Their Runaway Mate (19 page)

Excerpt from
Damien’s Second Chance

Blood Journals Book One

By Selena Cross

Chapter One

The Interview

Katie was nervous about her second interview for the high profile job she was attempting to land. If she were hired, she would be the personal assistant to the richest and most powerful man she had ever known, Damien Drake. He was richer than Bill Gates was and Donald Trump combined, he had the most prominent politicians in the country in his pocket, and he was the most eligible bachelor in the world. The only down side is no one really saw him, except for the people who worked very closely with him, and even they had only seen him once or twice.

The knots in her stomach tightened as she looked up at the clock to make sure she was on time. Not that she had to go anywhere, the second interview was being held in her apartment. She thought it was strange but Mr. Porter said that Mr. Drake liked to see what kind of environment his personal assistants lived in before he decided to hire them. She wanted to impress him as much as possible, so she spent the entire day cleaning and cooking. Okay, so why did it have to be so late in the evening? Nine o’clock was just an absurd time to hold interviews for prospective assistants.

She had enough time to put the finishing touches on the table setting before there was a knock at the door. She struggled with her apron as she made her way to the door, just able to get it off before she reached for the doorknob. Her nerves made her stomach turn as she opened the door. What was he going to be like when she finally got to meet him? She pictured an old decrepit man with liver spots and a receding hairline. The first person she saw was Mr. Porter, which she had seen before. He was okay looking for a middle-aged workaholic with a drinking habit.

“Welcome, Mr. Porter,” she smiled graciously at him as she held out her hand to shake his.

“Hello Katie,” he smiled, showing his yellow cigarette and coffee stained teeth. “I have someone with me I would like you to meet.”

From around the corner of the door came a man, but not the old man Katie was expecting. He was young, around her age, beautiful, god-like, as if he were sculpted out of marble. His dark shoulder length hair curved around his strong jaw line, framing his beautiful face. His eyes were a dark brown, almost so dark they looked black, his lips were cherry red, soft and inviting. He smiled at her as he reached out his hand to take hers. He lifted her hand to his lips and gently brushed the top of her hand with a kiss.

“Hello Katherine,” he said, staring deeply into her eyes. “I’m Damien Drake.”

No one had called Katie, Katherine, since she was a little girl. It was what her mother called her to show disdain for her only daughter. She hated being called Katherine, but for some reason when he said it, it didn’t annoy her as it usually did. Still, she didn’t want to be called Katherine, “Please, call me Katie.”

He smiled at her sheepishly, but he didn’t reply. They just stared at each other, looking in to each other’s eyes, as if they could see into one another’s souls.

Mr. Porter cleared his throat, breaking their attention. “Well, Katie, aren’t you going to invite us in?”

She looked at Mr. Porter; then realized they were still standing in her doorway and Mr. Drake was still holding her hand. She snatched her hand back, gesturing for them to come in, “Of course, I’m sorry, come in.”

She shut the door behind them, circled around them, and led them into the dining room. She could feel Mr. Drake’s eyes on her butt as she walked in front of them. She turned around quickly when they entered the dining room, “I hope you’re hungry, I have been making a feast all afternoon.”

She looked at the men. While Mr. Porter was scanning the table and swallowing back the saliva that was evidently pooling in his mouth, Mr. Drake kept his eyes locked on her and examined Katie closely from her head to her feet. Her heart pounded as she watched his eyes go down the length of her body, stopping briefly at her breasts then continuing down.

She stepped back and grabbed one of the chairs, pulling it forward, then standing behind it, as if to block herself from his eyes, “Have a seat, gentlemen.” She ushered for them to sit.

They both just stood where they were. Mr. Porter, looking disappointed, spoke up, “Well, we would love to Katie, but unfortunately this is just a short visit. We both have other engagements after this and can’t stay long.” He swallowed again, “It’s a shame….it smells so good.”

“Yes, it does.” agreed Mr. Drake, but when she looked at him, she had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the food.

Mr. Drake stepped toward her and reached out his hand to her face. Katie backed up, startled by his advancement. He smiled, “You have something on your face, my dear.” He ran his thumb over the corner of her mouth, and pulled away, putting his thumb in his mouth, as if to taste whatever it was he had wiped off her mouth.

“Oh,” she laughed, embarrassed, “I must have gotten some on me when I was taste testing the food.”

He smiled deviously, “It tastes better than it smells.”

Now she knew he wasn’t talking about the food.

Mr. Drake broke their stare this time, when he turned to Mr. Porter, “Well, shall we be going Mathew?”

“Oh,” Mr. Porter began moving toward the entrance, “Yes, Mr. Drake, we don’t want to keep our other engagements waiting.” He said as he hurriedly reached for the door.

Katie followed behind them, “Oh…well….okay then, but what about the job?”

They both stopped and turned to her.

“Yes,” Mr. Porter said as he held the door open for Mr. Drake, “You will start tomorrow Katie, eight a.m., nice and early.”

Katie smiled in relief, “Okay, well it was nice to meet you Mr. Drake.”

Mr. Drake took her hand again, “It was nice meeting you, Katherine.” He planted another kiss on her hand, then gently let go as she pulled it back.

She smiled courteously, even though it annoyed her that he insisted on calling her Katherine, even after she asked him not to. However, she wasn’t going to say anything this time, since he was after all, her boss.

“I look forward to working with you,” he flashed another devious smile. “Good night, my dear.”

“Good night,” she said abruptly, trying not to sound too sharp.

“Well, good night Katie, see you in the morning,” Mr. Porter shook her hand vigorously, and then turned to walk away.

“Good night Mr. Porter,” she waved to them as they walked down the hallway, but neither of them turned around to wave back.

She shut the door and leaned against it for a minute, bringing her hand to her lips. Realizing what she was doing, she then wiped the back of her hand on her dress pants and made her way to the dining room. She stared at all the food on the table, and sighed in disappointment. This evening didn’t go at all, as she had planned it to go. She began picking stuff up off the table and carrying it to the kitchen. Oh well, she thought, at least she got the job.

Excerpt from
Enough
Time

Stratum Series Book Two

By Zach Collins

Prologue

“Uh….Ian, could you come into the office for a minute,” Trent asked his best friend, then stared at the large muscular man who was staring at him intensely.

“Sure, give us a minute, guys,” Ian replied and nodded to the man he now called his husband.

Trent frowned when Ian’s mate had to pull the large man from the room they were standing in. When his best friend showed up, and called him after a week of being gone with only one phone call pissed him off. Not that he needed to check in with him, but he was his boss, and his friend. It was bullshit; he was doing this right now.

Trent paced around his friend’s apartment, looking at the boxes and the items they were packing. His best friend was leaving. It sucked, but he could live with it. What he couldn’t live with was both he and his friend had been fired from their jobs at the University, for stupid shit. Then his friend announced it didn’t matter because he was moving to another
Stratum
—whatever the hell that was—and Trent was on his own. Ian had started this shit, and he was the one left alone to finish it. Fired from his job was the least of his worries. Everything turned upside down in his fucking life, including his reputation, all because he refused to admit his friend was a thief. Now it didn’t matter, according to his friend. He didn’t need the job; he was moving.

Great, dandy, but where the fuck did that leave him? Fired from this job, accused of thievery and covering up a crime was like having his career implode right in from of him—and he was spewing creepy weird shit. It pissed him off. He was going to have to ask Ian’s father for a job. It was just pathetic.

Shit, he hadn’t been on his own since he met Ian; they were best friends. It was strange; they met in college and were the only two gay men on the floor. Not attracted to each other at all for they were more like brothers. Trent finally had someone to talk to without feeling judged. His family disowned him; his childhood friends shunned him. When he went to college, he had hoped to start a new life—and he did. Meeting Ian had been the best thing that ever happened to him. His family took him in and treated him as a long-lost family member.

The Dean of the College came to him and told him they suspected Ian of stealing and being involved in some kind of smuggling ring—Trent had laughed. Then they showed him the proof. A tape showed Ian reaching for a stolen artifact had surfaced. Trent assured the Board of Regents Ian would never have stolen it, but they had accused him of covering for his friend, so he told them to fuck off and walked out of the University. Never thinking they would fire him, too. He left to try to prove his friend’s innocence, but when he had been unable to find him, his anger had grown.

Ian called him to say he was in Ireland, great, fine, if that’s where the hell he really was, but of course, it wasn’t. Trent knew his friend had lied to him, but he never thought he went mad. In the past hour, Trent tried to get his friend away from the people who he came with. If he could talk some sense into him, maybe they stood a chance.

A cult was influencing Ian,
thought Trent. At least, that’s what these men appeared to be like. Blake, the leader, was very charismatic, and the rest of the men seemed to do everything he said. It was a little strange. Two men bowed to Blake,
what the hell was that about
? Then, there was the large man who was looking at him with such intensity, he felt like a bug under a microscope. When he got close to anyone, the man stepped forward as if warning the other men. He had no idea what was going on. Maybe they were going to try to brainwash him, too. At this point, anything was possible.

He may need to send Ian to one of those deprogramming groups. The movie he had seen was they took the person and secluded them somewhere and deprogrammed them. It was ugly and could be actually painful. When a cult got their hooks into you, it could screw you up.

Hell, now he was out of a job, and although he had a lot of money saved up, there was no way he would be able to survive unless he found another one. How was he going to get help without money? He couldn't bring Ian’s parents into this; that would be a political nightmare. Shit. He had been the Head of the Department, how did that slip through his fingers so quickly? The assholes never even wanted to listen to him. It was as if they had made their minds up before they saw the video. Maybe their insurance would cover this if he could prove to the Regents Ian was brainwashed. Crap, he was kidding himself.

Trent had to accept the fact they were probably happy Zach and him were gone. They were two of the only gay men on the faculty. It was sad to think they would be happy to see them go if it were for that reason. Trent really thought Ian and him had finally found a home where they would not be discriminated. Maybe he was wrong, but it was feeling a little like a fucking set up.

His mind was going about a mile a minute, trying to think of a way out of this mess. When they arrived at the study, Trent paused and locked the door behind him. Ian raised an eyebrow but then laughed.

“Trent, let me tell you a little story.” Ian laughed and slapped him on the back.

“Dude, I really don’t need story time. I need to find a fucking job, and you need to get help. Man, this is beyond crazy,” Trent said warily.

“Maybe I can help you with that, well, at the least the job part. As for the other, we’ll talk about that, too, but you have to keep an open mind.” Ian laughed, and waited for his friend to nod in agreement, then continued, “Okay, I told you part of the shit that went down a few weeks ago. Let me tell you the rest. When I was at the Museum that night, something happened. It had been strange and fucking unbelievable. That coin everyone is accusing me of stealing wasn’t an artifact. It was a transport device, used by people in different
Stratums
.”

“Ian, did they drug you or something?” Trent asked his best friend worriedly and looked into his eyes. “Cause I swear if they did, I will kick their ass, making them sorry for ever fucking with us. I think we need to call someone, and get him or her over here right now. We can have you away from these guys in a few minutes.”

Trent pulled his cell phone from his pocket and began to search with it to find what he was looking for.
How the hell did you search for ‘deprogrammers’
? He just typed in what he thought would pull up the information and Ian pulled the phone from his hands.

He laughed and slapped his best friend on the back of the head. They had been together for so long that sometimes Trent forgot they were friends, he thought of Ian as family. His friend had the benefit of having a supportive family—while Trent didn’t. In fact, his family was a bunch of fucking lunatics and pricks. Trent came home with him on all breaks and holidays, just to avoid staying in the dorms by himself.

Trent didn't tell Ian the extent to his abuse as a child. It was easier to tell him they didn’t like gays and kicked him out when he came out. It was true, but his father had always suspected. When Trent went to a gay pride parade, his father flipped. Trent knew he still bore the scars of that beating. Since that day, the beatings became more frequent. He could almost hear his father telling him as he whipped him that he was unnatural, a freak. All Trent had to do was accept that being gay was not an option, find a cute girl, fuck her, and then marry her. All would be right in the family.

His mother ignored it. When Trent had asked for her help, she smiled and then told him to do what his father asked, and it would be all right. Bullshit, he had tried; it was not all right; he chose a girl and tried, but it had been awkward. His brother told his father what the girl had said at school the next day. That had been the last straw. He refused to change what he was in order to please his parents. Therefore, he endured the beatings, and made sure he got good grades. It paid off when a prestigious college accepted him after he graduated. Fuck them, he borrowed and worked to get where he was today. Finding Ian and his parents had been a godsend. They gave him something he needed: support and acceptance.

Even though his friend’s parents loved Trent, there had been a time when they thought Ian and Trent were actually dating. Both men laughed and set them straight. From their first meeting, it was as if they were long-lost brothers. His parents accepted Trent and welcomed him into their fold. This was surprising a little, since his father was in politics. It was bad enough Ian was gay, but to have his friend in the limelight also, had been unheard-of.

Only the strongest character of men could withstand the backlash from having a gay son or daughter in the world of politics. Ian’s father and mother supported him, just the same as they done to their own children. For that reason, he'd make sure Ian was taken care of. Trent frowned at his friend and clenched his fists. Maybe if he knocked him out, he could make the call and escape through the window. The fire escape was right there. Trent was strong enough to make it down carrying his friend, which was one thing he knew for sure. His strength from working out would enable them to make a run for it.

“Bro, they didn’t drug me. I am
telling
you the
truth
. Listen, there are seven different
Stratums
,
they refer to ours as the
Human Stratum
, not too pressed for the imagination. Then there are the
Wizards, Witches, and Warlocks Stratum
;
that’s where Blake, my mate, is from. He is the King of the
Stratum
;
I know it sounds crazy, but I will come back to this. I haven’t met Shifters yet, you know from the
Shifter Stratum
. Yes, I said Shifter, and then there's the Elves, the Trolls, the Palin, and the Fae,” Ian said slowly.

“Okay, I get it. Let’s call your parents and talk to them about this, I mean, this is big for you to be leaving here, and what did you call it?
Stratum
. You mated to the King, well that is awesome,” Trent said easing toward the phone Ian set on the table. He had heard not to make sudden movements when talking to someone who had a psychotic break, or was under mind control. His friend had, there was no other explanation. Trent looked into his friend’s eyes for any indication he had gone mad. He could find none, only an amused gaze that was beginning to freak him out.

Shit, all this time he had been covering for his friend. Thinking he was just having fun with a new man. Hoping his friend had found someone with whom he could spend the rest of his life. He trusted his friend’s call; Ian had never actually given him cause to think he was unstable. He knew this man and he could do anything. He was like Superman without the cape—he had told him that. Trent liked to think he was a lot like Ian.

He would make sure his friend had the best care. These men were obviously taking advantage of him. Well, that was fucking gonna stop. Trent was going to call Ian’s parents first, and then he would call the police to deal with these assholes. Trent ran out of alternatives, calling his parents was the only choice he had.

“Trent, knock it off and listen. Blake is the King of the
Trivet
or
Wizard Stratum
. He is a Wizard. I am trying to tell you this shit fast, before Logan, Blake’s brother, has an aneurism. When I went to the Museum and grabbed hold of that guy with the coin, we ended up in this other place. It looked a lot like New York but in a strange freaky ass way. You’ll see, but listen. It's about the mate issue. I am Blake’s mate, which means I am the King’s Consort. I am heading up the Education Division there; I could really use your help, but I will also explain that later. Mates, with Wizards, is like crazy, they give you power, and you also share his or her lifespan and everything. Some of the
Stratums
have been around long before this one. Humans are behind the power curve a little on some things, but the man who was staring at you, was Logan. He is Blake’s brother, and the head of the
Stratum
Security, a real big deal. I don’t know if he has a title, we can ask. Anyway, he is your mate,” Ian said. “I need you to go to your apartment and pack some stuff. We really don’t have much time for explanations. Nevertheless, there is something going on. Someone has decided they are going to try to take over all the
Stratums,
and it’s a mess, once again, something you have to hear about later; we just don’t have the time to fuck around here.”

Trent nodded as if he was listening to everything his friend was saying, which he was, but not believing. Ian had seriously had a break in reality. He needed help quick; Ian’s father would make the arrangements quickly. Trent was going to wait to call the police because he was going to beat the shit out of the guys who did this.

He was not a small man, standing six feet three inches; he was huge to most people. Trent knew he could be intimidating if he wanted to, and he actually wasn’t afraid to do it. His shoulders were broad, and his thighs muscular from the exercises he did, keeping Trent fit and trim. He had a six-pack, which impressed his boyfriends. When he played basketball or football, which he loved, he had no problem keeping up with the young bucks.

“Trent, I am fucking serious, knock it off. I can see how your brain is working. You think I’m nuts, and you’re trying to think how you can get to the phone and call someone. Then you’re going to try to kick Blake’s ass for giving me drugs or something,” Ian said dryly.

Trent paused and looked at his friend. He sounded sane when he said shit like this. Then he opened his mouth again.

“But this is fucking real. I can show you if you stop being a pain in my ass for more than thirty seconds.”

“Really?” Trent said deciding to wait—defuse the situation, right, that’s something he read also. Maybe if he calmed his friend down, and talked to him, they would be able talk some reason into to him. He didn’t want his parents to commit him, which would suck and not be helpful to his cause of proving his innocence. Even though, an insanity plea may work.