Secrets

Secrets by Adrienne Wilder

Atlantic Bridge www.atlanticbridge.net

Copyright ©2011 by Adrienne Wilder First published in 2011 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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CONTENTS Blurb Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter

One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine ****

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Published by Liquid Silver Books, Imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana. Copyright 2008, Mara Lee. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the authors. This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

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Blurb After years of watching and never touching, Peter Forbes is finally mine. And I would do anything to make Pete happy, including sitting by while Georgia Tech's Metaphysical Science Review Board strips him of his scholarship. But it doesn't take the genius of a metaphysical scientist for me to figure out that something else is going on when Peter is handed his pink slip and kicked out of the program. Apparently, Peter has a secret. Sweet Peter, gentle Peter, the love of my life Peter, isn't going to be Human anymore. And if that doesn't take the cake, the Lesser-Bred who knows Peter's secret and has put himself in charge of helping Pete become has decided that in order to keep people safe, to keep me safe, he needs to lock Peter away. Yeah, right. Over my mutilated, maggot-ridden body. Dedication This series is dedicated to my very good friends Linda, Racheal, and Larry. And my Special Agent beta readers: Karen Mullian and Ann Olson Who are not afraid to kick my ass and stab me between the eyes with a red pen. In no particular order. The author who gave me the courage to write Darwin as he was meant to be written. Jordan Castillo Price, you may 5

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not know me, but your bravery and creativity as a writer gave me the brass cojones to create without restraint. Thank you. Last but not least, my mother. I love you. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter One Marky Mark made good on his word. Because I made good on mine about not turning myself in, Peter's make-believe porn star moment hit the Internet in a big way. But first it was flashed to every cell phone number listed in the college directory. Students, faculty ... the dean. Parents. And in spite of the fact Peter argued that the video wasn't him, they'd called an emergency meeting about his "conduct unbecoming of individuals eligible for the Metaphysical Science scholarship." Just as Mark Tolbert predicted they would. Obviously, these people didn't know Peter as well as they thought they did. Thing is, I was one to talk. Because when I first saw that video snippet, I thought the guy in it was Peter, too. And unlike the stuffy suits, I didn't have an excuse. I not only knew Peter, but I loved him. So here we were, in the Metaphysical Science office, in front of the head of the Metaphysical Science scholarship fund, Rebecca Serge; the head of the Metaphysical Science department, Marvin Perkins; and the dean, Ronald Frumbrik. All three of those bigwigs had the combined power to remove Peter from Tech's scholarship program. To make matters worse, they also had the power to make sure he was never eligible again. And if anyone was born for metaphysical sciences, it was Peter. See, the nature of metaphysics makes 7

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it one of those disciplines that needs more than just someone with brain power to understand. Peter not only has the brain power, but he also has the other part, which is an almost savant-like ability to comprehend the science. Since the only tangible source of metaphysics comes from Kin—dragons—it isn't something that can just be studied naturally. So scientists who are good at manipulating metaphysics, figuring out how and why it affects the physical world, are rare. Not to mention coveted. And Peter isn't just good, he's gifted. Which made this situation all that much worse. Not to mention, goes to show just how serious they were about that "conduct unbecoming" part. Yeah, needless to say, even if my grades were good enough, I would have never made it through the scholarship front door. Marky Mark received a two-semester suspension from tossing the pigskin for putting a dead cat in Peter's gym locker, along with roughing him up and making death threats when Peter wouldn't help him and his buddies cheat on their term papers. And here Peter was facing the loss of his funding because someone who looked like him was filmed giving head, and said video was now stored in the secret files of just about every teacher on campus. And you can't tell me they weren't watching that little piece of cinema magic and getting off on it. God knows I would have been. But see, not only did the video part of my phone crap out, I had the real thing. After years and years of waiting, I didn't need the fantasy fodder anymore. 8

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I tried not to give Peter doe eyes. Really I did. I was here for moral support. But it was kind of hard not to stare at him with stars in my eyes when he held my hand. Which he happened to be doing right now. Although I was kind of wondering about the sanity of that decision considering my well-known and oh-so-stellar reputation. That and the fact his parents were on the other side of the room. I think sitting like that, perched on the edge of their chairs, ramrod straight with their hands in their laps and their faces carefully made blank, was their version of polite. Well, sort of polite. His mother—Barbara—had her laser beam eyes toned down to a slow burn, and his father—Stanley—was doing his best to pretend I didn't exist. And no one was throwing insults or pointing fingers. Yet. But I knew from past experience, the family fun was only moments away. Most likely after Peter was done with this song and dance, this cursory "yes, we understand it was a hoax" and "yes, you are an exemplary student" and "I'm sorry, but you need to see this from our point of view," his parents would corner us out in the hall, and the yelling would start. And that act was about to get underway because we'd already gone through an hour of listening to these three fucktards talk about school policy, student image, and the delicacy of the metaphysical science scholarship program. They'd recessed for ten minutes, leaving Peter and me to 9

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stew in the silence rained on us by his parents, and now they were back to deliver their ruling. As if they actually gave the situation any thought. No, they'd decided long before they came in here what was going to happen. This was all just a formality. One big joke. I didn't need to be a metaphysical physicist to figure that out. Fuck, this would be so much easier if I could have a drink, a joint, or at least some alone time with a can of whip cream. But I'd given up my coping mechanisms along with my weekly trips into the Dens and the Pit. Strange thing was, I really didn't crave any of it. Not really. I had Peter to keep me occupied. Serge spoke first. "Mr. Forbes." That's Peter's last name, not mine. He sat up straighter, and his hand tightened in mine. The woman's dark eyes narrowed. Obviously, she didn't approve of the blatant PDA. I opened my grip to let Peter know it was okay to let go, and he pulled my hand into his lap. Wow, if Serge's eyes got any narrower, they'd disappear. I sank in my seat and tried to look as unobtrusive as possible. I don't think melting into a puddle would have helped much. If I could've done it, I would have. For Peter, not them. They could all jump off a cliff buck-ass naked for all I cared. Serge cleared her throat. "We've given this situation a great amount of thought. We've looked at your exemplary academic scores, your impressive involvement in student activities, so you can imagine how much it saddens us to 10

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have to remove your name from the list of qualified occupants..." Blah, blah, blah, blah... That's exactly what she sounded like. Then the other two, gray-headed stuffy suits sitting at her right and left chimed in with their meaningless bullshit. Nothing they said even processed because Peter's hand was tighter now on mine and I could feel him shaking. When I looked at his face it was carefully composed. But then we'd talked about this. This being the worst-case scenario. This being him losing everything he'd worked for. I'd been more than willing to fess up about the car fire so Tolbert's insurance would pay for his fancy-ass Camaro, but Peter wouldn't have it. 'Cause if I did, that meant I'd go to jail, and even my parents, with their money and societal connections, wouldn't be able to keep me out. Okay, they might be able to keep me out. They knew people, everywhere. But Peter didn't want to risk it. And me? I'm a selfish bastard who didn't want to lose one fucking second of time I had with him, even if it did cost him everything. Shame made it difficult for me to sleep. Good thing we fucked like bunnies until I was so exhausted I passed out. Look, I don't pretend to be a good person. I don't even pretend to be nice. To tell the truth, I'm not nice. I'm not even polite. But I'm in love with Peter Forbes, and if he wants me more than he wants his education, who am I to argue? "Mr. De Groi." Oops, my name. I brought my eyes up and realized everyone was looking at me. The stuffy icons of Tech, 11

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Peter's equally stuffy parents, and then Peter. He wasn't stuffy, he was just hot. I sat up, straightened my shirt, fumbled with the tie. The tie was Peter's idea. Although between the apartment and here I'd think I'd fondled the thing into wrinkly oblivion. It was no longer tight, and it hung off kilter. Didn't stop me from mutilating it a little more. If my button-up hadn't been white it wouldn't have been so noticeable. Technically, the shirt belonged to Peter. 'Cause I didn't own anything with buttons. But he'd given it to me to wear so I guess now it was mine. Sorta. I did some tugging on my cargo pants, too. Just cargo pants, no skaters, which meant no chains. I felt kind of naked without the chains. The dean cleared his throat and arched an eyebrow. I guess he wanted me to answer him. "Yeah?" Peter's hand tightened, "I mean, yes ... sir..." Sheesh, remembering all these formalities was hard. "Do you have anything to add to this? Obviously, you're here for a reason." Moral support, I told myself. I looked at the five responsible adults in the room. Counting Peter, there were six, only I knew for a fact he was not only way more responsible than any of them, he was also way smarter. And that meant he deserved his own category. The Peter category. "Mr. De Groi?" 12

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Yeah, yeah, they wanted me to say something. Maybe take the blame? Fuck. I opened my mouth, but then Peter's thumb pressed into my palm, making small circles, which might as well be a push button starter for my dick. His eyes were serious though and that meant I needed to be serious. I stared at the tops of my shitkickers for a minute. Yeah, I was still wearing my shitkickers, When you're what, five-five, five-six, you kind of need the boost. I shifted my feet, and the buckles jingled. My mouth misfired with a "This fucking sucks." There was a little gasp. Serge, I think, or maybe it was Perkins. Frumbrik was too manly to gasp, but he did make a comment. "What I meant, when I asked if you had anything to say, was did you have anything productive to add to the discussion?" Frumbrik. Good old Frumbrik. He loves my mother's chocolate eclair pie. Asshole would eat half of one every Christmas when he came over for dinner. I don't know why that bothered me. It wasn't like I came over for Christmas anymore. It's not like I even wanted, too. "Mr. De Groi?" Did I mention that I hated it when he called me by my last name? It was bad enough I'd been stuck with the first name of Darwin. But then the fact my last name was De Groi, some Americanized Dutch version of the word growth, which just happened to be an inadequate although accepted explanation of the word evolution. Get it? Darwin. Evolution. 13

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That's my parents. They have a truly sick sense of humor. And they wondered why no one laughs at their jokes. "Well." Serge stood up. Her overall rectangle shape was made even more angular by the straight cut, dark plumcolored suit she wore and the short bob cut of her white hair. "Since Mr. De Groi doesn't have anything to add to any of these proceedings, and everything that has been said has been said, we should adjourn..." "Like I said, I think this sucks and you people suck." My mouth. It gets me into a lot of trouble. But at least when it was running, I didn't have the urge to set anything on fire or blow anything up. Serge opened her yap to tell me to shut up. Well, I presume it was to tell me to shut up. It might have been shut the fuck up, but she just didn't seem the type. Either way, I ignored her and ran right over whatever it was she felt was so important to vomit out. "You people are a joke. Absolute ball busters. You're going to kick Peter out of the metaphysical program because of a video that isn't even him." I suspected two out of three of those old fogies didn't believe it wasn't Peter. In spite of the fact the guy in the video had blue eyes, Peter's were brown, he had a mole on his face, and Peter didn't. There were other things, too. Details I'd missed the first hundred times I laid eyes on the thing. Of course, I'd been fantasizing at the time... I sat up higher in my chair and leaned forward. I tried to pull my fingers out of Peter's grip, mostly to brace myself against my knees and also because it's kind of hard to 14

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maintain an asshole image when your boyfriend is holding your hand. He held on, and I didn't fight it. "Look, you people are jerking Peter's scholarship away while letting Tolbert walk on death threats and a dead cat in his locker is the kind of wank fodder Channel Five is just itching for." All of them gave me eyes. Even Pete's parents gave me eyes. Although for them, I don't think it had anything to do with the Channel Five remark and everything to do with their son's name and the words wank fodder in the same sentence. If they only knew. "Are you threatening this institution, Mr. De Groi?" A red ring appeared over Serge's shirt collar and made its way up to her cheeks. I wondered if she would make a whistling sound when she popped her top. "No. But I'd be willing to bet the ACLU might have a field day." If Stuffy Shirt One and Two didn't like me before, boy howdy, they most certainly didn't like me now. Frumbrik, however, remained impassive. Like I said, he really likes my mother's chocolate eclair pie. Not to mention, he also knows I'm their only son. Which might as well be a royal flush in the game of influential poker. Nope, no matter how much he hated me or wanted me out of here or, hell, was wishing an airplane would fall out of the sky and crush me, he wasn't about to let it show. My parents gave too much money to this school, money Frumbrik did not want to lose. 15

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Perkins spoke up. "Actually, we're perfectly within our right to remove Mr. Forbes from the program. His recent activities..." See, I knew it. I knew they didn't believe it wasn't him. "Wait a second." I was on the edge of my seat now. "It wasn't Peter, remember. It's some asshole who looks like him. Vaguely like him. You're yanking him out of the program because you want it to be him! Or maybe you just want it to be him, Perkins. Been taking a lot of bathroom breaks with your iPhone lately?" Mr. Perkins made a sound. Maybe he was trying to clear his throat or maybe he was trying not to swallow his own tongue. Either way, his face went all ruddy. "It doesn't matter, Mr. De Groi." "The fuck it doesn't!" I kind of felt sorry for Mr. Perkins then. He obviously wasn't used to students jumping to their feet, waving their arms around, and dropping the Hiroshima F-Bomb. His cloudy blue eyes flicked around the room. Lucky for him, Serge came to his defense. "That's enough, De Groi." "No. You asked me, remember." Technically, Frumbrik asked me, but as far as I was concerned, they were all parts of the same institutional organism. "You wanted to hear what I have to say, so here it is..." I had it all prepared, too. One big spiel. Complete with fuck yous and go-to-hells, a couple go-suck-donkey balls, maybe even some observations of physical and olfactory conditions concerning old people, especially those dressed in a pantsuit way too close a shade 16

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of purple to Barney the Dinosaur's asshole for my own personal comfort. And when I get revved up like that, there is just no shutting me up. Usually, it takes me being physically removed. Even then, I've been known to stand outside a locked door for ten minutes. Or longer. And today, yeah, today when they tossed me out—and they would, trust me—I was fully prepared to climb up the flagpole with a goddamned bullhorn. But then Peter killed it all. "D..." One letter from his lips made my mouth snap shut. No one else could do that. Not Tech's faculty, monster-sized jocks, the cops ... not even my parents. I looked at him, and he kissed my knuckles, right in front of everyone. My knees buckled putting me back in the chair. Serge took advantage of the silence. "What you fail to realize, Mr. De Groi, is that..." More blah, blah, blah. I was staring at Peter, and he was staring at me. Neither of us was smiling, just looking at each other. "...grades have fallen..." That snapped my head up. "What?" "I said, Mr. Forbes's grades have slipped." I looked at Peter again. He had my hand in his lap and was petting the tops of my knuckles. "How bad?" The question was for Peter, but Serge answered. "His last set of lab scores was barely a seventy." 17

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Holy shit, I didn't even know that score existed for Peter. That was what, a C? The first thing that came to mind, of course, was that the C was my fault. We were staying up late a lot, and I interrupted him when he tried to study. See, before we'd been together, I was gone most nights and the apartment was his. But since ... yeah, since we'd been together, I rarely left the apartment ... fuck, I rarely got out of bed. And neither did Peter. We didn't skip class, but I guess I hadn't been paying attention to the miniscule amount of time he'd been dedicating to his studies compared to before ... before the sex, before my life actually had a sunshine, rainbows, and kittens raining from the sky. Then Perkins said, "It killed his chances even before this." I did a second double-take. "Before?" So... That meant, what? That it wasn't my fault? Peter stood up and him moving brought the room to a standstill. He picked up his jacket and slid it on. "Let's go." I stood up, too. "Mr. Forbes..." Serge actually sounded sad when she said Pete's name. Maybe she was sad, but I doubt it was for him. More likely for their department because he was the best they'd ever had ... would ever have. Peter might be humble, but that word doesn't exist in my vocabulary so I have no problems recognizing his greatness. And I mean other than his dick, his ass, and his overall great looks. I'm talking about his mind. If anyone on the planet was born ready for metaphysical science, it was Peter. It had been 18

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his dream ever since I knew him, and now it was all going up in flames. Just like Tolbert's car. Peter met Serge's dark gaze—hers hard, his incredibly sweet—and said, "There's nothing left to talk about. But Darwin's right." Now I turned to Peter. Me right? The corner of his mouth curled in a small knowing smile. I noticed he got that same expression when he was thinking about doing something naughty when he was naked. But seeing that he had his clothes on... "You people are nothing but a farce, this whole thing is a farce ... your qualifications, your rules... All of this ... all of you? It's bullshit." Peter's mother gasped, and his father said his name. He didn't look at them. "You can blame kicking me out on the video or the test scores all you want, but it's an excuse." "Wha?" That little bit of intelligent confusion was me. Peter looked at me, and his eyes were hot. "They want to blame it on the test scores... And yeah, yeah, my scores haven't been as high as they normally are, but that doesn't matter..." He swallowed, and his gaze slid away. "I'm still at the top. In spite of the slip. I'm still the best they have in the lab, and they know it! That's why I know my grades have nothing to do with them removing me from the program." His eyes were on Serge again.

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My gaze went from Serge to Peter, then back to Serge where it stayed. You could have toasted marshmallows on the look she was giving Pete. Peter took my hand, and we headed towards the door. Behind us his parents asked him to stop. No, not ask, they never asked Peter to do anything, they simply told. Spat out commands like he was a dog. And he used to be so well trained, but then he met me, moved away to college, and their leash lost its grip. Even so, I fully expect him to put on the brakes, but he didn't. Out in the hallway he kept pulling, and then we were around a corner and out of any immediate range of fire. "Peter?" No answer. Halfway down, between the elevator and the stairwell, I planted my feet into the industrial carpet and forced Peter to stop. He yanked me so hard, he almost pulled me off my feet. Damn. When had he gotten so strong? Peter slumped against the wall. I caught him, and he melted against me. His breath came out, and his entire body shook from anger, sorrow ... definitely sorrow. Then a sob, a real—from the toes, maybe even from the soul—sob burst out of his chest. Peter's arms came up and around my back, and I felt his breath against my pulse. His cheeks were wet. I didn't want him to cry. Strong people like him should never have to cry. "I can still tell them." He shook his head and pressed his body closer. "I don't want you to lose this, Pete, I don't want you to lose everything." I think one of my ribs cracked when he squeezed. 20

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"It doesn't matter." "It does." "It's not anything you did." I don't know how he could say that. 'Cause in reality, this who shit pile was technically my fault. I was the one who set Tolbert's car on fire which made him feel the need to get back at me. And since it's no big secret that I've been in love with Peter Forbes since the fifth grade, hurting him was a surefire stake to the middle of my little black heart. I should have known that, too. Fuck, I knew what kind of asshole Tolbert could be. Thing is, maybe I did know. Maybe I did know he'd hurt Peter, and then Pete would need me, and we'd wind up in the sack ... finally... Maybe this was some master plan my dark side had cooked up. Or my dick. "Stop it." Peter kissed my ear. "What?" "Blaming yourself." "But I..." I hadn't said anything. But then, this was Peter after all. My life was pretty much an open book to him. And knowing him, he'd memorized me front to back. I guess when you're not busy sucking face with the guy you're madly in love with, you have a lot of time to study him. And considering Peter and I had been together like two peas in a pod, fully clothed, hands to ourselves, mouths never touching, he'd had a lot of time to study me. And while I knew Peter, knew him really well, I couldn't claim that kind of knowing about him. See, I'd spent most of my time stoned, drunk, or getting laid by anyone willing. But 21

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that was in the past, and this was now. The this being Peter in my arms, his breath against my neck. "Peter!" God, just what we didn't need: his mother. Distance apparently has no effect on old habits. At the sound of his mother's voice, Peter jerked away from me, slapped the tears out of his eyes, and pulled himself up straight. Going by the look on his face, I'm pretty sure he didn't even have time to process his body's autonomic response. "Peter Forbes, how dare you..." Barbara Forbes headed right for us, marching down the hall like an angry bull ... or would that be cow? His father was the bull, I guess. Part of me laughed at the visual, the other part was pretty pissed off I'd listed his parents in the same category as livestock. After all, what the hell had the bovine species ever done to me? Her manicured finger jabbed the air in front of his face. "I cannot believe you, Peter. How dare you embarrass us like this! How dare you shame yourself!" Barbara looked right at me on the word shame. Yeah, it was an old song and dance for us. I'm the reason Peter's gay, by the way. At least according to his mother. The fact Peter knew he was gay long before he ever met me was beside the point. She grabbed his arm and yanked him hard. Peter went one step forward then it was like his instinct for self preservation kicked on and he yanked back. 22

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"You need to apologize, Peter. We came all this way to be with you and you dare to act like that. To embarrass us! God, what would your brother say?" His father stepped closer. His hands were fists, his mouth a hard line. I'd never seen him hit Peter, but I'm pretty sure he wanted to hit him right now. Or me. Yeah, definitely me. "I think it would be best if you leave us alone for a bit." Stanley's steely gaze gave me the once over. Maybe it was the eyeliner or the piercings. Either way, it made me want to reapply another coating as well as run home and stick another stud in the side of my nose. "D stays." Yeah, what Pete said. I crossed my arms and dared good old Stan to knock me over. It wouldn't have taken much. Unlike Pete, Stan looked like a man who not only ate his Wheaties but the box the shit came in. "And I'm not apologizing." Peter stepped back, away from his parents. "I never asked you to be here anyhow..." Barbara stuck out her chin. "The dean asked us." "Like I said, I never asked you." And with that, Peter might as well have slapped his own mother. Tears, big ones, rolled down her narrow cheeks. She put a hand to her mouth while the other one went across her stomach like she was trying to keep all her insides from bursting out. "That's it, you're coming home." Stanley made a grab for Peter, but not like his mom. Oh no, his hand was curled up like a vice waiting to lock down on something and never let go. 23

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Of course, I got in the way. "Back off." "Get the hell out of my way, De Groi. This is all your fault. Peter was a good kid until he met you. He was normal, respectful..." While Stanley jabbed a finger in my face, Pete's mom let out a wail. "I'm not going home." Peter grabbed my hand and pulled me back. "I don't want to go home." "You don't know what you're talking about, Peter. You're confused, you're not thinking clearly... Why are you doing this to us? We love you. Look what you're doing to your mother!" That last accusation was a low blow. One his parents always saved to beat him into submission. Because no matter how angry Peter got at his parents, he did love them. Worse than that, he wanted them to be proud of him. And I'd been around enough to know that it always worked. Like a sledgehammer to his heart, Peter always bowed, dropped his head, shed a tear, and submitted to whatever they wanted. This was why him getting away from them had been such a good thing. The scholarship, the metaphysical science program, all of that had been about more than just proving how damn smart he was, it was about getting him out of that house, away from those two over bearing and controlling morons. 'Cause as long as he was under their thumb, Peter couldn't be happy. Simply because he couldn't be Peter. Normally, I wouldn't care if he bailed out of Tech and headed home because wherever Peter went, so did I. Much to the disappointment of his parents. But I had a feeling, a terrible feeling, if Pete went home with them, he'd never get 24

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away. My messed-up mind conjured up images of them locking him in a basement and feeding him porridge through a hole cut in the door. It was stupid paranoia, but the fact is, things changed after his brother James died. Sure, his mother had been resistant about Pete coming to Tech, but she hadn't put up that big of a fuss. Part of me was sure that some small part of her wanted him to leave. I know damn well his dad was glad for him to be out of the house. Pete was okay with it all, too. They had James, big strapping James, built like a brick shithouse, military motivated, team captain, liked girls, James. They'd get their grandkids, and their family name would continue on. But James played chicken with a semi last year and lost. Now all they had was Peter. After the video landed in their inbox, the subtle hints that they wanted him to come home turned into demands. And those had been difficult enough for Peter to ignore via cell phone and email. Now that they were here in the flesh, right here in the hall, raining all that anger and disappointment, all the blatant "why couldn't it have been you instead?" Yeah, that was a lot of shit on Peter's shoulders. A goddamned Stone Mountain's worth. The fact was, no matter how much I loved Pete or he loved me, there was just no standing up to guilt like that. "Peter..." Just like that, his dad's tone transformed. From angry father to sympathetic dad. It was all a game. A show. One they were really good at. "Peter, please, let's just go home. Take some time off. Let's just..." He reached for Peter, 25

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past me, his fingers curling on Peter's jacket. I wanted to break off every last callused digit. But I didn't have to. Peter pulled away. "I'm not going home." The crying from Peter's maternal parental unit stopped, quick. Like a light bulb popping or a fuse blowing. She blinked her brown eyes—a lot like Peter's brown eyes—and the look she tossed at the paternal parental unit was an as-clear—asday "what the fuck?" 'Cause Peter never told them no. At least not when they threw all the low blows like they were doing now with the blame, the tears, and his dead brother's memory. "I'm staying here." Peter's voice was so calm it almost scared me. "You are, huh?" His dad gave him some up-and-down looks. And with the way that man was curling his lip, you'd have thought Peter had whipped out his dick to show off a piercing he'd just got. He's not pierced by the way. Nope, not Pete ... me, however... "And who's gonna pay your tuition? Especially now. Now that you've screwed up so bad, you no longer have a scholarship." "I didn't screw up." "Your face is all over YouTube, Peter, how can you say you didn't screw up? We understand if you have a problem, but there's no need to make this any worse. You're confused. Just let us get you some help ... you need help..." I knew his parents were willing to throw out the low blows, but that one ... yeah ... that one was a belly dragger even for them. 26

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For a split second I was pretty sure Peter was gonna hit his dad. His hand clenched mine so tight my knuckles popped, and he shook. All over like an earthquake had set up under his skin. But then he calmed, not with a sigh, not with any out loud counting, but with the obvious body language of a man who'd just decided to give up. That fighting was no longer worth it. His shoulders fell, his chin landed on his chest, and at the same moment his eyes closed. Peter looked so tired then. Ahundred-years-old tired. I don't know what his dad said next or his mom, mostly because I wasn't listening. I was walking, almost running to keep up with Peter who was dragging me along as he fled to get away. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Two Peter was pissed. And I mean Pompeii pissed. I don't think I'd ever seen him so angry. No, scratch that. I knew for a fact I hadn't. See, Pete, unlike me, has composure and class. Me, I just spew whatever it is that comes to mind. No matter what people think. No matter who it hurts. Like right now. "That was shitty." As if Peter needed to be told. Still... Behind me the stairwell door closed, we ran down a flight, another door opened, and we spilled out into the hall, still running. "Those fucking sons of bitches ... or bitches of bitches ... fuck it ... goddamn, Peter, I'm sorry... I know that it doesn't help ... but I'm sorry... Stupid Serge and her Barney the Dinosaur asshole colored suit..." Peter shoved me, and hard. At first I thought he was trying to knock me off my feet, toss me to the ground, and throw some long-deserved punches to my face. But instead I went sideways into a janitor closet and landed nose-first into a shelf full of cleaning supplies. The door slammed, and it went dark for about five seconds until a bald overhead bulb came on. Okay, maybe Peter wanted some privacy while he told me to shut up, mind my own business, asked me why I always had to be such a self-absorbed asshole, for which, of course, I had no excuse. Only instead of saying anything like that, Peter said, "Unzip your pants." 28

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"Wha..." I went to turn, and he shoved me into the shelving unit. Bottles wobbled, and something hit the floor. Peter's hands were on my waist, his front against my ass and ... holy shit, he was hard. Next to my ear he breathed, "I said, unzip your pants because if I do it, I'll just rip them off." Well, now, didn't that just get my dick's attention? While I fumbled with my fly, I said, "I don't want to sound like I'm complaining, but do you mind telling me what this is all about?" I heard clothing shuffling, the sound of a zipper being pulled. "Peter?" "I didn't fail that test. They lied." "What? Why?" "They wanted me out of the program." "You say that like they've wanted you out for a while now." I heard him sigh. Then better than that, I hear his pants hit the floor. Peter's hand hit the middle of my back, and against my will I closed off the meager inch between my chin and the shelf. With my pants and boxers down around my hips and my duster shoved up around my waist, my ass was catching a nice cross breeze. Peter pushed himself against me, his cock slid along my ass crack. My Demonias made me too tall, so he shoved me lower and kicked my legs out wider. Holy shit, I think I liked Peter pissed off more than I liked him riding me. Another rustle, then his fingers, slick with something, slid down my crack and breeched my hole. 29

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I laughed. "Lube? You brought lube to a meeting with the dean." "It's butter." Okay, that shouldn't have been so funny. But it was. I laughed, which lasted until he shoved his thumb in. "Oh, fuck..." "That's the idea." "Butter?" A grunt, then I hissed when he twisted his hand. "Yeah, I put some extra in my pocket this morning at breakfast." 'Cause he likes butter with his biscuits. For whatever reason, that made me think of Yosemite Sam, then of flaming ass cheeks, which of course made me laugh all over again. That didn't last long either. Peter moved his fingers out of the way and took me. One hard shove, and he was inside, and my face was crammed up right next to the metal shelving with its bottles of ammonia, bleach, and various woodpolishing condiments. The burn, the ache, it pulled a pleading groan out of my chest. It must been different from my usual sound effects because Peter paused. "You okay?" Stars burst in front of my eyes, and I sucked in a breath. The eyebolt holes on the edge of the shelf were gonna leave a pattern across my cheek. And I didn't give a shit. "D?" "Shut up and fuck me." It was Peter's turn to laugh. I wasn't laughing any more, I was grunting—grunting and begging and trying to breathe. In front of me the shelf rattled a warning, and I wondered how 30

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quick we'd die in here if the bottles of Clorox and ammonia fell off and burst. Given that the closet was maybe five by six with an eight-foot ceiling. We'd probably have three minutes of breathable air although we'd pass out from the fumes long before that. I could just see it now. Me and Peter found dead. His dick up my ass. What a way to go. I reached back for him, and his hand found mine. He guided it around to my cock, which was bobbing just above a rack of paper towels. I gripped myself, stroked, and Peter's hand covered the head of my dick, pulling and tugging at the barbell piercing the tip. He knew how much I liked that. Which was way too much. Peter gave the barbell an extra hard tug. "Oh, fuck, yeah, more Pete... God..." And he did. His hips snapped forward, and my chin hit the shelf hard enough to nick me. A can of Pledge toppled from the top and whacked me right between the eyes before it bounced to the floor. Something else fell off, and the whole room rattled with the force of him thrusting, me taking it, and at the same time yanking my cock to hurry to the edge of that big O. It wasn't gonna take long. My balls were already tight, and my toes felt numb. And when it did hit, that spot between my eyes where the Pledge whacked me good, shot off with a hard pulse of pain, like my brain was gonna cream my red and black bangs. Wet heat covered my hand, splattered my shitkickers, and I felt it hot on the back of my thighs, and yet Peter hadn't stopped. He'd come, but he was still pounding the shit out of me. Then he barked, like something hurt or broke or maybe 31

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both and his hips snapped forward knocking me face-first into the bottles of cleaner. The aftereffects, of what I am sure was a second orgasm left him trembling at my back. Even through my duster I felt his hot breath between my shoulder blades, ragged, torn, beaten. "Pete?" Still in me, still holding on, I didn't move. I was worried if I did, Peter would fall. Even when the muscles in my legs quivered in protest at the odd angle, and my face ached from being shoved against the metal shelves, I stayed where I was. Our bodies molded together, me holding him up. And it felt perfect. After way too long his hand moved off my hip, along my groin, under my shirt. The jiz on his fingers was almost cold, and it felt sticky as he petted my stomach. "Serge wanted me enroll in a private metaphysical program outside of Tech." The sudden shift back to the problem at hand didn't throw me off-kilter. Years of having sex with strange people, mostly inhuman people, in a lot of odd places, had exposed me to all kinds of bizarre post-coital conversations. "Why?" "It doesn't matter why." "Yes, is does. Tell me, Pete. What was the program? What was it she wanted to get you involved in?" "Things, D. Bad things. Things I can't talk about." God, he sounded so sad. Sad enough that I tried to look at him over my shoulder, but he had me bent over too far. 32

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I had no idea what kind of bad things the stupid metaphysics department could cook up, but then it wasn't like I was all that great of a student. I barely knew the difference between S-factors and ether energy signatures. "So what happened?" Pete's cheek rubbed against my back. "I turned her down, D. And she got pissed. Because of that, she dumped my test score." "But Perkins said your grades had been falling for a while?" I made it a question. Maybe because I was hoping the old fart was just yanking my chain. But then Peter didn't deny it. "Why were you're grades dropping, Pete?" "I told you, it doesn't matter. What matters is ... I didn't fail that lab test. I aced that test. I was the only one who aced it." There had to be more. Serge had been more than just ticked off. "What else, Pete? I saw the way she'd looked at you. What are you not telling me?" Another sigh, and when Pete replied, his voice was barely above a whisper. "I reported her and the department to the board of metaphysical sciences about the outside project." The project he wouldn't tell me about. "They cited Serge. Called an investigation. Because of that, Tech could lose all its government funding as well as access to all the high security test sites." "Geez..." "It was the right thing to do, D. I couldn't help them. Wouldn't help them." 33

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"Yeah. Okay. Maybe." Hell, what did I know about doing the right thing? So Peter wouldn't help them do ... whatever it was. This project. This thing that was too bad to talk about. Still... "I can understand you telling her no. But did you have to report it?" After all, it had cost him everything. Still didn't explain why his grades had been falling even before this. Only thing I knew is that it wasn't my fault. Pete nuzzled the back of my neck. "Yeah ... yeah. I had to report it. But not because I'm the uppity goody-two-shoes you think I am." Did I think that? Yeah, most of the time I did, except when he was plowing me really good like just now. Which wasn't all that often. I usually topped, but I think Pete liked it that way. But this, this had been good. Better than good. Better than goody-two-shoes good. Quiet fell in the small space we occupied. Just him. Just me. And a closet full of cleaner. The spot between my eyes let out with a throb. I wondered if I was going to have a bruise and if it would have a funny shape that would leave people wondering how it happened. Then I thought about the meeting and why it had made this happen right here in the janitor closet. And the fact that Peter had come twice. Twice? Did anyone outside of porn movies do that? Well, porn movies and the inhuman. God, like I said, Peter was not only perfect but hot. Peter finally sat up and stepped back. I stayed. "You okay." His hand touched my back, then my neck. "D?" 34

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Was I? "Yeah ... I'm okay." "You sure?" "Yeah..." "You gonna pull up your pants?" No. Maybe. To be honest I didn't feel like standing up at the moment. Maybe it was the weight of everything he'd told me or the fact my legs felt like Jell-O, and there was this deep-seated cramp in my stomach that felt like I'd done a thousand pull-ups. I hadn't done a pull-up since those humiliating years in high school. But considering I'd just had the best ass fucking of my life, I could definitely get used to it. I sighed. "Under one condition." "What's that?" "We go to your parents' house for Thanksgiving, and you get into a really big argument with them again." I don't know what Peter threw at me, but it hurt. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Three I glanced over at the passenger seat of my shitty Dodge Neon where Peter sat knee deep in fast food bags, empty energy drink cans, and condom wrappers. He didn't seem to notice the sea of garbage at his feet. Not that he didn't notice. I know for a fact he did. But like me, my life, my perpetual flaws, he chose to overlook it. Except right now he wasn't looking at me. He was squinting at the tiny screen of his Samsung. The text pad clicked off with every stroke of his thumbs. "Uh, who are you talking to?" Peter's left eyebrow went up. "Why, D, is that a hint of jealously in your voice?" Me. Jealous? My ass was still humming from the best sex I'd had since, well, at least since Peter decided that being a virgin wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Saving himself, Peter; the guy with no eyes for anyone but me, Peter. And he wanted to know if I was jealous. "Fuck, yeah, okay. I am. So who the hell are you talking to?" The corner of Peter's mouth followed the general direction of his eyebrow. "Don't worry, he's too old for me." How come that didn't make me feel any better? "So? Who is it?" "Professor Whitcomb."

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I squinted at Peter in between squinting at the road. The name sounded familiar, only for the life of me I couldn't figure out why. At the red light I noticed that Peter was giving me a headon grin. "What?" "You don't remember him, do you?" Great, so I did know him. Worse than that, I didn't remember him. But then again, for the past six years I'd been trying really hard to forget everything in my life. It had seemed like a great idea at the time, but now that Peter was finally mine, I was regretting a lot of my choices. Mostly because I felt like he deserved better. No, I take that back. I know he deserved better—someone with morals, ethics, and a conscience better. But because I lacked all those things, I was with him. And because life isn't a Disney movie, I wasn't going to suddenly wake up and be the man he needed. "Bio Chemistry 202," Peter said. "He came in after Mrs. Parks went on maternity leave." I blinked, the light turned green, and I didn't hit the gas quickly enough for the guy behind us. He honked, and I threw a one-finger salute out the window. While I intentionally crawled through the intersection, I tried to remember Chemistry 202. It was only a few months ago. Surely to God I could remember a few months ago? Faded, fragmented images flicked through my head. I think I slept through most of that class. At least I hoped that was the reason for the memory loss. It could have been the 37

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cans of Easy Cheese, the markers, the white out, or a combination of all of the above. After I merged the shitty Neon into traffic, I said, "Tall dude. Had the fro." Of course, everyone is taller than Peter and me. Hell, most girls are taller. The fro comment was based on the hazy memory I had of clown hair. "Yup, that's him, although he wears his hair shorter these days." Peter went back to texting while I made a circle around the library and cut across Brookhaven to the old ice factory that had been converted into high-dollar apartments about five years ago. My parents owned a unit on the second floor which is where Peter and I lived since Tech banned me from living at the dorms on campus a few weeks after we started Tech. "And why are you texting him?" "I've got a date." I slammed on the brakes, nearly clipping the bicyclist as he pulled out in the right of way. Peter's body snapped forward, the seatbelt kept him from kissing the dash. His phone wasn't so lucky. It flipped out of his hand and promptly disappeared under the ocean of trash in the floorboards. "Jesus, D!" The bicyclist shot me a go-to-hell look. I ignored him and looked at Peter while he made a dive for his phone. He had to take off his seatbelt, and suddenly I was too paranoid to move. "A date?" My voice actually squeaked. Peter tossed a BK sack into the back, along with about thirty Red Bull empties. "You know, if you'd clean out your 38

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car, you'd probably get ten more miles to the gallon." Okay, now someone was attempting to change the subject. Yeah, and like I was about to let that happen. "You mean, date or Date?" Pete paused in his excavations long enough to glare at me. I love Peter's glares, they make my balls all warm and fuzzy. Okay, the fuzzy part is natural, the warm part? That's all Pete. "A date, lower-case D. It's nothing to worry about. I've just got to talk with him about ... stuff ... you know?" Peter made an "ah-ha" sound and came up with this phone. He frowned and picked at a glob of something sticky on the side. There were so many things that could have been, none of which he needed to know about. "So no three-way?" I grinned when I said it. I don't know why. I guess because the thought a three-way, even with a college professor twice my age, was not out of the realm of possibilities for me. After all, I did the inhuman. Well, used to. Now all I did was Peter. And I'd never been so happy in my entire life. Peter sighed. His signature tragic exhale of air. "D ... you're the only guy for me." I know ... but still. After Pete put on his seat belt, I resumed my search for a parking spot near our apartment. Apparently, the builder hadn't had the forethought to make enough parking for all the yuppie city dwellers he planned on packing in here. Or maybe he thought they'd all be green conscious and take the bus. 39

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Maybe they did all take the bus and that's why their SUVs stayed cluttering up the parking lot. Fuck if I knew. I finally found a spot between a Hummer and the curb. I squeezed in only to realize that I would have to get out on Pete's side because I couldn't open my door. He got out, and I crawled over the console. I left my key— aka a Craftman six-inch flat head—in the cup holder. With any luck someone would steal my piece of shit, and I wouldn't have to clean it out. 'Cause now that Peter said something, I would clean it out. Maybe I would just get a new one. Buying rattletraps hadn't gotten my parents attention. Maybe if I bought something really fast, really expensive, and really dangerous, they'd take notice. Okay, maybe not dangerous because Peter rode with me, and the last thing I'd want is a wreck with him in the car. I glanced at the Hummer and wondered if I could find something even more eco-unfriendly, economically obtrusive, visually displeasing, all the while offering the maximum production for my best bud. The only thing I could think of was a tank. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Four Unlike my car, the door to the apartment stays locked. Peter had his key in the door before I could go on the search for mine, which was buried in one of the many pockets of my duster. Which, like the floorboards of my car, is a regular plethora of leavings from my daily life. At least I think that's where the key was. I gave myself a pat down and located a small key-shaped object on the inside breast pocket. By that time, Peter had the door open and was inside. "You take the shower first, I'm gonna grab something to eat." Peter walked across the dinky living room and into the kitchen. Cabinet doors opened and shut, then the fridge. I shut the front door, took the two steps to the wet bar, and leaned on my elbows to watch him. Geez, even when he's got the munchies, he's sexy. Although, I'm not sure if "munchies" was the right word for a post-coital binge, but it was the best term I could come up with, seeing my own experience with two a.m. snack attacks. He bent over in the pantry, and I tipped my head sideways to get a better look at his ass. His slacks didn't give me a lot to go on, but I have an excellent imagination. "You could always shower with me." "Don't you ever get tired of sex?" I didn't even have to think about that one. "No." At least not with him. Before, the sex was about killing the pain. Like the drugs, the drinking, the all nighters, it was simply a way 41

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to take my mind off what I'd been missing in my life. Or more precisely who I'd been missing. Now it was all about Peter, and I could never-ever-in-a-million-years get tired of Peter. Peter was still digging in the pantry when I said, "What about saving the whales or those little fuzzy white seals by conserving water." "I don't think conserving water has much of an effect on poaching." Okay, so maybe it didn't. But we could pretend it did. Pete came up with a box of Hostess Cupcakes under one arm and gave me a look. One that made so many promises. Then again, that was probably just in my head. 'Cause Peter didn't make promises, he simply delivered. "I'm supposed to meet with Whitcomb in less than an hour. Go shower, if I get in there with you we'd never get out." True. So true. I sighed, and it was nowhere nearly as tragic as the sound Peter could make. No, it was more like a slow air leak, one that clearly vented my frustration or at least the frustrations of my dick. I dropped my clothes on the floor on my way to the bathroom. Neither of us had had time to shower that morning because we'd been running late. And now with two coatings of Peter on my body, I smelled ripe. Not that I minded. Nothing smelled better than Peter as far as I was concerned. It didn't take me long to get clean and fresh, but then I'm an old pro at showering in that three-minute time frame between rolling out of bed and class. I came out of the 42

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bathroom with a towel around my waist to look for something to wear. Watching for Peter is automatic for me. I guess it's from all the years of looking and not touching. So when I went to pull open the drawer, I tipped my head forward to catch a glimpse of him around the corner through the bedroom door. He was munching on a Hostess cupcake. Going by the pile of wrappers accumulated on the wet bar, he'd demolished the whole box. Come to think of it, he'd been eating a lot of junk food lately. If he didn't watch it, he was going to wind up with fat rolls. Hmmm, the thought of a pudgy Peter rolled through my head. Yeah, even that was a turn-on. Not that I cared. Fat, skinny, hell, even neon pink, I'd love him. I forced myself to look away and walk to the closet. While the majority of the apartment is small, the bedroom isn't. With a solid wall of glass overlooking the streets of Atlanta, it's obvious that this room was supposed to be the focal point of the apartment's design. Which was a good thing, considering this is the room we used the most. For obvious reasons. Maybe the builder had a Peter in his life, too? While I was sniffing underwear trying to find a clean pair in the pile of clothes at the bottom of the closet, Peter walked in unbuttoning his shirt. Unlike me, he didn't drop his on the floor. No, he folded everything; even when it was on its way to the laundry. I watched him as he pulled off his socks, then his pants, and, of course, his underwear. My feet were moving before I even had time to register it. 43

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Peter let out a squeak when I shoved him against the wall and pressed my mouth to his. But he didn't resist, he opened for me, and my tongue went deep. God, how I loved the taste of him: post sex, chocolate cupcakes, and Peter. His hands came up, pushed into my wet hair, and went tight. My scalp screamed just like my balls. "D..." I attacked his neck and sucked at his pulse. His hips pushed against mine, our erections rubbed together with only a bit of terrycloth to separate us. "D ... I'm gonna be late." Who cares? I kissed Pete's jaw, his cheek, found his mouth again while my hands slid around to his ass, pulling him closer, encouraging him to rub against me. I'd never wanted someone so bad in my life as I wanted Peter every second of every day. Not just wanted him but needed him. Maybe it was the almost eight years I'd spent being his friend, most of which I'd spent wanting him and never having him. I felt starved for his touch, his taste, and no matter how many times we did this, how often, it was never enough. Pete moaned. I love that sound almost as much as I love his sighs. "D ... shower ... I've ... got ... to ...go..." Yeah, 'cause he had a date. With Clown Hair. Date with a lower-case D, because I was Pete's only interest. Reluctantly, I let him go and made some space between us. Peter sagged against the wall. Normally, when I had him flustered up like this, he'd be blushing with his lips swollen and his eyes all glassy. His mouth was swollen from the kissing, but his color was off, and his eyes were dark. 44

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"Pete?" I put a hand on his neck, and his eyebrows came together. It was fleeting, but I know what I saw was pain. The deep kind of hurt, like the time he fell off his bike and broke his arm or a couple of weeks ago when I didn't believe it wasn't him in that video. "What's wrong?" He shook his head. "Nothing." But there was something, I could see it. His arms wrapped around his stomach. "I really need to get in the shower. Whitcomb will be waiting on me." Pete's face bunched up again. This time there was something else in that pain-filled expression. And I recognized it, too. Fear. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Five Maybe there was more to my soul than I gave myself credit for. Because looking at Peter with an expression of pain on his face made something deep inside my chest feel like it was full of needles and on fire. He slumped against me, and I felt his body tremble. I petted his neck. "Talk to me, Pete." "How much do you love me?" I kissed his curls. He'd asked me this same question just weeks ago. Right before he asked me to make love to him for the first time. He hadn't asked me since. But then again, he didn't need to. Even when we weren't doing it like bunnies in the woods, we'd exchanged the L word on a daily basis. Hearing Pete tell me that he loved me gave me a reason to get up in the morning. But hearing him ask me how much I loved him scared me. It had scared me two weeks ago, but I hadn't had time to dwell on it. Mostly because he'd made me forget by putting his hand on my dick. I'd seen something then, fleeting and quick, in his dark brown eyes, and I realized it was the same thing I was seeing now. Only now it wasn't quick, gone in a flash, it was hanging around and making Peter shudder in agony. In spite of all that, there was only one answer to his question. "More than anything, Peter. I love you more than anything in the world." "Help me into the shower." It wasn't the weirdest request I'd ever heard so I did it. 46

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I started up the shower with one hand while my other arm was wrapped around Peter holding him up. Pete put his hand under the spray. "Hotter." I cranked up the handle until the air turned white and the water practically hissed. He climbed in before I could warn him that it might burn. When he slumped against the wall, I tossed my towel on the floor, climbed in after him and shut the door. Water slapped me in the back like superheated needles. I gritted my teeth and waited for my nerve endings to boil off. With one hand around Pete's waist, I held him up. He buried his face against my neck. "D?" "Yeah?" "Would you love me even if something was wrong with me?" I didn't hesitate. "Of course." And him asking me that spurred all sorts of scenarios in my head. The worst of which was me having given him something because I'd caved when he asked me not to use a condom. If I did, I'd cut my own cock off. "Even if it was bad, really bad. Even if it meant I'd be different?" I held him tighter. The water was so hot that the tears rolling down my cheeks felt cold. "Yeah, God, yeah, Peter, please tell me. What's wrong?"

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His lips were like velvet against my shoulder; and when his tongue slid across my skin, it was hotter than the water. Inhuman hot. I remembered how Peter had fucked me in the closet. Like an animal. And then how he'd come twice. And no one by porn stars and the inhuman did things like that. "Oh, fuck... Peter..." I pulled back and looked at him. His gaze was all glassy, and he kept flicking his tongue over his lips. Tasting me. I pushed Peter's bangs back out of his eyes. "How long?" When he didn't answer me, I slapped him lightly on the cheek. "How long, Peter? How long have you been having symptoms." "Two weeks ... before..." "Before when?" "You and I..." You and I? Before I'd taken his virginity, that's what he meant. In my time in the Dens I'd seen plenty of LesserBreds, but I'd never seen one before they'd entered the Shift. That stage where everything Human becomes inhuman. When their Kin DNA takes over and they turned into the monster so many people feared. "Why didn't you tell me?" Peter shook his head. "I wanted him to be wrong." "Who?" "Whitcomb, he said ... and I wanted him to be wrong..." Peter groaned, only it wasn't a sound created by pleasure, but 48

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pain, deep aching pain. "I keep eating, but it won't stop. The hunger... It hurts, D." Yeah, I'd heard it did. Especially in the beginning. But hunger was what made them dangerous. Hunger so strong that the only way to sate it was to eat their own. Peter slumped in my arms and I lowered him to the bottom of the tub. "You have to call him..." "Who?" "Whitcomb." Peter's hands went tight on my arms. "Please, D. If it starts, I could hurt you." Part of me wanted to argue because the Peter I knew couldn't hurt a fly. No matter how hungry he got. But as always, when it came to his requests, I caved. "Will you be okay?" He nodded, and I got out of the tub. The lack of heat left me shivering, or maybe that was the fact I was scared. Scared for Peter, scared that he could Shift and things could go bad. Because people died when they went through it. Hell, from what little I knew about the process, most died. I yanked his pants out of the dirty laundry and searched the pocket for his phone, then left them in the floor when I turned up nothing. Next the dresser, then the kitchen counter. That's where I found it, right by the empty box of cupcakes. I stopped and stared at the leavings of Hostess. How often had he been eating them? Probably enough that I should have questioned it. But lots of people overlooked the early signs: craving chocolate, insatiable hunger, unusual sex drive. 49

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But then all of those things were typical college kid behaviors, too. Still, I couldn't help but feel like an idiot. I didn't have the ignorance of the average person as an excuse. Hell, until recently I spent almost every waking moment I could drowning in the inhuman. I flipped open the phone, found Whitcomb's number in Pete's directory, and dialed. After five rings the phone rolled over to voicemail. While Whitcomb's recorded voice introduced himself, thanked me for calling, and gave me the times and dates he would be in his office along with the times and dates of his classes, I opened the fridge and pulled out the milk. I got a cup out of the cabinet and filled it. Right then and there I decided I didn't like Whitcomb. His voice was too kind, too goody-goody. By his tone alone I decided he was a fruitcake. As in a card-carrying Man Kind For Kin member fruitcake. You know, the liberal-treehugging-wackos who tattooed themselves up with Olde Tongue, the Kin language for "sweet meat" and offered their bodies up as feeding prospects to dragons. It's one thing for Kin to eat their own or even eat Lesser-Breds—they heal. But Humans? They lose an arm, and it doesn't grow back. Not to mention the whole belief that Humans belong at the bottom of the food chain. By the time his message got to the part about leaving my name and number, I had the cup of moo-juice spinning in the microwave. The beep finally sounded off. I was halfway through my message when the other line chirped. I looked at 50

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the screen, and Whitcomb's name flashed in the ID box. I flipped over. "Peter, where are you? We have a two o'clock..." He laughed, and it sounded friendly and genuine. God, maybe a bus would run over his Clown Haired self. "This is Darwin." Silence. The microwave dinged, and I took the milk out, tested it with my finger and burned the tip. "You there?" "You're Pete's friend." And Mr. Save the Lesser-Breds Whitcomb said friend like it was a whole new meaning for fuck buddy. "Yeah, I'm the guy sleeping with him. Look, Pete told me to call you. He seems to think you'll know what to do." "I'm sorry ... but is Peter there?" Yeah, going by all the evasiveness in Whitcomb's tone, he obviously didn't want to talk to me. Maybe he thought he was protecting Pete's privacy. Little did Clown Hair know that even before Pete and I were together, we were still together, and that meant we talked about everything. Usually. Until Serge and her secret project. Until this. The this being Pete wasn't going to be Human for very much longer. Yeah, as if my mood wasn't foul enough to begin with. I walked back through the bedroom and into the bathroom and found Peter still lying in the bottom of the tub. I stared at him while Whitcomb did some useless breathing in my ear. Surely to God, he had a good reason not to tell me. I mean, maybe he thought it was to protect me. Maybe he 51

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thought I wouldn't love him anymore. Yeah, right, that was bullshit. Peter knew me way better than that. I racked my brain some more but came up blank. Or maybe not blank but more along the lines of I really didn't want to know his reasons. "Darwin?" "I'm here." "Is Peter available?" "No." "Where is he?" "Actually..." I stared at Peter some more and fought the urge to scream and cry. On the back of a sigh I said, "Look. He's in the bottom of the tub in a fetal position; and if you can help, we live at the Brunswix Factory Apartments, four B." I hung up and left the phone on the counter. My knees cracked as I knelt on the floor. "Peter?" I touched his cheek, ran a hand through his hair. His entire body quivered under my touch like the water was thirty degrees rather than closer to boil. "Peter, I brought you some warm milk. It will help." "Is Whitcomb coming?" Like I gave a shit. But Peter apparently did. Which made me feel guilty for not demanding that asshole drop what he was doing and get over here. "D?" "I don't know." I really wanted to lie to Pete, especially when he brought his eyes up and looked at me like his entire world was coming to an end. "Shh—Peter..." I hooked a hand under his arm and made him sit up. I held out the cup. "What is it?"

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"Milk." Cream would have been better. It was a hot item in the Zone. But seeing that I didn't have any... At least I had milk, and it wasn't spoiled. "Milk?" "Yeah, the Kin and Lesser-Breds drink it all the time. Especially when they get hurt or they need to feed and can't." "I guess that makes sense." It did? "Maybe. All I know is that they drink the stuff like they breathe air." "Probably the amino acids." I made a "huh" sound, and Peter smiled as he took the cup. His hands shook so bad, he could barely get it to his lips. I helped him and he sucked it down without pausing. "More..." He pushed the mug back into my hands. "In a minute." I reached over, turned off the water, and Peter made a grab for me. "It's okay, I've got an electric blanket." If I could find the damn thing. The apartment wasn't that big, and I used it in the winter because my bed was right next to the window. All the places it could possibly be tumbled through my head. I left the cup on the floor by the tub and helped Peter up. "I need more..." "You drink too much too fast and you'll puke." I had no idea if that was true or not, but it sounded good. Peter must have thought it was a possibility because he didn't say anything else as I moved him over to the bed. He lay down and curled onto his side looking incredibly small and vulnerable. I went on a mad search for the electric blanket. It was stuffed under my bed, right where I'd left the thing. I 53

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dragged it out, plugged it in, cranked it up on high, and wrapped it around Peter. His face scrunched as another wave of body shakes grabbed hold of him. I stood up. "Stay." "I was gonna get you some more milk." He was quiet for a minute then shook his head. "Stay, please. I'm cold and ... scared." I sat back on the bed, and his hand came out from under the blanket. His skin was boiling against mine, and yet I could feel him trembling as he pulled on my arm. "Lay down with me, please." I did. And since I didn't like the covers separating us, I got under them with him. It felt like a sauna. Peter pressed himself against me. Every inch of our bodies touched. He felt like a piece of the sun in my arms. "Is that better?" "Yeah." I thought maybe he was saying that to make me feel better, but his shivering eased off as the under-the-skin muscle tremors calmed. Peter sighed against my neck. I don't know what I was doing, but it was apparently working. It was probably the heat. Or maybe the touching. From what I'd seen during my time at the Pit, Kin and Lesser-Breds always seemed to be touching. Touching and petting. I rubbed Peter's back. He sighed again and pushed against me like he wanted to burrow into my skin. That's when I felt it. Corporeal heat, like cobwebs, licked its way across my body feeling like a million tiny kisses brushing against my 54

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skin. An all-too-familiar sensation from all my illicit escapades with the inhuman. "D?" Pete moved, and I opened my eyes. When had I closed them? "What is that?" "You. Metaphysics." I groaned because, fuck-n-A, that sticky heat felt good. "Me?" "Yeah, yeah, you're trying to Roll me." Only that wasn't quite right because the Roll was way more intense. This was more like really good foreplay. "Roll you?" "Yeah, it's ... uh ... feeding..." "How do I stop it?" Could he stop it? Better yet, did I want him to? My lower parts sure as shit didn't. "I don't think you can. It's normal." Only what he was cranking out wasn't quite as intense as what I'd experience from Lesser-Breds in the Gray Zone. Then again, Pete wasn't Lesser-Bred. At least not yet. He still didn't have a Stain or teeth. I think his body was just warming up to the idea. Pete tried to pull away, but I held on. Maybe to comfort him, maybe because I wasn't quite ready to let this sweet sensation end. I'd given up the drugs, the drinking, and the Rolling with the Lesser-Breds for Peter, and while I didn't regret it, I couldn't truthfully say I didn't miss it, especially the Rolling. But then there isn't much in this world that could compare to having your soul ripped out, tied in knots, and stuffed back inside your chest again. When Peter tugged some more, I said, "It's okay. Stay." 55

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"I don't want to hurt you." He wasn't. He was just making me feel really good ... really high. I giggled ... actually giggled. I don't think I'd ever heard that sound come out of my mouth before, but then Peter always did strange things to me. "You're not." Peter did some more pulling, and I refused to let go. "Trust me, Peter. Nothing you're doing right now hurts." "But Whitcomb said..." "Whitcomb?" I don't know how I managed to sound pissed off and giddy at the same time, but I did. Even to my ears. "Yeah, he said that if I were to feed on anyone I could kill them." "Pfffttt..." Clown Hair didn't know Peter like I did, he could never hurt me. Another giggle slipped out. "Not all feeding is about flesh and blood ... who is this bozo anyhow ... and what the fuck makes him an expert..." "He's one of them, D." Them? I gave Peter the evil eye. While I only had hazy memories of Dr. Whitcomb, there was no way in hell that dude was anything but Human. Clown hair and dorky smile. Maybe he was one of those weirdos that went out to the Pit on the weekends wearing fake teeth and colored contacts, pretending he was Kin or pretending he was Lesser-Bred. Some people were like that. As if dressing up to look like the wyrms, they would suddenly become one of them. But no one wanted to be Lesser-Bred, not really, or Kin. At least the ones that really understood what it meant. Compared to their world, we Humans had it easy. 56

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"Well, he's wrong." There, that was better than trying to explain all the ins and out. "You're feeding, just not that way. The dangerous way..." The flesh and blood way. Peter's eyes fell to my mouth, and he licked his lips. I noticed then that the color in his face was back and his eyes were their normal chocolate brown. "You feel better, don't you?" When Pete tried to look away, I caught his chin. "Tell me." "Yeah...I..." Yeah, Peter felt more than better. His erection bit into my hip, and I grinned. Pete didn't. He did turn a nice shade of pink and rolled his eyes though. "Jesus, D, we're supposed to be having a serious conversation." "About what?" "About you. Me. And the fact that I'm not going to be..." I think he was going to say Human or maybe Human anymore. Definitely, something like that. Peter swallowed so hard I heard his throat click, and then he got this painful expression on his face that reminded me of the time I convinced him to taste a pickled jalapeno sausage. "It's okay..." He shook his head. "Yeah, it is. Peter..." "I'm sorry..." "There's nothing to be sorry for." He shook his head, and I pulled him closer and kissed him on the lips. I could tell he wanted to push me away again, but like this he was helpless to the need for what made me Human and the need to get off. Of course, they say Kin and Lesser-Breds are sex and food. For. A. Reason. Against my mouth Peter whispered, "I'm scared, D." 57

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I wasn't. Okay, maybe I was. A little. I mean, my best friend, the love of my life, my goddamned soul mate was gonna be something other than Human. And that wasn't even what worried me. It was the fact he could die. Thinking about that made me kiss him harder, and the kissing made the heat he was cranking out flare. Oh, fuck, yeah, I could so get used to this. "Darwin..." Pete grabbed my ass, yanked me against his body, and rolled me over him. His legs came up, his body against mine. It was clear as day what he wanted, what he needed. "I'm right here, Peter..." His cock jumped as I wrapped my hand around it. Three strokes and he was screaming. A dozen and he was coming in the tunnel of my fist. Eyes wide, mouth open, his chest heaving for air, he hitched himself higher. God, so perfect, so fucking perfect. I caught his mouth with mine, and he sucked on my tongue. My other hand slid under the pillow looking for the lubricant, and Peter used his legs to pull me closer. His hands slipped between us, trying to guide me in. "Wait..." "I can't..." He groaned ... no growled ... fucking growled... And going by the way my dick jumped, it really liked those kinds of sound effects. "I don't want to hurt you, Peter..."

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"I don't think you can ... not right now. Do it, D ... God ... please..." He moaned low and lean, a noise he usually saved for when I was inside him. Jesus-fucking-Christ, how the hell did I tell him no when he made sounds like that? Desperate, I ran a hand through the jiz on his stomach and used it to slick myself up. It was better than nothing. That inhuman heat his body was making swallowed my cock as I pushed in. At the same moment the doorbell rang. Great ... just fucking great. Well, whoever it was could wait, go away, or come back later because I wasn't stopping. "More, D..." Peter's fingers dug into my hips hard enough I knew there'd be bruises. And yeah, yeah, that got me off, too. I thrust hard, and he barked out my name, fucking screamed it. That's when the bedroom door opened. I looked up, but Peter was too busy thrashing under me to realize we were no longer alone. Dark hair, olive skin, rumpled suit, this could only be the illustrious Mr. Whitcomb. I wish I could have said I remembered him. Maybe it was the fact he no longer wore his hair like Bozo the Clown. Of course, I could be wrong, and the guy could just be some stranger off the street. It crossed my mind, you know, that some voyeur had decided to walk in and make himself at home. And damn me if that didn't make me harder. But then his lips twitched, and I could see hard white points peeking out. I guess Peter was right, he was LesserBred. If I hadn't seen the teeth, I would have been reluctant to believe it. Because Whitcomb didn't look like the ones who 59

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prowled the Zone, wearing tattered jeans and were proud to show off the metaphysical Stains that marked their bodies. Seconds after he made himself known, his gaze went from me to Peter. His nose flared, and his eyes went dark. And damn, I did not like what I saw in his expression. Wanting, needing, possessive. Suddenly, I had to rethink that whole not-looking inhuman. Because in that moment he looked like a full-blooded Male getting ready to challenge dominance. I kept my gaze on Whitcomb as I arched over Peter, thrust harder, made him bark out even louder. The sound of our bodies slapping together was drowned out by the sound of Peter calling my name. I kissed him, plunging my tongue deep, and I still didn't break the glare I had on Whitcomb. Let the fucker watch. Hell, I didn't care. And being Lesser-Bred I knew damn well he was used to an audience. If nothing else, he understood loud and clear why I grunted loud, thrust hard, why I stared him down. Peter was mine. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Six "D?" "Unnggg." "D, someone's here." I don't know why Peter was whispering. After all, it was a little late to try and be discreet. Considering I'm pretty sure at this point even the neighbors knew what we'd been doing. The neighbors three buildings down. "D..." I pulled my face out of Peter's neck and looked at him. His color was good, his eyes clear. But his hair was a mess. Something sticky and white clung to a curly-Q hanging down between his eyes. How the fuck did he get jiz all the way up there? Then I looked down at the mess smeared between our bodies. Damn... Peter's hand slipped along my jaw, and my eyes came back up. He smiled that gentle, sweet, beautiful smile. It still looked angelic, pristine, and pure. I'd worried that having sex with him would change that. I was glad to know it didn't. "I think it's Whitcomb." And here I thought Peter had been too out of it to know we'd had an audience. I nodded. "Yeah, it's him." Peter made a face, and I pushed myself up and over. Fuck me, my leg muscles hurt, even my lower back, not to mention my dick. Another shower was definitely in order. Boy, we'd made a mess... I ran a 61

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finger across my stomach and wondered if painting with body fluids would be considered folk art or expressionism? "How do you know it's him?" "Huh?" I shrugged and went back to drawing circles around my belly button. Peter jabbed me in the rib. "Oh, same way you do I guess." "You smell him?" I blinked and arched an eyebrow. Okay ... maybe not. "Uh..." "D?" I pointed at the door. It was closed. I don't know how long he'd watched. I know he'd still been there when I grabbed Pete's cock and jacked him off. But he wasn't there now. "I saw him. You know, he sorta opened the door." "You saw him? He was in here ... when..." Peter's mouth formed a perfect O as he sat up. The facial expression went great with the pink glow in his cheeks. "He's Lesser-Bred. Trust me, we weren't doing anything he hasn't seen before." Or done. I left that part out though. Peter was in shock enough as it was. Pete jumped off the bed and went scrambling for his clothes. "We should shower first, Pete." "But he's out there waiting." "Yeah, and we smell like sex. Trust me, we should shower..." I got out of the bed and walked to where Pete was digging his boxers out of the dirty clothes hamper. "How long has he been there ... I mean how long were we..." 62

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I didn't have an answer because I'd pretty much blacked out and left my body on automatic pilot. It felt like it had been hours, but was probably only minutes. "Don't worry about it." There, that was an easy answer. Peter pulled out his boxers, his pants. I stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Shower, Pete." We seriously needed to clean up. Peter might have been out of it when Whitcomb walked in, but I'd seen the way he'd looked at us. LesserBreds were part Kin; and since Kin saw the world as sex or food, going out there, like this, would be like teasing a starving dog with a T-bone steak. But those were kinds of things Pete wouldn't understand. I understood them because I hung out in the Zone. I pulled Peter into the bathroom. Along the way he dropped his clothes. He didn't fight me when I stood him by the shower and turned it on. I stepped in, and he went with me. I reached around him and slid the shower door shut. Pete kept his eyes down and his arms crossed over his stomach. "What's wrong?" His eyes closed for a moment. I noticed he did that a lot when there was something he wanted to say but was afraid to say it. "Pete?" He shook his head, and I kissed him on the forehead. "Talk to me. Please..." "He's going to want me to go with him." "What do you mean, go with him?" 63

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Peter's mouth screwed up. "He told me that when I got close... When it was time..." It hit me then exactly what he meant. "You mean go. As in G. O." Brown eyes begged me not to be angry. "Please, D. It's because ... he said I could hurt people. I could hurt you..." I glanced over my shoulder as if I might have the remote possibility of seeing Clown Hair through the bathroom door and the bedroom walls. Which I didn't. Thank you, God. I suddenly needed Peter closer and wrapped my arms around his body and crushed him against my chest. Water slapped against our skin, hot, but nothing like earlier. This was a feel-good warm, not a sear-your-skin-off boil. "Peter..." I rubbed my cheek against his. And when I backed up enough to look at him, his eyes stayed somewhere in the vicinity of my chest. I thought about how he'd planned on meeting Whitcomb. How he'd said it was a date with a lower case D. How he'd not trusted me enough to tell me about what he was going to be. My throat tightened up. "Were you going to leave without telling me?" Wide brown eyes, filled with guilt, flicked up at me. "No ... no ... never. I wouldn't ... couldn't." "Then why were you going to see him? The real reason, Pete." It occurred to me then Peter had lied to me for the first time today. That shouldn't have shocked me. I deserved to be lied to. But I couldn't deny the fact I didn't like it. I think it was the fact he felt the need to even do it. "I've been checking in with him every week so he can scent me. He was worried, you know, that I might ... might 64

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start... I was hoping I had more time. I want more time... God... D..." "And then what? He just whisks you away?" Yeah. Going by the way Peter looked at me, the way his eyebrows collided, the way his mouth—God his beautiful mouth—pulled into a thin line, that's exactly what that asshole planned on doing. And that was only going to happen over my mutilated and half-eaten corpse. I had the sudden urge to set something on fire. Or someone. Definitely someone. "D..." Pete's hands tightened around my body. "He just doesn't want anyone to get hurt." Yeah, well, he was about to get hurt. Lucky for Clown Hair, Peter was here to stop me. A hand on my cheek, his face in my neck, his body pressed against mine, and suddenly all my anger dissipated like a puff of smoke in the wind. I attributed it to the fact it was just impossible to stay pissed when the love of your life, who happened to be hotter than the sun, held you like this. I sighed and let my face fall against his shoulder. "Don't leave." "I don't want to hurt you." "You won't." "I could." No, he couldn't. Not Peter, not the guy who loves me more than the air he breathes. "It's why I didn't want to wait anymore. When this happens, it won't be the same. I won't be the same." 65

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"Yes, you will." He'd always be perfect; sharp teeth, a craving for flesh and blood, or any kind of metaphysical Stain on his body could never change that. "No, D. I won't." "Lesser-Breds are just people. Like you, like me. Just a different kind of people." Peter sighed against my neck. "Whitcomb doesn't think so." "Yeah, well, fuck him." Another sigh. "You aren't mad at me for not telling you?" I held him tighter. "Never." "Why not?" "No room." Pete's head turned and he looked at me. This close our eyelashes brushed and we exchanged each other's exhale. "No room?" "Yeah, I love you too much for anything else to fit." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Seven I hurried through my shower and left Peter to wash by himself. If I'd had a choice, I would have stayed in there with him; seeing that I had some asshole in my living room who had plans of stealing the love of my life, it was a luxury I couldn't afford at the moment. And now that Peter had spilled the beans, he didn't seem to be in all that big of a hurry to get out there and face Whitcomb. "Promise me you won't do anything to him." That's what Peter asked me as I dried off. I didn't want to make that promise. No, because I wanted to hurt the SOB. And considering my mood, I was willing to bet I could get really creative. Let's see, I had some lighter fluid in a cabinet over the fridge, add in some dishwashing liquid under the sink, a couple of matches in my coat pocket... The shower door opened, and Pete's head popped out. With his hair lathered up, he looked like he was topped with whipped cream. As if he wasn't yummy enough without the visual. "D?" "Yeah..." "Yeah, what?" Peter knew he had to make me say it. Out loud. All the way. Otherwise, it didn't qualify as a lie or breaking a promise in my book. And I never broke the promises I made to Pete. I sighed and scrubbed the towel over my head one more time. Maybe he'd forget in the thirty 67

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seconds I took to do that. A quick look from under the terry cloth knocked that theory out of the water. "Fine..." "Say it." "I promise I won't hurt Clown Hair." "And you'll be nice." "Fuck... Do I have to..." Pete gave me one of his smoldering looks. Not his angry look, but the one that made me think of janitor closets and butter and..."Yeah, okay, yeah, I promise to be nice." Lucky for me, his definition of nice and my definition of nice aren't anywhere near the same thing. I dressed in a pair of skaters but didn't take the time for anything else. Besides when all this was out of the way, I planned on getting Pete back in bed with me. Maybe if I marked my territory a few more hundred times, I would feel better. Probably not, but at least it would be fun to try. Clown Hair was in the living room parked on the leather sofa, a remote in one hand and a cup of coffee balanced on his knee in the other. "I hope you don't mind. I made some coffee. There's still over half a pot on the counter." Whitcomb didn't look at me while he flipped the channel from the news to HBO. I ignored the coffee when I went into the kitchen. Not that I'm against the stuff. I've been known to drink it by the gallon. For whatever reason I went to the fridge, got out the milk, poured me a cup, and popped it in the microwave. Tiny beeps sounded off as I punched in the time. "I take it you know about Peter's condition." 68

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Clown Hair's voice was too close for him to still be on the sofa. It might have startled me if I wasn't used to how quietly Lesser-Breds could move. It didn't stop the little hairs on my neck from standing up though. Maybe it was because of what Pete told me. How Whitcomb would want him to leave. Not just leave, but how he was going to take him away. Yeah, that had to be it. "Is that what they're calling becoming now days?" The microwave chimed off. I opened the door, took out my milk, and leaned against the counter while I sipped it. Whitcomb's dark green eyes hit mine like a physical force. From what I could see, he wasn't sporting fangs anymore. Considering he looked as Human as he did, they must have been the retractable kind. Some Lesser-Breds only had Human teeth, others had a mouth full of sharps that could make Jaws jealous. Then there were those who had fold downs that only flashed when they were pissed off, threatened, and, of course, aroused. Three guesses which one he'd been when he caught an eye full of me banging Pete. Thinking about that made me smile. Whitcomb's eyebrows came together, and his eyes crossed slightly. I was just about to comment on the funny look when he wiggled a finger at me, then touched the space between his eyes. Of course, that made me reach up to feel the sore spot nestled at the bridge of my nose. "Accident?" His mouth curled. I glared. "Yeah, can of Pledge whacked me in the head." "Really?" 69

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"Yeah, really. I guess it's a small price to pay for fucking in a janitor's closet." Well now, didn't that knock that smart ass look clean off his mug. "I would think given your reputation for hanging out in the Gray Zone you'd have a little more respect for the dangerous time Peter is facing." "Uh-huh, so is that your way of saying you should be the one fucking him instead?" The blush made him look young. Not that he didn't already look young. All the Lesser-Breds I knew looked like they'd been frozen in time around the age of eighteen to twenty-five. I had to admit, Whitcomb looked older than that, but not by much. Thirty? Thirty-five at the most? I think that's another thing that made him look so Human. I'd heard about Lesser-Breds who were good at blending into society. This was the first time I'd met one. But then I guess if they weren't good at it, they'd be seen more often. Whitcomb shook his head. "Pete could hurt you, Darwin." "He won't." "Maybe not on purpose. But he could. He could hurt you, he could kill you, and he could eat you." I narrowed my eyes at Whitcomb from over the edge of my cup, feeling no appreciation for his attempt to scare me. "I never tell Peter no. He wanted me, so I gave him what he wanted." "Are you going to give him what he wants when he asks to feed from you?" Damn. I hadn't thought about that. Would Peter ask me? Fuck me sideways, but I sure as shit hoped he would. 70

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Whitcomb didn't need to read my expression. No, his nostrils flared, and his eyes widened. Even his tongue peeked out from between his lips. A quick flick, like maybe he was trying really hard to stop himself from tasting me on the air. I smirked. "Jealous?" He frowned. "Don't be stupid. You don't have any idea what you're playing with here." That didn't sound like denial to me. Yeah, I bet his brain was playing some serious triple-X home movies. I drained my cup and sat it on the counter. It might have been my imagination, but I swear drinking that milk made it easier for me to cap my temper. Definitely my imagination. I crossed my arms and decided to quit beating around the bush. "You're not taking Peter away." Whitcomb blinked a couple of times then his gaze slid over to the bedroom door. It was closed. "Yeah, Pete told me about you wanting to whisk him away when he started his Shift." I cleared the rinky-dink kitchen in just a few steps. The wet bar was the only thing that separated us. If I'd been taller, I might have gone around the thing to get in his face, but that would have required a step stool or at least a couple of phone books. "He won't leave me. Do you hear me? He's not going anywhere with you." Whitcomb sighed and his eyes shut. The look of pain on his face wasn't what I expected. "I know you think you love him." "I do love him." "You're too young to know something like that."

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"Fuck you, Clown Hair. I've loved Peter Forbes since the day I met him. Not my problem whether or not you believe it." He stared at me, and I stared at him. Then he dipped his chin. "Okay, so let's pretend you do love him." "No pretending needed. It's fact. Get used to it." "Fine." He put his coffee cup down and shoved it in my direction. "Has it occurred to you what the risks to Peter are if he stays with you?" Uh. No. Actually... I shifted my weight. Scrubbed a hand through my hair. A smile tugged at Clown Hair's lips. Only it wasn't snide or cynical. If it had been, I might have thrown something at him. The crock pot sitting next to the sink was within arm's reach. I was willing to bet it would leave a mark. "So you haven't thought about that." If I've learned anything in my twenty-odd years, it's when in denial, keep your mouth shut. That way, the people tossing questions at you can't use your ignorance or self-absorbed ways of thinking against you. Unfortunately, it doesn't mean they won't come to their own conclusions. Sometimes they may even be the right conclusions. "I bet you haven't even considered the worst. That Peter could kill you. Even if he doesn't kill you, even if he just hurts you, he would face an Alchemist death squad. Pete's not going to be Human much longer, Darwin. He won't have any rights. And he's too precious a resource to squander away like that." Resource? Peter was more than just a resource. But then Kin and Lesser-Breds needed each other. They couldn't 72

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survive without their own. Even in all my drug-induced stupidity, I knew that. "You say that like you plan on feeding on him yourself." "That's not what I meant." "So you don't plan on using him?" Whitcomb's expression turned brittle. Yeah, apparently, Clown Hair was taking a page out of my book. Staying silent 'cause he might puke out something that could be used against him. But see, I knew better. Feeding is what Lesser-Breds did. Most of them didn't go all green in the gills about the subject like Whitcomb there. Acting like what they did was a dirty little secret no one was supposed to know about. But then again, most of them didn't try oh-so-hard to be Human. Clown Hair stepped back and ran a hand over his blond brush cut. "I don't make excuses for what I am, Darwin." Which sounded about as good as a "yes" as one could ask for. I barked a laugh. He glared. "You don't understand." "Then explain it." More glaring from Whitcomb. He scrubbed his face next, and his eyes wandered back to the door. Could he hear Peter in there? Could he smell him? I had the sudden urge to escort him out of the apartment via a good swift kick in the ass. "Peter is gifted..." Yeah, and here I thought he was going to tell me something I didn't know. "He has a chance to change things for us. For people like us." "You mean Lesser-Breds?" That pain-filled look was back in Clown Hair's face. Only this time is was different. Deeper. He took one breath, then 73

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two. "You know, my parents told me I was too young to know what love was." The chair he pulled out scraped against the hard wood. Whitcomb sat down and folded his arms on top of the bar. His fingers did some toying with the frayed end of his sleeve. I noticed that the elbow patch on the left one was coming loose. "But they were wrong. I did love Melanie. More than anything in the world." God, he sounded sad. Somehow I still managed to bark out an angry "So?" "I killed her, Darwin. I ate parts of her. You can't imagine what that was like. To wake up next to the person you loved more than anything only to discover you'd killed her." Yeah ... I suddenly didn't feel so very angry anymore. Not only that, I wished I had a chair. But since I didn't, I leaned on the counter. Maybe with any luck I wouldn't throw up. "I loved her, Darwin, and because I loved her, I was driven to feed from her. And since she was Human..." She didn't heal. I pushed away from the sink, grabbed my cup off the counter, opened the fridge, and refilled it. My hand shook when I put the milk back. By the time I had the fridge closed, I'd convinced myself Whitcomb didn't know what he was talking about. Peter wasn't just anyone—he was brilliant, kind, brilliant, and sweet... Behind me Whitcomb said, "Peter needs to come with me so he won't hurt anyone. So he won't hurt you. When it's over, when his Shift is finished and he's safe, then he can come back." I stuck the cup of moo-juice in the microwave and punched in the time. "And what happens if he's Stained on 74

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the face or has a mouth full of sharps?" 'Cause that was something you just couldn't hide. When Whitcomb didn't answer me, I glanced over my shoulder. "I'm not that naive? I know Lesser-Breds that are too Kin don't get to merge back into society." No, they became whores. And sometimes they died feeding Kin that used them. Or sometimes they died because a cop got pissed off and decided the world would be better with one less piece of wyrm fodder running around. The idea of something like that happening to Peter made my insides curl. "We'll protect him. I promise. We need him too much to lose him." The microwave beeped, and I took out my milk. I drank it without testing it first and promptly burned my tongue. Thing is, I barely felt it. I was too busy thinking about what Whitcomb had said. "We?" He nodded then fluttered his hands like he was stirring his thoughts. "Darwin, Peter is probably one of the most gifted minds for metaphysics to come around in well over a century. And he'll be the first known Lesser-Bred metaphysicist. The fact that he's going to be Lesser-Bred will be a gift. He'll have an understanding no scientist has had before him. And he'll be able to look at this condition from a completely new perspective." "That still doesn't answer the 'we' part." "There are others like me. Others who blend into society better than most. We have connections. People who will help 75

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keep him safe. Many of us have been working on a cure for this for decades." "A cure?" "Yes." "I thought becoming was genetic?" "It is." "But you're talking about it like it's a disease." "Lots of diseases are genetic." Okay, he had me there. But I didn't know a single disease that made you spring teeth, develop Stains, and have an insatiable need for flesh and blood. "So what are you saying, that Peter will whip up a cure for being Lesser-Bred?" "Will?" Whitcomb laughed. Genuinely laughed. "There is no 'will find a cure,' Darwin. Peter already has one." [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Eight My head turned of its own accord. But then it's attached to my body, which is in turn controlled by my dick. And my dick, well, that fucker only has one master. First name Peter, last name Forbes. He stood in the doorway, dressed in khakis and a red and white T-shirt. His hands were in his pockets, and still-wet curly-Qs framed his lovely face. The only reason I didn't rush right over there and grab him was because Pete was looking at Clown Hair and not me. It wasn't his wanton look, mind you. It was more of his worried stare. The kind he got right before a test or some huge-ass exam paper that would determine whether or not his scholarship would be renewed another semester. And since that boat had already sailed today, it meant that whatever was on Pete's mind had nothing to do with his studies but was equally as serious. Maybe even more serious. Whitcomb stared at Peter, too, but it wasn't in the same way. Clown Hair's mouth was open, his tongue flicking over his lips. Even his eyes fluttered. Peter must have tasted good to him, really good. I suddenly wanted to be able to taste Peter like that. I wondered if Whitcomb realized the expression on his face made him look like he was getting sucked off. "How bad is it?" Peter hugged himself. I wanted to hug him, too, but my feet remained glued to the tile floor. 77

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Whitcomb's eyes came open, and I swear they were more gold now. Yeah, definitely more gold. "You're starting, but it's not bad. Not ... yet." Then his expression changed, going from lust to blank in two-point-five seconds. "You should pack a bag." I slammed my mug down on the counter. The last swallow of milk splattered all over my hand, and I started around the wet bar. "Fuck that!" If I kicked his knees out from under him, then I was willing to bet I could get real up close and personal. Of course, I could always stand on one of the other bar stools. "D?" I froze. My eyes went to Peter. His sweet face was so calm, and here I was feeling the urge to burst into flames. "D, I need you to give us a minute." A minute. For what? What could they possibly do in a minute? I cataloged all the acts that I could perform in a minute. Unfortunately, none of them were things you did with clothes on. "Peter..." Pete walked into the room, around Clown Hair, and over to me. He stopped, and his argyle socks brushed against my bare toes. I wanted to kiss him, to touch him, to put my hands all over his body. But like I said, Peter pretty much has the remote control to my dick, and at the moment he wasn't pushing the up button. So I stood there feeling helpless. He put his hand on my cheeks. His thumb stroked my lip along the way. "You have to trust me." "I do trust you." "Then I need to talk to Whitcomb. Alone." 78

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Because he wanted to say things he didn't want me to hear. Maybe he didn't trust me to hear them. I really shouldn't have been so hurt by the idea Peter had secrets. Secrets he didn't want me to know about. After all, he'd never gotten angry with me for all the drugs, the booze, the fucking other people. Even though we hadn't technically been together, I knew then that he was mine and I was his. Only I wasn't strong like him. I couldn't wait like him. My chin hit my chest, and the corners of my eyes burned. "I love you." For the first time, instead of making me feel invincible, those three words felt like kryptonite. "I know you do, D. And I love you, too. But Whitcomb and I have to discuss a few things." Things that didn't include me because I wasn't a part of Club Lesser-Bred. "Please, Pete, don't let him take you away..." "D..." "I don't care ... whatever the reasons, I don't care. Please... Peter..." "Just a few minutes. That's all I ask." And considering all the things he put up with for me, it wasn't all the big of a request. I still would have rather cut off a finger than leave him in here alone. I made the mistake of taking my eyes off Peter and catching the look Whitcomb was giving him. No doubt about it, in his mind Peter was already out of the apartment and going off to wherever Lesser-Breds went to become. I frowned. 79

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The hallway outside our apartment was empty. But then it usually was. I never made a point to know our neighbors, and I wasn't making a point of it now. I was too busy pacing, back and forth, up and down, the dark brown tile floor. From the window, to the large picture on the opposite wall, which just so happened to be a watercolor of the view outside the glass. I really wanted to know what they were talking about in there. What terrible scary things Whitcomb was using to bend Peter's arm. And it wouldn't take much. See, I know Peter. I know his heart is soft, unlike his mind. He cares about everyone and that means he's the type to suffer to keep others safe. Me? Fuck the world. What's mine is mine. The rest of those bastards could find their own way. But if there was any one thing that I knew for a fact in my miserable, self-hating life, it was that Peter was mine. And even though I knew that, even though I knew Peter knew that, I couldn't stop the dread simmering in my chest—the fear coagulating in my veins. What if Peter left me because Whitcomb convinced him it was for the best? And like I said, it wouldn't take much. Because Peter, gentle Peter, caring Peter, kind Peter, loved me as much as I did him. The glass was cold against my forehead. Outside the window the sky had taken on a gray hue that promised bitter fall wind and freezing rain. It didn't seem right that Georgia could produce such inhospitable weather. That a place this far south could pretend it was so welcoming and be so brutal. Dead leaves skittered across the sidewalk. Pigeons skirmished for food along the edge of the parking lot. A pair 80

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of yuppies climbed into their big black SUV and drove away. All normal things. Parts of a normal world. A world where I'd never felt like I belonged. No, the only thing that kept me coming back here was Peter. If I didn't have him, I'd probably would have eaten a bullet years ago. Or jumped off a bridge. Maybe locked myself in my shitty car with a hose dumping exhaust through the window. 'Cause death was way better than loneliness. Standing there, I had to admit the real reason I spent so much time in the Gray Zone was because I'd hoped one day I wouldn't come out. I'd secretly hoped one of the monsters would kill me. That I'd become wyrm food. And dying would finally free me from all the pain I'd endured having to watch Peter but never touch him. Was this how Kin felt when they were denied their own? I'd heard a rumor that solitude could drive them mad. That some of them might be able to find temporary reprieve in the company of Humans. But no matter what, no matter how many Humans were willing to die to feed them, they needed their own. For them it wasn't about love but need. A kind of hunger that no amount of food or sex could ever sate. But Humans just aren't like that. No matter how powerful the attraction, they don't go into a state of madness—rage— where their bodies and their minds self-destruct. That's what I told myself. But it was a lie. Without Peter, I would self-destruct if my heart didn't just up and quit first. I know what I felt for Peter was unnatural, not to mention downright insane. Maybe I was crazy. Maybe I'd lost my mind when I was fourteen along with my virginity. But I couldn't 81

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deny what I felt. Peter was a part of me. The half to my whole. And being with him, touching him, tasting him had changed everything for me. For the first time I felt happy. Complete. And now Whitcomb was here to take the one thing in my life that gave me a reason to live. Fog blossomed on the slick glass as my breath shuddered out. I sucked in a breath only to have it escape again in the form of a sob. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Chapter Nine It was way longer than a minute, way longer than even a couple of minutes, before the apartment door came open. My eyes were still outside on the sidewalk. At least I wasn't crying anymore. The trails of tears had dried in salty lines on my cheeks. Behind me the door shut. I really needed to turn and tell Peter goodbye. Tell him I love him. Tell him I would be waiting here for him when he came back. After all, he'd waited for me. And I'd promise him no drugs, no booze, no sex. I'd stay chaste just for him because now that we were together, he was the only one I wanted. Peter was the only one I'd ever wanted. The others had just been to pass the time. But I couldn't do it. Like everything else, I was just too weak. No, scratch that. I was too much of a pussy to face him, hold up my chin, and be strong. I knew the second he walked out of my life, I'd go find a can of household cleaner and huff my brains out. Maybe I'd die a quick death rather than the slow one that was surely waiting for me as I rotted away pining for him. 'Cause I knew, see. I knew Lesser-Breds who went away didn't come back. They couldn't. They didn't age, they had needs that had to be met, and that meant they needed their own. Like the fake teeth, the contacts, and the tattoos people 83

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wore, no matter how many hours I put into the Gray Zone, rolling with the inhuman, I wasn't one of them. Behind me a breath was drawn. "I hope you'll do the right thing and try and talk some sense into him." That wasn't Peter's voice, it was Whitcomb's. My head whipped around. Clown Hair stood in the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his chinos. He wasn't smiling anymore, and he was alone. His gaze zeroed in somewhere over my head, out the window, and locked on some space on the horizon. I wondered if he was staring at the Wall that marked the edge of the Dens. This far out from the Zone it was a dark line on the horizon, as tall as some of the buildings that edged the cityscape. The enormous structure was nothing more than a sad attempt by city officials to keep the wyrms separate from the rest of society. They had other measures as well, like laws and a variety of bureaucratic bullshit. But obviously it wasn't a perfect arrangement, otherwise there wouldn't be mixedbred offspring like him. "He's not going with you." I made it a statement. Whitcomb shook his head, ran a hand through his hair, then fumbled with his jacket. "No, no, he's..." His mouth screwed up, and I wondered if he was thinking about his wife. Did someone tell him the dangers? Did he tell them no, too? Whitcomb walked towards me, but his eyes stayed out the window. If I had to say I saw anything in his expression, it was worry. "He'll need to be fed, eventually." "When?" 84

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His right shoulder went up then down. "It could be weeks or days. Some are hard to judge. My nose isn't as sensitive to the change as some. But it won't be long." "I'll find him someone." Hell, I knew plenty of Lesser-Breds in the Zone. And anything they had, including their flesh and blood, was for sale. He nodded once, and there was a short pause before he said, "You can call me. Even though I don't agree with his decisions..." Not just disagree but thought Peter was stupid. The thought was plain as day on his face. "And I hope you will call when you need help. Please, Darwin, don't let anything bad happen to him." "Never." He did look at me then. Yeah, it was definitely worry I saw in his eyes. Worry for me. And a boatload of worry for Peter. "I'll bring you some things later on..." My mind, of course, went to condoms—which we don't use—then lubricant—which I always keep plenty of. Besides if we ran low, there was a big ass tub of Country Crock in the fridge. But I'm pretty damn sure that's not what Whitcomb meant. "You should buy more red meat. He needs to eat it raw. Keep him off the sugar. He'll crave it, but it can make things worse by causing his need to flare." "We'll be fine." "Yeah..." He nodded. "Yeah, I hope for your sake you're right." Whitcomb left me standing by the window and headed down the steps. I didn't stay there long. I ran to the door and threw it open. 85

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Peter was on the couch, his chin down, his arms across his stomach. His cheeks were red and wet, and his breath made a wet sound when he inhaled through his nose. I shut the door, stumbled around the furniture. My knees buckled, and I collapsed on the floor at his feet. I pushed my way between his knees and buried my face in his stomach. There were no more tears for me to shed though. Nimble fingers slid through my still-damp hair. "I hope you'll forgive me," he said. "For what?" I held Pete tighter, inhaled his scent. "For being selfish." Peter's hand pulled my chin up and he kissed me. "I don't ... under ... stand..." I could still taste the chocolate cupcakes on his tongue. "I couldn't leave." And he was apologizing? "I don't want you to leave, Pete." "But I could hurt you." "I don't care." "I could kill you, D." "I don't care." The need to touch him hit me hard, and I slipped my hands under his shirt. Peter kissed me again, tongue and all, and I never wanted him to quit. But we both had to breathe. "And I don't care either," he said when he pulled back. He sounded so sad. So ashamed. "I'm sorry, D. I just couldn't do it. Even though I know what could happen, I just couldn't ... wouldn't..." His lip trembled and he shut his eyes and sighed. It was a sound that might as well have been a strip tease for me. 86

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My hands tightened on his hips and I pulled him closer. "I'll take care of you?" Pete shook his head. "You can't..." Because I was Human. I couldn't feed him. I couldn't meet his needs. Well, I could meet some of them, but because I'm a man and not a LesserBred, even my ability to give him sex was limited. "Then I'll find you someone..." A frown pulled at his lips and his eyes came open. He searched my face, but for the first time I didn't think Peter could read me. "I'll take you to the Zone, Peter. We'll go there together. I'll help you. I can't feed you, but there are those who can." It meant I'd have to share him. It meant he'd have to share himself. That part he must have seen in my expression. "I don't know if I can do that." "I'll be with you." "But I could start at any time. Whitcomb said he couldn't be sure how long I had." "Then we'll start soon. Tomorrow I'll take you into the Zone. We'll find someone. We'll practice..." Yeah, didn't that sound just cheesy. All I needed now was some Chicka-wowwow background music. "You mean you want me to have sex with other people, don't you?" I did some blinking. Yeah. Yeah, that's exactly what I meant. But I didn't have to tell Peter because he read that, too. "I can't believe you..." Sometimes it was hard for me to remember that Pete wasn't like me. He was good, pure, with morals and boundaries. My eyes shut, just slammed down. Then my head 87

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fell, and my forehead rested against his chest. I could feel his heart beating and wasn't a bit surprised that mine matched the thrum. I was pretty sure it would stop if he commanded it to. "Peter ... I'm..." Sorry. So sorry. The words refused come out. "You amaze me, D." Okay, that ... that wasn't what I expected him to say. Maybe fuck off. Or call me an asshole. Which I am, there's no denying it. Especially now that I'd suggested we go into the Zone tomorrow and buy a whore. His fingers threaded through my hair again, and my nuts clenched. "You really aren't scared. are you?" "Not of you, no." I was scared for him. I was scared of him having to leave. I was scared of being alone. But I wasn't a bit scared of him killing me. Maybe I should have been. But like I'd already told Peter... I was in love with him, and that's all I had room for. The End About the Author: I was born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia and I've been writing and drawing since I could hold a crayon. My first dragon crush was Pete's Dragon. I was three, and he was, well, a cartoon. But I was hooked—a dragonholic. Then I moved on to bigger, badder, scarier beasties. Dahlonega, Georgia is my home and I'm hard at work on new novels featuring the Kin, the Lesser Breds, the Humans and the rest of the residents of Atlanta, Georgia. Enjoy your 88

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time in the City of Dragons, and remember: don't wander into the Gray Zone after dark.

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