Eat Me

A Total-E-Bound Publication

www.total-e-bound.com Eat Me ISBN #978-0-85715-317-3 ©Copyright Mia Watts 2010 Cover Art by Natalie Winters ©Copyright October 2010 Edited by Christine Riley Total-E-Bound Publishing This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing. Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution. The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork. Published in 2010 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom. Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.

Feral

EAT ME Mia Watts

Dedication To new beginnings.

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Prologue

Six months ago… Fynn Aren ducked his head as he followed Eddie Salem around the corner. Fynn’s hoodie covered his head, and he relied on the years of stalking prey to remain unheard, unseen. He kept his hands firmly fisted around the condoms in his pocket. Dusk curled across the horizon between increasingly urban surroundings. Eddie stopped at one more light post and taped up a Missing poster. Like all the others, this one had a picture of a Persian lynx in profile. As the day had gone on, Fynn had grown more and more bemused. A Salem, looking for me. It both pleased him and baffled him. Aside from Melba Salem, not one of the long line of the family that had owned him through the generations had been worth remembering. Eddie, seemed promising of goodness. Fynn wasn’t one to take chances though. The Vernal Equinox had just begun, transforming Fynn from his lynx form to his human form for the week. He hadn’t expected Eddie to worry when he’d gone missing. But he had, and that had been enough to catch Fynn’s attention. The missing pet signs now up all over town were sweetly endearing, too. How quaint. Eddie slipped into a bar. Fynn followed a few minutes later. He sat a seat away from Eddie, wondering if the man would notice him. Fynn risked it to get closer to the man he’d only seen from the eyes of a lynx. Looking at him as a man sees, Fynn found him extremely attractive. Eddie’s quiet sensitivity had beckoned Fynn from the beginning, less than a week ago. “You’ve been following me,” Eddie said quietly, lifting his beer to take a sip. Fynn raised his eyes, looking back from the mirror behind the bar. Instinctively, he was glad that Eddie was aware of him. “Have you seen my lynx?” he asked. Fynn thought about his answer. He could say he had, but it would have been because he’d seen his own reflection moments before the equinox. Or he could say no, and risk

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ending the conversation too soon. He didn’t want that. He needed to get to know this new Salem. He was the last of the Salem line. The last to hold the power of the curse over him. The only one who could remove that curse and free him from an eternity as a cat. He had to make sure Eddie would do it. Melba had promised to. But Melba had died suddenly without finding the reversal spell. From the little he’d seen of Eddie, Eddie didn’t practice magic. Which left Fynn to wonder, if Eddie didn’t free him, would Fynn suffer this curse for eternity? Would it end with the Salem line? He had between now and the Autumnal equinox to secure Eddie’s affection. Both as a cat and as a man. It was now or never because the next time Eddie saw him in human form, it would be six months from now. And more than anything, Fynn wanted Eddie to choose to free him. Fynn turned on his barstool. “I haven’t seen him.” He gave Eddie a look. “But I’ve noticed you.” Fynn laughed suddenly. “God, that sounded creepy.” Eddie laughed too. “Yeah, it kinda did.” “Does it bother you that I noticed you?” he asked, feeling Eddie out for sexual preference. Eddie smiled, shoulder shrugged. “No.” “I’m glad.” “Are you going to keep following me?” Eddie teasingly asked. Fynn got up and walked to Eddie. He put his hand on top of Eddie’s. “Wherever you lead,” Fynn promised. Eddie seemed fascinated by their overlapped fingers. He licked his lips. “I’m not usually—I mean, I don’t typically meet people and—” “—Neither do I,” Fynn said, trying to match Eddie’s timidity with gentle encouragement. It felt mercenary, but Fynn had eternity to think of, and a light seduction to lay the groundwork for the Autumnal equinox, was not too cold-hearted for Fynn to consider. He wanted his freedom. “But I’d like to.” Eddie lifted his gaze, locking his green agate eyes on Fynn’s. Fynn’s heart gave a funny leap. He smiled at Eddie. Eddie smiled back, blushing a little. God, the witch is cute, Fynn thought.

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“Follow me,” Fynn told him, not giving Eddie time to think. Fynn’s instincts told him Eddie would take the chance. Elevated pulse, heightened flush, increased breathing rate, flared pupils, all spoke of sexual attraction. It said Eddie had begun visualising sex with Fynn the moment he’d offered. Fynn stepped into the fading light and eased around the side of the building to a narrow, dark alley. Eddie came, haltingly. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, peering into the darkness and nervously glancing over his shoulder. “An alley?” Eddie asked uncertainly. “I don’t know.” Shit. He’s going to bolt. Fynn grabbed his arm and spun him to the alley wall. Eddie grunted as his back hit brick. Fynn pressed his body against Eddie’s, luxuriating in the hot, excited male panting for breath from the unexpected move. Fynn kissed him, sliding his hand behind Eddie’s head to cushion it as he plundered Eddie’s mouth with quick, soft touches. Eddie warmed instantly, kissing back and touching Fynn’s shoulders with nervous hands. Fynn stroked Eddie’s sides, rubbed his thumbs over his nipples when they beaded. “Pinch them,” Eddie pleaded. “Won’t that hurt?” “I’d like it,” Eddie answered simply. He took Fynn’s hand and dragged him deeper into the privacy of the alley. “I’m all yours.” He pinched the tight buds, rolling them between his fingers as he tangled tongues with Eddie. He fumbled between them, dragging down Eddie’s zipper. Then reaching inside, Fynn found the opening to Eddie’s boxers. He nearly shivered when the cool sac nestled in his palm. “I feel like I’ve met you before. Have I?” “You wouldn’t remember,” Fynn told him. “I should remember. You’re beautiful.” The confession stopped Fynn with its honesty. He needed to seduce Eddie, but now Fynn wanted to reward Eddie for the unexpected compliment. “I met you at Melba Salem’s funeral.” Fynn rolled Eddie’s balls, then released them for the long, thick shaft nudging the inside of his wrist.

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Eddie tipped his head against the brick. “I feel a little less like a slut knowing we’ve met.” Fynn laughed. The admission was adorably naive. Still stroking Eddie’s cock, Fynn took a condom from his pocket. He let go of the other man to open it. “I’m not going to ask how you happen to have a condom,” Eddie said. “I’m not sure I want the answer.” Fynn paused, looked at him. “I was hoping.” Eddie took it and tore open the packet, then cautiously reached for Fynn’s pants. Fynn gave him unfettered access, watching as Eddie undid his jeans, pushed them down to his hips, and released his turgid penis for both of them to see. Eddie slid the condom down Fynn’s length, taking a moment to sooth the soft skin at the base. Fynn nearly swallowed his tongue. I shouldn’t want a Salem as much as I want this one. Fynn tried to emotionally distance himself. He needed a clear head. He was seducing Eddie, not the other way around. He needed the witch to remember him, trust him, want him when the Autumnal equinox happened and Fynn asked for his freedom. Then he’d promise Eddie anything, lie, whatever it took, to gain his freedom. But the open longing in Eddie’s eyes made Fynn protective, not angry. “Take me hard,” Eddie asked. “I don’t have lube.” “Saliva.” He’d always liked rough sex, but he hadn’t expected Eddie to like it. Fynn finished opening Eddie’s pants and pushed them down. He turned Eddie and wrapped an arm around his body. Fynn’s cock snuggled neatly against Eddie’s ass. Eddie braced his hands on the wall. Fynn slapped Eddie’s ass then soothed it with a squeeze. Eddie moaned, arched his hips. “More.” Fynn lowered his arm to take Eddie’s cock in his hand. Eddie was wet-tipped and eager. Fynn smacked his other ass cheek, then roughly pressed two fingers into Eddie’s crack.

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“Open your legs, Eddie. I want the boys jiggling when I take you,” Fynn told him with an edge of authority. Eddie gave an involuntary shiver. Fynn jerked Eddie’s cock. At the same time, he positioned his cock to Eddie’s hole, spat on his free hand, and applied the meagre lubrication. Then still jerking, he shoved carefully into the trembling man who hungered for his dick. This should have been a moment of triumph in shafting a Salem. Instead, it was a moment of tender humility and lust for a man he was supposed to hate. He gritted his teeth, trying to give it to Eddie without feeling the wonder of his body. He failed miserably. With each stroke, Eddie broke him a little more. Each quiet gasp, each backwards thrust of his hips, each half sob as he reached climax, touched Fynn’s heart with unveiled tenderness. Eddie tensed on a final cry, spilling his seed against the wall and into Fynn’s fevered hand. Seconds later, Fynn shoved forcefully into Eddie, taking his pleasure and imagining the look on Eddie’s face when he came. The fantasy stripped him to raw need, and suddenly, lightning streaked up his cock as he emptied himself deep in Eddie’s body. He collapsed against Eddie’s sweat-dampened back. “I can’t imagine not doing that again,” he confessed. “How long are you in town?” “Four more days.” “Cancel your hotel room. Stay with me until you have to leave,” Eddie offered. In disbelief, Fynn pulled up slightly. “I’m a stranger to you.” Eddie grinned over his shoulder. “That’s not how I see it.” His smiled faded. “Unless this is a one-off. It’s okay if it is. I get it. You came to town for the funeral, not a sexual encounter.” Fynn brushed Eddie’s hair off his cheek. “I’d have come just to meet you.” Four days with Eddie? Not only would he have time to keep the seduction hot, almost securing Eddie’s help in six months, but he’d satiate this lust he felt. Maybe he could work it out of his system. Maybe he could call it fucking a Salem, instead of making love to him. Sure, and witches fly on broomsticks.

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Chapter One

Fynn crept forward as the mattress gave beneath his paws. Eddie slept on. Once again Fynn wondered what kind of witches named themselves after the trials in Massachusetts? Generations of the Salem family had passed Fynn along to whomever came next. Melba had actually wanted to free him to live out his years and die an old man. Looking back on it these past several months, Fynn realised she hadn’t been powerful enough to free him. He wasn’t sure Eddie was either. He never practiced magic, but then, Eddie ended the Salem line. He’d either break the spell or—or what? Fynn had no idea. The Equinox freed him for a week. As sure as the sun rose the next morning, searing pain forced his return to the side of his Salem captor by the end of his transformation. Daylight barely sneaked through the slatted blinds, waking drowsy dust motes to slow flight. Fynn stalked closer. The heater kicked on, filtering invisible fingers through his fur. He stilled, lowering himself half on, half off of Eddie’s pillow. Only three days until the Autumnal Equinox when he’d try to seduce Eddie for freedom. It no longer seemed like such a hardship. No hardship except for the change. Then, unholy throbbing would ring like chaotic church bells and flames from the sun itself would charge every cell in his body if it did. Sometimes he welcomed the pain just to remember he was still a man. Thank God it’s only twice a year. Eddie’s lips parted. A soft puff escaped him to tease Fynn’s whiskers. There’d been a marked decline of magic with every generation. Melba had dabbled, her use increasing after inheriting Fynn when she realised magic existed in a tangible way. But Eddie…Eddie seemed untouched by it. Fynn liked that about him, yet it also worried him. Everything hinged on Eddie being able to undo the Salem curse. After generations of suffering from their curse, it baffled Fynn to feel anything but contempt for a Salem. How could simply watching Eddie sleep settle Fynn’s soul? How could he question the need to regain his own life?

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Another puff settled around Fynn’s whiskers. He twitched, automatically adjusting to the tickle from them, and rested his chin on his paws. His nose pointed at Eddie’s, breathing in the easy slumber. Eddie’s eyelashes brushed the tops of his cheeks in chestnut sweeps. Pale eyelids rested between dreams and Fynn wondered what Eddie dreamt about. Did he dare hope he dreamt of their four day fling? Eddie’d only recently started talking to Fynn in one-sided conversations. Usually about his annoyance that Fynn didn’t appreciate raw hamburger meat, or that a domesticated Persian lynx should eat like a Persian lynx. The day Eddie had tried to feed him two pathetic white mice had been the last time Eddie’d given him live or raw food. Thank God. To get a point across, Fynn had dropped their wriggling bodies on Eddie’s dinner plate. Fair was fair. Fynn sighed, tipping his head. He liked Eddie’s dark slashing eyebrows, the cascade of mahogany hair spilling over his forehead, and the way Eddie’s bottom lip relaxed into pout as he slept. Maybe Eddie did work magic. Maybe his appeal was a protection spell to ward against potential harm. With only one Salem in the way of Fynn’s freedom, this wasn’t the time to get all moon-eyed over Eddie. Fynn’s huff lifted Eddie’s bangs and sleepy moss-agate coloured eyes cautiously opened. It had to be a spell. No man had a right to such a calming, soul-filled gaze. “Good kitty,” Eddie mumbled, his voice husky with newness. Do I look like a tabby cat, Fynn thought? “What big fangs you have, kitty kitty.” A sleepy smile bowed Eddie’s lips and lit a sparkle in his eyes. One large hand settled on Fynn’s head. It smoothed the fur on his forehead in a rough tussle, then scratched deliciously behind his ear. He leaned into it, unable to stop the motoring purr from betraying his pleasure. God, the man has great fingers. “You don’t want to eat me. I’m stringy,” Eddie reasoned.

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Aunt Melba’s cat hadn’t tried yet, but he wouldn’t put it past him. The Caracal certainly looked like he wanted to bite him most of the time. Fynn turned his muzzle into Eddie’s wrist, swiping his roughened tongue on the exposed skin. “All right, all right, I’m up. It would make breakfast-getting so much easier if you actually ate what you’re supposed to. Wikipedia is pretty clear on the subject. You need lots and lots of meat.” Eddie tossed back the covers. Since Fynn had taken up residence with him, Eddie had resorted to sleeping in boxers. He wasn’t going to dangle his man-meat like a chewable kitty toy. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he cautiously eyed the beast. As felines went, this one was huge. The black tightly pointed ears and exaggerated white tufts of hair jutting off the tips begged to be touched. His short, wine coloured coat was unusual. Sleek and huge, Fynn could easily overpower Eddie. So far he hadn’t tried. That Aunt Melba had owned Fynn and he hadn’t devoured the frail woman, suggested he’d been well trained against human maiming. Always a bonus. Eddie reached for Fynn’s collar, keeping his hand low and unthreatening. “I just want to see your collar, big guy,” he murmured softly. The Caracal stilled, every muscle taut. His attention darted between Eddie’s extended fingers and his face. With rounded pupils, this cat had human-like eyes. He’d discovered that rounded pupils were a unique trait to just a few lynx relatives. It unnerved Eddie. “That’s a good boy.” Closing the final inches, he tipped the heavy carved stone towards the light. Made of the same translucent material as the collar, Eddie wondered at the age of the craftsmanship, especially since the letters were nearly worn away. Feeble light from the window touched the smooth surface. Eddie slowly rocked it this way and that, reading off the name he already knew. “Fynn.” Eddie sighed. “This collar reminds me of a guy I knew once.” He didn’t know why he was telling the cat this. It just felt like he understood.

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“He had a necklace almost identical to this one. His name was Aren, though.” Eddie smiled, missing the man who’d entangled his mind for four solid days of amazing sex and great conversation. It still stung that Aren never bothered to contact him again. He thought they’d had something. But that was months ago. “He wouldn’t let me touch his necklace like you do. You’re a good kitty cat.” Fynn let loose with a subdued, rolling call. Gruff and raspy, the sound edged along Eddie’s nerves like a reluctant caress. “You hungry? Eggs and toast it is,” he said, mentally shaking his head over the cat’s choice. He’d given up trying to feed him anything but that since the day, six months ago, a very hungry lynx had darted his head into the open fridge, clamped its teeth on egg carton and patiently held them for Eddie. He’d done the same with the bread. Smart cat. Fynn leapt off the bed, loped to the next room, then turned as though waiting. Eddie brought out the frying pan and scrambled up an egg. Fynn nudged the carton with his nose. Eddie cracked another couple of eggs. He liked this part of the morning. He teased Fynn, seeing just how smart he was. So far, Fynn was very smart. Fynn nudged the carton until Eddie had cracked eight eggs into the frying pan. Then he sat back and watched. The eggs done, Eddie poured a bowl of cream. Fynn snorted. “What?” Eddie asked, already knowing the problem. The cat went to the microwave, looked pointedly at the bowl, then slid a paw down the oven door. “Big bad kitty cat wants warm milk?” Fynn blinked drolly. He rose up, propping his forepaws on the counter in front of the microwave as he looked at Eddie over his shoulder. “Fine. Want some coffee and sugar with that?” A gentle growl answered him. “Warm milk coming right up, you big pussy.” Eddie approached him, hoping Fynn would move before he reached the microwave.

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Fynn dropped to all fours. He sat by the table, his tail twitching in sharp, quick flicks. “I’m sorry,” Eddie felt compelled to say. Fynn held Eddie’s gaze. Neither one of them backed down until Eddie’s eyes felt gritty and dry. He sighed. He put the cream-filled bowl into the microwave and punched in the requisite numbers. Pouring himself cereal, Eddie hummed hoping to rid himself of the sensation that Fynn was boring holes into his back. The microwave dinged. Eddie gathered his things and carried them to the table. After doing the same for Fynn, he sat with his newspaper. “How long did Aunt Melba have you anyway?” he asked Fynn as he opened his paper. “I remember visits to her place and the huge cat stalking back and forth in a blocked room.” He dredged forth the memories. “I remember you snarling when I stuck my fingers between the links.” Aunt Melba must have put up the gate to block Fynn’s escape. Eddie lifted the newspaper. His scalp crawled. He’d bet fifty bucks and a flying orange penguin that Fynn was staring at him again. Like I’m food. Kitty kibble for the kick-ass feline. He ignored it, flipped the page. Eddie raised, then sipped his coffee. It wasn’t like the repetition of sip, swallow, sip, kept the sensation at bay, but he didn’t want to give into the silent battle of wills. Why the fuck had Aunt Melba bequeathed Fynn and a large box of antique, empty books? Well, not completely empty. One of the books had a weird poem in the back. He was half-tempted to use the pages as journals, yet touching the ancient parchment with twenty first century ink felt obscene. Something heavy pressed Eddie’s leg. He lifted the paper. “Done already?” Fynn rested his head on Eddie’s thigh. Wide yellow-green and black eyes lifted to his, the dark markings above them making the lynx appear plaintive. Eddie smoothed Fynn’s head and scrubbed his fingers into the nape of his neck. The purring started again with the force of an idling motor. “Yeah, you try to be all scary, but you’re a fraud.” The Caracal harrumphed, making Eddie laugh.

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“It’s a good thing I don’t have to work on Saturdays. Leaving would be tough when you’re being so sweet.” Eddie looked at the box of books in the living room. They’d been sitting beside his couch, in their packaging, for three weeks now. Since he’d felt compelled to take them back out of storage. He should just make a decision about what to do with them. He sighed and stood. The movement caused Fynn’s head to lift from its resting place as he too glanced at the books. “Wanna help?” Eddie asked. Fynn bounded towards the box. He sniffed it before rubbing his cheek and back teeth on the corner of an open flap, then sank his canines into the corrugated material. Eddie picked up the book with writing in it. The calligraphy was difficult to decipher, but the words cleared the longer he looked. Muttering the poem under his breath, he read. “Beginning to End split in two, made one again, old to new.” Fynn began a low, rumbling growl. “Shh, Fynn.” Eddie barely stopped. “Bold made bolder by rebirth due. Taken and retaken by time untrue. Hear the cry of offered ewe, from one before for this one slew.” Fynn roared. The hair on Eddie’s arms stood. Eddie tried to ignore him, more bewildered by the odd poetry and its possible meaning as he read the words, than Fynn’s sudden hairball of panic. “Time undone for time’s new queue, answered here on Equinox dew.” Fynn leapt, slamming Eddie’s chest, throwing him to the floor, and knocking the book out of his hands. “What the fuck, Fynn?” A chill laced the air. Fynn twisted his head to the side, gaze fixed on an unknown point. He growled, barred his teeth in warning. Warning from what, Eddie wondered? Fynn’s head tracked to the ancient tome. He hissed sharply, hackles rising at the base of his scruffy neck and down his spine. “The book? You’re being territorial about the book? Could you have waited for me to finish the damn poem? There’re two lines left.” Fynn’s lip curled, flashing fang.

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“Okay, okay, geez. It was a lame poem anyway.” The air crackled with magic. Mist gathered too close to Eddie and all Fynn could think was danger. The spoken incantation hung unfinished, but threateningly, in the air. Mist swirled from one side of Eddie to the other where it lingered by the discarded book. There was only one witch to whom the spell could possibly be tied. The first Salem witch of his kind. The Salem who’d cast a spell of a similar cadence years ago and had trapped Fynn in its vengeful claws. Wilford was coming back, manifested by ancient words, and spoken by the last remaining Salem. There was no goddamn way Fynn would make it easy. Fynn held Eddie down, watching the mist materialise into a sketchy outline of a man. The dated garb and long coat, the suggestion of shoulder-length hair curled under at the ends already had his stomach roiling. A warning hiss escaped him before he caught himself. He thought he saw a smile form momentarily, then the mist blurred and dissipated. Hadn’t Eddie seen it? Fynn pinned him a little longer than necessary, growling as he made his point. Count on Wilford Salem, the man who cursed him, to hide a resurrection spell for another Salem to find. So that’s how he intended to make good his threat. Having been caged and chained once by the powerful witch, Fynn had lived a lifetime of near starvation and abuse at Wilford’s hands. There was no way this side of hell he’d allow the bastard a second chance. Especially not one through his Eddie. “Easy, Fynn. Easy, boy,” Eddie murmured. His coffee sweet breath tickled Fynn’s senses, relaxed him with the familiar scent of his master. One of the few, like Melba, who’d treated him well. There’d been a lot of wary suspicion over the years, but the violence had stopped two generations up Melba’s family line. A good seed amidst the rotten. And now there was Eddie. Confounding, bewildering, gentle Eddie. Fynn calmed, backed off, and sat before him as Eddie pulled himself into a loose sitting position on the floor. He drew up a knee, resting his arm over it. He fixed Fynn with an amused smile.

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“Wish you could tell me what that was all about.” Only the evil root of your clan trying to possess your corporal body with his spirit. “I’ll try to remember how you feel about poetry.” Eddie chuckled. “Is it just homegrown poetry you hate, or are you a critic of Frost, too?” Incantations, mostly, he answered as though Eddie could hear him. “Are you going to do that again if I touch these other books?” Eddie asked. He cautiously pulled out another tome, keeping an eye on Fynn. Fynn casually walked over to the one with the incantation, and laid on it. If Eddie thought he was protecting the book, so be it. Whatever it took, he didn’t want to risk the man reading the incantation in its entirety. Wilford waited for him to do it, had almost manifested. Lord help them if the old man decided to take up residence. As long as the most powerful Salem family witch didn’t succeed, he’d consider them both lucky.

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Chapter Two

Monday gloom greeted Fynn. Eddie’s alarm hadn’t gone off yet, and he felt a sense of urgency to make sure all was well. Creeping into the bedroom, he glanced at the clock. The alarm light on the clock was absent and Eddie continued to sleep nine minutes past his usual wake up. Taking a bounding leap, Fynn pounced the bed. Eddie sat up with a startled yelp. “Jesus! Did I oversleep again?” Fynn no longer tried to quell the happy purr rumbling in his chest. He rolled on his back and stretched out taking most of the bed. Upside down he watched as Eddie rubbed his eyes. He squawked, tossed the covers over Fynn and flew to the bathroom. You’re welcome. Fynn poked his head out. Eddie’s scent wrapped comfortingly around him from the sheets and he peacefully enjoyed the firm flex of Eddie’s cotton-covered ass running away. Feline form stopped sexual attraction for a human since it wasn’t part of animal instinct, but the man part of his brain appreciated the view. He’d be less than restrained when the Equinox week occurred. Full man for a full week anywhere near Eddie—he knew he’d be wanting to revisit those days they’d had together. I’ll think about it later. The sounds of water falling, the steam beginning to collect around the top of the small room, all visible through the open door, sent a different kind of watchfulness through him. He could clearly imagine naked Eddie. He’d seen him enough times. Imagining naked Eddie and humanised Fynn together made his skin crawl with eagerness. Steam continued to billow, curling around the upper doorframe as hot water hit cool air. Oddly, it regained shape farther away. Fynn’s claws extended, piercing the bedcovers. “Fynn Aren, I well and truly ensnared you.”

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The hollow, dusky tones of Wilford Salem’s voice leached into the air. Steam became mist. Mist became hazy substance. Substance coalesced in the distinct outline of the man Fynn once knew. He snarled. Asshole. “Now, now. Hasty words are regrettable words. I see that these three hundred years have not taught you manners.” I see that three hundred years haven’t made you anymore a man. Wilford’s ghostly lips turned into a scowl. “Soon to be rectified.” Don’t touch him. “Is this concern for a Salem?” Wilford taunted. I’ll rip you limb from limb. “A worthy threat, if you could harm me.” Wilford cackled with glee. The outline grew fainter. Fynn would be happy about that except Wilford had grown in strength between his first appearance Saturday and the one today. If he strengthened at this rate, how long would it be before he got Eddie to speak the complete spell? The Equinox stretched a day away, like an eternity. If he could delay Wilford, he could talk to Eddie and explain before it was too late. Before Wilford possessed Eddie. Looks like it’s nap time for the scary ghostie, Fynn thought, taking a verbal jab before Wilford disappeared. Wilford surged to form with renewed anger. “You’ve learned nothing, fatherless spawn of swine. Dare enrage me. Dare it! For now you have only days before you feel my wrath again.” Okay, now you’re just overreacting. The mist rushed at Fynn, blew over him, and evaporated. Fynn huddled into the covers, taking comfort from Eddie’s scent. The idea of Eddie becoming Wilford made him sick to his core. With foreboding, Fynn plodded behind Eddie through their morning routine. Quarter to nine, Eddie shut the front door and Fynn heard the bolt slide home. The house amplified the silence, it seemed. He waited by the door, knowing Eddie wouldn’t be back until nearly five, yet feeling a sense of loss that tomorrow wouldn’t be as calm.

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At midnight, Fynn would change. For a week, he’d roam free as a man until the end of the Equinox. Then he’d be forced to return to Eddie’s side, unless the curse was broken. This Equinox differed from others. This Equinox, Wilford waited for Eddie to speak the mystical words which give him access to Eddie’s body. And therefore, this Equinox, Fynn couldn’t leave Eddie’s side. The curse wouldn’t be broken if Wilford succeeded. What would Eddie say about Aren showing up in his life again? Would he be mad when he acted like Eddie’s shadow to protect him? Or would he welcome back his lover? Assuming Eddie wanted him again. Assuming Fynn hadn’t completely pissed him off by not calling. As though he could call. But Eddie hadn’t known that. He liked Eddie. Salem blood be damned, but he actually liked the man. He wanted Eddie to like him back. It was worth the try. Especially if Fynn gave him a lover’s incentive to break the curse for Fynn. That was libido talking. Fynn could rationalise anything for the payout of getting down and dirty with Eddie again. Convincing Eddie might be more difficult. Sun bathed the back sunroom in liquid gold temptation. A purr rumbled from his chest, and he trotted over to the wall of windows at the back of the house. Stretching across the warmed carpet, Fynn drew a languid lick along the side of his paw, curved his forearm around his ear and drew the moisture down his nose. He took his time rubbing over the tufts and scrubbing his eye. He’d have to convince Eddie to trust him. Fynn’s freedom depended on it. That night Fynn waited until Eddie had fallen asleep, then slinking from the bedroom Fynn paced at the back of the house. Keeping a lid on the involuntary sounds of pain would be a challenge. His ears perked when the small clock several rooms away dinged twelve chimes. He tensed. Mist gathered close around him. Wilford’s presence weighted the room, but Fynn focused on the change. The sharp pain he’d expected, stabbed between his eyes. Fynn’s ears flattened, listened, treating the change as an attacker while warily watching for Wilford, the

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lesser threat at the moment. Yet Fynn’s weakened conscious, divided between feline and manhood, stayed all the weaker for his inability to act, protect himself from the effects of transformation. “You think you can accomplish anything as a man?” Wilford taunted. Unable to answer, Fynn merely rode the waves of pain that hit him. His arms lengthened, his back straightened, his face bones cracked and widened. Muscles and sinew broke and reformed. A strangled scream, half cat, half man erupted from his throat. He clamped his animal jaw, holding back the screams of human suffering as he oscillated between animal and man. “You’ll fail as you always have.” Lightning streaks tore through Fynn from the centre of his forehead, down his vertebrae, hamstrings, burning every nerve ending in the process. Fynn quivered, taking the abuse because he had no choice, and because he knew it would end. Black swirls danced behind his lids, interspersed with bright shots of colour during each stage of transformation. “I do so enjoy seeing you like this—a shrivelled mass of jellied offal. It’s perhaps the most clever spell I’ve cast. Fear not. Another spell, equally as clever, is nearly completed.” Fynn heard the words but they didn’t make sense. Nothing more than a collection of sounds and syllables, he chose to ignore them for the more pressing matter of survival. Fynn’s breath tore from his lungs. His heart slammed his chest as though breaking free of mortal confines, and still the transformation carried on. Body hair disappeared, his hearing and sight dulled. He shivered, naked on the cold tiles. Finally, his ears retracted. It was the final stage before everything went dark. Fynn fought it. Success in securing Eddie’s help required that he not pass out. Crawling on hands and knees, Fynn dragged himself to Eddie’s room. He sensed it wasn’t the best idea, but his aching body demanded peace and instinct led him to Eddie. Wilford laughed. “You’d have done better to sleep outside, boy.” He made sense, but self-preservation won the argument and Fynn curled up behind Eddie. Exhaustion took him before his head hit the pillow. Eddie snuggled deeper into the warmth, relishing the feel of a heavy arm around his middle and hot, deep breaths on his neck. It had been a long time since—

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He stilled. His mouth went dry, and Eddie searched his brain for anything that would tell him who was in his bed. What’d I do last night? He mentally retraced his steps. Got home from work. Alone. Made dinner for myself and Fynn. Alone. Watched television with Fynn’s head on my lap. Alone. Went to bed. Alone. The same goddamn thing he did every night. The last guy he’d slept with had been Aren. So who the fuck is in my bed? Glancing down he noted the muscular arm, wide wrists and long, thick fingers. Black hair wisped along his forearm. As he watched, one finger twitched in sleep. Eddie, careful not to wake him, gently lifted the wrist. Eddie turned in abbreviated movements until he lay face to face with the sensual stranger. His mouth went dry. Aren. He was a sight to behold. Longish, black hair fell over his forehead, obscuring most of both eyes. High cheekbones and chiselled jaw held Eddie’s attention captive, though the shadows played lovingly with his lips and cheeks. It hit Eddie in the gut with how much he’d missed Aren. He savoured every beautiful inch his gaze took in. He was large, but lean. His body held to fluid lines and sleek musculature. Toned and fit, Eddie knew he could spend hours running his hands over Aren’s body and not grow tired of touching him. But how did he get in? Yet here he lay, naked and warm to the touch. Eddie’s dream man in his bed. Heart pounding, Eddie nudged his firm chest. “Hey, Aren. Wake up.” Aren groaned in his sleep, looped his arm back around Eddie’s waist and drew him closer. Though Aren lay on top of the covers and Eddie beneath, there was no mistaking the rather large erection pressed to Eddie’s belly. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep himself from taking advantage by rubbing up on him. Lord, he wanted to. Checking out the package made for a pretty hefty temptation, too. But it had been a long time. Holding a man’s dick when he woke up wasn’t a standard greeting. A reluctant grin curled his lips when he thought of the old Sleeping Beauty tale. Aren cinched him in until their noses touched and they shared the same air.

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“Wake up.” Eddie nudged his knee into the Aren’s thigh. It took another nudge before his eyes opened, widened. “This is all very domestic, but who the fuck do you think you are?” Eddie asked. “Eddie,” the guy murmured. “Nope. I’m Eddie. You’re Aren, the guy who dumped me after four days of awesome sex.” “Hi.”Aren smiled and all the air sucked out of Eddie’s lungs. “Did you break in?” Aren’s smile broadened, crinkling his pale eyes and wakening a soft chuckle. “God, you’re cute.” “What the fuck makes you think I care if you think I’m cute?” Eddie babbled, pulling himself away. “Nothing, really. I just hoped you left your romantic options open.” “You should leave. Fast. Remember that scary-assed guard cat I was looking for? Yeah, he’s back and territorial,” Eddie said. Who the hell was afraid of a cat? “He’s a big cat, like predatory and fangy. Fynn,” he bellowed. “Now that’s not entirely true. I remember curling up on your chest a couple of times. Warm, solid and the sound of your breathing always makes me restful.” “Fynn!” Eddie yelled again. He twisted out of Aren’s arms, craning his head to search for the large feline. “Oh, God,” he choked, suddenly feeling ill and terrified. “What did you do to my cat?” He sat up. Faint light touched Aren’s chest and Eddie caught sight of Fynn’s collar around Aren’s neck. Or one just like it. “What did you do?” Eddie whispered. “Don’t fucking tell me you didn’t hurt my cat because I won’t believe you. You’re the type to leave in the middle of the night. Fynn, however, isn’t.” He slipped off the bed. “I’ll call the police if I have to,” he added, grabbing the phone. “Eddie, I’m Fynn.” “Yeah. Look just like him.” Aren leapt across the short expanse and knocked the phone from his hand. Eddie dropped, scrambling to get it back as Aren covered him, swatted the phone away for a second time, and pinned Eddie to the ground.

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“It’s me. I swear. It’s me,” he murmured. Hands pinned above his head, Eddie forced himself to lie calmly. If the guy thought he’d won, he might relax. Then Eddie had every intention of locking him in the bedroom, calling the police, and locating Fynn. He knew he was overreacting, but goddamn it, Aren had nearly ripped Eddie’s heart out when he’d left the first time. If he’d locked Fynn up to get Eddie alone, then there’d be hell to pay. “Eddie,” Aren murmured. “I’d lick you to prove my point, but we both know that my collar doesn’t come off, and I think that proves my identity better. Magic has kept me alive longer than a lynx ought to be.” The image of himself sticking fingers into Aunt Melba’s caged off room came to mind. It had been a side note thought that he’d wondered at once, but what this man proposed was impossible. “Let me get to the phone. There are people who can help you,” Eddie answered. “I’ll make you a cup of coffee. Cream and two sugars. That always seems to calm you.” “Leave.” “I can’t,” he answered. “The collar kind of ties me to you.” “That’s sweet in a sick, bouncing-off-padded-walls way, but if you let me up, I’ll try to believe you,” Eddie said.

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Chapter Three

What was sweet was Eddie’s concern for feline Fynn. He didn’t know Eddie cared so much. It was touching. It was also a turn on, and the more Eddie squirmed beneath him, the sexier it became. He didn’t know what made Eddie different. Salem, but hotter than a man had any right to be. Now back in human form, Fynn appreciated the entire package without the disinterest of a lynx. Eddie wouldn’t call the police. He wasn’t confrontational. If Eddie could talk him into leaving quietly, he’d probably do nothing more than hold the door for him on the way out. Then again, Fynn had no intention of leaving. He lay still, settling his weight on Eddie. He appreciated the feel of the man beneath him. Eddie remained calm, biding his time. It made Fynn smile to know what Eddie did. Fortunately, Fynn had the benefit of knowing the man to anticipate his next action. Fynn leant down, moving slowly to avoid scaring Eddie more than he already was. “Fynn is fine,” he whispered. “I didn’t hurt him.” “Where is he?” “Safe. Here.” Fynn lightly rubbed the side of his nose against Eddie’s. “What are you doing?” “Getting close to you,” Fynn answered. “We did that once. You left.” “I like you, Eddie. You’re a likeable guy. There aren’t many Salem family members I can say that about. But you, I like.” “Then can you let me up?” Fynn sighed. “Yeah, I’ll let you up in a minute. First, I want to look at you.” It was the wrong thing to say. Eddie’s body seemed to tighten, close up. Fynn tipped his head, brushing his lips over Eddie’s. “I’m not exactly feeling romantic here,” Eddie grumbled.

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Fynn laughed, and he rolled to the side, lying on his back next to Eddie. “Okay, Eddie, okay. Call the cops if you have to, but I always thought you were the kind of guy who helped people. What if I told you I needed your help?” He heard Eddie grunt. It was one of those grunts which said he was about to do something against his better judgement. It was a grunt which kept Fynn smiling because he did know this man. “Other than clothing, what do you need?” Eddie asked after a moment. “Clothing is a great place to start. A cup of warm milk is a good next step.” Eddie sat up. “I can do that, if you tell me where Fynn is.” Fynn looked up at him, his gaze taking in Eddie’s naked chest and lean waist. White boxers interrupted the view. He’d seen Eddie bare before, but from a cat’s point of view it was only mildly interesting. As a man, Fynn wanted to see a whole lot more. What would it take to get Eddie out of his boxers for a night? One night, before he realised Fynn had been telling the truth, and oh yeah, there was an insane witch who wanted to possess Eddie’s fine form? Eddie stoically kept his gaze fixed on Fynn’s face. A shame. Fynn knew he had an attractive body. The athleticism of being a feline kept his body honed and firm. “Where is he?” Eddie asked more firmly. “I let Fynn out,” he hedged. “Out? You can’t let a cat like Fynn out without a collar. He’ll be impounded, or shot, or taken away.” “If he’s wild, would that be so bad?” “Yeah, he’s domesticated. He’ll never survive,” Eddie asserted. “He’ll be fine. Felines always know how to get back to their homes.” “Like you’re some kind of feline expert?” Eddie rose, distractedly. “I have to drive the neighbourhood, put up signs again.” Fynn pulled Eddie down on top of him, hugging him tight. “Do you have any idea how cute all this worry is?” Eddie yanked away. “First, I’m getting you some clothes. Then we discuss personal space.” “At least, you’re not still talking about throwing me out.”

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“We’re not done with that subject. Climbing into bed with me naked was completely out of line.” “Can we discuss that over warm milk?” “While we drink it,” Eddie agreed. Eddie moved to his dresser, pulled out a shirt and drawstring cargo pants. He tossed them to Fynn who smirked happily when Eddie’s glance fell to Fynn’s cock. He took his time getting dressed. “Thanks.” “Don’t mention it. I mean that. Don’t go mentioning this shit because I haven’t figured out why I’m still talking to you.” “Because you like me, too.” Fynn offered him a friendly smile. Eddie shook his head. Eddie poured a cup of milk. As he turned to put the jug away, Aren took the mug and put it in the microwave, punching the buttons with familiar ease. Forty-five seconds, just like Eddie did for Fynn every morning. When the oven beeped, Aren took the mug, cupping it in his hands like a bowl, and sat down in the chair closest to where Eddie fed Fynn. Creepy. Aren sipped thoughtfully. Eddie joined him at the table while he waited for the coffee maker to finish its task. Aren looked at him. Aren’s eyes illuminated like yellow-green glass. They were bottomless, bright, and beautiful. Eddie squirmed uncomfortably, noticing the similarity to Fynn’s eyes. But Fynn’s wine coloured coat was nothing like Aren’s pitch coloured hair. Fynn’s collar glowed milky-blue, snug to the base of Aren’s throat, just like six months ago. The fact that he had an identical necklace to Fynn’s collar unnerved him. The few times Eddie had tried to touch it, Fynn had been distinctly uncomfortable allowing it, and Fynn knew him. He didn’t know Aren. Did he? A sexy smile curved Aren’s lips. “You’re trying to figure out the collar thing, aren’t you?”

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Eddie ran a hand through his hair. The coffee maker beeped and he got up, grateful to replace the conversation with fixing his drink. Aren came up behind him. “Do you want to look at it?” he murmured. “No.” “Yes, you do.” Hands settled on Eddie’s hips. Lips brushed the side of his neck and like good little commandos, goose bumps marched from the place Aren had kissed. “I want you,” Aren whispered against the outside whorl of Eddie’s ear. “I noticed.” Eddie turned his head to the side. Aren stepped back, allowing Eddie to face him. “Fynn is fine, alive, healthy. I know waking up with me wasn’t conventional, but there’s nothing conventional about what’s going on here…in so many ways,” he said, trailing off as though the last were an afterthought. “Is this some kind of seduction?” Eddie asked. “Would you like it to be?” “I don’t think with my dick.” “Not even if it means we can pick up this conversation later?” Aren asked. “I’ve missed you.” He pinned Eddie against the counter, neatly taking his coffee cup and putting it aside. “I’m not crazy,” he whispered, closing the inches between them. “I’m not drunk,” he breathed against Eddie’s lips. “I just—missed you.” This close, this softly spoken, Eddie wanted to believe him. The circumstances should be sounding alarms in his head, but they weren’t. There was comfort and peace and familiarity where there shouldn’t have been any. Eddie tried to make sense of it. He drowned in Aren’s bottomless, pale gaze and whispered words. Eddie had said he didn’t think with his dick. He didn’t, normally. Aren made him want to throw those words to the wind. While they were true, they didn’t seem to apply to Aren. They hadn’t from the first. Aren moved his hands from the counter to Eddie’s waist. “I’m just a guy who wants to get to know you better. Intimately better. Rough, the way you like it.”

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His mouth descended on Eddie’s, coasting over it with the barest touch before finding the perfect fit. Aren’s tentative quest melted Eddie’s knees and knocked the starch from his reserve. On an acquiescing moan, Eddie sank a hand into Aren’s hair and pulled him closer. Aren pressed against him. His hard body unyielding against Eddie’s own, chests rising and falling in unison, cocks thickening alongside one another, only added fuel to the fire. Eddie’s lips parted, welcoming Aren to taste. Aren took the invitation, delving in, suckling his tongue, tasting Eddie’s lips. His hands roamed Eddie’s bare chest, stopping to thumb his nipples with firm torment. Eddie held on, his brain blanking with any thought not directly tied to immediate relief of the fire building in his groin. Aren’s nails scored the tender buds, and Eddie cried out giving Aren yet deeper access to his lips and tongue. Sensation after sensation bombarded him, divided his attention between kisses, nipple play, and now, thrusting cock. “Say yes,” Aren commanded, just as breathless as Eddie. “Don’t stop.” “Is that a yes?” “That’s a yes,” Eddie gasped out. Aren laughed, a breathy, rushed sound. “Tell me what you want.” “You,” Eddie confessed. “Done.” Aren backed off suddenly. Taking Eddie’s hand, they fumbled their way to the bedroom between rough gropes and body slams to the wall for hungry kisses. Aren fell backwards onto the bed. Eddie looked down on him, panting for breath. “What’s wrong?” Aren asked. “I need condoms.” He pointed to the bathroom. “Stay right here.” Aren wagged his eyebrows. “I’m exactly where I want to be. Hurry up.” Eddie jogged to the bathroom. He dug through his drawer easily locating the unopened box of condoms. This is crazy. He’s just going to leave again. And what did he really do with Fynn? Steam swirled along the bathroom ceiling. Vaguely he though it odd for there to be steam this many hours after his return from work, but the lounging man on his bed proved too much of a distraction.

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“Hurry up, Eddie.” Eddie poked his head out of the bathroom. Aren’s gaze met his. He’d removed the shirt and cargo pants while Eddie had been condom searching. Naked and clearly ready, Aren wrapped his fist around his fat cock and pumped himself. “I’d rather this be your mouth,” Aren breathed. “Tight, hot lips sliding down my cock. God, I can nearly feel my crown rubbing over your tongue, see you taste my wet tip.” “Fuck me,” Eddie murmured appreciatively under his breath. “That’s the idea. Unless you want me to jack-off for you?” “Tempting.” Eddie crossed the room, ripping the box of condoms open as he did. Taking one from the box, he handed it to Aren, a question in his eyes. Aren took it. With a hungry growl, he sat up, stripped Eddie’s boxers off, and swallowed his cock. Eddie’s knees buckled. Aren wrapped his arms around his hips, sucking and working the base of Eddie’s sensitive shaft. How did Aren know that was his favourite spot? Holy fuck, who cares how he knows? Too excited, too eager, too much forceful stimulus on his underused cock sent bolts of expectation shooting to his spine without foreplay. Eddie’s balls tingled sharply as they drew up. “Not yet!” Eddie begged his body. “Oh, fuck. Too soon.” Aren massaged Eddie’s ass. The game was up. Cum streaked from Eddie’s cock, shaking him with the force of its exit as he pumped his dick mindlessly into Aren’s accepting throat. Eddie blushed. “Sorry. I couldn’t hold back.” Aren pulled off and winked at him. “We have all night. Hell, we have all week, if you want it.” A quick twist with his arms and a swipe with his feet and Aren had Eddie on his back. “I have this condom, you see. I believe the unspoken question was: do me?” Aren teased. “Let’s get started.” Eddie backwards crawled up the bed. If they were going to fuck like bunnies, Aren needed more leverage than he had. Aren caught Eddie behind the thighs and lifted, exposing him to Aren’s hungry gaze. Then draping Eddie’s legs over Aren’s wide spread thighs, keeping him parted, Aren

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lowered himself to drop soft kisses on Eddie’s lips, chin, cheeks. He nuzzled Eddie’s hair, captured his earlobe and drew it into his mouth. Eddie tried to bestow the same tender affection, but had difficulty kissing more than hair or jaw. Wrapping his arms around Aren, Eddie brought their chests together. He loved the feel of his hard ridges against Aren’s well-formed body. Smooth and hot to the touch, his lower torso hovered over Eddie’s, occasionally skimming abdomens for an erotic tease of flesh and pubic hair. Eddie’s cock already lengthened though he remained flaccid. He couldn’t say the same about Aren whose heavy, damp-tipped shaft bowed away from its owner’s belly to trace wet patterns on Eddie. His flesh shivered, and his breath caught with each tickle. Desire tore Eddie’s attention between tender lip presses to his neck and shoulders. His body longed for Aren to use him with sharp, hard thrusts until spilling inside him. Eddie wanted to see that. He wanted to see Aren thrust and grunt. Wanted to witness the shuddering mindlessness at the moment when Aren’s orgasm was ripped from him by Eddie’s body. He wanted to claim that power over him and know he was the reason Aren cried out, glistening with sweat, that Aren’s balls couldn’t help but empty themselves because Eddie had made them to do so. He couldn’t remember ever wanting someone like this. Aren plucked Eddie’s nipples. His mouth took over, pulling each peaked nub between his teeth while Aren’s busy fingers stroked Eddie’s armpits in butterfly touches. He traced maddeningly ticklish touches down Eddie’s sides. Aren sank lower, lipping the flesh at the centre of Eddie’s chest, occasionally grazing him with the hard edge of teeth and soft, moist tongue pressure. Eddie tossed his head, unable to take all of the sensations at once. “I’m under your spell,” Aren murmured in dangerously low tones. He looked up. Eddie met his heated golden gaze. “I want you, Eddie.” Sex words. Very hot sex words, yet Eddie sensed they were a confession far deeper than Aren had intended. Aren locked eyes with him, dragging his bottom lip back and forth on Eddie’s belly. Aren’s hands held Eddie’s hips, thumbs lightly tracing the slight oblique muscles he’d worked hard to create. Aren’s lip fascinated him with every erotic drag. Suggestive as hell.

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Air exploded from Eddie’s lungs. His cock twitched against Aren’s shoulder and he nearly groaned with need. He actually might have groaned because Aren chuckled. With his mouth open, he lightly bit Eddie’s stomach, and murmured appreciatively. “You are so fucking distracting,” Eddie said finally. “And you’re not? I’m happily prepared to rim you into the next level of consciousness.” “If this is a one-nighter…” “Still worried I’ll leave?” Aren nuzzled the bitten flesh, then kissed it. “I want to be here.” “Then think really hard about what you want after you’re here.” “I only want you, after.”Aren buried his nose into the base of Eddie’s cock. Looking Eddie in the eye, he caressed Eddie’s now straightened, throbbing cock by sweeping his whiskered cheek up and down its length. “I have no intention of being finished with you.” Moisture escaped Eddie’s tip. The husky words brought him to full arousal. “Don’t let me stop you.” “I was hoping you’d say that.” Aren brought up his thumb and sucked it seductively. Then slipping it out of view, Eddie felt sharp, sudden pressure as Aren thrust his thumb into Eddie’s ass. Eddie grunted. Pain and pleasure collapsed on each other. Aren hooked his thumb and pulled down. Eddie cried out, throwing his legs open as far as they’d go, tacit permission for Aren to continue. Aren kissed the inside of Eddie’s exposed cheeks. “That’s it,” he murmured. Teeth followed lips and Eddie fisted the bed sheets when Aren nipped Eddie’s ass. Next his tongue soothed the area, flickered over Eddie’s rim, delved in and flickered out again. “Tell me if I’m hurting you.” “You aren’t.” At least, not in a bad way, he added mentally. “You need lubrication,” Aren said. “Shall I use your cum or my mouth?” Eddie felt the press of Aren’s nose beneath his balls. Dark heaven followed as Aren opened his mouth on Eddie’s opening, suckling, licking, lubricating, all the while sliding tongue and fingers in and out of Eddie’s body.

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Eddie’s dick strained. Full and purpled with need, he touched himself only to have Aren brush his hand away. Seeming to sense Eddie needed to be touched, Aren caressed him. “Too light. Please, harder,” Eddie gasped. But Aren continued to barely touch Eddie’s cock. Soft, tonguing flicks to Eddie’s crown teased him further. Eddie strained for the warm promise of Aren’s mouth, moaning his frustration. “I need more.” Fynn wanted Eddie so badly that his cock sang with impatience to grind into Eddie’s beautifully spread ass. He drew back, slapped the pale globes until Eddie squirmed and pink marked the pristine white palate around his fluttering anus. His hole grasped at Fynn’s fingers and he obliged it by pressing in another two. It wouldn’t take much to get Eddie stretched enough to fist him, but that wasn’t what Fynn wanted. What he wanted was to plough Eddie like a prime field, lay him open, and plant his seed as deep as he could bury his cock. He wanted to see the pleasure bloom on Eddie’s face, view the wonder of nature’s ecstasy and feel the other man’s dew splash on his chest. He wanted to see Eddie weep with tears of joy. Fynn had spent lifetimes wishing for the destruction of the Salem line. He’d prayed for innumerable misfortunes, yet here he lay between the legs of the final in a long line of witches. The one who held Fynn’s destiny in the balance was splayed out before him in total trust of what he would do, and he could no more wish despair than he could resist the urging of his body to join Eddie’s. Witchery, he thought fondly. Tears of his own spilled down Fynn’s cheeks. Bewitched and bewitched again. But at least in this curse, he’d find a measure of joy. Fynn dressed himself with a condom and admired Eddie’s insolently stiffened cock. Red and full, it begged to be touched. Fynn shifted and pinched Eddie’s nipple, twisting it as Eddie’s back bowed off the bed and pre-cum dripped thickly from the tip of his penis. “You are perfectly responsive,” Fynn noted. “I love how you move when I touch you.”

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Eddie watched him with heavily hooded eyes. “Only say what you mean, Aren.” “I’ll show you, instead,” Fynn promised. Eddie made him crazy with lust. His body reacted to every touch, every kiss. It moved fluidly from repose to stretched abandon like an artist’s model, capturing the available light and mocking it with his perfection. Fynn scored the underside of Eddie’s cock with his fingernail, giving the rim a light scratch which trembled Eddie’s legs and wrung an answering moan from Fynn, unbidden. “Fuck me, please,” Eddie ground out. Fynn rubbed Eddie’s tip and circled a finger tight around the underside of his cock rim. He held off the man’s cum as he rigorously pumped Eddie’s cock. Eddie writhed. Fynn positioned himself at Eddie’s rosette, pressed until it grasped his cockhead, then let go of Eddie’s dick, pushing it to his belly. Pulling out sharply, the pop sent Eddie over the edge and spilling cum all over himself. Fynn swiftly scooped it up and applied it to the condom and Eddie’s well-loved rim before slamming home, balls deep. Another spurt left Eddie on a cry of pleasure as Fynn set up his pace. The undeniable rhythm of their breathing in unison read between the lines. With every thrust he heard, “You’re mine” and each withdrawal insisted, “I’m yours.” Fynn threw his head back, riding pleasure, grunting through each grinding roll of his hips. He flexed harder, unable to stop the triune connection between respect, friendship, and love from fusing together as he charged from peak to peak. Fynn broke, shuddering on gasps of ecstasy. Eddie wrapped his legs around Fynn’s hips, holding him close as he collapsed on top. “You are bewitched,” a hollow voice echoed near him. “Well done, then, young Salem. Bewitching without a spell cast. Talent indeed for the craft to which you were born.” Wilford? Eddie seemed unhearing. Not bewitched. Fallen. Happily fallen, Fynn decided. The framework for love had existed the moment Eddie had collected him from Melba’s home. It had built his trust each time Eddie had accepted Fynn’s leading whether over warming his milk, or scratching Fynn’s feline head in just the right places. It had grown

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deeper when night fell and they curled into bed together, a man and his feline companion. And without the distraction of Fynn in his human form, there’d been no physical attraction to dilute the bond of friendship which had developed. “I love you,” Fynn rasped against Eddie’s neck, as much for Wilford to hear as Eddie. Eddie stroked his hair, and Fynn could feel him smile in the way his cheek nudged his forehead. “You barely know me.” “I know you enough to know what I love.” And loving Eddie was worth it. The path to finding him hadn’t been easy by a long shot. Hundreds of years ago, Fynn had stepped between Wilford Salem’s unnatural pursuit of Fynn’s sister had ended badly. As her only living relative, Fynn had been charged with her protection. All marital suits were to clear through him, when she came of age. That had been the primary point of contention. Silara had been fourteen. While it wasn’t uncommon, it was an age that the Aren family protected. They kept their women unattached until their eighteenth year. Wilford had insisted. Silara had stamped her feet, wishing to wed the attractive man old enough to be her grandfather, because of his abundant wealth, and her decided lack of it. She hadn’t been able to see past money to what Wilford would want from her, had taken from her by force. She hadn’t seen Wilford take the whip to a young servant girl who’d failed to pleasure him well enough, either. But Fynn had, and he’d prepared to go before the community council. His mistake had been in telling his friend and Silara had overheard. Silara had gone to Wilford, and Wilford had cast the spell that had bound him to endless lifetimes as a feline. It had also been the spell which began the Salem witch trials. Wilford had taken his betrothed straight to the stake where they’d burned together. Yet Wilford reached beyond the grave even now. But even then, the final prize was Eddie. How could he regret a curse that brought them together? “Let it end,” Fynn shouted over his shoulder. He stared into the forming mist, daring Wilford to materialise. Eddie stilled. Fynn faced him, suddenly realising how his words must have sounded.

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“Of course. After all, it’s not like I broke into your house and demanded amazing sex,” Eddie said. He pushed Fynn off, and rolled away. “I’m gonna be sore for a week,” he muttered. Fynn scrambled for a reasonable explanation. “I don’t want you to feel tied down. I talk to myself sometimes. Sorry about that.” “You talk to yourself, too? Are you schizophrenic?” Eddie asked gently. “Don’t go.” “Who? Me or the imaginary guy?” Eddie asked. “You.” “You’re the one who wanted me to leave. Or you wanted you to leave. You’ll have to excuse me. I’m not well versed on crazy-talk.” Eddie frowned as he walked, awkwardly, to the bathroom.

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Chapter Four

“Then you’re not going to like what I have to say,” Fynn muttered under his breath. “What?” Eddie called from the bathroom. “Come back. I’m not through with you yet, love.” Eddie poked his head out. “You’re weird. Strange, slightly crazy, and I suspect I should keep my distance.” “But?” Fynn added. “But you’re kind of like a highway accident and I can’t keep from seeing what you’re going to do next.” “You, mostly.” Eddie smiled. Fynn breathed a sigh of relief to see the crack in his annoyance. “Come back to bed.” “They say you shouldn’t humour the insane in one of their delusions.” “What part of me fucking you is a delusion?” Fynn asked, calmly. He let his gaze wander over the visible parts of Eddie. Mainly, his boyish handsome face, the leanly muscled thigh and calf, a naked shoulder, and part of his luscious hip. Lust began its slow curl in Fynn’s belly. “The part where I agreed. I ought to have my head checked.” He shook it almost experimentally which made Fynn laugh. Eddie’s smile widened. “For an insane, woefully underdressed pedestrian with a penchant for breaking and entering, you seem completely normal.” “Oh, I never said I was normal.” Eddie turned to finish whatever he’d been doing. When he came out he was holding a tube of lubricant. He held it up with a waggle between his fingers and a shy smile. “Thought we might need this.” “I like the way you think,” Fynn approved. “I like the way you fuck,” Eddie countered. “I shouldn’t, but I’m claiming the week you offered. I can’t believe how much I’ve missed you.”Eddie climbed onto the bed, crossing his

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legs as he sat beside him. Fynn fondled him affectionately, nudging his balls with the backs of his fingers, stroking the tip and shaft with a fingertip, cupping his balls. “I like the way you feel in my hand,” Fynn murmured. “I like the way I feel in your hand, too.” Eddie’s eyes closed and he breathed through his mouth, soft catching sounds making it irregular. Fynn glanced around, relieved to see that Wilford had taken off. He wanted this time with Eddie, alone. Wilford would be back stronger with each manifestation. Fynn wanted that time to solidify his emotional bond with Eddie. It was going to require a lot of trust on Eddie’s part to believe the next round of information. He cared what Eddie thought of him. Eddie groaned pleasantly then shifted to lie down beside him. “I should be scared of you. You came back out of nowhere.” “But you’re not.” “Nope.” Eddie’s eyes opened. He rolled onto his side. Fynn rolled to face him, propping his head with his fist. “What’s on your mind?” “Where’s Fynn?” Fynn couldn’t help grinning. Eddie’s continued concern for him gave his heart a little extra flutter. He liked knowing he mattered to Eddie. Similar to being a fly on the wall while someone spoke well of you, Eddie’s persistent anxiety over Fynn’s safety just made the man that much more endearing. “He’s safe. Stop worrying.” “Aren, don’t tell me not to worry.” Eddie traced Fynn’s brow with a fingertip, dragged it at an angle along his cheekbone to the corner of his lips. “He’s important to me, and I have to see that he’s all right.” Fynn’s smile faltered. This was where it got tricky. He didn’t want to lie to Eddie, but he didn’t believe the truth. Why would he? How often did someone actually witness shape shifting as a fact of life instead of a figment of science fiction? “Let me make love to you for the rest of the night. I’ll show you Fynn in the morning.” Eddie drew back. “I shouldn’t have the first time. In fact, I’m kind of an ass for allowing you to sidetrack me from finding him.” Eddie rolled away, scooping up his boxers on the way to his dresser.

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“Where are you going?” “To find my cat.” Eddie spoke with determination. “And call in sick to work.” “Wait,” Fynn said, hurrying to stop him. He jogged the short distance, slipping between the dresser and Eddie before he could look for a shirt. “There’s a lot you need to know, but I don’t think you’re going to want to hear it, and I need you to.” Eddie’s lips pressed into a fine line. Folding his arms across his chest, he raised his chin the few degrees to meet Fynn’s gaze straight on. “Start talking.” “I’d rather cuddle in bed and talk there,” Fynn suggested, catching Eddie’s chin to kiss him. Eddie jerked away. “You want to distract me from what I really want to know.” God, his Eddie was sexy when he got hot and bothered. His sharp-edged jaw line begged for Fynn to graze his teeth along it. His lips needed to be nibbled, too. He’d meant to seduce Eddie, but Eddie unwittingly seduced him just by being himself. “Where do I start?” he asked Eddie. He heard defeat in his voice. “The beginning, since the middle where I found you naked in my bed just isn’t adding up.” Fynn nodded. “Can we at least sit on your bed?” “Put some pants on.” He found his cargo pants and tied them loosely around his hips. Warily, Eddie crawled back into bed, resting his back against the headboard. He folded his arms. Fynn took a deep breath. He followed Eddie and sat beside him. As an afterthought he managed to free one of Eddie’s hands to link fingers. Eddie gave him a squeeze. For a moment Fynn thought anything could be survivable if this man loved him. Would he? Confession felt like shit on his soul. “Have you ever noticed anything strange about your family?” Fynn began. “Strange how?” “Things happened that didn’t make sense. Like your Aunt Melba and how she always had candles burning in her house, but they never burned down?” Eddie shifted conveying discomfort. “How do you know Aunt Melba?” “You wanted to know what’s going on. I’m going to tell you in my own way.”

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Eddie seemed to think about it. “She replaced the candles she burned with identical candles. She was a creature of habit.” “No, you cleaned her home to prepare it for sale. You and I both know that the wax drippings were attached to the candle and some hung from the mantle by several feet. The run off was greater than the size of the candle.” “Maybe,” Eddie said, refusing to concede. “Something else, then. Did she ever tell you how you got your last name?” “Salem witch trials.” “What about them?” Fynn pressed. “Someone in my family was accused of being a witch and he was burned at the stake with his wife.” “Betrothed. They weren’t married.” “Wife,” Eddie insisted. “This is my family history. I think I know it.” “Who accused him?” “His wife’s brother. The story goes that Wilford Henry was in love with his wife, but her brother got jealous of the new wealth his sister had access to. He plotted to kill Wilford so that the money would go to Siara—” “—Silara,” Fynn corrected. “Siara,” Eddie insisted. “The plan backfired and both Wilford and Siara were burned at the stake. In memory of their sacrifice, my family took the last name Salem so we’d never forget how destructive prejudice is.” Fynn studied their linked fingers. He flexed them in his grasp, then suddenly needing to feel Eddie’s comfort, he scooted down and laid his head on Eddie’s lap. Automatically, Eddie let go and rested his hand on Fynn’s head. “It’s a good story as far as histories go,” Fynn admitted. “No one wants to think of their ancestors in a negative light.” “There’s no negative light. That bastard killed his own sister and brother-in-law,” Eddie snapped. “What happened to the brother?” Fynn asked gently. “His name was Fynn. As Wilford was awaiting his death, he spent his final days scribbling nonsensical letters to his remaining family. The romantic version is that he cursed

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Fynn at the stake, telling him he deserved to suffer the ninth level of hell, nine times over. That’s where the cat comes in.” “What about the cat?” Fynn asked. “You’re supposed to be answering questions, not me.” “I am. It just doesn’t seem like it.” Absently, Eddie’s fingers sifted through Fynn’s hair, teased around his ear, tickled up the centre of his skull from his neck. Fynn closed his eyes. He’d be purring right now, in his other form. As a man, he murmured a satisfied hum of pleasure. “You go in for the cryptic, don’t you?” Eddie asked him. “I’m reminding you of all the pieces to the puzzle you already have. Put them into place to see the truth of what I’m telling you.” “You aren’t telling me anything. You’re interviewing me and I still don’t know where my cat is,” Eddie answered, annoyance colouring his tone. “Your family has a Caracal named Fynn,” he encouraged. “Every generation has one. Another reminder.” “Have you ever seen a Caracal die, Eddie?” “No.” “Have you ever seen a young Caracal, or the collar they wear removed and given to a new Caracal?” Fynn asked. “No.” “That’s because there’s only ever been one Caracal. One Caracal that is passed generation to generation, with the same collar and the same name, because he is the same cat,” Fynn finished. “Give me a break,” Eddie exclaimed. His fingers quit moving their wondrous pattern in Fynn’s hair. Fynn turned his head to look up at him. “It’s not possible for a Caracal to live that long.” “How long do Caracals live?” Fynn asked. “Seventeen years, domesticated.” “How long has Fynn, your Fynn, been in your Aunt Melba’s home?” Fynn continued quietly.

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“A long time,” Eddie confessed. “More than seventeen years. More than twenty. Should I tell you what I know about your family history?” “Will it bring back Fynn?” “Yes.” “Then let’s get this show on the road.” Eddie pushed Fynn’s hair off his forehead and returned to the gentle petting. He may not realise it, but Eddie’s subconscious knew exactly who he was and petted his Caracal’s head the way he always did. There was hope yet. Eddie sat quietly, listening to Fynn tell his story. Silara Aren and her brother Fynn, the character of the man who wanted to marry Silara, the curse, the burning at the stake. Eddie’s lips stayed in a firm line and though he petted Fynn’s hair gently, there were moments where he paused and a muscle in his jaw jumped. “Eddie, normal Caracals live seventeen years in captivity. I’ve known you all thirty years of your life and I still can’t take off the collar placed with a curse around my neck, over four hundred years ago.” “You’re insane. I’m done playing,” Eddie snapped. “Damn it. I like you. Why do you have to be crazy? Why can’t I just fall for a normal guy?” He shoved Fynn off his lap and stormed through his bedroom door. “Put that shirt on. You can take it with you when the loony bin comes to collect you,” he shouted back. What kind of idiot did Aren take him for? He whirled on his toe as Aren appeared in the doorframe. “You think you’re a four hundred year old Caracal, cursed by Wilford Henry while he was being burned to death on a witch’s stake? My God, you’re insane. I can’t believe I fucked a lunatic!” “Eddie, you said you’d listen.” “I did. You’re crazy. End of story.” Eddie flipped through the yellow pages. His eyes blurred and he rubbed one with the heel of his hand. It didn’t clear. He kept flipping. “How the hell do they list Padded Psychopathic Pavilions in the yellow pages?”

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“Fine. I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice,” Aren muttered. “Do what?” Eddie’s gaze shot to Aren’s hands, wondering if he’d found a knife or a rope or something equally maniacal. His hands were empty. “Just—just be ready with some aspirin, okay?” Almost as an afterthought, he added. “This is gonna sting like hell.” Aren closed the distance and snatched the phonebook out of Eddie’s hands. Eddie made a grab for it, but Aren threw it over the kitchen table where it landed with a thud on the floor. Then probably suspecting that Eddie would run, and he would have, Aren grabbed his wrists and held fast. “You’re freaking me out, Aren.” “Shh. I’m concentrating.” Aren’s clear green eyes clouded. Not like an emotional clouding of thought or deep reflection, but actual clouding. Clear turned to milky as Aren’s brow furrowed with effort. Moisture touched his brow. Eddie blinked as the sides of Aren’s head moved, making his ears look red and sore. Soft white tufts sprouted from the top of the outer helixes, which elongated and sharpened to tall furry points. “Holy shit!” Eddie stammered, unable to form his panic into words. Pain tightened Aren’s skin across his cheekbones. He gritted his teeth. As Eddie continued to watch, in growing horror, Aren’s lips curled back and fangs reshaped his teeth into something feral, primal. He was breathing heavier now, the effort taking its toll. For a moment, Aren’s face seemed to flicker, shift between human and feline. A muzzle began to form only to retract. Gasping, his hands and body shaking as he clutched Eddie, Aren returned to normal, then collapsed on his knees before Eddie. “Aspirin,” Aren groaned. “Please.” Eddie’s mind felt as clouded as Aren’s eyes had been. He pulled his arms free. In Aren’s weakened state, he didn’t stop him, only looked up with wary acceptance as Eddie backed away. He circled the table and pulled the aspirin off the shelf, throwing it on the ground beside Aren.

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No, not Aren. Fynn. “There’s more,” Fynn said, between gasps. More? More than the man I just made love to is an animal? Oh, shit! Does that mean I’m some pervert who does animals? Oblivious to the inner war Eddie experienced, Fynn continued to talk. “Wilford Henry wants to use you to come back to life.” Fynn struggled with the opening of the aspirin bottle. His hands shook with fatigue and he squinted as though the light hurt him. Giving up, Fynn dropped the closed bottle on the floor and stared at it helplessly. Beyond the horror that sexy, amazing-in-bed-Aren was milk-lapping-smartassed-lynxFynn, whom he spent his evenings with and missed, he saw a man on the floor in need of help. Eddie mindlessly filled a glass with water and walked to him. After a moment, he crouched and picked up the discarded aspirin. Popping the top, he took out three and handed them to Fynn. He smiled gratefully. “Thank you,” Fynn said. What else was he going to do? Certainly not condemn him. Whatever he was, he’d been made. Or so the legend went. And if that part was true, then Fynn had been Siara’s— Silara’s—brother who’d seen to the death of the first Salem. Eddie loved having Fynn around. Fynn the lynx. Fynn the lynx stretched out beside him on the couch, his head on Eddie’s lap. He indulged in feline mockery with his morning warm milk and the little presents he left Eddie. Like the mice on his plate, and the ground raw meat in Eddie’s tennis shoe. In the yowling greeting when Eddie walked in the door from work and the warm purrs vibrating behind Eddie’s knees or back when he woke up in the morning. Fynn was more than a cat. He was a companion. Aren, he realised, had done a lot of those same things and it warmed Eddie’s heart to find the similarities. It made him fuse in Eddie’s mind as one being. One freakishly unique being, but the same person.

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Seeing was believing. Eddie had definitely seen what he’d seen at great physical expense to Fynn. Was he also right about Wilford Henry? “Tell me about Wilford,” Eddie said, grudgingly. “The spell in the back of that book you were reading is an incantation to allow Wilford possession of your body. Don’t read it. Don’t let it happen,” Fynn demanded. “Why would he possess me?” “To live again. He cursed me when I refused to let him marry my sister. She was fourteen, Eddie. He raped and beat his own slave girls. He’d have done the same to Silara.” Eddie recoiled. “Fourteen? That’s not the story our family tells.” “He cast a spell on me, was discovered, and burned at the stake with my sister. Wilford was a powerful witch as are all the ancestors in his line.” “Aunt Melba?” Eddie doubted. Fynn nodded. “I loved her. She was a kind woman. There haven’t been many kind witches in your line.” “Why hasn’t anyone reversed the curse?” “They haven’t been as strong as Wilford. His curse commanded me to animal form. I can only change to my natural form twice a year during the week of the Equinox. But in any form, I’m mystically tied to my master and unable to live out my natural years.” “I’m the last Salem,” Eddie thought aloud. “Why fuck me, Fynn? Why not kill me and end the curse?” “I’m unable to inflict harm on a Salem. I wouldn’t have you hurt anyway. I’m in love with you,” he finished softly. Fynn lifted his hand to stroke Eddie’s cheek. Eddie fell backwards to avoid the touch. “I’m not sure how I feel about this, us, what we’ve done together considering that you’re an…” He stammered, drifted off feeling callous for saying it when he’d loved the lynx and the man. “An animal,” Fynn said. He nodded, appeared to swallow several times, before climbing to his feet and leaving Eddie to his thoughts.

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Fynn felt helpless to stop the march of days. When Fynn tried to touch Eddie, he backed away. But conversation had eventually smoothed out, and Fynn had caught Eddie watching Fynn’s lips while he spoke. All good signs if Fynn had weeks or months to develop their fledgeling trust. He tried not to push it. He slept on the couch and picked up after himself. He talked to Eddie until there wasn’t another thing he could possibly know about the man. All of it was sweet torture. The more he learned, the more he wanted Eddie. If only Eddie felt the same way. Wilford stayed out of the way, or, perhaps in human form Fynn just wasn’t able to see him. Either way, it gave Eddie time. By the fourth day of the Equinox, they were cooking meals together and laughing easily. Fynn fished out a piece of pasta. “Open up.” “Why?” Eddie asked. “I need to know if it’s al dente.” He laughed. “Why can’t you test it?” “Because you’d look hot deep-throating a noodle,” Fynn admitted. Eddie tipped his head back, parting his lips. Fynn slowly lowered the noodle onto Eddie’s tongue, letting his fingers brush Eddie’s bottom lip as the pasta strand ended. “Needs a little more time,” Eddie said. The huskiness in his voice caught Fynn’s attention, and he looked to see if Eddie had been as affected as he. Eddie wore a small smile and his glance darted away to the pot of sauce he was stirring. Fynn touched Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie looked up, and Fynn found himself staring into peaceful blue eyes. Tentatively, Fynn leant forward, waiting for Eddie’s flinch. It never came. Eddie’s hand stole up the side of Fynn’s face, cupping his cheek as his eyes searched self-consciously. “Kiss me?” Breath he didn’t know he’d been holding hissed from between Fynn’s teeth as lust sizzled along his veins. Finally. Fynn met Eddie’s lips, testing them with soft, pliable kisses.

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“Blood of my blood, hear my plea. Recall the spell cast for thee.” The voice echoed from the walls. Eddie startled, bumping noses with Fynn mid-kiss. “Silence,” Fynn bellowed, his face turned up to the ceiling. Eddie looked up, saw nothing. “Recall it well that mote it be. Recall it now, your death to see.” “Where’s that coming from?” Eddie asked. “It’s Wilford,” Fynn said. “Plug your ears. If you hear him, it will command you.” “I take your life into me. Recast the spell entirely. Gods above and goddesses see, this I command, so mote it be!” Light blinded Eddie’s eyes, crumbled him to his knees on the tile with the sudden unexplainable gravity. Just as quickly, he rose to his feet. Driving past Fynn to the living room. “Eddie, stop!” Eddie heard but couldn’t comply. His feet moved him forwards to the bookshelf where the ancient tome had been placed. Fynn’s book. Fynn wrestled him from behind, “Fight it.” “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just going to read that little poem and then we’ll be done with it.” The words sounded like his, but Eddie couldn’t make sense of them. Part of him was convinced that he should read the poem and send the disembodied voice on its way. The other part realised how insane that sounded. Disembodied voices weren’t everyday occurrences. Nor were sexy men who were actually lynxes. Or lynxes which were actually men. It didn’t make sense, and yet it made sense, which made no sense at all. He flipped through the pages. Where once there had been blank sheet after blank sheet, now words scribed themselves on the paper faster than Eddie could turn the pages. Old knowledge awakened within his mind. The feel of the book in his hands felt familiar and the words he caught glimpses of, like old friends. Deftly, he stopped at the correct spell. Fynn tried to take the book. Mist swirled around him, growling, rioting the air with debris and thunder. The house shook and the lights flickered. Foreboding welled up inside of Eddie, but he couldn’t stop. The words sprang from his lips.

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“Beginning to End split in two, made one again, old to new. Bold made bolder by rebirth due. Taken and retaken by time untrue. Hear the cry of offered ewe, from one before for this one slew. Time undone for time’s new queue, answered here on Equinox dew. So mote it be, make one from two. So…” Eddie dragged his eyes from the tome, sensing that the final words would seal his fate and Fynn’s. “Fynn, help me!” The air sizzled to life and mist became man. “Read it, young Salem.” “No.” His mind felt torn in two, commanded to look, choosing to ignore the enchantment. “I won’t.” “You must. I command you,” Wilford roared. Eddie spun, facing Fynn. He could read the hope and the dread in his lover’s eyes. “I won’t,” he said again. “This stops here, Wilford. It all stops here.” “You aren’t powerful enough.” Eddie slammed the tome shut. The wind around them howled and Eddie flung the book aside. Taking Fynn’s hands in his, he smiled. “It’s my turn to show you the truth, isn’t it?” he asked with sudden understanding. Fynn shook his head, confused. “I love you Fynn Aren. I, Wilford Edward Henry Salem, refuse the power given to me in favour of love.” Fynn’s eyes widened at the retelling of Eddie’s full name. “Fool! You can’t stop destiny and might,” Wilford yelled. “I am the last, commanding the first.” Eddie rose on his toes and sweetly kissed Fynn’s lips. “I, Wilford Salem free you.” Fynn threw his head back, screaming in pain. The collar cracked and dropped to the floor, shattering on impact. The vortex swallowed itself, taking Wilford with it. In the silence, Eddie looked tenderly at Fynn. “Eddie?” Fynn asked, disbelieving? “You’re free.” Tears sprang to Fynn’s eyes. “You did it.” “For you, Fynn. I love you.” Fynn grabbed him in a bear hug. “Love conquers all?” he teased.

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“We’ve got a long way to go down that road, but I’d like to take it with you,” he said, wrapping his arms around Fynn’s waist. “Yes,” Fynn murmured against Eddie’s neck. “God, yes. It took me four centuries to find you. I’d live another four to keep you.” “Just another sixty, please.” Fynn laughed, squeezing him tighter. “Your love is the only spell I need.” “So mote it be,” Eddie whispered, sealing the words with a kiss.

About the Author Mia makes her home in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where she divides her time between a job and spying on people. Mia enjoys long walks in Como Park, daisies, dancing in the snow…(Delete prior sentence, meant for personal ad)… Mr. Perfect may apply in person for a thorough evaluation and trial. All others will be towed. Email: [email protected] Mia loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.

Also by Mia Watts Wild Thing Boys in Blue: Bad Boys, Bad Boys Boys in Blue: Dangerous Distraction Boys in Blue: Reasonable Doubt Cougars and Cubs: Melting Melinda

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