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DEMON ARMS

THE PARANORMAL ACADEMY FOR TROUBLED BOYS #1 (ORIGINAL VERSION)

Just dodging jail, dragon shifter Wylie ends up in the Academy, an institution for out of control paranormals. He falls for a sexy, troubled sorcerer whose magical infliction makes him too deadly to touch. Convincing Dorian to be his might just get them all killed.

X 101,000+ wrds, paranormal, dragon shifter, sorcery, first time, NA. Published: April 1, 2016

I’LL TELL

A BLACKMAILING STEPBROTHER ROMANCE

PC Version ♥♥♥ Mobile Version ♥♥♥ Audio Version

Jayce has been doing everything to get his now official younger brother settled in to his new home, all while fighting some very unbrotherly feelings for the angry, isolated brat. After things get weird, Declan decides to turn the tables, blackmailing his older brother into greater heights of depravity. Can Jayce keep from getting sucked into Declan’s twisted games?
XX56,000+ wrds, contemporary, stepbrother psi, new adult, blackmail. Published: January 23, 2016

THE DEMON VIRUS

AN INTENSE PARANORMAL SHORT FICTION

A sexy thank you for joining the Newsletter. <3

This is a rather intense, dripping wet, XXXXX rated MM fic featuring a naïve main character, his manipulative best friend, a very sexually aggressive incubus that finds his victims through the Internet, and his big monster cock covered in ridges. Like many of my erotic stories, it features dubcon and is intended for 18+ readers.

PATB Serial

NEW ADULT PARANORMAL MM ACTION ADVENTURE ROMANCE WITH SHIFTERS, SORCERERS, WEREWOLVES, DEMONS AND GANGSTERSWylie's bio & reference last updated 1/27/20A section in progress where you can find character bios, fun facts, reference for magic, tech, and lore of the PATB world, quizzes and Q&As. Will be added to as the series is written.

AWAKENING

NEW ADULT PARANORMAL MM EPIC FANTASY ROMANCE WITH FAE, GODS, AND ANGSTScene #25 last updated 2/16/19

FUNDED BY PATREON

Everything found here will have been funded by supporters on Patreon. This includes the Demon Bonded serial where you can get updates before it publishes.

Demon Bonded: Coven Saga ep 12: Scene 2 last updated 8/10/20

This is an experiment with Patreon to find a way around the rabid censorship and discrimination of certain erotic subject matter. I’ve had books banned without explanation or direct proof of Content Guidelines being broken while straight books with the same ‘taboo’ content is allowed to sell on Amazon and other platforms. This shame based censorship not only tries to suppress the creation of certain books, but also punishes authors, and sometimes readers who seek to read these subjects. I’m calling bullshit on these discriminatory practices, and I’m looking to find a way to fund taboo reads outside of mainstream platforms.

If you’re interested in supporting me and the Demon Bonded serial, please donated to my Patreon. Thank you!

Click to read the Demon Bonded Series

HARRY POTTER FANFICS

REMOVED BECAUSE JK ROWLING IS A HATEFUL TRANSPHOBE

So… I thought I could compromise with these Harry Potter fanfics. They were supposed to be fun, but they can’t be anymore. They can’t be anything more but a show of support of hate.

I think I was naive when it started, hopeful it was another out of touch celebrity who was bumbling through a complex topic. You know how those billionaires get, just saying things without research, thinking they must be right because their echo chamber insists they’re right. Don’t we all just hate to point out to the powerful how they’re abusing their power — surely it’s a mistake, surely they don’t mean it that way? Surely conflict avoidance is the answer, and the monster they have become will go away if we don’t acknowledge it? Just hide under the covers and Voldemort will go away.

JK Rowling has created an army of transphobes. She is the leader of a hate movement. She is emboldened as companies continue to profit off of her intellectual property and enrich her. She is not going away.

I first truly realized this shopping around the holiday season after I was starting to feel better, only to stop in front of a display with Potter merch and feel the sickening twist in my stomach as I watched people browse the contents. Were they fans before JK Rowling went full out TERF? Or were they “new” fans, people who bought the merch because they wanted an easily recognized symbol of hate to display but they could play dumb if anyone called them out on it? Was the store itself even safe when everyone knew JK Rowling was spreading misinformation and lies that were leading to violence against transgendered people? Did it matter anymore when anything connected to JK Rowling was a symbol of hate?

I can’t claim this is the first time I had to let go of an author, but it was never to this extreme. I didn’t really get into Orson Scott Card until right before he revealed his bigotry against LGBTQs. I never wrote fanfiction for his characters. Instead, as an adult, I was able to look at his work and see his struggle, see in his books how he was losing to the twisted memes his religious community instilled in him until he couldn’t see beyond it. But I also acknowledged that he was an adult making choices, choices that were spreading hate and bigotry against a marginalized community, and I, as an adult, had to make a choice in response.

It was a learning experience for me. I didn’t want to learn from what was happening to JK Rowling, which is why I fought it as long as I could. I wanted to stay a child and play make-believe.

It doesn’t matter what I want it to be; JK Rowling is a celebrated transphobe in 2023. She is making money off her intellectual properties to fund the hateful bigotry she puts out into the world. And her transphobic followers use her work to fund her hate, and they use her work to terrorize transgender people. It doesn’t matter the intentions of when those books were first written. It doesn’t matter the intentions of the fans who are not transphobes, who just want to be entertained by a story of an orphan boy who discovered he was “special”, deserving. Harry Potter and all other works created by JK Rowling and her other pen names fund hate.

The nazi symbol once represented peace until Hitler got a hold of it. It doesn’t mean it’s no longer only the nazi symbol of hate today. Things change, and I’m not so stuck in my ways that I’m going to pretend that it doesn’t demand I change as well.

There are better stories out there. There are far better writers out there. And the ultimate majority don’t have their works symbolize hate. I’m letting go of Harry Potter because I don’t support hate, and there is no compromising with a transphobe. JK Rowling is an adult making adult choices. Choices to say and do things things that exclude and outright harm transgendered people. She is not intellectually impaired. The color of her skin, perceived sex, and the gender she identifies with does not provide a justification for what she’s doing. She is not a victim, but a protected harasser who self justifies by hiding behind a story of victimhood to prevent facing the repercussions of her actions. Her class — her billionaire status — does not mean she is magically smarter and more correct than anyone else. She is capable enough to write a story, one that understands what is good and what was bad. She is not ignorant to these things. She is making a choice to target, harass, and create an atmosphere of violence against one of the most marginalized, at risk communities in the history of humanity. And she does it while claiming she cares about women, just so long as woman is defined by her limited, bigoted viewpoint.

JK Rowling doesn’t care about women. She doesn’t even know what a woman is.

For those who looked to Harry Potter as a hero, as someone you wanted to be when you grew up, to be such a hero you need to fight against the evil JK Rowling is spreading in the world. The hardest thing children must do when they grow is to become individuals separate from their parents’ and society’s antiquated and biased views, but it is the only way to bring needed change in a broken world.

JK Rowling doesn’t know what it’s like to be an orphan, to be an outsider to the accepted class — that’s the irony I have always felt when I see so many of these 2 dimensional stories of child abandonment when I grew up in foster care and was later adopted. It’s a trope; few writers understand how complex abandonment is. How complex and devastating growing up on the outside of society is, having to negotiate with a world that will never fully see you as belonging just because you don’t have parents.

And if you think that sort of discrimination doesn’t exist, you have never lived it. Humanity doesn’t need a good reason to trigger their xenophobia; just like some see a spot on an apple and assume it’s bad, some see a child without parents and assume the same. Some see a presentation of a gender role that doesn’t match their expectation and are triggered. A tic of a hand or a stutter and some people are triggered. Some see tattoos or a style of clothing and are triggered because they don’t feel surrounded by the familiar, and therefore justify lashing out. Humanity is innately broken, and it is up to us to fight the rationalization of xenophobia if we ever want a better world.

And beware those who are already safe, are already protected by the world we are in, because as much as they might say they want “better”, human nature promises they will fight equality if it feels like they lose their privilege. We are flawed, a mashup of what evolution spat out of a species that conquered a globe and claimed ownership while causing mass extinction. Within us is understanding, but not without these deeply rooted instincts to hoard, to control and kill what we can’t control. And we’ll say it’s to be safe, to be organized and to have things make sense. But it’s because we are cowards who don’t want to be uncomfortable in an uncertain world.

When JK Rowling wrote a book about fighting against a system of injustice, she wrote a single villain and his henchpeople to defeat, instead of demanding change of an unequal system, because she has never lived being in a marginalized community. Instead she writes what she knows, protected, superior in her community, with special powers to control and harm others, in a secret world in the shadows where normal humans will never hold these special people accountable, only ever be victims. She doesn’t have the experience — the basic human empathy — to write a true hero of the people, never mind to be one, because she is too insulated by her class. She can’t even see the darkness in her own cowardly self.

And those who support her hate — for the fame, for the memes, because they like to hate and to feel sheltered by a righteous fandom that will protect them from the repercussions — they are very content to never grow as well. A society perpetuating the weakest of human character, insulating from change, attacking anyone who would demand they grow up and be better. That’s what the Harry Potter fandom has become. Pretending otherwise is just a fantasy. All you have to do is go online and see how this fandom harasses and attacks anyone who stands up against their bigotry.

This is who they are now. This is who JK Rowling is, and this is her fandom, comprised of tranphobes and bullies.

Yeah, it’s a shitty feeling being asked to grow up, to be a better version of yourself. Especially when most of the Harry Potter fans are of an older generation who is so certain they are grown. A generation catered to with all the toys, nostalgia, and petty, pretty little things consumerism can spoil them with. I’m of a generation so defined by marketing that we can’t even get a new movie out that isn’t full of some 40 something’s childhood fantasy to be a superhero.

Do you even understand how infantalizing that is? How pathetic that we are stuck playing childhood games pretending we have no power because these companies control us best this way? The world doesn’t ask us to be better because there are entire economies thriving on keeping us childlike and docile. So when a villain shows up — when someone in the real world is causing real, actual harm — it becomes about how to keep having the toys and childhood fantasies we love instead of telling that person to fuck off and stop causing harm. It becomes a negotiation of how to compromise with violence and bigotry, and I’m done playing this sick game.

Fuck off, JK Rowling. You don’t understand the bullshit you’re claiming to be science because you’re not a scientist. You aren’t qualified to talk on the human experiences you talk about because you have not experienced them. You don’t have the life experience to know anything about complex social situations because you never face the consequences of complex social situation, but instead fuck off to whatever castle you’re living in at the moment and have brunch with leaders of hate groups while you let your fans bully and harass anyone who calls you out. Your input is not wanted in regards to transgenderism. You are an outsider here, thinking you’re an insider because that’s the privilege you have lived your entire life with as a wealthy, white, cis AFAB, and no, that will never change. You don’t get to be the center of this conversation, no matter how much you think you should because “special”. The transgender community is not here to coddle you the way everyone else does. We don’t negotiate with terrorists, not even the ones holding our childhoods’ hostage. Fuck off; humanity has some growing to do.

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WRITING TIPS

A BLOG OF PROBLEMS BEING SOLVED AS I STARTED WRITING EROTICA

MEET SADIE

JUST A LITTLE HELLO <3

TIP JAR

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A Day For Maintenance

Well, it’s Monday. My first Monday since mostly completing the website theme. Officially my first Monday of getting back to real writing. There are some things I need to figure out, those things to be planned today, actually. I thought since I wrote that big thing yesterday about what I do/did to stay on track for writing and running this business, it would be a good time to actually, you know, share a bit of it. And then do it.

The nice thing about doing a little blog about getting back into writing is that it has me writing right after getting up and having breakfast. It has me thinking about writing even if I’m not chapters into writing a novel. It reminds me that writing is easy, just so long as I get out of my own way.

A big part of starting to write again is this struggle of choosing where to actually start. There are a lot of stories waiting to be updated, and some still require a lot of reference notes and reading to even remotely get to that place. And those big stories, they’re valuable. Valuable income wise, but also valuable sentimentally wise. Aka, I care about them too much to fuck them up, and there’s a danger in that kind of thinking. But for now, I’m going to find the gentle path and fuck up a different story first XD, just to get used to these doubts and insecurities so I can push them away for the bigger stories.

A Grand Experiment

Getting back to writing is a grand experiment in a lot of ways as I push my brain to be more than its limits currently are. And I know it could reach that place once, but after the months of my hyper-sensitized trigeminal nerve screaming at me and my pituitary unable to demand the required cortisol, my brain changed. So I’m building the support structure I think I need before starting, hoping it will evolve to what I need once writing as my brain changes. And that’s kind of exciting.

I’m an adventurer of thought, if not anything else. I love to see what the human mind can do. As much as teachers had claimed the calculator would make us lazy, it made me push to be more efficient to understand how I needed to think, and then use the calculator to support and bring accuracy to the problem solving I was doing with math. Creating tools to support basic human deficits is damn exciting because it allows us to be more. But only if we, as individuals want to grow instead of stagnate.

Anyways…

Planning A Week At A Time Starting With Rest

Every Monday is my “maintenance” day. It’s the first day of my official work week after a weekend focusing on family time, household errands, and personal hobbies.

Giving myself the weekend was something new for me to make sure my entire life wasn’t about work, but also required because of the unavoidable distraction my loved ones pose. Oh, I fought it for as long as I could. Only to realize I was perpetuating some self destructive ableism on myself by failing to rationalize rest. I do that; I will logic self destructive behavior and call it productive, and I know I’m not unique in that department. We’re all going to drop dead one day, and no, I don’t want to have prioritized work over living. I’m not apologizing for that.

Taking the weekends was to help my mindset, to accept that I was going to be distracted, and that instead of feeling frustrated with it, it was a sign I shouldn’t be working during that time anyways. Because I would work all the time. Once my brain gets into the ruts of a behavior, it stays there. It found the shape, the pattern of thought to work forever, and I can be a total grumpy fuck if not careful. Weekends are set aside to ensure that I’m a decent human being who rests, who spends quality time with family, and has other shit going on than staring at a screen all day.

It also means it’s a time that I’m not putting all the household stuff first, just finding a way to fill the rest time with a different work. That’s for Monday.

Maintenance Monday

Maintenance Mondays exist to get me back into the mindset of doing after the weekends of playing. I deal with the emails that weren’t required to be dealt with immediately while running the laundry. I figure out medical shit and appointments, bills, important household stuff that has to be addressed. I tidy up the kitchen and bedroom/office. I plan and make meals for the week, or make sure I’ve got easy make options so I’m not starving my brain during work hours. I plan my week of writing, the goals I want to hit, the time I’m willing to spend (because I always go over, not under, and time is everything.) I then plan my allergy shots and errands around that time frame.

This week I have to plan more website updates alongside writing. Because of the eye situation, I have to figure out just how much screen time is going to result in a migraine and plan around that. Using Word is hurting my eyes, and Word is how I make those PDFs. I was able to get Scrivener to a beautiful layout for writing, nice soothing colors and perfect font size. It doesn’t hurt as much, and I wish I could get Word to the same place, but it’s time. It’s a trade-off of pain where to invest in solving a problem while it causes a problem could steal away days of my ability to write. So that is my big thing to plan this week.

Defend The Routine

Because Monday is the day I manage my life and business, and plan the week, it’s also the day I have to guard as fiercely as possible. It sets me up for the week, and if some random doctor’s appointment or someone home sick interrupts this day, I will either push it to Tuesday, or the worst case scenario is I lose the week, lose the rhythm, the thread, and wing it hoping the energy I spend actually leads to something productive. Never good with ADHD.

The biggest importance of Maintenance Monday is that it acknowledges that working from home is a fucking problem that has a million distractions that need to be addressed before work can get done. I can’t have laundry waiting for me when I’m working; I’m going to do the laundry because when I’m home, my priorities are with my immediate space. I can’t have a messy room because visual disorder hurts my eyes and no, I can’t afford an office. Walking into the kitchen to make a quick meal before getting back to writing can mean being completely interrupted by cleaning a messy kitchen and then forgetting what I was doing, losing the thought pattern of writing.

Just like with human distractions, where I have no ability to compromise once they’re in my space, it’s the same with disorganization and mess. I won’t win. My focus will go to the immediate problem that needs solving so that I’m then allowed to get back to work — and know, I don’t want to work. Not really. So every distraction from work means the very real possibility of not working. On Monday I solve those biggest issues, and every evening before bed I will do a quick tidy up to solve them again (because I live with slobs and cats). Anything less is setting myself up for failure.

A Day For Ongoing Projects

Mondays are also the day I get to put some time into the big organization projects that need doing, but are dangerous to touch on a work day. Because if I get in the habit of trying to tackle the intense clutterfuck thing that happened after 10 years of being ill, moving, and two different episodes of mold taking over this place, suddenly my week could be about doing that. Because it IS important. And my brain prioritizes my immediate space instinctively because, hey, years of allergies has turned this into trauma. I have to not trigger that instinct.

I have a lot of big projects waiting. The one I’m doing today is getting the rest of the holiday decorations taken down. I was holding off, hoping that we could do it as a family, but yeah, it never happened. I put them up alone as well, because I can self motivate and others can’t. I suppose at the heart of it, because I care and they don’t. We have a garage full of things that were supposed to be taken to goodwill when we first moved in here, but it never happened. A basement full of moldy storage that was supposed to be dumped when the black mold hit the house, and it sat there when the white mold hit, and is still there.

Being sick has been difficult when I’m the only one who cleans. Running a business when an entire dirty house has been dumped into my lap as people walk in and out throwing their shit down anywhere they want in shared spaces and thinking they’re not responsible… it’s impossible, really. I don’t get to leave the house to work like other people do. The eye sight issue has made that pretty impossible, and my work environment outside of my clean space is far from ideal. And at the end of the day, it doesn’t get to matter. What I prioritize is my choice, and I’m not obligated to solve other people to be allowed to live my life.

I solved my room before getting myself back into the routine of writing. I painted, got fresh storage in here, and decluttered. The important thing was to have visual balance, soothing colors, and lighting that wouldn’t contribute to eye strain. I fostered a space to love, to feel calm in so that when I go to create, it’s easy and familiar. Any project can be swiftly boxed up and tucked out of space to make room for writing or to give me a distraction free view. I don’t have to worry about cats knocking things down when there’s nothing to knock over.

If I had decided not to do it all in one go, Mondays would have been the day to work on it, doing a piece at a time. Monday lets me take care of some of these big things a bit without turning it into a daily work day thing. My work week is for the 4 days that follow Monday.

A Four Day Writing Week

I write 4 days a week. I work a 5 day week. Do I still find myself working on the weekends? Sure. I’m only mortal (for someone who keeps saying work sucks, it’s really hard to pull me away.) But these 4 days are the days I count. The days that matter. The days I set aside to do the work with writing sprints and editing sprints (oh yes, you read that right. Editing sprints, because I have no fucks left to give.) 2 of these days also require the huge distraction of leaving the house to interact with beings who are not cats long enough to get my allergy shots.

Leaving the house for anything is about the biggest distraction I can think of from doing work (even worse than having people in the house cuz sometimes they’re actually quiet), so this is no small feat.

The Greatest Distraction Of All: Leaving The Planet

Leaving the space of work is like leaving the world behind. I am defined by my environment. I don’t know why; I could romanticize it or what not, but it’s the reality I deal with. It’s great when I need to escape a mood, but it has the same effect when it comes to losing the brain shape I need to focus on work.

I become an artist outside the house, falling in love with the landscape, or the go getter who is getting errands done, or the drop in who randomly says hi to their partner at work (because being home alone sucks.) And it shouldn’t be such a big deal. Being spontaneous and fun shouldn’t ruin an entire day of work. But it does for me.

My brain takes a certain amount of energy and time to twist into the right shape (this is a metaphor, peeps, just saying. My alien traits have not evolved this far, thank you). I need structure, and I need consistency, because being spontaneous doesn’t mean spontaneously writing 5000 words on a different story. It means deciding to paint my ceiling, or rearrange the pantry, or clean out the garage and sort what’s going to goodwill.

There is so much waiting to get done, and the more my physical health and energy return, the more this body of mine wants to fuck off and do all the things, all at once, to an amazingly belligerent degree when external resistance is felt. I get angry when something hurts or I feel tired — how dare anything hold me back after years of chronic fatigue and adrenal insufficiency! XD And that anger is also a wonderful excuse to keep me from getting my work done.

Self Motivation Has To Be From The Self

Anger is great for ADHD when you don’t have motivation. Unfortunately, it can be hard to direct. I’ve been feeling a lot of anger in regards to the anti-trans bullshit happening lately. The normalization of it. The consumer market exploiting it. I’ve been fucking pissed, and I’ve used that to show up every day and remind people I’m still here. That I’m not letting them push me out of my life just because they’re that fucking selfish they want transpeople to disappear because we don’t fit their concept of what’s allowed to exist. Fuck that.

I don’t recommend having your motivation be in defiance of an external factor, not really. Because you don’t get to control that. You can start relying on getting great reviews or feedback or even anger — I have found some amazing inspiration from some rather outraged reviews. XD But when it’s silent and it’s just you and your thoughts, you have to be ready to self motivate. Every time.

I think this is one of the hardest things for self published writers to really understand. That when they put a work out into the world and no one says a word back, this is going to define them. What their brain generates in the silence is going to decide if they keep pushing forward, or if they give up. That what their brain generates can change at any damn moment so that if they were being their own cheerleader, suddenly they can be their worst enemy and not be prepared for it.

It sucks. It’s absolutely normal and it sucks.

We are our greatest enemy. The brain is the most dangerous weapon, sharp teeth once tearing into thought now turned inward, tearing into the ego, the dreams, the motivation and leaving everything bloody. We’ve evolved to feel this as social beings. Shame is part of our biological makeup, but just like stress gets triggered from nonsensical things in the modern world, so does shame.

Do You Really Know Yourself?

There is nothing domesticated about the human psyche. If you think you have trained yours to be gentle and loving, that you will never be tested, it’ll be a lot harder to push back when those biological factors activate and turn on you.

Because it will. Vulnerability is in all of us, and from that vulnerability springs our greatest warriors. Warriors who turn on ourselves to logic out of the pain — to just stop doing the things that bring the vulnerability, like putting yourself and your work out there. Your greatest lessons will be learned when the brain comes in to fill in the silence when you were expecting social validation. In the same way I have a day to plan on how to keep my shit together through the week, you need a plan for how to keep it together during those moments. I have one.

If you’re doing this, if you’re real about this, you will be seeking those moments. You will be seeking to grow as you seek that pain and tell it to fuck off. But you have to be honest with yourself that the vulnerability is there. That the pain hurts. That you have to feel it to deal with it and overcome it. Like any muscle, one can get stronger dealing with this stuff, but it’s going to be the worst pain in the beginning every damn time, and there isn’t a shortcut.

Writing isn’t hard. Showing up is where the majority of people fail. And you will find system after system telling people you just have to write 100 words a day, or sit down for an hour a day, or sacrifice a main character to the writing muses on a full moon, etc, etc. And yeah, maybe they’ll get a story out of it… but then what? What do they do with it? Does it ever even meet another set of eyeballs?

If you’re not showing up, there’s a reason not being addressed. Like my reason of working for a living sucks and I don’t like being home alone all day. And if you don’t acknowledge it and do the work to accept and deal with it, those reasons will always decide for you.

The will is an extension of the subconscious; if your subconscious has decided something, it’s decided. It will be your default until you deal with that shit. And every time you feel resistance to dealing with that shit, you’re being given a path of where to go: into the resistance. If you’re not seeking that pain and facing the things holding you back, you’re not really doing this.

There’s a reason so many entrepreneurs are sociopaths, and 1 in 5 business leaders are psychopaths. They don’t have to do this work to get to where they are. The psychological wiring just isn’t there to battle. Everyone else does, and it defines if they’re going to make it or not.

Congrats for not being a sociopath. Here’s some pain to guide you forward.

PATB Serial: Episode #1

Dragon Shifting 101: Alpha Tendencies
The Paranormal Academy For Troubled Boys
$2.99

A gang initiation gone wrong.

Wylie’s demon arms have totally screwed him. He just wanted a chance—cash for college, a career. No one is going to hire a freak like him. But a deserted lab designed to cage werewolves? Anti paranormal tech with magical defenses? A gun? None of it should have been there.

If he were human, the cops wouldn’t want to throw him in prison without a trial. If he were human, sorcerers wouldn’t have come to kill him. But Wylie isn’t human, and the hunters will do everything to possess his dragon power.

Overnight, Wylie goes from teenage f-up to endangered species. One place can save him—the Academy—but only if he can win over their representative. Theodore Howld has a beast inside him full of deadly allure and bloodlust, bringing hunters to their knees to destroy them. He’s the perfect sorcerer, the perfect assassin, the perfect protector… but he might just be the worst person. Wylie’s life is in his hands; will Theodore crush him or save him?

80,500+ wrds, Published Jan 11, 2020.
Heat level: XX

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT PATB Serial #1

By Kathryn M on January 11, 2020.

By B. Hall on January 13, 2020.
This book started out with a bang and the action never stopped. Wylie is a complex character, fully fleshed out, just learning who and what he is. I truly got a sense of his inner turmoil without feeling like he was whining. Ok, so there was some whining, but as his story unfolds it’s really understandable. The secondary characters were incredible! Having figured out what Wylie is, they go all out to protect him and in doing so, we glimpse the unique and flawed world that Sadie Sins created. No punches were pulled. It’s as beautiful and flawed as our own world, especially poignant considering today’s political climate.
This was an epic adventure that I will gladly subscribe to. I’m really looking forward to reading more in this series. Her characters were amazing, fully fleshed out and three dimensional. Well worth reading!!

READ AN EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE

Wylie’s fingers itched to turn into claws. He was ready to maul someone for a cigarette. His first burglary was off to a shit start, and given how their luck was going, they’d all be dead or in prison before the night was out.

They were a small crew—four in total—but the van felt filled to the brim with potential disaster. Wylie was in the back with his boyfriend, Beck, while the other two guys sat up front. Wylie was hunched on top of the wheel well, which gave him a clear view of the windshield and the gate blocking their way. His head brushed the roof and his back was cold against the wall, but he refused to move unless absolutely necessary. Every scrape of his sneakers on the grit covered metal floor made his teeth buzz and body tense.

What the fuck was taking so long? He wanted out of this damn tin can. Hell, he just wanted out: out of this night, out of this initiation, out of this stupid ass plan. The only thing keeping him from snapping was the cloak of darkness in the back. It was easier to keep it together when no one could see how close he was to losing his shit.

“Damn it. No,” Adam hissed from the passenger-side seat in front of Wylie. The teen clattered away on his mini keyboard while glaring at the small, burning screen in front of him. The self-proclaimed hacker was so short his head barely cleared the back of the seat, and the caustic, nervous tune he was humming did nothing to disguise his growing panic.

Wylie took a calming breath and tried to block out the electric scent of fear filling the confined space. The little tech-wiz was taking too long. Adam reeked of anxiety and showed no sign he was even close to breaking through the security system. For all they knew, the kid had turned chickenshit and was hoping to wait out the clock.

Ten minutes. Wylie’s eyes darted to the display on the dashboard when it flashed. Twelve minutes. The air grew heated the longer each second ticked and nothing changed. Wylie could smell the lingering scents of oil and stale blood beneath the annoying, fang twitching flood of testosterone in the enclosed space. Diego was flipping. Their asshole leader for the night hadn’t said a word since they parked, but Wylie’s nose revealed the rage building in the silent gangster.

This was a bad idea. A monumentally dumb fuck idea. He seriously should have taken that last smoke before they left.

“Is this happening?” Beck asked. A warm hand grasped his arm, and Wylie held still when his boyfriend pressed his chest up against his shoulder. Hair tickled his nose when Beck leaned across his chest and peered at the clock on the dash. “Shit, our timetable is going out the fucking window.”

Beck turned toward him but failed to find Wylie in the absolute black of the back of the van. The darkness didn’t stop Wylie’s supernatural vision. His pupils expanded, and shapes and colors began to appear out of the darkness. He focused on Beck and his gaze traced his boyfriend’s familiar, handsome features and slipped down to the smooth line of his throat.

This was a mistake. Beck was too idealistic, too sweet for this gang bullshit. He had never spent a day out on his own and didn’t know shit about the real world.

Wylie bent forward and brushed his lips to Beck’s ear. “We can still back out. No one needs to know we came out here.”

Beck shuddered, but it was only from the heat of Wylie’s breath on his skin. He turned his head and their noses bumped. It was surreal, and Wylie felt half a predator as he watched Beck’s useless human eyes blink in the dark. Beck fumbled and his palm found Wylie’s neck and moved up to his face. He rubbed along the peach fuzz of Wylie’s crew cut and inched forward, their mouths pressing close so they wouldn’t be overheard.

“Don’t be dumb, baby.” Beck’s lips teased over Wylie’s, and his fingers tugged at the strands of his blond hair. “This is our ticket out of all the bullshit. Once we make this score, we’re in and everything is going to change.”

“B, getting into the gang is only going to lead to more…” Wylie trailed off when an angry growl tore from the driver’s seat.

“Come on, you little fuck. Hurry up!” Diego slammed his fist on the dashboard, and everyone jumped.

Adam’s incessant humming silenced with his yelp, as did the keyboard clicking. He tried to steady his shaking hands beneath his armpits. Adam’s voice was timid and faint once he finally spoke. “I’m almost—”

“I thought you were a genius? This was going to take five minutes, tops,” Diego snarled accusingly. The seat squeaked when Diego turned and towered over Adam’s diminutive form. “Hurry the fuck up, you little shit! Or I’m dumping you in a dark alley full of flesh-eating freaks like the guy in the back. Crack the gate!”

Wylie gritted his teeth. He wasn’t a freak, and he sure as fuck wasn’t a cannibal.

“It’s not the same system Roth gave me the plans for,” Adam whispered from where he was cowering. “There’s another element I’ve never seen before. I’ve almost hacked it.” His narrow shoulders scrunched as he bent over his small computer and avoided Diego’s glare. His lips pursed tight, Adam ducked beneath his mouse brown hair and refocused on the screen.

“Hey, freak, you paying attention back there?” Diego threw his heavily tattooed arm over the seat and turned his aggressive stare to the back of the van.

“Yeah,” Wylie said through gritted teeth.

Diego’s hard, black eyes tried to find him in the dark. The gangster was as mean as a junkyard dog and twice as foul. Wylie might have been the only one in the crew who could transform, but Diego was all human and still managed to be as despicable as it got. Everything about the situation was setting Wylie on edge. It started all the way back when Diego showed up half an hour late to the heist and labeled him a freak. After an hour trapped in a van with the bad-tempered asshole, he was ready to smash the gangster’s face in.

Diego’s expression was brutal as he glanced at Adam a moment, then to the back of the van. “You’re going to break us through the gate if the kid fucks this up, freak. You might also need to beat the shit out of the little bitch if it turns out he’s screwing us over.”

“Yeah, none of that’s happening,” Wylie said with far less emotion than he felt. “Unless the alarms are down, we’re not leaving this van. We signed up for a robbery, not a fucking suicide mission.”

“You little shit!” Diego’s tanned features flushed red, and his chest puffed like a jacked up frog about to explode. His hand gripped the top of the dividing seat and the vinyl creaked in his powerful grip.

Wylie silently unwound from Beck and nudged him to the other side of his muscular form. He didn’t trust Diego not to lose his shit and start punching. Being saddled with three nervous, untested teenagers for a gang initiation probably wasn’t Diego’s high point of the night, either. It didn’t mean Wylie was about to throw his life away over the gangster’s explosive temper. He’d rather fuck it up in the driveway before they committed a crime, than have it turn to shit when they were balls deep in the mansion.

“Listen here, you fucking freakshow.” Diego stabbed a finger in Wylie’s direction, but had enough self-control to stop there. He wasn’t angry enough to reach into the dark and risk losing an arm. “If you don’t want to end up dead tonight, you do as I fucking say. That goes for all of you. This isn’t some pussy high school playtime, and I’m not going back to prison over you dumb fuck kids. If any of you—”

There was a loud rattle of metal, and Diego whirled in his seat to peer through the windshield. Adam beamed when the wrought iron gate blocking the driveway shuddered and glided open on motorized tracks.

“Halle-fucking-lujah,” Diego growled in relief and jammed the key forward in the ignition. The van sputtered, then roared to life. Diego showed thin restraint as he put the vehicle in gear, hit the gas, and they sped through the gate opening.

Wylie took a steadying breath as his gut clenched. There was no backing out. Whatever happened, they were in it now.

“We’re in,” Beck gasped in excitement. He fell against Wylie’s chest and peered ahead through the windshield. The sprawling mansion came into view, and Beck’s breath heated his cheek when he sought out his mouth. If Wylie’s response was more tepid than usual, Beck didn’t mention it.

“This is it, baby. This is our fucking future,” Beck whispered between quick, hungry kisses. “We’re finally going to be free.”

Wylie quickly sealed their lips together to silence Beck’s optimistic words. Running with Roth’s gang wasn’t going to be freedom the way his idealistic boyfriend envisioned. It was just another bunch of fucked up, hypocritical adults who used kids while calling it family. Doing illegal shit didn’t make it any better than all the other bullshit families Wylie had been through. It would be money, though, serious money that could buy him the future his fucked up arms stole.

Beck’s hand drifted down, and Wylie jolted when fingers fumbled for his zipper. “B,” he groaned, trying to keep from responding. He pulled Beck’s arm up and shot his boyfriend a smoldering look he couldn’t see in the dark. “Quit being a pervy kink. Focus.”

Beck rolled his eyes, and with a wicked grin, threw himself into Wylie’s lap. He wrapped around his boyfriend’s muscular form and kissed roughly up Wylie’s neck and jaw. “Don’t be that way, baby. We’re going to finally fuck tonight. We’re going to ace this shit, and you’re going to come over to my place and fuck me with your studly arms out.”

Beck rocked his hips against him seductively, and Wylie growled when his erection ground against his. Damn it, his dick dragged him into all kinds of trouble when it involved a tight piece of ass like Beck.

“B, you gotta take this seriously.” Wylie peeked an eye to the front of the van as Beck’s lips slid a hot path along his throat. “You know my arms are dangerous. With one wrong move, my scales could slice the flesh from your bones.”

“I don’t care. Your arms are crazy hot, and we’re totally doing it,” Beck whispered breathlessly. “Tomorrow morning, I’m telling my parents to go fuck themselves. No more evangelical school, no more sick fuck Reverend Clark, and no more pretending I hate dick. You’re going to move out of that shitty detention house where they treat you like a monster, and life is going to be fucking perfect.” Beck’s lips found Wylie’s in the dark and crushed him in a desperate kiss.

Beck was fucked up, and Wylie wasn’t complaining. He wrapped his arms tight around Beck’s narrow hips, squeezed his ass hard, and pulled him up into a deep kiss. Sneakers scraped the metal floor when Beck straddled his thighs, and his palms slid hot paths over Wylie’s chest and back.

“Damn it, Wy, you get me so fucking hot.” Beck shifted his hips, groaning into Wylie’s open mouth when his dick ground against his hard abs. “Tell me you want me…”

“B.” Wylie broke from the kiss and grabbed the hand trying to get under his sweatshirt and into his pants. He pulled Beck tight against him and pressed his mouth to his ear. “Promise me you’ll watch your back tonight. If you get even a whiff of the cops, you run.”

Beck stilled, glanced toward the front of the van, and turned back to whisper against Wylie’s cheek. “Dude, I’m the freaking lookout. I can’t run.”

He was so fucking naive. “B, you don’t owe these crazy fucks any—” Wylie fell silent as the darkness flashed and light dazzled his night vision. He hissed and covered his face with his arms. “Shit.”

Wylie stayed hunched until the blinding pain throbbing behind his eyes began to fade. An outdoor lamp illuminated the driveway where the van rolled to a stop in front of a large, multi-car garage. Diego cut the engine and silence descended. Wylie squinted up to the front once his eyes adjusted, and met Diego’s dark glare.

Wylie bristled and pushed back from Beck. He didn’t like Diego, he didn’t trust him, and he sure as fuck didn’t want his eyes on him when he was sucking face with his boyfriend.

Diego didn’t say anything as he watched Beck try to arrange his shirt to hide his obvious hard on. Beck was wearing skinny, black skater jeans that left nothing to the imagination as he tried to pull his already too tight shirt down his front. It merely lifted the fabric up his back, revealing the top of his ass where his jeans hung low on his hips. The gangster’s dark stare drifted down Beck’s body in a way that had Wylie growling in warning. Diego shrugged and pulled a packet from his pocket and jammed a piece of gum into his mouth. Wylie gritted his teeth when he realized it was nicotine gum. The fucker.

“Alright, kiddies,” Diego drawled. His gaze moved from Adam’s pale, anxious face, to Beck’s excited smile, to Wylie’s defensive glare. “Remember, the owner flew south to some fucking island, and we’re the professionals called in to check on a busted pipe. Easy.”

Wylie pursed his lips. They didn’t have a toolbox or even a sign on the side of the rusted-out van painted in matte black finish. They looked like three wannabe thug teenagers and a career criminal, not plumbers.

Diego didn’t seem concerned about the logistics of his plan as he pointed his finger at Beck. “B, you’re on lookout. I want you at the door with your ear on the scanner for signs of the cops. No matter what we’re lugging, you don’t leave that post until it’s time to go. As for you, you stupid shit.” He grabbed Adam roughly by the head and shoved him toward the door. “Get your scrawny ass out. We need someone to tag the stuff worth grabbing. Don’t fuck it up.”

Adam scrambled to keep his computer from falling while wrenching away from Diego’s touch. He didn’t dare look up as he shouldered the door open and slid down the seat until his sneakers reached the pavement.

Diego’s dark eyes burned with hostility when he turned to Wylie, who hadn’t moved yet. “Freakshow, you’re with me. Alright, you stupid fucks, let’s rob this shit.”

***

The night air outside was cooler than when they left the city, and held the distinct bite of autumn. Wylie lingered at the open back of the van to get used to the smells and sounds of the area. They had parked in a spot sheltered from view, where large willow trees and gardens of sculpted bushes blocked them from being seen by anyone on the road. Lights were on outside the mansion, and the trees cast long, black shadows in all directions.

Diego didn’t want them wearing masks, said it would ruin the illusion of being plumbers, but Wylie wasn’t sweating it. Adam had taken the surveillance system down before he cracked the gate, and the kid was confident it worked. And really, it wasn’t like anyone actually cared they were there.

Wylie’s pale blue eyes narrowed as he peered at the surrounding manors and mansions on the other side of the gate. The neighborhood was unnaturally silent compared to the city, but that was the rich for you. They went to bed on time, didn’t look out windows, didn’t think anything could touch them. They were the kind of people who kept all the lights on and thought that was enough to keep thieves away.

Wylie scoffed under his breath. When you had enough money to keep the monsters out, anyone could be dumb enough to sleep at night.

Wylie braced himself as he headed to the front of the van where the others had gathered. This was money, real money. A future. He was an eighteen-year-old freak who was never going to have a shot at a job with his fucked up arms. He needed to get this initiation right and prove to Roth he was useful, even if it meant stealing and thuggin for a living. Shit, he had to be good for something.

“How’s it look?” Beck asked as he came up beside him.

“It’s all quiet.” Wylie’s gaze drifted to his boyfriend and the excited flush to his cheeks. He gripped Beck’s shoulder and leaned down to whisper. “Don’t forget what I said. If things go wrong, you run.”

Beck’s smile was guarded when he pulled away. Wylie could tell from the sparkle in his eyes that he was loving every moment of the heist so far. Beck wasn’t fearless, but he got off on adrenaline, and it made him reckless. Wylie had his own ass to worry about, though, and he took a slow breath as he eyed the door he was there to break through.

There was only one entrance on this side of the mansion, a small, black door in the side of the wall, like an afterthought for servants who ended up on the wrong end of the building. The place was weird looking compared to any house Wylie had been in before. The downstairs looked like it was buried underground, the wall either built into the side of a mountain or someone had dumped dirt over it once the building was complete. A hill reached up on both sides of the flat, white expanse, and above was a glittering, beautiful house that looked like it sprouted organically from the gardens around it.

Wylie hesitated when he saw Adam hovering in front of the door, the kid hunched over a keypad to the right.

“Let’s go,” Diego hissed. He grabbed the black gate protecting the door after the keypad flashed and dimmed. Adam took a shaking step back when Diego swung the gate open wide. “Freak, we’re losing minutes,” Diego called impatiently. The gangster was too loud. Wylie looked around, but the yard they were in was so large, it could have been the size of a mall. No one was going to hear them out there.

“You can do this, yeah?” Beck took Wylie’s black sweatshirt when he shrugged out of it. “I mean, it’s just a door. You can cut that.”

Wylie smiled grimly. “Yeah. Easy.” Out of all the uncertainties the night presented, his abilities didn’t factor in.

Wylie raised his muscular arms and focused on his hands. As he concentrated, the pale pigment began to darken and his skin hardened. Starting at his fingers, black scales erupted from his flesh in a bloodless rush and moved up his forearms. Wylie hissed sharply and took a step from Beck, who was edging over to watch. His scales grew longer and pointed out from his arms at jagged angles. They were beautiful, like a dark, ruffled bird, but each oil slick blade had a razor-sharp edge. If not careful, his scales would ruthlessly slice through whatever they touched, be it metal or flesh.

Wylie had no clue what the hell he was. A paranormal, definitely. A shifter, probably, but his demon arms didn’t look like any animal out there. Most days he felt like a monster, but tonight he might actually be useful.

Wylie held his arms up over his head and let Beck tie his sweatshirt around his waist so it wouldn’t get shredded. “For good luck,” Beck whispered and leaned close to peck a kiss to his lips. Wylie had no defense against the wicked hand that suddenly reached between them and cupped his dick. “In less than an hour, I’m going to be deep throating this huge cock of yours while we’re surrounded by a pile of money. This is the ultimate score, baby. Everything changes tonight.”

Wylie didn’t argue as Beck’s lips heated along his cheek and he squeezed him through his jeans, his breath stuck in his chest. He was too aware of how easily his scales could slice Beck’s flesh to be able to enjoy the moment. Yeah, there was no way they’d be fucking with his arms out. No matter how sexy Beck looked when he grinned up at him like that.

“Freak!” Diego snapped, his patience running out as Beck continued to press kisses to Wylie’s tense jaw.

“I’ll be right back,” Wylie said once Beck stepped away, his eyes sliding down his boyfriend’s tight form flushed with arousal. “Try not to start without me,” Wylie added, only half teasing when Beck reached down to adjust his pants that were caught too tight around his erection. It didn’t seem to matter what the fuck they were doing, Beck was always ready to get off whenever they were together.

“All the more reason to hurry.” Beck’s smirk was shameless as Wylie turned away.

Adam gasped and threw himself back when Wylie stalked toward him. His eyes were wide as he stared at Wylie’s jagged scaled arms like he was a bloodthirsty demon there to murder him. “I got… I got the…” Adam flustered. Wylie stepped right past him, his gaze glued on Diego, whose expression was twisted with undisguised malice.

“Hustle the fuck up, freakshow.” Diego pointed to the door just in case he was too retarded to figure out why he was there. Wylie’s nostrils flared as he watched Diego chew his gum. The no smoking policy was total bullshit. If they could grab DNA off a cigarette, the cops could do the same for a piece of gum.

“Alarm dead?” Wylie grunted as he looked at the back door. The keypad no longer glowed with light, and the protective grate was pushed to the side to keep it from locking. Even at a distance, he could feel a strange sensation, like cold electricity was lingering in the metal of the grate.

“Of course it’s fucking dead,” Diego snapped. “Open the shit up and shut your freak mouth.”

Wylie ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth, his fangs itching to bite the aggressive fucker on the face. Money, he reminded himself. He needed the fucking money more than he needed stupid drama.

The door was black walnut with a gleaming finish varnished to perfection. It was misleading, made to look like every other pretty door on the rich houses in the area. The difference was that on this house, the wood was hiding a solid steel security door beneath.

Wylie drew a long, black talon down between the seam of the door and reinforced metal molding. He found the bolts, four in all, and scratched the surface to mark their placement. “Stand back.” He shot a glare over his shoulder when he found Diego hovering. “Unless you’re looking to eat metal.”

Diego grunted defiantly, but moved a few steps away. Wylie didn’t care if the guy ended up with an elbow in the face just so long as he had enough space to work. He ran his palm along where the door met the molding over the alignment of bolts, and braced his other hand to help muffle what he was about to do.

His first slam was experimental to give him an idea of what kind of force he needed. The door yielded beneath his palm, and the solid bolts were a soft bulge in the covering wood. Wylie abruptly clawed down the surface and scraped the glued on wood away to get a better look.

“Seriously?” Wylie muttered when he saw how close together the bolts were. Too easy. The pieces of metal couldn’t be more than three inches into the reinforced molding.

Wylie sank claws into the door with his braced hand, pulled his right back, and punched forward with an open palm. The metal buckled from the blow, and there was a shearing sound under the loud slam. Wylie kept pushing forward, and the door bent and warped from the molding around his hand. With a final slam, the mechanism holding the bolts tore through the other side of the door and clattered to the floor.

“Fuck, yeah.” A smug smile split Wylie’s face, and he turned the broken handle to loud protests from the metal, wrenching forward. Wylie pushed the door open wide with a flourish and waved the scowling Diego in. His gaze fell to Adam, whose chest was heaving and face pale as he stared at Wylie’s impossibly strong arms.

“Hurry the fuck up, you little bitch,” Diego snapped when he saw Adam frozen in fear. Adam jolted, and his eyes flew to Wylie’s face. Without a word, he scurried past and darted inside the dark room after Diego.

Wylie shook his head, his expression grim. He had only met Adam once before, and he reeked of so much fear it was hard to understand what the hell he was doing running with Roth. Maybe Adam was one of those types who didn’t want to be afraid anymore. Wylie sure as fuck didn’t have that problem. He stopped being afraid once he realized no matter how many foster families treated him like shit, he could still survive on his own. Even if he didn’t get into the gang tonight, Wylie knew he’d be fine.

“Baby, you got this,” Beck said excitedly as he stepped up beside Wylie, careful to avoid his scales. “Fuck college; you could be robbing banks! You’re made for this.”

Wylie pasted on a smile he didn’t feel. “Yeah, sure.” His boyfriend wanted him to be a career criminal. Great.

Lights flickered on inside, and Wylie eyed the gaping door where the other two had disappeared. Adam’s fear scent made the hair stand up on the back of his neck, and Wylie suppressed an annoyed sigh. None of this felt right. Adam was too waif-limbed to carry shit and too skittish to trust not to bolt if things got tough. Beck was at least a sweet talker. If some nosy biddy stuck her head over the fence, Beck could come up with a lie and a smile on his pretty face in a second flat.

It didn’t matter, not really. Beck shouldn’t have been there. Neither teen had the judgment or nerves suited to rob the place, and Wylie was left wondering once again why they brought four guys for this job.

He was in it now. Breaking and entering, trespassing, burglary, and damage to private property. Shit, Beck might have a point about this being a career.

Wylie squared his shoulders and stalked toward the door. “Watch your ass, B.”

“Yours and mine both, babe,” Beck replied with a wink as he whirled and sauntered back to the van.

Wylie paused as he stepped inside. He was expecting a great room, something relaxed with a television and couch. What he found was a space clinical and cold in both style and temperature, one with a purpose he couldn’t quite place. The floor was a hard tile, and the walls stripped of any personal touches or embellishments. It was a flat, white room all around, and Wylie’s ice blue eyes narrowed on the strange, bulky machinery made of glittering chrome and sleek plastic. The advanced looking equipment dotted the large space in an obvious grid pattern.

It could have been storage or even a weird art installation. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.

“Start tagging anything that looks worthwhile,” Diego ordered Adam, who was trembling where he stood.

The air was stale and void of natural scents, which only made Adam’s fear scent all the more intense. Wylie’s gaze darted to the wall of electronics, paused on a dividing curtain of plastic to the right, and landed on Adam’s diminutive form and hunched shoulders. Wylie didn’t know shit about tech outside of email and phone calls, but there was a lot of big equipment. If he judged by Adam’s expression, none of this was the run of the mill stuff you’d find in just any rich fuck’s house.

“This is military grade,” Adam whispered as he hovered next to a metal contraption that looked heavy enough to crush him. The machine he was fiddling with flickered and buzzed, and a thin light glowed between metal plates, producing a laser. Wylie’s scales puffed up as a chill zapped down his spine. The sooner they got out of there, the better.

“The door!” Diego snarled to Adam and pointed to a large, open doorway that led to the rest of the downstairs. “We’ve got one more keypad to get through to get into the upstairs house.”

“R-Right!” Adam flinched at Diego’s aggressive tone and nodded rapidly. Clutching his laptop to his chest, he quickly scurried in the direction of the hall.

“I thought you said the security was all down?” Wylie asked suspiciously.

“Subsystems. Simple shit,” Diego grunted. “Come on, freak. The safe is upstairs.”

Wylie followed after Diego’s retreating back with his lips pursed tight. No one had mentioned anything about keypads and internal locks. Had Adam been briefed on things the rest of them hadn’t?

Wylie wasn’t sure if he had good reason to feel paranoid or if the downstairs was just creeping him out. The place felt like an underground laboratory, and it got worse as he followed Diego down the unadorned hallway tiled in white.

Lights connected to motion sensors clicked on as they passed. On either side of the hallway were floor to ceiling windows that looked into large rooms. Inside were desks and more equipment, the spaces filled with the shiny, chrome stuff. But the instruments didn’t look like displays here; they were being used for something. Well, had been used, at least.

Everything was covered in plastic drop cloths to keep dust from getting into whatever was hidden underneath. Wylie wasn’t particularly interested in learning just what was under the plastic. What he could see was creepy enough, from empty vats and cages large enough to fit people, to examination rooms that looked both high tech and intimidating. Through one set of windows was a room that looked so dungeon like, Wylie stopped to peer silently for a long minute.

There were metal restraints, a metal cage that fit across an entire wall, and a metal grid on every surface. On the back wall was a large image of the inside of a human mouth. Except it wasn’t a human mouth, not a proper one. There were two rows of razor-sharp teeth belonging to a fully infected werewolf.

‘Howlers…’

“Shit.” Wylie’s scales ruffled, and he blinked rapidly as a strange wave of dizziness hit him. He turned from the image of the werewolf and forged ahead. He didn’t look into the rooms after that. He didn’t want to see any of it, didn’t want to know. The stuff looked like it was sitting there, untouched for years, and that was consolation enough.

“Figure out what’s important, and we’ll be down to move what you can’t lift.” Up ahead, Diego shoved Adam back the way they just came. “Don’t fuck it up.”

Wylie could see the fear in Adam’s eyes as the teen came his way. Adam stayed close to the side of the hall to avoid getting too close as he passed by him, his only acknowledgment that he was there. Wylie shook his head grimly and forged forward.

Too young. They were all too fucking young for this shit.

“Stairs,” Diego grunted and pulled open the door he was standing next to. Wylie saw the dead keypad on the wall and the metal grate that was once blocking the door now hooked to the side. It looked just like the metal used for the werewolf cage.

“What is this place?” Wylie asked as he entered the stairwell made of concrete steps that led up.

“None of your fucking business,” Diego snapped. “Less talking, more paying the fuck attention, freakshow.”

Wylie gritted his teeth and stomped up the stairs after Diego. He slowed once they reached the upstairs door and waited for Diego to open it, the gangster taking care to push another black metal grate aside before stepping through.

Wylie held his breath when he stepped out into the upstairs mansion. The lights were dim, but his eyes caught every detail as he looked around. Everything was different compared to the sterile lab area they left downstairs, and it felt like he was stepping out into another world.

The stairway door was tucked in a corner that opened out into a hallway, and directly to his left was a large, gleaming kitchen with expansive counter tops and state of the art equipment. Wylie fleetingly remembered what he last ate that day. It had been a bag of potato chips Beck grabbed him from his house. Before then, a piece of bread smeared with butter and nothing else. Wylie had never seen a kitchen so large before, and he had to force his feet from wandering in search for food. He was sure whatever was in the giant, stainless steel fridge was of a better caliber than anything that was back at his detention house.

Wylie followed Diego down the unfamiliar hall, his gaze darting to every shadowed room and new luxury. At the corner, he found a giant family room with a television big enough to hide inside. He passed a decadent dining room, the walls dripping in luscious drapes, the space filled with gleaming wooden furniture carved with elegant curves and whorls. Chandeliers dazzled above their heads in the low lighting, glowing with a faint magic that turned the crystals into prisms lit from within.

Diego didn’t seem interested in any of the opulence as he stalked through the long maze of hallways with complete confidence. It made Wylie wonder if the gang had gotten the house plans in advance, or if maybe Diego had been there before. It was hard to believe someone as coarse and crude as Diego had convinced a maid to let him see the place, but the gangster moved like he knew exactly where he was going, and didn’t bother to turn on the lights even in the dark hallways. Wylie admitted a mild appreciation that Diego wasn’t bumbling around like an idiot. He could put up with the asshole just so long as he didn’t get them thrown into jail.

The hallway suddenly branched out in four directions, and Wylie stopped short, his mouth agape as he turned and took it all in.

On one side was a curved music room with no doorways to block the sight of the ornate instruments. Gilded and ancient looking, each musical instrument was meticulously preserved and cared for, arranged to be seen more than played. Behind the wall where a harp arched like a giant platinum swan, floor to ceiling windows looked out onto the courtyard. Through the glass was a tall gate blocking the courtyard in, one that ran above like a cage so that nothing human sized could get out.

Wylie turned slowly, barely seeing the dual sweeping staircases that led to the second floor of the grand foyer. He zeroed in on the dark door on the other side of the foyer as his stomach bubbled with nerves. He had severely underestimated the security. The little door downstairs with the wimpy bolts he punched through was nothing compared to the mammoth door and extensive security that encased the front entrance of the mansion. Even from the distance, he could see electricity arcing from the metal door to a switch connected to a generator below.

Wylie started putting it all together: the lack of windows, the metal gates on every door, around the courtyard and the lawn, and now the only other door he’d found literally made out of anti-paranormal technology. The mansion hadn’t just been designed to cage werewolves downstairs; it was made to keep them out of the building.

It was a level of wealth he couldn’t fathom, and Wylie looked around the foyer like a starstruck tourist. What it would cost to power the gate, the doors, the fences… It was the kind of thing only cities could afford, yet here it was in a house built for one family.

Wylie tilted his head back and peered at the ceiling that arched above with geometric patterns carved in relief on the white surface. The marble tile below reflected the shapes in its sleek, shiny surface. All around him from the walls, to the statues, to the paintings, and lighting spoke of a luxury he had only ever glimpsed in the pages of magazines or flashes on television. He had thought it had to be an illusion, just media magic—or even plain old magic—but somehow there were people who actually lived like this.

“Freak!” Diego snapped his fingers sharply. “Pay the fuck attention!”

Wylie blinked and lowered his gaze, his expression impassive as he stared back at Diego’s scowling face. If the fucker whistled at him like a dog, Wylie wasn’t sure just what he’d do, but he doubted anyone would blame him.

Wylie turned his feet in Diego’s direction and returned to the path, this time with his senses expanded to take everything in. Diego’s voice was a low, angry rant far ahead of him. “…saddled with a bunch of snot-nosed, piss for brains, fucktard kids.” Wylie tuned it out, more interested in the many extravagances and flashes of treasure found everywhere he looked. In the study, a grandfather clock ticked from its tall, cherry wood case. It had a mother of pearl face that gleamed in the luminous tint of magic from the pillar lamps. Everything in the mansion felt larger than life, created to impress instead of just exist.

Warning prickled through him as he passed the study, and Wylie stopped short. He tilted his head, and his scales ruffled and nostrils flared as he attempted to sense it out. Wylie breathed in deep and turned his head when he caught the scent of flowers. Down a connecting hall was a sleek, mahogany table with a vase sitting in the center. Wylie’s scales ruffled again, and without a word, he turned to investigate.

They were daffodils mixed with small, white daisies in a classic vase. The flowers were fresh, free of droopage or spots of brown on the perfect petals, and Wylie’s stomach churned with the realization.

Diego glanced behind him and snarled when he discovered Wylie wasn’t following. When he caught sight of him, he stomped over to where Wylie was glaring at the flowers. “What the fuck are you doing?” Diego demanded.

“Fresh flowers,” Wylie said through clenched teeth. He rolled his eyes when Diego inhaled, moments from flipping out at him for wasting time. “They’re not even wilted,” Wylie stressed as he plucked one of the petals free with his dark claws. “Who the hell puts flowers out in an empty house?”

Diego’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward to briefly sniff the flowers to see if they were real. He straightened, and with a shrug, waved to the elegant hallways. “Look at this fucking place. Do you really think someone this rich does normal shit? Maybe the fucking maid puts them out to look nice in case they get robbed. Stop thinking and hurry the fuck up.”

“This is totally fucked,” Wylie muttered under his breath as Diego stalk back to the main hall.

The downstairs was full of military tech and werewolf cages, the outside gate had a code they barely got through, and the place was designed to withstand a siege of howlers. Who the fuck knew what else they might have missed? It was the middle of the night and whoever might be there—maid, butler, guest—could be in bed in one of the many rooms in the giant mansion. Wylie had no issue with stealing shit from someone who had more than enough, but he drew the line at terrorizing people.

“Psst!” Diego turned and waved his hand in an exaggerated motion to get him the fuck over there.

“Damn it. Fucking damn it,” Wylie growled under his breath and forced his reluctant feet forward. His scales were twitching so much, it felt like a bug was digging beneath his skin as he followed after Diego.

For all he knew, the fucking rich put flowers out every damn day even when no one was home. Rich people were fucking crazy. Money lifted them beyond reality the same way drugs did for a strung out crackwhore. Whoever lived there had rooms for their stuff, not for people. It’s not like he had found any photos in the giant place or anything. Who the hell was he to say what went on in the minds of the ultra-rich?

Wylie kept close this time as Diego led them surefooted down a branching corridor. He wanted this heist over with already so he could get the fuck out. They followed around a curved wall and passed an elaborate gym with equipment that looked too expensive to belong in anyone’s house. There was nothing normal about the mansion, and Wylie felt more and more out of place when they passed a library inside a study large enough to be a house all by itself.

The wealth was no longer impressive. Every new thing just reminded him of the anti-paranormal tech on the doors and windows. He might not know what his demon arms were, but Wylie was well aware they marked him as a paranormal. This was not a place he was supposed to be.

Wylie’s unease grew with every tap of prison tattooed fingers to the doors as they passed. Diego finally stopped at a dark wooden door where dim light greeted through a narrow gap.

“The office,” Diego announced when Wylie met him at the doorway. “There are jewels and bonds in here, plus some cash.” He pulled a black rectangle from inside his leather coat and unfolded it into a large canvas duffel bag. “The safe is on the far wall past the windows and desk. A bunch of books open up like a door.”

Diego glared into Wylie’s eyes as he placed the strap of the bag into his smooth palm, careful to avoid his talons. “Empty the shit and meet me down the hall. The clock is running down, so don’t fuck around. Don’t touch anything that’s not in that safe, and don’t run off. Just empty it and meet me five doors that way, left side.”

Wylie nodded and tried not to wonder what Diego was going for alone. If the asshole was stealing shit without Roth knowing, he sure as hell didn’t want to be the guy to snitch. Wylie knew why he was there: to follow orders so he could get in with Roth. If Diego wanted to screw himself with the boss, that was his death wish.

Wylie kept his mouth shut and waited for Diego to disappear down the hall before he pushed the office door open. He paused on the threshold and his gaze darted around the lush, sophisticated study. The room brimmed with expensive sculptures and artwork from all over the world. A single table lamp shone a warm glow from a solid wood desk in the middle of the room. It illuminated the warm brown tones of leather furniture and deep red walls. Wylie glared at his ratty sneakers, half afraid to step on the rich oriental rug and dirty it.

The room could have been two with the way bookcases dominated the far side of the space. The wealth was overwhelming, and all Wylie could think about were the shitholes he spent most of his time in. Each room of the mansion felt like new worlds, and this one was no different. Wylie pursed his lips and slipped through the door, careful to tread as lightly as possible on the rug.

Wylie grew tense with each wrong step. He didn’t belong here. He had spent years in foster care, living in houses where he wasn’t welcome, borrowing what was lent and rarely given. This time he was in a house to steal, not borrow. No one had invited him in; he had broken through the door. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. As much as he tried to brush it off, Wylie’s chest was tight as he walked the length of the room.

Scents tickled at his nose, and Wylie did his best to ignore the signs of recent life around him. The stale scent of human flesh was on the air. An older male… cigar smoker… “The butler,” Wylie whispered and took brisk steps to the bookcase on the far wall. Whoever left those flowers probably checked the rooms during the day to dust or some shit. He wasn’t sure exactly what it took to keep a mansion this size clean, but staff probably came by daily.

The false wall of books was easy to find. The hinges hadn’t been hidden, and although the books were real, they were placed as if in afterthought over the swinging door. Wylie’s pierced eyebrow raised at the ridiculousness of it all. The house screamed money, and anyone looking would know the place was full of cash. The owner must have really thought no one would ever get through the door.

Wylie clicked a claw into the wooden groove and nudged the false door open. The bookcase swung wide, and he eyed the matte black safe critically. It was more a vault than what he expected to find. Encased in cement, the safe was almost as tall as him. In the center was a dial waiting for a combination, and beneath that, a handle. Wylie considered the metal contraption in silence for long moments.

The downstairs door had taught him a lot for his first break in, and he didn’t bother trying to finesse this time. He punched his scaled fist into the safe door and ground his knuckles in hard until the metal ripped. He slammed his other hand down just as hard and slipped his claws between the jagged edges of torn metal. Wylie gripped tight and grinned as he curled and bent the thick, heavy door down. Even though it was made of steel, the door twisted like a thin tin cover of spam beneath his palms.

Shit, he really was made for this.

The darkness within the vault hid nothing from Wylie’s night vision. He couldn’t say what bonds were exactly, but he guessed the large, colorful pieces of paper kept in neat piles on the top shelf were them. There were flat boxes on the shelf beneath he figured must be the jewelry Diego mentioned. All the other shelves held cash separated into bundles and kept in tidy piles. It was the most money he’d ever seen in his life, and Wylie didn’t have to count it to know it was an absolute fortune.

Wylie wrenched the door with a final motion until the opening was as low as his knees, then he reached in to sweep the lowest shelf into the duffel. The scales on his wrist caught and tore right through a metal shelf and shredded half a bundle of cash.

“Fuck!” Wylie froze as ripped twenty-dollar bills fluttered down to his sneakers. Any sudden movement could end with all the money shredded. On the best of days, his palms were the only safe part of his hands when his scales were out. When he was shaking, his demon arms became even more of a hazard—not that he would admit to the adrenaline coursing through him.

Wylie took a steadying breath and glared down at his hands. His scales ruffled but refused to retract. “Come on, you fuckers,” he demanded in a harsh whisper. Everything about his arms pissed him off, including how temperamental they were. He was pretty sure the demonic things hated him back just as much, seeing as they made his life hell. “The claws, then,” Wylie pleaded and wiggled his fingers. “I need a damn hand!” His scales refused to relent, and Wylie growled in frustration. He peered into the paper treasure pile waiting in the safe as his mind raced.

Fear was starting to itch up his spine. Wylie couldn’t actually remember the last time he had let his arms out this long. Usually it was short stuff, quick moments where he would break something that needed breaking, or threaten someone who was giving him shit. He always shifted back right after, afraid of what might happen. His demon arms never felt like they were a part of him, but more that someone else was in there, controlling the terrifying things…

‘Hurry…’

Wylie grimaced as darkness throbbed for a moment behind his eyes. He didn’t have time for this. There was no fucking time.

“Fuck it.” Wylie gave up on his hands, and his eyes lit on a thick, hardcover encyclopedia on the bookcase shelves. It didn’t matter if his claws shredded the book just so long as they didn’t touch the money. Wylie pulled the encyclopedia down and used a sweeping motion to clear half of the first shelf into the duffel bag. “Yes. Fucking winning,” he cheered triumphantly.

He held the bag gingerly by the strap with his knee raised to brace the bottom. With the book, Wylie knocked the rest of the contents from the shelf into the waiting bag. Things went faster after that, and it was difficult to truly understand the stacks of money sailing past him.

Seriously, rich people were fucking crazy. Who needed this much cash at home? If they put their money in a bank, no one would be walking into their house to steal their shit. But then, what the fuck did he know? Wylie snorted under his breath as one of the flat boxes knocked open and a glittering necklace tumbled out, only to be covered by a half dozen bundles of cash. Maybe the thousands flipping past his view were the same as spare change in the couch for normal people? Giant mansions, giant tech, giant amounts of dough: the rich were too fucking large to comprehend.

It was a good thing Beck was stuck playing lookout; he would have been writhing in the vault like it was an orgy. Beck had big dreams he was looking to buy if he could only get enough cash. Wylie tried to understand it, but he stopped dreaming a long time ago. There was no point. Freaks didn’t get to reach their dreams. No, they were stuck doing the grunt work behind the scenes while ambitious crooks like Roth were safe at home making a fortune.

The seams of the bag were stretching by the time the safe was empty. Wylie tossed the now shredded hardcover book aside and flexed his shoulders to coax his scales further up his arms. His demon arms had weird limitations he didn’t fully understand. His muscles and bones changed to beyond human, but only where the scales reached. It didn’t matter how killer his arms were if he couldn’t lug the weight of a bag full of twenties.

Wylie held still as his biceps bulged and more scales erupted through his flesh. The edges of his tank top shredded from the sharp scales. Sight, sound, and scent flooded him all at once when Wylie’s senses responded to the transformation, and a vibrant rush of information greeted him with his next breath.

Yeah, there had been a man in the office recently. Very recent. Wylie could smell the molecules of sweat in the air. He carried the bag one handed and wandered to a stand of glittering liquor bottles where a discarded glass of brandy rested. He sniffed and picked up the sour hint of clinging saliva and bacteria off the rim. If it was the butler, he sure as fuck wasn’t afraid to leave his booze stealing ways out for all to see…

Wylie didn’t need his scales to twitch this time as his heart pounded with understanding. He smelled someone.

He had slammed through that downstairs door, and the sound of shearing metal when he tore through the safe wasn’t fucking quiet. Fuck. They could have already called the cops. Wylie grimaced as a snarl tore from his throat. Fucking whore, the cops could already be on their way! What if they missed something? There had been codes on the inside—what if Adam missed something? The cops could be sneaking up the driveway even now!

Wylie didn’t bother to count the doors as he booked it from the office and dashed into the hall. He followed Diego’s scent down the hallway while he swallowed down his anxiety. There was no watch his scales wouldn’t destroy, but he knew they couldn’t have been in the house for more than ten minutes. Wylie winced when he thought about how long it took to get through the downstairs with all the weird labs. Shit, it might have been fifteen. Even twenty minutes—the hallways were so damn long in the place. Fuck, they needed to fucking fly.

“Diego!” Wylie palmed the door handle to the room the gangster had disappeared into and used his knee to push it open. He stopped short with a sharp inhale when scent and sight revealed an absolute shit storm.

 

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AWAKENING
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GOD TOUCHED
Scene #25 last updated 2/16/19

Demon Bonded : Episode #11

Self Inflicted Wounds
$2.99
Episode #11. A dangerous hunger awakes…

Ky’s trial with the Aeternum is a day away, and he has no plan on how to face the mysterious coven of demon summoners. A new hunger wakes in him and his eyes start to glow. Something is changing, something that has Ky nearly draining a hot, but very human classmate while at school.

Ky’s losing control as his relic genes turn on. He needs the help of his relics more than ever as starvation hits him, but Ky can’t get past his feelings of betrayal. Feral, Lovely, and Magnificent Night need to convince Ky of the importance of feeding before his weakness turns to something deadly.

Time is running out. If the Aeternum coven realizes Ky is part relic, they won’t just take the demons from him, they’ll enslave Ky forever.

Each episode in this sexy, suspenseful gay monster harem serial is over 10,000 words, and should be read in order to be enjoyed fully.
35,000+ wrds, Published July 29, 2018.
Heat level: XX

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT DEMON BONDED #11

I just love how Sadie writes!! Each episode of the serial just keeps getting better. I love this series so much. The more we learn about each character and thier past the more you want to know. I can’t wait for the next episode.
This is a very sexy read! Hot hot hot hot hot! Kai, Feral, Lovely are amazing and I love reading about them so much! Can’t wait till the next one!
Never a dull moment in this series (this is chapter 11) and I’m looking forward to more adventures of Ky and his family past. Plus the new friends he’s met add a little potential for further storylines.
READ AN EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE

“Faggot freak, twelve o’clock.”

Ky stopped short at the meanly snickered words. There was only a trickle of students in the courtyard that connected all the buildings together at Mesabi College, and everyone there was hurrying to their first class after the weekend. Ky turned to see who had spoken and was jostled forward by a group of taller students who stepped in too close. His side was struck by an elbow, and the strap of his backpack was pulled roughly from his arm. His bag fell to the ground with a loud clatter while Ky gritted his teeth and struggled to keep from being knocked off the narrow concrete path.

“Whoops,” someone snorted when they hip checked him, and Ky stumbled sideways.

Ky managed to catch himself before he hit the grass peppered with orange and red leaves. He braced his hands on his knees and growled under his breath.

Fucking Mesabi. He hadn’t bothered to be anyone but himself today, and he was paying for it.

“What’s wrong? You gonna cry?”

“Fuck you,” Ky snapped as he looked up through his spiky black hair and found the faces of the boys who shoved past him. They had turned back to see his reaction, and Ky was greeted with an ugly sea of flannel and ill-fitting jeans. Was everyone in Blackstone Falls trapped in the fucking 90s?

“Not our thing, fairy boy,” drawled a tan, solidly built young man with cruel, light eyes. His gaze dropped to Ky’s shiny black pants that were laced up with red on the sides, his red and white band shirt that left his slim arms exposed to reveal an array of black and silver bracelets, and his shiny black fingernails. He didn’t even notice the master collar glittering at his throat as he dragged his stare up to Ky’s face and apathetically met his large silver eyes rimmed in smoky black eyeliner. “Even if you do look like a pussy.”

Anger flushed up his back and down to his toes. Ky’s mouth stretched into a grin free from humor as he stared the stranger down and debated if he wanted to feel flesh break beneath his fists. It had been a really shitty weekend, and he was kinda sure beating the fuck out of some redneck bigots would be a nice release to the supernatural stresses waiting for him at home.

It was so unlike him, Ky had to take a breath to get ahold of himself.

Shit, what the fuck was he doing? Weak. This guy was human. He was just some stupid, naive as fuck human who didn’t even know a wand to his head could kill him dead.

“What, you got something to say?” At Ky’s silent glare, the dull-eyed teen took a step forward. He was tall, blond, and had a way with his shoulders that spoke of starting more than a few beat downs. Ky tensed when something hard and aggressive flashed in the kid’s eyes. “Well? Spit it out.”

“Sorry, I don’t speak farmhand.” Ky forced himself to shrug it off and back down. He wasn’t going to fight some stupid kids who didn’t even know magic existed. Ky, no matter how assholic the opponent, was still a pacifist at heart.

“Enjoy your circle jerk, dickwads,” Ky taunted as he reached for his bag. There was a sharp inhale, and Ky paused and groaned inwardly.

“Frank, we’re late.” Someone stepped in front of the tall blond whose face had turned a blistering red at Ky’s parting words. Ky’s eyes darted to the sober looking teen holding his friend back, then to the others who had gone silent.

Right. Apparently the gay jokes only went one way around there before someone took things personally. Fun.

Ky’s glare was molten as he watched to see just how things would unfold. Frank wrenched from his friend’s grasp with an angry snarl and stomped away. The gazes turned Ky’s way were accusing, like he’d broken an unspoken rule for those born painfully straight in a world that didn’t give a fuck about sexual orientation. Ky had a feeling the only reason the group was leaving was because they didn’t want Frank to end up in jail for beating him to death.

“Faggot freak,” one called in farewell. Another echoed “freak,” less exuberantly.

“Stereotypes,” Ky grunted back, pretty sure there couldn’t be anything more mundane or annoying. He watched the group of teens leave the courtyard and walk straight into the school building he was headed for. Fuck his life if they were actually in his class.

Ky’s anger was dulled by the sleep he hadn’t actually had, and he sighed when he looked down and found his fallen backpack spilled open and Tobias’s wand visible. “Shit.” He quickly scrambled to the ground to put his things in order.

Ky hissed when he couldn’t get the wand to fit around his bulky books. He flipped it a few times and pulled the edges of the canvas to make room. He’d gotten the damn thing in earlier but just barely. It was bad enough he had Anselm’s wand up the back of his shirt. He should have worn a jacket—the weather was getting cold enough to warrant one—but Ky hadn’t wanted to hang around his house long enough to dig one out of the unpacked boxes. Things were strained around his parents, and Ky didn’t trust Marcus not to go through his things to steal the wands while he was out.

“Mother… fucking… whore!” Ky snarled when one of his books snagged on the crystal on the wand and he heard a tearing sound. He stopped struggling, hunched forward so his bangs covered his eyes, and sighed heavily. He was ready to turn the fuck around and never walk into Mesabi again. Seriously, he had to negotiate with an actual coven of witches tomorrow, and his parents thought he could just go to school the day before?

Footsteps crunched, and Ky tensed as a shadow crossed over him. He shoved the wand roughly into his backpack, cringed at the sound of ripping fabric, and quickly pulled the edges of the bag together.

“Sorry about those assholes,” an unfamiliar girl’s voice called down to him. “But you’re kinda asking for it dressed like that.”

Ky scowled. Yeah, this was so not how he wanted to spend his day. He stood abruptly and hissed when the world spun unsteadily for a moment. A hand touched his arm, and Ky quickly pulled back.

“Whoa. Chill, man.” Bright blue eyes blinked at Ky. They were surrounded by thick eyeliner from a face powdered so white and smooth, he thought he was looking at a doll. “I’m Piper.”

Ky looked down at Piper’s outreached hand with fingers that ended in two-inch-long blue nails, and then back to her bright, raccoon mask eyes of a similar shade. She looked like the kind of trouble most people who didn’t know magic got up to, and Ky was immediately wary.

She might have been going for punk, but as Ky took in her outfit, he was going to say she was an artist. Piper was decked out in a tight white corset and a deconstructed mini tutu of silver and white layers of glittery tulle and silk. Her thigh high latex boots with flat chunky heels were neon blue and splattered with white paint like she had gotten into a fight with a paint brush and intentionally lost. Her white tights were more holes than anything else, as were the long fingerless gloves she wore of the same material that stretched up to her slim biceps. Her dirty blond hair was streaked with blue and pulled back in a messy bun on the top of her head, while a delicate hoop of white gold glinted from her septum and another from her eyebrow.

“Nice nose ring,” Ky said finally. He turned with his backpack clutched to his chest and walked away. Piper was about the most normal person his own age he’d met since leaving the city, and he seriously needed to get away from her if he wanted to keep his sanity.

“Hey, wait up,” Piper called after. Her heels clunked on the pavement as she hurried to catch up to Ky’s deliberately brisk pace. “The ‘asking for it thing’ was a joke, if you can’t tell. I mean, like, duh, look at me.” She swung her bag over her shoulder while sashaying her hips and beamed. “I like your clothes. Did you make them?”

Ky shot her a sideways glance and kept walking. He was not going to get dragged into this. All he had to do was act like an asshole long enough for Piper to realize how pointless it was to talk to him.

“Come on, you’re the most interesting person I’ve met in Blackstone Falls in like, well, forever. Don’t ruin it by being antisocial.” Piper was not dissuaded by Ky’s apathetic stare, and she jumped in front of him. Ky stopped short to keep from crashing right into her. Piper’s winning smile revealed two dimples, and Ky sighed to himself. She was ridiculously adorable. Damn it.

“Or, you know, be antisocial with everyone but me,” Piper added cheerfully. “I love your shirt. Did you slash it yourself, or is this the style where you’re from? Please tell me people dress like this somewhere all the time.”

Ky steadied himself. She couldn’t even understand how complicated a subject that was. Like, did he tell her about Feral—the invisible demon who lived in his wardrobe—or the deadly overseer who nearly ate everyone in his house?

Ky exhaled noisily. Fuck, he was never going to be a normal person again.

Piper didn’t bother waiting for an answer. “If you can’t tell, I’m studying to be a fashion designer. It’s, like, my fate or something. You can’t even understand. I was born for this. Oh, but I was also born here in Blackstone Falls and the textile program is, well, it’s kinda like a sewing circle from hell. The teacher is so fucking old I want to hang myself every time she brings up buttonholes.” Piper stopped gesturing her hands and fixed Ky with a pointed look. “I haven’t seen you there yet. You’re studying fashion, right?”

“I’m an artist,” Ky grunted and pushed past her.

“I knew it!” Piper cheered. She followed after and matched Ky’s steps. “I knew you were either into fashion or art, or maybe you were one of those broody poetry writers. So, what do you do? Sculpting, painting, jewelry, glassblowing? Oh, have you tried fusion art? Your necklace is totally industrial.”

“I paint,” Ky said sharply, and was immediately annoyed with himself for answering.

The Olson House held Ky’s required English Lit course, and he quickly ducked into the building and headed down the wide, white laminate tiled hallway while Piper struggled up the flight of stairs in her impressive heels. Most of the classroom doors were closed, even though the small community college didn’t have enough students or teachers to ever have many rooms filled at the same time. Ky’s class was down a corridor, and then another. He did everything to keep his pace quick to avoid his chatty companion.

Ky unfortunately misjudged Piper’s determination to have an actual conversation with him.

“Painting, huh? I bet you use a ton of colors, right? Like crazy saturation.” Piper caught up and threw her arm across the door to Ky’s classroom before he could pass. Her grin was full of determination. “You do, don’t you? I’d love to see your color palettes. I use them to create cool color designs. Color is like my thing. Oh, maybe we could do a collaboration!”

“Uh…” Ky really couldn’t handle whatever the hell this was. “I have to get to class. I’m late,” he muttered.

“Pssh, no shit. We both are.” Ky winced when Piper’s eyes went wide with understanding. “Ha, you don’t know we’re in the same English class, do you? Seriously, you do realize I’m in your botany and Intro to Arts class, too, right?” At Ky’s blank look, Piper shook her head and tsked. “Well, I’d be offended, but you’re always spacing and you never talk to anyone. I’m kinda relieved to see you’re not stoned out of your skull enough to even talk.”

Great, not only did everyone think he was a freak, but they also thought he was drugged up. His parents would love that to go with his whole sorcery, breaking and entering, and accomplice to murder thing.

Ky pursed his lips and ducked under Piper’s arm without a word. His shoulders were stiff as he sought out an empty seat in the room of students who were staring back at him like he was a science project from an alien world. There was no way he could bullshit his way through normalcy right now. Not anymore. His father grew up in a house full of magic and wouldn’t bring himself to admit it was real.

Experimented on. His entire family was experimented on. He was never human.

Ky’s stomach lurched as a familiar, sick wave hit him all over again. He threw himself into the empty seat by the window in the back and clutched his arms around his bag on his desk. The teacher gave him a look Ky didn’t notice with the way the room was tipping. He was seconds from jumping out of his skin, or screaming, or maybe just being really sick in front of a bunch of judgmental, snickering college students.

He never should have come in today, but he knew his parents would’ve freaked. Ky could only handle so much when it came to being a disappointment to his family.

Piper took the desk beside him and hefted up a brilliantly glittering bag made out of small, colorful quilted triangles trimmed in white. She rummaged through the large bag until she found her notebook and pen. Ky kept his head down to avoid her gaze, and therefore the invitation for conversation. His eyes were drawn to the door when someone slipped through and the teacher stopped short.

“Late, Mr. Matthews. We’ve been over this.”

It was the guy who kept Frank from flipping out. His dark eyes met Ky’s a moment after he took a seat on the other side of the classroom.

Ky bit back a groan. Great. Fucking great.

A pen tapped his desk, and Ky jolted and turned his head to where Piper was leaning his way.

“Do you have notes for Friday’s reading? I had to leave early.”

Ky stared at her silently. The girl just wouldn’t give up. With a sigh, Ky sat up and pulled his backpack down toward him so he could find his notebook. He scowled when he discovered the inner lining of the bag was badly torn from the wand’s crystal topper. Ky was careful to keep Tobias’s wand covered as he pulled his notebook free. He turned to the last page he wrote in, twisted the cover back, and handed it to Piper.

Piper took one look at Ky’s notes—an array of dark scribbled drawings in the margins with very little text—and handed the notebook right back. “Forget it. I’m sure I’ll figure it out. Do you, like, even care if you pass this class?”

The question surprised him, and Ky’s gaze fell to his desk as he shrugged defensively.

He wasn’t exactly brilliant, and school never came easy for him even if he was determined to make something of himself with his art. Well, that was, he used to be determined. Things had made a lot more sense when he first moved there before relics, overseers, and magic came into his life.

Ky suddenly felt guilty about just how little attention he had for class, and how much money his parents were spending to keep him there.

His thoughts flashed to Magnificent Night, and Ky flipped his notebook to a blank page. There was so much he couldn’t ever hope to fix.

Ky hunched in his seat and tried to focus on the teacher’s lecture. It was pointless with all the thoughts swirling in his mind about tomorrow and the Aeternum. Even now the simple black business card in his back pocket burned with magic and destruction.

He might lose them all, not just Tobias’s demons but Lovely, Feral, and Magnificent. Ky couldn’t let it happen, but then, he had no power to stop it. He might die tomorrow just for trusting Stewart Moore enough to walk into what felt like an obvious trap. Having Liem vouch for the sorcerer wasn’t an assurance. If anything, it pretty much promised he’d be just as monstrous as Tobias.

Ky didn’t know enough, and the knowledge of his ignorance only made the lives he was responsible for feel heavier. He sighed and rested his chin on his hand, and his gaze caught on a pair of brown eyes that quickly darted away. Ky raised an eyebrow when the same guy from earlier looked his way again. His eyes touched longer this time before the kid turned his gaze down to his desk with a blush.

Really?

Ky shook his head and snorted softly. A self-hating fag picking on the goth fairy. It was so fucking cliché it made his teeth itch. Still, it was more interesting than his parents calling him a liar and a thief. Probably better than being home and having to face the mess of a requiem sleeping in his bed.

Ky’s expression darkened and his gaze unfocused as he thought of Magnificent Night. There was no escaping this. No matter where he went, they were all bonded to him now. Their lives were in his hands, and it felt like a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.

***

The sounds of chairs scraping back and bags rustling alerted Ky class was over. He pulled his dulled stare from the window, and the room blurred before him. Ky had barely slept since his wards were invaded by Stewart Moore. When he finally gave in, curled up in the overstuffed chair by the fireplace, his dreams were full of the impossible tasks ahead of him. There was less than 24 hours to prepare, and he had no plan or idea of what he was going to do.

“Hey, you ready?”

Ky blinked and lifted his gaze to the person standing in front of his desk. It was the guy from earlier, the one who kept staring at him, and Ky raised his eyebrows in confusion.

“Almost,” Piper chimed next to Ky as she gathered her books. “I need to stop in at Mrs. Babin’s and ask about the project due next week.”

“Come on, Piper. You promised.” With a frustrated sigh, he shoved a hand into the back of his jeans pocket and pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill. “If this is about gas money…”

“Jared, stop being a dumbass. I’m keeping my promise. It’s just a little later than planned.” Piper pointedly ignored the money being pushed at her, stood, and hefted her bag onto her shoulder. “What’s the rush? It won’t be more than ten minutes.”

Jared glanced self-consciously at Ky, who was doing his best to pretend he wasn’t there as he tried to force his notebook into his overstuffed backpack. “It’s nothing. I just want to get out of here. My mom has been flipping over this thing, and the sooner I get rid of those damn cats, the better.”

Ky’s head throbbed in pain as he struggled with his bag and tried to get the sides closed.

Seriously, why the hell did every damn class in Mesabi require books when they could all be stored digitally? He understood that some people couldn’t afford computers, but you could read a book on plenty of affordable devices no bigger than his hand.

Ky jolted when a bright blue fingernail tapped his desk, and Piper spoke. “Hey, you wanna hang out? Jared’s got a litter of barn kittens we’re taking to the shelter. They’re super cute and tiny.” She cupped her hands to indicate the small size.

“Uh…” Ky glanced from Piper to Jared, who looked more than a little uncomfortable at his inclusion. “You’re just giving them away? Are they even old enough to be from their mother?”

“He’s trying to keep them from being eaten by the other cats,” Piper explained when Jared’s expression soured. “There are a ton of feral cats on his land, and the kittens keep ending up dead. Jared’s crazy mother won’t…”

“Piper!” Jared hissed, his cheeks flushed with outrage.

“What?” Piper fixed him with an impassive stare. “Your mother is out of her fucking mind, and the entire town knows it. Ky’s not going to care. He lives in the evil, haunted death house, after all.”

Ky stopped fighting with his backpack. “I live where?”

“Ha, you have no clue.” Piper smirked unapologetically. “I think some of the urban legends about your place are actually in one of the books about the town. Let’s see, there’s the Conner disappearance. They found a dead kid there, supposedly. Oh, and the house, like, never catches on fire.”

Piper paused and carefully combed fingers through her hair. “Actually, you should probably keep an eye out for that. People have been trying to burn the Scion mansion down for years. Kids go down all the time to see if it’ll burn. Well, that and for the ghosts.”

“Oh.” It was hard to think of kids sneaking outside the Scion mansion for years while Lovely, Feral, and Magnificent were struggling to stay alive inside.

“You haven’t, you know, seen any ghosts since you moved in?” Piper’s overly casual posture did nothing to disguise the interest glittering in her eyes.

Ky’s curiosity about the rumors circling Anselm’s old house wasn’t strong enough to suck him into actually having a conversation with people who thought ghosts were cool.

“No ghosts,” he said flatly and pushed himself up to his feet. Ky lurched and grabbed his desk when the room spun. “Shit.”

“Whoa. You okay?” Jared reached out and his hand grazed Ky’s arm. “You look like you’re about to hit the ground.”

“I’m fine.” Ky met his gaze, and Jared immediately looked away.

Jared’s cheeks tinted pink, and his dirty blond hair teased into his eyes as he spoke to the spot next to Ky. “You can come with, if you want. I mean, the kittens are really small and stuff, so yeah.” Jared shoved his hands into his pockets, and his eyes darted to Ky and then away in erratic movements. “There’s room in the car, so…”

“You mean there’s room in my car,” Piper interrupted haughtily. “You seriously need to get your own car.”

“Right, I’ll just get a license and car overnight. Maybe I’ll win the lottery at the same damn time too.” Jared tried to hand Piper the crumpled up five dollars again. “Just take it, okay? I feel guilty enough needing rides from you. Just because the town can’t afford a bus doesn’t mean you should have to be my shuttle to college without some sort of compensation.”

“Uh, I think we’ve been clear about this. If you would stop bitching and just let me dress you all hot like, I’d be happily compensated.” Piper flattened the money on her desk and then carefully folded it into a small rectangle. She turned back and tucked the bill into Jared’s hand. “I need a macho boy to model some of my clothes for class.”

“No. No way in fuck!” Jared’s nostrils flared, and he stumbled back. “I’d rather be broke.”

Piper pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. “Come on, I promise nothing will be pink. Well, maybe a bit of hot pink. It’s very metro-sexual.”

“What did you just call me?” Jared’s face turned red. His gaze darted to Ky before he ducked around and grabbed his backpack.

Ky had to wonder just what Piper’s idea of men’s clothes were to freak Jared out so much. Anything would be better than what the guy was wearing now. His jeans were dusty and torn, and not in a stylish way. He wore a grungy gray tee under his long sleeve blue and gray flannel shirt that was so faded it was nearly palatable. Ky eyed his chest as he tried to distinguish which band was supposedly featured with the worn lettering.

Jared’s shoes were even worse. There was a hole so big in one of them, it was a surprise his foot didn’t fall out. The strip of duct-tape wasn’t doing a lot for it, and hung off the edge like a dirty, ragged flag.

You could disguise poverty better in the city. The local Goodwill where Ky grew up had clothes from people who only wore things a few times before they were thrown away for the next big trend. Not so much in Blackstone Falls where clothes were a commodity more than anything to do with fashion. It only made Ky’s mood worse when he thought of his closet full of shredded clothes back home.

Fuck his life if he ended up dressed in flannel.

“Ask him to model your clothes. I mean, he looks like a model and, uh…” Jared’s fluster only grew worse when Ky looked his way. “Nothing. I didn’t, uh… I really need to get this cat thing done, like, now.”

Piper raised an eyebrow when Jared headed for the door without her.

“He’ll figure it out eventually,” Ky said with faint amusement in his voice.

“I think ‘little Jared’ is doing all the thinking at the moment.” Piper twitched her finger to exaggerate her point. “So, are you into that?” She nodded her head to where Jared exited.

“Am I into sexually confused guys who can’t get over their hang-ups to even wear something that might make them look hot?” Ky shrugged noncommittally.

A month ago, Jared could have been interesting. More than interesting, really. He was hot, and although in the closet so deep he couldn’t see the walls, he still had the guts to stand up to the kind of guys who thought Ky was a target for being different. It didn’t hurt that he was easy to rile up. Jared was the type of guy he could tease the fuck out of right into his pants.

Ky reached up and let his fingers touch the chain links on his collar. A month could change a lot of things.

“You like older guys,” Piper said sagely.

Ky shook out of his thoughts and grabbed the top of his backpack. “I like guys who have their shit together.”

Guys who wouldn’t freak at the idea of magic, or worse, get super excited like they just won the lottery. Definitely not a sorcerer, that was for fuck sure. But maybe a guy with horns and fangs that nipped just right. Someone who could pin him down and growl until his toes curled…

“So, yeah, older.”

Ky shrugged. He was pretty sure age had nothing to do with it.

“Shit, Piper, are you coming or not?” Jared apparently remembered Piper was his ride. His expression was stormy as he charged back into the room.

“I still have to see Babin.” Piper didn’t flinch at Jared’s frustrated scowl. “I also don’t know if Ky is coming with.”

She turned back to Ky. “I really don’t mind if you want to come. We can show you around the town.”

Ky paused when they both turned to him expectantly. He knew they were the same age as him, but they seemed so young. Weak, naive. Human. They had no idea what he was, or what Blackstone Falls hid just beneath the surface. Piper was worried over grades that wouldn’t protect her from a crazy sorcerer, and Jared’s biggest fear was if his friends found out he was queer.

Ky’s chest felt tight, and he looked away without speaking. He couldn’t be like them anymore. He couldn’t go back.

Ky grabbed his bag by the strap. “I have to go.”

“Oh.” Piper wasn’t deterred. “What about tomorrow?”

“No, definitely not tomorrow.” Ky snarled as he thought of Mr. Moore’s threat to basically kidnap him if he didn’t show up willingly. He couldn’t have normal people in his life, not with the damn monsters he was dealing with.

Ky started for the door. “I need to go.”

“Wait, let me get your number. I really want your take on some of my clothing patterns.”

“Not interested.” Ky stopped short when Piper jumped in front of him and pulled out her phone. His nerves felt frayed, and he was starting to get angry. “I’ve got better things to do than hang out in front of the town’s only ice cream shop hoping to tip a fucking cow.”

Piper paused and looked up from her phone. “That’s just a myth. We have two ice cream shops.” She sighed when Ky refused to crack a smile. “Listen, I just wanted to show you around a bit. You’re new, the place is kinda shit, whatever. I’ve been surrounded by the same three hundred faces for, like, forever. We don’t get a lot of new people around here.”

“Not like you, anyways,” Jared mumbled under his breath.

“Geez, suck his dick already,” Piper snarked.

Jared coughed awkwardly. “That’s not… I mean… Uh…” His cheeks flushed and his eyes darted toward the door.

Ky wondered if he’d bolt again. Piper didn’t give him a choice and hip checked him.

Jared stumbled and quickly recovered. “Damn it, you’re lucky you’re a girl.”

Piper stuck her tongue out. “You’re the idiot who thinks I can’t take a punch.”

Ky stifled a sigh. He suddenly felt terrible, and more, he hated that he cared. Why did they have to be so damn normal?

“I have to go.”

Jared stood taller at the rejection and crossed his arms over his chest. “What, you have a hot date?”

Ky shook his head and smiled bitterly. Fucking whore. “Yeah, I’m late to be gang banged by three hot as fuck, totally horny guys. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He went to push past the two and jerked when Jared grabbed his arm.

Jared’s expression turned sheepish when Ky whirled and glared at him. “I didn’t mean… Sorry. I wasn’t saying it was a queer thing.”

“I’m gay,” Ky snapped. “Every reference to my sexuality is going to be a ‘queer thing.’ Are we done here?”

“Shit, I’m just trying to apologize.” Jared ran a hand through his hair and released a heavy breath. “Frank is an asshole. I don’t… Who people sleep with isn’t anyone’s business.”

Ky pressed a hand to his temple as pain flared again. The last thing he expected was an apology, and it sure as fuck wasn’t Jared’s job to be giving it for someone else’s shitty behavior. For all his fluster and bravado, he was a decent guy.

Ky’s gaze drifted down when Jared’s tongue darted out a moment to lick his lips. He might have been hot too, even with the ugly flannel.

“Are you okay?” Jared asked when Ky wavered on his feet.

“I’m fine,” Ky snapped. “I just want to go home. I missed breakfast and…” Ky’s brows furrowed as he tried to remember the last thing he ate. His mouth pinched tight and stomach churned.

Tobias. The last thing he ate was Tobias. Fucker.

The room dimmed at the edges, and Ky quickly pushed past Jared and Piper and escaped into the hallway.

Fuck, he didn’t care if he looked like a lunatic. He couldn’t do this today. He never should have gone to school.

“Hey, you forgot your notebook.”

Ky barely heard Jared as he pushed his heavy legs forward and tried to keep from collapsing. The hallway felt closed in, dark, and kept tilting at the most annoying angles. Ky lurched to a stop when his vision was suddenly filled with blue flannel and a faded gray tee.

“You dropped your notebook.” Jared held it up while Ky glared.

He seriously needed a new bag.

“Listen, do you need help? You look…” Jared swallowed hard when Ky’s gaze moved to his, and his silver eyes glinted with an otherworldly, cerulean glow. “Damn.”

Ky’s heartbeat sounded loud in his ears as blue filled his vision. He could smell the sweat on Jared’s flesh and hear the sharp inhale of his breath. His gaze slipped down to take in the breadth of his strong shoulders, and his fit chest half obscured by ill-fitting clothes. Ky’s eyes fixed on the flutter at his neck that revealed Jared’s pulse was racing. Heat flushed through Ky’s body and he fought the overwhelming urge to press forward.

Jared was hot and clearly into him. Ky glanced down and exhaled slowly when he saw Jared’s jeans were failing to hide his erection. Fuck, it’s not like it would be the end of the world if he kissed him… touched him. Ground up against him until they both came.

Ky’s breath sped up when Jared stepped closer. Getting off right now would feel really fucking good. He was so hungry. Ky was starving and Jared looked just as ravenous…

Hot breath brushed his cheek, and Ky jolted back to reality. The room spun, and he grabbed the wall and ducked his head to avoid Jared’s lips.

What the fuck was he thinking? Human. The guy was fucking human and so closeted he made the wardrobe back home look like daylight.

“Give me my book,” Ky rasped. He licked dry lips and fought to will the hungry glow from his eyes.

Jared couldn’t stop staring at his face, and his gaze roamed over Ky’s features, his heavy eyelids, and lingered on his lips.

“We should hang out sometime. I’m not… I’m not like those other guys,” Jared assured quietly.

A mean smile split across Ky’s face. “Liking dick doesn’t get you an automatic pass into my pants.”

No, apparently just having a dick was enough for him lately.

With a scowl, Ky snatched his notebook from Jared’s hand and staggered past. He rolled his eyes when he saw a phone number written on the back in a sparkling purple gel pen. Fuck, that girl did not give up. Ky walked faster to escape the weight of Jared’s gaze as he stared after him.

His head pounded with every erratic pulse of his heart and wavering step he took. There was something wrong with him. Not just the whole turning into a slut and ready to fuck any guy who looked at him twice. No, there was something seriously wrong with him.

The corridor blurred before his eyes as Ky forced himself forward. When he was able to focus again he was staring at an unfamiliar wall of lockers. His bag was on the ground, and his notebook, pens, and Tobias’s wand spilled out around his motionless feet. Ky blinked in confusion and tried to remember when he got there or how he dropped his bag. His mind felt like a dark void, and it was hard to make sense of anything.

Ky? Ky, can you hear me?

Ky shook his head and groaned when it throbbed in protest.

Lovely’s voice grew more concerned. Ky, are you okay? Your energy is all over the place.

“I don’t… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Ky felt too heavy, and he unsteadily sank to his knees. He hunched forward, his face hidden behind his hair as he gasped for breath.

Crazy. He was a crazy person. He kept hearing voices in his head. Crazy people never knew they were actually crazy until they were locked up or shooting down a crowd of people.

Ky? Ky, call for me.

Ky winced at the frantic sound of Lovely’s voice. “I’m fine,” he whispered weakly. “Leave me alone.”

He didn’t want Lovely’s help. The relics betrayed him, Lovely worst of all, and he couldn’t face them.

Ky slumped forward and drew in weak breaths. He stared at his shaking hands with unfocused eyes. The hallway was silent, the temperature cool on his flushed skin, and Ky lost track of time as he counted his breaths and the world spun around him.

Whelp. Feral’s voice was strange in his mind. It was the first time he had spoken to Ky this way, and with his voice came his presence, warm and sturdy just like the coyote demon. Let me reach you.

Ky gritted his teeth and growled. Feral couldn’t handle leaving the manor never mind coming to his fucking school.

“Go away. Just leave me the fuck alone, all of you!” He lurched forward and clutched the cold laminate floor when a wave of dizziness hit him.

When Feral returned, his voice was subdued. Ky, you’re scaring him. Both of them.

Ky closed his eyes and hissed out. Feral sounded too quiet, like maybe he was scared too.

Please, whelp. You need help.

Damn it. Fucking damn it, why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone today?

Ky snarled at the floor he was practically kissing at this point. His hair was fanned out around his face like a dark, silky curtain. “Fine,” he snapped weakly. “Just you.”

 

Wonder what happens next? With a paid membership you can read it all!

Hey babes <3

Hey, I’m nearly done with Demon Bonded episode #11! Working on the last two (three?) scenes this weekend. Finally. This baby got wordy. I think it’s going to hit 30,000 words by the time I’m officially done. @_@ I also posted the outline of the erotic short I plan on filling out next. I’ve yet to officially do anything dragon bestiality related, so might as well start things off with a (gang) bang. <3

I think I might jump right into Feral after that, the third book that follows Heat: Abducted to be his Mate, and Bite: Claiming his Mate. It fits the right length, I have a fair idea what I’m doing with it, and it’s totally a XXX level kind of story. Probably more so because there is no initial relationship between Will and his mate-to-be to soften the events that follow, unlike Heat where Ryan and Shane’s bickering past allowed for a mild level of safety and connection once you had Ryan lose his shit when the mating heat hit him. I want an excuse to explore a little Stockholm syndrome stuff, humiliation, maybe some golden showers and beast… although knowing me it might just get ridiculously cute. >_> I know, issues. XD

I’m thinking that will be fun. I’m disappointed I have to move away from the novels for a bit just to get some cash flowing, but it’s nice to return to some fun, dirty fuck fics and indulge. Speaking of which, I’m totally snagging that ‘Locked’ fic down below. I need to remember fun kinky stuff again.

Insanity Update

I was going to do a newsletter last week and ended up deciding against it. Wrote two of them, but legit, I was just too depressed. I didn’t like the voice I was using, didn’t like the place I was coming from, and I think all and all, it was the right decision. Moments pass—they’re just moments—and there is no reason to preserve the lowest fucking ones like they’re more important or are going to define anything moving forward. Depression is a blip, a hiccup in the face of the wonder life can bring, and I won’t dwell in that dark chasm when there is life to live.

I’m actually in my room—yeah, the killer bedroom of doom—and replacing all the stuff back on the walls, getting the shelves back up, and the computer. Carefully testing everything that comes back in the space to make sure it’s safe. All the windows are open and a fan has been blowing air out since I left… what, a month ago now? The days kind of blur at this point.

This is a tentative thing cuz I’m still having issues in the house in general. But as I sit here typing, waiting to finish ozoning my car (water got in there, it smells of mildew, and I’m trying really hard not to freak the fuck out that there might be mold growing in the one place I can sleep @_@) my pulse is fine. A calm 88 verse the 100+ bpm my heart hits when I’m in other parts of the house. I mean, I’m wearing my mask so it’s not a full indicator, but still, it’s a good sign. My pulse goes ape shit when I’m having a reaction, meaning I’m not having a reaction where I currently am. Yay.

We’ll see. I’m just setting the room up as an office in the hopes I can get some graphic work done in here. I’m not getting my hopes up that everything has suddenly fixed itself, but I do have hope that we may be moving in the right direction. Because, legit, I cannot get my hopes up. Multiple Chemical Sensitivity has on average a seven year length to fully heal. Even without knowing the source of this, that fact is pretty standard in a lot of reading. So things can change pretty fucking quick depending on which way the wind is blowing. I’ve read about people moving 13 times seeking a place of safety. I’m not falling into the trap of thinking anything is permanent right now. I gotta adapt and flow.

The first of the lab reports came back and I can officially say I don’t have Mast Cell Activation Syndrome, which is great, but means we still don’t know what set me off. We just noticed the bath water has a blue-green tinge so we’re checking for copper. Apparently copper toxicity can lead to immune problems, tics, anxiety, psych disorders—it can even mimic Parkinson’s—etc, etc. It’s a good contender for being what might have fucked me up this long, and hey, there are paints made for boats that specifically have copper in them for certain underwater properties, and there was that weird marine epoxy under my room for 2 years. No guarantee—it’s still a fucking guessing game and we’re getting the copper water test in the mail in half a week—but it’s another thing we’re checking.

I’ve found a rhythm to life once again. I’m writing fairly consistently. It’s a little difficult because I find myself playing chauffeur 5 days out of 7, and once I’m moving around, it’s hard to wrangle my brain into a place of writing. Seeking shade, seeking quiet, seeking any place where I open the window and don’t end up breathing in something that makes me sick; it’s fucking time consuming. Oh, and I can’t go to bookstores anymore. I started reacting to the scent of ink and paper, so, yeah, fuck my life. But my brain is working. The last few days have been the clearest it’s been in a while. Keeping expectations low, but again, hope.

I refuse to wait seven years to start my life again. Fuck that. I will not be waiting seven years to get back to Sorcerer Slayer. Fuck that. I am not putting my life on hold. I am distracted by this, by my need to make an income while I’ve been in pain and disabled on a level I haven’t had to deal with in a long time, but I’m not fucking waiting. Moving forward. Planning. Gaining ground. This shit is happening even if I’m writing out of a car, or van, or a damn cardboard (mold free, thank you) box. I’m not waiting for anything anymore. I gotta live now.

I know what I want out of life, peeps. When I finished that new Demon Arms cover, I could see a future unfold beyond what I had ever imagined for myself. No mountain is too big, no bullshit remotely worth my time. I’m heading toward my dreams and fuck anything that tries to get in my way. My inner rhino is on this shit. Rawr! XD

Locked – Free in KU

I can see the headline now: Locked Boys Transcend Tumblr. My article on Chip and Billy—two twinks locked in the name of love—is going to take this niche kink mainstream.

When Marshall arrives to interview The Chastity Brothers, he has much to learn from them about frustration and denial, about service and devotion, about what kind of men get to play the role of alpha male and what kind of men allow the very essence of their manhood to be controlled, ignored, locked up, and denied.

The interview starts Marshall on an exciting and erotic adventure into the world of locked boys and their alpha male partners as he escorts Chip and Billy to a gang bang, meets Niblet and some of the members of the motorcycle club who keep him, visits the estate where Spike spends his nights in a crate, and learns an important lesson of love from an older alpha male who’ll never forget the boy who got away.

And somewhere along his journey, he might just find a locked boy of his own.

Content advisory: This is a non-romantic, highly kinky story that includes sharing, gang bangs, extreme orgasm denial, and light humiliation

Lead to Follow: Tales of the Werewolf Tribes – $0.99

Werewolves, adventure, and romance

An attempt on Ganzorig’s life by members of his own tribe sends the Siberian Killers into turmoil. On the brink of civil war, Ganzorig’s role as a beta and the Mongolian leadership of the tribe are under threat. A relationship is the last thing Ganz needs, especially since the man he is falling for is a prime target for the Russian packs challenging his rule.

Cristian has enough on his plate ruling the Dacian Wolves. His alpha spends most of her time in the UK and the Romanian packs turn to him for leadership. Getting dragged into Siberian Killer feuds, discovering their male beta is who Cristian is falling for, and having a permanent target on his back are not things he’s bargained for.

A grueling fight for survival, great plans for the future, and an attraction that’s undeniable bring Ganzorig and Cristian together. Faced with real danger, tribe responsibilities, and their own fears, it hardly seems enough to keep them from going their separate ways.

Forged In Flood – $0.99

From bestselling author Dahlia Donovan comes a new witty novella between three very different men. With drama, emotional turmoil, and hilarious banter, be prepared to be swept away in Dahlia’s British M/M/M romance.

When one drunken night forever scars three best friends, will they ever find a way to pick up the pieces?

Eaten up with guilt, Ivan Black spends ten years hiding from the world. He retreats to his family forge to wallow in misery. Alone. So lonely his heart aches with it.

Wesley Cook and Rolland Spence have been together since university. They struggle through the physical scars of the accident, building a life in the ruins of their dreams. They find happiness but continue to miss their angry ginger Viking—Ivan.

In all the anger of wasted years, the three men find a way to forge a relationship as hot as the fires in the smithy.

Forged in Flood is a stand-alone British contemporary M/M/M romance. With heartache, hot men with foul mouths, and plenty of heat, enjoy getting to know Ivan, Wesley, and Roland.

Vampire Love: Gay Vampire MPREG Romance – $0.99

Can Their Love Withstand Their Fathers’ Feud?

A war has been declared. Only, it was a secret war. Claude and Ronnie live in a divided city -split in two by their fathers’ feud. But it’s also divided by fear. On one side stand humans, united and powerful and on the other side, vampires run, alone and scared.

Caught up in the middle is spoilt rich kid Claude. Not long ago, he was a carefree playboy. But now, is a virtual recluse. Because he is the thing that his father hates even more than his business rival. A vampire. And when he saves mysterious stranger, Ronnie, from certain death, he finds himself in serious danger… from his own father!

Soon both their lives are hotly entwined … in more ways than one! With a price on their heads, they must both run from their families. And will they make it out of the city alive?

Truth Be Told – $0.99

M/M contemporary romance story.

Patrick is gorgeous, gay, and a lawyer climbing the corporate ladder. His fears about what his family and colleagues will think about his sexuality mean that he wants to stay firmly in the closet. When he goes to a new club in search of a one-night stand, he is picked up by Liam, the bar’s owner.

Liam is big, beautiful, and also a top. A hot and heavy night ensues leaving them both thinking there could be more to their hook-up than just sex.

But Liam is out and proud gay. His integrity will not stand for Patrick’s closeted sexuality. Patrick asks for enough time to come to terms with all the changes Liam will bring to his life…and major problems occur.

Warning: Lot’s of M/M sex in this standalone novella. Including some light bdsm and a super sweet happily ever after.

Conversations with an Angel – Free

Jamal has a typical mother who’d like him to succeed in all aspects of life, especially when it comes to marriage. But Jamal already has a partner. His name is Farnham.

And while Jamal doesn’t want to disappoint his family, his mother’s interference is pushing Farnham away. In the end it will take a voice of reason to help Jamal rethink his life.

 

 

 

Tainted Life – Free

A contemporary gay romance set in London

 

NATURAL MAGIC
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A HARRY POTTER FANFIC
Scene #14 last updated 2/18/18

SLEEPING DOGS
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THE RELUCTANT PROFESSOR
Scene #25 last updated 2/18/18