A NineStar Press Publication
Published by NineStar Press
P.O. Box 91792,
Albuquerque, New Mexico, 87199 USA.
www.ninestarpress.com
Life After Humanity
Copyright © 2018 by Gillian St. Kevern
Cover Art by Natasha Snow Copyright © 2018
Edited by: BJ Toth
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact NineStar Press at the physical or web addresses above or at [email protected]
ISBN: 978-1-947904-80-4
Printed in the USA
First Edition
January, 2018
Also available in paperback, ISBN: 978-1-947904-87-3
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content, which may only be suitable for mature readers.
Life After Humanity
Thorns and Fangs, Book Three
Gillian St. Kevern
Table of Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
About the Author
To Sarah, Stuart, Rose, and Mac, for giving me a place to stay while I was writing.
Acknowledgements
As always, this story wouldn’t have been possible without support from Sera, Julia, Zenia, Melissa, and Claire. Thank you so much for your friendship, your encouragement and your patience.
Chapter One
SOMEONE HAD BROKEN in.
Ben stood in the doorway of his New Camden apartment. The door swung open at his touch, even before he’d fished his key out of his pocket. Beneath his feet, the protective wards laid around the apartment throbbed like an open wound. Someone had forced their way past Ben’s carefully laid defenses—someone who was still there.
Damnit. Ben set his briefcase down noiselessly beside the door. Just one day. One day without anything supernatural happening. Is that too much to ask?
He didn’t move, using his senses to probe the darkness beyond the door. Vampire—or werewolf? He hadn’t felt any interference with his wards until he’d reached his apartment. That ruled out a magical practitioner or any lesser supernatural being that would have needed to unpick the spell piece by piece. Please, not another demon. None of the boxes dotted around the living room were big enough to hide an intruder. Unless they crouched behind the sofa or pressed against the wall in the shadows, they weren’t in the living room.
Keeping his attention focused on the apartment, Ben fished for his umbrella stand and the cane leaning against its back. It looked benign, as if it had been forgotten by an elderly visitor, but when Ben twisted the handle, he released the long blade hidden within.
Not Ben’s first choice of weapon—the blade was too long and too dainty—but it was a weapon, able to stand up to vampire or demon. If this is a werewolf, I am in serious trouble. The stale air of his apartment lacked the distinctive ripe odor of werewolf. Still, Ben couldn’t rule it out.
Why would a werewolf break into my apartment? True, Ben had a past as a supernatural investigator for ARX and had killed a few werewolves in his time—but that was the past. There was nothing linking his life now to ARX—was there?
Ben slipped noiselessly into the dimly lit living room, heading for the sofa. Nothing there—or in the shadows. He scanned the room, but everything looked as it had that afternoon when he’d stepped out to meet his accountant. All I did was my taxes! Where’s the harm in that?
But bringing his financial records up-to-date for the year he’d been dead had taken all of the afternoon. Ample time for whoever it was to find a hiding place. Ben stood motionless in the living room, straining with his senses for any clue to the intruder.
The open doors of his apartment were in deeper shadow than the rest of the living room. Reaching for the light switch was tempting, but Ben’s eyes were now accustomed to the dark. Readjusting would cost seconds he wasn’t sure he had. His eyes fell on the stacks of paper on his living room table.
At first glance they seemed undisturbed, but a closer look revealed a few papers had drifted to the side. Disturbed by a breeze? Ben turned to the kitchen door. A sliver of light was just visible through the crack beneath.
A trap. There was nothing of interest to any supernatural being in the kitchen, so it would be the last place he searched. His guard down, his senses dull, he’d be unprepared for whatever waited beyond. Or—Ben frowned as he approached the door—was there another explanation?
A faint sizzling sound emanated from beyond the door, followed by the heavy smell of garlic.
Ben’s nose twitched. A werewolf would not cook an enemy dinner. A demon wouldn’t know how. A vampire might—but a vampire would not use garlic.
I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Taking a deep breath, Ben slowly levered the handle down and let the door drift open. His fear was confirmed.
Nate stood at the counter, his back to the door. The strength implicit in his broad shoulders and muscular arms was softened—but not disguised—by the domesticity of his actions. As Ben watched, Nate lay down the knife and used the chopping board to slide his neatly diced peppers into the frying pan. At his elbow a pot boiled merrily.
Far more dangerous than any werewolf. Ben swallowed, finding it hard to speak. He felt as if he were caught in a spell, unable to do anything but watch.
Absorbed in his task, Nate seemed unaware of Ben’s presence. He was dressed down, wearing a faded T-shirt that hugged his torso. The edges of his jeans were frayed, hanging down over his bare feet. His hair hadn’t been styled, and it curled up at the base of his neck. Finished adding the mushrooms to the pan, he stirred its contents and then stretched out a hand to the basil growing in a pot on the windowsill. The window reflected his smile, inward and alarmingly personal.
Ben swallowed. Nate had broken in—so why did he feel like the intruder?
Dangerous. Ben dug his fingers into his arm. Focus! Casual worked annoyingly well for Nate, made more effective by the knowledge that Nate made a point of looking good. There were few people who got to see Nate dressed down. But Ben couldn’t think about that, or how right Nate looked in his kitchen. He had to get Nate out of his apartment before it was too late.
“What happened to seeing less of each other?”
Nate started, snatching his hand back from the basil. He turned, and Ben’s initial flash of triumph gave way to alarm. Nate’s eyes were a great weapon. Hazel and framed by dark, almost decadently soft lashes, they radiated whatever Nate felt with an immediacy that was hard to resist.
“Jesus, Ben! You scared the shit out of me—” He came to a halt. “Is that a sword?”
Ben looked down at the blade in his hand. It wouldn’t help him now. �
��It’s a family heirloom. Used to be my grandfather’s.” He turned back toward the front door.
“And you just keep it there by the door?” Nate followed Ben to the kitchen door to watch.
“In case of intruders.” Ben sheathed the sword and dropped the cane back in the stand. He shut the door. His heart raced. Ben took a moment to summon all his anger. I was this close to a day without anything supernatural happening! “You’d better have a good reason for breaking into my apartment.”
“I do.” Nate stood in the kitchen doorway, one hand resting against the frame.
“Let’s hear it then.”
“I had a bad feeling this afternoon. A premonition.”
Not this again! “It wasn’t a premonition.”
“It felt really real. I was just watching TV and all of a sudden, these words popped into my mind. You were gone and I wasn’t going to see you again. It really freaked me out.”
“Enough to add breaking and entering to your criminal file?”
Nate radiated hurt. He wrapped his arms around himself. “I had to see you. No one answered the door, so I tried calling. When it had been a couple of hours and you hadn’t answered your phone, I—well, I got worried.”
“And that’s when you broke in?” Ben pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping in his pin.
“That was an accident. I had my hand on the door, and I was thinking about how much I wanted to be on the other side, and the door just…relaxed.”
Eight missed calls… Ben jerked his head up. “Relaxed?”
“I tried the handle and it opened.” Nate’s eyes settled anxiously on Ben’s. “Did I break anything?”
Ben looked down at the welcome mat beneath his feet. He didn’t need to lift it to know what he would find. His runes, intact but faintly smudged. “Only the natural laws regarding the magical properties of runes.”
Nate scratched the back of his neck. He dropped his gaze, shuffling his feet, but was unable to keep from looking up to check Ben’s expression. “Are you mad?”
Embarrassment looked wrong on Nate. Ben was reminded of a dog caught doing something he knew he shouldn’t be—and felt the tight knot of anger in his stomach undo. Curse him! If Ben was going to get out of this encounter unscathed he needed his anger. “Of course I’m mad. My apartment is my place. Coming home to find someone’s forced their way in is…not good.” Not good? That wasn’t going to convince anyone—least of all anyone with Nate’s perceptive nature.
It was hard to read Nate’s expression. “I made dinner. As an apology.”
At least he realized he needed to apologize— No! I have to be firm. “I think your apology is burning.”
“Shit!” Nate ducked back through the doorway to attend to the frying pan.
Ben took the opportunity to escape.
WHAT IS WRONG with me? Ben leaned against his bathroom counter, letting the cold marble soothe his racing thoughts. The locked bathroom door wasn’t much of a defense—not if what Nate had said about the door opening for him was true. How does that even work? His powers are related to plants… Ben’s eyes widened. The wooden door? He hadn’t thought about it, but if Nate could command dead wood as well as living—
I’m not thinking about this. Ben pulled his attention firmly back to the present. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, purposefully calming his racing thoughts. Think ordinary thoughts. Human thoughts.
His cheeks felt hot. Ben glanced in the mirror and discovered he had color in his face. For once, he looked normal.
Damnit, Nate! Ben splashed water on his cheeks.
It wasn’t fair. He could go days without feeling anything—not anger, not joy, not even hunger. But five minutes with Nate and his body raced with conflicting emotions. This is the most human I’ve felt all week—and it’s because of Nate.
Ben caught his lip between his teeth. It would be easy—very easy—to lean on Nate’s strength, let himself be caught up in the maelstrom of feeling Nate produced.
No. I have to do this myself. Ben roughly toweled his face dry.
“Hey, Ben?” Nate’s voice sounded outside the door. “You want to eat in the dining room or the kitchen?”
The thought of the long living room table surrounded by unpacked boxes did not appeal, but the intimacy of the tiny kitchen table was too great a risk coupled with Nate’s familiarity. “The dining room.”
Nate still hesitated. “The table’s got all your papers on it.”
“Leave them,” Ben said immediately. “I’ll clear a space.”
Not until he heard Nate’s footsteps depart did Ben realize what a mistake he’d made. Stupid! He’d agreed to dinner—accepting Nate’s apology at the same time.
Every time I give in, it gets harder to say no. Ben gave his reflection a critical glance. He was still more flushed than he was comfortable with, but it would have to do. He couldn’t risk Nate making himself any more at home.
His briefcase was still by the door. Ben set it on the table, quickly stacking the papers on the table and placing them out of sight within the case. Luckily, anticipating a long wait in his accountant’s office, he’d taken his application for humanity with him. If Nate had seen it…
Hold on to that thought. Ben snapped the briefcase shut. This is an intrusion.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t want to put you out.” Nate reappeared. He had a steaming plate in either hand.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have broken into my apartment.” Ben kept his voice firm. He’d given way enough for one evening. He deliberately set down two place mats on opposite sides of the wide table.
“I haven’t told you the whole story.” Nate set the plates down and went back for cutlery. “Right after the premonition—”
“It wasn’t a premonition.” Ben sat.
“Weird feeling then.” Nate handed him a knife and fork, before walking back the length of the table to his own place. “Ethan called.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “I can see why that would be unsettling.” Ethan was Nate’s notoriously antisocial twin brother.
“Hey.” Nate frowned at Ben even as his mouth twisted in amusement. “Ethan can use a phone when he wants.”
“He just doesn’t want to very often?” Unlike Nate, a confirmed people person, Ethan could go hours without saying more than a couple of words. He was happiest working in his orchard alone with his plants.
“Yeah.” Nate’s grin faded. “He had news. Someone came to the farm last night. Someone—off.” Nate glanced at Ben. “I think it was Hunter.”
A cold jolt shot through Ben’s entire body. His heart began to thump again, not with the heat of awareness of Nate’s presence, but a cold stab of fear. He couldn’t be found by his vampire family. Not now. “What makes you think that?”
“The description matches. The guy had a nice car and clothes, and black hair. He asked about you.”
Ben forced his throat muscles to relax. “What did Ethan tell him?”
“Nothing.” Nate raised a hand, his fingers grasping for the right word. “He said the guy felt—rotten. He didn’t like him. He told him to leave.”
“Your brother always did have a talent for hospitality.” Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. “How did he trace me? Did you—”
“The only one who knows where we were is Aki,” Nate said. “And he doesn’t know exactly where. I don’t give my address out to anyone.”
At least Nate had that much sense. Aki was not Nate’s best friend based on his ability to keep his mouth shut. “The police. The sheriff’s department in Little River had my ARX record. So did the team from Chinquapin. If they’d requested confirmation from ARX, that would be logged. Hunter must have seen my name in the records and decided to look into it.”
“You think that’s all it is?” Nate pushed the pasta around on his plate. “You don’t think he’s investigating us?”
Ben couldn’t blame Nate for being alarmed. His family farm in Little River hid a big secret. “His main priority will
be finding me. He knows you’re not what you seem, but currently he’ll be more concerned with locating us than spending time uncovering your secrets—and it would take more than one night to work out you and Ethan.”
Nate’s smile was faint. “I don’t like this. What’s to say he won’t come back? Or worse—come here?”
“That’s a possibility I’m prepared for.” Ben glanced toward the front door. “I’ve been working on a systematic upgrade of my wards. No way Hunter is getting past them.”
Nate turned his head to look. “I haven’t—screwed that up?”
“If anything, you’ve alerted me to a possible security issue.” Figuring out how Nate had breached his wards would help Ben make them stronger. “Not that I want you to make a habit of breaking in.”
Nate shook his head. “It was just Ethan’s call coming straight after my—weird feeling.” He looked at Ben. “You’re sure what I felt wasn’t…anything more?”
“Positive,” Ben said promptly. Better to nip this in the bud. “Real premonitions are incredibly rare, even among people with a proven record of psychic sensitivity. You have the magical sensitivity of a log.”
“Hey!”
Ben nudged Nate’s leg beneath the table. “You spent three days living in Gunn’s bathtub without any idea the guy was a lemur.”
“To be fair, I was more concerned by the guy’s complete lack of any housekeeping skills.” Nate paused. “You’re sure—what am I saying? Of course you’re sure.” He picked up his knife and fork, digging into his meal.
Ben watched him eat. Nate’s complete confidence in his statements was unnerving—but at the same time, it eased some of the disquiet he felt. He picked up his own fork.
The silence between them grew. Good. The added distance would help. Ben applied himself to his meal. Nate had made spaghetti with a meat sauce. Ben carefully separated his noodles from the sauce before eating the pasta one at a time.
Nate finished his meal well before Ben. He looked around the apartment. “You still haven’t unpacked?”
“I’m working on it.” The remark was defensive, and Ben immediately regretted it. “I’m taking my time, making up a list of everything. For the insurance.”
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