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I
IT HAD been a good night, my favorite kind. Nothing
planned—just the fun of being out with a few close friends
and letting the night lead you wherever it wanted. Lack of a
destination always made the journey fun. Planning was for
amateurs.
―See,ǁ Rene Favreau said, smiling over his shoulder as
he walked into the club ahead of me, ―aren't you glad I
talked you into coming out with us?ǁ
And I was, up until I saw who we were meeting at our
last stop. I never understood the need in some people to add
others to the mix when what you had with you was working
out fine. It was probably the same principle in action that
made people cheat. If one guy is hot, two would be better.
The mentality to want, need, more was lost on me. I liked
small groups, a tight circle of friends, and one lover at a
time. But Rene wanted to dance and have fun and to him,
the more the merrier. He had gotten a text that Graham
Becker and some of his other friends and acquaintances
were at a dance club in the Castro, so he had routed us
there to meet them. I was suddenly ready to call it a night.
―Wait.ǁ He slipped around in front of me, barring my
path. ―C'mon, Mal, just stay. You don't even have to talk to
Graham.ǁ
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But I would. He was there and I was there, and even in
a large group, even with ten of us at a table being loud, I
would get stuck at least acknowledging his presence and him
mine. And then there would be trouble.
―Malic,ǁ Graham muttered after maybe five minutes of
us all sitting down.
―Graham.ǁ
You could feel the ice blow over the table. I shot Rene a
look.
He nearly spit out his Chivas and water.
―What's so funny?ǁ Graham asked him.
He just shook his head, trying to breathe around the
burn of having good Scotch go down the wrong hole.
Graham's dark green eyes were back on me, staring
daggers. This was what came of telling the truth.
―How ya been?ǁ I asked politely.
―What the fuck do you care?ǁ
I didn't; I was making polite conversation, but if he was
going to be a dick, I could easily ignore him.
A month ago we had been at a party together, and
Graham had been really drunk. At one point in the night he
was in my lap, arms wrapped around my neck, nearly dry
humping my abdomen and whining for me to fuck his brains
out. I had been more than willing to grant his request; he
was tall, dark, and handsome, and the sexy green eyes made
my cock hard. To cut down on drive time, I had suggested
the bathroom. I was thinking of him. Fucking in the john,
his face plastered up against the mirror, ass bared, was
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more comfortable than my car; it seemed like a good plan. I
thought he'd be pleased. He was nowhere near it.
Apparently Graham Becker was not hot to be my hookup
for the evening. He was not a one-night stand kind of
guy; the man was looking for a relationship. I just wanted to
get laid. He was upset that he had misinterpreted my
interest as long term when it was merely immediate. And
then he was embarrassed. And then he took it out on me
again and again and again until just seeing the man made
me cringe. He could hate me if he wanted, that was his
prerogative; he just didn't need to be vocal about it.
―Lay off Mal,ǁ Rene told him. ―Give it a rest.ǁ
―Why are you here?ǁ Graham snapped at me. ―Shouldn't
you be in your closet?ǁ
Christ.
―Well?ǁ
He meant my club. My strip club. My straight strip club.
Ever since Graham had found out my club down on
Mission was a girls-only venue, he had been giving me crap
about it. Why did a gay man own a place where only women
stripped? That made no logical sense. But it made perfect
sense to me. At my strip club, Romeo's Basement, you could
only watch beautiful women writhe out of elaborate
costumes; there were no boys on stage. I had purposely
made it a gentleman's club because hot men strutting
around in nothing but G-strings would have been hard on
me. Sleeping with your employees was bad for business as
well as morale, so I made sure I was never tempted to do
either. My explanation would not have interested the man
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who hated me. What he didn't know was that I took my sex
casually for a very serious reason. I didn't want to hurt
anyone.
I was not simply a cold-hearted bastard being a dick; I
had nameless, soulless encounters in hopes that if they were
fast, then the other person wouldn't suffer. Yes, I wanted to
get laid, but also, because I was a warder, if you weren't my
hearth and I screwed you, you could get hurt. Graham had
had no idea of the very real jeopardy he was in.
I was a warder; warders killed demons. I killed demons.
I hunted them with others just like me, five of us in all, plus
my boss, the sentinel of the city, Jael Ezran. Every city had a
sentinel, every sentinel had five warders, and all of them
hunted demons together either in pairs or in a group. I
fought things that went bump in the night, which was the
heroic part that probably would have excited Graham. The
part that would not have excited him was that sleeping with
me could not only hurt his feelings when I left in the middle
of the night but could actually kill him.
The kiss, the touch of a warder, if you were not their
hearth, could be deadly. There were a select number of
humans that could be intimate with us, and when we found
one of them, it was a cause for celebration. It wasn't like a
hearth was the one and only mate of a warder; they were
simply one of very few people that could handle being
intimate with a warder.
Ryan, or Rindahl as my sentinel called him, one of the
other four warders I hunted with, had recently found his
hearth, and I could not imagine him ever letting the man go.
When a warder found a hearth, usually it was because they
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had finally taken the step and slept with someone they loved.
When they had sex they hoped, prayed, that that person was
compatible with them. Ryan had wanted Julian, and so he
had gambled on a future with the man. When he found out
that Julian was his hearth, could truly be his, I had never
seen him so happy. He even allowed Julian to watch us
hunt. And it had only happened once, but to so indulge
another simply out of love was horrifying. The very idea
made me crave lots and lots of air and wide open spaces.
Love, in all its many forms, seemed more about control to me
than anything else. I would fight to make sure it never got a
hold of me.
―No snappy comeback?ǁ
I looked over at Graham, unsure of what he was talking
about.
―Malic?ǁ
―Sorry, I stopped listening. What'd ya say?ǁ
He threw up his hands, got up, and stalked away. I
turned to look at Rene.
―You know you're an ass, right?ǁ
My mind had drifted, that was all. I didn't try and piss
people off deliberately, but it happened a lot nonetheless. I
bored easily as a rule; it was hard to keep my interest. Those
that could usually became my friends. ―So, what, are you
picking up a fuck buddy or not?ǁ
―We say make love to or sleep with,ǁ Rene corrected me,
brows furrowed, scowl dark. ―Why do you always have to be
so goddamn crass?ǁ
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―Have the balls to say fuck, 'cause that's all it is,ǁ I said,
yawning.
―Mal––ǁ
―If it's hearts and flowers you really want, you should
pick someone up at the library and ask them out for tea.ǁ
―You do not have a romantic bone in your entire body.ǁ
Which was probably true, but it didn't change the facts.
―If it's romance you want, it ain't happening at a club.ǁ
He was still scowling at me, but I was right and we both
knew it. ―Malic, you know you're never gonna find someone
to put up with your bullshit, right?ǁ
I grunted because that was simply a fact of life. I
excused myself to go hit the head.
―I'm gonna get drinks. Whaddya want?ǁ he called after
me.
I yelled back for a Black and Tan and moved through
the thick Saturday night crowd toward the bathroom. Once I
reached it, I encountered something I never had before: a
line.
―Something's going on,ǁ the guy in front of me said to
my shoes.
―What?ǁ I asked, annoyed. It would have been nice to
have more people look me in the face, meet my eyes. But
they didn't.
―I think some hustler's getting his ass beat.ǁ
I moved by him and several others, but no one said a
word. The theory was that my perpetual scowl coupled with
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my height and wingspan, as well as my shoulders and chest,
made most guys give me room. When I stepped around the
corner, inside the bathroom, I realized how dark the red
neon made it. Because the space was so big, there were dark
spots everywhere, and at the other end of the row of stalls,
there was a guy standing guard.
―No!ǁ
The scream was from inside the stall, and I moved down
toward it. I didn't run, but it was easy to see that I was on
my way down to have a word.
―Back off, man.ǁ The guard put up his hand. ―This is
shit you don't wanna be in.ǁ
―Get off me!ǁ Second yell from inside.
I shoved the guard back hard, and when he moved
further than he thought he would, I got a wary glance. Power
exhibited over others is either seductive or scary. He was
scared; it was all over his face.
―Let him out… now,ǁ I ordered, my voice low, cold.
He stared holes in me, but he turned and pounded on
the door. ―Greg, c'mon.ǁ
I waited. Not that I couldn't have picked the guy up and
thrown him across the room. I was a warder, after all, I
fought and killed demons, but it would have raised eyebrows
and therefore questions if I put the man through the wall. I
was solid and muscular, but the guy in front of me looked
like he'd taken a few too many steroids. I might have been
big, but the guy in front of me was bigger.
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I heard another smack, that unmistakable sound of
someone being hit, then a bang, and finally a guy stepped
out who was almost as large as the one standing guard. The
two of them could have easily passed for defensive linemen––
massive muscle-bound guys with no necks.
―You gotta lotta balls, man,ǁ he said, shoving me back
as the two of them moved by me.
I slipped inside the stall, and there on the floor was an
angel. Literally. The guy was dressed all in white, dusted in
glitter in a Lycra T-shirt, white leather pants, and white
patent leather Doc Martens. The huge, white feather-covered
wings he was lying on completed his outfit.
―Shit,ǁ I groaned, sliding down the wall beside him next
to the toilet. His lip was split, there were big red blotches on
his right cheek and throat, and his eyes were closed. He had
either fainted or he was knocked out. ―Hey, look at me.ǁ
There was no movement.
I leaned back, squatting, and got out my cell, sending
Rene a text because there was no way he would either hear
his phone ring in the club or be able to talk on it.
―What….ǁ
I looked back down at the guy as he looked up… and
was swallowed in big, warm, chocolate brown eyes framed in
the longest, thickest eyelashes I had ever seen in my life. I
could barely breathe.
I hated feeling like that.
His hand reached for my knee.
I cleared my throat. ―You all right?ǁ
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He nodded, just staring up at me with those huge anime
eyes. I instantly changed my mind about his age. Not a guy,
a boy. Very young. Maybe, if you were stretching it, just
barely legal. He had thick mahogany curls that fell over his
ears and down the delicate slope of his neck, fragile features,
and full, pink lips that were made to be devoured. He looked
about five eight, five nine, built like a gymnast with a tight
lean body, defined muscles, and smooth skin. He was
beautiful, much too pretty to be on the floor of a bathroom.
―What's your deal?ǁ I asked him gently.
―You saved me,ǁ he said, lifting himself up, his body
very flexible, sliding over my knee and down against my
abdomen.
―Wait.ǁ I tried to stall him, but my balance was upset, so
I ended up sitting on the floor with him in my lap.
―Why?ǁ he asked, straddling my hips, tightening his legs
as his hands went to my shoulders. ―You saved me. You
have to keep me now that you saved me.ǁ
He was warm on top of me, sliding his tight little ass
over my groin, wriggling to get a better angle.
―Stop.ǁ
His eyes narrowed in half, and he bit his bottom lip,
pressing, pushing.
―Baby,ǁ I said, because he was so young and so sweet.
Tasting him would be heaven.
He leaned forward to kiss me, and when I lifted my head
he came up short, his lips on my jaw.
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―Stop. Stop,ǁ I said, taking his wrists in my hands,
pushing him back so he had to look at me. ―We're not gonna
have this scene, okay? Are you hurt?ǁ
He shook his head slowly, his eyes locked on mine. And
it was then, after years of experience looking at and talking
to men and women who came into my club, that I realized
how drunk he really was.
―Why can't I kiss you?ǁ
I doubted he could even tell me his name. He was
sloshed out of his gourd.
―I wanna thank you for being my hero.ǁ
Christ.
I let him go and put my hands on his face, looking at his
lip, moving his head, lifting his chin so I could check his
throat, his neck. His hands went to my chest as he tried to
push himself forward, get closer.
―Stop.ǁ
―God, you're beautiful,ǁ he whispered, his hand slipping
around the back of my neck. I could not even fathom the
amount of alcohol that had to be in his system for him to
think I was anywhere near hot. The beer goggles were on
good and tight.
―I have never seen eyes like yours.ǁ
Uh-huh. ―They're blue,ǁ I said distractedly, checking
him over. His neck was already darkening where he had
been choked. Christ, who roughed up a guy this pretty?
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―They're like ice,ǁ he said, shifting in my lap, sliding over
my groin, notching his cleft over the bulge in my jeans.
―They're really scary.ǁ
And he somehow made that sound good instead of bad.
But that was hardly the point. The point was that he was
trying to kill me. ―Stop,ǁ I told him again, realizing that to
stand from the angle I was at in the cramped space, he'd
have to move first. Normally I could have stood with anyone
in my lap, but the maneuver was out of the question from
where I was beside the toilet.
―Mal!ǁ
―Last stall!ǁ I yelled back, and I heard Rene's shoes clip
the floor as he came closer. ―Listen, that's just my buddy
Rene, okay? Nobody's gonna hurt––ǁ
―You smell great.ǁ He inhaled, leaning forward, wrapping
his arms around me as his head hit my collarbone. ―And you
feel amazing.ǁ
His skull was hard and it hurt for a minute when he
knocked it against me.
―Do I even wanna know?ǁ Rene asked as he appeared
above me, brows furrowed as he held up his phone. ―And can
I just say that this is the weirdest text message you've ever
sent me?ǁ
―What?ǁ
―I need you in the bathroom?ǁ He arched a brow for me.
―For what?ǁ
I shot him a look as the top of a wing nearly took out my
left eye. ―Shit.ǁ
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―Okay, Cupid,ǁ Rene said, bending down to get his
hands under the boy's armpits. ―Let's get up.ǁ
―Wait,ǁ he protested, but Rene was too strong.
As he was put on his feet, I got up, and Rene and I stood
there staring at the wobbly angel.
His thick eyebrows had a slight arch in the middle,
which gave him a mischievous, almost wicked look, definitely
alluring. He reminded me of those guys in paintings from the
Renaissance, fragile looking with porcelain skin and big eyes.
Because of all that, he was easily pulling off the angel
costume.
―I'm Dylan.ǁ He smiled up at me, his eyes heavy-lidded,
biting his bottom lip. ―What's your name?ǁ
―Malic.ǁ I smiled down at him. ―What are you doing in
the bathroom, Dylan?ǁ
The decadent look I was getting, like I was candy, was
adorable, and I had to remind myself that he was much––
spell it out in neon––too young for me. And drunk. God, he
was so drunk.
He took a quick breath. ―I'm not a rent boy, if that's
what you're thinking. I work at Epic Create and Copy down
off Powell.ǁ
―I know where that is, we do some of our flyers and stuff
there.ǁ
―Oh yeah?ǁ His eyes glinted in the low light. ―I don't
remember ever seeing you come in. I would've totally
remembered.ǁ
―Totally,ǁ Rene repeated, waggling his eyebrows at me.
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―What do you do there?ǁ I asked, ignoring both his
compliment and my annoying friend.
―Assistant manager, I work second shift, sometimes
graveyard.ǁ
Rene turned and looked at me.
―What?ǁ
―At least this one's not a stripper,ǁ he said sarcastically.
―That guy didn't strip at my club,ǁ I said, defending
myself.
―You have a strip club?ǁ Dylan asked, way too interested
in that bit of trivia.
―Not that you can go in,ǁ I assured him. ―You're too
young.ǁ
―I'm nineteen,ǁ he claimed.
―Which is way too young to be at a strip club,ǁ I said,
sighing. Why couldn't he be older? Tougher? Or at least
sober? ―You know there are laws about serving alcohol to
minors, right?ǁ
―But I could just come to see you,ǁ Dylan said excitedly.
―Right?ǁ
―Wrong.ǁ I shook my head. ―If you're not a dancer, then
what're you doing in that outfit?ǁ
―You think I look like a dancer?ǁ He belched.
―Charming,ǁ Rene groaned.
I smiled, I couldn't help it. ―What's with the costume?ǁ
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Big smile. ―I have a second job from now 'tilǁ—he
hiccupped—―January at that Christmas boutique in Union
Square. I'm an angel.ǁ
―No,ǁ Rene teased him, ―really?ǁ
―It's seasonal,ǁ he told my friend seriously, nodding.
He really was the cutest thing.
―I wish I was a stripper, how cool would that be?ǁ
He was much too adorable to be stripping; no one
should see him take his clothes off who wasn't planning on
keeping him.
―Can I come home with you?ǁ he asked, leering at me,
his laughter bubbling up out of him like champagne.
―No,ǁ I said, even though I had the urge to grab him
tight and hold him… just crush him up against me; I wanted
to feel his skin next to mine. ―What're you doing in here?ǁ
―Oh, see, I was at a bar with some friends, and these
guys came over and asked if I wanted to hit a club with them
and then meet back up later with everyone else,ǁ he
explained, taking hold of the hem of my sweater. ―And so I
said sure but I didn't know they thought they could…
whatever.ǁ
I nodded, moving back so my sweater pulled free of his
hands. ―Well, listen, we're on our way out, so why don't you
come with us to make sure you don't get in any more trouble
tonight.ǁ
―Okay.ǁ He smiled up at me, stepping in close, arms
wrapped around my waist.
―Oh for crissakes,ǁ Rene groaned.
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―Hey!ǁ
I looked up, and the guys that had left earlier were
back. I shoved Dylan behind me and waited.
―I don't know who the fuck you think you are, man, but–
–ǁ
Rene stepped in close to me. ―Back up, man, we don't
want any trouble.ǁ
And even though they were both bigger and younger
than Rene and me, they backed off fast. I knew that had my
friend been there alone, it was doubtful they would have left.
He had a nice face and kind gray eyes with laugh lines at the
corners. He was the guy that stopped for people stranded on
the freeway in the rain—he wasn't scaring anyone. It was
me. I scared them. I made them uneasy, caused them to fear
for their continued safety. I was intimidating just standing
still and I knew it. Even if I wasn't holding my spatha, the
sword that gladiators used to use in the coliseum, I was still
spooky. I was the guy you crossed the street to avoid having
to walk by.
―Cocktease,ǁ one of the men called over to Dylan.
―Get out,ǁ Rene ordered them, and they moved a little
faster.
―Big scary Rene Favreau,ǁ I teased him, and he smiled
wide, his hand on my back.
―Let's go eat,ǁ he said, looking at Dylan. ―You got friends
you can call after?ǁ
He nodded.
―Okay, c'mon, we're not leaving you here.ǁ
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Dylan looked back and forth between Rene and I. ―Are
you guys––ǁ
―What?ǁ
―Together?ǁ
―No,ǁ he said flatly. ―Now c'mon.ǁ
Dylan nodded, but turned to look at me, checking to see
what I was doing, whether I was coming or not, to see which
way I was walking.
―Go, already.ǁ
The way I was being looked at, what the hell was that
about?
It was fun to watch the rest of Rene's friends when he
and I joined them with Dylan. His pal Sean could not take
his eyes off him, offering to go get him some ice for his lip.
Dylan eased closer to me, and when I looked down at him,
he smiled.
―What?ǁ
―Will you buy me a drink?ǁ
I gave him a look. ―Sure. Whaddya want? Milk?ǁ
He scowled up at me. ―Hah, funny, I'm twenty-four, ya
know.ǁ
―Really.ǁ I nodded because that was interesting. He had
aged five years from the bathroom to the floor.
He cleared his throat. ―Yeah.ǁ
―That's funny, because you already told me you were
nineteen in the bathroom.ǁ
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―I did?ǁ
I nodded.
―Shit.ǁ
I smiled down at him. An angel swearing was funny.
―How'd you even get in here?ǁ
After a minute of staring at me, he answered. ―The
doorman knows me, we make their drink menus and
coupons and stuff.ǁ
―I see. So he let you in here even though you're
underage?ǁ
―I'm barely underage. I'll be twenty-one in two years.ǁ
I grinned lazily. ―Do you even know what you're saying
at this point?ǁ
He made a noise in the back of his throat. ―Who cares,
I'm legal to do what's important.ǁ
―Vote?ǁ
―No, fuck.ǁ
―Oh,ǁ I said, chuckling. ―That is important.ǁ
He grinned wide. ―It is right this second.ǁ
―Stop flirting; it ain't gonna work.ǁ
―Why not?ǁ
―Just––kill your motor.ǁ
―C'mon, let's have a drink together. I have a really good
fake ID.ǁ
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―No.ǁ I shook my head. ―I'm gonna buy you some food
instead.ǁ
―And take me home after?ǁ he asked suggestively, his
eyes all over me.
―No.ǁ
―Why?ǁ
―'Cause you're too young for me,ǁ I explained.
―How old are you?ǁ
―Thirty.ǁ
―That's it?ǁ
I chuckled.
―Mal,ǁ Rene said, his hand on my shoulder. ―I'll meet
you at Dad's Diner on Folsom. Whoever gets there first gets
the table.ǁ
―Yep.ǁ
―Hey, Malic, can I ride with you and Dylan?ǁ Sean asked
me.
―Sure,ǁ I agreed, what the hell.
So I had an angel and a guy that wanted to get into the
angel's very tight leather pants hanging out with me. On the
street I realized that Dylan was freezing. I immediately
traded him his wings for my heavy leather jacket, and he
wrapped himself up.
―Thanks, Malic,ǁ he said, smiling at me.
I took them to my silver Mercedes, and once Dylan was
belted in the front and Sean in back, I pulled away from the
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curb. As I drove the streets of San Francisco I listened to
them talk, Sean telling Dylan all about his job as an
associate at a law firm. He was trying to impress the younger
man; I knew the hard sell when I heard it.
―Malic, what do you do?ǁ Dylan asked, and I could feel
his eyes on me.
―I own a strip club, I already told you that,ǁ I reminded
him. ―Now tell me where you live.ǁ
―What kind?ǁ
―What kind of what?ǁ
―What kind of strip club?ǁ
―The kind women strip at.ǁ
―Only women?ǁ
―Yes, only women.ǁ
―Oh.ǁ
―I repeat… where do you live?ǁ
―Why?ǁ
―Just in case your friends don't show up and I might
need to take you home.ǁ
―Malic, why don't I just come home with you instead?ǁ
―You can come home with me,ǁ Sean volunteered with a
leer.
Dylan's hand went to my thigh. ―I wanna go home with
Malic.ǁ
―Why?ǁ Sean asked with a chuckle, patting my shoulder.
―No offense, buddy, but I'm way cuter than you.ǁ