by R Phoenix
“Hmm, hard to say,” he mused. “His sex drive could’ve made a lesser man’s heart give out, I guess, the way he sucked my cock and then asked for more,”
Maurice groaned. “I don’t need to hear about your sex life, Leandro.”
“Seven orgasms, he gave me,” Leandro continued, ignoring the man’s protests. “Seven, and then I took the eight for myself, and I gave him pleasure half a dozen times or so.” While it should have been a great boast, it came out sounding remarkably more like a complaint.
“Most mortals would’ve been asleep by the second or third,” Maurice pointed out.
“Because they’re mortal,” Leandro said with a wave of his hand. “With all the trappings of a mortal body.”
“He could be from a lesser known species.” Maurice suggested.
Otherkin were elusive. Even within otherkin society, there were many species, classes, and subclasses. From the common nymphs to the much less common Valkyries, to rarely seen creatures such as the selkies.
“He wasn’t lying about not knowing what otherkin were, so perhaps he didn’t know at all. Which is just preposterous. All of our kind know what we are from birth, do we not?”
“Vampires and the garou might not know,” Maurice pointed out. “But they’re made, not born. If they’re abandoned by their maker—”
Leandro shook his head. “He was no vampire or werewolf. No, he was something… unique.” He sighed. “If only he hadn’t left.” And in such a hurry, too.
“A half-breed, perhaps,” Maurice continued to suggest. “Raised by their human parent, instead of with the otherkin?”
It wasn’t completely unheard of, even though most otherkin communities wouldn’t allow it to happen. It wouldn’t be the first time a bastard had slipped through the cracks..
Perhaps he was half-siren. It would explain Kolt’s resilience and sex drive, but not how he changed the way he looked. Nor why Leandro felt like he’d been hit in the head with a bag of change. He should’ve been able to intercept the fleeing little shit, or at least summon enough magic to do so, but the minute he’d sat up to act on the fleeing waif, he’d felt like— well. Like hell had come down on him with a vengeance.
At least now with some alcohol in his system, and his magic responsive at his fingertips once more, he could pretend he had never faltered. With every passing hour, the rift upon which the casino was built restored him further, erasing the unpleasantness from his reality.
“He was no half-breed. No human could do what he did,” Leandro muttered into his glass, but he didn’t explain his reasoning. He couldn’t seem weak to anyone, especially not to a little shapeshifter who idolized him.
“Maybe not a human half-breed,” Maurice continued to theorize, though that was somehow even less helpful.
It opened up a whole new realm of possibilities, all of which were abominations who would likely be shunned and disposed of by their respective clans. If the match was even viable at all!
Vampires were sterile, and the garou only birthed humans. Most otherkin like imps and satyrs only managed to procreate with their own kinds due to their physiological differences and sizes. The fae could produce offspring with other fae and the odd lucky human — but fae blood bred true, and Kolt had been no fae.
It made a little too much sense for Kolt to have been a hybrid. He’d said he had nowhere else to go, and such an abomination wouldn’t have been allowed in any community Leandro could think of. Not with as dangerous as they had the potential to be.
He hummed and took another sip of his drink, rubbing at his temple with one hand. He wanted the creature back even more now, if only to find out just what he was, and which communities had hidden such a thing from him. He’d find out one way or another.
“A hybrid, maybe," he said, his voice a little chilly. If the beautiful little sex toy from last night was responsible for the killing, there was a chance he wasn’t ever coming back.
Except now Leandro knew he existed, and he wanted to find him again. It was a near impossible task if the wretch could change his appearance without leaving a trace of his former identity behind.
“Did he give you any information about himself?” Maurice asked, evidently sensing his frustrations.
Leandro’s eyes snapped to the shapeshifter. If anyone knew how to hide in a new identity, it would have to be a shapeshifter, of course.
“His name, and the fact that he had nowhere to go," he said, realizing that he should’ve asked for more, but he’d expected the wild thing to stay. He hadn’t given him any reason to flee like that.
Maurice gave him a questioning look.
Leandro took another sip of his drink. “Kol’tso," he mused. “Is that Celtic?"
“It might be.” Maurice shrugged. “I’m a shapeshifter, not a leprechaun. Whatever it is, it’s not a naming convention that I’m familiar with.”
That much Leandro had already figured out, or he would be sitting with whatever species used it instead of Maurice. He needed a good tracker, something better than the garou pack he usually used for it, something keen enough to track something as hard to catch as a skinwalker.
Maybe he needed an actual skinwalker.
“If I get my hands on him again,” Leandro said. “I’m never letting him go.”
Something that special had to be preserved.
9
He hadn’t gotten far at all after he’d bolted from Leandro’s bed and casino. He’d made it back to the bus station, but while his shirt and shoes were a lot nicer now than the night before, he still had absolutely no money. It left him back at square one, with nowhere to go, no means to get there, and freaking out.
The latter was happening a lot worse now. It was one thing to think about being something ‘other.’ It was something else entirely to hear someone fucking tell him he was.
He’d slipped into the bathroom, and he paced the small space restlessly, trying to make his hands stop shaking. For his very fucking core to stop shaking.
Fuck!
Fae? Sirens? Shapeshifters? And he wasn’t even any of those things?
He could be a shapeshifter, he realized, as he glanced in the mirror. His hair was longer and lighter, his face a little more oval, a little more effeminate, his lips fuller, and— his fucking eyes were indeed more or less hazel now. Though Leandro had been pretty certain that he wasn’t a shapeshifter.
Fuck!
Incubus. Incubus was what Micheal had said, and he didn’t exactly know a whole lot about them. Sex demons, basically, which felt terrifying.
Besides, what the fuck would some stranger in a bar know? Unless he’d been something… other as well.
Perhaps he ought to find that Micheal guy again, but if he was honest, he wasn’t even sure he knew what he looked like. He hadn’t wanted the company. He’d been stonewalling the guy, he hadn’t really paid fucking attention, and he only had a first name and—
This wasn’t helping. He was shaking more than before, and he stopped pacing. He turned to the bathroom mirror instead, looking at the new and unfamiliar face staring back at him. He leaned on the sink, gripping it tight as he tried to come to grips with all this new information.
“Breathe…” he reminded himself. He was still alive, and he had changed for the third time now since the incident. Who was going to find out he’d killed that guy? Fucking no one. He just… He just had to make sure he wasn’t going to kill again, because he wasn’t some… sex monster. He was just…
Just… what?
He sure as hell wasn’t human. While he had liked not being Darren the night before, the truth was that he wasn’t sure who or what he was, or what he was supposed to do, or where to go, or anything.
Fuck, he didn’t even know what he looked like or how the world worked, apparently. He took another deep breath, steadying his blooming anxiety and trying to talk himself down.
He was alive, he was well fed, he hadn’t killed anyone all day, and at least now he knew he wasn’t fucking crazy. Leandro
had acknowledged that he had been changing. It wasn’t just in his head. He really was… otherkin?
He released a deep breath in a gust of frustration. Because the most annoying thing was that there was someone a stone’s throw distance from where he was standing, who had answers, and who could likely help him. That Micheal guy had been right about that. He was sure of it now, and that meant that if he could wrangle Leandro, he’d be good. Right?
He hadn’t been that hard to manipulate. He had a huge ego, and compliments went a long way and—
Surely the little white lie would be forgiven if he offered Leandro another blow job.
He had to go back.
Someone pounded on the door of the restroom, and he practically jumped out of his ever-changing skin.
“Hey kid,” someone on the other side of the door said. “Other people need to use the bathroom, you mind?”
Fuck!
“You better not be making a mess in there,” the man continued, sounding vaguely threatening.
He rolled his eyes but then unlatched the door. He pulled it open, staring at the trio of people on the other side of the door. A woman with a baby on her arm, the man from the ticket desk, and a portly fellow with a mustache.
“Finally,” the bus station employee said, looking at the woman over his shoulder. “There you go, ma’am.”
The man gestured for her to proceed, making him quickly step out of the way.
“Hey,” the employee said, giving him a hard look. “Weren’t you in here yesterday too?" The words sent a chill down his spine. That was the normal way people usually didn’t quite recognize him. Not with the adamant knowledge he was a different person. “You know you can’t just hang out here. You buy a ticket or you leave. This ain’t the YMCA.”
“No,” he lied. “But don’t worry, I’m going," he added shortly, pushing past the two men.
10
Leandro was trying not to let it bother him, that vague knowledge that something special had slipped through his fingers. He’d had such a tight grip on it the whole fucking night, but now… He couldn’t believe there wasn’t much he could do, and he was still toying with the idea of calling in a favor or two to track little Kol’tso down and bring him to heel.
He played a few hands of poker, but his heart wasn’t really in it. He was feeling well enough, like his old self, and still it was different, knowing something like that had just… gotten away.
Leandro always won. He always got what he wanted. Kol’tso had said as much himself the night before, but then he’d just left.
Unacceptable.
“Sir,” one of his waitresses said, interrupting him mid-game.
“Not now,” he said without looking up from his cards. He eyed the man he was playing with. A dark-skinned otherkin, with a facial tattoo that looked like the djinn language. He was assuming that meant the man was a djinn, even if they were rarely recognizable.
After last night, he found himself questioning everything. Of course it was impolite to ask about someone’s race, but he’d never really cared for that particular unwritten rule. He liked knowing these things a little more than the average person.
“Does… Kol’tso mean anything to you?" he asked his opponent, before throwing two cards on the table and tapping it to signal the dealer for a pair of new cards.
“No,” the man across from him said, not looking up from his cards.
“Is it Asian?” he continued to ask as he took the new cards from the table and sorted them mindlessly into the cards in his hand.
“How would I know?” the man-who-would-be-djinn countered shortly. Not only were they rare, but they mostly kept to themselves. It really showed in their social skills.
“Just thought you might,” Leandro said, pretending he didn’t notice the exchange of looks between the other people at their table.
“Sir,” another waitress interrupted him in short order.
“I said not now, Kimberley,” he snapped, glaring at her. She quickly backed off, like a beaten dog. As if they couldn’t see he was in the middle of winning his hand, and… trying to wrangle information about some of the less chatty folk in his casino. “You’ve never heard of the word?” he continued to ask, earning himself a stony look from across the table. “It’s not written on your face, or the face of anyone you know?" he asked with a gesture at the man across from him.
“Are we playing cards, Leandro, or are you trying to make me fold because you’re losing?” the maybe-djinn asked him.
As if he would lose.
He let out a breath and shrugged, laying his cards down on the table prematurely to show off the royal flush he’d been holding. “I’m winning this hand unless you can beat that, but I’ll fold and walk if you tell me what you know," he said, trying to keep his voice level, as everyone at the table suddenly went still.
The potential djinn himself looked at him with his piercing dark eyes, then dropped the cards on the table — face down, but Leandro knew he couldn’t be holding much that was interesting. More reason to suspect he was a djinn. They excelled at illusions and bluffing.
“I fold,” the djinn said, getting up from his seat. With a last dark look at Leandro, he picked up one side of the robes he was wearing and left the table.
Leandro finished his drink and glanced around for one of his security staff to detain the man. One of them was already approaching him, though unfortunately it couldn’t be about holding the man he was positive was a djinn. He hadn’t hired clairvoyant security staff, though sometimes he wished he had.
“Sir,” the man said. “There’s a problem.”
“What kind of problem, Jorge?" He sighed. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with.
“Someone was trying to get through the glamour to the back room, sir.”
“So get rid of them,” Leandro said with a shrug. Normies sometimes tried to follow people into the real part of the casino, but no one usually believed them once they were tossed out on their ass in the parking lot. There wasn’t even any need to scramble their memory or alter their perceptions.
“He’s asking for you by name. Says your lucky number is eight and that you’d know what that meant?” Jorge said, sounding apprehensive.
Leandro stopped mid-drink. He was normally unusually lucky, but could he be that lucky? “Where?” he demanded, rising from his seat immediately.
“The back room, sir,” Jorge said.
Leandro’s mood soured. The oafs better not have hurt his slutty mystery lover.
He stalked toward the back room, irritation and excitement stirring within him. His staff should’ve told him Kolt was there sooner, even if he had been busy. They should’ve known he’d want to see the strange otherkin who’d managed to capture his full attention even in his absence.
He barely glanced at the security minding the door, opening it and stepping inside to see… well, someone who looked a lot like the creature he’d fucked silly last night, but who could’ve been Kolt’s sibling. If Leandro didn’t know he could shapeshift at least in part, he’d never have assumed they were the same person.
Fascinating, that the changes would be so starkly appealing; because from the plumpness of those soft lips — full and rosy, even without having been throat-fucked prior — to the soft roundness of his chin and the burnt gold shining through his chestnut hair… He had become even more fetching.
The room was empty but for a folding chair in the corner and Kolt, who stood defiantly with his arms crossed rather than sit down on it.
“Kol’tso,” he greeted, resisting the urge to cross the room and either pull the pretty wretch against him or put him on his knees where he belonged, ready to receive.
Kolt looked fine. He couldn’t see any blood or bruises on him, so they hadn’t hurt him.
The unscathed condition made him want to hurt the creature personally, to teach him better than to bolt from him, to make him feel weak in his own damn home. But that would mean acknowledging that he’d been weak at all,
and that he couldn’t abide. No one ought to know of what had happened between him and this… Kol’tso.
“How good of you to look me up again," he said, when Kolt didn’t speak, just looking at him with cautious apprehension.
“Came to return your shoes," he said slowly, his eyes — lighter now, a pale hazel with more pronounced golden accents — never leaving Leandro’s.
“My—” The words surprised Leandro into a laugh despite himself and his malcontent. He moved closer to the little waif and cupped Kolt’s chin in his hand firmly, gazing down at the remarkable creature. “I hope that’s not all you’re returning.”
Kolt’s eyes briefly went to Jorge, who stood in the doorway, before he looked back up at Leandro. His arms were still crossed, and he was acting like little more than a petulant teenager. “Well, the shirt’s damaged. I figured you wouldn’t want it anymore.”
Truly remarkable, because he sounded calm, but Leandro could see the unease in those eyes. His fingers traced along the beautiful jawline, down his neck, where he could feel the rapid pulse under his fingertips. To have the audacity to run, and yet the bravery to return, and the wisdom to know the risk he was taking…
Where had little Kol’tso even come from?
“I don’t care about the shirt,” Leandro said, though his gaze dropped down to the torn button. “But you…” He inclined his head, placing a chaste kiss upon Kolt’s lips. “I’m pleased you’ve returned, Kol’tso. You.”
Now that he was back, he wasn’t going anywhere again.
A shiver went through that lithe body, and where Leandro had expected him to relax a little, he only seemed to tense up more.
“Leave us, Jorge," he said shortly, keeping his eyes on Kolt. He waited until he heard the door close behind him before he narrowed his eyes at the young man before him. “Did something happen?" he asked, the possibility of this little thing being the killer fresh in his mind.
“No,” Kolt said.
“You weren’t this uncomfortable yesterday, pet.” Considering Kolt had initiated the contact, had practically thrown himself at Leandro, and then they’d seen each other through round after round of carnal pleasure…