Summary:
THIRDS #9.5
THIRDS agent Dexter J. Daley can’t wait to marry his fiancé, Team Leader Sloane Brodie, but first he’s looking forward to celebrating his bachelor party—which he intends to be a shenanigans-free evening of getting his groove on with family and friends.
Of course events don’t work out as planned, but for Dex that’s nothing new. One thing is for sure, dodging drug dealers and hired thugs amid booze, dancing—and even a bear costume—will guarantee it’s a night Dex will never forget. Now he just needs to survive all the fun.
These events occur between Darkest Hour Before Dawn and Tried & True in the series timeline.
I can't believe it's been 6 years . . . 6 YEARS! since I read Gummy Bears & Grenades. Despite the years, everything came back to me instantly, especially the original excitement and glee that only Dexter J Daley incites. I won't give any spoilers for those who are new to the series and truthfully there isn't anything I can add that wasn't in my original review as to how much I love this entry and this series as a whole. All I will say(as I've said in previous THIRDS audio reviews) is that Mark Westfield is brilliant and his narration continues to breathe life into Charlie Cochet's words perfectly. A gem not to be missed.
Original Review October 2017:
It would seem that Dex is about to have a bachelor party and Sloane is to spend the evening with his longtime friend and superior but the fact that he is also his soon-to-be father-in-law has him a bit on edge. Will everything go as planned for Dex's night out or will it go as most things Dex is involved with, chaotic and haywire?
I'm not going to say too much here but I will say that this entry is as all the THIRDS entries are: brilliant and fun. I don't want to give away any of what Dex and his pals face but I will say that I laughed from the first page to the last. Don't get me wrong, the whole series is fun even with all the drama the boys face and most of that is down to Dex's love of all things 80s but there is something special about Gummy Bears & Grenades that is beyond even Dex's 80s fetish. Lets face it, the title alone sets the tone for this tale.
Once again I think "Brilliant" is the only and the best word I can find to describe how much I love these Delta boys, their friends, and family. A huge thank you to Charlie Cochet for creating the THIRDS universe and I can't wait to see what comes next.
RATING:
I'm not going to say too much here but I will say that this entry is as all the THIRDS entries are: brilliant and fun. I don't want to give away any of what Dex and his pals face but I will say that I laughed from the first page to the last. Don't get me wrong, the whole series is fun even with all the drama the boys face and most of that is down to Dex's love of all things 80s but there is something special about Gummy Bears & Grenades that is beyond even Dex's 80s fetish. Lets face it, the title alone sets the tone for this tale.
Once again I think "Brilliant" is the only and the best word I can find to describe how much I love these Delta boys, their friends, and family. A huge thank you to Charlie Cochet for creating the THIRDS universe and I can't wait to see what comes next.
RATING:
Summary:
As the last of my kind, I’ve long lived in the shadows. But, with the death of my father, I have a dying wish to fulfill, and I can no longer keep quiet. I can no longer stand back and watch as the Santa Claus Organization takes everything from us. So, I launch an attack that was doomed from the start. I am but one krampus up against the cruelest organization in the world. I knew it was a long shot. I knew I would likely die.
Then something surprising happens. The most recent Santa Claus comes into my life, and I don’t know what to make of him. He wasn’t what I was expecting. He’s supposed to be a puppet. A heartless, despicable Santa. But he’s not. He’s … a good person?
Do I have things wrong? Have I had them wrong all along? Or am I falling for the biggest con in the world?
Either way, change is coming for North Pole, and this is sure to be the deadliest Christmas on record and a time that no one will ever forget.
A Christmas to Fight For is a standalone M/M Fantasy Romance. It is recommended for readers 18+
Content Warning: Coarse language, violence, and sexual situations between two men.
This book does not connect to A Christmas to Die For.
Summary:
Fire and Valor #1
Lord Tristram Radcliffe has a secret—he is the only dragon at the king’s court in Llangard. It’s a secret he’s kept from the knights he’s fought beside, from the ladies who bat their lashes at him, and from his closest companion, Prince Reynold. If it were to get out, he’d be banished to the Mawrcraig Mountains along with the rest of his kind, but the kingdom of men is the only one he’s ever known, and his heart lives in the stone halls of those who’d count him an enemy.
When the old king dies and Prince Reynold takes the throne, two visitors from the north throw Tristram into the middle of the ancient conflict between dragons and men. They put him on a collision course with the king’s shadow, Bet Kyston, a dangerous assassin who may want him dead or may want more of Tristram that he’d ever thought to give.
With the eyes of dragons upon him and a threat from the north creeping toward the home he loves, Tristram must weigh his allegiances before his dual legacies tear him apart.
Summary:
Possessive Love
I'm told Nethermire House is haunted, but the truth is even stranger.
Nethermire is home to an eccentric 80-year-old and the young man she claims is her great-nephew.
Except he's not.
He's a demon.
Brin's chaotic, bratty ways draw me to him. When he calls me Daddy, I'm a goner. I want to protect him, take care of him, and call him mine.
But when he gets summoned to hell, our happiness is shattered.
Can I recall him to my side, or will I lose him forever?
Recalling My Demon is a standalone MM paranormal romance in the Possessive Love multi-author series. It has an age-gap relationship between a bratty demon who needs someone to love him more than he realises and an ex-priest who's now a Daddy.
Venom Valley #3
Josh Stanton’s mother has been held prisoner by the vampire Balthazar for fifteen years. As Balthazar has turned the residents of Belkin’s Pass into vampires under his control, Josh, his lover, Dex, former saloon girl Glory, and US Army Sergeant Walker Maxwell, fight to contain the undead uprising.
As Josh struggles to control his power to raise the dead, the group is pursued to the abandoned Fort Emmerick. There they make plans to take the battle to Balthazar’s cave in a desperate final move to not only save Josh’s mother, but put an end to Balthazar once and for all.
Will all of them live to see Balthazar vanquished at last?
Random Paranormal Tales of 2023
Gummy Bears & Grenades by Charlie Cochet
Chapter One
SLOANE WAS overreacting. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. The situation wasn’t as dire as he was making it out to be. Plus, he had a whole support team in place, the majority of whom were highly trained agents. One was a TIN operative, for crying out loud. They all had his back. They knew what was at stake. How much trouble could one man get into?
“I think I should wear my work boots. They’re flame resistant.”
Oh dear God.
Sloane had to sit down. He sank into the armchair beside the closet while Dex tried to decide between his black designer boots and his THIRDS-issued military-grade combat boots.
“Babe?” Dex turned and chuckled. “Would you stop freaking out? It’s going to be fine.”
“Then why do you need the work boots?” How could Sloane not freak out when Dex was going to be out there without him? It wasn’t so much that he worried about Dex. Despite his mate being marked, Dex could handle himself. Sloane was confident in Dex’s skills. In fact, Sloane was proud of him. Proud of how far he’d come since his rookie days at the THIRDS. Dex had escaped Wolf, for heaven’s sake. No, he wasn’t worried about Dex. He was worried about everyone else. Their city was in danger of being thrust into chaos the likes of which it had never seen. Sloane wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready for his half-Therian mate to be out there without him.
Dex straddled Sloane’s lap, which made Sloane feel marginally better. A sweet kiss to his cheek, then the other, certainly helped. He closed his eyes as Dex brushed his lips against his temple, a feathery touch before Dex slipped his fingers into Sloane’s hair. The tension in Sloane’s shoulders eased, and he inhaled deeply through his nose, his mate’s scent like a soothing balm.
“It’s just a bachelor party,” Dex assured him.
“Your bachelor party,” Sloane murmured, enjoying Dex’s fingers in his hair. He’d have to cut it soon before Tony ended up doing it for him. He shuddered at the thought.
“You just thought about my dad cutting your hair again, didn’t you?”
Sloane opened his eyes to meet Dex’s sparkling blue gaze. He frowned. “He didn’t cut it. He butchered it. It was a traumatizing experience.” The snip of scissors still made him flinch.
“I know it was. It’s okay. No one’s going to lay a finger on your precious locks while I’m around.” Dex brushed his lips over Sloane’s. “Just think, in less than six months, you’re going to be Mr. Sloane Daley.”
Sloane couldn’t help his dopey grin or the way his heart soared at the thought. A part of him still couldn’t believe it was happening. He was getting married. Him. After Gabe’s death he’d resigned himself to a life without love, believing he was too broken to ever find someone who would want to keep him. Dex had challenged him in every way and proven to him how wrong Sloane was about himself, life, everything. Sloane couldn’t imagine his life without Dex. Smiling wide, Sloane slid his hands up Dex’s thighs to his waist, then wrapped his arms around his beautiful man. How had he gotten so lucky?
Glowing amber surged from Dex’s pupils, spreading through the brilliant blue. It stole Sloane’s breath every time. He put his hand to Dex’s cheek, mesmerized by the change. Everything about Dex enthralled him.
“You’re so beautiful.”
Dex’s sultry smile went right to Sloane’s groin. “Aw, you’re so smitten with me. I kinda like you too.”
“Yeah?” Sloane laughed softly. He took Dex’s hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss.
“Just a little,” Dex teased, wrapping his arms around Sloane’s neck.
Sloane hummed. “That so?” He slipped his hands down to Dex’s ass and gave his cheeks a squeeze before bringing Dex against him and his growing erection, making Dex moan. “Guess I’m going to have to try harder to change that.”
“Speaking of hard….” Dex ground his hips against Sloane’s, his breath hitching. “You trying to seduce me, Agent Brodie?”
“Trying?” Sloane stood with Dex in his arms, loving the quiet gasp Dex let out. He carried Dex over to the bed, then dropped him onto the mattress before swooping down to capture that pouting smile. God, he loved Dex’s mouth. Loved kissing his lips until they were pink and swollen. Sloane fumbled with Dex’s belt buckle as he growled against Dex’s mouth, “Maybe you need a little something to remember me tonight.”
Dex arched his back, his reply a gasp. “Yes.”
Sloane jerked Dex’s dress pants and underwear down before he got off the bed and grabbed the back of Dex’s knees. He tugged Dex over to the edge of the bed, yanked his pants off, and tossed them to one side of the bed. Needing to see as much of Dex’s naked body as possible, Sloane shoved Dex’s button-down shirt up his torso. He licked his lips at the muscles of Dex’s chest and the six-pack he now sported thanks to months of intense TIN training. Dex’s whole body was stronger, more defined, his biceps thicker, but that delicious tapered waist, the leanness Sloane loved, was still there.
“Sloane,” Dex moaned, his head back and his eyes closed as he palmed his hard cock. The sounds coming from Dex were decadent and sinful, moans and gasps he made because of Sloane only. Sloane grabbed the lube from the nightstand and quickly poured some onto his palm. He slicked himself before lining up. With a feral growl, he pushed inside Dex.
Dex’s mouth fell open in a silent cry, and Sloane sank deeper and deeper until he was settled against Dex’s ass. He wrapped an arm around Dex’s leg, his eyes never leaving Dex’s face as he pulled out and plunged back in. He leaned in, using his weight to pound into Dex, intent on making sure Dex felt him for hours.
“Feeling seduced yet?” Sloane asked, changing his angle and hitting Dex’s sweet spot.
“Oh God, yes!” Dex arched his back again, and Sloane moaned at the sight of Dex’s muscles tensing and the sound of his ragged breath as he came over his hand and abdomen. Running his fingers through the sticky mess, Sloane thrust his hips over and over, his release barreling through him. He growled out Dex’s name as his body tensed. He came inside Dex, and the heat and tightness around him, along with the force of his orgasm, had him doubling over between Dex’s legs. Needing to catch his breath, Sloane let his brow rest against Dex’s, smiling when Dex tipped his head back to brush his lips over Sloane’s.
“I love you,” Dex said softly, his fingers caressing Sloane’s jaw.
Sloane swallowed hard and turned his head, reluctant to give voice to his growing fear.
“Sloane? Talk to me, babe.”
“What if you get tired of it?”
Dex gently turned Sloane’s face so he could meet Sloane’s eyes. “Tired of what?”
“Of my feral half being so… possessive of you. Some guys hate it. I’m trying. I really am.”
“Sloane, I’m not ‘some guy.’ I’m your mate, and in a few months, I’ll be your husband. No one knows you and your feral half like I do. I know when you say I’m yours, or that I belong to you, you don’t really think I’m your property. You’re a good man, and I love how you love me. If I didn’t love you and all you are, just the way you are, I wouldn’t be here. We’re about to start a whole new adventure together, in more ways than one. I’m ready. I’m more than ready.” Dex’s beautiful smile, his eyes filled with so much adoration and certainty, chased the looming shadows from Sloane’s heart, like he always did. Even on his darkest days, Dex was a source of warm, radiant sunlight.
Dex’s smile grew wicked. “What do you say? Ready to unleash a whole new level of kickass on the world?”
“I’m a little terrified right now,” Sloane teased.
Dex waggled his eyebrows. “Come on, you know you want to.”
Sloane snickered. He nodded, sealing the deal with a kiss. “Wherever you go, I go,” Sloane promised.
“Sloane? Dex?” Seb called from downstairs, and Sloane sighed. Ash must have used his key to let himself and Seb in.
“I got no pants on,” Dex replied, and Sloane snorted out a laugh.
“We’ll wait down here.”
Sloane chuckled. He told Dex to stay put before grabbing the wet wipes from the nightstand, then handing them over so he could sort out Dex’s pants. With a smile, he handed Dex his bright orange boxer briefs, followed by his pants. Dex quickly dressed, tucking his shirt in and smoothing it.
Dex held out his arms. “How do I look?”
“Like you just got thoroughly fucked.”
Dex opened his mouth to reply, but no words were immediately forthcoming. “I’ll take it.” Chuckling, he walked over to the closet and picked up his dress boots. “I promise not to do anything that’ll make you regret asking me to marry you.”
“Nothing would ever make me regret asking you.”
Dex smiled sheepishly. “Can I get that in writing? Signed by a notary?” Sloane’s eyes went wide, and Dex patted his arm. “I’m kidding.”
Sloane followed him out of the bedroom and downstairs into the living room, where Seb and Ash were talking. They both stood and turned. Ash’s sniff was followed by a snort of disgust.
“Really, bro? One night. He’s out of your hair for one night and you couldn’t keep it in your pants?”
Dex winked at Ash on his way to the kitchen, where he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. Seb coughed and averted his gaze, his cheeks slightly flushed. Dex’s scent was kind of heady, but it would fade some as the night went on. It had been happening a lot more since the change to his DNA. He didn’t quite smell like a Therian, but he didn’t completely smell Human either.
Sloane shrugged. “Why should I?” Like he needed an excuse to have sex with his beautiful, sexy partner.
“You wanna maybe piss on him and mark your territory some more?”
“I wasn’t—” Sloane shut his mouth when he realized what Ash had said. In the kitchen, Dex almost choked on his water. He coughed and wheezed. Shit. Sloane took an interest in his boots, ignoring the silence in the room. At least until Ash burst into laughter.
“Holy shit, you didn’t? You did! You squirted Daley?”
“Charming.” Sloane wrinkled his nose. “It was a long time ago. I was in my Therian form, and we ran into some guy Dex had slept with in college or something. My feral half got a little… carried away, and it just sort of happened.” It had not been one of his better moments. God, he’d been mortified after he’d shifted back to Human form, and that was after several hours of Dex coaxing him to shift back.
Seb and Ash exchanged glances before falling into peals of laughter.
Sloane crossed his arms over his chest. “Whatever. Like you two aren’t as bad.”
Ash waved a hand as he got control of his laughter. “I have never had the urge to piss on Cael.”
“Because Cael’s a Therian and so is Hudson.” Sloane narrowed his eyes at his friends. A thought occurred to him, and he smiled evilly. “Maybe you haven’t had the urge to mark your boyfriends that way, but just try and deny that your feral halves haven’t had the urge to jump them while you were both in your Therian forms.”
The laughter died instantly.
Sloane grinned smugly. “That’s what I thought.”
Dex gaped at Ash. “Ew, dude, seriously? You want to jump my brother’s bones while he’s in his cheetah Therian form?”
“I don’t. My feral half wants to, and only while I’m in my Therian form. Jesus, Daley, what the hell’s wrong with you?” Ash shook his head as if he were trying to get away from the very idea.
Dex shuddered, then gagged. “Oh God, why? Why did you have to tell me that?”
Ash held up a hand. “Hey, in our felid forms, it’s perfectly natural. You know our animal instincts are at their strongest when we’re in Therian form.”
“There’s nothing natural about your lion ass humping a fluffy Chirpy.”
Ash rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
“This conversation has turned incredibly disturbing,” Seb said, shaking his head. “Why do things always get weird with you guys?”
Ash pointed to Dex. “That’s why.”
Seb’s expression was pained. “Can we not talk about humping in our feral forms? I would really appreciate that.”
The front door opened, and Hudson greeted them cheerfully. His smile quickly faded. “Why does everyone look so… distressed?”
“Because Ash wants to do my brother when he’s in his feral form,” Dex offered.
Hudson’s eyes went huge, and he gaped at Ash. He blinked and was suddenly in doctor mode, his expression turning sympathetic. “That’s not uncommon. Many Therians suffer from such conflicting emotions with regard to their feral halves and their partners. Perhaps if you discuss the matter with Cael, and even arrange for some roleplaying, you might—”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ash grabbed Hudson’s shoulders. “Now you listen here, Doc. I am not going to fuck my boyfriend while he’s in his Therian form. I was talking about my Therian half and his Therian half.”
Understanding crossed Hudson’s features, and he let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, well that is perfectly normal. Every Therian goes through that, especially when a relationship is new.”
Dex studied Hudson. “Really? Did Seb ever try to mount you?”
Seb groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “Why are we still talking about this?”
Cael walked in and looked around. “What’s going on? What are you guys—”
They all shouted simultaneously, “Nothing!”
Cael started. “Geez, okay. Sorry I asked.” He turned his attention to Dex. “Everyone’s on their way. ETA five minutes.”
Dex nodded, and in all honesty, Sloane was a little relieved they were leaving. Who was he kidding? He was a lot relieved.
“I’ll see you guys outside. I just want a quick word with Seb and Ash.”
Dex nodded and ushered Cael and Hudson out, then closed the door behind them. Sloane turned to the only two who could possibly keep this evening progressing without incident. As soon as Cael had sent out the invites to Dex’s bachelor party, Sloane had contacted Seb and Ash and asked them to prepare.
“All right. What contingency plans have you two put in place should any Threat Level Fuchsia scenarios arise?”
Seb and Ash glanced at each other before turning their gazes back to Sloane. Their expressions didn’t bode well. Seb spoke up first.
“When you said prepare for tonight, I thought you meant make sure your boyfriend doesn’t get so drunk he strips down to his underwear and starts dancing on the bar, or try to keep him out of jail. I didn’t realize you meant put together an emergency tactical strategy.”
Sloane pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay.” He looked up at Ash. “What about you?”
“Relax, bro. We got this.”
Sloane narrowed his eyes and leaned into Ash, sniffing him. “Have you already started drinking?”
Seb snickered, his laugh turning into a cough when Ash arched an eyebrow at him.
“No, smartass. I can handle your dorky fiancé.”
Seb didn’t even attempt not laughing this time. “You are so delusional, Keeler. We’re toast.”
“Speak for yourself. Cael might not be able to hold his booze, but your Brit is worse.”
Seb frowned at Ash. “Which is why you’re kidding yourself if you think you’re going to be able to keep an eye on Dex the whole night. The second some guy tries to put the moves on Cael, you’re going to lose your shit.”
“First, Cael can take care of himself. Second, excuse me while I laugh my ass off at you telling me I’m going to lose my shit over some dude hitting on my boyfriend. Since you got back from your honeymoon, you’ve been even more of a sap over Hudson than ever. It hurts my teeth just looking at you.”
Sloane sighed. “You two done arguing over who’s more ridiculous?”
“You’re right,” Ash said, smiling sweetly. “Because the answer to that would be you.”
How long had they known Dex? Had they not been present for the last three and a half years? The number of incident reports he’d filled out in the last year alone was staggering. Everything ranging from squirrel invasion to not-so-spontaneously combusting baked goods. How his boyfriend managed to get a scone to bring down a building was beyond him. Sloane didn’t care how stale the thing was, it shouldn’t have demolished an entire building. Thankfully the place had been condemned, and they’d received a minor scolding rather than getting their asses handed to them by Sparks.
“You think I’m overreacting?”
“Just a tad,” Seb admitted.
Oh, Sloane was so going to enjoy throwing their words back at them. “Okay. Go on. Have fun. I’ll notify my bank to have some bail money ready. If something blows up or comes crashing down, it’s on you two.”
Ash rolled his eyes. “And I thought Dex was the drama queen.”
“Get out,” Sloane grumbled, shoving them toward the door.
As soon as they were outside, Dex came over and kissed Sloane’s cheek. “Oh, I almost forgot. Dad’s expecting you for dinner.”
“Wait. What?” When did that happen?
“Dinner. Tony’s house. Have fun. If he asks you to play air hockey, just say no. He’s a wee bit competitive. I love you.”
“I love you too,” Sloane murmured absently. Dex headed back to Hudson and Cael as if he hadn’t just told Sloane he’d be hanging out with Tony the rest of the evening. On his own.
Sloane had known Tony for years, and yes, the man had been like a father to him, but this was completely different. Tony wasn’t just his sergeant and a father figure; he was Dex’s dad, his fiancé’s dad. Sloane quickly shook himself out of it. He was being a drama queen. Like he couldn’t handle Anthony Maddock. Whatever some believed, Tony wasn’t so scary. He was a regular guy who worked his ass off and loved his boys. Sure, he could be intimidating, but that was on the job, or if Sloane did something to warrant being on the other end of his wrath, like when Dex was kidnapped and tortured. This was good. They could talk. No problem. But first….
Sloane shot Tony off a quick text. Before he headed over to dinner, he had somewhere to be. And he wouldn’t miss it for the world.
SLOANE WAS overreacting. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. The situation wasn’t as dire as he was making it out to be. Plus, he had a whole support team in place, the majority of whom were highly trained agents. One was a TIN operative, for crying out loud. They all had his back. They knew what was at stake. How much trouble could one man get into?
“I think I should wear my work boots. They’re flame resistant.”
Oh dear God.
Sloane had to sit down. He sank into the armchair beside the closet while Dex tried to decide between his black designer boots and his THIRDS-issued military-grade combat boots.
“Babe?” Dex turned and chuckled. “Would you stop freaking out? It’s going to be fine.”
“Then why do you need the work boots?” How could Sloane not freak out when Dex was going to be out there without him? It wasn’t so much that he worried about Dex. Despite his mate being marked, Dex could handle himself. Sloane was confident in Dex’s skills. In fact, Sloane was proud of him. Proud of how far he’d come since his rookie days at the THIRDS. Dex had escaped Wolf, for heaven’s sake. No, he wasn’t worried about Dex. He was worried about everyone else. Their city was in danger of being thrust into chaos the likes of which it had never seen. Sloane wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready for his half-Therian mate to be out there without him.
Dex straddled Sloane’s lap, which made Sloane feel marginally better. A sweet kiss to his cheek, then the other, certainly helped. He closed his eyes as Dex brushed his lips against his temple, a feathery touch before Dex slipped his fingers into Sloane’s hair. The tension in Sloane’s shoulders eased, and he inhaled deeply through his nose, his mate’s scent like a soothing balm.
“It’s just a bachelor party,” Dex assured him.
“Your bachelor party,” Sloane murmured, enjoying Dex’s fingers in his hair. He’d have to cut it soon before Tony ended up doing it for him. He shuddered at the thought.
“You just thought about my dad cutting your hair again, didn’t you?”
Sloane opened his eyes to meet Dex’s sparkling blue gaze. He frowned. “He didn’t cut it. He butchered it. It was a traumatizing experience.” The snip of scissors still made him flinch.
“I know it was. It’s okay. No one’s going to lay a finger on your precious locks while I’m around.” Dex brushed his lips over Sloane’s. “Just think, in less than six months, you’re going to be Mr. Sloane Daley.”
Sloane couldn’t help his dopey grin or the way his heart soared at the thought. A part of him still couldn’t believe it was happening. He was getting married. Him. After Gabe’s death he’d resigned himself to a life without love, believing he was too broken to ever find someone who would want to keep him. Dex had challenged him in every way and proven to him how wrong Sloane was about himself, life, everything. Sloane couldn’t imagine his life without Dex. Smiling wide, Sloane slid his hands up Dex’s thighs to his waist, then wrapped his arms around his beautiful man. How had he gotten so lucky?
Glowing amber surged from Dex’s pupils, spreading through the brilliant blue. It stole Sloane’s breath every time. He put his hand to Dex’s cheek, mesmerized by the change. Everything about Dex enthralled him.
“You’re so beautiful.”
Dex’s sultry smile went right to Sloane’s groin. “Aw, you’re so smitten with me. I kinda like you too.”
“Yeah?” Sloane laughed softly. He took Dex’s hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss.
“Just a little,” Dex teased, wrapping his arms around Sloane’s neck.
Sloane hummed. “That so?” He slipped his hands down to Dex’s ass and gave his cheeks a squeeze before bringing Dex against him and his growing erection, making Dex moan. “Guess I’m going to have to try harder to change that.”
“Speaking of hard….” Dex ground his hips against Sloane’s, his breath hitching. “You trying to seduce me, Agent Brodie?”
“Trying?” Sloane stood with Dex in his arms, loving the quiet gasp Dex let out. He carried Dex over to the bed, then dropped him onto the mattress before swooping down to capture that pouting smile. God, he loved Dex’s mouth. Loved kissing his lips until they were pink and swollen. Sloane fumbled with Dex’s belt buckle as he growled against Dex’s mouth, “Maybe you need a little something to remember me tonight.”
Dex arched his back, his reply a gasp. “Yes.”
Sloane jerked Dex’s dress pants and underwear down before he got off the bed and grabbed the back of Dex’s knees. He tugged Dex over to the edge of the bed, yanked his pants off, and tossed them to one side of the bed. Needing to see as much of Dex’s naked body as possible, Sloane shoved Dex’s button-down shirt up his torso. He licked his lips at the muscles of Dex’s chest and the six-pack he now sported thanks to months of intense TIN training. Dex’s whole body was stronger, more defined, his biceps thicker, but that delicious tapered waist, the leanness Sloane loved, was still there.
“Sloane,” Dex moaned, his head back and his eyes closed as he palmed his hard cock. The sounds coming from Dex were decadent and sinful, moans and gasps he made because of Sloane only. Sloane grabbed the lube from the nightstand and quickly poured some onto his palm. He slicked himself before lining up. With a feral growl, he pushed inside Dex.
Dex’s mouth fell open in a silent cry, and Sloane sank deeper and deeper until he was settled against Dex’s ass. He wrapped an arm around Dex’s leg, his eyes never leaving Dex’s face as he pulled out and plunged back in. He leaned in, using his weight to pound into Dex, intent on making sure Dex felt him for hours.
“Feeling seduced yet?” Sloane asked, changing his angle and hitting Dex’s sweet spot.
“Oh God, yes!” Dex arched his back again, and Sloane moaned at the sight of Dex’s muscles tensing and the sound of his ragged breath as he came over his hand and abdomen. Running his fingers through the sticky mess, Sloane thrust his hips over and over, his release barreling through him. He growled out Dex’s name as his body tensed. He came inside Dex, and the heat and tightness around him, along with the force of his orgasm, had him doubling over between Dex’s legs. Needing to catch his breath, Sloane let his brow rest against Dex’s, smiling when Dex tipped his head back to brush his lips over Sloane’s.
“I love you,” Dex said softly, his fingers caressing Sloane’s jaw.
Sloane swallowed hard and turned his head, reluctant to give voice to his growing fear.
“Sloane? Talk to me, babe.”
“What if you get tired of it?”
Dex gently turned Sloane’s face so he could meet Sloane’s eyes. “Tired of what?”
“Of my feral half being so… possessive of you. Some guys hate it. I’m trying. I really am.”
“Sloane, I’m not ‘some guy.’ I’m your mate, and in a few months, I’ll be your husband. No one knows you and your feral half like I do. I know when you say I’m yours, or that I belong to you, you don’t really think I’m your property. You’re a good man, and I love how you love me. If I didn’t love you and all you are, just the way you are, I wouldn’t be here. We’re about to start a whole new adventure together, in more ways than one. I’m ready. I’m more than ready.” Dex’s beautiful smile, his eyes filled with so much adoration and certainty, chased the looming shadows from Sloane’s heart, like he always did. Even on his darkest days, Dex was a source of warm, radiant sunlight.
Dex’s smile grew wicked. “What do you say? Ready to unleash a whole new level of kickass on the world?”
“I’m a little terrified right now,” Sloane teased.
Dex waggled his eyebrows. “Come on, you know you want to.”
Sloane snickered. He nodded, sealing the deal with a kiss. “Wherever you go, I go,” Sloane promised.
“Sloane? Dex?” Seb called from downstairs, and Sloane sighed. Ash must have used his key to let himself and Seb in.
“I got no pants on,” Dex replied, and Sloane snorted out a laugh.
“We’ll wait down here.”
Sloane chuckled. He told Dex to stay put before grabbing the wet wipes from the nightstand, then handing them over so he could sort out Dex’s pants. With a smile, he handed Dex his bright orange boxer briefs, followed by his pants. Dex quickly dressed, tucking his shirt in and smoothing it.
Dex held out his arms. “How do I look?”
“Like you just got thoroughly fucked.”
Dex opened his mouth to reply, but no words were immediately forthcoming. “I’ll take it.” Chuckling, he walked over to the closet and picked up his dress boots. “I promise not to do anything that’ll make you regret asking me to marry you.”
“Nothing would ever make me regret asking you.”
Dex smiled sheepishly. “Can I get that in writing? Signed by a notary?” Sloane’s eyes went wide, and Dex patted his arm. “I’m kidding.”
Sloane followed him out of the bedroom and downstairs into the living room, where Seb and Ash were talking. They both stood and turned. Ash’s sniff was followed by a snort of disgust.
“Really, bro? One night. He’s out of your hair for one night and you couldn’t keep it in your pants?”
Dex winked at Ash on his way to the kitchen, where he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. Seb coughed and averted his gaze, his cheeks slightly flushed. Dex’s scent was kind of heady, but it would fade some as the night went on. It had been happening a lot more since the change to his DNA. He didn’t quite smell like a Therian, but he didn’t completely smell Human either.
Sloane shrugged. “Why should I?” Like he needed an excuse to have sex with his beautiful, sexy partner.
“You wanna maybe piss on him and mark your territory some more?”
“I wasn’t—” Sloane shut his mouth when he realized what Ash had said. In the kitchen, Dex almost choked on his water. He coughed and wheezed. Shit. Sloane took an interest in his boots, ignoring the silence in the room. At least until Ash burst into laughter.
“Holy shit, you didn’t? You did! You squirted Daley?”
“Charming.” Sloane wrinkled his nose. “It was a long time ago. I was in my Therian form, and we ran into some guy Dex had slept with in college or something. My feral half got a little… carried away, and it just sort of happened.” It had not been one of his better moments. God, he’d been mortified after he’d shifted back to Human form, and that was after several hours of Dex coaxing him to shift back.
Seb and Ash exchanged glances before falling into peals of laughter.
Sloane crossed his arms over his chest. “Whatever. Like you two aren’t as bad.”
Ash waved a hand as he got control of his laughter. “I have never had the urge to piss on Cael.”
“Because Cael’s a Therian and so is Hudson.” Sloane narrowed his eyes at his friends. A thought occurred to him, and he smiled evilly. “Maybe you haven’t had the urge to mark your boyfriends that way, but just try and deny that your feral halves haven’t had the urge to jump them while you were both in your Therian forms.”
The laughter died instantly.
Sloane grinned smugly. “That’s what I thought.”
Dex gaped at Ash. “Ew, dude, seriously? You want to jump my brother’s bones while he’s in his cheetah Therian form?”
“I don’t. My feral half wants to, and only while I’m in my Therian form. Jesus, Daley, what the hell’s wrong with you?” Ash shook his head as if he were trying to get away from the very idea.
Dex shuddered, then gagged. “Oh God, why? Why did you have to tell me that?”
Ash held up a hand. “Hey, in our felid forms, it’s perfectly natural. You know our animal instincts are at their strongest when we’re in Therian form.”
“There’s nothing natural about your lion ass humping a fluffy Chirpy.”
Ash rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
“This conversation has turned incredibly disturbing,” Seb said, shaking his head. “Why do things always get weird with you guys?”
Ash pointed to Dex. “That’s why.”
Seb’s expression was pained. “Can we not talk about humping in our feral forms? I would really appreciate that.”
The front door opened, and Hudson greeted them cheerfully. His smile quickly faded. “Why does everyone look so… distressed?”
“Because Ash wants to do my brother when he’s in his feral form,” Dex offered.
Hudson’s eyes went huge, and he gaped at Ash. He blinked and was suddenly in doctor mode, his expression turning sympathetic. “That’s not uncommon. Many Therians suffer from such conflicting emotions with regard to their feral halves and their partners. Perhaps if you discuss the matter with Cael, and even arrange for some roleplaying, you might—”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ash grabbed Hudson’s shoulders. “Now you listen here, Doc. I am not going to fuck my boyfriend while he’s in his Therian form. I was talking about my Therian half and his Therian half.”
Understanding crossed Hudson’s features, and he let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, well that is perfectly normal. Every Therian goes through that, especially when a relationship is new.”
Dex studied Hudson. “Really? Did Seb ever try to mount you?”
Seb groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “Why are we still talking about this?”
Cael walked in and looked around. “What’s going on? What are you guys—”
They all shouted simultaneously, “Nothing!”
Cael started. “Geez, okay. Sorry I asked.” He turned his attention to Dex. “Everyone’s on their way. ETA five minutes.”
Dex nodded, and in all honesty, Sloane was a little relieved they were leaving. Who was he kidding? He was a lot relieved.
“I’ll see you guys outside. I just want a quick word with Seb and Ash.”
Dex nodded and ushered Cael and Hudson out, then closed the door behind them. Sloane turned to the only two who could possibly keep this evening progressing without incident. As soon as Cael had sent out the invites to Dex’s bachelor party, Sloane had contacted Seb and Ash and asked them to prepare.
“All right. What contingency plans have you two put in place should any Threat Level Fuchsia scenarios arise?”
Seb and Ash glanced at each other before turning their gazes back to Sloane. Their expressions didn’t bode well. Seb spoke up first.
“When you said prepare for tonight, I thought you meant make sure your boyfriend doesn’t get so drunk he strips down to his underwear and starts dancing on the bar, or try to keep him out of jail. I didn’t realize you meant put together an emergency tactical strategy.”
Sloane pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay.” He looked up at Ash. “What about you?”
“Relax, bro. We got this.”
Sloane narrowed his eyes and leaned into Ash, sniffing him. “Have you already started drinking?”
Seb snickered, his laugh turning into a cough when Ash arched an eyebrow at him.
“No, smartass. I can handle your dorky fiancé.”
Seb didn’t even attempt not laughing this time. “You are so delusional, Keeler. We’re toast.”
“Speak for yourself. Cael might not be able to hold his booze, but your Brit is worse.”
Seb frowned at Ash. “Which is why you’re kidding yourself if you think you’re going to be able to keep an eye on Dex the whole night. The second some guy tries to put the moves on Cael, you’re going to lose your shit.”
“First, Cael can take care of himself. Second, excuse me while I laugh my ass off at you telling me I’m going to lose my shit over some dude hitting on my boyfriend. Since you got back from your honeymoon, you’ve been even more of a sap over Hudson than ever. It hurts my teeth just looking at you.”
Sloane sighed. “You two done arguing over who’s more ridiculous?”
“You’re right,” Ash said, smiling sweetly. “Because the answer to that would be you.”
How long had they known Dex? Had they not been present for the last three and a half years? The number of incident reports he’d filled out in the last year alone was staggering. Everything ranging from squirrel invasion to not-so-spontaneously combusting baked goods. How his boyfriend managed to get a scone to bring down a building was beyond him. Sloane didn’t care how stale the thing was, it shouldn’t have demolished an entire building. Thankfully the place had been condemned, and they’d received a minor scolding rather than getting their asses handed to them by Sparks.
“You think I’m overreacting?”
“Just a tad,” Seb admitted.
Oh, Sloane was so going to enjoy throwing their words back at them. “Okay. Go on. Have fun. I’ll notify my bank to have some bail money ready. If something blows up or comes crashing down, it’s on you two.”
Ash rolled his eyes. “And I thought Dex was the drama queen.”
“Get out,” Sloane grumbled, shoving them toward the door.
As soon as they were outside, Dex came over and kissed Sloane’s cheek. “Oh, I almost forgot. Dad’s expecting you for dinner.”
“Wait. What?” When did that happen?
“Dinner. Tony’s house. Have fun. If he asks you to play air hockey, just say no. He’s a wee bit competitive. I love you.”
“I love you too,” Sloane murmured absently. Dex headed back to Hudson and Cael as if he hadn’t just told Sloane he’d be hanging out with Tony the rest of the evening. On his own.
Sloane had known Tony for years, and yes, the man had been like a father to him, but this was completely different. Tony wasn’t just his sergeant and a father figure; he was Dex’s dad, his fiancé’s dad. Sloane quickly shook himself out of it. He was being a drama queen. Like he couldn’t handle Anthony Maddock. Whatever some believed, Tony wasn’t so scary. He was a regular guy who worked his ass off and loved his boys. Sure, he could be intimidating, but that was on the job, or if Sloane did something to warrant being on the other end of his wrath, like when Dex was kidnapped and tortured. This was good. They could talk. No problem. But first….
Sloane shot Tony off a quick text. Before he headed over to dinner, he had somewhere to be. And he wouldn’t miss it for the world.
A Christmas to Fight for by Jessica Frances
Prologue
Claw
“Son …” Father’s voice is weak as he attempts to wave me over to him. However, his hand can barely lift from his bed, and his fingers only briefly twitch. He’s been sleeping most of the day, and now that he’s awake, I realize how much worse he’s doing than yesterday. There hasn’t been a doubt about this fact in months, but looking at him now, it’s undeniable.
My father is dying.
“Father!” I cry, dropping the half full pitcher of water into the sink then rushing over to him.
“I’m sorry, son. But I cannot …” He coughs, and I wrap my arm around his back, lifting him to sit up and wait until the rattling cough ends.
“Just breathe, Father. Just keep breathing,” I beg, my voice wavering under the intense emotion choking me.
I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want him to die. But my father’s once vibrant red skin is now a dull pink. His once strong, virile horns are now wilted and soft to the touch. The man who was so imposing when I was a child is now stuck in a body that has become only lifeless skin and bones. Even his tail barely twitches anymore.
“I’m sorry, but this is the end for me,” he finally gets the words out.
“No!” I immediately deny, refusing to let him leave me. He can get better. There has to be a way. There has to be a cure.
“Yes,” he counters. “But you must continue to fight.”
I scoff but bite my tongue on telling him that fighting is futile. Our once strong resistance is now just me. Most of our people died, and those who weren’t killed left without so much as a goodbye. They have given up, and I can’t say I blame them. As much as I loathe the SCO—Santa Claus Organization—I understand how tiring keeping up this fight is. After years of being made redundant, the naughty lists my people compiled, being ignored and thrown away, we lost our means of working and usefulness, which means we have no money on which to survive. We became pariahs in the Santa community and had to run just to survive their genocide of us. The surrounding woods around North Pole are our savior.
We hoped hiding would have been enough for them. We hoped the SCO would just leave us alone. They didn’t. Instead, they sent out their best assassins to kill us all off.
Just six months ago, my father was shot by one of their assassins. I managed to get him away to our hidden cabin, attempting to nurse him back to health, but it has been a futile endeavor. He never recovered from the wound. Instead, it became infected.
It has taken six months to overwhelm his body. His injuries have eaten away at him, killing him from the inside. Leaving this cabin to attempt to get help has been impossible, given what awaits us out in the forest to kill us both. I have been sentenced to stay in this small cabin and watch my father slowly die.
“Promise me you’ll fight,” he begs, his gaze pleading with mine.
How can I deny him his dying wish?
A big part of me wants to do what so many others did—run away and leave this burden that he’s placed on me behind. There is no way out of our predicament. The SCO are too big, too powerful, too impossible to defeat. And there is only me to take up this fight.
It’s a suicide mission. There is no hope that I can take down the SCO on my own. Maybe even having a full army behind me won’t be enough.
I glance over at the board we made, the rough plans pinned to it, ones we made while Father rested. Most of it is filled with wild ideas that I know will never work. Many things laid out would never be possible. Nevertheless, it gave Father hope and something more to live for, so I wrote down his ideas and mapped out plans based on old building blueprints that we managed to scrounge up. Many of these might not even be accurate any longer. Still, each day we planned was another day Father kept breathing.
Now he wants me to go through with it. He’s willing to sacrifice his only son to this war.
I stare over at a small mirror propped up on the other side of the room. It’s more a broken shard at this point. Reflected in it is my father, his weakened state undeniable. And then there is me. I’m not sure how old I am, since age has never been a milestone we have celebrated. I’m much smaller than Father.
Before he was shot, he used to tell me that I was just a youngling with much still to learn. I used to wish I could be fully grown like him. I yearned to be older. Now he insists I’m of an age where going to war is acceptable. Shamefully, I find myself wishing I’m too young for something so big and scary. I don’t feel ready for this.
“Please, Claw, you are the last remaining krampus. This is your destiny.”
I’m not sure why I’m surprised by his demand. Of course my own dreams of being able to live a life away from certain death and war is absurd. To even think I could live years into a mature age is asking for too much. And any imagination about having a family or partner is only a silly fantasy.
Clearly, it’s my destiny to die this way. But maybe I can take down some of the SCO with me. Maybe I can cause them just a small amount of the pain that they have brought onto me.
That would only be fair, right?
My father has always said that our duty is always to find the naughty children of the world and make sure they aren’t rewarded for their bad behavior. Is there anyone naughtier than the SCO?
No, I don’t think there is.
“I promise, Father. I will take down the SCO, and I will kill Santa Claus.” Or die trying.
His smile is weak, yet I see the relief buried in his gaze.
“I’m so proud of you, my son. You have been my light throughout so much darkness.”
“Father …” I choke out, my throat closing up under the onslaught of emotions I cannot handle.
Losing Mom when I was just a small child was unbearable. Knowing she left us was almost worse than if she had died. Father always stuck by me, though. He never abandoned me.
Until now.
“I love you, Claw,” he says, his voice barely a whisper as his eyes close and his body falls limply against me.
“No! Father? Father!” I cry, shaking him much too hard, but he doesn’t stir. He doesn’t open his eyes.
He’s gone.
I blink my tears away and focus on the pinboard across from him.
Anger ignites inside me, a never-ending burning flame that I know will only be snuffed out with my dying breath.
I will avenge my father.
I will avenge my people.
I will take down the SCO.
And I will kill Santa Claus.
The King's Dragon by Sam Burns & WM Fawkes
1
Tristram
Some days would be forever pressed to the forefront of Tristram’s mind. The day he met his cousin, Prince Reynold. The day his mother told him he was a half-dragon bastard.
The day of King Edmund’s funeral.
All kings were beloved in theory, but Reynold’s father, Edmund, had been a truly great one. He’d been a bland man, dull and uninteresting in conversation, without half his son’s charisma, but he’d been exceptionally good at the daily tasks of ruling a kingdom. The people loved the image of handsome, impeccable Reynold hosting tourneys and throwing lavish feasts in the palace. They had loved what Edmund had done for them.
That wasn’t to say Tristram thought his friend an incapable leader. He simply wasn’t the workhorse his father had been.
Tristram’s black velvet doublet and matching hose were some of the finest he owned, as much as he couldn’t stand the sight of them. They were strangely comfortable for clothes he hardly ever wore, but they made his pale hair look white by contrast, and that made him stand out more than he cared to. He finished pulling on his boots and stared down at them.
His dagger lay on the bed, shiny and eye-catching, like a beacon. It was rarely far from his mind, but the fact that he’d chosen such a flashy thing made it hard to forget.
Was it appropriate to wear on his person to the king’s funeral?
It was not.
He turned and headed for the door, but before he’d even made it halfway, he’d turned and headed back for the bed. With hardly a conscious thought, he had the dagger in his hand, and he was tucking it into his boot.
“A good idea,” said a voice from the doorway, startling him.
He looked up to find Reynold standing there, looking tense and unhappy. He’d been like that since the beginning of his father’s illness, but it was still strange to see. Reynold had always been good at accepting surprises as they came, but since last winter—since his father’s illness had taken a turn for the worst—he’d been closing himself off. Maybe he was preparing himself for the trials to come. Ruling all of Llangard was a burden Tris couldn’t begin to imagine.
“Good idea?” he asked.
Reynold motioned to Tristram’s hand, still on the dagger hilt. “Coming prepared. You never know who is about, or what their intentions are.” His hand clenched and unclenched, eyes on the dagger, as though he wanted to snatch it for himself. That was a feeling Tris knew all too well, but he’d never seen it on his cousin before. Reynold never left the palace grounds without at least two guards by his side, and this day would be no different. While he had trained with a sword, he had never had much use for one. The Spires, the main seat of the Cavendish line, was impregnable, drawn straight out of the earth in huge towers by the magic of Athelstan Cavendish himself.
“Shall we walk out together?” He suspected the answer would be no, since Reynold was always concerned about pageantry. Even on this, the day of his father’s funeral, his first concern was likely to be the appearance of things, and it was custom for the new ruler to walk alone up the hill outside the city to the Cavendish tomb. Reynold’s attention to detail was a good reason for him to be king, and never Tris.
Surprising him, Reynold nodded. “Yes. I would speak to you about the training of the guard. You practice with them. I want your opinions on their skill.”
“You’ve cultivated the finest personal guard known to Llangard, Your Highness.” The answer required no thought. Reynold’s methods for training and culling the guard were extreme, but none could doubt that the result was the most skilled fighters in the land.
Reynold waved dismissively. “Things are different now. I need my most faithful men at my back, and you know them better than anyone. We should speak on each of them.”
There was nothing Tristram could say to that, so he inclined his head and shoulders in acquiescence.
He did know the guard well. Since he’d arrived at the palace more than a decade before, he had trained with them almost every day. He didn’t know how things were different now, but it was clear Reynold wasn’t interested in discussing it, and one never tried to press for answers with Reynold. At best, it would result in the prince being unhappy. Worst didn’t bear contemplation.
Reynold was destined for greatness. He was intense and charismatic and drew people to him like moths to a flame. But no one who knew him would have called him a kind man.
The walk from the Spires to the Cavendish tomb was not long, though most of the realm’s peers would have taken carriages. The court would be there already, seated, awaiting their new king to bid farewell to the last.
It was a quiet day in the kingdom. Overcast, as Tris always thought sad days ought to be, but more than that, the usual bustle of the capital was hushed and still. Reynold’s guards trailed after him once they left the palace grounds. The market was closed, the smithies cold, and when they arrived, the funeral was filled with silent people wearing their very best clothes.
Reynold had declared it a day of rest for everyone in the kingdom, and the people were out in force, showing their love for the man who had led them in prosperity for nearly five decades.
They walked among the people side by side to the magnificent family mausoleum. It had been built by Reynold’s ancestors when Llangard was young and magic was plentiful. The Cavendish line had always been particularly impressive with stone magic, and the sloping arches of the building were a testament to their artistry, seeming to slide up out of the ground as though they had naturally formed that way.
They walked together to the head of the crowd, where the most important lords were waiting, including Tristram’s own mother, sitting with Reynold’s son, Roland.
Reynold paused there, straightening his spine and lifting his head, then reaching out to squeeze Tristram’s shoulder. He nodded, Tristram gave a small bow, and they parted ways, leaving Tris to go sit with his mother and Roland, and Reynold to do his duty.
Tristram took the empty chair next to Roland and tried to give the boy a hopeful smile. The princeling was always a clever, thoughtful, well-behaved child, but on this day, he was especially quiet. He had seen more death than any nine-year-old should, between his mother and his grandfather. Generally, Reynold would have had the boy at his own side, but things would be different now.
Reynold was king.
The prince reached out and took one of Tristram’s hands in his, then Tristram’s mother’s, but he didn’t say anything. She met his gaze over the prince’s head, and he saw his own concern mirrored there. The boy needed more support than ever before, and his father was no longer in a position to offer it.
Reynold had begun to speak of remarrying. He’d been widowed for three years, and now that he was king, the fact that he had a single son was of some concern to the people of Llangard. Remarrying was the sensible thing to do, but Tristram couldn’t help thinking that would leave Roland more often on his own.
No second wife would be interested in spending her time coddling the child who wasn’t hers, but who would one day become king.
“He was sad,” the prince whispered, barely audible even in the silence. “He didn’t want to go.”
“We never want to leave the ones we love,” Tristram’s mother told Roland.
Tristram wasn’t sure that was true. His father—or rather, his mother’s husband—had been a miserable ass who’d seemed all too happy to shuffle off the mortal coil and leave everyone behind. Little wonder Tristram had been the product of an affair, really. The only actual wonder was how his mother had forced herself to care for such a man at all. Even dealing with the shock that he was the product of an affair, Tristram had never held her infidelity against her.
He’d have sought comfort in the arms of another man too, in her position.
The prince—no, the king, he must remember that—King Reynold’s sister, Princess Gillian, drifted up to sit on Tristram’s other side. She looked as though she hadn’t slept in days, and given how she’d spent her father’s final days at his side, Tris didn’t doubt it.
“I don’t know where to be,” she said, her voice lost and a little frightened. “I always sit next to Reynold.”
Tristram glanced across the aisle to where King Edmund’s brother, Prince Laurence, sat with his wife and son. There was space with their family, but if the princess stood before him, they weren’t company she wanted.
With his free hand, Tris reached to take one of Gillian’s. “Then you should stay with us, Your Highness.”
She offered a weak smile, but her hand squeezed his with strength he hadn’t realized she possessed.
Reynold stepped up in front of the crowd, head high and shoulders straight, the very image of a powerful king. The way he scanned the crowd, pausing now and then, made every person there think he was looking at them, thinking of them. He bestowed a soft look on Roland, and the boy leaned against Tris.
Finally, Reynold gave a sad smile and bowed his head to look at his father’s casket. When he spoke, his voice was commanding, but quiet enough to show the people that he was hurting with the loss of his father, just as they were. “I thank you all for coming to see my father off on his final journey. He would have been deeply honored by your presence.”
He spoke to the crowd about principles and duty, and how his father had been the very essence of both—how he only hoped he could fulfill the promise that lifetime of service had made. He’d always been excellent with words, and the speech would have made King Edmund proud.
Admittedly, Reynold had thought his father old and unwise, but at least he did him honor in this.
As the honor guard, led by Prince Laurence, carried the litter with King Edmund’s casket into the royal mausoleum, to be entombed there next to his queens and across from his own long-dead parents, Tristram wondered if he’d be doing this again in forty years.
Likely not, despite the fact that he would be that long-lived. Once everyone realized he was a half dragon, he’d likely be run out of the country, forced to live with dragons he’d never met.
Well, if they would have him.
He only hoped his mother didn’t live long enough to have to deal with it. He didn’t want her punished for seeking out a tiny bit of comfort in her lonely youth.
The procession moved into the mausoleum, and he dropped his head to say a quick prayer to the gods for another year of peace. It was what their people needed, what Reynold needed, in the first year of the reign of a new king.
Recalling My Demon by Colette Davison
Chapter One
IAN
“Morning, Ian, I’m afraid you’ve drawn the short straw today, love.”
I pause on my way to the coffee machine and stare at Nora, the practice manager. “The short straw?”
“She’s sending you to the haunted house,” Angela says.
Like me, Angela is a district nurse, but she’s been working for the practice a lot longer, despite being ten years my junior.
Nora tuts. “Ignore her. Nethermire’s not haunted.”
“Been there, have you?” Angela asks.
“Well, no, but ghosts don’t exist.”
“You keep telling yourself that. Make me a coffee, would you, Ian?”
“Does anyone else want one?”
Nora shakes her head.
“Martha Edwards lives at Nethermire House,” Angela says as I make coffee. “She’s sweet enough, although she’ll talk your ear off if you give her half the chance. She’s in her eighties and lives in that big old house by herself. We do regular welfare checks. If you ask me, she’d be better off in a care home. I have no idea how she manages the house on her own.”
“Is she ill?” I ask.
“Fit as a fiddle.”
I hand Angela a mug of coffee. “Why do you say the house is haunted?”
She shudders. “Because it is. Just driving through the gates gives me the creeps. I get full-body shivers like someone’s walked over my grave. And once you’re inside, it’s like you’re being watched. Sometimes I hear laughter.”
“Laughter?” I sip my coffee. I haven’t worked at the practice long, but I hadn’t taken Angela for being the imaginative type.
“Do you believe in ghosts? What’s the church’s stance on that sort of thing?”
I stare at my black coffee. “I’m not part of the church anymore.”
“Martha will keep you there all day with her chatter if she could,” Nora says. “Or all night if it’s your last call. My advice? Make it your first call, and then you’ve got an excuse to leave.”
“She’s lonely,” Angela says.
“Even though she has ghosts for company?” I ask.
Angela rolls her eyes. “Now you’re teasing me.”
I chuckle. “I’m sorry.”
“Like hell you are.” She presses her fingers over her lips. “Sorry. I shouldn’t say things like that in front of you, as you’re a priest and all. You’ll have me saying Hail Marys or something.”
“Ex-priest.”
“These are your patient lists for the day,” Nora says. “Get to as many as you can and let me know if there’s any you won’t make so I can give them a call and bump them to another day.”
I scan my list as I drink my coffee. I recognise a few patients, but the rest are new to me. In time, I’ll get to know everyone who needs regular home visits.
“I’m off,” Angela says. “Have a good day.” She pauses in the doorway. “Make sure you go to Nethermire before dark.”
“Why?”
“You don’t want to get trapped in a haunted house after dark. That’s when ghosts are more powerful.”
“Um, I’m not sure that’s true.”
She wags her finger. “You’ll be singing a different tune when I see you tomorrow morning. Maybe you should take a cross or something.”
“That’s for vampires.”
“Surely, the cross would ward against all things unholy? Do you have any holy water left from your time in the church?”
“The house freaks you out, doesn’t it?”
“That’s putting it mildly. Take care.”
I wash our coffee mugs, make sure my nursing bag is stocked, and then go to my car. It’s a pre-loved banger, but it gets me from A to B. I put the postcode for Nethermire House into Google Maps on my phone and pull out of the car park. I may as well do it first, out of curiosity, if nothing else.
I enjoy talking to people. As a district nurse, I spend more time with patients than I would if I were in clinics all day. Even so, it’s rarely long enough.
An electronic voice directs me out of the town and into the countryside, down narrow, winding roads lined with hedges and tall trees. It would look nicer in summer. The dark, twisting branches are ominous as they reach into the grey sky like bony fingers. Now my imagination is running riot. Thank you, Angela.
I’m taken down a tiny side road to a wrought-iron gate. A red brick wall surrounds the perimeter of the grounds. The height of the wall and a screen of trees hide the house. I get out and try the gate. It’s locked, but there’s a security intercom. It’s old, with a single button and a speaker. I press the white button. I’m about to give up waiting when the speaker crackles.
“Hello?” The weathered voice is feminine. I assume it’s Martha Edwards.
“Hi. My name’s Ian Watts. I’m one of the district nurses. You should be expecting me?”
“I’ve not met you before.”
“No. I’m fairly new to the practice. Would you prefer a female nurse?” Some patients do.
She chuckles. “No, no. You’ll do fine. I’ll open the gate.”
The intercom fizzes and falls silent. The gates open with a whine. I get back in my car. A shiver snakes through my body as I drive through the gate. Why did I listen to Angela’s tall tales? I’m too old for ghosts and fairy tales.
The drive is covered in autumn leaves. Grass pushes up through a myriad of cracks. I gasp as the house comes into view. It’s not a mansion, but it’s not far off. It’s a double-fronted red brick building. Windows in the roof suggest the house has attic rooms. The windows on the ground and first floors are tall and in a Gothic style. A green-framed morning room, with coloured glass in the top panes of each window, is attached to the left of the house. The door is green but in dire need of a fresh coat of paint. I jog up the stone steps to it and raise my hand to knock. The door opens before I can.
“Well, aren’t you tall?” A woman smiles at me.
She’s shorter than I am, her back bent with age. She leans on a walking stick. Her face is wrinkled, her skin crinkled like ageing paper. She’s wearing a touch of make-up, red lipstick and some blusher. Her white hair is braided and pinned around the crown of her head.
“Martha Edwards?”
“Who else would I be? Come in. Come in.” She turns and shuffles into the house.
The hall has a beautiful floor tiled in a flower pattern. A dark wood staircase leads upstairs. Martha takes me into a reception room with red velvet curtains and gold wallpaper. The furniture looks as old as the house. The hearth is the most imposing feature in the room. The mantle is chocolate-brown marble. Red brick surrounds the fireplace, in which a fierce fire burns. It’s not warm outside, but the heat from the fire makes me too hot. An overwhelming sense of being watched prickles my skin. It’s ridiculous. Martha and I are alone in the room and, presumably, the house.
“Would you like a cuppa?” Martha asks, gesturing for me to sit.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Nonsense. Let me get you something. A nice cup of sweet tea and a biscuit.”
“If I had tea and biscuits at every house call, I’d need new trousers by the end of the week.”
She laughs and sits. “Point taken. What should I call you? Nurse Watts? Nurse Ian?”
“Ian is fine.”
“It’s the first time they’ve sent a male nurse. It’s wonderful more men are getting into the profession.” She glances at a portrait on the wall of a young woman in Victorian clothing. “In my grandmother’s day, nursing was purely for women.”
Despite Martha’s age, the family resemblance between her and the portrait is clear. It must be of her grandmother.
“Luckily, times have changed since then,” I say.
“Hm. So they have.”
“Was your grandmother a nurse?”
“For a short while. What made you go into nursing?”
“I want to help people.”
“And do you get to do that?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been doing it long?” She peers at me. “You have grey in your hair. You must be what? Forty? Forty-five?”
I shouldn’t answer. We’re not supposed to give out personal information, even something as simple as our age. I smile and nod, not committing to a specific number. I check her notes.
“Have you had any falls recently?”
She shakes her head.
“How are you coping with your arthritis?”
She shrugs. “The same as ever. My joints ache more in this weather.” She gestures at the fire. “Heat helps.” Her gaze lingers on the flickering flames, which reflect in her bright blue eyes. Her smile becomes soft and—grateful.
“Do you have someone to help with the house?”
“Hm? Oh, yes, my nephew comes to visit from time to time. No. Not today.”
I frown. “Sorry?”
She tears her gaze from the fire. “My nephew. He won’t be visiting today.”
A log in the fire pops and cracks, making me jump. I swear the intensity of the flames has increased, even though no extra fuel has been added.
“Tsk,” Martha mutters under her breath.
“Are you scolding me?”
“Oh, no, of course not. It’s getting a little too hot in here, don’t you think?” She looks pointedly at the fire.
“Would you like me to douse the flames?”
She waves her hands. “No, no. There’s no need. They’ll quiet down on their own. What else do you need to ask?”
I run through some welfare questions, including ones to assess her memory and her mental health. Depression and loneliness can go hand in hand. The last thing I do is take her blood pressure, which hasn’t changed since Angela was here last. By the time I’m done, the fire is much smaller than it was.
“I must say, you’re a lot more relaxed than the nurse who normally comes,” Martha says as I put the blood pressure cuff away.
“Angela?”
“Yes. She barely stays for five minutes. Can’t wait to get out of here.”
“We have different styles.”
“Well, I like your style, Ian. You can come again.”
“Is there anything else you need while I’m here?”
“No. I’m fine. I’ve enjoyed your company, but I know you must be busy, so I’ll let you get on.”
The fire blazes briefly as though a gust of wind has swept down the chimney. A glance out the window is enough to tell me there is no breeze.
Martha glares at the fireplace. “Unless you’d like that cuppa before you go?”
“No, thank you.”
“Maybe next time. You should come at the end of your day. Then you’d have more time to chat.”
“I’ll have to see how it goes. You were on my way to another call this morning.” Which isn’t true at all. None of my other calls are anywhere near Nethermire House.
“Let me see you out.”
“There’s no need.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not an invalid yet, young man.” She uses her cane to help her stand. “I can still be a good host.”
I follow her to the front door.
“Come again,” she says cheerfully.
I wave as I make my way down the steps to my car. She stands on the top step, watching me until I’m safely inside it. Then she goes inside and shuts the door. I put the next address into Google Maps and then turn the engine on. As I pull away from the house, I glance at it one last time. Martha is in the window. I slam my foot on the brake. The car screeches to a halt. Is there someone behind her? A shadowy figure? I blink. Martha is alone. My imagination is playing tricks on me. Nethermire isn’t haunted. It can’t be.
Blood & Stone by Hank Edwards
"Come outside, Joshua Stanton." The voice was quiet, the timbre low, promising release and an end to Josh's exhausted struggle. "Open the door and step onto the porch. Let me kiss you, taste your blood, compare yours to that of your man's."
Josh shuddered awake and staggered to his feet, his hands tight on the barrel of the musket. His eyes were gritty from sleep and he couldn't seem to focus on where he was for a long, frightening moment. Then, in a rush, it all came back to him: Dex had escaped from Balthazar, they had taken refuge in the Belkin's Pass church along with Sergeant Maxwell and his few remaining soldiers. And he had fallen asleep during guard duty.
"Come to me," the calm, deep voice beckoned. "Step outside, join me."
Josh turned to peer through the narrow gap in the boards nailed over the window behind him. "Never, you foul monster. Leave us."
A deep chuckle floated in from the dark night beyond the glass. "You're running out of time, Joshua. Your man is closer to vampire than human now. One mistake, one careless moment, and he will join me. We can end this now, tonight, and spare all those sleeping around you the pain of day after day of struggle. You are the one I want, not them. Come join me, teach me of this secret power, and live forever by my side. Just open the doors."
Josh shook his head as he scanned the dark shadows that hung around the empty buildings across the street. Would Belkin's Pass ever be like it had once been? Filled with people and goods and commerce? He didn't think so. It would be consumed by the prairie, abandoned and haunted. Right now, in the depth of night, surrounded by evil, it felt to Josh as if the whole country had forsaken them.
He gathered his courage from the corners of his soul and said, "I will never join you. We'll come for you, you know."
A pair of glowing red eyes appeared before him, and Josh stepped back, a gasp slipping from his lips. Before he could be caught by Balthazar's stare and put under his spell, Josh looked away.
"Oh, I hope you come for me," Balthazar whispered. "I do, indeed."
Charlie Cochet is the international bestselling author of the THIRDS series. Born in Cuba and raised in the US, Charlie enjoys the best of both worlds, from her daily Cuban latte to her passion for classic rock.
Currently residing in Central Florida, Charlie is at the beck and call of a rascally Doxiepoo bent on world domination. When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found devouring a book, releasing her creativity through art, or binge watching a new TV series. She runs on coffee, thrives on music, and loves to hear from readers.
Join Charlie's newsletter and stay up to date with Charlie's latest releases, receive exclusive content, giveaways, and more!
Jessica lives in Adelaide, South Australia. When she is not writing, you can find her reading, napping or watching excessive amounts of TV. Connect with her on Facebook and Goodreads.
Sam lives in the Midwest with husband and cat, which is even less exciting than it sounds, so she's not sure why you're still reading this.
She specializes in LGBTQIA+ fiction, usually with a romantic element. There's sometimes intrigue and violence, usually a little sex, and almost always some swearing in her work. Her writing is light and happy, though, so if you're looking for a dark gritty reality, you've come to the wrong author.
W.M. Fawkes is an author of LGBTQ+ urban fantasy and paranormal romance. With coauthor Sam Burns, she writes feisty Greek gods, men, and monsters in the Lords of the Underworld series. She lives with her partner in a house owned by three halloween-hued felines that dabble regularly in shadow walking.
Colette's personal love story began at university, where she met her future husband. An evening of flirting, in the shadow of Lancaster castle, eventually led to a fairytale wedding. Several years later, she’s enjoying her own ‘happy ever after’ in the north of England with her husband, two beautiful children and her writing.
Ever since she could hold a pen, Colette has been writing stories. Always an avid reader and lover of the arts, Colette graduated in Theatre Studies from Lancaster University in 1999, and in English Literature from the Open University in 2010. After studying for a P.G.C.E. in secondary education, and subsequently teaching english and drama for six years, Colette chose to become a stay at home mum and to focus on her writing.
Colette's first M/M romance, Why I Left You, was published in November 2017. Since then she has continued to write books that are sweet, sexy, and heartwarming.
Hank Edwards has been writing gay romantic fiction for more than twenty years. He has published over thirty novels and dozens of short stories. His writing crosses many sub-genres, including romantic comedy, contemporary, paranormal, suspense, mystery, and wacky comedy.
He has written a number of series such as the funny and spooky Critter Catchers, Old West historical horror Venom Valley Series, suspenseful Up to Trouble series, and the very erotic and very funny Fluffers, Inc., He is also part of the shared universe Williamsville Inn series of contemporary gay romance books that feature stories by Brigham Vaughn as well. He's written a YA urban fantasy gay romance series called The Town of Superstition, which is published under the pen name R. G. Thomas.
No matter what genre he writes, Hank likes to keep things steamy, kind of sassy, and heartfelt. He was born and still lives in a northwest suburb of the Motor City, Detroit, Michigan.
Charlie Cochet
EMAIL: charlie@charliecochet.com
Jessica Frances
EMAIL: jessicafrances_author@yahoo.com.au
Sam Burns
EMAIL: sam@burnswrites.com
Colette Davison
Hank Edwards
Gummy Bears & Grenades by Charlie Cochet
A Christmas to Fight for by Jessica Frances
The King's Dragon by Sam Burns & WM Fawkes
Recalling My Demon by Colette Davison
Blood & Stone by Hank Edwards
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