The Manx Cat Guardians Boxed Set

by J P Sayle

  “Come on, what is your real name?”

  The demanding tone and emphasis on the word real had Ellie answering without putting up a fight. “It’s Ellie.” He rolled his eyes when Sebastian gave him a nod of approval before walking off down the hall.

  Ellie worried. Why am I so compliant? Did the guy drug him? I’m never like this for anyone.

  His brows arched. Was it the way Sebastian spoke to him like a real Daddy? His head tilted. He recalled the porn sites he’d secretly visited and the Daddies who took care of their boys. His body heated, remembering how he’d dreamed of being someone’s boy. He stared after Sebastian. Was he a Daddy?

  Ellie gave a disgruntled snort only a teenager could achieve. You’ve known him all of two minutes. Now you think he’s a Daddy. The awkwardness of his thoughts had him halt at the bathroom door.

  Sebastian beckoned him in. “Strip off. I’ll take those clothes and throw them in the wash, though they look more fit for the bin.” The tone brooked no argument.

  Ellie blushed, looking at the washed-out, dirty long-sleeved top and his grubby ripped jeans. Three weeks of living on the streets, yeah, he was bound to be stinking. The idea of having a bath or shower and clean clothes was appealing. He just wasn’t sure he could strip and bare all in front of a stranger. Hell, he’d never been naked in front of anyone before, not even his mother since he was a baby.

  “I won’t ask again, Ellie. Do as I say.”

  There it was again, that urge to please. He found his hands doing as they were bid, stripping down to his underpants. His hands hovered, uncertain. When a towel was thrust towards him, he released a relieved sigh. When Sebastian turned away without saying a word, Ellie trembled as he wrapped the towel around his hips before wriggling out of his underwear.

  He glanced under his lashes at Sebastian’s dark, almost black eyes when he turned back. He was unable to look away, and heat spread up his chest, neck, and face at the feel of those dark eyes scrutinising him. He was sure they missed nothing from his thin body to his skinny, knobbly knees.

  The urge to run and hide had his hands clutching at the towel.

  “It’s all right. You won’t come to any harm here. I mean it. I want to make sure that you’re safe. You’ll never need to hide from me.”

  Jostled from the side by a handbag clouting him on the arm, Ellie blinked in confusion. His mind was still firmly in the past with the words ringing in his head, clearer than a bell. He couldn’t stop himself from searching the crowded departure gate for Sebastian. His pulse kicked up a notch, and his hands curled into balls, fighting the urge to run and hide.

  Words replayed over and over, making it impossible to think about anything else, “You’ll never need to hide from me.” Would he ever escape the past? Would Sebastian let him go and see that it was over between them?

  Icy fear coated his skin, making him shudder and pull the puffer jacket tighter to him. He’s not here, so stop being melodramatic. When was the last time I saw Da… Seb?

  Months, it was months ago, so, behave.

  The noise level rose as people collected their belongings for boarding the plane. The anxiety that had been riding him harder than a jockey on their racehorse decreased a little as he stood and gathered his carry-on bag. Following the rest of the passengers, he boarded the plane.

  After storing his bag, he sat and buckled himself in, resting his head back against the seat. His eyes closed while he sent a silent prayer to whatever god was listening. Let Daddy find someone to make him happy.

  Connor

  Connor rubbed at his gritty eyes, suspecting he was going to need to find a dark space, and soon. The dull ache he felt worsening behind his sockets was warning enough of the impending migraine. This was not surprising after opening his inbox to find it flooded with emails from his ex-boyfriend begging for forgiveness.

  He stared at the open email saying the same as all the others. “I’m sorry, and I love you. Please take me back.”

  He groaned. In his weakened state, he considered doing precisely that. The loneliness crept past his defences. Then his gaze narrowed on the letter perched on the corner of his large office desk, and all thoughts of reconciliation went up in smoke.

  The note taunted him and painfully jogged his memory at how Andy dumped him. The cruel bastard chose to send a letter listing all Connor’s faults, right down to his kinks. He didn’t need to reread the letter to remember what it said. The words were imprinted into his memory forever. A blush coated his cheeks—“Pervert” The deliberate nastiness was a hard pill to swallow and left him with an awful taste in his mouth. Could he be blamed for refusing to pay for Andy to go on some expensive holiday with his friends? It would seem so. And in Andy’s mind, it had been the last straw.

  How had I not noticed what a money-grabbing little turd he was?

  The answer made the throbbing behind his eyes worsen. Rubbing at his pinched brow, he tried to recall a time when Andy had ever done anything other than take, take, take. No. No matter how many times Andy had reiterated he’d “allowed” Connor to fulfil his need to be a Daddy, in reality, Andy never had satisfied his need. How was that payback for all the money he’d squandered?

  He flinched at what his mother would think of how he’d let Andy use him and the inheritance bequeathed to him. She’d surely turn in her grave if she knew what the money had gone on.

  He sank back into the soft, worn leather chair in defeat, fighting not to think of his own needs as seedy while Andy’s spiteful words sat within reach.

  Was he always going to struggle with that side of himself?

  A mournful sigh escaped. Understanding why he might like to be a Daddy in his relationships didn’t make it any easier. He was involuntarily cast into the role of “father figure” in his formative years, after the death of his own father. It had spilt over into his relationships as he’d got older, making him wonder if his childhood self had somehow clung to the responsibilities into adulthood to avoid dealing with the grief.

  His stomach knotted. How did any child deal with grief?

  His eyes blurred. The grief wound itself around his heart and squeezed with all its might. The dark abyss of childhood misery called to him, a place he never wanted to revisit. Even in his counselling sessions, he refused to discuss the reality of what death meant to him. The nothingness, the suddenness of it all that left an empty hole inside that couldn’t be filled no matter how hard he tried. His pulse spiked as his mind attempted to take him back. He breathed through his nose and swallowed the bile burning in the back of his throat.

  Actively slamming the lid back on the box he kept these thoughts hidden in, he muttered aloud. “Stop it, stop it now.” He unclenched his hands, which had balled, and laid them flat on the desk. Reflecting on the past, what did that do for anyone? Nothing. It made no damn difference. It didn’t change his father’s death or whether that was the catalyst to his kink. What he did know was that no amount of counselling changed the fact that his father was dead or his own preferences. The craving to be in control and take care of the person he was with wasn’t something quickly pushed aside. And he’d come to terms with that. Right?

  An undignified snort filled the silent room. What is wrong with me?

  His jaw bunched at the reality. His desperation had left him vulnerable to the likes of Andy.

  But who else is out there for me?

  An echo of loneliness whispered through his mind. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he stared at his empty office, as if seeing it for the first time. The cold, regimented, and impersonal space twisted his already fraught emotions to breaking point. Devoid of any personality, knickknacks, or mementoes. There was nothing but a vast array of stuffy academic books stacked on old-fashioned mahogany furniture. The room was dark and gloomy.

  Is this what I want from my life? Trapped in a room, buried in books rather than living in the real world?

  A tsunami of choking emotion battered him in waves—the melancholy dragging him down i
nto its dark depths. His world shrank until all he saw was the claustrophobic room that was trapping him into a world of his own making. His eyes wheeled, looking for an escape as he dove up and out of the chair.

  Andy was right all along, and all I have to offer is money.

  His chest heaved as he paced towards the big bay window and the heavy velvet curtains his mother had picked that shut out the afternoon. He yanked them open, in search of light, any light to fill the dark inside him.

  The afternoon sun sat low in the cloudless blue sky and hit the metal signpost standing in the middle of the lawn. Is this what the meltdown is about? The sold sign.

  Am I selling my childhood home? Am I running from my problems? Is this why I’m drowning in my miserable thoughts?

  His stomach lurched, right along with the thoughts of what he’d done. He tried to rationalise with himself.

  I’m a forty-two-year-old, single man, living in my childhood home, alone, with hardly any real friends. Or friends who know me beyond the surface stuff.

  Who wouldn’t want to run from this life?

  Am I running away or just moving in a different direction?

  No matter how many times he asked the same question over the last few weeks since he’d decided to uproot his whole life, he couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer or one he wanted to believe.

  Who woke up one morning out of the blue and decided to change their whole life? Me! He tapped his fingers against his hair-roughened chin, wondering if the last couple of weeks had finally tipped him over the edge.

  His house had been on the market one day, and after one viewing, it was sold. At the same time, he’d not only found his dream job but been offered it after the interview. Then the universe had decided to top it all off with a pet. How could someone spend their whole life without the need for a pet—not that Morgana was your standard pet—then find themselves expected to know what to do with one?

  Traumatised at the memory of the visit to the vets, Connor shuddered. The great idea that the vet would take Morgana off his hands after he’d found her on his porch had died a quick death. The vet’s helpful attitude flew right out the window when Morgana decided to let loose her temper. She’d thrown a real bitch fit, screeching, spitting, and scratching for all she was worth while the guy tried to determine if she was healthy.

  In the end, the vet was only able to tell him her sex and that she was a Manx cat due to having no tail. They’d reached a dead end when they found her jewelled collar with a name disc but no microchip with her owner’s details. He’d left the vets, feet dragging, holding a belligerent cat, with a suggestion of dropping her off at the RSPCA.

  Nausea rolling around his guts had pooh-poohed that idea. Going home, he’d devised a plan to check with the local radio and police station to see if anyone had reported a lost cat. Hell, he’d even taken pictures to put up in local shops. Now, weeks later, there’d been nothing, nada, no enquiries.

  As if he’d conjured her, he turned at the sound of her nails pitter-pattering on the wooden floor. His eyes crinkled and lit with joy as he bent down, eyeing the little ginger bundle with a bemused expression. He offered his hand first, having learnt the hard way that if he wanted to keep his skin intact, he asked first.

  At the feel of her wet nose brushing his fingertips, Connor lifted his hand to stroke the soft, silky fur. A smile stretched widely across his cheeks when he tickled her under her ear. Loud rumbled purrs filled the room. The sadness he’d felt moments ago dissipated with each stroke.

  He stared into Morgana’s jewel-green eyes and shrugged off the mystery of why he’d ended up with a cat when he’d never wanted one. Intelligence gleamed back at him. He shifted his hunched shoulders. A sense of unease crept up the base of his neck.

  “Hey, gorgeous girl, isn’t there someone out there missing you?”

  His hand stilled in her silky fur when a low growl caused a shiver to run up his spine. His eyes widened with disbelief.

  “Was that a yes?” he asked with a trembling voice. He stumbled back when he received a small nod.

  “Ooooh. Fucking hell,” he cursed when he landed on his ass, with a resounding thud, on the hardwood floor. Shifting off his now throbbing backside, he clumsily staggered to his feet. His clammy hands slid down over his sore arse as he did his best to ignore his heart bouncing against his ribs.

  Did the cat answer me?

  No, don’t be silly.

  He edged back from what looked like an amused smirk on Morgana’s feline face. It’s my imagination, nothing more. I’m overtired tired. That’s all it is.

  He shook off the ridiculousness of the situation and clasped his hands on top of his head. With her head tilted, the ginger-haired cat stared intently up at him.

  “I’m tired. That’s all it is,” he muttered, turning away from the sudden glint of humour that he couldn’t fail to miss in Morgana’s jewelled eyes.

  Stop being silly. It’s stress. Nothing more.

  Giving himself a stern talking to, Connor walked back to his desk and sat down. He blamed the jackhammer that had taken up residence in his head on Andy’s open email. Without responding, Connor closed the message before he could change his mind.

  Looking for something to distract him, he scrolled to the email from the Department of Education in the Isle of Man. He opened it and reread through the itinerary for Thursday. After the interview the previous week, he’d been more than happy with the outcome. The retiring headmaster wanted to give him a formal tour and hand over the reins, so to speak, before leaving.

  The school weren’t hanging around, given they’d interviewed him in the middle of the last school term. This was generally frowned upon and usually an unwritten rule not to interview within school term time.

  His brow pinched at the dressing-down he’d received from the head where he taught at the moment. Being left in the lurch at such short notice, he’d been less than amused. So to avoid the students being disadvantaged, Connor had done additional prep for the supply teacher.

  He growled at his computer screen. The time he’d spent working his arse off to make sure the kids weren’t left to their own devices with a supply teacher had failed miserably. To that end, Connor was home early on a school day—hiding in his home office to avoid the annoying jabs about the inconvenience of it all.

  A loud tapping interrupted his thoughts. Peering over the top of his laptop, he stared at Morgana’s questioning gaze.

  He jabbed his finger in the air between them. “What? I’m not allowed to be grumpy?” Twitching whiskers was her only response, and Connor continued. “I worked all bloody weekend and late every night to make sure the kids were sorted. You’d be pissed too if all you did was work and no one showed any appreciation. I’d happily swap my life with yours. Who wouldn’t want to laze about all day doing nothing, hmm?” Connor snorted, pretending not to notice Morgana’s body shaking.

  Fuck, even the cat is laughing at me.

  “Fuck off, Morgana,” he said with unrestrained mirth. The humour of the situation too much, he roared with laughter. His lousy mood dissolved as Morgana jumped up onto his desk, sticking her nose into his face. Her whiskers tickled his cheek.

  “All right, I get it. I’m silly,” he said. Brushing his fingers over her silky neck, Connor stared into her eyes. “What if I hate the job?”

  Voicing the one real concern he’d been hiding from, his fingers halted midstroke. He eyed her intelligent eyes, his pulse leaping at the slight headshake and angry hiss. It’s my overactive imagination; nothing more. Either that or he’d gone to town and bought a whole bag of crazy.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re answering me?” He ignored his trembling fingers, right along with the edge of panic in his voice. The computer became his focus as he did his best to block out how human-like Morgana was…or more than the Internet suggested was typical.

  He ground his teeth together, considering if he should book an appointment with the school psychologist and talk throug
h his belief his new cat was communicating with him.

  Hearing a loud, resonating growl from Morgana, he snatched his hand away from the computer. “Okay then, you don’t like that id…”

  He froze, eyes widening as the words died on his lips. He’d not been talking aloud, only thinking.

  His whole body tensed. The urge to run screaming from the room was not beyond the realm of possibility at this stage. The buzzing in his ears made it hard to think. He inhaled, closing his eyes, hoping that if he weren’t looking into her eyes, it would make a difference.

  When he sensed her staring, he sighed in disgust and opened his eyes. He pinned her with a scathing look. “Listen I don’t have time for crazy, so can you stop acting as if you understand me,” he begged, red-faced. “This is an inconvenience I don’t need. Seriously, Morgana, stop staring at me like that.”

  The little headshake fired him from the chair and had him stalking away from his desk.

  “Seriously, you’re doing this to me now?” He glared at her as he paced in front of his desk. “I’ll leave you at the bloody cattery if you’re not careful,” he threatened not too kindly.

  The hissed snarl caused him to falter.

  He looked at her and automatically stepped back. An evil glint lit her jewel eyes, and her lips were peeled back to reveal gleaming white fangs. The message was clear. Stop or else.

  He held up his hands in defeat. “I was joking.” He folded his lips to stop the chuckle at the slight rise in her brow. “All right, I wasn’t, but you have to stop messing with my head.”

  The absurdity of the moment was not lost on Connor, and he tugged at his hair and walked to the window. “Christ, I’m an educated man who should know better than to think he can communicate with his cat. The research I did says cats are intelligent…”

  He paused and cast a glance over his shoulder at the funny sound Morgana was making. His brow rose. Had she harrumphed at him?

  He pivoted around and regarded her carefully. What the hell am I looking for?