by SJD Peterson
Table of Contents
Blurb
Sneak Peek
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
About the Author
Coming in November 2018
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Copyright
Calculated Magic
By SJD Peterson
Never too late for love.
Three-hundred-and-fifty-year-old warlock Tikron must find his true love or forfeit his immortality. But if he hasn’t found his ideal mate in all these centuries, the prospects don’t look too bright.
That is, until he sees mathematician Richard Beaumont. It’s love at first sight and Tikron’s future just got a whole lot brighter.
Except Richard doesn’t believe in love at first sight. He doesn't believe in love at all. He certainly doesn’t believe in magic. His life is ruled by statistics and logic, and they tell him a relationship with Tikron has only a 10 percent chance of success. That’s unacceptable—even if the attraction between them is off the charts.
With his powers waning and the clock ticking down, Tikron’s last hope is showing Richard the true meaning of magic.
“Magic isn’t real.” Even as he said it, he realized how flat he sounded. He really wasn’t sure of anything anymore. He took a big swig of brandy and instantly started to cough, the alcohol burning all the way down to his gut. “God, this stuff is disgusting.”
“Then why are you indulging in it, if I might ask?”
Richard slammed the glass down, and of course the dark liquid splashed over the edges and landed on the table, Richard’s arm, and his shirt. He jerked back. Put his hands on his hips and glared at the larger man. “This is your fault. Before meeting you, I had a perfectly normal life. I didn’t daydream, drink alcohol, or believe in magic.”
“I’m not sure how to respond to that.”
“You can say you’re sorry!”
“Well…. There really isn’t anything wrong with alcohol as long as you don’t drink it to excess, and daydreaming and magic are wonderful things to have in your daily life. So instead of saying I’m sorry, how about, you’re welcome.” Tikron smiled broadly, looking like he was just pleased as punch.
Richard stared at him for a moment longer, but he was too tired to hold on to his anger. He also didn’t have a good argument against Tikron’s statement. Finally he huffed out a breath and spun around to go wash his hands.
Tikron followed him. “Is believing in magic really that horrible of a notion?”
Richard flipped on the tap and lathered up his hands. “I don’t know.”
“Aw, Richard. Your response makes me incredibly sad. Whether from a supernatural or natural source, it’s around you every day, in everything you do. It makes life exciting.”
Life is tricky, baby. Stay in your magic.
Chapter One
BORN October 4 beneath the celestial body of Venus, Tikron Amorith should have been ruled by balance and harmony. At least that’s what the stars promised. He was far from balanced, and harmony? What a joke. One chaotic moment after another defined his life. One only had to look at him to know how turbulent it had been. No matter how much he wished otherwise, his bright gray eyes, wheat blond hair, thick beard, and impish smile couldn’t hide his dark past. Its evidence was etched on his face in the form of a thick scar that stretched from his nose to his left ear—a long, long, long-ago gift from a witch hunter’s blade.
Tikron was used to people staring at his disfigurement and could practically see the wheels turning as they tried to figure out the cause behind it. Few asked. His appearance typically inspired two responses: people found him ruggedly handsome, or dangerous and unapproachable. He wasn’t comfortable with either assessment. A third, less frequent description—old soul—was the most accurate: 349 years, to be exact. Although he didn’t look a day over thirty—good genes.
That wasn’t true. DNA had nothing to do with his longevity. The reason for it was also why he and his best friend, Ryxium, were scouring old texts and obscure manuscripts, looking for a loophole in Tikron’s current problem.
“There is nothing in this one.” Ryxium slammed his book shut and ran a hand through his jet-black hair. “I can’t believe you waited until the last minute.”
“I’ve been a little busy,” Tikron mumbled without looking up from the manuscript he was scanning.
“Seriously? What was so damn important that you couldn’t set aside a little time to work on your future?”
Tikron sat back in his chair and met Ryxium’s questioning blue eyes. “Oh, I don’t know, Ry. Persecution, witch hunters, wars, famine. Take your pick.”
Ry threw up his hands. “The goddamn witch trials? Are you seriously going to blame that again? It’s been over three hundred years. You need to let it go.”
“Let it go? Were you there?” Tikron spat.
“Nope. Before my time, dude.” Ry stretched out his long legs and propped his feet up on a stool. He leaned back with his hands behind his head and flashed a big, perfectly straight, pearly white grin. “I’m a baby, remember?” Tikron raised a brow. “Okay, okay, but compared to you, I am,” Ry clarified.
Ryxium was far from a baby. He’d been born May 25 in 1787. Two hundred and twenty-eight years was far, far from young, but Tikron loved to use their age difference to win an argument… or at least try. Ry was just as good at using it when it suited him. “That’s right. You are a baby compared to me, and as such, you should respect your elders.”
“This has nothing to do with respect, Tikron. It’s about saving your life.”
“You don’t think I know that?”
Ry stared at him for a moment, then grabbed another book from the pile next to him. “I understand that you’ve had to deal with some major shit throughout your life, but since Houdini debunked that whole spiritualism craziness in the twenties, life’s been pretty gravy. You couldn’t find someone, anyone, to fall in love with you in the last ninetyish years?”
“It’s not that easy. Do you know what the world percentage of gay men is?”
“Yes, less than 5 percent. You’ve told me several times. That’s getting as old as the witch trials shit. You need to stop making excuses and get serious. Have you ever considered finding a woman to fall in love with you? I’ve seen plenty of women ready to drop their knickers for a chance at you.”
Tikron resisted rolling his eyes, but just barely. It was an argument he and Ry had many times throughout the years. Being bisexual, Ry saw the beauty in people in general. Tikron could see that beauty in women, but it didn’t mean he was attracted to them physically. He couldn’t imagine being intimate with a woman, and in turn, Ry couldn’t understand why Tikron could not. It was one of the rare differences between them. In most everything else, they were compatible.
“Dropping knickers or trou does not equate to love,” Tikron reminded him. “But either way it’s a nonissue. It’s not going to happen. The only woman I love is Mom. Besides, I don’t understand why I need to find anyon
e at all. You love me. This damn curse should have been lifted.”
“I love you. I’m not in love with you. That’s a huge difference.”
Tikron grabbed his crotch and leered at Ry. “We could try again. If you’re really, really good, I may just fall in love.”
Ry shook his head and chuckled. “You bending me over and banging the hell out of me isn’t the answer to your problem. You’re just bored and don’t want to do the work.”
“Oh, I want to work, all right. Besides, I’m not bored, Ry. I’m horny.” He and Ry had played plenty of times in the past. Sure, they were better friends than lovers, but they were great in the sack. Tikron could use a little distraction.
“Yeah, well, you better rope in that beast in your pants and focus.”
“It is a beast, isn’t it? You know you want to take a ride on this animal.” Tikron rubbed at the growing bulge, enjoying his budding arousal.
“No, what I want you to do is stop thinking with your dick. You have one month to either find something to combat this curse or find your true love. You could always ask your mom to beg Mysdus to drop the curse or, better yet, give in to his demands and give him her heart.”
Mysdus, the leader of Feara Luirg clan of immortals, was/is an extremely powerful warlock who had kept his people safe for a millennium. Mysdus could also be narrow-minded and stubborn when he didn’t get his own way. What he wanted most was Tikron’s mother, and he would do anything to get her, including curse her son.
“That’s not going to happen, and you know it. She’s as stubborn as he is. Plus, she doesn’t love him, and all the begging, threats, or curses aren’t going to change that. I should just kill the bastard.” Tikron swiped his arm across the table, sending the manuscripts flying. This whole situation was frustrating and so unnecessary. Mysdus was a petty little shit, and the fact that he held Tikron’s life in his hands made it all the worse.
Ry watched the papers flutter to the ground, then raised his eyebrows at Tikron. “Did that make you feel better?”
“No!”
“And neither will killing Mysdus. Besides, it’s impossible.”
Tikron glared at Ry.
“You do know that, right?” Ry pressed.
Tikron continued to scowl at his friend for a few seconds longer, then blew out a resigned breath. As much as he wished he could kill the son of a bitch, Ry was right. It was impossible to kill Mysdus. He was much too powerful, and with the mental and physical links he had to his clan, he’d know of a plot before Tikron could even completely form one. Then there was fact that the whole killing Mysdus would be committing suicide—literally. Mysdus gave his clan immortality, and to kill him would be killing the entire clan. “Yeah, I know, but God, how I want to right now. For a very old, very wise man, he can sure be a total douche bag.”
“You’ll get no argument from me there.” Ry looked once again at the mess of papers scattered around the room. “I say we take a break, go grab a couple of burgers and beers, then come back with clear heads and fresh eyes. Whatcha think?”
Tikron glanced at the large stack of tomes he still had to go through and groaned. He really had waited until the last minute. When his mom had rebuffed Mysdus’s proposal, Mysdus first begged, then threatened, and when those things hadn’t worked, he thought he could use Eugenia’s love for her son against her. That didn’t work either. Now Tikron had until his 350th birthday to find his true love—the love his mom had denied Mysdus—or forfeit his immortality. Tikron should be spending every waking minute looking for something that would counter the curse, because the chances of finding love in thirty days were surely as impossible as killing Mysdus.
“C’mon,” Ry encouraged. “An hour, two at the max, and then we’ll come back and get to work. I need a break, and I’m hungry.”
Ry pushed to his feet and ran his hands down his rumpled slacks, smoothing out the wrinkles. He always dressed nicely. It would surprise Tikron to find a single pair of jeans in Ry’s wardrobe. The slacks and dress shirts fit him, though. Ry was tall with an aristocratic air about him. Black hair, stunning blue eyes, and a regal nose completed the persona.
“Why is it when I tell you I’m horny, you tell me to get back to work, but you’re hungry and the world stops?”
“Quit bellyaching. If you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll give you a blowjob for dessert. Now come on.” Ry strolled across the room and headed out the door.
Tikron jumped up and hurried to catch him. “Now you’re talking!” Maybe some good would come out of the crap day after all. If nothing else, it might help him to relax and concentrate on something other than his dick. Beer, food, and orgasm sounded like the perfect evening. He couldn’t help but grin. Things were looking up.
LEYLAND, a quaint town an hour outside Boston, had everything the big city had to offer, minus the hustle and bustle of the heavy crowds. One could drive down the streets without running into deadlocked traffic. The pace was slower, the people friendly, and Tikron absolutely loved the town. Walking down the sidewalk with his best friend at his side, the light evening breeze warm, he could put the daunting task ahead of him out of his mind for the time being.
“You want to go to O’Kelly’s or Firkenfox?” Ry asked.
“I don’t care. You pick.”
“Hmm, I’m thinking breakfast burger and Irish nachos.”
“O’Kelly’s,” they said in unison, then laughed.
They passed an elderly couple Tikron had seen several times walking their small mixed-breed dog. Tikron nodded to them and leaned down to pet the dog on the head before continuing. He and Ry joked and teased each other as they strolled along the sidewalk. Tikron’s irritation drained from him and his tense muscles eased. Ry had been right. They needed a break. A twinge of guilt swirled in his gut at having left so many unexplored tomes and documents back at the house. However, they would still be there when he returned, so for now, he was going to enjoy the beautiful early fall night and some damn good food.
As they were passing Leyland Bakery, Tikron stopped dead in his tracks. Sitting alone at a small bistro table, a man with curly brown hair and big eyes behind thick black-framed glasses caught Tikron’s attention. The man was dressed in a pair of light khaki pants and a bright yellow polo shirt, and was tapping a pen against his clean-shaven chin. There was nothing spectacular about the guy, but for some reason, Tikron couldn’t take his eyes from him. His pulse raced. It was as if invisible threads were connecting him to the stranger. Tikron had never experienced anything quite like it. He frowned at the man, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, but his head seemed to be in a fog. He couldn’t form a rational thought to save his life.
“Dude, we so are not having dessert before dinner. Besides, I thought we already agreed on what we were having later?”
“I….” Tikron licked his suddenly dry lips. “Let’s just go in here for a second.”
“Tikron—”
Tikron, already on the move, ignored Ry. Tikron pulled the door open and stepped inside. Bells jingled above, which caused heads to turn in his direction. However, the object of his desire never looked his way. Tikron was compelled to go to him and took a step. Something tugged at his arm, halting him.
“Hey!” Tikron glanced down at Ry’s hand on Tikron’s arm, then met Ry’s gaze, annoyed. “What the hell?”
“Breakfast burger, Irish nachos, beer, blowjobs, remember?”
He blinked at Ry several times before whatever had captured his mind dissipated and he snapped out of it. “Yeah, O’Kelly’s. I thought I saw someone I knew,” he lied.
“Who?”
“Doesn’t matter. It wasn’t him. Hey, since we’re here, let’s grab some doughnuts or something for breakfast.”
“Okay, sure.”
Tikron kept the stranger in his peripheral vision. He went to the counter and leaned a hip on a barstool. “Go ahead and pick out whatever you want. Just make sure you grab me a couple apple fritters.”
“You’re payin
g for it.”
Tikron pulled his wallet from his pocket and held it out as he continued to stare at the stranger. Those weird little threads were back, creating a tingling sensation that raced down his spine. Tikron tried to figure out what it meant. What was it about this unassuming man that was affecting him so powerfully? While the stranger was cute in a geeky kind of way, he wasn’t Tikron’s usual type. He tended to gravitate toward the big and burly bears. He loved thick beards and hairy chests—rawr. As he continued to stare at the stranger, he questioned if he knew the guy, if they’d crossed paths or he was perhaps a distant relative—but no. He couldn’t come up with a single reason for the weird sensation. He knew a thing or two about weird and unusual. Being from a clan of magical immortals, weird and unusual was the norm. However, the vibes created by the stranger was something Tikron had never experienced. He frowned, studied the man with a critical eye. No matter how many ways he spun it, he simply couldn’t find a reason for it. Quite honestly, it freaked him out.
“The vast majority of human beings are not interested in reason or satisfied with what it teaches.”
~Aldous Huxley~
Chapter Two
A STRANGE vibe skimmed along Richard Beaumont’s nerve endings, causing the hair at his nape to stand on end. He had the uncanny feeling that someone was watching him. A quick glance around the bakery revealed no one paying him any attention. No one ever did. He liked it that way. He wasn’t flashy. He was quiet, purposely kept his head down, and never drew attention to himself. He wasn’t a people person. Idle chitchat for no other reason than to hear oneself speak drove him nuts. Give him books and equations and all was right in his world. Equations were logical; people rarely were.
Shrugging off the strange sensation, Richard went back to the problem he’d scribbled out on his notepad. A statistical mathematician by choice and a PhD owner, he had a fascinating job that also afforded him a comfortable living. In his spare time, he dabbled in quantum physics for fun. He liked to challenge his brain, and man was this equation a doozy.
