GENRE: Gay Historical Paranormal Spicy Romance
LENGTH: 28,801 words
RATING:

Sequel to Slayer

Geoffrey of Whalley is a Slayer on the mend. Still healing from an almost fatal demon hunt, his full recovery has been slow, with missing memories and odd dreams impeding his recovery.

A call from a friend to investigate a report of an incubus in a small village, sure to be nothing more than an innocent falsely accused, gives him an easy job while he regains his full strength, and an opportunity to find a new intermediary, one who suits better than the last.

When Geoffrey arrives, he finds the accused is new to town, and none of the usual signs of an incubus. But four people have disappeared recently, and he refuses to leave until he finds out why. There is evil in the village, but not in the form Geoffrey imagines.

EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

Alone. Melancholy, often present in Geoffrey lately, strengthened. The feeling that something was missing in his life grew with each day that passed, and yet he was no closer to knowing what it could be. Not for the first time, Geoffrey cursed the mission that had led to his memory loss. How many people had he been unable to help while he recovered, healing and relearning his job?

The cool evening breeze picked up slightly, chilling his ears and nose. Geoffrey pushed his maudlin notions aside and decided it was time to return to the tavern.

His stride strong, he reached the inn in good time and ascended the stairs at the back. Stepping into the room he’d taken, Geoffrey lit the lamp and gave a soft sigh of satisfaction at what the light revealed. Hugh knew his preferences, and the small, easily defensible room fit them perfectly. There was just enough room for the bed and the dresser that held the lamp, a jug of water, and a bowl. The faint scent of lavender tickled his nostrils from the fresh flowers scattered among the rushes on the floor.

With a grunt of relief, Geoffrey eased out of his thick-soled riding boots, the well-worn breeches and doublet, and unlaced the side stays of his leather jerkin. His shirt followed next and, absently scratching through the pelt of hair across his chest, he luxuriated in the touch of the cool evening air upon bare skin.

While naked, Geoffrey washed himself with the tepid water in the bowl. Quite often a river was the only place he could bathe while on a mission, which could sometime be a bit too chill for his tastes, not to mention unsafe. Maybe he’d even get to enjoy a proper bath during his stay here.

Refreshed, he blew out the lamp and settled in the bed. It was surprisingly comfortable. I’ve struck lucky with this job. The tavern master clearly takes pride in offering proper hospitality to his guests.

* * * *

The dream began as it had every night for the past several days. Geoffrey was watching himself, a voyeur. He was in a field of tall flowers, shirtless and laughing. Someone was with him, but as usual, they remained hidden.

Trapped, unable to move, Geoffrey watched the scene as he had so many times of late. He looked so carefree that Geoffrey envied his dream self. Settling on the ground, he glanced up at the clear blue sky, and groaned at the familiar sensation of heat at his groin.

Geoffrey’s peaked nipples stood proud from his chest and were pinched gently. His cock was nursed by a talented mouth whose owner knew exactly how to keep him hovering on the edge until both real and dream Geoffrey moaned for release.

The sky darkened as Geoffrey thrust into the wet heat, the real Geoffrey reaching for a lover that wasn’t there, and yet he still found his release. Pleasure washed over him. As he lay gasping afterward, there was a sensation of soft fingers roaming over his stomach and chest. The caress was gentle, loving, soothing.

When he finally felt able to open his eyes, there was no one but him in the room. The curtains billowed lightly from the chill night breeze. He frowned. I hear hoofbeats. Rising swiftly, Geoffrey crossed the room in two strides, and peered out of the window.

There was no horse close by. But crossing the large field opposite the tavern, a horse and rider headed in the direction of Raul’s house. Was it coincidence?

Geoffrey shook his head. He’d never sensed anything evil, in his dreams or after, and hadn’t woken drained of life or energy. But his dreams had become more vivid of late. What could they mean? Worried, he slowly made his way back to the dresser to wash away the evidence of his release.

Returning to bed, Geoffrey settled down, snuggling deep beneath the woollen blankets. Fingering the silver crucifix he wore around his neck, he prayed for answers to his questions. May God protect me from evil this night.