A Rescue Twinks Novel: The Counterfeit Claus

By Cherie Noel

It's just an average day at the local mall's Christmas Village... there's an elf shortage, no manager in sight, and an unknown person hiding behind a big white beard. Still, everything is under control. Mostly. Sort of... until the klutziest elf of all slips onto the scene in slick bottomed, pointy-toed shoes... and slides right into the waiting arms of the Counterfeit Claus.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cherie Noel
• Release date: Aug 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301346455

Cherie Noel

Butcher, baker, candlestick maker...ummm, eww, every chance I get, and I surely would if these damn characters would ever shut up. Born in West Palm Beach, Florida and raised...er, is all over the damn place a sufficiently descriptive term? No? Then how about this? Tinker, tailor, Indian chief...Ooooh, especially when smexy men are involved (!), only under duress, and did the cheek-bones give it away?Seriously? I’ve lived in Washington D.C., Virginia, Upper Michigan, Texas, New York, California, and Alabama in the United States; Hessen in Germany, London in England, Masirah Island in Oman and...sometimes it was in a house, sometimes in a tent, and sometimes anyplace I could find to lay my head.I’ve been in love with words since before I drew breath, and I don’t see that ever changing. I write stories. Sometimes I write music with them, sometimes they’re poems, and lately, to my great delight, M/M erotic romance. Yum. Smexy man to the second...or third power...now that’s the kinda math I can get behind!!The hair curls or frizzes as it will, the eyes are green and tend to look in two different directions—no, really—and the rest is subject to change. You know the guy who didn’t know if he was a butterfly dreaming he was a man or a man dreaming he was a butterfly? Yeah, that’s me, but substitute drag queen for butterfly and wacky, wild ex-Army chick for man.

Book preview

The Counterfeit Claus

A Rescue Twinks Novel

Book #1

Cherie Noel

Dedication

This story is dedicated to N.J. Nielsen, Tracy Tucker Faul, Val Hughes, and Amara Devonte. Each and every little thing they do makes my world a brighter and better place…and of course, I must give credit to the evil urchin who sparked off the Rescue Twinks by spilling glitter all over my house. Thanks, kidlet!

...and as always, every story I will ever write is for my Balthazar, and the sweet, wild, half-fae wench who led me to his door. Yes, yes, I do mean you, naughty Countess J.

Finally, this second edition owes much to the talented editing fingers of Raevyn McCann. Thanks ever so, lovely lady.

ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED:

Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you ONE LEGAL copy for your personal reading on your personal computer(s) or device(s). You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. This book should not be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee,

or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal everywhere except the land of UtaDamDenial. It is also a blatantly meanie-butt maneuver.

It takes the author’s hard earned ducats (that’s greenbacks to you) right out of their pockets.

Just don’t do it.

Cover Artist: A.J. Corza

Editor: Raevyn McCann

The Counterfeit Claus 2nd edition © March 2015 Cherie Noel

ISBN#

Attention Readers: This book uses Ameriglish. English speakers from other countries should consider themselves warned…there will be donuts rather than doughnuts in all coffee shops.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission of the publisher. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only; any person depicted in the Licensed Art Material is a model.

PUBLISHER: JAB-ON-SNAG PRESS

~~We’re a wee little house, made up of equal parts dragonfly and butterfly. It’s said single flap of a butterfly’s wing can create a hurricane on the opposite side of the word. It’s said dragonflies heal, transform, protect, and are fluid as water. Jab-on-Snag Press embodies the essence of both creatures, for we seek to gently make the world more beautiful, sweet, silly and fun for all people…one book at a time.~~

TRADEMARKS ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and

trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned

in this work of fiction:

Jeep: © 2012 Chrysler Group LLC

Starbucks: © 2012 Starbucks Corporation

Dunkin’Donuts: © 2011. DD IP Holder LLC.

YouTube: © YouTube LLC.

Danger Mouse: © Nickelodeon, originated by Cosgrove-Hall

***

Additional Acknowledgements:

Names

Justin Bieber

Michael Clarke Duncan

Ft. Leonard Wood

St.Nick

Chapter One

The sound of Justin Bieber’s distinctive canary warble carved a jagged hole into the silence cocooning Devon. He groaned, flailing his arm towards the pesky noise. A fresh hell of some sort existed if Justin Bieber had access to Devon’s bedroom in any way. He turned his face into the pillow, snuggling in, ready to ignore all the world…BAAAAAA-BEEEE-OOOOOO...The thumpa-twink-twang phrase reverberated in Devon’s ears, exhorting him to just open his eyes and—He was gonna kill that pendejo, Corporal Rose. The kid was always screwing with Devon’s phone. Blindly snagging his cell from the bedside table by feel, Devon flipped it open without ever opening his eyes.

Sot— The thick southern twang combined with the use of his last name—or at least a portion of it—told Devon exactly who his caller was. The idiot Devon was going to kill once his fatigue knotted muscles and sluggish brain caught up to one another. Devon whimpered, phone pressed to his ear. Ah, as much as he wanted to kill the kid, he had to give him props for pulling this one off. Devon couldn’t actually remember leaving his phone unattended in Rose’s company. A reluctant smile tipped up one corner of his mouth. The irony of a Bieber song announcing a call from Corporal Michael Rose, badass extraordinaire could not be measured with existing technology. Especially when said call was made to Rose’s former squad leader, and arguably the guy who taught him most of what he knew about being a bonafide hero.

Rose, you are so fucking dead. Devon grunted, voice crawling up out of his chest like a snarling, slavering beast. "You know I worked the show up on campus last night after my regular shift. Cristo hombre, I must have told you five hundred times how excited I was to finally get a permanent gig with campus security, even if—"

Sarge— The silence after Rose’s bitten off utterance had Devon blinking his eyes open. Ay-ay-ay, why in hell would Rose call him at the crack of—ugh, what ungodly hour was it? Devon pulled the phone away from his ear to check the time. Huh. Ten-thirty in the morning. Not exactly the crack of dawn, but dammit, he was beat.

Devon almost felt bad for whining, even if it was only in his own head. Then he woke the tiniest fraction more and remembered—ten-thirty am ought to be considered ungodly for someone who worked until well after seven in the morning. Devon’s eyes drooped shut for a second. He lost at least fifteen seconds