It's All Relative by Jordan Castillo Price
Summary:The ABCs of Spellcraft #14
If Spellcrafters value anything, itâs family. (And a good deal from the clearance rack, and an exceptional hand of poker. But mainly family.)
So, when a long-lost relative surfaces, everyone is absolutely thrilledâŠuntil the newcomer challenges Dixon for the title of Hand.
Yuri is perfectly willing to force the usurper back under whatever rock he crawled out from, but Dixon insists on proving himself the best man for the job. A magic string chose him as the Hand, after all. And while Spellcraft can be capricious, surely it would never let Dixon down.
Would it?
To make matters worse, Dixonâs attention is divided. Not only is he scrambling through town on a magical scavenger hunt, but a Handless customer with a sob story has him searching for her lost dog. Because, as Yuri points out, thereâs always a dog.
From one end of Pinyin Bay to the other, the whole family pitches in to help Dixon keep his rightful place in the final installment of this heartwarming series.
The ABCs of Spellcraft is a series filled with bad jokes and good magic, where M/M romance meets paranormal cozy. A perky hero, a brooding love interest, and delightfully twisty-turny stories that never end up quite where youâd expect.
Original Review February Book of the Month 2023:
Say it ain't so! The end is here! No more Dixon and Yuri! As the saying goes, all good things must come to an end . . . doesn't mean I have to like itđ.
The ABCs of Spellcraft may be over. No more new adventures for the always over-optimistic and endless ray of sunshine Dixon and his stern but never not supportive man-friend Yuri, and the incredibly intriguing cast of wacky family, friends, and occasionally not-quite friendly characters. Yes, that's sad to hear but their adventures will live on in re-reads and re-listens and they will never get old, I will never tire of re-visiting Pinyon Bay for a ride-along. For me, that statement alone is the best way to explain how much I enjoy this series and characters. I have a list of books that I re-read/re-listen to every summer, it's not that long but the year would never be complete without them and I am 99.999% certain Spellcraft has just hitched a ride on that list.
Now, as for the final entry, It's All Relative, itself.
What can be said that hasn't already been mentioned in my previous entries reviews?
Jordan Castillo Price has a unique and creative way to bring the world of magic to life, to make it real, to make one look up and expect to see a crafting, or the result of a crafting, float by your front window. Frankly I don't know how Yuri stays so calm. If my significant other had the never-ending energy that Dixon lives life by I would be off my rocker. My mother always looks at life postiviely but her views on "it's going to be okay" has nothing compared to Dixon, so I don't know how Yuri does it but he manages to not only stand by his man sanely but he does so with Dixon's family as well. His desire in Relative to see Dixon keep his place as the Hand probably tests his control more than any other obstacle the couple has tackled but he maintains his voice of calm and focus.
I've probably given away more than I intended to so I won't say more but know it's brilliant and if this series had to end, I can't think of a better way to do so. This series is simply put: FUN! FUN! FUN! FUN! and what's the word I'm looking for? Oh yeah: FUN!!!!!
Now I realize that for some 15 books, even novellas, can seem daunting if you haven't been reading as they've been released. That's a lot of zany, madcappery magic to digest but trust me, you won't regret it. Dixon and Yuri and the whole Spellcraft gang is so enjoyable the time will fly by and before you know it you will be where I am right now, the end with no more new coming and you'll be a little sad but also happy for having discovered such a crazy, fun, romantic, entertaining universe.
Summary:
Tit For Tat #2
Although college senior Greg has sworn off entanglements to focus on his grades, he canât ignore the lure of a Halloween-themed escape room. The hot guy behind the counter turns out to be a far more interesting mystery than the puzzle his friends picked.
Prince Alaric has to be careful who he chooses for a partner. The fairy realm he will one day rule can be influenced. Someone like his ex-boyfriend, the Lord of Spiders, could push the balance of the kingdom's magic toward malice. But someone like the enticing, imaginative young man who just walked into Halloween Escapes might be exactly who Alaric has been searching for.
After a tantalizing kiss in a secret hallway, Greg stumbles into Alaricâs kingdom. Alaric is quick to follow, but before he can return Greg to the mortal world, the fairy land decides to test Alaric and disables his magic. Now, theyâll have to journey to the castle to find Gregâs way home. Or maybe Greg is right where he belongsâŠ
His Fairy Prince is a stand-alone novel that features a guy who's never fit in, a prince who longs for true love, the occasional spider, and a sentient kingdom that's decided to smoosh the lovebirds together. With hints of spiciness, this book is 60k words of autumnal, spooky adventure.
Prisoner of Shadows by Sam Burns & WM Fawkes
Summary:Lords of the Underworld #2
For more than five thousand years, Prometheus has been chained in the underworld. Every day, an eagle tears out his liver. Every night, he heals. When Hermes releases him in a gambit to save himself from his fatherâs wrath, Prometheus must adjust to a world thatâs forgotten him. Hunted by the twins, Artemis and Apollo, he finds help in an unexpected place.
Julian Bell is a vampire lost. He left his Louisiana home in 1936 and hasnât settled since. Ten years ago he followed his best friend to New York, but the country they came to wasnât the America he left. After losing his friend, he found himself unmoored in a strange land. As he nears his hundredth birthday, heâs realizing how truly alone he is.
When Prometheus and Julianâs paths cross one fateful night, they find in each other a safe path through the shadows.
Julian Bell is a vampire lost. He left his Louisiana home in 1936 and hasnât settled since. Ten years ago he followed his best friend to New York, but the country they came to wasnât the America he left. After losing his friend, he found himself unmoored in a strange land. As he nears his hundredth birthday, heâs realizing how truly alone he is.
When Prometheus and Julianâs paths cross one fateful night, they find in each other a safe path through the shadows.
Summary:
Princes of Mayhem #1
Disaster #1: Fun With Family
Nolan is the hot but grumpy goth boy who lives across the street from perpetually sunny necromancer Sky.
Nolan wants nothing to do with Sky.
That is until his older brother is on the run from a local vampire clan after he failed to deliver on a promise.
Nolan is about to learn that vampires, shifters, witches, and magic are very real. He needs an expert to guide him through this dangerous world.
It's Sky's time to shine!
And just maybe he can win the heart of a grumpy introvert. (Assuming he doesn't scare the man to death first.)
How the Necromancer in the Gold Vest Saved My Life is a serial comprising four novellas that follow the insane adventures of necromancer Skylar Wallace and his next-door neighbor Nolan Banks. This book contains vampires, werewolves, witches, underworld minions, danger, surprises, sassy corpses, and some pretty amazing sandwiches.
Summary:
Breaking Free #7
University student Demir Higgs is on the fast-track to graduate with honors and dive straight into medical school. His career plan leaves little time for dating, so after he catches his casual boyfriend cheating, Demir attends an anonymous sex party, determined to finally lose his virginity. He chooses an older alpha in a red mask and the man takes Demir apart piece by glorious piece, worshiping his body in ways Demir never imagined. Too bad heâll never see the man again.
After his bondmate disappeared eleven years ago, Senior Constable Brandt Lars fell into his work and avoided dating, disinterested in relationships. Not until the boy in the blue mask. Introducing the young beta to the wonders of sex was Brandtâs absolute pleasure, and he canât stop thinking about himâuntil Brandt comes face to face with Blue in the form of Demir Higgs, the middle son of a work colleague. Demir is equally drawn to Brandt and their chemistry is through the roof. The age difference is an issue, but their attraction is real, and stolen moments turn into a secret relationship they both enjoyâŠbut something is still missing.
Years ago, Oliver Strand lost all his memories in a horrible car wreck that left his face scarred and his sense of smell obliterated. But he built a new life for himself and his son, and now heâs visiting Sansbury Province as a guest speaker at a territory-wide anti-sex-trafficking conference. What he does not expect to find at the conference is an alpha he doesnât know, but who insists Oliver is his missing mate Ollie Lars, who disappeared the same week as Oliverâs accident.
Brandt is overjoyed to discover his bondmate is alive, despite Oliver having no memory of his old life in Sansbury, and heâs determined to keep both mate and son in his life. But heâs also in love with Demir and doesnât want to lose him. Demir is ready to be the bigger person and step aside so the Lars family can be together againâuntil Demir realizes he and Oliver have unique chemistry of their own. And theyâve also both been claimed by the same alpha.
Can a grumpy alpha in love with two men, an omega with no memory of his mate, and a beta determined to chart his own course find a way to navigate the complicated waters of a poly relationship? Or will all three men end up stranded alone with broken hearts?
NOTE: This is a non-shifter, M/M/M Omegaverse story with alpha/omega/beta dynamics, heats, knotting, and mpreg. In this world, omegas are second-class citizens, but they are working toward gaining more civil rights and protections under the law. Series warnings for mentions of past physical, emotional, and sexual abuse. Additional warnings for extremely kinky sex, including dirty talk, light spanking, biting, edging, roughhousing, come-swapping, and threesomes. This series is best read in numerical order.
It's All Relative by Jordan Castillo Price
1
DIXON
The Practical Penn Spellcraft shop has been in my family for years. My folks partnered with Uncle Fonzo to start the business while I was still in diapersâand, for the record, I was very easy to potty train, unlike Tuesday. Probably because even at that tender young age I was so concerned about disappointing anyoneâwhile Tuesday is probably the least motivated baby Iâve ever known. Though sheâs so utterly adorable, no one really minds.
Iâd spent my childhood at Practical Penn playing hide-and-seek with my cousin in the various offices. My school years doing homework on a desk where enchantments were Scribed. And, more recently, the occasional weekend helping clean out the cages of the various small animals weâd inherited from Precious Greetings.
But as for actually working there as a Spellcrafter? Between my walkabout after college and the span of time Iâd endured as an unquilled WheelMeal driver, the hours Iâd clocked in the family business were surprisingly few.
I plucked a curved piece of metal from the supply cabinet and held it up for inspection. While my inventory list did contain some pretty obscure items, we Scriveners do know our stationery well. Surely it was just a matter of eliminating the various tools I recognized, and whatever was left would cause recognition to dawn.
I was debating whether the object seemed more like a distance page-turner or a rubber band stretcher when I realized a shadow had fallen across the curve of the metal. I turned and found my mother filling the doorway to the supply room, hands on hips, looking very businesslike indeed. She knew this office inside and out, so surely sheâd know what it was. The trick was in not letting on that I didnât. I smiled my winningest smile and said, âSo, if one were looking to loosen up his rubber bandsâŠ.â
âGive me that.â Mom snatched the mystery object out of my hands and tucked it into her cardigan. Either she has extra pockets in there or sheâd just developed the ability to hold onto various small items with her body massâa handy trick to be sure. âItâs the arm that holds a globe on its stand, but the globe shattered years ago and the stand turned to rust. Iâd better get rid of it while your fatherâs off running errands.â
I turned to the list in my hands and added the words Globe HolderâŠthen dutifully crossed them off.
Mom blinked in that way she does when sheâs counting to ten. âDixon, is this really necessary?â
âThe Annual Reckoning must be completed in an orderly manner,â I said brightly, quoting a pamphlet I found stuck to the back of a desk drawer in Shirque Mansion. It was printed in 1948, so all the men in the photos are wearing hats and smoking cigarettesâbut fortunately, Spellcraft traditions themselves are pretty timeless.
âEverythingâs there in black and white on the spreadsheet I printed out,â Mom said. âAll you need to do is sign it.â
âIf I wanted to scrape by doing the bare minimum, then sure. I could read through the spreadsheet, ink my very fetching signature at the bottom of that form, and be done with it.â
âYou think thatâs the bare minimum? Your uncle never even bothered to sign the darned thing himself, let alone read it. Look, I get that you take pride in being the Hand of the family. None of us can argue with that. But no Hand in their right mind would do all this manual bean-counting unless they were planning to Fold.â
Obviously, the last thing I wanted to do was liquidate the business and leave everyone in my family unemployed. Not to mention invalidating the work order that kept Yuri in the country.
HoweverâŠ.
âThese beans youâve just referencedâIâm not seeing them on the spreadsheet.â
The chime of a customer coming through the door interrupted our lively debate, and Mom threw her hands in the air and bustled off to go see what they wanted. And since the tallying of staples, pencils and paperclips had indeed grown truly tedious, I followed her out to the front counter.
A red-haired woman in her mid-thirties stood in the lobby, visibly fretting. There was a nylon strap of some kind in her hands, and she twisted and re-twisted it nervously as she rocked from foot to foot, scanning all the various signage, from the jaunty âGot Problems? Spellcraft is the solution!â to the stern, âNo Bad ChecksâŠOr Else.â
âCan I help you?â Mom asked the woman, in a brusque, no-nonsense way most Handless find oddly comforting.
âGosh, I sure hope so. I was told thatââ
Outside, a car horn blared. Not just a polite toot-toot, either, but a long and weirdly loud bellow that went on and on. I hurried around the counter and pressed my face up against the glass to see what such a beepable offense might be, only to find a little old lady pawing desperately at her steering column trying to get her horn unstuck. A truck driver had stopped to help her, but despite his intervention, the honk just kept right on honking. Eventually, he gestured in the direction of the nearest mechanic, and the old woman hastily drove off, the beep fading behind her as she turned a corner and was gone.
âWow,â I said, âthat mustâve been painfully loud from inside the car. Iâd hate to have all that beepage blasting right in my face. Good thing the horn on our truck stopped working ages ago.â I turned toward the customer. âNow, how can we help?â
âThis is a prime example!â she said. âEvery time Iââ
A raucous clatter cut her off. I whirled around and saw the truck that belonged to the helpful driver had opened up, and hundreds upon hundreds of cans had fallen out the back. I was excited for a split second there, imagining such syrupy delights as fruit cocktail and cherry pie filling up for grabs, distributed throughout the neighborhood like tiny treasures waiting to be stumbled upon later. But then the vegetables painted on the side of the truck quashed my nascent fruity fantasies.
Still, the spill was entertaining. Those cans could really roll! Though why they were just loose in the back of the truck to begin with was anyoneâs guess.
Eventually, the cacophony ebbed long enough for the red-haired customer to say, âI canât take much more of this. I need someone toââ
Suddenly, we were enveloped by the rousing sound of a marching band. Through every speaker in the building, from the stereo that usually piped in Musak to the intercom no one ever used (as it was a lot quicker to just yell) some vaguely patriotic parade music blasted forth. Rufus Clahd reeled out of his office with an empty CD case in his handâthe title of which was March! March! March! He waved it around a few times, then stumbled back in.
Mom held up a Just-a-Sec index finger and bustled off to help our Seer with his musical selection. That left me standing there in the lobby with the customerânot usually a problem, but the fact that we couldnât talk was surprisingly awkward for me. I offered her an encouraging smile and she tried her best to smile back, though really, it came out as more of a wince.
Banging and clanging ensued, and the rousing march went skip-skip-skip, sounding oddly techno as it stuttered over the end of a cymbal crash replaying the blat of a trumpet. Several bangs later, the march fell silent, and my mother stomped out of Mr. Clahdâs office, muttering, âWhy we let him have access to the sound system, Iâll never know.â
The customer was just about to try again when Mom cut her off with, âNot one more word, young lady. Not until I get a look at that piece of Spellcraft in your pocket.â
The customer sagged all over with relief, pulled out the paper, and slid it across the desk.
The Seen was adorableâsomething right out of a childrenâs book, with a poodle frolicking in a green field of grass dotted with pastel wildflowers, puffy clouds overhead, and a butterfly circling lazily in the sky.
But the Scribing overlaid on the clouds was downright puzzling.
Nobody listens to me.
âI see the problem,â Mom said, as the customer nodded so vigorously I was worried sheâd make herself dizzy enough to keel over. Not that thatâs ever happened to me. Lately. âCrafting a Spell is challenging enough. Itâs part discipline, part innate ability, and part luck. Most people who discovered a Crafting like this on their person would just tear it up, and itâs a good thing you didnât. That might only make things worse. If you figure out who saddled you with this thing, youâd have a good case against themâthough bringing it to the authorities would be a challenge in the state youâre currently in.â
The customer shook her head no.
âThatâs good. I donât recommend involving the law where something like this is concerned. Litigation and Spellcraft are an unpredictable combination. My advice would be to neutralize the Craftingâwhich just so happens to be my sonâs specialty. But it doesnât come cheap.â
The customer whipped out a credit card and flapped it up and down.
âFine. Dixon?â Mom gestured at the Crafting. âItâs in your capable hands.â
Bursting with pride over my motherâs genuine praise, I gingerly picked up the Crafting and took it back to my office. It was the smallest office with the worst viewâand it smelled like burnt mozzarellaâbut now it was so much more than a place to keep the nocturnal animals no one wanted in their house. Donât get me wrong, the super loud toad was still thereâŠbut he was currently asleep, so he made a perfectly acceptable office mate.
Aside from the cages and tanks, there were now various Spellcrafty things a Hand might need. Copies of all the contracts and forms involved with the business. A giant box of dubious receipts. Contact info for the other local families, as well as a pile of generic gifts I might give if a social obligation cropped upâŠthough someone had broken into the chocolates and taken a bite out of them. The fancy soaps, too.
In short, my office was a real office. And while I had once balked at the thought of joining my family business, now that I was actually rolling up my sleeves and getting down to work, I found it surprisingly empowering.
Though I had to admit, it was a lot more fun now that I was technically in charge.
I cleared my desk, drew my quill from its case, and lay the Spellcraft on the blotter. It wasnât a curseâcurses are in a horrific category all their own, and Iâd be just as glad to never see one againâbut it was definitely a hindrance. I would have expected the vibe it gave off to feel negative somehow. But when I turned it this way and that and tried to get a sense of the telltale tingle, it just feltâŠtingly. Nothing more.
If it werenât for the actual words, I wouldâve taken it for a perfectly benign Crafting. Maybe it was meant to teach someone a lesson. Or maybe it was just a poorly thought out practical joke. Whatever the reason, the only thing that mattered now was how to Uncraft the Spell.
His Fairy Prince by JS Harker
Alaric shrugged and mimicked Gregâs posture, hooking his fingers into his belt loops and leaning against the wall. âWhat if I genuinely want to know you?â
âKnowing people generally starts with names, not kisses.â
âMy name is Alaric. Yours is GregâI overheard that in the lobby. There, now we arenât strangers.â
Greg rolled his eyes. âAs if I havenât heard that line a dozen times. Iâm still not getting naked for you.â
Oh, he had a sharp tongue as playful with words as he was with kisses. Alaric suppressed a grin, not wanting to upset Greg with his amusement. âWhat if I brought you here to invite you to dinner?â
âUh-huh. Thatâs what the secret hallway conversation with the slow kiss and special glow lights is definitely about.â
âIâm adaptable,â Alaric purred.
Greg shivered and bit his bottom lip. A blush brightened his cheeks and crept down his neck. âIâm not dating either.â
Normally a smile and a few whispered words were enough for Alaric to get what he wanted. Rejection was new and made Alaric curious. âMay I ask why not?â
Greg hesitated long enough that Alaric didnât think he would ever get an answer. Then he let out a long, deep, suffering sigh, one that seemed to come up from his soul. âBecause I have a bad habit of getting into a relationship, running into someone who gives me the kind of look youâre giving me, and wham, Iâm cheating. And then I try to make up for it, only that doesnât work because my cheating winds up being this cloud hanging over a doomed relationship. So I try to be single, but then I get lonely, so I try a relationship again, and it just keeps cycling between drama and bullshit, and apparently Iâm too much of an asshole to stop from making the same mistake. I canât keep screwing up my life, so as much as Iâm going to hate myself in the morningâbecause you are completely my typeâI have to say no.â
âTo stop yourself from getting hurt?â Alaric said.
âTo stop me from hurting you. Ask anyone. Iâm slutty damaged goods.â Greg sounded incredibly lonely, as if he didnât know how to be friends with himself. He quickly looked away from Alaric, staring at the floor instead.
Fey had a different morality when it came to sex than humans. Alaric only knew the number of his sexual partners because of an obsessive need to keep count, another curse of the fairy. Cheating on a relationship was more problematic, but Alaric had witnessed politics at Court for a long time. There was always a motive to any action, which made Gregâs past more of a mystery to solve than a reason to judge him.
Greg lightly thumped his head against the wall. âI donât know why I spewed all of that at you except youâre the first person who actually looks like heâs listening to me. Iâm obviously not dateworthy material. Canât be trusted. Iâm going to hate turning you down, because have you seen you? Youâre gorgeous. Freaking going-to-be-in-my-dreams-forever kind of hot. How did you bottle sex into a cologne? And this is the point where you say something because I canât shut up. Especially since all you probably wanted was a quick screw and not for some random stranger to dump all their crap on you.â
When Greg turned his gaze toward Alaric this time, there was a deeper fear in his eyes that ran to his core. A forming terror that isolation was his only way forward, a fear Alaric knew well. He itched to ease Gregâs pain, to wrap his arms around his skinny shoulders and hold him close.
Alaric put his hand on Gregâs shoulder and squeezed him comfortingly. âI understand.â
âI donât understand half of what is coming out of my mouth. How do you get it?â
âIâve been where you are,â Alaric replied. âItâs hard to find the right partner when you donât know what you want.â Greg frowned, but he relaxed, no longer stretched as tight as a wire. âI think I know what I want. Just no one cares that I want it.â
âAnd what is that?â Alaric asked.
The barest hint of a smile tugged on Gregâs lips. âMaybe Iâll tell you over dinner. If you still want to go.â
Prisoner of Shadows by Sam Burns & WM Fawkes
Swift Escape
As soon as night fell, the eagle flew back to its nest, the torches flickered out, and Prometheus began the long process of healing.
Even for a titan, regrowing an organ was no mean feat. On good days, when the sport of tearing into his flesh was less enticing and the eagleâs talons werenât as vicious, he could recover quickly and steal a few hoursâ reprieve before Helios took to his chariot and it all started again.
This had been a good day, so as his flesh knit back together, as his new liver grew from nothing, he was aware enough of his surroundings to hear the skittering of a stone across the floor. Something moved in the dark.
After millennia, Prometheusâs eyes still hadnât adapted to Tartarusâs shadows. Despite what he could withstand, he hadnât been built to thrive there. As he strained forward, squinting into the shadows, the chains that bound him scraped against the boulder at his back.
âHello?â
Silence. Despite sense and reason, his heart sank. He shouldâve been used to his isolation, but itâd only been a handful of weeks, counted in the cycle of pain and recovery, since Hadesâs son had come to visit. They hadnât spoken. As he had gritted his teeth against a scream, Prometheus had felt the anger rolling off of the young god in waves. It did not matter; Hadesâs son had kept him company. His black, scowling eyes had seen Prometheus, and even that made him feel better. He looked forward to another visitâfrom him, from anyone. Thanatos always brought stories from the world above.
Prometheus sagged in his chains again, testing the strength of his shouldersâ tendons to bear his weight. It did not matter if they rippedâheâd heal. He always healed.
Before he could lose himself to desolation, a soft windâthe only heâd felt in the underworldâtouched his skin. Suddenly someone was there, appeared from nothing. In the dark, Prometheus couldnât make out any more than the shape of them.
They smelled of sharp, fresh air and things that grew. It was the smell of clouds and rain and living things. Desperate for a better look, he stared with wide eyes.
There was a click, and a little flame flickered to life in the manâs hand. Prometheus flinched. That small light was too bright in the dark.
âPrometheus, darling, you donât look well at all.â
He squinted through his eyelashes while his eyes adjusted. Before him, Hermes held a small rectangle in his hand. At the end was a tiny flame. It was hardly light enough to see, but the man stepped back to light a torch nearby.
Hermes, short and quick with golden curls and bright eyes, grinned, and Prometheus drank in the sight of him, his curved brows and the cupidâs bow of his plump lips. Heâd hardly known Hermes before Zeus had locked him away, but rumor of his silver tongue and cunning mouth preceded him. The smile the god shot him was among the best things that Prometheus had ever seen.
âNo? I feel wonderful.â The faint sarcasm in his voice won him a broader smile from the fleet-footed Olympian.
âI hope you feel well enough to get out of here.â
Hermes produced a thin metal key that caught and glinted in the torchlight. He leaned in close to release the locks on the cuffs that held Prometheusâs arms. While Prometheus rubbed feeling back into his wrists and flexed his shoulders, Hermes crouched to release his ankles. For the first time in an age, Prometheus was free.
He lifted his legs, moved his arms, and while he was still testing the weight of his own limbs, Hermes shoved a bundle of cloth at him.
âPut those on. Youâd have to be going to a special kind of party to show up naked and covered in ichor, and weâre shooting for low profile here.â
At least the shirt was soft. After so long without even a chiton to wear, the fabric of the trousers was coarse and uncomfortable. Heâd seen the way Thanatos dressed, but nothing could prepare him for the wicked contraption covering his crotch.
He fumbled with it, and Hermes batted his hands out of the way. That sharp brush of his fingers was the first contact heâd had with another person in so long that it shocked him. With a hasty jerk, Hermes pulled his pants together and zipped up the ungodly metal.
âDonât mean to rush you, Prometheus, but we donât have a lot of time to mess around.â Hermes passed him a pair of shoes that laced up and looked over his shoulder.
It was only then that Prometheus got over the shock of seeing Hermes there. Heâd never come to see Prometheus before.
âDid Zeus send for me?â
Rome had still ruled the western world the last time that Zeus had come to visit Prometheus. Every time, heâd demanded to know which of his sons would kill him. Every time, Prometheus refused to speak, ignoring the lure of freedom Zeus dangled in front of him. He wanted to believe that even if Zeus had not given up, he would have continued to refuse, but itâd been so long since his strength was tested that he couldnât be certain.
Hermes laughed. âUh, no. Youâre not high on his priority list at the moment. Heâs perfectly happy to let you rot down here.â
Though gods were not encumbered by the movement of time the way that mortals were, in five thousand years, perhaps Zeusâs fear of his own death had grown less pressing.
âThen why are you here?â
âBecause I need your help.â
Prometheus arched a brow. Whatever Hermes wanted, Prometheus doubted itâd be to his benefit. âWith?â
Hermes smirked at him. âHow about we figure out how to get you out of here before we worry about particulars, huh? Shoes, Prometheus. Eyes on the prize.â
With sore legs and numb fingers, Prometheus had to sit to tie his laces. As soon as he was done, Hermes grabbed the top of his arm and jerked him to his feet.
âCome on,â Hermes snapped. He grabbed the torch in one hand and, with the other still gripping Prometheusâs arm, pulled him out of the chamber.
The winding paths of Tartarus were enough to befuddle anyone. Prometheus knew every nook and shadow of his own chamber but hadnât seen the rest of the underworld. Heâd been isolatedânot because everyone who faced punishment was, but because Prometheus, in particular, hated being alone.
Hermes moved too fast for Prometheus to pay much attention to where they were going. Instead, he spent his time staring at the corner of Hermesâs jaw, the twitch of the muscle there, the nervous way he licked his lips.
âAre you all right?â
The short breath of air that escaped Hermesâs lips was something like a laugh. It was a marvel how easily laughter came to the god. Prometheus remembered in a rush what genuine laughter sounded like, the way a smile felt on his own face. He had forgotten. He forced the corners of his mouth up, but it didnât feel genuine.
âRidiculous question. No. Are you?â
No. There wasnât a good way to answer that, though, so Prometheus kept his mouth shut.
The farther they moved, the lighter the air got. Hermes abandoned the torch when they cleared Tartarus, and the ambient gray light of the underworld shone enough to see on their own. There was something in the fields of punishment that was heavy and forbidding. It wasnât so in the rest of the underworld, where mortals found peace.
But peace was not for titans or gods. They didnât linger there. Hermes pulled him behind sparse hedgerows, down a garden path that cut past Hadesâs crystal palace.
They stopped. Throwing out an arm, Hermes held him back against the brush, and Prometheus heard people talking.
âWe should invite Theoâs mothers to the palace for the holiday.â Persephoneâs voice sounded like dewdrops on flower petals, cool and soft. Sheâd overseen punishments for as long as heâd been there, but heâd never heard her sound so sweet. âLysandros said he got a promotion at work. We can celebrate.â
Prometheus turned and stared through the branches to see Hades and Persephone strolling on the other side. Even in this bloodless place, Persephone was hale and bright. Hades was clad in black and as scowling and serious as ever.
âIf youâd like,â Hades agreed in a low rumble.
Persephone beamed. âItâll be so nice to have them home again.â
Hades hummed and looked past her. Like a magnet, his gaze caught Prometheusâs, and Prometheus couldâve sworn that Hades gave him the smallest of nods, but Hermes pulled them on before he could be sure.
They moved through stone tunnels, around bends and upward, then past Cerberus.
âHey, boy.â Hermes threw up his hand. Cerberus pressed one of his glistening wet noses into it, apparently familiar enough with the Olympian to let him near.
Hermes distracted the beast with a paper-wrapped package he pulled from inside his hoodie. Cerberus tore into it, and Prometheus only had a moment to be horrified by the shock of bloody red meat before Hermes pulled him onward.
Heâd eaten plenty of meat before, but he wasnât prepared for how such a sight would affect him after heâd seen his own liver in the beak of an eagle hundreds of thousands of times. If it werenât for Hermesâs insistent tugging, Prometheus wouldâve stopped to expel the stinging, sour bile that crept up the back of his throat.
Walking onto the platform was like entering a different worldâone that was comfortingly sterile. He followed Hermes through the open gates. Prometheus lingered on the other side. The lights here were different, buzzing faintly with a hum in the air.
âCome on,â Hermes pressed. âWe canât miss the train.â
âSorry?â
A great steel python whizzed to a stop on the opposite side of the platform as they approached, like Hermes had timed it. It must be the train. Thanatos had told him about itâthe mechanical wonder that made his brotherâs job so much easier than in ages past. As they approached, the doors slid open.
Hermes tossed a jingling bag to Charon, who caught it in the air. âNew York, if you would.â
âSure thing,â Charon replied. He was sitting a few rows from the door, his feet propped up on the back of the seat in front of him. âWho doesnât love a night on the town with the incarcerated and luckless?â
Prometheus stared. Surely he couldnât walk out. Tricking Cerberus was one thing, but Charon wouldnât let him go.
âChill.â Hermes clapped Prometheus on the shoulder. âCharonâs cool. Arenât you, Charon?â
Charon jingled the bag by his ear. âFor a price, my lips are sealed.â
Hermes dropped onto one of the empty benches and spread out. The train began to move, and Prometheus stumbled. He caught himself on a metal rod and eased down into the seat beside him.
For a few moments, they rode in silence. There was nothing to do but sit. The immediate danger of their escape had passed, and Prometheus had questions.
âNow can we talk about why youâre helping me?â
Hermes stuck out his lips as he considered. âSure.â
âYou should know that Zeus had Hecate bind my magic. I wonât be able toââ
Hermes snorted. âI donât need you for magic, Prometheus.â
But there wasnât another reason Prometheus could see. He was good at precisely one thing; in fact, he was the best at it. Why else would Hermes take the risk of helping him against Zeusâs wishes?
Hermes dug in his pockets and came up with a slip of something, which he passed to Prometheus. It was bendy, like nothing Prometheus had ever held before, and shone faintly in the blue light of the train. Hermes snatched it back.
âDonât break it. Thatâs your money.â
âMy money?â
âYeah. A prepaid card. You can use it to buy things. Like better clothes, a place to stay, a ticket the hell out of there. Should have plenty on it to get you started.â
âStarted doing what?â
âDude, I really donât care.â
The train pulled to a stop. When the doors opened, the air did not smell clean anymore. It smelled like sweat and piss and the press of bodies. It was unpleasant and wonderful at onceâheâd missed the fragrant reminders of lifeâand as they left their platform, they joined the throng walking through the cavernous tunnel.
Prometheus gaped. In a crowd like this, he was one of many. One of hundreds.
Awestricken, his next words escaped on a breath. âThere are so many people.â
âOh, yeah. More than you realize. There are more than seven billion of them now.â
A mixture of pride and horror swirled in Prometheusâs chest. âSeven billion.â
âUh huh. Itâs actually kind of a problem. Theyâre wrecking the planet, dying in droves, killing off everything. You didnât have to make them so capricious.â
âTheyâre like us.â
âYeah, so an all-around bad situation then. We fucking suck.â
That wasnât true. Immortals could be kind and vicious in turn. Humans could do the same, but their mortality saddled them with consequence. It had been a cruel addition, but one that made their lives matter. And one, apparently, that had inspired them to multiply beyond anything Prometheus had imagined.
Prometheusâs crime hadnât been the creation of human beings but emboldening them. After Zeus had flooded the world, Prometheus had given his son Deucalion magic so that humans could protect themselves from the sharp sting of godsâ wraths. Heâd borne Aidos to give Deucalionâs descendants the decency to manage their new power.
âBut if there are seven billion of them, surely we are powerful enough to set things back on course.â
Hermes scoffed. âNo dice, my dude. They donât believe in us anymore. Weâre stories at best. Hell, Aidos has started fading out of existence.â
Ice chilled Prometheusâs limbs. The power of immortals was tied directly to how they were worshipped. When Prometheus had last walked the earth, titans and gods had been able to go almost anywhere, do almost anything, all with little more than a thought. That one of themâPrometheusâs own daughterâcould fade was horrifying.
âTheyâve taken over like roaches,â Hermes continued. âNone of us can do shit.â
âNone of you have done shit, you mean.â
The set of stairs they stepped onto was full of people, and it moved. By some clever magic, it carried them toward the surface. They stepped out into the night. The air was fresher here, but only just. The sounds were deafening, and though it was night, he could not see the stars behind the dim red glow of the sky. Instead, the lights had fallen to earth, where they shone in bright and blinding colors, offering music, entertainment, and cell phone upgradesâwhatever those were. As the people scurried around each other, Prometheus did not see roaches, but a seething mass of potential.
People. There were people, and he could not keep the smile from his face. This one felt real.
âAm I here to fix that?â Prometheus asked.
âNah. I told youâI really donât care what you do.â
âThen why did you help me?â
âI didnât. I helped me. Heraâs chained to the bottom of the clouds, and I donât want to join her. I signed up for mai tais and sandy beaches. Iâve been Dadâs errand boy for way too long to have him go all corporal punishment on me now. Youâd think a few millennia running all the fuck everywhere for him would buy a guy a little slack, but no.â Hermes turned toward him for an inspection and pulled down the hem of Prometheusâs shirt to straighten out the wrinkles. It was gray and nondescript, except that it wouldnât have been warm enough in the December chill for a mortal who was sensitive to temperatures. âAll I need you to do is be around for him to hate. There arenât that many people he dislikes more than me right now, but youââHermesâs bright gaze raked over himââyou fit the bill.â
Prometheus pursed his lips.
âWatch out for cars,â Hermes warned, jerking his head to the street where a horde of yellow contraptions idled by the sidewalk. âAnd stay out of the sunlight. Helios is still in Dadâs pocket, so heâll chuck you under the bus the second he sees you. Youâll last longer if you can keep a low profile, and Prometheus, I really hope you make it.â
âWatch out, fella!â A few feet away, a guy holding a bright glowing rectangle in front of his face bumped into an older man in a suit. Prometheus turned away from the smirking messenger god to look. The older man was still scowling; the younger threw up his hand and middle finger.
When he turned back, Hermes was gone, and Prometheus was left alone to find out what humankind had made of this world in his absence.
How the Necromancer in the Gold Vest Saved My Life: Disaster #1 by Jocelynn Drake
Chapter 1
Skylar Wallace
âThereâs your problem right there!â Maddox declared, his deep, rough voice rising above the deafening beat from the DJâs speakers. âI canât believe youâre still cleaning your equipment with rain-barrel water. If Iâve told you once, I swear Iâve said it a thousand times: distilled water is the only way to go.â
Redstone made a noise, and Skylar swore he could feel Redâs eyes roll. âAnd distilled sucks all the positive energy out of the water. Youâre left with something utterly soulless that a series of machines processed. Do you hear me, Mad? Machines.â
Maddox wrinkled his nose at him, the corners of his brown eyes crinkling. âTwo hundred years ago, you could get away with rainwater, but human pollution has ended those days. Youâre introducing too many contaminants into your spells. Thatâs why your binding spell is so fucking weak.â
Blue eyes shot wide open, and Redâs naturally pale face instantly flushed almost as red as his auburn hair. âFuck you! Iâll show you a binding spell thatâll keep you clogged for weeks. Youâll come to me beggingââ
âHey! Hey! Hey! Letâs keep this civil. No shoptalk. Weâre supposed to be out having a relaxing night. Drinks between friends,â Sky interceded. He placed his hands on Redâs taut shoulders and squeezed while the two companions continued to glare at each other over the tall pub table.
This happened almost every time they went out for adult beverages together or hung out and binged TV. Talk would eventually wander over to what they were working on, and there wasnât a witch alive who didnât have their own specific way of doing things. Ninety percent of them would never listen to anotherâs opinion. They were right, and everyone else was wrong. His best friends, Redstone and Maddox, were no different.
It was one of the good things about being a necromancer. Sky had some spells that overlapped with his companionsâ, but he did things a different way because of his unique magic. His friends couldnât offer comment, saving him from headaches.
But Red and Mad were nature-based witches, which meant there was a shit-ton of overlap and so much room for argument. Thankfully, the two men had known each other since grade school and were good at brushing off each otherâs harsh words.
âAre you taking his side?â Mad demanded, his narrowed eyes jumping to Sky.
âNo, Iâm not. Iâm saying youâre both assholes for trying to ruin a perfectly good Friday night,â Sky snapped. âI got a new vest to try out. My favorite bartender still hasnât learned to make a sea breeze, which I love him for. And Iâm here to enjoy some delicious eye candy.â
As he spoke, Sky released his hold on Red and picked up his drink. His very blue drink. A sea breeze cocktail was simply vodka with grapefruit juice and cranberry juice, resulting in it being red. Whatever drink the adorable bartender kept whipping up and calling a sea breeze was curaçao blue and mostly alcohol. One promised to make him pleasantly tipsy. Three would put him on his ass.
He took a sip and sighed. It was worth the fifteen bucks if it helped to wash away the stress of the week.
âHow can you be happy with just eye candy? Go hit on someone, Mr. Shiny Vest,â Mad teased.
Sky was about to give Mad the evil eye when Red chimed in. âYou know Sky is a âone target at a timeâ guy, and right now heâs busy eye-fucking his neighbor every chance he gets.â
Sky pointed his finger at Mad and then Red. âScrew you both.â
Red batted at his hand. âPut that away. We donât know where itâs been.â
Mad snickered and took a drink of his beer.
âOh, have you pissed off Sky enough that heâs started hexing you?â a cheerful voice from behind Sky inquired. âThatâs got to be a record. Heâs usually on his second drink when that happens.â
âFuck you, Moon,â Sky grumbled as the fourth member of their coven joined them around the table.
Moon put a fresh beer in front of Mad, a rum and coke in front of Red, and lifted his own beer bottle. âHereâs to Friday night drinks with friends.â
They clinked their bottles and glasses together, and for a heartbeat, Sky smiled, sure that his companions had forgotten Redâs comment and theyâd moved on.
But Red had to prove him wrong. âWe were asking if Sky has made any progress with the troll that lives across the street from him.â
Sky flicked his friend in the ear. âHeâs not a troll. Heâs a grungy little goth boy who needs someone to take care of him.â His bottom lip jutted out as he thought about his poor sexy neighbor with the black hair and pale skin. âDid I tell you I saw him the other day? I was walking a new client out to her car, and heâd just gotten home. Probably from running errands. He was carrying another fast-food bag. That man needs vegetables. Maybe I should try gardening again this spring.â
âNot a good idea,â Mad interjected.
Sky lifted his gaze to his friends to see them wincing and shaking their heads.
âThe last time you tried, the carrots crawled out of the ground themselves,â Red pointed out.
âYour potatoes had eyes and teeth.â Moon held up one of his fingers. Sky could barely make out a faint white scar along the knuckle. âOne of them bit me!â
âYou kept talking about all the ways to cook him. My spuds were sensitive.â But they were likely right. His skills lay in raising the dead from the earth, not vegetables.
âNo gardening for your troll,â Red stated.
âQuit calling him a troll. Heâs not a troll. Heâs one of those people who works from home and doesnât enjoy going out in the sun much.â
âOh, you mean heâs aâŠâ Mad held up two fingers as if making a peace sign, but really, he was making a âVâ for vampire. None of them used that word while in Phoenix. The trendy nightclub wasnât technically a bar for vampires, but at least a dozen of them were mingling through the crowds of unsuspecting humans, searching for a good time and possibly a meal.
But that was what you got when the owner and operator of Phoenix was a vampire.
They didnât use the âVâ word because there was no telling who was listening, and they didnât want to capture the attention of fanged fiends. All in all, it was a safe place to hang out. Much more than a lot of the purely human clubs around Hartford. Everyone behaved themselves and had a good time because no one wanted to get blacklisted from Rafe Varikâs nightclub.
Lights throughout the club dimmed, and a spotlight hit the golden cage that was being lifted from beside the DJ booth. Inside was the most adorable blond twink vampire in all of existence: Gideon Varik. With a laugh, Sky raised his hand above his head and waved wildly at Gideon. He didnât expect Gideon to actually see him, let alone give him a small wave in return when an entire sea of people were shouting and cheering as his dancing cage rose.
Gideon dancing in a go-go cage that dangled above the masses was one of the bigger draws to Phoenix. His movements were so provocative, Sky struggled to tear his eyes away. Gideon helped to keep the scintillating vibe of the place going. Of course, there was also the amazing hellfire decor, sexy bartenders, killer music, and excellent drinks. Not to mention, many people came hoping to see the insanely gorgeous owner.
Rafe Varik was born to be a vampire. He had Hollywood good looks, oozed charm, and had an edge of danger that left most people drooling.
Sky had caught sight of Rafe once from afar while heâd been chatting with Gideon. He would never be brave enough to talk to the powerful vampire, and that was just fine with him.
âI still canât believe you two met Gideon,â Red muttered.
âAnd you didnât think to invite us along!â Moon cut in.
Mad chuckled. âWe were more than enough for him and his boyfriend to handle. I donât think he wanted to meet with an entire table full of witches.â
âStill, I would have liked to have met him or at least gotten his autograph.â Moon pouted.
Red snorted, almost choking on his drink. âYeah, âcause who doesnât want to hand their signature over to a fucking witch?â
Sky rolled his eyes and turned partially away from the table to gaze out at the Friday-night crowd. It was full of all the regular clubbers in skimpy, clingy clothing. The main bar was already packed with people waiting to be served, and it wasnât even midnight yet. Well, he wasnât planning on having another drink, anyway. Heâd driven into Hartford rather than taking a rideshare. That shit was too expensive.
Moon could bitch all he wanted, but Skyâd never expected to meet Gideon. It just so happened that the vampire had gotten his hands on a haunted trunk and had needed to get it unhaunted, fast. The job had been easy and had given him the chance to meet some of the Variksânot something heâd ever thought possible. The Varik Clan was the ruling vampire clan. Not only of Hartford and Connecticut, but freaking North America.
The paranormal world could be boiled down to a few simple rules:
Vampires stick to the vampires.
Shifters stick to the shifters.
Witches stick to the witches.
Nobody trust the necromancers.
Whatever. Losers feared a little death. No big deal.
The important thing was that he had his core group of close friends who werenât afraid of what he could do and would always have his back. It was better to not be in the middle of all the power struggles and politics that seemed to consume the vampire world. He liked his quiet life, which included drinks with friends and helping people resolve issues they had with the dead.
âShit! Somebodyâs about to get kicked out,â Mad muttered.
Red snorted. âAnd itâs still early. Drunk idiot.â
Sky followed his friendsâ stares toward the small knot of people standing near the round banquette booths along the far wall. A man was shouting at someone seated in the booth. He lunged forward, making a grab for the seated person, but a bouncer stopped him at the last second, pulling him a safe distance away from the table. Ryderâthe large, scary bouncer heâd met through Gideonâwas wading through the crowd to help.
The first bouncer was still trying to drag the angry man away, but the pissed customer shrugged him off. That little twist gave Sky the perfect view of the would-be brawlerâs profile.
Sexy neighbor Nolan!
He would know that manâs perfect face anywhere, even distorted in rage.
âThatâs my neighbor!â Sky shouted before plunging into the crowd of people. He had to get to him.
This didnât make any sense. Okay, so maybe he could count on one hand the number of times heâd talked to Nolan, but heâd given no sign that he was prone to drunken outbursts or starting fights. He was a quiet recluse. Fuck. It was insane to see him in a nightclub in the first place.
But fighting here was a bad idea.
Nolan Banks was one hundred percent human. There was nothing paranormal or magical about him, and that meant there was a damn good chance he didnât know there were such things as vampires.
As Sky shoved his way through the crowd vying for a good view of the argument, he prayed Nolan hadnât picked a fight with a vampire. And he really fucking prayed that Nolan wasnât swinging his fists. A bloody lip or minor cut would put the scent of blood in the air. Combined with the excitement of the fight, this would not be a safe place to be for humans.
Plus, he didnât want to see his neighbor get hurt.
He reached Nolanâs side as the bouncer got him under control. Sky glanced at the black leather banquette for only a second, but that was all he needed to confirm that a pair of vampires sat in the center while scantily-clad human women bracketed them. The female vampire appeared amused by Nolanâs anger while the male vampire seemed to grow more annoyed. Not good.
Sky forced his way in front of Nolan and pressed a hand on his chest. His neighborâs heart slammed against his fingers. Nolanâs face swung to him and his mouth opened, his face screwing up as if he were going to shout at Sky, but no words came out. His russet-brown eyes widened, and he blinked a few times as if his brain were struggling to register what he was seeing.
âYouâreâŠyouâre my neighbor,â Nolan said, his words coming out slurred. His face and the tendrils of black hair hanging in front of his eyes were sweaty. He didnât look good. How long had he been drinking here?
âHey, Nolan. Thatâs right. Iâm your next-door neighbor, Sky. How about we get out of here?â
Nolanâs frowned, his scowl darkening all of his features before his gaze snapped to the vampire couple in the banquette. âButâŠâ His argument fell off as if he were trying to remember what had made him angry.
âItâs okay. I can help you get home.â
âNo!â
âSky?â
The necromancer twisted to stare at the speaker while keeping one hand on Nolanâs chest. He offered a weak smile to the scary tall vampire. âHey, Ryder. Sorry about the disturbance. This is my neighbor. Let me get him out of here. I donât want him to get hurt.â
Ryder frowned at Nolan first, but then the huge bouncer directed his glare at the couple. Sky watched the two smile back at Ryder so fucking sweetly, as if they were all perfectly innocent in this mess, which convinced Sky that theyâd somehow started everything.
Yes, fuck, okay. He was totally biased where Nolan Banks was concerned. He was a hot goth boy who needed someone to take care of him, and Sky really wanted that person to be him. Was that so wrong?
Ryder returned his gaze to Sky. âYouâll make sure he gets home safe?â
âYep. Totally got it handled,â Sky lied. Nolan had at least four inches in height on him and while Sky just might outweigh himâShut up, curve hatersâNolan was currently rocking all that lanky, drunk strength. If Nolan fought him, Sky wasnât entirely sure he could hold on to him.
Ryderâs thin, hard lips twisted a bit as if the scary vampire were fighting the urge to laugh in his face. âIâll help you get him to your car.â Ryder gave a jerk of his head to the other bouncer and the vampire instantly released Nolan, who swayed on his feet.
Sky slid closer, putting Nolanâs arm across his shoulders and wrapping his own arm around the manâs slender waist. Holy fuck, this boy needs to be fed! Nolan leaned on him and moved with him toward the entrance, but his footsteps felt grudging, as if he wasnât ready to give up his fight. Ryder took up position on the other side of Nolan, helping to keep him steady while urging all the gawkers out of their way. People murmured to each other, but Sky ignored them. This was none of their business.
âSky! Sky!â Moon called as he slid through the crowd to come up on his right. âDo you need help? Are you leaving?â
âNo, Iâm good. Iâm going to take Nolan home. You and the others stay, have a good time. Drink my drink! Donât let that alcohol go to waste!â
His tiny inner party girl gave a whimper. More than half of his yummy beverage was still untouched. That sucked.
But he didnât feel too bad. Helping Nolan safely escape Phoenix and getting him home was far more important. It might also give him an excuse to check up on Nolan tomorrow when he was sober and in need of some recovery TLC.
Sky had gotten stuck parking his powder-blue electric sedan over two blocks away in a lot, and Ryder surprised him by walking them all the way to Skyâs car and helping to settle Nolan in the front seat. Heâd thought Ryder would be content with just getting them out of the club, so Nolan couldnât stir up more trouble.
âSky? Youâre okay with him?â Ryder asked as Sky closed the passenger door.
Sky squeezed his key ring in his fist and grinned up at Ryderâs worried expression. âOh, yeah. He lives across the street from me. I mean, weâre not close, but weâve talked some. Heâs normally a nice, quiet guy. I donât know what happened tonight.â
âWhen heâs sober, tell him not to return to Phoenix.â
A chill ran through Sky that had nothing to do with the early spring air. This didnât sound like a âheâs bannedâ talk, but more of a âfor his own safetyâ warning. Sky swallowed hard. âDo I want to know who was sitting in that booth?â
âNo.â Ryder turned on his heel and marched to Phoenix without a glance back.
Sky didnât know whether to feel annoyed or afraid or relieved that heâd gotten out of there. Phoenix was a safe place, but there was a hidden edge to it that was a siren song. Who didnât want to have a tiny taste of danger with their wild night out?
The problem was when danger caught you looking and smiled.
Silence dominated the entire forty-minute drive to their small, forgotten town outside of Hartford. Nolan appeared to have passed out with his head resting on the window the moment Sky started the engine. His breath fogging the glass was proof that he was still alive. Sky turned some K-pop on low and hummed along to the music while his brain turned over the strange event.
It didnât make sense.
First off, Nolan didnât seem like the clubbing type. And even if the man decided to go out for a drink, Phoenix didnât strike Sky as his type of place. Besides, where were his besties? His ride or die? Nolan should never have been in Phoenix alone.
Second, what had happened with those vampires to piss Nolan off? He hadnât caught anything Nolan said to them over the music, but it was clear that heâd been willing to climb over the table to get at one or both of them.
No, Nolan was the keep-to-himself type. Sky had invited him over to a barbecue with friends last summer, but Nolan had turned him down. Heâd flat-out admitted he was an introvert and not comfortable with strangers. Phoenix should have been one of the lower levels of Hell for him.
Unless heâd been lying in the first place and just didnât like Sky.
He snorted at that notion. Not likely. Theyâd barely spoken. And well, Nolan was stuck with him now. At least until he was sure the guy was properly on the mend and safe on his own.
Nolan stirred when the tires bumped the curb as Sky turned into his driveway. Sky had bought the cute two-story house with the detached garage about five years ago at a freaking steal because it had been hauntedâŠand maybe a little dilapidated. It had taken him about two weeks to clean out all the troublesome ghosts and another three months to get the place in livable shape, but he loved his sunshine-yellow house with the white trim. All the spring flowers were poking above the ground now and were blooming, adding bursts of color to his tiny front yard.
So, yes, he could do flowers.
With some help from Red and Maddox checking over things and making sure his own natural magic wasnât leaking into the ground. There were a couple of exceptions, though.
The backyard was another story, but that was because he had a few enormous shade trees and a tall privacy fence to keep his garden hidden within his property bounds.
âWhere? How?â Nolan mumbled as he sat up and looked around.
Sky smiled as he turned off the engine and unhooked his seat belt. âHome again. Well, almost home.â
âWhat? No.â Nolan fumbled with his seat belt and almost fell out of the door when he opened it. âI need to go back.â
Sky sighed and climbed out when Nolan did. The man still wasnât steady on his feet. He was going to fall over and break something if he wasnât careful.
âYou canât. They kicked you out of Phoenix for nearly starting a fight,â Sky explained as he reached Nolanâs side. He grabbed his neighborâs arm as he swayed, standing in the middle of Skyâs yard, seeming utterly confused. Sky swallowed the part where Nolan had almost gotten into a fight with a vampire. It was better if Nolan didnât know about that part.
âNo. I gotta go back. My brother. I need to find my brother,â Nolan argued. He took another step toward the street, but Sky wasnât sure where he was going. He didnât see Nolanâs car in his driveway, which meant it was probably in Hartford. That was not good, but hardly Nolanâs biggest problem right now.
âYour brother? He was at the club?â Fuck. Where the hell was the man? Had he been in the bathroom when Nolan was stirring up trouble? Well, his friends were still at Phoenix. Maybe they could locate the man and tell him what was going on.
âAt the club?â Nolan shook his head, sending his hair flopping around his face. âNo. ThatâŠthat bloodsuckerâs got him. I know it.â
âThe man at the table?â Sky asked. Maybe he didnât mean that word like Sky meant that word. He couldnât knowâŠ
âNo. The woman. The vampire.â Nolan leaned close enough to Sky that their noses almost touched. âDonât laugh at me. I saw their fangs. Both of them. Theyâre vampires. Real ones. And they have my brother.â
Now the penny dropped.
Tightening his grip on Nolanâs arm, he turned him away from the street and toward his front stairs. This was bigger than getting drunk and kicked out of Phoenix. Nolan had fallen into a secret world he should know nothing about.
And if his brother was missing in that world, he was going to need help to get him out. Insider help.
Claimed by AM Arthur
Prologue
Ollie turned bright eyes onto Brandt Lars, his smile so wide it could light the heavens, and it definitely lit the hospital waiting room. âItâs our turn, I know it,â Ollie said to his bondmate. âI can feel it, Bebe.â His pale hand covered his flat lower belly. âHeâs in there. Our little man.â
After almost six years of trying to get pregnant, heat after heat, Brandt was not leaving this moment up to a cheap plastic stick and a home test. No sir. He and Ollie had made an appointment in Obstetrics for a proper test after Ollieâs home test came up positive, and Brandt wasnât very happy theyâd been shunted to a new doctor on staff. Someone named Nero Troi, and yes, Brandt had checked up on the beta manâs record. Only three years out of medical school.
But Ollie was practically vibrating with excitement in his chair as they waited for their appointment. Theyâd grown up as neighbors and been best friends, which was unusual for young alphas and omegas, but their parents had been close. Brandt had loved watching Ollie grow from a slightly gawky, blond teenager into a beautiful man with sun-kissed hair and a smile that always lit up the room.
âYes, he is.â Brandt kissed Ollieâs cheek simply because he could, then slid a possessive arm across Ollieâs shouldersâboth a reaction to the new couple whoâd entered the waiting room and his own need to touch his mate. Heâd never tire of touching him. Despite them being only a few months apart in age and feeling the mating bond at sixteen, Ollieâs parents had refused any formal mating agreement for years. Brandt was one of only two children to a mated pair, and Ollieâs parents had feared infertility would run in the family. They also werenât happy that Brandt planned on joining the Constabulary Academy directly out of secondary school.
Usually the academy required at least two years at university, but Brandt had always been an excellent student, testing ahead of his peers, and heâd aced the entrance exam at only seventeen. And Ollie had waited for him. He also didnât have his first heat until he was twenty, which was rare, but not worrisome to Brandt. Brandt didnât care if they had one child or ten, as long as he had them with Ollie.
StillâŠsix years.
Please, let this not be a false positive. Please.
âBrandt and Oliver Lars?â a deep voice said. Kit, the office assistant, beckoned to them with a patient smile.
They followed Kit down a corridor to an exam room, where Ollie was given a paper gown to change into. A few minutes later, the doctor entered. Dr. Troi was a short, average-looking man, but he had an air of peace about him that helped Brandt relax. A little. All doctors who worked in obstetrics were beta, so he wasnât a threat, but Brandt hated the idea of another man, even a doctor, looking at his mateâs intimate places.
âItâs a pleasure to meet you both,â Dr. Troi said after introductions went around. âI hope you donât mind the change in your caregiver. Dr. Sorenson had to step back for personal reasons, and for the last two years Iâve worked with couples experiencing fertility problems.â
Brandt resisted the urge to posture and bristle and say they didnât have fertility problems. But they did. Six years and a lot of knots later, and they were finallyâhe hopedâpregnant.
âI donât mind,â Ollie replied. âUnless you donât have good news. Then I canât be held responsible for my mateâs actions.â
Dr. Troi smiled. âWell, I do have the results back on your urine sample, and you are, indeed, pregnant. Congratulations.â
Ollie squealed and threw himself off the exam table, right into Brandtâs waiting arms. He hugged Ollie tight, but not too tight, tears of absolute joy making his eyes smart. âWe did it,â Ollie said. âWe finally did it, my love.â
Brandt laughed and kissed his temple. âYeah, we did.â
âI need to caution you,â Dr. Troi said, âthat a first pregnancy at your age brings health risks. Not only for yourself, Mr. Oliver, but also for the baby.â
âOllie, please, only my parents call me Oliver anymore.â Ollie cinched his arms around Brandtâs waist and rested his head on his shoulder. âWhat sort of risks?â
âThereâs a much higher chance of miscarriage, so youâll need to take extra precautions. We can go over all of that in a moment.â
âAnd the baby?â Brandt asked. He slid one hand down to rest over Ollieâs belly, determined to protect this new life with every bone in his body.
âThere could be developmental delays. Your first heat occurred when you were twenty, correct?â
âYeah, about twenty and a half,â Ollie said. âMy family doctor didnât think that was something to be concerned about.â
âNormally, it isnât, but youâve gone through roughly two dozen heats since without conceiving. In your chart, thereâs no mention of a fertility test.â
âNo,â Brandt said, a bit testy now. âFertility tests arenât covered by the province and I canât afford the expense on my current salary.â Given the fact that without omegas and their unique ability to conceive and carry children, every test and drug available for obstetrics and pregnancy should be available through the general public health care, but it wasnât. So many things beyond basic health care for a pregnant omega were priced above the average personâs salary.
What if I really am the reason we couldnât get pregnant for so long?
Unless a lot of credit landed in Brandtâs lap, heâd probably never know.
âAn understandable, if frustrating problem,â Dr. Troi replied. âMr. Ollie, how about you hop up and we do a quick exam?â
Ollie kissed Brandtâs cheek before climbing onto the table. Brandt held his hand, mostly to keep his need to growl at Dr. Troi in check, while the doctor poked at his mateâs private bits. After a few minutes, Dr. Troi declared everything looked good. A quick check of Ollieâs latest blood work proved him healthy and ready to carry a child.
âNow we just need to get through the next nine months,â Brandt said. âAnd we can finally start decorating the nursery.â
âShopping!â Ollie laughed. To Dr. Troi he said, âBrandt hates shopping. Really, truly hates it.â
Dr. Troi chuckled. âIâm not fond of it myself. On a medical note, Iâd like to see you every couple of weeks, just to keep an eye on your progress. You can make your next appointment with my assistant Kit before you leave.â
âOf course. Thank you so much, Dr. Troi.â
âYou are very welcome.â
After the doctor excused himself, Ollie tugged Brandtâs head down and kissed him. A hard, possessive kiss that left his alpha gasping for air and a little hard. âWhen we get home,â Ollie said, âI want you to fuck my throat.â
Brandt growled possessively. For all Ollie had been a quiet, timid teenager, the first time theyâd fucked at seventeen? Ollie had a dirty streak as long as the province itself, and he adored sex outside of heat. So much that they had quite the collection of sex toys in their bedroom drawer, and while theyâd have to be careful with what they put up Ollieâs ass for the next nine months, Brandt couldnât think of a better reason why.
âShould I tie you up first?â Brandt whispered, then licked the shell of Ollieâs ear.
âGoddess, yes. Please.â
As much as Brandt wanted to whisk his mate home and shove his cock down Ollieâs throat, he was too excited and eager to pamper the man. So they had an early dinner at Petrovaâs, their favorite place to eat, splurging on more food than they could possibly consume and a few too many margaritasâvirgin for his omega. He bought Ollieâs favorite chocolates from a sweets shop down the block, delicious little squares of dark chocolate and mint that he fed to Ollie with his own mouth after they got home.
Once they were both full of good food and chocolates, they worshipped each otherâs body. Brandt didnât leave an inch of Ollieâs skin untouched, unlicked, unloved. He worshipped Ollieâs entrance for ages, then sucked his balls. His dick. He made sweet love to his mate, until Ollie cried for him to be rougher, to give him what he wanted.
So Brandt tied Ollie spread-eagle on the bed, exactly how Ollie loved it, and then took his time fucking Ollieâs mouth. Teasing, only giving Ollie a taste, before pushing in deep enough to choke. It was his sweet, beautiful Ollieâs favorite game, and they played until Brandt couldnât hold it in any longer. He pumped his load down Ollieâs throat before sliding down his mateâs body to suck him dry.
Happy and sated, Brandt untied his omega and cuddled him close. Ollie combed deft fingers through his chest hair, then licked the damp skin of his pecs. âCareful,â Brandt teased. âYou might find yourself with a mouthful of cock again, if you keep licking me like that.â
Ollie sucked on his nipple, and a few minutes later, hard and leaking for his bondmate, Brandt took his revenge.
The next three weeks passed in a kind of blur for Brandt. Between working as a patrolman, studying for his constable exam, and helping Ollie with the nursery, he barely had time to eat or sleep. And that was okay. This was the life heâd always wanted with Ollie.
Ollie picked out paint colors, and Brandt came home one day to find the nursery a lovely shade of green. They shopped for the crib and changing table together, as well as toys, diapers and bottles. Everything was arranged exactly how Ollie wanted it, and Brandt loved watching him nest. He also went to bed each night with a prayer in his heart that both his mate and baby would be okay.
Ollieâs second appointment with Dr. Troi approached far too quickly, and it coincided with a flu outbreak at work, giving Brandt no time off to go with him.
âIâll be fine,â Ollie said that morning as they shared pancakes for breakfast. âIâll drop you off at division, and then go to the appointment at nine. Itâs a routine checkup.â
Brandt didnât like it, but Ollie was right. Heâd allowed his mate to get a driverâs license years ago, even though Ollie rarely drove alone. Their house wasnât in the best neighborhood, but it was home and Ollie loved being there, waiting for his bondmate to return to him.
âOkay,â Brandt said. âBut you call me as soon as itâs over. Have dispatch patch you through to my car radio.â
âI will, you overprotective nut.â
Brandt blew him a kiss.
They left the house ten minutes later, and Brandt kissed Ollie thoroughly before getting out of the car. He hated watching his mate drive away, but theyâd see each other again at the end of his shift.
A shift that passed slowly, despite them being shorthanded. Not much was happening across Sansbury Province today, and as the morning eased closer to lunch with no word from Ollie, Brandt began to wonder. He didnât worry until after one oâclock and nothing. Then he called the hospital and asked to be directed to Dr. Troiâs office.
âMr. Ollie didnât show up for his nine oâclock appointment,â Kit said.
Brandtâs blood ran cold. âHe had to have shown. He dropped me off at work and then went straight there.â
âIâm sorry, sir, but he never signed in. Are you sure he didnât have an appointment in another department?â
Yes, Brandt was damned well good and sure Ollie didnât have an appointment anywhere else today. He made several calls but no one had seen Ollie. The house phone went unanswered. As panic set in, Brandt called his supervisor, who gave him permission to leave and look for Ollie.
But Ollie wasnât home and neither was their car.
Hours passed into days. Days into weeks. Weeks into months. The house became chilly and dark. The nursery lay empty and barren. And as months morphed into years, bitterness replaced joy. Grief replaced love.
And Ollie Lars never came home.
Author and artist Jordan Castillo Price is the owner of JCP Books LLC. Her paranormal thrillers are colored by her time in the midwest, from inner city Chicago, to small town Wisconsin, to liberal Madison.
Jordan is best known as the author of the PsyCop series, an unfolding tale of paranormal mystery and suspense starring Victor Bayne, a gay medium who's plagued by ghostly visitations. Also check out her new series, Mnevermind, where memories are made...one client at a time.
With her education in fine arts and practical experience as a graphic designer, Jordan set out to create high quality ebooks with lavish cover art, quality editing and gripping content. The result is JCP Books, offering stories you'll want to read again and again.
JS Harker loves stories. She was one of those kids who constantly had a book in her hands and spent countless hours adventuring with her siblings. These days she wanders into her imaginary worlds and conjures up tales of magic, passion, and happily-ever-afters. She currently lives in the part of the Midwest that makes Tatooine look interesting by comparison (not that sheâs ever obsessively thought about becoming a Jedi or anything).
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.
New York Times Bestselling author Jocelynn Drake loves a good story, whether she is reading it or writing one of her own. Over the years, her stories have allowed her to explore space, talk to dragons, dodge bullets with assassins, hang with vampires, and fall in love again and again.
This former Kentucky girl has moved up, down, and across the U.S. with her husband. Recently, theyâve settled near the Rockies.
When she is not hammering away at her keyboard or curled up with a book, she can be found walking her dog Ace, or playing video games. She loves Bruce Wayne, Ezio Auditore, travel, tattoos, explosions, and fast cars.
She is the author of the urban fantasy series: The Dark Days series and the Asylum Tales. She has recently completed a gay romantic suspense series called The Exit Strategy about two assassins falling in love and trying to create a life together, as well as a MM paranormal romance series featuring a family of vampires.
She has co-authored with Rinda Elliot the following series: Unbreakable Bonds, Ward Security, Pineapple Grove, and the Weavers Circle. She has also co-authored with AJ Sherwood the Scales 'N Spells dragon series.
A.M. Arthur was born and raised in the same kind of small town that she likes to write about, a stone's throw from both beach resorts and generational farmland. She's been creating stories in her head since she was a child and scribbling them down nearly as long, in a losing battle to make the fictional voices stop. She credits an early fascination with male friendships (bromance hadn't been coined yet back then) with her later discovery of and subsequent love affair with m/m romance stories. A.M. Arthur's work is available from Carina Press, SMP Swerve, and Briggs-King Books.
When not exorcising the voices in her head, she toils away in a retail job that tests her patience and gives her lots of story fodder. She can also be found in her kitchen, pretending she's an amateur chef and trying to not poison herself or others with her cuisine experiments.
Jordan Castillo Price
JS Harker
WEBSITE / NEWSLETTER / B&N
EMAIL: JSHarkerWrites@gmail.com
Sam Burns
EMAIL: sam@burnswrites.com
WM Fawkes
Jocelynn Drake
WEBSITE / NEWSLETTER / KOBO
iTUNES / AUDIBLE / AUDIOBOOKS
GOOGLE PLAY / INSTAGRAM / B&N
EMAIL: jocelynn.drake@gmail.com
AM Arthur
It's All Relative by Jordan Castillo Price
His Fairy Prince by JS Harker
Prisoner of Shadows by Sam Burns & WM Fawkes
How the Necromancer in the Gold Vest Saved My Life: Disaster #1 by Jocelynn Drake
Claimed by AM Arthur
