Dead Man and the Army of Frogs

by Harper, Lou

  "What in the name of Hecate are you doing?"

  In his new-found fervor for cleanliness Denton didn't even hear Bran coming in. He put his hands on his hips. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

  "Dusting. Are you all right? Have you been touching any frogs? Murry? What's going on?"

  Murry had completed his personal hygiene regimen a long time ago and had been sleeping in a chair with his nose tucked under his tail. At Bran's question he opened his eyes to a slit but shut them again a second later.

  "I'm not possessed," Denton snapped. "It's not like I never clean."

  "Uh-huh," Bran uttered, clearly unconvinced. He leaned onto the doorjamb, staring like a man in the museum taking in an unusual exhibit.

  Normally, Denton didn't mind being on display for Bran, but he had a morning's worth of irritation built up. "How's Peter?" he asked pointedly.

  Bran shrugged. "Good, I assume."

  "Didn't you go see him?"

  "Why would I?" Bran asked and the incomprehension on his face was so clear, even a stranger would've recognized it.

  Denton felt his righteous ire slipping away. "Well, you know… unfinished business, etcetera."

  "Peter and I have no business left. I'm relieved he's not dead, but he was a dick fourteen years ago, and he's probably still a dick. I have no reason or desire to see him."

  "Oh." This was something Denton hadn't considered. With relief mixing with guilt, Denton came to the realization that just maybe his own communication skills were at fault too. "But I thought…you've been so preoccupied with him these past months, I was sure you wanted to be reacquainted." Denton felt awkward standing on top of a chair so he hopped off, but then was standing feeling awkward next to the chair.

  Bran detached himself from the doorway and strolled into the room. "What I felt about Peter for the past fourteen years was guilt. I thought I'd killed him. Indirectly at the minimum. Now he's back and well, and the weight is off my shoulders. You don't know how good it feels."

  "But you must've loved him. He was your first."

  "I admit, at the time I thought I was in love with Peter. But I was sixteen, horny, needy, and he paid attention to me. For him it was a fling with a naïve young boy. On my part it was an infatuation. I've since figured out what real love is." He tilted his head sideways ever so slightly, his lips twitched and a sort of softness spread over his face.

  "Is that so? Tell me." Denton tossed the duster aside and closed the distance between them.

  Bran put his hands on Denton's hips. "You know…when your heart beats faster just thinking about the other person, you want to touch them all the time to make sure they're still there and real. When the memory of their smell, the taste of their skin drives you wild with desire at the most inconvenient times. Love is curling up with the other person at the end of a really shitty day and knowing everything will be all right somehow. Or when you can't imagine your life without them, even though they drive you nuts with their squeezing the toothpaste from the middle and leaving their socks everywhere." Bran's words coiled around Denton and pulled him close.

  "Or with being a tight-lipped bastard?" Denton murmured.

  Bran nodded. "A stupidly jealous tight-lipped bastard."

  "You jealous? Of me? Why?"

  "Well, I'm not exactly a barrel of excitement. You seemed to have much better time with Gabe."

  Denton snorted and wrapped his arms around Bran's waist. The contact warmed him inside and out, and the last remnants of his earlier annoyance melted away. "You're the most exciting herbalist I know. You're also a giant idiot."

  "I've realized as much."

  "You know, you don't often open up, but when you do… I love you too, you secretive bastard."

  From up close Bran's eyes were deep and dark as the night sky. He bent his head to Denton's. "Thank you for putting up with me. I know it isn't always easy." His lips brushed Denton's on the last words.

  Denton pressed in and they kissed with the leisurely ease of old lovers. Something furry twining between their legs broke them apart at long last.

  "Murry? Really?" Denton chided the cat. The fur felt sensuous against Denton's bare legs—he was in a kilt—but it seemed so very wrong in his current semi-aroused state.

  Murry stared up, while his tail curled around Denton's knee. "Meow?"

  Bran sighed. "It's my fault. He can smell the catnip." He reached into the pocket of his light jacket and pulled out a plastic bag of dried herbs—catnip was a plant Bran didn't grow. Probably because it wouldn't have lasted long with Murry around. Bran sprinkled a little of the stuff on the floor. Murry sniffed it, licked it, and finally rubbed his face in it. He seemed exceptionally happy. "No flying. Remember what happened last time," Bran warned the cat.

  Denton snorted. "Is this why you sneaked out at dawn? To buy drugs for Murry?"

  "Not exactly. Joy and I went to the flea market."

  "What? How? Why? Without me?"

  "Well, apparently you have to get to these things early, or all the good stuff's gone, and some people sleep till noon."

  Denton let Bran's exaggeration about his sleeping habits slip. "Well, slap me and call me Shirley. You're stepping out on me with my best friend. I'll be damned."

  "We didn't plan it. I got up, replied to an email of hers and one thing led to another." The squint of Bran's eyes suggested he was well aware how he sounded. "Oh, I almost forgot—I got you something." He took something from his other pocket and handed it to Denton. It was a pair of hand-knitted socks. "It's new. Someone was selling a bunch of knit stuff."

  "I can tell." The socks were fuzzy and even smelled new. They were also multiple shades of green from toe to the ribbing. "They are awesome. I'm gonna put them on right now," he declared.

  "Good. Now, stay here. I'll be right back." Bran disappeared in the direction of the bedroom.

  Denton parked his ass on the edge of the coffee table and pulled on the socks. Then he fixed his eyes on the door waiting for Bran's reappearance. It was worth the wait.

  The sight of Bran in a tight black T-shirt, black kilt, and cranberry-red socks sent Denton's heart to pitter-patter. "Hotness!" He added a wolf-whistle for emphasis.

  Murry sneezed but it sounded awfully like a snicker. Or maybe just the catnip went up his nose.

  Denton raked his gaze up and down Bran's body. "Deep red is so your color," he said grinning so wide he must've looked like an idiot, but he couldn't help it.

  "Joy said the same thing."

  "Did she tell you about kilts too?"

  "Nah. She actually didn't say a word about them. I was surprised. You told me once about trying new things. So I figured I could give it a go. After all, you cleaned, and it didn't kill you."

  "Ha-ha, very funny." Denton watched Bran pacing around the room experimentally, sitting down, crossing his legs uncrossing them, standing up, and moving about some more. "How is it?" he asked.

  "Comfortable—you were right. But I don't think I could wear them in front of strangers."

  "Of course," Denton said, but what he thought was, baby steps. He'd have Bran out in public, showing off those sexy legs, eventually. Even if he had to clean house every week in exchange.

  Bran stopped. "You're plotting, I can tell."

  Denton feigned innocence. "Was just thinking how frog-colored my new socks are. Like I had frog legs."

  Bran laughed. "Sorry about losing your army."

  "S'okay. They were too squishy, anyway." Denton stalked up to Bran and wound his arms around his lover's waist. "Speaking of…what do you say we rub our squishy parts together and see what happens?" He waggled his brows.

  Bran gave a haughty look like only he could. "Speak for yourself. All my parts are firm. Allow me to demonstrate." Taking hold of Denton's buttocks he squeezed their groins together.

  "Mmm…empirical evidence. I like. But you're wrong." Denton leaned in and pressed his lips to Bran's in a squishy kiss.

  THE END

  Find out how Denton and
Bran met:

  Dead Man and the Restless Spirits

  © 2013 Lou Harper

  Dying sucks hairy monkey balls, even when you're not the stiff.

  Denton Mills has a secret: he can see dead people. Or rather, how they died. It's quite a drag in a city like Chicago, teeming with the echoes of the no-longer living. Rather than whine about it, Denton has learned to live with his troublesome talent. His adaptability comes in handy when he meets his enigmatic new neighbor.

  Bran Maurell catches Denton's eye right away, but unfortunately Mr. Tall, Dark, and Mysterious is as standoffish as he is alluring. However, after an unexpected introduction from Bran's cat brings the two men together, Denton discovers they have a mutual interest in the spirit world. Herbalist by day, Bran moonlights as a witch, performing house cleansings for a fee.

  From Bran, Denton learns that his knack for interacting with the dead qualifies him as a necromancer. It makes good business sense for them to team up and rid Chicago of its pesky spirits one grateful client at a time. Amongst ghostly adventures the attraction between the men is impossible to ignore. They seem like perfect partners—unless Bran's not-so-little secret comes between them.

  Warning: men loving men, ghosts with attitudes, and a portly feline with hidden talents.

  Note: Denton also plays a small but important role in Spirit Sanguine.

  Find out more about this book

  Other Books by Lou Harper

  Spirit Sanguine

  © 2012 Lou Harper

  Is that a wooden stake in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?

  After five years in eastern Europe using his unique, inborn skills to slay bloodsuckers, Gabe is back in his hometown Chicago and feeling adrift. Until he’s kidnapped by a young, sexy vampire who seems more interested in getting into his pants than biting into his neck.

  Harvey Feng is one-half Chinese, one-hundred-percent vampire. He warns Gabe to stay out of the Windy City, but somehow he isn’t surprised when the young slayer winds up on his doorstep. And why shouldn’t Gabe be curious? A vegetarian vampire isn’t something one sees every day.

  Against their better judgment, slayer and vampire succumb to temptation. But their affair attracts unexpected attention.

  When Chicago’s Vampire Boss makes Gabe an offer he can’t refuse, the unlikely lovers are thrust into peril and mystery in the dark heart of the Windy City. Together they hunt for kidnappers, a killer preying on young humans, and vicious vampire junkies.

  However, dealing with murderous humans and vampires alike is easy compared to figuring out if there’s more to their relationship than hot, kinky sex.

  Warning: Fangalicious man-on-man action, a troublesome twink, cross-dressing vampires, and role-playing involving a fedora.

  Find out more about this book

  Dead in L.A.

  © 2012 Lou Harper

  Trouble comes in deceptive packages

  Still recovering from an accident that left him emotionally and physically battered, Jon's goal is to lead a simple life, free of complications and attachments. His new roommate—a happy-go-lucky bookworm—seems to fit into his plans fine at first. He doesn't find out till later that Leander's also a psychic, specializing in finding lost pets. Jon's a skeptic when it comes to the supernatural, so he's convinced Leander's a nut job.

  Jon's beliefs are challenged when Leander has to track down a missing teenager and he ropes Jon into assisting him. Soon the two of them are knee-deep in a decades-old murder case. The hills and valleys of the City of Angels hold many buried secrets, and Leander has a knack for finding them.

  Jon's hopes for a trouble-free life go out the window as he's drawn deeper into Leander's psychic sleuthing. Digging into the past poses many dangers, but the biggest risk Jon faces is putting his bruised heart on the line.

  Warning: Men loving men, skeletons, and an unlucky Chihuahua.

  Find out more about this book

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Under a prickly, cynical surface Lou Harper is an incorrigible romantic. Her love affair with the written word started at a tender age. There was never a time when stories weren't romping around in her head. She is currently embroiled in a ruinous romance with adjectives. In her free time Lou stalks deviant words and feral narratives.

  Lou's favorite animal is the hedgehog. She likes nature, books, movies, photography, and good food. She has a temper and mood swings.

  Lou has misspent most of her life in parts of Europe and the US, but is now firmly settled in Los Angeles and worships the sun. However, she thinks the ocean smells funny. Lou is a loner, a misfit, and a happy drunk.

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