A few days ago, A Vampire Named Otta was released 🥳 

It’s a short story about Zephan, who can turn invisible at will, and Otto, who is a vampire. Zephan finds himself in a spot of trouble. He’s been kidnapped by werewolves, but since he can turn invisible, he escapes pretty easily. He can’t mask his scent, though, so they track him.  

To get away, he runs, but wolves are fast. He finds a house and thinks he’s saved. Turns out the grumpy vamp who lives there is more concerned about his lawn than he is Zephan’s wellbeing. Naturally, Zephan does his best to bribe him. 

This is a short story, so if you’re in the mood for a quick and easy read, check it out. It celebrates Keep Off the Grass Day. 

A Vampire Named Otto

Zephan Amon is a psychic on the run. He comes from a powerful family famous for their wealth, but he cut ties with them over a decade ago. He’s not nearly as powerful as they are, and they want him to either hide his existence or change his name, so he doesn’t sully their reputation.    

Zephan refuses, and he’s been perfectly happy living as a human far away from his family, but a series of events have left him jobless and homeless. He’s about to work up the courage to ask his sister for help when he’s kidnapped by werewolves.   

A stroke of luck allows him to escape, but he runs straight into a vampire’s garden. The vampire is far more concerned about Zephan trampling on his lawn than he is about kidnappings and werewolves. He demands Zephan pay a toll of blood for the state of his poor, abused grass. A few swallows of blood can’t be worse than being recaptured by werewolves, can it?  

Buy links:

Paranormal gay romance: 12,815 words

JMS Books :: Amazon

Chapter 1

Zephan Amon ran. He ran between trees, jumped over creeks, and hid behind boulders. He didn’t know how he’d ended up in the situation he had. He’d been in Ulledo—less than half an hour’s drive from Bridget’s quaint house in Foolshope.

He’d stopped for some Dutch courage. Begging the sister you hadn’t seen or spoken to for seven years to take you in wasn’t something Zephan had ever imagined himself doing. Better his sister than his parents though, which was why he was there.

His parents lived in Silvermoor, a psychic community where they were, if possible, more stuck up than they were in Foolshope. Or, he believed his parents still lived in Silvermoor. He hadn’t spoken to them for over fifteen years.

He was an invisible in a family of fire gods. They weren’t gods, but you wouldn’t be able to tell from the way they acted.

Anyway, Zephan had lost his job, had been unable to get a new one, and was therefore unable to pay his rent. The only way out of homelessness he could come up with was if Bridget agreed to let him stay with her for a bit.

He’d packed everything he could fit into his car, got rid of the rest of his belongings, and steered toward Foolshope.

The closer he got, the more nervous he’d grown.

When he’d been shaking and close to throwing up, he’d stopped in Ulledo to have a drink. Worst case scenario, he could sleep in his old Toyota and go to Bridget the day after. April was chilly, but he was sure he would survive a night in the wild.

It was not what had happened.

He had no idea where his car was or if any of his things remained in it. He had the key, which had to count for something, right? Or not. If there was no car, he had no use for the key.

A howl cut through the dusk, and Zephan pushed himself to run faster. He didn’t stand a chance against shifters. They were faster, stronger, and way more deadly than he was.

Another howl split the air, but this came from another direction, and while Zephan was no expert on shifter sounds, he believed it sounded differently.

Everything stilled. For a second, Zephan did too. Were they watching him? He looked around, but he saw nothing. He erected his shield, the bubble that made him invisible to anyone who looked in his direction.

It was a pretty useless skill since it didn’t hide scent, and should someone touch him, they were able to feel him.

As a child, he’d wondered if he’d been adopted since everyone else in his family were fire gods, but nope. He looked like a younger version of his father, so there would be no long-lost parents coming to save him from being the dynasty’s embarrassment.

He ran with his shield up. It wouldn’t help when chased by monsters who had an excellent sense of smell, but it was the best he could do.

He was so close now. Foolshope had to be around here somewhere. He only had to find some houses, and he was sure he’d be able to find Bridget’s house. Maybe. Hopefully. He’d only been there once right after she’d moved in close to ten years ago. It was when he’d still been in contact with her before she tried to get him to move back to Silvermoor, so he wouldn’t soil the family name.

In Silvermoor, they could keep him unseen. No one needed to know he existed there. They could hide him away. Deny he’d ever been born.

These thoughts made his hopelessness well up. She wouldn’t take him in. And if she did, it would come at a price he wasn’t sure he was willing to pay.

All he wanted was to be free and live a normal, human life. His skill was useless. It didn’t earn him any respect or money. Most people didn’t know he wasn’t human, and it was how he liked it.

He didn’t give a damn about psychics and their leading families, he didn’t care about names, or who should continue the lineage with whom. He would never have children, not children he fathered at least. He wasn’t opposed to having kids if he met the right man to raise them with, but there would be no wife, no arranged marriage, and no planned breeding.

No one wanted him anyway.

He was a disgrace to the Amon family, which was the main reason he’d refused to change his last name when they’d suggested it. It had been his and Bridge’s last argument, the one where he’d cut all contact. If he refused to go back to Silvermoor and hide from the world, she—and he was sure their parents were whispering in her ear—demanded he change his name, so there was no visible connection to them.

Fat chance! He hoped he’d meet a guy one day who wanted to marry him and take his name.

He would make sure the news reached Silvermoor.

The air was knocked out of him as he tripped over a branch and landed on the damp ground with a thud. Damn.

Looking around, he could see no wolves. It didn’t mean they weren’t there. The beasts, giant as they were, were experts at melting into the shadows.

He wasn’t sure how he’d ended up in their care. He’d gone into a seedy bar, ordered a beer and a shot, and it was the last thing he remembered before waking up in a dank basement. Maybe they knew who he was. Maybe they believed his parents would pay a ransom. The Amon family was known for their wealth, but they’d picked the wrong Amon. No one would pay for him.

Eaten by wolves was a neat way to make someone disappear, but he couldn’t see his mother hiring a wolf to take him out. Maybe. He’d underestimated her before.

He wasn’t sure werewolves ate psychics, though. There were stories, of course, but he found them hard to believe.

Getting to his feet, he took off running again.

A snarl sounded a little too close to comfort, and it was followed by a loud whine. Were they fighting? Zephan ran in the opposite direction.

He ran and ran and ran. His lungs burned, and he tasted blood at the back of his throat.

The trees grew sparser and hope woke in his chest. He’d seen a sign hours ago pointing toward Foolshope. He hadn’t dared stay on the road where he was easily visible, so he’d dipped into the forest, but he had to be in Foolshope now.

He tumbled out between the tall beech trees and almost crashed into a white picket fence. He dropped his shield in surprise.

In front of him was the cutest little square whitewashed brick house he’d seen outside a fairy tale.

Another snarl came from in the forest, and he rushed toward the gate.

“Keep off my lawn!”

Zephan ground to a halt. On the doorstep was a huge man, tall and broad, and fangs dented his lower lip. Holy shit, was he a vampire? Zephan had never met one. They were rare, myths almost.

“I need help.”

The door was open behind the man, but it didn’t look as if he would step aside to invite Zephan inside.

“Get off the grass!”

Zephan looked at his feet. He was on the gravel walkway, not on any grass, and this time of year, there wasn’t much grass to speak of anyway. It was coming, the spring green was about to take over.

“Please. I was kidnapped, and then I—”

“Get off my property!”

A branch snapped behind him, and Zephan cursed. He erected his invisibility shield and waited. When the man on the doorstep didn’t say anything and didn’t move, he carefully stepped to the side, and swung his leg over the picket fence, praying he wouldn’t impale himself as he tried to find traction on the bottom rail. He was too short to reach the lawn without castrating himself, and it wasn’t something he wanted to try when he had to be quiet—or any time, if he was being honest.

His damp sneaker slipped a few times, and he winced at the dirty smear he left on the white fence, but finally he managed to get over it. Walking a few steps, he grimaced as his feet left indents on the muddy grass.

He stopped and did his best not to breathe as he waited.

It didn’t take many seconds before three massive men scrambled out of the woods. Claws adorned their fingers, and there was a wild look in their amber eyes. Zephan shuddered.

“Get off my lawn!”

He looked back at the vampire. Was he talking to him?

“We’re looking for a guy—” One of the wolves held out a hand indicating a small person, and Zephan almost snorted. He might not be related to giants as the shifters appeared to be, but he wasn’t small. He was average. Average all over. “—lean, dark hair, flamethrower.”

The last bit had Zephan widen his eyes. He had no fire skills, none.

“Leave my property!” The vampire was glaring at them.

“Have you seen him?”

The vampire didn’t answer.

“Have you? We won’t bother you if you tell us where he went.”

Shit. Zephan took a step closer to the house. He didn’t think the vampire would protect him, but he believed he was safer near him. Or not. What did vampires eat? Did they eat psychics?

Most likely.

A low growl making the hairs stand on end sounded from behind Zephan, and he whirled around. Another huge man neared the picket fence from a different direction. It wasn’t someone Zephan had seen before, but he had no idea how many individuals there were in a pack, so maybe he was part of the gang that chased him.

There was an air of dominance around him, and he dipped his head in a short greeting to the vampire on the doorstep. “Sorry for the disturbance, Otto.”

Otto? A vampire named Otto.

“They’re trespassing.” Otto’s fangs were on full display, and Zephan shivered. They looked sharp.

“They sure are.” The new wolf flashed teeth at the three lingering by the gate. “What are you doing here?”

The one who’d spoken to Otto sneered. “None of your business.”

“You’re on my land, so it’s my business.”

“It’s my land.” Otto walked down the two steps and stood on the walkway. Zephan’s gaze jumped between him and the open door. Could he? Would Otto kill him if he tried?

“True, but surrounding your land is our land, and they’ve entered it without permission.”

Zephan ignored what they were saying—though a part of him realized he’d run across shifter country without permission too—and crept closer to the house. He took one slow step after the other, making sure his invisibility shield stayed in place. When he neared Otto, he held his breath.

Could he do this?

“Have them removed.” Otto’s voice made him jump. Fuck. Zephan chanced a glance over his shoulder. The man was grinning.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll take care of them.”

“It doesn’t make us even, Averett.”

The man, presumably Averett, sighed loudly. “It was years ago!”

“You wrecked my zinnias.”

Averett threw his hands in the air. “Fine. I’ll get you new zinnias.”

“I have zinnias.”

Motion caught Zephan’s attention. One of the wolves who’d chased him was slowly edging away from the fence and toward the forest. If Zephan’s life hadn’t depended on being invisible, he’d have dropped his shield to point it out to the idiots fighting over zinnias, but he stepped forward instead.

If the wolf could take advantage of Otto and Averett being caught up in some old grievance, then so could he.

He slipped past Otto and walked up the two steps to the landing.

“Remove your shoes.”

Zephan jumped.

“What? You want me to remove my shoes?” Averett sounded confused.

“No. I want the ghost to remove his shoes. I don’t want footprints on my floors.”

Shit. Zephan sighed as low as he could, hoping the wolves wouldn’t be able to hear him.

Silence followed for a second or two, then Averett made a sound of disbelief. “Whatever, dude. I’ll take these clowns with me now.”

“Good.” Otto went up one step, and Zephan hurried forward. He toed off his wet sneakers, but since his socks were wet too, he feared he’d leave footprints anyway.

He scurried into the house and leaned against the wall, hoping Otto wouldn’t walk into him.

* * * *

The door closed, and Zephan slowly let out a breath. He didn’t remove the invisibility shield.

“You can stay for ten minutes, then you have to leave.” Otto looked in his direction but not directly at him.

Zephan dropped the shield. “But your land is surrounded by wolf land. I’ll be trespassing.”

Otto’s gaze slid over him. He was sure he looked terrible. Dirty and tousled, and starving. Though he most likely didn’t look like he was starving, but he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and he was starving.

“You are trespassing, and I think you should pay.”

“Pay?” Zephan huffed. “Pay for what?”

“A toll. For walking on my lawn.”

Zephan studied his face to see if he was serious. He looked serious. The fangs were no longer on display, but there was no warmth in his eyes, no sign of a smile, and he looked haggard. Not ill, but not well either.

“Lawns are made for walking on.”

“Not my lawn. And since it’s mine, I get to decide.”

Rolling his eyes, Zephan rubbed his neck. “I don’t have any money, so I can’t pay you.”

“I have money, I don’t want yours.”

A shiver worked its way up Zephan’s spine to his neck where it lingered. “What do you want then?” He quickly held up a hand. “I’m not saying I agree!”

“You don’t get a say.”

“My body, my choice.” He was tired of not having a say. The last twenty-four hours had not been fun.

“I’m hungry.” Otto looked straight into his eyes.

“I’m hungry too, but it doesn’t give me the right to demand things of you.”

“One bite, and you’re off the hook for the dented lawn and the trespassing on my land.”

Zephan’s mouth dropped open. “One bite? One bite of what?”

“One bite of you, and your debt is paid.”

“Hell no!” Did vampires drain their victims? “I’ll pay you. I only need to find Foolshope and talk to my sister.” Bridget would never pay to save him from a vampire bite, and he had no idea where his wallet or phone had gone. Fucking wolves. “Then I have to find my car in Ulledo. I’m sure there is something I can sell to get you the money.”

“I already have money. What I don’t have is fresh blood.”

“Three swallows!” It wouldn’t kill him, right? Three mouthfuls of blood weren’t too bad.

A sharp smile took over Otto’s face for one second and was gone the next. “Three swallows? You think you can stop me after three?”

Fear shot through him. Had he been a fire god, he could’ve burned him, but an invisibility shield wouldn’t help much when Otto was holding onto him.

“I trust you not to violate our agreement.” He straightened his back and gave Otto a harsh look. “I’m Zephan Amon.”

There was no recognition in Otto’s gaze. “I’m Otto Jones, but I’m not sure what our names have to do with my meal.”

“Jones? A vampire named Otto Jones?”

“Jones is a perfectly normal name.”

“Exactly!” Zephan threw his hands in the air. “Shouldn’t you be called Laveau or something?”

“I should be named after a New Orleans voodoo queen?”

Zephan shrugged. He’d been sure she’d had something to do with vampires, but maybe he was wrong.

“Okay, so three swallows.” He held out his arm, offering his wrist.

Otto’s eyebrows traveled his forehead in an almost comical way. “You want me to bite your arm?”

“I was thinking wrist.” He pushed up the sleeve a fraction. It was how they did it in the books, wasn’t it?

Otto grimaced. “The wrist is pretty painful.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not letting you near my throat.” His heart sped up. “Wait!” He pulled his arm back despite Otto not having moved so much as an inch. “How painful?”

Otto shrugged.

“What does that mean?” And he’d agreed pretty readily, hadn’t he? Maybe three swallows were grossly overpriced for trespassing and lawn-walking. “How much do you normally charge someone for stepping on your lawn?”

For a second, Zephan believed Otto would laugh, but it had to have been an illusion.

“I don’t allow people to step on my lawn.”

“What about the guy with the zinnias?”

“Averett. We have an understanding.”

“Hmm. What do you normally pay for blood?”

Otto scoffed but didn’t reply.

“How often do you drink blood?” Did vampires have to drink every day?

“About once a month, every third week if I’m stressed.”

Once a month? “You don’t need to feed more often?” He’d believed they needed to feed more often, but he was no expert on vampires.

“Most vampires feed once a week, but I don’t like people, so I postpone.”

Zephan mock gasped. “You don’t like people? I never would’ve guessed. You’re so friendly.” But if his blood would keep Otto going for three weeks, surely, he could get more out of this deal. “Since I’ll feed you—”

“Three swallows.”

“Yes, three swallows.” How much did he normally drink? “But since I’ll be feeding you, I think it’s more than right that you feed me too.” Did vampires eat solid food? They had to, right?

“I should feed you and allow you to trample on my grass?”

“Yes.” Zephan gave a curt nod.

“Okay. I’ll bite you, take three swallows, then I’ll feed you something.”

“Deal.” He held out his arm again.

“Come. Sit in the kitchen.” Otto walked through the doorway to his right, and Zephan followed while trying to get his heart to calm down. How bad could it be? It couldn’t be as bad as being kidnapped by werewolves, right? Shit, he couldn’t go out there again. He’d either run into the pack who owned the land or the pack who was chasing him.

“Sit.” Otto pulled out a chair, and Zephan made a quick scan of the kitchen—small but cute, with rustic wood and a gray brick wall behind the stove.

Zephan sat on the chair and Otto, despite his size, gracefully sank to his knees in front of him.

“Okay, three swallows.” Otto looked up to meet Zephan’s gaze.

“Can vampires eat psychics?”

A smile. It wasn’t big, but damn.

“Maybe I’m poisonous.”

“I doubt it.” Otto gently cradled his right hand in his bigger one and pushed up the sleeve of Zephan’s shirt to his elbow. There was a bruise around his wrist he hadn’t known he’d had. Otto stared at it for a second too long, a small frown settling between his brows. Then he lowered his head.

“Wait!”

Otto froze and looked up at him.

“How much pain are we talking?”

“Scared?”

“Hell yeah!” His heart was trying to escape his ribcage and ice was filling his belly.

“Close your eyes and think of flowers.”

“Flowers? Why flowers?”

Otto gave an impatient huff and tightened his hold on his hand a fraction. “Think about whatever calms you down. I like flowers. If you like… chocolate, then think of chocolate.”

“Flowers.”

Otto pressed his lips together but his mouth looked a little weird. Fangs. “It was an example. Think about whatever you want. Now close your eyes and take a deep breath.”

“Have you ever had a psychic before?”

Otto met his gaze again. His eyes were beautiful, a mix of gray and brown, too light for his tan skin and dark hair.

“Ready?”

“You didn’t answer.”

“No, I’ve never bitten a psychic before, I always pick humans, but you’re not poisonous. Vampires can feed from all species apart from other vampires.”

“Animals?”

“No, all humanoid species.”

“So if aliens invade—”

“Take a deep breath and close your eyes.”

Zephan did as told. “But if aliens were to—” His words cut off with a hiss. There was a stinging pain on the inside of his arm, close to the elbow. He jerked and looked down at Otto.

His eyes were closed, his lips sealed over his skin, and there was a blissful, almost euphoric look on his face. For a moment Zephan was stunned, then Otto met his gaze and sucked in a shuddering breath. This was hot in some weird, messed-up way.

The pain was almost gone, and when Otto swallowed, heat rushed through Zephan and settled in his groin. Oh, hell no, he would not get hard from having some weirdo suck on his arm.

Otto swallowed again, and Zephan had a silly notion of reaching out and touching his hair. He squirmed on the chair, trying to rid his head of all stupid thoughts.

Otto was a stranger, not a lover he should caress.

A small sound escaped Otto. It resembled a moan, but it couldn’t be, could it? Sucking on someone’s arm wasn’t moan-worthy.

Otto being on his knees making sexy sounds messed with Zephan’s mind. When he swallowed for the third time, Zephan let out a breath. “There.” His voice sounded shaky.

Otto closed his eyes, and Zephan had to bite back a groan when his tongue swept over the skin on his arm. He lifted his mouth off him and licked over the punctures. He did it again and again, and Zephan moved in his seat. This was weird. And hot. And bizarre. And… fuck.

He cleared his throat and pulled at his arm. Otto let him go and rose to his feet, graceful as a cat.

The wound was gone. There were two red dots where he assumed the fangs had gone in, but it was the only sign. How the hell had he done that?

“If you fall down dead now, I won’t try to resurrect you.” Zephan’s voice had dropped, and he sounded huskier than he’d meant to.

“Don’t worry, little witch.” Otto winked at him and opened the refrigerator. “What are you in the mood for? I was gonna make honey garlic chicken with potato wedges. You okay with that? No allergies?”

Zephan couldn’t find his voice. Otto was… lighter. He was pretty sure he wasn’t, but he moved with ease, almost floating.

“Chicken is fine. I’d eat roadkill at this point.”

“Classy.” Otto pulled things out of the refrigerator. “If you want, you can rest for a bit. This will take some time.”

“Rest?”

“There is a couch in the living room, it’s pretty comfy. There are no sheets in the guest room, but I could grab some if you want a bed.”

Zephan frowned at his back. What happened to the ten minutes he was allowed to stay? Though, since the deal was dinner now, he guessed the time had been prolonged. He hadn’t expected to be offered the guest room though.

“Couch is fine.” And he was tired. So tired. “How much did you drink?”

“Three swallows. It was the deal.”

“How much do you normally drink?”

Otto looked at him over his shoulder, a knife in his hand and an onion on a cutting board. Damn, when had he gotten them? “About three swallows.” He grinned, the tip of a fang peeking out from underneath his upper lip.

“So I gave you a month’s worth of food?”

Shrugging, he cut the onion in half. “It feels like your blood is more potent than a human’s.”

“So more than a month?”

“Most vampires feed once a week.”

“Right, but still. I gave you more than—” He gestured at the stove. “—one chicken dinner.”

“You paid for trespassing and ruining my lawn.”

“I didn’t ruin your lawn, idiot! Lawns are made for walking.”

“No, that’s boots.”

Zephan gaped at him. “What?”

“These boots are made for walking…” He hummed a tune, and Zephan sighed.

“I think you should add breakfast to the deal.”

Slowly, Otto turned around. “Excuse me?”

“Breakfast, and a night in your guest room. You didn’t know how potent my blood was, it’s only fair you reevaluate and sweeten the deal.”

“Sweeten the deal?”

“Yup.” Please. Please. Please. Zephan would trade breakfast tomorrow for another feeding without blinking. The bite had hurt initially, but it hadn’t been too bad, and now he couldn’t feel it at all. “Breakfast in bed.”

“Not in bed. Only heathens eat in bed.”

Zephan chuckled. “Heathens do?”

“Those and idiots. Sane people don’t want crumbs in their beds.”

“Fine. Breakfast in the kitchen then.” Zephan gestured around the room.

“Fine, breakfast in the kitchen.”

“Really?” Zephan hadn’t meant to speak so loudly, but hope had given the word a boost.

Otto frowned at him. “One night. And you’re not allowed to be annoying.”

“What counts as annoying?”

“What you’re doing now. Go stretch out on the couch and allow me to do this in peace.”

Zephan nodded. “Would a shower be too much to ask?”

Otto sighed. “There are clean towels on the shelf right inside the bathroom door.”

“Thank you.” Zephan hurried out of the kitchen. He wasn’t sure where the bathroom was, but it was a small house, so he’d find it.

A couple of days ago, When at War with Witches was released! 🥳 

I have this problem where I write a story, thinking I’m writing a standalone, and then completely messing up by creating a world I don’t want to leave. It happens all the time, and this time, it’s no different. 

I had this idea. I wanted to write evil witches, a story where the MCs came from different sides of a conflict but were forced to work through it. I did that. We have a witch and an alpha werewolf forced into an arranged mating. 

We sprinkle it with cookies, and we have a story, right? (We’re celebrating Lacy Oatmeal Cookie Day.) 

Right! Only…there are so many witches and shifters, and I can’t just leave them, can I? So now I have a problem. When will I find the time to write more stories?? 

If you’re in the mood for an arranged mating, shifters, witches, and cookies, check this out!  

When at War with Witches

Curses, monsters and arranged matings!

Rourke Flint, alpha of the Flint Pack, is sick of being at war with witches, sick of watching his friends die. So sick of it, he’d traded a piece of land for a witch to take as his mate in hopes of building an alliance. But werewolves mate for life, and now he’ll be forever tied to whichever witch they’re handing over. 

Ezra Inaxx Kuxium Enizax is a useless witch and the one the clan decides to sacrifice to the monsters. He’s never met a shifter before, but he’s heard the stories. Deviants. Beasts. Giants. And now he’ll spend the rest of his life with one of them. 

Rourke soon realizes the witches don’t want a treaty, and Ezra was sent to him as an insult. Ezra knows his clan never intended for there to be peace, but Rourke isn’t nearly as cruel as he was led to believe, and wouldn’t peace be a pleasant change? What if he could give Rourke enough information to achieve it?

Buy Links:

Gay Paranormal Romance:  52,872 words

JMS Books :: Amazon

Chapter 1

Rourke Flint looked at the small blue diamond-shaped pill Ulric, his second in command and best friend, handed him.

“To get you through.” Ulric grimaced.

Fuck. Rourke rubbed the hand not holding the pill over his face. Hell. Shit. Motherfucking witches.

“Yo only have to fuck her once.”

Rourke looked at him. “Yeah, and then never touch another living being ever again.”

Ulric winced. “Sorry.”

He’d most likely have to touch her more than once. Mating bonds were strong, and while they didn’t have to have sex, he’d have to smell her. Hold her.

And witches stank of rot.

Rourke blew out a breath and shook his head. It had to be done. They’d been at war for decades, had emptied all their resources—both monetary and relationship-wise—and now they’d finally managed to push the witches back. Again. They had to ensure peace, had to prevent them from instigating a new reign of terror.

He fucking hated witches. Power-hungry vultures. Never satisfied with what they had.

Shifters bonding with witches was an ancient tradition they’d long ago left behind, but Rourke was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of watching his people die. Tired of investing all their time and means into a war with no end.

They’d won back their territory, which they had many times before, but this time, he’d demanded a mate as a bounty. If he mated one of the witches, it would keep them from attacking. Right? It was how they’d ensured peace in the olden days.

He let out another shaky breath. He wished he could have someone do this in his stead, but it had to be him.

He was the leader. He had to make the sacrifice.

“You only have to get through it once. Fuck her, bite her, and then it’s done. We can lock her up in one of the dungeons, and you can continue with your life as if it never happened.”

Rourke grimaced. It wouldn’t be as if it never had happened. Mates had to be physically close or they’d lose their minds. Or he would. He didn’t know if it affected witches the same way. A mate bond was magically enforced monogamy, a need to keep your other half close, to touch, scent, and protect. He’d never been one to share, but he’d always had a healthy sex drive. Now he suspected he’d be resigned to his right hand for the rest of his, hopefully, long life.

It would be worth it. Had to be worth it.

The one advantage they had over the witches, other than their size and physical strength, was their longevity. Witches had human lifespans, werewolves did not. But by binding himself to a witch, he’d tie her to his life force. She’d live for as long as he did. She’d die when he died.

“You’ve been with a female before, right?” The way Ulric scrunched his face would’ve made him laugh on any other day, now he only nodded. He wasn’t opposed to bedding women, but if he had a choice, which he’d always had up until today, he picked men ninety-five times out of a hundred. Once in a blue moon, he came across a female he wanted to be with, and when it happened, he was. If she was willing.

What kind of woman volunteered to be his till the end of time? Witches were bigots and homophobes, so he was sure it would be a woman. Same-sex couples weren’t allowed in the covens.

What did it say about her wanting to give up her life in the clan and to come and live on pack land? Maybe she wanted a long life. Perhaps it was reward enough.

Whatever her reasons, he had to fuck her. Panic clawed at him. He couldn’t do this. Witches smelled like walking corpses. How would he be able to get it up? He glanced at the pill in his hand again.

Ulric must’ve seen the flare of trepidation because he slid an arm over Rourke’s shoulders. “Hey. It’ll be fine. You asked for a volunteer, and they have one. Whoever she is, she wants this. And who wouldn’t?” He jostled him a little. “You’re a catch, and she gets to move away from all the other witches. It’s a double win for her. You’re the one suffering.”

Sometimes he wondered if Ulric could read his mind.

“Hell, she might know a spell to make you enjoy it.” He grinned in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Right.” Rourke pulled in a deep breath and tucked the blue pill in his pocket. He’d take it later. He refused to meet the witch congregation with a hard-on.

Witches were ugly fuckers. Or maybe they weren’t. They looked human, but they were often small, fine-limbed, and they always had long hair with braids and feathers and shit. Not to mention the zillion piercings and tattoos. Shifters couldn’t have piercings. They ripped when they shifted. Tattoos healed during shifts too.

He believed the tattoos were connected to magic, but he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about the piercings or the stuff they put in their hair either. Maybe they were purely ornamental, maybe they held power somehow. One bonus of having a witch in their home was the knowledge they could gain. He’d be the dominant partner. He could force his mate to submit to him and to answer his questions.

“Ready to go?”

Nope, not ready at all. He sent Ulric a pleading look. He’d never let anyone else see him like this, but Ulric was his oldest friend.

“We’ll get drunk after, okay? As soon as they’re off our land, we’ll drown our sorrows.”

Rourke nodded. He couldn’t reply since there was a lump blocking his throat. Fucking hell.

* * * *

The car lurched to a stop, and the seatbelt cut into Ezra Inaxx Kuxium Enizax’s chest.

“Stop your crying.”

He touched his cheek. He wasn’t crying, was he? He’d learned long ago not to cry. His cheek was dry. He wasn’t crying.

Looking into the front seat, he realized Shixyll—he’d long ago lost the right to call her mom—was glaring at Jiprix. Ezra’s eyebrows moved in surprise as he took in Jiprix’s glassy eyes. He might be the closest thing Ezra had to a friend, but he hadn’t believed he’d ever shed a tear over him. And he hadn’t, they were still pooled in his eyes.

“This way he can be useful.” Shixyll turned her head and glared at Ezra. He didn’t say anything. There was no use. She never allowed him to speak, and he’d been cursed or hit enough times to know it wasn’t worth it to try.

Ezra was a useless witch. He had next to no powers, and he was never allowed to learn anything about their plans or be part of any decisions. They never sent him to battle because he had no combat skills. He couldn’t hurt a fly with his magic—he’d tried. Many, many times.

Jiprix could turn a creature inside out without channeling power from a familiar. He was useful, but Ezra was not.

“We’re still sacrificing one of our own to the beasts.” Whatever had made Jiprix sentimental was gone now. His voice was clipped but firm.

“Spoils of war. They’d have demanded more land if we hadn’t agreed, and losing him doesn’t weaken us. It’s the best use we have of him.”

What would it have been like to have someone in his life who cared for him? What if he’d been hugged instead of shoved away? A caress instead of a slap. He had no illusions being among the monsters would make his life better, the opposite. Witches didn’t have claws or super strength. They weren’t huge, hulking creatures fit for nightmares.

He didn’t know if he’d survive the punishment they’d give him for disobeying or not complying fast enough. He always tried to do what people asked of him, but for some reason, he always failed. He had the scars to prove it. He didn’t think an enraged werewolf would leave scars, they’d simply take his head. And maybe it was for the best.

Maybe his stay with the monsters would be short.

“We’re here.” Shixyll opened the car door without so much as a glance in Ezra’s direction.

Jiprix sighed. “Do what they tell you. It might not be too bad, and… eh… don’t fight him.”

Ice filled Ezra’s veins. Right. Don’t fight. Let the leader degrade and bite him to buy his clan time to gather their forces for a new attack. And should Ezra happen to die during said attack… No one would care.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat and opened the door. Forcing Shixyll to come get him would not be good.

His legs shook as he put his feet on the gravelly ground. In front of him was a wall of beasts in giant human shapes. They all looked to be seven feet tall, the few females were a little shorter but not by much.

He’d once heard they were twenty-five members in the pack, about the same size as the clan, but looking at them now, it felt as if they were a hundred and twenty-five.

Ezra only reached to their chests. He allowed his eyes to slide over them, trying to see which one was the leader, but it was hard to tell who was the most powerful. They didn’t have piercings or braids to signal their strength or status. Without thinking he sucked in the ring he had at the center of his lower lip, the one indicating he was of age and his powers were fully manifested. It also told everyone he hardly had any powers since it was the only lip piercing he had.

His gaze landed on a tall man with harsh eyes and a gaunt body. His clothes hung off him, indicating he’d once been much more powerful. One of the prisoners? They had been forced to give up their prisoners. He didn’t know how many there had been, but he’d heard whispers about it when he’d fed the clan.

Ezra didn’t know what new tactic the shifters had used to win back their land plus some additional areas, but whatever they’d done, it had required Shixyll to trade the prisoners. She’d traded them for the additional piece of land and allowed the monsters to keep their original boundary, but they’d somehow also persuaded her to agree to trade him.

Maybe it hadn’t taken much effort on their part. He didn’t think she’d be willing to make any sacrifices to keep him safe.

“Alpha Flint.” Shixyll didn’t bow her head as she addressed the man in front of her. He was massive, but the man next to him was bigger. Ezra’s throat clicked as he tried to swallow despite his mouth having gone dry. How could they be so enormous and still move as fast as they did? He’d never seen one move, but he’d heard the tales.

“Shixyll.” Flint didn’t say anything else, but his gaze flicked first to Jiprix then to Ezra. It was the right order to acknowledge them. Maybe he sensed their power, or maybe he simply looked at their braids and piercings. He’d always been told shifters were stupid, more animal than human, but maybe they understood magic.

“Where is my wife?”

Wife? Ezra’s eyes widened. Oh fuck. No, no, no. Was he expecting a wife? No one had told him. Without thinking he took a small step back.

“We never agreed to give you a wife.” Shixyll grinned evilly, and for a second Ezra shut his eyes. She was openly disrespecting him. It was insulting to give him a worthless witch, but she’d taken it one step further and given him a male. He should’ve realized, but somewhere he’d heard shifters weren’t picky about the gender of their bed partners. It was the one intriguing thing he’d picked up on.

He should’ve known it wasn’t true.

“You promised me a mate.”

“I did, and I’m giving you Ezra.” She yanked at his arm, making him stumble since he hadn’t been prepared.

“A male?” Amber eyes swept over his face but didn’t linger long enough to meet his gaze. Ezra assumed the shifters knew witch clans were run by women. Of course they did. Flint had negotiated with Shixyll after all.

“You don’t care what you stick your dick into, do you?” Shixyll cackled. “Take it or leave it.”

Ezra flinched, and he did nothing to hide his reaction. Shixyll might punish him, but he doubted it would be worse than what Flint would do to him.

Ezra held his breath as he waited for an explosion. Would the war restart right here? Ezra almost expected it to. Maybe it had been Shixyll’s plan all along—bring Ezra here, disrespect Flint so much he had no choice but to retaliate, and then it would start all over again.

Flint snorted. “Right. Let’s get it over with then. Are you waiting here until it’s done?”

Shixyll raised her chin, and her braid cuffs clinked. “Yes. He’s ours if you don’t fulfill the mating, and we’re not leaving here until we have proof.”

Bile rose in Ezra’s throat. She’d wait to see him properly humiliated, to have the entire pack see him debased. His eyes burned.

A large hand curled around his upper arm. “Right, give us ten minutes.”

For a second, Ezra considered fighting. But fighting never helped, so he shut his eyes and allowed Flint to pull him away from the crowd. Perhaps he should be glad he didn’t claim him in front of everyone.