The Trouble With Trying to Save an Assassin (Murder Sprees and Mute Decrees #2)

by Jennifer Cody

Once upon a time, a mute boy got engaged to a murderer. Oh wait. He didn’t. Because his murderer never presented him with his diamond engagement ring. Ever. Not for months. Months. Who waits months to give their boyfriend an engagement ring they bought on the second date? Arlington Fox does. Why, you ask? Who knows? Not me. And it’s uncouth to ask why we’re not engaged yet. My adopted son— (It’s a whole story, and honestly, if you’re reading this one without having read that one first, it’s on you if you get lost. I’m terrible with details and can’t imagine trying to recap for you. Just, like, go read the first book. No wait, I can recap: A Reaper and a mute boy met in a diner. Shenanigans and body parts happened. They adopted a whole person together and fell in love. The end. No, you’re right, you should probably just go (re)read the first book.) —Bellamy Jones made sure that core value was hammered into my brain, so I’m not allowed to ask where the fuck my romantic how-we-got-engaged story is. And this is not ok because we finally, finally have time to meet our wedding planner for the first time, and we’re not even engaged yet. I might be a teeny, tiny bit annoyed, but only because I really want to show my diamond off. It’s supposed to be huge. What? Ok, fine—I’m also slightly annoyed by the time that has elapsed waiting on my romantic engagement story.

“Who names their kid Furion?” the kid I didn’t name asks. My boyfriend and his future step child both have their phones in hand, prepared to read whatever I have to say because I’m mute and group text messaging is my main method of communication. I could have replaced my text to speech device, but it gives me a little thrill every time Fox or Bellamy have to read what I say to other people. Listen, I’m mute *wiggles eyebrows*. I don’t have a voice. When someone cares enough to give me a voice using their own, it makes me melty and gooey on the inside. I crave that feeling, and my boys give it to me in abundance. So no, I haven’t chosen a robot voice over theirs, thank you very much. This coming from the kid someone named Bellamy? You realize I would never make fun of a guy whose name makes me think he can kick my ass, but I have zero compunction about turning your name into a nickname for shits and giggles, right? Bells. Church Bells. Gargoyle Light. Alarm Bell…I could go on. Should I go on? “I’ve had girlfriends who shortened it to Bells. Darcy calls me ‘Bam Bell’ on occasion. I’m immune to name teasing.” Darcy calls you Red. Wait. Are you sure he’s calling you Bam Bell and not just saying ‘Bam! Bell’ as he comes? Bellamy purses his rose red lips, stares at me with his lavender eyes, and runs his hand over his messy ginger locks. Understanding crushes him as his extremely freckled cheeks turn bright red. It takes him a moment, and he looks out the window of the cab we’re ...

Fox reaches past me and flicks Bellamy’s nose. “We don’t disparage ourselves,” he grunts. We save that for the people we murder. Fox reads my text and k...

Bellamy puts a handkerchief to his face to stem the bleeding coming from his nose. My eyebrows feel like they’re trying to crawl into my hair at the sight of the blood. I point to Bellamy’s nose and then to Fox and drop my jaw to express my absolute shock at this unprecedented development. Have I mentioned that I am the best at non-verbal communication? No? Well, I am. It comes with the whole having-to-use-body-language-to-make-my-point thing. Fox shows his surprise with an almost-frown. He’s stoic by reputation, and we’re in mixed company, so his external presentation doesn’t reflect his obvious internal turmoil. Obvious to me, obviously. Bellamy glances at the person driving our cab and gives me a subtle, mute headshake. He’s right, of course. We don’t know which cab company owns the car we’re in, and if the cabbie works for the Avatar of Evil, Santanos, then letting on that something is wrong with my kid’s personal protection ward isn’t the best idea. Santanos has a vendetta against me for taking Bellamy away from him about two months ago, and he would definitely take advantage of this new development if he found out about it. Me: Can you have Dakota meet us at the wedding pl...

My man isn’t gorgeous or outstanding in the looks department. He cleans up well, but most of the time he’s scruffy in that needs-a-shave-and-a-shower kind of way. Some people can get away with that look; Arlington Fox is not one of them. His black hair looks like it could use a stylist, and he’s let what was probably a fine clean cut grow out past his ears. His brown hazel eyes see everything important: me, magic, the enemies lurking in the shadows… Yes, we have enemies. See previous recap for reasons why. And while he’s not classically handsome or modelesque (his body would be marketable except for all the scary tattoos and scars—no seriously, under h...

Confidence is sexy as fuck, in case you’ve forgotten or you’re randomly reading book two without having read book one, in which case there’s something wrong with you and you need to go to the hospital im...

Fox is sexy, and I love looking at him, but I adore watching him work. I’ve learned recently that I have a kink for competence, even if that competence is in killing people. Fox is really, really, really good at killing people. It’s a little ridiculous how good he is at it, but with approximately three thousand years of experience, one would expect that level of skill. I should probably be embarrassed that I’m meeting our wedding planner with a chubby just from looking at my boyfriend, but let’s be honest, it’s way more embarrassing that I can’t brag about the ring currently not on my finger or tell the guy we’re meeting all about how romantic Fox was when he proposed. Fox squeezes my hand, m...

I look over at my personal assassin/bodyguard/adopted son, who’s still staring unseeing out the window as he contemplates all his life’s choices and remembers how bad his taste in bed partners is, and I lick my thumb and wipe away a spot of dirt on his freckled face. Huh, didn’t come off. Bellamy startles as I start scrubbing at the spot. “What the hell are you doing?!” he exclaims, pulling away from my parental love and care. Obviously I double down, grabbing his chin and forcing him to face me as I lick my thumb again and wipe at the dirt marring his perfect face. “Stop it! That’s disgusting! Why are you second-hand licking me?!” Fox points at Bellamy’s other cheek. “Missed a spot.” Bellamy gasps and jerks himself free from my attention. “Those are freckles! They don’t rub off!” I give him a skeptical look and bring my thumb up to lick it again. “No, no, no! Keep your spit in your mouth!” I swear it was dirt. “My face is not dirty.” See what an amazing parent I am? No kid of mine is going to spend his emotional effort self-flagellating about their past emotional entanglements. Brooding and moody isn’t sexy on Bellamy like it is on Fox. Bellamy jumps out of the car, and for a s...

the high rise where Annette Killian keeps her offices looms over me like a protective older brother. I literally have a chip in my hand that tracks my movement and serves as a means of engaging in commerce. She’s my sugar daddy, but her whole organization is my bi...

Thunder suddenly cracks above us, so I ditch Fox—no need to get my perfectly tailored suit wet—running for cover just as a downpour of rain hits the sidewalk along with my future father-in-law, Dakota Patervulpis. I stare at the humans on the sidewalk who suddenly start running for cover, screeching about unpredictable weather patterns and how bad the weatherman is at forecasting. Not a single person looks at Dakota, a huge man with long, black hair and the body of a giant, who literally just superhero-style landed on the sidewalk from the sky. I still haven’t figured out how magic remains hidden from humans when magic users do shit like this all the time. Random rainstorm? Blame global warming! It’s not like global warming doesn’t already do enough; now we’re letting it take the heat for angry thunderbirds showing up. And, yes, Dakota looks pissed. “My son gave you a bloody nose?” Dakota booms, storming toward Bellamy. Bellamy braces for impact with the most adorably resigned expression on his perfect little face. No, I might not have anything to do with his biology, but the parental pride is strong in me. I can totally take credit for how handsome he is since I’ve been the one...

“WHO HURT MY GRANDBABY?” The boom of Bear’s voice pulls me out of a perfectly wonderful street makeout, and I turn to face one of Fox’s other fathers. Bear is the human donor to Fox’s genetics, and he lives up to his name. He also looks like Thor and Captain America had a baby with Superman.

Bellamy goes limp in Bear’s arms. Looks like he’s given up the will to live. I don’t know what he’s complaining about; parental love is the second best kind of love. Pulling out of Fox’s embrace, I smack my kid’s butt and point sternly at his grandfather. Bellamy sighs, rolls his eyes, and hugs Bear back. “Hello, Grandpa Bear. I’m fine.” Fox’s last father, Amos, the demon that birthed him, pulls Bellamy out of Bear’s arms and takes his chin in hand, examining the small traces of blood around his nose and his ward, probably. “Interesting. How much nutmeg have you been consuming?” he asks, strangely concerned. “Nutmeg?” Bellamy asks just as confused as I am. Dakota abruptly stops turning Tag a bluer shade of horny and focuses back on Bellamy. “That could be it. How much nutmeg have you been eating?” he repeats. Bellamy shakes his head and looks at me, the person who feeds him almost every meal cooked at home. Don’t look at me. I don’t bake in the summer. I send that message to the family group text that includes Fox’s fathers, and every man standing here blocking the way into the building looks at their phone when it buzzes a notification. Bear nods. “That’s valid.” “But then where is he getting enough nutmeg to disrupt a council spell?” Tag asks, fisting his hips in frustration. Dakota frowns with the same thoughtful look that Fox gets when he’s concentrating on something— I look at Fox and smile brightly because his fathers remind me of him in the best ways. Fox sighs at m...

So far I’ve bought matching miniature tables to decorate ten of the tables in the house.

Fox silently evaluates my newest addition while his parents and Bellamy get settled in the living room. When I’m done setting up the mini-table, I straighten up and shoot Fox a megawatt smile, urging him to praise my effort with my non-verbal communication skills. In our own home, Fox emotes much more freely, and he gives me an approving nod. “I don’t know where you keep getting these things, but don’t ever stop. They’re perfect.” He’s said that a couple of times now, but it bears repeating every time I add to our decor. Plus, I like that he’s letting me do this for him. We both know he could jump on the internet and google miniature furniture, but he lets me do this for him and I love everything about that. I do have amazing taste. “You absolutely do,” he agrees, pulling me in for a hug. We’re still at that honeymoon stage of love where we’re in each other’s space as much as possible. I keep telling him we have all of eternity, and if he keeps touching me, I’m going to get bored of him, but so far he refuses to listen to my dire warnings. It probably doesn’t help that every time he touches me I get a little turned on, and apparently he can smell that. Fox’s genetics are unusual even for non-human people. He’s part fae, part thunderbird, part human, and part demon—not that kind of demon, it’s a species, not a religious metaphor. Demons are from a totally different dimension than Earth and mainly use blood magic, which is why they’ve been, well, demonized by humans. They ar...

He gives me a knowing wink and a smirk, taking my hand and pulling me to the conversation in the living room discussing how to fix Bellamy’s ward. Honestly, I thought Dakota could just zap it back to normal. Clearly my understanding of how magic works hasn’t really improved much in this department. To be fair, I spend a lot of my time walking into strange places and sitting down to watch Fox murder people. Don’t side-eye me; we know I have a weird kink for Fox’s skills, and besides, he only kills people who need to die in order to make the world a better place. Ok, in order to fix the imbalance of good versus evil in the world. It’s off by, like, two percent, and Fox is actively working to restore the 90:10 balance. “No-no, Tag. Don’t—goddammit,” Amos cusses, throwing up his arms and stomping to the bay window. “You can just let Dakota handle it,” he grumps under his breath. Tag cringes as he steps away from Bellamy, and my jaw drops. I snap a picture of my son because he needs to see this and because I need a record of it for future blackmail. We’ve been home less than five minutes and you’ve turned my beautiful boy into a smurf! Undo it. Undo it right now! Tag grimaces at my message as Bellamy bellows at the photo I sent to the whole group—I don’t mind sharing the goods with my family. And Annette. Daddy: What happened to my favorite sugar grandbaby? Me: Tag did something. Daddy: ROTFLMAO! He’s not allowed to use magic! Our First Child: Is he actually not allowed and I’v...

I walk to Dakota and take his hand and immediately get a static electric shock. “Ground yourself, boys,” he instructs us as his starry black eyes go blank and he accesses his magic. I grab the nearest metal object, which is the poker for the fireplace. Bellamy grabs one of the other tools—no I don’t know the names of the fireplace tools. I’m not an expert on luxury tools and, yes, a fireplace poker is a luxury item because it means you have a fireplace, i.e. a home. I’ve only recently acquired an actual home, and that came with my boyfriend, and no, I am not quite used to the whole roof-over-my-head thing. It’s only been like eight weeks. I’m allowed to take my time getting used to not being a homeless squatter. Dakota’s brow furrows and his focus comes back to me. “Your ward is fine, but the connection to Bellamy’s has been severed. He’s no longer under your protection as an Acolyte.” “What do you mean? I’m still his Acolyte. I didn’t quit.” The note of panic in Bellamy’s voice is hidden behind his usual cool tones, but I’ve been living with him for months, and I know my kid; he’s upset about this. I release Dakota’s hand and take Bellamy’s, assuring him with touch that he’s mine no matter what the magic that connects us does. “No, I saw that. You are still his Acolyte. The magic that connects you to his ward has been severed. I’ve seen this before; hell, I’ve done this before. If you consume enough nutmeg on a daily basis for a sustained period of time, it will erode you...

I turn to Bellamy and spread both my hands in front of me, indicating that I’m ready to hear about this bond that he’s lost. He gives me a confused look, so Fox clarifies for me because he’s my soulmate and gets me. No, not my literal soulmate; that’s not a real thing that I know of. He just gets me and always has. It could be because he’s an empath and slightly telepathic, though we haven't really discussed the limits of that yet. No, really, it just hasn’t come up in detail. We are really busy people and when we get down time, I usually have better uses of my hands than texting out endless questions. Do you even know how long it takes me to have a conversation? A long ass time, so don’t look at me like that. I’ll eventually get around to having the long conversation with him about his empathy and telepathy. Right now, I’m just going to take advantage of it. “He wants to know to whom you were bonded and what we need to do to reforge that bond and the ones to your weapons,” Fox explains for me. I shoot Fox a sappy smile because I love him so much. Bellamy purses his lips in a thin line before shaking his head. “The bond to the person is not important. It was accidental and doesn’t really affect my life now. I have three weapons that I am bonded to, and I do want to reforge those bonds. Darcy helped me with those bonds, but I think I would prefer using someone else this time.” Totally reasonable considering that he is getting over a small crush on the man. Darcy is ok as a ...

My phone buzzes just as I’m getting to the good part of my current read. It’s the 50% sex scene; you know what I’m talking about. We spent thirty percent of the book playing will-we-won’t-we, and then twenty percent getting ready for the yes-we-will, and now we’re at the gonna-do-this-thing, and I am here for it. Except I’m not because of the text that comes in from the depot. Messengers of Evil: Bill Barnum. Under the bridge at 125th Street between Kaiser and King. 2:20 p.m. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth and get my fancy ass up from where I’m reclining on Fox’s chest while he snoozes on the couch. Well, he’s not snoozing now because of the message from the source of all evil—ooh, I’m changing the depot’s contact info in my phone to that! I dip down and kiss his lips before snapping at Bellamy and pointing at the chair he’s currently occupying. “Do I look like I have a death wish?” He asks, shaking his head at me, wide-eyed like my instructions are ridiculous. I grin at him and pat his bouncy, ginger curls instead of texting him to tell him he’s a good boy. I’m just glad we’re on the same page about his safety. He huffs at me, but notice how he doesn’t pull his head out of the way or reject my parental love. In fact— I bend and kiss his forehead right smack in the middle and make some clicking sounds in my mouth when I try to mime, Love you, to him. Bellamy snorts and shakes his head. “I know, you ridiculous person.” He doesn’t wipe my kiss away, an...

Outside, the cab that took over transporting me on official depot business waits for me. Before I cross the line of the wards, I check in with my gargoyle friends, patting their stony forms as I pass them at the gate to the property. I stop just inside the wards and scan the street in both directions. I’m not in any danger from much of anything, but ever since I was caught in a drive-by shooting that one time, I haven’t left the property without properly assessing my surroundings. My gargoyle friends don’t have the kinds of protections I do, and I don’t want them to get hurt. The last time a few of them ended up shot up, and it was awful. Ok, yes, I was a little more worried about Fox, who was also shot up. Let’s just say I’m still not any good with first aid to bullet wounds. I’m fine with bloody massacres, but I’m no one’s first choice for dressing bloody wounds. I accept this weird dichotomy of my character just like I accept all my other idiosyncrasies. Self-acceptance is an important step to living a happy life, trust me. Since the street lacks any ominous lingering vehicles, I step out of the ward, followed by the chorus of church-bell sounding goodbyes from my friends, and make it safely the last few feet to the cab awaiting me. I’ve streamlined this process, patting Jostein’s shoulder to let him know I’m ready. He already has the address because I demanded the depot assign me a cabbie and then send him the address because I can’t speak and they should accommodate m...

My phone buzzes as Jostein chauffeurs me to the murder spot, and I grin at the message from Fox. It’s totally a dick pic. I love this man more than life, and his dick is a thing of beauty. Even though I literally had it in my mouth not an hour ago, getting a pic makes me squirmy and horny for another round. Me: We should compare cocks soon. Me: We could hold them up together. Future Husband: Then what? Me: We slick them up with lube to make them shiny and attractive. We can admire how they look pressed against each other. Future Husband: I do enjoy how you admire my cock. Me: My cock would probably want to kiss yours a few times. Maybe rub up on it. Future Husband: More. Me: I know you love how my balls feel against your cock. You would look so hot frotting against my balls until you couldn’t take another stroke without creaming, and then I’d grab our cocks together and jerk us both until your eyes roll up in your head and your breath catches and your entire body flushes as you come all over my cock and hand. Future Husband: *cum covered dick pic* I love this man. I’m also hard as a rock with no relief, but Fox’s sex drive is like five times more needy than mine, and badly sexting is how I keep him satisfied while my puny human balls recover enough to dick him down again. We’ve learned that we do not have the same sexual stamina, which makes sense since Fox isn’t more than a quarter human. Apparently thunderbirds have one of the more rapacious libidos among the paranormal ...

adjusting my vest and jacket as I alight onto the sidewalk. With a sigh, I step onto the muddy bank of the ditch and carefully step down. The mud immediately slides out from under my shoe, taking me with it on an eternal surf down the embankment. I windmill my arms to keep from falling straight on my ass in my thousand dollar suit and somehow manage to keep my feet until I hit the bottom of the ditch, at which point I fly head first into a trickle of ditch water leftover from the last random rainstorm to hit this city. It was probably the one from this morning that Dakota started. I push my face out of the mud, frowning in disgust as it squishes between my fingers, and get to my feet, staring down at the ruined mess of my royal blue suit. I blow out a slightly annoyed breath, sending bits of muddy water flying out in front of me. My tailor is going to give me the stink eye. He does not like when I stain my clothes. I mean, I don’t either because it means I have to pay for the cleaning service, and he’s not exactly cheap. Anyone else think I’ve got the most interesting luck on the planet? Well, it’s true. Look, I know I’m covered in mud and muck, but I guarantee you that something cool is about to happen. My luck always balances itself out. Probably going to get laid or something equally hot. A cackle echoes from under the bridge, catching my attention as a man with a devil-may-care smile on his face steps out from under it holding the head of a gray-skinned…well, I don’t k...

It takes me a few seconds to get the retching under control before I manage to get a good enough look in the tunnel to see the corpse that belonged to the head that the “wolf” took. Have you seen Coraline? The bad guy in that children’s horror movie is a woman who is half spider. I have found her real life counterpart. Minus the head, obviously. The leftovers of the person in here look like a giant black spider with a naked, gray human-ish torso. I mean, where’s a person who’s mostly spider going to find clothes? There isn’t anyone else in the tunnel, so I make a quick escape, retching again as soon as I get out. That smell is just the absolute worst. I would rather live on a chicken farm surrounded by mountains of chicken shit (which is just awful in every way) than ever have to smell rotten-cooking-ground-turkey ever again. “Romily.” Do you know how weird it is that my dick responds to his voice even as I am wiping the remnants of vomit off my lips? It’s wrong and weird, but I should probably resign myself to wrong-and-weird being my new normal, right? Because Fox’s voice does it for me every damn time. I turn toward the love of my life, who eyes me with a steely gaze that makes me squirm, because I know he thinks someone did this to me, and he’s not at all ok with anyone messing with me. Offering him a reassuring smile, I point toward the tunnel and make the crrrrck noise that accompanies miming cutting someone’s neck. Fox, of course, immediately understands. “Bounty hu...

“Home.” I will never not love the sound of that word out of his mouth. The no-longer-homeless mute boy loves knowing he has a place he belongs.

Bellamy’s deeply red, perfectly groomed eyebrows find their way to his hairline when he sees me walk into the brownstone covered in drying mud. “No! Do not take a single step more. Take off all your clothes now. Do not walk through the house like that. No.” In case it isn’t clear from his fulminating protest: Bellamy is fastidious about the cleanliness of our home. Fox has a thing about his tables; Bellamy swiffers like the world might end if there’s dust on our floors. I have never snuck out to the garden in white socks and then casually strolled through the house until he noticed the bottoms of them, and he has never attacked the floors with a steam mop after seeing the bottoms of my dirty socks. Nope. Never. Certainly not once a week since I figured out he wigs out about clean floors. I push my ruined jacket off my shoulders and drop it to the floor. It clinks, hitting the floor jewelry first. Dammit. My shinies are dirty! Nooooo! I drop to my knees to rescue my silver lapel chain. Bellamy makes a noise of protest in his throat but kneels in front of me and starts taking my jewelry off my clothes. “I’ll clean it, just get it off,” he growls as he collects my cufflinks. I go still as he takes off all my diamond jewelry, including the collar chain, earrings (these are a new addition; I got myself magically pierced with a healing charm so I didn’t have to wait six to eight weeks to change out my earrings), and pocket watch. He even remembers my tie pin and the bracelet tha...

Fox’s arms slide around me as I am rinsing the (expensive) shampoo from my hair. I grin and finish rinsing before wiping my face and opening my eyes to the best person in the world. Sliding my arms around his neck, I lift myself up to kiss him. Fox pulls me in close, turns off the water, and slots in for the kiss, taking his time to thoroughly ravage me. He pushes me up against the cool tiles, lifting me just enough to press our dicks together. He growls his approval as I give in to the urge to frot against him. His strength isn’t bulky, but my man has no problem lifting me off my feet and holding me at exactly the right place to maximize dick contact between us. He loves my mouth and spends ages enjoying the slide of our tongues before he takes his lips away and kisses along my jaw, sending shivers of pleasure through me. I reach between us, panting and ready to come, but Fox captures my hand before I can jerk us off. “I want you inside me before you come,” he grumbles into my neck, sucking a hickey into my skin. I whine, but I’m not actually protesting. I just want my orgasm; I don’t care how he makes it happen. Ok, my whines aren’t verbal, but he understands what it means when I pinch the skin over his ribs. We’ve developed non-verbal signals over the past few months. It’s one of the best things that comes from true intimacy. We can read each other, especially when one of us has to rely on clever body language to communicate clearly. His deep, dark chuckle freezes me in...

I grab a condom from the stash we keep in here for shower sex and roll one on before lining up and pressing into his hot, wet channel. I hiss at the perfection of how he takes me every time. He’s not as tight as the first time; regular use has trained those muscles to relax, but he’s still got the most perfect ass in all the world. He doesn’t wait for me to start a rhythm. He pushes back until he has my cock as deep in him as it can get, then he grabs one of my hips, keeping himself braced with his other hand, and starts a rhythm that gives him the maximum amount of pleasure he can get from me. This is my Fox, taking what he needs and giving me everything I could have ever asked for and more. It takes me an embarrassingly short amount of Fox’s intensely erotic taking before I shoot off, tapping him hard in the universal signal of I’m-coming-right-now-! Fox groans as he suddenly freezes and shoots his load onto the shower wall. His channel flexes around me—yes, I know that’s not something humans can do, but Fox isn’t human, is he? Plus, it feels like I’m being served the most decadent dessert after a luscious, rich meal, and I will never say no to Fox’s orgasms pulsing around my cock, dragging out the pleasure of coming together with the love of my life. Just as we’re regaining our breath, my cock slips out of Fox, leaving the condom behind. I don’t even bother with stifling my laughter as Fox grimaces at me and pulls the condom out. He rolls his eyes and tosses the condom ...

Since he’s always so good to me, I give him the good part of the shower spray and grab his shampoo, reaching up to wash him when he’s ready. This is one of my favorite parts of showering with Fox. Yes, the sex is always grand, but the intimacy of him letting me wash his body feeds my soul. I can’t tell him that I love him whenever I want. I have to make him feel it, and these little acts of service are how I do that. Fox’s way of showing he loves people is by doing stuff for them; he feels loved when I do things for him, and he knows that acts of service are not my main love language. Mine is the giving and receiving of gifts all the way. So he gives me little and big things and I do stuff for him, and we both fill each other’s love buckets up that way. Yes, of course I also give him gifts; I can’t help it. The little mini tables all over the house are evidence of my love. And yes, he is forever doing stuff for me, like washing vegetables when I’m cooking and opening doors. We fit well together, and Bellamy fits in with us too. I know it’s weird, but he does! I accidentally adopted him, but really, he belongs to us as much as we belong to each other. We’re a family, a found fami...

After we dress and head back downstairs, Fox sits on the couch and pulls me onto his lap where I belong, and Bellamy hands me my phone, which was in my jacket when I dropped it to the floor. It shines like he cleaned it and smells like disinfectant. Happiness suffuses me, and I smile brilliantly at him, wiggling as I get back my ability to make the words. Thank you for cleaning my phone, kiddo! You’re so smart. Positive reinforcement works wonders according to some of the parenting sites I’ve visited while Bellamy was looking. He needs to know that I take my responsibility as his parent seriously; I only visit parenting sites when he can see my screen. “You’re welcome,” he replies, far too dignified to roll his eyes, but I can see him struggling not to. He cracks me up.

“Tell us what happened,” Fox suggests, squeezing my hip where his hand rests on it. There is plenty of seating in the living room even with the twelve tables in here, but my seat is always on Fox’s lap, and since this is the only place I really want to be, I encourage his submission to being my chair by wiggling my ass on his dick while I type. He enjoys it. Bellamy huffs because he doesn’t have a lap to sit in. I stop typing out my narrative and look at my son, then at Fox, and because Fox is actually everything a mute boy could possibly ask for, we both look back at Bellamy and Fox pats my lap. “If you’re jealous, you can sit on Papa’s lap. I can handle it.” Bellamy goes from pale and freckled to red as a beet in half a second. “No. Absolutely not.” I open my arms and make gimme hands at him, patting my lap. I didn’t realize my kid could turn that shade of red. He’s almost purple. Surprisingly, it compliments his red-orange hair and definitely brings out how purple his eyes are. “No, thank you. Please just tell us about what happened,” he insists, shaking his head vehemently as his genteel accent intensifies; my son falls back on politeness when most people would be at a loss for words. I like that about him. “Romily’s lap is always available if you need it, son,” Fox adds as I grin at my phone, typing out the long explanation for what happened when I got to the bridge. Typing out whole stories takes time, and my boys have a full conversation that I have to ignore before...

“Ah, that’s Tala,” Bellamy hums and gets a grunt of agreement from Fox a few moments later. They finish reading my amazing story that helps them identify the person who stole Fox’s kill, and then Fox gives me a kiss on the neck because positive reinforcement works for me too. “Tala is—” I cut him off with a wave of my hand because I haven’t yet reached fifty points in my guessing game, and he’s not stealing something that’s kinda obvious to me. I could get two whole points if I get this right. He’s a wolf-shifter, right? Or possibly a werewolf in a weird traditional way, like he’s connected to the moon or something? Like the werewolves that attacked you in the library? “Not like the werewolves that attacked me in the library; that species originates from hellhounds. Tala is a different branch of shifter,” Fox explains, pausing to let Bellamy pick up the rest of the explanation. “Luna wolf is what they call themselves, because they have a preternatural connection to the cycle of the moon, but it’s not related to their ability to shift forms. They can do that at their own leisure,” Bellamy finishes. “Their connection to the moon is more spiritual,” Fox cocks his head to the side as he stares at me. “Do you want to guess or a hint?” I widen my eyes at him then shake my head as I type. Hint. Do gods really exist? Fox and Bellamy both look unsure, but Fox replies. “We don’t really know if there’s really a God, capital g. There are very powerful beings that have cults, but spiri...

It makes sense as a theory if Luna is a conscientious spirit. There’s no evidence of that, and it doesn’t take into account the fact that the females are significantly larger than the males.” Bellamy leans forward, invested in this conversation now. “No, it does. If Luna is a conscientious spirit with a bond to all Luna wolves, and the very first feminist, so to speak, then it would have influenced the females to breed stronger than the males so that they would have a higher chance at fighting off males in rut. Females are the solitary ones and the males are the social ones. So you have bands of males seeking out females, and if the female is caught, she still has a chance of escape if she is bigger than her counterparts, even if she’s outnumbered. Even in the early days of the historical record, the males were pack oriented and the females were solitary; things have become more civil now, but they’re still divided this way with one female leading each pack of males and mainly letting them do their own thing.” This is utterly fascinating. I’ve heard about human evolution because it’s part of standard public school curriculums, but this is the first time I’ve thought about the evolution of other people. So Luna wolves are werewolves, but they’re not like the legends. Their fertility cycles are associated with the moon because of a spiritual bond they have with the spirit of the moon. Also, there are academics who study the history of non-humans!!! How do I get a degree in n...

Source of All Evil: Time off approved for Thursday through Monday. Immediately upon reading that, Annette texts us as a group. Daddy: Why are you going to California? Me: My son has to see a person about re-bonding his weapons to him. Daddy: We have hearth witches on this side of the continent. Future Husband: We’re going to see Charlie. Daddy: I’m not paying for that. Future Husband: I am. Me: Is Charlie expensive? Our First Child: Charlie is the best of the best at this particular form of witchcraft and thus the most costly, but worth the price. Future Husband: Exactly. Daddy: I don’t disagree. I take a deep breath to remind myself that it’s ok to spend a lot of money on things that are high quality, even if we can get things that are ok quality for significantly less.

Me: Do we have an itinerary? Our First Child: *attachment* I open the attachment Bellamy sends the group to a PDF with our flight details, noticing we’re taking Annette’s private jet, and stand. We need to be at the airport in four hours and no one is packed. I glare at Bellamy, communicating my displeasure at the short notice. He wipes a grin off his lips with the back of his hand and stands with the type of grace I will never have no matter how long I live; my son is very well trained and kind of amazing. Of course, no sooner does he take a few steps than he runs into the new table Fox installed three days ago. We’re both still getting used to it. “Son of a bitch!” my eloquent and classy son exclaims as he sprawls over the table sideways. When I say Fox installed it—it is literally the only table in this room bolted to the floor. “Language,” Fox immediately chastises Bellamy, making me swell with pride because he only just beat me to it. Bellamy’s phone buzzes with my message. Me: Gentlemen don’t cuss in mixed company. Bellamy doesn’t even pull himself off the table before checking my message, because he values my words more than his own comfort. How could I not love these men? My kid stands and pointedly looks around. “Mixed by who?” I silently laugh, snagging him around the neck and kissing his cheek. “Or are you calling Fox a girl?” he asks, because I totally left my beloved boyfriend open to that. Fox snorts. “I don’t identify as feminine.” We’ve talked about this. M...

I’m sitting in the first class lounge of the airport, because that’s who I am now, and I’m trying to read, but the (forty-year old) guys in my (trashy, sweet, perfect, contemporary m/m romance) book have just gotten fake engaged, and I’m now distracted. My mind keeps wandering to how Fox is going to propose. We’ve only been together for eight weeks, but when you know who you’re going to be with for the rest of your very long life, you just know, and it’s ok to skip to the good parts as long as you’re not actually skipping the important parts. Like communication and getting to know each other and testing out chemistry and maybe asking about how your potential partner feels about vacations. In case you’re wondering, Fox is so old that vacations aren’t important enough to him to bother planning. He’s also set a limit that I can’t vacation without him unless it’s a staycation, at least not until we’ve been together long enough to need time apart. His parents still haven’t instituted separate vacation plans, so I’m not sure we’ll ever get to the point where we need separate vacations (yes, his fathers are my only example of a real life healthy marriage, so I will be taking notes, just saying).

having spent eight weeks living together and discovering that we are very well matched in every way except the whole libido thing—and we are working a plan of action on that like the bosses at relationships that we are—I’m flummoxed that my immortal life partner is dragging his feet with popping the question. My finger needs a huge diamond, thank you very much. Why yes, I could propose to Fox, but I didn’t buy him an engagement ring; he bought me one, so it would be weird for me to take a knee and ask for my engagement ring. I’m not against going against tradition, but I’m kind of a princess and definitely want my Reaper-in-shining-armor to present me with a ring in a romantic way. Call me old fashioned. What's that pointy princess cap called? Google has the answer for me, so I text Fox because I won’t be reading the rest of this book until we get on the plane. Me: Fox! I need a hennin. And possibly a dragon. Fox: Do you also need a knight in shining armor? Me: No, I have you. Fox: Reaper-in-black-leggings? Me: You’re getting sassy. Fox: Bad company corrupts good morals. Me: Come here so I can corrupt your morals some more.

I look up as a man dressed like a leather Dom takes a seat across from me carrying a highball glass with him. He’s wearing skin tight leather pants that have one of those detachable cod pieces and a motorcycle jacket with something questionably shirt-like under it. He has dark russet eyes framed by black guyliner, light brown skin, black hair with a streak of red coming off the widow’s peak, and a smirk that would make the most hard and fast straight dude-bro question his sexuality. “You’re Fox’s Harbinger,” he says, crossing his knee-high spiked boots and leaning back in his chair. “I heard you talk about as much as he does.” I arch a brow at the guy, asking without words, Who the fuck are you? The guy chuckles and holds out his hand, leaning forward. “Gavin Montero, Harbinger for Julia Ross.” Oh hey! Another Harbinger! I’ve heard about the reputation of Harbingers and how I’m setting the bar too high these days. Apparently all other Harbingers pale in comparison to my awesomeness. He points over his shoulder to a woman with long black and blue braids sipping a martini at the bar. Her mahogany skin shines under the muted lights and her wide smile conveys an internal happiness that just makes me want to get to know her better. She dips her chin in greeting but remains sitting at the bar, wearing the same uniform Fox does when he’s working: black yoga pants and a black A-shirt with a hundred pounds of guns and ammo strapped to her body. Also, holy smokes, Julia is hot. Like...

Two doms don’t make a right. That’s how the saying goes, I’m sure of it.

Gavin winks at me, giving me fuck-me eyes. “I’m not demisexual, but again, he never gave me a hint he would have been down to get tangled in the sheets with me.” I smile at Fox as he narrows his eyes at Gavin and then spins to find Julia at the bar. Julia stands up to greet him, and although the lounge isn’t huge or busy, I can’t really make out their low conversation as she hugs him and he stiffens like he doesn't know how to give the best hugs ever. He does. I’ve been on the receiving end of his wonderful hugs for weeks already, so watching him do this to Julia makes me silently laugh. “It’s like he doesn’t even know what a hug is. I know he was hugged as a child; I know Dakota and Tag. Tag brags about him all the time. How did he never learn how to hug properly?” Gavin ponders, thoughtfully sipping his drink. Watch this. I show him my phone, stand up, and saunter over to my Fox, giving Julia the wait-a-moment finger as I insert myself between them and hug Fox. Of course my boyfriend wraps me up tight in his arms and pulls me flush to his body. He buries his nose into the crook of my neck, drawing in a long breath and the scent of my skin. I give him a moment to just enjoy bei...

I’d heard you claimed Bellamy Jones. Not a moment too soon, either, because he was on our list that day. We were literally around the corner when the text canceling his contract came in.” I widen my eyes at Gavin, shocked that anyone would want Bellamy dead, even the depot. What did he do to deserve getting reaped??? Gavin shrugs. “He was Santanos’ assassin. He killed enough people to get on the depot’s list.” Speaking of my red-headed assassin, where is he? He was supposed to meet us here. Me: Where are you? Our First Child: Avoiding being seen with you. Me: That doesn't work for me. Come meet the Harbinger of the Reaper who nearly killed you. Our First Child: That doesn’t motivate me to come out of hiding. Me: Did I tell you that I found out I can subscribe and save on bulk orders of Grape Nuts through Amazon? “Gross,” Gavin whispers beside me as Bellamy materializes out of the shadows and sits down across from me in the seat Gavin just vacated. “You’re only supposed to use your i...

eyes landing on Bellamy’s sky blue shirt with the words, “Mini-Me” printed on the front. He looks at my shirt, which is the same flattering blue and says “Me” and then looks back at Bellamy’s before chuckling and shaking his head. “Where did you get those shirts?” My sugar daddy made them for us! Bellamy glances down at his shirt and flashes a disgusted expression. “Annette thought it would be funny, and Romily can’t be reasoned with.” “Annette is your sugar daddy.” Gavin arches the most perfect dommy brow at me and then slides his gaze to Bellamy. “And did you thank her for showing you how special you are to her?” Oh. My. Gawd. Bellamy blushes the deepest red I have ever seen, and I’ve seen him beet red, and looks away like he can escape the leather Dom’s scrutiny if he can’t see it. Also, holy shit, Bellamy would be the most amazing sub! You can see this, right? It’s not just me? Me: Bellamy needs Gavin to make him behave! Daddy: Or a Collin—actually I think a Collin would be better for him. Me: Who’s Collin? Daddy: Gavin’s cousin. He looks like a pirate most of the time. You can’t miss him. I look around just in case I have missed him, but I don’t see anyone that looks like a...

I look back at Bellamy, his eyes go wide for a split second before his entire face shuts down and he stands. “Excuse me,” he says with a polite bow then spins on his heels and marches to the bar. I open up a new contact card and type in Gavin’s name in the company line and give him a nickname before handing him my phone so he can add his information. When he hands it back, I start a group message with him, Bellamy, Fox, and Annette. Me: He’s a ridiculous child and definitely needs a firm hand to make him behave. Daddy: Did you just include Gavin and Bellamy in our conversation? Me: And Fox. Bellamy complained that I wasn’t using group messaging. Daddy: NO ONE TEXT ANYTHING! Our First Child: I did *not* complain. Daddy: Ok, I’ve added Collin. Unknown: Why have I been added to a group message? Potential Bellamy Tamer (aka Gavin): Because Fox’s Harbinger doesn’t speak aloud, Annette is his sugar daddy, and they think you and I should get together to tame a brat named Bellamy. Future Husband: Julia wants in on the conversation. Bellamy: I want out. Stop trying to hook me up. I am *not* a brat. Piratey Potential Bellamy Tamer (aka Collin): I am *not* a hookup. Unknown: Is Bellamy the...

“Hmm, I didn’t realize that Fox and Julia had been a thing. That’s interesting.” Given that Fox is thirty-six hundred years old, it would be ridiculous to assume he’d never had past lovers. Julia is hot as fuck, and Fox has good taste. Gavin reads that, staring at me in mute shock (*snicker*) for a moment before responding. “I’m a catch and a half.” I giggle at his fake offense and pat his arm. I’m sure you are. “The other half is Collin on occasion when we meet a truly troublesome, high maintenance sub,” he expounds, leaning in close enough that his breath sends a shiver down my spine. Hey, I’m taken and monogamous, but I’m not immune to a hot guy in my ear. Fox sees this and his mask of stoicism flashes with possessiveness. He sets his drink on the bar, marches over to me, picks me up, and sits with me in his lap across from Gavin, giving the man a stoically intense glare. I smile like Fox is my very own Christmas present and kiss his jawline. You’re beautiful when you get possessive of me. Fox glances down at my unsent message and pecks my temple, but he doesn’t say anything because that would undermine his reputation. If there’s anything I’ve learn...

morning, Fox. I adore your little Harbinger. Where did you find such a delightful man?” Gavin asks, blatantly flirting, though I can’t tell if he’s flirting with me or with Fox. Fox stares at him for a moment before turning away from Gavin to me. His dark hazel eyes hold the full volume of his passion for me and flash with fire—literally; Fox has the fires of hell in his eyes on occasion; I haven’t yet figured out why it happens, because I’ve seen it happen in the throes of passion and when he’s struggling to kill an assignment, and even once when he was playing cards with Bellamy. He presses his lips to mine, sweeps his tongue across the seam of my lips, and then mauls me in the sexiest, most possessive display of mine I’ve ever experienced. Damn, I love being the love of this man’s life. He never lets me feel unwanted, and since that’s how I felt for most of my life, it’s a cozy security blanket to have wrapped around me now. You try spending the first eighteen years of your life bouncing from home to home and see how well you respond when someone stakes their claim. I belong to Fox, and I will always want him to show me that. Security is a thing, and my last therapist explain...