"Alpha's Redemption" is up for pre-order at Less Than Three Press!
CONTENT WARNING: CHILD DEATH
Tondreau spent the last four years helping raise Cadajen's terminally ill daughter, Linea. Though not mates, they've carved out a happy life with each other. That life comes crashing down when Linea's health takes a turn for the worst, and they must face the hardest decision of their lives—a decision which threatens to tear them apart, if Tondreau can't face his own fears and be the Alpha that Cadajen needs.
"Devoted Alpha" is up for pre-order at Less Than Three Press!
Sokel has long known Sebastion harbors certain hidden fantasies and desires, but he's not the kind of Alpha to demand anything of his omega. But when a whispered word slips out one night, Sokel sets out to help his mate understand his needs don't make him deviant. In wanting to help however, Sokel might just go a step too far.
The first time it happened, so much shame followed the whispered word, it forced a full-body blush from Sebastian, making his beautiful form faintly red from the tips of his ears to the tips of his toes. He pulled away, rolled over, and refused Sokel’s attempts to coax him back into lovemaking. He refused, in fact, any intimacy between them at all for a week. And then came a nasty mission and a brush with death, and Sebastian fairly attacked him when they returned to the North Star.
The second time it happened, they were living on Presidia, and the word forced its way from that elegant throat, through lips pressed thin and tight. Sokel tensed for a fraction of a second and then carried on, determined not to encourage his mate’s palpable self-consciousness. He caught a fleeting glimpse of something through their link—the hazy impression of Sebastian’s mouth suckling on a baby bottle. He’d always sensed certain hidden desires through their link. Were he a different sort of Alpha, he would’ve simply forced the issue and taken the knowledge from his mate’s mind. After all, Sebastian was Human, and as such, couldn’t actively shield his thoughts. If Sokel wanted in, he’d get in. But Sebastian’s lack of ability was the very reason Sokel refused to pry. The desires lived in black boxes in Sebastian’s mindscape, and though Sokel asked once, Sebastian wasn’t ready to let him see. He thought, though, he might have gotten a glimpse with that one breathlessly choked out word.
The next day, he rearranged his schedule of lectures so he had a break in the afternoon. He needed a few minutes to himself for research. A few minutes turned into ten, which turned into twenty, which hurled itself toward an hour. It took a few attempts to narrow and refine his search parameters, but once he did, he began to understand.
The photos were explicit, and there were dozens, but he got the gist: two Presidian men lay on a bed together, one feeding the other from a baby bottle. Another picture showed a Human male stroking his cock as he sat on a woman’s lap, sucking from her breast.
A little more investigation and he determined Sebastian had what Humans called an infantilism fetish or age play kink. It made sense, he supposed. Sebastian’s parents both died when he was four. Lacking any other family, he ended up at an orphanage. Though located on Earth, the place was owned and operated by the Service, which meant a mostly non-Human staff. There were very few other Human children, and Sebastian once told Sokel he’d had no real friends until he’d enrolled in the Academy in his teens and met Korden and Rennett.
Sokel sat back in his chair and looked over the images again. He could work with this. He went to his vid screen and called Korden, arranged for his friends to be out of the house for a couple hours tonight. He let his aide know he’d be out for a while and made a trip to a small baby shop in the market to purchase a bright blue baby bottle. He stowed it in his bag and returned to work.
The rest of his day passed in relative peace, and when it was over, he walked to Sebastian’s classroom, leaning on the doorjamb and waiting while his mate discussed something with a student. The student shuffled past Sokel, smiling and nodding a hello/goodbye, and Sokel nodded back. She was a pretty little Human, all fresh-faced, rosy cheeks, and soft, round hips.
Sokel made his way over to Sebastian’s desk and slid his arms around his mate from behind, resting his chin on Sebastian’s shoulder. “I have a surprise for you.”
“Oh?” Sebastian leaned back, nuzzling his nose into the side of Sokel’s neck. “Is it a sexy surprise?”
“I can’t say.”
“Ya not even gonna gimmie a hint?”
“No.” Sokel chuckled when Sebastian stuck out his bottom lip in a pout. “You’ll see when we get home.” He headed to the door, pulling Sebastian along with him.
“Wait! Gotta grab some papers to grade tonight.”
Sokel shook his head and tugged on Sebastian’s hand. “Not tonight. I have other ideas.”
“So it is a sexy surprise!”
“You are incorrigible.”
Though they normally walked the two miles from the Academy to their home in the Ka’let Provence, today Sokel hailed a podcar.
“Somebody’s eager.” Sebastian snickered.
Instead of just over a half hour, the trip took a little under four minutes with traffic.
Sokel led him inside. “Why don’t you change and go relax on the bed? I’ll bring your surprise to you.”
Just wanted to drop a quick update. After Torquere folded (and took my money with them), I submitted some of my works to another pub, but ultimately we had a minor content conflict, and they passed. We're still friends, though.
But, as of tonight, I've submitted two of my works to another publisher. I should hear from them within 6-8 weeks.
::waves:: Hi y'all! For those of you who don't know me, my name is DC Juris. I've been a published author of GLBTQ romance since 2009. You can find me on Facebook.
For my part in the Rainbow Advent Calendar, I have a little offering featuring my two vampire characters, Serge and Bryan. Unfortunately, their first story, "Serge's Gift," is no longer available, but you don't really need to know anything other than Serge is an ancient vampire who turned his human friend Bryan, and they're together. This story is a snapshot of their first Christmas together.
To sweeten the holiday pot, I've got an offer for you. Throughout the month of December, do a random act of kindness for someone. It can be anything - a small gesture, a large gesture, either one. Then leave a comment on this post, including your e-mail, and I'll send you a free copy of "Serge's Gift."
"The Only Star"
I wasn't expecting this. When
you're mated to a vampire, things like Christmas seem a little trivial. But
here Serge stands, in the living room of our apartment, grinning from ear to ear in front of a fully decorated,
must-be-over-seven-feet-tall-and-three-around twinkling tree. Beneath the tree is a veritable mound of presents of all shapes and
sizes, wrapped in bright colored paper, complete with large gold bows on top of
each one, all bearing tags with my name.
I cross the room to him,
unable to suppress my own grin. "What's all this?"
He says it so simply, so dryly, belying to jovial look on his face. "Did
you think I would let you miss Christmas?"
I shrug. Christmas is a thing
I don't need anymore, I figure. A thing of my human past, not my vampire
Serge arches an eyebrow and
cocks his head to the side in that way of his. "So now you are a
bloodsucker, tradition means nothing?" His eyebrows knit together, and I
get the impression he's seriously
upset that I haven't reacted the way he wanted me to.
And now I remember what he's
told me of his past, his human family, and the vampire ones that followed, all
of them connected to some historical event or place, all of them sticklers for
rules and traditions. "Of course not." I shake my head.
"Tradition is always important."
That eyebrow arches higher
though, and he stares down his nose at me for a moment. "Hmm." Is all
he says, and I wonder if I've just made a huge mistake.
Serge shrugs. "In any
event." He looks back to the tree. "It has been a long time since I
have had a Christmas tree. A very long time, indeed," he whispers.
Now I get
it. The tree isn't so much for me, but him, yet Serge will never admit such.
He's an old vampire—a powerful one—filthy rich; able to buy anything he'd
ever want. What need does he have of human nonsense like Christmas trees and
presents? Better to hide that desire behind a gesture meant supposedly for me.
He stands there mutely,
gazing at the tree, clenching and unclenching his hands, like he's trying to
keep himself from reaching out and touching it. I look closer at the tree. Most
of these ornaments look very old; some of them must be as old as…Oh. I really, really get it now.
I move toward the tree. There
are several stars, which appear to have been fashioned out of twigs. A child's
project, perhaps? I imagine a smaller version of Serge winding twine around the
wood and beaming with pride at his creation. Near the top of the tree hangs a
ceramic horse, its chipped and faded paint telling its age. I reach out and run
my finger over a delicate glass "old world" Santa. I hear Serge's
sharp intake of breath as my flesh makes contact with the glass. He steps
closer and reaches out just a little, almost nervously. "I'll be careful,"
I assure him.
"Of course you will. I know
that." Serge drops his hand with a self-depreciating snort.
"Were these yours, as a
He swallows hard and nods.
"Most belonged to my mother, and hers before her."
I point to one of the stars.
"And who made these?"
"I did. I was
seven." He ducks his head, and I swear if a vampire could blush, Serge
would be beet red at the moment.
He shrugs. "They are only
stars. Nothing more."
"They're a lot more. Aren't they?" I step
close to him and lay my hands on his hips. There's an unspoken rule between
us—Serge makes the first move, Serge controls our intimacy—and he bristles a
little at the fact I've taken such initiative. But he doesn't move away,
doesn't push my hands aside. He leans in and teases my lips with his.
"They are only
stars." Serge straightens and raises a hand to touch my hair reverently.
"From a life that no longer exists."
"I'd like to hear about
it." I lean into him, press my forehead to his chin.
The rumble of Serge's chuckle
resonates deep in his chest. "You'd be bored out of your mind, I'm
"Nothing about you is
boring, my love." I wrap my arms around his neck and smile sweetly.
He glances past me to the
tree and heaves a sigh. "I suppose I brought this on myself, didn't
I?" The question seems snide but there's a light in his eyes—a glimmer of
excitement despite his words. He wants me to ask, he wants to tell me.
I glance at the enormous
tree. "Well, you are the one who
cut down an ancient redwood and dragged it into our house."
"It's not a
redwood," he corrects dryly. "It's a balsam fir. Abies balsamea, to be technical."
I shiver against him. "I
love it when you speak Latin."
He laughs in earnest.
"You love it when I speak anything."
Serge steps back and spins me around toward the blood bar in the corner.
"If you intend me to speak of such things, I will need sustenance."
I walk over to the bar, open
the chiller and pull out the first bottle my hand finds. I uncork it, and start
to pour the thick, scarlet liquid into two glasses. Serge appears behind
me—I'm still not used to that speedy movement thing—and wraps his arms around
sind der einzige Stern, den ich jetzt benötige," he whispers against
my ear, then slides from me and goes to the other side of the room. He flounces
down on the couch, staring at the Christmas tree.
"That's not Latin," I murmur. German, if
I recall my high school studies correctly.
"No." Serge gives no other answer.
I join him on the couch and he reaches for his
glass but I pull it back and raise an eyebrow. "What'd you say?"
He surges forward, grabbing both the glasses from
me before I can react. In the next moment he straddles me, has my wrists pinned
above my head in one of his hands. Serge kisses me thoroughly, curling my toes
with the passion of it.
"I said you are the only star I need now."
The wave of emotion that passes between us is
something electric. I've always been attracted to Serge; have loved him for a
while. But this… I've never felt the vampire bond between us quite so strongly. Suddenly
a history lesson is at the absolute bottom of my wish list. I tilt my hips up,
press against him. Offering. Demanding.
He takes the invitation, nips at my bottom lip with
his teeth as he slides a hand down between us. "It's true, you know."
"What's that?" I gasp as his fingers wrap
around my cock and begin to slowly stroke up and down.
"That you are a star. You shine brightly, my
love. Even now, cursed as you are." Serge licks a stripe up my neck.
"Not…cursed…" I thrust up into his hand.
His flesh is cool, like mine, but when he touches me like this, I'd swear I'm
in the middle of an inferno. He tightens his grip, precum slicking the way.
"Oh, but you are cursed. And so am I." He
nibbles at my throat, just over my jugular, draws a razor sharp fang along my
The sensation goes all the way to my cock. I don't
care if I'm cursed if it means being here with him like this, with the scent of
him, the feel of him, the weight of him holding me down. I want him in every
way possible. Forever. I buck up against him, wrap my hand around the back of
his neck. "Drink."
He snarls and sinks his fangs in instantly. He's
gentle, oh, so gentle, sucking delicately, slowly, in time with the movement of
his hand on my cock. It's too much. It's not enough.
I pull him down against me hard, wrap my legs
around him and hook my ankles. I can feel the blood leaving me, flowing past
his lips in a steady stream—it's like a thousand little orgasms. It leaves me
dizzy and breathless, desperate for more. The bond between us sings and
expands, ricocheting Serge's own pleasure back to me.
He raises his head, blood trickling from the corner
of his mouth, and captures my lips in a demanding, deep kiss. I surrender to
it, to the plundering of his tongue, to taste of myself, to the knowledge that
this act between us is perfect and precious.
I'm close, so close. I rut up into his hand and
cling to him, lost in a sea of sensation. It's still too much. It's still not
enough. I fear it will go on for eternity. I fear it will end too soon. My body
tenses, reaching, reaching. I want to demand my release. I want to beg him for
it. But I can't form words. All I can do is feel and trust that he knows the
Orgasm hits in a staggering moment of intensity, as
always. When we share blood, we share everything. Serge moans into my mouth as
my release spills over his hand. His body goes rigid and I'm hit with another
wave of pleasure. I ride it out, tumbling and falling free into the abyss of
It's minutes or an hours before I come back to
myself. Serge hasn't moved but to press his forehead against my shoulder. I
lift a hand an thread my fingers through his hair. "You shine brightly
too, you know," I whisper.
He chuckles and shifts to look down at me. "I
am but a flicker of yellow against the brilliant white of your backdrop."
It's not true. I want to argue with him, tell him
he's wrong. But something in his tone stops me. I kiss his lips and wrap my arms
around his neck. "Will you tell me of your Christmases?"
"Perhaps later. I have other plans for the
I raise an eyebrow at him. "Do tell?"
He untangles us and stands, holds his hand out to
me. "I plan to wine you and dine you tonight, such as I can."
"And then?" Because with Serge, there is
always an and then.
"And then, my star, I plan to bring you home
and make love to you on the rooftop, under the stars. If you are amenable, of
"I suppose I could be persuaded."
He chuckles and heads for the bedroom to change. I
sit for a moment, simply staring at the tree. I may never know about the
Christmases that came before, but I believe I can make the Christmases to come
ones he hopes never to forget.
All rights reserved. This is a work
of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the
author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual
persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion
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