by Jamie Hawke
Myth Protector Boxset
Books 1-3 Plus a New Short
Jamie Hawke
Editors
Diane Newton
Tracey Byrnes
MYTH PROTECTOR (this book) is a work of fiction.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Complete Book is Copyright (c) 2019 by Jamie Hawke (of Double Down Press).
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Jamie Hawke.
Contents
Welcome
BOOK 1: Myth Protector
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
BOOK 2: Dark Legends
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
BOOK 3: Mystic Guardians
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Epilogue
BONUS: Chris Short
About the Author
Author Ramblings
Read Next
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Jamie Hawke
BOOK 1: Myth Protector
1
Walking through the Anaheim Convention Center at LegendFest, my badge said press but my eyes said holy shit, because the ladies I was walking past were hot as fuck. My head swiveled, taking them in and not bothering to hide my stare in the slightest. After all, would they get all dressed up like that if they didn’t want me to look?
They were versions of Disney Princesses, though they’d taken certain liberties with the sluttiness of said princesses. On the left was Belle, a red rose pinned over her left breast that made me worried where that pin might be attached. She wore yellow lingerie with strings of pearls hanging along the seams, a golden bow between her breasts, and another with diamonds over her ass, along with white pantyhose up to her thighs and high heels. The Little Mermaid was to her right, with soft, purple clam shells over her breasts, a green sparkly miniskirt, and her red hair pinned back with a starfish clip. She even had some white glitter around her belly button and neckline which I assumed was meant to be some sort of water effect, but led my mind straight to highly inappropriate places.
If this were my reality, I’d never make it outside the house. Their friend had gone a bit simpler, with a sexy but less revealing Elsa dress.
The one wearing the sexy Belle outfit turned to me with a glare, apparently sick of being ogled all day, but her eyes lit up when she saw my press badge. She stopped and nudged Ariel. The two came back toward me while the third took a second to realize what was happening, then stood there awkwardly, watching with interest.
“Press, huh?” Belle said.
“Yeah…” I started, about to explain that it was a benefit of running a blog about movies and games specifically related to the content of this con. But all the rest of that came out in my mind as I stared.
“As in, you’d like to press your body up between us tonight?”
“What?” I blinked, trying to open my mouth to deny it, but my throat went dry and all I could do was take a big breath. Fuck. I was royally screwing this up.
“That’d be a story, huh?” Ariel said, grinning. “Hey, write about this,” she added, and then pulled at the edge of one of her sea shells so that I got a nice look at her breast, nipple and all. “Perv.”
The two laughed and about-faced, returning to their friend who rolled her eyes and mouthed, “Sorry,” before joining them to continue walking down the hall. I heard her asking the other two if they had to be so mean, but… honestly? Getting flashed and, even jokingly, asked if I wanted to essentially have a threesome by two stunning beauties was fucking awesome. Well, one beauty and one mermaid.
Even if it wasn’t happening, you could be damn sure that vision was hot in my mind after that, and as I kept walking the floor, looking for my buddy Chris, that tit kept flashing through my head over and over.
“Come on, dude,” a guy manning a booth said. I turned to look at what he was selling, unimpressed. A bunch of superhero trading cards and memorabilia.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“No,” he said, nodding down.
I frowned, confused, and then followed his gaze to my crotch, where sure enough my boner was showing like a banana in my pocket. My first reaction was to swing my tote bag around front, hiding it, my second was to look for an escape.
“Brah,” he said, then motioned over his shoulder with his thumb. “Bathroom’s right there. Forty bucks and I’ll give you some lotion.” He was serious, too, holding up one of those little hotel bottles. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time this had happened. Judging by the ladies that walked by next, all wearing nothing but green loincloths with their skin covered in blue body paint so that they looked like water fairies, it made sense.
“No, I’m—I’m good,” I said, annoyed and embarrassed. But I did start to head for the bathroom, just in case.
It wasn’t that the Disney characters themselves turned me on. No, that would be weird. But I grew up on them, so seeing ladies dressed like the characters totally gave me this weird sense like I’d seen them mature and we were all the same age now, and so it could
feasibly be possible that the Little Mermaid and Belle would want to have a ménage à trois… in a weird way.
Nobody needed to know that, though, so when I saw Chris heading my way, I held my tote bag closer and nodded at him.
“Jackass,” he greeted me, grinning at his favorite way to mock the fact that my parents hadn’t come up with some fancy name like Skyler or Landon. They thought Jack was great, and so did I, so the idea that he would mock it always pissed me off. Which was, of course, exactly why he did it. “You won’t believe what I found for sale.”
“You know I’m not here to spend money,” I reminded him, glad to see that his presence was doing a great job of making my boner go away. “Press. Talk to people, go to events, write the story.” He grinned, and already I knew this was going to hurt. “What is it?”
“Follow me.”
We turned a couple of corners, passing booths of comics, posters, and statues modeled on various myths and legends. Basically, this was a new con that had popped up in celebration of everything geeky. Since we prided ourselves on our geekery, it was perfect for us. This was the place fans of Marvel, DC, Disney, hell, even Care Bears—whoever the hell made them—could come and drool over cool memorabilia.
At a desk full of Deadpool comics and figures, I glanced over to see a woman in the crowd looking my way. She looked young and like she could be quite stunning, if not for her disheveled hair and the wild look she was giving me. At first I thought the hair had to be part of a costume, but the closer she got, the more it became clear that wasn’t the case.
“Come on,” I said to Chris, pulling him by the sleeve to check out another area.
We turned past that row and saw a large crowd coming our way, likely from some special event or performance. I picked up the pace, Chris grunting in annoyance as we went, and then we were past them, the weird woman lost back there.
I couldn’t have explained why I didn’t want to be around her, but the feeling was strong.
“What’s the rush, dillweed?” Chris asked. “It’s not that way. Over here.”
He moved to the next aisle and I realized that, from where he stopped, we’d be relatively hidden by the banners.
And then there it was, the epitome of perfection in swords—exactly how I’d always imagined Excalibur, complete with Celtic engravings on the hilt and intricately designed patterns at the base of the blade. I had to have it. Every ounce of me craved it, needed this Excalibur in my life. Chris was looking at the statue of Merlin with a blown-glass magic effect next to it, apparently thinking that’s what I was into, but this sword truly called my name.
“How much?” I asked, knowing I shouldn’t.
The man behind the table looked at me closely, a lady at his side looking me up and down, frowning. She wore a skimpy black top and skirt. Her ears were pierced along the tops and she even had a piercing at the bottom of her black-painted lips. She licked her lips, considering, and then glanced back at the sword for a moment. I didn’t think it was that difficult a question. Or were they judging me? Debating how much they could get away with charging me, or whether I’d even be worth responding to?
“Not for sale,” the lady finally said.
“Damn.” I frowned, let down, and was about to walk away.
“It’s… actually a raffle item.”
“The fuck?” Chris said at my side. “We gotta win that.”
“Sorry,” I mouthed, noting the way she frowned at him standing next to me. “How exactly do I enter?”
She eyed me again, then looked knowingly at the man next to her. They seemed to share some unspoken agreement before she held up a card. “It’s a sleep study. People at these conferences get overwhelmed, even stressed. We’re offering a natural, organic and approved sleep alternative.
“Um, pass,” I said, and Chris blew a raspberry as if we’d never even consider the idea. Considering how well I knew him, this woman’s looks alone made the whole thing quite tempting, but come on—who gets stressed out from a convention like this?
“Well, if you change your mind.” She handed me the card and I looked it over, pretending to care for the sake of this lady. It was simple, with an address, phone number, and a logo of a white swan.
Damn. I really wanted that sword hanging over my mantle. I know, most guys my age thought having a sword was nerdy, or would rather have Longclaw or some other sword from Game of Thrones, but not me. All of those things would be nice too, but I’d grown up going to Disneyland and watching the classics, such as the Sword in the Stone. On top of that, this was the most badass Excalibur I’d ever seen. It was like I was drawn to it, like the fucker was a siren singing a song that I couldn’t turn away from.
But there was no way I was going to subject myself to the status of guinea pig for the chance at it.
“Thanks,” I said, nodding at her and not missing for a second the way her cleavage showed or her breasts threatened to pop out of that black top as she leaned over the table and gave me a polite nod, but glared.
“Some people can’t accept ‘no,’” Chris whispered in my ear as he guided me away. “Chick’s goth as fuck. Better to avoid her, man. So many options here.”
He was right, and already we were passing a trio dressed as Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, and—my attention was pulled from the third as a chick walked past in only body paint, and I bit my lip to stop from yelping or quoting a billion movies by saying, “Dammmnnn.”
I was pretty sure security would escort her out any minute now, so I relished the sight… only to see Goth Chick back there giving me a raised eyebrow. Who was she to judge me?
“Okay, give me a show like that, and I’ll be here every year,” Chris said, and this time he was the one adjusting his pants. I was too distracted by the other woman’s accusing look to get carried away by my imagination, which was maybe a good thing. Keep her around to glare at me, so I wouldn’t need that stupid tote bag so much.
Excuse me for being horny, but it had been a while.
That’s why, when the day was coming to a close and Chris told me he’d scored an invite to one of the hot costume parties in a suite at the very hotel we were staying in, I was all for it. More eye candy and a chance of meeting someone? Count me in. No question.
I left the press badge in our hotel room, put on a very simple Man in Black mask to match the black clothes I changed into—yeah, I was a bit lazy, but you can’t get much better than the Man in Black—and headed down to meet Chris at the hotel bar for a quick pre-party shot. That was always our strategy. We’d get loosened up to avoid standing in the corner and not talking to anyone the whole night, as was our default nature. I was still in college and got reminded every day how much of an introvert I was when the frat boys would walk by, sharing stories about some great play or lay. Fuck them.
But here at LegendFest, we were in our zone. These were our peeps. Only, I was horrified at the sight of Chris. This was not how I’d imagined us arriving.
“I wanted to match the ladies in sexiness this year,” Chris said. He already had two shots waiting, one additional down. He was going to need it, wearing that getup.
“Dude, 300 went out of style a couple years back.” I tried not to look but couldn’t ignore the huge package going on. He was otherwise not impressive—same old slightly chubby Chris with a six-pack painted on his hairless body, but this… this monstrosity didn’t fit.
He handed me a shot and took the other for himself, then winked and said, “Wonder bread,” before toasting, “cheers.”
We both took our shots and I cleared my throat. He knew I liked tequila, but always went for the cheap stuff.
“Wonder bread?” I asked.
He pointed to his crotch. “It’s what all the models use. Plus, if I get hungry later….”
“Agh.” I put the glass on the counter and shook my head, not missing the way two ladies at a table nearby glanced over and smiled. If they were smiling at anything other than the prospect of me saying, “As you wish,” I was going
to puke. “Next time, warn me.”
“So you can dress to match?” He motioned for more shots. “Don’t worry, I thought of that—I have an extra upstairs, if you want… but no Wonder bread left.”
“First, no to more shots and no to the outfit. Second, what the fuck? You clearly had to buy a loaf, right? So, where’d it go?”
“Pregame,” he said. “Had to eat something to absorb all the alcohol I was about to drink. And saved two slices for tomorrow night.”
“You’re not wearing that abomination again tomorrow, not if I’m around.”
“Jealousy,” he grinned as he shook his head, then started swinging his hips back and forth so that the package of Wonder bread followed suit. “Is this because I’m packing?”
