by R Phoenix
Come
A Prequel to Undone
Morgan Noel
R. Phoenix
Undone
Copyright November 2019 by Morgan Noel & R. Phoenix
Cover by Bad Doggie Designs
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is meant for sale to adult audiences only. It contains sexually explicit scenes and language which may be considered offensive. All sexually active characters in this work are eighteen (18) years of age or older.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
About Morgan Noel
About R. Phoenix
Also by Morgan Noel
Also By R. Phoenix
1
There was never any shortage of gossip, and Leandro loved it. Whether it was centered around him or not, he always kept up with the latest rumors to filter through otherkin society. This time, it was — regrettably — not about him, but that didn’t make it any less fascinating.
One corner of his lips quirked up in a smirk as he listened to Maurice prattle on, and he reclined back in his chair like he was a king lounging upon his throne. All he needed was a pet at his side, something with soft hair to stroke and a clever mind to toy with, and the picture would be perfect.
“…definitely otherkin,” Maurice was saying. “The normie police are baffled. No marks, no signs of a struggle, nothing. It’s like someone just snapped their fingers, and the guy withered and died. They’re asking all sorts of witnesses, because the guy had been perfectly healthy before.”
“Interesting,” Leandro murmured, mulling over the possibilities in his mind. It was interesting, because it meant someone had been naughty. What was more, they’d managed to cause quite a stir — and not just with the normies, but the otherkin as well.
“The vampires are pretty sure it’s the sirens,” Maurice continued. “Sirens are denying it, ‘course, but they’re the only ones who could do something like that.” He paused, considering. “Maybe a djinn, but we haven’t seen one of those in these parts for a while.”
“Hard to tell if one of them was in our midst.” Leandro considered, tapping his fingers along the edge of the chair’s arm. “Really, Maurice, it’s not as though they run around without their illusions.”
“I guess,” Maurice said, his voice laden with doubt. “But it’s not the vampires. There wasn’t any blood loss. Unless it’s one of the… you know, the weird kind that feeds on emotions instead of blood?”
“Certainly.” Leandro mulled it over. It was a fun way to play a guessing game, though he’d get bored of it soon enough — probably before it was resolved, too.
Perhaps he ought to start a rumor. Incite a little more drama. If the sirens were already pointing fingers, it wouldn’t take much to make one of them go into a rage and shriek their way into a vampire den.
“Maurice,” he said, interrupting the man in the middle of a sentence about dhampirs, rife with false statements about the uncommon hybrids.
“Hmm?” the shorter man asked, drawing his eyebrows up in question.
“Who do you think would win in a fight between a vampire and a siren?” he wondered aloud innocently as he steepled his fingers together. Because a battle royale between some of the lesser otherkin would be a lot more interesting than this guessing game. A feud would tide him over a lot longer too.
Maurice eyed him a bit warily. “Why do I have the feeling you want to find out?” the shapeshifter asked. His voice was dry, despite the way he was looking at Leandro.
Leandro smiled. “I didn’t say I wanted to find out,” he corrected the other man. “I simply asked a question. Really, you wound me.”
Maurice rolled his eyes, but he wouldn’t insist. Not when there was a fae concerned — not when it was Leandro in particular he was speaking to.
“It would depend on who attacked first,” Maurice said, grudgingly. “A siren could incapacitate a vampire, but a vampire could snap a siren’s neck before they could act if they were given a chance.”
“Do you think so?” Leandro considered, tilting his head as he gazed out over the casino floor. “I suppose it would depend upon who felt the most threatened…” He trailed off. “I’m sure the sirens are right,” he said slowly. “Emotional vampire. Why else would there be no traces?” He clucked his tongue. “How very bold of them, don’t you think?”
Maurice eyed him with well-deserved suspicion. “Quite," he said, but he didn’t sound quite as enthusiastic as Leandro had hoped.
Shapeshifters could be so dull, which was ironic considering the amount of fun he imagined they could have with all their special abilities. Never mind that their transformations seemed like painful business, or that their culture was mired in tedious rules and regulations.
“Have you ever… shifted into a siren, Maurice?” he asked with a mirthful smirk as he met the other’s sidelong glance with one of his own.
“No.” Maurice shook his head.
“So what have you shifted into?” Leandro inquired, suddenly curious. Maurice wasn’t a werecreature, which meant he could shift his form as he pleased — or so he thought. His smile turned wolfish. “Can you shift only parts of your body? Your hands, perhaps? Your…” His eyes dragged down, and he looked meaningfully at Maurice’s crotch. “More personal… parts?”
He had the satisfaction of seeing Maurice blush.
“No? Pity. I can only imagine what I would do with that ability.”
Playing with his cock size would be the least of it, but it would be fun. The things he could do to his prey once he had them in bed if he could increase his length or girth at will… He’d probably have them even more addicted than they already were.
“We abide by our codes for everyone’s sake,” Maurice replied stiffly.
“Codes,” Leandro repeated. He chuckled. The fae had codes and rules, too, but that didn’t stop them from doing as they pleased. The fae were master of loopholes. Finding them and exploiting them was fae tradition. It might take a clever mind, but Leandro certainly had one of those. He could manipulate as easily as he breathed, and that often meant getting around certain stipulations in society. “What about vampires?”
Maurice blinked at him, obviously not following the shift in conversation. “Pardon?”
“Have you ever shifted into a vampire? If you did, do you think you’d have their abilities?” Leandro’s smile turned vulpine. “Perhaps it was a shapeshifter emulating another species.”
“Don’t even joke,” Maurice said primly. “That is the whole reason we have our code, to prevent disasters like that from happening. No shapeshifter who wants to live to old age would emulate another species. We’re already disliked enough as it is." He sounded convinced of his own words, at least.
“And I’m sure there’s not a single rotten apple in the bunch, either,” Leand
ro mused. “Someone young, stupid, and half-drunk on power?” he suggested, just to stir Maurice up a little more.
“There is always the possibility,” the shapeshifter said, still sounding edgy.
The fact that he was accounting for the possibility had Leandro gloating already. It meant he was learning that Leandro would always find — or make — the exception to every rule.
”But no matter how young or stupid, if it means getting your hide peeled off inch by inch only to let it regrow and start the process over, it seems highly unlikely. Not to mention what the rest of otherkin will do to them.”
Leandro sucked on his front teeth a moment before chortling. “And they have the audacity to call the fae savage in their ways…” He mused. Certainly his fae brethren were as good at merciless revenge as they were at binding contracts, but that seemed like excessive punishment for something that ought to be a great source of entertainment. “No wonder none of you are any fun.”
Maurice gave him a sour look. “You don’t have to abuse your abilities to be fun.”
“It’s not abuse if you’re simply… making use of them,” Leandro said dismissively. Of all the arbitrary rules…
Granted, he was honor-bound to abide by the strictures of his own kind, magically bound to honesty and to follow the letter of the deals they made — but the devil, as they said, was in the details. Few understood how to manipulate the grey areas like the fae. After centuries of being forced to uphold their word, they’d simply grown more cunning in finding ways to get around the requirements.
“You don’t think it would be fun?” Leandro prompted. “What’s the point of being able to shapeshift if you can’t enjoy yourself?”
“You can enjoy yourself without needing to shift.”
“But why?” Leandro pressed, his attention fully on Maurice. “Why should you have to? I could be fae without ever calling upon the magic of my kind—”
Maurice coughed discreetly.
“But why would I want to?” he went on, ignoring the shapeshifter’s reaction. “It seems pointless. You’re given gifts for a reason. It’s only natural to use them.”
“It would also be fun to not have to worry about the pitchforked mob of humans who might find out about what really killed that normie. That’s why we have these rules…” Maurice said a little sourly, and Leandro rolled his eyes.
“Rules,” he scoffed. “Everything would be much easier without them.” Easier, and so much more fun, too. Even he wasn’t foolish enough to defy the rules altogether though. The fae court wasn’t particularly forgiving to those who broke them, and while he liked to toe the line as much as any fae, he couldn’t help but wish it would all be… simpler.
2
The clothes he’d stolen just the other day were already ill-fitting now. This time, they weren’t too tight or too short, but they grew baggier with every passing hour as his body continued to change regardless of how he felt about it. He didn’t understand it, not fully, but he was glad for it in a way. It was much easier to hide in an oversized hoodie than it was in one that showed off his belly button like it was a goddamn crop top — and that was what had happened to the set of clothes he’d procured before these.
The bar he was in wasn’t too crowded, which made it a little easier to think. He was sipping an honestly bought drink, and even though he was gorging himself on the free peanuts, the hunger seemed to only get bigger. It was gnawing hunger that he couldn’t seem to shake, and with it came a certain… hyperawareness. He could smell fucking everything, and he could swear he could hear every breath and every heartbeat of every man and woman in the bar.
He was trying hard not to freak out. Or rather, not to freak out again. It was a little hard not to freak out when the guy you were sucking off suddenly collapsed and died on you. He had freaked out then, and he’d freaked out hard. He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone.
He’d thought he had a handle on it. He’d thought he knew what he was doing by now, but clearly…
Clearly that wasn’t the fucking case. If it was, he wouldn’t be sitting at a bar, hiding in an oversized hoodie, binging on free peanuts. He wouldn’t be pretending he didn’t notice that the couple who had been sitting a few seats over were sneaking off to the bathroom to fuck.
Perhaps he should leave the city, go someplace without as many people, because they all seemed to get under his ever-changing skin. But then what? He’d still need to eat, and fuck knew peanuts weren’t doing shit for this type of hunger.
He groaned softly and dropped his head on his arms, lying face down on the bar. It had all been going so well too, until that fucker had to fucking die on him. What if someone had seen him? Would he change enough before the cops would come looking for a tall pretty guy with black hair?
“Maybe you’ve had enough, hmm?” someone next to him said.
He slowly lifted his head to look at them. Of course it was some guy. Women never gave strangers unsolicited advice, after all.
“It’s a Sprite," he said primly. “I’m not drunk,” he added, a little sharper. The bartender hadn’t wanted to give him the gin tonic he’d asked for, because he looked young — and likely too poor to afford it — and he hadn’t wanted to argue.
It was always hard to pass for an adult when your face kept changing, you were wearing clothes that didn’t fit, and you always looked young and pretty. Too young and pretty.
“Hmm… then something must have you really down.” Without asking, the guy sat down on the next seat over.
“Or I’m just fucking tired,” he responded, a little snippy. The last thing he needed was some asshole riling him up further.
“What’s your name?” his unwanted suitor asked, unrelenting.
“Darren,” he muttered, not entirely sure why he was engaging instead of just telling him to fuck off.
“I’m Micheal,” the man said, as if he gave a fuck what his name was. “What’s the matter then, Darren? Maybe I can help.”
“Doubtful.” Unless he knew how to erase all evidence of the murder he’d committed. He did cast the man a look, one that lingered a little longer, because damn if he wasn’t fucking hungry and could do with a snack.
If he just kept it fucking together this time…
“Try me,” Micheal insisted.
“You happen to know how I can disappear to another country without any identification?" he asked, deadpan, because that was as close to the truth as he wanted to come.
For a moment, Micheal was silent, just eyeing him. Perhaps he’d succeeded in scaring the guy off after all, but for some reason the man was still sitting there.
He turned his attention back to the glass of Sprite and the peanuts, taking a sip of the first and a nibble of the latter. Maybe he could just go in the bathroom and make use of the randy couple that had vanished in there. It had been enough to sustain him for a long time…
“Well,” Micheal said — evidently having no clue when to give up. “I might not be able to help with that personally, but I may know of someone…”
As if that wasn’t the most overused line in the playbook. Of course he knew someone. Everyone knew someone.
“He does favors for people. Some real shady stuff though, so it might not be what you need,” Micheal said.
It took some effort not to perk up at those words and to play it cool. “Shady stuff?" he asked, drawing up his eyebrows instead. He didn’t want to seem too interested, but someone who could do shady favors sounded like someone he needed to know.
Micheal nodded. “Rumor has it he can do anything you need… for a price.”
It sounded even more like a bad line from an equally bad movie. He was already losing interest, because really. There was no way someone like that really existed — or if they did, he doubted this numbnut would actually know anything about it.
He wanted to ask if the guy had come up with that all by himself or if he’d read too many books, but there was the chance that he might actually know something useful. Still, it was
doubtful, and his mind wandered back to the couple in the bathroom, which was a whole other kind of temptation, even if it always left him feeling like a dirty perv. He didn’t particularly want that, and it was always awkward to sit in the next stall, just listening, and—
He grabbed another peanut instead, forcing himself to focus on Mr. Persistent. “Like what? I mean…” He deftly shelled the peanut and popped one of the nuts into his mouth. “Is he just some loan shark, or is doing favors a real thing…?”
“Oh, no. He’s the real deal. He can do anything you need,” Micheal assured him.
“Does he have a name?" he asked, fiddling with the empty shell.
Micheal lowered his voice, like he was about to impart some great secret of the universe. “Leandro.”
“Leandro,” he repeated doubtfully. It sounded like a name from a bad soap opera. “Does Leandro have a last name?”
Micheal shrugged. “If he does, I’ve never heard it.”
“Uh huh.” So far, it didn’t sound very promising.
“There’s this casino he owns,” Micheal began. Of course it was a casino. “The Lucky Blight. Pretty popular place for all sorts, including some unlucky ones like you.”
He wasn’t really unlucky so much as the guy he’d killed had been, but it wasn’t like he had many other options.
“So how does one get the attention of this Leandro?" he asked, trying to keep his mind from straying to the bathroom, even though he could practically feel them having sex in there. “Go into the casino and ask for him, tell him I need his shady services?” he drawled.