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One with the Wolf

Chapter 1 - Gia Jordan

“You can’t keep running forever, Gia.” My stepmom, Lara, is standing in my bedroom doorway as I zip up my black bag containing the supplies for my getaway. It’s a favorite bag because my late grandmother bought it for me as a gift during a trip we took to New Orleans after I graduated from high school, a pilgrimage to connect with my Creole roots.

“I’m not running, Mom. I’m being cautious. I’ll only be gone a couple of nights. Once I make it through the worst of my heat cycle, I’ll be home and back to normal.”

“Would it really be so bad to have a mate?” she asks, pushing away a strand of black hair hanging across her face. The way she nervously twists her foot on the floor draws my attention to the heels she’s wearing. They’ve held up well to her abuse; she’s forever testing them.

I love my stepmom and know she wants the best for me, but she doesn’t understand. She got lucky with my dad. They chose each other after losing their original mates. No heat, no fury, just love. That’s what I want—to choose someone I love.

She gives me an expectant look and I let out an exhausted sigh. Grabbing the strap of my bag and slinging it over my shoulder, I turn to face her.

“Look, last time Marv’s idiot son, Paul, almost got me. He’s a total dick and wouldn’t let me work outside the home if he claimed me. I can’t risk him poking around again because he finally figured out how to do the math, realizes I’m hitting heat again, and knows I’m vulnerable. I’ve worked too hard to have my own career to let some guy stand in the way of it.”

“But Marv is Alpha of our pack. You’d be Luna one day if you were with Paul. Think of all the good you could do.”

“He only wants me because I kicked his ass repeatedly in the Tae Kwon Do class we were in together and somehow thinks making me his mate will make the other guys stop teasing him about it. Besides, bottom line, I don’t like him. Do you really want me to be with someone I don’t like?”

Her face softens. “Of course not, sweetie. You know I love you. I just worry with all your Norm boyfriends you’ll miss finding your Lycan mate. You’re twenty-seven already.”

I throw on my coat and give her a quick hug before moving past her.

“Stop worrying. I’ll be fine. I gotta go or I won’t have enough time at the museum to really enjoy myself today.”

Snow is coming down like crazy as I make my way to the subway station, causing me to pull my coat tighter against my body. The barrage of scents housed in the New York City subway system can be challenging to the hypersensitive noses of us Lycans, but it’s worth it to me. Besides, with the snow outside, the subway is probably safer than any other form of transportation.

The train doors slide open, and I step from the cold, dimly lit concrete platform into the car full of travelers. As I scoot by the other riders on my quest for a seat, my filtering process kicks into full gear. Acknowledge the smell, then delete in my head—that’s the key. As I pass through the car, the scent of someone’s garlic-laden lunch, another person’s case of bad gas, and someone else’s overdone perfume all filter through my awareness, then right back out again. Having spent most of my life in the city, I’ve gotten good at processing. Still, there are some aromas I find harder to ignore.

I’m squeezing between two other riders to claim the last orange plastic seat in the car when my nose catches an abundance of stale malt liquor. Yep, that’s a hard one to ignore. The smell of yeast and old barley consumed in mass quantities emanates from a nearby drunk. Gross. The man across from me, the source of the foul odor, is looking straight ahead, with a rather vacant expression on his face. A short beard adorns his strong, angular jaw, and the glassy eyes—like his smell—say he’s consumed a substantial amount of alcohol.

Underneath it all, he’s rather handsome in a rugged, scruffy sort of way, with his chiseled cheekbones and piercing hazel eyes. He’s wearing several layers of overcoats, piled on top of each other and spilling from his seat into the next. The excessive layers speak of someone ready to sleep outside, or at least brave the elements for a while. But something about him seems off. He doesn’t look as if he’s been on the street long. Maybe his wife kicked him to the curb. Regardless, with another big storm forecasted for today, I hope this ride gives him a break from whatever troubles he’s facing.

A twitch of the mating heat flows through my body. Shit, not now. I wiggle in my seat, as if that could begin to scratch the surface of my need. If it gets a lot worse I might risk casual sex with a Norm guy, not my usual style, but I’ve never been with another Lycan. Too many are like that dickhead Paul with fragile egos who don’t think women have value outside the home.

The man next to me opens his copy of The New York Times, nearly hitting me in the face with it. I grin when I see the Kincaid Corporation logo with a headline about the newest version of their groundbreaking computer operating system scheduled to release soon.

After years of hustling, my dream of working for Kincaid in their software department is finally happening. I went through several rounds of interviews, begged professors for references, and practically stalked my HR representative for updates. In the end, my enthusiasm, skills, and determination paid off. I only have two more weeks of waiting tables at the bar until I enter a whole new world. My excitement causes my smile to broaden. What should I do with that first paycheck? Maybe I can take taxis instead of the subway more often. One thing’s for sure, I’ll be moving into an apartment of my own as soon as possible.

My half sister, Taylor, already has an eye on my room. Just thinking of her makes me smile. I love my stepmom, but Taylor is my heart. I remember my joy at age thirteen when they brought her home from the hospital, and I’ve adored her every day since. We shared a bedroom until my stepbrother left for the Air Force. When he moved out, much to Taylor’s envy, I scored his room. As soon as I announced my new job, Taylor started making plans to claim the larger bedroom. As much as I'll miss seeing her every day, I'm happy to give it up. I hope I can find a place that isn’t too far from my family, but I do want to be closer to work. The commute from the Bronx to Kincaid’s offices in Manhattan on the subway is something I can do without.

At another stop, passengers file off and new people enter the subway. A lavender-soaked woman sits next to me, interrupting my daydream and blocking the drunken man’s smell with her flowery cologne. I smile kindly at her, thankful for the more pleasant odor.

My goal today is the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It’s my favorite place to visit when my body is itching for sex, since it allows me to immerse myself in beauty and forget my animalistic desires. Who am I kidding? It’s one of my favorite places to go—period.

I love walking through the museum doors into the glorious Grand Hall with its high ceilings, marble arches, and shiny floors—it’s an indescribable experience. I could easily spend days wandering through the museum, taking in all the delights it has to offer.

“Hey, Gia!” A dark-haired man with sparkling green eyes smiles at me as he grasps the pole in front of my seat. He’s a regular at Secret Elixir, the bar where I’ve been working for the last few years. Customers often remember my name, and I do my best to remember theirs, but today my wacky hormone imbalance is blocking access to that part of my brain.

“Hey,” I reply, not really wanting to chat but not wanting to seem rude either. My memory might not be willing to provide his name, but I do remember how well he always tips.

“Is the bar open tonight? Me and my buddies wanna get out.” He grips the pole with one hand and leans closer. While he’s an attractive enough male and he regularly flirts with me, I’ve never been interested, not even my heat is changing that.

“I’m sure it is.”

“So you aren’t working?”

“Not tonight. Got a few days off.”

The scruffy drunk man coughs loudly, and when I look up, he’s staring at me. His eyes are less vacant now, with a twinkle of what might be curiosity in them. Why do I find him sexy? Why has he caught my attention in the first place? Norms rarely fire my heat. And no way he’s Lycan. I smell none of the familiar Lycan markers; plus, it makes little sense for a Lycan to be on the street—unless he’s a rogue. Do I really have that much of a thing for bad boys?

“Wow, good for you. I don’t think I’ve ever gone in there and not seen you working.”

My brain scrambles to refocus on the less interesting man in front of me as the train screeches around a corner.

“The new boss is much better at giving us time off when we ask. Have you met Ash yet? You’ll see him behind the bar sometimes.”

“I think I noticed him the last time I was there, but I didn’t talk to him. What happened to Bill? I haven’t seen him there in a while.”

I cringe at the name. Bill had been a poor choice on my part. I had a crush and acted on it, and we went out a few times. When Ash promoted me to a supervisory position, I discovered Bill couldn’t handle having a woman as his supervisor—much less the one he was sleeping with. Bottom line for me is I can’t be with a man who doesn’t respect my mind and my strength.

“I think he got another job somewhere, I’m not sure. I just know he quit.” My tone is more abrupt than I intended, and based on the expression on his face, he realizes he stepped in shit by asking.

Before he says another word, a muffled announcement for the 86th Street stop crackles through the car.

Thank God. I hop up, relieved to avoid further conversation. “My stop. Nice to see you. Have a great day.” I give him a polite smile before making my way to the door.

Malt-liquor man lines up directly behind me to exit. Why the hell would he get off the train here? I shrug. It isn’t important. He isn’t important.

“I think he likes you,” the stranger growls. Something about his deep voice vibrating in my ear resonates within, like smooth rolling thunder, making my insides clench. So sexy. My body fires into instant arousal mode, my hands trembling slightly as my heart begins to race. Fuck. He doesn’t smell Lycan, but there’s something familiar about him. No. Nope. No way. Do not fuck some random drunk guy to fulfill your urges, Gia. That’s just stupid.

Pushing his comment from my mind, I quickly make my way onto the platform as the door opens, needing to put as much distance between us as possible. I bolt up the stairs, making a hasty escape out of the station. My reaction to him makes me wonder if the bad booze is masking his scent. Doesn’t matter. If he is a rogue, he’s dangerous. Best to steer clear.

At street level, a gust of wind blows heavy snow in my face, nearly blinding me. The storm is getting worse than the meteorologists had predicted. The accumulation is building rapidly, but it isn’t anything we haven’t seen before. Still, nothing slows New Yorkers. While there are fewer people on the street today because of the weather, the city isn’t empty by any means. Navigating the sidewalk proves easy enough, and it isn’t long before my black boots are crunching up the snow-covered stairs to the museum entrance. Grasping the cold metal handle of the glass door, I open it, relieved to be out of the elements.

The guard greets me with a smile. “Good to see you back,” he says with a nod as I shake the excess snow off my boots and coat before leaving the entryway. They may not know me by name, but like I’d recognized my customer on the subway, a lot of the staff members here know me on sight. I pay my admission, check my coat and the bag containing my modest supplies for my getaway, and move into the Great Hall.

My next issue is deciding which way to go first. Hmm, Egyptian art to the right, or start with Greek and Roman to the left? Or head upstairs to medieval art? I look around. More people seem to be making their way out than in. My lucky day. Encountering as few people as possible is exactly what I need.

Egypt feels like a good place to start today. Decision made, I head into the exhibit.

Chapter 2 - Jenson Kincaid

God, the smell of her—so intoxicating. The moment she stepped onto the train, her scent enveloped me. Then I saw her, and the game was on. I need her. Screw my plans. She is my plan. Something about her soulful brown eyes, that smooth dark bronze skin, and that shapely body . . . they beckon me. Fuck. She’s no ordinary she-wolf.

This isn’t why I’m here. Not at all. I have no idea why I’m unable to resist following her. I’ve trained myself to avoid the lure of a she-wolf in heat, but damn, this one instantly lit me up and she has me on the prowl. Before her scent hit me, my goal was to come into the city and get loaded on the crappy alcohol that hides my smell. Then just hang out—maybe bang a few Norm women. No frills, no pressure. The escape of anonymity. A stocking cap hides my well-groomed hair, and the short beard I usually favor in the winter aids the look I’m going for. Generally, people notice little other than the pile of overcoats and aroma of cheap liquor, so it doesn’t take much effort for me to stay under the radar. The booze smell keeps them away more than anything. Am I too old, at forty, to be playing this game? Okay, maybe. But fuck it. It’s my life.

The guard studies me quizzically when I enter the museum. I chuckle to myself, realizing in my haste I forgot about my disguise. Straightening to my normal stride and walking up to the desk, I smile at the attendant, pull out my wallet and grab a hundred to donate, more than covering the entrance fee. The look on her face is priceless. Oh lady, you’ve no idea. That’s nothing.

Hiding my wealth isn’t important now, not with the she-wolf’s smell in my nose. The head rush from her scent gives me a different kind of buzz than the alcohol, and all thoughts of why this might not be a good idea disappear entirely. The she-wolf is my conquest. She is my goal. Those black springy curls that bounce with her every step beg to be tangled between my fingers. Her lush, full hips need to be cradled by my hands while I drive my cock deep inside of her welcoming pussy.

That scent lingers in my nostrils. So sweet and hot, like a cinnamon roll with chili pepper flakes in the icing. I lick my lips. Between her luscious booty and those generous, mouthwatering tits, I’ll make a meal out of her and leave her satisfied before I disappear.

In the middle of the Great Hall, I close my eyes and inhale. Which way did she go? I deliberately let her get farther ahead of me to allow myself the thrill of a chase. My head snaps to the right and a grin spreads across my face. Oh yeah, baby. I got you.

I spot my prey as I’m strolling from the Grand Hall into the Egyptian exhibit. There she is, walking into the temple room. Her pleated black skirt swings with every step, her thighs are covered in black tights that highlight how shapely they are, lighting my imagination on fire.

Damn. What is it about her? I have no idea, but I’m not leaving until I find out. I’ll keep my distance—stay out of sight for a while and study her.

As I follow her into the next room, the gray sky outside casts gloomy shadows across the displays. It's a sharp contrast from the vibrant natural light that usually floods the area from the floor-to-ceiling windows that dominate the exterior wall. Large chunky snowflakes are coming down hard outside the window, which adds a thrilling ambiance to my hunt of the raven-haired temptress.

She bends over to read a sign, her skirt hiking slightly. It reveals nothing, yet increases my determination to capture the prize. Fuck yeah, bend over. She pops up and practically skips into the next room. Those damn spring-like curls bouncing with her. My little wolf is having a good time, unaware of the delights awaiting her once I catch her.

“Excuse me, sir.” A guard stops me before I can follow. “You neglected to check your bag at the front. I’m going to have to ask you to follow me.”

I nearly snap at him, wanting to bark about his insolence, ask if he knows who he’s dealing with—the usual crap I spew to get my way. I rein in the instinct, and with a polite nod, I follow. I’ll still catch her; of that I’m certain. This delay will only make the chase that much sweeter.

Unchained

Chapter 1 - Tatum Sterling

My father’s delusions were my curse. He’d convinced me at the age of five that I was some type of succubus, claiming I had magical powers. But when I failed to meet his expectations, he left us in an instant. Even now, twenty-four years later, his cruelty still stings.

Grabbing a frosted glass, I poured a pint of the familiar amber beer that so many customers came to enjoy at Secret Elixir and shook my head. Magic wasn’t real. Not the kind my father prattled on about, anyway. Art was my magic, and here I was working in a location that filled me with inspiration to paint. A secret smile tugged at my lips; this was far from the dream life I’d imagined for myself, but maybe one of these people would be the muse behind the masterpiece that would allow me to leave bartending behind and become a full-time artist.

I glanced across the room. Secret Elixir was large enough to fit a decent crowd but small enough to remain intimate. Large wooden booths lined the walls, surrounding the open middle area that featured a scattered population of flimsy metal tables covered with thin cotton fabric in various shades of faded blue.

Our customers sometimes included NYU students and tourists needing a place to regroup or grab a drink and a bite after exploring the West Village, but it was largely a neighborhood hangout. Tonight, the crowd was mostly regulars. My coworker, Gia, approached the bar with a swing in her step and a wide grin across her face. She had an uncanny ability to notice the smallest details about people. Wondering what she had spotted this time, I turned back to the tap and continued filling an order.

“Hey, Taters, there’s a guy in the back who keeps staring at you,” she said as she leaned across the bar to set down her tray. Gia became one of my best friends when I moved here. Her smooth dark skin, large brown eyes, and ample figure coupled with her cheerful and friendly attitude gained her plenty of attention and made her a favorite of most patrons. Like me, her dreams were bigger than this insignificant life working at a bar.

“Is he cute?” I asked, not looking up from filling the glass in my hand. I’d learned to play along with her. Hooking up with a customer never fit into my plans, but it was fun to entertain the idea as a way to pass the time.

“No, he’s fucking hot. Smoking hot. Sizzling, just your type,” she said, still looking over her shoulder as she flipped out her notes to hand me the orders.

I glanced over to that area and saw him seated at a booth near the door. He had dark hair and a close-trimmed beard. His button-down dress shirt was open at the top with rolled-up sleeves. A leather jacket hung on the hook next to the booth. He was hella sexy even from here. He looked familiar. My eyes widened, and I nearly choked on my spit. No way, it couldn’t be him.

“Oh shit. I know him, or he knows my brother.” I almost knocked a glass off the counter as I looked away, not wanting to get caught staring. He probably thought I looked familiar from pictures my brother had of me. That must be the reason he looked over.

“Do you mean that sexy lawyer you said was your brother’s friend we saw on TV a few weeks ago? The one you swooned over? That’s him? I thought he looked familiar. Hun, all the more reason to get out from behind this bar and scoot your ass over there. That cute new haircut you just got is working some magic. Use it.” She gave me a gentle nudge and a self-satisfied smile because she’d discovered a weak spot in my armor.

I shook my head. “Oh, hell no. He’s married.” My throat tightened after saying those words.

I remembered when my brother Ash told me his friend Jack had married. I don’t know why it bothered me. It wasn’t as if I knew him or had any chance in hell of dating him. I looked again. His eyes met mine. Shit. I turned back to my work.

“He’s not wearing a ring,” she said, smiling.

“Oh c’mon, do they ever?” I countered.

“He wasn’t looking at anyone else, just you. Oops, looks like Becky’s after your guy now.”

Of course she was after him. Becky quickly picked up on a man who looked like he might have money or status. She rarely bothered with the college men, even though I’d have guessed they were her age or close. She’d once shared her tips on how she could tell a man’s status; it was something about shoes and watches. She’d been pretty drunk when she told me, so it wasn’t easy to sort out.

“Jack Mathers isn’t my guy, Gia. He’s a sleazy lawyer friend of my brother’s.”

A married man cruising for women in a bar fit my description of sleazy. Plus, Ash had said little about Jack recently, and what he had said wasn’t nice, mostly mumbling about what a dick he was. I suspected the two of them had fallen out.

“Whatever you say. My gut says you’re smitten with him. The way your eyes popped out when he came on the TV and how you’re making every excuse in the book right now to avoid him tells me all I need to know. You always run away from the ones you like.”

She wasn’t wrong. I found him very attractive. I dared another glance in his direction, only to see Becky practically sitting on his lap. Her long brunette hair dangled over him. He glanced past her toward me again. I looked away. Why would he pay attention to me when he had her all over him? Becky was a knockout. Gia had to be wrong.

Besides, I didn’t know Jack. Heart beating in my throat at the sight of him aside, this wasn’t the distraction I needed. I kept busy behind the bar.

I turned back to Gia. “Even if he’s not married, you know I’m trying to get work together for a show. I need time to paint. A nice lady even bought one of my paintings last week, so I’m on a roll. I need to focus on me, not some man who would sideline my goals. I have priorities,” I reminded her.

Creating art was my life. It had been ever since I was a little girl. I’d been working on getting my paintings on display and, so far, had only made it into one show.

“Yeah, Sean was a dick for not agreeing to display your stuff here. I mean, he’s a crappy manager, but that would’ve redeemed him slightly, not to mention given the place an upgrade. Still, priorities or not, you need to get out, girl. Have some fun once in a while.”

“I have fun,” I said to her, setting a drink down in front of a customer seated at the bar. He handed me cash in exchange, his fingers lingering on mine longer than appropriate. I ignored it, smiled, and moved away.

“Uh-huh, sure you do. It’s been how many months since you moved here?” she asked.

“I’ve gone out with you guys,” I protested.

“Hardly! You need to loosen up.”

“Um, Gia,” I whispered while filling a glass from the tap, “I got so drunk the last time we went out I gave a guy a blow job in the alley behind the club. I mean, how loose do you want?”

“Oh, my God, how did you miss telling me that?” she whispered, half giggling.

I grimaced. “He wasn’t one of my finer choices, okay?”

“So he didn’t call?” she asked while taking the full glass and setting it on her tray.

“Hell no! I didn’t give him my number,” I said, giving her a sly look and a wink while deftly flipping the glass in my hand before starting the tap.

“Sneaky girl,” she laughed. “Still, that’s the problem. You need to meet some decent guys. That one over there, you like him, I know you do. What are you afraid of?”

I sighed. She wouldn’t give up.

“Whether or not I like him is irrelevant. I’m not getting involved with a married guy, no matter how hot I think he is.”

“I think you’re wrong about that, is all I’m saying. I don’t think he’s married. I have a sense about these things. I’m gonna tell him his next drink is on the sexy redhead behind the bar. See what he says to that.”

I laughed. “Tell him whatever you want,” I said, shaking my head as I handed her the tray. I doubted she’d follow through on that threat, but part of me hoped she did. Maybe I could just talk to him, see what he was like. No, don’t be ridiculous. Even if he were single, he’d never be interested, especially if he knew I was Ash’s sister.

I looked into the large mirror again. I could see him still engaging Becky but glancing up at the bar. Was he still married? Maybe he wasn’t a married creep looking for an affair, and Gia was right.

I’d only met Jack once when he was my brother’s roommate. It was the week before my sixteenth birthday. I remember his vivid blue eyes behind those dark lashes and the way he smiled at me as he opened the door to their apartment. He barely asked my name and began small talk before my brother barked at him to go away, but he made an impression. After that meeting, I drew pictures of us together. Jack became my fantasy man. He was my brother’s age, which put him seven or eight years older than me. He felt so out there, so wholly unattainable, which was admittedly part of the allure. Today, he’d gained attention as a successful defense attorney, and I was a nearly thirty-year-old bartender and aspiring artist. Yeah, out of my league, even if he was single. Best not to think about it. Leave him to Becky, let her deal with him.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey,” the drunk guy leaning over the bar shouted as he waved for my attention. There was always that one rude customer who thought they deserved attention before anyone else. I turned to an attractive, well-dressed woman who patiently waited, not saying a word. She looked tense and continued to glance over her shoulder.

I smiled at her. “What can I get you?”

She looked at me nervously, leaned across the bar, and whispered. “I um, are you Angela?”

Every time I heard the code word, my skin crawled. Why were so many men such assholes? This week, ”Angela” was the name currently posted in the ladies’ room for any woman needing an escape from some creep in the bar. She looked anxiously over her shoulder. A man was getting loud at a neighboring table she was watching. Judging from his escalating voice and exaggerated movements, his intoxication level appeared above average.

“No, but I can get her for you.” I turned to my co-worker behind the bar. “Hey Bill, can you take this lovely lady to Angela’s office?” I said as quietly as possible.

Bill often doubled as a bouncer. He wasn’t a guy you messed with. His broad shoulders and towering height were usually enough for most of our patrons to decide to back down.

He’d get this woman safely away from whatever creep she was escaping and into a taxi. He nodded and motioned for her to follow him as the two of them slipped into the back, where he’d direct her out the side entrance and get her that needed ride. I breathed a sigh of relief. I always did when the escape was successful and there was no confrontation.

“Hey!” the guy at the end of the bar shouted again, this time louder than before. I spun in his direction just as he hurled a shot glass toward my head. My hand flew up in the air and caught it easily. I usually wasn’t so coordinated, but luck was with me. Still, I was pissed. What an ass. Now Bill was gone, so it was just me to deal with this prick, all five foot three of me. Rage had set in, and I wasn’t about to back down. I threw my towel aside, grabbed a nearby broom, and ran toward him with death in my eyes. He stood there, transfixed, as our eyes locked. I’d been mediocre at pole vaulting during my track years in high school but miraculously dropped the broom handle without slipping and launched myself into the air, my feet landing perfectly on the counter, towering over him. I crouched down, grabbed him by his shirt collar, and pulled him toward me. His nose was nearly touching mine.

“Get out,” I said in a dark growl that I barely recognized as my voice as I released him, pushing him away.

His eyes filled with terror, and he bolted out the door. Applause rang out from a few patrons nearby who’d witnessed the encounter.

A large, bearded, muscular man leaned against the bar next to my feet. He raised an eyebrow and smiled.

“That was one hell of a leap, little lady,” he commented. “How’d you do that?”

I blushed, shrugged, and quickly slid down.

“I don’t know. Adrenaline, I guess,” I confessed to him. How did I do that? How the hell did that lame idea actually work?

He tipped his glass to me and nodded. A slow smile formed across his face. “He deserved it. Well done. I’m Kane,” he offered, his eyes lingering on me in a way that made me nervous. “Any chance I can get another of these?” he asked, waving his glass at me.

I nodded, still embarrassed and confused by my strange feat of agility.

Just then, Bill returned. “Did that guy pee himself? He looked like he was about to.”

I heard a chuckle escape from Kane.

“Did he leave a mess?” I asked, peering over the bar.

I couldn’t help but smile a bit to myself at the ridiculous notion that I could ever scare someone enough to pee themselves.

“I don’t see a puddle, so no idea. I’ll throw down some cleaner anyway since I’m on this side. What happened?” Bill asked.

“That ass-wipe threw a shot glass at my head.”

“Fuck him! Glad you told him off, Tatum. We should ban people from the bar who do shit like that. Too bad Sean doesn’t see it that way.”

Our absent manager was never one to look out for us. Secret Elixir was unimportant to him compared to the other bars he managed. He decided who worked here and what they were paid, that was about it. We mostly managed ourselves and looked out for each other.

Gia sauntered up to the bar, slipping a smile to Bill, who returned a secret smile that I caught.

“I’ve got three impatient tables I need drinks for,” she announced as she placed the order on the bar. Her eyes lingered on Bill for a moment before turning back to me. I wondered when he’d finally ask her out.

“Your guy left, but he told me to give this to the redheaded bartender and say thanks for the excellent service,” she said as she handed me a twenty-dollar bill. I looked to that corner of the room. The table was empty. Why was I disappointed?

“Damn, that was nice of him. I trust he tipped well on his bill too?” I said, putting it in the jar before filling the orders she’d handed me. Put that down to a missed opportunity or a dodged bullet. Either way, it was for the better.

“Yeah, he was generous. Say, what happened up here? Why’d that guy turn tail and hustle out of here? He nearly ran me over on his way out the door.”

“Just another idiot thinking throwing something at me would get him faster service. I told him to leave. I think I startled him. He wasn’t expecting the little bar girl to have such a fierce attitude,” I said, smiling and flexing what biceps I had.

Gia laughed. “You’re funny, girl. Now get hopping. My customers are waiting.

Chapter 2 - Jack Mathers

What was it about her? I shook my head. Reclining in my leather office chair, I looked out my floor-to-ceiling windows at the view below of Manhattan. Overlooking the expanse of the city was what I needed to center myself this morning—to get my mind out of the gutter. The sun’s rays were streaming through the light clouds and into my window. A glare hit the sheen on the top of my large black desk and nearly blinded me for a second. Not what I needed. Modern furniture—it looks great, but that glassy sheen can have drawbacks with uncovered windows on sunny days. Perhaps I should reconsider getting blinds. This office wasn’t as large as my last one, but the smaller space suited me, and although this location was more expensive, the view was worth it. Decorating was never my forte, but most people didn’t notice the bare walls when they were busy staring out the window.

My discomfort this morning came from being up later than usual last night. I overslept and rushed in for an early meeting. My assistant, Matt, couldn’t hide the confused look in his eyes when I walked up the hallway to his desk in our reception area. I suppose it was unusual that, being the control freak I am, I’d neglected to control extra strands of hair from falling on my face. He’d asked if I had a good night last night before offering me a comb. I smiled and declined before disappearing into my office.

It didn’t end where I thought it was going to. That woman at the bar was all over me. She was attractive, and it seemed like a wild night ahead until she asked for legal advice. She wanted help regarding her brother’s situation and thought I’d offer for free if we were bed partners.

“Sorry, babe,” I told her, “the satisfaction of my dick isn’t worth nearly as much as what’s in my head. I don’t work for free.”

Perhaps I’d sounded gruff, but that’s my biggest turnoff. If a woman I like wants me, great, I’m usually good to go. If there are stipulations like that, no thanks. Not that I’m heartless, but I haven’t busted ass for the past few years to become one of the top defense attorneys in Manhattan so I can give free advice to some half-drunk chick I met in a bar.

Besides, she wasn’t the one I wanted. That red-head behind the bar; that woman had fire in her. I could sense it. I was also fairly positive she was my old friend Ash’s baby sister—problematic. Ash and I and I had fallen out over crap that my devious ex-wife lied about. I hadn’t been able to patch things up with him yet. I’d been wanting to find a chance to repair that friendship, but this new obsession of mine with his hot baby sister wasn’t likely to help. Since last night, I couldn’t get her off my mind. Her sleek red hair set off her dark eyes, and her smile lit up the whole damn room. I wondered if she had freckles. She was petite, slender, and not curvy. Nothing wrong with that. I never thought of myself as having a “type,” but I found her extraordinarily appealing.

Suddenly, I pictured her in leather cuffs, naked, kneeling in front of me. Fuck. Stop it, Jack. That’s Ash’s little sister. Lack of coffee must have been making my brain foggy.

I pressed the intercom button. “Matt, can you come in here for a minute?”

“Sure thing, boss,” he replied through the speaker.

I’d been in such a rush to get here and be ready for my early conference call I’d skipped coffee. Never a good thing. Not something I’d typically ask of my assistant, but I needed to finish evaluating the information in this file before my next meeting with a client. Extra legs were required.

I was glad to have someone full-time again. In my cutbacks to attempt a financial recovery after my divorce, I’d only been able to keep the last assistant part-time. Audrey and her lawyer had been sharp. She was a well-liked newscaster. I was the lawyer who helped the people she vilified avoid prison. My success rate gained me clients but lost me a fair amount of popularity. In addition, I was in too much pain from losing my father to put up a fight. Money didn’t seem important at the time—a first for me. My lawyer begged me to reconsider, but I just wanted it over with, so my losses had been more substantial than ordinary.

Matt smiled as he walked into the office. He had a few more files in his hands. He was pleasant, knowledgeable, efficient, and not snobby about covering multiple duties. I was lucky to have him.

“Here are the other files you asked for,” he said, handing me the stack. “I drafted that letter you needed and the reports you wanted are in the other folders.”

“Thanks,” I said as I took them from him. “Have you had breakfast, Matt?” I asked before he turned to leave.

“Need me to make a run for you this morning? You look like you could use a coffee.”

I nodded. ”I’ll add observant to the list of your attributes. Coffee, just black, and some pastry thing. You pick, I’m not feeling particular. Get yourself whatever you want. Just forward the phone to me. I’ll answer while you’re gone. I promise I’ll do my best not to be a dick to any callers,” I said, handing him cash for the purchase.

He smiled at my comment and nodded. ”No problem, I’ll be right back,” he said as he hurried out of the room and back to his desk to forward the phone.

The clicking of heels on the hard floor signaled someone approaching in the hallway outside. The pace was quick—someone in a hurry, likely a woman by the sound of the short, quick stride was my guess. I didn’t have any appointments, so they must have been here to see Ellen or her husband in the office across the hall.

“Hey Matt, I didn’t expect to see you here,” came a feminine voice just outside of the open reception area—two points for my correct guess.

“Wow, Tatum, good to see you. What are you doing here?” I heard Matt reply.

Tatum? No, it couldn’t be. My curiosity got the best of me, and I stood to peek through my open door into the hallway. Sure enough, there was the red-headed bartender standing with Matt. No more doubt, it was Tatum Sterling. This time, I could see all of her unobstructed by the bar. She wore a short dress under her open wool coat. High-heeled, knee-high boots allowed me a glimpse of her pale, well-formed thighs. My mind immediately imagined burying my face between them, the thought making its way straight to my cock. Fuck, she’s hot.

“I’m dropping off a painting. Where are you headed?”

“Just going to run an errand for my boss. I work in that office right there.” He gestured with his thumb to his desk in the open reception area.

She turned, and I took a quick step back and returned to my seat, not wanting to get caught checking her out.

“Oh.” She paused for a moment. I wondered if she recognized my name on the door. Surely her brother had mentioned me at some point. “That’s nice. Hey, I won’t be but a minute. My customer’s in the office right here. Can you wait, and we can catch up? I'd love to hear how law school is treating you.”

That Matt knew her was intriguing. Perhaps he could tell me more if I encouraged him to visit with her. I casually walked out of my office. A few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt. This coincidence was too much to ignore.

I glanced at her, only enough to acknowledge her presence, then to Matt and nodded.

“Hey boss, do you mind if I’m gone a few extra minutes to catch up with my friend here?”

“Not at all. There’s no need to hurry back, Matt. We’re caught up for now,” I said, casually looking at a book I picked up off of the table in the waiting area. I lifted my eyes, daring another glance at her, and our eyes met–large brown saucers looking at me, filled with wonder. She likes me. My lips curled in a smile as I disappeared back into my office.

“Yeah, sure. Hey, I’ll wait for you downstairs,” Matt said.

“Great, I’ll be there shortly,” she said before I heard her knock on the nearby door that I knew belonged to my friend Ellen’s office.

As I continued reading the brief at my desk, I heard Tatum’s heels clicking quickly as she walked back down the hallway toward the elevator. She’d piqued my curiosity. I had to know more. I called Ellen.

“What are you buying today? Does your husband know?” I teased her the minute she picked up.

“Do any cute girls walking by escape your notice? If you must know, I was decorating my office and bought a painting by a local artist I met at a showing.”

“Can I see?” I asked, shaking off her comment.

Tatum Sterling was becoming more interesting by the minute—or was I getting carried away because she was forbidden fruit?

“Oh, get your nosy ass over here Mathers. I’ll show you.”

Ellen and I had become friends since I’d been in this office across the hall from hers. When things went sideways with Audrey, I officially made her my divorce attorney. Her husband, also specializing in family law, shared the space with an adjoining office.

Ellen‘s assistant Mary rolled her eyes at me as I nodded to her, making my way to Ellen’s door. Seriously, I wasn’t that bad about checking women out, was I? The two of them loved to harass me about a long list of things.

“So, what’s the masterpiece you purchased?” I asked as soon as I walked inside.

She pointed to where the painting was leaning against the wall.

“She’s quite talented. You should consider one for your dull space.”

The scene was a couple with a small child playing in the fountain at Washington Square Park. It wasn’t photorealism, more impressionistic but charming and uplifting to look at.

“You commissioned this?”

“No, she had it displayed and had a bargain price on it, said she really wanted to get rid of it. I fell in love with it but had to leave before the show’s end, so she delivered it to me. I have her card if you’re interested.”

I shrugged. “Maybe. It’s ironic for a divorce attorney, don’t you think?”

“You may have a point. Still, I like it. Glen might want it at the house. We’ll see. If you’re done gawking, I have work to do.”

“Thanks for indulging me. I’ll get out of your hair.”

She nodded and motioned me away as her phone started ringing.

I headed back to my office, my curiosity now burning. What are you doing, Jack? You don’t have time for this. Get to work.

As I walked into my office, the phone was ringing. “Mathers here,” I answered, grabbing the phone quickly.

“Jack, I wasn’t expecting you to pick up.”

“Hey Frank, Matt ran an errand for me. What’s up?” I asked as I made my way around my desk.

“Sal says he’s got a young guy, deep pockets, no priors, possession just over the personal limit. He’s begging for you. Should be easy money. Give him your number?”

“Sorry Frank, I’ll have to wait for Matt to get back to see if we have room. I’ll have him call you, okay?” There was a time when I’d have jumped on this without a second thought. Easy money.

“Sure thing, Jack.”

Frank had been a great asset for me from the start. He was well connected and always had access to helpful information. Since I’d become something of a hot commodity, he occasionally worked as an intermediary for clients wanting my service. He always had his ear to the ground and often notified me of news that might benefit me or my clients before it came to me through the routine channels. I sent him nice holiday gifts every year in appreciation.

I was barely through a dozen pages of tedious notes when there was a knock at the door. I contemplated ignoring it, but the door was still cracked open, and the man on the other side could see me.

“Yes, can I help you?” I asked without moving.

“Excuse me, are you Mr. Mathers?” he asked. He was tall, slim, and wearing a suit that reeked of government bureaucracy.

“I am,” I replied, unsure where this was going. Who I was should be pretty obvious. My fucking name was on the door.

“Mr. Mathers,” he said as he walked through the door, closing it firmly behind him, “I’m here on behalf of the DTA with a request.”

I nodded and switched off the phone. Things would have to go to voicemail. The “Department of Transverse Affairs” was a basement government department I’d been working for on retainer. They weren’t secretive about the name of the department, largely because it said nothing about what they did, and they weren’t keen to share that information. I worked for them, and I still wasn’t sure what went on there. Most clients they’d sent me were odd, with a lack of knowledge of basic societal rules that hinted at something out of the ordinary. I wondered if they were the former subjects of some government experiment gone wrong that had robbed them of common knowledge, such as it being illegal to kill someone that stole from you. In the six months I’d been working for the department, I’d never gotten a straight answer about what precisely their function was or what was wrong with the people they sent me. Still, it was money I didn’t have to hustle for, so I welcomed it.

“Please, have a seat. What can I do for you?” I asked.

He nodded and seated himself, awkwardly setting his briefcase upright on his lap as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it. “My name is Paul Duncan. They asked me to speak with you about a client we wish for you to undertake. This will be a direct payment from the client, not through the agency, should the arrest happen, which they fear is imminent.”

“That sounds ominous. Am I to know who this person is prior to arrest?”

Duncan paused. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Gary Raymond.”

“The nightclub owner and nephew of Rupert Barnes? I’ve defended some of his employees and patrons—prostitution, drug possession, nothing big. I’m surprised they haven’t arrested him yet since the media is hyping him as the prime suspect in the murder of that socialite that’s been all over the news.”

“You’ll need an investigator to assist you.”

I nodded. “I have several I work with regularly.”

“We need you to hire one in particular. Don’t worry. He isn’t unknown to you. Barnes will fund it, and nothing will come out of your pay.”

I shrugged. “Barnes is funding it? Alright, I hope he’s good.” I didn’t care who I had, just that they were up to the task. It might disappoint Carl, who I’d been using, but he’d get over it.

“I believe you know Ashley Sterling?”

It was all I could do not to drop my jaw in surprise. Of all people.

“Ash? We were roommates in college. I’ve worked with him before.”

Working with him again wouldn’t be easy, but this could be the opportunity I needed to set things straight. Eight months ago, just after I’d filed for divorce, Audrey threw his name out as one of her lovers. It cut me to the core. I’d gone over there in a fit of rage, and a fistfight broke out. Starting a physical fight with Ash was idiotic—he’s one hell of a fighter. We met when I signed up for a judo class. I was mouthy, and he slammed me to the mat within seconds to knock the wind out of my cocky sails. We trained together, became friends, and a few months later ended up roommates. We lived together until he finished his masters and went off to the FBI.

When we were signing the final papers, Audrey enjoyed telling me she’d lied about that affair. Ash never fucked her. He tried to tell me, and I didn’t listen. I reached out afterward, ready to grovel, but he never returned my calls. Would he talk to me now? Time to find out.

“Good, so that won’t be a problem.”

“Oh, Ash is the best. No question in my mind. He just stopped taking cases from me. I haven’t seen him in a couple of months.”

Okay, more like almost a year, but he didn’t need to know that. Five years ago, when Ash left the FBI, came back to New York, and started his private investigation business, he’d been my investigator. I’d used no one else until we had our altercation. For both personal and professional reasons, I’d love to be working with him.

“The boss needs you to figure out how to get him on board for this one. It’s important.”

“I’m confident I can get him if it’s that important, although I’m curious why.”

Why Ash? What was in it for the DTA that it had to be him? It made no sense. Ash himself had some peculiarities, but I doubted much of anyone knew the extent of them. We used to have fun with magic tricks he could do that I never understood. He’d hold up a hand and a blue aura would appear around it. The trick was always popular at drunken college parties and often got him laid, but he had these premonitions, or feelings about things that were so on point I’d learned to listen. Until Audrey—he’d tried to warn me about her, and I ignored him.

“I fear I cannot satisfy that curiosity, Mr. Mathers. They did not give the information to me. However, we have confidence in your abilities, either way. Your work for the department has been exemplary.” He still had his briefcase sitting upright in his lap and was clutching the handle. Everything in his body language said he didn’t want to be here.

“Thank you for that compliment. I always aim for the best possible outcome for my clients.” This exchange felt off, and it was clear there was an underlying purpose behind it they wouldn’t share with me.

He reached into the front pocket of his case, pulled out a paper with a card stapled to it, and handed it to me. “Here is Mr. Raymond’s contact information. You’ll want to meet with him soon. He’s problematic, and although we can’t keep this out of the public eye, we’d like it to be as low-key as possible.”

“Understood. Trial by media is not my intention.” I wondered why Raymond was important to them? Or was it Barnes? No doubt it was money related.

“Well, Mr. Mathers, that concludes everything. Reach out if you have questions or concerns, but we trust you’ll be fine,” he said, rising and shaking my hand.

I nodded. “Of course.”

He walked out the door just as Matt returned with coffee and a pastry.

“Who was that?” Matt asked.

“Just a referral. Hey, I need anything you can find on Gary Raymond, Rupert Barnes, and all the press and anything else you can dig up on the murder of Pria Harlow.”

He nodded. “On it, boss.”

“And um, Matt, who was that girl? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Matt smiled with a glint in his eye, amused by my interest.

“Tatum? We had some classes together in college and used to hang out. I hadn’t seen her in ages. Thanks for giving me an extra bit of time to visit with her. She caught me up on all sorts of news about some mutual friends I’d lost touch with.”

I nodded as I looked back down at my papers.

“She’s single. You know, in case you were curious,” he said with a wink before heading back to his desk.

I smiled to myself. Good kid. I should give him a raise.

Bound

Chapter 1 - Malcolm Howard

“What can’t you do? Seriously, there must be something.”

The timing of Jack’s question is bizarre. Here we are, attempting to rescue a group of Magical Beings, or MBs as Norms in the know refer to us, from being auctioned as slaves, and he’s looking to have a pissing contest? Running my fingers through my hair, I look at him and sigh. I’m beginning to regret revealing my abilities to him, but if we’re successful in rescuing these souls, the slight annoyance is a small price to pay.

“I play no musical instruments, and I’m a terrible singer,” I reply abruptly. “Does that satisfy you?” His envy is beyond my comprehension. The woman who brought us to this moment is in love with him, not me.

He shakes his head and smiles. “Even if that’s a joke, I’ll take it.”

“So, fair exchange, what about you?” I ask as we make our way around the building. I’m genuinely curious about the man Tatum chose as her mate.

“Decorating. I don’t decorate my office or my home. Even my mother says I have no skill for it, and people comment on how boring my office is.”

“But musical instruments?”

“Piano since I was twelve, singing. Not amazing, but I get by.”

I look at him and can’t help a smile at the image of him playing piano and singing like Billy Joel, as if he were the piano man himself. “I’m envious of you, Jack Mathers.”

Willing the memory away, I breathe a heavy sigh. If only his musical ability were all I envied. Six months have passed since we stormed that slave auction. Our primary focus—both Jack’s and my own—was the beautiful Tatum Sterling; part demon and part human, with amazing succubus-like powers and charms. My anonymous call to the local police ensured the rescue of everyone up for auction, but Tatum was more important than the others. And if not for her love of Jack, she’d be with me. I’m sure of it. Does that man have any idea how lucky he is?

I clench the railing of my luxury yacht as I look out to the horizon. The waves lap against the hull as we drift further away from shore. The salty air and warmth of the Florida midday sun are a welcome contrast to my time spent inside the closed film sets in London. A few other yachts are visible in the distance, and I can hear what sounds like 80s pop music playing, indicating a celebration of some sort—people of this realm are so nostalgic about that era.

The familiar buzz of my cell phone snags my attention. My agent. “Yes, Sharon,” I answer.

“Mal, so glad I caught you. Did you get a chance to look over those scripts? They’re dying for you to be in the Romancing the Stone remake, and have you considered the one based on Lawrence of Arabia?”

“Honestly Sharon, I’m dubious of following Peter O’Toole. That might not market well for me. I’m interested in the romance in the jungle. It’s more on-brand. Just try to talk them out of me doing an American accent.” I perch on the edge of a deck chair and stare out over the water.

“I agree. People love your British accent. Up to the director, but I’ll mention it.”

“Thanks for that. I’ll do the American if I must, but my movies tend to sell better when I don’t use an affected accent. Let’s look at the proposed contract on the jungle romance, and please get me some original scripts. The remake business has gotten ridiculous.” People aboard a small speedboat wave as they roar by, and I wave back.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll get on it. Thanks Mal.”

I look down at my phone with a satisfied smirk. My fans think they know all there is to know about me. They’ve no idea the secrets that I hide from them. My carefully crafted backstory hides the truth that I’m a mage of royal birth from another realm. To them, I’m Malcolm Howard, the British actor, a role I’ve enjoyed playing for the past twenty years.

Ralph beams from behind the wheel as I return to my stroll around the deck. I’m glad I let him drive instead of manning the boat myself. It’s good for me to relax, and good for him to do something more fun than fielding my calls and arranging security for a change. Being my assistant isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath of the ocean air. Today is a good day.

“Hey, Mal,” Ralph calls from the bridge, interrupting my thoughts. “Another boat is signaling us. Nothing official, looks like just another boater. They want to come aboard or invite you over.”

The only downside to the identity I’ve built in this world is the constant adoration of the press and public. It isn’t unlike what I experienced in my home realm, except it has nothing to do with my royal status. I quite enjoy acting and have worked my way into the top tier of popular and well-paid celebrities, but today just isn’t the day. It’s been a long few months, and I need a break from all of it.

“I’d rather not be disturbed. Turn them away with my apologies.”

Without warning, a bright light flashes portside, rapidly expanding and shifting. What is that? Some strange light show? But—no. It can’t be. The familiar tingle in the air confirms my fear. Magic.

Headed straight for me. There’s no time to shield myself. A stream of stray magic surrounds me and rushes into my system. It’s been over twenty years since I endured such an overflow of magic. I couldn’t contain it then, and I can’t now.

“Ralph!” I shout. He approaches, but I’m frozen in place and can’t turn to face him. “Get the crew out, grab the jet skis; double up if you have to, but get off this boat now!”

“Yes, sir!” he shouts, his voice drowned out by the roaring in my ears. I can only imagine what this looks like, how terrified he must be. Ralph is one of the few who knew me when—no, I won’t go back there. He’s aware of the danger, and I dimly register him corralling everyone off the yacht.

The magic takes over. I lose all sense of time, no longer aware of my surroundings as I struggle to contain it. My chest aches with the strain, but I must . . . hold . . . on.

I have one last thought as I lose control of the magic, just before the boat explodes and I sink into the water, the whole world going black.

I hope everyone made it away safely.

Anchored

Chapter 1 - Jack Mathers

The flickering stars in the night sky seem to mock me, their everlasting light reminding me of the immortality I never asked for. Running my fingers through my hair, I wish my burden away. The thought that I’ll outlive every person I love depresses me. I can’t fathom living without my beloved Tatum. Her demon blood gives her hundreds of years, but that’s nothing in the face of forever. Losing her will completely destroy me, and I'll be forced to live as a ruined man. She’s my mate, my match. My everything.

“No!” A voice from below invades my enhanced hearing. Closing my eyes, I concentrate. A scream follows. I take a few steps toward the door that will lead me to the stairwell before remembering I don’t need it, and I command my wings to appear. A swift breeze accompanies their extension.

Diving off the building and masking my face with a handy spell, I swoop into the alley and witness three men cornering a fourth. He cowers against the brick wall, enduring a punch to the face and another to the abdomen. I land behind the attackers with a thud, my eyes blazing as I charge them, easily tossing each one down the alley and sparking them with magic to render them unconscious before they can react.

Is it forbidden to intervene and risk exposure of Magical Beings to the world? Hell yes, it is. Do I give a shit? Nope, I’ll cover my tracks. They’ll never know it was me or that anything out of the ordinary happened. Just another thwarted mugging and more insane babbles about an angel.

“Are you all right?” I ask the middle-aged man who wears a suit and tie that highlights the beginnings of a paunch. His outstretched hand trembles, a wad of bills crumpled in his fist.

Fighting the urge to laugh, I shake my head. “I’m good, thanks. Call the police and make a report.” I turn and make my way to the end of the alley.

“Who are you?” he calls after me.

“No one of consequence,” I answer with a chuckle, unable to resist the urge to quote The Princess Bride, one of Tatum’s favorite films. He’ll be fine. The threat has passed. The assailants are unconscious. I’ve achieved my adrenaline rush. All in a night’s work.

Now to get home and remind Tatum how much I love her.

Treasured

Chapter 1 - Jack Mathers

It’s one thing to learn you’ll live forever and quite another to find that while you can defy time itself, the sacred gift of creating life eludes your grasp. It’s the one thing my wife and I crave—our own family. I shake my head and sigh as I step out of the cab and onto the sidewalk. Horns blare with rage; couples argue; laughter bubbles from a nearby bodega. Despite my momentary sadness, life carries on around me like any other night in New York City—almost enough to make me forget about the cruel curse of infertile immortality.

A few mirrored windows of the apartment building in front of me reflect the rays of the setting sun, doubling its brightness. I squint, averting my eyes as I slip underneath the black awning and enter the luxury high-rise apartment building. Huge glass panes let in the light of the city and illuminate the entryway. The architecture is a mix between modern and traditional design, with a nod to the building’s history. Glancing around the lobby and admiring the luxury, I’m reminded of the surreal feeling that my wife Tatum and I are friends with affluent movie star, Malcolm Howard. With Tatum out of town overnight for the first time since our wedding, I was thankful to hear his distinctive English accent on the phone and get this dinner invitation instead of poking around the refrigerator at home missing her.

Malcolm's gray eyes light up when he sees me from the open doorway to his apartment, a smile plastered across his face, and his dark hair swept back with one curl dropping forward—his signature look.

“Good to see you, Jack," he says, shaking my hand warmly.

A broad grin spreads across my face. “Likewise.”

“I haven’t spoken much to either of you since the wedding," he says, ushering me inside. “But I just finished my photoshoot and couldn't resist reaching out. I'm planning on staying in town until I go off on a press tour for promotion of my newest film," As he escorts me past the floor-to-ceiling windows that adorn the entrance, my eyes are irresistibly drawn to the view beyond. The tall buildings pierce the skyline and are bathed in the orange light of the setting sun. The sharp contrast of black glass and chrome makes it all the more magnificent.

I return my attention to Malcolm as we step into his living room. “Well if you’re in town for a while, I’m sure Tatum will want to see you too. We’ve both been following your news online. Your career seems back in full swing.” Criminal charges leveled against someone in his position, even false ones like the charge we got dropped take their toll. I’m glad he’s recovered—from that at least.

He flashes a smile and nods. “I have you to thank for that. Would you like a drink before we head out?”

It’s at this point I notice that Malcolm not only has a drink in his hand, but the strong scent of whiskey wafts from his skin, telling me he’s been at it for a few hours. In the time I’ve known him, I’ve seen him indulge here and there but always in very controlled moderation. He’s not a big drinker in general. What is going on with him?

“Alright. Sure. I’ll have whatever you’re having.” I take a seat on the couch and watch his brow furrow as he pours whiskey into two crystal glasses. His movements are slower than usual, his lips taught and his eyes unreadable. Since he lost his powers, Tatum has been concerned for his mental health, which prevented me from telling her about the sacrifice he made on our would-be wedding day. I didn’t want her worrying more than she already was. Plus, I was unwilling to force her to relive that horrible experience by restoring her memory. The image of her dying in his arms still haunts me. I shake my head, still uncomfortable with knowing I have the power to alter memories and that I used it on Tatum.

He hands me a drink, bourbon on the rocks as I expected, and plops down in the black leather chair across from me. At first glance, he appeared his usual self, but upon closer inspection, I could see the edges fraying on this once powerful and confident man.

My eyes remain steady on him until he looks up. We stare at each other for a few seconds before I break the silence.

“Talk to me, Malcolm. Whatever it is, I’m listening. I’m your friend. No judgment.”

Malcolm clears his throat. “I’m not sure how to approach this without endangering our friendship.”

I study him again, curious what’s on his mind that he thinks is so dire. “Well, if you need to get something off your chest, go for it. I promise to hear you out no matter what it is.”

Closing his eyes, he lets out a heavy sigh. When he reopens them, he begins to speak. “A few weeks ago, I was whining to Tatum about my lack of magic,” He swirls the alcohol in his glass, the ice cubes lightly clinking at the sides. “In an effort to make me feel better, she shared some personal information about you. She regretted it immediately—said she never should have told me—and made me promise to keep it to myself.”

I cock my head to the side. “Tatum mentioned she’d spoken with you. I have a feeling I know what information she shared, but I prefer to hear you tell me.”

Malcolm casts his eyes to the floor, his shoulders slumped. “That absorbing Zadkiel made it unlikely for you to sire children.”

I nod and my shoulders relax. Tatum and I have been trying to start a family for months. I’m not crazy about her telling him, but I’m not upset. “My chances are slim. That’s been on her mind, so I’m not surprised she shared it. Are you about to suggest yourself as a sperm donor?” Tatum and I haven’t given up yet but we both know it’s our likely next step. I lean back and study him, taking another sip of my drink. Where is he going with this?

Malcolm’s eyes are still on the floor. “I would, but there’s more.” Another sigh. “I want permission to borrow your wife for a night and expose myself to her powers.”

Sterling Justice: Motion to Strike

Jack Mathers—New York State of Mind

Work, money, sex— not always in that order, but that’s pretty much the list and I make no apologies for it. Being a criminal defense attorney and chasing the almighty dollar has taken over my life, leaving me little time to pursue much in the way of sex. But having my best friend, Ash, as my new private investigator is certain to help lighten the load—although, helping him move today has taken a chunk out of time I’d normally spend preparing. Still, it’ll be worth it.

After spending most of the day lugging boxes of his belongings up to his new sixth-floor apartment, we hop on the subway and head up to my office building to grab some additional files I need to review before Monday’'s meetings.

As we step inside the building, the cool of the air conditioning hits, the abrupt temperature change causing the hairs on my neck to rise. Natural light filters through the tall windows, casting a tranquil glow across the polished white marble of the lobby floor. It’s oddly serene on a non-business day. That’s why I like coming to work when not much of anyone is here.

Ash is looking grumpier than usual, so I attempt to lighten the mood by making faces at him in the elevator on the ride up to my office on the thirty-ninth floor. After a series of bizarre face contortions, I’m surprised it’s when I sigh and lean against the wall to give up that he finally grins, shaking his head as the doors open and we exit onto the floor.

“I just need to pick up a few files for a morning meeting,” I explain as we walk down the hall toward my office. “Then, we can head back.”

Ash grunts his understanding as I dig for my office key before noticing the door isn’t fully closed. Pushing open the door, my eyes are drawn to a shapely ass in a tight skirt, bending over one of my filing cabinets. My assistant won’t be in until tomorrow, and she sure as hell doesn’t wear skirts like that. The woman is so engrossed in digging through my case files, she doesn’t seem to notice she’s not alone.

I clear my throat to get her attention. She jumps up with a start and turns to face me with a gasp. My eyes scan her curves. Fuck. Hello, beautiful. Suddenly, I’m more interested in the sex part of my list than work or money. This woman is worth rearranging a few things for.

Long, dark brown hair flows seductively across her shoulders. The thin, clingy red blouse emphasizes her perfect breasts, and her black skirt caresses her slender hips. She smiles, her eyes locking with mine. Her tongue darts across her lips, and her eyes light up. Bring it on, baby. You and me. I stand taller, determined to make sure she knows who is in charge here. It’s my office—she doesn’t belong here, no matter how hot she is.

“Excuse me, but who are you?” I approach with a confident swagger.

It’s a rhetorical question. I know who she is—she’s left three messages for me. She’s Audrey Collins, the darling of Channel 2 News. I knew she was pretty, but never thought that pretty face belonged to someone who’d break into my office for information.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Mathers. I just… Well, Mr. Ingram, he let me in and said I could look through a few things,” she says, running her fingers across her hair and seductively down her body.

I suppress a smile, my eyes scanning her. She’s into me. This’ll be fun. “No, Bill didn’t let you into my office, and you haven’t answered my question. I asked who you were. My follow-up question is, how the hell did you get in here?”

She holds her head high and extends her hand. “Audrey Collins, Channel 2 News. But since I left you three messages and a card with my photo on it, I’m guessing you already knew that, didn’t you?”

I shoot a quick glance at my friend, Ash, who stands stoically in the doorway, and wink. He gives me endless crap about my adventures with women. No doubt I’ll hear his opinion on this one later. All in fun.

“Fair assessment, Ms. Collins.,” I say, taking her hand and moving in much closer to her. “Still, I think you’re in my office illegally. Fortunately, I’m a forgiving man. I was going to return your message tomorrow when I was in my office and give you an official statement.”

“Any chance you can give me that statement now?” She asks, pulling my hand toward her chest. Her eyes light up—she’s enjoying this flirtation.

I smile, shake my head, and withdraw my hand. My eyes never leave her as I keep myself close to her. I drop my voice to its deepest level and allow my eyes to slowly scan her body. “Bad girls who break into offices have to wait. Will you be working at the station tomorrow?”

She casts her eyes downward, and shuffles uncomfortably, rubbing her thighs together. Slightly uncomfortable and instantly submissive—just the response I was hoping for.

“Yes, I’ll be there all day.” Her thick eyelashes flutter as she lifts her gaze to meet mine.

I see a spark that holds so much promise, and those slightly parted lips have my imagination running wild. If Ash wasn’t here, I’d dare to push this further. By the look in her eyes, I’d have her bent over my desk in no time, with that tight skirt wrapped around her waist and her panties dangling on one leg as I fucked her mercilessly from behind without mercy. But I’m a patient man; I can wait.

I take a step back and smile. “Then I’ll meet you there at seven, and we’ll discuss anything you like over dinner—–-aside from confidential matters, of course. For now, I need you to leave. My investigator and I have work to do.”

“Of course." She grins as she backs out the door.