I don’t do this often, but I’m excited about this new project I’m working on, so I thought I’d share a snippet! This is a paranormal m/m romance set in my hometown, because why not. In this world, paranormal creatures are rare but known—and some of them, like Darrell Revie, or Rev, would have preferred to remain in the proverbial darkness.
Grumpy alpha shifter (sort of…you’ll see): check
Sweet non-alpha love interest (sort of…): check
Murder and mayhem: check and check!
Keep in mind this is just a draft…but I hope it piques your interest!
Rev groaned. “Oh for Christ’s—what now?”
Nick gave him an apologetic smile. “Yeah, sorry. There’s someone out here who wants to talk with you.”
“I dunno. Haven’t seen him before.”
“Tell him I’m not available.”
Nick shifted uncomfortably. “He’s, uh, got a weird vibe. Kinda like you.”
Most normal humans couldn’t point out paranormals in human form—but Rev had made sure his team had that skill. Any advantage was worthwhile honing, even if paranormals were rare enough that a human might go their whole life and see only one—and they might not realize it.
“Better not be a wolf,” Rev growled.
He would fuck their shit up for daring to enter his territory. Barely holding back the rumble in his chest, he pushed past Nick toward the front of the house. Rounding the corner of the bar, he expected to see a muscular form—maybe one of his brothers, someone close to his own 6’2” height, rough looking from hard living.
Instead, he came face to face with a guy who didn’t look quite real.
His long, medium-brown hair was drawn back into a thick braid, gold highlights woven through it—they had to be natural as there was no scent of chemicals lingering. In fact, the guy smelled fresh and…herbal. Not the sort of herbs that could get you arrested, either, but nice ones, like lavender and lemongrass. He wore at least three leather necklaces, each sporting a different combination of stones, metal beads, and semi-precious gems. More leather straps encircled both wrists with the same sort of decorations. His clothes were normal, too—an athletic jacket over comfortable t-shirt that wasn’t too worn, and dark wash jeans.
It was a package that wouldn’t normally do it for Rev—too hippie or hipster or whatever the fuck it was these days—but then he caught the guy’s gaze. If his eyes had been watered-down blue, or muddy green, he probably would have been able to look away. But no, they were deep, amazing brown—rich and warm and full of the same hints of gold in his hair, as though some of the treasure buried inside of this guy were shining through.
The guy hopped down from his barstool and Rev was startled to find he wasn’t much shorter than he was. Maybe an inch or two. “Darrell Revie?”
“Rev,” he corrected. “Can I help you?”
The guy tilted his head to the side, as if to say maybe not. “I’m Keegan Skye. I run the OPC blog. Ottawa Paranormals Connections,” he clarified.
Oh, Christ. “No, thank you. There’s the door.” He waved in the general direction of the front door and turned away.
“Wait, wait, wait.”
Keegan leaped forward and grabbed Rev’s forearm, exposed by the rolled-up sleeve of his plaid button-down. A shock, edging on the not-fun side of painful, snapped between them, and Keegan drew his hand back, shaking it. Rev resisted rubbing his arm, because like hell he was giving away any hint of vulnerability to this guy. This…whack job.
Yeah, he knew all about the OPC blog, trying to create some sense of community among the very small, very diverse Ottawa paranormal community. Paranormals had been “out” for about seventeen years now—thanks to a video of a cop/pack standoff, complete with wildblood transforming on film—so they weren’t exactly old news. No matter how much the OPC spouted about equality and banding together for the greater good, the fact remained that if the paranormals had had a choice in the matter, they would have stayed in the proverbial (and sometimes literal) darkness, rather than dealing with a world that knew they existed, even if it preferred to pretend they didn’t.
“Shit, sorry,” Keegan murmured. “Look, I’m hoping you can help me. You’re a wildblood, right?”
“That’s not exactly common knowledge,” Rev growled.
“Common enough. One of my neighbors has family in Almonte and they were all abuzz a few years ago about the new wildblood bar.”
“But that’s neither here nor there.”
The chime over the front door tinkled and Rev looked up to see a man and a woman, both wearing suits with dark overcoats, step into the bar. His nostrils flared at the scent of gun oil on the breeze generated by the door opening, and he held up a finger to Keegan. “Hold that thought.”
Rev abandoned Keegan at the bar and wove through the tables to the foyer. The cops—because that’s what they had to be, since no one in Almonte wore suits or carried guns—watched his every move from their position next to the Please Wait to be Seated sign. Quasi-predators. In his territory. His wolf was not impressed.