GENRE: Gay Fantasy Spicy Romance
LENGTH: 35,225 words
RATING:

What would you do if the devil claimed you were his destined mate?

Khaal Lupehell isn't really the devil, but he's a red-skinned, horn-wearing, tail-waving, eight feet tall alien who claims Azrail Crow is his mate. For eight months, Azrail has been in an intergalactic prison, and for the most part, he's managed to keep his head down and melt into the interior. That all changes when he runs into Khaal.

Khaal has to get out of prison. He'd planned to escape even before he met Azrail, but now he has to find a way out. He can't live with his mate in a prison cell. It's out of the question. So he'll steal a ship, take Azrail, and they'll run for their lives. It'll work out fine. Hopefully.

Azrail has read stories about destined mates, but surely it can't apply to him. He's human, and humans don't have mates. But when Khaal talks about escaping, Azrail wants to come with him. Being mated to the devil can't be worse than being locked up in prison, can it?

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

“I’m Khaal Lupehell, captain of the -- It doesn’t matter, the ship is no more. I’m the leader of this clan.” He gestured at Chavir and Yilea, wishing they’d look more impressive. Being the leader of two people wouldn’t impress anyone, and he needed to show himself worthy.

“Oh, yay, a clan.” Dot gave Azrail a look he couldn’t decipher, but he feared she was mocking him.

“Sweet.” Azrail took a step closer.

Sweet? What was sweet? He hadn’t seen him eat anything.

“Do you see the ships coming and going from here?”

Khaal hesitated. Did Azrail know what they were planning? Maybe he’d heard their conversation. How well did earthlings hear? “We don’t see them arriving and taking off, but they enter through that door.” He nodded in the direction of the airlock leading out to the dock. He’d never been through it, so he wasn’t sure the dock was through there, but he assumed so.

Azrail nodded. “A couple of days ago, there was a human ship, right?”

Khaal nodded.

“They delivered food.”

Khaal nodded again. He hadn’t seen any food, but they’d brought boxes, and he assumed it was food. They hadn’t gotten anything special to eat, though. It was the same mush they always got. Sometimes it was a brownish mush, other times a grayish mush. He longed for meat, something he had to use his teeth to tear apart.

Maybe they got different foods. Maybe Azrail and Dot got the food the humans delivered, but since Dogron was so far away, they didn’t get any food from home, and therefore they were served the mush. “Have you been getting the food?”

Khaal curled his fingers around the bars, wanting to order Azrail to step closer.

“No. We haven’t been getting anything out of the ordinary.” He frowned. “Have you?”

Khaal shook his head. “Come closer.”

Dot cleared her throat. “Let’s not tempt fate, shall we?” She grabbed Azrail’s arm, and Khaal snarled. She should not be touching him. He was Khaal’s, and no one other than him should be touching Azrail.

Azrail looked into Dot’s eyes for longer than could be considered normal. Were they a telepathic species? Then he looked at Khaal. “I’ll come closer, but if you touch me, Dot will set you on fire.”

Khaal flinched. He remembered the fire. “Okay.”

Dot groaned, but Azrail stepped closer. Khaal curled his fingers tighter around the bars not to reach for him.

“Here.” Azrail reached inside his trousers and held up a jar of something brown. “Peace offering.”

Khaal nodded. “If I take it, we’re allies?”

“Ah… no. We’re not in conflict, but we’re not playing on the same team.”

Khaal glanced over his shoulder at Yilea, who shrugged. “Chavir?”

“Fine.” His growl shook the walls.

He turned back to Azrail. “Don’t you need a peace offering for us each?” It would mean he’d have to come back again.

Dot snorted and Azrail glared at her, which had Khaal suspecting this was something they’d discussed. Azrail turned the glare to Khaal, and he rumbled in pleasure. His mate had to be strong, or he’d be unable to handle the life they lived, and it was clear Azrail wasn’t physically strong. That he didn’t cower in the face of danger -- though the bars kept Khaal from getting to him -- boded well.

“Are you the leader of the clan or not?”

Khaal straightened his back. “I’m the leader.”

“Do I need to negotiate with your minions to get results or can I come directly to you?”

Yilea huffed, but Khaal didn’t look away from Azrail’s dark eyes. “You come directly to me.” He stood straight, but he had a feeling he’d lost. He didn’t know what game they were playing, and he didn’t know the rules, but something similar to defeat burned in his belly.

There was a tug at the corner of Azrail’s mouth and the small grove appearing in his cheek made Khaal want to touch it. “Good. This is our gift. It’s human food.” He held out the jar. “Don’t drop it. It’s made of glass.”

Khaal didn’t know what glass was, but he slowly uncurled his fingers from around the bar and reached for the jar. Right as they touched the cool surface, the siren indicating all prisoners had to go back to their cells sounded.

He grabbed the jar with one hand, Azrail’s arm with the other, wound his tail around him, and pressed him against the bars. “You’re mine.” He dipped his head to bury his face in the crook of his neck and inhale his scent, but the bars were in the way, and he snarled in frustration as his horns clanked against the metal.