Blood Relations: MIA Case Files, #2

By KC Burn

Frazer Nyland's dating life has fizzled out. Dates and hook ups are easy to find, but none of them want anything deeper or meaningful. Meeting Cooper gives Frazer new hope, and he can't help but fall in love. When one of his past hook ups is found dead, Frazer suddenly longs for the day when dating was his biggest woe. 

Hounded by an overzealous cop, sexually harassed at work, and suspected of being a serial killer, there's only one good thing in his life—Cooper. But as the lies and evasions build up, Frazer has to face a bitter truth. Cooper is not what he seems, and it wouldn't be the first time Frazer had been played for a fool. Heartbreak on top of everything else seems like a cruel twist of fate, but if he's arrested for murder, his love life might be the least of his problems.

Agent Cooper Wallace didn't expect meet the love of his life while hunting an Umbrae-possessed vampire. Nor did he expect a scorching one-night stand to lead to a lasting relationship. But meeting Frazer changes a lot of Cooper's expectations. Unfortunately, Cooper also didn't expect his investigation of possible vampire victims to lead him to Frazer's home town and the discovery that the disappearances can be connected to Frazer. Doing his job and closing the portal that spawned the Umbrae will save countless innocents but could cost him Frazer's love and possibly his life. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: KC Burn
• Release date: Aug 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9781950068975

Book preview

Prologue

Thomas launched himself from the couch. The fucker knocking at his door sounded like he was going to break it down. Unless the building was on fire, nothing was that urgent.

What are you doing here?

Thomas couldn't remember the guy's name. He'd been a nice piece of tail, and Thomas had told him he'd call. But shit, that was just something guys said to avoid awkward departures. Not like he was looking for anything more than a good time. He should definitely stop bringing them home to fuck, though. One day he'd bag himself a crazy stalker.

The blond smiled at him, teeth shiny and white. Can I come in?

Thomas shrugged. He'd planned on an early night before catching a flight the next day, but he could handle a repeat of last night's... entertainment.

Sure, why not? Thomas stepped back, and the smaller man slipped past, brushing up against his chest and groin. Oh yeah, Thomas could handle a repeat with that ass. Maybe this time he'd actually call after.

After locking the door, he followed the twink's tight butt into his living room.

Can I get you a drink?

The blond turned, and Thomas's fingers went numb.

Yes. The blond hissed between canines that had lengthened into sharp, glistening points. You can.

Wha— Thomas couldn't breathe. He stumbled back, hearing a crystalline crash as he did so. Before he could blink, the slight man was on top of him, pushing him back against the wall.

With more strength than Thomas would have believed, the twink held him in place while wrenching his head back. When the fangs sank into his neck, Thomas screamed and struggled, but the blond was strong. Stronger than anyone he’d come across.

Nothing was going to help.

Pain sent tears streaming down his face, and suddenly he was no longer able to scream.

He wasn't going to survive the night.

One

Frazer Nyland, do not tell me you're giving up! Becca, with her hands on her hips and her black hair pulled into a severe bun, looked like someone's disapproving teacher. Someone's hot, busty teacher. Frazer didn't swing that way, but he knew a hot woman when he saw one. And not for the first time, he wished he and Becca were compatible because his luck with men was appalling.

Maybe he ought to try gambling. He had to be lucky at something.

Becca wasn't finished, though. You've had a bad dating streak. It happens to everyone. She turned back to her suitcase.

I know, but it's super bad this time. Ever since I broke up with Matt, I can't seem to get a second date.

Stop sleeping with them on the first date. Gotta keep the mystery alive, my friend. Becca smirked.

Depressed as he was, Frazer let out a small snort of laughter. Becca knew he didn't sleep with guys on the first date. Usually. He always hoped for more than just sex. Not a popular outlook in the clubs, but he couldn't help it. He wanted a companion, a lover, not a fuck buddy.

I'll try that next time. Frazer had slept with the last one. Who'd said he'd call, but never had. God, what was it about him? He was the wrong side of twenty-five, sure, but only by a year. He worked out most days and had a decent job. But he hadn't met a guy in months who wanted anything more than a quick hook up.

Dating had nosedived a couple of years ago after he’d started dating Henry. Henry turned out to be a cheating bastard—information his brother, Julian, had gleefully imparted in a surprise, unwelcome visit. Afterward, Frazer broke up with Henry while Julian crawled back under whatever rock he’d been hiding under, and Frazer had moved on. But his sex life had been dismal ever since. Frazer hadn't completely lost all of his allure for the same sex, had he?

Stop it right now, Becca said.

What? Frazer asked as innocently as he could. Becca knew him better than anyone alive, including his brother.

"You're brooding again. Once I was younger, better-looking, could have anyone by snapping my fingers..."

Frazer snorted again. He might look like a stereotypical cute, blond twink, but he didn't flounce around like Becca did when she mocked him out of his bad moods.

You know you're attractive, but you need to shake things up a little. You're in a rut. Get out of it. Do something different. Stop worrying about the next boyfriend, and have fun. It'll work. You'll see.

She hugged him, improving his mood. Becca was right.

While Becca was away on her business trip, he'd take her advice. Except for not sleeping with the guy on the first date. That he'd have to consider on a case-by-case basis. Hormones were a bitch. Frazer never went looking for one-night stands, but they sometimes found him. And sometimes, he needed them.

Agent Cooper Wallace strode down the antiseptic halls of the MIA office building, discomfort making him shift his shoulders. He couldn't wait to ditch the laser pistol. Never sat right in his holster, but it was one of the best ways to take zombies down. He also couldn't figure out why the Metaphysical Investigative Agency’s offices had to be more utilitarian than any other building in existence. They were a secret government agency, for fuck's sake. Who'd know if they had a few creature comforts like, oh, color? Or a coffee maker manufactured this century. Wasn't it enough they risked their lives fighting creatures no one knew existed outside of horror fiction?

A few paces ahead walked Agent Carmichael and his agency partner, Oliver Cardoso. When Coop had first joined the agency seven years ago, he’d been partnered up with Oliver for a while, and to this day they retained some of their mentor-student relationship. Carmichael had joined after Coop had moved on to another partner, and Coop never had occasion to speak with the taciturn man until lately.

After Coop’s last partner got promoted, he’d been a solo act for a several months until Adam Farelli, Carmichael's boyfriend and relatively new agent, completed his training. Adam and Coop had joined the agency the same way—they'd both been bitten by werewolves trying to turn them. Coop shivered a bit, just thinking about it. For seven years as part of MIA, he'd fought the Umbrae and the many mythological monsters they spawned, and while he wasn't precisely afraid of them, the werewolf manifestation gave him the creeps.

The nightmares, few and far between these days, all featured that one moment. Trapped in the dark and helpless. Warm, fetid breath heated the back of his neck. Hair that wasn't human tickled his neck. A muzzle with sharp, pointed teeth that shouldn’t belong to any person, and yet his captor in his human guise had fooled everyone. Then again, the average civilian didn't immediately assume werewolf or zombie the minute anything strange happened. Even presented with irrefutable evidence that werewolves existed, Coop had scrambled for another explanation. Any other explanation.

Until those fangs sank into the flesh of his trapezius and ripped. The pain had been excruciating. Like nothing he'd known, before or since, and magnified tenfold by terror. To this day, he still wasn't sure if the werewolf had been intent on infecting him or just killing him as painfully as possible. And he would never know, since MIA agents had burst into the root cellar where he'd been held captive and shot the alpha wolf.

That moment, at the mercy of a ravenous beast, had been the single most frightening of Coop's life, and he’d seen a lot of scary shit in the years he’d been a part of MIA. The surgeon who'd worked on him that first night did wonders. While he had some minor scarring and occasional aches, it could have been a whole lot worse. He could have died.

Both he and Adam had been introduced to MIA and the Umbrae in a similar way, forging an instant camaraderie when they were partnered up and it wasn't long for their partnership to become almost brotherly. Or so Coop assumed, as neither of them had siblings of their own.

In his honorary brother role, Coop enjoyed teasing Adam, and his relationship with Carmichael made an easy target. Especially since no one knew Carmichael's first name. Sometimes he'd joke that Adam called him agent in bed, but Adam's response was always a look that told him Adam knew, but he wasn't talking. Something about the pairing worked, some ineffable magic, because Coop would have never guessed cheery Adam would be happy with a guy as reserved and distant as Carmichael. But Coop's own single state only proved he didn't know how to pick a man for himself, never mind for anyone else.

Cooper increased his speed, catching up with the two agents. How's it going?

Fine, Carmichael said. Mission went okay?

Cooper rolled his eyes. Like the guy hadn't monitored obsessively for Adam's return. Still in the honeymoon phase, those two, even a couple of years in.

Well, Adam did lose a lot of blood...

What? Carmichael stopped dead, grabbed Coop's arm, and spun him around. Cooper didn't think he'd ever seen Carmichael so pale. Shit. Bad joke.

I'm sorry, man. I was joking. I know you keep close tabs on him.

Carmichael flushed to the roots of his dark blond hair, letting his grip ease, and Cooper grinned. He might not go for men who were his own size and bulk, but the blush made Carmichael damned sexy. Oliver looked on benevolently, but there was a hint of sadness in his expression. It wasn't the first time Coop had seen that look. Oliver always seemed so lonely even surrounded by people, and he wasn’t the only one who thought so, although Oliver rarely shared personal thoughts and feelings if they weren’t work-related.

Not funny. Carmichael growled and cuffed him, hard, on the shoulder.

I know. Sorry. It was an easy mission. I'm sure you heard. Should be quiet for a bit, give you some downtime with your man.

If anything, Carmichael's blush intensified. Cute bastard. Something's coming, he said.

Cooper shrugged. Always is. Don't you worry. I've got Adam's back.

Because he knew damned well if he let anything happen to Adam, he'd have to answer to Carmichael.

Carmichael swallowed and nodded. Want to meet us for dinner tonight? His invitation had been for Coop only. Maybe that was part of Oliver's problem. He never, ever socialized with any of them, no matter how many invites he received.

No, that's okay. Maybe later this week. Never let it be said Cooper couldn't learn from his mistakes. Last time he'd gone to dinner with Adam and Carmichael the same day Adam returned from a mission, he'd had to go home and jack off. Twice.

Cooper couldn't understand why they bothered to eat in public when it was clear to anyone with eyes that the entire meal wasn't sustenance, but foreplay. Anyone sitting too close, like Cooper, got zinged by their insane sexual energy, and he'd spent the entire hour and a half tongue-tied, jealous, and hard as a rock.

Spaghetti and sensual were words he'd never associated with each other until that night. Mortifying as it was, even thinking about it now made him chub up a little. So, no, he wasn't doing that again. Not until he had a lover of his own. Of course, he had to get out and date for that to happen. Lovers weren't going to fall from the sky. Adam had tried to set him up with a couple of his friends, but Cooper didn't want to risk his working relationship with Adam if a fling with one of them went bad.

Tonight, instead of going home and watching reruns of NCIS, he should go out. There was a bar, a little out of his way, but he'd had decent luck there in the past. The place didn't make him feel like a troll, searching for a young piece of ass for the night.

Frazer parked his silver Honda in front of Bar None and turned off the ignition. Maybe not the most original name in the world, but he'd heard the place was decent. Supposedly catered to a slightly older clientele than the clubs he frequented. Not that he was too old for the clubs—yet—but if he wanted something lasting, he wasn't going to find it with a back-alley blowjob.

Becca had told him to shake it up, and he was going to try. An hour out of his usual stomping grounds better be worth his time. Sometimes older guys were worse than the young ones for banging anything with a dick. Not too obnoxious and not on the prowl—that's all Frazer asked for. His standards were lowering by the minute.

Frazer got out of the car and smoothed his hands down his shirt. His little Civic wasn't the worst car in the lot, and some of his nervousness melted away. With determined steps, he walked in. Bar None had to get him out of his rut.

The place had a cozy, neighborhood-pub feel to it, but upscaled a bit. The rest of his nervousness dissipated when he glanced around and assured himself this wasn't a sleazy hookup place. Yeah, he could work with this.

His gaze zeroed in on the muscular back of a man sitting by the bar. Oh yes. That was the place to start. Find out if the front was half as good as the back.

With few patrons seated around the bar, it took mere seconds for the bartender to become aware of Frazer.

What's on draft? Frazer asked. Beer wasn't his preferred drink, but he needed a little liquid courage. Martinis got him blitzed, and he had to drive home later.

The bartender listed a bunch of names, some of which he'd never heard of. More choices than he'd expected.

Any Belgian beers? He'd heard they tasted better.

Just one. The bartender gestured at a long wooden tap handle.

I'll take it.

No problem, sweet thing.

Sweet thing? A grin pulled the corners of Frazer's lips up. Nothing like a compliment to give him a bit of confidence.

While he waited for the bartender to pull his drink, Frazer avoided looking at the man he'd first noticed. He didn't want to get caught staring, and he didn't want to initiate contact until he was ready. Which meant having a drink to hold. Otherwise he might do something lame, like knock over someone else’s drink. Especially if the guy was as hot as Frazer imagined.

With a wink, the bartender handed Frazer his beer, and Frazer took a quick sip before sidling up to his target. Not bad. Beer wasn’t his favorite but it was a safe, easy choice.

Hello. Frazer sat down in the seat to the man's right.

Hey, the man said without looking up. Which was a shame.

Now that Frazer was up close, he could appreciate how brown the man's skin was, how soft his black hair looked. Even the man's aristocratic, pointed nose was attractive.

The man didn't seem interested, and rejection sucked, but Frazer couldn't help himself. I'm Frazer.

Cooper. The man swiveled toward Frazer.

Oh. God. Perfect brown skin over perfect chiseled cheekbones. Eyes the color of the top-shelf bourbon sitting on a shelf behind the bartender. Lips smooth and firm, not too plump and not too thin. Thirty, maybe a little older. Frazer's gaze traveled down the man's neck to the open-throated purple dress shirt, where he spied a few black chest hairs peeping out. Fingers trembling with the need to touch, Frazer held out his hand to shake, hoping he wouldn't accidentally slip and stroke over the firm pectorals visible underneath Cooper's shirt.

Cooper stretched out his hand, and as Frazer looked into those gorgeous eyes again, their hands touched. More of a caress than a handshake. Frazer couldn't breathe. Cooper's fingers transmitted some sort of lightning bolt that thundered through Frazer's veins until it hit his cock, making it swell in the confines of his pants. The sudden dilation of Cooper's pupils told Frazer he wasn't the only one in lust.

When Cooper finally released his grip, shaking his head a little, Frazer realized they'd been holding hands for several seconds. Wow. He'd never felt anything like it before.

Care to move to a booth, Frazer? Cooper's voice stirred desire in the pit of Frazer's stomach.

Yes, please. Frazer grabbed his drink to follow Cooper. Was this a one-night stand? He hoped not, but he'd take whatever Cooper offered. Damn hormones.

Cooper's heart pounded. He was almost afraid to turn around and look at the man behind him. Frazer couldn't be as good-looking as he'd thought. Frazer was exactly Cooper's type. Not too tall—but then, most men were smaller than he was. Light blond hair, creamy skin, midtwenties, slim but not skinny. Enormous blue eyes with a hint of eyeliner and filled with lust. For Cooper.

In a few harsh breaths, they were at an empty booth, Frazer moving around to slide in across from him. Cooper's heart stuttered, and his dick flexed. Saliva pooled in his mouth as he imagined licking every inch of that smooth, pale skin. Dammit, he didn't know Frazer's last name—he didn't even know if Frazer was his real name—and for a change, he didn't care.

The booth managed to be darker than the bar, a surprise as the bar had been plenty dim already. The setting was unexpectedly intimate but somehow just right. Coming here tonight had been an excellent choice.

Watching Frazer's tongue slide out to wet, pink lips made Cooper ache. That tiny gesture told him Frazer was his for the night if he wanted. He hadn't tried for more in a long time. Many others had claimed he was too clingy, too smothering. Made him gun-shy. But Adam and Carmichael's happiness made him want to try again. Frazer could be the one. Maybe.

Cooper pulled in a deep breath and caught a whiff of Frazer's cologne. Light, fresh, like a recently mowed lawn. Sexy. He wanted that smell in his nostrils, along with the scent of sweaty man.

Frazer. Cooper liked the sound of the name. He hoped it wasn't fiction, because he had a sudden vision of him calling it out while buried deep in Frazer's ass, and it felt right. He couldn't wait. I'm Cooper Wallace. If he was going to start this right, he needed to be up front about his name too. Are you from around here?

Frazer smiled, sweet and pure. I'm Frazer Nyland.

Good. Unusual enough that Frazer might be for real. Cooper relaxed, the tension in his shoulders making itself known only by its absence.

And I'm not far, about an hour away.

An hour. He could work with that. Are you single? Cooper had no interest in being someone's dirty little secret.

Yes. Heard good things about this place, and from what I can see, they’re definitely true.

Frazer's gaze roamed over his skin like a caress, and Cooper's dick strained toward him. Sweat popped out on his forehead as he struggled to not reach across the table and drag