it all over. The noise. The blast of air across my face. The frozen silence inside my chest. The slow motion sensation.
Picking up pieces of my phone off the street half a block away from where it happened.
Maybe I am still in shock. Maybe West is right.
I eye him. “You should take your hand off of my shoulder before we accidentally unite.”
“Hey, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing.” His other hand finds my other shoulder, and he gently starts to massage. “I’d prochachly chalm your assch down. You’re scho uptighch all the chime.”
“Byron is going to be home any second.”
“Schee? Schtill worrying.”
“Are you—? Is the rest of your pizza dangling from your mouth? Is that how you have both hands free?”
“How elchse am I gonna rub your schouldersch?”
“No one asked you to, and I think you’re spitting pizza sauce on my neck when you talk.”
“I can’t schpit pizzcha schauche. I’m a ghostch.”
I shrug his hands off of me and spin around to face him. “I know you think you’re helping me, but you’re not. The closer my wedding day comes, the more I’m starting to see the truth. I can’t keep secrets from the one I love. Not anymore.” My eyes detach as I stare off into space. “I … I have to tell him everything.”
The pizza still hangs from his mouth as his eyes grow double. “You schucking nuts?”
Just then, there’s activity at the door.
It swings open.
I don’t know who has the thought first. Me. West. Or the stupid slice of pizza dangling from his teeth. But in an instant, we both seem to realize we’re too far away from the closet for West to hide, too far away from the candle in the living room to blow it out, and too much in the line of sight of the front door to do anything else.
West races at me, as if for a hug.
Instead of colliding, he falls inside me like a breath of cold air.
In Darkness and Dank by KL Hiers
1
Kittisak Amarin was certain that the Amazon rainforest was actually hell.
It was miserably hot, the sticky air soaked him within minutes, and at least ten different things in the immediate vicinity could kill him at all times. There were giant cats and snakes, not to mention the insects here, which had zero right to be as big as his damn head. No amount of bug spray seemed to deter them, and he couldn’t swat them because Professor Browning would yell at him about damaging a potentially undiscovered species.
Hell.
Absolute hell.
He’d come here to assist the professor as part of his final biology grade. After a few too many parties, Kittisak had fallen behind and was in grave danger of failing. That was simply not an option for him or his parents, who were paying for his tuition. He had begged Browning for a chance to turn in some extra credit to help boost his grade, but Browning had a much better idea.
Instead of wasting hours on monotonous papers for a few measly points, Kittisak would come with him on his research trip to the Amazon to assist him and then receive an A for his biology final.
Kittisak had agreed immediately.
The final was such a large percentage of his grade for the class that an A might bump him up to a B for the entire course. He’d heard about these kinds of trips before, and he hadn’t been the least bit worried. There usually were lodges for the students, they would only be out here for a few days, and it was basically a little vacation in a beautiful and lush rainforest.
Oh, how wrong he’d been.
So very wrong.
The first of the many horrifying discoveries was finding out that there was no lodge to be found.
No lodge meant no air conditioning, running water, or toilets.
The area of the rainforest they were traveling to wasn’t one frequented by tourists, and it was apparently crucial for Browning’s microbial research that they go into the deepest, darkest, and most miserably uninhabitable region of the whole place. They traveled up the river on a nasty boat and camped out by the shore in tents on rickety cots, and Kittisak’s personal hygiene was now at the mercy of one pack of baby wipes.
They’d come in the middle of the wet season, which was a fun way of saying that it rained every day and often without warning. Kittisak changed his socks constantly, he felt disgusting, and he didn’t think he’d ever be dry again. He had to check his boots every time he put them on because of course there was the risk of something crawling inside that might be able to kill him.
He was stuck out here for at least another month collecting tubes of dirty river water so Browning could test his theories about acidophilic bacteria and how they were affected by the heavy sediments carried throughout the tributaries here. Browning believed that the bacteria were drawn to areas of heavier sedimentation and may even be following the source all the way up to the Andes Mountains in Peru and Bolivia. If his theory held true, they would find more bacteria thriving the higher upstream they went.
This research was important because similar strains of bacteria are used in bioleaching, a process in which bacteria are used to extract valuable metals like gold, silver, and copper from low-grade ores. Browning received a generous grant to study the bacteria because a biomining company called Bio-Minex wanted to improve their current method for extracting copper.
At present, it was cheaper to traditionally smelt copper because bioleaching worked too slowly with that particular element. If Browning could prove the water with heavier sediment caused the acidophilic bacteria to metabolize faster, they could potentially create a more efficient process. Bio-Minex’s hope was to use this to finally gain a foothold in the very lucrative copper industry.
Personally, Kittisak was more concerned about actual leaches than bioleaching, but he was here as Browning’s assistant. He had to stay on for the full trip to earn that final A, and if he wasn’t so afraid of his parents murdering him for failing a class, he would have fled back home in a heartbeat.
His parents were far from rich, but they’d insisted on helping pay for his courses. They’d wanted to give Kittisak the best future possible, and being the first generation of his family born in America meant the pressure was stacked.
Kittisak’s parents had immigrated from Thailand to the United States a few years before he was born. They’d both worked hard to make a good life for him, and they were thrilled when he had announced his plans to attend college for a degree in botany. Kittisak hadn’t qualified for any scholarships because his grades were pitifully average, but his parents were happy to help pay as long as he promised to focus on his studies.
Though his entire interest in majoring in botany had been predicated on the desire to learn how to grow marijuana, he’d somehow managed to pass his freshman year with Bs and Cs. He tried to leave the partying behind as a sophomore, but he still had a lot of trouble saying no to a good time.
A few too many parties later, here he was in the damn Amazon chasing off giant mosquitos.
When Kittisak wasn’t worried about being eaten by something, he was dying of boredom. His cell phone didn’t get any service out here, and he couldn’t even play games on it because the solar-powered gizmo he’d brought along to charge it got too wet and fried. He hadn’t thought to bring any other form of entertainment, and he was left with talking to his traveling companions, who were as interesting as his wet socks.
Browning was a thin elderly man whose white skin was mottled with liver spots, and he had glasses thicker than Kittisak’s useless cell phone. The man got excited finding germs in dirty water, so having a fun conversation with him was out of the question.
Dr. Vancil Hutte was another scientist who specialized in microbiology. He was an employee of Bio-Minex and had been sent along to help Browning with the research. He was a handsome Black man in his fifties, but he got really excited over dirty water too, so he wasn’t much fun to talk to either.
Louis Denninger was also an employee of Bio-Minex, but he was definitely no scientist. He was buff, tan, and blond, and he was actually quite attractive, but he was unfortunately an absolute dick. Kittisak didn’t know what his job was except to carry around a big gun and try to boss everyone around.
Kittisak did everything possible to avoid him.
Denninger had two men who reported directly to him named Bissell and Zimm. They were hulking specimens from the humid swamps of Florida, and Kittisak sometimes had trouble understanding their thick accents. They were cousins of some degree and didn’t have a clear job except to be armed assholes like Denninger.
Oh, and just for an extra dash of fun times here in hell, they were both racist.
They were convinced that Kittisak was Chinese and loved to ask disgustingly ignorant questions about where he was from and how to say his name. He tried to ignore them, but he could only take so much bigotry. They never said anything to Hutte, and Kittisak didn’t know if that was because their racism was limited to Asians or that Hutte had seniority over Denninger, making him the next one up in their chain of command.
Kittisak figured it was the latter.
He complained to Hutte and Browning, who both spoke to Denninger multiple times about the pair’s unacceptable behavior. Denninger made empty promises about making sure it stopped, but of course it didn’t.
Kittisak hoped those jerks would get eaten by something out here, but he wasn’t that lucky.
To deter the verbal abuse, Kittisak decided to trick Bissell and Zimm into thinking he didn’t speak English so he wouldn’t have to talk to them. Hutte despised the pair as much as Kittisak did, and even though he wasn’t the most riveting of conversationalists, he helped Kittisak play up the ruse by creating a fake system of hand signals to communicate with.
The captain of the boat even got in on it. He was a Portuguese man named Caetano Paiva, and he was big, round, and bearded with a laugh that could shake a full-grown jaguar out of a tree. He enjoyed helping Kittisak and Hutte screw with Bissell and Zimm, and he told the most outlandish stories about monstrous creatures and evil spirits said to roam the Amazon because he knew those idiots were extremely gullible.
It only took one night for Paiva to convince them they had to stay awake until morning to watch out for El Tunchi, a spirit who lured his victims with a high-pitched whistling sound to punish them for offending the forest.
Maybe it wasn’t all terrible here in hell.
Kittisak did enjoy thinking up new words for his hand signal game with Paiva and Hutte, and there was nothing more satisfying than seeing Bissell and Zimm jump at the slightest sound because they were scared of a ghost coming to get them. Paiva was taking them through parts of the rainforest that weren’t found on any tour, and maybe sometimes it was quite beautiful. The research with Browning was actually sort of interesting once he understood it, and he found himself hoping that Browning would find what he was looking for out here.
After two weeks, however, it didn’t seem like that was going to happen.
Browning and Hutte were arguing constantly, Denninger managed to be an even bigger asshole, and Bissell and Zimm wouldn’t stop complaining about mysterious monsters lurking out in the trees. Zimm in particular insisted that he’d seen a giant fish monster sneaking around their camp, and he kept talking about the different ways he was going to cook it and fry it when he killed it.
Ugh.
The crazy must have been catching because after Kittisak laid down to end his most recent day in hell, he decided to keep his lantern on in case any fish monsters decided to come into his tent later. He was probably being paranoid, but better safe than eaten.
With a grumpy sigh, Kittisak drifted off to sleep.
Sometime later, he heard the footsteps of someone coming into his tent, and he opened his eyes to see a giant amphibian monster standing over him.
Well, huh. Imagine that.
Kittisak wasn’t afraid because this clearly had to be a dream. Nothing so incredible as this beast could possibly be real, and he was actually impressed that his imagination had created something so fantastically attractive.
The monster had a generally humanoid shape, and his shoulders and chest were deliciously broad with sleek, well-toned abs. His overall physique reminded Kittisak of a swimmer he had dated last year, though that guy certainly hadn’t had big crested gills on the side of his neck like this monster did. Kittisak got a glimpse of other crests that ran along the monster’s thick arms, and he sleepily wondered if they were actually fins to aid in swimming.
The monster’s smooth, slick skin looked like it was made for cutting through water, and it was a spectacularly rich shade of ebony that glittered as he moved in the low light of Kittisak’s lantern. The anterior portions of his body, like his chest, stomach, thighs, and face, were a most dazzling cerulean reminiscent of the poison dart frogs Kittisak saw hopping around the camp. There were splashes of black over the blue that stretched across his chest and cheeks like freckles, and the monster’s fingers were webbed, each set with a black curled claw.
The monster’s face was striking, as it was so very nearly human and simultaneously not. His lips were full and wide, and he didn’t have ears. His brow protruded forward and ran flat down to his nose, so there was no bridge. His nose was actually just a small bump with two tiny nostrils, and there were additional fins or crests or whatever they were running up over the top of his head that mimicked tall spiky hair. By far, the most alluring feature was his eyes.
They were big, round, and black. There were no whites at all, and when he blinked, Kittisak swore he saw some sort of second eyelid that slid over it like a milky lens. When the monster crouched beside his cot and the light was angled just so, Kittisak realized that the monster’s eyes weren’t completely black. There was a glimmer of purple and blue swirling there amongst the black like a heavenly galaxy, and he’d never seen anything so beautiful.
Kittisak didn’t know why, but he still wasn’t scared.
Maybe because it was a dream, and he knew the monster couldn’t hurt him.
The monster was also insanely hot.
Kittisak loved the monster’s big muscles and glittering eyes, and he quickly started thinking about those luscious lips working over every inch of his body.
This was probably the result of Paiva’s crazy stories about fish-men who lived deep in the river and came up on shore to seduce women and get them pregnant with pink dolphin babies. Kittisak wasn’t much interested in babies, but the seduction bit was pretty appealing. He knew exactly what kind of dream he wanted this to be.
The way the monster reached out to brush Kittisak’s ruffled hair back from his face was tender, even reverent, and Kittisak smiled. He loved having his hair played with, and the claws felt amazing brushing over his scalp.
Although Kittisak hadn’t officially dated anyone since that swimmer last year, it wasn’t hard to find someone to burn off some steam with. He was a young man at college, after all. But this kind of affection was different from the quick sticky fumblings he’d grown accustomed to from hookup apps.
It felt… intimate.
The monster touched him sweetly, making sure not a single hair was out of place, and he smiled down at Kittisak as if they’d known each other for ages. Kittisak was feeling particularly grateful to his imagination right then because although he had no idea what movie or TV show had inspired this monstrous creature, he was definitely going to have something fun to jerk off to when he woke up.
“Hi there, stranger,” Kittisak said.
“Hi there, stranger,” the monster parroted back.
Kittisak was impressed by how well the monster spoke, but this was a dream after all. It made total sense that the monster would speak perfect English.
The monster continued to pet Kittisak’s hair, and Kittisak yawned, quickly trying to cover his mouth.
The monster then yawned.
“Sorry,” Kittisak mumbled. “They’re always contagious.”
“Contagious,” the monster echoed.
Kittisak chuckled drowsily and reached for the monster’s hand. He pressed it against his cheek, loving the smooth texture. It reminded him of leather, and he was struck by how real it felt. He could almost believe that the fantastic monster was really here in his tent.
He wanted to lace their fingers together, but he couldn’t because of the webbing. Kittisak made a fist instead, letting the monster’s bigger hand engulf his own and hold it gently. While it was a sweet gesture, he wished things would hurry up and get raunchy.
A glance over the monster’s groin only revealed more smooth skin, sleek as a Ken doll, and Kittisak wondered why his sleep-addled brain was waiting to get to the good stuff. This being a dream and all, a fairly lucid one at that, he should be able to control what was happening, and he wanted to know what was going on down there.
The monster, however, only seemed interested in holding his hand and not so much ravaging him in his cot.
Oh well.
Smiling still, Kittisak said, “Good night.”
“Good night,” the monster repeated back.
“Sweet dreams.”
“Dreams.”
Kittisak drifted off thinking about dazzling black eyes, and he was almost surprised he was alone when he woke up. He checked his hand and his hair for any evidence of the monster’s presence and felt silly when he found none.
Of course he didn’t find anything.
It had just been a dream.
A dream with perfectly sculpted abs and eyes full of stars…
Kittisak’s fingers wandered down his stomach and into his underwear, finding himself already hard and wanting friction. He had just started to curl his fingers around his dick when he heard Browning’s voice from outside his tent.
“Kittisak! My boy!” Browning called. “Are you awake yet?”
“Yes.” Kittisak sighed. “I’m up.”
“Good, good!” Browning barged in.
Kittisak scrambled to yank his hand out of his underwear.
Browning didn’t seem to notice, thankfully blind as a bat even with his thick glasses on. “Come along. Hutte and I need to talk to you.”
“Got it. On it. Be right there.”
“All right, my boy! We’ll be in our tent.”
Kittisak waited for Browning to leave and debated whether or not to try and finish jerking off. If he wasn’t fast enough, Browning might come back.
Or worse, he’d send Hutte, whose vision was perfect.
Dammit.
Grumbling at his erection, Kittisak crawled off the cot to get dressed. He checked his boots twice before putting them on, and then he went to find Browning and Hutte.
They were waiting in the tent they shared together, and they sat Kittisak down as soon as he stepped inside. Kittisak immediately knew something was wrong. Browning’s usual jovial attitude was somber and Hutte’s brow was wrinkled up to his hairline, so the news couldn’t be good.
“What’s wrong?” Kittisak asked. “Did Bissell and Zimm drown themselves trying to hunt a Yacuruna again?”
“Nothing so fortunate,” Hutte grumbled.
“It’s about my theory of acidity and water sediment,” Browning said glumly. “You remember that there are three types of water here in the Amazon, yes? Blackwater, whitewater, and clearwater?”
“Yup, even though they don’t make any sense.” Kittisak shooed away a bug that seemed determined to investigate his nostrils. “Like, the Rio Solimões is whitewater even though it’s brown.”
“It makes perfect sense once you accept that it has nothing to do with color,” Browning tutted. “Now, the type of water we study is important because we’re looking for a specific pH level to find our acid-loving bacteria friends. Rivers like the Solimões are packed with sediment and very rich in nutrients, and I had posited that we’d find the bacteria we want thriving.”
“That’s where I got your twenty-two samples the other day, right?” Kittisak recalled having to scale down a very treacherous embankment to get said twenty-two samples, and he had cursed Browning every step of the way. “Down by that big log?”
“Indeed!” Browning nodded. “Whitewater tends to move very fast, so the sediment doesn’t have a chance to settle like it does in clearwater. That’s why whitewater rivers are such a striking brown color. Now, the samples you gathered were very acidic, so I thought my theory was correct.”
“I’m sensing a but here.”
“A big but,” Hutte chimed in. “The control samples we got when we were on the boat in the middle of the river were almost perfectly neutral.”
Kittisak stared.
“It means that the area you took your samples from was only a small pocket of acidity that doesn’t represent the true pH of a whitewater river,” Hutte explained. “This is the third time we’ve encountered these isolated areas of acidity, and it’s always where part of the current has been slowed down, like a creek or a small bay. A higher sediment content does not indicate a higher level of acidity.”
“So, it’s only the slower water that’s more acidic?” Kittisak tried.
“Not necessarily,” Brown replied. “Our samples from clearwater and other areas of whitewater are higher on the pH scale, so they’re actually more basic.”
“And clearwater is super slow moving because any sediment carried there settles?” Kittisak was surprised how much he’d been able to absorb while being terrified of being devoured by monstrous insects. “Because clearwater is actually clear. The one name that fits.”
“Well remembered, my boy,” Browning praised.
“Okay.” Kittisak snorted and swatted at the pesky bug again. “So, more sediment doesn’t equal more acid.”
Browning’s head dipped. “Yes, my theory was wrong, and I cannot explain why those specific areas of whitewater were different.”
“Blackwater appears to be the most acidic.” Hutte cleared his throat. “My theory is the high acidity results from the decay of surrounding trees and plants. Blackwater rivers run through the deepest parts of the forests here.”
Kittisak realized Hutte was looking at him expectantly, but he had no idea what he was supposed to be contributing to the conversation.
“Come on, our future botanist,” Hutte prodded. “What is a polyphenol found in most terrestrial plants that might contribute to acidity?”
“Oh!” Kittisak gasped. “Tannins!”
“Very good.”
“As the leaves and stuff go down into the water and the soil, they rot and release tannins. Like how tannins are released during fermentation with wine.” Kittisak might have made wine in his dormitory bathroom a time or two. “So, we need to find blackwater, yeah?”
“Yes, but we also need to find the source of the acidic pockets we found in the whitewater as well,” Browning replied. “The acidophilic bacteria we’re looking for was there, though only in very small numbers, and it got us thinking about that little tributary river we found yesterday.”
“The one that wasn’t on the map?” Kittisak recalled.
“Yes. It seems to run through a very dense region of the forest, and our initial samples from it were acidic. Given the location and the pH tests, it’s blackwater.” Hutte held up a finger. “And we found no other acidity any farther upstream in the whitewaters of the Solimões.”
Kittisak stared again.
“The source of the bacteria in the Solimões may very well be this tributary,” Browning said earnestly. “According to Paiva, there is a large lagoon in that area of the forest that the local Achuar people tell stories of. We cannot find it on any of our maps either, but it’s said to be still as glass. If it’s connected to the tributary, it could be the source of the bacteria we have been chasing.”
“You’re saying it could be a blackwater lagoon?” Kittisak ventured.
“Yes!” Hutte exclaimed. “A very still pool of highly acidic water. It’s the perfect environment for the bacteria, one we could try to recreate in a laboratory once we’ve taken samples.”
“Provided that any bacteria present do exhibit a faster metabolism rate,” Browning added.
“So.” Kittisak snorted at the bug again. “We’re going to go up that tiny ass river that’s not on any of our maps to maybe possibly hopefully find this mysterious lagoon that’s also not on any of the maps and find the bacteria there in a magically perfect environment?”
“Oh, yes!” Browning’s bushy brows furrowed. “Oh, but also no. It’s too small for the boat, so we’ll have to go on foot.”
Kittisak wanted to puke.
Maybe this was hell after all.
They packed up camp and then set off on their new adventure following the tributary upstream. Denninger took the lead, with Bissell and Zimm in the rear, and Kittisak followed with the others in the middle. Hours went by, and they paused only to take water samples and dip pH sticks. Hutte and Browning were getting excited as the acidity level was slowly climbing the farther they went, but there was still no sign of the supposed lagoon.
By late afternoon, they’d only come across a damn puddle.
Okay, so the puddle was more of a small pool, only ankle deep and a few yards across, but it was definitely connected to the tributary. Kittisak waded down into it to collect a sample, and he was surprised when Browning came to join him.
Kittisak had just opened his mouth to tell Browning that he didn’t need him when Browning suddenly pitched forward and went face-first into the water.
“Professor!” Kittisak ran over to help Browning up. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Oh! For heaven’s sake!” Browning seemed more embarrassed than hurt, not to mention completely soaked now, though he winced as Kittisak helped him into a sitting position. “Thank you, my boy.”
“Browning!” Hutte called out worriedly. “Are you all right?”
“I’m right as the rain.” Browning sighed. “I tripped over a tree root or something.”
“You’re lucky your old ass didn’t break a hip,” Zimm remarked from the shore.
“Your concern is palpable, Mr. Zimm,” Browning muttered. He touched his face. “Oh, my glasses!” He felt around the shallow water, cursing under his breath. “Where in the world could they be?”
Kittisak could see a spot of blood seeping through Browning’s pants at his left knee. “Let’s get you out of here and try to dry you off, huh? I’ll find your glasses.”
“Oh, you’re such a dear boy.” Browning grunted as he got to his feet with Kittisak’s assistance. “Thank you.”
Hutte and Paiva had made it down into the pool, and they each took one of Browning’s arms to help guide him out.
“We should keep moving,” Denninger said flatly. He hadn’t shown the tiniest inkling of regard for Browning’s tumble. “We still have a few more hours of daylight left. We should try to find the lagoon before night falls.”
“No,” Hutte argued. “Browning’s hurt. We need to stop.”
“I’m fine!” Browning protested as he shooed Kittisak away. “Please. I’d like to keep going.”
“Come on, Prof.” Kittisak shook his head. “A tree root took you out. You’ve been pushing too hard.”
“That’s hardly fair!”
Kittisak was already wet so he went ahead and crouched down, cringing as his rear dipped into the water. He carefully felt for the glasses, and he tried not to think about what might be slithering around here. He paused when he found something thin and hard and possibly glasses-like, and he pulled it up to see what it was.
It was a bone.
Kittisak had no idea what possessed him to keep pulling, but pull he did, revealing that the bone was part of an arm with a hand still attached. It was rotted away except for some residual skin and rubbery decayed flesh keeping it together, but no, wait…
The finger bones had claws, long curved ones, and there were thick swatches of tissue between each digit.
They were webbed fingers.
Just like the monster from Kittisak’s dream.
Pumpkin Cream Pie by Kiki Burrelli
Chapter One
SEAMUS
I kept to the shadows, slinking forward silently with a gas can in one hand and the rest of the party stuffed in a bag I carried on my shoulder. The Morningwood University sign loomed ahead, directly in front of admissions. I snarled. I was here for my brother, Shiloh, but really, this place deserved what I was about to give them. I just had to make a quick stop before I could avenge my little brother.
Directly behind the Morningwood University campus, the Morningwood Cemetery sat surrounded by a wrought-iron fence that did nothing to keep people out. I could've shifted and flown over, had I wanted to, but I was here to make a deposit and couldn't fly carrying my bag. I dropped the can beside the spot in the fence where the ground was low enough to slide under. Had I been a big, beefy alpha, that small space might have been too tight, but I slipped right under, reaching through the bars for my bag as I stood on the other side.
I shivered, gazing at the winding, uneven rows. This section was the final resting place of the first Morningwood citizens, before the all-shifter town had been established and the people had relied on the isolation of the mountain for protection from wandering normies. I liked it better here, where the vines were taking over and the lines between tombs were less manicured. This was also where I'd discovered my best hiding spot. After my mom had started having my room searched when I was in high school, whenever I had a surplus of product, I came here to hide it. Even though it was spooky, it was the perfect hiding spot since not a lot of people had a reason to be on this side of the cemetery, the fear factor kept out most of the punks, and this way, if my mom ever went all big-brother-this-is-the-police-open-up on me again, I wouldn't be left scrambling to cover for my stolen stash.
I stooped down at good old Zachariah Smith's grave. He was considered a founding father of Morningwood. But to me, he was more of a friend. A friend with a massive statue of an eagle, perched on the branch of a tree as his tombstone. I slid out the bottom brick, grabbed the triple-wrapped parcel from my bag, and shoved it back as far as it would go. I slipped the brick back into place, grabbed the pint of Black Crow whiskey I'd swiped from the store, and swallowed with a wince. The whiskey didn't go down smoothly, but I concentrated on the burn. Heat radiated from my gut, fortifying my limbs with that manic energy I only got while I was drinking. "Thanks, Zachariah, see you in a bit."
I had a school to burn down.
I went back under the fence, pausing to light my joint before picking up the gas can—I'd made that mistake before—and made my way back around to the entrance of the school. My little brother was the only thing that mattered to me. He'd been so excited when he'd gotten into Morningwood University early, but the kid was a quiet genius.
I was once like Shiloh. Not a genius, but I'd listened to the adults around me and given college a shot. They'd said that college was different from everything else, that people were too busy to bully me like they had all through grade school and high school. But college hadn't turned out any differently than everything else in my life. I'd been looked down on with pity, judgment, or suspicion. So I'd quit. I made more money selling weed and heat enhancers to the college kids who used to just look down on me anyway.
I didn't care what they thought about me, and I sure as fuck didn't need their pity, but Shiloh was still kind. He was nice and looked at people like they were telling him the truth. When I'd gotten home this afternoon to him crying, I'd seen red. He told me he needed a class for his degree. I didn't ask about what or why—that didn't matter. The only thing that did was that apparently there was a pompous professor who wouldn't let Shiloh register.
Let's see how much he enjoys teaching that class on a campus of ash.
Fueled by my anger, I ripped the cap off the gas can, turning it over as the gasoline glug-glugged out and onto the sign, soaking the posts and ground. The thick fumes filled my nose, and I stumbled back as if suddenly realizing what I was about to do. The sign was huge, wider than I was tall. I clenched the pint of whiskey and took several more fortifying gulps. Instantly, my courage shot up. With alcohol, I felt like I could conquer the world. Without it, I was just scared. I took another long drink, poured the rest of the bottle over the ground, and then flicked the spent end of my joint to the ground.
The gasoline ignited, and the flames spread quickly, engulfing not just the posts, but the ground, where it lit the dry leaves circling the base of a large tree. As the tree went up in flames, the fire glowed off the admissions building's walls. Fire raced down the tree branches, lighting the dried leaves that had yet to fall. The flames were close enough now that the admissions entrance began to smoke. You're next.
I retrieved a second joint from my bag and used the flame from the burning sign to light the end. I didn't usually dip into my own supply this much, but this was a celebration. For as much as the world felt like it was spinning out of control, flinging people out of your arms and lives without care or concern for who was left behind, it was during these moments that I felt like it wasn't all too much.
I inhaled deep, coughing so hard on the exhale my eyes were watering by the time I noticed flashing red and blue lights. "Fuck."
My first instinct was to shift and fly. Being a falcon had its advantages. But I couldn't carry my big bag and gas can in my falcon form, and if I left it behind, they'd find out it was me when they searched the belongings. I gathered my things quietly and waited, listening to the tires crunch over gravel as the car neared. If I waited for that awkward time when whoever was there was getting out of their car, I might be able to make it. I tensed, hearing more rustling, and then the doors opened.
I ran.
My feet pounded against the dirt, the breath already coming fast in my chest. My heart pounded. I was a good flier, but still loved running. I wasn't sure if I had a knack for it or if I'd just gotten so much practice over the years. Either way, I was almost home free. There was a small creek up ahead. I could toss my things into the water, trust the current to take them, and fly away. Later, I would go back and search for my backpack. I'd just have to hope no one found it before then.
I readied my things so I could toss and shift, but before I could, my shirt went tight, and my forward momentum suddenly stopped. I gasped, the collar tightening on my throat like fingers. Instantly, I fought against the feeling, scratching, kicking, and hitting whatever was keeping the air from my body.
"Stop resisting," the officer grunted, grabbing one wrist and then the other.
He wrenched them behind my back as I spewed a stream of curse words. I wasn't sure what I was saying toward the end, but I knew it wasn't nice.
"He's got a mouth on him."
"Does your mother know you're out here?" Deputy Flint asked after he'd slapped cuffs around my wrists.
At the mention of my mother, my stomach twisted. She'd been so angry the last time I'd gotten arrested, she told me to not bother coming home until I got my act together. "I'm nineteen," I grunted.
"You're a disgrace, that's what you are." Deputy Lidell spat. "Your mother bends over backwards for you two. How do you repay her? By being a delinquent." He looked back at the orange glow of the fire I'd started. There were sirens—the fire department pulling up. So much for a university of ashes. Still, a tiny part of me was relieved my plan had failed. Sometimes I was angrier than I was anything else. I would never say as much, but sometimes even I was disappointed when my plans ended up working.
Right then I wasn't. At that moment, my arms hurt, my head felt a little fuzzy—likely thanks to the weed and booze—and a cold ball of unease had formed in my stomach. Deputy Flint jerked on my arms, pulling me to the squad car. He shoved me in the back seat—not bothering to shield the side of my head before it slammed into the edge of the doorway.
While the pain from that pounded in my skull, the deputies went back to confer with the firemen.
By the time Deputy Flint and Lidell returned to the car, the blaze was mostly out. I should've used two cans of gas. The welcome sign looked charred, but the admin building still stood. They started the car without a word to me, driving us the few minutes to the Morningwood Police Department. In a small town like ours, the police department, jail, and Elite Force offices all shared the same building with the town's morgue, where my mother worked when there was a crime-related death. The rest of the time, she was at the hospital a few blocks over. It had to be after midnight at the moment, though, so she was most likely home.
"Is your mother worried about you?" the deputy asked after showing me my room.
This wasn't my first time in a cell, and I greeted the hard cot, single open-air toilet, and sink fondly. "No," I growled. She was too busy to keep constant tabs on me and my brother, and she'd been working a late shift today.
"Good. I'll keep it that way. You can rest here for the night—"
"I have rights! You can't keep me here!"
"Overnight? While we're understaffed and running behind?" He made a point of looking to the left and right, highlighting the fact that we were the only ones there. "I am well within my rights, Seamus. You didn't just spray paint on a wall tonight, kid. You tried to burn down the university. A few more minutes and you might have been successful. This can't be swept under a rug because your mom is important to this town."
"I don't need my mom solving my problems," I snarled.
"And yet…" the deputy responded tiredly. "Talking to you is like talking to an angry wall. I don't know what happened to make you so mad at the world, but tonight, you may have taken it one step too far. Tell me, how sad is your mom going to be when I go through the contents of your bag?"
No sadder than normal. I was her firstborn failure after all. I folded my arms, knowing better than to admit to anything.
Deny, deny, deny. I wasn't there that night; that wasn't my gas can.
This wasn't my life.
I woke up the next morning to the sound of my mom's voice. Shrill with panic, she demanded to see me. The deputy led her back as I was sitting up, stretching the sleep from my arms and legs. She scowled at me through the bars before coming to a stop directly in front of the door.
I looked at her and tried to remember back when she didn't have so many tired lines on her face. She used to look at me and smile. Now, her face was just pinched with worry. "What in God's name were you thinking, Seamus?" she asked, pressing a handkerchief to her nose.
Was she sick? Or crying? Shouldn't I know?
"That idiot professor is being a dick to Shiloh for no reason! He thinks he's better than us? He made Shiloh cry!" Though I understood my initial reasons, now that I was explaining them to my mom, I wasn't so sure what my plan had been. This was always happening. Things seemed like the right plan in the moment, and then after, I always regretted it.
So I drank or smoked to get rid of the regret, which just led to more bad choices. Rinse and repeat until the end of the world.
Sheriff Joseph came in behind her with a large set of keys. He must've come in to relieve Flint. The man didn't even say goodbye before he left. Rude.
"Am I being let go?" I asked, keeping my voice as even as possible.
"We need to talk," the sheriff replied cryptically. "All of us."
My mom's head dropped, and I scowled. She had no reason to look so dejected.
"I'm nineteen. She doesn't need to be there." I jerked my head in my mom's direction.
She gasped, her mouth dropping open as her eyes tightened. Why did she look so hurt? I was trying to save her from the stress of whatever the sheriff had to say.
"Let's go, Seamus," she said tiredly, stepping back to give the sheriff room.
Once again, I was ignored as the three of us were marched into the sheriff's office. I'd been here a few times before too. In recent months, there was a new addition to the sheriff's desk: a framed picture of his new mate, Dusty, smiling at the camera.
But that wasn't the only new thing in the room. A man sat in the corner, one I did not recognize. He was tall with long legs that he stretched out in front of him like he didn't have a care in the world. His dark hair was thick on his head and neatly manicured on his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw. His hazel eyes watched me enter the room. It was like I could feel his gaze picking me apart.
I glared at him. It was best to establish right away that I wasn't to be messed with.
"Who is he?" I snarled, jerking my head at the man while my knee bounced along with my whole leg.
"That is Leopold Thibodeaux, and you should be very nice to him," the sheriff said with a hard edge. "He might be the only thing keeping you out of jail, Seamus."
I opened my mouth to say I wasn't afraid of jail when my mom hit my knee. I closed my mouth, glad for the moment that she at least hadn't brought Shiloh. He was the last person who looked at me like he was proud of me, and I hated doing anything to change that.
"What has he done this time, Sheriff? Deputy Flint wasn't entirely clear," my mother said.
"Well, Dr. Formes, we're still waiting on the final report from the fire department, but it seems as though your son was trying to burn down the university. It looks like we discovered the blaze early on, but unfortunately, he was just successful enough to cause structural damage to the building while completely destroying the sign that had been hand-carved out of the oldest redwood in Morningwood and gifted to the school. The sign alone is appraised at over ten thousand dollars due to the artist's popularity, as well as the rarity of the wood."
"Ten thousand?" my mom squeaked.
"I'll pay it off," I grunted, not liking the shade of pink my mom's face was turning. "You don't have to worry—"
"How?" she snapped.
She knew I had ways of making money. She wouldn't accept any of my drug money—her words—for rent or bills, but when she hadn't been able to afford that new game console for Shiloh, who had stepped up on his birthday, making sure he had at least one reason to smile? I wasn't going to admit to any of that in a room with the sheriff and a quiet man who hadn't spoken, but whose eyes I still felt on my skin. "I'll figure it out."
"I'm afraid you won't," Sheriff Joseph replied. "I've offered you this courtesy in the past, Dr. Formes, but this time, the crime is too severe. Even if the sign were replaced, the damage to the university building needs to be repaired before the building can be used again. Dean Grubbs is livid. He's calling for full restitution and is well within his rights by law to demand as much."
"Dean Grubbs is a whiny tub of—"
"Seamus!" my mom exclaimed.
Meanwhile, the man in the corner moved with a low groan, getting to his feet. "I believe this is where I come in."
What had the sheriff said his name was? Leopold? I snorted, but he ignored me.
He had a soft accent that sounded Southern but with a fancy twist. I didn't hate his voice. "The rabbits are prepared to help…" he began.
"You live up with those crazy inbreds?" I exclaimed. Everyone in Morningwood knew that the rabbit clans that lived above the town were hillbillies. Funny, this guy hadn't looked like a hillbilly at first. His clothes were worn, but without holes or stains, and his body didn't seem like the type that spent hours drinking beer in front of the television. The more I looked at him, the more my inner falcon squawked with alarm. If my inner beast was alarmed by this guy, then I should have been too. Except I got the idea that my falcon liked being in this man's presence. My lower body ached, and there was no mistaking that feeling. Attraction. Instantly, my stomach turned, and I broke out into sweats as I swallowed to try to keep the contents of my stomach where they belonged. "What the fuck is this joker doing here?" I growled while hoping my outburst would mask my body's initial reaction.
I expected the man to lash out, but he ignored me, acting as if I hadn't spoken. "We have the supplies, talent, and know-how. But I ain't about solving other people's problems. Especially if they don't seem all that grateful."
I knew that last bit had been directed at me. My eyebrows lowered, but I was too weirded out by my body's response to looking at him to raise my face. I hadn't asked for his help. I didn't want to go to jail, but I didn't want to remain near this man even more. "Why should I be grateful? I didn't ask for this."
"If you want to go to jail, son, then don't let me stop you," Leopold said.
I shot to my feet, facing him. "Don't call me son."
"Outta everything that's going on here, you're worried about that?" he replied, except out of his mouth, the t-sounds were all sharp, sounding more like every-ting.
"Seamus, sit down, please." My mom tugged on my arm.
"No." I ripped my arm free because standing had been a bad decision, and now that I was nearly flush with the other man's body, mine started to feel light, tingly. On the heels of that arousal came disgust. Need, lust, passion, these feelings always came hand in hand with pain and revulsion. Thanks to my ex, I couldn't think of sex without breaking into a cold sweat.
"Mr. Formes," the sheriff interrupted, "do you have the money to make the necessary repairs? Keep in mind that we will check where that money has come from." His words carried a steely edge.
The only money I had was rolled up in the lock box I kept under my bed. It wasn't all mine, and it sure as hell didn't add up to ten thousand dollars. "No."
Sheriff Joseph lifted the stack of papers in front of him, tapping them into a neat stack against the desk. "Then I'm afraid my hands are tied."
The Curse of Redwood by Jaclyn Osborn
Prologue
Halloween Night- One Year Ago
“I never want this night to end,” I said, moaning against his mouth. My lips felt swollen from all the kissing.
“Neither do I.” He dipped his head to my neck and nibbled the base of my throat. His long blond hair brushed against my bare chest, heightening my arousal even more despite him just having fucked my brains out on my living room couch. He was still in me for Christ’s sake.
“You know my name, but you still haven’t told me yours.”
“Call me Z.” He lifted his head to look at me.
I’d never seen anyone more beautiful than him. Soft, yet masculine, features and blue eyes I could easily get lost in.
“Z? Is that a nickname?”
He only smiled before crushing his mouth to mine again. He slipped his strong arms under me and lifted me from the couch. I wrapped my legs around him as he carried me to my bedroom, our lips and tongues moving together in an intoxicating way as we fell on the bed.
“Your recovery time is kinda amazing,” I said, as I felt him get hard.
“I’m not like most other men.” Z winked before pushing inside me.
I groaned and clawed his shoulders, throwing my head back against the pillow. He kissed my neck as he drove his hips forward.
“I’ve wanted to do this ever since I saw you at the Redwood mansion,” I said, staring up at him. Blond hair curtained his face, and I gripped the strands, tightening my hold when he pumped into me deeper.
“Is that so?” He withdrew his cock nearly all the way before slamming back into me. “I wanted the same.”
I had first met him at an event held at Redwood Manor for my friend Ben a week or so ago. Sophisticated, handsome, and intoxicating—I’d never met anyone like Z. He had stood in the ballroom, a place filled with over two hundred people, yet my gaze had only been fixated on him. I had gone over to him, expecting him to turn me away, but instead he’d smiled and taken my hand in his, kissing the top of it.
That one action had acted as a spark for everything else that followed—the flirting and intimate conversation where he’d put me even more under his spell…
“Your lips remind me of berries,” he said, gliding a finger over my bottom lip. “I wonder if they taste as sweet.”“You can kiss me and find out.” His eyes gleamed. “We’ve only just met.”“I don’t mind.”“You tempt me,” he responded. “I suppose one wouldn’t hurt.”His lips were cool to the touch, and his scent intoxicated me. I felt lightheaded as we kissed.“This is where we must say goodbye,” he then whispered as he pulled away from me.“Wait, I didn’t get your name!”But he was already gone, swallowed up by the sea of people around us.
The first night with him had ended too soon. The party concluded and he’d vanished. Not able to find him, I had left with Ben, not ever learning his name. But then I’d gone to a Halloween party tonight and had seen Z standing in the corner of the room. It felt like fate. We’d ended up going to one of the back rooms to fuck.
Then we’d come to my place.
And now he’s fucking me. Again.
Z made me come like I never had before. I cried out and dug my nails into his back as wave after wave of pleasure crashed down on me. He kissed my jaw as his hips snapped forward one more time, and then he was coming too. He groaned in my ear, his thrusts slowing as he rode his orgasm.
“Curse that damn clock,” he growled moments later once we’d both calmed.
“Huh?” In a post-orgasm daze, I looked at the small clock on the bedside table. “Oh. It’s already after eleven? You can stay the night if you want. I can make breakfast when we wake up and—”
“Apologies, but I can’t stay.” Z pulled out of me and got off the bed. His sated cock hung soft between his legs. “Thank you for a wonderful night, Carter, but I must be going.”
“Why?” I slid my legs over the side of the mattress and stood up, my muscles wobbly from all the sex that night. He left the bedroom, and I darted after him. “What the hell? You don’t have to run off.”
Z retrieved his clothes from the living room floor and got dressed. He didn’t look at me. Didn’t talk to me. He then headed for the door.
“Don’t ignore me.” I grabbed his arm and tugged him back to me. Which was no easy feat. I was a lot smaller than him.
“You don’t understand,” he said, caressing my jaw with a pained expression in his eyes. “I wish things were different.” A shadow passed over his face. “However, they’re not. This is how it must be.”
He opened the door and stepped into the night.
“You’re going to walk home?” I called after him. “At least let me drive you.”
Z kept walking.
“Fine then, asshole,” I muttered under my breath, before slamming the door.
That was the last time I saw him.
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.
When she's not writing you can find her blogging away on Diverse Reader, her review and promotional site. She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.
If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she'd tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you're afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.
Daryl Banner is an author and composer who graduated magna cum laude from the University of Houston Honors College with a degree in both Theatre and Psychology. During his time in college, he wrote, composed, and produced a musical under Tony Award-winning musical and Theatre producer Stuart Ostrow, as well as two original plays produced under the mentorship of Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Lanford Wilson, who also mentored Daryl through the writing of his very first novel. In addition to new adult and M/M romance, Daryl also writes post-apocalyptic fantasy as well as dystopian. He is most inspired by the smart and unlikely hero, but urges you (the reader) not to fall in love with them; they may deceive you with their innocence.
Join his mailing list here to never miss out on the latest from Daryl Banner! He awards one of his subscribers an Amazon gift card every newsletter.
K.L. “Kat” Hiers is an embalmer, restorative artist, and queer writer. Licensed in both funeral directing and funeral service, she’s been working in the death industry for nearly a decade. Her first love was always telling stories, and she has been writing for over twenty years, penning her very first book at just eight years old. Publishers generally do not accept manuscripts in Hello Kitty notebooks, however, but she never gave up.
Following the success of her first novel, Cold Hard Cash, she now enjoys writing professionally, focusing on spinning tales of sultry passion, exotic worlds, and emotional journeys. She loves attending horror movie conventions and indulging in cosplay of her favorite characters. She lives in Zebulon, NC, with her husband and their children, some of whom have paws and a few that only pretend to because they think it’s cute.
Following the success of her first novel, Cold Hard Cash, she now enjoys writing professionally, focusing on spinning tales of sultry passion, exotic worlds, and emotional journeys. She loves attending horror movie conventions and indulging in cosplay of her favorite characters. She lives in Zebulon, NC, with her husband and their children, some of whom have paws and a few that only pretend to because they think it’s cute.
Kiki Burrelli lives in the Pacific Northwest with the bears and raccoons. She dreams of owning a pack of goats that she can cuddle and dress in form-fitting sweaters. Kiki loves writing and reading and is always chasing that next character that will make her insides shiver. Consider getting to know Kiki at her website, on Facebook, or send her an email: kikiburrelli@gmail.com.
Jaclyn Osborn was born and raised in the state of Arkansas. When not actively writing a new book, she can be found plotting and gaining inspiration for the next story. Writing is her passion and she's thankful for each day she's able to live her dream. A firm believer in happy endings and redemption for damaged souls, her boys in her stories mean the world to her, and she'd be lost without them.
All types of genres in the m/m world interest her, in both reading and writing, and she hopes to delve into a few of them in her writing career.
All types of genres in the m/m world interest her, in both reading and writing, and she hopes to delve into a few of them in her writing career.
Davidson King
EMAIL: davidsonkingauthor@yahoo.com
Daryl Banner
KL Hiers
Emperor of Dragons by Davidson King
My Pumpkin Prince by Daryl Banner
In Darkness and Dank by KL Hiers
Pumpkin Cream Pie by Kiki Burrelli
The Curse of Redwood by Jaclyn Osborn
