A few days ago, Psychic Obsession was released. It celebrates National Raisin Day, so prepare for little red Sun-Maid boxes. 

Frode is a psychic. If he touches an item, he’ll see everyone who’s touched it before him. It doesn’t matter if the touch happened a hundred years ago, he’ll still see it. At times, he helps the police out by doing readings of things collected from crime scenes, but there is always a risk of it being too much for him. Too many touches will leave him unconscious. 

When he’s called in to help the homicide department, he’s not prepared to come face-to-face with Nicolai Nesterova – his nemesis… and brother’s best friend. Nicolai left town years ago, and Frode didn’t think he’d ever have to see him again, much less work with him. 

Read the first chapter below!  

Psychic Obsession

Frode will never forget a face. Once he’s touched the same item you have, you’re forever etched into his memory.

Three months ago, Nikolai Nesterova moved back to his hometown. He swore he’d never set foot there again after his family kicked him out, but when his fiancé broke up with him, he needed somewhere familiar to land. There was an opening in the homicide department, but Nikolai wasn’t prepared for a serial killer case to be dropped in his lap.

If Frode Bakke touches an object, he sees all the people who have touched it before him. He can’t control the influx of faces or break the stream once it’s started, and he fears he’s one touch away from frying his brain.

 Buy Links:

Paranormal Gay Romance: 70,682 words

JMS Books :: Amazon

Chapter 1

Frode Bakke pushed a sweat-slicked strand of hair off his forehead and tried to swallow down the bile before it could reach the point of no return. The hair stuck to his shaking hand, and it took a couple of tries to get it out of his face. 

He should cut it. Should’ve cut it months ago. He couldn’t remember when he last had his hair cut. Years since a professional had done it, but Hjalmar, his big brother, had hacked off a good number of inches about a year ago. Maybe he should ask him again. Or he could do it himself, if he remembered. 

The moment he gained control of his fingers, he slipped on the glove he’d removed from his right hand and reached for the snack-sized red box of raisins. He popped one into his mouth. 

The sweet taste was enough of a shock to the system to make some of the nausea disperse but it did nothing about the shaking. 

It would go away soon. 

Or not. 

Some days, he trembled for hours. 

With a deep breath, he looked across the table and met Hjalmar’s gaze. His eyes were a startling blue in contrast to Frode’s brown ones. Sometimes he questioned if they were blood-related. He’d seen the baby pictures, so he was pretty sure they were, but Hjalmar was tall and broad, blue-eyed and blond, with a square jaw and a straight nose. He looked like a Norse god. Frode was slimmer, darker, and not Norse-god-looking at all. 

And then there was the fact of Hjalmar’s being a normal man, a great one in Frode’s opinion, but there wasn’t a lick of psychic ability in him whereas Frode couldn’t touch a single thing without being tumbled into the past. 

“Anything?” Hjalmar’s voice was calm. He was calm. Always. Where others lost patience with him, Hjalmar never did. Maybe because he’d seen the aftermath. 

Frode raised an eyebrow, not sure his voice would work yet. 

In front of him was a bullet, or not a bullet, a casing. Casings were all right. His contract stated he’d touch casings if the police asked him to—and Hjalmar had asked him to. 

Frode worked with the police on a consultant contract. It was the best he could do. In a perfect world, he’d spend the rest of his life in his house, never seeing anyone other than Hjalmar, but he had bills to pay, a mortgage, and sadly food cost money. 

Hjalmar worked in drug enforcement, tracked dealers and drug lords, and he was the one who most often requested Frode’s help. 

Frode ate another raisin from the Sun-Maid box. 

“Ready to look at pictures?” Hjalmar was already reaching for a folder. 

Frode cleared his throat. “What are you looking for?” 

By touching the casing, the faces of everyone who’d touched it before him had flitted through his mind. His brain had more faces stored than should be possible, and he was drowning in them. Once he’d seen them, there was no way to unsee them, and he didn’t forget. 

He might forget where he’d seen them, forgot which object they’d touched, but he never forgot a face. 

He’d read somewhere a normal human brain could remember about five thousand faces. If Frode was unlucky, he could get five thousand from one single thing, which was why he refused to touch door handles, anything to do with public transportation, the interiors of restaurants, schools, hospitals, and places like that. 

There was a long list in his contract. 

Hjalmar opened the folder, spun it, and placed row upon row of photos in front of Frode. 

“We want to know who was there. A man was shot to death, we know which gang he’s connected to, and we have a pretty good idea where the order to take him out came from, but we don’t know who did it.” 

“And it’s important?” Frode hated knowing he’d have a murderer stored in his mind for the rest of his life. Though, this man wasn’t the first, and most likely wouldn’t be the last. 

“We’re trying to get an idea of what’s going on. These two gangs used to work together. They both get their product from the same cartel.” He shrugged. “We need to get to the higher-ups, and the shot guy isn’t at the bottom. He’s not at the top, but a few steps up the ladder. Every piece of information helps.” 

Frode sighed. All he could give Hjalmar was a face, but sometimes it was all he needed. 

“You have him? You know who he is?” 

He didn’t know who he was. It wasn’t like a name popped up. Frode ate another raisin then dug his trembling fingers into his thighs in an attempt to still them. 

“You were the first.” Which made perfect sense since he saw the most recent contact first. “Then the evidence woman.” She wasn’t the only one who got evidence out of storage, but it was often her. “Then the forensic woman.” Considering he’d worked for the police for over a decade, he should know the names of the people on the forensic team, but he wasn’t interested enough to learn them, and he only ever saw them for a second. He recognized their faces and could rule them out. Which was enough for him. He never minded seeing them. It was calming to work with the same people over and over again. It made it easier for his brain to handle. 

“Dubose.” 

Frode nodded, not because he knew her name, but he was sure Hjalmar did. “And the cute guy from the forensic team.” 

A flicker of a smile. “Saylor.” 

“His name is Saylor?” It was a name his brain should’ve stored. 

“Jaxon Saylor.” 

“Are you kidding?” 

“No, why?” 

“It sounds like a made-up name.” 

“Like Frode Bakke?” 

Frode scowled. Out of the two of them, he believed he’d drawn the winning ticket in the name lottery. Their mother’s love for everything Norwegian was insane, and a lot of people had teased him for his name through the years, but he still believed it was better than Hjalmar. 

“Way cooler than Frode Bakke.” 

“You only say that because you think he’s cute.” 

Frode was aware of what he was doing. This teasing was to calm him, to help center him, and he appreciated it, he did, but he also wanted this over with so he could go home and not pick up his phone for a day or two. 

“Next is a man I haven’t seen before.” 

Hjalmar nodded. “What does he look like?” 

Frode closed his eyes. “Mid-forties, perhaps. Dark, almost black hair. I want to say Italian, but I’m basing it on his colors. Could be entirely wrong. Handsome.” 

Hjalmar nudged the folder with the photos closer to him, and he forced himself to focus on them. He looked at one at the time before moving on to the next. 

When he turned the page, Hjalmar stiffened. Frode looked up at him. “You expected him to be on the first page?” 

“Yeah.” 

Shaking his head, he continued assessing the photos. Hjalmar always placed his top suspects on the first page to make this part as short as possible. Frode crashed after a reading and needed to rest, as Hjalmar knew. 

Frode appreciated everything he did. He did, despite snarling at him for it at times. 

It was different when he worked with other agents and detectives. They were not as accommodating. 

On the last row on the fourth page, he found him. It was a photo taken of the man from afar as he exited a building, but recognition sang in Frode’s bones. 

He tapped a gloved finger at it. “There he is.” 

Hjalmar spun the folder around so fast, Frode hardly managed to get his hand away in time. 

“Are you kidding me?” 

Stupid questions don’t deserve any answers, so Frode kept quiet. 

“That’s—” Hjalmar pressed his lips together. “He’s up top, not at the absolute top, but he sure as hell hangs out with them on a regular basis. I didn’t think he did any dirty work anymore.” 

Frode still didn’t speak. He didn’t want to know. He touched things and pointed at photos. It was as deep into police work as he was willing to get. “I hope it helps.” 

Hjalmar stared at him. “Yeah… Yeah, only have to prove it, you know.” 

Because while they wanted Frode’s input, his saying something didn’t make it stick in court. All he had were words, and no one could trust a lunatic like Frode Bakke. If they could’ve broken into his brain to see what he saw, then maybe it would’ve helped, but the few times he’d been asked to come to court to talk about his part in the investigation, everything he’d said had been dismissed. 

“Am I free to go?” 

“Let me drive you home.” Hjalmar flipped the folder shut. Frode wanted to snarl at him, but he was in no shape to drive. He never was after having touched something, which was why he’d taken a cab here. “We’ll grab lunch on the way. You need to eat.” 

Frode wanted to protest, wanted to bark at him to mind his own fucking business, but he did need to eat. The tremors and the floatiness in his mind wouldn’t go away before he’d eaten and gotten some rest. 

They moved toward the door, and Frode steeled himself. He didn’t want to go out there, didn’t want to go to Hjalmar’s desk where people would talk to them. The sneers weren’t as obvious when Hjalmar was by his side, but it only made him feel worse. They were all deceiving Hjalmar. Fuckers. Pretended to be friendly, then, when Hjalmar wasn’t around, they’d turn into schoolyard bullies. 

Frode could handle bullies. He wasn’t a scared kid anymore, and he’d come to realize, in many cases, they acted as they did because they feared him. Plus, he’d learned how to be rude. 

He hated cops. All kinds of them—didn’t matter if they were officers, detectives, agents, and whatever the correct term for the brass was. Most of them were small-dicked insecure excuses of men. They flashed their badges and believed it made them superior to everyone else. Pathetic. 

And sometimes they needed to be told. 

He ran a gloved hand through his hair. No longer sweat-slicked, but grimy. He needed a shower despite having showered before he got here. 

“Ready?” Hjalmar waited with his hand on the door handle, and Frode had to force down the urge to push him out of the way and throw the door open simply to get it over with. 

“Yeah.” He tugged at his gloves to make sure they were in place—they always were. 

* * * * 

Nikolai Nesterova stared at the living room with the blood-soaked rug, and the woman sprawled on top of it. There was blood splatter on the walls. 

“Wow, we need to ask Dexter to come look at this.” 

Nikolai gave Isaac Elmore, the fellow homicide detective he’d been paired with, an unimpressed look. 

“What?” Isaac widened his eyes. “There is a lot of splatter. I’m sure he could’ve given us some insight.” 

Nikolai held in a sigh. “We have a forensic team, a real one.” He stared at Isaac, something most found intimidating, but it had no effect whatsoever on Isaac. “And you do realize Dexter is a fictional character, right? He doesn’t analyze blood splatter for real.” 

“You’re such a killjoy, Nesterova.” 

Nikolai gave him the kind of smirk his ex-fiancé had called cruel and gestured around. “You’re not having fun? There is so much happiness in this room.” Fuck, he needed a drink. 

“I’ll go talk to the neighbors.” Isaac stalked out of the apartment. 

Nikolai had moved back to Berg three months ago. 

He’d promised himself he would never come back here. Ever. His family had been here for three generations, him being the third. His grandfather had immigrated from the Soviet Union when he’d been in his twenties. He’d met a lovely Soviet woman, married her, and had five children. One of them had been his father, who in his turn had found a lovely Soviet woman, and together they’d had three children—Dimitri, Natalya, and lastly Nikolai. 

Only Nikolai came out queer, so he was no longer welcome in the family. They’d never said he needed to leave town, but it had been heavily implied. 

He hadn’t spoken with anyone from the Nesterova clan for over fifteen years, and he’d fully intended to change his last name when he and Julian got married. 

Only Julian didn’t want to get married anymore. 

He swallowed a sigh and looked around as the forensic team put out number tags and took photos before bagging everything. 

One of the crime scene investigators walked over to Nikolai and gave him a nod. “You’re new.” 

“No. Transferred here three months ago.” 

A slight frown stole over the man’s face. “Huh, I feel like I should’ve known. We’ll wrap up here.” He stepped out of the way as the body bag containing the woman was moved out of the room. “I’ll send you what we find, and I think the body will go to Zachary Mallon.” 

“Who?” Nikolai hadn’t heard the name before; he didn’t think, at least. 

“The ME. He examined the other two. If he’s not available, I guess Audry Hinds will take it, but I don’t think Mallon will let it go.” 

Cold seeped into Nikolai. “What do you mean, the other two?” 

The man’s eyes swept over his face. “About six months ago, you’ll have to check the date, there was a woman placed on a rug in her living room, her throat cut—” He gestured back into the room. “Then there was another one about four months ago. A woman with a sliced throat, on a rug in the middle of her living room.” He shrugged. “Third time’s a charm, right? You’ll get him this time.” 

The man took a step away as if to leave, but Nikolai snagged the sleeve of his white disposable coveralls. “Wait. Are you telling me there is a serial killer?” 

The man gave him a confused look. “Eh… It’s your case, isn’t it? Detective Bedell retired and handed it to you?” 

Nikolai was going to kill someone—strangle them because he’d seen enough blood for one day. “Yeah, he retired.” But Lieutenant Medlin hadn’t said anything about a serial killer. 

The man shrugged, and Nikolai realized he still held onto his sleeve. “What’s your name?” 

“Oh, sorry.” The man offered his gloved hand. “Jaxon Saylor.” He motioned at a woman walking out of the room. “Maeve Dubose, and eh…” He looked around, but the room had emptied. They weren’t done, but for some reason, everyone had found things to do elsewhere at the moment. 

“I’ll let you know when we’ve found everything we can, Detective…” He tilted his head as if there was a question in the statement. It took a couple of seconds, then he wanted to smack himself. 

“Sorry. Nikolai Nesterova.” 

Saylor narrowed his eyes. “Nesterova? Have we met?” 

Nikolai shook his head. It was hard to see what a person looked like underneath the marshmallow suit, but he didn’t think they’d met, and he didn’t want to mention his family, so he settled for the head shake. 

“I’ll ping you, all right.” 

Isaac appeared by his side. “Ready for some lunch?” 

With the scent of death clinging to his nostrils, food wasn’t what he was thinking of. “I think we need to have a talk with Medlin.” 

Isaac sighed. “I don’t wanna.” 

For fuck’s sake. “How old are you?” 

“Thirty-seven.” 

Nikolai looked him up and down. Thirty-seven? He’d have guessed thirty, though he was a detective, and Nikolai had the feeling he’d been one for some time. 

“How come?” 

“You act like you’re seventeen.” 

Isaac snorted. “And how old are you, Papi?” 

Isaac was as white as they came, blond, blue-eyed, with a boy-next-door appearance. “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.” 

“I don’t.” 

“Right. Medlin, now.” He turned and walked out of the blood-drenched apartment. Shouldn’t someone have noticed a woman being murdered in an apartment building? He guessed they’d have to wait for the autopsy report, but if she was alive when the murderer had sliced her throat, there would’ve been sounds. She would’ve fought, would have screamed. 

“You never answered.” Isaac tumbled after him like an excited puppy. 

“What did you ask?” 

“How old you are. I think I read your birth date somewhere, but I can’t remember.” 

Nikolai glared at him. “Forty-one.” 

“Looking good.” Isaac wiggled his eyebrows. 

Nikolai sighed. 

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?  

Buy link:

Paranormal Gay Romance: 182,666 words

Amazon

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.