Summary:
Kings of Hell MC #2
Love or hate. Life or death. No inbetween. No compromise. No rules in love and war.
Knight. Party monster. Handsome Savage. Doesn’t do monogamy.
Elliot. Obsessive. Intense. Uncompromising.
Newly single, Knight is done with relationships. All he's interested in is bringing down The Count, an Internet personality who is tarnishing his family name. An opportunity to crush him comes when the audacious clown shows up at the Kings of Hell MC clubhouse to film for his YouTube channel. But when Knight meets Elliot, the man behind The Count, he no longer knows what to do with him.
Knight has never seen a more pathetic creature than Elliot. He’s also never met anyone who needed him more. Skinny, messed up, and a bucket of trouble as thick as tar, everything Elliot does seems to be a wordless death wish. No matter how much Knight hates Elliot’s alter ego, under the makeup and theatrics hides a fragile young guy with a passion for history, and Knight can’t help but catch Elliot every time he falls.
Elliot has bad taste in men. Always hopelessly attracted to violent brutes, his favorite is a long dead serial killer. But he gets more than he’s bargained for when he seizes an opportunity to meet the man of his dreams. The ghost is manipulative and dangerous, offering Elliot all he’s always wanted, for a price he can’t possibly pay.
Elliot is faced with an impossible choice between two men.
One alive, one dead.
One carnal and honest, one drizzling sweet, poisoned promises into his ear.
One unwilling to commit, the other promising an eternity together.
And Elliot doesn’t settle for half-measures. He craves a love that is all or nothing, passion that will consume him, and desire to burn him alive.
Elliot is ready to either get that, or die trying.
Themes: enemies to lovers, protector, cruelty, motorcycle club, alternative lifestyles, demons, tattoos, impossible choices, deception, crime, self-discovery, healing, black magic, gothic, commitment, ghosts, possession
Knight. Party monster. Handsome Savage. Doesn’t do monogamy.
Elliot. Obsessive. Intense. Uncompromising.
Newly single, Knight is done with relationships. All he's interested in is bringing down The Count, an Internet personality who is tarnishing his family name. An opportunity to crush him comes when the audacious clown shows up at the Kings of Hell MC clubhouse to film for his YouTube channel. But when Knight meets Elliot, the man behind The Count, he no longer knows what to do with him.
Knight has never seen a more pathetic creature than Elliot. He’s also never met anyone who needed him more. Skinny, messed up, and a bucket of trouble as thick as tar, everything Elliot does seems to be a wordless death wish. No matter how much Knight hates Elliot’s alter ego, under the makeup and theatrics hides a fragile young guy with a passion for history, and Knight can’t help but catch Elliot every time he falls.
Elliot has bad taste in men. Always hopelessly attracted to violent brutes, his favorite is a long dead serial killer. But he gets more than he’s bargained for when he seizes an opportunity to meet the man of his dreams. The ghost is manipulative and dangerous, offering Elliot all he’s always wanted, for a price he can’t possibly pay.
Elliot is faced with an impossible choice between two men.
One alive, one dead.
One carnal and honest, one drizzling sweet, poisoned promises into his ear.
One unwilling to commit, the other promising an eternity together.
And Elliot doesn’t settle for half-measures. He craves a love that is all or nothing, passion that will consume him, and desire to burn him alive.
Elliot is ready to either get that, or die trying.
Themes: enemies to lovers, protector, cruelty, motorcycle club, alternative lifestyles, demons, tattoos, impossible choices, deception, crime, self-discovery, healing, black magic, gothic, commitment, ghosts, possession
As I said last year when I listened to & reviewed book 1, Laurent & the Beast, I can't believe it's been 6 years since I first read My Dark Knight. And as it was with Laurent, there were moments that didn't come fully back to me until I heard the scene begin but never forgotten. KA Merikan's Knight & Kings of Hell, MC series as a whole is devastatingly and deliciously dark in all the perfectly yummy ways that are great all year long but bring a special scream of "HOLY CRAP!" in October. Let's face it, as the saying goes: "It's Halloween, everyone's entitled to one good scare".
As for the narration? One can never go wrong with a book brought to life by Joel Leslie. Hard to think of a story as My Dark Knight being labeled as "fun" but it's so wickedly entertaining and Leslie has just the right knack of making it exactly that: FUN! Listening to his narration not only brings the words to life but also I feel as if the story is playing out right in front of my eyes just as so many of the old radio shows of the 30s & 40s do that I collect. That statement right there says it all, for me I can't think of a better more truthful from the heart way to express just how much I love this audiobook.
Original Review August 2017:
Knight is a biker with an unusual and unexpected hobby, love of history and more specifically his family genealogy. Elliot is a man with an unusual passion for past serial killer William Fane, who was killed by Knight's ancestor Laurent Mercier, who just happens to be the significant other of the club president and Knight's best friend and is here after a pact with a demon. When Knight and Elliot but heads over the Fane/Mercier connection will it turn into more and what will happen when the truth comes out?
As I have often said, I am a series lover and when I'm reading one that has a different couple as the focus of each installment, I rarely love the new ones as much as the original. Well, I can safely say that as much as I love Laurent and Beast from book 1(conveniently titled Laurent and the Beast) there is something about Knight and Elliot that put them ahead in my heart. Perhaps its my love of history and genealogy that tipped the scale or perhaps its because Elliot is so innocent even if a bit disturbed in his love of the murderer Fane.
Speaking of Elliot's naive passion for the murderer William Fane, well I don't personally understand it but as a Wisconsinite where we have had more than one serial killer, I have heard about that kind of fixation before so it didn't take me completely by surprise. I loved how KA Merikan presented it, yes it's disturbing but not over the top, which in my opinion takes talent considering it's a paranormal story where over the top can be the norm.
As for Knight, he can be gruff but he's honest and direct. Now gruff and direct is expected of a biker story but not always honest and certainly not a genealogy lover. As a genealogy lover myself, I found his passion to be a great draw and loved how it gave him and Elliot an immediate connection even as they are at odds about Fane & Mercier.
I found My Dark Knight to be an amazing read that had me on the edge of my seat. I warred with loving and hating both Knight and Elliot at times, okay maybe not hating but I certainly wanted to knock some serious sense into both of them. I loved how even though Knight and Elliot are the focus of the story we got to see Laurent and Beast too and learn even more about Fane, which I didn't think I could hate more after book 1 but yeah, its possible. Simply put, book 2 of Kings of Hell MC is amazing and perhaps fun is not the right word considering the content but its definitely enjoyable and I am eagerly looking forward to Jake's story in book 3: On Your Knees, Prospect.
RATING:
Original Review August 2017:
Knight is a biker with an unusual and unexpected hobby, love of history and more specifically his family genealogy. Elliot is a man with an unusual passion for past serial killer William Fane, who was killed by Knight's ancestor Laurent Mercier, who just happens to be the significant other of the club president and Knight's best friend and is here after a pact with a demon. When Knight and Elliot but heads over the Fane/Mercier connection will it turn into more and what will happen when the truth comes out?
As I have often said, I am a series lover and when I'm reading one that has a different couple as the focus of each installment, I rarely love the new ones as much as the original. Well, I can safely say that as much as I love Laurent and Beast from book 1(conveniently titled Laurent and the Beast) there is something about Knight and Elliot that put them ahead in my heart. Perhaps its my love of history and genealogy that tipped the scale or perhaps its because Elliot is so innocent even if a bit disturbed in his love of the murderer Fane.
Speaking of Elliot's naive passion for the murderer William Fane, well I don't personally understand it but as a Wisconsinite where we have had more than one serial killer, I have heard about that kind of fixation before so it didn't take me completely by surprise. I loved how KA Merikan presented it, yes it's disturbing but not over the top, which in my opinion takes talent considering it's a paranormal story where over the top can be the norm.
As for Knight, he can be gruff but he's honest and direct. Now gruff and direct is expected of a biker story but not always honest and certainly not a genealogy lover. As a genealogy lover myself, I found his passion to be a great draw and loved how it gave him and Elliot an immediate connection even as they are at odds about Fane & Mercier.
I found My Dark Knight to be an amazing read that had me on the edge of my seat. I warred with loving and hating both Knight and Elliot at times, okay maybe not hating but I certainly wanted to knock some serious sense into both of them. I loved how even though Knight and Elliot are the focus of the story we got to see Laurent and Beast too and learn even more about Fane, which I didn't think I could hate more after book 1 but yeah, its possible. Simply put, book 2 of Kings of Hell MC is amazing and perhaps fun is not the right word considering the content but its definitely enjoyable and I am eagerly looking forward to Jake's story in book 3: On Your Knees, Prospect.
RATING:
Summary:
Monsters Hollow #.5
Welcome to Monsters Hollow, where love knows no bounds—even in a town full of monsters!
When Principal Emrys Bogey sets his sights on the new schoolteacher, Jayden Bell, he's determined to win his heart. But as a bogeyman, he knows his unconventional nature and intimidating appearance might be too much for a human to handle. Can Principal Bogey find a way to woo his crush without scaring him away? Maybe there’s more to the sweet Jayden Bell than meets the eye…
Buckle up for the prequel ushering in a new cozy M/M monster romance series by Chloe Archer where the sparks fly and the spice sizzles!
Summary:
Outcast Pack #1
They belong to rival wolf packs...so why can't they keep their hands off each other?
Paramedic Con Albury loves nothing more than spending his time off either as a wolf or at night clubs. He’s always looking for a good time, and he usually finds it. While he has aligned himself with the Outcast Pack for protection, he tells himself he prefers to be alone.
Zach Ellis has spent his life preparing to take over the pack just like everyone expects. Pack and family come first. But he needs more than duty and giving into temptation and falling into Con’s bed is easier than it should be.
But the fallout will threaten everything the Outcast Pack stands for: freedom and found family.
Discover the Outcast Pack mm paranormal wolf shifter romance series. Join the wolves as they fight to make their pack official and fall in love along the way. Each book has a new couple and a HEA with no cliffhangers and no mpreg.
Wolf Heart is a steamy, gay, enemies to lovers romance between rival wolf shifters.
Summary:
13 Kingdoms #1
Sebastian might have the power to summon animals, but winning Jack over? Far more difficult.
As first encounters go, Jack and Sebastian’s isn’t ideal, leaving Jack nursing a grudge he’s not about to let go of in a hurry. Yet, if Jack is to find his missing sister, and Sebastian is to rescue his captured prince, they’ll need to set their differences aside and work as a team.
Jack is stubborn and somewhat volatile. Sebastian is vain and clearly in love with himself. But as the unlikely companions face all manner of dangers together, they grow closer. Rescuing the prince should be easy. Rescuing him from an impenetrable tower guarded by dragon-shifting knights? Okay, that part is harder.
But once the adventure is over, letting Sebastian go might be the hardest thing Jack has ever had to do.
The Reluctant Companion is an 85k MM enemies to lover’s story featuring murderous orcs, deadly creatures, and marauding bandits. Opposites attract in this light-hearted fantasy romance which mixes humor with action and adventure. Meet a whole cast of colorful characters in the first book of the 13 kingdoms series.
Possessive Love
Sometimes the high road leads straight to Hell.
Avriel
Turning twenty-one is almost universally seen as the age of transformation, of coming into one's own, reaching adulthood, and sometimes even as a symbol of death and rebirth. I never knew how literal that last part could be until, on my twenty-first birthday, I died and was resurrected as a demon.
Well, half-demon and would have died if I wasn’t prophesized to become the Antichrist and take over the world. All I wanted was to survive graduation, achieve my dream of becoming an artist, and maybe have Marc, the hot new guy who I thought liked me for me, be anything other than a lust demon hoping to guide me on my path to the apocalypse.
Marchosias
Occasionally, ya gotta make yer own destiny, my lovelies, so when I found a thin spot in the veil between Hell and earth, I leapt right through it. Sensing the soon-to-be successor to the throne of Hell, I insinuated myself on campus and into his life to await his awakening and fell to my knees in supplication once he did. Pity Avi is so set on denying his destiny.
But I can convince him. I will serve and aid and arouse my master in whatever manner necessary to get what I want. I’ve been an underling, a doormat, a lesser demon for far too long, and his path to glory is going to be mine.
Son of the Arch Demon is part of the MM paranormal romance collaboration Possessive Love.
Random Paranormal Tales of 2023
My Dark Knight by KA Merikan
The moon was high up the sky tonight, framed by puffy, thick clouds. Knight pushed Elliot toward the woods. “Where’s your car?”
Fat drops of cold rain hit Elliot’s face as soon as they were out the door. Of course. Because this night hasn’t been bad enough already. At least he still had all his teeth. Maybe Knight would let him off the hook with a few bruises after all?
“If you uncuff me, I’ll go myself.”
“Ha. In your dreams, Count. I wouldn’t believe you even if you shut down that idiotic YouTube channel to appease me,” Knight said, leading Elliot toward the woods. Despite the ice-cold wetness soaking into Elliot’s stockings, he was glad for the fallen leaves, as they protected him from stones and sticks that would have likely hurt his feet otherwise.
And even though Knight was his potential doom, Elliot still wondered what the man actually thought of him. At the end of the day it was better to be seen as reckless than pathetic.
“It’s outside the property,” Elliot mumbled.
“Good. I’m up for a little walk,” Knight said when they dove between the trees. Darkness instantly became so thick Elliot could barely see what was within an arm’s reach, but Knight navigated the path just fine, as if he knew the way by heart. His arm was shockingly hot on Elliot’s shoulder, streaming warmth all over his body. Clad in only the inexpensive suit of thin fabric, Elliot was already sensing spikes of cold biting at his flesh. His stockings would surely be ruined by the end of this walk of shame.
“So… your interest in your ancestors. It’s not an incest thing, is it?” Elliot had to fight to prevent his teeth from rattling. He frowned, realizing that what he said came out wrong. “I don’t mean that in a bad way.”
Knight exhaled loudly and squeezed Elliot’s shoulder even harder. “You’re completely out of it. How could this even occur to you? Not everyone is jerking off to dead guys.”
They turned into a path Elliot hadn’t even noticed at first despite his eyes having gotten used to the dark. This was not his night. If he survived Knight’s punishment, then he’d die of pneumonia anyway.
“Stop saying that. William wasn’t just anyone. He was special!”
“Special how? You mean because he had the unusual hobby of murdering people? And, only young men known to be handsome. We both know what that means.”
“So he was gay. Big deal. With the club president you guys have, this shouldn’t be an issue.” Elliot dared to glance up at Knight’s face. The man was too handsome to be real. All symmetry, cheekbones, and a nose that had surely never been broken.
Knight snorted. “If you look at how serial killers operate it’s more than likely he was also sexually assaulting his victims. Is that the kind of thing you’re into? Maybe I shouldn’t rough you up too much, or you’ll come back for more.”
Elliot’s whole body was so cold violent tremors went through it every now and then, but his face still went hot at the notion. “Sure, he killed people, but you don’t know what those men were like. You don’t know what they’d done to him.” Elliot tasted powder on his tongue and bit his lips in shame when he realized his intricate but cheap makeup was now dripping down his face.
“Really? You think a baker or a clerk could hurt a man who owned a large estate and was part of the high society?” Knight asked and stopped, letting go of Elliot. For a moment, Elliot’s frantic brain told him to run, but before he could consider it, a heavenly warmth covered his shoulders. The scent of leather and the same aroma he’d sensed on Knight had Elliot’s insides flaring up with butterflies.
Covered by Knight’s leather jacket, he suddenly forgot what they’d been talking about. At least the tears that spilled down his face shouldn’t be so visible in the dark. Why would have Knight done such a thing? Why give up his own comfort for Elliot’s sake? It simply didn’t add up.
Elliot looked up at Knight, embarrassed about the way he choked up at the gesture. “They could have still broken his heart.”
Knight watched him for several seconds. “One day, someone’s gonna murder you, you know that? This kind of thinking’s gonna send some homicidal douchebag your way, and off you go,” he said, poking Elliot’s forehead with his finger.
Elliot looked away, all kinds of restless. The warm leather jacket felt like a shield from all the world’s evil, and he loved that feeling, even though his mind alerted him constantly that something was amiss. At least he was getting the vibe that homosexuality didn’t bother Knight. “How do you know I wouldn’t kill them first?”
Knight crooked his head so abruptly some of his thick hair rolled back to uncover his shoulder. After giving away his jacket, he was clad only in a T-shirt that didn’t exactly cling to his chest but showcased it in the best way possible. “You? With no meat on those bones?”
The sense of indignity pushed Elliot forward, and he started walking even though he had no idea where he was going. “All you need is good aim.”
Fat drops of cold rain hit Elliot’s face as soon as they were out the door. Of course. Because this night hasn’t been bad enough already. At least he still had all his teeth. Maybe Knight would let him off the hook with a few bruises after all?
“If you uncuff me, I’ll go myself.”
“Ha. In your dreams, Count. I wouldn’t believe you even if you shut down that idiotic YouTube channel to appease me,” Knight said, leading Elliot toward the woods. Despite the ice-cold wetness soaking into Elliot’s stockings, he was glad for the fallen leaves, as they protected him from stones and sticks that would have likely hurt his feet otherwise.
And even though Knight was his potential doom, Elliot still wondered what the man actually thought of him. At the end of the day it was better to be seen as reckless than pathetic.
“It’s outside the property,” Elliot mumbled.
“Good. I’m up for a little walk,” Knight said when they dove between the trees. Darkness instantly became so thick Elliot could barely see what was within an arm’s reach, but Knight navigated the path just fine, as if he knew the way by heart. His arm was shockingly hot on Elliot’s shoulder, streaming warmth all over his body. Clad in only the inexpensive suit of thin fabric, Elliot was already sensing spikes of cold biting at his flesh. His stockings would surely be ruined by the end of this walk of shame.
“So… your interest in your ancestors. It’s not an incest thing, is it?” Elliot had to fight to prevent his teeth from rattling. He frowned, realizing that what he said came out wrong. “I don’t mean that in a bad way.”
Knight exhaled loudly and squeezed Elliot’s shoulder even harder. “You’re completely out of it. How could this even occur to you? Not everyone is jerking off to dead guys.”
They turned into a path Elliot hadn’t even noticed at first despite his eyes having gotten used to the dark. This was not his night. If he survived Knight’s punishment, then he’d die of pneumonia anyway.
“Stop saying that. William wasn’t just anyone. He was special!”
“Special how? You mean because he had the unusual hobby of murdering people? And, only young men known to be handsome. We both know what that means.”
“So he was gay. Big deal. With the club president you guys have, this shouldn’t be an issue.” Elliot dared to glance up at Knight’s face. The man was too handsome to be real. All symmetry, cheekbones, and a nose that had surely never been broken.
Knight snorted. “If you look at how serial killers operate it’s more than likely he was also sexually assaulting his victims. Is that the kind of thing you’re into? Maybe I shouldn’t rough you up too much, or you’ll come back for more.”
Elliot’s whole body was so cold violent tremors went through it every now and then, but his face still went hot at the notion. “Sure, he killed people, but you don’t know what those men were like. You don’t know what they’d done to him.” Elliot tasted powder on his tongue and bit his lips in shame when he realized his intricate but cheap makeup was now dripping down his face.
“Really? You think a baker or a clerk could hurt a man who owned a large estate and was part of the high society?” Knight asked and stopped, letting go of Elliot. For a moment, Elliot’s frantic brain told him to run, but before he could consider it, a heavenly warmth covered his shoulders. The scent of leather and the same aroma he’d sensed on Knight had Elliot’s insides flaring up with butterflies.
Covered by Knight’s leather jacket, he suddenly forgot what they’d been talking about. At least the tears that spilled down his face shouldn’t be so visible in the dark. Why would have Knight done such a thing? Why give up his own comfort for Elliot’s sake? It simply didn’t add up.
Elliot looked up at Knight, embarrassed about the way he choked up at the gesture. “They could have still broken his heart.”
Knight watched him for several seconds. “One day, someone’s gonna murder you, you know that? This kind of thinking’s gonna send some homicidal douchebag your way, and off you go,” he said, poking Elliot’s forehead with his finger.
Elliot looked away, all kinds of restless. The warm leather jacket felt like a shield from all the world’s evil, and he loved that feeling, even though his mind alerted him constantly that something was amiss. At least he was getting the vibe that homosexuality didn’t bother Knight. “How do you know I wouldn’t kill them first?”
Knight crooked his head so abruptly some of his thick hair rolled back to uncover his shoulder. After giving away his jacket, he was clad only in a T-shirt that didn’t exactly cling to his chest but showcased it in the best way possible. “You? With no meat on those bones?”
The sense of indignity pushed Elliot forward, and he started walking even though he had no idea where he was going. “All you need is good aim.”
The Bogeyman and the Schoolteacher by Chloe Archer
Chapter 1
EMRYS
Seated in the chair in front of my large oak desk, little Billy of the DarkWing gargoyle clan stares up at me with wide, worried eyes. Like most gargoyles, he has gray skin and a more pronounced brow line that juts out slightly. His large, pointed ears angle toward the back of his head below a shock of messy black hair. At the moment, his leathery wings wrap around him protectively.
I frown and he gives a little gasp.
I attempt a smile, but that flashes my fangs and his big, dark eyes widen.
With an internal sigh, I lean back in my chair and retreat deeper into the folds of my cloak. Well, as much as my horns will allow, anyway.
Billy relaxes.
“Do you understand why flying in the classroom is not allowed?” I keep my voice even but stern.
He looks down and hunches his shoulders. “But I have wings. Sometimes I gotta stretch them,” he mumbles.
I arch an eyebrow. “And you need to drop spitballs on your peers in the process?”
Billy shrugs, his body language turning sulky.
Sometimes it’s hard having to be the one to curtail seemingly harmless, childish fun. But I have a school to run, and everyone’s safety is my primary responsibility.
I clear my throat meaningfully and Billy looks up at me again. “Such behavior is unacceptable. If it happens again, you’ll be serving detention with me. In the meantime, you’ll stay after class today and clean up the mess you made. Do you understand?” I may be a bogeyman, but I believe in helping students learn from their mistakes rather than simply punishing them.
He glances up with a relieved smile and nods rapidly. “Yes, Principal Boogey.”
I sigh aloud this time. “It’s Principal Bogey, not Boogey. It’s the surname of all bogeypeople.”
Billy tilts his head, his round-cheeked face instantly full of curiosity. “Isn’t boogeyman the same thing? Whydya have to say it all weird, Principal Boogey?”
Getting into semantics over British versus American English with a nine-year-old is really not worth my time today. Or ever. I encounter similar confusion among the parents of students on a regular basis. We are living in the United States, so I suppose I must make some concessions for their linguistic variations. But it is rather annoying at times.
I clear my throat and get back to the matter at hand. “Since this is your first infraction, I’m going to let you off with a warning today. No need to talk with your parents. In future, I expect you to behave yourself like the upstanding Mystic Hollow Elementary student I know you can be.” I focus on Billy and wave my hand at the open door to my office, the sharp, black claws at my fingertips pointing the way. “You may go back to class, but listen to your teacher and—” I lower my voice to its most serious register, “—behave.”
Billy grins widely and goes flying out the door—literally—his high-pitched words trailing after him in his wake. “Thanks, Principal Boogey! Please don’t hide under my bed!” His cackle of merriment echoes down the hallway.
I sigh yet again. Bogeypeople don’t really hide under beds to scare children.
Well, okay, some do.
Hiding under beds is in our nature, after all. It’s just not for me—I’d much rather help children than scare them in such an old-fashioned way—no matter what my archaic grandfather would no doubt have to say on the matter. He has firm notions on such things.
My godsend of an assistant pops her red-haired head in my office door. “You have a call on line one.”
“Thank you, Agatha.” I give her a warm smile, which doesn’t intimidate her in the slightest.
It also helps that she’s a lamia. She’s used to others misjudging her based on her appearance. The human legends about her people eating children are completely bogus nonsense. Here in Mystic Hollow she’s finally found safety and community, just like so many of the rest of us who have been unfairly labeled “dangerous” or “monstrous” based solely on our appearance.
She smiles back and slithers away on her serpentine lower body.
Clearing my throat, I pick up my phone and carefully select the correct button. Using phones can be tricky when you have claws, and don’t get me started on the challenges of cell phones with stupid scratchable screens and teeny-tiny digital keypads.
“Good afternoon. Principal Bogey speaking.”
The line’s silent.
“Hello?”
A deep, gravelly voice comes over the line. “Hello. My name is Dr. Targan Wildethorne. You might have heard of me—”
I sit up straight in my chair, senses on high alert. “Professor Wildethorne! I am quite familiar with your work. Your study of orc history was a scintillating read. I hear you’re currently working on a book about orc folklore?” Do I sound too much like a creepy fan? I take a deep breath and tone it down a bit. Still, I can’t believe I’m talking with such an esteemed historian among my Otherkind brethren.
“Erm, quite right. It’s been a daunting three-year research project, but I’ve collected all my data and am finally starting to pen the book now.”
I try to swallow the excitement bubbling up inside my chest. Dr. Wildethorne is an award-winning orc historian and scholar. Although he specializes in research on his own people, he’s also written some compelling studies of other species like the gargoyle and the minotaur. I secretly hope he’ll write one on my brethren someday. He’s taught at many universities over the years and recently retired right here in Mystic Hollow to focus on writing more books. It was quite the talk of the town when he decided to settle down among us after so many years traveling the globe from one prestigious institution to the next. Sadly, he’s remained something of a recluse ever since arriving, rarely seen about town and preferring instead to spend most of his time in the beautiful three-story Victorian house he bought down by the lake.
There’s an awkward pause and then he continues in a more halting fashion, his voice full of emotion I wasn’t expecting. “Due to some unexpected tragic circumstances, I’ve become the guardian of young orcling twins who lost their mother recently. As a confirmed bachelor, I haven’t the slightest notion how to care for them. I…er…was hoping you might have some suggestions? I didn’t know who else to call.” He gives a nervous, almost desperate laugh. “I thought perhaps the principal of an elementary school might be able to offer some guidance.”
I try not to hyperventilate. Such a famous and renowned scholar is asking for my help? I’m torn between being honored and slightly terrified I could mess this up. Get a grip, Emrys. You’re a professional! I force myself to take deep, even breaths as I think. “How old are these children?”
“Eight.”
My heart instantly aches. So young to lose their mother. Life is too unfair sometimes.
I resolve to do everything in my power to help these children. “First, let me express my deepest condolences for your, and their, loss.”
“Thank you.” The gruffness in Targan’s voice can’t conceal his pain. The wound is obviously still fresh for him too.
“If the children are going to be with you here in Mystic Hollow, they’ll find a wonderful and supportive community,” I assure him in a soft voice. “But they will also need to be registered for school. Have you thought about what you want to do in terms of their education?”
“They’ve been homeschooled for the last year while…uh…while some things were happening,” Targan says mysteriously. “I’ve hired a private tutor to continue that work for the rest of the spring term. After summer break, I intend to have them join Mystic Hollow Elementary. I’m confident that more social interaction with peers their age again will be beneficial.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Sounds like a wise course of action moving forward. I can arrange to have my assistant send you all the necessary paperwork to get them enrolled for fall classes.”
“Excellent. Thank you.” Targan clears his throat and pauses. “The children…they’re grieving the loss of their mother quite hard. I don’t know what to do to help them.”
Once again, my heart aches for these poor younglings. Losing a parent at such a tender age is always traumatizing. “Have you considered lining up some counseling or therapy for them?” I hastily add, “And, if I’m not overstepping, perhaps for you as well?”
“Yes. My dear friend, Vashyk DarkWing, is helping arrange that.”
I brighten. “Ah, I know Mr. DarkWing. He’s one of the school’s primary benefactors.” And the uncle of our loveable little troublemaker, Billy.
“Vash may be a gruff gargoyle on the outside, but he has a heart of gold.” Targan chuckles. “He just refuses to admit it. That tough, no-nonsense exterior sort of comes with his line of work.”
I clear my throat and return to the topic at hand. “While you all might benefit from some individualized therapy, I would strongly encourage family counseling as well.”
“I…hadn’t thought of that,” Targan murmurs.
Poor guy. Even over the phone I’m getting a good sense of how overwhelmed he is. “I know you mentioned this situation being new for you, one you weren’t prepared for. I’d guess you’re struggling a bit with the day-to-day business of parenting, am I right?”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Targan heaves a heavy sigh. “I’ve known the twins since they were born, but I was never anything more than a pseudo-uncle figure they saw every now and then. We aren’t actually blood related. The situation with their mother was…complicated.”
“All the more reason family counseling could be so beneficial for all of you. It can further assist you in coming to terms with your shared loss, but also help you learn how to work together and function moving forward. If you’d like, I can recommend a counselor in town who’s worked with some of the families I know.” I can’t keep the passion out of my voice. I know how much they’ll need this.
Targan indicates his interest and I share the counselor’s name and contact information, but he seems reluctant to hang up. Clearly there’s more on his mind.
I decide to ask some gently probing questions. “How are the children adjusting? How are you adapting?”
That opens the floodgates, and for the next five minutes, Targan Wildethorne dumps all his trials and tribulations on me. Fortunately, I have a lot of experience helping stressed-out parents and I listen attentively throughout. When he finally winds down, sounding utterly lost and alone, I ask, “Have you considered hiring a professional live-in nanny? Someone who could help care for the children and show you the ropes, as they say?”
“A…nanny?” Targan says almost wonderingly and then inhales sharply. “That’s…a brilliant idea.” He pauses. “I don’t know about live-in help though. I guard my privacy and personal space quite fervently.”
I can’t hold back a grin. Being able to help families is a huge part of why I became an educator. “Of course. That’s an understandable concern. But a professional will be discreet. You can easily negotiate a contract that suits your needs. We have several lawyers in town who could assist.”
He hums in thought. “I have my own attorney. I’ll reach out to her today.”
“Excellent.”
He hesitates. “May I ask, how would I go about finding a professional nanny, especially for two orclings? I have no experience in this realm. Never thought I’d ever have children under my roof—for more than a short visit, anyway.”
I glance at the business card I still have on my desk in a special spot. After all, it changed my life. “Are you familiar with ASSES?”
Targan coughs. “Excuse me?”
I chuckle. “The company’s acronym is memorable, if a bit unfortunate. I’m referring to the All-Species Specialized Employment Services.”
Targan grunts thoughtfully. “I may have heard the name before but I’ve never used their services.”
“I highly recommend them. We often use them for hiring exceptional teachers and staff. Why, even our most recent hire, Mr. Jayden Bell, was recruited through them.” My mind immediately conjures a vision of the amazing human teacher I’ve had an all-consuming crush on for the last six months.
“Ah, yes. I believe I heard about that. It was the prime topic of gossip all over town for a while—the first ever human teacher at Mystic Hollow Elementary, right?”
I feel my cheeks warm just at the thought of Jayden, er…I mean, Mr. Bell. “That’s correct. All-Species Specialized Employment Services doesn’t discriminate when it comes to identity. They recommend the best individuals for the job based on your specifications. I’ll admit I was initially a little hesitant about hiring Mr. Bell. Not because I didn’t think he could do the job or because he’s human, but I was worried that he might not fit in and would end up leaving. Then we’d be right back at square one. But I’m glad I trusted ASSES to know their business. Mr. Bell is one of our most beloved teachers already, and he fits right in with our staff.”
“Good to know. I appreciate the tip. I’ll be sure to investigate this agency and see if they can help me find someone suitable. Right now, I’m on a deadline for my book and I need all the assistance I can get.”
“Well, I do hope it all works out. Don’t hesitate to contact me again if you have any more questions. I’d also be happy to give you and the children a tour of the school any time. Like I mentioned earlier, I’ll have my assistant mail you the necessary paperwork, and we can get the children registered for fall classes.”
He agrees with obvious relief and shares his mailing information with me, offering his thanks once again before we end the call.
I lean back in my chair and smile, pleased that I could help and delighted at the prospect of having new children join our school. I have every confidence our students and staff will help these two young orclings find community and friends to support them as they adjust to their new life after such a sad loss.
Mystic Hollow has healed the hearts of many who’ve come here over the years. Situated in upstate New York, our quaint town was long ago declared a Sanctuary Haven for Otherkind who wish to live in safety and harmony. Similar towns exist on all continents, each with the same purpose. They’re all protected by magic, ensuring that no one may enter who wishes harm to those within the secure parameters of a town’s boundaries.
In general, there haven’t been many humans who’ve wanted to reside in Mystic Hollow. Even though humanity has known about Otherkind for hundreds of years, people still fear differences they don’t—and often aren’t willing to—understand. To be fair, many of the beings who reside in Mystic Hollow definitely give proof to the town’s local nickname of “Monsters Hollow” among humans. Most of the residents here are essentially the “monsters” from human myth and folklore—and far more real than humanity’s ancestors ever imagined. However, most of those stories are woefully inaccurate and infused with fear-mongering nonsense.
There’s a knock on my open door. I look up, and it’s as if my earlier comments conjured him. Jayden Bell walks in—and it’s just like the first time I saw him. My heart starts hammering wildly and my horns tingle. Worse yet, I can’t stop myself from openly staring at the man. He’s a vision. With his sparkling blue eyes, his floppy light brown hair streaked with copper and gold, and his constant happy smile, he seems to possess a personal aura that’s almost too bright for me to look at. But he’s so entrancing that I can’t avert my eyes.
While his beauty is captivating, it’s his kind-hearted nature and his love for his students that has truly won me over. Jayden is a rarity among humans. He has never shown fear toward me, or any other being in town. He accepts everyone as they are. It’s no wonder his students all adore him. I feel much the same.
Jayden smiles at me sunnily and I find myself smiling back, inadvertently revealing my fangs. I instinctively reach up to cover my mouth, but he doesn’t even flinch. I should know better than to hide, but I grew up in an integrated school among humans who were not always as accepting as Jayden is. Certain habits learned out of fear die hard, and not showing my fangs to humans is one of my most ingrained ones.
Clearing my throat, I remove my hand from my mouth and place it awkwardly on the desk, not quite knowing what to do with it.
Is it hot in here all of a sudden? My palm seems to be sweating. And maybe my forehead.
Gathering what little composure I can, I say, “Mr. Bell. How can I help you?”
Good. That sounded appropriate and professional. I am the principal of this school, after all.
Jayden takes a seat and gives me a warm, inviting smile that turns me to mush inside. “How are you today? You look happy.”
I probably do. I’m still riding that high of helping others in need. “I suppose I am. Not too long ago I had a call from Targan Wildethorne. Have you heard of him?”
Jayden blinks those big blue eyes at me. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t.”
I quickly explain who he is and why he reached out to me, adding, “I’m only telling you this because, given their age, the children will be in your class next fall. But please keep what I told you private as this is a delicate subject.”
Jayden’s eyes are brimming with tears and he wipes at them with a sniff. “Those poor babies! Of course, I’ll keep this information to myself, and I’ll do everything I can to help them adjust to school and make new friends in my class. You can count on me.”
Butterflies take flight in my stomach. “I have no doubt.”
Unexpectedly, Jayden straightens in his chair and a look of determination crosses his face. “I know this might seem a bit unexpected, but I came here with a purpose today.”
I swallow worriedly. My greatest fear echoes in my mind. Please don’t be quitting!
His next words obliterate my anxious thoughts. “I want to ask you out. On a date. With me.”
My heart skips a beat and then starts racing. Jayden Bell is asking me out? What is happening right now?
I covertly pinch myself and jolt from the pain. “Uh…” I manage after an awkward moment.
Jayden’s cheeks flush but he boldly holds his ground. “I like you,” he blurts out. “And I think you might like me too.” He gulps, his Adam’s Apple bobbing in his throat in a way that makes me suddenly want to lick it. “What do you say to dinner?”
This is a dream come true. If I hadn’t pinched myself, I’d think I was dreaming. But my fantasies quickly come crashing down and an unpleasant ache settles in my chest. “I would love to go with you—”
His face brightens.
“—but I’m technically your boss.” Jayden’s face falls and I somehow manage to grit out the rest. “Some might view it as an abuse of my power, or you trying to curry special favor with me. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize your job or your standing among the other teachers.”
Once again, Jayden’s expression softens. “I understand your concerns. I’ve had them too. That’s what’s held me back for so long. But I’ve come up with a plan to solve our problem.”
I blink at him, mystified but with a faint spark of hope igniting deep down inside. “What do you mean?”
He puffs out his chest with pride. “I spoke with Vice Principal Ironfist. She’s agreed to put through a special request with the school board to make her my direct supervisor if we want to date. That way we can ensure there aren’t any issues.”
For the first time in months, optimism surges in my chest. Could such a simple answer solve the problem that has been holding me back from pursuing Jayden for the last six months?
Also, I’m still having trouble believing he likes me. Likes me enough to go to Griselda Ironfist and ask for a solution to date me. My horns vibrate with hope.
“Call her,” he urges with a smug smile that makes me want to laugh. He looks far too proud of himself and utterly adorable.
With a slight shake of my hand, I grab the phone receiver and dial my vice principal’s extension.
“Hello?” she answers in a gruff, irritated voice.
“Griselda—” I start to say.
“I’ve told you a thousand times, Emrys. Call me Griz. No one calls me by my full first name if they want to keep all their limbs attached.” The menace in her words comes through loud and clear. Even I know better than to mess with a troll when she means business.
I clear my throat. “Deepest apologies…erm, Griz.”
She gives a loud snort of amusement. “Let me guess, that precious human teacher has finally gotten up the nerve to ask you out. Good for him. I like his gumption. Light knows, you weren’t going to be the one to make the first move.”
I feel my cheeks warm at her words. “I’m his boss! It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to ask him out.” I flash Jayden a quick glance. “I would never want him to feel pressured to accept an overture from me simply because I’m his supervisor.”
The glow of affection in Jayden’s eyes makes me wish for things I don’t even know are possible.
“Well, worry no more,” Griselda—Griz—says jovially. “He and I have worked things out. I can put through a special request to be his direct supervisor with the school board today. You probably don’t realize it since you’ve only been here for three years, but we have a rather long history of folks falling in love at the school. Given how small our town is, and the special circumstances we find ourselves in as a Sanctuary Haven for all beings, the town government has a fairly open-minded attitude toward workplace relationships. It shouldn’t be a problem.”
I want to weep tears of joy and frustration in equal measure. Why hadn’t I known about this? I’ve been tying myself up in knots over my interest in Jayden while being firmly convinced I could never transgress my professional boundaries with him.
My eyes focus on the sweet man in front of me, his visage clear, open, and honest. By some unfathomable miracle, he really does seem to want to be with me. He even figured out how to make it feasible for both of us while we continue to work together. I owe him the same kind of courage he’s shown me.
I straighten in my chair. “Please submit the paperwork. Today.”
Jayden’s grin goes super nova bright.
“Sure thing,” Griz says. “They should get back to us in a day or two, if you can wait until then.”
I’ve waited six long months. A few days more won’t matter. “Of course.”
“Good. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear.”
“Thanks, Griz. I appreciate your help and support.”
She scoffs. “No need for thanks. You should have come to me ages ago. I could have explained this all to you. I thought you were holding back because he’s human.”
I can’t blame her for that assumption. Interspecies dating can be challenging, especially when it comes to dating a human. While I do have some concerns, my feelings for Jayden long ago overrode most of them. “No, I was primarily concerned about the integrity of our professional relationship being maintained. I’m relieved to know there are viable options for us.”
“Good luck, Emrys. Jayden Bell’s one of the good ones. Don’t fuck this up.”
Her words give me strength. “I don’t intend to.”
We say our goodbyes and hang up. A slow grin spreads over my face as I regard Jayden. “She’s putting in the request today and we should hear back in the next day or two.”
He wriggles in his seat with obvious excitement. “How about we tentatively plan on dinner Friday night? We should have heard back by then.”
“That sounds perfect.” I square my shoulders and tell him what I’ve dreamed of saying for months. “I like you too, and I very much want to get to know you better.”
The shrill ring of the school bell resounds throughout the building, and Jayden gives me a regretful smile. “My free period is over, so I’ve got to get going. Let me handle the dinner arrangements, okay?”
“Sure. I can’t wait.”
He hurries out of my office, and I spend the rest of the day with a huge smile on my face, fangs out and all.
Wolf Heart by TJ Nichols
Zach watched as the wolf—nothing else it could be from the size and shape—belted along the beach like it had the devil on its tail. The moonlight caught its silver fur and made the animal seem like an illusion.
Zach sat motionless on the rock and let the breeze carry the scent of the animal to him. He knew it wasn’t an actual wolf, which meant it was a shifter.
This was the wolf that had marked the signpost. Zach smiled. In all the time they’d both been coming here, they’d never bumped into each other. And they shouldn’t tonight even though curiosity to find out who he was burned in his veins.
They were both here for the same reason—to run and enjoy the feeling of freedom, no matter how fleeting—though Zach was still a man. Just sitting and listening to the waves break over the rocks and let the salt spray coast his skin was almost enough. His skin prickled with anticipation.
He tipped his face to the moonlight. There was something in the air that had drawn them both here and urged them to run wild.
Usually, Zach would run on pack lands, but his family and extended family would be there, and he didn’t want to deal with them and their kindly worded prying questions. He was going to become the pack leader soon, and they wanted to know when he was going to find a mate.
A mate.
By that, they meant woman.
In his pack, there was no consideration that he might want something different. And he knew better than to say anything. His pack fell on the traditional side of things. They followed the old rules. Pack first, and anyone who put it at risk was kicked out.
Given that the rules were made during the witch hunts, that meant people like him—people who wanted more than the life planned out from the moment he was born. He was raised a leader from his first breath, and all he had to do was obey.
He would conform, and he’d marry someone they thought suitable. If he didn’t indulge the urge, then maybe it would go away. He’d been hoping that for the last ten years. He’d dated girls in high school and done all the right things. For a while, he’d even convinced himself. Almost.
The wolf enjoying the beach ran into the water and then raced back onto the sand, dancing with the water and the moonlight. Zach wanted to be part of that fun and to shed the responsibilities that consumed his life, so it was no longer his to live. He could feel the wolf’s enjoyment as if it were his own.
Before he could gather his human doubts and fears, he stripped and shifted, leaving his clothes on the rock.
In wolf form, he paused as animal concerns took over. The other wolf may not welcome him. What if it wasn’t friendly or didn’t want company? If he was injured in a fight, what would his father say?
He’d probably only worry if Zach lost. He’d want to know where it had happened; then he’d want to find the other wolf and make him pay. And that would mean giving up the location of his beach. He needed this place.
Joining in was a bad idea.
He sat back down, the need to run thrumming in his blood. His blood was the rush of the ocean lapping at the sand. The other wolf darted and leapt, playing a game with the waves licking the shore like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Zach huffed out a breath that whined out of his nose. He froze, but it was too late. The gray wolf stopped and cocked its head. He knew he wasn’t alone. Zach gritted his teeth; he’d ruined the moment with a careless noise. He could’ve watched a bit longer, and now he had to get up and do the right thing.
He padded out of the shadows and into the moonlight.
He wasn’t sleek and silver; he was the color of dirty snow. An unattractive mix of gray and brown. His footsteps hesitated. What if this other wolf didn’t want him here, or worse, didn’t want to know him at all? For a moment, Zach considered lowering his head and approaching submissively, but this was as much his beach as it was the other wolf’s, and there was more than enough for them to share tonight.
The silver wolf cocked his head as if to ask who he was and what he wanted.
Zach opened his mouth in a wolfy grin, hoping that the other wolf recognized his scent from the other post. He wasn’t claiming territory. He just wanted someone to run with. To play with.
While they couldn’t speak like this, the micro-movements of ears and tails and everything in between more than filled the vocal gaps. Zach wagged his tail in greeting, then changed direction and walked to the ocean, deliberately putting his foot on a little wave.
Fuck, the sea was cold.
He pranced back.
The silver wolf was closer now and still as wary.
Zach wanted to explain that he hadn’t meant to interrupt his run, but it had looked fun, and he’d wanted to be a part of that. When his pack ran, it was serious. Only teens played as they learned to fight like a wolf.
This was something else.
The silver wolf pounced on a wave, but his attention was on Zach. Zach put his front paws out and stuck his butt in the air, the universal dog language for play. He might be a wolf, but he was more like an oversized dog.
When the silver wolf didn’t respond straight away, Zach bounced up, glad he wasn’t human or he’d be blushing. He’d come on too strong, like he was desperate for a friend or something. He turned and raced along the water’s edge like he didn’t care what the silver wolf thought. The waves lapped at his feet and splashed up his side.
He didn’t get far before the other wolf joined him and then overtook him. The silver wolf shoulder checked him, and he stumbled into the water before getting his feet under him. But only for a heartbeat.
The other wolf knocked him into the waves and bounded away.
Asshole!
Then the silver wolf spun and dropped down, stretching out his front paws, tail wagging, inviting Zach to join the game.
Zach raced over and crashed into him before sprinting away and prancing along the shoreline to dance in the star-lit waves. Why had he never done this before? He came here to shift and sit and run. But never play.
Together, they darted in and out of the water and took turns in chasing each other up the beach. Overhead, the moon slid over the sky.
Chest heaving, he bumped the silver wolf. He should be thinking about going home instead of continuing the game.
The silver wolf didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned into Zach. For a bit, they walked along the beach, shoulder to shoulder, tails swishing against each other.
Zach breathed in the wolf's scent. He didn’t know him as a man, but if they ever crossed paths, he’d recognize him by smell alone. There was a warmth and a tang that settled pleasantly at the back of his throat. He glanced at the silver wolf with the blue eyes, and his heartbeat quickened.
He stumbled in the soft sand, breaking the moment.
He shouldn’t be feeling that. Like this with him.
The other wolf looked at him, and Zach swore there was a hot gleam in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Then the silver wolf leaned over and licked the end of Zach’s nose.
The Reluctant Companion by HL Day
Chapter One
Jack
I lifted my head to peer across the tavern. Did that elf have a tail? For a moment there, I could have sworn there was something long, black, and curly waving in the air behind him. When the elf turned to look my way, I quickly averted my gaze, realizing too late that there was no tail and all I was doing was staring at his ass. The last few days had been difficult enough without getting into a fight.
It had all seemed so simple when I’d left my farm in Riverbrook a week ago to track down my missing sister. I’d travel to the neighboring villages. I’d enquire about a woman with distinctive red hair, which was such a rarity in this kingdom that she’d stand out like a sore thumb, and I’d find her in no time. She’d return home with me, and everything would go back to the way it had been before, where everyone was happy.
Except… Annabelle had disappeared into thin air. No one had seen her. No one had heard of her. No one even knew who she was. I was no closer to finding her than when I’d first set out. It was painful to recall how upset my mother had been about Annabelle’s disappearance. She did her best to hide it, but constant crying took its toll, both on her and those around her.
It had been decided that someone needed to go and find her, and despite being the youngest of my siblings at twenty-six, I’d volunteered. My mother had said that it was a bad idea, that she wasn’t willing to risk losing two of her children, but I’d seen the hope shining in her eyes when she’d said it. Deep down, she’d wanted me to go. We’d scraped together what money we could as a family, and here I was.
I pulled my gaze away from the murky depths of my tankard of ale to the leather pouch on the table. It had contained considerably more gold coins at the start of the week than it did now. I’d been careful. I really had. But food and drink cost money. As did having a roof over my head at night.
At my current rate of spending, I had about another week, and then it would be all gone. I rubbed a weary hand over my face while I contemplated my options. The obvious solution would be to return home, to admit defeat. But then I’d have nothing to show for it, and we would be right back at square one, no wiser as to where my sister had disappeared to. And it wasn’t as if I only wanted to find Annabelle for my mother’s sake. I wanted to find her for me too. I was just as worried. We all were.
I lifted my head to stare around the tavern, its occupants strangely fascinating to someone who had rarely left their village before. Riverbrook might attract the occasional stranger passing through, either by intent or because they’d gotten lost, but that was nothing in comparison to the cluster of citizens that had come together under this roof. It was like someone had raked a hand through the people of the surrounding kingdoms, given them a good shake, and then tipped them into the tavern.
There were dwarves, and wizards, and elves. And in the corner was a lady whose skin shimmered in the light. I wasn’t sure what she was. It didn’t matter who I asked, though, the story was always the same. No one had caught a glimpse of a girl with red hair. Had she headed in a different direction, or was she covering her hair? And if so, why? Had she suspected that one of us might come after her? Those questions paled in significance, though, compared to why she’d left in the first place.
Annabelle had always been a free spirit. Most women in Riverbrook were married and had children by twenty-eight, but she’d never seemed interested.
There’d been dalliances. There’d even been men who’d competed for her attention and would quite happily have married her should she have shown even the slightest bit of interest. But Annabelle had laughed and moved on.
And then one day she’d been gone.
No goodbye. No note. No explanation. Just gone. If it hadn’t been for the fact that there was no sign of a struggle, and that all of her things were gone too, we might have feared some sort of abduction. But what sort of abductor took clothes as well? Her disappearance was a complete mystery. One that at the beginning of this week I’d expected to solve relatively easily.
Movement on the other side of the tavern caught my attention. A flash of something furry. There one minute. Gone the next. I leaned forward to peer into the dark shadows, but just like the previous time there was nothing to see. Lifting the tankard to my mouth, I lowered it again without taking a drink. How many had I had? If I was starting to see things that weren’t there, it was probably time to lay off the ale. I shook my head and returned to pondering the decision I needed to make. Go home and break the bad news, or continue searching for my sister for a few more days?
I reared back as something dropped onto the table from above, and I found myself staring at black eyes and sharp canine teeth. A monkey. What in the name of all that is holy! It opened its mouth and chattered, the sound almost indignant, as if it was chastising me for being in the wrong place rather than the other way round. Looking around, I expected to see faces as surprised as my own at this rather strange turn of events. But no one seemed interested. They either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care that there was a monkey loose in the tavern.
What did you do with an uninvited monkey? Did you ask it politely to leave, or were there other measures you were meant to take? There were no monkeys in Riverbrook. In fact, I hadn’t thought there were any in the kingdom of Cerensai at all, which made its presence all the more absurd. Was it someone’s pet? Where had it come from? If I could capture it, perhaps I could sell it. That would not only get rid of the monkey but also solve my financial problems at the same time.
As if reading my mind, the monkey leapt from the table in a black and white blur to streak across the floor in the direction of the door. Shaking my head ruefully, I lifted my tankard to my mouth once more. At least now that I knew I hadn’t been hallucinating, I could drink again.
I didn’t get that far, freezing in place as I registered the blank space on the table where moments before my money pouch had sat. Had it fallen off when the monkey landed on the table? Leaning to one side, I craned my neck to look under the table.
Nothing. There was only one possible explanation. The monkey had stolen my money. Furry little bastard. I looked up just in time to see the tip of the monkey’s tail disappear out of the door. I stood up, the ale from my tankard sloshing over the table. “Stop that monkey!”
There was a titter of embarrassed laughter, heads turning my way and people staring at me like I’d taken complete leave of my senses. I waved a hand at the door. “There was a monkey. It stole my money.”
The barmaid crossed the room to stand in front of my table with her hands on her hips. There was a sympathetic smile on her face as she dipped her chin in the direction of my tankard. “I think you’ve had enough, sweetheart. It’s probably time to call it a night. There aren’t any monkeys in Cerensai.”
The dwarf at the next table lifted his tankard in a toast. “No monkeys to be found until you reach Theoporia… and I’ll drink to that. They’re sneaky little fuckers. They probably would steal your money if there were any around here, but there aren’t. They like a warmer climate.”
It was clear that there was no help to be had around here. And every second I spent trying to appeal to the good nature of strangers was another second that the monkey was getting away. Abandoning the rest of my ale and grabbing my bow, I darted to the door and out into the street. Where was it? If I could catch it, I could get my money back. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. It would leave me stranded, three days’ journey away from Riverbrook, and with no means of paying for anything. I could sleep rough, but I couldn’t survive on nothing but air.
There. A flash of tail. The little bastard had climbed to the roof and was making his way along the street above my head. Keeping my eyes trained on it, I followed. It would have to come down eventually. The monkey was fast enough that I was forced to break into a jog. Without slowing, I plucked an arrow from the quiver on my back and notched it in my bow. I blew out a frustrated breath. Even as good a shot as I was, and I was one of the best, the monkey was too small a target and too nimble for me to stand a chance of taking it down. I needed to be patient and bide my time.
Bumping into someone, I almost pushed them out of the way in my haste not to lose sight of the monkey. Curse words were shouted after me, but I ignored them. Could they not see that I was in pursuit of a thief? It was almost like the monkey was invisible to anyone except me. I drew closer, close enough to be able to see my money pouch in the monkey’s mouth, a rush of excitement at being proved correct giving me an extra burst of speed. And then the monkey ran out of roof. Ha! Now what was it going to do?
It began to shimmy down the side of the building, its nimble paws making the descent look easy. Once it reached the ground, it took off on all fours at breakneck speed to the other side of the street. It was imperative that I reach it before it found its way off the ground again. I was so intent on my prey that I didn’t see the man until he was right in front of me.
I skidded to a halt, my gaze fixed on a pair of black boots. I let my eyes drift slowly up. Tight trousers almost plastered to muscular thighs. A rather generous bulge. Holy shit! Those trousers really were tight. Blushing furiously, I yanked my gaze away, taking in the rest in one glance as he leaned casually against the wall with his arms crossed. Shirtless. Arms and chest just as nicely defined as the thighs. Long blond hair with a slight wave to it. The bluest eyes I’d ever seen perfectly framed by long blond lashes. A well-shaped nose and jaw. The man was absolutely breathtaking. And the knowing smirk on his face said he was all too aware of that fact.
″Sorry, I…” I stopped. I’d been so intent on drooling over the man’s many positive attributes that I’d failed to notice the monkey perched on his shoulder, its tail hanging loosely over his chest, the curl at the end framing one brown nipple like it was a piece of art.
A wave of rage coalesced inside me, and I saw red. “Your monkey stole my money. Give it back.”
″What monkey?”
The man had a cultured voice, the letters perfectly enunciated. I stared at him. The monkey and its annoying owner both stared back. I lifted a hand to point, too far gone down the path of righteous anger to be able to control the slight tremor in my fingers. “That monkey.”
Gold sparks shimmered in the air. I blinked, and when I opened my eyes, the monkey was gone. Magic. It figured that this… peacock of a man who was clearly in love with himself and had already been blessed with good looks and a good physique, would also have access to magic. When I’d been a boy, magic had been a rarity in this kingdom—something that only royalty possessed—but in recent years, it had become more commonplace.
The monkey was a summon: an animal that existed only to do its master’s bidding. Which meant that the monkey was no more to blame for stealing my money than the tree that lay to my right was. No, the fault lay entirely with the man. He’d summoned an animal for the express purpose of robbing someone in the tavern, and I’d been the one to fall victim to his machinations.
″As I said, what monkey?”
My mouth fell open at the sheer audacity of the man. “You… you…” I was so enraged I couldn’t get the words out. If I couldn’t manage words, then I’d take matters into my own hands. I was on him in a split second, seeking out possible hiding places for my money pouch in his clothes. As there weren’t many clothes to search, I was forced to concentrate on his trousers, the pockets revealing nothing of note as I patted them down. Where had he put it? I ran my hands down his thighs, swallowing when there was nothing but hard muscle beneath my fingertips. There was of course one prominent bulge, but I wasn’t going there. Not until I’d exhausted every other possible avenue first.
″I normally insist on dinner first before I let someone grope me to their heart’s content.”
″I doubt that.”
He laughed. It was a throaty laugh that under other circumstances I might have found decidedly sexy. “You’re right. Why waste time with dinner when there are far more interesting things to do. I’d claim that I normally insist on knowing a person’s name, but that wouldn’t be true either. Speaking of names, I’m Sebastian, by the way. Sebastian Beau. My friends call me Bass.”
A pretentious name for a pretentious person.I paused in my search to give him my most venomous glare. “Why would I have even the slightest interest in your name? Once I’ve got my money, I have no intention of ever seeing you again. If I saw you walking in my direction, I’d turn and walk the other way.”
″That’s a bit harsh…?”
The pause and the way his voice went up at the end in a question was clearly designed to encourage me to give my name. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. “Where is it? Give it to me.” I was breathing hard, my chest rising and falling rapidly. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this much fury. I wasn’t sure it had ever happened. Riverbrook was blessedly free of men like this. Forcing myself to take a step back, I scanned the street.
″What are you looking for?”
Sebastian sounded both amused and slightly curious. What did he think I was looking for? Wasn’t it obvious? “The authorities. So that they can arrest you and I can get my money back.”
He nodded sagely. “Ah! Then I’m afraid I have bad news for you. There are no authorities in Clearwind today.”
″None?” Did he really think I was going to take his word for it?
He shook his head, his blond hair swishing gently around his shoulders in a golden cloud. “I’m afraid there’s been an incident in Cloudwater that they’ve had to deal with. Something to do with escaped pigs and a fruit stall, or so I heard.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Was it something to do with you?”
He clasped a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Now why would you go and throw out accusations like that when we’ve only just met?”
″Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you stole my money. And it doesn’t take a genius to work out that such a crime would be far easier when the authorities are conveniently missing.”
He raised his chin. “Where’s your proof that I stole your money?”
I’d had enough, rage subsiding enough for me to be able to think a little more clearly. Retrieving my bow from the ground where I’d dropped it, I notched an arrow and aimed it at the center of his chest. “Give me my money.”
He raised his hands in the air, blue eyes going wide. “Or what? You’ll kill me? Now, who’s gaining an advantage from there being no authorities around. Perhaps you had something to do with the pigs escaping and going on a rampage.” I pulled the bow string back, the action seeming to shock him into realizing I was serious.
″Okay. Okay. Fine. He slid a hand into his boot, a familiar money pouch dangling from his fingers when he withdrew his hand. His boot. Of course. Why hadn’t I thought to look there? He gave the money pouch a quick toss in the air, his expression thoughtful. “It doesn’t feel like there’s much in it. Would you really kill a man over this amount of money?”
I smiled. Although, it was probably more teeth and less actual smile. “Not usually, but I’d make an exception for you.”
Sebastian’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you? Good job I like feisty.”
″I don’t need you to like me.” I put the arrow back in its quiver and made a grab for the pouch. Sebastian was too quick, though, the money pouch yanked away before my fingertips could so much as brush it. “Give. It. To. Me.”
″I’m sure we can come to some sort of mutually beneficial agreement.”
I frowned. “Like what?”
″Like…” He thought for a while, his face brightening after a few seconds. “I’ve got it.” He gave the money pouch a little shake, the coins giving an obliging little tinkle. “I could provide a service, and this could be payment for that service.”
″A service? What sort of service?” I couldn’t think of anything this man could provide that would be remotely useful to me. Not unless he could locate missing sisters.
Sebastian lowered his eyelashes in a flirtatious fashion. “What do you want? I can be very accommodating. You only need to ask.”
For a moment, I could do nothing but stare at him. He couldn’t mean… Shit! He did mean that. “Are you insinuating that I might want to pay you to sleep with me?”
Sebastian winked. “There won’t be a lot of sleeping going on, but yes, that’s about the long and short of it.” He gave the pouch another shake. “There’s probably enough to cover one night. So, what do you say? Do we have a deal?”
I counted very slowly to ten. And then I added another five just for good measure. It seemed to work, my voice surprisingly calm when I finally spoke. “I wouldn’t touch you if you were the last man left in all the thirteen kingdoms, and you were hand delivered to my door. The money in that pouch would be far too much even if I were buying you for the rest of my life, which, just for the record, I wouldn’t do unless I’d had some sort of terrible accident which had given me the mental faculties of a turnip. And even then, I would like to think that I might have turned my sexual interests to farmyard animals rather than you.”
″Are you saying you would rather have sex with a goat?”
I nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
″Huh!” Sebastian seemed momentarily thrown by my rejection of his charms. He probably wasn’t used to it. I imagined that most women—and men—were easily won over by the muscles and blond hair. It was lucky that I was made of stronger stuff. He smiled. “I could find you a goat. For a price.” I made another swipe for the pouch, but he was too fast again. “Listen, I need this. I have a very important quest to carry out, one that needs capital to get it off the ground. What do you say we go to the tavern and talk about this?”
″No.”
″Please.”
″No.”
Either Sebastian’s ears were just for decoration, or he simply wasn’t used to people saying no to him. Unfortunately, while I was still pondering which it was, Sebastian took my arm and steered me back the way I’d come. And as he still had my money, I let him.
Son of the Arch Demon by Amanda Meuwissen
CHAPTER ONE
First, let me tell you about the day I died.
Then we can get to the good stuff.
* * *
Wicked cool!”
My pencil leapt from my hand like I’d pushed it down onto a springboard.
“Oops!” Eryn caught it midair with a giggle. “Sorry, Avi.”
She joined me at the picnic table in front of the Commons building where I’d been furiously sketching. I didn’t usually draw out in the open, but most people passing through the grounds didn’t linger when it was only mid-fifties out.
My mind had been prickly all morning, making my fingers twitch to get something down on paper. They were feeling a little numb now. I had my oversized black beanie pulled down over my ears, and an equally oversized hoodie layered over my work shirt for later, but I couldn’t draw while wearing gloves.
Not only my mind, but all of me was prickly today. Itchy, even—my temples, my back, the base of my spine. Probably because it was my birthday.
I hated my birthday.
“Hey, Eryn,” I said with a quivering smile, as she handed my pencil back. I’d been so focused on drawing that her arrival had my heart rate at about one-twenty.
Eryn Schiffer was the closest thing I had to a best friend. She was my best friend, but also so out of my league friendship wise that I often wondered why she bothered with me. If I’d been straight, we never could have become friends. I would have fawned over her and fumbled my words just like every other guy who tried talking to her. That’s how I acted around guys I liked.
Eryn was a huge gamer, goth, anime nerd, like I was, and we’d known each other as online friends and guildmates for years before meeting in person. She was also gorgeous. Social rankings could always be blurred for the good looking.
Not that I was hideous or anything, but I might as well have been invisible compared to Eryn. She was the sort of radiant force that movies personified as the “It girl,” with long strawberry blond hair, amber eyes that shimmered like copper, creamy skin, and a figure worthy of a swimsuit catalog.
“Hey.” Fry sat down beside her, Eryn’s boyfriend, the one guy who had been able to talk to her—or so I assumed. He didn’t talk much around me. Around anyone else really. But if Eryn was the “It girl” then Fry was the “It guy.”
Quiet, studious, and equally athletic, Godfrey “Fry” Johnson was like the glow-up version of… well, me. We were both blond, more ashen than Eryn’s strawberry, both with light eyes, though his were paler blue than mine, and while my hair was always unkempt and flattened to my head from constant wearing of the beanie, his was a perfect coif. He wore glasses, which I didn’t, but they were stylish frames, blue to match his eyes. And he was tall. I was maybe five-nine and generally small, skinny, weak. Fry was built like a swimmer—because he was one.
“Are you seeing this, Fry?” Eryn gushed over my drawing, tilting the pad sideways on the table to better look at it. I guess it was pretty good. I hadn’t stopped to take it all in yet, just scribbled away to get the lines and details from my mind to translate on paper.
It would maybe be a little disturbing to some, depicting a figure with a handsome face, but with horns, sharp teeth, and a body crafted from bone.
“You are so talented, Avi! Isn’t he talented?” She nudged Fry’s shoulder, and he nodded benignly. “Why aren’t you doubling as an Art major again?”
Because I couldn’t afford the extra classes, and I was already on track to be a super senior next summer, trying to squeeze in what classes I could afford. “One major is plenty, and focusing on business is more practical. This is just for fun.” Until I could make a living from it.
My plan was to get a better job after graduation, something basic but with higher pay than what I did now, being a cashier at a convenience store, and work toward building a business freelancing until I had enough of a portfolio and steady work to make doing art my full-time job. It wouldn’t always be art I loved, but it would be art, something I could escape into when the rest of the world was a little too much.
Which was often.
“From Diablo?” Fry asked.
“Not on purpose, just… something from my head.” I flipped closed the cover and tucked the pad into my backpack.
“Well, you have a very talented head.” Eryn snickered again and gave a snort at the unintended innuendo. As if I knew whether that was true. The only talent my head got up to was how quickly it could go off before my dad got home from work.
I was a townie, so I lived down the hill from campus in the house I grew up in. Saved on tuition and didn’t require me to have a car. I rode my bike everywhere, though that was common in Vale, being a smaller town, mostly made up of its two college campuses—St. Ignatius on the hill, and Vale Tech across the river.
“And now…” Eryn drum-rolled, and then produced a plastic container she pushed across the table toward me. “Happy bir—”
I stopped her from singing with a press of my fingers to her lips. At least she hadn’t lit a candle, but there was definitely a cupcake in that box. “You remember it is my literal nightmare to be sung to in public, right?”
Eryn huffed, pouting behind my hands. I removed them to find Fry shaking his head and softly smiling. At her being adorable or me being a mess, who knew.
Any kind of attention was basically torture for me. I didn’t “people” well. If ten seconds was enough to adore Eryn, then it was more than enough for someone to loathe me. Or at least to think of me a pathetic pushover who was usually easier to ignore. Or pity me for being a townie who still needed to work to scrape by for tuition money because financial aid wasn’t enough.
Eryn never pitied me. She’d scooped me up and kept me under her wing when we were middle schoolers playing Diablo III, just randomly having invited me to join her party in-game. Turned out she was from a city not far from Vale, and we had a lot in common, enough that she’d chosen the same college partially just for us to meet.
She was the first person I told I was gay, the one who convinced me to tell my dad, who she’d been right about when she said he’d be supportive. She’d tried setting me up with guys a few times too, but I always screwed it up. I’d talk too much or not enough or about the wrong things, and they’d lose interest before the end of our first date. Eryn still invited me to join parties and guilds for other online games, with Fry occasionally now too, ever since they started dating Freshman year.
I was pretty sure they were going to become a statistic. Iggy’s—what everyone who went to St. Ignatius actually called this place—had a ridiculously high rate of marriages if a couple was still dating through graduation.
“Fine.” Eryn crossed her arms with a more exaggerated pout. “I’m already saving your real present for later. Which, when can I even give it to you? You work tonight, don’t you?”
“I have to.” The store was at the bottom of the hill along the highway through town, and though I worked a few more days a week than I would have liked, it usually got quiet at night and allowed me plenty of time to study or draw.
“But it’s your birthday!” she said too loudly, considering a few passing people I recognized from various classes turned to look at us—and probably wondered what Eryn was doing with that weirdo Avi Dermot. “It’s your twenty-first birthday.”
“I know, but none of us even drink that much.” Other than a glass of spiked punch or a beer here and there at parties Eryn dragged me to, where I usually ended up in a corner on my phone.
“But now you can do it legally with the rest of us! You’re at least coming to the Chi Alpha Sigma Halloween party on Saturday, right?”
Urg. I hated those guys. Fry was the only one of them I could stand.
They weren’t awful, not like horrible hazing assholes, but they were all so… perfect. Good looking, smart, and most without needing a dime of financial aid. Like Brent, the now frat president. Anytime he asked me for something, whether to copy my notes when he missed a class, or for what was basically free commissioned artwork ever since he caught me doodling in Psych 101, I couldn’t say no.
“Halloween was yesterday,” I reminded her.
“On a Tuesday, boo. Ha! Boo!” Eryn splayed her fingers in festive jazz-hands. “But seriously, what better way to celebrate your birthday than in costume?”
“Eryn—”
“Avi.”
Chimes sounded through the campus grounds, alerting us that we had ten minutes until the start of our next class.
Eryn snatched up my backpack and put the cupcake box inside as we got up from the table. It was sweet of her to have gotten it for me, and no matter how many times I shied away from being socialized like a feral cat, she never gave up, never considered me a lost cause, or moved on. She really was my best friend.
“Thank you for the cupcake,” I said and kissed her cheek. We weren’t that different in height with her wearing platform goth chick boots. She looked like an anime schoolgirl, with a short, pleated skirt, white button-down, and tie, and what I assumed was one of Fry’s flannels as her jacket.
“Happy birthday, man,” Fry said, quietly at least, and offered me a quick fist-bump.
“And think about Saturday.” Eryn attached herself to Fry’s arm, though I was pretty sure their next classes were in opposite directions. “Or if you want a celebratory drink or something when you get off work, we will leap to join you wherever you want to go, no matter how late it is. Right, Fry?”
“Of course.”
“Sure, I… I might take you up on that.”
I waved as they headed off—and then had to part at a fork in the sidewalk. Even if Fry wasn’t much of a talker, he was a good friend too. It wasn’t their fault I hated my birthday. But who wouldn’t?
If your mother died in childbirth.
Technically, it wasn’t my birthday until nine-forty-two at night—when I’d come into the world, and my mother left it. That was the one thing I’d never told Eryn. All she or anyone else knew was that it was just me and my dad.
I turned toward Holland Hall for my class on Ethics, Economics, and the Marketplace. I had to have at least one class outside my Business Major that was still related to it, and something from the Philosophy track had seemed like it might be fun. Though I suppose moral philosophy wasn’t what most people considered fun.
Much of the grounds and buildings were still decorated for Halloween, with fake cobwebs in the trees, and vampire, witch, or other monster cutouts in the windows. The entire way across campus, I kept scratching my head through my beanie, itching back between my shoulder blades, and down my lower back beneath the line of my jeans. I didn’t usually itch like this, even when peopled out, but that prickly feeling was getting worse. Maybe it was my detergent? I didn’t think Dad had picked up anything different from usual, but if I didn’t have something to distract me, I couldn’t seem to stop scratching.
I pulled out my Ethics notebook as soon as I sat down in class. Most people had laptops or iPads, but I liked to be able to doodle while taking notes, and I’d never warmed to using a stylus. For a higher-level Philosophy course, the class was pretty full and took up one of the larger lecture halls with stadium seating. There were still enough empty seats that my usual spot was always open and not directly next to anyone else.
Maybe I was a lost cause and didn’t put myself out there enough to make friends or do more than daydream about the guys I liked, but it wasn’t that big of a campus. I felt like everyone had already made up their minds about me, especially if they were also townies and remembered me from grade school. I was the quiet freak who kept to himself and drew weird pictures while huddled in dark corners. There wasn’t anyone left to take a chance on a small, mousy, introverted nerd, who—
“Quick announcement, everyone! Finish taking your seats, please.”
Who…
Who the hell was he?
Down at the front of the class beside Professor Townsend was the most gorgeous guy I had ever seen outside a movie poster. Tall, at least six-two, trim but still built, with biceps stretching his tight green T-shirt like he could swoop me into his arms in one go and pin me up a wall.
I needed to not think like that in public, because it made me shift in my seat to keep from springing to attention like a twelve-year-old. He had such incredible skin though, medium brown like rich suede, and dark hair that looked reddish under the lights. His face was literally perfect. That flawless symmetry that everyone says is what makes people attractive? He had it. There was this prettiness to him, clean-shaven, sculpted brows, perfect bowed lips, and a straight defined nose, yet he was still so masculine, so… Greek god-like that I couldn’t look away.
“Class, this is Marc… Smith?” Professor Townsend turned to him.
“Smythe, actually.”
And he was English. That accent in a sultry baritone went straight to my crotch, and I had to shift in my seat again.
“Smythe,” the professor corrected. “A late transfer, especially for a senior, but I’m sure any of you will be willing to help him get up to speed should he ask.”
I saw several girls and a handful of guys look very eager to volunteer.
“Meanwhile, he will be working hard to complete all your previous assignments from this year so far, so don’t go thinking he gets to skip ahead. You can find a place to sit, Mr. Smythe. We’ll chat again after class.”
Marc nodded, and I watched him scan the lecture hall for empty seats.
His eyes caught mine, and he started heading up the steps toward my row.
Don’t sit next to me. Don’t sit next to me.
He sat next to me.
And he smelled amazing, with a gentle waft of spicy cologne.
“Hello, mate,” he said in a delicious whisper. “Mind if I peek over yer shoulder today? Ya look like you keep good notes.”
I did. Sort of. Though my notebook was mostly filled with doodles and my notes wrapped around the images in an order that only I would understand. “U-um… yes? Sure. Yeah. Okay.”
Fuck.
His eyes were almost the color of his hair, dark but reddish, like sandstone with actual sparkles glittering in them. Professor Townsend had already started lecturing, and as Marc leaned closer, I felt the side of his knee hit mine.
My cock pulsed, and I squeezed my thighs together to get it to behave. I was going to hyperventilate and pass out right into Marc’s lap.
“Ya gonna… open up for me then?”
“H-huh?”
Marc grinned, and I melted. I was pretty sure my beanie had caught fire from the excess heat in my face, and the places that had been itching earlier felt even more tingly. “The notebook? So I can see yer notes?”
“Right! S-sorry.” I flipped it open, which naturally went to a page with anatomy study sketches—which was what I chose to call it when I drew Captain America’s ass over and over at different angles.
I flipped quickly to a more recent page. A slightly less embarrassing doodle encompassed this one: a gargoyle wing with my notes about the history of fair trade along the membranes.
“Ain’t you the talented one,” Marc said, close enough to puff air on my neck.
Instant goosebumps—and another twitch from my cock.
This was going to be a very long class.
* * *
It was.Possibly the longest Ethics had ever felt, with Marc occasionally whispering other things to me throughout the lecture, which were half suggestions for notes to add, but also half complimentary about my drawing, my beanie, my stupid hoodie that had an M-shaped anarchy symbol with a black cat in front of it and said Meowarchy. I almost wondered if I’d been transported into one of those She’s All That kind of movies and this would turn out to be a bet at my expense.
Especially when class ended and Marc said, “Mind if I get a bit more rundown from ya after my chat with the prof? Meet ya outside? Buy you a cuppa?”
Scratch that. Thank God I was wearing my Meowarchyhoodie, because it was long enough to cover how embarrassingly hard I still was. “No. I mean I don’t mind! I-I don’t… have any other classes today.”
“Me either, luck would have it. See ya in a tick.” He winked, and I was grateful he was on the side nearest the stairs so he had to get up first and hopefully wouldn’t see my legs wobble when I followed him.
I was certain I was huffing, gasping for breath when I finally got out of the lecture hall to wait for Marc. How was I going to carry on a conversation with that unbelievable specimen without the buffer of a classroom and someone talking over us? He was probably just being nice and legit thought I’d be a good source of info since I looked like a nerd.
Well, maybe more of an outcast, loner, loser, given the black beanie, oversized sweatshirt, and Captain America’s ass all over my notebook. But then why would he choose me? He couldn’t possibly actually be… interested.
“Dermot! Just the talent I was looking for.”
Shit. It was Brent—and three of his frat bro flunkies.
Again, not assholes, but…
Yeah, sometimes they were assholes.
“Brent. Hi. Uh… talent?” I slipped on the other strap of my backpack, so I wasn’t one-shouldering it and inviting them to have me get my drawing pad out. That’s how I’d ended up with a Tree of Life drawing I’d done based on one of the oldest and largest oaks on campus as their Homecoming poster.
Brent was really good looking, which made it harder to say no to him. All the frat guys had nice bodies, since Chi Alpha Sigma was an athlete focused fraternity, with swimmers like Fry, divers, runners, and the like. But Brent had that extra dose of handsome and was unfairly disarming when he loomed over me and rested his forearm on the wall above my head. He was straight, or at least dating a girl, and definitely knew I was gay. If my sweatshirt wasn’t covering my half-chub from Marc, he probably would have thought it was for him.
And it maybe had been once or twice, which just made me hate him more.
“We need a poster for the Halloween party on Saturday.”
Of course they did. “Um—”
“It’s short notice, I realize, and you know I wouldn’t ask—”
Yes, he would.
“—but it’s our most important party of the year—”
It always was.
“—and the money we could bring in would be killer for kickstarting senior fundraising for charity.”
Charity—which was why I should feel honored to create something pro-bono. “Brent—”
“We’ve spent way over budget, so funds are a little strapped to pay you anything, but you know you are totally invited, and no cover charge necessary for our poster boy.”
That was something, since to get around the whole charging for drinks thing, they took cash at the door and then gave drinks away for free. But that was like five or ten bucks. I should be charging hundreds for the type of work I gave Brent, which Eryn constantly reminded me of, and even Fry had said something once, at least enough for, “Dude, charge next time.”
Or I could say no.
Say no, Avi.
“I wish I could help—”
“You would be saving my ass. No one else could get something stellar done fast enough, and we need to get posters printed tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow! Brent—”
“I’ll own you big time. And it can be anything you want to draw, so long as it’s spooky.”
Well… I was going to be stuck at work all night. “I… I mean, maybe—”
“You are incredible.” Brent pushed from the wall, and I swear I heard his frat brothers snickering. “Catch up with you later? You…” He did little finger guns at me as he backed away. “Seriously the best.”
Yeah, best pushover.
Again.
I scratched through my beanie, on both sides, just above my temples. The itchiness was worse there, but the weight of my backpack seemed to be helping with the spots between my shoulders and down my lower back. Maybe it was my anxiety making me itch, though if it was, I’d be itchy every day. I didn’t have too much studying to do tonight, I supposed, and if I could draw anything I wanted, it might be fun. And it was still practice, even if I wasn’t being paid.
Damn it. If I was going to freelance someday, I really needed to grow a backbone.
What if that was all Marc wanted too? My notes, my art skills for something he’d subtly request after pretending to chat me up, and then he’d be off to make time with someone more on his level. I certainly wasn’t.
This was stupid. It was my birthday, I was waiting for a hot guy who’d asked to spend more time with me, and all I could feel was a knot in my stomach that made me want to bolt—
And then, like no one else could possibly have managed, fidgeting in place during my impromptu freakout, I tripped over my own feet, and the weight of my backpack sent me careening toward the floor.
“Whoa! Tryin’ to leg it, mate?” Strong arms caught me before I’d passed the forty-five-degree angle, and when I was propped upright, Marc stood over me, holding my shoulders. Experiencing our height difference this close reminded me of imagining him hefting me up a wall.
Marc’s pearly teeth were perfectly straight but with the sort of canines that looked like fangs and were seriously so hot. If he hadn’t been holding my shoulders, my knees would have buckled.
“Didn’t think my offer for a cuppa was such a turn off.”
“I-I wasn’t… I-I just…” I took a breath. I was capable of forming words. “I… may have been psyching myself out while waiting for you, but I am definitely on board with taking you up on that offer.”
“Psyching yerself out?” Marc questioned, with little think lines forming between his brows like he maybe didn’t get the wording. Then he grinned again and squeezed my shoulders with rotations of his thumbs, lightly massaging them. “No need to worry. If ya think I only wanted yer notes, I’m actually more interested in the cuppa. Maybe coffee? Some other bevvy and buy ya a pint?”
There went my knees again.
He was asking me out.
Was he asking me out?
“C-cuppa means… tea, right? ’Cause that is an absolute yes, especially if it’s herbal. I think that might be better than caffeine or alcohol right now, since I’ve been a little wired today.”
Marc was still rubbing my shoulders but finally stopped with a firm pat and drew his hands away.
“Tea it is. On me, but ya’ll have to show me where to go. Oh! And one other thing I need from ya.”
Then he… did want something? “Yes?”
Marc laughed and threw an arm around my shoulders. “Yer name, mate! Ya never told me yer name.”
* * *
“You’ve beento the museum? In Switzerland?” I was so jealous, I had long since forgotten to worry about my usually socially inept sabotage ruining this.
Marc and I sat in a thankfully quiet corner of the campus café. It was in the Commons building beneath the main cafeteria and served faster food than upstairs, like sandwiches, soup, and pastries. Marc had gotten tea, but with no sign of anything non-caffeinated, he ordered me steamed milk with vanilla and cinnamon shots. I had never been so grateful to not be lactose intolerant, because it tasted amazing.
We’d started by going over Ethics notes, since he did need to catch up, but that had led to questions about my doodling on every page, and Marc mentioned there was quite a bit of H.R. Giger inspiration, which was true! I loved Giger’s work. The designs from Alien, Species, Necronomicon. He was a brilliant artist, iconic in how he mixed human elements with mechanical or other hardscapes, finding the surreal in things and making it tangible.
I might have used that line in an Art History paper once, but because I believed it.
“It’s brilliant! Twisted stuff,” Marc said, not shying from my weirdness but seeming excited whenever we stumbled upon something new we had in common, just like it had been with Eryn—only this was so different from with Eryn.
The heat in my gut and tightness in my jeans had calmed somewhat, though not completely. It was just so fun talking to Marc. Even if I said something awkward or started rambling, he’d laugh and go with it.
“There’s this one statue of an alien, right, like from Alien alien, and he’s on all fours as if he’s ready to get properly boffed, tail up and everything.” Marc stopped and laughed again, rubbing the back of his neck like he was the one who’d said something awkward this time. “That’s weird my mind went there, innit?”
“N-no! Not at all.” I leaned forward, my milk and his tea long gone but the conversation far from dwindling. “Okay, this might sound weird, but I kind of always found the aliens attractive. Predator too.”
“Get out!” Marc mirrored me, leaning equally into my space. “Those dreads can get it, right? Little hair tendrils? All in for me. Even kinda like the mandibles.” He curled his fingers up by either side of his mouth like the mime of extra fangs.
I laughed. He was so easy to be around. His accent, his smile, his charm.
His body. I was certain I’d conjured this guy from my most detailed wet dreams.
“Just a doodler though, are ya?” Marc asked.
I hadn’t taken out my drawing pad, but now I really wanted to show him more of my work. I set my backpack on the table and pulled out the pad to flip to the drawing from earlier.
“You did that?” Marc asked in awe.
“I thought it would be neat, you know? A perfect face but with a demonic twist.”
“What a charmer.” He smirked. When I wasn’t sure what to say, he held up the pad beside his head. “Ya don’t see the resemblance?”
He was joking, but the face did kind of look like him—the shape of the nose and chin and brows. “Wow…”
“Not too much, I hope!” He chuckled. He brought the pad down again to continue paging through it.
“You don’t… want one, do you?” I asked. Stupidly. Paranoidly. “A drawing?”
“Oh, um…” Marc frowned, pausing at one picture of a sort of biomechanical librarian with a misshapen head and tentacles for their lower half, paging through an ornate tome. “I’d commission ya in a heartbeat, mate. Don’t have much cash on me, so might have to wait. This bloke’s worth at least a few Benjamins, yeah?” He looked up and bobbed his eyebrows at me. “Plus tip, of course. Wouldn’t want to thank ya for yer service without a proper… tip.” I wanted so badly to read into that, the little tease, the flirting, and when he reverently closed my drawing pad, not asking for anything, I truly believed he only wanted me. “Someday, eh?”
“Yeah…” I reached to pull the pad back from him, but our hands brushed, and Marc clung to mine with a quick coil of his fingers. My heartbeat stuttered. Maybe small, mousy, introverted nerds were his type. A freak like me could dream, and I felt a tingle travel up my arms from where his thumbs caressed my knuckles. It even helped keep me from feeling itchy everywhere.
“So…” Marc said like the start of a question.
My eyes caught sight of the clock behind him, and everything screeched to a halt. “Shit!” I leapt up, tearing my hands from his hold. “I am so sorry! I had no idea we’d been here for so long. I’m going to be late for work if I don’t head out right now.”
“Oh. Sure, yeah. Sure,” he said with obvious disappointment. Disappointment in having less time with me. “Whatever ya gotta do.”
“I am really sorry,” I said again, hurriedly grabbing my backpack to slip the drawing pad inside, only my franticness knocked the pack sideways, and out slid the container with the cupcake from Eryn.
Marc picked it up. The container was clear plastic, perfectly cupcake shaped to hold the treat in place without the frosting getting messed up, which I hadn’t looked at closely before, but now Marc read it out loud. “Twenty-one? Not like… it’s yer birthday?”
I felt like such a goon for having a milestone birthday and only my part-time job planned to celebrate it. “Uh… yeah?”
“And ya didn’t want a pint, you good boy?”
The heat in my face shot right to my groin at hearing him call me that. He handed the cupcake back to me.
“Heading out for a rager after work then?”
“Probably not. I don’t usually do much on my birthday.”
“No? When’d ya get off then?”
I fumbled with putting everything back into my bag. “Um… ten. Why?”
“Ten is early. What say I pick ya up, take the birthday boy out for that pint after all?”
“You… really?”
“Really.” Marc moved around the table to stand beside me.
Eryn and Fry wanting to buy me a drink, while super sweet, made me feel like a third wheel. But Marc…
They’d understand.
They’d probably high five.
“Okay!” I blurted. “I mean… if you want to. It’s a store just down the hill, at the bottom of the main road where it hits the highway. Ole’s? But I won’t be mad if you don’t show up.”
“Trust me, mate,” Marc said in his low, sultry register, “I’ll be there.” He leaned closer, and my heart either came to a stop or ricocheted so fast it burst, because there was nothing in the world, certainly nothing in the café at that moment, other than Marc’s lips pressing to my cheek.
He even hovered near me before pulling away and sniffed, inhaling the scent of me as if he liked it. Which I hoped he did, because I could not remember if I’d washed my hair today, even though it was squished beneath my beanie.
“See ya soon, Avi,” he purred, and if I’d had any choice at all, I would have called in sick to work right then and asked to go with him, wherever he wanted to take me.
“Y-yeah. Soon.”
* * *
Fun fact:biking with a hard-on is not fun. But at least it was a short ride down the hill. And I wasn’t that late. I was even able to finally calm my dick down enough that when I took off my sweatshirt to just be in my polo, I no longer had to worry about keeping my embarrassment covered.
The manager didn’t mind if I wore my beanie during work, which was good, considering my hair would have been a travesty, and I still wanted to look somewhat presentable when Marc picked me up.
For our date.
Second date?
It was totally a date!
Maybe my birthday didn’t have to be a disaster every year.
The first few hours of my shift were always busy. Students coming by after finishing classes, business people getting gas after work, travelers stopping on their way through town before the sun went down. I didn’t get the chance to check my phone until almost seven, planning to message Eryn about the unbelievably good day I was having and how, thanks but no thanks on the after-work drink, because I had a date.
First, though, I had to answer my dad’s birthday text.
He probably sent it right when he woke up, but I would have been in class. Dad was a machine operator for a local cereal manufacturing plant. When certain cereals were being produced, the whole town smelled like a bakery. His hours could be all over the place, and he’d had the night shift all week, so morning was after lunch for him. He’d worked at the plant my entire life but never seemed to get a real raise or any promotions when one came up. He was still loyal to the company though since the work was steady.
Hey, Champ! Happy 21st! There’s a surprise waiting for you when you get home. We’ll find some time to properly celebrate this weekend, okay? Don’t go crazy if you go out after work! Love you. <3
He wouldn’t see my text until whenever his next break was, but I replied:
Thanks, Dad! Love you too! And I won’t go crazy. Maybe just something quiet with my friends.
Or one friend.
Who I hoped wasn’t just a friend.
I realized I hadn’t thought to give Marc my number or get his, so any downtime I had from that point on made me super fidgety. And itchy again. It didn’t feel like there was a rash or reason for all the itching, but those same spots kept bothering me if I was idle for too long. My lower back, between my shoulders, and just above both temples. I didn’t want to keep scratching too much through my beanie, or the next time I took it off, there might be tufts of blond hair left behind. I was probably just nervous.
And excited.
When it finally passed nine o’clock, with less than an hour left before closing, traffic had slowed enough that I pulled out my sketchpad. No studying tonight. I couldn’t possibly concentrate. So, I flipped to a new page past the one of the demonic man and started sketching that same perfect face. Only this time, I tried to make it even more like Marc’s. I still sort of wanted to give him sharp teeth and made his fangs pointier than the truth. I also started drawing a new style of horns from his head before I realized I wasn’t keeping it as realistic as I’d planned.
DING.
I folded the previous page back over, wondering if it might be—
Brent.
“Hey there, Dermot.”
And a gaggle of frat guys.
Including Fry! Thank God.
Fry waved, and I was fairly confident he wouldn’t say anything about it being my birthday. He knew I wouldn’t want the attention.
Some of the others seemed tipsy, Brent among them, and were clearly here for refills, given they headed straight for the beer fridge.
“Hey,” Fry said, approaching me first. “Obligatory beer run. DD. Buy you one later?”
Those were almost full sentences, which was a lot for Fry. “Actually, I’ve been sort of distracted and hadn’t texted you or Eryn yet, but… I have plans.”
Fry brightened. “Friend or… fun?”
“Fun?” I rocked up onto my toes. “I think?”
“Good for you, bud.” He gently punched my shoulder. “I’ll tell Eryn.” He headed back to the exit, while his friends getting beer brought their spoils to the counter.
I rang them up quickly, looking forward to no longer having most of Chi Alpha Sigma cramping my style when my date was fast approaching.
“Is that for me? This is perfect!”
Brent’s glassy eyes had landed on my drawing pad—on the drawing from earlier that I liked, that Marc had liked, and I absolutely did not want it to be used for—
“Thanks, Dermot. You’re speedy as ever. We can handle the typography once we scan it and get posters printed pronto.”
“Brent, that wasn’t suppos—”
“It’s perfect,” he said again, already tearing it out of the pad and rolling it up to steal it from me. “I’ll make sure you get the original back when we’re done.”
No, he wouldn’t. I never got the Tree of Life back, and the only remaining version was copies of the Homecoming poster that said: How does a coniferous tree get ready for the homecoming dance?
They spruce themselves up.
It wasn’t even a coniferous tree!
“Brent!” I tried calling after him as he hurried away, bros and beer in tow. I couldn’t rush out after them and cause a scene. Fry might back me up, but I’d only make things worse between me and those assholes. I didn’t want that kind of grief on my birthday, with forty-five minutes left of my shift and a really, really amazing gift from the cosmos poised to pick me up.
I felt even worse when Fry, who clearly didn’t know what had happened, turned to wave at me again before crowding into his car to drive his friends back up the hill.
It didn’t really matter. I was already halfway through drawing the other version, a better version maybe, one that I might… possibly give to Marc. But a print of it! In case this whole thing ended up being a fluke or went up in flames, I wanted something to remember him by.
The next few minutes were quiet again, and after nine-thirty, I started getting anxious. More anxious. Okay, so on edge that I might have been spinning. I had to constantly keep my hands busy, or they would seek one of those itchy spots on my body again, and at this point, I was going to make myself raw. I didn’t need welts anywhere to turn Marc off. I didn’t want anything to screw this night up.
If he showed.
Oh, please still show.
I decided to take the trash out a little early before closing time. If someone came in, I’d only miss them by about thirty seconds. The two large trash bags were each the size of me, but not horribly heavy. I lugged them out to the dumpster behind the store, hefting in one and then the other with a huff. Then I checked my phone while I stood in the alley, moving away from the dumpster smell to get a fresh breath of air, and stared at the time.
Nine-forty-one. Huh. My actual time of birth was only one minute away.
Happy birthday to me.
“Yo. We’re gonna need the keys to that register, kid.”
I snapped my head up, assuming it was Brent and the frat bros back, goofing around to torture me. But these were no twenty-somethings. They looked forties. Maybe? And rough, like really rough, like the type of biker guys or gang members from movies who…
Pulled knives on unsuspecting convenience store cashiers. The leader did, the one who’d spoken. Another guy had a pipe or crowbar or something. And a third had a gun. He didn’t draw it but flashed it at me from inside his jacket—a fucking gun.
“I-I-I—”
“Y-y-you,” the leader mocked me, walking up with his really, really big knife pointed at my throat, “are going to hand over the keys and any cash or valuables you have on your person.”
I had my phone in my hand. I could dial 911.
No. That would be stupid. You were supposed to give over whatever a robber asked for, right? Don’t make things worse?
“Now!”
His bellow startled me, and my phone dropped from my shaking fingers, landing right on its corner, and causing its case to pop off and maybe crack the screen.
“Keys, wallet, and anything else of value,” the leader repeated threateningly, moving closer to press the tip of his knife against my Adam’s apple. If I swallowed, it would cut me.
My head burned. My back did too. Was I hyperventilating? Having a panic attack? I couldn’t move, but all the places that had been itching me all day suddenly throbbed. My hands twitched, desperate to reach for one spot or another.
“Don’t make any moves unless it’s slowly into a pocket.”
“I-I… p-p-please, I… I need to—” I couldn’t help it. I had to scratch my back, my head, something, I had to, or I felt like my bones were going to burst out of me.
I swung my hand behind my back to dig up between my shoulder blades, but the itch, the heat, the pain was even worse.
“He’s going for a weapon!”
What? No, I—
The leader thrust the knife forward into my throat.
I was dead. I was going to die.
I felt blood start to gurgle and fill my windpipe almost immediately. Soon, I wouldn’t be able to breathe. I’d choke on my own blood until I passed out, bled out, and was a lifeless body in the alley for someone to find.
Like Marc.
Don’t come! Don’t come while they’re still here!
“Get the keys from his belt!”
“Shit, that’s a lot of blood…”
“You idiot, what are we gonna do now?”
“Get the keys!”
I pulled the knife from my throat, which logically I knew was the stupidest choice. Never pull the knife out. You never pull it out! But the feeling of metal stuck there had been unbearable, and if I was going to bleed out anyway, I wanted it to be quick.
Please, let it be over quick…
I dropped to my knees as the knife clattered to the ground out of my hands, probably right next to my busted phone. Somehow, the pain in my head and back were still worse than a knife wound in my jugular. I needed my beanie off. My shirt off. I had to escape that feeling.
I flung the beanie from my head with a rush of cool air easing at least some of that strange heat. Then I gripped the top of my polo and pulled—ripping it right down the center. How did I do that? It was thick fabric with only three buttons at the top, but I’d totally shredded it.
“What the hell is he doing?”
“Get his keys!”
“Dude, he’s… what the hell?”
What?I wondered. I could still think. I could still breathe. I’d lost a lot of blood, but that gurgling, choking feeling was fading. I reached hesitantly to touch my neck, but I couldn’t feel the cut anymore. My neck was wet and sticky, but not oozing, and I couldn’t find the wound.
My vision tunneled, like adjusting a microscope, blurry and then crystal-clear, zoomed in even, until I could see tiny bits of plastic flecks in the cement that had cracked off my phone screen as close as if I’d fallen face-first beside them. But I was still on my knees, and my head… my head, my back, I—
“Yahhhhhhhh!” I howled as the heat and pain exploded in a final burst like I’d been shot. Had I been shot? Had that guy pulled his gun and ended my misery? But no. The pain was in too many places, above my temples like something had sprouted from my head, and the same between my shoulders and at the base of my spine.
“Holy fuck! Holy fuck! What the fuck is he?”
I reached behind me first to the line of my jeans. There was something cylindrical attached to me, thinner than the width of one of my wrists, and as I followed it from where it seemed to have grown out of my back, it tapered smaller and moved in my hand, allowing me to feel the whole length of it, like an undulating snake.
A tail.
I had a tail.
Hands shaking now, I reached between my shoulders. The growths there that had torn through the remains of my shirt were thicker, firmer too, like hard tendons or bone. I flexed, and the protrusions extended around my body—black batlike wings with accents in dark teal.
I reached for my head, feeling almost entirely numb now, shellshocked, and I could already envision what I’d find—horns, growing from where it had itched me so badly all day. And when I finally stared down at my hands, my fingernails looked like claws.
What was I?
What happened to me?
“Ain’t I just chuffed. I knew it was you.”
I looked up at where the three men who’d attacked me were staring in petrified fear at what I’d turned into, the bloody knife on the ground, and the one man’s pipe falling with a clatter too, as someone else entered the scene. They all turned from the horror I’d instilled in them to see something new step out from the shadows that was even more terrifying than me.
And so… so beautiful.
Red hair the color of bright smears of blood shot upward in gorgeous waves, moving like flame tips, like the man it attached to was underwater. Equally red eyes burned brightly, with black slit pupils like candle wicks inside flames. His skin was a dark almost purplish hue of ash, ears pointed like an elf, with horns extending from above them, nestled in his hair and spiraling upward and back the same height as his flaming locks. The horns were grooved in a way that looked black at their base, but the corrugated sections were almost like scales, fading to white with reddish trim.
He wore a glittering belt, maybe made of silver with ruby gemstones, and a teal loincloth hung in front of it to his knees. A similar cloth hung behind him, longer to his ankles in dark blue, neither hiding any of his naked hips or strong thighs. On his chest were straps, like a harness, with a teal and dark blue half-vest over it more like shoulder armor than any real covering.
Behind him, wings spread, larger than mine, both batlike but somehow also feathered. The outer tendons were the same dark purplish color as his skin, but there were white spikes at their peaks, and the feathers began black, bonelike, only to fade to red and then white, becoming softer as if changing to true feathers at their tips.
Like me, he had sharp black claws and a tail, but his feet were also taloned like a bird of prey, making his height towering. His whole body had strange, alluring ridges to it, most of which I could see easily, considering how little he was wearing.
But the human parts of him, the shape of his face, the sound of his voice… were all too familiar.
“Marc…?”
He grinned, showing the longer fangs I’d drawn on him—and then his claws started slicing.
K.A. Merikan is a duo of queer writers who don’t believe in following the well-trodden path. In their books you can dip your toe into dangerous romance with mafiosi, outlaw bikers and bad boys, all from the safety of your sofa. They love the weird and wonderful, stepping out of the box, and bending stereotypes both in life and in fiction. Their stories don’t shy away from exploring the darker side of M/M romance, and feature a variety of anti-heroes, rebels, misfits, and underdogs who go against the grain.
Be prepared for shocking twists, dark humor, raw emotions, and sizzling hot scenes.
Chloe Archer currently calls the arctic wilds of Minnesota home but has spent much of her life abroad in places like Montreal, Edinburgh, and Tokyo. One day she hopes to live somewhere sunny and warm. She loves to travel, eat spicy food, and geek out about her fandoms. In her spare time (Ha! What’s that?) she’s an avid reader with far too many books and not enough bookcases, a wannabe tea and coffee connoisseur, and a karaoke fanatic. When she’s not making herself laugh out loud while writing adorkable gay rom-coms, she can be found walking her two Yorkies (Teddy and Jasper,) trying to finish that blanket she’s been knitting for five years or spending time with friends and family.
TJ NicholsUrban Fantasy where the hero always gets his man.
TJ Nichols is the author of the Studies in Demonology and Familiar Mates series. They write mostly gay fantasy and paranormal romance. After traveling all over the world and Australia, TJ now lives in Perth, Western Australia.
H.L Day grew up in the North of England. As a child she was an avid reader, spending lots of time at the local library or escaping into the imaginary worlds created by the books she read. Her grandmother first introduced her to the genre of romance novels, as a teenager, and all the steamy sex they entailed. Naughty Grandma! Romance novels were forgotten for a while when real life got in the way: university, clubbing, work, moving to London, and more work.
When life settled down (slightly) H.L Day stumbled upon the world of m/m romance. She remained content to read other people’s books for a while, before deciding to give it a go herself.
Now, she’s a teacher by day and a writer by night. Actually, that’s not quite true—she’s a teacher by day, procrastinates about writing at night and writes in the school holidays, when she’s not continuing to procrastinate. After all, there’s books to read, places to go, people to see, the gym to visit, films to watch. So many things to do—so few hours to do it in. Every now and again, she musters enough self-discipline to actually get some words onto paper—sometimes they even make sense and are in the right order.
Amanda is a life-long geek and regularly attends local comic conventions for fun and to meet with fans, where she will often be seen in costume as one of her favorite fictional characters. A published author since 2012, she manages a private author group on Facebook sharing exclusive news, images, and fun, and lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota, with her husband, John, and their cat, Helga.
KA Merikan
Chloe Archer
My Dark Knight by KA Merikan
The Bogeyman and the Schoolteacher by Chloe Archer
Wolf Heart by TJ Nichols
The Reluctant Companion by HL Day
Son of the Arch Demon by Amanda Meuwissen
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