“She was positive she saw him,” he said faintly.
“And did you see him?”
“No.”
“There you are, then.”
“I don’t know. At least what she saw made some kind of sense, because that’s how he died. If I’m hallucinating too, it’s so like me to fuck it up and imagine random people I don’t even recognise.”
“Look at me, Dev,” Bren demanded. Devin ignored him, and Bren’s voice boomed in his ear. “I said, ‘Look at me’.”
Devin obeyed reluctantly. Bren’s eyes held him, the deep blue shifting and changing, glittering like sunlight on water. He felt Bren’s strong fingers clasp his shoulder in a reassuring squeeze.
“Don’t be stressing over your storm boys. It doesn’t matter what you saw. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re not like your mother.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you didn’t jump,” Bren said gently. “And you wouldn’t. You can tell when your mind is playing tricks on you. You know what’s real.”
Bren’s sapphire eyes narrowed, piercing Devin’s softer grey. He preferred brown eyes himself, but as blue eyes went, Bren’s definitely had the stomach flutter factor. His long, thick lashes were much darker than they had a right to be for someone with such pale skin.
He locked on to Bren’s inky pupils and watched them spontaneously react, flaring. Devin’s body responded with a rush of warmth that poured through him, and suddenly everything felt too tight. His throat. His chest. His skin.
Not to mention his boxers. He was so hard it was lucky Bren’s gaze was firmly on his face, otherwise, he’d have a lot of explaining to do. And that was the problem. He couldn’t explain it. Every part of him vibrated with an overwhelming feeling of mounting desire, and Bren was the unlikely cause. Make that impossible. But impossible or not, the urge to lean over and brush his lips against Bren’s was maddening.
He felt shy, tongue-tied for the first time in seven years, no wisecrack to rescue him. He was all too aware of his shallow breathing and runaway heartbeat, his mind ragged with confusion. His shaky hands started reaching, searching.
Finding what he was looking for, he squeezed, taking a firm hold. He struck decisively, swinging the cushion against Bren’s ear, making him start and breaking the spell.
“Did you promise me toast, or did I imagine that, too?” Devin ruffled Bren’s hair, making it stand on end. “I’ll have marmalade on mine. Thanks a million, domestic goddess.”
Chapter 5
Bren
Sometimes Bren felt more like Devin’s pet dog than his closest friend. To deal with Dev’s moods, he needed the perfect canine temperament of playful, yet reliable. Not to mention the doggy ability to give an encouraging nudge when necessary. So, only about ten times a day. And he was protective. Fiercely, devastatingly protective. From the first time his eyes locked on Devin, he’d been steeled by a singular purpose. Guard. Shield. Defend.
Whatever the cost.
Right now they were meant to be relaxing in the visitor centre, after playing all morning for the crowds brought out by the fine weather. But Bren was on high alert. If he had been a dog, his neck would have been stiff with quivering bristles, his teeth bared.
Instead, the skin of his arms was rough with goosebumps and his spine tingled in protest as he looked across the busy café. A man was staring in their direction. More specifically, at Devin, who was sitting beside Bren, oblivious, his eyes closed while he basked in the sunshine streaming in from the curved floor to ceiling windows.
Bren checked himself. He was being ridiculous. Plenty of people liked giving Devin a second look. Or three or four. But it was hard to ignore the air of menacing strength that radiated from this man as his eyes raked Dev.
Bren had a radar for trouble. Coincidentally, Dev was a magnet for it. The more he looked at the impressive hulk of a man, the more unsettled Bren felt. A sense of chilling foreboding crept over him, making his insides shiver and contract.
He thought of suggesting they get back to work, keeping Devin in the dark about his not-so-secret observer. But knowing Dev, he wasn’t going to willingly stir from his nap, not without some explanation. And maybe there was a simple explanation, and the man was a friend or conquest of Devin’s that Bren didn’t recognise.
“Don’t look now,” Bren said evenly, “but you seem to have an admirer. Over by the postcards.”
Devin’s eyes flashed open. He sat up and looked towards the gift shop, making Bren groan.
“I said, ‘Don’t look’.”
“Everyone knows ‘Don’t look’ means ‘Look’.”
“As discreetly as possible, you muppet.”
Bren gave up trying to be inconspicuous, openly taking in the solid bulk of a man perched precariously on the café chair. His sheer size made the sturdy pine seem flimsy. His shoulders were rigid, straining under his long-sleeved shirt, his stubbled face tense as he glowered in their direction. He seemed perilously close to pulverising the salt shaker he gripped in his powerful hands. He looked like someone who’d woken up from his whiskey tasting tour with one bitch of a hangover.
“I don’t think he’ll be asking me for a selfie,” Devin said in an undertone. “Looks more on the stalker side of fandom, that one.”
“Yeah, when I said admirer, I meant it loosely. Like, your grasp of quantum physics loosely.”
“Could be a hitman. Who did I piss off this week?”
“Only the usual people.”
“So, everyone, then.”
“Basically.”
Despite his forbidding look, or maybe because of it, the man was striking in an impossible-to-ignore type of way. His brown hair blazed with flashes of deep red. His face, with its imposing brows and full lips, was so compelling Bren found it difficult to drag his gaze away.
There was magnetic, and then there was magnetic. This guy was positively bursting with spinning electrons. And the look on Dev’s face made it obvious to Bren that his insides were jumping like a pile of iron filings under the man’s arresting stare. Bren could always tell when a guy had gotten under Devin’s skin. Even if he didn’t have very recent first-hand experience.
Bren’s stomach flipped at the memory. He knew if he checked his face in a mirror, it would be redder than his hair.
Down boy.
A few days ago he’d messed up, letting his feelings trample over his responsibilities. That wasn’t happening again. He regained control over himself and turned to Devin.
“Wait, do you know him? Is he that rugby player you hooked up with last summer?”
“Never seen him before.” Devin’s denial was quick and final. Too quick. His face was a mask, but Bren could sense the ratcheting of tension he was trying so hard to suppress.
“You seem to be, how will I put this? Quite taken with him.”
“I wouldn’t mind him taking me.” Devin gave Bren a long, slow wink.
“Hmmm. Shame you don’t have a tattoo. It would make identifying your body so much easier.”
“Relax. I’m messing with you. He looks like more man than I can handle. Physically or emotionally.”
Bren pretended to believe him. “He does look… complicated.”
He shifted forward, defiantly blocking Devin from the watcher’s line of sight.
How about you stare at me instead? See how well that works out for you.
He locked on to the man’s gaze as it caught his. As the eyes like burnt umber bore into him, he began to stare the man down, slowly. Relentlessly. He tested him for resistance, finding weaknesses and capitalising on them, edging his way inside.
Bren’s first impression hadn’t been an accurate one. The feeling radiating from the man wasn’t hostility.
It was pain. The man was tortured.
And Bren knew a thing or two about that particular state.
Before Bren could get a proper read, the man broke away, wincing. Spinning around, he focused his attention on the view behind Devin instead, hi
s dark eyes sweeping the air.
“See, he’s here for the scenery.” Dev tipped his head back towards the window, with its panoramic view of the cliffs. “I just happen to be part of it.”
The man continued to stare through the glass, his face moving restlessly, tracking something.
“What’s that he’s looking at, anyway?” Dev wondered.
Bren watched Devin as he scanned the sky. The sun was bright on his face, picking out the golden threads in his messy locks. He could see the soft skin behind one ear, a sight that drove him to distraction every time Devin pushed back his hair. People liked looking at him, alright. Especially the one person who should know better.
Bren forced himself to focus on the view outside. Together they watched a shadow swooping low past the window, before it wheeled off, high into the wide expanse of hazy blue.
“A hawk. That’s strange.” Alarm bells clanged in Bren’s head, the same way they always did when he noticed a creature somewhere it had no right to be. Hawks hadn’t been native to this part of the country for a very long time. Other people might assume it was an introduced species; Bren always assumed it had something to do with magic. He couldn’t help it. Once you knew something existed, you saw it everywhere. A bit like buying a red car, except with wings or a tail.
The hawk looped through the air and flew at high speed straight towards the glass. At the last minute, it pulled up and veered away.
“It must see its reflection. Hope it doesn’t hurt itself,” Devin said.
Bren didn’t think that was going to happen. It was more likely to hurt someone else. He only hoped it wasn’t either of them. He glanced over and saw the man had turned his attention back to Devin, studying him as intensely as before.
Devin pushed back his chair and made to get up, and Bren’s worry spiked.
“Where’re you going?”
“I’m going to ask him if he has any requests. Ten to one it’s not Danny Boy, anyway. He looks more like a Leonard Cohen type of guy.”
“I’d leave it alone, Dev.”
“I need to know what his deal is. It’s bugging the hell out of me.”
There was nothing Bren could do without crossing over to the suffocating side of protective. He watched helplessly as Devin cracked his rare boy-wonder smile and set off weaving in and out between the tables, making his way towards Mr Dark and Stormy. This was worse than he thought.
Devin didn’t approach anyone. They came to him. That was the way it’d always been. If he was actively seeking out this man, it could only mean one thing. Capital T sort of trouble. Bren gathered himself, adrenaline pumping, body coiled.
The man turned from the window and took in Devin moving slowly but purposefully in his direction. He leapt up, his chair flying backwards with a crash that startled the café buzz into sudden silence. After one last look at Devin, he swung around and made for the exit, teacups rattling and another chair rocking unsteadily in his wake.
Bren watched Devin navigate the sea of tables back towards him.
“Maybe he had an urgent appointment,” Devin quipped, taking his seat again.
“Probably to beat the crap out of someone,” Bren agreed.
“You really didn’t like him, did you?”
“You mean Heathcliff on steroids? What’s not to like? He seemed delightful.” Bren quirked his eyebrows.
“You’re jealous.”
“Only of his biceps. But you know what they say. The bigger the muscles, the smaller the… brain.”
“That’s okay. I’m not into intellectuals. I’m getting a coffee, want one?”
Bren shook his head, a sudden movement catching his eye. He hardly noticed Devin leave, distracted as he was by the man appearing in the window, running at full tilt towards the edge of the cliff. Despite his speed and deadly intent, no one in the surrounding crowd registered any shock or made a move to stop him. Only one explanation made sense.
They couldn’t see him.
Bren’s eyes darted to Devin, but he was leaning against the counter staring up at the specials board, immune to the drama playing out behind him, beyond the glass.
Heart racing in time with the man’s impossibly fast sprint, Bren watched as his body hurtled towards oblivion. As he reached the edge, the hawk swooped into view, rapidly descending towards the man and hovering above his left shoulder. A split second later the air around them began to ripple like heat haze on hot tarmac.
With Bren as his only witness, the man took a running leap, arcing gracefully into the sky, and together he and the hawk disappeared over the edge.
Bren kept himself steady, reining in his muscle reflex before he could react. It was too late to do anything—he already knew what he’d find if he traced the man’s path. He would find nothing. No spread-eagled body floating lifeless in the sea. No broken body crushed on the rocks.
Because that was no man.
Since Devin told him what he’d seen in the waves, Bren had done his best not to think about what that might mean. Now he had to face reality. He could laugh it off, downplay it as much as he liked, try to convince himself it was a trick of Devin’s fragile mind.
And it wouldn’t change a single thing. The morning after the storm, while he was reading Devin, Bren thought he’d sensed something—the faintest echo of the end. And now it was here. They were here. And there was something they wanted. Make that, someone.
They wanted Devin.
Chapter 6
Devin
Pulling his shirt over his head, Bren let it drop onto the sand. Devin flung an arm over his face, shielding his eyes. “You’re blinding me.”
“Can’t say you’re the first to be dazzled by my beauty.”
The exposed skin of Bren’s chest was as smooth as marble and even in the muted sunlight, it was a startling white, heightening the effect of polished stone. His sculpted frame, all lean muscle, didn’t do anything to dispel that particular illusion either. Wrapped a towel around his waist, he eased down his jeans and boxers. Even in winter, he liked braving the cold to swim and surf, and, Devin suspected, to flaunt his perfect body.
Though Devin liked to joke about Bren being skinny, in reality, he was spare but perfectly proportioned. Devin’s features were plumper and rounder, with the scattering of freckles on his softly tanned skin making him look even younger. It was funny how their bodies were the direct opposites of their personalities. When it came to everything but muscles, Devin was the hard and unyielding one. But he couldn’t use his tragic childhood as an excuse. Bren hadn’t exactly had it easy and look how disgustingly cheerful he was.
“I’m still waiting for you to disintegrate every time the sun rises.” Devin huddled into his jumper and dug his bare feet deep in the moist sand. “You know vampire beach god is never going to be a thing.”
“That’s the irony of it,” Bren said, pulling his wetsuit out of his backpack. “You’re the one who looks like Malibu Barbie and Jason Momoa’s love child, and you can’t even swim.”
“Won’t swim,” Devin said. “There’s a big difference.”
“Your loss. The water temperature is the warmest it’s been all winter.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that? Ten whole degrees?”
“Eleven actually, smart arse.”
“Tempting, but it’s a big nope from me.” Devin almost wished he could plunge into the shocking cold. These days he was crawling with restless energy, his nerves howling at him like stray dogs sensing an earthquake.
Bren battled the sea breeze making his towel dance as he tried to pull his wetsuit on underneath it. Usually, that would be enough to start Devin on another round of good-natured teasing. This time he let the opportunity slide by, conscious of the strangeness that had come between them in the last few days.
He watched without comment as Bren hopped from one leg to the other, struggling in a valiant but losing fight with the legs of his suit. At last Devin couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Stop being so modest and ditch the
towel. There’s no one here.”
“You’re here.”
“And I’ve seen your arse nearly as many times as your face. But I won’t look if you don’t want me to.”
Devin could see Bren hesitating before he turned his back on him, letting the towel fall to the sand. As many times as he’d seen Bren like this, it still had the power to make him gasp. He’d learned to do it discreetly.
Bren’s long straight back and toned backside were as finely formed as the rest of him, which would have been a good enough reason for gawking. But it was the livid pink lines, zig-zagging from his shoulders to his hips like giant claw marks, that made Devin’s breath catch. Every time.
No one knew the truth behind them, not even Devin. Not because Bren followed his example and avoided all mention of the past. When anyone asked about his scars, Bren was happy to tell them the story. It was just that every time the story was different, each version more outrageous than the last.
Staring at the knotted tissue snaking across Bren’s skin, Devin was overcome with the impulse to stroke it, to soothe him somehow. He could imagine the feel of his naked chest pressing against those scars, his arms enveloping Bren in a gentle hold as he traced his lips across one alabaster shoulder.
He let his eyes take an experimental wander further down Bren’s back, pausing at his arse. He gave a quiet groan as all the things he wanted to do to it sent his mind reeling. He’d start by sliding his fingers all over it, beginning from where the curve of his back melted into those two beautiful cheeks, all the way to the tops of his toned legs. After that, he would take it in both hands and squeeze. Slowly.
His pulse racing, he imagined kneeling on the sand, teasing the tiny hollow at the base of Bren’s spine with his tongue. His face flamed and his cock twitched at the thought of taking Bren and spinning him around, trailing his tongue across one hip. Inching towards his cock and sliding it hungrily into his mouth. Or pulling Bren onto the sand on all fours, gently parting his cheeks, flicking his tongue against his—
Storm Boys Page 3
