Don't Read in the Closet volume one

by Various Authors

“Who?”

  But Dashiel already knew exactly who the guy was talking about. He’d thought he was just dealing with a stalker—it wasn’t like he’d never had to deal with one before—but apparently this particular stalker was also a psycho.

  “Dashiel!” the gargoyle hissed, his human-like features starting to twist grotesquely.

  “We’ve never said more than a dozen words to each other,” Dashiel denied hotly. “And most of those consisted of me saying no, Crush.”

  “It’s Kresh!” the gargoyle screeched.

  Thinking about it in that brief pocket of time that stretched out forever right before everything went to Tartarus, it probably hadn’t been the smartest idea to mouth off. Pushed into a rage, the fury seemed to boil under the gargoyle’s skin as his features warped and morphed with his shift. His face elongated to form a sharp, canine snout with long, dripping fangs in an instant. His ears grew pointed and horns erupted from his skull. And his eyes began to glow a deep, hate-filled red as the enraged beast snapped and snarled.

  Dashiel released his arrow, but not before the shift had given the gargoyle an impenetrable, rocky grey hide. And there was no time to notch another. All Dashiel could do was sidestep out of the way of the charge.

  As the beast tried to correct itself, Dashiel brought his bow around for a heavy blow across the gargoyle’s broad back. He just needed to keep the beast mindless and focused on him—he couldn’t stand the thought of what the gargoyle might do to Achan.

  Unfortunately, although almost indestructible, the bow still shattered on impact—which was going to be interesting to explain to the armourer. Dashiel was forced to jump back from a set of snapping jaws that swung around at him. He only narrowly avoided ending up between them and in a great deal of pain.

  Dashiel knew exactly what Kresh was thinking—if he could disable them, he could escape. But that couldn’t be allowed to happen. This might be the only chance they had to clear Achan’s name. They needed the gargoyle alive and right here as exhibit A.

  Unfortunately, distracted for a split second by that realisation, Dashiel wasn’t quite fast enough to dodge the next lightening quick attack. He howled in agony as the bones in his left wrist were crushed beneath the pressure of the gargoyle’s vice-like jaws.

  “Dashiel!” Achan screamed.

  In horror, Dashiel watched Achan run and leap on the gargoyle’s hunched back. His heart jumped up into his throat as he saw Kresh effortlessly dislodge Achan and send him flying across the amphitheatre. He landed with a sickening crunch against a marble pillar and didn’t move.

  “Achan!”

  Kresh howled in triumph and ran at Achan’s motionless form. The universe seemed to slow, but there was nothing Dashiel could do. Nothing that would stop Kresh from reaching Achan in time. But he had to try.

  Scrabbling for grip on the polished floor, Dashiel started after Kresh. Before either of them got more than a half dozen steps, however, Achan sat up, opened his hand and blew across his palm.

  A silver dust billowed out, hitting Kresh square in the face. He dropped to the floor in the same instant and skidded across the slick marble to end up in an unconscious tangle at Achan’s feet.

  Dashiel ran to Achan’s side, stumbling the last few steps to kneel beside him—careful to avoid the silvery remains of what he had to assume were The Sands of Sleep.

  “Are you alright?” Dashiel frantically checked Achan over—even though as a god he was unlikely to have been permanently injured. He’d only been tossed across the room. Dashiel could already feel his own wrist almost completely healed.

  “I’m fine, Dashiel. He just knocked the wind out of me.”

  Dashiel found himself nodding. Everything felt kind of foggy and indistinct—not real, as if it was all a long way off.

  Pointing to the silvery dust, Dashiel noticed his hand was trembling and quickly put it back down. “Where did you get that from, anyway?”

  Achan blushed. “I swiped it from a Somnus when he wasn’t looking the other night at the graduation party.”

  Dashiel couldn’t help it. He pulled Achan in for a quick, hard kiss.

  “You’re brilliant. You know that, right?”

  “Um… thank you. But what do we do now?”

  Dashiel’s chuckle was a little shaky, but it helped to release some of the tension still squeezing his chest. The incredibly cute blush that had flared to life in Achan’s cheeks didn’t hurt either. “I guess we send a message and get everyone here so we can start clearing your name. Know anyone that could handle that?”

  ****

  The rain had passed over hours ago and a fire danced merrily in the grate, warding off the last of the winter chill. Both now safe and dry, Dashiel still felt the need to pull Achan closer to his side where they snuggled together on the couch.

  The meeting with the various ruling gods and goddesses had not been pleasant. But after a few near misses and one or two initial misunderstandings, things had finally been sorted out and Achan cleared of all charges. It was scary to think how easily it could all have gone very differently, however.

  Kresh had been sentenced to a swim in the Lethe—the river of forgetfulness—and from there banished far, far away from Godshome. The whole matter was to be forgotten. They didn’t want anyone else hearing about it and getting any ideas.

  Personally, Dashiel was perfectly happy to forget all about it. In the end, he was just damn glad they hadn’t been sentenced to a swim as well. The court had shown amazing leniency in that regard—their actions in rescuing the Chalice having been taken into account. If the ruling body had wanted to ensure the whole incident was truly forgotten, it could have ended very badly for them both.

  It didn’t detract from the near overwhelming desire Dashiel had to paddle the younger god’s ass.

  “You do realise it was a complete waste of time,” he murmured against the top of Achan’s head. “A dangerous complete waste of time.”

  Achan snuggled closer. “What?”

  “Trying to get my attention with that little stunt at the ceremony.”

  Achan squirmed against him, until Dashiel tightened his hold and stilled the nervous movement.

  “It’s just… when I finally came into godhood and was all legal so to speak, I wanted you to notice me. To finally see me. I’ve already waited forever, I didn’t want to waste another second.”

  Dashiel’s breath caught in his throat—knowing how much Achan had risked—how badly it could have so easily gone. And almost had.

  “I would have noticed you without any of it, you know.”

  “Yeah right.”

  “Really. In fact, I did. Before the ceremony had even begun, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Believe me, you definitely stand out in a crowd.”

  “Never used to,” Achan mumbled. “You never looked twice at me before.”

  “Yes I did. I just… I saw… well I was young and I saw a friend. I still do. But…”

  “You left,” Achan accused. “You finished your training at the academy and you took off. You never even looked back. You never—”

  “More fool me.” Dashiel swallowed hard against the knot of emotion lodged deep in his throat. “I’m sorry, Achan. I never meant to hurt you.”

  “You did, you know. When you and Gareth left, it hurt so bad.”

  “I’m here now. I know it doesn’t make things right, but if you’re willing to give me a chance, I promise I won’t be going anywhere again.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Not without you. That is… if that’s what you want.”

  Dashiel was surprised to see Achan looked away again. “It’s just… you kind of have a reputation.”

  “What reputation?”

  “As a player.”

  “What?” Dashiel sputtered.

  “I can’t do that, Dash. I don’t want it to be like that with us.” Achan shrugged and lowered his gaze. “I figured the only chance I had was to sneak in and steal your heart while you weren’t look
ing.”

  Dashiel hated seeing the anxiety and shadow of uncertainty in Achan’s face. Without any warning, he moved to pin the smaller man beneath him along the length of the couch. Achan let out a surprised squeak, and then they were nose to nose—no room for ambiguity or doubt or insecurities.

  “I’m not a player anymore, Achan. Haven’t been for a long time. It’s one of the reasons I never took Kresh up on his offer. I haven’t been interested in those sorts of games for years.”

  Achan’s eyes were wide and Dashiel allowed one slow blink of dawning comprehension before he moved in to claim Achan’s lips.

  The kiss was firm and demanding and designed to show how much he wanted to make things work between them. But just as Dashiel was about to completely lose himself to the sensation, he felt a sharp stab to his right ass cheek.

  “Ow! What the—”

  Looking back over his shoulder, Dashiel’s jaw dropped as he saw a golden tipped arrow clutched in Achan’s hand.

  “Like I said, you do have a certain reputation, you know,” Achan said. “I plan on keeping you interested.”

  Dashiel couldn’t hold in a chuckle. “Oh I’m starting to realise there’ll never be a dull moment with you around, babe. Believe me.”

  “And don’t you forget it!”

  Dashiel went back to kissing Achan, but not before reaching back and wrapping his hand around the arrow in Achan’s hand. He wasn’t stupid enough to risk another poke in the ass from the little imp.

  Finally, pulling away to breathe, Dashiel rested his forehead against Achan’s.

  “Achan?”

  “Mmm?”

  “They don’t work on Cupids. We’re naturally immune.”

  Achan froze beneath him as Dashiel plucked the arrow out of Achan’s suddenly unresisting hand and tossed it across the room away from them.

  “Oh,” Achan said in a rather small voice.

  Dashiel kissed him softly—a tender reassurance. “Doesn’t mean we don’t fall in love though.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  “No.”

  Dashiel smiled down at Achan—a smile full of promise. And then he went back to kissing. Something he was sure he would never get enough of, no matter how long their existence lasted.

  THE END

  Author bio: WHO IS JADE? Jade was born in 2010 after a prolonged pregnancy and labour of over thirty-four years!

  Yes, she is a pseudonym. A work of my fevered imagination, which never seems to grow tired of inventing new characters. And this one's a whopper. One that seems to have taken over my life to the point I'm no longer sure where she ends and I begin! Still, it seems to be working for us.

  I’ve decided she’s about twenty-four. Enjoys long walks in the country, because she doesn’t have five kids and a husband to care for. Eats as much chocolate as she wants, because she never has to worry about putting on weight (must be all those long walks!). And can often be found planning her next whirl wind world tour or endlessly typing away (without any interruptions) on another hot and steamy erotic romance. It might be space pirates; it might be shifters or a lonely vampire with a thing for the girl next door, one thing’s for sure, she loves variety and can’t wait to meet the next characters destined to fall in love.

  Jade Archer’s Website:

  www.jadearcher.com

  Also By Author:

  Journey of the Wyvern: The Stowaway

  Sandpipers: Another Little Secret (free read)

  The Nu Hayven Chronicles: Treacherous Sun

  Portals: Sharing Paul

  Portals: Crying Wolf (free read)

  Portals: Devon’s Revenge

  Portals: Ethan’s Freedom

  Contact: Where to Find Harte

  Contact: Why Jay Ran Away

  Contact: How to Steal Blade

  Contact: What To Do With Lore

  J. P. Barnaby – END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT (First Love)*

  Selected by J. P. Barnaby

  Dear Author,

  I found this picture and I think the two young guys could have been through any number of things to get the point where we see them.

  [PHOTO: Two young men share a quiet moment on a bed. One, dark haired and wearing a tank top, lies on his back on the pillow. The other, shirtless and toned, braces over him. Their foreheads touch, eyes closed, faces still, nose brushing nose. The supine man's hands close gently on his lover's arms.]

  Sincerely,

  DH Starr

  Genre: contemporary

  Tags: virgin, May/December, apocalyptic, impact event, tragedy, sex with a minor

  Words: 5,177

  IT’S THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT

  by J. P. Barnaby

  “The collision will occur at 10:38 Eastern Standard Time this evening near the Indiana- Ohio border just west of Fort Wayne. NASA has deemed the asteroid a planet-killer and the devastation will be absolute. All attempts at rerouting or destroying it have failed. President Burns has declared a Federal State of Emergency and authorities advise citizens to stay in their homes for these last few hours of civilization. WNIV will be going off the air to allow employees time to spend with their families. Indeed, God help us all.”

  The radio went dead as Will Southerland lay on the floor staring at it, his heart racing as he tried to come to terms with the announcement. The impact had been a possibility since astronomers first spotted the asteroid three months before, but to hear the finality in the disc jockey’s voice terrified Will. His mother and sister cried softly on the couch somewhere above him while footsteps padded on his other side as his father paced the length of the living room in their small Chicago condominium.

  “I need to go get my mom,” Will’s father said quickly. “She is all alone in the nursing home, and I want her here with us when…when the end comes.”

  “Albert, you heard what they said,” his mother reasoned. “I want her here too, but what if something happens to you?” After a moment, the absurdity of her statement apparently struck her. Of course, there was a chance that he could die in his attempt to reach the nursing home, but in the grander picture, he would be dead inside of twelve hours anyway. With a resigned nod, she lifted her face to receive his kiss. After grabbing his wallet, keys and the handgun he kept in a locked drawer near their bed, former Marine Sergeant Albert Southerland walked out the front door and locked it securely behind him.

  The thunderous sound of his father’s boots in the narrow hall faded as his father reached the elevator. It took about twenty minutes under normal circumstances to reach where Grandma Pat lived, but these circumstances were anything but normal. Traffic was generally light on their short monthly visits. If his father returned, it could take hours. Will’s stomach rolled and he looked around the room for something to focus on. His mother and eleven-year-old sister Ella still sat huddled together in a futile attempt to find comfort.

  “Mama, will it hurt?” Ella asked in a small voice, her head resting on their mother’s shoulder.

  “No, baby, I don’t think it will,” Sarah Southerland told her sweet daughter while rhythmically pushing the girl’s short brown hair back from her face and letting it fall again. Will thought the gesture comforted his mother as much as it did his sister. Ella hadn’t reached the stage of teenage rebellion where her brother seemed to be entrenched, and leaned into her mother’s affection. For the first five years of his life, Will had been the only child, the sole target of his mother’s love. His sister’s birth had forced him to share the most important person in his young life, but his relationship with his mother deteriorated even further when he reached his teens and his sister grew into a miniature image of his mother. They had the same long, shiny chocolate colored hair and almost waifish build. Ella had inherited her mother’s crystal blue eyes, which shone bright when she laughed, while Will’s were a dull, muddy brown. He’d also been stuck with his father’s reddish-brown hair, and an infinite number of freckles, making him feel perpetually stuck at the age of six. However right t
hen, he couldn’t muster the normal resentment that he felt for his family.

  The whole world had changed in the span of a heartbeat.

  Suddenly, the tiny living room with its fine antique furniture and carefully selected décor seemed incredibly confining. The weight of his mother’s grief and his sister’s fear made it hard for him to breathe. His heart pounded at the idea that he would be dead before the world could see another sunrise.

  “I’ll be in my room,” Will choked and stood up quickly, lurching slightly as he staggered to his room. Once he closed the door, the feeling of panic didn’t diminish as he’d hoped it would. Closing his eyes, he began to pace from one side of the small room to the other. As he passed the dock for his mp3 player, he considered turning on some music, but didn’t think he had anything in his playlists that would help his mood. Each song would just remind him of all the things he would never get to do. At sixteen-years-old, Will’s life had really just started, and in a few hours, it would end without giving him the opportunity to experience anything on his own. He’d spent his entire life living in the shadow of his father’s expectations. There were so many things that he wanted to do—go to a concert, go to New York, fall in love, and have sex with someone other than himself.

  Christ, he’d never even kissed a guy.

  Will understood that he was gay, he’d known for about a year because that’s when 4D moved into the building. He’d had more wet dreams about 4D than any underwear model or movie star he’d ever seen. The guy could have been a model, but judging by some of the equipment Will had seen him bring up the elevator, he was an artist of some kind. Probably in his late twenties or early thirties, the guy just screamed sex. When his long brown hair wasn’t tied back, he kept it pulled behind delicate ears. Will loved when it was loose and spent a great deal of time wondering what it would feel like between his fingers while he gazed into the man’s perfect face.

  One night after swimming practice, Will had been in the elevator alone with 4D. The man had been on his cell phone for the entire four floors they were together, talking in a melodious accent that sounded Spanish. Will wondered what it might be like for him to cry out Will’s name, or beg in broken English for Will to suck him.