Guest Post | A Scurry of Squirrels by Holly Day

A Scurry of Squirrels is out! We’ve put the five squirrel stories in a box set, and we put it in KU. Some of my stories are available both wide and through KU, but this is completely in the program, so for the first 90 days, you won’t be able to get this anywhere else. 

After the first 90 days, it will be published wide. 

If you haven’t read any of the squirrel stories, they’re all fated mates, they all have an MC who is a squirrel shifter, and there are nuts. Lots of nuts. 

Read the first chapter below! 

A Scurry of Squirrels

Every squirrel knows to avoid werewolves at all costs! 

Read the entire A Scurry of Squirrels series in one box set! Five paranormal romance novellas with fluffy, unorganized, nut-hoarding squirrel shifters who are doing their best to avoid wolf shifters, not end up mated to them. 

Contains the stories: 

Squirrel Circus: Can you forgive being rejected by your mate? Jyran wants nothing but to find his mate and build a home together. Gideon wants a mate, but not an unorganized, nut-hoarding squirrel shifter. He will not be known as the wolf who mated a squirrel. He’s almost certain he made the right decision when he rejected Jyran, but can he live on as if nothing’s happened or does he have to … ugh … apologize? 

Squirrel Hunt: The smartest thing a squirrel can do is avoid werewolves, not get mated to one. Dahy is a squirrel shifter who finds himself neck-deep in wolves. Not ideal. Konrad is the alpha of a werewolf pack. Squirrels and wolves don’t play well together, but Dahy is Konrad’s mate and he’ll do anything to protect Dahy. But what can he do when Dahy’s kidnapped by a neighboring pack? 

Squirrel in Hiding: Every squirrel worth his name knows when it’s time to run. Raaz is on the run from wolves when he meets a vampire who swears to protect him. Farris is a wolf shifter who has given up on finding his mate, but one day, he scents him. Before he can reach him, he’s blocked by a vampire, and his mate runs away. Farris fears for Raaz’s safety, but how can he protect Raaz when he is hiding from him? 

Squirrel Blue: Squirrels do not belong in cages. Shun was out running in squirrel form when he was captured by werewolves. They put him in a cage and dyed his fur blue. The moment Amir spots a squirrel in a cage, he knows he’s gonna free it. Shun should run away as soon as Amir releases him. No sane squirrel stays with a werewolf, but why does the thought make his heart ache? 

Squirrel Found: Squirrels should never travel alone. Three months ago, Deneb lost his cousin, and he’s been adrift ever since. Nicodemus is a vampire surrounded by humans, unaware of the supernatural world. It’s lonely. One day, a naked man jumps out of his recycling dumpster. When Nicodemus runs after him, he finds a squirrel. He’s sure the man and the squirrel are the same, but how to get him to show himself?  

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Paranormal Gay Romance: 182,666 words

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Squirrel Circus

Chapter 1

Gideon Everett flicked the light switch for the twentieth time and snarled. Stomping in behind the bar, he grabbed his phone off the counter. Adara Queen was to perform in a couple of hours, and the patrons would skin him alive if he couldn’t get the electricity on before then. 

It wasn’t a fuse, and it wasn’t the entire building, but it was the serving area, the kitchen, and, of course, the stage. Since it wasn’t a real blackout, he suspected a wire had been damaged somewhere. 

He looked up at the crisscross of wires. The metal beams created a maze against the dark ceiling. He didn’t know shit about the electricity in this place. He could do simple things. He wasn’t a complete imbecile, but this… He needed a professional for this, but despite having called several electricians, no one had been willing to help on short notice. 

Scrolling on the phone yet again, he tried to find the number of someone local, someone he might be able to persuade. Best if they were a shifter, so he could growl at them, but he couldn’t tell from the listings who were turning furry and who wasn’t. 

“What’s got your panties in a wad?” 

Fucking vampires. Gideon tried to hide his surprise as Adara Queen leaned against the bar. She hadn’t been Queen when they’d been in school. But Adara Anderson didn’t have the same ring to it. 

“Adara.” He nodded in greeting. If they hadn’t known each other from childhood, she never would’ve played here tonight. She filled big arenas these days. Though tonight was meant to be a small affair, only her and her guitar, not the entire band. For fun, she’d said. 

“That’s all the greeting I get?” She had her hurt look down pat. 

He heaved a sigh, rounded the bar, and engulfed her in a hug. He didn’t mean to, but he sniffed her hair. There was something there, a scent he wanted more of, but it was hidden underneath the scent of hair products and detergent. 

Vampires didn’t have a smell of their own, which was why most shifters were uncomfortable around them. Predatory shifters relied more on their nose than their eyes, and vampires were scent voids. Who knew how non-predatory shifters worked? They were the universe’s biggest mistake. 

As he let go of her, the scent wafted toward him again, and without thinking, he bent down and sniffed at her collarbone and down toward her cleavage. 

“Hey!” She shoved him with more strength than necessary, and he took an involuntary step backward. “Last I checked, you weren’t interested in tits. Mine or anyone else’s.” 

“No.” He shook his head as if in a daze. “It’s the scent.” 

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “The scent?” 

“You smell of…” What did she smell of? Something that made him want to rub against her, lick her—and he did not lick women. He wanted to taste, to touch, to keep it for himself. He shook his head again, trying to rid it of the haze. 

“I smell?” Her voice filled the room, and she sniffed at her armpit. 

“No! Or… there is a scent on you.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you have a boyfriend?” 

“One in particular?” She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “No.” 

“But you spent the night with someone.” Though she didn’t smell of sex. “Or… you’re living with someone?” 

“Oh.” She grinned. “Could it be Jyran? I hugged him before I left.” 

A hug. Could it be something as simple as a hug? “Who’s Jyran?” 

“A friend. He’s been traveling with me for… eh, it’s years now. We’re sharing a house now when we’re not on the road.” 

Gideon nodded. It could explain the scent, but it didn’t explain his reaction to it. 

“Why is it so dark?” She looked around, effectively changing the subject. 

“Something wrong with the electricity. I’ve called every electrician I can find, but no luck.” He rubbed his neck. The bar was his pride and joy, but after he’d paid his staff and paid the bills, there wasn’t much left. Having Adara perform, even if it was only a small thing, would bring in some much-needed cash. He did not want to cancel. 

She frowned. “Any idea what’s wrong?” 

He shook his head. “I suspect the rats have been nibbling at the cables.” He gestured at the metal beams in the ceiling. 

“You have rats?” She twisted her face in distaste. “I believed you big, bad shifters would scare them off.” 

Gideon grunted. He didn’t think cat shifters had any rat problems, but they were wolves here. Maybe he should hire a cat. There was no love between the species, but he could respect a cat. 

“Want me to ask Jyran to have a look?” 

“He’s a cat?” He didn’t smell like a cat, though Gideon suspected the scent was mixed up with everything else on Adara. 

“No.” The way she said it had Gideon narrowing his eyes. 

“What is he?” 

“If I call Jyran, you have to promise not to harm him in any way.” 

Unease curled in his gut. “What. Is. He?” Gideon was a strong wolf. There were few things he feared. A bear maybe. Though he didn’t fear bears. They were moody bastards, but they didn’t want to eat him. Tigers and lions, but they were rare. He’d never met a tiger shifter, and the lions he’d come across, he could count on one hand. 

She glared. “Squirrel.” 

Gideon stared at her for several seconds, then he laughed. “What?” 

“He’s a squirrel shifter.” Her eyes flashed with anger, and he did his best to tone down his laugh. 

“A squirrel shifter? Are there any left? I thought they were extinct.” 

“There are a few, but they tend to stay away from the supernatural community.” She raised her eyebrows in a way only cartoons should be able to do, with one higher than the other and yet crooked somehow. 

“But you’ve adopted one?” He snickered. A few decades ago, both shifters and humans had killed as many squirrels as they could, both the shifters and the normal kind. Invasive rats. 

She watched him for so long, she killed his joy. 

“You’re serious?” He made an effort to keep his face blank. “You’ve befriended a squirrel? And you didn’t stop there. He’s living with you?” He shook his head. She lived with a fucking rat. “Aren’t you afraid he’s going to eat your nuts?” 

“I don’t have or need any nuts. And I took for granted you’d appreciate a guy who liked nuts, my bad.” 

He gave her a wicked grin. “I do. But I don’t do rats.” 

“Coming from a dog.” Her words were dripping with disgust, and he huffed. 

“Seriously, Adara. You have a squirrel living with you. Aren’t you afraid?” 

“Of Jyran?” The disbelief had him chuckling again. 

“No, of course not. Who’s afraid of a squirrel?” They were prey. Small and powerless. “I meant of someone coming to your place to kill him. You could be hurt in the crossfire.” 

If looks could kill, Gideon had been in a bloody puddle on the floor. 

“Why would anyone want to kill Jyran?” 

“Because he’s a rat. Or maybe they’re in the mood for some…” What was the recipe he’d seen the other week? “Barbecued Smoked Squirrel Sandwich. It’s easier to come and grab him at your place than go hunting for a real one.” 

“A real? First off, few know he’s a squirrel shifter. You couldn’t tell from his scent, and you have a good nose. Second, if anyone would dare come near him, I’ll kill them.” 

“You’re his bodyguard?” Gideon shouldn’t snicker, but he pictured a furry little guy hiding behind Adara whenever they were outside. 

“I’m his friend. Fuck, when did you turn into an asshole?” 

Gideon straightened. He’d always been an asshole, but he could tell Adara was angry for real. This squirrel guy meant something to her. “I won’t hurt him, but if he gnaws through any of my wires, he’ll have to pay for the damage.” 

“Squirrel. Cute, fluffy, climbs trees, collects nuts and seeds, nesting. Oh, God, the nesting.” She threw her hands in the air, but it was done in a fond way. “If I have to pick up another freaking pillow from the floor, I might drench it in blood.” She shrugged. “Though he tones down the cushion obsession while we’re on the road. And he never, on the road or not, eats wires.” 

“A rat is a rat. I don’t care if his tail is fluffy or not.” Though now he was curious. What did a squirrel shifter look like in human form? He was a wolf. He was big and tall, fast and strong. Most humans gave him a wide berth, though some suicidal fuckers tried to provoke him. When on a hunt, he was patient and could chase his prey for miles. In human form, he might be a little testy, the feeling of being trapped in his skin, of not being able to use his strengths as they were meant to be used sometimes annoyed him, and he was known to snarl at more than one patron. 

But what was a squirrel like? Unorganized. Running in circles. Big front teeth. Stupid. They had to be stupid, considering the size of their brain. 

“If I call him, you have to promise to behave.” 

Gideon gave her his most innocent look. “I always behave.” 

“Not a word about squirrel sandwiches, of squirrel hunts, or rats, or hunting season, nut-licking or dick size.” 

“Dick size?” Interesting. 

She glared. “He’s a small animal. It doesn’t mean he’s small in human form.” 

Gideon widened his eyes. “He’s a big guy?” His mind painted him as a small, femmy man. Though why he would be femmy, Gideon didn’t know. Because squirrels, for all their rat similarities, were cute? 

“No, but… proportional.” 

If he hadn’t known better, he’d have called attention to the light flush climbing Adara’s cheeks. 

* * * * 

Jyran Pechman tugged at his suit jacket, then he fiddled with his tie, only to move on to straighten his vest. The dark blue fabric normally made him feel better, but he was jittery today. He hated going into shifter bars, but at least they weren’t open for business yet. 

Adara needed him. 

An old friend of hers owned the fur bar, and she wanted to play there. Jyran couldn’t understand why. She drew audiences of thousands upon thousands. Why play in a seedy shifter bar? 

It was her choice. He didn’t care what she did. He loved her, but he didn’t care about music, and traveling wasn’t his thing. All he wanted was a safe place, somewhere to call home, somewhere he could rest. Adara was the closest he’d ever come to safety, so he clung to her, but he held no love for the life of a musician. 

With a deep breath, he pushed the door to The Howling Moon—creative name. He snorted. He hated wolves. He hated bears, cats, and all the other predators too, but most of all, he hated wolves. They lived in packs, which meant he didn’t only have to escape one enemy, he had to outsmart a bunch of them. 

If they were in a forest, it was fine. As long as he stayed alert, he could always stay safe in the trees, but in a bar? Wolves in human form. He gritted his teeth. 

Adara had promised he’d be safe. If she was wrong, he’d haunt her for the rest of her life. He’d make it his life mission—death mission?—to lure spiders into her bed. She hated spiders. 

His heart beat harder than he wanted to acknowledge as he pushed the door open. Fuck. The dark made him freeze. He had crappy night vision, another thing to his disadvantage. Most shifters saw well in the dark. Adara had no problem navigating in the dark. Vampires had excellent sight no matter what lighting they were in, which was annoying since she never turned on any lamps. 

The scent. He pulled in a breath. It smelled of wolves, of other shifters too, but there was mostly wolves. But that wasn’t what had fire licking at his core. A shuddering breath left him. He had to get closer, had to find the source. Mate. Could it be his mate? 

Joy and need fought for room in his chest. Home. He’d found his home, his future. Safety. The word swished through his mind like a promise. His muscles wanted to unclench. Finally. Finally, he’d be able to have a place where he belonged, where he would be cherished and loved. 

He rushed forward and ran straight into a table. “Crap.” 

He jumped a little too far and crashed into a chair, which he assumed stood by the table next to the one he’d run into. 

“Jyran?” 

Adara was there somewhere on the other side of the sea of darkness. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The growly voice had the hairs all over his body stand on edge. There he was. Jyran’s mate. Jyran’s hope. Jyran’s home. 

“Get the rat out of here. I don’t want him anywhere near me.” Then something slammed—a door? 

“Jyran?” Adara sounded confused, but Jyran couldn’t focus on her right now. He was too busy dying. Rat? His mate had called him a rat. 

He’d come around. He had to. Finding his mate had been Jyran’s only hope. It was part of why he went around the world with Adara. Staying hidden in a small town wouldn’t increase his chances of ever finding his other half. 

“Jyran.” 

Jyran forced air into his lungs. Maybe they’d exploded? It hurt to breathe, and it wasn’t until cool air caressed wet skin, he realized he was crying. Annoyed, he wiped his cheeks. 

They’d find a way to make this work. No use in crying when his mate was still alive. There was still hope. It was shock. He’d most likely pictured himself with a wolf mate. He’d come around. 

Maybe he was into women? Jyran scrunched his nose. He didn’t think the universe would be so cruel. Mates were the perfect match. They complimented each other in every way. He stared out into the darkness. It had to mean sexually too, didn’t it? He’d always assumed so, but he had never been around a mated couple. He stayed away from shifters since most of them wanted to kill him, and he’d left his family shortly after he’d turned twelve. The painful longing and sense of abandonment had nearly crushed him, but it was the way of the squirrels, and yet it hadn’t helped. 

Since then, he’d tried hard not to be like other squirrels. 

He tugged at his suit jacket again—neat, clean, and organized. He knew where he had his things. He tried hard not to hide them, but when he was stressed, it happened, he hid food away only to then go get it and hide it somewhere else. He repeated it over and over until he couldn’t remember where he’d hidden it. 

“Jyran.” 

He jumped. He’d forgotten Adara was there. He’d been too focused on dying. It had to be why his life flashed before his eyes. There hadn’t been much life, so the flashing didn’t go on for long. 

“What the fuck is going on?” She was angry now. “Why did Gideon run off like a scalded cat? Do you know each other?” 

Jyran shook his head. Gideon. His mate’s name was Gideon. 

She touched his arm, and he jumped up on the table with a bark. 

“Jyran! What the hell are you doing? Come down from there before you fall.” 

He scowled in her direction. He hadn’t meant to jump, but he hadn’t been prepared for her touch. Vampires moved too damn fast, and they didn’t make a sound. 

“You’re close to the edge.” 

Must be a sturdy table then or it would’ve tipped. 

“Jyr.” Her voice softened. “What’s going on?” 

“Has he gone?” 

There was a rustling sound, but Jyran couldn’t tell if she nodded or shook her head. “He won’t hurt you. He promised.” 

Too late. Jyran was pretty sure his heart was missing pieces. Maybe they were floating around in his bloodstream and would put him out of his misery soon. 

“He’s my mate.” 

“What? Gideon?” 

Jyran nodded, since his voice gave up on him. Maybe it was part of dying. 

“Aww, that’s great. You’d make a perfect couple. He’s an ass, and you’re a sweetheart.” 

Frowning, Jyran slid his foot out to feel for the edge of the table. “He’s an ass?” He didn’t want an ass for a mate. Jyran had been convinced once he found his mate, life would be good. He’d be safe. His mate would protect him. They’d have a home. A home he could fill with their things and food. And he could have other storages for food… and things. And—damn, he was such a squirrel. Normal people didn’t hoard food. 

“Big, bullheaded oaf. Growling and snarling all the time.” 

Jyran nodded as new tears burned his eyes. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Small but strong hands grabbed him and lifted him off the table and into her arms. Her strength always astonished him. She was medium everything. Medium height, neither slim nor overweight, and while he found her the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, it was his love for her making it so. She was average, at least judging by the current beauty ideals. 

“I’m gonna talk to him.” 

Jyran shook his head. “He ran away.” 

“Yes, but he’s stupid. I’ll inform him of how stupid he is. Wait here.” 

Part of Jyran wanted to run home and hide, but everyone was allowed to freak out when they met their mate. Most dreamed of it their entire lives—or he had at least—but maybe Gideon was a fiercely independent wolf and feared the connection between them. 

“Why don’t you shift and climb up while I talk to him?” 

Jyran raised his eyebrows. “Climb where?” 

“Oh, yeah… There is a power outage. Or not an outage, but some wire or something has been gnawed off. Gideon’s theory. I don’t have a clue what’s wrong. This part of the bar is without power, and the stage is too. Gideon has called several electricians, but no one’s been able to come, and you’re my magical guy who makes all my problems disappear.” She shrugged. 

He wasn’t magical, and she had other guys for electricity problems, but he had filled in as a light technician several times on tours if someone was sick or needed time off. 

“Could you climb up and check the cables, see if you can find the broken one?” 

Jyran nodded. “Can you make sure the power is off, so I don’t get electrocuted up there? And I need you to shine a light.” 

“Okay. Get furry, and I’ll go talk to Gideon and shut off the power.” 

She moved away, and Jyran shook out of his suit jacket and unbuttoned his vest. His tie followed next, and then his shirt. He hesitated when he reached for his belt. Shifters were normally fine with nudity, but he would not be naked the first time he was introduced to his mate. 

* * * * 

“You fucking asshole.” Adara strode into the kitchen, her eyes shooting daggers. “You promised not to hurt him.” 

Gideon wanted to growl, to snarl, to attack. “I didn’t.” 

“He’s out there lost and heartbroken. If that’s not hurting, I don’t know what is. I can almost taste his pain.” 

What the hell? “You brought him here. I didn’t know he’d… I’m not going out there.” He would not have a squirrel mate. He was strong, he was respected, he was… perhaps not successful, but he provided for himself. If he mated a squirrel, he’d be the laughingstock of the shifter world. He’d be a target since people wanted to kill squirrels, and his stupid instincts would push him to protect. Nope, he wasn’t having it. 

“Have him leave.” 

“Are you serious? He’s your mate, your only mate.” 

He’d rather be without a mate than mate a squirrel. He’d lived without a mate all his life. He could continue to do so until he died. He took a lover whenever he was in the mood. Owning a bar made sure he never lacked offers, and now, when he didn’t have to be on the lookout for his mate, he could indulge as he saw fit. “I don’t want him.” 

“You don’t want him? You haven’t met him.” 

“His scent is all over the place, and I want it gone as soon as possible.” He flashed her sharp teeth. One second, she was in the doorway, the next she was in his face. “Do not threaten me, Gideon Everett, or you’ve poured your last beer. Are we clear?” 

Shit. He took a step back. “Get him out of here.” 

He needed him away so he could air the place out before anyone else arrived. He couldn’t let them scent him. The thought had him pull up a mental stop. They wouldn’t care about his scent. They most likely wouldn’t notice it or recognize it for what it was. Squirrels were rare. All non-predatory shifters were rare. He swallowed hard. His body was shaking and heat skidded over his skin. Maybe he was coming down with a fever. It would be a bad night to get sick. 

“You want me to ask your mate to leave?” 

“He’s not my mate. We’re not mated.” Sex. They needed to have sex to solidify the bond. A shiver shot through him, need leaving him aching, but he pushed it away. He’d pick up someone in the crowd tonight. A quick fuck in the storeroom would cure this insanity. 

“He’s your mate, and you know it. I never took you for a coward.” 

“I’m not a coward. I’m not fucking a rat, okay? Now, get him to leave.” 

Adara hissed but whirled around and stomped out of the dark kitchen. 

Gideon bent forward and rested his elbows on the counter. How long he stood there, he didn’t know. A long time. A squirrel. Nope. Not doing it. No way in hell. Disgusting critters. Someone would kill him soon, and then Gideon wouldn’t have to worry. This feeling would go away, he hoped. What happened when your mate died if you weren’t fully mated? Would he still feel the loss? 

It wouldn’t be a loss, it would be a ticket to freedom. 

He might have dreamed about a mate, about someone to be there all the time, someone who knew him better than his pack mates did, but not a rat. He was better off as he was than tying himself to a rodent. Pests. 

Gideon straightened his back. No one had to know. 

Adara wouldn’t tell, would she? 

No one would ever know his destined mate was a squirrel. He ate squirrels. He had eaten many squirrels through the years when in wolf form. 

His stomach threatened to turn, but he did his best to shake it off. It was the natural order. Wolves ate squirrels if they happened upon them. 

There was a hum, and a second later the light came on. Ha! Maybe it had been a blackout after all. 

He headed for the door and walked out behind the bar. The seating area was bathed in light. By one of the tables stood a man with his back to Gideon. He gritted his teeth. 

Jyran hadn’t left. 

He was sticking his belt through the hoops of his slacks. He reached for his shirt. He was smaller than Gideon, but the pink and glitter he’d pictured in his mind weren’t there. Muscles played underneath milky smooth skin as he put his arm through the sleeve of his shirt and then the skin was hidden from his view. Jyran flicked the collar and reached for a tie. He wore a fucking tie? 

“So we’re good to go, yeah?” Adara stepped into his line of sight and blocked his view of Jyran. She was angry, angrier than he’d ever seen her, but her voice was neutral. 

“I guess.” Gideon did his best to focus on her and not notice the shaking hand reaching for the dark blue vest on the table—a fucking vest. The guy wore a three-piece suit. Gideon would’ve noticed if he’d looked at him when he’d entered, but he hadn’t. His scent had reached him, and he’d been furious at his body for reacting to a rat. 

He filled his lungs with air. The sooner Jyran left, the better. 

“There were three damaged cables. Jyran twined them together, but you’ll have to have them replaced. Rats or mice, so maybe put out some traps before the Health Department comes to check on you.” Her words were clipped, and Gideon gritted his teeth. 

He wouldn’t apologize. It was his life. He wouldn’t be pushed into a mating he didn’t want. He might be willing to do a lot to get her to play in his bar whenever she was in town, but he wouldn’t fuck her friends. If she demanded it, then there would be no more gigs. 

“I’ll be in the office if you need me.” He turned and walked away without another look at Jyran. He had yet to see his face, but it was better if he didn’t. 

Guest Post | Hunger by Holly Day

Hiya! I’m here as Holly today. Hunger, my latest story, is now live! Yay! 

I don’t know about you, but this past year has made me worry about the future. And maybe dystopian stories aren’t what the world needs right now, but it was where my mind went, so I put those thoughts into a story. 

In Hunger, society, as we know it, collapsed five years ago. Kegan is surviving. He’s put systems in place. He has a garden and knows how to preserve the food he grows. But one mistake, and he won’t be eating. 

Gareth didn’t see the collapse coming. There were problems, but he figured they’d solve them. Five years in, he’s not doing so great. But then one day, he hears a rooster crow. If there is a rooster, there is food. And if that food happens to belong to Kegan, well, too bad for him. Gareth is hungry. 

Read the first chapter below! 

Hunger

Hunger is a funny thing. It makes people act in ways they never believed they’d do.

Gareth Cadell always believed he’d be a winner if society ever collapsed. He’s big and strong, and he knows how to handle himself. He never considered the food issue, though. When things get too dangerous in the city, he leaves, but he hadn’t realized how quickly starvation would set in. Which is why, when he comes across Kegan, he can’t allow him to keep all his food for himself.

Hunger is a dangerous thing. It turns good people into unpredictable ones.

Kegan Ashida never believed he’d live this long after the collapse. He’s nothing special. He’s capable of killing if he has to, but he’s more likely to take care of someone than to harm them. It doesn’t mean he’s willing to surrender. He’s worked hard to build up his pantry, and he won’t allow anyone to steal his food.

Gareth doesn’t want to hurt Kegan. It’s not his fault Gareth is hungry, and if he’s being honest, he’d rather kiss him than harm him. Maybe bribing his way into Kegan’s home and heart is the better way?

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JMS Book :: Amazon

Chapter 1

Kegan Ashida drew his bow. The tip of the arrow shook more than it normally did, and he winced as the muscles in his arms protested.

He did his best not to notice, not to remember why he was sore all over today.

The man approaching moved cautiously, studying the solid plank fence Kegan had built around his garden, and then tried to hide behind brushwood and a few berry bushes.

He’d done a pretty good job. It was rare for someone to find him—usually it was only those who already knew he was here. Which was bad enough.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Something he never did when aiming a weapon, but fuck.

The more he studied the man, the surer he was that he was military. His clothing was black, but Kegan thought it was tactical gear.

Parker wore similar clothes but in camo. Did it mean he’d told a man from another group, division, unit, whatever their different branches were named, to come here?

Yesterday had been a crappy day, and as always after Parker’s visits, he was jumpy the coming days—jumpy until he could fool himself into believing Parker wouldn’t be back again.

He always came back.

And yesterday, he’d brought friends.

Kegan shuddered. Normally, he got away with a blowjob, a fee to pay for Parker not telling people he lived here, for Parker not to ruin things for him.

In the beginning, it had been a trade for real. Parker had brought him things from the city, which was more like a town these days, but they still had supplies Kegan couldn’t get hold of.

About two years after the collapse, Parker had caught Kegan shooting a rabbit and had followed him home. Kegan had been too wrapped up in his guilt about having killed a poor bunny to pay attention.

Stupid.

He hated killing animals, but he had to eat.

Parker had followed him all the way to the house and had knocked on his door shortly after Kegan had washed the blood off his hands.

The first couple of times, Kegan hadn’t minded too much. Sure, trading his mouth for a box of matches or a box of Ziploc bags made him feel all kinds of dirty, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t blown strangers in a dark corner of a bar for the fun of it before the fall of society.

Then things had changed. Parker had grown more demanding, and instead of giving him things, he’d demanded things in return for not destroying what Kegan had built.

As long as it had only been Parker, he could handle it, but yesterday, it hadn’t only been Parker.

Three men had come knocking after dark, and Kegan had fought.

He lowered his shaking arms and blew out a breath.

Parker had often threatened he’d bring friends if Kegan didn’t do what he wanted, but he’d never truly believed him. The first time he’d said it, Kegan had worried, but then nothing happened.

Parker had come around somewhat regularly for about three years, and it wasn’t until yesterday he’d made good on his threat.

Nausea climbed his throat, but before he could pay it much attention, one of his stupid roosters crowed.

He cursed under his breath and drew the bow anew. He needed the roosters. Eggs were important for his survival, for his friends’ survival, and you didn’t get new chickens if you didn’t have a rooster. He tried to keep the number low, but he couldn’t risk being without. And the ones he didn’t keep made a good source of protein.

The man’s head whipped around, his eyes scanning the fence.

Had he come because he’d heard the roosters? He looked as if he were searching for a bird rather than the gate into Kegan’s garden.

If Parker had sent him, wouldn’t he have told him where the gate was?

Long seconds went by, and Kegan kept his bow aimed at the stranger. He was taller than Kegan and pretty buff. The clothes he wore hung loosely on his body. They most likely hadn’t back when society still functioned. He had that look. Military. He would’ve been the picture of health. Strong and agile, and oh so deadly.

To think he wasn’t deadly now would be stupid. It was right there in the way he moved. Lethal.

The rooster crowed again, and the man turned.

Kegan stopped breathing as their eyes met.

Fuck.

* * * *

Gareth Cadell froze. How had he missed the man aiming a bow at him?

He didn’t breathe, but mentally he was laughing at himself. So fucking stupid.

Slowly, he raised his hands, palms up. The people living out here were few and far between, and most of them were out of their minds. Gareth should know; he’d opted for a life outside the walls.

Granted, he’d only been out here for a few weeks and had yet to stop in one place.

The first years after the collapse, he’d stayed in the city, stayed with his unit. Who better to stick close to when society fell apart than the people in the special forces?

Stupidly, he’d always believed he’d do well in a situation like this. He was strong, he was good with a knife, amazing with a gun, and he could kill a man with his bare hands before they knew he was in the same room as them. Okay, maybe not since he’d have to touch them if he was taking them out without a weapon, but still. He only needed a few seconds. Which was one of the reasons he’d always believed he’d excel in a post-apocalyptic scenario.

The problem was it never ended.

A mission had a beginning and an end. Get in, get the job done, get out, then recuperate.

Now there was no recuperation. He was living in this fucking nightmare every second of every day, and it was disappointing to realize he wasn’t thriving.

He’d figured it out pretty early on, but in the beginning, there had still been hope. He’d believed the politicians and people in power would find a solution, but no. The entire country had been shattered into tiny little territories, like miniature countries or kingdoms or whatever.

The leaders in every region made up their own rules.

They’d still have use for the military. Gareth could’ve stayed. He had stayed. For five years, he’d guarded important buildings and important people, or poor farmers outside the walls who only wanted to be left alone. He’d been fed when there was enough food, but he’d also been watched.

Men like him didn’t survive long in these new cities with their new rules and new brands of punishment.

Gareth could pass. No one looked at him and thought queer. But when you lived with the same people for years, shared sleeping quarters, showers, every waking hour, some noticed how his gaze never lingered on the women who visited the base. They noticed how he never picked anyone up when they were off the clock, and rumors had started to circulate.

It wasn’t safe anymore. It had never been. But maybe it would’ve been better to stay than to be killed out here by a man with a bow.

Gareth looked into his dark, dark eyes. He had no idea what ethnicity the man was. His skin was white, but not the same shade as his. It was the eyes and maybe something else that made Gareth think he had some exotic blood in his ancestry.

It didn’t matter.

Didn’t matter in the least.

The man’s lip was split and swollen, and there was a bruise on his cheek, mostly hidden by shadows. He was clean-shaven, which was unusual to see these days. His dark, almost black hair was cut short on the sides but curled a little at the top of his head. Pretty. Which didn’t matter since Gareth would be dead in a few seconds.

He was so fucking stupid. For years, he’d killed people for a living, and now he’d been too distracted to realize someone was aiming at him.

Then the rooster who’d lured him here crowed, and the man winced.

Gareth could have rushed him. Depending on how good he was with a bow, Gareth could maybe have dodged the arrow and taken him down. Maybe.

Another crow sounded, and Gareth chanced a raised eyebrow. There was more than one rooster.

How much for a rooster?” His stomach growled at the prospect of meat.

The man narrowed his eyes. “What?”

They’re your roosters, yes?”

Maybe there was more than one person around. Maybe those who lived outside the walls did so in clusters. It was hard to survive on your own. You had a much better chance in a community.

He looked around as much as he could without turning away from the man. Were there more bows aimed at him? Guns?

You’re trespassing.” The slight tremor in the man’s voice had Gareth lower his hands a fraction. He still held them up, didn’t want to trigger a shot by being careless, but if there had been twenty arrows aimed at him, he believed the man’s voice would’ve been steadier.

Gareth studied him. How to play this? He could still die here, but if the man had wanted him dead, wouldn’t he have let the arrow fly by now? And the prospect of meat made him dizzy.

I can trade for a rooster.” When he’d left the city, he’d had ten chocolate bars in his backpack. Now he was down to two. Hunger was a funny thing. He’d stolen the chocolate from the canteen. How they’d gotten hold of it in the first place was a mystery, but Gareth had taken them for situations like this.

People couldn’t buy chocolate. They couldn’t make chocolate. Which meant some people were willing to die for chocolate.

I’m not trading. You’re on my land. Walk away, or I’ll feed you to the wildlife.”

My land. Not our land.

Gareth sized the man up again. He was shorter than Gareth, had a slimmer build, but looked to be better fed. He most likely needed less food than Gareth did. Another thing he hadn’t considered when he made himself out to be the winner in the post-apocalyptic game.

He was six-two and had the brawn to match—or he’d had the brawn to match five years ago. It took a lot of fuel to keep his body in top shape.

The man was about five-ten. He wasn’t scrawny. There was a good set of shoulders on him, and he looked well-muscled.

Why did he get stuck studying the guy?

A chocolate bar for a rooster.”

Guest Post | To Kill a Ghost by Holly Day

Hiya! 

I’m here as Holly today. A few days ago, To Kill a Ghost was released. It’s the third and last story in the House of Horrors series. 

I really like this world, but it’s time to allow our psychics and vampires to go on their merry way.  

In this one, we get Zidane and Arawn’s story. One is a vampire who’s spent a few months staked in a basement, and the other is harassed by ghosts and has just realized that if he touches a vampire, the ghost can’t reach him. The problem is he doesn’t want to be around vampires, so lucky for him, there is one hidden in the basement who can’t move or talk. 

There is a new couple in every book – Rufus the Dead, The Death God, and To Kill a Ghost – but I strongly suggest reading them in order since there is an overlapping arc. The focus is on the couple, but it might get a little confusing if they’re read out of order. 

Read the first chapter below! 

To Kill a Ghost

Who knew vampires were ghost repellent? 
 
Arawn Sage has a ghost problem. The warden of the facility where he once was held captive has come back to haunt him, and Arawn has no idea what to do about it. There is no way to keep a ghost out, and the warden is preventing Arawn from sleeping while trying to persuade him to do things he doesn’t want to do. It isn’t until he accidentally touches a vampire and the ghost momentarily disappears, he feels a sliver of hope. Maybe there is a way out of this torture. 
 
Zidane Dodd has been staked in the basement of a castle for close to a year. He can’t move. He can’t breathe. He can’t talk. And he’s bored out of his mind. But one night, Arawn comes down there to hold his hand. He can’t feel it, but since he has nothing better to do, he doesn’t mind playing safety blanket for a scared little ghost whisperer. 
 
There has to be a way to get rid of a ghost. Arawn has no idea how, but he can’t walk around touching vampires whenever he needs a break, can he? 

Buy Links:

Paranormal gay romance: 58,349 words

JMS Books :: Amazon

Chapter 1

Arawn Sage tiptoed down the first three steps of the basement stairs before he stopped to listen. He’d been in the castle for seven months now, and he wished he could enjoy it. He’d spent years, all his life, dreaming about being free. 

Now he was. Only… he didn’t feel free. 

“Where are you going? Planning to hang yourself in the basement?” 

No, he wasn’t planning to hang himself in the basement. The light of his phone slid over the steps. He did his best to ignore the specter, spirit, ghost, wraith, phantom, or whatever term was the correct one, and stepped down another step. 

“You need to take the others back to the facility before you off yourself. You always were useless, but your life would be worth something if you did the right thing now.” 

Arawn took another step. It was hard to listen for sounds when there was a ghost blabbering by his side. 

There were other ghosts in the castle. He’s seen a few, but he didn’t go looking for them, and should he happen upon one, he pretended he couldn’t see them. He was exhausted. This particular ghost didn’t leave him be, and if he somehow managed to fall asleep despite the constant prattling, he touched him. The moment he dropped off, an icy caress woke him. Sometimes his nightmares beat the ghost to it. 

It was the reason he was tiptoeing down the basement stairs at three in the morning—not the nightmares, but the talkative ghost. The warden. The person he’d feared the most growing up and well into his twenties. A nightmare come to life, only now he was dead, and he was still here. 

He’d found Arawn a few weeks ago, and since then, he hadn’t managed to get any rest. 

Arawn had yet to tell anyone he was here. He should. He knew he should, but he hardly spoke to anyone, and other than having told them he couldn’t conjure spirits, they hadn’t talked about his skill. 

Hour upon hour of listening to the warden demanding he hand Prophecy, Minerva, and Thanatos back to the facility was doing his head in. Driving him insane. Preventing him from sleeping. 

His eyes prickled, and all he wanted to do was cry. And sleep. 

He’d cried a few times when he couldn’t take it anymore, but it changed nothing except then the warden taunted him instead of saying the things he normally did. 

He didn’t leave Arawn alone in the shower, but it was where he allowed his tears to flow. 

Useless. He was useless, and he was tired. So, so tired. The droning of the warden’s voice was drilling holes in his brain. 

The warden didn’t care about him, he didn’t care about Jaki, and Arawn was unsure if he was aware Kratos and Himeros lived in the castle. He didn’t pay them any attention. They’d never lived at the facility, so it might be he had no clue they were psychics or seers or whatever they were called. 

Arawn had spent his entire childhood, teens, and about half of his twenties in the facility. In the green wing. Jaki, Minerva, Prophecy, and Thanatos had been in the blue wing, though he hadn’t had a clue about them while he lived there. 

A little over seven years ago, he’d been moved to the black group, and the warden had informed him it was his last chance to be useful. 

He hadn’t been. 

The warden had been switched for the superintendent, a strict woman with eyes so sharp they made him shudder. She was dead now, the werewolves had killed her, and luckily, she hadn’t come to haunt him. Yet. He wasn’t sure what made one spirit stay and another move on. 

He slowly made his way down the stairs, doing his best to ignore the warden as he harped on about how useless Arawn was. 

A couple of weeks ago, he’d collided with Gregory in the doorway to the kitchen, and Gregory had grabbed his shoulders. Normally, no one touched anyone in this house. Or it wasn’t true. Rufus and Jaki were mated, as were Gregory and Thanatos, so they touched. Minerva and Prophecy also touched, but no one touched anyone who wasn’t their boyfriend or girlfriend. 

Gregory had, accidentally, and he had apologized when Arawn had whimpered and thrown his arms up to shield his face from a blow. No blow came, but there had been a moment when Gregory’s thumb had rested against his skin above the collar of his shirt. During the brief contact, the ghosts had gone away. 

The moment Gregory removed his hand, they’d been back. 

Were vampires ghost repellent? 

They weren’t on their own. There was the ghost of a tall, caramel-skinned woman with braids hanging down her back who often visited Rufus and Gregory. He hadn’t let on he saw her, but sometimes she reached out as if to touch one of them, only to hover with her hand over their arm or something similar. So vampires weren’t ghost repellent on their own, but maybe the combination of Arawn and a vampire was. 

It was worth testing. 

He’d never met a vampire before Gregory got him out of the cabin where he’d been kept with Moneta, Penthus, Aletheia, and Himeros. It had been chaotic. A pack of wolves had crashed in through every possible entry, and Arawn had done his best to stay out of the way while the others had fought them. 

He’d seen Gregory then. Deadly, but oh so handsome. Scary. 

Then they’d been taken to the castle, and there was Rufus, a far less handsome vampire with flaming red hair and scars over half his face. Arawn liked Rufus. A lot. He didn’t speak to him often, but Rufus was calm and collected, and he was kind to Jaki, his mate. Arawn watched them sometimes when they were in the same room. It was interesting to see the looks they exchanged, the small touches, the way Rufus always made sure Jaki ate and served him before he served himself, and so on. 

Arawn had never seen anything like it. Jaki had been in the facility. He’d gone through what Arawn had gone through, and still he had managed to move on. 

Arawn didn’t think he ever would. It had been over seven years since he’d last had to endure a private session in the bowels of the house of horror—they had an apt name for it here—but he still didn’t do touch. Or being alone in a room with another person. 

Which was why this was fucking terrifying. 

He crept along the corridor, the light of the flashlight on his phone shaking slightly. The stone walls did nothing to shield him from the January cold, and he shivered. 

When they’d been settled in the castle for maybe a week, Rufus and Gregory had set them down in the kitchen and explained there was a vampire in the basement, and they were not to remove the stake in his chest. 

Another shiver took hold of his body. A fucking stake. 

They’d said they were free to visit him, Zidane, and he could understand everything they said, but couldn’t reply. He couldn’t move at all, but if they opened his eyes and stood in his line of sight, he’d see them. 

Arawn hadn’t gone down here. He didn’t want to see a staked vampire. 

But if vampires were ghost repellent, then maybe a paralyzed vampire was the best vampire to hang out with? He blew out a breath. 

“What’s this?” The warden glared into the room, then something changed in his expression, and he turned to grin at Arawn. “Good boy.” 

Arawn stared at him. “What?” Fuck, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t speak to him. He hadn’t uttered a single word during the weeks he’d been here. 

The warden smiled. “You’re gonna release him. He’ll take you all back to the facility. I know this vampire. We had a deal. Or I had a deal with his master. She’ll do the right thing, I’m sure.” 

Arawn stood frozen. No one had told him why Zidane was staked in the basement, only that he was, and he was not to be released. If he’d come here for Jaki, Thanatos, Minerva, or Prophecy, it would explain why Rufus and Gregory didn’t want him around—or maybe not Prophecy. He didn’t think they cared about Prophecy much. 

But wouldn’t they have killed Zidane if that was the case? 

“I’m not releasing him.” 

“Of course, you are.” The warden straightened his back and glared at him. He was about a head taller than Arawn and broader, but he wasn’t as frightening as he’d been when he was alive. He could talk until Arawn lost his ability to think, but he couldn’t touch him. Or he could, but all it did was create a cold sensation. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t dangerous. 

He blew out a breath, strode into the room, and took in the shape of a man in the dark. He was stretched out on a table, but Arawn aimed the light on the floor, not wanting to see. His heart was racing in his chest, but he neared the table. Shit, this was creepy. 

“Eh… hello, Zidane. Sorry to bother you at this hour.” He winced. Did Zidane know what time it was? 

“I’m… eh… gonna touch you. Sorry.” 

“No!” The warden rushed him, a chill blowing through Arawn’s soul as he tried to push Arawn away from the table, then Arawn slipped his hand into Zidane’s, and he was gone. 

Arawn let out a shuddering breath. “Oh fuck.” He yanked his hand away, and the warden was back. 

“Remove the stake, foolish boy.” Fury contorted his features. 

“I’m sorry.” His mumble was barely audible, but he hoped Zidane would forgive the touch. It must be terrifying to be this vulnerable and have someone touch him when he couldn’t move away. Arawn hesitated, but as the warden kept hurling slurs at him, he slipped his hand into Zidane’s, and peace settled. 

He whined. He didn’t want to touch anyone, didn’t want anyone to touch him, but as the silence held, a sob wanted to climb his throat. 

Peace. 

* * * * 

Zidane Dodd didn’t know who was in the room with him. It wasn’t a voice he recognized. He believed he’d been here for about nine months, but he wasn’t sure. At times, someone said what day it was, but it wasn’t something people often dropped in conversations with a staked person. 

In the beginning, he’d been furious. Now he was bored. He’d been staked before, had spent two years in a coffin only a decade ago. No one had come to see him then. He’d been alone in his head, and not talking to a single person for two years drove you crazy. 

He’d imagined voices. 

Then Iris had come by, and in exchange for his loyalty, she’d gotten him out. He might not have liked Iris, but working for her beat being trapped in the dark. 

She was dead now, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He wished it hadn’t resulted in him being here, but as mentioned, he’d been staked before, and this time around it wasn’t too bad. 

It was bad enough. 

He wanted someone to pull the fucking stake out. 

He needed to feed. He wanted a shower. He wanted to change clothes. He wanted to be able to go wherever he wanted to go. But after a few months of people coming here to talk to him, he was invested in their lives. Not invested emotionally, but it was like watching a soap opera, though he couldn’t see, he only listened to their words. 

Rufus and Gregory opened and closed his eyes for him. It was a nice gesture. He’d never been close to either of them, had in fact done some pretty shitty things to fuck Rufus’ life up, but they were… He wouldn’t be caught publicly calling them decent, but as far as jailers went, they were the best he’d had. 

“Oh, God.” The low mumble made Zidane want to turn his head and look at the man. He couldn’t, of course. Who was he? And maybe more importantly, what was he doing? His body wasn’t moving as if he was being pushed, so he didn’t think he was doing anything too bad. Though he could’ve slit his wrists, and he wouldn’t have a clue. 

“I’m sorry for doing this.” 

Okay. He’d notice if he was being undressed—he wasn’t. Was he taking his blood? Cold filled his core. Rufus had almost given his blood to Thanatos, and he’d screamed his protest in his mind, but then Gregory had stormed in and taken over. 

Judging by the sounds, Zidane believed he’d not only given his blood to Thanatos but bonded with him as well. Stupid fucker. Zidane would never bond with anyone—he was almost over the foolish dreams of finding someone to share his life with. And should he ever find someone, it wouldn’t be a psychic. They were as fragile as humans. They were humans, only they could do things with their abilities humans couldn’t. 

Fuck, what if this stranger was bonding with him without his consent and then went and got himself killed? Fear clawed at him, but he tried to calm his panicky brain enough to feel if a bond was forming, but no, he didn’t think so. The stranger wasn’t drinking his blood. He was almost convinced. And he’d know if he was fed some, right? Yes, he was almost sure. 

So what was he doing? 

Silence stretched and held. Several minutes went by, and all the man did was breathe. 

He wanted to ask questions. Most often, when someone came to see him, they’d talk. Gregory would be rude, but Zidane had come to enjoy it. As the months had gone by, the anger had simmered down in both of them, and the insults were now more habit than anything else. 

Rufus talked about what happened in the world. Jaki didn’t say much, but since they’d only met twice before Zidane had been staked and neither of those times had gone well, he didn’t blame him. Minerva talked about Prophecy and the people in the castle. Thanatos talked recipes. At first, it had annoyed Zidane, but now he found it amusing. 

This man, though. It could be Prophecy, but as far as Zidane was aware, he’d never come to visit him before. Then there were the new people. Kratos, Arawn, and a Greek-sounding name he never could remember. He was the one who’d fucked things up with the wolves. 

Zidane was surprised he was still alive. Had someone tried to trick him into a mating, he’d have slaughtered them. 

He hoped it wasn’t the guy who created lust who’d come to him. Was he horny? Yeah, but was he more horny than he’d been the last few months? He didn’t think so. It allowed him to relax a fraction, though the tension was only in his head. 

Maybe the lust-god was making someone desire him and not the other way around. If he’d understood his skill correctly, he created a one-sided bond. Fuck, he hoped not. If someone came here to try to force mate him, he’d be royally pissed. 

Rufus wouldn’t allow it, would he? He’d been forced into a mating. Zidane had been there, had been part of forcing him. He winced, though only in his mind. Shit, maybe Rufus would allow someone to bond with him. Payback was a bitch. 

Icy fear curled around his heart. What if he’d be trapped here forever? If one of the psychics bonded with him, they’d get an extended life. If they kept him here, safe and sound, staked on the table, they could live for centuries. 

Panic had him trying to move, but his body didn’t respond. 

“Are there no chairs here?” 

The low murmur silenced some of the terror in Zidane. Chairs? He tried to blow out a breath, but there was a stake in his chest, preventing him from breathing. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

Nothing changed apart from footsteps sounding on the stone floor. Then there was a scraping sound from somewhere outside the room. Shortly after, the man was back. He apologized again, but Zidane still had no clue what for. Then there was a little jostle, as if maybe he’d moved his arm. 

Another few minutes went by, and the man’s breaths evened out. Had he fallen asleep sitting by the table? 

Early on, Thanatos had come down here to nap. Zidane waited. Normally, it didn’t take long before the nightmares started. 

If this man were the same, there would soon be jerking, whimpering, pleading, and shouting. Zidane hated to listen to Thanatos’ dreams. It made him feel guilty. He hadn’t done whatever had been done to the psychics, but he’d done nothing to prevent it either. If he hadn’t ended up staked, he’d have helped the warden bring his runaways back to the facility. 

It was too late for regrets now, but he liked Thanatos, and he didn’t like knowing he’d played a key role in almost succeeding in bringing him back to the house of horrors.