Summary:
Moonlight Prophecies #1
Life and death in your hands by the red moonlight
Alpha werewolf, crime boss, and secret prophet Bashir Bain is neck-deep in negotiating a marriage of convenience with a neighboring alpha when a tense situation goes from bad to worse. A job applicant at one of Bash’s businesses—who was supposed to be a simple ex-cop, ex-con tattoo artist—suddenly turns up undead.
A rogue newborn vampire would have been a big wrench in Bash’s plans even without his attraction to the man. After all, new vampires are under their sire’s control, and Ethan Lambert doesn’t even know who turned him. When Bash spares Ethan's life, he opens himself up for mutiny, a broken engagement, and an unexpected—and risky—relationship.
Ethan just wants a fresh start after being released from prison. Before he can get it, he’ll need to turn private investigator to find out who sired him and what he wants. And he had better do it quick, because the moon is full, and according to Bash’s longest standing prophecy, life and death hang in the balance.
Summary:
Sparlow Tales #1
Love lost. Love found. Love forever.
After three gruelling months in rehab following a botched undercover operation, police officer Drum is forced to rebuild his shattered life. When he’s offered a quiet reassignment as a Police Community Support Officer in the Derbyshire Peak District, he takes it. But hidden among the windswept hills and sleepy villages is the place where Drum was discovered as a lost child, the memories of his first ten years stolen from him. The only clues to his identity were a silver bracelet and a scrap of paper bearing his name. Two decades later, the mystery remains unsolved.
Across the Veil in Faeryland, Osian pays a painful price for his one month a year spent in the mortal realm. He’s driven by an unyielding longing for the boy who vanished from his life when they were ten years old. He knows the odds of finding Drum are almost impossible, but his heart refuses to let go. Osian is performing in a pub with a local band when Drum walks in. The recognition is instant for Osian, but not for Drum.
Strangers shouldn’t know the secrets buried inside Drum’s forgotten childhood. And they certainly shouldn’t wear a silver bracelet identical to his own. As impossible truths begin to unravel, Drum is forced to question everything he believes about his past, his identity, and the world itself. With danger closing in and time running out, Osian must convince Drum to trust him before the chance to reclaim what was stolen is lost forever.
Warnings
Murder most foul—though we don’t see it happen.
Brutal assault of one of the MCs—before the story starts.
Assault of that same MC - in the story
Torture and sexual assault of the other MC—not shown and never detailed in the book.
Unkind parents but kind ones too.
Summary:
Wolves of Walker County #4
Lurking beneath the surface, a monster waits. Possessive. Dominating. Alpha.
Aver Walker isn’t one to make waves. He’s steady, calm and sensible. He and his cousins have carved out a good life for themselves and things around the Walker house are finally starting to look like normal. Their version of normal, anyway.
And Aver couldn’t be more miserable. He’s been living a lie, hiding his sexuality and his nature. No one realizes his rational demeanor is a facade and it’s getting harder to hide the dominating beast lurking beneath his skin. The only time he can be himself is when he leaves his home. At the end of each trip, he has to tuck his true identity away. The task was never easy, but he always managed, until he met the man who made him want to be just who he was for every moment possible.
Self-professed guardian gayngel, he helps those who need his help, too bad he needs it the most.
Hollister Addams never recovered from losing his family in a tragic childhood accident. He hasn’t survived as long as he has without hope and a whole lot of luck. Now, he does what he can to help those around him. His job as a waiter in Seattle’s hottest gay club brings him up close and personal with some of the city’s most vulnerable. He’s helped by his gift of reading people’s emotions, but his true superpower is far more difficult to explain. When Hollister spots Aver, he doesn’t need his powers to know the man needs help, but not because Aver is powerless. He’s tortured.
Every time Aver returns home, he lets go of a life he’ll never get to live. But after a weekend with Hollister, Aver refuses to shove the memories, or the man, behind him. Hollister makes him feel like he could have everything he wants, his life in the pack and his man by his side. But, as things once again begin to heat up on pack lands, Aver is split by the two sides of his life. The pack needs a leader—once and for all—and the Walker house sits in conflict. Without their matriarch, they are flying blinder than usual and the decisions they make now will change everything.
Love is the fourth and final book in the Wolves of Walker County series. It’s packed with the romance, jokes, loyalty, and love you’ve come to expect from the Walker men. Love answers that question everyone in Walker County has been asking, who will lead the pack?
For maximum enjoyment, this quartet should be read in order.
Wolves of Walker County:
Truth
Hope
Faith
Love
Series in the Wolves of World
Wolves of Walker County
Wolves of Royal Paynes
Demon of Royal Paynes
Wolves of Resurrection Road
Summary:
Dark Companions #1
“I am yours, and I can be your prince as well as your beast.”
Luke
I’m your typical small-town loser stuck in a dead-end job. Single, because dating is for well-adjusted human beings, not traumatized gay boys with trust issues. All I want is to leave my past behind and finally start living.
My wish comes true in the most bizarre way imaginable. One evening, a beautiful man with pointy ears and flowing dark locks appears out of nowhere. He proclaims I am to be his ‘Dark Companion’ based on some stupid deal I made in a dream. Oh, and apparently he’s an elven prince, the Lord of Shadows, Protector of the Nightmare Realm and Knight of Grief Ocean.
Which is a weird way to ask me out, but okay.
It’s a hard no from me, but this absolute psycho abducts me to his palace in a moonlit realm populated by vicious beasts and backstabbing courtiers.
If I am to ever get back home, I need to adapt, because our full moon wedding is approaching fast. I can’t allow myself to buy into his seductive kisses, poet shirts made of spider silk and bouquets of sapphire roses. They hide poison and deception. A gilded cage is still a prison.
But…
What if I just never realized that what I need is a man with a cruel smile and a sword dipped in midnight? A man with secrets, and scars, and smoky eyes, and a past filled with darkness, and… have I mentioned he has a big d—
◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆◆
“Taken by the Lord of the Nocturne Court” is a standalone, scorching hot, dark gothic M/M romantasy filled with snark and dark humor, but also violence, peril, jealousy, and angst.
The book is a darkly romantic escape into the shadows where love and destiny collide. Dive into the pages to discover if a gilded cage can become a home when shared with a seductive elven prince devoted to his Dark Companion’s every wish.
POSSIBLE SPOILERS:
Themes: abduction, enemies to lovers, size difference, fake relationship, dark humor, snark, jealousy, hurt/comfort, afraid to commit, obsessive hero, forced marriage, isekai, fantasy elven prince, gothic castle, childhood trauma, shadow magic, monsters and fantastical creatures, fish-out-of-water, secrets, portal fantasy
WARNING: This story contains scenes of violence, abduction, offensive language and morally gray characters unafraid to burn the world down for their beloved.
Knight & Daywalker #1
Flynn Knight is the only (and frankly, impossible) child of the leader of the vampires in Los Angeles. He's also a bit of a scatterbrain, a thirty-something manchild, and a private investigator. When one of his mother's political frenemies gets killed and she asks him to investigate, he's put between a rock—her—and a hard place—the fact that not a single vampire in the city will believe the answers he finds without impressive proof to back him up.
Combine that with an eighty-thousand-dollar bill he has no idea how he's going to pay, a hit and run that has landed him a victim of the cat distribution system, and his mother trying to foist a new business partner off on him, and his life is way more complicated than he likes.
At least his new partner is nice to look at, even if he's the weirdest vampire ever, who doesn't seem to follow any of the usual vampire rules.
Also, why won't this kitten stop eating?
Smokescreen is set in the Fantastic Fluke universe, starring never before seen characters and a new setting. It begins to explore Flynn Knight’s relationships, and while it contains a complete story, it does not reach the slow burn romance plot, and the main overarching plot will continue in book two, Façade.
By the Red Moonlight by Amanda Meuwissen
Chapter 1
On All Hallow’s Eve when the sky glows bright
Life and death in your hands by the red moonlight
A decision made to affect all others
The city’s doom or salvation shall be on your shoulders
AND TOthink, once upon a time, Bash loved Halloween.
“Are you sure you don’t want a drink?” Deanna asked, often trying to distract him when Halloween came around—get him drunk, get him into a bar fight, get him laid if she could. It never worked.
Bashir “Bash” Bain was a Seer, but his prophecies were rarely as specific as he would have liked. He didn’t know on which Halloween he would have this supposed decision to make. Red moonlight might only be a metaphor, but while Bash was anxious every Halloween ever since he’d gone into a trance and spoken those words—words he alone had heard and that he remembered well, though he didn’t understand them—anytime the moon was red or even mildly orange on Halloween night, like tonight, he wondered if this would be the year.
“Thanks anyway. I’d rather keep working.” Bash drummed his fingers along the edge of the car door, the passing lights highlighting his reflection in the window and the hues of his brown skin and wavy chestnut hair, as Deanna, his Second and surrogate sister, drove him through the city.
A clever decoration or costume would catch his eye on occasion. Centrus City took Halloween seriously. Even City Hall got away with fake spiderwebs at its corners, though come morning that would likely be accompanied by toilet paper.
“Let’s finish the pickup,” Bash said, “then join Siobhan on patrol. You know how the riffraff gets uppity on Halloween.”
“Us shifters, you mean?” Deanna asked from beside him. “Or the humans in costume?”
“Exactly.”
She chuckled, shaking out her bobbed black hair.
Shifters were a small subset of the population but powerful and influential in almost every major city. Most were run by wolves, like Bash, some by one of the many great cat packs, like Deanna’s black panther lineage from Asia, others by wererats or scaled shifters. Bash was Alpha of Centrus City, but his inner circle wasn’t made up of only one race. He welcomed everyone, wolves and cats and scales alike.
Other packs in other cities didn’t appreciate how that scoffed at tradition, but Bash didn’t care. Mixed company was better and made his pack stronger. It also kept the infighting down, which made it easier to ensure the supernatural remained under the radar to the average human who had no idea what went bump in the night far more frequently than only on Halloween.
Besides shifters, natural-born magic users, and intermittent encounters with vampires, there were a few other rare breeds that could crop up among the supernatural or humans alike. One of which was Seers, people with a gift for seeing into the future. Some saw visions, some spouted riddles, some both. A few were driven mad by their powers. Most had little control and didn’t even remember what they prophesized.
That was Bash. He seldom remembered his prophecies, never saw anything clearly, and most of the riddles he spoke were lost if no one else was around to hear. The rarest of Seers had full control over their abilities and exploited them however they could, like Bash’s mother when she’d been alive, but she’d died before he turned ten.
There were only two of Bash’s prophecies that he remembered plainly: the one about Halloween and his first, when he was thirteen with his father and twin brother, Bari, who hadn’t inherited the same abilities.
Fury begets fury and blood runs thin
The son to take over for more than only him
Father overshadowed for the shadow he once cast
Your kingdom will be greater when your reign is in the past.
Everything about Baraka Bain’s attitude toward his children had changed after that. He was always a bastard, quick with his claws or a harsh word, even when their mother was alive, but his abuses grew unbearable. Baraka assumed Bari would be the one to kill him, since Bash always fell in line, while Bari was the outspoken one against their pack’s occasional criminal dealings.
“Why does so much we do have to be illegal?” Bari would say. “Why do we have to hurt anyone? Living in the shadows doesn’t mean we have to be villains.”
So Baraka sent Bari to live with a sister city’s pack.
Too bad for him he’d guessed the wrong twin.
Subservient as Bash had always been, he was eventually pushed too far without his brother around to share the load, and instead of avoiding the prophecy, Baraka had unknowingly caused it—even if it was a decade later.
Bash had the Halloween prophecy while standing over his father’s dead body. Another decade later, he still wasn’t sure what it meant, but it had haunted him ever since.
“I can see Siobhan waiting on us,” Deanna said as they pulled up to the Rogues Gallery tattoo parlor.
It was one of their many fronts for money laundering and having ears on the ground, but Siobhan was a good artist. Deanna, too, when she wasn’t chauffeuring Bash around. The neighborhood wasn’t even the dicey kind but had a popular flower shop across the street and a bakery on the corner.
Officially, Siobhan was Bash’s Warden, keeper of the peace between races, but everyone needed a cover job, and running the shop was hers. She had the week’s spoils waiting. Bash didn’t usually participate in pickups, but Halloween was a special night.
Deanna insisted on staying at Bash’s side as his most trusted enforcer and Second of the pack—in place of Bari, since Bari didn’t live in Centrus. He’d stayed away even after their father died, preferring to not get involved in anything shady. Bash respected that and never pushed. He wasn’t like his father; his pack didn’t hurt people unless that person earned it, but like most packs in most cities, the criminal side of their business had been set up long before Bash took over as Alpha, necessary in many cases to keep things running smoothly.
And truth be told, Bash liked a little cloak-and-dagger.
Sliding out of the car, Bash carried a natural grace that one might associate only with him being a wolf, but other shifters knew to be wary of that sort of calculated motion. He was a predator through and through, not one to be hunted, and he kept a keen eye on his surroundings with only a brief glance at the red-moon sky.
Tonight was a blood moon, during the most important negotiations of Bash’s reign—working out a marriage arrangement with the Alpha of Brookdale, Jeffrey “Jay” Russell, to Bash himself, joining their packs together. It was the only option left that didn’t involve bloodshed, considering how at odds Bash’s father had been with the surrounding cities. Jay was the only Alpha willing to believe Bash could be different. Centrus and Brookdale combined would be too powerful for opportunistic takeovers.
It was a good deal, even if it was one of the few times when Bash would bow to tradition. He only had tonight off from talks because he’d requested it. Jay was a good sort, a good Alpha from what Bash could tell, but nothing could change that Bash had no interest in marriage other than duty. At least after the wedding and consummation, they could run their cities separately, but Bash was having a hard time getting that point across—as well as an allowance for other men and women in his bed—because Jay kept trying to woo him.
“Siobhan.” Bash nodded when he and Deanna entered the shop. “How’d that interview go tonight?”
The shop was narrow but deep inside, with several stations for busy days and photos along the walls highlighting their artwork. They’d lost a couple artists recently and saw enough traffic that there was a Help Wanted sign in the window. They’d only take on another shifter, but Bash liked to see who else might frequent their door.
“A shame, actually.” Siobhan hefted the bag of cash for Deanna to inspect.
She was a lizard, trim and slight compared to Deanna’s taller, curvier build, with pixie-cut platinum hair and an impressive collection of tattoos, even up her neck to her jawline. Her honey-colored eyes were surreal enough that some might think she wore contacts, just like with Deanna’s tint of violet.
“Best artist we’ve had come through,” Siobhan continued. “Cute too. Young. Redhead. Has a record even, just out of prison in Glenwood and looking for a fresh start. Right up our alley. If only he wasn’t human.”
“Lambert, was it?” Bash asked.
“That’s him.”
“This his?” Bash noted the portfolio on the counter.
“Yeah, he left a copy. I said I’d show the boss. Maybe we can find him something elsewhere. A good turn for an ex-con and all.”
“How altruistic,” Bash said, but his smirk faded as he began to peruse the work. It wasn’t what he expected and seemed… familiar.
“What can I say? He had an infectious personality,” Siobhan said. “I liked him.”
There were few actual tattoos in the portfolio, meaning this was a newbie, an artist who’d only recently taken up the trade of skin as his canvas. But what he did have was breathtaking, some photo realistic, some fantastical, some more traditional tattoos. The sketches that caught Bash’s eye were intricate collages that would make impressive sleeves or full-body art, most rather grim too—death and macabre imagery of twisted bone and gore.
There was one…. Bash would swear it was like the corded flesh of one of his own worst scars. Another reminded him of his father’s open rib cage after he’d killed him. But the last gave him the most pause—a beautiful woman with a third eye staring hauntingly back at him.
“Nothing special about the guy other than his skills and sunny disposition,” Siobhan said. “Wouldn’t guess he’d be cheerful given the art, though, right? Must have kept his head down in the clink.”
“He say what he was in for?” Deanna asked, leaning against the counter.
“Falsifying evidence to get some scumbag put away for killing his son.”
“His son?” Deanna questioned.
“Nah, Scumbag’s son.”
“Was Scumbag guilty?”
“Lambert thought so. Wife and daughter of the bastard did too. They used to send Lambert care packages as a thanks for trying. So, like I said, pity he’s human. He might have magic in him, but it was hard to tell. Maybe Nell could look into it.”
“Yes….” Bash closed the book. Involving a human in their work, unless they knew of their world and were touched by magic, would be too dangerous, but something nagged at him. He often felt this way on Halloween, but it was more than that. “Anything amiss tonight?”
“Not a peep.”
“Mmm.”
“Want me to load up the cash?” Deanna asked, hoisting the bag over her shoulder. “Maybe finish the other stops early? Still time to get a drink, Boss. Or ten.”
“Did you close up the back yet?” Bash ignored Deanna’s suggestion and moved around the counter.
“Not yet,” Siobhan said slowly, catching onto his tone. “Why?”
“Been through there recently?”
“Something wrong?” Deanna pressed.
“I don’t know. Just a feeling.” Bash moved at a slow pace, eyes on the door. “Deanna, load the car. Meet me in the alley. Siobhan, lock the door behind me, then the front, and go start your patrols.”
“You sure?” The hesitation was clear in Siobhan’s voice.
“You know I don’t like your ‘feelings,’” Deanna said with a hint of a rumble in her voice.
“Just do it.”
Continuing at a brisker pace until he reached the back of the shop, Bash stepped out into the alley with a soft click of the door behind him.
Blood. Not visible, but he could smell it. A lot of it. Impossible to detect inside the parlor, because it always carried a faint scent of blood due to the needle work, but outside, Bash had no doubts. Those who knew about him being a Seer knew his hunches were never wrong.
A man sprinted toward him and was stopped cold when Bash shot out an arm to catch him by the throat.
No, not a man.
A vampire.
The hiss and growl and snap of fangs made it difficult to hold the creature at bay, especially since he was strong—incredibly strong. Bash could barely contain him, which should not have been a challenge as an Alpha against a newborn, but that’s what this vampire had to be, because Bash recognized him, and he hadn’t been a vampire a few hours ago. The sire had to be powerful to create a fledgling this strong on its first night turned.
“A shame we couldn’t offer you that job, Mr. Lambert,” Bash said evenly. Poor man never even made it out of the neighborhood after his interview.
Lambert—Ethan Lambert, Bash recalled—snapped again with a click of fangs. A shame indeed, but this had to be Ethan. Bash would have known anyone else lurking about these streets, shifter or human, and the young vampire had natural red hair and a handsome face beneath the raging hunger, just how Siobhan had described him.
Shifter eyes glowed with power when they gave in to their true forms, but a vampire’s changed entirely. They shone yellow when fed, amber when hungry, and red when feral. Ethan’s eyes matched the moon above. What little control he might have had if he wasn’t a newborn was buried in the back of his mind by the overwhelming need to feed.
“The hell?” Deanna bellowed from the mouth of the alley, throwing back her shoulders and letting her fangs and claws extend, her skin darkening to a deep indigo-black, fur sprouting rapidly across her skin. She was ready to tear the vampire to pieces as soon as Bash threw him her way, which was what Bash planned to do….
When he caught the glow of the scarlet moon above Ethan’s head.
Somewhere deep within the red of Ethan’s eyes was green. Bash couldn’t see it, but he knew, like a vision of the man Ethan had once been, beautiful and smiling and utterly enchanting.
With a howl, Bash slammed Ethan’s head down into the pavement once, twice, three times before he stilled.
“What did you do that for?” Deanna growled. “Rip his damn head off!”
“No,” Bash said, the claws of the hand that had seized Ethan the only part of him changed, and now that too shifted back. He bent beside Ethan, whose fangs were still visible with his lips parted, but his eyes were closed, chest still since he no longer needed to breathe. “We’re bringing him back to the den. I have questions.”
“What?” Deanna balked, all towering force even as she shifted human, save the glow of her burning violet eyes. “That’s a vampire, Bash! A parasite!”
“I’m aware, and we are taking him back with us. Now pick him up.”
“Fat chance!”
“Deanna, I am your—”
“Fuck you, big shot Alpha! When you’re being an idiot, you’re just Bash, and you can’t go bringing some fanger home when negotiations with Russell are heating up. If you ever thought a Halloween was the night, this is the one. Kill the guy and be done with it.”
That was the easy answer, but if it was easy, why bother with a prophecy? When had a vampire even entered Bash’s city? And what did it want? It couldn’t be a coincidence that Ethan had been turned and left on Bash’s doorstep.
Vampires were vermin, an infestation to be rid of if even one was discovered in pack territory. As they aged, they became far stronger than shifters, which was why they had to be eradicated before they spread, or they might take over. They were messy and foolish and too easily made feral, just like their wild newborns. Better to kill them on sight, always. Bash couldn’t even remember the last time a vampire had been spotted in Centrus City.
But if the prophecy meant for Bash to kill Ethan, why have his art so entrancing? Why have his eyes cut through Bash like bullets? Why have every part of Bash’s instincts screaming at him that killing was not the answer? There were too many connecting pieces for him to take the easy route like his father would have in his place.
“Pick him up. If I’m right, my future betrothed never needs to know.”
“Yeah,” Deanna scoffed despite bending to do as ordered, “and if you’re wrong, we’re all screwed.”
The Other Side by Barbara Elsborg
Prologue
The sun had barely climbed over the horizon when Drum went racing down the hill, brushing leaves out of his hair.
“Osian! Hurry up!”
Osian ran after him, laughing. “You said we were collecting berries!”
“We are. But we have to get there first to get the best ones.”
They ran through the meadow, their bare feet thudding over the soft grass. Drum didn’t have any magic yet, not even the tiniest spark. He suspected Osian did but was hiding it from him. Drum understood that was done out of kindness. Even so, he sometimes felt that if the two of them ran fast enough, they might grow wings. He couldn’t wait to get his. He wanted to skim over the tree tops, surf the waves with Osian at his side.
At the bottom of the hill, right at the edge of the Elderwood grove, just where he knew they’d be, were brambles laden with ripe blackberries.
Osian dropped to his knees. “Wow!”
Drum grinned. “See who can fill their mouth the quickest.”
Drum stuffed three fat berries into Osian’s mouth.
“Hey!” Osian spluttered and Drum pushed in three more.
They both dissolved into giggles, then ate until their bellies were full and their fingers purple.
Drum held up an enormous blackberry, the biggest they’d found, the biggest he’d ever seen, the size of a plum. “This is huge. For you.” He held it to Osian’s lips.
Osian shook his head. “No. You found it.”
“I want you to have it.”
Osian opened his mouth and Drum put it inside.
After Osian had chewed and swallowed it, Drum said, “I think I saw a caterpillar.”
Osian laughed. “As if you’d let me eat one. You’d have carefully moved it somewhere else and kissed it goodbye.”
Drum grinned.
They headed back up the hill, panting by the time they reached the top, then lay on their backs, looking up at the clouds scudding across the sky.
“Think we’ll get our powers soon?” Drum asked. “We’re nearly ten.”
“Maybe.”
“Not sure you don’t already have yours. You can make any seed grow, and I have the power to kill it just by looking at it. Does that count?”
Osian laughed. “You stepped on it.”
“Oh yes, sorry. It was an accident. Sorry, Oli!”
“Oli the oleander?” Osian sighed.
“Makes it sound less poisonous.”
Osian’s fingers slid into his.
For a while, Drum forgot all about home and the unkindness always waiting inside. He had his friend. The best friend ever. As long as he had Osian, he could cope with the shouting, with being locked in dark spaces, with the beatings, with all of it.
“Do you think we’ll always be friends?” Drum asked.
Osian turned his head. “Of course we will. Friends forever.”
Drum’s heart twisted. “But you don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
Drum widened his eyes. “How?”
“Because you’re mine.”
Drum’s smile disappeared, replaced by something softer. “Yours?”
“My best friend,” Osian explained. “The most important person in my world.”
Drum swallowed hard. He leaned closer until their heads rested together.
“If I have to go away someday,” he whispered, “will you remember me?”
“Why would you go away?” Osian pulled back, looking worried.
“I wouldn’t want to, but…will you?”
Osian looked almost offended. “I’d remember you if I lived to be a thousand.”
“What if you’re a thousand and one?”
“Ah, no. I’d probably forget you then.”
Drum laughed, though his eyes had gone shiny.
Osian squeezed his fingers. Their hands fit together easily, as though they had always belonged that way.
“You’re not getting rid of me,” Osian said.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
They sealed it with two thumbs pressed together. Then Drum rested his head against Osian’s shoulder. For a long time, neither spoke.
“You’re worrying,” Osian said.
Drum wanted to deny it, but that heavy feeling of not belonging rose up and choked him every now and again. Seeing how much Osian’s parents loved him and his brothers only made the cold disinterest of Drum’s own parents hurt more keenly.
“Stop it.” Osian stood and pulled Drum to his feet. “We’ll do the oath now. First one back to the tree house gets to use the knife first.”
Osian bolted off, and though Drum could have easily beaten him, he let Osian win.
By the time Drum climbed the wooden ladder, Osian was sitting on one of the cushions holding the knife. Drum had stolen it from his father two days ago. He’d been surprised not to be challenged about it, but he reasoned his father simply hadn’t noticed yet.
Drum sat on the cushion beside him. Osian dragged the blade across his palm and handed the knife over. With trembling fingers, Drum sliced his own hand, and they joined their bleeding palms.
“Your blood, my blood,” Osian whispered. “Osian and Drum. By thorn and moon, by seed and stone, I swear I will never forget you. When we are small, I will remember you. When we are grown, I will remember you. If you are lost, I will find you. This blood is my promise. Until the last star blinks out in the sky, I will remember you. I will always look for you. You are mine.”
Blood dripped from their joined hands, pooling onto the steel blade below.
“Your blood, my blood,” Drum said. “Drum and Osian. You are the only thing in the world that I love. You are the only reason I want to wake up in the morning. By heart and thorn, by moon and stars, I swear to love you always.”
As their palms pressed tight, magic flared—a sharp burst of silver and indigo light filling the little tree house. Both boys gasped in shock. The knife rose from the wooden floorboards, glowing bright, before tumbling out the open window.
Neither boy knew that it wouldn’t be long before they were separated by worlds and secrets, by cruel choices and circumstances neither could yet comprehend. They didn’t know how violently their lives were about to change.
Love by Kiki Burrelli
Chapter One
Aver
I kept to the shadows. Standing. Watching. Waiting. The black concrete glistened from the evening rain. The drops had stopped, but this was Seattle, so it was only a matter of time before they fell again.
Shedding the mask of my day-to-day life wasn't as difficult as it had once been. It dripped from me like blood from an open wound. At home I was Aver Walker, spineless son of two conniving parents. My cousins looked at me with pity. Their mates looked at me with pity. When I looked in the mirror, I saw only disgust. Who was this person?
What had started as vengeance had since transformed into something I didn't recognize anymore. My life felt like a huge mistake, like I'd gone to the store and had accidentally been given the wrong costume. When I was younger, I hoped the solution could be that simple as well. Just walk in and say, excuse me, I've been given the wrong life. My life is this one over here.
I wasn't young anymore. I'd observed enough of other people to realize they didn't have to pretend to be the people they were every moment of the day. That wasn't the status quo. Other people were who they wanted to be. Or they were stuck like me.
The person I really was, the Aver in my soul, had spent so long locked away, being set free was a process. There wasn't a personality switch I could flip. Transforming felt more like a series of locks, unboxing the real me took time. Like pulling out a favorite shirt that had gotten lost in the back of the closet. And once it was out, I couldn't wear two shirts. I didn't know how to take some of one and leave the rest. It was all or nothing.
Which was why I snarled when my phone chimed. I should have already turned the damn thing off—and I would—just as soon as I made sure there wasn't an emergency at home.
Branson, and everyone else back at home in Walker County, thought I was in Seattle to meet with a supplier. That wasn't a lie. I was. I had. Walker Construction officially had a new gravel, boulder, and stone provider and at rates that were cheaper across the board than what we'd seen with our original supplier. Today had been a successful day for the business Branson and I had built from the ground up, but right now, I didn't give two shits about it.
Still nothing, but then, my mother is too devious to leave the evidence needed to convict her laying out in the open.
Branson's mother had been taken in by the shifter council weeks ago. At first, it had looked like a slam dunk case. She'd been caught in the act of selling a blessed omega. Since then, Delia had done what Delia did best: wiggle out of tight spots. Ever since Branson had received a call from the representative tasked with presenting the case against Delia, he'd spent his extra time combing through the home he'd grown up in.
I found a floor safe under my old bed. Will the things I learn ever cease to freak me out?
It was an emotion the four Walker cousins shared. From the night we were asked by our parents to fight each other to the death, we'd ran and spent the following decade unpacking childhoods of baggage. When I was at home, in helpful, gentle Aver mode, I was all for listening and unpacking right along with him. But right now, that wasn't who I wanted to be.
Across the street, the entrance to the club had a line that wrapped around the block. This was the type of place where the young and sexy stood in line for hours hoping to get a taste of what was inside. I was at least ten years older than most the hopeful partiers, but that never mattered. Not for my purposes, anyway. I quickly typed and pressed send.
Crazy, man. I'll take a look when I get back.
Branson must have had his answer ready because he replied before I could turn the phone off.
I bet Nana would know the combination.
My heart squeezed like twisting the last bit of moisture from a towel. We all missed Nana, but she missed her dead son, and she wouldn't come back until she was finished with this stage of her grief. No one had thought we'd still be wondering where the woman was weeks after she'd left, but Nana wasn't as frail as most people were picturing. It was almost as if her absence had made people forget the tough-as-nails woman she'd been. I sent back a smiley face, growled at myself, and shoved my phone in my pocket after finally turning the damn thing off.
Yes, the conversation with Branson was important, but that wasn't who I wanted to be right now, and since I couldn't do both, I had to choose. Spineless, agreeable Aver was who I was most of the time, I could only be the alpha I felt within when I carved the time to get away. And that time was rapidly ticking by.
I rolled my shoulders back, shaking away the tension Branson's texts had tried to bring in. My breathing evened out, my lungs expanding and deflating at a steady, cautious pace. Normally, I kept my senses close to my body, but now, I let them run wild. The effect was like taking off sunglasses after a long day and realizing the world wasn't at all how you saw it.
I could hear and smell farther than that which was in my immediate area. There was a couple fighting in their apartment at the end of the block. At the far end of the street, a man ate a hotdog with relish and ketchup. I couldn't see him, but I could smell him.
Directly in front of me, the scents coming from the nightclub were enough to bring my alpha bounding out. Sweat-soaked skin, a relentless, pounding dance beat, and laughter.
I took the first step off the curb and crossed the street taking such wide steps I was on the other side before I finished exhaling. Those in the front of the long line eyed me. A few scowled, clearly upset that I believed myself more important than them.
I bypassed the line, stopping in front of the bouncer, Sai. The handful of times I'd been to this place before, Sai'd had no trouble keeping the masses back. He painted an imposing picture at seven feet with a body of solid muscle and a bushy beard as black as the waves of hair on his head.
"Mr. W, it's been a while." I never gave out my name other than Mr. W and always paid in cash. I didn't need anyone following a paper trail.
"Too long," I grunted. "What's it look like in there?"
He nodded. "Ripe. You picked a good night."
"Any night I get out here is a good night." I sounded arrogant, but I was fine with that. I wasn't back home where arrogance was a slippery slope.
I slipped Sai a folded hundred dollar bill. I wasn't stupid. I knew he was only so casual with me because I was one of the few people he'd met in his life who could kick his ass and because whenever I went out, I paved my road to a wild night with money.
I wasn't crying over it. The money was mine to spend. Walker Construction had been turning a profit for years, and there weren't a lot of home expenses. I didn't have a mate or child to spend my money caring for. I wasn't into fancy cars or any other habit—other than Lawrence—that would happily lighten my pockets.
This was my hobby.
I went out to the city, let loose, and blew a shitload of money in a single night. At the end of the night or the next morning—as the case usually was—I made sure to leave behind smiling, happy faces.
When it was time to go out again, I never chose the same lover twice, and I was always careful. Things were too messy otherwise, and no matter how much fun I had, no matter how free I felt, that part of me always needed to be shoved right back in the closet when the night was over. And, at least this way, I wouldn't accidentally get anyone pregnant—a worry we hadn't had to concern ourselves with until recently.
At least, that was the reason I told myself for why I always used condoms. The sadder, more pathetic explanation was at least this way, I could claim ignorance. I could tell myself I didn't I lack whatever masculine magic had made my cousins able to impregnate their mates. I was simply more cautious.
Bullshit.
Sai leaned to the left and opened the door while simultaneously giving the line a glare that dared them to say something about it. No one did, but more than one gaze sized me up. Those who didn't already know who I was were probably memorizing my face for when they finally made it inside.
I winked at a cute preppy guy standing in front, his eyes twinkling beneath my attention.
He was definitely a contender for Aver's Partner for the Evening, but I'd have to get inside before I knew for sure.
"See ya later, Sai."
"Yeah, yeah, save some for the rest of us," he called back, but I was already inside the narrow dark hallway.
At the coat check, I sloughed off my jacket and handed it to the man behind the counter. He was extremely thin with long, sleek, red hair and wore a slinky black dress that hugged every angle. He handed me my ticket with a demure smile.
"I was wondering when we'd see you back," he purred, letting his fingers linger in my palm.
My lips stretched into an arrogant grin. "Here I am."
He propped his other elbow against the counter and let his chin sink into his hand. "There you are." Every word dripped sex. Clearly, the man imagined the two of us wrapped around each other. But I hadn't waited weeks for this night just to stop at coat check.
"See you inside," I shot back over my shoulder as the other man fanned his face. The hallway opened to the main room, a wide square space with a dance floor and a few tables around it that were always stuffed full with far too many people than the table had been built for. There was a bar on this level as well that ran along the length of the room. Customers stood three and four people deep, waiting for their chance to catch the bartender's attention.
At that moment, there was a curly-haired red head draped over the bar top, commanding the full attention of all three of the bartenders. He said something while twirling a thick ringlet in his fingers. I smirked, and the sexy redhead's gaze turned to me, like I'd called his name. Our gazes collided, and I had the strangest suspicion that I wasn't the only person playing pretend tonight.
By then, the bouncer who manned the VIP level had either spotted me or been informed that I'd arrived because he appeared by my side, smoothly waving his arm, creating a wide berth for me to continue forward. "Mr. W, we have your table ready."
I had a similar table at every high-end gay nightclub in Seattle. That hadn't always been the case, but it had taken only a few nights of competing over the music and the other patrons to realize I couldn't do that every time. My nights out were too infrequent to waste a single moment.
My table was in the corner in a corded-off section that also included a sofa that looked out over the dance floor. Up here, where the shadows kept much of the space cloaked, I could do whatever I wanted. Some nights I spent hours just watching the dancers, writhing and rolling over one another. The sight never failed to arouse. I didn't know the people dancing, would never speak to most of them in my life, but in those moments, it was as if they'd joined together forming a single, throbbing, carnal beast for me to enjoy.
I wasn't in the mood to just watch tonight. Back in Walker County, the recent pack-related squabbling had made keeping my aggressive side hidden more difficult than ever. There'd been moments when I'd failed and had let the cracks show. Blaming Wyatt for Alpha Walker's illness had been one of those times. And if I wanted to keep that side of me back, then I needed to find someone tonight to help me take out those aggressions in a way we'd both enjoy.
There was only waitstaff in the VIP level, and my server for the night sauntered forward. His tan chest was bare. Rainbow suspenders, attached to a pair of black booty shorts, stretched and bunched over his nipples as he walked. He flashed me a smile, and I had no doubt he'd practiced grinning in the mirror to find the right intensity to make his dimples pop.
"Grey Goose on the rocks."
I'd disappointed him, skipping over the part where he got to flirt, but he'd get tipped all the same.
My attention transitioned to the dancers below. From this viewpoint, there wasn't a corner that I couldn't see. I spotted the cute preppy guy from outside. The interest I'd had in him faded, my gaze drawn to the energy coming from the dance floor.
Sometimes, I wished things were easier or that I could find someone like my cousins. I'd watched over the months while each of them had found the men they were meant to be with. I'd been happy each and every time, but the truth was I could never live like they were allowed to live. The need to prove myself had gone on for too long, I couldn't give it up now. More reason why I shouldn't waste a single moment of this night.
I looked back over the rolling mass of limbs on the bottom floor. The mess of motion and chaos made singling out any one dancer difficult.
But I had no problem seeing him.
My thighs tightened, attempting to coax me to my feet. I remained seated, giving a sharp nod of gratitude to the server when he returned with my drink. My gaze never budged, not even when I reached forward to grab the glass from the table. I took a sip, letting the crisp vodka pour down my throat. The man on the dance floor moved with a freedom I'd never experienced. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out every other sound. I sucked in a sharp breath, exhaling on a low growl I couldn't put a stop to.
He didn't wear anything especially tight or flashy: whitewashed jeans and a blue dotted button-up. He wiggled in a half circle—laughing at something one of the other dancers had said—and stuck his ass out, revealing a strip of neon fabric at his waist.
My fingers tightened around the glass. Though there were many in that very room who wore far less, I found that tiny peek of his thong to be more arousing than any of the other flesh on display.
The man beamed, his chin-length, wavy blond hair swaying with the beat. Every alpha instinct I possessed rose to the surface. It wasn't clear from the man's outfit what he was here for, but the joy on his face as he danced was clear.
I didn't know what the man had come for, but I knew who he'd leave with.
Taken by the Lord of the Nocturne Court by KA Merikan
Chapter 1
Luke
“Would you like fries with that?” I ask, trying to not sound bored, but the man behind the counter doesn’t seem to notice my disinterest anyway.
“Do they come with your number?”
This guy. This fucking guy. I may have accidentally swiped right on him on Grindr some time ago, and now he just won’t go away. He is handsome enough, if not in the age range I tend to go for, and wears a studded leather jacket that screams midlife crisis. The red sports car waiting for him in the parking lot completes a picture of someone who would rather hit on a guy half his age at Best Burgers Bonanza than deal with his issues in therapy.
“No,” I say, giving him a level glare, because I’m at work and hate it when people forget that I can’t just tell them to get lost.
He raises his hands. “Jesus! I was just kidding. I know you’re goth and all that, but it wouldn’t hurt you to smile.”
I don’t even blink. “My mother died yesterday. Lung cancer,” I add, because the yellowish tint on his fingers suggests he’s a smoker.
I love seeing his face fall and eyes widen as flustered panic colors his cheeks. He glances at the tip jar. Yes, fucker. Make it a big one, so I can actually afford a new car.
A car in which I can leave this town one day and never look back.
No more flipping burgers.
No more mediocre hookups with locals.
And no more stupid bosses.
“Luke? Can we have a chat?” My boss’s voice is like fingernails screeching over a blackboard. “Kurt, will you please finish serving this gentleman?” Marty asks my co-worker, who appears dead inside as he shuffles over to swap with me at the register. For Kurt’s sake, I hope the customer’s type is sad goth boys, not perky jocks.
“Sorry for your loss.” The customer chokes out as I walk off.
Best Burgers Bonanza, otherwise known as BBB, isn’t the worst fast food joint in town, but its years show in the peeling leather chairs and the paint that has long faded from a lively green to a washed-out mint.
Which unfortunately also happens to be the shade of my uniform consisting of a barfalicious polo shirt and shapeless black pants. I’m also obligated to wear a baseball cap with the BBB logo and that thing always makes my scalp itch. At least Marty lets me wear my combat boots and doesn’t make me take out my nose ring.
He speaks once we pass the kitchen and reach the corridor leading to the staff room. His gray hair bristles, in a stark contrast to the flushed face.
“What was that? I know for a fact that your mother’s alive, because I talked to her just this morning, to ask if she has any idea why you’re running late.”
I cross my arms on my chest and glance through the tiny window in the back door. The night outside seems especially appealing when the alternative is another hour here. “I told you why I was late. My neighbor found a bat in her attic and it needed to be taken to the vet. It was an emergency. She’s an older lady, and her car doesn’t work—”
Marty raises his hands. “I don’t want your life story, Luke. What I want is for you to be nicer to customers. And yes, that does involve smiling, whether it’s part of the Lord of Darkness agenda or not. Get a grip.”
I roll my eyes, but what can I say, really? I might hate my job, but that doesn’t change the fact that I need it if I’m to ever move out of my mother’s house. I resent that I even got hired in the first place because Marty is some old friend of hers who may or may not be trying to get into her pants. I’d rather not think about that.
There aren’t many jobs available for a guy with a chip on his shoulder, a neck tattoo, and no high school diploma, not in this small town at least. I could pretend I’m nice, and kind, and good, and agreeable, but most people know me around here, so I might as well live up to their expectations.
I did get one unsolicited job offer from this weirdo who said he’d employ me as a clown for children’s parties, if I came to Montreal with him, but I’m pretty sure he wanted to harvest my organs.
I did sell him five feet pics though. Beggars can’t be choosers.
So here I am. Working at BBB, living with my witch of a mother, and pipe-dreaming about a move to a big city that doesn’t involve becoming someone’s live-in sex slave. But unless my failing Etsy business suddenly becomes a viral hit, I’m stuck in small-town Maine, and considering that I sell a random assortment of skull-shaped bath bombs, bookmarks with my paintings of bats, and goth pet portraits, I don’t see much commercial success in my future.
Guess I’m just a failure, a loser, and no amount of black eyeshadow can hide that.
“Sorry,” I mumble, swallowed by my own darkness.
“Just… do better.” Marty shakes his head before walking away, as defeated by this conversation as I am.
I return to the front of the restaurant with a heavy weight on my shoulders, but fortunately there are no customers, which frees me from the necessity of grinning like an idiot. It’s not my fault I suffer from resting bitch face.
Kurt’s busy texting, most likely with his new girlfriend, so I grab a mop and get to work. It’s time for penance. At least the clock is ticking, which means I’m closer and closer to leaving this hell hole.
“Do you want to go on a double date with me and Daria?” Kurt asks with a smile. I don’t know how, but on him, even the ugly uniform looks attractive. Maybe it’s because his shoulders are broader than mine? Though I’m pretty sure his golden retriever smile and shiny blue eyes help elevate the outfit too. I would hook up with him if he wasn’t so painfully heterosexual.
I lean against the mop. “How would that be a double date?”
“You and Larry?”
“Larry…” I drift off, confused until the disastrous date from a week ago pops into my head. Instead of fucking me, like a normal person, Larry spent three hours talking about himself and asked me a total of two questions. Yes, I did count. “Oh, Larry! God no, I’ve only been on one date with him, and that was definitely enough for me.” It wasn’t even supposed to be a date, but he roped me in by offering food and then I felt too awkward to refuse him conversation.
Kurt’s smile turns into a pout. With a face like his though, it’s no wonder he’s never without a girlfriend despite barely making his rent every month and needing rides to work. “I’m so sorry, dude.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Nothing to be sorry about, I’ll be happy to never see him again. I don’t know why I bother dating. I’m not looking to get married. I just want to have a good time every now and then. It’s not like I’ll be finding my Prince Charming in this dump anyway.”
“Now that’s just depressing, man. You gotta give people a chance, get to know them.” Kurt says but doesn’t seem too convinced himself as his blue eyes search mine for confirmation. At least he’s aware he doesn’t know the first thing about gay dating. “This one time, I met a girl who looked all preppy and shit, but then it turned out she did heroin every weekend.”
I don’t know what the conclusion is supposed to be, so I just stare at him. “That has literally no application to my situation.”
Kurt shrugs. “Just sayin’. Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
Like he’s ever read a book in his life.
I get on with the mopping, because I need to do something with the pent-up energy after such an agitating conversation. He doesn’t get that not everyone is a serial monogamist. I don’t want a relationship. I don’t want to engage in any mushy feelings, buy Valentine’s cards, or plan a future with some other guy while we both look at the stars. A dirty quickie in the back of a car has always been good enough for me.
“My relationship status isn’t all that interesting and this county isn’t exactly a bustling metropolis filled with eligible gay bachelors.”
Kurt groans, leaning against the counter. “But I’m invested in my gay best friend!” We’re work colleagues at best, but whatever. “You could be one half of the kind of adorable gay couple who get a dog together and make him little outfits. You could even have him be the ringbearer at your wedding. I could be your best man. I bet you’d make bank as an Instagram couple.”
He doesn’t specify how that would come about. I’m pretty sure he hasn't given much thought to the future he imagines for me, but I do kinda like Kurt, so I don’t want to grill him about it. “I’m twenty-one. I’m not getting gay married just so you can say you were a best man at a gay wedding.”
“That’s homophobic, Luke. You get ‘married’, not ‘gay married’.”
I’m about to school him that I’m gay and therefore I can call it whatever I want, but I end up letting it go. It’s too cute that he’s such a big dopey ally.
Straight guys have it so easy. There’s an endless supply of amazing women, and all they have to do is be a half-decent human being to attract one.
Then again… maybe that’s my problem with guys? Maybe I’m not a half-decent human being. A quarter at best. But I don’t want to date anyway so it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to be nice to get laid.
I mop the ugly tiles with more vigor as I ponder whether I’m the problem.
Kurt eyes me suspiciously. “Is it ‘cause you want your guy to be goth, rocker, or whatever? You have to look beyond the superficial.”
Do I? Do I ‘have to’? I don’t have to do shit. I need to pay my mother rent and afford my own groceries. Beyond that, I’m not obligated to anything, especially not dating. I was done being compliant when they kicked me out of boarding school in spectacular fashion.
I keep my thoughts to myself when Marty passes across the room, leaving dark footprints on the floor I’ve just cleaned.
“I’ll be back in an hour or so. Don’t burn the place down!” he says in a cheerful voice.
I give him the smile he wanted to see so badly, but as soon as he’s out, I take off my cap to scratch my head. My hair used to be all green, but it’s grown out a lot since the last time I had spare cash to dye it, so now it’s dark brown on top, fading into green at the ends. Shorter at the front and with lots of layers, it is a shaggy mess that barely reaches my shoulders.
I hoped the earlier topic was forgotten, but the moment Marty leaves, Kurt is right back at it. “You should let me set you up. I know this one guy. He’s a drummer in a band, and you know what they say about drummers…” Kurt wiggles his eyebrows.
“What do they say…?” I pretend not to know, just to mess with him.
He groans in exasperation. “That they’re good with rhythm, so— Never mind! Want a blind date or not? I’ll make sure he wears black.”
My heartbeat picks up in panic. “What? No!”
Kurt stops typing on his phone and sighs. “You’re hopeless. The Prince of Darkness himself could walk through the door right now and you’d give him the cold shoulder ‘cause his horns are uneven.”
Both of us turn our heads when the bell at the door rings and… speaking of the devil.
I can’t help myself. I stare.
The man who steps into the restaurant drags the darkness in with him. He’s well over six feet tall, clad from head to toe in black leather, with buckled boots reaching to his knees, and long hair falling down his chest in dark gray waves worthy of a hair conditioner ad. The width of his shoulders is amplified by pauldrons of black-tinted metal, and he’s wearing a vest of hard leather adorned with a dark green crest with some kind of mer-horse in a seashell. I’d call it a breastplate if that wasn’t ridiculous.
His face has androgynous qualities. A sharp jawline, but eyes with long dark lashes. Straight, thick eyebrows, but lips that could have been carved by Lucifer himself. His pallor borders on unnatural, but whether he’s wearing powder and foundation or not, I swear there’s a hint of kohl under his eyes.
Most strangely though, pointy ears peek from under his glorious hair. Hell, I didn’t know my hometown attracted LARPers of this caliber. Maybe I should give role-playing a shot after all.
My heart skips a beat when his gray eyes pin me in place, and then it stops when he heads toward me. I expected to hear the squeak of leather or the jingling of buckles, but he is as silent as a cat.
I move the handle of the mop between us, but it’s not enough to stop him from grabbing my shoulders. His eyes lock with mine, and those have to be contact lenses because the gray seems to shift from pale to dark, as if there’s literal smoke in his irises.
His lips spread into a smile that looks positively predatory.
“Luke Moor. Finally. I am here to claim my Dark Companion.”
Smokescreen by Sam Burns
CHAPTER 1
The raven fluttered down to land in the branches of the nearest hawthorn tree the moment I pulled my bike to a stop in my mother’s driveway. She always did.
“Hey asshole,” she called to me as I turned to set the helmet on the seat.
“Douchebag,” I answered in kind, smiling up at her. She knew my name was Flynn, but she’d never offered one in return, so for as long as I’d known her, we’d exchanged friendly insults instead.
I had known her since . . . well, I thought maybe she’d been the first animal who had spoken to me. The first one I remembered, at least. I didn’t know how long ravens usually lived, but that meant this one was at least thirty, since I’d been talking to animals for as long as I’d been talking.
Being raised completely separate from other people your age tends to make a person look for companions in odd places, and when I’d talked to them, the animals had talked back, so my fate as a weirdo had been sealed before I even learned to read.
Honestly, though, animals were usually better conversationalists than people.
They rarely lied.
“Got any food?” the raven asked, hopping from branch to branch to follow me as I walked toward the house.
I paused, checking my pockets, and came back with the remnants of a bag of peanuts. Were peanuts good for ravens? Unlikely, but honestly, I’d grown up feeding her ham and cake and . . . pretty much anything that had ever been on my plate, and she seemed to have done pretty well with it.
Shrugging, I held up the bag, then leaned over and dumped the nuts into the grass.
She leapt from the branch, spreading her wings wide and gliding down to where I’d dropped the food.
“Old lady not feeding you?” I asked her, motioning toward the house.
She made a wheezy little coughing sound that was her approximation of laughter. “I don’t ask the dead for offerings.”
Which was . . . well, people often said animals were stupid, or talked about how tiny their brains were, but that was always proven not quite right in my experience. Most creatures weren’t as smart as my raven friend, but every single one I’d ever spoken to had recognized that my mother, leader of the vampire population of the greater Los Angeles Combined Statistical Area, was dead.
I had yet to run into a single human who recognized vampirism, let alone who saw it the moment they met her.
I looked over to where the last sliver of the sun sat, red and dramatic, atop the ocean on the horizon. “I suppose she doesn’t usually eat anything you’d be interested in getting your beak into anyway.”
The raven made a little choking noise, and for a moment I worried I’d amused her at a bad time and she might actually need medical intervention I wasn’t qualified to give, but she finished pecking down a peanut and then gave her little laugh again. “Blood is certainly a very specific taste. A boring one. I’d miss cake too much to go making it my whole diet.”
Cake. I was of the same opinion, but I suspected that made my raven friend and me rare, given all the romantic notions people had about vampires.
“Pizza,” I answered, and started again toward the door, since she’d pecked up most of the peanuts.
“Fresh bread.”
“Cherry pie.”
We went on that way, tossing out favorite foods until we got to the stairs leading up to my mother’s front door. I turned to nod at her. “Good seeing you. I’ll try to grab something from dinner for you. I know how you love Meg’s dinner rolls.”
She gave a wordless caw and flew off to the thicket of trees I thought she lived in, leaving me alone on my mother’s doorstep.
Ugh.
I supposed I had to actually go in. I’d been summoned, after all. I’d woken in the morning to a voicemail from her assistant telling me I was “expected” for dinner at seven, because that was the way it worked with my mother. She rarely made a lot of time for me, but when she did, it wasn’t optional. It was compulsory, as though a dinner she couldn’t even eat at a time she didn’t want to be awake was something either of us wanted.
On the other hand, her cook, Meg, was entirely wasted on a whole house of vampires, so coming to visit sometimes was the least I could do, wasn’t it?
Before I could reach for the doorbell, the double front doors were thrown open to reveal my mother on the other side. I leaned on my back foot, blinking at her for a moment, not sure why I was surprised, but surprised nonetheless. Tonight, Mother looked like the vampy heroine in an old movie, in a long slinky black dress and bright red lipstick.
Fiona Knight always cut a striking figure, so I wasn’t surprised about that part, just the doors being thrown open.
It was a little funny, come to think of it. We had the same deep auburn hair and almost unnaturally green eyes. The same long lines, both of us tall and willowy sort of people. But on her, it looked gorgeous and put together and perfect, like a Hollywood ingenue just barely past her prime.
On me? Well, I’d tried to comb down the part of my hair that had been sticking up in the back when I woke up that morning, but I wasn’t sure how much luck I’d had. My jeans had holes in the knees, not from artful distressing pre-purchase, but from years of wear. I had on a clean shirt, but it was a T-shirt I’d gotten in high school, so it was starting to get holes along the collar. The tan leather motorcycle jacket definitely wasn’t helping, but damn it all, I drove a motorcycle. It was a sensible choice. Even if Mother’s usual argument against it was more about the color than the style. Apparently black was the only color leather jackets were allowed to be.
Mother, too, noticed the fact that my fashion sense didn’t live up to her standards, because she always did. She looked me over, her lips pursing in dissatisfaction. “Is that a shirt for . . . some kind of children’s breakfast cereal?”
Technically, it was not. It was a sexual innuendo about redheaded men being . . . well, I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell my mother that. Most people didn’t want to tell their Boomer or Gen X parents about sexual innuendos they thought would scandalize them. My mother? I had no idea how old she was, but “she’s from a different time” had never been more valid than it was with her.
Given her collection of ridiculously expensive and historically fascinating objects, I suspected she was by far the oldest vampire in the city. Like, Roman Empire old. Not that we discussed it. Whenever anyone asked about her age in my presence, she always laughed and said “a lady never tells,” but in that sharp way that actually said “shut the fuck up and stop asking questions you don’t want the answers to.”
Anyway, all that to say that I smiled at her and pretended innocence. “What can I say? They’re magically delicious.”
She scrunched up her nose as though maybe she got the joke after all, shaking her head and sighing. “I suppose it will have to do.”
And that?
That was concerning.
My mother often, if not quite always, disapproved of what I wore. What I drove. What I ate. Basically every aspect of my life. But that comment implied there was something else happening. Something my clothes were required to “do.”
“If you’d told me to dress up—”
“You would have told me you couldn’t make it,” she finished for me, and I winced, because she wasn’t exactly wrong.
I did own a button down shirt or two, but like . . . what was the point of being an adult, and being in charge of your own life, if you had to keep fulfilling other people’s ridiculous expectations?
I didn’t own a tuxedo, didn’t eat lima beans, and slept at night when I was tired, not during the day when my mother’s people expected it of me. I was maybe the only person in the world who was a morning person out of a sense of rebellion.
The important part was that I wasn’t going to change myself to make my mother happy. It wouldn’t work anyway. Growing up with Fiona Knight, I’d learned the one magical truth that had made my whole adulthood easier: it was impossible to truly please my mother, so I shouldn’t even try.
I shrugged and followed her into the house, through the great hall and into the dining room, where there was a guy already sitting at the table. He turned and stood as we walked in, and the dude was . . . well, he was fucking hot. That was no surprise if he was someone from her work, because vampires were almost always hot. Not only did vamps tend to choose the most attractive partners among humans to turn, but something about the change somehow brought out everyone’s most attractive features, even if they hadn’t been great beauties beforehand.
With this guy, I suspected the change hadn’t had to work too hard. He had dark hair, almost black, that fell around his face in long strands. Stubble that looked like some combination of artistic and “screw it, I don’t feel like shaving today.” The blackest eyes I’d ever seen.
Black eyes. That was weird. Instantly, part of me wanted to get closer, to get a better look at—
No way.
No fucking way.
I whipped around to look at my mother, and she was closing the dining room doors behind us. It gave me a great view of the back of her dress, which dipped down almost far enough to show that she wasn’t wearing underwear. Which was definitely a thing a guy wanted to know about his mom.
As she turned back to face us, she gave me a pained smile that said, very strongly, “shut up and don’t make a scene.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “I’m putting off a date for this, you know.”
She lifted a single perfect red brow at me, but didn’t call my bluff. “That’s lovely, dear. You’ll have to invite them over for dinner sometime if it works out. Lady or gentleman?”
And I couldn’t really answer that question, because the whole thing was a lie. So I went for my personal default. “Guy.”
She nodded and motioned me over to my usual chair. “Let me know when, and I’ll have Meg make us all dinner.”
Okay, so that was all . . . something. It meant that whatever this was, she hadn’t intended it to be a blind date. Probably. Of course, she had never much liked me hanging around vampires anyway, so setting me up with one would have been weird.
Still, you never knew with my mother. She hadn’t become as powerful as she was by being simple and straightforward. No, I sometimes suspected the word “Byzantine” had been invented to refer to her. And unlike most people who thought things like that, I might actually have a mother old enough for it to be true.
The hot guy nodded to my mother as she reached the head of the table, and waited for her to sit down before reseating himself. “Senator Knight,” he rumbled, a hint of some kind of accent there. Irish, maybe?
I glanced down at my T-shirt with the horrible leprechaun caricature and tried not to cringe.
When I got to the table, my mother gave me her best serene smile while I seated myself, motioning to the man. “Flynn dear, this is Davin Byrne. He’s just joined us from the Dublin region. Davin, this is my son, Flynn Knight.”
From . . . oh. He was definitely a vampire, then.
I knew plenty of vampires, of course. I’d grown up among them, since they were forever coming to my mother for her help or political support or any number of other things. But she rarely invited me to dinner with them, unless they were close friends or members of her staff. When I’d flirted with one at an event when I was a teenager, she’d insisted I never, ever do that, because vampires, by and large, could not be trusted.
Plus she didn’t approve of the fact that the woman I’d been flirting with had been almost three hundred years older than me.
All that to say that my mother introducing me to a vampire was a bit weird.
Davin nodded to me, respectful as one might expect in front of my mother. “Mr. Knight.”
“Flynn,” I corrected automatically, because ew. Who the heck ever wanted to be called “mister” anything? “And you too.”
“Davin is an expert in security,” Mother told me, voice crisp, as she snapped her napkin out then smoothed it over her lap. Her tone said she thought this information was very important. “Sort of like you.”
Curiouser and curiouser. “I’m a private investigator, Mother. I don’t know anything about . . . what, computers?” I glanced at Davin, who nodded, then cocked his head a little and squinted one eye, shrugging, like there was more to it than that. “That sounds like the sort of thing you’d go to school for.”
“You studied,” she insisted. “And there was that test.”
It was . . . hell, it was almost sweet, like she was defending my awful career choices. Because she did think they were awful. She’d begged me to stay in college, even if it was to get a criminal justice degree and become a human cop or something like that. She didn’t have a lot of use for the human authorities, but she did consider them safer than hanging out with vampires.
And instead, my choices had led me into closer association with vampires, because a human who was awake and able to move in the daylight? More, one who knew about them, and could investigate their problems? That was a novelty they were unused to. So the majority of my clients were vampires, which my mother definitely did not approve of.
She didn’t seem to want me anywhere near her own people. Maybe she thought I’d be a terrible vampire. If it was that, she was probably right. If “smooth” had an opposite, that was me.
Not that anyone knew how the hell I was a human. It was obvious from looking at the two of us that I was her son. We had the same coloring, yes, but also, the same small upturned nose and high cheekbones and delicate features. I looked almost more like her clone than her kid.
Plus there were pictures of her pregnant.
So how had an ancient dead woman given birth?
She sure as hell wasn’t telling anyone, not even me.
“So, as Davin has just arrived, he is in need of a job,” she said, changing the subject when I didn’t respond to the comment about the test for my PI license. “And it seemed to me that you were in need of a partner who could do more than just . . . what you do. Bethany told me you recovered that Picasso that was stolen from her last fall, and while that’s lovely, perhaps with Davin’s help, you can keep things like that from happening to begin with.”
I cocked my head, looking at her in confusion. “Like . . . set up security systems for vampires?”
“It is what Davin does.” She pursed her lips and looked over at him. “Isn’t it?”
“It is, Senator. I worked at a security agency in Dublin before I had to leave there.” He stared at the blank white tablecloth in front of him as he said it, like maybe something had gone horribly, terribly, awfully wrong to force him to leave Dublin. My mother . . . reached out and laid her hand on top of his.
What the hell alternate universe was I living in, where my mother comforted someone who was struggling? The only person she’d ever done anything like that for . . . was me. And frankly, she’d almost never done that.
“Don’t you worry about that, dear. Flynn owns a whole building to run a business out of, right down on the beach. A perfect location. I should know, I gave it to him.” She turned and looked at me, once again raising that brow, like she was challenging me to question her.
I winced, but I couldn’t disagree, really.
Avalon, the town we lived in, was up the coast a bit from Los Angeles proper, less populous and crowded than the city itself. And when I’d passed my test to get my PI license, she’d given me an empty building she owned, “to start my business.”
She was right that it was a perfect location. Literally five feet away from where the beach started. Big enough to house two full businesses, separated down the center. A huge modern building, and I had cringed when they’d mailed me the tax assessment.
And Mother wasn’t terribly thrilled with what I had—or rather hadn’t—done with it. It was still basically empty, except that technically, I lived in the back room.
Yes, that was illegal, but who was going to arrest me for sleeping on a couch in a building I owned, even if it was zoned for business? It made my rare paychecks from vamp clients stretch further, not having to pay rent.
“I’m not much of an investigator,” Davin told her. “Not to question you, Senator. I just . . . well, if there’s a test, and—”
“Now dear, no one expects you to investigate anything. That’s Flynn’s job. But I can speak to how difficult it is to get a decent security system in this town, working with humans who’ll only come out in the daytime. Whom we still have to hide from. There are over three hundred vampires in the greater Los Angeles area, and the majority of them almost certainly could use your services.” She turned to look at me. “Maybe it would save people like Bethany from having to use your services when her Picasso goes missing, if it never does.”
I glanced at Davin as he was looking at me, and I saw the same thing in his eyes that I was feeling myself: doubt.
Sure, we were sort of two sides of the same coin, career-wise, but . . . opposite sides. I made money only when his profession failed.
“It would be a regular living,” Mother added, starting to sound exasperated. “Not all this waiting for a job to appear and subsisting on starvation rations when it doesn’t come soon enough. Security companies charge people monthly fees, dear. And Davin can certainly set them up, but you’re . . .” She stopped, frowning, and took a breath, but didn’t speak again.
Odd. I’d never seen her at a loss for words.
“I would imagine he’d make a better go-between with vampires,” Davin said, his voice going a little soft. When I looked at him, he was once again staring at the table.
That was when the butler, Evans, came bustling in with a tray.
Before I could even begin to try to figure out what was going on with Davin’s odd attitude, Evans set a bowl down in front of him. A bowl. With what looked like some kind of light golden cream soup.
Then in the center of the table, a basket of dinner rolls.
Then another bowl that looked identical to Davin’s in front of me, before setting a glass in front of Mother and bustling right back out.
For a moment, all I could do was stare at the bowl in front of the vampire. The man? The Dublin region, Mother had said, not “from Dublin.” I wasn’t wrong. That meant he was a vampire. But even as I watched, Davin picked up the proper spoon, dipped it into the creamy steaming soup, and took a bite.
“Close your mouth, dear, you’ll gather flies,” Mother told me.
I snapped it shut and focused on my own food. Curried crab soup. Absolute perfection, and I could have eaten it for every meal for a month. Meg was a wonder. A vampire who still loved to cook, even though she couldn’t eat anymore.
Okay, that wasn’t quite true. Vampires were capable of eating, but there was no purpose to it. They didn’t get sustenance from it. Then there was the unpleasant side effect of having to . . . get rid of that consumed food later on. And worst of all, their taste buds were different, and food no longer tasted like food. They didn’t want it, in my experience.
Meg had once sadly likened it to eating bowls of sawdust, while staring at her perfect chocolate torte with longing.
But there Davin was, eating Meg’s soup. And from the blissful smile on his face when he took a bite, enjoying the hell out of it.
“Now then,” Mother said, leaning back in her seat at the end of the table and looking at me until I had to wrench my eyes away from the spectacle of a vampire eating soup and turn to her. “The tax payment on the building was about eighty thousand dollars last year, so I expect it will be similar this year.”
I blinked at her, uncomprehending. That did follow with how much I knew the building was worth, but why was she telling me?
She slow-blinked at me, unimpressed, like I was the slowest student in class. “You own the building, dear. I covered you for the last few years, but you’re going to have to start paying it yourself.”
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
My mother wanted me to raise eighty grand? On my own? Just to continue to stay in the building she’d given me?
“So you see, getting down to business and starting that security company simply makes sense. Don’t you think?” She waved at Davin, who was still eating the fucking soup, and I started to wonder if I was dreaming.
This was all entirely surreal. Vampires eating curried crab soup, my mother acting like I was suddenly going to become a productive member of society, and eighty thousand dollars I was going to owe to the government of California in like . . . ten months?
This couldn’t be real.
Still, there was my mother, talking again. “You and Davin have perfectly complementary skillsets, and you should get started right away. I’ll let the others know you’ll be available to install security systems, and send someone down to take care of the office.”
“I’ll need a week or so before I can start doing installations,” Davin said, pausing his eating to bite his lip a moment. “I’ll need to order things, and—”
“Of course, dear. I’m sure they’ll all be very understanding.” She waved a hand behind her. “And Klaus will extend you a line of credit, of course, to make sure you have all the stock you need to get started. I’ll send everything down in the morning.”
And just like that, I was in business with Davin Byrne, vampire who ate soup and apparently, installed security systems.
What the hell was my life?
Amanda MeuwissenAmanda Meuwissen is a queer author with a primary focus in M/M or gay fiction and romance, dabbling in every subgenre. She is a board member for Big World Network, a non-profit publisher working toward education and growth opportunities for aspiring authors in underrepresented, economically disadvantaged, and rural communities.
As the author of LGBTQ+ Fantasy #1 Best Seller, Coming Up for Air, LGBTQ+ Horror #1 Best Seller and #1 New Release, A Delicious Descent, and #1 New Release in Fantasy Erotica and Gay Erotica, Last Courtesan of Olympus, Amanda’s extensive library of titles continues to grow.
Her organization of the massive 22-author series collaboration, Tales from the Tarot, has raised two thousand in donations for SAGE, a charity dedicated to advocacy and services for LGBTQ+ Elders, and her contributing title to the series, Cleric of Desire, continues to be an inspiration to readers as it delves into demi-gender identity.
She lives in Minnesota with her husband, John, and their two cats.
Barbara ElsborgBarbara Elsborg lives in Kent in the south of England. She always wanted to be a spy, but having confessed to everyone without them even resorting to torture, she decided it was not for her. Volcanology scorched her feet. A morbid fear of sharks put paid to marine biology. So instead, she spent several years successfully selling cyanide.
After dragging up two rotten, ungrateful children and frustrating her sexy, devoted, wonderful husband (who can now stop twisting her arm) she finally has time to conduct an affair with an electrifying plugged-in male, her laptop.
Her earlier books feature quirky heroines and bad boys, now she concentrates on the bad boys, and hopes her books are as much fun to read as they are to write.
Kiki Burrelli lives in the Pacific Northwest with the bears and raccoons. She dreams of owning a pack of goats that she can cuddle and dress in form-fitting sweaters. Kiki loves writing and reading and is always chasing that next character that will make her insides shiver. Consider getting to know Kiki at her website, on Facebook, or send her an email: kikiburrelli@gmail.com.
K.A. Merikan is a duo of queer writers who don’t believe in following the well-trodden path. In their books you can dip your toe into dangerous romance with mafiosi, outlaw bikers and bad boys, all from the safety of your sofa. They love the weird and wonderful, stepping out of the box, and bending stereotypes both in life and in fiction. Their stories don’t shy away from exploring the darker side of M/M romance, and feature a variety of anti-heroes, rebels, misfits, and underdogs who go against the grain.
Be prepared for shocking twists, dark humor, raw emotions, and sizzling hot scenes.
Sam lives in the Midwest with husband and cat, which is even less exciting than it sounds, so she's not sure why you're still reading this.
She specializes in LGBTQIA+ fiction, usually with a romantic element. There's sometimes intrigue and violence, usually a little sex, and almost always some swearing in her work. Her writing is light and happy, though, so if you're looking for a dark gritty reality, you've come to the wrong author.
Amanda Meuwissen
EMAIL: ak.meuwissen@gmail.com
Barbara Elsborg
Kiki Burrelli
KA Merikan
Sam Burns
EMAIL: sam@burnswrites.com
By the Red Moonlight by Amanda Meuwissen
The Other Side by Barbara Elsborg
Love by Kiki Burrelli
Taken by the Lord of the Nocturne Court by KA Merikan
Smokescreen by Sam Burns
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