In From the Cold: A Courtland Novella: Courtlands - The Next Generation

By Cat Grant

For all the Courtland fans clamoring for the next generation…

Cold and sick, Seth Thompson must fight through a snowstorm to get home. Seth’s unconventional upbringing taught him to always reach out to strangers in need, and Iranian engineering student Bilal al-Mansoori is no exception. Being trapped together leads to an unexpected mutual attraction—and a feverishly hot night under the covers.

But Bilal needs more than simply a rescue from the weather—he’s trapped under lifetime of cultural pressures. His strict Muslim father and fellow Iranian students have no clue about his inner torment. His attraction to Seth isn’t a welcome discovery—instead he’s trapped between the existence he’s always known and the prospect of living and loving openly for the first time in his life.

(Note: This story stands-alone—no need to have read the prior Courtland books.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cat Grant
• Release date: Sep 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9780989694971

Cat Grant

Two-time EPIC Award winner Cat Grant lives by the ocean in beautiful Monterey, California with one persnickety feline and way too many books and DVDs. You can usually find her listening to Dan Savage's podcast, hiding behind her couch while The Walking Dead's on, or - most likely - writing while listening (and singing along - badly!) to Verdi or Wagner on her earbuds. Contemporaries get her creative juices flowing - featuring alpha male Marines and Navy SEALs, MMA fighters, hot musicians (rock stars and classical violinists), a transgender dominatrix (in BREAKING FREE, winner of the 2014 Rainbow Award for LGBT erotica), and a six-book series spanning thirty years, two generations and three genres (menage, m/m and new adult). Drop by her website at: http://www.catgrant.com Or her Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/cat.grant?ref=profile Follow her on Twitter: https://twitter.com/CatGrant2009 Read her blog: http://catgrant.com/cats-blog/

Book preview

cover.jpg

In From the Cold

A Courtland Novella

Cat Grant

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. Permission is granted to make ONE backup copy for archival purposes.

In From the Cold: A Courtland Novella

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Copyright © 2014 Cat Grant

Cover design by LC Chase.

ISBN: 978-0-9896949-7-1

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This work contains graphic language and explicit sexual content between two consenting male adults. Intended for adult readers only. Not intended for readers under the age of 18.

About In From the Cold

For all the Courtland fans clamoring for the next generation…

Cold and Sick, Seth Thompson must fight through a snowstorm to get home. Seth’s unconventional upbringing taught him to always reach out to strangers in need, and Iranian engineering student Bilal al-Mansoori is no exception. Being trapped together leads to an unexpected mutual attraction—and a feverishly hot night under the covers.

But Bilal needs more than simply a rescue from the weather—he’s trapped under lifetime of cultural pressures. His strict Muslim father and fellow Iranian students have no clue about his inner torment.  His attraction to Seth isn’t a welcome discovery—instead he’s trapped between the existence he’s always known and the prospect of living and loving openly for the first time in his life.

(Note: This story stands-alone—no need to have read the prior Courtland books.)

Table of Contents

About In From the Cold

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Afterword

Acknowledgments

Coming October 2014

Also by Cat Grant

About Cat Grant

Chapter One

Seth

Seth Thompson?

Finally, the nurse called me. I’d been hacking up my lungs in the campus clinic’s waiting room for over an hour, the blinking fluorescent light above my head kicking my headache into high gear. I hated missing my Friday afternoon design seminar, but I couldn’t take any more of this ping-ping between my ears, or the awful tearing in my chest. The dozen or so other people cooling their sneezing, coughing heels out here with me didn’t sound much better, and fuck, there went that howling baby again.

Welcome to cold and flu season in upstate New York.

I grabbed my backpack and trudged up to the counter, where the nurse handed me a clipboard and pen. We need you to fill this out, she said. For your insurance.

I stared at the page. Blinked, squinted, but the words wouldn’t focus, and I’d left my glasses on the kitchen counter at home. When d’you think—cough hack cough—the doctor can see me?

Poor woman looked like she was ready to drop. Not surprising after dealing with sick, cranky people all day. She tucked a strand of grayish hair behind her ear and flashed me a half-hearted smile. A few more minutes.

That’s what she said when I came in, but no point being an asshole about it. Besides, things were moving. Most of the people waiting now were a different bunch from when I’d arrived, except for one guy working on his laptop in between coughing into a handkerchief. My old seat was taken, but the seat next to him was empty. I plopped down and squinted at the insurance form again.

The guy stopped typing for a few seconds to wipe his eyes. Man, his breathing didn’t sound good. Raspy, congested. Wet. How long have you been sick? I asked.

His sharp glance morphed into a resigned, tired shrug. A few days. I thought it was just a cold at first, but… My ears pricked up. Was that a British accent? Hard to tell on the heels of all that coughing.

Looks like it’s hitting pretty hard this year. I tried to smile, but the pounding in my head probably made it look more like a grimace. Don’t worry, they’ll get you back on your feet.

As if on cue, the nurse stepped out from behind the counter, a file folder in her hand. Bilal al-Mansoori?

The guy shut his laptop, shoved it into his bag and wobbled none too steadily to his feet. For a second I thought he was about to keel over, and poised myself to grab his arm, but he righted himself and followed the nurse down the hallway.

The nurse called my name a few minutes later, and ushered me into an exam room. She took my temperature and blood pressure, then the doctor came in. He checked my eyes, throat, ears, lungs and heart and declared, It’s the same flu everybody’s coming down with. I’ll give you some antibiotics and cough syrup for that bronchitis. If you’re still feverish come Monday, stay home from class. We don’t need to spread this around.

’Kay, I croaked, grabbed my prescriptions and high-tailed it to the pharmacy next door. That guy I’d been talking to was sitting along the back wall, still tapping away on his laptop. I chose a seat nearby.

Looks like we’re on our way to recovery, I joked, darting a glance in his direction.

S-Speak for yourself—cough hack cough—I’ll probably be dead by the time they get me my medication.

He did have a British accent, and gorgeous caramel skin underneath that chalky pallor. I looked around the room, counting ten other people waiting for their meds. T-They get backed up sometimes—there I went, hacking again myself—even when there’s not an outbreak of the plague. Guess we shouldn’t have waited so long to come in, huh?

I can’t afford to be here at all. I’ve missed two labs this week, and with midterms coming up… His lush lips twisted into a frown. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t c-complain—cough rumble cough—when you must be in the s-same predicament.

Predicament. What a charming word. When was the last time I’d heard it, outside of a book?

He looked about nineteen or twenty, which didn’t mean much around here. A lot of prodigies arrived at Cornell in their teens. For all I knew, he could be in the Ph.D. program for… what was he studying? Looked like he was working on some kind of equation, but I’d practically flunked out of trig and calculus, so what did I know? Probably engineering or physics—those guys carried fucking insane course loads.

They called my name, and I went up to get my pills and a bottle of Robitussin with codeine. Gave them my insurance card, paid my ten dollar co-pay, and headed out into the October chill. I’d already zipped up my jacket, but the instantaneous drop in temperature still hit me like a brick. It’d been cloudy and cold yesterday, but now puffy, purplish-gray gloom covered the entire sky. Good excuse to stay in this weekend and work on that sketch for my portraiture midterm.

The campus was stunning this time of year. Fiery red leaves still clung to the trees, nearly the same color as many of the university’s brick buildings. Most days I loved a leisurely walk home, switching up the route every now and then so I had a legit excuse to gawk at the amazing architecture, but today I just wanted to get out of the cold. I plodded along down the hill, over a footbridge with a rushing creek underneath, until I crossed the southern lip of campus into town. Only a couple more blocks to that organic market on the corner. If I was going to stay in all weekend, I’d best shop for groceries now.

Apparently