Was it possible to go crazy listening to the man who owned the sexiest lips ever? Even if he was talking nonsense at the time, TJ was still the sexiest man Sean ever had the annoyance of arguing with.
“Just one kitten. He’s so small, he’s like half a kitten. You’d barely notice him.”
Crazy. TJ was going to drive him crazy. “There’s no way in hell.” Sean decisively typed out a string of code and hit enter. “No.”
“Please, man?” TJ whined over the wireless headset Sean was failing to ignore. “He has nowhere else to go. I swear, once you meet him, you’ll totally fall in love. He’s the cutest little ball of fluff. And his eyes! Oh, Sean, if you saw his eyes, I just know you’ll love him.”
TJ was his friend of forever and an all-around animal lover. Sean usually didn’t hold it against him until moments like this. Moments which were growing more frequent as TJ decided he was lonely and needed an animal friend to brighten his days. Sean didn’t need a cat; he needed a boyfriend. A hot, sexy, preferably fur-free boyfriend who didn’t meddle in his life.
“Stop calling me from work trying to get me to adopt one of those four-legged beasts.” Sean squinted at the nearest of his four computer monitors. “I have enough problems without adding a kitten into the mix. Do you even understand what their fur will do to my setup?” He had three computers dedicated to IT work, and he couldn’t risk them being clogged up by fur, or fleas, or whatever the hell the little beasts covered themselves in. Pets. Why the hell would TJ think he wanted a pet?
TJ, who worked at the local animal shelter, didn’t even pause at Sean’s bitchy tone. “I’m sending you a picture. Once you see him… Ha.” The sounds of a digital camera snapping filtered through his headset as TJ chased down the prospective kitten.
“Leather couch. I have a fucking leather couch,” Sean growled determinedly. “Do you even know how much the blinds on my windows cost? I’m not letting some little clawed monster near my Egyptian cotton sheets. It would be a fucking disaster.” There was no way in hell he was taking in a mangy cat. He didn’t care if it was a baby and it needed a home. He hated pets, and he most certainly hated fur. “I’m allergic,” Sean added in the hopes of stopping the conversation flat.
“Liar.” TJ snorted derisively, only to hiss a moment after. “Oh, claws are not for hugging, little guy. Shit.” The sounds of him struggling with what Sean could only assume was a monstrous kitten with ten extra claws filled his ears. “I emailed you the photo,” TJ returned after a moment. “He’s adorable. You have a huge fucking apartment and no one to enjoy it. Stop pretending rooms are for things. Love him, and take him home, and stop being a miserable bastard about everything.”
Sean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The only person he wanted to take home and love currently wouldn’t shut the fuck up and leave him alone. He never should have answered the phone.
Sean’s computer chimed. It was his personal computer, the only one not currently being used to remote into a customer’s hard drive for virus clean up. Damn it. Sean sighed as he rolled his chair to the side and woke the computer from its screensaver mode. He paused and licked his lips when the desktop image appeared. It was a closeup of a hot, short haired man being spit roasted by two buff guys cut mostly out of the shot. It was no accident the hottie in the middle looked just like TJ. Sean spent hours photo-collaging the image to ensure TJ looked as depraved and ruined as possible.
“Well?” TJ prompted excitedly as the silence stretched on.
Sean inhaled sharply and pulled his hand up from where he was unconsciously reaching for his half hard dick. “I don’t want a cat.”
“Just because you don’t like pussy doesn’t mean you can’t like a kitten,” TJ teased cheerfully. “Come on, look at him. He’s adorable. You know you want him.”
Sean grunted at the bad joke and opened the email reluctantly. A pair of bright, blue eyes surrounded by gray fur glittered back from the screen. “I’d have preferred a dick pic. It’s hideous.” Sean clicked the email closed and rolled back to the other monitor while TJ wailed dramatically. Seriously, you’d have sworn he physically assaulted the gray, ugly beast. Although not much larger than his fist, the kitten had a squashed nose and a ridiculous amount of fluff. It looked like the sort of thing Sean might mistake for a giant roaming dust ball when vacuuming. Probably even by accident.
“His eyes, Sean. He has the soul of a poet,” TJ insisted.
Sean rolled his own thankfully poet free eyes toward the ceiling. “Will you stop it already? I don’t want a pet. I don’t have time to feed kittens, and exercise them, and give them, you know…” he trailed off with a wave of his hand.
“Basic human companionship?” TJ supplied flatly.
“Attention,” Sean grunted. “Pets are a time suck. All they do is want food, then they poop the food, and sometimes they sleep. All the other time they want stuff from you. They’re just like people. There is nothing of value in any of it.” Living alone was much better. Easier. Not to mention, if he got a kitten, TJ would come over all the time.
Sean bit his lip and slowly rolled back to the other computer screen. His eyes fixed on the image of TJ being fucked senseless by two faceless men with big dicks. A cat could be the perfect excuse to get TJ to visit more. He could pretend the fluffball was sick or needed training. It could lead to them playing on the floor with TJ all sexy laughs that demanded kisses and blowjobs…
Sean shook his head roughly and reached down to squeeze his hard cock through his sweatpants. Bad. Very bad. TJ was his friend, his completely straight friend. TJ was his shy, sweet, straight friend Sean kept promising to himself he’d stop thinking about sexually. Just… Fuck, but just look at him! TJ was so hot, so unassumingly sexy with those flashing brown eyes and plump lips. He had that hot Latin lover look but with none of the confident swagger. No, TJ was impossibly shy, and it made Sean want to do things to him. Dirty things. Mean things that would have TJ begging him to stop all while cumming a river.
Sean clicked to a folder on his desktop. He teased his tongue over his teeth as he opened up the first of many nude images he had of men who looked suspiciously close to the same build and face of his sexy best friend. He was such a cockslut. Get TJ on his knees in front of a dick, and he would totally be a cockslut…
“This is exactly why you need a pet, Sean. You have no fucking clue how to share your life.” TJ’s voice took on a quality Sean tried very hard to block out as he gave a few experimental tugs on his cock. “You seriously need to get away from your computers before you forget how to talk to people. If you give them a chance, they might even like you.”
“They shouldn’t. I’m a fucking bastard and you know it,” Sean muttered. He closed his eyes as he held onto a mental image of TJ with his ass cheeks spread open, and his fluttering pucker waiting for his tongue, his fingers, his cock. If TJ even knew half of what he thought about when it came to his straight best friend, he would never talk to him again.
“Bullshit,” TJ snapped. “Sure, you say some stupid stuff, but that’s it. Everyone says stupid shit. People like you, Sean. I like you, and I happen to be an amazing judge of character. You should come out with me and some of my coworkers. We have a thing every Friday. It’s super chill, and I know you’d have fun if you gave it a chance.”
“I can’t go out,” Sean said a little too harshly. Fuck, he was so hard. Actually having TJ talking in his ear while he was playing with himself was beyond hot. It really didn’t matter what he was saying, just that it was him. The sound of TJ’s breath, his voice was all Sean needed. He could easily imagine TJ in the room, kneeling between his thighs with those perfect lips of his wrapped around his cock.
Aw, fuck. Sean wriggled in his chair and spread his legs wider. With one hand he pushed his pants down his hips, and with the other he reached in and pulled his hard cock out. Sean held his breath when TJ’s voice returned and washed over him.
“I know. I’m not asking you to actually leave the apartment. I was thinking we might have it at your place.”
“Oh,” Sean murmured as he stroked down his rigid shaft. Fuck, this was such a bad idea. “You want it here?”
“Don’t say no right away. Just hear me out,” TJ rushed on. And fuck, didn’t it just sound so fucking good to have TJ try to convince him to fuck him? To take him, and show him what being with a man would be like? Sean bit his lip and tried to drown out what his friend was actually saying.
“They’re really friendly, really nice. Some even help to train the service dogs, so they understand, you know, about people not all being the same. No one would judge you…”
“Uh huh,” Sean whispered as he clicked to another picture. This one was of a TJ lookalike with his hard dick hanging out of a pair of tight white briefs. TJ’s expression bordered on despair, and Sean made the image smaller so he could see the desktop screenshot of TJ being double teamed at the same time.
“And if you got to know people, maybe you’d be more compelled to want to go out, right? I mean, you can’t want to just stay in your apartment forever.”
“Right.” Sean breathed out slowly. His head tilted back as he thrust into his warm palm. “So right. TJ, could you just…?”
“What? What’s wrong?”
Sean grinned as he reached for the bottle of lube he kept in the desk drawer specifically for browsing porn. “Nothing. Just wondering how many dogs humped you today.”
“Fuck off, you ass. They’re just very enthusiastic to see me.”
“Yeah, but how many?” Sean snickered at TJ’s angry growl. He was forced to bite his lip and fight a moan as his lube-slick fingers wrapped around his cock. Fuck. Fuck, he wasn’t going to last like this. Talking to TJ was far more interesting when he could masturbate. “Two? Three? Seven?”
“Damn it, Sean. I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you. This is important. It might be life changing for you.”
“Uh huh.” His eyes fluttered shut as he slowly fucked into his hand. “So… you were saying?”
TJ huffed as he tried to regain his train of thought. “Damn it, okay. I just think it would be good motivation, something positive to make you want to go out into the world.”
“A kitten?” Sean asked with brows furrowed.
“No, having friends over. That is, well, meeting my friends, making friends, and, you know, getting to know people. I think it’ll help you want to leave your place.”
“TJ, driving me out of my apartment isn’t really… Oh.” Sean’s breath skipped as his balls tightened. Fuck, he was already close, so fucking close. He licked his lips and tried to pull back from the edge. He didn’t want to cum yet. TJ in his ear was too fucking sexy to rush.
“Sean?”
Hell, if he said his name like that one more time, he was going to blow. “Hold on a sec. I’m trying to focus.”
“Oh. Sorry.” TJ gave him a beat but just couldn’t seem to stay silent for long. “You sound out of breath. Tell me you’re not freaking out over this. I don’t want to freak you out. This is supposed to help, you know?”
“Uh huh. Eight…” Sean murmured as he stroked his cock from base to swollen tip. He squeezed around his sensitive head and slicked his palm in a tight twist before sliding down his shaft again. He was well aware how breathless he sounded and was too far gone to care. He wanted to fuck TJ. He wanted to fuck him hard, relentlessly, until he was crying his name. “Nine.” He glared at the computer screen where his slutty TJ was sucking cock like he was made for it, begging for it. Sean stroked his throbbing length tighter and wondered what TJ’s ass would feel like gripping around him, riding him, as he took every inch of his cock. “Ten.”
“So, what do you think?” TJ prodded, oblivious to how Sean was fading in and out of the conversation.
“How many was it?” Sean chuckled when TJ swore in his ear. “Eleven.”
“Dude, I’m serious. This is… Why are you counting?” TJ’s voice, if possible, became angrier. “Are you exercising right now, you asshole?”
Sean groaned and threw his head back. “I’m seriously trying,” he lied shamelessly as he thrust into his palm again. “Twelve.” TJ would be tighter. He’d be tight, and the noises he’d make being opened by his cock would be loud, desperate. His. Sean’s breath stuttered, and he stilled the rocking of his hips and tried not to give in to the delicious pressure building. “Fourteen,” he shuddered.
“You forgot thirteen,” TJ muttered. “Let me know when you’re done and can actually focus on me.”
He was focused. He was so focused his balls were going to turn blue. “You’re an attention whore,” Sean whispered. He wondered if TJ could hear it, the hard, hungry part of him that wanted him to be his whore. He wanted him always on his knees, waiting for him, TJ’s body his and only his.
“No, I’m just trying to have a conversation,” TJ shot back. “Do you remember those, man? You know, where you don’t stare at a computer all day?”
“I’d go stir crazy… fifteen… if I just sat in front of a computer all day.” Sean’s gaze slipped from the tip of his cock dripping precum, up to the image of TJ with his mouth wide open and full of dick. “What, you want to come to my gym? I’d let you come.” He’d let TJ cum as many times as he wanted. He’d suck him until he was begging for release. He’d fuck that tight hole of his and his mouth; TJ’s lips were made for fucking. They were so plump, so fucking red and perfect for drizzling cum all over…
“Maybe,” TJ mused as the sound of a cage closing echoed over the line. “Free is always good. Gym memberships are so expensive in the city.”
Sean squeezed his eyes shut as a vision flashed in his mind of TJ bent over a weight-bench in a pair of skimpy shorts tangled around his sneakers. TJ’s face and shoulders were bright red, his caramel toned ass and thighs rock hard and wet with sweat. The moans he made were so perfect as he took Sean’s cock and every hard, demanding thrust he pounded into him.
“Fuck.” Sean grit his jaw tight, and his head fell back as his entire body jerked in the computer chair. He came with a drawn-out growl as hot, milky streams of cum pulsed from his tip and splattered onto his sweat drenched stomach and flexing abs.
“Ha, you know, on second thought…” TJ chuckled awkwardly, the sound nearly drowned out by barking as he passed the kennel. “I don’t want to tell you what you sound like, man, but it’s obscene. Pornographic. I hope you go to the gym alone, or people might get the wrong idea.”
Sean, who covered his hand over the mouthpiece of his headset to keep from letting TJ hear the many swears he was cursing as he tried to recover his breathing, returned to his counting in a more even tone. “Twenty… Twenty-one…”
“You’re so full of shit,” TJ exclaimed. “You’re at fifteen, tops.”
“Do you want to count?” Sean’s grin felt too tight on his face as a familiar depression sank around him. It was a dream, a lie of his head. It was always going to be a fantasy even with TJ’s voice whispering in his ear. “What exactly are you saying?” Sean reached for the box of tissues he kept in the same drawer as the lube and wiped the cooling cum from his stomach. “You think when guys do pushups it sounds like they’re fucking? Pervert.”
TJ snorted. His voice was a little too high-pitched when he retorted, “No, I think when you do pushups it sounds like you’re cumming. Totally different, you deviant.”
Sean stared moodily at the ceiling, his mind still full of images of TJ acting like a hungry cockslut for him. Not real. Fuck, it wasn’t ever going to be real. Sean ran his fingers over his chest and thumbed his nipple through his t-shirt. “Just how often do you think about me cumming, straight boy?”
“Gah, stop being gross! I said it sounded. Sounded! I didn’t say I was thinking about it.”
“Right, right. My mistake.” Sean gave TJ enough time to think he let it drop, then added in a low voice, “You’re thinking about my dick right now, aren’t you?”
“Damn it!” TJ yelped while Sean chuckled darkly.
“Hey, you’re the one bringing up fluffy pussy and cum jokes. You’ve got a filthy mind, TJ. I swear you called me just so you could have someone to traumatize.”
TJ’s breath hitched, and all the laughter drained from his voice. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“For fuck sake,” Sean growled. “What, you think because I can’t leave the building, I can’t handle a dirty joke?” His voice was edged with an anger sourced straight from his own guilt. He was jerking off to the sound of his best friend’s voice while TJ—fucking perfect prince TJ—was worried he hurt his feelings.
“You know I would never…” TJ’s words were so slow and cautious, Sean couldn’t bear to hear them. Fuck, he was such an asshole. The things he wanted to do to TJ felt like a sick, demented disease he wasn’t ever going to be free of. He couldn’t have him. He wanted him, and he was never going to have him, and he was just fucking everything up no matter how much distance he tried to put between them. Why the fuck did he keep doing shit like this?
“Sean?” TJ called worriedly. “I said I was sorry.”
“Stop. It’s fine. I’m just fucking with you,” Sean snapped, desperate to have the conversation drop. “Stop acting like some virginal princess who can’t handle a dick joke. It’s just a fucking joke.” Sean groaned internally as he heard the callous words tumble from his mouth. Fuck, he was just digging a hole straight to Hell at this point. He was such an asshole. TJ was a virgin and so fucking sensitive about it, and still, still the perfect fuck was focused on trying to make sure Sean’s feelings weren’t hurt. Shit, why couldn’t he stop being such a dick?
Sean went to pull his pants up, and his gaze fixed on a droplet of cum he’d missed. His eyelids grew heavy as he thought of TJ licking at his skin to clean it. He’d hold it, savor it, a spot of pearly white on his red tongue. “You thirsty?” Sean asked. He couldn’t stop himself even now, even after having once again said something totally shitty to his best friend.
“Uh, a little, I guess,” TJ answered, his tone subdued. “Why, is my voice weird? I was shouting at one of the dogs earlier. It slipped its leash and booked it straight for the street.”
Sean closed his eyes and bit his lower lip hard. TJ sounded like he was sucking cock. He sounded like he was waiting for cum to be dribbled onto those perfect lips of his. He sounded like he was panting in his ear, inches away while touching himself.
“About the cat…” TJ was definitely more subdued. He was being cautious, tiptoeing around him, and Sean hated it.
“The pussy?”
TJ paused, and this time the awkward silence didn’t fill with laughter. “You know what I mean.”
Sean did, and he took no joy in harassing TJ over it. For whatever reason, TJ was a glutton for punishment today and still hadn’t hung up. He’d been calling him every day now. Sean wasn’t exactly sure why, but maybe he was really worried about the ugly little cat.
“The kitten. He’s a boy, for one. Not that you can tell when they’re so little.” TJ’s tone changed as he tried to lighten the mood like the upstanding, unattainable, perfect being he was always going to be. “He needs someone to love him, Sean. He’s all alone in the world and, well, when I see him I think of you.”
Sean sighed heavily. “Thanks, that totally makes me not want to slit my wrists. Care to throw in how I suck at dating and will never be happy as well?”
“Fuck—Sean, that’s not what I meant!” Sean was pretty sure he could literally hear TJ’s heart crack through the headset. “I want to bring the kitten over so you can meet him. What are you doing today?”
“Jerking off. All day,” Sean said without humor. It was probably true. He couldn’t stop thinking about TJ. Getting away with masturbating while on the phone with him sure as fuck hadn’t helped anything. TJ heard him cum. TJ heard him cum, and even thought he heard him cum. Fuck, yeah, he could totally jerk off to that for an entire day.
Sean sat up and tucked away the tissues and bottle of lube as he waited to see if his rude comment had pushed TJ to hang up or not. “When’s a better day?” TJ persisted, the stubborn fuck, his voice obnoxiously cheerful.
Sean grinned bitterly. “You ever think maybe you’re crowding me, man? I’ve got a shit ton of work to get done.”
“Take a break,” TJ snapped, and all the pleasantries stripped away. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, dipshit. It’s not like you have anywhere to go.”
Angry swearing. The perfect prince was close to breaking. Sean stood from his chair and headed for the kitchen. “Oh, are we throwing that in my face now? Maybe if you spent more time dating instead of worrying over my pathetic ass, you’d be laid by now.”
“My fuck—Sean! No. Giving a fuck about you is not worrying, first of all. Second, you are not pathetic, and I’m so fucking sick of you saying shit about yourself like that.”
Sean rolled his eyes. He should have insulted the cat. TJ was less likely to go into lecture mode when he wasn’t saying truthful as shit stuff about himself. “Uh huh, yup, I’m a perfect angel. You’re right, I’m brilliant. Genius. Yes, I’m a genius.” Sean kept his voice a bored drawl even as agitation tensed his muscles tighter and tighter. He hated this. He hated this more than TJ trying to get him to make friends like he was some pathetic outcast on the playground.
Sean stalked back into the living room and paced as TJ angrily rattled off all the many reasons he wasn’t a piece of shit while Sean continued to treat his best friend like a piece of shit.
“Are you done?” Sean asked when TJ finally took a breath.
“No. You’re an asshole,” TJ added sharply. “You’re totally being an asshole right now. You’ve been acting like an asshole for ages, and I’m sick of it. Stop being an asshole, Sean!”
This was when he was supposed to ask TJ something embarrassing that would send him over the edge and hang up with the declaration of never talking to him again. It was on the tip of his tongue, but Sean couldn’t bring himself to actually say it. If he were a decent human being, he’d just tell him. He’d tell him he loved him. TJ could have a nice cry about how he could never love him back, and then—only then—would it be a promise that TJ would never, ever talk to him again. Because, for whatever fucked up reason, TJ kept coming back no matter how shitty Sean acted.
Sean sighed dejectedly and threw himself into his chair. “Fine.”
“W-What? Wait, what?” TJ stuttered in shock.
“Bring the cat down,” Sean grunted. “Just don’t expect anything. I need order, and a fluffball will only fuck up everything. Not to mention litter boxes are totally disgusting.”
“Please, not having a litter box is way grosser,” TJ joked half-heartedly. “Uh… okay, then.” He managed to not sound happy even though he’d gotten the answer he wanted. Sean was far too used to that tone. He worked hard to make sure TJ wasn’t happy around him.
Fuck, he hated his life.
TJ coughed nervously. “Sean, about Friday. I really do think it would…”
An odd sensation weighed the air around him, and Sean blinked as the hair stood up on his arms. He looked up nervously as the lights faded and buzzed through the apartment. “What?” Flashes suddenly sparked and cracked alarmingly around the room, and he jumped out of his seat with a yelp. “Fuck!”
Sean whirled around, turned back to his computer, and stared in growing dread as the project he was working on for the last two hours flickered strange, glowing symbols.
“Oh, fuck. Mother fuck, no. No, no, no!” Sean grabbed at his hair as sparks shot up all around his computers.
“What… Sean? What a… his…?”
Sean twisted the headset off his ear so he didn’t have to hear TJ’s static confusion. This couldn’t be happening. Hours of work gone. Hours.
The flashing abruptly stopped, but Sean’s work screen didn’t return to normal. A single, large symbol stretched across the otherwise blank screen.
“No.”
He reached forward and clicked the monitor power, but nothing changed. The symbol remained on the screen, an obnoxious purple burning toward hot pink the longer it glowed. His mind whirred, and Sean crossed the hardwood floor with large strides to the windows. He shoved the blinds aside and peered down with dawning horror at the moving truck out front of his apartment building. “Aw, fuck. This can’t be happening.”
Spirit Movers. Fucker.
“Sean, what the hell is happening? Why is my phone screen glowing purple?”
TJ’s voice finally jolted Sean back, and he twisted his headset into place. “It’s a witch. A witch is moving in.”
“My life is over.”
“Your life is not over,” TJ said reasonably over the headset. It was drowned out by the sound of two light bulbs in Sean’s kitchen popping and showering glass to the tile floor.
Sean spun, went to his computer setup, and slammed his palm on the switch for the power strip. Nothing changed. The strange symbol glowed in taunting mockery on all four of his computer screens. Fuck, the magic was feeding the current. This wasn’t good. He could feel his business along with his little scrap of independence dying right before his eyes.
“We’re not zoned for magic.” Sean’s shock was slowly giving way to anger. “There are over thirty apartments in this building. You can’t just go throwing in a magical element without the right buffers.” Not just an element, it was a magic practitioner. Spirit Movers were contracted only by the magically inclined. It wasn’t one fucked up magically cursed item, but a creator of all things magical about to come into his apartment building. It didn’t matter how much Sean invested in proper shielding, his technology was going to be a hunk of melted metal and plastic the moment a witch stepped into the building.
Four years. He built this business up from nothing over the last four years. He slaved without breaks, starved more than he ate, and only just got to the point where he could finally pay off the fucking loan it took to buy his equipment in the first place. This wasn’t allowed to happen. He couldn’t let this happen. This was his fucking life and he wasn’t just handing it over to some careless, spark happy witch.
“Sean? Hey, are you there?”
“Quiet,” Sean snapped as he looked around his satisfyingly immaculate living room which doubled as his office. He just needed something big, like a bat. How did he live in the fucking city and not have a hunk of baseball bat to slug at intruders? Sean stomped into the kitchen and grabbed the tea kettle off the stove, thought better of it, and reached for a frying pan instead.
“Sean, talk to me. You’re doing that muttering thing. Tell me you’re not losing your shit.”
Sean snorted in irritation. “I’m not losing my shit. I’m just going to go down there and tell them to get the fuck away from my building.”
TJ sighed heavily. “Come on, you know you can’t…”
“Blunt force trauma can still hurt a witch, right? They’re still human, after all.”
“Wait,” TJ interrupted before Sean could storm out the door. “Just take a breath and hold the fuck on. This is a witch we’re talking about.”
“I don’t care if it’s the fucking mayor!” Sean wasn’t sure exactly when he started yelling, but yelling felt like the thing he needed to do. He swung the frying pan, satisfied by the heft of the metal. “Witches have to abide by the same regulations as everyone else, otherwise it’s chaos! I can’t handle fucking chaos.” Sean tried to take a calming breath, his face too flushed and throat tight all of a sudden.
“I’m just going to go down and calmly explain other people live in the building. And bringing any sort of magic into an unbuffered space can lead to the total destruction of any and all electronics.” Sean swung the frying pan again, his mouth set in a grim line.
“Right, tell that to the ass end of a wand when that witch is turning you into a stain on the sidewalk. Just calm down, Sean. My shift is over in an hour. I’ll come by and talk for you.”
“Like fuck. I’m not waiting for you. The second they move all that shit in here, my computers will be fried. That’s thousands of dollars down the fucking toilet.” Sean stopped his erratic pacing and slapped his hand to his forehead. “Oh, fuck, I’ll have to move. They’ll want references. Credit checks. Fuck, TJ, they’re going to want to talk to my parents.” The frying pan fell from his hand and clattered noisily to the tile floor. “I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this. My life is over. I can’t run a business in the same building as a witch, and I can’t move.”
“Breathe. Sean, there is no reason to believe any of that. You’re just making shit up in your head and…” Another light bulb blew overhead, and Sean jumped in surprise. He scrambled until his back slammed against the fridge. Feeling trapped, he glared at the bare socket which was glowing a suspicious purple. TJ continued, oblivious. “People work with witches all the time. Hell, witches are total entrepreneurs, and not only do they hire a ton of freelancers like yourself, but also improve the local economy. I’m sure whoever is moving in has no interest in fucking up your business.”
Sean shook his head fiercely. TJ was too fucking nice, and naive as fuck, and when not sucking cock in his mind, totally distracting in all the wrong ways. “The building isn’t zoned. I have it in fucking writing. I never would have started a tech-based business in a building zoned for magic. I’m not an idiot. Magic kills tech.”
“Breathe,” TJ insisted while completely ignoring his brilliant point. There was a quality to TJ’s voice, a demand, and Sean paused and slowly drew a breath in. He could practically hear TJ’s lips inches from the phone. He wanted to fuck his perfect lips. It would shut him up. TJ just talked too much, and Sean could think of so many naughty ways to make him shut up.
“There, you feel better?”
“No.” Sean ran fingertips over his lips and imagined kissing TJ, sucking his cock into his mouth, and making him so hard he’d beg to be allowed to cum. He liked when TJ begged. He liked when he begged him to be nice, and then Sean wasn’t, and TJ just kept begging for more.
“Take another breath.”
Sean refused; he didn’t have time to jerk off. Thinking about TJ while breathing would only lead to masturbation. He glared around his apartment as a thought struck him. He had it in writing!
Sean stalked to the bedroom and went to the bookcase. He keyed in the combination and quickly rifled through the papers piled within the small safe. It took him a minute to find his agreement with the property management. “It’s in the third paragraph of the lease; no magical interference will be allowed into the apartment. This isn’t just about my business; this is basic regulations to be able to use a television or cell phone. You can’t run a fucking lamp around magic without fear of something fucking up.”
“Then call the property managers and yell at them,” TJ said as reasonably as possible. “For the love of fuck, just don’t pick a fight with a witch.”
Sean growled and headed back to the living room. He jumped and grabbed his chest when the overhead light exploded in shards and trickled onto his head. “TJ, if I could disconnect from you, I would have already. You can take the batteries out of your phone but it won’t make a fucking difference. The witch isn’t even through the damn door yet, and all the tech is fucked in the building.” Sean grabbed his keys from the bowl in the kitchen after he brushed the glass from his hair. “I’m going down there and telling them they’ve made a mistake. They’re out of zone and have to move their truck at least a quarter of a mile away.”
TJ sighed in exasperation. “No, you’re not, Sean. Just focus on your breathing. I’ll be down there in less than an hour. Fine, I’ll blow the rest of my shift off. Just chill, and I’ll be right there.”
“I’m not fucking waiting! You didn’t see my setup!” Sean pointed to his glowing computer screens, only to growl when he realized TJ couldn’t see shit through the headset. “The only other people home this time of day is the elderly couple on the first floor. What exactly are Mr. and Mrs. Luthra going to do? They’re both probably having heart attacks from all their lights exploding.”
“Either that or they haven’t noticed,” TJ said, his voice even and soothing. “The Luthras are pretty laid back. Just calm down. I’m leaving now.”
Sean bared his teeth and growled. “Fuck you. I’m not a damn five-year-old. I don’t need you to hold my fucking hand to deal with this. Fucking bullshit.” Still, Sean stopped his angry march and stared warily at the front door.
“Uh huh.” TJ’s voice was muffled over the sound of a cage clicking shut and the excited mewls of a half-dozen kittens. “Traffic shouldn’t be too bad this time of day. It’ll take ten minutes, top.”
“I go to the gym every fucking day. Every day. I don’t need your help. It’s right downstairs,” Sean insisted, his voice sharp.
“Yup, it’s pretty fucking awesome, man. I can’t drag myself to the gym consistently once a week, and you go every day.”
Sean inhaled sharply as his mind flashed to a vision of TJ in the gym, shorts around his ankles and ass up in the air waiting to be punished for not keeping to the schedule. The little whore. His bad, fucking sexy cockslut.
“Don’t condescend,” Sean muttered, feeling breathless and frustrated at every level. Fuck, he hated his life. Fucking hated it. He crossed the distance and slammed his fist down on the door.
“You know I wouldn’t do that. I seriously wish I could work out. I’m going all flab since I left college.” TJ’s cheerful tone drained away, and in his mind’s eye, Sean could see his friend’s familiar, worried expression. “You know the path is different, Sean. You can’t get to the front door from the gym.”
“Fuck you.” Sean wasn’t sure if he was directing the curse at TJ or the light bulb that just exploded overhead. “My computers are going to be on fire the second they drag something magical through those doors.” He knew what he had to do. He was determined, but when Sean grabbed the door handle, he couldn’t bring himself to turn it. Fuck. Motherfucker.
For a brief, unnerving moment, Sean could see the path it would take to get from his apartment door to downstairs. It was a twisted, crooked walk where the edges felt dark, and every doorway led to a maze of hallways and potential danger. Sean’s heart pounded in his chest loud enough for him to finally notice over the sickening wave of heat lurching through him. Fuck, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stay, but he couldn’t leave.
TJ’s voice broke through, calm and full of a reassuring smile. “Ten minutes, man. That’s it. You know how movers are; I bet they take an hour break before they even get started.”
Damn it. Fucking damn it. Sean huffed, stomped back to the living room, and threw himself into his roller chair. His hands were clammy with sweat, and he rubbed them distractedly on his pants while the racing of his heart slowed to something bearable.
“Ten minutes,” Sean said too sharply as he fought to regain control of himself. “If they come through those doors with something computer destroying before you get here, I’m totally blaming you.”
“Fair enough.”
TJ, as usual, was far too agreeable, and Sean found it completely infuriating. “You never told me how many,” Sean snapped. He slumped in his seat and covered his eyes with his hands. He felt small satisfaction when TJ grunted, and his voice lost the placating tone of before.
“Stop being a dick. Dogs jump on everyone like that.”
“They sure don’t hump me, whore.”
TJ sputtered at his crudeness, and Sean fought a wave of heat. He really didn’t want to start calling TJ a whore. He just knew once he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop, and he’d start calling him far worse. Bitch. Dick slave. Fuck toy. Cockslut… TJ was such a hot, sexy cockslut.
“Pretty sure Blake was the biggest dog around,” TJ said under his breath, like he was afraid of how Sean would react.
Sean snorted in surprise. “Fuck, you got me there. Damn.”
TJ chuckled, and his cautiousness slipped away when Sean joined in. “Well, it’s true.”
Sean shook his head while he snickered. The cockslut. His fucking gorgeous, unattainable cockslut.
It took fifteen minutes for TJ to get there, and Sean freaked the entire time. After seven minutes of counting to himself between swearing and stockpiling heavy metal kitchenware for a brawl he would never have, Sean moved to the window so he could glare at the moving truck down below and will it to go away. They just needed to realize the terrible mistake they made and never return. There was no way they could let a witch move in. The building wasn’t zoned, none of the other occupants were consulted—there were regulations, damn it! What was the point of regulations if no one followed them?
He needed to do something. Anything. Sean stomped back to the window and pushed the blinds aside. He ran his fingers along the sill and the sides as he sought the clasp to open the panes. His windows were cost effective models that kept the room at the perfect temperature, but they didn’t actually open. Normally it would have been good news—he never wanted his windows to open—but now it was another barrier between him and yelling down to the men below. He couldn’t even drop a note out a small opening.
He felt like a caveman unable to get an email out to the property managers. He’d have to resort to smoke signals, likely by setting his wall on fire because the fucking windows wouldn’t open! Who made windows that couldn’t open? What, did they think he was going to do, throw himself from the fucking building?
Oh, he might throw himself from the building if it prevented magic from getting inside. He was pretty sure you couldn’t cross a crime scene.
“Crazy. You’re going crazy, dumbass,” Sean muttered. He was completely cut off from the rest of the world without his tech, and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so trapped in the apartment while actually alone. It was the same brick walls and reclaimed architecture, but it all felt suffocating. Sean hadn’t really noticed how the Internet and telephone were the only connection his isolated world had to the rest of reality. As long as he didn’t want to leave, it was very easy to ignore how he couldn’t.
Sean pulled from the windows before he did something stupid, like attack them with a frying pan. He kept his headset around his neck and focused on the sounds of TJ trekking through traffic and pedestrians as he rode his bike to his apartment. TJ was the only one left in his life who cared about him. Not that he should, TJ was the last person who should care about him.
“Damn it, TJ, stop breathing.” TJ, of course, didn’t hear him. His phone was in his pocket while he biked, and Sean could hear every noise he made. He sounded like sex. Hot, sweaty, grunting sex. Every heavy huff of breath was a torture Sean couldn’t escape.
He needed to do something. Sean growled and took halting steps toward the door. He just had to walk out the door. He just had to open the door, walk down the hall to the elevator, and get out on the ground floor. It was so fucking easy yet impossible. Every minute he failed to leave his apartment was a minute he sacrificed to his tech being destroyed for good. It wasn’t just his tech, but his business, his life. Sean knew it, but it didn’t change anything. Every time he approached the door to leave, his vision grew dark around the edges, and his heart pounded alarmingly in his ears until he couldn’t move.
He went to the gym every morning. Every morning at 7 am, Sean would open the door, leave his apartment, and take the elevator to the second floor. He went out every damn day. He could leave the apartment, he could. But it wasn’t 7am, and he wasn’t going to the gym, and his fucked-up brain knew.
“Sean, you still there?” TJ huffed as he fumbled one handed with his cell phone. “Just a few more blocks left. Do you need me to come up?”
Yes, fucking yes. He’d give anything for TJ to rush up to the seventh floor and save him. TJ could save him, kiss him, and promise to never leave again. They could spend all day in bed where Sean would encourage loud, desperate cries from TJ’s perfectly plump lips.
Sean glared at the door and pulled his headset up so the microphone was by his mouth. “I’m fine. I’ll be down by the time you get here.” He might have to smash the window and jump out to do it, but by fuck, he wasn’t going to let TJ rescue him like he was an invalid. This was his burden, his fucked-up brain of a burden.
He turned from the door and his gaze slipped to where his cell phone was across the room. The screen was lit up with a purple symbol. Whatever the magic circuit was, it didn’t seem to matter how far away Sean stood for his headset to get reception. Sean could understand why they were experimenting lately to try to get magic to work with tech. There were benefits, you know, if everything didn’t end up exploding.
There was hardware that could be installed to keep magic from usurping an electrical current, but the shit was beyond expensive. The landlord was required to install the buffers that protected the workings of the building. There was no way Sean’s apartment was the only one losing light bulbs and electricity. Magic had the potential to be a limitless power source, but without the proper current regulators, it was also quick to fry everything. Hence regulations.
Sean growled under his breath. Why was this happening to him? Why now, after he made such a big deal about finally being independent and not needing any help? Things were tight already. It wasn’t like people were lining up for virus removal when the latest generation of computers came with magical-based defenses he couldn’t compete with. There was a time when magic and tech couldn’t mesh at all. Now there were a few elite dickbags who created magic-based worms to wreak havoc, and then they raked in the cash to ‘cure’ the problem.
Sean would love to be one of the few technicians knowledgeable enough to fix a magical virus, but it required being able to do magic—not a skill you could just learn. You were either born with it or not, and he was happy to be free of the vile stuff. As it was, Sean couldn’t even stop the computer from jumping to an unstable power source whenever magic came too close.
He felt like he was going to jump out of his skin. Sean took quick, careful steps with socked feet to avoid the glass in the hallway and slipped into his bedroom. So far, the room was untouched, and his minimalistic decor, dark furniture with clean lines, and orderly closet were free of broken glass. The way his lamps were glowing purple, Sean had little hope his room would go unscathed for much longer.
He glared into the bureau mirror and gave his sweatpants and stained t-shirt a critical once over. Fuck, he was always a mess these days. Maybe TJ was right. Maybe he needed an excuse to groom and be presentable.
He ran a hand through his messy blond hair and stared sideways in the mirror, so he could catch his gaze from behind the narrow glasses he always wore. TJ liked his eyes. It was one of the things he’d blurt out that left Sean forever guessing if he was flirting or just, well, liked his eyes.
Sometimes TJ flirted with him, but it was in that joking, childish way Sean thought would have stopped now they were in their mid-twenties. Sean was hot, and TJ wasn’t blind or anything, just obnoxiously straight. He was straight but weird about things, like his eyes. TJ called them jewel-green and wanted him to get contacts. And for TJ, Sean would do just about anything, except his eyes dried out too much from staring at computer screens all day.
He could shave, at least, and maybe dress in something that showed off his arms. The exercise was to help him relax, give him focus, make it seem like he wasn’t a fucking crazy person in a cage. He wasn’t going to complain about the six pack abs that kind of showed up overnight, though. The real question was, how could he subtly show them off to TJ?
What was he doing? Was he seriously thinking of using this as an excuse to hit on his best—and let’s face it—only friend? Sean snorted softly. Fucked in the head. He was so fucked. Disgusted with himself, Sean deliberately ruffled his hair into a mess and headed to the closet for something clean.
What the fuck did you wear to meet a witch? Strike that; what did you wear to yell at a bunch of lost movers to keep their client’s volatile gear as far from the building as possible? Sean had a feeling whoever worked for a magic type were either magical themselves, or really fucking tough to put up with all the trouble witches created. Witches were all trouble.
Panic again fluttered in his chest and his clothes blurred before his eyes. Fuck, he couldn’t handle this. A witch couldn’t move in. It had to be a mistake. Once he got down there and talked to the movers, it would all be figured out. TJ was right; you just needed to talk to people. Sean nodded to himself. It was the logical thing. Witches didn’t move into unbuffered buildings.
All attempts to convince himself to dress in tight, ass hugging jeans were eventually ruled out. He wanted to look like he had a job, and that what he said had some damn sway. Sean settled on a semiprofessional pair of khakis and a deep blue polo shirt. As he sat on the edge of his bed and laced up his boots, he tried not to think of the last time he went out. It was four months ago, easy. Sean tried not to count the days. It just made it oppressive to combine a number with his absolutely irrational fear of leaving the apartment.
It wasn’t some big phobia or anything, not really. At least, he refused to call it that no matter how many words WebMD threw around. He didn’t like to leave his apartment. Sean spent a lot of time getting his place perfect, and there was nowhere outside these very stable walls where he felt safe. Things made sense in his apartment, and he was the kind of guy who needed things to make sense.
Magic was one of those things that never worked the way it was supposed to. Not only did it not work, but it broke every fucking thing just by existing. Sean had no interest in being broken any more than he already was.
“Hey, I’m here,” TJ announced cheerfully.
TJ. Sean jumped up from his bed, tugged at the collar of his polo with one hand, and flattened his hair down with the other. He hadn’t seen him in over a month now. TJ kept calling, but Sean would make every excuse he could think of to avoid him. Fuck, he should have shaved. He should have worn the contacts. Damn it, he should have thrown on those totally hot jeans.
“Whoa, have you been out here? Holy fuck.”
Sean quickly pulled himself from the mirror. “What? What is it?”
“There’s a news van with cameras and shit. I should have brought some of the rescues down.”
Sean froze and struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. “Cameras?”
“Yeah, I think it’s one of those celebrity witches. I never follow those things, but everyone looks really excited.”
Oh, fuck. “What do you mean by everyone?”
TJ was oblivious to the strangled tone of Sean’s voice. “There’s like a hundred people out here, and they all have these weird glowing purple symbols on their shirts.”
“Like the one on your phone?” Sean grabbed the wall as his sight dimmed, and it took him a moment to remember to breathe. Fuck, a celebrity witch. They were the worst. They were the worst, and if anyone could bully their way through regulations and laws, it was a magical celebrity. Fuck, his life was over.
“Wait, I think I know who’s in charge. Hold on, buddy.” TJ sounded far too cheerful, and Sean struggled not to vomit. Static crackled in his ear as TJ approached the moving truck and the magical items it held. It was bad. It was really fucking bad if TJ was calling him ‘buddy.’ Fuck. He was so fucked.
He was going to have to move. He’d lose it all; his business, his security, his home of the last four years. Could he ever build it back up again? He wasn’t even sure how he did it the first time. He was a fuck-up, and to have him succeed in anything never made sense. He dropped out of college, slapped something together he called a business the same time the damn industry was dying around his ears. How could he hope to do this all over again? He shouldn’t have been able to even get as far as he had.
Maybe this was the result. Maybe this was how the universe balanced out those few months of stability where he finally felt like he could breathe. Sean knew it was too good to be true. He knew he didn’t deserve any of it. The universe gave him hope, and now it was dumping him back in the gutter where he belonged, broken and useless.
Static crackled right before TJ’s voice cut in again. “…is how it looks. The movers know they can’t bring the stuff in until the regulators come in and finish their installation. Except, well, they weren’t expecting the cameras. Their boss is on their ass cuz he thinks they look lazy. They want to bring stuff in, so they’re looking for the safest items.”
“No. Don’t tell me they’re coming in here with magic,” Sean whimpered. “It’s a mistake. It has to be a mistake.”
“I didn’t say that.” TJ coughed awkwardly. “Okay, I totally said that. They haven’t yet, though. They know they can’t, but they really need to look like they’re doing something. They’re trying to get a hold of the property managers, but I guess traffic is messed up from the crowd, and it’s making it difficult for them to get here. Holy shit!” TJ made a noise Sean only ever heard from the mouth of an excited teenage girl and toddlers of all genders. “That’s a phoenix! There is an actual phoenix out here. Oh, my fuck, a miniature dragon! Sean, it’s no bigger than my arm. Get down here right now. You don’t even understand what you’re missing!”
Sean slumped against the wall and groaned. Damn it, TJ turned into a total flake the moment something fluffy and idiotic showed up. “Yeah, I’m good right here.” Cameras, a crowd of star-struck fans, and magical monsters who never walked the Earth outside of a witch’s power? There was no way in fuck he was going near any of that. No doubt a permit for those exotic beasts would not be available upon request. “Did the movers mention when they’d be leaving and taking the magic with them? Tell me they’re just using the parking lot.”
TJ, who was distractedly cooing at something likely capable of eating him alive, was too interested in the animals to sugarcoat things anymore. “Dude, she’s moving in. It’s the right address and everything. Have you been listening at all? The regulators messed up the time. They were supposed to be here before the movers but got stuck in traffic. The news messed everything up. It’s Magnolia something or other. I guess she’s a big fucking deal. Like the next big thing in the magical world.”
Fuck. Motherfuck. This couldn’t be happening. What was he supposed to do?
“Sean? Are you…?” TJ was cut off by a cheer. It was quickly joined by other voices until it was a roar of one word shouted again and again.
Magnolia.
Oh, fuck. Sean pushed off the wall and threw himself at his bedroom door. He stopped, turned, and grabbed the lease from the bookcase. He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t.
“Do you need me to come up?” The sound dulled as TJ ducked somewhere quieter. “Sean, are you okay? Tell me you’re not freaking out up there. I know stuff like this can seem overwhelming, but you can’t build it up in your head. The movers aren’t through the door. There are trained regulators on their way to prevent any issues with magic going haywire. You have absolutely nothing to worry about. Sean? Are you listening?”
Sean wasn’t listening. He could barely breathe. His life was fucking over. Approved. The management approved the move without telling anyone, and now his life was over.
It had to be the shock. When chaos swept in, doorways stopped looking like barriers of safety to his fucked-up brain. Sean couldn’t really explain it, the same way he couldn’t explain why it was so difficult to leave his apartment when it never used to be. His front door slammed behind him, and his steps were muffled on the hall carpet as he stumbled to the elevator. He needed to keep the movers outside. He’d chain himself to the door. He didn’t have a chain, or a lock, or any sort of plan really. He hadn’t even thought to bring the tea kettle. It didn’t matter; he needed to do something before every scrap of stability was stolen away from him.
A witch couldn’t move in.
“Sean, is that the elevator I just heard?”
“I’m fine,” Sean said automatically as he punched the button. “Stop worrying over nothing.”
There must have been something in his voice. TJ became both stern and impossibly calm all at once. “Sean, I really don’t think you should come down here. There are a lot of people, and I know how much you hate crowds.”
TJ wasn’t even trying to lie to him anymore. “I’m fine.” Sean felt strangely calm, actually. Could he barricade the doors with something? There were two large potted plants by the outer doors, if he remembered correctly. Maybe he could drag them in front of the doorway and then stand in front of them.
“Just stay where you are. I’m coming up. Have you eaten yet? I’ll get us takeout and we can throw a DVD on. It’ll be fun.”
Right, cuz spending time with the gorgeous best friend he couldn’t fuck was always a delight.
It was. Fuck it really was. He loved TJ so much.
Sean remained silent as he watched the numbers light up and the elevator glided down. He hadn’t taken the main elevator but the one that led to the gym on the second floor. There was a private stairway only the residents knew of. TJ wouldn’t have a fucking clue, which would give him plenty of time to run around the building and throw himself in front of the doorway. Once he showed the movers the clause in the lease—a binding fucking contract—they’d have to back off. There was no way magic was getting into his building. Regulations mattered. Rules fucking mattered.
Sean was relieved to find the hallway empty when the elevator doors swung open. Broken glass crunched beneath his boots as he stalked past the gym entrance. He brandished the rolled-up lease in his hand like a sword as he threw the inner door open that led down a brief flight of stairs into the small tiled room that contained a rundown vending machine, faded stock painting of the ocean, and askew rug by the door. Sean paused and stared at the vending machine critically but eventually dismissed it. There was no way he’d be able to carry it all the way to the front of the building, even if it would be the perfect size and weight to block the doors.
He was five feet from the exit when the heavy security door swung open. Sean staggered to a halt as someone slipped through the gap. It was a slender, dark-skinned woman in fashionable sunglasses and a wide-brimmed black hat. She turned her back to him and peered out the door, then quickly shut it tight with a sigh.
Sean’s mouth gaped open when he recognized the pointed tip on the top of the newcomer’s hat. Witch! It was the witch! “You’re… You can’t,” he stammered and waved his lease accusingly. “You can’t come in here until the regulators set up!”
“What?” Magnolia turned with a sculpted eyebrow quirked inquiringly. “What can’t I…? Aw, crap.” Sean followed to where she was looking the same instant the florescent tubes above shattered in a rain of glass. Purple flames glowed from the bare circuits and shot outward with a violent roar.
Sean squeezed his eyes shut and ducked down to protect himself from the shards. Heat seared his face, but it was the sound of static that reminded him too late. He fumbled blindly for the headset hooked on his ear the same moment it combusted into flames and the vending machine exploded.
“Holy fuck! Why is everything made of shit here? Damn it.” Magnolia pulled a wand from the metallic leather purse hanging off her arm and whipped it at the vending machine. “Son of a…!” The purple glow flared into a roar of flames in response to the magic, and the vending machine shuddered and began to melt. “I hate tech. I fucking hate it.”
Sean groaned from where he was curled up on the tiled floor. His sight was consumed with glittering flames, and the only noise was a loud ringing in his ear and muffled voices. Everything hurt. Everything. It hurt even more so when he went to move, and his muscles screamed in protest. Sean struggled to get up onto his trembling knees and found blood streaking his khakis. His hands were scraped raw from shattered glass and wouldn’t stop shaking.
Black high heels, shiny with a stiletto heel, stalked past where he was kneeling and stopped. “Jamie? Jamie, what the fuck did you send me into? You told me the regulators would be all set up. There is a crowd of dumbasses wrapped around this entire building!”
Sean swayed and tried to focus as darkness dimmed his eyesight. His face was on fire, possibly literally. He grasped for where the headset once hung, his fingertips stiff and throbbing pain. “What happened?” He clasped his hand over his ear and blinked rapidly, but nothing made sense. Sean’s gaze followed the stiletto heel up to a narrow, cocoa skinned ankle and shapely calf. Nausea churned his stomach the moment he tried to raise his head any higher, and Sean gripped the back of his neck as he lurched forward.
He missed the angry shriek as what was left of his lunch sprayed onto the floor. Sean’s thoughts were a jumble of half sights and confused memories. He fumbled fingers around his left ear, and his brows furrowed from the strange sensation. It felt wrong. It didn’t feel like anything; it was like plastic and strange twists. He wasn’t sure if it was because his fingers were messed up, or his ear was very, very wrong.
Sean couldn’t tell how much time passed as his body revealed every ache and pain, and he tried to figure out if he still had an ear. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to pull a breath in. Air was elusive as he gasped and fought to get his lungs to work. The door that led into the apartment building crashed open, and TJ came barreling through. His tanned face was flushed red, and the shirt he wore for the animal shelter was stained with sweat. Sean couldn’t tear his bleary gaze away; he’d never seen anything so beautiful.
“Sean!” TJ’s dark eyes were huge as he froze and stared at where Sean was hunched on the floor. “Oh, fuck.” Blood was splattered on the tile, and Sean’s clothes were smoking a strange, dark purple color. TJ’s gaze fixed on the side of his head where Sean couldn’t hear, and his expression crumpled to heart wrenching for a moment. Without another word, TJ jumped down the steps and crouched next to him.
“It’s okay. I’m going to get you an ambulance.” TJ reached for his back pocket before remembering he no longer had his cell. “Fuck, I had to throw my phone when it started smoking. The thing blew seconds after I heard the explosion in here. Fuck.”
Dear fuck, he loved him. Sean stared dazedly up into TJ’s worried face. He could laugh about gaining flab from not working out, but TJ was gorgeous, fit, with the most calming, loving smile. A weak smile curved Sean’s lips as he stared at the fear in TJ’s beautiful, brown eyes flecked with gold. He seriously loved him. Dying wasn’t remotely scary just so long as TJ was there.
“Sean, hang in there. Fuck.” TJ looked up at Magnolia, who was pacing the small room as she snapped orders into her phone. “Hey, can you make a call? We need an ambulance.”
Magnolia didn’t stop her agitated steps as she glanced disinterestedly in their direction. “No, that’s not going to happen.”
“What?” TJ glanced away, only to turn back slack jawed. “You’re the witch,” he blurted.
“I’m a master sorceress, not some backwater wiccan.” She sighed and stopped walking. “Magnolia DeVaun. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.” When recognition failed to reveal on TJ’s face, Magnolia took her sunglasses off. She looked him up and down with an assessing gaze, and a smirk twisted on her perfectly glazed pout. Her sharp eyes narrowed as her gaze fell to Sean. “His wounds are superficial. It’s nothing a few healing spells can’t handle.”
“No! No magic.” Sean lurched back and tried to scramble away. He only heard half of what was exchanged, but he was certain any wand pointed his way was going to kill him. TJ went to grab him, but Sean slipped from his grasp when pain shot through his body. “My computers. My phone was in my apartment. I have to see if they’re dead.” Sean gasped for air while he muttered in desperate bursts. He couldn’t stop shaking, the motion a quiver through his entire body.
“Sean, calm down. Just…” TJ sighed helplessly when Sean stumbled from his well-intentioned attempts to help him, and he fell to the ground. Sean clutched the side of his burnt face as he struggled to breathe.
“What’s wrong with him?” Magnolia stomped over and glared down at where Sean was heaving for air on the floor.
“Besides the fact he’s been in an explosion, his glasses are melted to his face, and one of his ears is full of metal?” TJ snapped rhetorically. “He’s having a panic attack. You came in here before the building was buffered, and you fried his entire business. Not to mention we can’t even get an ambulance in to get him patched up because of all the traffic from your appearance. None of this was handled properly.”
“Hey, the regulators were supposed to have been here already,” Magnolia said defensively. “This is the only building zoned for commercial work in the area. Believe me, I would have preferred something upscale and modern, but the competition over territory rights is brutal for professional magic users. I was told this would all be straightened out before I got here. As for that mess outside…” Magnolia stalked to the outer door and pushed it open with a scowl. “I don’t know who tipped the fucking media, but there’s no way I can stay out there with those crazies. They think magic is a fucking god-code or something, and none of them want to pay for it. Do you want to go out there and make stupid disappear?”
TJ glanced at the gap of the door and found a dozen people staring back, standing only feet away. All of them were wearing shirts with the purple symbol once blazoned on his now fried phone. “Shut it. Shut the door,” he hissed under his breath.
Magnolia huffed and glanced over her shoulder. She jolted when she saw the crowd gathered around the entrance. “Damn it.”
“Magnolia, can I get your autograph? Oh, a photo! Smile Magnolia!”
Magnolia’s expression twisted to pure disgust, and her voice was clipped and cold when she spoke. “Sorry, darling, but your camera isn’t buffered properly.” Her wand twitched between her perfectly manicured fingers, and a camera in the crowd fizzled into a smoking plastic heap with a cracked lens. Enthusiastic oohs raised in response.
“Awesome! Can you sign it?” The girl, whose camera was smoking on the ground, turned wide eyes to Magnolia. “Please, it’s gotta be a collectible now.”
“Magnolia, curse my camera too!”
“Mine too!”
TJ coughed in disbelief, and his unease grew as more people ran up to the open door. Someone was shouting outside, and he had a terrible suspicion it was a call to the large group of fans at the front of the building.
“I loved your interview in Tricky. Is it true you’re still looking for love?”
“Are you challenging Mistress Flora for enchanting rights this season?”
“When you cast, do you need to use your dominant hand?”
“Magnolia, just one picture.”
Magnolia took a step back as someone grabbed the door, and the crowd surged forward as one.
“Magnolia, my mother is really sick. Can you bless her foot for me?”
“Her foot?” Magnolia stared blank faced as a human foot was shoved in front of her nose. It was severed at the ankle and was apparently from the holder’s mother. TJ had to give her credit, Magnolia sounded incredibly calm once she found her voice. “Sorry, I’m in the middle of a move right now, and I’m not taking new customers.”
TJ grabbed Sean by the shoulder and pulled him up roughly. “We’re leaving. Now. Right fucking now.”
Sean swayed and grabbed TJ’s arm for balance. Even though all his senses were a mess, his nose seemed to be compensating. TJ smelled good, of sporty body wash mixed with the scent of his sweat. Sean licked pained lips and wondered what it would be like to kiss him. TJ couldn’t get angry at him when he was half exploded. He might even kiss him back…
Sean stumbled again and nearly fell. He couldn’t keep upright, and he wasn’t sure if his legs were fucked up, or it had to do with his weird ear.
“No, run. We’re running.” TJ hauled Sean and helped push him forcefully up the small flight of stairs. “Your place, then we’ll figure out how to get an ambulance. Shit, two feet. Why does she have both of her mother’s feet with her? Holy fuck, what a psycho.”
“TJ, I can’t breathe,” Sean protested. He grabbed blindly for the door before it could smack him in the face.
“Breathe later. Those were pieces of a fucking person. Holy fuck, the smell.” TJ fumbled with the door while he shouldered Sean upright. He stilled when a slender hand reached from behind him and pushed the door shut. “What the fuck are you…?”
“Quiet.” Magnolia spoke a few clipped, foreign words under her breath. A black void formed in the center of the door and pulsed out to consume the wall in front of them. “Hurry up or I’m leaving you with these freaks.” She smacked her hand on TJ and Sean’s shoulders and shoved. Sean tried to resist, but his feet refused to listen, and he was propelled forward into the dark portal.
“Honestly, the nonsense of all this. I gave clear instructions to everyone. There was absolutely no reason any of this had to happen. The couch; no, not that one! That’s older than the country. Put him over there by the cages. No… Did I stutter, Jamie? You assured me this was taken care of. I arrived and it was a madhouse. I had to port just to escape the crazies. You promised me a simple, productive move, not another freak convention. That skitzo was out there again, this time with another foot. I don’t care how it looks in the papers…”
Magnolia’s voice boomed as she paced back and forth and her high heels clicked angrily on the hardwood floor. Sean had no idea where he was, and his gaze struggled to focus as TJ half guided, half carried him to a couch and made him sit. The architecture looked oddly familiar, and with a wince, he realized he was still in the building. Magnolia had an apartment in his building.
Aw, fuck.
This wasn’t happening. None of this was allowed to happen. The lease, crumpled to the point of unrecognizable, fell out of Sean’s hand. He didn’t notice since the sensation failed to reach his fingers. Sean shook uncontrollably while TJ pulled his feet up and turned him until he was stretched out on the buttery leather couch.
“Sean, breathe. Just breathe. Can you hear me?” TJ’s face peered down at him, and Sean focused on his kind expression. Sweat dripped from TJ’s short black hair onto his forehead, and it made him look ruffled and out of control. His brown eyes, usually on the verge of laughter, were full of tears as he looked Sean over.
“Your face is burned.” TJ gingerly touched Sean’s glasses where the metal was fused to his flesh. “You’re lucky your skin didn’t melt off. What the hell happened? I heard an explosion, and my phone blew up a second after. This can’t just be from exposure to magic, right? Did she curse you?”
Sean couldn’t speak. His breath was caught in his chest as TJ leaned over him and his mouth edged close to his. He wanted him, needed him. Having TJ worry about him was this fierce, selfish joy Sean didn’t ever want to release. He wanted him.
“She broke me,” Sean whispered, unable to pull his gaze from TJ’s perfect mouth.
“What? Sean, I need to know if she—uhhh…” TJ blinked rapidly as Sean crossed the small space and brushed their lips together.
Perfect. He tasted perfect. Sean exhaled heavily and fell back on the couch, the effort having exhausted him.
TJ stared down at him as his cheeks quickly flushed red. “Sean, are you…? Are you even…?” He gave up trying to talk when Sean shut his eyes and curled to the side. “Uh, right. You should rest. I’ll, um, get you some water while we wait on that ambulance.” TJ straightened from where he was crouched and gave him a final questioning look Sean kept his eyes closed through. He walked unsteadily from the room, and Sean let himself relax fully on the leather sofa.
He shouldn’t have done that. Fuck, he really shouldn’t have done that. It was hard to feel guilty when he could still smell TJ’s scent and still taste him on his tingling lips. He wanted TJ to come back and cuddle with him, curl around him until he slept. TJ could feed him soup and dote on him for as long as it took for him to heal. He could move into his place and kiss him to sleep every night, and when Sean was finally better, TJ would do more than kiss. He’d slip between the sheets and give his body to him, his cries, every drop of cum…
A dream. A cruel lie of a dream.
Sean couldn’t remember a time he wasn’t head over heels in love with TJ. For one miserable year he tried to convince himself TJ might return his hidden feelings. It was the same year Sean was disowned for being gay and ended up living on TJ’s sofa. Nothing good came from revealing his sexuality. If anything, Sean felt cursed, a victim to a long line of emotional assaults where his parents abandoned him, his friends rejected him, and love, love was always one sided.
Sean tried not to love, just, it was impossible when it came to TJ. He was selfless, caring, and always calm among the worst of storms. While Sean’s world forever spiraled out of control, TJ was a rock of compassion and generosity. It wasn’t like he was particularly rich or anything; TJ lived in a little flat in a slummy part of the city, but somehow it was idyllic. His job didn’t pay much, but he loved every moment of it. TJ had friends, confidants, people who made him smile and brighten, and it all just came so easy for him.
Sean knew he could only bring misery to someone as perfect as TJ, but he couldn’t let him go. If he were a decent human being, he would have pushed TJ away years ago. He tried. Fuck, he was a bastard every time they talked, just to make TJ see reason. TJ still hung in there trying to make Sean into someone worthy he could show off to his friends. And fuck, Sean wanted to let TJ pretend he could be better if it kept him reaching out. He’d rather be an asshole, than completely broken hearted and alone.
“Jamie, I said call the lawyers. I don’t give a fuck what time it is over there. I have a sparker with half his face blown off, and I don’t want to be sued.” Magnolia’s angry steps stopped. “What, water? Yeah, fine, this way.”
Silence descended as Magnolia led TJ to the kitchen, and her steps clicked and faded. Sean sank back into the couch with a heavy groan. He was in throbbing pain and lost in a numb buzz of red that had no relief even in his mind. He blinked his eyes shut, surprised to find they were open. His brain wasn’t processing anything properly, and the darkness behind his eyelids felt more real than the room he was in.
Would anyone care if he died in that explosion? What if his head was severed just as cleanly as that foot? Would anyone miss him? Would the clients waiting for their computers to be fixed demand to find out what happened to the IT specialist who let them down? Would his parents call TJ to see if he somehow died hetero with a girlfriend? Would TJ think about him fondly on the anniversary of his death while shaking his head about how Sean wasted his life?
He was wasting his life. He hadn’t achieved anything, and when he came close to being okay, it was all taken away.
Sean’s eyebrows furrowed as something hot and silky brushed his forehead. Breath teased over his wounded cheek and stung through the descending numbness. Sean reached up to brush the strange sensation away, and his burnt fingers connected with something solid and large hovering over him. Soft.
TJ would care. He was the only one who cared he was alive. It was a burden on him; Sean was either a burden or a fuck up. He couldn’t do anything right. He couldn’t be what everyone wanted him to be, and the only option was just not to be at all. His parents would be happier to never have a son. TJ’s life would be better if he never had to check up on his neurotic, social reject of a friend who was not so secretly in love with him.
By default, Sean’s life would be much easier if he stopped existing. He couldn’t even get his fucking brain to let him walk through a door when he needed to.
Breath ghosted his forehead, and Sean cracked his eyes open. The darkness remained, and his blurry gaze focused on long, black strands of hair as lips brushed the side of his face. A hot tongue lapped his singed flesh, and Sean gasped as the world rocked. He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned as pain, heat, and a soothing noise washed over him.
Was that… was something purring?
Sean’s glasses clattered to the floor, and it took him a moment to realize they were no longer seared into his skin. “What?” he mumbled as wet heat burned up his neck. Sean clutched weakly to a shoulder, powerful muscle and hot skin firm beneath his shaking hand. A hot mouth latched onto his ear. “What are…?” Sean tried to pry his lashes open, but they felt too heavy to move. His face contorted, and he jerked as pain lanced through his head. “F-Fuck,” he choked out. His ear felt on fire—on fire while being ripped off and chewed up.
Sean’s hand was pulled free from his death grip on the stranger’s shoulder, and lips rubbed over the damaged flesh. “Hurts,” he whimpered as every inch of skin those lips and tongue touched roared with fresh pain. He wasn’t sure if the skin was peeling from his bones, or healing as he clutched at the hand holding his. A pins and needle sensation followed as Sean’s nerve endings tingled, and his brain tried to process whatever the hell was happening.
TJ? Something… someone… “Oh.” Sean breathed out softly as his fingers were sucked into a hot mouth, and a velvet tongue coated and caressed his digits in long, sensual strokes. The pain slipped away to be replaced by a new madness. A heat flickered through Sean, and flames lit him up from the inside out with every suck and lick to his skin. Teeth nipped at his fingertips and Sean gasped and reached his free hand up to tangle into silky hair.
It was good, so good, and he needed more. With an unsteady exhale, Sean tilted his head and sought the mouth tormenting his hand. Lips swiftly covered his, and he groaned as he was devoured by demanding, consuming kisses.
Sean fought the dizzying motion of the room and used his handhold of hair to tug the stranger closer so he could nip at his lush lips. Saliva dripped hot down his chin as a tongue plunged and stroked into his mouth to explore and taste. Fire roared through his sluggish body, and Sean moaned and rocked his hips as he sought friction for his aching erection. “Y-Yes… Again. More,” Sean whimpered as he humped against the hard body hovering over him and ground against a bare thigh.
Rough hands pulled him up and wrapped him into a powerful embrace. Sean sluggishly chased the lips trailing wet over his jaw. He wanted to taste him, needed to tangle with his tongue again. He tried to pull the hard, muscular man closer, but each kiss drained Sean of the little energy he had remaining until he felt boneless and lost. Sean’s head fell back on the couch as his body refused to hold itself up. He moaned in despair until lips returned and kissed him in a hungry burst.
It was perfect, so perfect, and he groaned to find he couldn’t pull the other down against him the way he wanted. The only relief was when hands ran possessively down Sean’s heaving chest and sides as they sought the hem of his shirt. Yes, this is what he needed. Skin on skin.
“Sean, I have your…” TJ’s voice cut off, and he froze in the living room entrance. “What the hell? What the fuck is that thing?” The water he was carrying fell from his grip and shattered to the hardwood floor in a spray of liquid and glass.
Magnolia followed at the sound of destruction and stalked into the room. She pulled from her phone with a dark scowl once she caught sight of Sean and his mysterious kisser. “You son of a bitch. Bad! Back in your cage this instant!”
Sean groaned when he was released abruptly, and he sank heavily into the couch. His body was dripping honey, his lips swollen and tingling, and his cock throbbing for release. It took a few tries, but he eventually managed to crack his eyelids open. Beautiful purple eyes gazed deep into his for a frozen, perfect eternity. Sean sighed and blinked. His eyes refused to open again no matter how desperate TJ’s voice became as it echoed in the darkness.
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.
In the dark room, each object glowed with a sharp halo to Wylie’s shocked eyes. Someone had outlined reality in a bright, vibrating light, making the open wall safe and the paper waterfall spread across the hardwood floor buzz at the edges. Even brighter were the forms of the man crumpled at the foot of the bed and Diego standing over him with a gun in his outstretched hand. Wylie’s senses strained as he tried to comprehend what his eyes were telling him. The world pulsed, and he realized blearily it had the same beat as his own heart.
It wasn’t the scent of fear, but the small whimper of pain from the homeowner on the floor that snapped Wylie back to reality.
“Don’t fucking do it, man.” Wylie stepped into the room, his eyes jumping from the gun, to the stranger on the floor tangled in blankets. What were once immaculate, silk pajamas were now stained in blood from the guy’s head wound. “Just stop.”
Diego barely glanced Wylie’s way, his glare fixed down at the homeowner. He waved Wylie off with his free hand and widened his stance to brace for the gun’s recoil. “I’ll meet you downstairs. Help the twerp with the—” Diego fell silent when Wylie defiantly threw the duffel bag full of money on the floor. Red colored his features, and he lifted the gun and pointed it at Wylie’s chest. “Pick it the fuck up, and get the fuck downstairs, freak!”
“Why? So you can shoot this guy?” Righteous anger heated through Wylie and clenched in his chest. The Glock didn’t waver in Diego’s hand, and Wylie stood taller in defiance. “We’re here to rob, not murder. Do you think Roth is going to pat you on the back for killing some rich slob in his fucking bed? No, he’s going to waste you for fucking things up. Think, for fuck sake!”
Doubt crept into Diego’s dark eyes. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“We’ve got the money.” Wylie waved at the duffel bag and the cash spread out on the floor. “I cleared out the fucking safe, and the little shit downstairs is rolling in enough tech to give him a woody. Walk the fuck away, man. We have everything we came for.”
“I can’t!” Sweat spilled down Diego’s forehead as he shifted from one foot to the other. He gripped the gun with two hands and pointed it back at the man on the floor.
“Just…” Wylie held his breath, and his gaze slid down to where the gun was pointing. Once he found the homeowner’s face, it was impossible to turn away. The older man’s eyes were open and glazed with pain and confusion. The head wound had split the paper-thin skin of his forehead, and blood the color of night streamed down his face unchecked. Wylie’s stomach churned and twisted as he got a fresh whiff of copper scented blood.
“Don’t do it,” Wylie whispered, his voice strangely hoarse.
“The rich fuck saw my face!” Diego shouted, as if yelling could justify what he was about to do. “I’m not going back to prison. I am fucking done with prison!”
Wylie’s eyes locked with the homeowner’s as fear trickled past his strong defenses. Diego was going to waste this guy. It didn’t matter what the fuck he said or what amount of money was at hand. Diego was more afraid of prison than of taking a life, and he was going to kill this guy. Wylie hadn’t realized he had something left to be afraid of, but apparently seeing an innocent man get shot to death was it.
‘Fight…’
Something dark shifted inside him, and Wylie nearly stumbled sideways as the room tilted a moment. Grasping his head, his eyes fixed on the gun and where Diego was standing. He couldn’t let this happen. He had to stop it.
“Listen to me, really closely here.” Wylie took a tentative step as he scrambled to think of something that would convince Diego to stop. He was a full seven feet away from the gangster. It wasn’t near enough to do a flying leap faster than a bullet, but if he could inch a bit closer…
“What?” Diego grunted. His dark eyes were full of warning when he glanced his way, and Wylie froze.
“Okay. Uh, let’s say he manages to describe you even though the lighting is total shit in here.” Wylie forged on, grasping for anything to distract Diego from pulling the trigger. “The guy’s got an egg on the side of his head the size of my fist. He’s fucking ancient, and he’s injured.”
Sweat trickled down Wylie’s neck as he stared at Diego’s tense face and waited for him to look away. Wylie slid his right foot closer. “Let’s say he doesn’t have brain damage or memory loss from that lump, and he can describe you.” Wylie stole another step closer while Diego growled. “What’s he going to say?” he pressed. “It’s just a face. There are a fucking million people who look like you. You’re not pretty, you’re not ugly or scarred. It’s just a damn face, man. There’s no way he’s going to be able to identify you with all that blood in his eyes.”
“I’m not going back!” Diego snapped his gaze back to Wylie, and the gun lifted a moment only to return back to its original target. “You don’t understand what it’s like in there, freak, what they fucking do to you! Arms like yours, they might leave you the fuck alone. But me? You think they care if I’m pretty or not? You think they care if I run with anyone?” Fear and rage battled on Diego’s features as he relived something in his mind. His body shook, and the red flushing his face and neck spread down his chest.
Wylie held his arms out in a pacifying gesture, terrified Diego was going to snap then and there. “Stop. Chill the fuck out.” There was a noise, and Wylie turned his head toward the door, his eyes squinting to peer into the darkness on the other side of the gap. From far away, he picked up the sounds of Adam’s thin voice calling from down the hall. Wylie tried to do the math of how long he’d been in the bedroom. Had the cops hit the scanner? Did Beck send Adam up to get them out?
It was possible. Fuck, the cops could already be there.
Wylie turned back, his frustration growing with every second of the fucked up situation. “Listen, if this all goes to shit, you’re either in it for robbery, which is a fucking cakewalk, or it’s murder. Think!” Wylie stressed, desperation creeping into his voice. “They will never let you out if you kill this guy. You fucking hear me? They will lock you away with the animals forever!”
“Shit… Shit!” Diego hissed. The gun rattled in his grip as his hands shook. “You don’t get it, freak. You can’t… Shit!”
“Just walk away, man. We gotta go!” Wylie held his breath, waiting, certain he had gotten through. Surely Diego would stop and leave. It was the only answer. But what followed was just as illogical as the gangster’s assumption their piece of shit van would be inconspicuous when parked in front of a luxury mansion.
Diego’s hands steadied, and he pointed the gun back down at the man groaning on the floor. “I have priors. It’s not robbery; it’s fucking armed robbery.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Wylie insisted. “The cops are on their way! We’ve been here too long.”
Diego shook his head and snarled. “Freak, you’re too fucking stupid to understand. If I let this guy live and then end up back in jail for armed robbery…” Diego shook his head again, and his eyes narrowed with determination. “Sometimes you have to do shit. Sometimes you gotta make sure your rep is set.”
Wylie’s heart raced as Adam’s footsteps came closer and Diego pulled back the hammer on the gun. There was no time. Danger was coming for him at all sides, and it was impossible to keep any semblance of calm anymore.
“This isn’t just about you, you selfish fuck!” Wylie shouted.
“What, I’m supposed to give a fuck about the rich asshole who wasn’t supposed to be here!” Diego hollered back, his face red.
“No, the lookout, you dick! The fucking nerd! Me!” Wylie pointed accusingly at Diego. “You’re setting us all up for life if you—!”
The door creaked as Adam pushed it open, and Wylie felt the trigger squeeze. His muscles screamed in protest as Wylie lunged with all his strength and knocked into Diego’s solid form. Noise and light exploded all around him as Wylie careened forward. His hypersensitive senses reeled and his sight blacked out the same moment a ringing overwhelmed his ears. Wylie felt more than saw Diego crumple and collapse beneath him.
Another shot jerked through his body. Wylie gasped as red throbbed behind his eyes.
‘Survive…’
Wylie jolted and scrambled to wrestle the gun from Diego before they all ended up dead. He clawed around Diego’s forearms in desperation, and the scent of blood filled his nostrils. His palm found the gun. The barrel was burning hot from firing, but his demon arms felt no pain as he wrenched the weapon from Diego’s grip.
“Fuck.” The maddening scent of blood was all around him, and the room twisted in dark tendrils. Wylie patted mindlessly at his chest, but if he was shot, he couldn’t feel it.
Time. They were out of time.
Wylie lurched to his feet and hauled Diego up after him. Diego howled, and Wylie blinked rapidly to clear the fuzzy, dark dot from his vision enough to see the damage. Diego’s flesh oozed blood where inhuman claws and razor-sharp scales had sliced and scraped. He squinted as he tried to decipher if it was bone or fabric peeking through Diego’s bloodied jacket. Wylie’s knees threatened to give, but when he looked down, they were free of any telltale blood or holes.
A small whimper broke his dazed inspection, and Wylie turned to the door. Adam’s eyes were wide and unblinking as he stared at the homeowner huddled on the floor. The kid smelled of piss and fear, and Wylie clenched his jaw and took a steadying breath.
He didn’t need to look. He could scent the blood pooling on the floor behind him. Now that the ringing in his ears had faded, he could hear the man’s shattered gasps for air.
“Get to the van, kid,” Wylie gritted out. He adjusted his grip on Diego and earned a fresh scream of pain.
Adam’s slim form was shaking so much, he had to grip his arms to his chest to keep them from flailing. Tears streamed down his small face, and with an effort, he turned from the view of the dying man. He looked green, and Wylie really hoped he wasn’t going to hurl.
“What about… W-What about the stuff?” Adam forced out between chattering teeth.
“Now!” Wylie yelled. “Get the fuck out!”
Adam swiftly backpedaled away when Wylie stormed toward the door. Diego screamed as his blood sprayed up Wylie’s shoulder and splattered hot on his face. Growling loudly, Wylie dragged him through the open door and into the hallway. Diego had no escape from the clawed hand gripping his arm and slicing deep into the muscle of his bicep.
Wylie ignored Diego’s thrashing struggles. He was too furious to even look at the gangster for fear he might do something he’d regret. Wylie was steady as he followed their scent trail through the mansion, passing the office and study in silence. He strode down the corridor and took the turn that opened out to the main hall, then snarled when the scent of flowers reached his nose again.
“Damn it! Fucking damn this entire night,” Wylie muttered. He was smarter than this. He was fucking better than this.
Wylie didn’t waste time on caution as he rushed toward the stairway hidden by the kitchen. The cops weren’t there yet. Yet. After two gunshots and a guy bleeding out in the bedroom, he didn’t have to guess how the night was going to end.
Wylie paused at the top of the concrete staircase and snarled down at Diego, who had stopped trying to keep up. The gangster’s legs had given out. His sweaty face was pale from blood loss, and his dark eyes were glassy as they failed to focus on his surroundings.
“You selfish ass.” Wylie gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to leave the gangster behind, locked in one of the rooms, or better yet, the cage downstairs. If he thought for a moment Diego wouldn’t sell them out, he would have gladly left him there to be picked up by the cops.
Diego’s cries of pain renewed when Wylie readjusted his grip and tucked the gangster’s slumped form under one of his jagged, monstrous arms. They descended the eerily lit stairwell at a quick pace, each step wrenching blood and weak protests from Diego’s flailing form. Wylie caught a glimpse of his savage smile in the reflection of the small window as he grabbed the door handle, and was momentarily stunned by how sharp his fangs had grown.
The downstairs was less creepy now that adrenaline was coursing through his veins. Diego’s boot caught on a narrow, spindly table by the door they exited, and a crystal bowl careened to the floor. Broken glass and small decorative rocks scattered in a spray at their feet. Wylie’s eyes narrowed and his fangs flashed. He wrenched Diego hard against his side and pulled him down the long hallway flanked by giant windows. Lights flickered on in response to their presence, and Diego’s boots thumped with each step.
Adam scurried behind them, deftly avoiding the blood on the floor. In his arms he clutched a small laptop while he bit at the fingernails of his left hand intently. He was silent, his eyes glued on the way Diego’s clothes and flesh were shredding in Wylie’s merciless hold and turning crimson.
Wylie rushed through the underground corridors and pushed through a door. He snarled when the lights of the strange, white room he first entered hit his eyes. He raised his free arm up to shade his vision and plowed toward the splintered side door.
Beck was waiting at the outer door, his anxious expression revealing he heard the gunshots. He didn’t say a word as he took in the way Wylie was holding both a gun and Diego, who was now unconscious and streaming blood on the sterile floor. Wylie felt a fresh wave of anger as fear slipped into Beck’s dark blue eyes and grew as he stared at Diego’s bleeding form.
The stupid fuck hadn’t run when he heard the gunshots. For all Beck knew, there had been a security guard inside shooting them down. The stupid kid just stood there waiting to be killed.
“You’re in the way,” Wylie snapped, and the scales on his arms ruffled up to prove the point. Beck’s eyes went wide, and he quickly backpedaled away. Wylie shook his head in frustration and made his way out into the night. He headed straight for the van while his ears strained for the telltale screams of sirens.
“What happened? Wylie, what the fuck?” Beck ran up beside him and tried to keep pace with his large strides.
Wylie grunted. Beck looked so young, like the naive high school student he was. His brown hair was dyed with stylish, red streaks, and he had worn his overpriced sneakers to his first heist. His pretty face and fast tongue had gotten Beck out of every petty crime he jumped into, but that was over. Given his pallor and the haunted look in his eyes, Beck was realizing he was an accomplice to murder.
“You’re driving, B. Adam, get in the van and make sure you keep those cameras down until we’re gone.” Wylie pointed to the front of the vehicle and ignored the hurt look on Beck’s face at the dismissal. Fuck, because B thought there was time to have his feelings hurt when there was a man dying in the house they just robbed. Wylie growled under his breath and quickened his pace.
Resolve hardened in Wylie when he got to the back of the van. Adam had gathered up a pathetic pile of electronics while they’d been robbing the place. The kid was useless unless he had a computer in hand. What the hell would happen if Adam ended up in prison? Diego had killed out of fear of going back, and he was a grown man with actual muscle. Adam was so small and weak that he’d probably be dead in days.
Was it worth it? Had any of this fucking gang bullshit been worth it? Fuck!
Wylie heaved Diego’s unconscious body into the back of the van on top of the pile of electronics. He resisted the urge to spit on him. They could have avoided all of this if Diego hadn’t lost his shit. Diego could have used his fucking brain the second they noticed the flowers. Fuck, no, he knew better. Wylie could have chosen to not get in the van when Diego showed up late…
Wylie went to shut the door and stopped short. He snaked a hand forward and snatched the cell phone half hanging from Diego’s pocket and slipped it carefully into his jeans. He slammed the doors shut with his knee and started walking.
“What, are you getting—? Wylie!” Beck gaped at Wylie’s back a moment, then took off after him as he headed back to the house. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m making sure that guy doesn’t fucking die!” Wylie whirled and jerked away when Beck reached for him, oblivious to his deadly scales. “Arms,” Wylie stressed when hurt again flashed in his boyfriend’s eyes. Beck bit his lower lip, and Wylie sighed and spoke more gently. “Get them the hell out of here, B. Diego’s going to need a hospital. I fucked him up bad getting the gun from him.”
“Don’t!” Beck pleaded when Wylie went to turn away. “Come with us. Baby, fuck, don’t do this!” Tears glowed in Beck’s eyes as he gripped his hands into fists to keep from reaching out. “No one will know it was us. No one will fucking know, and we can just… just…” Beck trailed off, unable to continue when he saw the resolve on Wylie’s face.
Naive. Beck was so fucking naive. Rich people didn’t get murdered in their homes with no one caught for the crime, not when it was a paranormal who broke through the back door. The police would never stop looking for them.
“Hurry up, B. That asshole is going to need you to save him after his huge fuck up.” Wylie smiled grimly and leaned down to press a swift kiss to Beck’s cheek. He paused to breathe in Beck’s unique scent under the stench of Diego’s blood. What Wylie once found comforting in his boyfriend now felt like a liability.
It felt like goodbye.
Wylie pulled back and tried to keep his emotions from his face. “Don’t let Diego pin this on you with Roth, okay? I know that crazy fuck, and he’ll blame us before ever owning up to his shit. I gotta go call an ambulance, but I want you safe and out of here first.”
Beck’s arms hung at his sides in defeat. “Shit… Shit, you’re such a fucking idiot.” Beck’s eyes continued to plead with Wylie even as he took hesitant steps backward. His gaze never left Wylie’s until he reached the driver’s door to the van.
The blood cooling on Wylie’s t-shirt from the night air was itchy, but he refused to move. He waited until Beck had climbed inside the van and the engine roared to life. The headlights flared, and Wylie growled and covered his eyes. Beck’s voice was rough with emotion when he snapped something at the hysterical Adam, put the van in gear, and turned sharply in the driveway. Wylie lowered his arm and waited until the van crossed through the open gate and pulled onto the road.
Wylie sighed heavily and turned back to the broken door. Shards of wood his claws had raked free littered the ground, red with Diego’s blood. He squinted when he noticed a small, white wad of chewing gum. It had been dragged by Diego’s shoe until it found its way onto the pavement. Wylie leaned down and speared it with a long talon, glaring at the little piece of nicotine laced gum for countless moments.
Beck was right: he was as fucking stupid as they came.
Wylie stepped back into the mansion and twisted the ruined door behind him, wedging it until the metal bent and stuck shut. He grimaced when he slipped on the tile floor and found the overly bright room splattered in Diego’s blood. The scent and sight of the scarlet carnage had him sneering while his stomach churned. Wylie stalked forward and slammed through the doorway that led to the long corridor and automatic lights. Nothing felt untouched by the violence they had brought with them, each step streaked with blood and reeking of fear sweat.
Dread clawed at his mind as Wylie rushed to the stairwell, his heart racing in his throat. He didn’t want to face what was waiting upstairs in the master bedroom. The blood had been intense, a fucking puddle compared to what dribbled out of Diego. While Wylie’s scales could shred flesh, that gun did exactly what it was designed to do. That old guy was going to die.
He paused outside the open stairwell door and scowled at the broken table and shattered crystal bowl. It felt disrespectful on top of everything else to have Diego break the homeowner’s stuff after putting a bullet in him. Wylie took the concrete steps in large leaps and bounded around the corner, hot on his goal. He jogged down the upstairs hallway, his steps muffled by a long runner carpet. When he passed the grand foyer, Wylie stopped short and bit back a gasp.
Strewn lengthwise along the hall was the homeowner. He had crawled to get there and was collapsed in a puddle of his own blood. Wylie swallowed hard. A gory trail was smeared in thick crimson across the floor, but in the dim lighting, he could see the man’s chest heave with every struggling breath.
Alive. Thank fuck, he was alive.
Wylie tried to take a steadying breath and gagged on the overwhelming scent of blood. “Shit.” He grasped his forehead as a wave of dizziness hit him, and stepped forward to where the homeowner was fighting to get up. “Stop moving. You’re going to bleed out even more.”
Relief unclenched in his chest when he saw the determination in the old guy. He was a fighter, and he wasn’t dead yet. Wylie knelt down and reached to turn the homeowner to find the wound. He flinched back when the man cried out and wrenched away.
“Chill. I’m not here to hurt you. My palms don’t cut like my scales do so…” Wylie trailed off when he noticed he still was holding Diego’s gun. “Fuck,” he growled in exasperation. “I’m not going to shoot you either. I just didn’t want to leave it with that trigger-happy fuck. Hold on.”
Wylie jumped up and his eyes lit on the nearest closed door. Inside, he found a square table pushed to the side where he left the gun. He made sure to close the door tight when he returned to the hallway. The gun might have been mangled by his claws, but Wylie had seen enough thrillers to be paranoid. He wasn’t dumb enough to leave the damn thing lying around where someone could shoot him with it.
The cell phone was in his sweatshirt pocket. Wylie glared down at the man, then at his jagged edged, scaled arms. The incident with the safe was hot in his mind. How long had his demon arms been out now? Half an hour? More? Wylie didn’t like to transform in front of anyone, but there was no way his claws could work a touch screen. If he couldn’t get a call out, this guy was as good as dead.
Wylie took a slow breath, then another as he focused on his scales and attempted to pull them back in. “Please… Listen this one fucking time,” he whispered desperately. Wylie pursed his lips, fighting down his rising panic. After a breathless moment, he felt something change and his long, razor-sharp scales ruffled and absorbed back into his flesh. “Thank fuck.” He rubbed a pale hand along his blood streaked forearm to make sure they were completely normal. He had no idea where the scales went; it was a magic he didn’t understand. His arms ruined his life so completely that he rarely dwelled on where the monster inside him lived.
With eyes fixed on the man gasping on the floor, Wylie fished Diego’s cell from his pocket and dialed 911. As the phone rang, Wylie sank to his knees beside the homeowner and sought out the source of all the blood. “Don’t—damn it,” Wylie muttered. It didn’t matter how careful he turned him over, blood gushed in a fresh wave down the man’s nightshirt. It was bad, seriously bad.
Wylie untied the sweatshirt from around his waist and wadded it up, then pressed it firmly to what he could only guess was the wound beneath the crimson soaked pajama shirt. Wylie’s nose wrinkled as his hand grew slick with blood. He glanced at the man’s face, but there was no fight left in him. Either the old guy was too exhausted from blood loss, or he figured out he was helping. The homeowner tried to clutch the material to his chest to stop the flow of blood, but his hands were shaking too much, lacking any strength.
There was a click in Wylie’s ear followed by the buzz of background activity. “911. What’s your emergency?” a woman’s voice drawled from the phone.
“There’s a guy with a gunshot wound. It’s in his chest.” Wylie lifted the wad of sweatshirt to see, only to squish it back down. Blood pooled in the fabric between his tense fingers. “Shit. He’s, uh, he’s bleeding out and I don’t know what to do.”
Wylie hoped his voice sounded more stable than he felt, because he was freaking out. He wasn’t sure where the hell it had been hiding his entire life, but apparently there was still a lot of fear left in him. Now that Beck was safe, and he was alone with a wound that led straight to the morgue, Wylie had found a shit ton of terror.
“Where are you?” The operator sounded bored, like it was a simple walk in the park. It would have pissed him off, but Wylie was too busy trying to remember where he was.
He was robbing a house and didn’t even know the address? Fail. Total fail.
“Shit, dude, what’s your address?” Wylie peered down with eyebrows furrowed, waiting for an answer. The silence dragged on so long, he started to wonder if the old guy could even talk.
“Woodcrest… 135 Woodcrest Ave.,” the homeowner choked out as blood trickled from between his lips. He coughed and immediately sucked in a gasp of air.
“You get that?” Wylie demanded, unable to tear his eyes from the scarlet fluid splattered on the man’s chin. He knew internal bleeding was bad. Like, death bad. Maybe the guy bit his tongue when Diego cracked him on the head… Wylie wrenched his gaze away and turned to talk into the phone, hoping to muffle his voice. “Listen, you need to get someone down here now. This guy isn’t going to hold out much longer.”
“An ambulance has been dispatched. Are the two of you in a safe location?”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine,” Wylie snapped, wanting to avoid any questions about gunmen or how everything went down. “The guy is losing all his blood. Is there anything I can do to, I dunno, keep the blood in him? He’s soaking through my sweatshirt.”
“Right, of course.” There was a clicking of a keyboard and a long pause before the operator continued. “Has pressure been applied to the wound?”
“Uh, yeah, I’m doing that right now.” Wylie turned back with a confused scowl. “It’s not doing much. I think the bullet might have gone through him. Should I turn him over to cover that one too?”
“It’s best to keep the pressure. Is there a magic user with you, someone who might be able to enhance the bandages you’re using? Even the most rudimentary healer kits have something to slow bleeding. Look for a vial labeled ‘gloo.’”
“I don’t…” Wylie’s eyebrows twisted as he looked around the opulent hallway. The place was huge and he hadn’t seen a bathroom yet. There might be something down in the basement, but that would mean trying to explore all the labs… “I have no fucking clue. This isn’t a hospital; it’s someone’s home. If I leave this guy to look, I’m worried he’ll be dead by the time I get back.”
“Hmm, no healer kit.” The voice tsked in disdain in his ear. “Is he moving normally, or is there signs that his spine might be injured?”
Wylie smiled grimly as he considered how far the old guy had crawled. “His spine’s fine.”
“If it’s safe to move the victim, you want to elevate the wound to slow the bleeding—oh, but that’s for limbs. But make sure you keep pressure on the wound at all times. If you have a healer kit… Oh, ignore that.” Silence descended as the operator clicked through web pages. “Here. It says to ensure his airway isn’t blocked. Is he breathing?”
“Of course he’s…” Wylie shook his head with a frustrated growl, thumbed the phone off, and tossed it down the hall. “Fucking morons. It’s like they don’t know where their ass is without magic. Privileged fucks.” He glanced down and met the homeowner’s confused gaze. “Sorry, dude. I’m not listening to her read to me until the cops show up.”
“Is he breathing?” Wylie muttered to himself as he refocused his efforts to stop the blood pouring from the man’s chest. “Don’t you think I would have started with he’s not breathing if the guy wasn’t fucking breathing? Shit, you better keep breathing, man.”
In defiance, the homeowner’s breath grew stuttered and full of gasps as each minute ticked by. Tension built in Wylie until his eyes squeezed shut and he found himself praying to whoever might be listening to not let this guy die. He didn’t know a thing about the homeowner. Well, except he was rich, kept way too much tech and money in his house, and might like daffodils. Now it was like the old guy was the most important person in the world. He must be, because Wylie knew exactly what he was doing by staying.
It was jail time. Juvie, if he were lucky. If the guy died—fuck, he picked up the gun, didn’t he? Wylie wasn’t sure if his clawed hands left fingerprints, but he was the one who broke into the house. He had the gun that shot the guy. He was the idiot who stayed behind…
Wylie held his breath when the man started coughing, and his chest heaved beneath his hand. Wylie raised his gaze and hesitantly met deep, blue eyes clouded with confusion. The guy looked military with his gray hair shorn close. There was something about the squareness of his jaw combined with his broad shoulders that made him seem like he had seen conflict. He could have been a retired soldier, out of place in the luxurious mansion. Wylie searched his face for more information, but beyond the twisting of his features, the homeowner didn’t have much for wrinkles.
“They’re on the way.” Wylie wasn’t sure if there was anything else to say. He was shocked the guy was still conscious; most of his blood was on the floor instead of in his body at this point.
“Your hands… Let me see your hands,” the homeowner gasped between loud, shallow breaths. He reached for Wylie’s hand, the one holding the compress in place. “Before… they were…”
“Yeah, freakish.” Wylie tried not to flinch away when his blood coated fingers were grasped and slipped through the man’s weak grip. “You don’t want a nightmare right now, man. They’re scary shit.”
“No… they were…” the man broke off with a wheeze, desperation shaking in his voice.
Wylie sighed and pulled his hand away when the homeowner tried to grab him again. “Dude, seriously…” Their eyes met, and Wylie saw a pleading in them he couldn’t understand. It was like the old guy was begging him, and it just didn’t make any sense. His demon arms were monstrous.
The guy was probably going to die… Wylie’s shoulders hunched in defeat. “Fine, whatever. But I warned you. Don’t start freaking out.”
Wylie sat back and made a point to keep his arm clear as he focused on his hand. It was always a crapshoot if he’d be able to control the transformation, and he didn’t want his scales slicing the old guy up. Wylie’s pigment darkened up to his wrist, and at the tip of his fingers, sharp, black talons pushed free. It wasn’t until the scales had finished sprouting over his hand that Wylie regretted giving in to the stupid request. The scent of blood was everywhere and overwhelmed his enhanced senses. Wylie turned away and determinedly breathed out of his mouth.
“You’re a shifter.” Shaking fingers gingerly touched Wylie’s claws where they were resting on the floor.
“You mean a freak. A killer monster with fucked up arms,” Wylie spat bitterly. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard it all before.”
“No… No, you’re a shifter.”
Wylie rolled his eyes. “Listen, dude, I know all about shifters, and I’m not like those guys. I don’t turn into anything fluffy, no fur or crazy inner animal. I’m some kind of demon monster who can only change his arms.” Wylie turned with eyes narrowed as fingers again touched his. He held his hand still as the man’s pale digits wavered near. “Careful. The scales are super sharp, so don’t go cutting yourself up even more.”
The man’s breathing broke down into coughs, and his entire body jolted with each uncontrollable spasm. He clutched Wylie’s smooth talons like a lifeline as his body shook. “Dragon,” he got out. “No such thing… as demon shifter.”
“What?” Wylie blinked rapidly and jerked his hand away. “What did you say?”
Blood speckled the man’s neck as he coughed and clutched his chest. “You… you’re a dragon shifter.”
He was a dragon shifter?
How? What did that even mean? Dragons weren’t real. It wasn’t like anyone ever dug up dragon bones and put them in a museum. But… But he might have heard of someone going to jail for selling dragon scales…
Wylie’s mind raced as he stared at the rainbow sheen of color that coated his midnight black scales. Was he a dragon shifter? Did he have an actual shifter animal inside of him waiting to get out?
‘Hello…’
The scales on Wylie’s hand fluffed, and his breath hitched. For a moment, it was like a voice inside him, something that had been lost in his own thoughts but not. No, it was someone else. Something else…
“Well, fuck,” Wylie whispered. He curled his hand into a fist and watched the way his scales aligned in a beautiful pattern over his knuckles. He might be going to jail, but at least now he knew he was a failed dragon shifter. It sounded way cooler than a demon, that’s for sure.
“How do you know what I am?” Wylie asked the homeowner solemnly as he slowly unclenched his fist.
“I know… another.”
Wylie raised his eyebrows and turned to where the man was gasping for breath. “Really? You know another dragon shifter?”
“Spit.”
Wylie blinked at the change of topic. “Huh?”
The homeowner struggled to keep his head from falling back to the floor. “Your spit… can heal.”
Wylie wrinkled his nose and pressed down on the blood-soaked sweatshirt. “Err, I think you’ve lost way too much blood, old man.”
“Transform… and spit.” The homeowner’s bruised face twisted in pain, and another jagged cough shook through him. More blood spilled from his gaping mouth as he fought to breathe.
“I can’t do a full transformation,” Wylie tried to explain. “Even if I could heal—which is crazy unlikely—only my arms will change. I’m probably not even a dragon shifter, right?” A monster. Whatever was connected to his arms was a monster.
“Spit. It can… Transforming can heal…” The homeowner didn’t seem to hear Wylie over his shallow, desperate wheezes. “Spit heals… Transform and spit.” His voice grew weaker as he repeated himself between bursts of coughing.
Wylie sighed in frustration as the man grew more distressed and delirious. Whatever blood was left in the old guy was quickly escaping. “Dude, calm—” Wylie growled and pushed forcefully on the homeowner’s chest until he stilled. “Chill. I’ll do it, whatever. If you want to be spit on like a freak, I’ll do it. Just calm down and stop bleeding on me.” Fuck, who was he to deny the old guy his last—totally weird—dying wish?
“Hold this.” Wylie placed the homeowner’s trembling arm over the bloody sweatshirt. The guy didn’t have much strength, but it was safer than transforming on top of him with killer claws. Wylie focused down at his arms and stared from his scaled hand to his pale, normal looking one. He wrinkled his nose as the scent of blood again threatened to overwhelm him.
“Just hold on,” Wylie muttered and moved down the floor to be safe. Talons sliced through his fingernails and grew long and deadly. Scales slid free from his pale flesh, transparent with a rainbow sheen, and then filled with black as they thickened. In moments they were long enough to fluff out, his arms sharp edged from every angle. Wylie closed his eyes and tried to push the scales further up his arms for a full transformation. His other senses woke up, and his teeth sharpened and fangs poked free.
Wylie grimaced as he felt something fill him at his core, a dark shadow that grew larger, its presence expanding as he sought a more complete shift. If he really was a dragon shifter, that meant he was more than a pair of killer arms. Just… just, Wylie wasn’t sure he wanted to know just what the fuck that meant.
Maybe he had always known. There was something inside him, something that scared the crap out of him every time he peered too close. Now he knew it wasn’t a monstrous demon, though. No, only a monstrous dragon. Maybe it was safer. Maybe the dragon could do something he couldn’t. After this terrible night, he was desperate enough to try anything.
Wylie’s nostrils flared with his next inhale, and something stirred within. Something alive. Dizziness tilted him as the feeling grew and something shivered and slithered within his core.
‘Blood…’
Blood. He needed to focus on the blood. He was not for want of the life-giving liquid, and Wylie let his senses target the heavy scent rising in the air. The world slowed around him as he heard the rhythm of the blood flowing in the homeowner’s veins. It sounded wrong, sluggish, as if his heart had nothing left to pump.
Wylie groaned as saliva abruptly flooded his mouth. A wave of dizzying heat hit him so hard, he ended up hunched over the homeowner, who he just missed slicing with his claws.
“Shit.” He was hard. Wylie squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will the reaction away, but his body wouldn’t listen. It felt like a fire was burning through his veins, and his dick grew stiffer, swelling with need. Something about this, about the blood, was making him seriously horny. “Fuck,” Wylie muttered and shook his head. There was a new pulse inside of him, deep red throbbing through the darkness encroaching on his vision. For a moment, he could feel the creature again, a dark shadow twisting in his core, its heart pulsing with his own.
‘Blood… Feed…’
Messed up. Wylie gritted his teeth as his dick twitched and he fought the urge to grind against something, anything, to alleviate the building pressure. This was so not cool when there was some old guy bleeding out beneath him.
“Spit,” the homeowner pleaded, his voice a dry rasp.
Wylie’s lashes snapped open, his eyes no longer light blue but a glowing, otherworldly white. He tried to fight the pull, tried to push away, but someone—something—was controlling him. Wylie yanked the sweatshirt from the homeowner’s chest and tore away the sticking shreds of his bloodied shirt. A black hole cut through the man’s chest, pulling Wylie down, drawing him in. He bent over bare flesh, lips hovering a breath away as the fluid in his mouth increased. His sight dimmed with another red throb, and when he opened his mouth, his saliva spilled into the bloody wound.
“Ah!” The quiet gasp was tight with pain. Smoke began to rise from the wound, and the homeowner convulsed and hissed. He gripped weakly at his chest and heaved for air.
Beneath the scent of blood, Wylie was vaguely aware of the odd smoke and gasps of air quickly turning to pained cries. He inhaled again, nostrils full of the copper scent, and the world spun.
‘Blood… life giving… soul feeding…’
“No,” Wylie growled as he squeezed his eyes shut to try and block it out. “Shhhh-shut up!” A hiss escaped him, demented and animalistic. His eyes snapped open, but no, when he touched his face, it was still the same, no monster transforming his head. He whimpered when his blood wet fingers touched his lips, flavor jolting like small flashes of electricity on his tongue.
‘Taste… Taste blood… Feed…’
“Oh, fuck.” Wylie’s eyesight dimmed and darkness swarmed the edges of his vision. Before he could stop, he leaned forward and touched his tongue to the crimson, burning hot fluid coating the man’s neck. His senses exploded with the burning, metallic fluid, and Wylie moaned and surged forward, his mouth open wide to drink every drop down.
“Sorry… Really fucking sorry,” Wylie groaned, flesh vibrating under his lips as he sucked a patch of skin and lapped his tongue over the bloody surface. Somewhere, detached from the dark throb of arousal and the cloud of hot blood, he knew he was losing it, but his embarrassment was no match for his hunger. He was starving, and the blood tasted too good, too right.
‘More…’
More. He needed so much more.
Wylie licked long, heavy touches of his tongue up the man’s collar, seeking where blood had pooled into the hollow of his throat in a glittering, ruby red treasure trove. He groaned from the intense flavor as he swallowed the blood down, then chased the trail up the man’s jaw, sucking over sticky flesh and rough stubble. He paused, gritting his teeth to hold back when he found gasping lips wet with a terrifying trickle of scarlet. Wylie’s claws slashed into the floor as he tried to stop himself.
This was insane. The guy was bleeding out and he couldn’t stop licking his fucking blood. Shit, what the fuck was happening to him?
‘More… Drink more…’
The room twisted with a heavy pulse of red and black shadows, the same pulse throbbing through Wylie’s body, pushing him forward. The powerful rhythm built as he fought against it, the energy spiraling higher, shaking everything he could see until it was impossible to resist. “Sssssorry,” he hissed, knowing he had lost. Wylie pushed his tongue between the homeowner’s parted lips, using the pressure of his body to pin his prey down as he sought out every drop of blood he could find within the hot cavern.
The man’s mouth yielded beneath his, a wheeze of breath cut off as saliva and tongue invaded him. Wylie moaned as fresh blood burst on his tongue, the dark pulse growing triumphant in its prize. His tongue pried paper dry lips open, plunging deeper, relentlessly sucking wet sounds and weak gasps in. Beneath the pulse, Wylie felt his hips grind forward and his prey give in, responding, growing hard even as the homeowner’s body struggled to survive.
Above it, Wylie observed in a small sliver of sanity, cringing as he rocked harder against the man while stealing deep, ravenous kisses. He was kissing an old guy. A dying old guy. There was no redeeming himself after this. The guy was practically a senior citizen, even if he was kinda hot in a brutish, military way. Maybe fifties, sixties, not completely decrepit. But still, none of this was okay.
The homeowner whimpered a lost, hungry sound when Wylie’s lips broke away. It was only a moment, Wylie struggling with the shadows only to lose and surge forward again, stealing away the man’s air and blood. “Thissss isssn’t right…” Wylie got out, his eyes rolling back when his hips jerked forward, seeking more pressure for his aching erection. “Sssstop.”
The overwhelming pulse refused to abate, Wylie trapped for agonizingly long, awkward minutes before the addictive flavor of blood finally faded from his victim’s mouth. When he felt the possibility for escape, he dug his talons into the floor and pushed up on his arms, angling his head to the side. “Ssstop… just stop!” Wylie snarled. Cool air hit his lungs, and he whimpered in relief. “Oh fuck… fuck, what’s happening to me? I gotta… gotta run before…” Before he lost. Before this insane pulse demanded more than just kisses and easily available blood.
“W-Wait.” A hand grasped his neck, Wylie jolting when the homeowner’s trembling fingers pulled him back.
Wylie blinked down, confused when he saw the strange flush to the man’s cheeks, the only color to his otherwise pale flesh. He focused on the homeowner’s dazed, blown wide pupils, not sure what exactly he was seeing. He looked entranced, or maybe just really freaking confused after being tongue fucked by a total monster.
“No,” Wylie breathed out shakily. There was a heavy stream of blood on the side of the homeowner’s face from where the gun handle had cracked his skull. Darkness throbbed all around him, and Wylie’s mouth and tongue were attached to the hot flesh before he could comprehend it. He cradled the man’s head tight between his smooth palms and drew his tongue up the side of his face in rough, thorough strokes, refusing to miss any of the red fluid. Wylie’s fangs scraped skin, and he groaned, shivering at the pleasurable sensation of flesh yielding beneath his teeth and blood flowing on his tongue.
‘Drink… Drink our fill…’
Damn, it was good. Hot, tangy, and toe-curlingly perfect. Wylie’s cock pulsed in rhythm to the darkness twisting at the edges of his sight, and he groaned, wishing he could unzip but unwilling to release his prize to do it. He was so hard…
“Kid. My back.” The homeowner’s voice was stronger this time as he drew air in and blood didn’t spill free on his exhale. “The bullet went through.”
Wylie’s hands moved on their own accord, turning and shoving the man down chest first to the floor. His claws tore the bloody pajama shirt in half, revealing strong muscle, wide shoulders, and another dark hole frothing with divine blood.
“Crap.” Wylie gritted his teeth as darkness throbbed through him in a fresh wave of heat, his senses consumed with the heady scent of blood. This was bad. Whatever was happening to him was really bad, some sort of insanity he could barely comprehend. Worse, he was terrified of what it was turning him into.
‘Feed… We will have our reward…’
“Aw, shit.” Saliva flooded Wylie’s mouth, and he lurched forward as the room spun. Flushed and dizzy, he couldn’t pull his eyes away from the faint flicker he saw as the homeowner’s flesh pulsed with each weak heartbeat. Nothing should taste this good. Nothing should be able to take him over like a fucking puppet. Nothing should have him attack some weak, defenseless, dying dude.
Wylie fell forward and inhaled the combined scent of blood and flesh. “Fuck.” He licked his tongue out and shuddered when he touched fresh blood. Oh, hell, it tasted like a fucking god.
Wylie moaned loudly and roughly lapped the flat of his tongue along the burning hot wound. The room spun around him as he sucked at the blood, drinking it down between hungry gasps. His hips refused to still, his rock-hard erection grinding against the man’s thigh as the blood seeped into his senses and stole whatever restraint Wylie had left. The wound changed under his tongue with each swipe. Wylie felt the flesh slowly knit together and the blood flow trickle until it finally stopped. He instinctively sought more of the heady fluid, lost in the wild darkness swirling through him. He followed down smooth flesh and pulled scraps of cloth away so he could steal every streak and drop of red he could find with greedy, long licks of his tongue.
“Damn it,” Wylie rasped with a deep note of despair. The flavor was nearly gone, and the scent was diminishing with each lap of the firm, healed skin. “No.” He nosed down and tore at the homeowner’s shredded pajama top, but all he could find were the smallest specks of blood. “No!”
‘More… claw it free…’
“W-what?” Wylie shook his head, fighting the bizarre thoughts that sounded like his own.
‘Drink… He is ours… The weak bleed for us… cum for us…’
Wylie’s eyebrows twisted down as his arms jerked and sought to slash more blood free. “No… No! Sssssstop talking, you fucking psssycho!” A hiss tore from his lips as Wylie wrestled with the power that had taken him over. Images flashed through his mind full of blood, flesh and sex. Wylie inhaled sharply as fear gripped him. “I’m not… I’m not a monster, damn it!” He grasped at his head, snarling a sound that didn’t belong to a human. “Get out of my fucking head!”
“Kid, wait.” Somehow, the homeowner knew exactly what was wrong. With a grunt, he pushed his hand up where Wylie’s blood-soaked sweatshirt was balled in his grasp.
Stunned, Wylie watched as the sweatshirt was thrown a few feet down the hall. He was on it before the sweatshirt could hit the ground. He rolled and pulled the fabric into his mouth, a relieved growl rumbling in his chest as blood filled his senses and sparked on his taste buds once again. Wylie sank to the floor, his eyes closed as he tried to ignore the fact he was treating the shirt like a fucking pacifier.
He could still feel it, the beast thrumming inside him, its desires his as his cock pulsed with the twisting darkness. He could feel what it wanted, how it wanted it. Wylie gritted his teeth, tasting cold, ugly death as blood coated his tongue. He was going crazy. He had let his demon arms out for too long, and now he was turning into a monster.
‘Everything must feed… even monsters…’
Wylie grimaced. “Go away,” he whispered to the red pulse of darkness hovering at his consciousness. “Fuck off and leave me alone.”
Wylie wasn’t certain if the creature was listening, or if it was just bored without the promise of fresh blood to keep it around. With his next breath, cooler air filled his lungs, and some of the burning heat left his veins. Wylie exhaled heavily as the arousal pulsing through him abated to more manageable, less murderous levels. After a few more breaths, he turned his head enough to glare at the homeowner, who was staring back just as warily.
“What the fuck did you do to me?” Wylie asked hoarsely. He bit his teeth into the fabric and squeezed more blood free, but he didn’t have the urge to moan like last time. Without the scent of flesh to mix with the flavor, the blood from his sweatshirt wasn’t enticing his dragon.
“Nothing.” The homeowner grimaced as he moved his arm beneath him. He went to push himself up and immediately collapsed with a loud expulsion of air. “Hell.”
“Bullshit,” Wylie snarled. “You knew this was going to happen, otherwise you wouldn’t have thrown the shirt.” His eyes narrowed as he thought of the anti-paranormal tech that was coating the mansion upstairs and down. “Did you spell me?”
“Did I…?” The man blinked owlishly. “I’m not a sorcerer, kid.” He raised a weak hand and patted where the bullet had hit his chest. “If I am, I’m a really shitty one.” He tried to push up again, but his arms were shaking so hard, he ended right back down on the floor. “Damn it… It’s just bloodlust. Dragons are… are notorious for extreme bloodlust.”
Wylie remained impassive as he watched the homeowner struggle to get up. He wasn’t in a hurry to go near the old guy, not when he could remember all the weird stuff he had done, and the even worse stuff his dragon wanted to do. The homeowner man grunted as he tried and failed to get up again, and Wylie shook his head. “The ambulance will be here soon. Stop killing yourself.” He sought a fresh spot of blood on the shirt and crushed the material on his tongue until it seeped out.
“Run, kid. They’ll destroy a being like you.” The homeowner pushed up again and hissed in pain. “The cops will… they’ll shoot you on sight.”
Wylie’s nostrils flared. It wasn’t the panicked ravings of a dying man; he knew the cops had a bias against paranormals. He’d heard of things happening, of shifters getting shot for being aggressive with video proof showing up later of the exact opposite. Fear justified a lot of terrible things lately, even murder committed by the police. Even a rich fuck, who lived in the lap of luxury in the sheltered suburbs, knew it enough to warn him, and it struck a chord in Wylie.
Really, how did the old guy know about shifters? Where did he meet a dragon shifter, and were they friends or random acquaintances? How had he known he was a dragon shifter when Wylie hadn’t even heard of a dragon shifter before?
Wylie was silent as he pulled drinks of watery blood from the fabric of his sweatshirt. The man continued to try to get up like the glutton for an early death he was turning out to be. Wylie doubted the guy was healed on the inside. Healing the front of the gunshot wound hadn’t healed the back, and for all he knew, the homeowner was a bleeding mess on the inside.
Well, if he had any blood left to bleed as this point.
Decided, Wylie rolled to his knees. He kept his shirt firmly stuck between his teeth as he crawled over and sat on the homeowner’s back. The man collapsed flat under Wylie’s weight and finally stopped struggling.
“You need a doctor,” Wylie growled. The man, who was obviously in need of said doctor, didn’t have the strength to argue.
“Can you get me outside?” the homeowner eventually wheezed. “I don’t want the police in my house.”
Wylie snorted. “I fucking bet. I don’t know what all that shit is downstairs, but if the cops saw it, they might just shoot you on sight.” He looked down at the back of the homeowner’s head and added in a more serious tone, “You sure you can handle it? I can’t lift you without my scales out, and they hurt like a bitch.”
“It’s fine,” the homeowner said with false bravado. “After a bullet, I doubt I’ll feel anything.”
Wylie licked the back of his teeth. He doubted the guy was going to be that lucky. “Alright, man. If it’s what you want.”
Wylie stood and straddled his weak companion’s back. He cautiously slid his hands under his armpits and lifted him up. By the low hisses falling from the homeowner’s lips, it hurt like fuck and he was trying to hide it. Fresh blood welled up where razor sharp scales sliced into flesh. Wylie hesitated, but there was no sign of the dark pulse of before, no darkness twisting in trying to steal his sanity away. Wylie sighed in relief and took slow steps backwards down the hallway.
Wylie did his best not to hurt the guy. It wasn’t like he was mangling him on purpose like he did Diego. Still, there wasn’t much he could do to prevent the gasps of pain. His demon arms were things of destruction no matter the situation. Slipperless, the man’s feet scraped first the runner and then smooth tile as Wylie dragged him through the hallways. His goal was the basement stairwell tucked away near the kitchen, but Wylie paused when the ceiling arched above as they entered the grand foyer. He turned his head to eye the massive front door.
He honestly wasn’t sure if the old guy could handle a trip through the mansion and downstairs to get to the exit. And maybe, just maybe, Wylie was embarrassed with the state he had left the basement door.
The homeowner’s head raised, and he nodded when he saw the front door. “Closer. You’ll need to disable the security.”
“Uhh…” Wylie grimaced. “That might already be done,” he mumbled. He wasn’t sure if it was relief or fear clenching in his gut as he carefully maneuvered the man down onto the floor. Fresh anxiety welled in him as he approached the front door and the sound of electricity buzzed all around him like a suffocating cloud. Wylie could feel something in the air. It was like an energy but cold, chilling. He reached for the handle of the metal gate blocking the door, hoping to escape the horrible feeling, but froze when the darkness suddenly pulsed around him, loud and full of alarm.
‘Danger…!’
“Wait!” The homeowner struggled to push into a sitting position. He lifted his arm sluggishly, like it was too heavy to move, and indicated the panel built into the wall next to the door. “Flip the blue switch left… and then right,” he rasped out. “Otherwise, you’re going to fry yourself.”
“What, like, it’s electrified?” Wylie glared at the panel where a switch glowed blue with power. Doubts flickered in his mind, but he pushed them aside. Why would the old guy try to trick him now when the ambulance was on the way?
Taking a deep breath, Wylie flipped the switch to the left, then again, all the way to the right. The glowing cut out, and the buzzing immediately stopped. Moments after, the black gate covering the front door slowly retracted on mechanical tracks, and there was a loud click as an automatic lock released.
Wylie’s shoulders sagged, and he exhaled heavily. He had no idea if his arms could actually handle an electric fence. The mansion had every defense possible for a howler attack, and it made him feel extra uneasy as he walked back to where the homeowner was wheezing on the floor. When Wylie crouched down, he tried to ignore how pale and fragile the old guy looked. “You get a lot of werewolves around here?” he asked flatly.
“No. Not really,” the homeowner whispered with a weak chuckle. “Make sure you latch the door behind us. The grid will re-engage.”
Wylie nodded mutely and pulled the man up into his arms. His nerves were taut as he pushed the front door open and felt the same unsettling feeling of cold dragging at his flesh. Once he had cleared the homeowner’s feet from the doorway, he kicked the door shut. Wylie jerked when the power reconnected and the scent of ozone filled his nostrils.
“What is that?” he growled, glaring back at the door where a metal grate was slowly wheeling into place on the exterior side.
“Less effective than it should be,” the homeowner wheezed cryptically. His face twisted as a cough shook his body, and when he spat, a glob of blood hit the stone at his feet. “Let’s get away from the doors. We don’t want to… to give them an invitation to search my property.”
“Sure.” Wylie couldn’t help but notice the man’s eyes were losing focus. He was cool in his arms, most of his blood left behind on the floor of the bedroom.
“Brace yourself,” Wylie warned as he tightened his grip on his armpits. The homeowner hissed in renewed pain, his body limp as Wylie dragged him down the front stairs. Outdoor lights illuminated them against the night when they moved onto the lawn. An ambulance siren wailed in the distance, echoed by a police cruiser. They couldn’t be more than a few blocks away.
Wylie laid the homeowner out on the lawn and stared into the dark where the sirens were growing louder. There was still time. He could run, take off, and hope the cops couldn’t track him. He glanced down and narrowed his eyes when he saw something shimmer on the homeowner’s chest. He peered closer and found a patch of pink flesh where the bullet wound once was.
Healed. He had healed him with a power he didn’t even know he possessed. If Wylie hadn’t walked into the house at 135 Woodcrest Ave. to rob it that night, he might have never known he could heal.
It meant something. He owed this guy something.
Wylie’s scales ruffled, and resignation settled heavily on his shoulders. He stared down at his clawed hands and concentrated until his scales pulled back in, and the black pigment cleared from his flesh. Once he was smooth, pale skin marred only by streaks of blood, he sat beside the homeowner on the stiff grass to wait for whatever hell was quickly approaching.
“The door… is it…?” The homeowner grasped at his chest, confusion twisting his features.
“Yeah, it’s locked,” Wylie soothed. “No one will know about your weird tech kink.”
The homeowner turned his face up toward the sky, and his eyes sought out the stars obscured by the white puffs of his breath. Shirtless and drained of blood, his skin was turning blue around his lips and fingertips in the low temperature. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Wylie. Wylie Doe.” He fished a crushed and bloodied cigarette from his sweatshirt pouch pocket. Wylie had a lighter in there too, but the damn thing was too wet to burn. With a sigh, Wylie rested the cigarette between his lips and glowered when flashing blue and red lights bounced off the shadowed houses down the lane.
“Wylie, I’m Collin McPherson. If you want… to know the name… of the guy you saved.” The sentence wore Collin out, and he wearily closed his eyes.
Wylie glanced over and frowned when he got a good look at his companion. The old guy looked like hell frozen over, tremors shaking him as the cold sank into his bare flesh. “Yeah, don’t get ahead of yourself there, pops. You lost a lot of blood, and I bet you’re bleeding on the inside. There’s still plenty of time for me to be an accessory to murder. Fuck, or I guess just plain murder,” Wylie added with a scowl. No one would bother looking for Diego when they had him right there covered in the guy’s blood. He really was a fucking moron.
Wylie exhaled heavily and wished beyond anything else his damn cigarette would light. “I’m sorry about what I did in there,” Wylie muttered awkwardly. “The, uh, bloodlust thing. I’m not usually into, well, corpses,” he grunted, feeling beyond defensive. He glanced over when the uncomfortable silence stretched. “Hey, don’t fall asleep,” Wylie snapped sharply. He reached over and knocked Collin on the shoulder when he saw his eyes were closed and body had lost most of its previous tension. “Shit, they’re right down the fucking road. Stay alive, damn it.”
“Right… right…” Collin mumbled.
“Crap.” Wylie tried to push down the fresh flare of anxiety as Collin’s words petered out. He had either fallen unconscious or asleep, but at least the old guy was still breathing. Wylie shook his damp, bloody sweatshirt out and draped it over Collin’s chest. It was all he could think of besides breaking back into the house for something warmer.
Sirens blared and lights flashed all around them in a dazzling display. It was surreal to watch the early October night transform into a garish carnival. The reds drew Wylie’s eyes the most as the lights bounced off of the bushes and illuminated the large expanse of manicured lawn in a wild kaleidoscope of colors. The flashing lights piercing the dark night were too much for Wylie, and he covered his eyes with his hand and tilted his head down. The grass around his feet was wet with blood and glittered with bursts of blue and red.
Doors slammed, and there was the metallic rattle of a wheeled cot being set up on the driveway. Wylie held still and kept his perfectly normal looking hands open and in view as people swarmed Collin, who was barely breathing beside him.
“Is this your dad, kid?” A middle-aged police officer in a dark uniform knelt down to Wylie’s level while everyone else focused on Collin.
Wylie had to wonder just what the man saw as he took in his blood-soaked t-shirt, splattered jeans, drenched sneakers, and crimson streaked arms. He probably had blood in his hair and around his mouth at this point. Did the cop really think he was some helpless teenager who just watched his daddy get shot?
Wylie lifted his hand high enough to glare into the compassionate eyes of the policeman, and smirked around his broken cigarette. “Nah. Never saw the guy before in my life.” Fucking cops.