Three’s Company by Kristian Parker

Book 2 in the Village Affairs series

General Release Date: 6th September 2022

Word Count: 53,296
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 230

GENRES:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
MÉNAGE AND MULTIPLE PARTNERS
MULTICULTURAL

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Book Description

They’re the perfect throuple…if only the rest of the world agreed.

Will Johnstone’s father is desperately ill, and he races home from London to the Yorkshire village of Napthwaite to be with him. Almost immediately he meets cute postman, Hardeep and mysterious newcomer, Andrew. There weren’t handsome men like this in Napthwaite when he lived here…

Heat flares between the three very different men, passion they have no intention of resisting, or denying. But having their roots deep and their lives entwined in a small village is not like living in a bustling metropolis. And with domineering mothers, problem teenagers, sick fathers and someone’s past knocking at the door, the path of true love is anything but smooth.

Can Will, Hardeep and Andrew, three very different people, steer their relationship past the rocks and find a way into uncharted territory…together?

Reader advisory: This book contains mentions of racism, on-page violence, and depictions of an abusive relationship.

Excerpt

Steam swirled in the air as Will Johnstone took the lid off the bone marrow broth that had sold like proverbial hotcakes since he’d insisted it went on the menu.

“Smells delicious,” Stacey, the new waitress, said with a wink.

Will smiled weakly. She had been flirting with him ever since she’d started. He would have to get one of the waiters to fill the poor girl in. She didn’t stand a chance.

To the untrained eye, the kitchen seemed to be in total pandemonium, but Will understood every move of this dance. He should. He’d been sous chef at Haven in Shoreditch for three years.

Serving under renowned chef, Anton Romano, he’d learnt all the foibles that his cantankerous boss preferred. As usual, Anton patrolled the pass where the plated meals waited to be served. If they stayed there longer than three minutes, he would scream at the restaurant staff until he went hoarse.

The month of August meant the traditional lull while valued customers enjoyed time on the beach in some far-flung place. Haven had that reassuringly expensive air that meant the clientele was more London’s high society rather than tourists. Will had decided to use this time to test out new dishes before the inevitable surge in September that built steadily to Christmas.

“Are you going to let all the air get to that fucking broth?” Anton shouted across the room. Will realised Anton meant him and dropped the lid with a clatter.

He didn’t even bother replying. Anton would be on to something else by now. That appeared to be the mousy new waitress whom he seemed determined to drive out of the door in less than two days. Will couldn’t remember if that would be a personal best for Anton or not.

These days, he didn’t even bother getting to know the wait staff unless Gustav, the maître d’, tipped him off that they’d lasted the first month. They would tend to stay on then.

Will hated kitchens in August. The heat outside made it unbearable. He’d often tried to persuade Anton to reduce the number of hot dishes they served but Anton wouldn’t have any of it. He didn’t seem to feel the heat or the cold.

The intensity of the kitchen had started to lessen, the orders coming in slower. Anton stalked past him towards his office.

“Anton, could I have a—?” Will started.

“You may not,” came the reply.

The staff regarded Will with amusement. They loved it when Anton treated him like shit. Anton liked to play a divide-and-rule game in his kitchen. He ruled with a culture where he positively encouraged climbing on top of colleagues, and at least three people were eyeing Will’s position.

The smell of the duck main being prepped at the next station filled Will’s nostrils. Anton might be a bastard, but he was an absolute genius too.

It had gone eleven and there would be no more orders. His body ached, but he had that adrenalin rush he loved after a mad shift. It would be hours before he could even think about sleep. As the staff scrubbed everything in sight, he made his way through to the office.

Anton sat with his feet up on the desk, engrossed in a recipe book that could have dated to Noah’s time on the ark.

“That looks interesting,” Will said. Ever the optimist, he could almost imagine one day the ice thawing, and Anton bothering about their working relationship.

Anton snapped the book shut with a bang and put it in his drawer. He scowled at Will, daring him to speak. Tonight clearly would not be that night.

As a concession to his seniority, Will had the honour of being able to hang his coat and bag up in Anton’s office rather than the changing area. Instead of engaging with a riled Anton, he chose retreat.

He could visualise the cold bottle of Sancerre in the fridge at home if bloody Angela hadn’t stolen it.

“This came for you,” Anton said.

Putting his jacket on, Will turned around to see Anton holding up a letter. Will frowned. Who sends letters these days?

“It’s from head office,” Anton continued. His expression suggested he was passing something toxic to Will.

Head office was Anton’s kryptonite. People only mentioned it if they absolutely had to. Anton had this fantasy that Haven was his own personal restaurant. He didn’t want to accept that they were really being bankrolled by a Chinese investment firm. Most of the communications with head office were done by Will. It was nice to know he came in useful for the boring stuff.

“Weird they didn’t just email,” Will replied.

Anton stood and wandered to the drinks cupboard they had in the office, that Will had been warned on pain of death to never touch.

“Fancy a whisky before you go?” Anton said, trying to come across as friendly which really did not suit him.

Will could have been knocked down with a feather. “Erm…fine. Just a small one.”

He poured a generous slug of Will’s favourite, Hibiki. His mouth started to come alive in anticipation.

Anton raised his glass. “To Haven.”

“Haven,” Will replied.

He took a sip. His tastebuds exploded with all the different flavours of honey, orange, sandal and oak. They fought and danced together as he took a second to enjoy it.

“Good stuff,” Anton said, smacking his lips.

“Amazing. My absolute favourite.”

“A man of taste,” Anton said, walking to his chair and sitting. He gestured to the chair in front of the desk.

Will lowered himself and waited. This Hibiki had more strings attached to it than a double bass.

“It seems one of the little shitcans out there has made a complaint,” Anton said.

Everything slotted into place now. Anton didn’t want to lose face in the kitchen but didn’t mind trying to curry favour behind closed doors. What a wily bastard.

Anton pushed the bottle to his side of the desk. Will sank in his seat with a feeling of gloom coming over him. This was going to be a long session.

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About the Author

Kristian Parker

I have written for as long as I could write. In fact, before, when I would dictate to my auntie. I love to read, and I love to create worlds and characters.

I live in the English countryside. When I’m not writing, I like to get out there and think through the next scenario I’m going to throw my characters into.

Inspiration can be found anywhere, on a train, in a restaurant or in an office. I am always in search of the next character to find love in one of my stories. In a world of apps and online dating, it is important to remember love can be found when you least expect it.

Follow Kristian on Facebook.

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Love’s Anchor by Mimi B. Rose

General Release Date: 6th September 2022

Word Count: 11,284
Book Length: SHORT STORY
Pages: 54

GENRES:

 BILLIONAIRE
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
PARANORMAL
WERESHIFTERS

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Book Description

She’s caught between two clans. One says she’s their property—the other that she’s the Fated Mate of the Alpha’s son.

After hiding from shifters all her life, Mirabelle Beauchamp finds herself caught in a deadly rivalry between two clans. When sexy Alpha’s son Maxime Ducharme helps her fend off a shifter attack, she’s thrown into the world her mother had shielded her from. Maxime’s rivals return, claiming Mirabelle is one of them, but she knows she belongs to Maxime and Maxime belongs to her.

They’ll both have to fight for what they want. For the freedom to choose—and to love.

Publisher’s Note: This book is the prequel to Heart’s Ease, part of the Laurentian Mountain Clan series.

Excerpt

Laurentian Mountains, Québec, 1988

Mirabelle Beauchamp knelt by her husband’s gravestone in the small cemetery. The wind whisked the crisp autumn leaves in small eddies around her. She looked up, listening, and tensed for flight. Did I just hear a howl in the woods?

It didn’t sound like the local shifter clan. Probably a pack passing through the mountains on the way to their winter residence. Nothing to worry about.

She looked back at the gravestone and traced Jacques’ name on the marker.

“Three years,” she whispered. “Why did it end this way?” She wiped the tears from her cheeks and pulled her long coat around her middle.

Her friends in Montreal didn’t understand. They thought she should have buried her husband in the city. But her best memories of her husband came from this village in northern Québec. Their walks through the little streets, the dances at the parish hall. The times before things got bad.

She rested her head on Jacques’ gravestone, her shoulder-length brown bob falling over her face, shutting her off from the world.

“I’m trying to move on, but I can’t,” she whispered. “Damn you!” There was still a giant hole in her chest where her heart used to be. She wondered how it wasn’t visible from the outside.

The little town was her refuge these days. The villagers made it a point to check in on her. Pushing herself to become involved in the community eased the grief and anger a little.

“I’ve been trying to keep busy, but it’s not working. I’m spinning around with nothing to hang onto.”

A rustling noise came from behind her. Was it Madame LaFitte or Monsieur Blais? They often visited their loved ones in the little cemetery.

Mirabelle looked around. Nothing but the old-fashioned iron fence and worn-down gravestones. A crumbling grey statue of an angel surveyed the scene in the middle of the graveyard.

It must be a squirrel or a hare.

She roused herself and stood.

“Time to get back to the real world, J.” After giving one last pat to her husband’s gravestone, she walked through the path to the entrance.

At the cemetery gate, she heard a noise to her right. A tall man in a dark grey overcoat rushed towards her, looking behind him. He was nearly on top of her when he turned his head. Piercing grey eyes met her gaze.

He raised his hands. She reached out to stop him from crashing into her, but it was too late. Their fingers met—

…She fell down a hole. Or into a dream.

Mirabelle landed in the dark. Grass and earth below. Stars and trees above. In a clearing—people sang and danced in the firelight. Smoke and pine wafted to her nose.

A large, muscular arm reached down, grasped her hand and pulled her up from the ground. Two hands reached around her and held her close to a sculpted body.

She stared up into the dark eyes of a man she’d never seen before. But those eyes were familiar. Tall, broad shoulders, dark grey overcoat. No, not coat—furs. Long, dark hair was pulled into rough braids that begged to be stroked. Grey eyes, high cheekbones, kissable lips—he almost glowed in the bonfire light. He was hers. Wasn’t he?

She looked down and touched her linen smock, noting a dark wool shawl draped over her shoulders. Slippers hugged her feet, connecting her to the earth.

He pulled her into the circle, the other couples whirling around them. They stood still for a moment. Warmth and strength emanated from him, enveloping her. He leaned in to place his lips by her neck, his nose tickling her ear. She breathed him in—pine forests and earth, fur and leather and smoke.

The gorgeous man stepped back and grinned. He whirled her around, faster and faster.

They laughed together. She was dizzy and smiling and falling…

—At the cemetery entrance, Mirabelle came to, the ground cold beneath her. A tall handsome man held her head and shoulders. Backlit by the sun, his short dark hair set off a rugged face, high cheekbones and smooth olive skin. Hard, sinewy muscles flexed under his soft, tailored overcoat. Grey eyes held her gaze. She caught a hint of smoke and furs.

She was groggy. And lying down. And staring. And she wanted to stay lying down with this man above her or under her or anywhere he wanted to be.

“How—what happened?” she asked, reaching out towards his cheek.

“I bowled you over. I’m sorry,” he said in a deep baritone, the sound rumbling through his chest. His eyes pinned her with his intense gaze. She resisted the urge to slip her arms around his shoulders.

“Are you all right?” he asked, licking his lips.

“I don’t know.” She put her hands on either side of her on the ground. “I was walking along and—”

“I didn’t see you until it was too late. I thought I had a hold of you, but then you fell down.” He tried to help her sit up.

“Who—who are you?” She looked into his grey eyes and heard the echo of fiddles and laughing.

They both froze, half awake, caught in a spell, searching for something that was already slipping away.

When a wolf howled in the distance, the spell was broken. They both turned towards the treeline, which was several metres away.

This man—this promise of firelight and forest and passion—frowned and shook his head, peering into the woods. His powerful hands squeezed her shoulders for a moment, and he let out a low growl.

She tensed. “Are you—?” she asked.

Shifter? Wolf?

He turned back to her, his eyes now glowing yellow. Her own wolf answered back, a low rumble from deep inside her. Yes.

The vibrations met and coursed through them both in waves. When he pushed her back on the ground, she reached up and pulled his face towards hers. She had never felt this magnetic pull for someone—not even Jacques. When she sought his mouth with hers, heat rippled through her body.

Just as she melted into him, a crash sounded behind them. Six wolves loped out of the woods, howling and chuffing as they approached the couple on the ground.

The man sat back and shifted into a giant charcoal wolf. As Mirabelle transformed into her white wolf form, the pack circled around the two of them.

The biggest of the attackers advanced, snarling at the charcoal wolf. The grey wolf snapped at the mud-coloured fur, then pounced on the brown wolf.

Mirabelle was distracted by two smaller wolves barking at her. She approached them, teeth bared and growling. Lunging forward, she snapped at the flanks of one, while she tried to push the other with her back legs. They rolled over her as she bit and clawed, anger rising within her.

Her mother had kept her away from other shifters, but she had prepared Mirabelle to defend herself if needed. Mirabelle was not going to let these pups win. She bit an ear and scrambled until they whined and withdrew, panting.

The grey wolf howled. His opponent was down, blood dripping from its hind legs. A couple of wolves answered his call, but they sounded far away. Were they on the other side of the small town?

The brown wolves snarled and renewed their attack.

She felt a sharp pain on her side. She kept fighting, but there were too many of them.

The grey wolf appeared in front of her as another brown one advanced. He pushed the newcomer down and tore out his throat. It was vicious, but she felt only satisfaction seeing the blood gushing on the ground.

Two grey wolves ran into the clearing to join the fight. Circling, they snapped at the attackers. When one brown wolf ran off, the greys pounced on the remaining wolves. They joined in the fight until their foes were wounded and had limped off into the woods.

Mirabelle’s heart was pounding. She had avoided shifters all her life. Why did they find her here? Now? Am I in danger?

She remembered her mother’s stories of loups-garous—the French-Canadian werewolves. The European settlers in New France had spun fearful tales of outcasts turning to the devil and being punished by God. Shifters were sinners who needed punishment. Like Eve and the curse of childbirth. She knew it wasn’t true, but sometimes she felt she was being treated unfairly by the universe for something she didn’t choose.

She was woozy. Blood gushed from a slash on her flank. Shifting would heal the serious injuries. She sat down and concentrated, her bones and sinews transforming into human positions. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

Back in her human form, Mirabelle knelt on the cold ground. Where had she left her clothes? The man who had fought with her against the other wolves appeared with his grey overcoat, gently wrapping it around her. She snuggled into it and started to shiver uncontrollably.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Maxime,” he said.

Your mate.

She could have sworn she heard him say it, but his lips hadn’t moved.

“Let’s have someone look at your wounds,” he said.

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About the Author

Mimi B. Rose

Mimi B. Rose writes fantastic tales filled with steamy enchantment and tender-hearted fulfilment to thrill strong women. As a teen she read V.C. Andews’s Flowers in the Attic and Anne Rice’s The Vampire Lestat and she was hooked on fantasy romance and paranormal romance. Some of her favourite tv shows are Sleepy Hollow, Grimm, and Once–and the reboot of Beauty and the Beast starring Kirstin Kreuk (does anyone remember that series?).

She loves all kinds of shifters and vampires. Her all-time favourite authors are Faith Hunter, Ilona Andrews, Nalini Singh, and more recently Richelle Mead.

Mimi likes a sassy heroine who is independent but finds a strong hero who can keep up with her and treasure her for their uniqueness–including her flaws!

Check out Mimi’s website.

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From Bad to Worse by Gin Vane

Book 1 in the Southern Awakenings series

General Release Date: 6th September 2022

Word Count: 100,651
Book Length: SUPER PLUS NOVEL
Pages: 384

Genres:

ACTION AND ADVENTURE
BISEXUAL
COWBOYS AND WESTERN
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
MEN IN UNIFORM
THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

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Book Description

Both detectives know that there’s different kinds of dangerous—the obvious threat you clock on approach, and the one you never see comin’…

Colt Harkan’s not much of a laughing man, or he might better appreciate the biggest joke of his life. Fresh from his time undercover, his first day at Mason PD finds him partnered with Everett Kane—a man determined to stumble through life and still come up the golden boy.

Makes it all look so easy, talking to people with his sun-bright smile. Everett just…cares. It’s like the man can’t help it.

But even in Mason, Colt sees darkness at the fringes, and catching that State Rodeo case starts two unexpected obsessions—proving Patrick Combs’ death was a murder, and screwing around with Ev in the backseat of their car. Seems to work out fine for them both, when Ev isn’t busy with his women or his wife.

One of these days, Everett’s going to find the rock bottom he’s digging for, and Colt can’t help but push him along. The bosses won’t admit it but there’s more to Combs than meets the eye, and that bigshot Richard Edwards knows something for sure.

Ev would say it makes him a pessimist, but Colt just has that feeling, an ice-sharp truth learned in days spent dodging death. Getting honest words from Edwards and Everett both? Might be what kills Colt yet.

Excerpt

Everett
Louisiana, 2018

“You know who you have to call, Everett.”

Lead Detective Everett Kane sat at his desk with a single thought in his head, surrounded by files that looked like scrapbook memories. Because this Meyers case? Staging aside, it was Patrick Combs all over again.
Major Stapes leaned against the open office door, face unreadable in the light of dimmed fluorescents. “I’ll be the first to admit I’ve no love for the bastard. And with how you all left things…well, there’s a bigger picture now.”

A hard laugh escaped Everett’s throat. “He’s the one who saw that in the first place. Back then.”
The major nodded, but didn’t look happy to agree. For all anyone ever said about “that nutcase outsider,” not to mention the legitimate grief he gave the bosses back in the day, it’d be easy to turn a blind eye and avoid an uncomfortable sight. But Major Stapes had a reputation for giving credit where it was due. He was the one who’d hired the bastard back when. He knew what he was asking Everett to do—again.

The older man picked at peeling black letters that read E. Kane, Lead Detective. “Maybe so,” Stapes hedged. “But it doesn’t change the facts. Now that there’s another body…do it now or do it tomorrow, but you’re out of time. We need him.”

Everett eyed the locked drawer of his desk. They both knew exactly who he meant, but Everett wasn’t stupid enough to go saying the man’s name aloud, even to the only boss who could halfway stand him. This case had conjured up enough old ghosts without adding him to the mix.

Everett shook his head. “I’m not workin’ with him.”

The major snorted, a paternal sound that made Everett feel like a kid complaining over chores. With his silver hair and well-lined face, Stapes often reminded Everett of his grandfather, though he wrangled small-town cops instead of stallions. He rapped his knuckles against the door. “Believe that’s the second time you’ve tried to convince me of that, Detective.”

Shit. Stapes was right about that too.

The fight fell out of Everett with a heavy sigh, leaving him hunched over the desk. He fixed weary eyes on the photo in front of him—a young woman in a State Rodeo T-shirt and a puddle of her own blood—cut up and dead in a way no person ought to be. One look at those photos and the petty wilted in his gut.

Yeah. There’s that bigger picture to think on.

He tried to rub the tiredness from his eyes. “I’m not gettin’ out of this, am I?”

Stapes’ attention darted around the room—at the photos stapled over the walls, the files that littered every surface, the theories and timelines connected by string and too many cards to count. It made his point too well.

“Not this time.”

The major turned on his heel, leaving Everett to stew in his half-lit office. The station lights had long ago been dimmed, which made sense. Everett’s colleagues all had homes to be getting to. There’d been a time he had the same—a couple different homes, if he were honest.

He clicked his pen twice, then chucked it at the desk. Broken pieces of plastic scattered to corners unknown.
Fuckin’ Harkan. Why’d Colt always have to be right?

Alone and accustomed to being so, he cracked the small window in his smaller office and blazed up a Camel filter. On a normal day, Everett was a strict only-with-coffee smoker. He was down to a pack a week when things stayed the right kind of average. But this one was peeling fast, half-gone from yesterday—a soft pack because fuck it, they weren’t gonna last long enough to matter. Not when the State Rodeo was once again the scene of a murder. And certainly not now the name Colt Harkan was playing on a loop in his mind…

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About the Author

Gin Vane

Gin Vane is your friendly neighborhood bisexual she / they, deconstructing heteronormativity one queer romance at a time.

As a lifelong reader of the genre, Gin refuses to compromise plot for spice and lives by the motto “por que no los dos?” Gin primarily writes MM and MMF, though she enjoys reading and writing lesbian romance as well. Gin lives for the slow-burn that scalds and loves a good character redemption arc. Their novels are always full of heat and often include elements of polyamory and BDSM.

When not at the writing desk, Gin can be found dancing at their pole and circus studio, knitting beside the most perfect cat, watching crime shows and Brit coms with her husband or cooking dinner with friends and partners.

Follow Gin on Instagram and TikTok.

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River Hag by Pelaam

Book 5 in the The Devil’s in the Details series

General Release Date: 30th August 2022

Word Count: 32,322
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 137

Genres:

ANGELS AND DEMONS
CONTEMPORARY
GAY
GLBTQI
PARANORMAL

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Book Description

Sometimes, a friend in need can be deadly in deed.

Keegan has an abusive stepfather, Frank, and is bullied at college. He dodges bullies, led by Owen, by hiding close to the river. He tells his friend about the attacks and his narrow escape. The next day in college, pondweed is found in Owen’s locker, and he blames Keegan. The pondweed is sent to John Bull, and on examination is found to have a paranormal resonance, so he sends Emery, Alex and Kadin to investigate.

When Owen is found drowned in a bathtub, secured with pondweed, the team believe they’re dealing with a grindylow—a river hag. They need to establish whether the creature is acting for its own ends or at someone’s direction. Circumstances point to Keegan, but the team can’t find the connection and feel time is running out.

The next victim is Keegan’s stepfather, and with Keegan missing, Kadin decides to try to communicate with his spirit. He learns that the grindylow is protecting Keegan, but the team know that its nature means that Bo, now Keegan’s lover, will be the next victim.

But first, they need to find Keegan.

Reader advisory: This book portrays the deaths of two secondary characters.

Excerpt

From his bedroom doorway, Keegan winced as he listened to his mother and stepfather argue. He hoped it didn’t end as so many of them had before, with his mother sporting a new bruise and claiming she’d walked into a door, tripped and fallen or inadvertently punched herself when changing the duvet.

The rows had increased in frequency and intensity over the last couple of years. He wants me out of the house, but I didn’t get the qualifications I needed to go to uni. I spent too much time babysitting. At least with my brother Jonnie now being at school, he doesn’t have to see or hear this.

“He needs a fucking job, not this stupid college thing.” Frank’s voice boomed up the stairs, and Keegan cringed closer to the doorframe.

Getting into college had been his one saving hope. That by studying there, he’d upgrade his qualifications enough to secure a place in university. But the college was no haven. The class bully had found Keegan to be a suitable victim, and his life there was being made a misery. And that homophobic prick of a principal has done nothing to stop it.

“He’s been bullied.” Keegan’s mother’s voice was starting to waiver, and Keegan clenched his hands into fists.

“Then he needs to be a man and deal with it, not run and hide behind you. Pathetic little pansy. You’ve made him soft.”

That was the last straw. Keegan ran down the stairs and into the living room.

“Don’t you dare diss my mother.” Anger sizzled through Keegan’s veins, even though Frank had several inches and almost a hundred pounds on him.

“Well, maybe if you were as quick to defend yourself, you wouldn’t get bullied.” Frank stuck his meaty fists onto his hips. “She says you’re taking a mental health day. Well, fuck that. Either you go to that college like you’re meant to or you drop out and find somewhere else to live. I’m not having a freeloader living here. I work, she works and either you study and move out or quit and move out. I don’t care which.”

“It’s too late to go in now, and the college allows students to take odd days off, so there’s no issue with today. I’ll be back there tomorrow, and as soon as I can, I’ll be out of here.”

“Keegan, no.” His mother looked devastated, and he hurried to clasp her hands, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

“And as soon as I have somewhere settled, you and Jonnie are coming to live with me. Don’t think his fists will stop at you. You have to think of Jonnie.”

“Why don’t you go out for a nice walk by the river?” Ellie smiled at him, even if her lips trembled. “There are fixings for sandwiches in the fridge and a couple of cans of soda. Maybe some friends will join you after class.”

“Too fucking soft.” Frank scowled as he pushed his way past Keegan and his mother, and Keegan let out a silent sigh of relief.

“Go. Hurry.” Ellie jerked her head toward the kitchen and moved as if to shield him from Frank’s view.

It didn’t take Keegan long to make up a set of cheese and pickle sandwiches for himself and some tuna ones in a separate wrapper. Adding a packet of chips and a can of soda to each, he bundled them up securely

Keegan packed the two separate sets of food into a rucksack and went out through the kitchen door. The last thing he needed was to run into his stepfather again. Keegan didn’t have to think where he could go. He already had a favorite part of the river.

This wasn’t the part of the wall and river that tourists frequented. It was in a quiet and secluded area. There was a secondary trail worn where people had left the main pathway and which disappeared into a mix of undergrowth and trees that overhung the river.

After a few minutes of determined ducking and weaving, Keegan emerged at a comfortable place to sit, hidden from the walkers along the top of the wall and from the few equally dogged fishermen who lined the riverbank.

Several meters to his left was a thick overhang of trees, impossible to penetrate, but Keegan gave a whistle, which was answered a moment later.

“Hi, Ginny. How are you, today?” Keegan settled down and dug into his rucksack.

“Very well. I didn’t expect you.” The voice was soft and slightly accented, and Keegan sighed.

“Yeah, well. I should be in college, but I took the day off. There’s a class bully who has decided I’m fair game, and I just couldn’t handle it today. Here… I made you up a snack pack.” Keegan tossed the well-packed tuna sandwiches, chips and drink over the impenetrable foliage.

The rustling noise confirmed that Ginny had it, and he chuckled softly at the rapid crunching noises.

“You really like chips. You can have mine, too. The sandwiches will be enough for me.”

“Chips are good.” There was a suitable pause before the crunching resumed.

“You know, we’ve talked for a long time. It’s nice to have a friend I can chat with. I wish you didn’t keep your distance, though.” Keegan peered into the bushes, but it was impossible for him to see through to the other side. “I wish you didn’t have to live this way.”

“I’m not like you.” Ginny finally whispered. “I don’t want you to not talk to me anymore.”

“Why would I do that? Because you’re homeless and live rough? That doesn’t bother me.”

“Tell me about this bully.” Ginny spoke the word as if it were unfamiliar, and Keegan took a bite from his sandwich while he considered her request.

“Usual story… He’s big and brash, has a couple of sycophants who hang off his every cruel word and mean joke. Look… You have your secret about living here, and I have mine. I’m gay. I like boys. I always have. There was never a time when I wanted a girlfriend. Do you still want to be my friend?”

“Yes. Boy, girl, all the same. No difference.”

“I’m glad to hear you say so. There are a lot of people who wouldn’t agree with that sentiment at all. Well, anyway, Owen found out I was gay. He has left stuff in my locker, on my desk and would have probably given me a beating on one occasion if one of the other students hadn’t noticed something going on and come over to investigate.”

“Hurt you?” Ginny’s voice grew sharper, and Keegan shivered as a cool breeze disturbed the normal sheltered aspect of his hiding place.

“Don’t worry. He didn’t.” Not yet anyway. Keegan had no illusions that while Owen remained at the college, there would inevitably be a confrontation. But I need this course to get to uni. Better to go as a mature student than to never go at all.

“He shouldn’t hurt you.” Ginny stated firmly.

“No, he shouldn’t, and neither should anyone else, but haters gotta hate. Maybe someday they’ll see that the color of your skin, or who you love, doesn’t make you any more or less human. We’re all equal. All the same.”

“Same.” Ginny echoed the word, then fell silent. “Someone’s coming.”

Almost as soon as Ginny had spoken, Keegan heard indistinct voices. No one comes down here. Unless you know about it, there’s no way to see any of this from up on the wall. Then Keegan’s blood ran cold.

“You sure this is where he comes?” Owen’s voice boomed out, filled with anger and irritation. “There’s nothing here. Nowhere he could go.”

“This is where I was told he came.”

Keegan recognized the second voice as one of Owen’s hangers-on and groaned softly.

“Ginny, it’s Owen, the bully I told you about. He’s looking for me.”

“For you?” Ginny whispered. “Stay still. Say nothing.”

“I can’t risk it.” Keegan tugged on his beanie, tucking his distinctive auburn waves inside it. “I don’t want him coming down here. I don’t want him to find out about you and that this is where you live. It would never be the same again or safe for you.”

“You’re willing to protect me?” Ginny’s voice sounded so much like a lost child’s that Keegan’s heart ached for her.

“Yes, I would. Now you stay here.”

“No. You stay.” Ginny’s sharp hiss surprised Keegan, but it did the trick. Halfway to his feet, Keegan dropped back onto his ass with a muted grunt.

“What are you doing?” he asked, but there was only the rustle of foliage as Ginny moved. “Ginny!” Keegan whispered a little louder then fell silent at the approaching crunch of booted feet on resilient foliage.

“He’s not gonna walk along this. It’s too difficult for a fag like him.” Owen‘s increasingly irritated voice was gut-churningly close, and Keegan held his breath, turning his face to hide it.

“Maybe he walks along the bank, then.” Another voice. “There may be a niche down there. After all, the fishermen go there.”

“He probably tries to pick them up.” Owen’s callous sneer jabbed into Keegan’s heart.

Better he thinks that than tries to come this way. There’s no escape if he finds me. And no one would know my body was here except Ginny. Who’d believe her over Owen and his gang? Even if she dared to report it to the police.

Keegan’s increasingly dark thoughts were disrupted by another shout from Owen. He held his breath, hoping that his choice of drab colors for clothing worked their usual magic and let him go unnoticed.

“What’s that? I thought I saw something…in the water.”

“I can only see weeds. The river’s really dingy down here. Can’t imagine anyone fishing in this.” A third voice responded to Owen. “It’s slippery. Watch out!”

Even as they called out, there was a splash, followed by Owen’s loud cursing.

“Don’t fucking stand there gawping. Get me out. Fucking weeds are everywhere. I’m fucking soaked. My trainers will be ruined, and they cost a packet. Dad’ll be furious.”

“You can come back to my place.” The second voice offered. “Dry off there. We’ll come up with some excuse for what happened.”

“Yeah.” The third voice added. “A good reason why you’d be near to water.”

The voices grew fainter, and Keegan began to breathe easier. Then Ginny’s voice startled him, coming from the right rather than the usual left.

“They’ve gone now. It’s safe for you to finish eating.”

“Thanks, Ginny. I need a minute or two to calm down. I thought he had me, then.” Keegan opened his soda and took a couple of deep swallows, before setting it down again. “Thank goodness Owen slipped into the river.” Keegan could help but giggle. “Serves him right.”

“Eat.” Ginny insisted, and Keegan drew out his sandwiches and ate them, realizing just how hungry he was once he’d started.

“Sorry. I haven’t been much company today, thanks to Owen’s unwanted visit. It’ll be better next time.” Keegan stood and brushed off the breadcrumbs decorating his gray hoodie. “I don’t think Owen will come back here after his dip in the river.”

“He won’t be back.” Ginny sounded so assured that Keegan smiled.

“You saw him fall in, didn’t you?” he chuckled. “Wish I could have seen it, too. But I needed to make sure he didn’t spot me or find out about our little sanctuary.”

“Sanctuary?” Ginny asked and Keegan nodded, unsure of whether she could see him or not.

“Somewhere I can come and feel safe, be myself now you know I’m gay. Well, I’d better go. I have homework to do, and I want to read up on a few things to be ready for my class tomorrow.”

Keegan dodged his way through the foliage and was just in time to see Ginny duck behind one of the thicker trees beside the riverbank. Fuck, that sludgy-green blanket she has looks disgusting. Maybe I can bring her a new one—even some of my old T-shirts.

“I’ll see you soon, Ginny.” Keegan waved toward the tree as he made his way up to the wall.”

“Soon.” Ginny called after him, but when he glanced back, there was no sign of her—just the foliage, the river and the weeds that floated in its center.

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About the Author

Pelaam

Living in clean, green New Zealand, Pelaam is a multi-published author of gay romance and erotica.

When not working at writing, Pelaam likes to indulge in her other passions of cookery and wine appreciation.

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