“I see…”
Jon didn’t like the tone of her voice. It was a mixture of worry, apprehension and a dose of plain fear he had never heard from her before. “Grann, is there something you’re not telling me?”
Again, a sigh. “There’s a great many things I’m not telling you or anybody else, for that matter, cherie. The world of majik, it’s not without dangers, as you well know.”
“Grann, I’m in a book club with two witches, a banshee, an ancient vampiress, two werewolves I’m pretty sure are uber alphas, and, as of late, a demon prince and his mate who once was human—and I’m a zombie. I think I’m aware of the dangers.”
“Knowing Maribel and Mavis are there is what reassures me a bit.” And the cryptic comments commenced. Jon didn’t bother to ask how his Grann knew the two witches. The world of majik was not only dangerous but also quite small when it came to the power players in it. That there was no coven in Beaconville or any of the surrounding towns and cities had told Jon right from the beginning what league the two witches played in. The same went for Declan and Troy. There were no packs in the area, the next one being three counties over, its members obsessively avoiding Beaconville, even though the town would have been perfect for a pack of considerable size. Spending most of his time in front of his computers in the cellar didn’t mean Jon was clueless or deaf to what was going on around him.
Even before Dre had found Sammy, supernaturals of all kinds had avoided Beaconville. There were some who passed through, but they were few and far between. Nobody ever tried to settle down. Jon wasn’t entirely sure where Amber stood in banshee hierarchy—or if they even had one. Some of her comments, though, had him wondering how old she was exactly. As for Emilia, she was comparatively young when it came to years, but not when it came to power. There had been a few instances when she’d forgotten to put her shields all up and what had dripped through was enough for Jon to know that staying on her good side was a healthy life choice, though not when she insisted that Thud! was Terry Pratchett’s best book when everybody knew it was Small Gods, closely followed by Witches Abroad.
“I just want you to be safe and happy.” Grann’s voice reminded Jon that he was still on the phone with her.
“I know…and I appreciate it.” He cleared his throat. “Just to give you fair warning, Barion is coming over tomorrow to play with me again. It could be that we spend part of the day at his place.”
“Meaning you’re going to vanish again. Be careful, cherie. Traveling through time and space is risky.”
“Don’t worry. Sammy made Barion promise he wouldn’t leave me stranded in some weird-ass dimension.” The words were out before Jon could judge the wisdom of speaking them.
“Did he now? Your friend Sammy is smart.”
“That he is, and he would make Dre get me should Barion leave me anywhere.”
“I guess I can’t win this. Please keep in touch, Jon. Something is going to happen. I can feel it in my bones, see it in the sky, smell it in the swamp, but I can’t grasp it because those demontre blur my sight.”
If there hadn’t been the genuine worry in her voice, Jon would have said something to lighten the mood. He instinctively knew that would be wrong here.
“I will, Grann. Don’t worry. I’m fine and happy and Barion is a good man. Uh, demon. He won’t let anything happen to me.”
“No, I guess he won’t. Take care, cherie.” Grann hung up and left Jon staring at his cell. Except for the usual guilt trip designed to make him move back to New Orleans, this call had included everything he had come to expect from a conversation with Grann—the shouting, the curses, the cryptic comments, the worry, the love. It was all there, telling Jon what a great family he had, how much they cared about him and how lucky he was. If only that were enough.
Sighing, he glanced at the clock on his microwave. It was now half past seven a.m., and he was tired and wide awake at the same time. If this was normal for hopping between time zones with a demon, he understood why Sammy sometimes looked as if he were ready to keel over if so much as the breeze of the book shop’s door opening hit him. His brain insisted it was late enough to think about lying down, while his body was sure his usual evening routine of gaming, reading and chatting with his friends and fans had only just begun. Jon decided to go for a compromise and catch up on his emails as well as take a look at the comments to the video he and Barion had made.
The emails were the usual mixture of spam. Who on earth thinks it’s a good idea to offer me, of all people, life insurance? Well, probably people who didn’t know he was zombie, but still, it was simply ridiculous. He shook his head while he deleted all the crap in his inbox before he read through the few important mails, two of them from major gaming companies asking for his expertise on new games they were developing.
Jon always loved to get a look at games when they were still in the creative process and give his input, so he told them to just hit him with whatever they had. After that, he turned his attention to his and Barion’s video. The comments were mostly positive. There were always a few who weren’t satisfied, but then again, only a fool would try to please everybody, and he felt confident announcing a second video with Barion. Thinking about it for a moment, he decided eleven o’clock would be a good time for the next round of playing Eden’s Doom, and he posted it on FB, Twitter and sent a short notice to his YouTube subscribers. While he checked his sale’s numbers on YouTube, he watched the likes, shares, and re-tweets skyrocket within less than half an hour, which told him his fans had truly liked the video. If it was more the content or the new player remained to be seen. Jon was more than happy to give it a few more tries. After he had taken care of all the tedious little details that came with being a freelancer, he shut all his computers down except for his laptop. He was getting ready for bed and needed a little treat before he went to sleep.
When Iron Bull’s scarred face filled the screen of his laptop, Jon leaned back in his ergonomic chair to enjoy the beautiful relationship between the Dom and his Kadan. Somewhere between Iron Bull telling Kadan that he could let go of everything when he was with him and Kadan giving Iron Bull the dragon’s tooth, Jon replaced Iron Bull’s face with that of Barion—which was much more handsome, no doubt there—and Kadan with himself. He surely looked better in such a tight pair of trousers. When Iron Bull-Barion asked Kadan-Jon to give him a minute and Jon answered that it was almost always more than a minute with him, he felt a strange stirring in his groin. It had been so long since Jon had felt anything remotely sexual that it took him a moment to place the electric feeling between his legs. He was getting hard…from fantasizing about Barion. Not sure if lusting about a friend was acceptable—Jon had a sinking feeling it was not—he hesitated.
On the one hand, this was his first real boner since he’d woken up in a coffin. On the other hand, he really liked Barion as a friend and wanted to see where their friendship would go. It was nerve-racking, and when he felt his erection fading, Jon made a quick decision. He would not miss out on having an orgasm for the first time in what felt like eons. Barion didn’t have to know about it at all. What Jon did in the privacy of his rooms and in his head was entirely up to him.
Satisfied with his reasoning, Jon opened the zipper of his trousers, pushed them over his ass, together with his underwear—the Cookie Monster’s face was a little distorted from being pushed outward like that—and got back into the lustful fantasy where Barion dragged him into a random empty room to cover him with his much bigger body and ravish and plunder him until he cried out in sheer lust. The strong, huge hands of the demon closed around his cock, the warmth in them sending Jon to heights he could have never dreamed of while, after some wiggling, one scorching hot digit breached his entrance, teasing the rim with just its presence. Two strong pumps and Jon came with a pained scream, his orgasm tearing out of him with an intensity he’d never felt before.
Gasping and twitching, he came down from his high, not sure if what had just happened was good or bad but utterly convinced that he wanted to do it again…and again…and perhaps again. He suddenly understood the hunger Declan and Troy sometimes spoke about when they told about their trysts with men and women alike.
What Jon had felt when he’d come was so divine that he couldn’t imagine not experiencing it ever again. Still shuddering, he managed to get up on trembling legs, his trousers and underwear bunched around his thighs, restraining his movements. His hands were full of cum and some of it had splashed on his shirt, making Deadpool look as debauched as he was often depicted in fan art. Only Spiderman was missing. Jon pulled his trousers up to get to the bathroom more easily, where he got rid of all his clothes. Seconds later he was in the shower, washing off the scents of this earth-shattering orgasm, bathing in the complete relaxation it had brought him. When he finally went to bed, he was out like a light within seconds.
Chapter Eight
Barion stood in front of his bedroom mirror, trying to decide what he should wear for the next round of gaming with Jon. The black silk shirt showed off his torso nicely but was probably a bit much for just a few hours in front of a computer screen, while the T-shirt with the grumpy panda bear announcing he was awake due to unfortunate circumstances seemed too casual for doing a video, even though it couldn’t be seen on screen. While he was still pondering his options, he felt the ripple announcing the arrival of somebody. In the mirror, he saw a red claw appearing out of thin air then Dre and Sammy stood in his bedroom, both of them smiling at him brightly.
“Good morning, little brother. Are you going somewhere?”
“None of your business, big bro.”
“I’d go with the shirt. It makes your skin glow.” Sammy was already standing in front of Barion’s wardrobe, going through his things. “But you can’t combine it with those jeans. You need something more informal, playful. That is, if you do another round of gaming with Jon?” He looked at Barion over the black slacks he was holding in his hands. “Because if you want to take him out, you’ll need something different.”
Barion shook his head. He knew there was no way out of this, and experience had taught him to just go with it, because the deceptively innocent little devil Dre called his mate would always get what he wanted in the end. For a human—a former human—Sammy was exceptionally good at navigating the world of majik, binding powerful supernaturals to him left and right.
