Sunday, October 5, 2025
👻🎃Random Paranormal Tales of 2025 Part 2🎃👻
Summary:
Devastated Magic #1
A drafted empath. A dreamwalking poet. A world at war.
Chicago, 1917.
Idealistic, aspiring poet, Elliot Stone can make people feel euphoria or horror with a simple touch. But that's only part of his magical abilities. He can also wake in the dreams of people he cares deeply for.
Stubborn, fiercely independent Warren “Sully” Sullivan is an illusionist with a secret: he feels the emotions of others as visceral sensations. A lifetime of fending for himself and parsing feelings that aren’t his own has left him guarded.
An intoxicating, intense connection on their last night of freedom should be nothing more than a one-night stand. And it is. Until Elliot awakens in Sully's nightmare with an overpowering urge to save him, regardless of his carefully crafted moral code.
As tragedy draws them together in real life to battle enemies with twisted magic, weakness is a disastrous liability. When keeping safe means revealing his to Elliot, can Sully take the risk?
Original Review November 2024:
This is not your typical WW1 era story, magic is real and the military is utilizing it but so is the enemy. There are not enough WW1 era stories in the LGBTQ genre so I tend to gobble them up when I find them and this one I happened upon when looking for something else. I'm so glad I did. To let you know it is an ongoing series with book 2 just recently released and #3 set for October 2025. I'll admit had I known that I may have waited but that's okay because the truth is this time of year is my busiest book-wise and I most likely won't get to read #2 until after the holidays.
Onto Imperfect Illusions.
Vanora Lawless is a new author to me and some might shy away from that especially in a story setting not typically paranormal but I welcome fresh voices. So much talent. Magic like Elliot and Warren may not be real but it does make one think how that kind of element could change the face of war as we know it, for both sides. It certainly brings in a new layer of morality. I don't want to give too much away so I'll leave their particular brand of talents for you to discover but just know that it will definitely intrigue you and make you question "what if?".
As for Elliot and Warren, there is no denying there chemistry when they meet but when their ongoing gravitation towards each other isn't quite on our level it both warms and breaks the heart. I will say it also confuses a few things when they are once again face to face physically but that's part of what makes Imperfect so perfectly, heart-hurting & warmingly delicious. Again, I'll leave that there so as not to spoil too much.
Just a brief mention of the amazing cast of characters beyond Elliot and Warren, so many great contributions to the magical and historical aspects. Was the one female given higher ranking and power more suited for contemporary setting instead of WW1? Sure but then you have to remember the whole story is paranormal and fantasy so why not have a woman take a stronger stand? It may be societal licensing but it's fantasy so the whole story takes reality liberties so for me that was a non-point but for some I know it may be.
Though, as I stated above, it'll most likely be into 2025 before I have the opportunity to continue Elliot and Warren's journey, I look forward to doing so. The creative brilliance the author has displayed in Imperfect Illusions has earned them a spot on my authors-to-watch list. Definitely winner all around.
Summary:
Tentacular Tales #3
A grumpy-sexy alien and his (mostly) human mate are just trying to get married for goodness sake! But the road to matrimony is riddled with obstacles that could prove deadly...
RIVER
Being engaged to my adorable alien boo is a dream come true. Too bad there’s a target painted on my back. Come on universe, quit messing with true love! For reals. Kai and I need to plan our wedding—which is going to be hella quirky and fun, because I say so.
Cue Shilgar the Deadly, who’s screwing up everything—what with trying to kill me and all. My life is becoming even more unbelievable than my fictional characters, Lord Vardox and Captain Starblade.
There’s no way I’m not walking down the aisle with Kai, so help me! I fully intend to ‘get me to the church’—I mean Vegas wedding chapel—on time. This fool of an assassin thinks he can mess with my dreams of wedded bliss? I don’t think so. He’s about to learn he’s met his match in River Sullivan!
KAI
My relationship with River is solid and wedding bells are in the air. Unfortunately, other parts of my life are…less stable. Between juggling a highly inconvenient Mating Fever that can strike at any time, and dealing with an investigator from Intergalactic Alliance Headquarters, I’m finding it hard to hold onto my usual equilibrium.
When Shilgar the Deadly finally shows up on Earth, gunning for River, the control I cling to is stretched razor thin. I’m desperate to do whatever I can to keep my mate safe—but I’m not sure if I can.
Yet things aren’t all that they seem. New secrets come to light and we’re all left reeling. Apparently, that famous Earthling playwright was correct when he wrote, “the course of true love never did run smooth….”
When a Man Loves an Alien (Tentacular Tales #3) is a (100k words) M/M sci-fi rom com and the third book in the series. It should be read in chronological order. This installment features an assassin who just won’t quit, little old ladies at slot machines who should NOT be messed with, a zipline action-hero moment, shocking secrets and revelations, a death-defying climax, and just maybe…a zany Vegas wedding? This book has an HFN ending and no cheating. Never fear—there is a guaranteed HEA by the end of the series!
Summary:
Legend Tripping #2
Winner of the 2017 Rainbow Award for Best Bisexual Paranormal Romance
Running from the past.
Trent Pielmeyer is so done with legend tripping. Hauntings? Nope. Cryptid sightings? Hard pass. Dimensional portals? Not just no but oh, hell no. Because after seven years’ captivity in a whacked-out alternate reality, he’s been there and done that and done that and done that. No more supernatural shenanigans for him. Ever. Full stop.
Wrestling with the past.
When Christophe Clavret spots Trent in a Portland bar, he detects a kindred spirit—another man attempting to outrun the darkness of his own soul. But despite their sizzling chemistry, Trent’s hatred of the uncanny makes Christophe hesitant to confide the truth: he’s a werewolf, one of a dwindling line, the victim of a genetic curse extending back to feudal Europe.
Overtaken by the past.
But sinister forces are at work, threatening more than their inescapable attraction. If Christophe can’t win Trent’s trust, and if Trent can’t overcome his fear of the paranormal, the price might be not only Trent’s freedom but Christophe’s very humanity.
Or it could cost both their lives.
Wolf’s Clothing is an age gap, hurt/comfort, opposites attract supernatural suspense romance featuring old rivalries, disapproving families, awkward reunions, disbelieving investigators, and, of course, an HEA.
Note: This book was previously published. It has been lightly revised and re-edited, but the story remains the same.
Summary:
Psychic Detective Series #2
In Book Two, Psychic Liam Baker and Detective Kimball Thompson have embarked on a romantic relationship after battling the deadly and powerful psychic, Steven Pine months ago. They ended his brutal killing spree of young male prostitutes, and he’s safely in jail.
But when someone starts murdering young college girls, some disturbing clues seem to lead back to Steven Pine. But he’s locked up and awaiting trial. There’s no possible way he could be involved in the new murders.
Yet Liam can’t shake the chilling feeling that Pine has somehow figured out a way to reach out from his jail cell to continue murdering innocent victims.
This 50,000 word MM romance Mystery is the SECOND book in my Psychic Detective Mysteries Series. You will want to read book one Shadow's Edge first.
VRC: Vampire Related Crimes #2
Finn
When the vampire stalking me sent me a letter, I was prepared for my new life with the man I love to get thrown into chaos. But as the days stretch on and nothing happens, I become determined not to allow that monster to rule my life, and decide that Marcus and I will move on. We can’t always allow the past to haunt us. If that includes pestering Marcus and harassing my fellow detectives, they’d better learn to love it, because I’m not going anywhere even if they like to remind me I’m the only human working in a department filled with vampires. But Marcus loves me for who I am, even if he’s not crazy about the cute pet names I call him like McBitey. Being with him is more than I could have dreamed, and even with the trials thrown in our way, he never fails to make me smile.
Marcus
When Finn joined the VRC, I never expected how everything would change. Now that he’s the brightest part of my days, I’m unsure of how I existed without him. Before Finn and I can settle into our new life together, we’re called in as lead detectives when a body is found in the river, and the case soon hits closer to home than we anticipated. I want to be by Finn’s side to keep him safe, but at the same time, Finn’s fighting for the freedom he’s always wanted after being forced to live a life of fear. What I do know is that my future is with Finn, no matter what happens.
How to Elude a Vampire is the second in the VRC series and contains a display of manly prowess that doesn't go as desired, reluctant bonding with a new pet, interfering with a snarky Russian's love life, misuse of office supplies, a vampire with a killer fashion sense but very little game, a total lack of ancient kung fu powers, a feisty human who almost always gets his way and the possessive vampire who adores him.
Imperfect Illusions by Vanora Lawless
Chapter One
May 3, 1917
Chicago
IT WAS NOT ELLIOT’S finest moment. Looking up from where he’d slipped face first into wet snow, he met the laughing faces of five gleeful children. Five devious children, more like.
“Uncle Elliot said a bad word!” Alice shouted to a chorus of faux gasps.
“Snow angel!” Thomas, the youngest, cried as he flopped beside Elliot and wildly flapped his arms and legs, revealing muddy grass beneath the scant inch of snow next to the sidewalk.
“Take them for a walk, Elliot. It’s magical to have snow this late in the year, Elliot,” he mumbled to himself as he wallowed in the damp. “It’ll be fun. I won’t skin you when they come back covered in dirt and sopping wet, Elliot.”
“Mama didn’t say the last one,” Eleanor informed him right before Joseph shoved her and sent her tumbling into a bush.
Chaos. This was chaos. How on earth did his sister ever get a thing done? They hadn’t been outside ten minutes, and it was all gone to shambles. Precisely as it always had whenever May and her tiny entourage visited.
“She’s right,” Joseph said. The oldest, at ten, one would hope he’d be the voice of reason. One would be acutely wrong. He grinned at Elliot, a toothy little evil expression. “You’re going to get in so much trouble.”
Scooping up a handful of snow, Elliot launched it at him. Joseph cackled, dove to the side, and the battle was on. Swiftly rolling out of the way, Elliot got to his feet with two snowballs. “You’re extremely lucky I care enough about you to take the blame. Now you better run before the big, bad, snow ogre gets you!”
Shrieks of joy rang out and the children scampered around as Elliot chased them down the sidewalk, all the way to the gate in front of Palmer’s Mansion. Towering gray stone turrets vaguely reminiscent of an old castle rose far overhead, and in Elliot’s opinion it seemed part fortress, part ostentatious monstrosity.
The tuckered-out children stared up in wonder. They were used to the high life, but even by their standards, this was extravagant. Something out of fairytale daydreams.
Once when they were young, May had asked Elliot to recreate the mansion in a dream so she could explore inside. He’d always had a wild imagination, so he’d made it absolutely absurd. He could almost hear May’s girlish giggling as she raced along ornate golden hallways and climbed twisting fairy-floss stairs.
Alice sighed wistfully. “I want to live in a castle someday.”
Joseph wrinkled his freckled nose. “Not me. I can’t imagine it’s very warm in the winter.”
“Castles never are,” Elliot agreed, thinking of those he’d visited on his travels. “Too many rooms and too much cold stone.” Too many politely rude, ignorant people, he didn’t add.
Alice shrugged. “That’s what coats and gloves are for. And warm blankets. I could live anywhere with warm blankets.”
Chuckling, Elliot shepherded his subdued hoard back along North Lake Shore Drive. Lucky most people were inside and warm, not out and staring at the spectacle of Elliot with this parade of messy children. Not that he’d care who was watching, but his sister might. She was always more concerned about what these people thought of her than Elliot.
Put him in an artist’s colony or a writer’s retreat, and that’s when Elliot’s insecurity kicked in. The upper-crust bores he’d grown up with hardly rated. Wealth gave him leeway to appear eccentric, and he banked on it more often than his father and brothers approved of. But what else use was it? He couldn’t buy more talent or a personality that kept anyone around as long as he’d like.
Back at the mansion he’d inherited from his late uncle, everyone tromped inside, the promise of warm food and drinks luring them. Elliot was momentarily spared his sister’s inevitable wrath at the state of her offspring by his flustered housekeeper, Mrs. Roberts.
“There’s a military man waiting for you in the parlor,” she said, voice too-quick, her normally happy round face pinched with concern. “Wouldn’t say what he was here for, just that he urgently needed to speak to you and that he’d wait until you got back even though I said I’d no idea when you would be—”
“It’s all right. I’m sure it’s…” He was sure it was what? He had no idea, but he didn’t want her to worry. “I promised the children treats, do you think you can keep my promise for me?”
She dimpled, her soft spot for the little ones winning over her concern. “Of course, Mr. Stone. Been preparing all morning, I have.”
After Elliot thanked her, she rushed off for the kitchen, and he detoured to the parlor.
There was indeed an old, weathered man in full military regalia waiting in the pale mint green room among the worn furniture. Elliot never had gotten around to leaving his mark on the place. He’d never intended to stay so long. At least he loved that deep blue settee near the fireplace.
Elliot approached the man and offered his hand to shake. “Hello, sir. I hear you’ve been waiting for me. Not too long, I hope?”
The man’s grip was firm, his dark gaze devoid of warmth. “You’re Mr. Elliot Stone?”
Faint derision in his tone put Elliot on the defensive. He struggled to keep his arms relaxed at his sides instead of crossing them, intensely aware of his wet and dirty clothing. “I am. I didn’t catch your name I’m afraid.”
“Major Alfred Allen. I’ll get right to it, Mr. Stone.” Allen’s posture was ramrod straight, his expression serious. Elliot instantly disliked him. “We’re in a state of war, and I’ve been sent to recruit you. As an officer, naturally, your family being who they are. Not to mention that degree. Have to maintain appearances, you know. You’ll start as a cadet while you train, but by the time you go over, you could make Captain.”
He…wait. He couldn’t be serious?
“Captain? I’m sorry. Perhaps there’s another Elliot Stone? Some hardened man who spent his youth playing soldiers, unlike myself. I can’t imagine the military requires a poet of extremely limited success to lead anyone.”
The flash of teeth Major Allen gave him wasn’t kind. “No, I wouldn’t think so. But you’re more than that façade, aren’t you?”
Prickles of unease tingled along Elliot’s spine. “Pardon?”
“You’re a man of many talents. One might even say skilled.”
He couldn’t know. Hardly anyone knew about magic. Fewer still would use that word to describe it, an instinctual distancing from persecution. “I wouldn’t call myself that, no.”
Allen’s eyes narrowed. “How does magical sound, then?”
Christ.
“Absurd.” It came out infused with the sort of contempt that typically made men want to curl up and disappear from his presence, even as Elliot’s thoughts raced and his stomach hardened into a knot of fear.
“We know all about you, Mr. Stone. All about your kind. What you can inflict with a touch, to start. You’ve probably got some tricks left up your sleeve, I’ll give you that, but we know much more than you think.”
How did he know? Their family worked hard to keep the magic that flowed through their bloodline a secret. Much as other families did. Protecting themselves, protecting everyone skilled. History had shown time and again that when their secret slipped, lives were lost. If Allen was telling the truth, the government knew and the secret was out. Elliot’s breathing faltered. What would they do with the knowledge? What did they want?
Body reacting to the threat before his mind decided a course of action, Elliot started to move closer. Allen didn’t let him get more than a step in. “Ah! Keep those hands where I can see them, Mr. Stone. It’s all documented. And there’s nothing to gain by attempting to manipulate me. Got a lot to lose, though, haven’t you?” He peered around the parlor, dispassionate gaze lingering on Elliot’s favorite uncle’s belongings. Martin had spent his life traveling to every corner of the globe, collecting knickknacks from magical communities that he’d proudly displayed in this room. More than once he’d taken Elliot on whirlwind adventures during school breaks and was largely responsible for Elliot’s own appreciation of travel, good poetry, and healthy disregard for social convention.
It had been five years since Martin’s death, and the loss still stung. Allen’s judgmental perusal of Martin’s legacy only heightened the tension coiling in Elliot’s body, his shoulders stiffening, his fists clenching at his sides.
“You come from a wealthy family,” Allen continued when Elliot didn’t respond. “Very close to your sisters and their children. Would be a shame if information to jeopardize those relationships came to light.”
Weighing his options, Elliot remained motionless and kept his face blank. Don’t give him anything to use against you. When he was a child, it was a lesson repeatedly reinforced at school. “You can’t blackmail me with magic. My family knows all about it. Who would believe you if you tried to make it public?”
More people than would be good for Elliot’s continued health and wellbeing, he feared, but maybe there was an advantage to making it sound ludicrous.
“No,” Allen said, drawing the word out. “No, we can’t blackmail you with magic. Not without fully exposing its existence. Think of the uproar that would cause. Another witch hunting panic like Salem. Imagine all the poor individuals who haven’t used magic a day in their lives who’ll get caught up in the crossfire.”
“I don’t have to imagine,” Elliot snapped. “I can simply read history books. The witch hunts are common enough knowledge.”
“Exactly. How many of them were innocent, do you think?”
Fighting a losing battle with anger, Elliot muttered, “All of them.”
“I suppose I should’ve specified; how many weren’t even playing with magic?”
Stubborn, Elliot kept his mouth shut this time. His temper, fed by fear, was far too close to the surface. He needed to think. If they weren’t going to blackmail him for magic, then there must be something else. But what was it? Internally, he groaned. What wasn’t it, would be the easier question to answer. He didn’t have much regard for certain backwards laws in this country. And he’d been much less careful since he’d returned from Paris than he should have been.
“No guesses? I’d wager a lot of them. You fellows are rare enough, I just can’t wrap my mind around there being all that many of you. But they tell me there are a fair few and that it runs in families. Maybe we ought to be taking a closer look at yours after all.”
Allen paused as though he was letting his words sink in. Elliot waited for Allen to get to the point, his impassivity a cover for the anger and fear amalgamating and crawling beneath his skin. Not everyone in his family was skilled, but enough were. May was.
“If I’m honest, we’d rather not blackmail you to begin with. What do you say we skip it? We’re willing to overlook your deficiencies in favor of the skills you’ll provide.”
“My skills wouldn’t be useful in war. They’re hardly useful in everyday life.” What use would dreams be? Or the power at his fingertips? When Elliot thought of the war, he certainly didn’t want to be close enough to the enemy for touch.
“Only because you fail to utilize it. Or you’ve never had the opportunity to really see what you can do. A training camp is being constructed for skilled recruits. Specialized education, physical fitness, and magic development programs have been crafted. All we need now are the recruits. And that’s where you come in, Mr. Stone. Where’s your patriotism? Hasn’t this country done a lot for you?” Allen pointedly glanced around at furnishings that only appeared rich if you didn’t know most of them were older than his uncle had been and you weren’t examining them closely.
What was he supposed to say? ‘No, I’m not patriotic. This country hates me for who I choose to love. What exactly has it done for me?’ Further to the point, he wasn’t a fighter and not fit to be an officer. Not someone as selfish and self-indulgent as he was. Soldiers deserved someone responsible issuing orders, someone who believed in what they were doing. Not him. No, nothing about the prospect appealed.
“I’m not sure what you think you know,” Elliot said, coldly. “But if any of that was meant to entice me, you’re nowhere close.”
Allen’s features hardened, and he crossed his arms. “Hmm. Notice I said we’d prefer not to blackmail you, not that we can’t. Some might even say it’s our duty to bring your illicit activities to light. Does your family find it suspicious? How much time you spend with friends? Gentleman friends, that is? Are all the ladies you’ve been spotted around town with for show?”
Teeth grinding, Elliot’s body flushed with an angry heat. He jerked his chin up, refusing to be shamed. “No. Not only for show.” He didn’t need to explain his preferences to this bastard son of a piss. His fists curled tighter, and he dug in his nails to stop from saying something he’d regret. He curved his lips in a smile that felt grim as grave dirt. “It’s starting to seem like you’re not very reluctant to blackmail me at all.”
“Not going to bother denying what you get up to?”
It was a taunt. A dare. Christ, Elliot hated this man. He clenched his jaw so tight it hurt. “How long do I have to consider your offer?” Loathing coated the last word, impossible to hold in.
Triumph briefly glittered in Allen’s flinty eyes, and Elliot hated that too. “You’ll receive a letter next week with your train ticket. Be on the train, Mr. Stone. Or don’t and see what happens. I guarantee it won’t be pleasant.”
He left. Elliot stood in the parlor, unmoving, body blazing rage that made his muscles quake with the necessity of restraint.
How had his entire life unraveled in the span of one conversation? What was he supposed to do?
The unfairness of it burned in his chest, made him want to shout and knock things over. Nothing he’d ever done had hurt a soul. Not the men he spent the night with, not the women either. He was always attentive with his lovers. They left satisfied, and it was no one’s business but theirs.
Except small-minded people would always be waiting to judge, to ostracize him. Even if he believed at least some of his family might stand by him—May would—could he subject them to that?
And the threat about examining the rest of his family, the idea of them knowing May was skilled, the thought she could be ripped from her children and forced into a war she had no business being anywhere near, made Elliot’s blood run cold.
His choices were to stand his ground and live to see twenty-six or give in to blackmail, keep his family intact, and likely die on foreign soil before his next birthday.
The uncomfortable sogginess of his clothes eventually pulled him to action. Elliot forced himself upstairs to change, physical imperative overriding his mental crisis. Buttons were something he could handle; the looming prospect of his participation in a war he’d already lost so many overseas friends to wasn’t.
Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed hard.
Love of Christ, he hadn’t been in so much as a fight since he was five and the bigger kids had picked on him. His charm and good looks kept him from needing to. Now they expected him to what? Shoot at people? Kill people? Enemies or not, how could he?
But if he didn’t. If they took May instead…
Hell. He had to go.
When a Man Loves an Alien by Chloe Archer
Chapter One
“Starblade is mine. And I will make certain every sentient being in the universe knows it. No one touches him but me! I didn’t become an infamous intergalactic villain without torturing and maiming my fair share of fools who thought to test my patience.”
—Lord Vardox, The Tentacular Tales of Captain Starblade, Ch. 137
RIVER
“Step right up and get your Tentacular Tales merch! We’ve got T-shirts in all sizes, made to accommodate folks of various shapes and appendages.” My old neighbor—and incognito alien—Tom Jones holds up one of the aforementioned shirts. “For those die-hard fans of our favorite villain out there, we have our brand spanking—no pun intended—new Team Vardox FTW tees!”
There’s an enthusiastic murmur among the crowd. Tom drapes the shirt over his shoulder like a bar towel and plucks up another. “For the more daring among you, we have I got tentacled by Lord Vardox…and I liked it or Villain in the streets, Tentacled-Lover in the sheets.”
There’s some enthusiastic whistling at that one. He tosses it aside and grabs a different one. “And let’s not forget about our Starblade stans in the crowd.” There are answering whistles and cheers. “Of course we have Team Starblade FTW. We can’t let Team Vardox have all the fun! We also have I’m too sexy for this shirt, and so is Captain Starblade or Tentacle Lover on the DL. Get your favorites before we run out!”
Aliens of all shapes and sizes begin surging forward, cash in hands and other appendages, as they surround the folding table where Tom is selling his wares.
I shake my head in awe, turning to my super-sexy alien boo, and now fiancé, Kai. “Did you know about this?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. Looks like Tom took a cue out of your book and went the route of T-shirt design.”
I glance down at the black cotton tee I’m wearing. On the front, in multicolored sequins, it reads Team ANAL, and on the back it says in shiny metallic gold font, Kicking butt from here to Uranus. My design is a work of art and classy as fuck—it also promotes team spirit, thank you very much. I’ve had quite a few orders from folks at work already. “Just so you know, I’m going to keep wearing this until it grows on you.” I beam. “I’ve got a different colored one for each day of the week!”
Kai rolls his eyes but favors me with a teasing smile. “Save me now.”
I give his arm a light and playful smack. “You know you love it.”
His mouth twitches and he arches an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t go that far, darling. But I’ll put up with it for you.”
I clutch my hands to my heart. “OMG, honeybuns. You’re getting to be sooo romantic! You just called me darling. It’s like we’re an old married couple already.”
Kai flushes adorably pink and sputters. I love getting a rise out of him at moments like this. He can be a bit too tightly wound, so I have to help him let go of his iron grip on duty, responsibility, and propriety.
I’m like Yoda, teaching him the ways of the Fun-Loving Force.
A microphone crackles to life and my new friend Nirblob addresses the crowd from atop the small impromptu stage against the wall at the far end of the bar. “Good evening, friends, and welcome to Vardox’s Cantina. Tonight, it is my supreme pleasure to usher in our very first Open Mic night!”
There’s an enthusiastic round of applause and some loud whistles.
Nirblob grins, which admittedly is a little freaky since he has no lips. I still haven’t quite gotten used to that. “This evening, we are most fortunate to have a very special guest. Here to kick things off with a sneak peek from the next chapter in the Tentacular Tales of Captain Starblade, please join me in welcoming the one, the only, River Sullivan, a.k.a. KirklovesSpock4eva!”
The crowd goes wild, which in a super-secret alien bar can be a bit surreal. After all, this bar is mainly for extraterrestrials who don’t pass easily in human society, or ones who do but want the opportunity to be their true selves in a safe space. Some folks here make even Nirblob look somewhat ordinary. It’s a bit like being a real-life version of the Mos Eisley Cantina in Star Wars—only less violent!
“Looks like you’re up,” Kai murmurs, giving my arm a squeeze.
I grin. “Give me a kiss for luck, boo.”
He sighs at the endearment, but his eyes darken as he leans down and takes my lips in a way that makes me want to ditch this event and go get our freak on.
When Kai pulls back, I’m tingly all over and more than a little hot and bothered. But I’m pleased to notice, as he adjusts himself discreetly, he isn’t exactly unaffected either.
“Knock ‘em dead.”
I give him a jaunty little salute. “Aye, aye, captain!”
He can’t keep the fondness from his eyes when he tries to glare at me, which turns my grin into that of a lovesick fool. And I basically am. I have no qualms about owning it.
I make my way over to the stage, offering variants of high fives along the way—to a tail here, a hand with eight fingers there, a furry paw every now and then. Two months ago, I never could have imagined this would be my life. A longtime Roswell alien conspiracy believer and total X-phile, I—by some remarkable twist of fate—actuallyfound aliens here on Earth, living incognito among humanity.
What are the odds?
Originally, I had planned to expose them, not knowing any better, but now I get to work with them and keep them safe. It also doesn’t hurt that most of them think I’m the GOAT tentacle-porn author. I’m still tickled pink by that fact. I may be a largely unknown writer among the human population of Earth, but I’m a strange mega-celebrity to readers across the universe who’ve taken a real, albeit fanatical, shine to my brand of offbeat storytelling.
I’m in a pretty good place about it now, but it did take me a hot second to overcome the sheer mortification of knowing real-life extraterrestrials read my alien tentacle-porn-space-soap-opera—and seriously dig it. The fans are sometimes kind of intense, but I freaking love it. I mean, I’m a superfan of many sci-fi franchises—shout out to my fellow Doctor Who and Star Trek: The Next Generation nerds—so I can entirely relate to their level of enthusiasm. It’s humbling to know that it’s my work making them bust out the fandom flags with pride. Heck, I recently found out there’s a freaking intergalactic fan convention based on my series. Talk about wild!
I totally am attending it someday.
I’m not much of a believer in the divine—except for Cher—but it almost seems like fate that I ended up meeting Kai, a hot-as-fuck alien who just so happens to have, (drum roll please), tentacles! I get a kick out of thinking that writing my tentacle porn story played some critical part in manifesting him in my life. I smile at that thought, and spying my boo in the crowd, I give him a saucy wink. Whatever brought us together—fate, destiny, or sheer random coincidence—I am one lucky sonofabitch to be engaged to the love of my life, who also happens to be a sexy-hot alien lover with plenty of appendages to keep me more than satisfied. My traitorous cock starts getting naughty ideas and I have to think about gross stuff like Groxil slime to calm myself.
Nirblob turns the microphone over to me and glides back to the bar on his roller skates. As usual, he’s wearing his ostentatious red cloak inspired by my sexy fictional villain, Lord Vardox. He’s more obsessed with my series than I am with Doctor Who—and that’s saying something!
Like most of his clientele, Nirblob doesn’t pass for human in this world. He’s got the same kind of enormous brain-shaped head and skeletal face as the Martians in Tim Burton’s campy classic, Mars Attacks!, including the bugged-out eyes with no lids and teeth without any lips covering them. It isn’t quite as jarring a sight now as it was when I first met him. After all, he’s my friend as well as a Vardox groupie.
Kai’s not so warm toward him and remains highly skeptical about his motives in befriending me, probably because Nirblob kidnapped me and my royal bodyguard, Chewy, a few weeks ago. However, that was entirely on the orders of his dickbag boss. Nirblob ended up pulling a fast one on that fool by refusing to kill us and essentially defecting to the side of the Alliance. Take that, evil!
That’s right, the Light Side of the Force cannot be denied!
Nirblob has really turned things around and I’m so proud of him. I like to think I played a small part in helping him see the error of his ways and leave the path of the Dark Side. He wasn’t even all that evil to begin with, despite calling himself The Evil Lord Nirblob. The change has been good for him and he loves living on Earth now, especially since he took over running the alien bar that used to belong to Kai’s walking douchebag of an ex, Fabian Tradeo, a.k.a. Fuckface Fabio as I like to call him. Thankfully, that thorn in my side has disappeared into outer space with the shady drug-dealing jerk, Layne Madison. He’s the mysterious Osairan mastermind scheming bad things for planet Earth and its people. He’s totally an evil supervillain like Lex Luthor or Emperor Palpatine. I’m hoping they both stay gone permanently but I can’t shake a persistent niggle of worry that our troubles with them aren’t over.
Fortunately, Nirblob has been able to make the bar his own. Tonight, he appears happy as a clam, slinging drinks with panache. In between making conversation with patrons, he gets up on the bar top and treats it like it’s his personal catwalk and he’s auditioning for a role in Coyote Ugly. He’s really in his milieu here. I’m thrilled to see him integrating so well. It’s a bonus that he renamed the bar after the villain in my story.
Looking around me, I feel optimistic. Life is good, and I refuse to fall into a worry spiral about lingering uncertainties.
I readjust the microphone to my height and clear my throat, then start to sweat a little as I look out into the avid faces in the crowd. I haven’t done a public reading like this since I was part of a writer critique group almost three years ago. That audience had been more divided in its reception then, but I feel reasonably confident the folks here tonight will enjoy what I’m going to read—after all, my story is taking an interesting turn in this new chapter.
“We love you, River!” someone shouts.
“Bring on the tentacle porn!” another person chimes in.
I grin. “Hi there, everyone. Thanks for coming out tonight. I’m River Sullivan, also known as KirklovesSpock4eva, author of The Tentacular Tales of Captain Starblade.”
The audience gives me a round of raucous applause and I straighten with pride, my usual swagger returning in full force.
“Tonight, I have a small snippet to share that will whet your appetite…among other things.” I can’t help but wink at a shy-looking fan in the front row who flushes bright red. “A mere peek into what you can expect in the next chapter.”
Upturned faces in the crowd regard me enthusiastically and I prepare myself for what I must tell them next.
“Now, right off, I do apologize that my productivity has been a bit less robust than usual lately. As many of you know, I started working for the Alliance and my job is keeping me super busy. So, for the foreseeable future, I’m probably going to be shifting to a bi-weekly chapter release instead of a new chapter every week.”
That news doesn’t go over so well.
I had a feeling it wouldn’t.
The grumbles of irritation and noises of displeasure from the crowd make me cringe inside. I hate disappointing my fans, but I also have to make sure I don’t overextend myself. “I’m sure it will be frustrating for some of you not to get your weekly fix of Starblade and Vardox, but letting the anticipation and temptation build has its own merits, right?” I try to temper my words with a smile.
My fans are still less than enthused.
“I’m not saying I’m edging you and your readerly pleasure but…” I trail off with a smirk.
The audience laughs and smiles begin to return. Phew!
I clear my throat and raise my tablet device. A hush falls over the bar as dozens of eyes and antennae focus on me.
“As you know, Starblade’s ship was attacked in our last installment. Vardox rushed to his rescue but before he could arrive, the space pirates disabled the shields on Starblade’s vessel and boarded it, taking him and his crew hostage. Vardox has now arrived and is attempting to communicate with Starblade.”
The crowd gasps and murmurs circulate through the room. I work to keep my expression serious as I begin to read. After all, this is a majorly intense scene that I know is going to get some powerful responses.
Vardox hailed Starblade’s ship, standing rigidly in front of the viewscreen as he awaited an answer. Behind the confines of his cloak, his tentacles writhed with anxious frustration. Had he arrived in time?
The viewscreen lit up at last and Vardox’s blood ran cold. Kahmos Ahtasham, a Katnu space pirate he’d had the misfortune of dealing with before, stood on the deck of his dear captain’s ship. Like most Katnu, Ahtasham was tall and muscular, built like a warrior. Apart from their scaly green skin and feather-like hair, as well as their clawed feet and hands, the Katnu had relatively humanoid-like physiology much like a third of all bipedal species across the galaxy. At present, Kahmos had a smug smirk on his green face. He held Starblade prisoner in his arms and pressed a wickedly curved Katnu blade to his throat.
Vardox’s sweet captain showed no fear. He was the picture of simmering fury and indignation as he scowled at his captor.
“Ah, so good of you to join us, Lord Loki Vardox. It’s been too long.” His tone was all cruel condescension.
The picture of unconcern, Vardox sat down in his command chair and leaned back in his seat. “Kahmos Ahtasham, to what do I owe this great honor? If you’d wanted to get my attention, you needn’t have bothered some poor human captain and his crew.”
Kahmos narrowed his one black eye at Vardox and removed the blade from Starblade’s throat to point it at the leather eye patch covering his empty right eye socket. “I’m here to settle the score with you, Vardox.”
“Ah, yes,” Vardox drawled, crossing one leg. “The last time we met, I do believe I relieved you of that eye. But then, you did try to swindle me on our trade agreement. I’d say I let you off rather lightly.”
Kahmos hissed, revealing a mouthful of sharp, pointed teeth. “I will have my revenge, Vardox!”
Rolling his eyes, Vardox yawned.
Kahmos tightened his grip on Starblade, who stiffened almost imperceptibly.
Behind his cloak, Vardox’s tentacles roiled with rage.
Kahmos’s face darkened with fury. “You dare yawn at me?”
“I’m afraid that’s entirely your fault. You’re being positively boring.” Vardox shook his head. “You see, I get a lot of these kinds of calls from people. They all say the same thing. ‘You have wronged me, Vardox! I will have my revenge!’” Vardox sighed. “It’s all so tediously dull and predictable.”
Kahmos growled, “You think you’re so clever. I know what you’re trying to do, but I won’t be manipulated by you again. I have reliable reports indicating you have a special fondness for this disgusting little human I’ve captured.” Starblade stiffened in his captor’s grasp, and Vardox had to fight to keep his mask of cool composure in place.
Vardox flicked some imaginary lint off his cloak and regarded Kahmos coolly. “Kahmos, I suggest you find better people to hire for your dirty work. I don’t know what cheap informant told you this man was important to me, but I’m afraid they were pulling one over on you. I hope they didn’t cost too much.” He tsk-tsked in regret. “Such a shame. But then, you do have a rather unfortunate tendency to listen to the wrong people.”
Kahmos narrowed his one eye and hissed, his grip on the knife tightening and causing the blade to nick the skin at Starblade’s throat. Vardox watched as a drop of blood trailed its way down Starblade’s neck to his exposed chest. It looked as though his sweet captain had been attacked while asleep and hadn’t had time to fully dress. The sight filled Vardox with a cold, calculating rage. He would make Kahmos regret bringing Starblade into their feud. Vardox would show no mercy to the fool who dared lay a hand on his precious captain. Kahmos would feel the full depths of his wrath.
“Perhaps I will enjoy this tasty little morsel then. If he is of no concern to you, I might as well have my fun with him before I kill him and strip his ship of every valuable item it contains.” Kahmos trailed the knife down Starblade’s defined pectorals and leered.
“You foul-smelling, swine-fucking piece of space garbage!” Starblade roared, punctuating his proclamation by spitting on Kahmos’s hand.
Vardox growled, oscillating between pride and killing-lust. On the one hand, his dear captain was so fierce and brave in the face of the enemy. It pleased Vardox greatly. On the other hand, Kahmos was a pathetic excuse for a Katnu space pirate who didn’t deserve to touch his sweet Starblade. He’d lose a lot more than an eye when Vardox got ahold of him. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but fill with pride as he witnessed the vibrant and defiant spirit of his beloved captain.
“Oh ho!” Kahmos chortled. “It seems you do care for this creature after all.”
Vardox rose to his feet, simmering with barely contained bloodlust. “Enough with these games. You have my attention, although you will soon wish you did not.” This cretin underestimated Vardox at his own peril. Invoking the sacred words, Vardox made his proclamation: “Kahmos Ahtasham, under the binding laws of the Katnu people, to which you are beholden, I formally challenge you to a ceremonial Blood Duel to the death!”
Starblade gasped but Kahmos crowed with delight. “Challenge accepted! Name your terms, Vardox. As the initiator of the duel, you must declare the time and place.”
Vardox crossed his arms. “First, you will release Captain Starblade and his crew. Then you will meet me in one lunar phase on Gamma Stella V, where we will have an official observer monitor and record our Blood Duel in the hallowed Hall of High Wolfham.”
Kahmos scoffed and shook his head. “I think not. I will meet you on Gamma Stella V at the time you specified, but my crew will keep Starblade and his people hostage until the duel is completed. If you win, they will be set free.” He narrowed his one good eye. “If you lose, I shall keep them and use them however I desire.”
Vardox could not restrain several of his tentacles as they burst forth with vicious intent, angrily demanding Kahmos’s blood. They were ready and eager to strangle the life force out of him until he gasped his last breath. “Starblade and his crew are not a part of this. Our feud is between you and me. Release them and fight like a true Katnu warrior.”
Kahmos scowled. “You may have been the one to request the Blood Duel, Lord Vardox, but as the Challenged I may name the stakes. My hostages are viable collateral under Katnu law, which considers it perfectly acceptable for me to hold them until the duel’s completion—and you know it.”
Vardox cursed internally. It seemed luck was not on his side. However, he did know another part of Katnu law he could call on at this moment to help his fair captain. “I acknowledge your claim, Kahmos. However, your laws also stipulate that hostages used as collateral in a Blood Duel must remain unmolested and unharmed until the duel is complete. Do you honor this stricture as dictated by Katnu law?”
Kahmos’s mouth twisted with frustrated anger. “It seems you know our laws far too well, Vardox.” He grunted with displeasure. “I agree to abide by that stipulation as required under Katnu law.” He didn’t sound happy about it. That pleased Vardox.
“Excellent. I have recorded the terms of our arrangement during this conversation and will transmit the file to the officials on Gamma Stella V. You will be required to present the hostages to them before the duel commences, and they will verify the captain and his crew have remained untouched. If you violate this requirement, you automatically forfeit the duel, and I may mete out whatever punishment I so desire upon you and your crew.”
Kahmos hissed, flashing his sharp teeth as his lip curled. “The terms have been set. I will join you on Gamma Stella V in one lunar cycle with my hostages in tow. Prepare to meet your death, Vardox. I look forward to making you suffer.” He released Starblade and handed him off to one of his goons with a rough shove. “Your precious captain and his crew will remain safe—for now. Watching you take your last breath, all while knowing I will inflict every ounce of my loathing for you on your precious captain long after I have disposed of you, will bring me great delight.”
In a rare show of feeling, Vardox allowed his eyes to turn a deep crimson color, showing Kahmos the personage of a Masnok warrior ready to defend his mate to the death. “And I look forward to removing other parts of your body, slowly and painfully, until you’re begging me to put you out of your misery.” He turned his red-eyed gaze to Starblade. “Don’t fret, my darling. I will save you.”
Taking a deep breath, I stop and look up from my tablet to find a sea of eager faces staring at me in open-mouthed shock.
Way to wow them with a new villain, River! I try, not very hard, to hold back a smirk.
“And that’s it for my open mic reading tonight, everyone. Just a little taste of what lies ahead. I hope you enjoyed it.”
The crowd immediately goes wild.
“Oh my freaking god!” Roxy screams, rushing up to me as I step down from the stage. “Vardox has to save his man, right? Right? This Kahmos guy is a total douche. And a Blood Duel? How romantic! I can’t wait. Eeeeek!” She does a happy dance in place before hugging me to her rather ample bosom.
Nirblob glides over, eyes even wider than normal if that’s even possible. “What a stunning new development! I told you, Lord Vardox is the greatest. So noble. So brave. He will protect the man he loves at any cost.” He shakes his head as if marveling at the thought. “I can’t wait to see what happens next. Surely now, Starblade will realize Vardox loves him?”
Other fans begin crowding around and asking myriad questions. I hold up my hands. “I’m sorry. I can’t divulge any more. You’re just going to have to tune in for when each new chapter comes out.”
There are some pouting and sad faces as I make my way back through the crowd and over to the booth where Kai’s sitting. I watch with amusement as a huge line of people wanting to buy T-shirts and other merch begins to form at Tom Jones’s table.
“Hey, Tom! I better be getting a percentage of those sales. It’s my story you’re making money on,” I shout over to him.
Tom grins. “Sure thing, River! I was planning to donate most of the money to Project ORAL.”
Kai groans.
I give Tom two thumbs up. “Good idea. I’m totally in favor of supporting Operation Rehoming Aliens Lovingly this way!” After all, I came up with the whole operation.
I scooch into the booth right next to Kai before wrapping my arm around his waist in a side-hug. Then I drop my head onto his shoulder with a sigh.
He reaches up and strokes his finger through my hair. For some reason, he loves my crazy mess of curls. Yet another sign we’re meant to be.
“You were amazing,” he murmurs. “You had the whole audience on the edge of their seats.”
I snuggle in closer. “Thanks. They took the news about my releases slowing down better than I expected.”
He presses a tender kiss to the top of my head. “They’ll adapt. I told you they would. They love your story too much to abandon ship at this point.”
The crowd parts and I watch as CJ and Zion head our way, joining us on the opposite side of the booth. As far as appearances go, these two couldn’t look any different. CJ is a tiny four-foot-tall gray alien with a little Marvin the Martian mixed in. He has a high-pitched chipmunk-like voice and he’s also starting a sideline as a children’s entertainer billed as The Alien Elvis. In contrast, Zion is well over six-feet tall and all rippling muscles from his training as a Vroknu warrior on his home world. Oh, and he’s also bright blue and pretty much an Ice Planet Barbarian come to life. In looks, at least. When it comes to personality, he’s a quiet, gentle, nonviolent guy who I’ve come to realize is also a teensy bit shy.
Heaven help him. My BFF Evan is going to eat him alive one day.
I smile at them both. “Hey guys, how’s it going? Glad you could make it tonight.”
CJ clasps his tiny three-fingered hands to his chest. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. This new development is most stimulating. Things have been too easy for Lord Vardox lately. I’m glad he’s found some real competition in a new villainous rival.” He wriggles happily in his seat. “And the fact that he will have to duel him to the death for Starblade’s hand! It’s almost too much for me to handle—the excitement, I mean.”
I grin. “Thanks. I have some intense chapters ahead as Vardox must fight for his man.”
Poor, sweet Zion frowns. “I’m not sure I like this idea of a duel to the death. It sounds unnecessary and far too violent.” The soft-spoken words seem at odds with his enormous muscular appearance. Born into a race of warrior beings known as the Vroknu, Zion is an outcast among his people in part for refusing to follow the warrior way.
I reach over and pat one large blue hand. “Don’t worry, Zion, I’ll keep the gore to a minimum. I generally avoid gratuitous violence in my stories. I promise you’ll enjoy what I have in store.”
He gives me a doubtful look, but nods. “I will trust you on this, my friend.”
Nirblob comes sailing our way on his ever-present roller skates, his Vardox-inspired cloak billowing behind him and his arms full of brightly wrapped packages. He deposits them on the table with a flourish and sketches an exaggerated bow. “These presents are for you.”
My mouth drops open as I stare at the pile in confusion. “What do you mean? It’s not my birthday.”
Kai groans and I turn my attention to him. The look on his face makes me instantly suspicious.
I frown. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Uh oh,” CJ squeaks.
Wide-eyed, Zion looks between the three of us.
I reach over and poke Kai in the rib, right in his ticklish spot. He immediately squirms in the booth and tries to lean his body away from me and my probing finger. “Uh…,” he says, his eyes studiously avoiding me.
I turn back to Nirblob. “What are these presents all about?”
Nirblob shrugs. “Adulation from your fans, of course.”
“My… fans?” I ask, trailing off in wonder.
If Nirblob had eyelids, I feel certain he’d be blinking them at me right now in obvious confusion. “Of course. These are just from those who came tonight and realized they could give you gifts directly in person. I required folks to check them with me at the door when they arrived, and I told them I’d deliver them to you after the reading. But many of our people have been sending their offerings through the Intergalactic Post to Alliance headquarters for weeks now.”
Kai is making a not so subtle shut-the-fuck-up motion to Nirblob, who’s blithely ignoring him. “Of course, there’s the fan letters and emails too. Haven’t you been keeping up with those?”
I slowly turn my head to stare at my fiancé. “What the actual fuck is going on? Have I been getting fan mail? And if so, why haven’t you told me about it?” I demand, my voice rising higher with each syllable.
Kai squirms and finally releases a sigh of defeat. “Ever since you joined the Alliance, we’ve been receiving, on your behalf, fan mail, parcels, letters, and email correspondence from extraterrestrials across the whole bloody universe.”
I frown, a twisty, unhappy feeling in my gut. “Why didn’t you tell me? You know I’d freaking love to read fan mail.”
Kai shoots me a pleading look. “I was going to tell you, I promise. The thing is, some of the items that are being sent, especially through the Intergalactic Post, are a little…questionable.”
I tilt my head, considering. “Questionable how?”
He cringes. “As in dubious sexual aid devices and skimpy lingerie, for a start.”
“Holy shitballs! You know you’ve hit the big time when people start sending you alien dildos.” I gasp. “OMG! Please tell me there are alien dildos.”
Kai gives me a stern look. “Such contraband paraphernalia is officially confiscated by the Alliance. It’s not something you could have kept anyway.”
Ah, nuts.I cross my arms and pout. “You’re no fun. We totally could have had a good time with an alien dildo.”
“My penis and tentacles are more than enough to keep you satisfied, mate.” He says the words with a sexy little growl that makes me shiver.
I pat him on the arm. “Of course, honeybuns. But what about the fan letters? I totally want to read them and share the love with the people who enjoy my story.”
Kai groans and leans his head back against the booth wall. “How did I know you were going to say that?”
I flutter my eyelashes at him. “Because you know me so well.” I then add in a sappy voice, “Because it’s twoo wuv, and I’m your soulmate and you’re my boo.”
He arches an eyebrow. “I don’t know about that.”
I pinch his arm. “Watch yourself, buddy.”
He snickers but then sighs. “To be honest, I was trying to protect you. We don’t know who a lot of these senders are. Sure, we have email addresses from some of them, but many don’t write their return addresses for packages. Origins can be hard to trace depending on the email provider or intergalactic post office being used. Your safety is my utmost concern. Who’s to say some of these people might not be working for your mother’s family and trying to secretly get information that they could use against you? Hell, one of them could even be the assassin posing as a fan and trying to lure you in with promises of friendship and praise for your work! I’m trying to keep you safe.” Then he mutters, “And steer you clear of all of the fucking perverts.”
I lean over and pet his arm as if it were one of his tentacles. “Aww, you’re trying to protect my virtue from gross creepers. How chivalrous and romantic.” I put my free hand to my cheek. “I never knew you had it in you!”
He gives me a withering glare. “As your partner and future husband, I will always do whatever I can to keep you safe. If that means screening your sketchy fan mail, then that means screening your sketchy fan mail.”
He’s being so stern and possessive. I fucking love it.
I beam at him. “Does that mean I get to read the stuff you have screened as appropriate for my delicate sensibilities?”
He regards me with those beautiful amethyst eyes that never cease to amaze me. I could get lost in them forever. Kai’s expression softens into something that’s starting to become familiar. It’s the look that tells me I’m about to get my way. “From now on, I will pass on the messages I deem appropriate and safe for your viewing.”
Ah, sweet, naive Kai. Now that I know these letters exist, I will be getting my grubby hands on them as soon as possible.
I leer. “Then maybe you could read me the super-filthy ones when we’re alone in bed together? That would be kind of fun.”
His eyes darken with passion. “Perhaps.”
I shiver. When he gets all sexy as fuck like this, I can barely contain myself. And lately I feel like his sexitude powers have been dialed up to eleven.
It’s this whole Tentaculum Calefaction thing, a hormonally driven mating instinct among his people. When I got kidnapped a few weeks ago, the stress and fear from that whole event seemingly triggered an episode in Kai.
It usually happens to women who are ready to produce offspring, so it’s a bit of a medical mystery as to why it’s happening to Kai. Sure, it used to happen, and in fact, some men from his home world were once able to carry babies. I don’t really understand all the biological details behind it, but the internal composition of his abdominal cavity is quite a bit different from humans—as I discovered with his prostate…but I digress.
In any case, our med techs at the Alliance are absolutely amazed, but also stumped as to why Kai is what appears to be the first recorded case among a male of his species in well over two hundred years.
Heh.I like to think I had a part in triggering this super-horny pon farr fuckfest we’ve been enjoying for the last few weeks. Maybe my alien superpower is being too irresistible and awesome to not make my boyfriend ultra horny? Whatever the case, we’re basically getting busy like we’re teenagers with raging libidos and nonstop hard-ons. Truth, it’s more sex than I ever had as a teenager. I’m getting laid on the regular—sometimes multiple times a day—and all my teenage fantasies have come to life! Every damn one of them. Well, except for that one in the TARDIS…
Granted, Tentaculum Calefaction isn’t something to treat cavalierly. The idea of making a baby with Kai is weirdly kinda awesome but mostly plain terrifying. After all, I’m only twenty-two. Even the hypothetical prospect of having kids and becoming a father right now seems ludicrous. I’m not opposed to children per se. I’m just not sure if I want any. And being a gay man in 21st century Vegas, I honestly can say it never crossed my mind all that much. Well, until this happened.
Thankfully, it’s probably a moot point. I don’t have the biological genetics of his people; thus, I’ve been told, it’s virtually impossible for me to knock my man up. No Iyaran has ever conceived a child with someone from another species. Although now that I think about it, it does give me some fun ideas where Captain Starblade and Lord Vardox are concerned…
But again, I digress.
According to Kai, it’s quite difficult to have successful cross-species interbreeding among extraterrestrials in general. Being part-human and part-Quintharian, I’m a bit of an anomaly myself, biologically speaking. But regardless, poor Kai’s body has put him in a pon farr state of perpetual horniness for the time being.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m totally down for it. His mega-horny sex drive is matching mine like you wouldn’t believe. And the sex? OMG, chef’s kiss! It has been out-of-this-fucking-world.
CJ pulls me out of my reverie. “Perhaps you should open some of your gifts?”
I turn to Kai with hopeful eyes, but he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, River, but they’ll need to go through the Alliance scanners to ensure they’re safe.”
I still. “What do you mean?”
He wraps his arm around me. “While the gifts so far have mostly been harmless in nature, we must take precautions. Something dangerous could be sent to you disguised as an innocuous package.”
I inhale sharply. “Like a bomb or something?”
We all stare at the pile with rising alarm.
Kai squeezes me tightly and strokes my hair. He loves my wild curls, and I’ve come to crave the soothing feeling of his fingers running through my hair and massaging my scalp. “No, probably not a bomb, but we need to inspect anything addressed to you. We’re just taking every necessary precaution to keep you and everyone else safe,” Kai assures me.
Nirblob nods. “I see. You make a very compelling point, Captain Genaro, one I had not thought of myself. Our dear River is in some considerable danger these days. Therefore, we must do everything in our power to protect him, lest we lose the joy of future chapters of The Tentacular Tales of Captain Starblade. We cannot allow such genius to be snuffed out! And certainly not until his legacy is complete.”
I shoot him a bitchy-as-hell look. “Uh, was that a less than subtle way of saying you want to keep me alive just so I can continue writing my alien porn story?”
Nirblob shrugs.
CJ nods his head sorrowfully. “‘Tis true, the story will always come first. But we do love you too.”
I groan.
Nirblob signals to some of his helpers and they quickly clear the gifts away from the table. “I will have these sent to Alliance headquarters immediately.”
Kai nods graciously. “Thank you.”
I lean back in the booth and cross my arms, a pout firmly in place on my lips. “Well damn. There goes my fun for the evening.”
Kai quickly tries to change the direction of the conversation. “How are you getting along with the guidebook my mother gave you?”
He knows me too well, that sneaky bastard! I brighten and reach into my front jacket pocket to pull out A Guide to your Iyaran Mate: From Courtship to Tentacles. The book is about the size of my hand and quite thick. If I hollowed it out, like in a movie, I could hide a flask in there! “It’s fascinating. I’m learning a lot about your people and culture. For instance—”
A strange commotion draws my focus away from my friends, and I look up in time to see an alien the size of two linebackers barreling straight toward our booth, his three eyes focused right on me.
Wolf's Clothing by EJ Russell
Chapter One
Sunlight. Damn, it was awesome. After seven years living only the hour between midnight and 1 a.m., Trent Pielmeyer didn’t think he’d ever get enough.
Every night since he’d gotten out of the private-care facility—fuck, just call it what it is: a loony bin—his recurring nightmare had driven him out of the house into the dark. He’d logged countless miles along the shore or through neighborhoods where houses stood shoulder to shoulder, but he always timed it so he’d catch the sunrise over the ocean. Then he’d run home with its warmth on his back and the streets of Newport brightening before him.
He slowed as he approached his family’s estate. Shit. His timing was off this morning. The sun hadn’t yet topped the evergreens that lined the property. The driveway was as murky as if it were still the middle of the night.
He jogged up and down in front of the gate, panting and sweaty.
Do it. Just do it. Sure, the shadows are really fricking dark, but they’re only trees. Half a mile to the house. Piece of cake. Now!
He sprinted for the mouth of the drive, his Nikes crunching in the gravel, but as soon as he got to the shadow of the first tree, he stalled.
Jesus, why couldn’t his inconsiderate ancestors have planted maples instead of evergreens?
He made two more abortive attempts, but it wasn’t until the sun cleared the treetops that he was able to force himself to run down the driveway. How many miles had he clocked this time? Twelve? Thirteen? Hell, he could run a half marathon, but he couldn’t sleep through the night without waking in a cold sweat, his throat raw from useless screams.
Trent slowed to a stop by the giant magnolia tree next to the koi pond. He could handle the magnolia—barely. Not a fir tree. Good job, ancestors. A few brown-edged petals clung to the chest-high canvas-shrouded object at the edge of the pond. He removed the stones weighing down the tarp and flipped it up, revealing the marble plinth underneath.
Trent McFadden Pielmeyer, Beloved Son, May 14, 1990 - October 17, 2009
His tombstone.
Or was it technically a memorial, since his parents had had no body to bury?
Some people might wonder why his father hadn’t removed it. After all, Beloved Son was home again. Not dead. Not missing. Still gay, but, hey, can’t have everything.
Trent knew the truth, though. If his father had to spend money on something he considered outrageous—such as paying a crew for a whole day’s work just to remove one piece of marble—he might keel over on the spot. Forrest Pielmeyer might have more money than God—including a lot that should have been Trent’s by now—but he’d always be a frugal New England Yankee at heart. Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.
How many times had Trent heard that when he was growing up? Every time he’d wanted to do something that didn’t fit the Pielmeyer Way of Life—the perfect preppy image his father clung to like a life preserver from his yacht.
Trent peered at the sun. From the angle, he was late for breakfast. Again. He delayed another minute, closing his eyes and basking. Lizards totally have the right idea. Then he trudged up the vast slope of lawn and into the house.
The housekeeper, carrying the silver coffee service into the breakfast room, gave him her usual disapproving glare. Yeah, yeah. Get in line, sweetheart. Trent put on his best I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude and followed.
He settled at the table across from his mother, the sunlight playing off the crystal and silver and bone china. She glanced at him and then away.
“You’ll need to… freshen up soon, Trent. Deborah will arrive for your session at ten thirty.”
Deborah was the last of the lineup of therapists who had tag-teamed him since his return to Newport. All of them agreed he was either repressing memories of a traumatic captivity, or suffering from Stockholm syndrome and trying to protect his alleged kidnapper.
Whatever.
He couldn’t exactly confess what had really happened: See, there was this ghost war, and I got sucked into it. I’ve been appearing—or should I say disappearing—nightly as Danford Balch, frontier murderer and first man hanged in Oregon, for the last seven years.
That’d go over outstandingly well. They’d probably clap him back in the loony bin for life.
Other than the sheer unbelievability of the story, though, if he came clean about it, he’d implicate Logan Conner, his old roommate and best friend, who’d told Trent about the ghost war in the first place. Logan had been there that night, from slightly drunken beginning to horrifying end. But when the police had questioned Trent about his vanishing act, poking and prodding, looking for someone to pin the blame on, they’d never mentioned Logan as a “person of interest” in the case.
Trent hadn’t had a chance to talk to Logan before the Haunted to the Max medic had bundled him off to the ambulance, or afterward, when his family had descended like a plague of perfectly groomed locusts. Somehow, though, Logan must have found a way to keep himself out of the whole shit-storm, and Trent intended to keep it that way. After all, Logan had tried his damnedest to talk Trent out of doing what he did. It wasn’t his fault Trent had behaved like a fucking idiot.
Yeah, they were both better off with Trent insisting he couldn’t remember his supposed ordeal. Too bad it wasn’t true. How could he forget it when he relived it every single night in his dreams?
Trent sipped his coffee. Jesus, what he wouldn’t give for a nice heavy ceramic mug instead of the delicate china. He wanted something he could hold on to. Something weighty, that could anchor him to the world. Not something this fragile, something that could break and send him floating, adrift.
“Trent.” His father was apparently intent on smearing exactly one tablespoon of quince preserves on his toast. “It’s a bit morbid, don’t you think, to stare at your own headstone twice a day?”
Hunh. Guess dear ol’ Dad paid more attention to him than he thought. “I couldn’t see it if it wasn’t there.”
“It’s in a private spot, and the tarp is there for a reason. The stone can’t be seen, or wouldn’t be if you didn’t persist in uncovering it.”
“You know, anyone who knows you will figure you’re sparing the expense as usual. I mean, why undo something you’ll just have to do again sometime in the next seventy years or so?”
His father heaved a too-familiar sigh. “How many times have we discussed economies of scale? It’s inefficient to contract a single service of that sort. Better to wait until we have several similar tasks and put them out to bid at the same time.”
“Aren’t you afraid people might get the wrong idea—that you’re keeping it because you wish me under it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Nobody thinks anything of the kind.”
I do.“Even if you can’t bring yourself to remove it, could you maybe zap the date of death?”
“That would mar the marble unnecessarily.”
“So what happens when I actually die? You gonna leave the 2009 date on there and add a fucking footnote?”
“That’s enough, young man,” his father boomed. “I will not have that sort of talk at the breakfast table.”
“Right. We save the really knotty problems for luncheon.”
His mother dropped her fork onto her plate with a clatter. “Excuse me. I have a…” She rose and left the room, her back as straight as the creases in her beige slacks.
His father balled up his napkin and threw it on the table. “See what you’ve done?”
“Me? You ever think leaving that memorial in place might bother Mom? It sure bothers the gardener. Every time he sees me, he makes the sign of the horns, like he’s warding off the evil eye.”
“He does no such thing.” His father retrieved his napkin and shook it out, settling it on his lap before reaching for his egg cup.
“He so does.”
Jesus, how much longer could he stand to live here? He’d remained holed up in the ancestral pile after he’d emerged from the loony bin because even though his parents didn’t particularly like him, they were undeniably real. The housekeeper and the gardener might stare at him in contempt or fear, but at least they could see him. That none of them tried to hang him every night? Bonus.
Besides, he didn’t have anywhere else to go.
He took a deep breath. Antagonizing his father, no matter how gratifying, wasn’t a brilliant idea, considering he needed his cooperation. But as Deborah frequently pointed out—although in much more scientific and PC terms—his impulse control was for shit.
“So, Dad. Have the lawyers made any progress getting me declared undead yet?”
“It’s a complicated process. The conditions your grandfather saw fit to impose—”
“What’s the big deal? The trust would have been mine absolutely when I turned twenty-five anyway.”
“Why are you in such a hurry?”
“Hurry?” Trent’s voice slid up half an octave on the word. “It’s been seven months. My birthday is this week, and I’ve got sh—stuff I want to do.” Like maybe move out of my ex-bedroom, aka the Blue Guest Room.
His father squinted at him over a forkful of three-minute egg. “You have no need of your trust fund at the moment. You’re living in this house. Eating our food.” He nodded at Trent’s T-shirt—yellow, with a sad-faced cartoon brontosaurus and the caption All my friends are dead. “The housekeeper bought a number of perfectly presentable outfits for you, so you have no need to continue dressing like a derelict.”
“That’s kind of my point. On this birthday, I’ll officially be twenty-seven. Don’t you think I’m a little old to have someone else dress me?” Trent had ignored the stack of junior executive outfits and chosen his own wardrobe from the thrift stores in North Providence, like any good ex-college student. “Isn’t it time for me to rise above parental handouts?”
“What do you imagine trust fund income is?”
Trent put his toast down and clenched his hands together in his lap. “I think it was Grandfather’s attempt to make sure I got an education that I chose for myself.”
“Well, you’re not pursuing that at the moment, are you? As far as I can see, you’re not pursuing anything except the best way to embarrass me and distress your mother.”
“I’m trying to get it together.” He was. He really was. But the recurring nightmares disrupted his sleep, which ruined his ability to think rationally. Maybe if he could tell someone about them, share the experience, he could—
No.Safer to keep the truth under wraps. Safer for Logan. Safer for himself, if he wanted to avoid mental health arrest.
If he had his trust fund, though, he’d leave. Go back to school, get the general ed stuff out of the way while he decided whether he could ever face the stage again.
That was the worst part about the ghost war experience. Clueless asshole that he’d been, he’d leaped into the role of Danford Balch as if he’d been making his Broadway debut, without realizing the contract had no opt out. It had been horrible and dehumanizing and terrifying while it was happening, and continued to rob him of his sleep seven months after his rescue. Worst of all, like seven years of aversion therapy, it had also robbed him of the thing that he’d loved most in the world—acting. Now, the very idea of auditioning for another play was enough to send him scurrying back to the safety of the loony bin.
But he had to start somewhere.
“When I head to school this fall, I’ll—”
“Where exactly were you planning to go?”
Trent blinked. “Uh… well I…” How stupid was it that he hadn’t thought about it? “I guess I assumed Portland State would let me reenroll. I mean… unless their requirements have changed in the last seven years. I should—”
“Do you seriously imagine we’d allow you to return to Oregon after this whole escapade?”
Trent frowned. “‘Escapade’? You make it sound like it’s something I did for fun.”
“Wasn’t it? You refuse to divulge the details, name your accomplices—”
“‘Accomplices’?” Dread pooled in Trent’s belly. Don’t mention Logan, not when they’re still searching for someone to blame. “I told you, it was all me.”
“You were obviously somewhere, Trent. And under the terms of your grandfather’s trust, you’re not owed a penny if you’ve committed any crime greater than a misdemeanor.”
He’d been in Forest Park after hours—a violation of a city ordinance, but surely that wasn’t enough to rob him of his inheritance. “I haven’t—”
“Until the authorities are satisfied that you didn’t engineer your own disappearance in an attempt to extort more money from this family, the trust will remain precisely where it is. Invested under my name.”
Trent jumped to his feet, and his chair toppled over in a crash of oak on marble. “Did you ever get a ransom demand? A single hint that I was trying to scam you? Jesus fuck, Dad.”
“Trent! If you can’t moderate your language, you may leave the room.”
“Excellent idea.” I’ll leave the room. I’ll leave the house. I’ll leave the whole damned state! He stalked out into the foyer and ran up the staircase, his father’s voice echoing behind him.
“You want to know when I’ll take down that memorial? When I’m convinced my son isn’t dead to me!”
Trent stumbled on the last step. Jesus.
His therapist thought he was shielding his kidnapper; the police thought he was covering for an accomplice; and his own father thought he’d kidnapped himself for some never-demanded ransom.
The worst part was, he couldn’t tell any of them the truth. How could he convince them that a cheesy paranormal investigation show had gotten it exactly right? Nobody would buy anything that unbelievable.
Except for one person. Logan.
Trent’s birthday was on Friday—he wasn’t sure if it counted as the twentieth or the twenty-seventh, and no way was he celebrating it alone except for his parents and one of the housekeeper’s heavy cakes.
Damn it, he’d spend the day in Portland with Logan, the only person on the planet who knew he wasn’t insane, hallucinatory, or a goddamn fucking criminal.
Shadow's Return by SC Wynne
Chapter One
Got lots of stuff to catch up on. Probably best if I just sleep at my place tonight. T.
I stared at the note from Thompson for a good ten minutes, trying to figure out if there was a hidden meaning to it. He’d stuck the Post-it note on the coffee maker in the early dawn and crept out without waking me when he’d left for work this morning.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and added some cream. Why hadn’t he woken me? Had he been trying to avoid some sort of confrontation? Did he think I’d throw a fit or something if he didn’t spend the night? I squinted at the note, scanning it with my mind and wishing there was something there for me to pick up. But as usual, where Thompson was concerned, I couldn’t get a reading.
We’d been pretty hot and heavy for a few months now, but nothing was written in stone. We’d both said we loved each other once, ages ago, right after we’d almost died at the hands of that pink-feather madman, Steven Pine. But since then, both of us had played it pretty close to the vest with our declarations of undying love. Had he changed his mind about me? Maybe once he’d spent some time with me doing things other than solving murders, he’d discovered I was boring. I felt boring. Maybe I wasn’t inventive enough in bed? I was sort of vanilla between the sheets. I knew that. But if he wanted something more exciting, why didn’t he just ask?
I sipped my coffee, feeling anxious. I missed the comfortable intimacy I’d shared with William. He’d been very verbal about his emotions, and touchy-feely. I’d had no doubt at all that William had adored me, and he’d known I’d felt the same toward him. But Thompson was more reserved, and he kept his feelings to himself. He’d admitted to never having a long-term relationship before, and sometimes that worried me. Had he stayed single for so long because he hadn’t met the right person? Or was he just not relationship material?
I almost spilled my coffee when my cell rang on the counter. My stomach tensed when I saw it was Thompson himself. “Hello?” I answered.
“Liam?”
“Yep.” I wasn’t sure how to act suddenly. I didn’t like not knowing where I stood with people. Did he sound the same as always, or was I right that he sounded more uptight?
“We have a weird one. Feel like working today?”
I always preferred to work. “Sure.”
“I’ll swing by and get you in ten.” He hung up.
I sighed and hurried to go get dressed. Thompson never gave me much time once he’d actually called. I washed up, pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, and ran my fingers through my hair. I didn’t need to look amazing; I just didn’t want to look like a hobo. I went back into the kitchen and gulped down the rest of my coffee. I’d just set the cup in the sink when Thompson knocked.
I opened the door and found Thompson standing there looking tight-lipped. “Hey,” I said breathlessly, closing the door behind me. It was strange working with the person you also slept with. I was never sure if I should kiss him hello or just shake hands. Today I opted for neither, and I just followed him to the car.
I climbed in while he moved around to the driver’s side and slid in behind the wheel. I crossed my hands in my lap, tension making my muscles tight. “You said this was a weird one?” I didn’t look at him as I spoke, feeling oddly shy.
“It is. It’s a little unsettling to be honest.”
“Awesome.”
“A body was discovered at Los Angeles City College this morning.” He pulled onto the road, weaving in and out of traffic and seeming impatient with anyone who was moving slower. His jaw was rigid, and his brows pulled together. “Pretty gruesome.”
“And it’s a homicide?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Okay.” I stared straight ahead. “I didn’t see anything.”
“That was my next question.” He glanced over quickly. “I thought maybe you would.”
“It’s been kind of quiet to be honest.” I gave a gruff laugh. I liked it when it was quiet. I needed a break from the yammering spirits and gory murders that often paraded through my brain.
“I’m glad for your peace of mind, but sorry for us. It would be helpful if you’d seen something.” He sighed.
I hated disappointing him, even though it meant life was better for me. “I’m sure I’ll see something when we get to the scene.” My stomach tensed at the thought of what awaited me. I was happy to help the cops try and solve murders, but it wasn’t for the weak of heart.
After about ten minutes, Thompson pulled into a parking lot, and we made our way across the campus. LACC wasn’t a huge school, and we quickly crossed the space, passing a large tree in the center of a quad surrounded by buildings. Students sat texting on their phones and eating snacks, apparently oblivious to the fact that a murder had taken place.
“She’s over there in the athletic building.” Thompson spoke quietly, lengthening his stride.
I had to hurry to keep up with him, and I was out of breath by the time we entered the big gymnasium. There were sheriffs at the door, and they checked our credentials before letting us in. One of them seemed to know Thompson, and he introduced himself to me as Deputy Smith.
“We’ve never had anything like this happen. At least, not since I’ve been here.” Smith looked unnerved. “I mean, there have been a handful of sexual assaults at most.” He swallowed. “But nothing like this.” He was definitely rattled. I could sense his frustration at being stuck on door duty, when all he really wanted to do was call his teenage daughter and check on her.
Something buzzed on the edge of my brain as we neared the actual crime scene. Ducking under the yellow tape, I put my hand to my head as the pressure built. There was a lot of energy circulating around the body, and it was hard to process it all at once.
“Anything?” Thompson’s gruff voice cut through the vibrations attacking me.
“Not sure yet.” I pressed my throbbing forehead. “The information is coming in too fast.”
“You want to back off?” His dark gaze seemed concerned as he stopped to look at me.
I scowled. “How would that be helpful?”
“I just don’t want you keeling over.”
I didn’t appreciate him acting like I was a delicate flower. “Let’s get closer to the body.” Psychic impressions seemed to blow away like cigarette smoke, and I needed to try and intercept the spirit quickly.
We rounded a stack of folding chairs, and there was the victim, lying sprawled on the polished gym floor. Her eyes were wide and her mouth open. A belt was looped around her neck, pulled so tight the skin puckered around the brown leather. My stomach rolled and I felt light-headed, but I was damned if I was going to pass out after Thompson’s earlier comment. I took a deep breath and relaxed my mind, inviting the surrounding energy in. Slowly, a replay of the girl’s last moments began to flicker in front of my eyes like an old movie.
She was smiling at someone who was just out of the line of my vision. Her gaze was warm and her cheeks pink. She wasn’t scared at all of her companion; she was completely unaware of what was about to happen. I felt sick observing her innocence, knowing it was about to be destroyed. Then my vision skipped ahead, like a stone across the surface of a lake, to her screaming and trying to run. Some guy, who had his back to me, had her in a choke hold. She fought him valiantly, but he still managed to wrap the belt around her slender neck.
“I can’t see his face,” I said quickly, trying to say out loud everything that flashed in front of my eyes so Thompson could take notes. “He’s wearing gloves. She’s fighting him. God, she really tried to get away.” My stomach lurched at how hard she’d struggled.
I’m so sorry I only see things when it’s too late.
I concentrated on the vision as she clawed at her assailant. At one point she broke free and ran shrieking toward the exit. But he was faster, and he slammed her down and punched her until she was dazed and limp. Then he dragged her back to the corner where her body was now and strangled the life from her as she kicked and gasped for air.
I was so immersed in the vision, I stumbled sideways, losing my bearings. Thompson grabbed my arm. “Can you see the perp at all?”
I shook my head. “Not really. Not his face. He has red hair. From his build I’d say he’s young, her age.”
“Probably a student here.”
The visions of her murder faded, and I inched toward the body. Usually the spirit would appear briefly and approach me with something that could be useful. We didn’t have full-on conversations, but they usually dropped helpful details about their murderer. “What was her name?” I asked softly.
“Gloria.” Thompson’s voice was hushed.
“Gloria,” I whispered, moving closer to the body. Her wide eyes and gaping mouth made my skin crawl, but I stayed near her, reminding myself that that was just her shell, and that her spirit was around here somewhere. “Talk to me, Gloria.” There was nothing. “Come on, let us help you find justice.”
“Maybe it’s too late.” Thompson sounded resigned.
“Shhh.”
He grunted.
“Gloria, tell me who did this to you.” I pressed my fingers to my temple. “Please help us. Don’t let him get away with this.”
I winced when she appeared in front of me like a sickly hologram, her skin gray and her confusion palpable. “I don’t understand. I just wanted someone to listen.” Her voice was weak and reedy.
“Okay.” I nodded. “Well, I’m listening.”
“I didn’t mean it.” She whimpered. “I didn’t want that. Not really.”
“Didn’t want what?” I nudged.
She frowned and touched her neck. “Not fair. Not fair.”
“Can you give me details, Gloria?”
Her mouth was a grim line. “Tricked me.”
“Give me his name.” Even I could hear the urgency in my voice. She wasn’t going to stay long, and I needed a name if she had one.
“Pine. Pine. Pine. Pine.”
“Pine? Like the tree?” I struggled with understanding her fragmented sentences.
“He said he was my friend.”
“Who?”
“I didn’t do anything to him. Why?”
“Do you have a name for me, Gloria? Is Pine the name of a person?”
“The angel made him do it,” she said, and then she disappeared.
“Gloria?” I called her name even though I knew she was gone. Her energy had evaporated completely.
Thompson grabbed my arm. “What? What did she say? Did you get a name?”
“Maybe.” I turned my confused gaze on him. “She… she said Pine.”
“I thought that was what you said.” He grimaced, looking nonplussed. “She actually said the word ‘pine’?”
“Yes. But she was all over the place. It might have just been a tree for all I know.” My stomach clenched with an uneasy feeling.
“You’re sure she said pine?”
“I just said I was.”
“Well…” He scratched his head. “What else did she say?”
I sighed. “She felt betrayed. That was very obvious.” I squinted. “And she said something about an angel making him do it.”
“An angel?” Thompson scowled.
I couldn’t shake a feeling of apprehension shrouding me. “He… he said something about being an angel. Remember?”
“He? You mean Steven Pine?” Thompson’s face tensed. “Liam, he’s in jail.”
“Yeah. I know. But he’s also the strongest fucking psychic I’ve ever met. Maybe he can reach out somehow.” I shivered and hugged myself.
“She must have got it wrong.”
I rubbed my stomach, feeling queasy. “Why would she just pull that name out of the blue? Spirits don’t lie, and they don’t make stuff up.”
“Well, they can make mistakes, right? Perhaps she likes pine trees.”
“She didn’t say it in a happy way.”
“Okay. Maybe she read about Steven Pine. His case has been all over the news. Maybe he was on her mind when she died.”
“It felt more personal.”
“But you saw the murderer. He had red hair, and he was young. That’s what you said.”
“I know—” I frowned, trying to push away the chill that seemed embedded in my soul.
He raked a hand through his shaggy hair. “No way they let that nutcase out. You’re letting your imagination run wild.” He pulled his cell from his pocket and walked away with it pressed to his ear.
I moved away from the body. Gloria wouldn’t return, and I needed fresh air. I followed Thompson toward the exit, still feeling shaken. Maybe Thompson was right and I was letting my fear of Steven Pine get to me. He’d been a terrifying foe, and his name had been all over the newspapers recently because his lawyers were trying to hold up his trial with bogus legal technicalities. The Steven Pine case had been horrifyingly personal. He’d dragged me into his murderous rampage, and I guess it was possible I’d let the memory of that case seep into my current work.
Thompson hung up and faced me. “He’s still at Men’s Central, just like I thought.”
I squinted back toward the building we’d just left. “Okay.” I still felt uneasy. I’d never dealt with a psychic quite like Steven. I wasn’t really sure what he was capable of.
“I’m going to touch base with a few other people before we leave.” His gaze was emotionless.
“Go for it.”
While Thompson finished talking to anyone who’d been first on the scene, I stood to the side, trying to remember every detail of my interaction with Gloria and typing it into the notepad app on my phone. There had been no witnesses to the actual murder. The school janitor had found the body when he’d opened up the gym early this morning. He’d said the place was locked and that there was no one around. The cops took his prints just to rule him out as a suspect, but I knew already he wasn’t our guy.
Eventually, Thompson indicated that he was ready to head out. We walked to his car in silence and got in without a word. I didn’t bring up anything about how I felt like he was acting odd. I didn’t have the nerve to open that can of worms yet. He drove to the station, where he could write up a report and get the names and addresses of Gloria’s friends and family. The sooner we could talk to the people closest to her, the better.
I watched Thompson at his desk as he called people and set up meetings for later in the day. I didn’t like feeling uncertain about what we had. But the way he’d just left that note and not said goodbye this morning wasn’t like him. If there was one thing Thompson was, it was predictable. Whenever he deviated from his usual behavior, there was always a reason.
I had no idea what could have changed between now and last night. Everything had seemed just fine last evening. We’d talked a little bit about William because I’d come across an old photo album, and then we’d had dinner, fucked, and gone to bed. Everything had been pretty damn perfect.
He cleared his throat. “I’m going to interview Gloria’s boyfriend. Did you want to tag along?”
I frowned. “Of course.” I always came with him on those sorts of interviews. Why was he suddenly questioning that?
He stood, pulling on his blazer. “I just wasn’t sure if you’d want to.”
“Since when?”
He shrugged and moved toward the exit. I hurried after him, feeling confused. When we got to the elevator it was crowded, so I couldn’t really ask him anything. By the time we got to his car, enough time had passed that it felt awkward to bring up how weird he was being, but I decided to do it anyway. Just like Thompson was always predictable, I was usually awkward.
As he pulled out of the parking structure, I shifted to face him. “Is something bugging you?”
He glanced at me, his expression guarded. “What do you mean?”
“You seem different.”
“I do?” He kept his eyes on the road.
“Why did you leave a note on the coffee maker?”
“Did you not want me to leave you a note?”
I sighed. “You didn’t say goodbye. You always say goodbye.”
A muscle in his jaw tensed. “I didn’t want to wake you. You were deeply asleep, and you have trouble sleeping.”
“So you were just being considerate?”
“Yep.”
“Promise?”
“If you want me to wake you up next time, I will.”
His tone was evasive, and I was even more convinced that something was wrong. But I didn’t know how to really dig deeper if he was going to pretend everything was perfect. I didn’t want to come off like some drama queen or anything like that.
“I don’t know. You just seem different.”
He cleared his throat. “We should probably focus on the case.”
My face warmed at his lecturing tone. “I am focused on the case.” He didn’t need to tell me how to do my part of the job. He was definitely deflecting. God, what the hell could be so awful that he didn’t even want to talk about it? I knew I wasn’t the most normal person in the world, but I didn’t think I’d done anything that would make him want to stop seeing me.
“I’m just saying we can talk about… us… later,” he said quietly.
“Fine by me.”
His hands clenched on the steering wheel as he gave a hard laugh. “I have to say it’s shocking that you’d be the one to want to talk about feelings.”
“Trust me; it’s not that I want to talk about that stuff.”
“Then let’s not.”
“Sounds good.” I clamped my jaw. Did he want to see other people and he didn’t know how to bring it up? The thought of that made my stomach ache. My feelings for Thompson hadn’t lessened. If anything they were stronger. But the way he was acting, there was no way I’d share that tidbit with him.
After a few minutes he said, “Did you know you talk in your sleep?”
I frowned. “I do?”
“Yes.”
“Huh. Well, if I said I wanted to sleep with Ryan Reynolds or something, don’t hold that against me.”
He parked in front of an apartment building where presumably Gloria’s boyfriend lived. He shut the engine off and turned to face me. “Ryan Reynolds I could compete with.”
I smirked. “Is that right? You have a pretty high opinion of yourself.”
“I’m not worried about you fantasizing about movie stars.”
“Okay.” I laughed, feeling confused. “That’s good because I’m sure there will be more dreams about Ryan and others. I can’t control my dreams.”
“I know,” he said softly. “You have no control over how you feel or who you love. I know that.”
I love you, Thompson.
Those four words were right there on the tip of my tongue. I could have said them so easily. I did love him. But he was acting so odd—no way was I showing my soft underbelly right now. Maybe his whole “you have no control over who you love” speech was the one he gave all the people he dumped. Was that what was happening here? Was he trying to break up with me, but it was extra awkward because we worked together?
My pride warred with my desire to keep seeing him. On one level, I wanted to protect my heart, but on another, I really didn’t want to lose him. It had been a long time since I’d had to even think about things like this. I’d had such an easy, stable relationship with Will from the very beginning. I wasn’t used to playing the dating game anymore.
I met his gaze, my heart rate elevated. “We should probably go talk to this boyfriend of Gloria’s.”
His face tensed. “Yeah.” He turned away to open his door. “Let’s do that.”
I climbed out of the car, feeling like I’d dodged a bullet but not sure that had been the best thing. If Thompson was having second thoughts about us, we’d need to address that. But I shoved those thoughts away for now.
How to Elude a Vampire by Alice Winters
Chapter One
FINN
Sometimes, I wonder how I’m still alive. I don’t think I’m necessarily reckless, although some might say that having a partner who is a vampire and joining a vampire-only police department makes me seem like it. But I honestly feel safer now than I’ve ever felt in my life. I’m surrounded by men and women who are faster and deadlier than any human, yet I feel like I’m covered by a security blanket. A blanket with fangs and grumpy personalities.
Growing up, my security came from me relying on myself—my mother did little to protect me—so I learned how to care for myself and keep myself safe. But now… now I have Marcus to watch over me and it’s oddly comforting.
“What are you contemplating over there?” Marcus asks.
I smile at the handsome vampire who is looming next to me. “How you got so lucky to end up with me.”
“I literally just asked if you wanted sprinkles on your ice cream and you got this far-off look on your face like you had to contemplate how sprinkles came into existence.”
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t get sassy with me,” I growl.
Karsyn, who’s in front of us in line at the tiny ice cream shop right next to the city’s main park, slowly turns to look at us. “Disgusting,” he growls, Russian accent coming through thicker because of his tone. The poor sweet man is just sexually frustrated because the man he spends all day ogling doesn’t seem to notice nor like him.
“So?” Marcus says.
“So?” I ask, unsure what we’re “so-ing” about since I might have gotten distracted by Karsyn’s rancid, yet kind of cute, attitude. I love it when he gets really fired up and starts spitting shit at people in Russian. It makes me feel worldly to be surrounded by such diverse people.
“Sprinkles. Do you want some motherfucking sprinkles?” Marcus asks.
“They fuck mothers?” I ask, acting aghast.
A mother who is two people ahead of us turns creepily slow to glare at us. She gets one look at Marcus and quickly turns back around. Marcus can be a bit menacing before you get to know him. And then once you know him, he’s adorable.
“I’m just going to get him a bowl,” Karsyn decides. “An empty bowl. And he can hold his empty bowl and forlornly regret being a smart-ass. He’ll be all like ‘Please, sir, I want some more’ and I’m going to laugh in his face.”
There are still three people ahead of us in line, so I have time to kill while harassing my two favorite people.
“I feel like you’re especially snarky today, Karsyn,” I say as I step forward and wrap my arms around his body. He instantly stiffens and starts barking stuff in Russian as I squeeze him tightly. I’m positive he’s saying stuff like “I love you” and “Hug me harder.”
“I think he’s liking it,” Marcus says. While Marcus, my boyfriend of six months, hates me interacting with anyone who could even remotely like me, he does love it when I harass Karsyn. We both do. It’s kind of a bonding experience. We bond over torturing Karsyn and Karsyn bonds with us because he must secretly like it.
“Get. Off. Me,” he growls, but it makes me squeeze him tighter. And then he’s spitting Russian words at me again.
“Marcus, I’ve been studying Russian and he just said he loves me!”
“Aw!” Marcus says, which sounds weird coming out of the often brooding and grumpy vampire, but again, it relates to annoying Karsyn, so everything’s game.
When I first joined the Vampire Related Crimes unit, or the VRC, after leaving homicide, a lot of the vampires really didn’t like me. Even Marcus, who now confesses his undying love to me every time he sees me, tried his hardest to get rid of me. Karsyn, on the other hand, downright hated me for a good month or so while the others tolerated me. They weren’t used to working with a human partner, since the VRC had never had a human employee before. Thankfully, with my amazing skill of suckering people into liking me, I soon had them all declaring our best friendship.
But out of it all, the thing that mattered to me the most was the way Marcus’s relationship with me changed. While I had plenty of things in my past that made me very grateful, no one has ever made me as happy as Marcus has.
“I’m going to teach you Russian someday so you can understand that I was telling you how irritating you are,” Karsyn growls.
“My one true love?” I ask Marcus.
“Huh?”
“After this… can we go to the park and have Karsyn push me on the swing?” I ask like I’m very hopeful that this will actually happen.
It’s finally spring, so children have flocked to the park, even though the air is slightly cool with the wind cutting through it. The overcast sky allows the vampires out, but they’re still wearing dark clothes and sunglasses. Since the light isn’t too bright, my sunglasses are hooked on my shirt. Anytime the sun comes out, I have to slip them on since the bright light also bothers my eyes. But no one besides Marcus really knows why.
“Next?” the cashier calls out.
Karsyn steps up to her, a scowl still on his face.
“Good afternoon, how can I help you?” the young woman says with so much cheer that it hits Karsyn’s impenetrable brooding bubble and tumbles off.
“I’d like a cup, no ice cream, nothing in it at all for the human. No sprinkles, definitely no spoon. Just a cup,” Karsyn says.
She looks confused as she stares at her notepad. “Just a… cup? Like to share?” she asks.
“Do you see him?” I ask as I press into Karsyn even closer, but my height difference makes it hard to see much of anything. Karsyn is taller than me, but Marcus has about three inches on him and can actually see past him.
“He’s in the back, right there. Jeffry Thompson, you’re under arrest!” Marcus shouts.
When the man peeks over a shelf to look at us, I finally get a good look at him. Then I get a very good look at his back as he bolts, slamming through the door of the tiny ice cream place and out into the street, but Briar has been waiting on that side and DeGray on the other for a moment just like this.
Jeffry is a vampire we’d pinpointed to this location after a string of break-ins and assaults. He’s also very well known for getting away from his pursuers, so the five of us decided to tackle it together, even though I generally work just with Marcus out in the field.
“Can your tiny little legs keep up?” Karsyn asks.
Marcus waves at him like he’s going to defend me. “Shh, Karsyn. He doesn’t like it when you make fun of his speed. You’re like a cheetah, baby,” Marcus encourages. Sadly, he doesn’t see me flipping him off as he and Karsyn zoom off, leaving the struggling human behind.
Jeffry slams into Briar who latches on to him. He socks her in the face with an elbow and she tucks her head away as we rush toward them. He yanks something out that looks like a small handheld canister, but it’s hard to see with them struggling with each other. He brings it up, and just as he goes to press down, she catches his hand and turns it before pushing it herself.
What Briar must have forgotten is that the wind is viciously whipping our way, so when she presses down on the canister, I realize exactly what the canister is.
Especially when it hits Marcus, Karsyn, DeGray, and me right in the face.
The pepper spray immediately attacks my senses. My eyes burst into tears as I accidentally breathe it in and begin coughing. I’ve been hit with pepper spray before but there’s no way to ever get used to the feel of it.
“Holy shit!” DeGray cries out as Jeffry pulls free of Briar who’s stumbling away screaming something like “My eyes!”
Marcus is heaving next to me and tears are pouring from my eyes, obscuring my vision. Seeing as they’re vampires and their senses are heightened, it seems that their ability to detect pepper spray is magnitudes above mine.
“I can’t see him. Where’d he go?” Marcus yells as he rips his sunglasses off and crushes them in his hand like the sunglasses caused this issue.
Thankfully, because of my “tiny little human legs” I was far enough behind that I got the aftereffects of the spray.
“Maybe if you were like a cheetah, baby, you wouldn’t be so slow!” I say as I run past the heaving and sobbing vampires.
“Dammit, Finn, don’t take on the vampire alone!” Marcus yells.
“I can’t hear you over the sound of my speeding legs,” I shout as I watch the vampire dodge right into traffic. He hits the side of a moving car, careens over the top of it, lands on his feet like a cat and takes off again only to be shot in the back by one of my tranquilizers.
He looks back at me like he’s offended I dare shoot him when he’s blatantly running from law enforcement. It’s clear he still has plans to keep running, since the drug takes a few moments to really sink in, so I stay close but not too close as I let him tumble over himself while a park full of people watch.
I give them a reassuring smile and a friendly wave as I head over to the man sprawled out in front of some openmouthed kids on a swing.
Their parents come rushing over and pull them away as I handcuff the man. I’m stuck waiting for my team to make their way to me seeing as I wasn’t blessed with amazing strength that would allow me to drag a two-hundred-and-twenty-pound man back to the car. So I sit on the swing and call Marcus.
“Cheetah Legs has apprehended the perp,” I say.
He sounds a little wheezy still. I mean, my eyes are still watering, and I seem to have an excess of snot, but come on! He’s a vampire! “W-Where are you?”
“Cheetah Legs has apprehended the perp below the swings. I repeat, Cheetah Legs—”
“I… apologize for making fun of—”
“The fact I only have one leg?” I ask, knowing that’ll get him riled up. I love it when I say stuff like that and it flusters the unflusterable Marcus.
“No! You know I’d make fun of you no matter how many legs you have, right? Say right. Don’t leave me hanging here. I can’t breathe, and you’re just evil.”
“Good,” I say. “Cheetah Legs would like you to come push him. I repeat, Cheetah Legs needs a push.”
“Are you on a swing?” he asks, like this sounds like a ludicrous thing for me to do as I wait for them to stagger over here.
“Well… while you guys were busy rolling around on the ground, I thought it’d be alright for me to swing a little. Am I wrong? I repeat, is Cheetah Legs wrong?”
He sighs. “No, you’re not wrong.”
“Are you guys ever coming? Or can you just not face Cheetah Legs?”
He groans loudly. “I’m staggering my way over there. It’s hard through the tears.”
“Ah, makes sense, you’re so manly your eyes probably have no idea what tears are. Are they rejecting your body? Are they confused? Hurry up, Grandpa. Ooh, you know the whole Daddy thing? I don’t need a Daddy, I got a Grandpa.”
He hangs up on me.
“Well, I think that turned him on so much he was too flustered to hang on to the phone,” I tell an unconscious Jeffry. He’s a fantastic listener.
I smile as my vampires walk toward me. The curious onlookers scatter and flee to avoid their glares but I really think the vampires are just squinting because of the whole pepper spray in the eyes thing.
“What took you guys so long to get here?” I ask with an innocent smile. It’s the smile that got me just about everything from my adoptive father Orin when I was growing up. I felt like if I had to suffer through being small and cute my entire life, I was going to work that small and cute so damn hard.
“Briar sprayed us in the face with pepper spray,” Karsyn growls, as if I’m not aware. I’m pretty sure my face is as red and blubbering as the rest of them. I have to keep wiping snot away, which is making my cute façade really hard to perfect.
“I… forgot about the wind,” Briar whispers. She was the first one who was nice to me when I joined the department and she was the only one who didn’t seem to care that I was a human. She instantly liked me. It might help that she’s a young vampire and more open to human and vampire interactions. She has dark hair she always keeps pulled back in a tight bun. Ironically, she was also the first one to try to eat me, but I blame that on the fact that I’d had a pot of drug-infused blood dropped on my head.
Next to her is DeGray. He’s kind of the handsome type who is really nice and even looks nice. Like how a superhero in a movie has that look about him that automatically tells you he’s the good guy. He’s who I think Karsyn is interested in, but so far, DeGray has shown no interest back, making me second-guess their dynamic.
I smile at Marcus as he walks up. “Push me, Grandpa.”
He pulls out the brooding look that I love so much. The one he uses when he tries to pretend he hates everything that comes out of my mouth, and also the look that tells me he’s not digging this “Grandpa” nonsense.
DeGray starts laughing. “Grandpa! I love it. You two crack me up.”
I turn to my second-favorite victim. “Karsyn, push me since no one else will!”
“Alright, sure,” Karsyn says, which really should have raised red flags in my brain, but sometimes I think my brain is broken.
What does raise red flags is when Karsyn grabs the swing and yanks it back super quickly, and I realize that I’m about to go for the ride of my life.
“I’m just joking! Save me! Marcus, save me!” I cry.
“Do you guys realize everyone is watching us?” Briar asks.
I look over at the mothers and fathers, the children and teens, all wondering what their law enforcement has come to. “There’s this stigma surrounding the VRC that makes quite a few humans fear us. So I feel like I’m just showing them that you guys are fun and sweet and can take down criminals. The complete package.”
Marcus waves at me as I have a death grip on the swing that Karsyn is still holding up in the air. “You literally say this as Karsyn is preparing to send you into outer space out of spite,” Marcus says. “There are cameras pointed at us as people question whether Karsyn is going to see if the only human officer can fly.”
I look back at Karsyn who is thinking very hard about his next move.
“Okay, okay, I know how to fix this,” DeGray says. “Karsyn, I’ll go out about a hundred yards and prepare to catch him. Marcus, if I drop him, please don’t kill me.”
Karsyn growls, literally growls, then lets go of the swing and I gently swing forward. Promptly, I get off before he decides that didn’t involve enough blood and gore.
“Alright, let’s get this cleaned up before Brooks sees a video of this and we all get fired,” I say as if it wasn’t my idea to play on the swing.
Once we have Jeffry handed over to the transport team who will take him to the local jail for holding, we pile into Marcus’s car. Because I’m special, I get the front passenger seat, even though it makes the three much larger vampires cram in the back. It started off as a joke, and now I’m convinced they’ll literally let me have whatever I want.
I pull my phone out and see that I have a text from my sister Aria. “Marcus, my sister’s bringing her new boyfriend to supper tonight,” I say.
“Well, this will be fun,” Marcus says. Although we’re not technically supposed to be partners and dating, everyone in the car already knows. It was pretty apparent about six or seven months ago when someone was harassing me and Marcus went barreling through the office shouting “He’s mine!” to everyone who’d listen.
It was the hottest thing I’d ever experienced in my life and I was devastated when no one had taken a video of it.
As what he said sinks in, I look at him in confusion. “What do you mean? Orin’s not going to care. He pulled you in with open arms. I’m starting to wonder if he’s considering replacing me with you so he has a ‘cool’ son or some nonsense.”
Marcus dramatically runs his fingers through his hair. “I am pretty cool.”
Karsyn chokes in the back seat. He’s currently trying to pretend he’s not enjoying being crushed between Briar’s and DeGray’s bodies. It doesn’t help that he’s practically throwing his body into Briar to keep from touching DeGray.
It’s kind of cute.
“I think you’re cool!” DeGray pipes in.
“Hold on… so… you think Orin’s going to throw a fit about Aria’s boyfriend even though he never cared about mine?” I ask.
“Well, yeah, Aria’s his little baby girl and he was just trying to get rid of you. I didn’t see all the warning flags before you got ahold of me.”
“Are those fighting words?” I growl.
“Will someone record Finn so I can report this harassment to HR?” Marcus asks.
“You mean we could get rid of the pesky human?” Karsyn asks as he whips his phone out. “Make him do something really bad.”
I reach back to grab for Karsyn’s phone. Since I’m reaching back with my left arm, it means I’m reaching with my prosthesis. So when Karsyn clamps onto my wrist, I go, “Oh my god, my arm!”
He jerks back, allowing me to snatch up the phone. I snicker as I sink into my seat with his phone.
“Oh my god, he’s such a sucker,” I say to Marcus, who is also laughing.
“That’s not funny, moj zanuda,” Karsyn growls. “Give me my phone back. Dammit. I thought I hurt you, you asshole!”
Karsyn has enjoyed calling me Russian names since I met him. He started off calling me zanuda, which I learned you would call someone who annoys you or you dislike. But he’s since started calling me moj zanuda. And while he never spits out what it means, my friend Google told me moj meant mine or my.
I’ll be his annoying person all he wants.
I prove it by unbuttoning my shirt and pulling it to the side until my nipple is showing, then snap a few selfies of me looking absolutely ridiculous while trying to lick my nipple. Once I have the perfect one, I set it as Karsyn’s lock screen and as the picture that’ll show up when I call. Then I turn in my seat to face DeGray.
“Come on, DeGray, give me a nip slip. Show off those abs.”
DeGray starts laughing, but he shakes his head. “Sorry, these abs are closed.”
I scrutinize him for a moment, wondering what that means, before tossing the phone back to Karsyn. I immediately send him a text.
Me: Try not to get too turned on when you look at the picture of me.
Karsyn: I already deleted it.
Me: Bullshit. You love it.
Karsyn: It already haunts me.
My phone beeps again and I look down at the text from my sister Aria.
Aria: Nick is a little concerned about tonight. I’m not sure why. Is it too much?
Me: It’s never too much to introduce your next meal to your ancient father.
Aria: Ha. Ha. You’re so funny.
* * *
We pull into the driveway of Orin’s house just as Aria and her boyfriend get out of their car.
“I’ll be right there,” Marcus says. “Don’t go in without me, but I have to send a quick text.”
“This better be as exciting as you’re leading me to believe,” I threaten him before hopping out. I walk over to my sister who’s smiling at me. She’s my half-sister, since we have different fathers, but I generally refer to her as my sister. My real father is probably some lowlife deadbeat asshole who was probably borderline four feet tall and her father is an amazing ancient vampire who raised me for more than half my life. Regular vampires can’t have children but true vampires can, although it’s extremely rare, making her a dhampir, a half-human, half-vampire.
She’s standing next to a human with short auburn hair and freckles. He has a trimmed red beard and a wide smile. He’s also dressed nice, which tells me he was looking forward to this or hoping to at least make a good impression.
“Nick, this is my brother Finn. Finn, this is Nick,” Aria says with a smile. She really seems to like this guy, and it shows. She rarely brings anyone around since she doesn’t date a whole lot.
“It’s great to get to meet you,” Nick says as he holds a hand out to me, which I shake.
“Nice to meet you too. I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with you to want to hang out with Aria. Is she paying you?”
He snickers. “No, I wasn’t aware that was an option.”
And then he draws extremely still. “Is that menacing-looking man your father?” he whispers.
I turn to look at Marcus who is doing his signature brooding look as he walks over to us.
“Oh no, no, no. That’s Finn’s partner; my father’s not that scary,” Aria assures him.
I lift an eyebrow, confused about what they’re referring to. “Marcus isn’t scary. He’s not even mad at anyone right now. That’s just how his face looks,” I say. “Handsome. Gorgeous. Delightful.”
“Sweetheart… your brain is broken, he’s always scary,” Aria says as she turns me to face him as if I haven’t looked at the man enough to know exactly what he looks like.
I watch Marcus as he sexily struts over to us and scans Nick. “Huh,” he says. And that’s it.
Nick’s eyes get wide and his terror seems to escalate from that one simple word.
“What?” I ask curiously.
“Ah, I just forgot Brooks was out until Monday and dropped him an email when I should have sent it to Karsyn.”
“Oh. I thought you were commenting on the human,” I say.
“You’re human too,” Marcus reminds me.
“Nah… I’ve transcended beyond the status of human. I’m much superior.”
Marcus’s eyes narrow. “Are you picking on me again about my inability to properly greet humans?”
I can no longer hide my grin. “Perhaps.”
“Watch this.” Marcus holds his hand out. “Human, your hair is very red. It’s similar to the color of blood. I like it.”
Nick looks even more terrified, but he gives Marcus a forced smile and shakes his hand.
“Marcus is like a big fangy teddy bear,” I assure Nick, or at least I try to. He doesn’t look very assured.
We walk toward the house as Nick apparently questions every choice he’s ever made that led him to this point.
“Don’t worry, my dad’s not as weird as these two,” Aria promises.
My phone buzzes and I look down at a text from Orin.
Orin: Do The Hand, please.
Me: No! I don’t want to scare him off.
Orin: I’ll remove you from my will if you don’t do The Hand.
Marcus glances at me. “The Hand?” he questions.
“Don’t… don’t judge me, Marcus. Sometimes, you just have to do things you wish you didn’t have to do to make the people you love happy,” I say.
“Like sex?” he asks.
“Wait, what?”
He chuckles before kissing the side of my head. “I’m joking, clearly.”
Aria opens the door and pulls Nervous Nick inside. He’s sweating a little as Aria leads him into the dining room which is oddly dark. Like all the blinds are pulled, the lights are off, and the house is silent.
“Dad? What’s going on?” Aria asks as a light flickers on from the kitchen table, illuminating Orin’s face. He’s all in black, looking like a storybook vampire holding a fucking goblet of blood.
“Nick,” he says, and then he zooms over to us so quickly, I doubt Nick could follow him with his eyes, even though I could.
Nick leaps back as I press the release on my prosthesis and tuck my fake arm under my armpit.
“My arm!” I say very dryly as I hold what’s left of my arm up. I’m not an actor, and if Orin wants me to act like I’ve lost my arm, he needs to find someone else.
Poor actor or not, Nick must think I deserve an Oscar because he lets out a strangled sound and just drops to the ground.
We all stare down at him in horror as Orin’s eyes get extremely wide. “It was a joke! Aria was just talking about how nervous he was, and I thought I’d break the ice with a joke, you know?”
Marcus starts laughing. And we all know that if Marcus finds it hilarious, it should never have happened.
“There is something wrong with this family and I love it!” Marcus says as he smacks his leg. “You literally just made a human pass out from terror! I need to be taking notes.”
“Dad,” Aria growls.
“Was it too much?” Orin asks, like there’s a possibility any of us could say, “No, terrifying the human wasn’t too much.”
“Oh my god.” Marcus begins wiping away fake tears. “I had my doubts about this meal, and I see that they were all foolish.”
“I… I thought he’d laugh,” Orin says, clearly disappointed.
That makes me start laughing as Aria just gives us a look. Then she jabs a finger at Orin and Marcus. “You two leave, he’s starting to come to.”
“Do I get rid of the skeletons?” Orin asks as he flips the lights on and shows the Halloween plastic skeletons seated around the table.
“Oh my god. You’re a monster!” Aria says, but Marcus and I aren’t so sure because we’re laughing too hard to confirm or deny.
Orin assumes that means “Yes, you should” and takes off with the skeletons. Marcus hesitates before following him. So when Nick comes to a moment later, it’s just Aria and me.
Nick looks around in confusion before his face turns the same color as his hair.
Aria grabs his hands. “I am so sorry. My dad thought he was being funny, and he wasn’t.”
“It was kind of funny,” I helpfully add.
Aria gives me a look. “Do you want to go sit in time-out with the others?”
I shrug because honestly, it sounds more fun. “Sure.”
She ignores me. “I’m really sorry, and I would understand if you never want to see me again.”
He shakes his head. “No, I just… tripped. Your dad seems cool.”
She cocks her head. “Does he?” she asks, but I have to give the guy credit for still trying to push through it.
“Yes?”
Orin walks in, looking normal this time… or as normal as Orin can look in a pink suit jacket. “I’m sorry… that wasn’t a very good joke, was it?”
“I thought it was,” Marcus adds from the other room. I head over to find him. “I now know what The Hand means.”
“Yeah… it was something stupid we did with just the two of us when I was younger. I think it was his way of trying to get me to have fun and not look at my lack of an arm negatively. Orin was always doing his best to make me happy, especially after the accident,” I say as I walk over to the couch and sink into the cushions. “It was really stupid… but then we’d laugh and joke around about it, and it’d make me feel better.”
Marcus sits down next to me, so I lean against him.
We haven’t talked about the accident much lately. After the first big case we’d been on together, the vampire who’d attacked me when I was a teenager had sent us a note that told me he wasn’t done with me. When I was sixteen, he’d taken me, and he was the reason I’d lost my arm and leg. I still haven’t fully told Marcus everything about that time, but he met the man who’d taken me when he attacked Marcus in a club a little over half a year ago. After that, I’d received a letter from him and I knew that my time of freedom was finally up, that he’d come for me.
Yet things were strangely quiet. He stopped following me, and I stopped noticing his presence. As time moved on, the worrying and fear I felt every day began to pass. I knew I couldn’t let him take over my life. I knew the fear would drive me crazy if I let it hang on, so I forced myself to let go of it. I had to live my life to the fullest or the fear would eventually consume me.
I’ve heard nothing from him in six months. No notes. Nothing.
That doesn’t mean I live without fear of what could happen if he returns. But I try to push that fear away, ignore the nightmares that remind me of him, and fixate on the now. Thankfully, Marcus makes it easier to do that.
I squeeze onto Marcus who wraps an arm around me and holds me tightly.
“I’m sorry, are you alright?” he asks as if he can read my mind and knows what I was thinking about.
I give him a smile and kiss his cheek. “Of course. I have the world’s most handsome person next to me right now.”
His eyes narrow as he looks around. “You’re up to something. You want something. What do you want?”
I grab my chest. “Me? No.”
His eyes narrow even more. “You are the most suspicious person I’ve ever met in my life. Do you know how long my life has been?”
“No, because you haven’t told me. I’m very curious, though. Tell me.”
“Longer than yours.”
“Oh, tell me,” I say as I poke him in the side. “You’re such a dodger. When were you born? Thirty-two AD? A hundred and two BC? Come on, give me the goods.”
“How old do you think I am?”
I scrutinize him while knowing I’m being ridiculous. “You look old, you act old, you smell old. So… ten AD?”
“Yes, I am over two thousand years old.”
“I knew it. You smell like one of those old books from the library that no one ever checks out,” I lie. This is a huge lie because he smells good all the time. He never sweats or stinks, which irritates me.
“I was born around 1709.”
“Hmm… do you feel a bit kinky hitting on someone, oh… almost three hundred years younger than you? Maybe a bit like a pervert?”
“I’m not the pervert here. Everyone is extremely aware of that,” he says with a grin.
I stare at him as if I’m letting this information process. “Wait a minute… are you saying I’m the pervert? You… you flatter me.”
He snorts. “Only you would think that’s a compliment.”
I lean in and give him a quick kiss. “You’re just too sweet. So can I get a cat?”
“Wait, what? That’s what this is about?”
“Yes!”
“For me to eat?”
I jerk away as my eyes get huge. “You… no… you’re not even allowed to joke about that. Jokes about eating cats are strictly prohibited. What if someone heard you? Oh my god. You’re a monster.”
“I love that that’s what put you over the edge. Why would I care if you got a cat?” he asks.
I shrug. “Well, I wasn’t just going to come home with five cats.”
“Five. You said a cat. Now you want five?”
“Fine. One.”
“If Artemus eats it, it’s not my fault.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “He wouldn’t.”
“He might. All he’d have to do is just lay on it and there’d be no more kitty. Maybe you should get five in case. Then if I get hungry it won’t be too big of a deal.”
“Mr. FangyFace, why are you so evil?”
“It’s a requirement for dealing with you, honestly.”
I grunt, which is an extremely sexy noise. “I kind of like it,” I whisper.
He starts laughing. “Of course you do.”
“I suppose we should go terrify the human some more,” I say.
He smiles at me. “I like how you say ‘the human’ like you’re no longer a human.”
“Nah, I’ve progressed beyond human. I am Finn.”
“Ah… you’re a Finn. I get it now. Let’s go see if we can make him pee his pants,” Marcus jokes.
“I like the way you think,” I tease.
And so we head off to see what “the human” is up to and assure him that this big bad vampire isn’t too big and bad.
Besides in the bedroom.
But I don’t add that part. I feel like I should at least get to know him a little bit first.
Vanora Lawless is a bisexual genderfluid Canadian with ADHD and a passion for telling love stories set in magical or niche historical worlds. A graduate of Saint Mary’s University, Vanora has a B.A, majoring in psychology. As a Nova Scotian, loving long walks on the beach is practically a law, so Vanora takes every possible opportunity to explore the best sandy shores. In spare time between crafting new worlds and stories, Vanora can be found behind the lens of a camera or in a blanket burrito with a good book.
Chloe Archer writes queer sci-fi and paranormal rom coms with laugh out loud humor because she’s all about bringing the funny-sexy back. Oh, yeah!
She currently call Minnesota home, but has lived abroad in places like Montreal, Edinburgh, and Tokyo. She’s hoping to relocate to Scotland permanently in the next few years if the stars align.
Chloe is a fur mama to two adorable Yorkies, Jasper and Teddy, and she loves them in a crazy dog mama kind of way. When she isn’t busy writing, she enjoys visiting friends and family, traveling, reading, binge watching movies and TV shows, and practicing her karaoke skills. She does a mean cover of Pat Benatar and Cher, or so she’s been told.
Multi-Rainbow Award winner E.J. Russell—grace, mother of three, recovering actor—holds a BA and an MFA in theater, so naturally she’s spent the last three decades as a financial manager, database designer, and business intelligence consultant (as one does). She’s recently abandoned data wrangling, however, and spends her days wrestling words.
E.J. is married to Curmudgeonly Husband, a man who cares even less about sports than she does. Luckily, CH loves to cook, or all three of their children (Lovely Daughter and Darling Sons A and B) would have survived on nothing but Cheerios, beef jerky, and satsuma mandarins (the extent of E.J.’s culinary skill set).
E.J. lives in rural Oregon, enjoys visits from her wonderful adult children, and indulges in good books, red wine, and the occasional hyperbole.
Lambda Award Winning author S.C. Wynne started writing m/m romance in 2013. She loves writing m/m and her characters are usually a little jaded, funny and ultimately redeemed through love. She also writes Gay Mystery and loves creating twisted little puzzles for the readers to follow.
S.C. lives in sunny Southern California with her husband and two children.
If you’d like to contact S.C. Wynne you can contact her at scwynne@scwynne.com
Alice Winters started writing stories as soon as she was old enough to turn her ideas into written words. She loves writing a variety of things from romance and comedy to action. She also enjoys reading, horseback riding, and spending time with her pets.
Vanora Lawless
KOBO / iTUNES / AUDIBLE / GOOGLE PLAY
EMAIL: vanoralawless@gmail.com
Chloe Archer
EMAIL: chloe@chloearcher.com
EJ Russell
Imperfect Illusions by Vanora Lawless
B&N / iTUNES / iTUNES AUDIO
KOBO / AUDIBLE / GOOGLE PLAY
When a Man Loves an Alien by Chloe Archer
Wolf's Clothing by EJ Russell
Shadow's Return by SC Wynne
How to Elude a Vampire by Alice Winters
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