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    Elixir (Channeling Morpheus 10)
    Elixir (Channeling Morpheus 10)
    Elixir (Channeling Morpheus 10)
    Ebook90 pages1 hour

    Elixir (Channeling Morpheus 10)

    By Jordan Castillo Price

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    About this ebook

    Wild Bill and Michael might have thought they made it out of the subterranean vampire nest unscathed, but in her anger, Silk left Michael a taste of her wrath that's impossible to shake.

    It's a race against time to cure Michael of a bizarre affliction, and though the hunter and his favorite vamp have few enough friends, Bill can't ash a cigarette without burning another bridge. Now Wild Bill must decide what he's willing to sacrifice to save his lover.

    His friends? His scruples? His pride?

    His humanity?

    (Novelette - 20,400 words - explicit gay content)

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJCP Books
    Release dateDec 14, 2012
    ISBN9781935540533
    Elixir (Channeling Morpheus 10)
    Author

    Jordan Castillo Price

    Author and artist Jordan Castillo Price writes paranormal sci-fi thrillers colored by her time in the Midwest, from inner city Chicago, to various cities across southern Wisconsin. She’s settled in a 1910 Cape Cod near Lake Michigan with tons of character and a plethora of bizarre spiders. Any disembodied noises, she’s decided, will be blamed on the ice maker.Jordan is best known as the author of the PsyCop series, an unfolding tale of paranormal mystery and suspense starring Victor Bayne, a gay medium who's plagued by ghostly visitations.

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      Book preview

      Elixir (Channeling Morpheus 10) - Jordan Castillo Price

      Elixir

      Channeling Morpheus 10

      Jordan Castillo Price

      Smashwords Edition 2.0

      www.JCPbooks.com

      JCP Books LLC • PO Box 153 • Barneveld, WI 53507

      ISBN 978-1-452312-74-3

      SMASHWORDS EDITION 2012

      Cover art by Jordan Castillo Price

      Heaven Sent: A Channeling Morpheus Short. Copyright © 2009 by Jordan Castillo Price. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

      Chapter One

      I tracked Michael’s hand as it traveled down the length of me. Shoulder, biceps, chest. Lingering to trace the ink, the tribal thing over my left tit that covered up the name Deborah—no great loss to Deb, I’m sure—down the obliques. Wending through the six-pack. A pause to toy with the treasure trail. What’re you in the mood for? he asked.

      Most people would’ve answered, Surprise me. But most people didn’t have Trouble with a capital T for a boyfriend. You got such a pretty mouth, I said instead. How ’bout you spoil me with it?

      He unhitched the fly of my jeans one-handed. That’s all?

      I’m sure the mechanics’ll sort themselves out as we go along.

      That’s not what I mean. He bent his head to press a kiss just beneath my navel, and his Clairol-black hair fanned over my belly. He lingered there, tonguing cryptic messages on me that made my nuts shift and the insides of my thighs go all tingly, and when he spoke again, the soft words tickled the patch of skin he’d just dampened. I want to make sure you don’t get bored.

      Do I look bored? I nudged him in the shoulder with the stiffie that was trying to escape from my jeans.

      He turned and mouthed my hard-on through the denim. He knew how to be naughty, Michael did. How to tease his way up to a moment. How to make wicked promises with a sly glance of his silvery bedroom eyes. Bored. Right. I’d have to be dead to be bored with him.

      A cool breeze drifted in from the open window and raised goosebumps all over me, but I was in love with the idea of having a window open at the crack of springtime without waking up to a snowdrift for my troubles. It wasn’t exactly the world’s freshest air, given that Sin City with all its carbon emissions sprawled around us for dozens of miles in any direction, but it was outside air nonetheless—warmish outside air—and since I’d been born, bred and undead in the snow belt, I was enjoying me a little southwestern bliss.

      Michael smoothed away the pebbly prickle of gooseflesh with his deft, warm fingers. Should I close it?

      Nah. I like it.

      He peeled my jeans open and pressed a kiss to the ridge of my hipbone, and a fresh crop of goosebumps sprang up that had nothing to do with the breeze. I like it when you suck my soul out through my piss slit, too, I suggested.

      Mm. Romantic. He coaxed my hard cock out of my pants. It slapped against my belly, rigid and flushed. Michael traced a vein with the hot, wet tip of his tongue. His eyelids fluttered shut like he was reading my pulse. He probably was.

      I ran the backs of my fingers down his cheek. C’mon, baby, don’t tease. Suck it.

      I caught sight of the corner of his grin around my boner. He fluttered his tongue and bathed my cock with his warm breath, but he didn’t wrap his pretty lips around it.

      An arch of my back made my shaft nudge him in the jaw, but no dice. He could keep me on the brink for hours, and he knew it. He’d done it, just to see how hard I’d squirm—and the thought of that made my cock twitch without any help from my hips. You want me to beg? I’m not proud.

      The gentle puff of Michael’s silent laughter tickled my spit-wet shaft. Uh-huh. And I’ve got a secret stash of Playboys in the van.

      And what, you’re not gonna share? My pride was old history, but the longer you play your cards close to your chest, the harder it is for anyone to tell whether you’re yanking their chain or not. He might as well think I was a sarcastic a-hole. It was easier that way.

      You’d rather look at naked pictures? We can’t have that. Michael trailed his tongue higher and stroked my slit with the tip of it. Almost too sensitive. Almost. The heat of his breath bathed my cockhead, and I rocked my hips again. This time, he let me do it, sink myself deep inside his hot, wet mouth, and I reveled in the thought that whatever hell we’d been through together, Mikey and me, that this little slice of heaven was worth it.

      ***

      Our front door looked as sinister as a bum with his hand down the front of his pants skulking in an alley behind a playground. I noticed things about it I’d never noticed before. The slight warp of age. Half a century of scratches built up around the lock. Mismatched screws in the hinges. The number 3B slightly off-kilter. The layer of greasy fingerprints radiating from the doorknob.

      The way it threatened our imminent death.

      Michael pressed the length of his sleek young body against me, put his mouth to my ear, and breathed, There’s no one there.

      Yeah. That’s what my nose was telling me. But my mind—that was another story. My delusional dry-drunk brain was telling me that a big, fatal surprise must be right around the corner, and we would’ve been better off ditching Milwaukee straight off, leaving that little pink piece of circuitry behind.

      When I tried to sprint the nine feet down the hall, my legs locked in place, and I clutched the wall so hard a lightning bolt crack shot through the old plaster. A few flakes fell and dotted my combat boot.

      Michael fit his body more firmly to mine and covered my hand with his. "I’ll go. I’ll be quick—I know

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