Table of Contents
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
About the Author
Trademarks Acknowledgment
MLR Press Authors
GLBT RESOURCES
RULES ARE MEANT TO BE BROKEN
The Lines of Marsden Series
N.J. NIELSEN
mlrpress
www.mlrpress.com
The Lines of Marsden were born into existence for a reason: to right the wrongs that had once taken place.
Destiny fated that they must destroy the Eldren before evil wins.
Michael Marsden wants to die – for real this time. He wasn’t meant to lead the half-life that he does. He chooses to let it go and let death take what it had already claimed.
But Christian Risely isn’t about to let that happen. He is drawn to Michael and is wil ing to do anything to ensure that he lives, even if that means keeping him alive against his will.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2012 by N.J. Nielsen
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
Published by
MLR Press, LLC
3052 Gaines Waterport Rd.
Albion, NY 14411
Visit ManLoveRomance Press, LLC on the Internet:
www.mlrpress.com
Cover Art by Deana Jamroz
Editing by Kimberly Brandt
Print format ISBN# 978-1-60820-538-7
ebook format ISBN#978-1-60820-539-4
Issued 2012
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only.
Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My thanks go to:
My family for putting up with my madness during the time
I wrote. Especial y my husband Steve, who spent the entire
time being cal ed Christian. Sorry, babe.
To Jim, who helped me get started in the direction of
publishing. You are my Yoda.
To Sue, who takes the time to explain it al so I can
understand.
To Kimberly, you total y rock!!! Though I stil say
punctuation sucks.
And last but not least to Vladimir, my beautiful Goth who
rules the world inside my head.
Any band or singer mentioned within the pages of this
story is here because they are awesome.
This book is dedicated to my daughter
Emily. She inspired me to write this series.
She is my Gypsy.
CHAPTER ONE
So much to live for.
Michael’s gaze slowly drifted around the crowded and
smoky nightclub, watching the unsuspecting people go
about their lives, not knowing things like him existed,
walked among them. Here these people were, laughing
and enjoying the lives they al took for granted.
Anger — or something very much like it — settled low in
his stomach. He was pissed off; these people al had
something that he had lost forever. Feelings like these
scared him, knowing he was no longer one of them. Thanks
to some fucked up twist of fate, he couldn’t go back to the
life he had always known. Everything was so confusing —
he didn’t even know if he was ful y human anymore. What
had he done in his life that was so wrong he ended up with
this destiny? He was a pacifist for crying out loud. Running
away and letting Gypsy deal with the hard stuff had always
been his way of coping.
A cigarette dangled loosely from his pale fingertips as
the music pounded through his body in place of the
heartbeat he no longer felt. This alone made him angrier
stil , because it showed just how fucked up his life had
become. Why the hel had this happened to him?
Especial y when he had so much to live for. He had Gypsy!
And he missed her so much. The thought made him smile
sadly — he bet not many brothers would say such nice
things about their sisters. But Gypsy was special — she
was his twin. Gypsy knew him better then he knew himself.
Their grandad had told him often enough, “Michael never
walk away from your sister. No matter what happens to you
both in life, remember she is your strength. Her job is to
protect you in what is to come.” It was bul shit memories
such as this which made everything so damn hard. Why
had his grandad told him lies? It only made him hurt a
hundred times more.
Michael swiped at his angry tears and pushed away
from the table. Not wanting to be around these people any
longer, knowing they took for granted everything he wanted
back, Michael walked outside and headed down the
darkened street. He was finding it harder and harder not to
give into his cravings. Even now it gnawed at his insides,
demanding he take notice. He needed to work out if he was
going to give into what his body wanted, or fight it, and
more than likely die.
Blocking out the one voice behind him, her voice — Why
did Gypsy haunt him so? Why couldn’t she leave him
alone? — Michael headed into the park, taking the least
used paths so he wouldn’t run into anyone. At the sound of
murmuring voices he stopped and listened. Michael was
glad neither were the same voice from earlier, yet they
were ones he had heard before. Undoubtedly he was being
fol owed again. Tonight he just wished they would just go
away and leave him in peace. Didn’t they know he found
their constant surveil ance annoying? He was twenty-two
years old for crying out loud. Seriously he didn’t need this
shit. Not tonight. Trying to ignore them, he continued on his
way, wondering what made him so fascinating to them.
As he tried to ignore their presence, he turned his
thoughts inwards to his anger, and al the things which
pissed him off. At the top of the list was hearing Gypsy’s
voice cal ing out to him wherever he went. He missed his
sister so much. There was no running from the memories of
what they once shared. Her voice was slowly sending him
insane. This was why Michael hadn’t turned when he heard
her. It wasn’t real. She wasn’t actual y there, and turning to
find it was al in his imagination would make him want to go
and find her. Find her, to seek out what they had once
shared. If his sister was here then he wouldn’t be so l
onely.
This was the reason why he pressed his hands over his
ears to block her out as he walked away. She had once
promised him they would be together forever. What a crock
of shit it had al turned out to be. Why had two people he
cared about lied to him? First Grandad and now Gypsy?
Groaning, he pressed a hand to his throat. He hated
knowing as his hunger grew his obsession with Gypsy
escalated. How could he want to be with her when he was
this way? Deep down he knew he wanted to make her the
same, to be able to keep her with him for always like she
had promised. If she were with him then he wouldn’t have to
spend the rest of his existence on his own. With Gypsy here
he would be strong enough to survive and not be as scared
as he felt. He knew his emotions jumping from pissed off to
scared al the time wasn’t good for him. But there was
nothing he could do about. Or rather, nothing he was wil ing
to do about it.
In reality it terrified him because he could imagine
feeding from her, the taste of her blood fil ing his mouth,
and it disgusted him because he knew if he truly wanted to
do it she would let him.
How sick was that?
Slowing his pace, Michael concentrated. Someone was
stil watching him — actual y there were two of them. They
smelt the same yet completely different, and strangely the
scent of each of them cal ed to him. This wasn’t the first
time he had sensed them fol owing him, but tonight it felt
different. Usual y they kept their distance. Tonight Michael
co uld feel his watchers’ curiosity, and it overrode his
hunger. He didn’t know how he was able to do this; it
seemed to be something new which had come to him with
his change of circumstances. The thought alone made him
almost burst out laughing.
Change of circumstances. What a crock.
Inhaling, he found the watchers’ scents were strange,
intoxicating — sweet with just a little touch of spice. It made
his mouth water. Both cal ed to him, pul ing at him as much
as his thoughts of Gypsy did. He shook his head as if to
clear it. He real y didn’t need this crap. Michael pul ed out a
cigarette and placed it between his trembling lips. His
hands shook so much as he struck the first match it went
out before he could get it anywhere near the tip of his
smoke. With a sigh, he tried again and grimaced sadly
when he succeeded. In that brief instant when the flame
flickered in front of his face he heard the watchers’ breaths
catch and wondered why. What did the watchers see?
What was making them react the way they were? It seemed
strange al the crap filtering through his head nowadays,
making him think and wonder “why” al the time. Michael’s
lips twitched as he once again he heard a sigh, or sighs.
There were two of them.
With a wince, he inhaled on his cigarette. It was funny
how quickly a habit could form. He had only taken up
smoking so he wouldn’t give in to the hunger his body
craved so badly. Yet the hunger was an itch deep down
inside, one he couldn’t relieve no matter how much he
scratched. He was growing weaker; he could feel it with
every passing day. Even now it hurt just to smoke. It was
almost too hard to raise his hand to his face. Breathing,
which had once come so easily to him, felt as though he
had swal owed hot coals. It burned badly and he needed it
to stop.
Pain shot through his head. He stumbled, fal ing to the
ground. Michael watched the glowing tip of his cigarette —
it had fal en mere inches from his face. Tonight he would
have to give in or die, he knew it. A slow maniacal laughter
echoed into the surrounding darkness, cut short by the
effort it took as he rol ed onto his back. Staring at the dark
sky above him he realised his choice was made. His eyes
fluttered, but not quite closing.
If he died then al of this could end. No more fear. No
more anger. No more pain. Just peace.
“Please God! Please don’t let me wake up again.
Please?”
Christian stood with Doyle in the shadows and watched
as Michael seemed to struggle with himself. Michael was
the newest member of their family, whether he wanted to be
or not.
Pain had such a tantalising way about it, Christian
thought as he closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, he
savoured the experience of it. It reminded him of
something, but he couldn’t quite remember what, and he
knew it would drive him crazy until he worked it al out. He
wanted so much to bite and taste Michael just a little bit, but
it wasn’t al owed. His instructions were to watch.
Pul ing out his phone, he tossed it to Doyle and listened
as he dial ed, his gaze never leaving Michael. Christian
studied Michael as he lay on the ground laughing as he
stared up into the darkness. What so funny? Something
about Michael pul ed Christian to him, and he didn’t know
what it was, or why the urge to be near Michael was so
strong. He loved the fact he was the one who was going to
help Michael survive. Okay, so he wasn’t alone, but Doyle
didn’t seem as fascinated as he did. Doyle seemed almost
angry, and tense.
Christian realised he could do whatever he wanted to
Michael and no one would be any wiser. Wel , except for
Doyle. The thought of Doyle watching made him chuckle.
What would Doyle think if I started making out with
Michael?
“Charm, he’s down.” Doyle told her where they were
before he put the phone away and then walked toward the
unconscious form lying on the ground. It would take about
forty-five minutes for the others to get here. Forty-five
minutes where he and Christian would be alone with
Michael.
Picking up Michael’s cigarette, Doyle took a drag before
flicking it away into the darkness. It tasted of peppermint
and roses. Doyle had the urge to find out what Michael’s
mouth would taste like. The craving shocked and mildly
repulsed him — he had never had this kind of reaction
before to anyone, much less a guy. As he sat on the grass
beside Michael, his fingertips itched to reach out and
stroke the stranger’s face. Michael’s face. Charm had told
them earlier when she had found out his name, and it was
such a beautiful name. His fingertips tingled at the touch as
he gave in to his desire. He couldn’t help but notice
Christian was just as equal y, if not more fascinated by him.
As he studied Michael lying there, Christian wanted
desperately to be able to hear his thoughts. He wanted to
know everything in Michael’s mind. Maybe then he could
work out why he was pul ed toward Michael as he was.
Glancing over at Doyle, Christian frowned, feeling jealous
because Doyle had been the first to touch Michael.
They both knew Michael was dying; he needed to feed.
Christian wanted to ease his pain. Rather, he needed to
ease his pain. Somewhere deep inside him something was
tel ing him Michael belonged to him and was his to protect.
Leaning over him, Christian spoke softly in Michael’s
ear. “I wil help you. I wil make it so you can live. I wil make
it so you can stay with me, with us for al eternity.” Christian
wanted to devour Michael’s mouth in a deep and lingering
kiss. He wanted so much just to push his tongue into
Michael’s mouth so he could taste him more thoroughly. In
his mind his lips began kissing Michael’s face over and
over as they lay there tasting every inch of skin. It was a pity
Michael wasn’t aware of what he was thinking. If he were,
would Michael enjoy those thoughts? He wondered about
Doyle. What would he think if he knew Christian had a crush
on the new guy? At least in his own mind he could do what
he wanted.
Oh well, as long as one of us is having fun. And boy
would I have had fun.
While he waited for what he needed to come along, he
told Doyle al about what he planned to do. “It’s simple, I just
kil some poor unsuspecting person who happens past our
way and then I wil drink al their nice delicious blood and
spit it into his mouth so he can get better.”
Doyle rol ed his eyes. “Chris, there are easier ways to do
it.”
“Yes, but wil it be as fun as my way? Wel , fun for me.”
Though real y, he should get Michael’s permission before
doing the deed.
Turning his attention back to Michael, Christian asked,
“So do you want me to save you?” Michael stared at him
with glazed over eyes, as if he was only half aware of what
was going on. When he didn’t answer, Christian made
Michael’s head nod, and kissed him on the forehead.
“Good boy, love. I thought you would see it my way.”
Doyle saw Michael try to shake his head in the negative.
“Chris, he doesn’t want this. You can’t change him against
his wishes.” It kil ed a little part of Doyle to say it.
“He’s already changed. I am just giving him a little
boost,” Christian said. He jumped to his feet as they heard
someone approaching. Christian’s whole demeanour
seemed to alter and Doyle knew the hunt was on.
Rules Are Meant to Be Broken Page 1
