Holly’s The Wolf Cure is free in the JMS Books’ Advent Calendar today and only today!   

I hope you haven’t missed the advent calendar over at JMS Books. Every day there is an LGBT+ book for free from 12:00 AM EST to 11:59 PM EST. When the time has passed it will be published wide, but for one day, you have the chance to grab it for free!  

Galen is a flawed healer. Normal healers heal the injury and dispel the pain. Not Galen. Nope. He heals the injury, and then he carries the pain for the duration of the normal healing time.  

He’s living with his brother Ari, who is an animal communicator. Animal communicators are looked down upon, so it’s important for their welcome in the community that Galen keeps his flaw hidden.  

The problem is Averett. Averett is a werewolf, which is even worse than being an animal communicator, and he’s the clumsiest wolf who’s ever wolfed. So far, Galen has managed to keep him at arm’s length, but when Averett falls off a roof, there isn’t much he can do. He has to heal him, and the injury is too severe to hide the pain from.  

Averett refusing to leave Galen’s side doesn’t make it any easier.  

It’s a short, fated mates, brother’s best friend topped with space brownies kind of story. So if that’s your jam, grab it today! Tomorrow it’ll be full price.  

Grab it here!

The Wolf Cure

How many doctored brownies are too many doctored brownies when dealing with werewolves?   

Galen Ceowald is a flawed healer and a loner. Normal healers take over the injury from the one they help and get rid of it. Galen takes over the pain of the injury. Period. He’s become an expert at concealing his suffering to keep his defect hidden, but it’s easier to avoid people altogether.   

When Averett Garou, Galen’s brother’s best friend, falls off a roof, it’s nearly impossible not to let his weakness show. Especially since Averett is a stubborn werewolf who refuses to leave Galen’s home. But maybe there are worse things than eating cakes and cuddling with a werewolf. Or has Galen consumed too many brownies to be of sane mind? 

Excerpt:

Galen tried to increase the distance between them, but he didn’t want to move his body, and Averett didn’t let go despite his pulling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held someone’s hand. At first, he didn’t think too much about it, then the sensation became overwhelming, and he struggled to breathe—or maybe it was the air pocket in his lung making it so. 

“Please don’t touch me.” He yanked at his hand again. This time Averett let go of him, but not without sliding his fingers over his skin in a caress. It made Galen frown. Why did he do that? 

“Talk to me, Galen.” 

“I don’t like to be touched.” 

Averett’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “You don’t like…” He huffed, then he looked at the wall to his right for a second while a crease formed on his brow. When his eyes found Galen’s again, his gaze was guarded. “Why?” 

“What do you mean why? I don’t like it.” 

“You don’t like it because it’s me?” 

“No, it doesn’t matter who it is.” 

“Oh, baby, I think it does.” 

Galen gaped at him. “Don’t ever call me that.” 

A mischievous grin took hold of Averett’s mouth, and Galen averted his gaze. He was too handsome for his own good. Stupid wolf. 

“Okay, now we have two questions to sort out.” 

“What?” Galen wasn’t proud of his squeak. 

“Why do you smell of pain, and why don’t you like to be touched? Is it because of the pain? Not all touches are painful. You’re a grown man, you know there are different kinds of touching.” 

Galen scowled, but it was ruined by his stomach growling again. It must be the brownies making him this hungry. 

Averett tilted his head. It was a motion he did a lot, and it reminded Galen of a dog, or wolf, he guessed. “Are you going to go get more food?” 

There was no challenge in his words, but Galen was pretty sure it was a test. He reached for the bowl and held it out to Averett, wanting more food but not wanting to move an inch. 

Slowly taking the bowl, Averett waited. 

“Could you please give me some more chili?” 

“I would feed you till the end of days if you’d let me.” 

“What?” 

Averett got to his feet and walked away without responding. He was fucking with him, right? Wolves were weird about feeding people. It meant more to them than it did to humans. Ari had tried to explain it. Feeding someone meant they were pack. Family. Precious. 

But Averett most likely meant it as repaying him for the healing. 

Galen wouldn’t mind having a werewolf bringing him food, though. They were excellent hunters, and Ari had come home with venison given to him by the pack more than once. It had saved them when things had been extra hard. Come to think of it, it must’ve been Averett who’d given him the meat. He was the one closest to Ari, and he believed Averett was some sort of leader, at least over those who worked in construction. 

Once Averett had heated the bowl, he crossed the hut in a couple of strides and held it out to Galen. 

“Thank you.” 

“If I take a brownie, will I be high as a kite?” 

Galen grinned at him, then gave a careful shrug. “I don’t know how werewolves’ metabolism works.” 

“Why do you have doctored brownies, Galen? You’re not a junkie.” 

“I’m not?” 

Averett shook his head. “You’re not, but Ari didn’t bat an eye. Instead, he encouraged you to have one when we arrived.” He narrowed his eyes. “They’re pain relief, right?” 

Fuck. “Yeah.” 

“You smell of pain, you’re hardly moving, you have edibles on your kitchen counter, Ari is worried enough to be silent, and you claim everything is fine.” 

Galen busied himself eating. 

“For fuck’s sake, Galen. Tell me what’s going on.” 

Heaving a sigh, he glowered at Averett. “When I heal someone, I take their pain into myself.” 

Some color left Averett’s face. “And then you dispel it. It’s what healers do, right? Drag the pain out, repair the injury, and then get rid of it all.” 

“Sure.” He nodded a little more forcefully than he’d normally do and took another spoonful of chili. 

“Except you still smell of pain.” Averett pushed his eyebrows together. “You smelled of pain when we arrived.” 

“You’ve established I’m in pain already.” 

Averett hummed. “But now you’re in more pain than when we arrived.” 

“Oh, come on, you were out of your mind with pain yourself. You don’t know what pain level I was at.” 

“I’ll never be too out of it to notice you, and you’re in more pain now.” Averett swept his gaze over Galen’s body, then reached out toward his tibia. Galen gave a strangled cry, and Averett’s hand stilled a few inches away from him. Something thunderous welled up in Averett’s eyes. 

“You took my pain.” 

“It’s what healers do.” 

Shaking his head, he glared at Galen. “You took it into yourself.” 

“It’s what healers do.” Galen’s tone was clipped. 

“No.” Averett pushed away from the bed and paced the tiny space between the bed and the couch. “They take it, and then they get rid of it.” 

Galen nodded and ate some more. It was what well-functioning healers did. 

 

Hiya!  

I’m sneaking in a November story on this first of December! Soon, there will be advent calendar stories coming, but yesterday Holly’s Disguised as Human was released 🥳  

It’s the fourth story in the Within the Walls series, and it celebrates National Mason Jar Day, which is observed annually on November 30th. Is National Mason Jar Day a strange day to write a story for? Maybe. But in the community, they have a lot of Mason jars, and someone has to bring order among them.  

That’s where Jasper comes in. He’s a vampire and the community’s go-to carpenter. When Chaton (who we get to know in the second story) complains about not knowing how many jars he has of each thing he’s canned, Jasper builds him shelves.  

Chaos among the Mason jars is the smallest of their problems, though.  Jasper is wanted for murder. He didn’t do it, but since when have the cops ever listened to a supernatural.  

Oscar is a detective, and he’s convinced Jasper is innocent, but he also knows his colleagues. There is no way they’ll let Jasper walk, no matter what the evidence says, so he has to find the real killer. The problem is Oscar is pretending to be human. Supernaturals aren’t allowed to be detectives, so he’s faking it. How is he to hang around the community without getting caught? Shifters and their noses, and vampires with their affinity for blood. But he has to. He can’t let an innocent man, vampire or not, go to prison.  

I strongly suggest reading these stories in order. Every book has a new couple, but there are a lot of things going on in the background that might be a little confusing if you jump in later in the series. 

Disguised as Human

What’s a vampire to do when falsely accused of murder?  

Had Jasper Argall known he’d be accused of murder simply because he went into a grocery store, he would’ve stayed in the supernatural community where human laws don’t apply. Things are hard enough as they are without having to deal with the human police.   

Oscar Christopherson is a magic user pretending to be human. He likes being a detective, but supernaturals aren’t allowed to work in law enforcement, so he’s faking it. There is always a risk he’ll be found out, and that risk increases when he’s around other supernatural people, since they have a better sense of smell than humans do.   

Vampire or not, when Jasper is wrongly accused of murder, Oscar can’t look the other way. Jasper knows humans can’t be trusted, but maybe Oscar is different from all the other humans in Myrfolk. He’s out of options, so what else can he do but put his life in Oscar’s hands?    

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Paranormal Gay Romance: 51,104 words

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Chapter 1

Oscar Christopherson gripped the steering wheel tighter. The rain hammered against the windshield and the lights reflected on the wet road.

November was miserable.

Everything was miserable.

He’d moved to Myrfolk last year, thinking life would continue as usual. He’d reinvented himself many times. After a decade or so in the same town, people would start to notice he wasn’t aging, and he’d learned to see the signs of when it was time to pack up.

As an unregistered magic user, he had to be careful. Now more than ever.

There were always ups and downs in the supernatural’s popularity, and now it was down. Way down. So low it was getting dangerous.

Oscar’s mother hadn’t been registered, and therefore he hadn’t either. She hadn’t trusted the authorities and would be turning in her grave if she could see him now. A detective serving the human population. He tried to serve the supernatural population as well, but it was much harder.

He’d believed he could make a difference. Had believed by doing what he did, he could help his real community, make sure the humans looked for the real suspect when a crime was committed, not only the closest person who could grow claws.

He sighed.

It was all going to shit. He’d never been as hated in a workplace as he was here in Myrfolk, and he found himself driving past the community more often than needed. Like now. He could’ve taken the highway, but he’d taken the road past the demolition resale yard to be able to gaze upon the walls.

Though, on a night like this, he wouldn’t be able to see them.

He sighed again. Having a pity party for himself would get him nowhere. And he didn’t want to be part of the community. He’d never been part of a community. He liked being able to walk into a store and get what he wanted without having the staff watch him suspiciously or forbidding him from shopping altogether. It was against the law to do so, and yet he heard about it all the time.

He didn’t want to pay extra fees—food, water, and electricity were expensive enough as it was.

He didn’t want to be the prime suspect in every crime he happened to be in the vicinity of when it was committed.

But…

A few weeks ago, the police, his colleagues, had made their way inside the walls, and one of them had shot one of the shifters. Oscar couldn’t erase the image of Gertrude, the community leader, sitting on the bare ground while a puddle of blood formed around her. Cradling a clawed hand in hers.

If Oscar was to be shot, he didn’t think anyone would sit by his side. No one would care. No one would miss him. Apart from maybe Gertrude, funnily enough.

Gertrude. The tigress who fought with claws and sharp teeth to try to make life tolerable for her people. The one who should be his enemy, and she should consider him one. Some days he was sure she did, but she was also quick to pick up the phone and call him simply to let him know something might be happening.

He trusted Gertrude far more than he trusted the colleagues who should have his back. It didn’t mean she’d come to his aid if he found himself in trouble, but she wouldn’t stab him in the back without reason. She wouldn’t spit in his coffee or steal his lunch—or she might steal his lunch. Times were hard, and harder still for the community members. But she’d most likely give his lunch to someone who needed it more than he did, so he wasn’t sure he’d hold a grudge for long.

There was a glint in the dark, light reflecting on eyes, and then a massive dark form filled the windshield.

His shout filled the air, and he hit the brakes with all his might. The impact forced him forward before he was pulled back. Then everything went black for a moment.

He opened his eyes with a groan. His torso hurt, and his head swam. The white fabric of the airbag in front of him made him look at the windshield. Spidery cracks filled his vision.

Fuck.

He fiddled with the seat belt and pushed the door open with clumsy motions. There, right in front of the car, was a red deer. Its glassy eyes were unseeing, and one of the antlers had snapped. It made it all the more macabre. A majestic animal broken.

Several numb seconds ticked by before he realized it was still raining. The sparsely placed streetlamps gave the night an eerie glow, and the cold breeze sent a shiver through him. He should act. Do something. Call someone. But all he could do was stare at the dead deer.

His hand shook as he finally got the phone out of his pocket. Climbing back into the car, he put on the hazard lights and hovered with his thumb over the station number, then he scrolled past it and called Gertrude. She was closer. He could almost see the community wall.

“Chief.”

For half a second, he smiled at her greeting. “Gertrude. Are you at home?” He shivered again, and this time it didn’t want to stop.

“No, sorry. Are you nearby?”

No? She rarely went anywhere these days. “I’m between the community and the demolition resale yard. I… eh… I hit a deer.”

There was an intake of air. “Are you all right?”

He nodded, shook his head, then rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, yeah, I think so. It’s dead.”

Silence followed.

“Are you bleeding?”

“No, I don’t believe so. The airbag released, and my chest hurts from the seat belt, but I… I don’t know if I can drive. The front is a bit crushed, and the windshield is…” He took a shuddering breath. “And the deer is dead.”

“Have you called a tow truck or… the cops? Do you call the cops when you’re a cop?”

“I called you.” Why had he called her?

“Okay. Sit tight. I’ll call you back in a minute.”

“Maybe I should call—”

“No! Stay where you are. I’ll get Jasper. You like Jasper, right?”

He nodded. He didn’t know Jasper, but he liked looking at Jasper. Big and strong, and yet he was quiet and calm. Though, he shouldn’t tell Gertrude he’d noticed those details about Jasper.

“Or would you prefer I call someone else?”

“Jasper.”

He could almost hear the smile over the line. “Thought so. Sit tight.” Then she hung up.

* * * *

Jasper Argall measured the wall in one of the basement rooms in Chaton’s house once again. He’d already done this. Twice. But when he’d gone home to saw the shelves, it didn’t make sense. The room was small. The smallest in the basement, but his initial calculation had given him a lot more shelf space than his last one.

So here he was, late in the evening, doing more measurements.

There were mason jars everywhere. Trays of new unused ones waiting to be filled, but also cardboard tray upon cardboard tray of filled ones.

Chaton had been complaining about not knowing how many jars they had, since everything was unorganized. They’d stuck jars everywhere, and the chest freezer was filled to the brink with things still needing to be canned. Jagger had things in his freezer needing to be canned, and Jasper did too. He feared both his and Jagger’s freezers were filled with fruit, though. Eating fruit beat starving, but it wouldn’t last them long, and shifters needed protein.

Right as he was about to write a number down on his pad, his phone rang. He got it out of his pocket and stared at Gertrude’s name for a second before hitting the accept button.

“Jasper.”

“Hey, honey. Are you busy?”

He scrunched his nose. Gertrude calling at this time of night was never a good thing. “I’m at Chaton’s doing some measurements for shelves in the basement.” She’d finally agreed to buy what they needed. Chaton had wanted shelves for months, but money was tight, especially now that they’d lost most of their revenue from their businesses. Gertrude kept them afloat, but Jasper suspected part, if not all, was with her personal money. It was his complaining about not knowing how many he had of different things that had made Gertrude prioritize building materials. Planning was essential to their survival.

“Christopherson called. He’s been in an accident between the community and the demolition resale yard.”

“Is he okay?” His stomach cramped as he pictured blood. He needed to feed. Badly. It was most likely the reason he had messed up his measurements. His brain wasn’t functioning as well as it should.

“I’m not sure. He said he was okay physically, a bit of pain from the seat belt, and the airbag had released, but nothing else. The car is undrivable, and the deer is dead.”

“Dead.”

“Mmm.”

Silence fell. “Is it a big deer?”

“I didn’t ask, but no use in wasting meat, however small it is.”

Jasper nodded. “Right. Do you want me to come with you?”

“I’m not at home.”

“What?” Looking around the room made no sense, and yet he did, as if he’d either see her or have a moment with someone else with whom he could share his surprise.

“I’m… eh… in Oakmouth.”

Oakmouth? What the hell was in Oakmouth? Jasper was unsure of how far away it was, three-four hours of driving. “Why are you in Oakmouth?”

“I have a meeting.”

“Now? This time of day?” It was close to ten in the evening.

“No. I arrived today. I will talk to Jinx tomorrow morning and be back home late tomorrow afternoon.”

Jinx. He believed he’d heard the name before.

“It doesn’t matter, but I’m not at home, so I can’t deal with this. Could you fix it? You have a spare room, right? Put Christopherson up for the night, grab the deer, and maybe Jagger can take a look at the car.”

He put his pen down. “Okay.”

“Send me a text to let me know how it goes.”

“Okay, bye.”

They hung up and Jasper called Jagger as he headed up the basement stairs.