by Willa Okati
THE BROTHERHOOD 12:
BELIEVE IT OR NOT
Willa Okati
®
www.loose-id.com
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* * * * *
This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable (homoerotic sex, BDSM, spanking).
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The Brotherhood 12: Believe It Or Not
Willa Okati
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by
Loose Id LLC1802 N Carson Street
, Suite 212-
2924
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www.loose-id.com
Copyright © May 2007 by Willa Okati
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.
ISBN 978-1-59632-462-6
Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader
Printed in the United States of America
Editor: Olivia Wong
Cover Artist: P. L. Nunn
Dedication
For “Merlin,” “Nimue,” “Loki,” and “Numfar,” and in memory of “Ringo.” Purrrrrrrr.
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Prologue
This is a story about the impossible.
Things that can’t be real, but are.
Things that shouldn’t work the way they do.
Things that don’t behave the way we expect them to.
The impossible things are part of our everyday lives, and you’ll see them if you stop and look -- really look.
Do you believe?
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Immediately following the meeting of the Brotherhood in book 1, Amour Magique, wherein the idea of going to the club was proposed and agreed upon...
“Lord, Lord, what fools these mortals be,” Liam murmured to himself as he nimbly made his way down the crowded Charleston sidewalks. “What manner of men squabble and take a vote, a very vote, on whether or not to accept my offer of a night of pleasure?”
To think the men of the Brotherhood had been of the verge of refusing his offer! Lucky for them, they had not. Quite lucky. Liam had it in mind to use the planned night at Amour Magique as not just a good time, but as a means to help his Brothers find the true love they each craved. All of them needed someone to love, though a good half of the men in the group would never admit it.
“They are enough to make anyone throw up their hands, then surrender the fight,” Liam grumbled. A woman, short and squat, gave him an odd look as she passed him on the sidewalk and clutched her purse tighter.
Liam ignored her and muttered on as he walked. He had gotten into the habit of talking to himself some centuries ago and saw no reason to stop. Most people who didn’t know Liam took a single look at him and thought: Lunatic. Harmless, but bananas.
People who did know him thought much the same, but bah! Such was life.
And Liam had lived a very, very lengthy life.
Frustrated, Liam nimbly kicked an empty soda can off the pavement, lofting it into a nearby trash bin, neat as you please. He could and normally did manage his own affairs quite capably, but in the matter of the Brotherhood he was beginning to wonder if he had overreached himself.
Trading a Tear of Lilith... oh, he trod in dangerous waters there.
Lilith, his mother. What would she say if she knew? Perhaps he should find out. No? Yes?
Yes. He would call upon Lilith and ask for her guidance. Not the happiest of prospects, as Lilith was capable of severe discipline if she was displeased with someone, but the wisest nonetheless. She would know if he had been wrong to do what he’d done.
Surely the Brothers deserved happiness as much as, if not more, than the other lovers of men that Liam had helped through the centuries. Every Brother had been done terribly wrong at the hands of their former partners -- they would not love again unless drastic measures were taken. And Liam had grown fond of the men, from prissy Micah, the ex-model, to gentle David, the antiques refurbisher, to good-humored veterinarian Allen.
Harrison, however... Harrison bothered him. Often silent during the meetings, the tall, solidly built man had an air about him that made Liam uneasy for reasons he couldn’t name. Liam could not read Harrison as he did the others. That lack of knowledge made planning for Harrison’s evening at Amour Magique difficult. A troubling situation.
What Liam did know of the man was bad enough. Harrison appeared to be a one-hundred-percent cynic when it came to matters of the heart, having been betrayed by his old paramour Oliver. They’d not only been lovers, but good friends as well, given to teasing one another. Harrison had known how to laugh when he’d had Oliver in his life, and he had trusted Oliver with his heart, his body, and so much more... until the day Oliver disappeared.
Harrison’s lover had left no note or any traceable phone number. As Harrison had once told the Brothers, Oliver had simply vanished without a word. What the lecturer had not told the support group was that Oliver had also cashed in their mutual CDs and IRAs, adding more injury to insult. Harrison would likely have sued if he’d been able to find the man. Given the circumstances, Harrison hadn’t had the funds for a lawyer or a private investigator, and the police had merely snickered their way through a farcical “investigation” of what he'd heard them call a "fag fight" before closing the case.
For all that, Harrison still kept a picture of Oliver and had mentioned its existence before. Liam would have liked to believe that Harrison kept the photo to remind himself of better times, as the man had intimated to the Brothers; instead, the incubus suspected the image of Oliver served as a symbol of proof that men could not be trusted. The game had gone to Oliver -- and Liam knew Harrison never let himself forget how easily he had been, and could again be, betrayed. Thus, Harrison had abandoned any hint of hope of finding a decent man, training himself out of the ability to love.
Even Collin, that cold-as-ice stockbroker, seemed more likely to thaw.
Yes, Harrison would be a challenge.
“Well, well, you never know until you try, yes?” Liam cheered himself on a bit. “He is only a man, after all, no matter how aloof he holds himself. Amour Magique will tap and tap, like a miner seeking a vein of gold, until it finds a way in. The club’s power never fails.”
Despite the continued wary looks of passersby who glan
ced at him and saw him apparently merrily chatting away to no one, Liam’s mood was greatly improved. He found his way home content and unimpeded.
Home was a vast estate that had long since been bought by a soulless corporation and redone into condominiums. Liam could have afforded one on the top floor -- indeed, he could have afforded to buy the entire complex if he chose. Rather, he contented himself with a modest space left over after renovations, charitably called an “efficiency apartment,” and rented at an exorbitant fee. Snug and cozy, the place suited him as a hidey-hole for the time being.
He had to enter around the back; his apartment’s door faced away from the street so as not to be an eyesore. Liam dug a single key out of his jeans pocket and fitted it into the lock. In truth, he didn't need keys, not as such, but he liked them and it suited his whimsy to use them. The door swung open, revealing the Spartan lines of his home in the half-gloom of the streetlights.
It took but a word to ignite candles and to start a fire in the tiny grate. He didn’t need the blaze, for the weather was warm and he could always adjust his internal body temperature, but he liked the crackling sound and fragrant scent of the flames. As for the candles, they were the illumination of seduction, his favorite. Give him a beeswax taper over an appalling modern lamp any day.
Now that the place was suitably aglow, he could see his home more clearly. No doubt the men of the Brotherhood would be surprised at how plainly he lived. Cheap, serviceable gray carpeting. Walls painted a bland -- and supposedly soothing -- shade of cream. One battered couch, a scarred bed, a vintage microwave, a small dorm refrigerator, two sets of plain ceramic dishes and two sets of silverware, a single wooden goblet, and of course, the iron candle sconces.
A mirror hung on the wall by the door. His only other decoration was a picture of Lilith as rendered by a street artist in London. Liam didn’t consider the drawing to be an accurate representation of the Lady as he knew his mother, but the sketch -- stark lines that managed to convey her as both beautiful and terrifying -- had always pleased Liam. Who knew how many guises his mother had taken over the years? He certainly didn’t. Lilith might well have looked like the sketch once.
There had been a spot of rain when he’d left the Brotherhood meeting; Liam was soggy. He dried himself by absently chanting the powerful words of an old spell, one which came in rather handy on just such occasions. Then, on impulse, he stripped naked, folding his jeans and shirt neatly over the arm of the couch.
Ahh, so much nicer! Incubi always did feel their best when they were free of clothing. They hadn’t been created to be bound by jeans or robes or even -- ha! -- fig leaves, after all.
Comfortable in his nudity, Liam settled himself cross-legged on the floor before his fire and basked in the toasty glow. He knew his hair would be frizzling into fuzzy ringlets from the heat, but eh, what matter? He had other things to concern himself with.
A Tear in exchange for the Brotherhood’s entry into Amour Magique -- and all that that entailed. A steep fee. Too steep? Would he find himself regretting the bargain?
Liam had thought he knew his mind. Now, he found himself not quite so certain.
Ah, well. There were times when even an incubus needed a bit of advice. Liam thrust his bare hand into the fireplace and picked up a glowing ember. The fire didn’t scorch or singe his flesh.
“Mother, have you a moment? It is your wayward son Liam who calls you.” He added no pleas or flattery or bribes. Lilith, first wife of Adam as the story went, had thousands of offspring, the Lilim, and many affairs of her own to attend to.
She would come, or she would not.
Liam waited patiently, ready for whatever might happen. It didn’t matter that he was undressed. If his mother came, she would take no notice; nudity was the natural state for an incubus.
To while away the minutes in anticipation of Lilith’s response, he hummed a small tune he’d learned in seventeenth-century Russia. Then, he engaged in several mathematical puzzles drawn in some spilled ashes before trying to see if he could wiggle each toe independently of the others. He had never quite gotten the knack.
“This little piggy went to market,” a woman’s rich, fruity voice scoffed. “Honest to Pete, Liam. You’re cute as can be, sure, but are you ever going to grow up?”
“Mother.” Liam sighed in pleased relief at the sight of his parent. Lilith appeared in the hearth as a ghost among the flames. She grinned at him -- a frightening look for someone like Liam, who didn’t trust in the ties of blood to keep himself free from harm.
“Hiya, Liam. Or if you want to be formal... ‘How now, spirit!... Whither wander you? Either I mistake your shape and making quite, or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite call’d...’ my kid.”
Her words were biting as usual, for Lilith was not a gentle lady. In spite of that, Liam could hear the undercurrent of affection.
To amuse her, he returned her quote with a quote. “‘Thou speak’st aright; I am that merry wanderer of the night....’ Liam, as I am now known.”
Lilith snorted; however, he could tell she loved their banter. “Like I don’t know which of mine you are. I’m old, and I’ve got way too many of you little bastards to keep up with properly, but I’ve still got my eye on each and every one. Don’t you ever forget it, either.”
“I will not,” Liam promised. He never had, for a particular reason of his own: Lilith did have a multitude of children, but he often suspected himself to be a favorite. She liked the unusual, and a gay incubus definitely qualified.
“Will you come out and meet me?”
“Maybe. Got anything to drink?”
“Domestic beer?”
“Pansy-assed horse piss. Nothing else?”
“A sports drink? Very good for boosting one’s energies.”
“Try harder.”
Liam thought. “Ah! I had almost forgotten, but I do have a bottle of tequila. A gift from Bree, the rebel among those in the Brotherhood. I must warn you; he said it tasted like dung when he passed it off to me.”
“And you took it?”
“It amused me to do so.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve heard about this Bree. If he thought it tasted like dung -- you better believe I’m pretty damn sure he didn’t use the word ‘dung’ -- it’s probably good stuff. Here, give me a hand.” Lilith reached out from the hearth.
Liam stood and helped pull his mother into the room. Once out of the flames she took on solid form and stood with her hands on her hips, scanning the room with the occasional roll of her eyes.
Liam humbly sat back down and admired her. Lilith liked to, as humans said, move with the times. That night she appeared to be a young girl, no more than twenty-one years in mortal age. She’d styled her glossy black hair into a rough-and-tumble boyish shag with the tips dyed crimson and wore heavy Goth makeup, including black lipstick. A fitted black men’s undershirt, black jeans, black boots, and studded collar with matching bracelets completed her ensemble.
“So, you mentioned tequila? And criminy, Liam, I raised you better than this. What are you doing living like a monk in a basement instead of living it up? Come on.”
Lilith waved one hand, decorated in chunky silver rings, and the room filled with lush pillows in a rainbow of colors, decadently inviting furniture with soft cushions and rich fabrics, and popular art in silver frames.
Liam liked things the way they had been but knew far better than to refuse Lilith’s gifts. “Thank you, Mother,” he offered in polite response.
“Shyeah, whatever. Looks a little better, but damned if I’ll do the whole thing myself. Don't you use magic to finish the rest of this; get your hands good and dirty, okay? It’s great for the ‘soul.’” Lilith cackled. “So, you ever hear of Home Depot? I’m thinking you need track lighting in here, son. You gotta get your head out of the Dark Ages.”
Liam chuckled. “Again, I thank you. And may I say that you look wonderful, Mother?”
“Yeah, well.” Lilith shrugged as if she didn’t
care, and then she preened as if she did. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. The Goth look? More of an ‘emo’ kinda thing, but it throws the fear of -- heh -- into the guys and dolls I pay a visit to.” She grinned, revealing sharp white teeth. “So, now that this place is fit for company, I’m going to have a seat.”
She did just that, flopping onto his newly plush, pouffy couch and crossing her legs at the ankle. “What’s up, sonny-boy? Just wanted to say hi, or is something on your mind?”
Liam knew Lilith was already aware why he had called her, but he humored her and responded. “I needed to speak with you.”
“Yeah... kinda wanted to have a word with you, myself.” Lilith twined one finger around the heavy silver pentacle necklace she wore. “I heard you traded one of my Tears. I’m Lilith. The original tough bitch, depending on what holy text you read. I cry maybe once every million years or so. The Tears are priceless, and you tossed one away for a boys’ night out?”
“‘A merrier hour was never wasted there.’”
“Sure, throw the Shakespeare back in my face; go ahead.”
“Mother, I did trade one Tear for the sake of my friends, but I kept the other you gifted me with,” Liam explained with proper humility. “I still hold the one you shed in triumphant joy when you fought off my brothers and sent me on my way, shielded against harm from any of the other Lilim. I told the manager of Amour Magique that what I traded him was a Tear you wept when forbidden to copulate with one thousand demons a day. In truth, the Tear he now holds was simply one that you shed in anger at Adam in the Garden of Eden.”
Lilith’s annoyed expression softened a little. “Yeah, well... fine, those Tears are crap. They’re not nearly as emotionally significant, so I'll let you get away with playing Trading Post this time. I’m still pissed at you, though. You should have at least asked, but, nooo, you just jumped right in.”
