That’s right…my next Pulp Friction 2015: Altered States book is out. :)
In a world where supernatural creatures openly exist, who can blame them for coalescing in one of the most fascinating and erotic places on earth? Welcome to New Orleans.
Emotions are a human flaw, certainly nothing he’s familiar with...
Yet when Laurant looks at his mysterious lover, something happens deep within him. He’s a sex demon who has eyes for only one man. Man? When did he stop referring to his lover as a meal? And when did he turn into a green-eyed demon? Perhaps when family came calling, requesting help. No one wants their lover surrounded by sex demons. If Laurant can’t get a grip on his newly found emotions, humans and supernaturals alike will be in danger.
He lost his one chance of finding out who he is, what he is...
Gun’s been hunting down the witch that pilfered his memories and issued him false ones to no avail. It’s like she disappeared off the face of the earth. Unfortunately, that scenario is quite plausible. It leaves Gun with a major dead end and a mind that is no longer his friend. Memories of a false love with a beautiful woman hinder his present unexplainable need for a certain incubus. But does he truly belong here…with a lover who can’t feel love, a city that isn’t his home, and a ragtag group of poker players that now call him friend? It’s time for Gun to forget the past and create a future for himself. At least the forgetting part is simple.
They both have personal issues to conquer, if they could just stop trying to conquer each other first.
Pulp Friction 2015
King of Hearts book Four
Pulp Friction book Fourteen
Gun stood at the bedroom door of the double-gallery house in the Garden District that he cohabited with a sex demon. The house was understated compared to a lot of the villas around it, which suited Gun fine. He loved the wrought iron work surrounding the galleries much better than the more commonly found white columns.
It hadn’t been his idea to relocate from the Burgundy Street cottage to here. If anything, he could probably claim the decision was forced on him—except he’d accepted the rational argument Jet made and agreed with his logic. Dahlia still posed a danger to Gun, and Laurant by association.
Earlier in the year, Gun had blinked and suddenly stood in the middle of Burgundy Street with no memory of how he got there, where there was, or even who he was. The feeling was unnerving to say the least. Everyone experienced the sensation of waking up and having that split second of pure terror because they couldn’t remember where they were, especially if they fell asleep in a foreign place. But to be fully awake and suddenly you knew absolutely nothing about you or your surroundings—that put terror on a whole different level. He’d assumed he knew everything the second before his mind blacked out, but he couldn’t even testify that he’d been standing in that particular spot the moment the darkness enveloped him.
Luckily—that word used quite loosely—Gun caught the interested eye of one slightly bored and extremely playful sex demon. Unfortunately when questioned about that day, Laurant couldn’t recall if he’d seen Gun there for a while or if the mystery man had just appeared out of nowhere. Nobody in the crowd had gasped or stumbled in surprise, so he and Laurant ventured to think, no, Gun hadn’t just magickly appeared.
But that was the problem with magick…use the right kind and no one would notice him unexpectedly popping in.
When they finally realized that Dahlia was indeed the one who’d completely wiped out Gun’s memory, it was a logical jump to the conclusion that she perhaps possessed an adequate amount of power to send him anywhere she wanted. The thing that perturbed Gun and the others was why she had picked New Orleans. This city easily had one of the highest supernatural populations in the world, and it steadily increased on a monthly basis. If she’d wanted to suppress Gun’s abilities, wouldn’t she have kept him as far from any hotspots as she could? Or was there some connection behind dropping him in the Big Easy?
All of these questions, plus many more, were just pieces in a jigsaw puzzle—possibly many puzzles—that Laurant and his friends were investigating.
So Gun did as Jet instructed and moved to another residence. Not far from the old one either. Jet wasn’t terribly happy—he either wanted them on pack land or out of Louisiana all together—though he didn’t phrase it quite so nicely.
But just like Gun couldn’t argue with the Alpha’s logic, Jet also couldn’t completely ignore Gun’s reasoning either. The population in the New Orleans area was well over a million, and since Laurant’s friend owned the double-gallery house, nothing connected the sex demon to the property. Which, in turn, meant it would be extremely difficult for someone to track Gun to his new location. That, added to the fact that Dahlia had lost all elements of surprise, made staying in the area a seemingly reasonable solution.
In truth, whether the Alpha agreed or not, Gun wouldn’t have left. He’d spent the last two months hunting down every single iota of information he’d uncovered about his mysterious witchy wife…and he would continue doing so until he found her, wrapped his hands around her delicate throat, and squeezed the truth out of her.
She did worse than kill him; she’d stolen who he was and left him with nothing but a hollow shell to survive on. Either she was pure evil…or perhaps he’d been.
Which brought him to another reason he was wary of leaving the city. He missed the Burgundy cottage. No matter how unreasonable it sounded, that cottage was the only place his memory held onto as a home.
Dahlia inserted into his mind a loft located over a simple magic store on Juniper Hill in Castle Rock. But a couple of calls proved that memory as false as the rest of them.
A faint mumbling interrupted his introspection, reminding him why he stood there staring at the heavy oak door.
The murmurs were distorted enough that he couldn’t make out the words, but definitely two distinct voices.
It was a small solace that he hadn’t tipped the scales into madness, that he indeed heard a commotion. Laurant really did have someone in there with him even though he’d entered the room completely alone not fifteen minutes earlier.
Gun unabashedly leaned closer, his ear almost pressed against the wood. He wished he had excellent hearing like the wolf…or vampire…or maybe the ghost and seer did also. He knew from prior experiences that the incubus unquestionably did.
What an enigmatic group of friends—and lover, he angrily curled his lip at the door—he’d obtained since waking up to his now life half a year ago. Many times, he’d fathomed that even if he rid himself of these fake memories implanted in his head, exchanged them for the original ones, he would remain here in New Orleans with these eclectic people. There was a pull to this town that kept him coming back no matter how many times he ventured away during his search for his old life.
He focused again when a female voice cooed through the thick wood. The tenor of her voice brought thoughts of satisfaction to him; she was pleased with whatever had just occurred.
He held no remorse for eavesdropping. Laurant wouldn’t hesitate to overhear someone else’s conversation, and damn sure wouldn’t feel bad about doing it either.
A feminine, overly exuberant giggle filled the brief silence after the moan of pleasure. Another high-pitched burst of happiness overlapped the first. Two women?
Even though Gun didn’t know much about himself, he’d proven more than once that he was a very patient and calm man in the face of most concerns. Except where the incubus was involved.
He twisted the doorknob to no avail. The demon had locked him out of his own bedroom? True, technically it was the only bedroom—well, the only room in the house with a bed. Laurant’s friend hadn’t felt the need to fully furnish the place. Considering their varying schedules, they rarely shared the bedroom, except for the times when they did so under the pretext of feeding.
Did the demon truly need to feed as often as they fucked?
If Laurant needed sustenance—per their deal—Gun would provide it. But also per that very explicit contract they’d bound themselves to, Laurant was not to feed from anyone else—man or woman. That was the arrangement, and Gun would see the sex-crazed demon in hell before he willingly allowed him to break the deal.
Another aspect of their relationship Gun chose not to examine too carefully.
Of course, living in New Orleans among a drastically increasing presence of preternatural beings, hell didn’t carry the same connotation it used to. In fact, some supes and humans alike found the place quite enjoyable.
Fisting his hand, he knocked heavily on the solid door three sharp, well-paced times.
“One second, honey. We’re almost done.”
Laurant’s singsong voice grated with the same effect as nails down a chalkboard.
After a couple moments without the door opening, Gun pursed his lips and repeated his three abrupt blows. He could’ve added a verbal command with the action, but refused to be reduced to such a level.
But the noises emanating from the room betrayed Laurant’s claim. There were no footsteps on the hardwood floors, no metal on metal click of the lock disengaging. What there were were two distinct females twittering as sheets rustled about with a few sporadic thumps interrupting their absurd levels of delight.
Maybe Laurant spoke the truth when he said he was coming.
Gun hesitated between raising his fist again and demanding they open the door.
Laurant interrupted his indecision. “Yes…I’m aware you’re still out there. One more minute, cher.” Could the damn demon see through walls, also?
Annoyance jetted through Gun. How dare the incubus act so blasé. They had an arrangement. Not that Gun cared whom Laurant got his jollies from, but he was to feed from no one but Gun.
The fact that he believed Laurant couldn’t get his jollies without feeding was inconsequential.
A tingling started deep in Gun’s solar plexus. As the intense sensation coursed through his body, it gained in temperature and velocity. He held up his hands facing each other, fingers splayed. All his senses heightened when a crackling of energy transferred between the palms.
“Um…Gun? What are you doing out there?”
The obnoxious noises from the women and bed stopped abruptly.
A blinding light obliterated his sight followed directly by a thundering clap of destruction. Rolling heat massaged his skin as a burning acrid smoke infiltrated his nose.
One of the bedroom occupants screamed sharply, the high-decibel noise tinged more with a surprised tone than fear or alarm.
The brightness that threatened to burn his retinas slowly receded.
After a few clearing blinks, Gun managed to decipher what his eyes were trying to relay to his brain. Laurant stood near his bed, his face probably a duplicate of Gun’s own shock, while two beautiful women lounged on the bed wearing identical expressions.
The women weren’t overtly sensual, both completely clothed, the short red-haired one dressed in gray sweatshorts and a matching tee shirt, the other’s attire was just as simple, black leggings and a man’s crisp, white button-down dress shirt. Her masses of ebony hair falling around her cherubic face in big, loose curls the perfect topper to her unpretentious attire. Even with their simple wardrobe and sans makeup, the women were breathtaking. Gun stared a moment longer than polite company would appreciate.
“Well, that’s going to prove inconvenient if we decide to fuck during poker night…unless exhibitionism is your kink.” Laurant raised his eyebrow at Gun.
The that Laurant referred to was the incinerated bedroom door. To be fair, only part of it burned to a heaping pile of smoking cinders marring the authentic hardwood floors, the remaining portion swung partially off the hinges.
“You plan to host poker on the second floor in a bedroom?” Gun stepped through the destroyed door.
Immediately his cock hardened and his heart rate increased. The artery in the side of his throat throbbed in time with the erection pressing against his zip.
Sex, the room reeked of it…not the smell of sweat and cum, or heat in the air that happens when three mouths gasp for breath in close quarters. Yet Gun fought off the need to rip his trousers from his body and take his penis in hand, to jack it up and down in front of these people until he screamed a release that would explode the windows into shards. That wasn’t enough, though. He wanted—needed more. On his knees, mouth just breaths away from the enticing bulge at Laurant’s crotch. Fuck the buttons and material holding hostage what Gun needed most right then, to suck his sex demon off, to use his mouth and tongue and teeth in order for Laurant to reach completion. Gun needed to drink down the very essence of his lover.
The desires robbed Gun of his energy.
A weakness coursed through his veins, turning his strong, solid legs to a flimsy shell of what they once were. The struggle over his own mind and body shocked him to the core. Is this how Laurant felt when he needed to feed? Gun struck out with his hand, grasping the doorframe for some sort of stability.
The entire experience lasted a split second before Gun composed himself. He allowed his gaze to roam over Laurant’s fully clothed body. He looked exquisitely lethal in his skintight brown leather jeans and orange silk collarless shirt with billowing arms clasped at the wrist. The garment wasn’t an obnoxious bright hue, more like the color of a ripe pumpkin, early for the upcoming autumn season.
Leaning barefooted and loose-limbed against the far wall, Laurant smirked at Gun. “Like what you see, big boy?”