Starlight Star Bright (The Men of Dragons' House Book 1)

by H. M. Wolfe

  THE MEN OF

  DRAGONS' HOUSE

  BOOK 1

  Copyright © 2019 by H.M. Wolfe and E.L. Nelson

  No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owners. This book is a work of fiction. All names, places, characters, and events are fictitious or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover art by EL Nelson

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  T

  he two men reveled in the peace and serenity of the room, bright smiles on their faces, lost in one another's eyes, the mirrors of their souls. The post-orgasm haze was still lingering in the air, as they caught their breath after the sweet, passionate, and intense lovemaking. Even after the five years since they made love for the first time, the experience was always new for them. Their souls were still in a blissful, innocent state.

  Ardan smiled, a mix of joy, melancholy, and pure, sincere, unadulterated love. Extending a hand, he reached for Alasdair's damp forehead, brushing a fiery-red strand aside and gently running the tips of his fingers through it. Shivers of pleasure ran through the Spitfire's body at his husband's simple, innocent gesture of tenderness. It was making his heart swell with pride at the thought that he was the center of that beautiful, educated, warm-hearted man's universe.

  ''I have a confession to make.'' Alasdair started in a low purring, seductive voice. ''I met this guy, and I fell for him. Hard.''

  ''Well, same here.'' Ardan smiled; his special smile meant only for his Spitfire. ''One day, about seven and a half years ago, I saw a little redhead who stole my heart and kept it. Truth be said, I never thought of asking him to give it back to me.''

  ''Lucky little brat! I hope he realizes what a great treasure you've trusted him with.'' Alasdair mirrored the older man's gesture from earlier, brushing his dirty-blond, damp hair from his forehead.

  ''I don't know if the Spitfire realizes what his love meant and still means for me.'' Ardan's answer came in a nostalgic, sweet voice. ''He picked up the pieces of my shattered soul one by one and put them back together, making me whole again. I can't even imagine how hard it must have been for him, to see the scars marring my body and soul, and love me in spite of them.''

  ''The guy I fell for was so sweet and patient with the douchebag I was back then. He believed so much in my potential and encouraged me to follow my dreams. He was with me every step of the way. I don't know what I would have done without his constant support and enormous love.''

  ''Well, since both of us love our men so much, I suggest we spend this night and the rest of our lives in their arms.'' Ardan winked. ''What do you think?''

  ''You are right, as always.'' Alasdair closed the few inches of space between the two of them, burrowing his head, adorned by his wavy, bright-red hair, into the man's shoulder.

  A few minutes later, he was sound asleep, the light snore coming from his lips being the tell-tale sign. Like always, a weak smile played on Ardan's lips while listening to the familiar noise. It had been a part of his night ritual for the last five years. Arms protectively wrapped around his husband's form, the man took a trip down memory lane, a pleasant one, this time.

  Two years before, he and Alasdair finally united their destinies, in the presence of their families and friends. That night, the first of their honeymoon; as he was in the luxury hotel room, making tender, sweet love with his husband, Ardan promised never to let the ghosts of the past take control of his life. They weren't going to be threatening his happiness. And, to that day, he'd kept his promise.

  Finally, the long, painful healing process was complete when the man had embraced his past, accepting it with the bad, but especially with good. There were so many things; he came to realize that couldn't have been accomplished in the absence of those horrible experiences. The base, saving all those innocent souls from their predators' claws. The friendships he'd forged with Landon, Carlin, Seymour, and the others. All the extraordinary people he'd met, and last but not least, Lorcan.

  Thinking about his son Ardan's heart swelled with fatherly affection, his turquoise eyes shining in the dark with unshed tears. Not a day had passed without the boy making him proud, one way or another. Defender of the weak, always speaking the truth and standing up for it. He was the greatest, most helpful, and supportive friend someone could wish for.

  However, what made Ardan happier than anything was the relationship between Lorcan and Alasdair. The most influential people in his life had a sincere, brotherly affection for one another. Their connection was steadfast from the very beginning. The Spitfire was taking care of the kid's body, mind, and soul, by feeding him healthy, homecooked meals, a lot of fascinating, relevant knowledge, and by being a good listener whenever the boy needed to talk.

  At that point, the man frowned a little, because he'd noticed a significant change in Lorcan's behavior over the past few months and it wasn't the right kind of change. His usual bubbly, outgoing self was replaced by a more taciturn, melancholic version of the sixteen-year-old. Alasdair seemed to know more than he let Ardan know, much to the older man's confusion and pain.

  Maybe, he thought; it was related to the struggles in defining his sexual orientation, in which case Lorcan worried for nothing. Most likely, the kid had experienced his first love deception, and his morale was six feet under. In that case, the situation was considerably more complicated, because nothing he would do or say would make the teenager feel better. With that thought in mind, and making a mental note to talk to his son during the weekend, Ardan fell asleep, Spitfire in arms, the same weak smile playing on his lips.

  In his room, at the other end of the corridor, Lorcan was shifting in bed, unable to sleep. His heart was aching and heavy with sadness. Until six months earlier, his life was that of an average teenager, surrounded by his friends and cousins. He was only thinking about school, essays, studying, and learning as much as he could. Then, Brett had come into the picture, turning his entire existence upside down.

  The naive, innocent teen Lorcan fell head over heels in love with the other boy, who harbored a masculine, protective, but at the same time sensible attitude. The combination was everything Ardan's son had dreamed about in a boyfriend. He ended up becoming putty in the other boy'' hands in no time. Walks in the park, soft kisses under the moonlight, love notes snuck into his locker—Lorcan was living his own, real-life fairy tale.

  Until one day, when pictures of him and Brett in intimate situations were messaged to the phones of virtually all the kids in the school, exposing his best-kept secret. The boy, who hadn't come out to his family or friends yet, not even to his father or Alasdair, became the main target of bad jokes and dirty innuendos.

  It turned out that everything was a carefully planned re
venge against him. He had snatched the top position in the school's top ten of the students with the best academic rewards, to the detriment of one of Brett's cousins, none other than Melvin Crispin. The pettiness of the older boy, who so ruthlessly used his feelings to hurt him, had left Lorcan devastated and emptied on the inside.

  It didn't take long for Alasdair, who always paid close attention to his husband's son, to notice the significant changes in his behavior. One evening, when Ardan was in a meeting with the other three Supreme Dragons, he coaxed the sixteen-year-old into talking to him about the subject. Lorcan opened up to the redhead, but swore him to secrecy, afraid of possible repercussions from his father.

  At that point, the kid rolled onto his stomach, sighing softly. He would've given everything to have the same kind of relationship Ardan and Alasdair had. The older man also loved his only son with every fiber of his being. Had he known about the cruel, twisted joke he was subjected to, he would've kicked Brett's meaty ass five ways to Sunday.

  Three months had passed since the events, and although he was slowly starting to come around, Lorcan was still feeling empty on the inside. He tried to fill his spare time with interesting reads, and extra homework, He'd even started to go out with his friends and cousins, but nothing seemed to work. The void was still there. Maybe, one day, in a couple of years or so, someone would fill it, the boy thought, finally falling asleep.

  Eva-Marie Griesser was lying in the king-size bed, a tremendous pile of pillows propping up her back, reading a book. Or better yet, trying to read because the loud noise coming from the furthest room in the luxury penthouse made focusing impossible. Shaking her head slowly, the woman wondered, for the millionth time over the past two years, what she'd done wrong in raising her only child.

  At first sight, Cian was the perfect son: polite, with stellar academic results, possessing an insatiable thirst for knowledge, good looking, tidy. Unlike other teenagers his age, the boy wasn't a fan of loud, crowded parties, where the participants, often unsupervised by adults, engaged in all kinds of dubious, even dangerous acts.

  But all that was only a facade, hiding a distorted image: the politeness often bordered irony, even malice. The tidiness was the result of a compulsive-obsessive disorder — the aversion to parties derived from an enormous superiority complex. Cian Griesser had the greatest achievements in the academic field from the elitist high school he was enrolled in and worked hard to maintain that position.

  The teenager had made his mother proud, and she showered him with presents as a reward: the latest model of sports car, trips around the world, and cruises during the summer holiday. He'd gotten exotic pets, riding horses, expensive designer clothes, shoes, and accessories. At first, the boy's face had brightened. His beautiful, unique turquoise eyes were lighting up from inside. He used to hug her tightly, expressing his gratitude with great enthusiasm.

  Gradually, however, the light dimmed, and the boxes lay unwrapped for days. Every time Eva-Marie tried to bring up the subject, asking Cian about the reason behind his behavior, the kid stared blankly ahead for a few seconds. He would then disappear into his room until the next morning when he went to school. All that time, hard rock music was humming through the powerful stereo system, just like it was this evening.

  Her son's behavior was driving the woman to despair. She even suggested therapy, and the boy didn't oppose it. In fact, he didn't have any reaction whatsoever. It was then when the truth came to light. Eva-Marie's world came crashing down under its weight. There were self-harming and suicidal thoughts — the desire to become invisible and disappear from the face of the Earth. Then there was the most terrifying revelation of all: the suicide attempts.

  Suddenly, the woman put the book down on the bed and sat up. She was determined to put an end to this situation. She had the solution to the problem, and nothing was going to stop her from saving Cian's life, not even an old priest's routine. With this thought in mind, the richest woman in Australia took the phone from the nightstand and dialed the number. After a few seconds, a man's voice answered.

  ''G

  ood evening, Father Peter Donovan. Whom am I speaking to?'' The voice had warm, rich inflections and a certain gentleness that made a pleasant impression on the woman.

  ''Good evening, Father. Sorry for calling so late in the evening. My name is Eve-Marie Griesser, and I'm...'' she started, only to be abruptly interrupted.

  ''I know who you are.'' the priest's voice was stone-cold, very different from the one he'd used seconds earlier. ''What do you want? It's very late, and I have to get up at the crack of dawn.''

  ''Five minutes of your time is all I want.'' the woman answered in an almost pleading voice. ''I need some information on the child I brought to your monastery's orphanage and left there, some sixteen years ago. A boy named Lorcan,'' she said, praying to all the Catholic saints to stop the man from hanging up on her.

  ''You lost any right over him the moment you decided to abandon him at our doorstep. Had your gesture been motivated by poverty or despair, I would have shown an understanding of your situation. But no! You did it as part of a deal with the devil himself. You paid the superiors to keep him pure and innocent, only for him to be sacrificed by that beast.''

  ''I had no idea what Alexander needed the boy for! Neither did I know that the boy who fathered him and my son was drugged. I swear on my parents' grave!'' Eve-Marie passionately protested. ''I thought he was a good looking, highly-trained, professional escort, who would have kept everything secret.''

  ''Why should I believe you?'' the priest cut her short again, ''How can I be sure that you won't use the information to harm other innocents?''

  ''I have nothing to hide, Father.'' the woman inhaled sharply. ''My son is dying, and I cannot stay with my arms crossed and look at him.''

  ''And how do you think knowing more about that boy would help you to save your child's life? Is it a medical emergency?'' the priest asked in a considerable gentler voice.

  ''It could be. I don't know for sure,'' Eve-Marie's answer came in a hesitant voice. ''He...my son tried to take his own life, Father. Repeatedly.''

  Breath hitching, sobs shaking her body, the woman started to tell everything to the man on the other end of the line, pouring her pain and worries in that confession coming straight from her heart. Hearing it left the priest in shock, because Eve-Marie Griesser was, for him and not only, the embodiment of the cold, ruthless, calculated businesswoman, just like her mother.

  Her love and concern for the boy she stepped over so many lines to give birth to were evident, but Father Donovan still couldn't decide to trust her with that essential information. He was afraid that her interference would trouble the peaceful existence of the two men who considered the other boy the center of their universe.

  ''How do you think that knowing about Lorcan would make your son feel better?'' he asked, the harshness returning.

  ''I could convince Alexander to leave him alone,'' Eve-Marie's answer came in one go. ''The guy is very greedy. Money's all that matters to him, and I'm sure that, for the right amount...''

  ''The bastard is dead, and that poor, innocent child didn't end up in his dirty claws.'' Father Donovan cut the woman short, the coldness in his voice hitting her full force. ''Do you have any idea of what would have happened with little Lorcan, had that monster lived?''

  ''He...he mentioned something about it. He said that the boy would inherit someone's position after his thirteenth birthday, so I thought...The truth is I didn't think at all, I was desperate at that time, with my deceased husband's relatives threatening to take away what was rightfully mine, and...''

  ''Your babbling doesn't present any interest to me.'' the priest abruptly interrupted her again. ''Against my better judgment, I'll give you the information to locate Lorcan. But I also warn you. In my younger, wild days, I was part of what you rich people call a gang. It was an organization that protected the weak and poor against the abuses coming from their employers. If you, by any mean
s, try to hurt the boy or his protectors, I'll come after you, and it's going to be ugly and painful.''

  ''Hey, sleepyhead, get up. It's time to rise and shine.'' Alasdair gently shook Lorcan, who was sleeping on his belly, hands under the pillow.

  ''Come on, Spitfire,'' he mumbled. ''I didn't hear the alarm, and that means only one thing: it's still early.''

  ''Yes, but you'll look like a mess for the whole day if you don't wake up right now.'' the redhead insisted in a soft voice. ''Don't give those assholes, the Crispin brothers a reason to jubilate. Remember what I've told you? Even if you are a wreck inside, you mustn't give your rivals the satisfaction of seeing it.''

  ''What rivals? What are you boys talking about?'' Ardan's deep, masculine, sexy voice made Alasdair and Lorcan startle. It definitely was doing things to the redhead's nether regions.

  ''I'll leave you guys to...do grown-up stuff. I have to hop in the shower; otherwise, I'll be late for school.'' the teenager was the first to react, discreetly disappearing from sight.

  ''That boy is the perfect son. He's always thinking of his old father's happiness.'' Ardan smirked, taking his Spitfire by the hand. ''Spending another ten minutes in the company of my sexy husband, that's a rare treat I'm always grateful for.'' he gently pushed the redhead into their bedroom, sliding his hands up and down his body.