Donnchadh

by Lynn Hagen

  “I’m designing a website for a book company. They have a large catalogue that’s going to take me a while to create the pages for.”

  Work was something Getty had no problem talking about. It was something he was passionate about, but he’d learned to keep that passion to a minimum. Most people found his work boring and tended to tune him out.

  He also simplified the techno terms.

  “What have you been up to lately?” Getty wished Cyril would hurry up. His stomach was grumbling, and the toast was already gone. Getty licked the butter from his fingers before he grabbed a napkin and wiped his hands.

  “Paperwork, politics, and things that would bore you to tears,” the sheriff said. “That’s one of the perks, and downfalls, of living in a small town.”

  Getty loved Maple Grove. He’d grown up there and never planned on leaving. A lot of people preferred the excitement of the city. Not Getty. Give him a slow-paced life anytime.

  The diner was starting to fill, and Getty sniffed at the aroma of waffles. Kenny walked over to them, two plates on his arms. “Here you fellas go.”

  “Thanks,” Getty and the sheriff said at the same time.

  Copache used syrup, but Getty thought the blueberry waffles were sweet enough on their own. He was halfway through eating when he felt someone at his back.

  When he turned, he nearly dropped his cup of coffee.

  Donnchadh.

  “Hey, stranger.” Donnchadh slid onto the stool on Getty’s right. He reached behind Getty and shook Sheriff Copache’s hand.

  “What brings you here, Donny?” The sheriff went back to digging into his waffles.

  “Hungry.” Donnchadh looked right at Getty. “I worked up an appetite last night.”

  Getty felt his face fuse with heat as he quickly looked away.

  “I want to sit by a window.”

  Getty winced at the sound of that catty voice. He would know it anywhere. He looked over his shoulder and, yep, it was Bimbo. Getty’s dad was with her.

  If he asked to borrow money last night, how was he eating at the diner this morning? Getty racked his brain trying to think if he’d locked his bedroom door. Getty didn’t think his father would steal from him, but he didn’t trust Bimbo.

  “That looks good,” Donnchadh said, pulling Getty’s attention back to him. “I think I’ll have some waffles, too.”

  God, his voice was silky smooth, and Getty’s body was reacting to the sound. He sat there between the sheriff and Donnchadh, popping a boner.

  Donnchadh reached over and picked up a piece of Getty’s waffles, keeping eye contact as he slid it into his mouth. He licked his finger as if it were a dick, making Getty squeak.

  “Something wrong?” the sheriff asked.

  How was Getty supposed to eat when Donnchadh was turning their meal into something pornographic? Getty had a wild urge to feed Donnchadh from his fork. Fuck, watching the guy’s throat muscles work as he chewed turned Getty on.

  “Yep,” Donnchadh said. “That’s exactly what I want.”

  Was he talking about the waffles or Getty?

  “Coming right up,” Kenny said.

  Getty hadn’t even seen the server. He’d been too focused on Donnchadh chewing and staring at him as if he wanted to make a meal out of Getty.

  A hand landed on his shoulder, making Getty yelp. Donnchadh looked behind Getty and curled his lip.

  “Hey, son,” Getty’s dad said. “I thought you were at home sleeping.”

  Donnchadh seemed to relax. His dark features smoothing out. Getty could’ve sworn he’d heard a slight growl rumbling in Donnchadh’s throat.

  Getty turned. “I was hungry.”

  “I’ll let you get back to your food.” Getty’s dad looked Donnchadh over before walking away. Did he suspect anything? Was he going to question Donnchadh’s behavior when they were alone?

  “You still live at home with your old man?” Donnchadh asked as Kenny poured the guy a cup of coffee.

  “He lives with me.” Getty wasn’t sure why he wanted to clarify that. Maybe because at the age of twenty-eight, it sounded like a loser move to still be living with a parent.

  When Donnchadh spoke, his voice was just above a whisper. “You took off before we had a chance to talk.”

  “I didn’t think we had anything to talk about.” Getty hadn’t meant for it to sound that way, but it was the truth.

  “Oh, sweetheart, we have plenty to talk about,” Donnchadh said, so close to Getty’s ear that Getty shivered. “After we eat, we need to take a walk.”

  He looked to where his father was seated. His back was to Getty, but Bimbo was looking right at him. He wasn’t sure why she was smirking at him.

  “I have work I need to get done.” Getty turned back around. “Maybe some other time?”

  Donnchadh made a noise in the back of his throat. “At least give me your phone number.”

  Getty could do that. He just wasn’t sure what Donnchadh had to talk to him about. They’d had sex. No strings attached. What else was there to say?

  Chapter Three

  “We need to step up our patrols in the human realm,” Panahasi said to his warriors. “The hellhounds are getting bolder and, in some cases, gathering in large numbers.”

  It had been a growing problem for months now, and Panahasi was clueless to why this was happening.

  “Like becoming mayor of a small town,” Donnchadh snarled. “There were at least five hellhounds in Fever’s Edge.”

  And Donnchadh had nearly lost his life the night the demon warriors had gone there to clean house. What worried Panahasi was that one of the hellhounds had had a chemical weapon in his mouth when he’d bitten Donnchadh, counteracting Phoenyx’s ability to heal.

  That meant the hellhounds were a greater threat now. “I want you guys to split into pairs. Patrol Brac Village, Pride Pack Valley, Desire, and anywhere else they’ve been seen.”

  “I’d like to patrol Maple Grove,” Donnchadh said.

  “I know three showed up there,” Panahasi said. “But that was because they’d followed Maverick Brac. Have any more infiltrated that town?”

  “No, but why wait until they have?” Donnchadh asked. “I’ll take Cadeym with me.”

  “How do you know I want to go there?” Cadeym asked. “I might want to go to Desire.”

  Donnchadh shrugged. “Whatever. I’ll take whoever wants to go with me.”

  There was more to Donnchadh’s request than he was letting on. Panahasi would talk to the warrior once they were alone. He didn’t like any unknowns. “You guys can go,” he said. “Donnchadh, a word?”

  “I’ll go with him,” Cadeym said. “I’ll wait for him in the hallway.”

  When it was just Donnchadh and Panahasi, he asked, “What’s with your interest in Maple Grove?”

  “My mate’s there. I just found out last night.”

  “Congrats.” Panahasi smiled.

  Donnchadh shrugged. He did that a lot when he didn’t want to talk about something. “If I can pin him down. He keeps giving me the cold shoulder.”

  Panahasi knew all too well about resistant mates. “Human?”

  Donnchadh nodded.

  “Give him time,” Panahasi said. “Take Cadeym and go to Maple Grove. But if any of the warriors need your help—”

  “I’ll be there.” Donnchadh walked to the door, and Panahasi wondered how resistant the human would be. Of all the warriors, Donnchadh had had the harshest life before Panahasi had pulled him out of Zakerym, one of the nastiest cities in the demon realm, even worse than Remtin.

  He liked to play things cool, but under that smooth act was a man who trusted very little and loved even less. He prayed the human was just what Donnchadh needed.

  * * * *

  For two days Getty stayed in his room typing away on his laptop, getting his work done, almost forgetting Donnchadh existed. He’d tried, at least, and sometimes failed.

  He was starting to feel as if he lived in a cave. No sunlight, n
o one to talk to—because he actively avoided his dad and Bimbo. He’d even turned his phone off.

  Getty had disconnected from the world, and now he was feeling antsy. Any other time he would’ve gone for daily walks to clear his head and to remember a world existed outside his own bedroom, but he was so afraid of running into Donnchadh or his dad—who kept giving him funny looks ever since they’d seen each other in the diner.

  He felt like he was losing his mind. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about that tall, dark drink of water? Why couldn’t he sleep without Donnchadh invading his dreams? That one-night stand was like an itch Getty couldn’t scratch, and it was frustrating as hell.

  After reading the same line of code five times, he knew he needed a break. He was also still pissed that, after coming home from the diner, he’d found forty bucks missing out of his top drawer. He’d confronted his father and Bimbo, but both had denied going into his bedroom.

  Something had to give, or he just might go postal.

  This time he made sure he locked his bedroom door before he left the house. Even though it was past midnight, he knew there was a possibility that the two were still awake, and he didn’t want the thief to strike again.

  Wasn’t it enough that he was paying all the bills, buying groceries, and giving his father money here and there? What more did they expect from him? Bimbo wasn’t even a good houseguest. She didn’t do dishes—because she was afraid of messing up her nails—never vacuumed—because she said dust made her sneeze—and didn’t even do laundry.

  What in the hell did his father see in her? The sex couldn’t be that great, and Getty definitely didn’t want to think about his dad having sex.

  A walk around the block should help. After all, Maple Grove was a safe little town where crime rarely happened. The walk would also give Getty the opportunity to think about Pete’s advice.

  Renting an apartment where he didn’t have to deal with his father or his dad’s girlfriend. Better yet, he could rent them an apartment and get them out of his hair.

  Getty wasn’t ungrateful. Of course he appreciated the hard work and sacrifices his father had made raising him. But it had been Getty’s mother who’d done most of the sacrificing while his father made excuses of why he couldn’t work or lost himself in a bottle.

  Lost in thought, Getty didn’t realize he’d walked close to the downtown area of Maple Grove. There were still cars on the street, and he heard noises from Tilted, the local tavern. The parking lot there was practically full, which gave Getty a false sense of safety.

  As he continued to walk, he noticed a shadowy figure leaning against a tree. Getty kept his eyes straight ahead. The guy was probably some drunk from the tavern, and Getty didn’t want to give the stranger an excuse to strike up a conversation, especially since the guy wasn’t that great looking.

  And he still had Donnchadh on the brain. It was aggravating as hell to think about someone so much. Someone he’d slept with one time—albeit an amazing night of sex—and he wished he could purge Donnchadh from his mind.

  It had been one sexual encounter. There was no love lost between them. It wasn’t as though someone like Donnchadh would even consider dating someone like him. They had nothing in common.

  Getty rubbed his chest, wondering why his thoughts had taken such a depressing turn. He’d been okay with not seeing Donnchadh again, yet he suddenly felt like balling his eyes out at the prospect of never seeing him again.

  “Looking for a good time, sweetheart?”

  Fuck. The drunk was following him. He might not have been good-looking, but the guy was well built and, even drunk, could probably overpower Getty.

  He ignored the stranger and picked up his pace, even crossing the street. It was time to walk his ass home. Getty should’ve never wandered this damn far.

  For someone who was inebriated, the guy was able to keep pace. It was possible he wasn’t drunk, just some perv hanging around a bar to hit on whoever came out, too wasted to realize this guy was bad news.

  “Where’re you running off to?” the guy asked. “I just wanna talk.”

  “I highly doubt that.” Shit. Getty shouldn’t have said anything. He was only encouraging a conversation that he was desperate not to have.

  He slipped his phone out, wondering if he should call Donnchadh or the cops. Would the cops get there fast enough before the jerk tried something? Would Donnchadh even care about Getty’s situation enough to get out of bed and help?

  He decided to call the cops. Harassment was a crime, and even though the stranger hadn’t actually done anything, Getty wanted to keep it that way.

  “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

  “I need the cops,” Getty said.

  The stranger knocked the phone out of his hand. “Try to be nice to humans and this is what happens. Did you seriously just call the cops on me?”

  Getty didn’t answer him. He took off running, knees to chest, while wishing he worked out more. Immediately his lungs and muscles started to burn, but he wasn’t going to stop until he was safely home.

  Or the guy stopped chasing him, because, fuck, the pervert was fast, right on Getty’s heels. He tried to scream, but he was already overexerting his lungs and couldn’t catch his breath long enough to shout.

  The stranger gripped him around the waist and lifted Getty off his feet.

  “Help! Help me!” Getty swung his arms and legs, trying to kick or elbow the guy.

  “Just remember. You brought this on yourself.”

  Getty reached around and shoved at the stranger’s head. It looked as if the guy was trying to bite him. He had long canines that terrified Getty. He had an urge to squeeze his eyes shut but forced them to remain open as he fought to get free.

  Getty was nauseous and faint and felt like he was gonna die if this bastard bit him with those deadly teeth. He smelled the guy’s rotten breath. His touch was hard, biting and bruising. Getty heard a low, menacing snarl in the back of the guy’s throat.

  Then Getty was falling to the ground, hitting his knees on the concrete. Pain shot up his legs as he rolled and pushed to his feet.

  Donnchadh.

  His one-night stand had the pervert by the neck, yanking him back as another guy Getty didn’t know or recognize, held a blade high in the air.

  The pervert deserved jail time, but not death. “Wait!”

  The blade moved swiftly through the air. It struck the attacker in his head, just behind his ear. Getty was going to throw up. He’d never seen anyone killed and could’ve gone his entire life without that image now burned into his brain.

  Donnchadh was a killer.

  Getty had slept with a killer.

  A strange, high-pitched noise ripped from Getty’s throat when the attacker exploded into dust.

  What. The. Fuck?

  Getty tried to make sense of what had happened, tried to wrap his brain around the fact that someone had just exploded into dust, but it all seemed so freaking unreal.

  Donnchadh charged toward Getty and grabbed his upper arms. “Did he bite you?”

  Getty was in a daze. His mind was breaking down.

  “Did he bite you?” Donnchadh shook him. “Damn it, Getty. Answer me!”

  “No.” Getty’s head started moving back and forth on autopilot.

  “I think he’s broken,” the stranger with Donnchadh said. “Try slapping him around. It works in movies.”

  “I-I think I w-wanna go h-home now.” Getty blinked several times, trying to focus, but he was too blown away by what he’d just seen. How did a person explode into dust? What otherworldly plane was he on?

  “I’ll take you,” Donnchadh said, and Getty didn’t argue. He felt as if his knees would give out at any second.

  But on a happy note, he no longer felt depressed, as if all the joy in his life hadn’t been sucked out of him.

  Nope. He wasn’t depressed. Just going insane.

  Numbly, he walked home, afraid the pervert would somehow magically put himself ba
ck together and come after him again. The night no longer felt peaceful.

  No longer felt safe.

  The quaint little town of Maple Grove felt ominous, like it was harboring dark secrets with claws that were trying to reach for him and pull him under.

  “Wait outside and keep an eye on things,” Donnchadh said, making Getty realize they were standing on his front porch. He let them in and went straight to his bedroom, unlocking his door, uncaring that his dad might see Donnchadh in the house.

  Getty had other things on his mind.

  Disastrous things.

  Impossible things.

  “You’re in shock,” Donnchadh said as he closed the bedroom door. “That’s natural.”

  “Natural?” Getty snapped out of his stupor. “What was natural about what just happened?”

  Fuck. He was shouting. Getty didn’t want to wake his father or Bimbo. He really did need to remember her name. But that wasn’t important right now.

  His sanity was.

  He was losing it at a fast rate, so fast that when he tried to sit on his bed, he missed and would’ve hit the floor if Donnchadh hadn’t caught him.

  “Steady.” Donnchadh helped Getty sit on the bed. “I need you to breathe, Getty.”

  “What the hell is going on?” his father shouted from somewhere in the house. Getty froze, his gaze shooting to the door.

  “You have to go,” Getty whispered. “He can’t find you here.”

  It was a sad thing when Getty had to hide someone in his own damn house. But he was already mind fucked. Getty didn’t want to get into it with his dad.

  “Why?” Donnchadh asked. “I thought he lived with you, not the other way around. What’s he gonna do if he sees me here?”

  Getty didn’t want to find out. “Out the window, now!”

  Donnchadh made a growling noise in the back of his throat. “This time. I’ll do what you ask this time, Getty.”

  But Donnchadh didn’t use the window.

  He simply vanished, as if he’d moved so fast that he was unseen by the naked eye.

  Getty’s eyes rolled back as he fainted.

  * * * *