by Liamson
WRAITH:
The Chosen One
DJ Liamson
WRAITH: The Chosen One
Copyright © 2015 Published by Dark Hollows Press
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WRAITH: The Chosen One
Copyright © 2015 DJ Liamson
ISBN 10: 1942176554
ISBN 13: 978-1-942176-55-8
Publication Date: January 2015
Author: DJ Liamson
Editor: Ashley Kain
All cover art and logo copyright © 2015 by Dark Hollows Press
Cover design by 3 Rusted Spoons
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental
W.R.A.I.T.H
Witness Recovery and Inter-dimensional Tactical Hunters
There is world just beyond our own. A world where Fairies and Demons rule, where Fae and Paranormal creatures exist in a dimension parallel to our own.
It is the Vargr Realm.
The Vargr have known about our world for thousands of years and have, in the past, crossed dimensions to prey on it. In recent centuries, however, the Vargr Ruling Council has tried to put a stop to those who wish to cross over. Humans have become more technologically savvy and some human scientists have even come close to cracking the barriers that exist between the realms. But there are those who disobey the law...
The Vargr are attracted to humans. Some like to eat humans. Some come to have sex with us. Some travel to our world to obtain items that are common on Earth, but priceless on Vargr. A special Vargr task force has been established to retrieve those of the Vargr Realm who travel between the dimensions unlawfully and to neutralize any human witnesses who come in contact with these travelers. The Vargr Ruling Council has contacted the governments of our world and they have agreed to cooperate in order to protect human citizens. But there is a war brewing in the Vargr Realm…
And then there are those that don’t even care about the war…
Interlude
Prince Cody rested his cheek against his knuckles, bored out of his mind. It was about that time when the human world offered up a tribute to him. At least the next few days were going to be exciting—from the stories his brothers told him, it was always a wondrous occasion when a new tribute was presented to him, and at least the tribute would break up the doldrums of running his slice of the Vargr kingdom.
While Prince Cody was born into royalty, he didn’t particularly care for actually ruling his part of the kingdom. When his father, King Egill, noticed this, he stuck Prince Cody into a pocket dimension as punishment. That turned out to be not much of a punishment at all: Prince Cody just wanted to enjoy the lavishness that being royalty afforded him. He really couldn’t have cared less about his subjects. He had to admit, though, that the tributes were the silver lining to this situation. Since the humans found out about the Vargr realm and how the Vargr used them, they began to offer up tributes. At least that’s what Cody thought had happened —whenever his father gave him a State of the Human Union update, he zoned out. When it was explained to him that the tributes could be used to fulfill any of his needs, he suddenly became much more interested in the Vargr realm. So, in order to keep the steady flow of tributes coming, he played along until he was awarded with his new plaything.
Prince Cody waved his hand and a circle of mystic, gray, smoky energy appeared before him. Through the smoke, faces appeared. The first thing Prince Cody saw was a burly cop. He flicked his hand and a new image materialized. This image was of a striking Native American. Prince Cody shook his head—so not his type. The next image was of a shirtless construction worker. Prince Cody sprang to attention. He might be able to work with this, but didn’t want to commit to a tribute too soon. He shook his head, disappointed. Apparently the humans thought he wanted to mate with The Village People.
He flicked his wrist once more, hoping the next image would bring him pleasure instead of disappointment. Prince Cody’s eyes sparkled as he laid eyes on the candidate before him. With striking blond hair and bold, blue eyes, the human presented to him was absolute perfection. From what he could see of the man’s clothing, he was dressed in a Versace suit, so Prince Cody deduced that this man dressed well and could afford to be lavish with his money.
Prince Cody grinned. He leaned forward in his chair, making sure to absorb as much of the image as he could. Satisfied, he turned to a nearby servant. “That last one will do. He shall be my tribute. Bring him to me!”
Prince Cody leaned back in his chair as his servant nodded, grunted an agreement, and set forth to retrieve the man who would be his to do with as he pleased.
This day was going to be so much better than Prince Cody had expected.
1.
Blaine Carver surveyed the club, watching the patrons as they danced their troubles away. He secretly envied them, wondering if they all knew how easy they really had it. His eyes rested on the plaque that hung on the opposite wall, and his face turned instantly hollow.
A portrait of a stiff, picturesque couple stared back at him, surely doubting the choices Blaine made with his life. He scoffed. How dare they judge him for his choices when they’d just abandoned him when he was only a teenager? That wasn’t fair, he told himself. A voice in the back of his mind—his conscience, perhaps?—convinced him that wasn’t exactly true.
He flashed back to the day when his family’s mansion was rocked by explosions. His entire world spiraled as he fell off his four-poster bed onto the floor. He shakily got up on his knees and crawled his way along the floor. The stained glass windows shattered in the explosion, and rainbow colored shards of glass splintered through the air.
Blaine covered himself, and then watched his movements so he wouldn’t get scratched by the broken glass. After what seemed like an eternity, he made his way through the thick clouds of smoke and reached the wall. His fingers reached up and gripped the windowsill. Adrenaline coursing through him, he pulled himself up and looked outside.
Blaine’s eyes widened as he observed the scene. He wasn’t sure if everything was happening in slow motion or all at once. Several creatures on the ground were arming catapults. Blaine watched in amazement as one of the creatures pressed down on a lever, causing a large boulder to soar through the air and slam into his house. If he hadn’t been holding onto the windowsill, the impact would’ve thrown him on his back.
He knew he should run and hide, to try to get somewhere safe, but he was mesmerized by what was happening on the estate’s grounds. He watched as some stranger walked ahead of the others, standing eerily still. The stranger stood like that for a several minutes before slowly turning his head.
Blaine’s stomach sank as he realized the stranger was staring at him. He couldn’t be certain, but the stranger’s eyes might’ve glowed. He crouched down, as if he were about to jump, and then something that made Bl
aine doubt his sanity happened. As he leapt into the air, two large white, fluffy, feathery limbs sprouted from his back.
The limbs—Blaine refused to call them wings—flapped several times as the man soared through the air. It took only seconds for the thing, wings spread wide, to appear at his window.
“If you want to live,” the flying man said in a soothing voice, “go somewhere and hide. I’ll come back for you—I promise.”
Blaine didn’t know why—maybe it was the way a thirteen-year-old knew someone was being honest—but he somehow realized that if he did what the flying man said, everything would be okay. No harm would befall him. He ran over to the panic room his father installed and locked himself inside. He brought his legs up to his knees and wrapped his arms around them, hugging himself tight. He remained eerily still until he eventually fell asleep.
Blaine frowned. As much as he tried, he couldn’t remember the rest of what had happened that day. The flying man must have kept his word, though, since he was still alive. Ever since that moment, Blaine had looked at the sky several times a day, wondering if his flying man would come back to him. And every day, he was disappointed.
He looked back at the patrons of his club. Blaine bet that none of them had the problems that he had. There was a twink dancing with a bear type. They looked happy to be in each other’s company. Growing up without any parents, Blaine was free to do what he wished when it came to relationships. Someone with his stature was usually held to arranged marriages or blind dates—Blaine wasn’t sure which was worse. But now that his parents were dead, there was no pressure with his love life and he could date whomever he pleased, and it just so happened that he preferred to date men.
So here he was, on a Saturday night, scanning the crowd of the club that he owned. He frowned, his expression souring his youthful features. As he approached the bar, he glanced at the mirror to make sure he looked all right. His thick blond hair was combed straight back and his cheekbones were pronounced. His dark blue eyes changed several shades as the strobe lights completed their cycle. He had all the money in the world and could get any guy he wanted. So why did it feel like something was missing?
He took a seat at the bar and sighed. As if on cue, a glass appeared in front of him. Blaine looked up at the bartender and smiled gratefully. “You always seem to know what everyone needs,” Blaine said ruefully.
The bartender tipped his imaginary hat. “That’s why I’m the bartender.” He was an older man with muscles and a goatee. He wore leather pants and was shirtless. When he first started bartending, Blaine told him that he would get more tips if he were half naked. At first, Chad resisted, but eventually relented after Blaine gave him a hundred bucks for that night’s tips. Blaine looked at Chad sideways, wondering why the young bartender was inspecting him.
“You okay, boss? You’re usually all about Saturday nights,” Chad drawled.
Blaine smiled crookedly as he gulped down his drink. “Just thinking, is all.”
“You know what I say about thinking,” Chad drawled, pouring a drink for another patron. “Too much of it can only lead to bad things.”
“Depends on your perspective,” a quiet, smooth voice beside Blaine replied. Blaine looked over his shoulder, his eyes widening as they fell upon the specimen sitting next to him. The stranger’s thin, narrow face elicited a feeling of trustworthiness in the pit of Blaine’s gut. His brown hair fell over his forehead, but didn’t cover the man’s haunting brown eyes. Looking deep into them, Blaine thought he saw an old soul, something that definitely agreed with him. When the man smiled at him, Blaine swore his heart palpitated a few times. The stranger smiled.
“You may call me Nathaniel.”
“Blaine. Blaine Carver.” He chided himself for offering his name too quickly. He was still considered something of a celebrity, even if his family name had lost some of its cachet. While he might not be able to make mountains move by speaking anymore, his surname could always make him a target of investors eager to make a quick buck or thugs who would love to jump him in the middle of the night to see how much money he was carrying on him.
“I know who you are,” Nathaniel declared. Goosebumps appeared on Blaine’s arm as Nathaniel spoke. He loved every note of the man’s voice. From the way Nathaniel enunciated to the inflection in his voice, it was very clear he was one of a kind. “It is a shame what happened to your family. They died in their prime, never knowing how their son would grow up into a smashing success.”
Blaine shifted in his seat—the mere look of lust in his eyes was enough to get him hard. “Nate, you are saying all of the right things,” he exhaled. “Even if your phrasing is… eccentric.”
“Just Nathaniel,” he commanded. “No nicknames.”
Blaine nodded. “Sorry.”
“You didn’t know.” His lips stretched to a sideways smile. He looked down at Blaine’s crotch, as if sensing the other man’s boner. He reached down and pawed it through Blaine’s paints. “You, boy, still have… needs, do you not?”
Blaine hoped he wasn’t profusely drooling on his club’s floor. Some of the club goers might slip and fall, and he was certain the insurance would blow through the fortune he had left. “Um, ah, yeah.”
Nathaniel’s brown eyes seemed to glow a shade brighter. He grabbed Blaine by the hand and rose from the chair. He pulled Blaine up from his seat so they stood eye to eye.
“So,” Nathaniel began, “Do you have somewhere private we can go?”
****
Blaine and Nathaniel entered a large room. “And here’s the bedroom,” Blaine said suggestively, hands stretched out wide as he took a few steps back.
“You seem well prepared for such an incident,” Nathaniel smirked. “I didn’t think a club would also have a bedroom.”
“Spent a lot of sleepless nights here back when the club first opened up,” Blaine said, peppering the other man with kisses. “Sometimes I wanted a quick fuck, so it only seemed natural to have a bed here, too.”
Nathaniel grabbed Blaine’s hand and led him to the center of the room. When his eyes rested on a wooden four-poster bed with ancient hieroglyphics expertly etched into the wood, and red and blue silk draperies with what must have been a thousand-thread count, his mouth quirked to a grin. “You certainly have a sense of style,” he mused, checking Blaine out. His companion was wearing what he assumed to be a ceremonial robe. He wore a black blazer and black khaki pants, with a silver tie hanging from his neck.
Blaine’s face reddened. “I just got this image in my head and this was the result,” he said, stretching his arms out toward the bed.
“Wouldn’t you like to see the images in my head?” Nathaniel swaggered his way over to Blaine. He reached out, grabbed the lapels of Blaine’s jacket, and pulled the younger man closer to him.
Blaine gasped at Nathaniel’s warmth as the man’s arms enveloped his body. His heart sped up as he looked into Nathaniel’s gorgeous, twinkling brown eyes. His cock thickened against Nathaniel’s leg, and now Blaine was keenly aware of just how close he was to the other man. His cheeks turned a deeper shade of red and he broke eye contact. “I—”
There was a thundering boom and the walls shook to their very core. The force of the explosion knocked the couple to the ground. Blaine landed on top of Nathaniel, and it took Blaine a few minutes to realize what had happened. He quickly got up and offered his hand to Nathaniel, who walked toward the door and leaned against the wall.
Nathaniel frowned as he heard the rat-a-tat-tat of several bullets. He walked back to Blaine, grabbed his hand, and stood in front of him protectively. “I take it this isn’t a usual occurrence on a Saturday night.”
There was another round of gunfire. Blaine frowned. “Depends if it’s dollar beer night,” Blaine joked, trying to keep himself calm.
“Anything like this ever happen before?” Nathaniel narrowed his eyes, hoping they wouldn’t encounter any danger or have to defend themselves.
&
nbsp; Blaine shrugged. “Once or twice in my lifetime, maybe.” He said it as if he were reciting a common, everyday fact. “Never here in the club.”
“Okay,” Nathaniel said, pressing his back against Blaine’s chest. The adrenaline coursing through his veins caused him to sport some wood. Under normal circumstances, he might be somewhat self-conscious about that fact, but this was not a normal circumstance. He racked his brain for some type of plan. His eyes landed on the nearby window and immediate relief spread through him. “Windows. Thank God.”
Blaine’s eyes widened. “We’re eight stories up!” He stepped away from Nathaniel and briefly wondered if he could come up with his own escape plan. “Are you crazy?”
“Probably,” Nathaniel smiled, “but not because of this.” He ran toward Blaine and grabbed the younger man’s hand. He used his strength to carry the reluctant Blaine towards the window. “This would go much more smoothly,” he grunted, “if you wouldn’t resist me!”
“And does that type of pick-up line usually work?” Blaine deadpanned, willing his feet to dig into the floor. But Nathaniel was much stronger and was able to drag him toward the window.
“It’s not a—!” Nathaniel was cut off by the sound of metal clinking on the floor. Something bounced on the ground once, twice, and then a third time. Both men turned their heads toward the sound. Nathaniel was filled with dread as he recognized the small, cylindrical tube lying horizontally on the ground. Nathaniel gazed back to the window and put his foot on the windowsill. He looked over his shoulder at Blaine. “Grab on tight!”
Blaine wrapped his arms around Nathaniel’s neck. This was absolutely crazy. They weren’t going to do what he thought they were going to do—were they? The cylinder whistled before exploding into several shards. Smoke spilled out from the cylinder, expanding to fill the room and exterminate any inhabitants inside.
