The Brotherhood Vol. 4: Gay Paranormal Romance

By Willa Okati

Welcome to Amour Magique. Where gay paranormals come to find love…

Nothing Like Experience – Allen’s comfortable with his quiet life as a columnist and veterinarian, and he’s firmly off the dating market. Chance is determined to convince Allen that there’s nothing wrong with a May December Romance, but Allen’s even less sure when he discovers Chance happens to be something he never expected to find outside of science fiction: a lone wolf. Actually, a werewolf.

Believe It or Not -- Harrison’s spent much of his career debunking urban myths. Then he receives a letter from someone claiming to be a mage and offering to prove it. Naturally there’s a catch. Harrison will have to pay a visit to Amour Magique to meet Martin in his lair. Harrison’s sure Martin’s a fraud, and Martin thinks Harrison is a blot on the paranormal community, but the sex is positively incendiary. The question isn’t magic but love, and the choice is set before them: believe it or not?

Incubus Call -- Liam’s in a lot of trouble -- not an unusual position for an incubus, even one as harmless and good-natured as himself. But his enemies have it in for him in a big way. Jordan may not be a magical prodigy or a supernatural anything, but he’s intelligent and determined. He won’t let his lover stand alone. Not even if it costs him his life.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Jul 26, 2024

Willa Okati

Willa Okati can most often be found muttering to herself over a keyboard, plugged into her iPod and breaking between paragraphs to play air drums. In her spare time (the odd ten minutes or so per day she's not writing) she's teaching herself to play the pennywhistle. Willa has forty-plus separate tattoos and yearns for a full body suit of ink. She walks around in a haze of story ideas, dreaming of tales yet to be told. She drinks an alarming amount of coffee for someone generally perceived to be mellow.

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The Brotherhood Vol. 4

Gay Paranormal Romance

Willa Okati

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Copyright ©2024 Willa Okati

BIN: 011236-03657

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Publisher:

Changeling Press LLC

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www.ChangelingPress.com

Editor: Karen Williams

Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

Adult Sexual Content

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Table of Contents

The Brotherhood Vol. 4

Nothing Like Experience (The Brotherhood 12)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Epilogue

Believe It or Not (The Brotherhood 13)

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Epilogue

Incubus Call (The Brotherhood 14)

Previously…

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Willa Okati

The Brotherhood Vol. 4

Gay Paranormal Romance

Willa Okati

Welcome to Amour Magique. Where gay paranormals come to find love…

Nothing Like Experience – Allen’s comfortable with his quiet life as a columnist and veterinarian, and he’s firmly off the dating market. Chance is determined to convince Allen that there’s nothing wrong with a May December Romance, but Allen’s even less sure when he discovers Chance happens to be something he never expected to find outside of science fiction: a lone wolf. Actually, a werewolf.

Believe It or Not -- Harrison’s spent much of his career debunking urban myths. Then he receives a letter from someone claiming to be a mage and offering to prove it. Naturally there’s a catch. Harrison will have to pay a visit to Amour Magique to meet Martin in his lair. Harrison’s sure Martin’s a fraud, and Martin thinks Harrison is a blot on the paranormal community, but the sex is positively incendiary. The question isn’t magic but love, and the choice is set before them: believe it or not?

Incubus Call -- Liam’s in a lot of trouble -- not an unusual position for an incubus, even one as harmless and good-natured as himself. But his enemies have it in for him in a big way. Jordan may not be a magical prodigy or a supernatural anything, but he’s intelligent and determined. He won’t let his lover stand alone. Not even if it costs him his life.

Nothing Like Experience (The Brotherhood 12)

Willa Okati

Unlike some of the other Brothers, Allen considers himself to be firmly off the dating market. He’s comfortable with his quiet life as a columnist and veterinarian. Even though he considers himself an easygoing guy and open to new ideas, a trip to Amour Magique looking for love is definitely not on his agenda.

Of course, with that decision made the first thing he finds is a hot young stud who happens to like older men. Chance sticks to Allen like glue, bringing out Allen’s protective side and then his sexual interest. The young buck seems determined to convince Allen that there’s nothing wrong with a little May and December.

He’s even less sure when he finds out that the hot little stud Chance happens to be something he never expected to find outside of science fiction: a lone wolf. A werewolf, actually.

Chapter One

I already told you; I’m not going.

Ah, so you say. I think you may change your mind.

Allen sighed. Look, Liam, it’s not that I’m ungrateful for the tickets, but a dance club? You should know that’s really not my thing.

That is your opinion at this moment. Again, I say that you will see things differently soon. Liam sounded deadly serious; he wasn’t messing around with this whole group outing to Amour Magique. Say at least that you will consider attending.

Will that make you happy? Allen asked in exasperation.

If your answer is honest. You are, as you often remind us, thirty-seven years old, not a youth who can get away with pretty white fibs. Go on! Get back to your work, but keep me in mind. I am a hard fellow to forget, yes? Liam teased. I have a feeling that your life will soon take a turn for the better. Perhaps even before Saturday night.

You and your feelings. Allen drummed his fingers on the edge of his desk. I’ll think about going. Seriously. And I’m hanging up now.

My work is done here. Liam sounded supremely satisfied. Fare you well, Allen.

‘Bye, Liam.

Allen clicked his cell phone off and shoved it into the hip pocket of his loose pants. He stayed seated for a moment, shaking his head in dismay and amusement. A gay dance club? Him? Not in this lifetime. But there was something damnably hard about telling Liam no.

He’d see what happened. Either he’d end up going, drinking something fruity while being miserable in the midst of hot young studs, or he’d stay at home with the latest shipment from his subscribers-only mystery book club and be absolutely content.

Gee, what a choice.

Allen decided he’d thought about the big outing long enough. His answer would be nuh-uh. With that decided, he turned back to his computer to focus on what he’d been writing before being interrupted by Liam’s phone call.

His promotional blog.

Allen didn’t like talking about himself, but his agent insisted he do this. Usually it amounted to I went to work today. I went home. Then I slept. Whee.

He’d give it a try, though. One for the home team.

Location: Charleston, South Carolina. Charleston Regional Animal Clinic.

Date: None recently.

Allen frowned and corrected the entry.

Date: T-1 and counting.

Comments: If I can’t talk Liam out of this dance club thing, I’m going to hang myself with my own tie.

He paused, his thumb resting on top of his keyboard’s space bar. The cursor blinked in servile obedience, waiting for him to add a spectacular bon mot or perhaps a profound observation about life.

Too bad he couldn’t think of a damn thing to write about.

After erasing what he’d typed and closing his blog, Allen sat back in his office chair, rocking into the misbalance of one missing wheel. He tucked his hands behind his head, running his fingers through his somewhat overgrown brown hair. Well, most people wouldn’t consider it too long, but it’d been a while since his last shearing, and it had grown out just enough to be hopelessly messy. He tsked when he encountered a tangle.

For the hell of it, he opened a Word document and entered: Get a haircut. Soon.

Allen sighed and reflected that as days went, this one had been pretty bad. Not one of the deep-down, bone-rotten kind that could have a man looking for a bottle of sour mash whiskey with a chaser of self-pity, but foul enough.

It hadn’t been a long day, but he had aches on top of his aches. First, he’d wrestled with an overgrown Newfoundland, and then he’d done a fun little fandango with a cantankerous cat who didn’t want his ears cleaned out. The rough animals he could deal with, though. It was their overprotective owners who’d given him a headache to go along with the kinks in his back and legs.

He’d also been reminded of Everett, his forever love who had been taken all too quickly by cancer after they’d spent ten years all but joined at the hip, when he’d come across a photo of the quirkily handsome man in the bottom of a desk drawer. The sight of Everett’s face never failed to stir him into a yearning wistfulness and provoke regret over what a short time they’d had together.

Then there was the hit me baby, one more time call, quickly aborted, from a slightly psychotic one-night stand, the one who’d been so determined in his homicidal attempts to keep Allen for himself that Allen had had to get involved with sad-sack Simon -- who was, despite his demeanor, a devil in the courtroom. Simon was also the founder and leader of the Brotherhood, which consisted of other men who had gone to the lawyer for help for one reason or another. Allen’s nephew, Alex, the poor confused kid, was a member as well. At some point, Liam had managed to join their group but Allen wasn’t exactly sure when. In any case, following Simon’s advice, Allen had taken out a restraining order against Joey, the ex, but that hadn’t stopped the guy too well.

Then there had been an e-mail from Ellie, the woman who’d wanted more from Allen than he’d been able to give, even though he’d tried to be what she needed -- whoo, what a mistake that had been -- which had made him feel guilty all over again, even though Ellie had been nice, as she always was. And, of course, there was his aborted attempt to get seats for a concert when the ticket website refused to put the spots on sale until a set time.

Small things, but they did add up.

Still, Allen couldn’t indulge in any kind of navel-gazing. He had business to conduct and patients to see. Possibly one patient, not plural, if there were no walk-ins.

Allen glanced up at his plain white, standard office variety, plastic wall clock, which read 4:40 p.m. His break had five minutes to go, but it wouldn’t hurt to be early. He straightened his tie -- or tried to -- by feel, made a futile attempt at trying to brush the worst of the dog hairs off his white lab coat, and then headed out into the sheer unadulterated chaos of a busy veterinary practice’s back rooms.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! he exclaimed, putting his hands up as a technician charged past with a Siberian Husky that looked like he was aiming for a cat whose leg was being shaved for a blood sample. The tech with the cat yelped and tried to ward off Attack Dog. Another tech, lugging a huge parrot cage, wrestled by Allen, followed by a fellow vet with a harried expression and an invoice clutched in her hand.

Yep. Looked pretty much like a normal day in the bowels of Charleston Regional Animal Clinic. But even though they were busy -- nay, frantically rushed -- each employee took the brief second they needed to flash Allen a quick smile. He grinned back, appreciating the good nature of the staff and their easy camaraderie. This was a great place to work, even though he could have lived off the profits from his syndicated column about a gay professional and his day-to-day life.

Navigating the white-walled room with blue-and-gray tile and stepping over the drains, Allen headed out to the front desk. As he’d hoped, his favorite tech, Miranda, was behind a computer terminal. Young, pretty, and completely resistant to bullshit, she was one of the delights in Allen’s life. He liked all the other techs just fine, but this one -- Miranda just had a special quality. Allen liked to think of her as an occasionally bratty younger sister.

Looked to him like she’d just finished checking a patient out.

Thanks for choosing Charleston Regional for your pet’s needs, she said with a smile that made the young male spaniel’s owner gulp visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

Allen held back a chuckle. If he had swung toward women, he knew that smile would have had the same devastating effect on him, too. As it was, Miranda just looked like a good buddy to him. Pretty, sure, but not his type.

Allen snuck up behind her chair and put his hand on the stiff dark-blue upholstery on the back. So? he asked without preamble. Did we get lucky?

Shit! Don’t scare me like that. And, no, not yet. Miranda stabbed a few keys on her plastic-protected keyboard, shook her head, and frowned. "You gotta quit coming out here every ten minutes to check. The tickets don’t go on sale until five. I promised I’d wait in line for you, but the key word here is wait, you know what I mean? So ease off, Doc." Miranda gave Allen a playful shove.

Allen pushed right back, chuckling when Miranda grunted and swatted at him. Just keep your eye on the clock, he warned. I want those tickets. Or ticket, singular. Doesn’t matter to me if it’s just one, but if you can get two, go for it. You still have my card number?

By now, I have the digits memorized. You better be glad that I’m trustworthy. Miranda gave Allen another nudge and swung her long, nearly black hair back off her shoulders. Patient coming.

She directed the full wattage of her smile on a probably thirty-something man who held a cat carrier. He looked like he had been confident before the advent of Miranda, even if she was wearing the practice’s dark-blue shirt, which was covered in various animal hairs. Hi, welcome to Charleston Regional. Who are we seeing today?

Now the guy was melted mush, stammering out the name of his pet and the complaint.

Nothing but net. Go get him, Allen stage-whispered. Then, before Miranda could turn around and smack him, he made good his escape. Only when he reached the end of the faux-marble counter did he remember what he’d originally come out for, and turned around. Miranda? Do I have a four forty-five appointment, and is she the last one?

Excuse me just a second, Miranda said to the cat owner, who looked like he would have given Miranda the world on a silver platter. She swiveled around to face Allen. He and, yeah, you do. She passed over a new-looking chart, crisp and thin, with only a few pages inside. He’s in Exam Four already since it was freed up. Nice dog.

Yeah, and how’s the owner? Allen didn’t think he could handle another white-haired, thimble-sized senior dwarfed by his massive Newfoundland who insisted that the massive, snarling animal was really gentle, really, and that his growling meant he was happy to be in the doctor’s office.

Miranda gave him an annoyed look, which Allen ignored. She had a stricter code of office decorum in front of the clients than he possessed, preferring to let people know right off that while he could be all business, he was also an approachable guy. The owner’s patiently waiting, she said, drumming her short nails on the desk. A slightly wicked gleam entered her eyes. Better move it, Doc. You’re on the clock. Tick-tock.

Allen rolled his eyes at her limping rhymes and nodded. With a casual wave to the cat owner, who was now looking completely puzzled, he straightened his tie yet again and headed for Exam Four. How his ties kept getting loose when he wore the things was always a mystery to him. Today’s neck-choker featured a dancing chicken. Maybe it had boogied too hard. Then again, he had the same problems with the playing card ties and the cartoon ties…

The protocol was to go in through the back door, but Allen figured it wouldn’t hurt to do things the other way around for once. He flipped open the chart Miranda had given him and read through the standard opening notes written in sprawling cursive blue ink.

Dalmatian. Young, just over a year old. Slightly overweight. Owner’s name, Chance Masterson.

Allen snorted. Chance. The guy sounded about as young as his dog. God, the names people gave their kids these days…

Eyebrow slightly raised in anticipation of anything the new client could bring, Allen headed into the room. Hi, I’m Dr. Michaels. And what are we seeing -- he checked the name -- Spot for today?

He looked up and nearly dropped the chart. The young man eagerly hopping to his feet was… Well, good God probably best described most people’s reactions to him. Allen knew he felt his own heart stutter inside his chest.

Tall and slim, long-legged but graceful, the guy had the almost androgynous beauty of a male model’s face with wide blue eyes and a mop of tousled honey-brown hair that flowed over his shoulder down to his chest. Soft-looking, clean hair. Allen’s fingers itched to touch, to see if the locks were as smooth and pettable as they appeared, but he managed to hold himself back.

Easy, Allen. This guy has to be God knows how many years younger than you. Definitely not in your age bracket, even if he is good-looking. And besides, no perving over the clientele. It’s against ethics. I think.

Allen regained his composure with an effort, pulling an entirely neutral smile onto his face and reaching out with one hand to shake the other man’s. Chance gave him a grin in return that made him look even younger than before, and let go of his dog’s leash to shake back.

Spot took advantage of Allen and Chance’s distraction and tried to make a break for freedom.

Allen managed to shut the front door just in time. Easy there, boy, he said as he helped Chance ease Spot back to the center of the room. You’re a live one, aren’t you, Spot? Allen returned the leash to Chance, who took it, gaze down, clearly embarrassed, and apologized.

He’s just a little scared. I don’t think his first owner ever took him to a vet. That’s why when I saved up enough money, I brought him right in. I think he probably needs all his shots and everything.

Allen scanned the notes again, noting how Miranda had recorded that bit of information as well. She was good on the intake and better on the uptake. Allen scowled a little as he read the attached Post-it note: If you don’t take him, I will.

Chance faltered. Is something wrong?

What? Oh. No, there’s no problem. Allen crumpled up Miranda’s note, tossed it in a trashcan beneath the sink, and patted the surface of the mottled black-and-gray exam table. What do you say we get this big guy up here so I can take a look?

He’d meant to give Chance a hand, but Chance lifted the big Dalmatian as if he weighed nothing more than a sack of feathers. You’re strong, Allen remarked as he helped settle Spot into place. God, but he had a weakness for strong men.

Down, boy. And you, too, Spot.

Allen patted the Dalmatian’s rump. The dog seemed to have accepted the inevitable and was being a good boy regardless of the fact that he was trembling a little. Looks like he’s a young dog, doesn’t he? Says in the chart he’s only about a year old. Is that correct?

As far as I know. I first saw him when he was a half-grown puppy.

He’s not a biter, is he?

Chance widened those devastating baby blues and shook his head. Oh, no. Not at all. That’s why I wanted him. He was always so nice when I took my morning run past his owner’s place. When I saw the ‘free to good home’ sign, I zoomed in as fast as I could. They had him staked out on a long tether on a picket. Chance’s expression clouded. I don’t know too much about Dalmatians, not really, but I figured that couldn’t be good for any dog. It’s not a kind thing to leave a dog by himself all day long and not even leave him water. They didn’t, you know.

No one should treat a dog like that, Allen replied as his hands ran over Spot’s head and trunk. Especially a Dalmatian. They’re friendly dogs. Absolutely love human interaction. The primary examination looked promising, with nothing out of the ordinary that he could find. If Spot had been an outside dog, Allen would have expected to find some dirt or fleas, but the Dalmatian’s coat was squeaky-clean and the skin underneath was nice and pink. You’ve been taking great care of him, looks like.

Chance nodded eagerly. I gave him a bath the way that Dalmatian Club website said to, he announced as if he were proud of getting the basics right. From the head back, and then between his toes, since that’s where fleas can hide. With special shampoo I bought at the big pet store on Maple. That was the way I should have done it, wasn’t it? One of Chance’s fingers came up to tangle in a lock of his golden hair. I mean, I wanted to make sure he was okay and all. Right?

Allen glanced up at Chance with what he hoped was his friendliest expression, a look that would betray nothing of the weakness he felt whenever he looked Chance in the face. The man gazed back at him, looking worried. He’s just dandy, Allen reassured him. You did the right thing. You wouldn’t believe how many pet owners don’t bother to bathe their animals.

I didn’t give him any heartworm medication, though. I didn’t see any in the store.

Good thing, too. That can be dangerous. Allen ran his hands over Spot’s ribs. Did they weigh him? I didn’t see it written down. We can take him back out to the scales if we need to. Or do you recall his weight?

Seventy-five pounds. Chance beamed, clearly pleased with himself for remembering. Then he sobered again. The helper said that he was a little heavy.

By about five pounds. Not too bad. Allen looked at the dog with a critical eye. Spot did seem to lean toward the plump side. Did he come to you a little chunky?

Chance blushed, an attractive strawberry pink spreading over his cheeks and down his neck. No, he admitted in a small voice. But I thought he was kind of skinny from when the other people had him.

So you’ve been fattening him up? Allen chuckled to keep the sting out of his words since Chance seemed to be sensitive, and swung his stethoscope off from around his neck. He hooked the earpieces in and raised the chestpiece to the dog’s well-padded ribs. A steady thump thump rewarded him. Good heart on this guy despite the bit of extra weight. Allen couldn’t say the same about his own heart. The longer he stayed in the exam room with Chance, the more his nerves started to take over his good-natured, yet professional demeanor.

Damn, how could one man be so cute and yet, apparently, so completely unaware of it?

He took a step back as Chance twined his finger in his hair again, looking far more adorable than any grown man had a right to be. Like I said, Dalmatians are people dogs, Allen added quickly, trying to keep his mind focused on the job at hand. They love attention, and they like plenty of company. He probably looked forward to your visits every day.

Chance nodded eagerly. He did! He’d always perk up and run for me with his tongue hanging out. He stroked down the length of Spot’s back. I can’t believe I got so lucky. He’s with me now all the time.

Really? Allen moved the stethoscope’s chestpiece down, listening to all the dog’s bodily functions in order. Everything seemed to be whooshing away just fine. You don’t have to leave him alone when you go to work?

The blush threatened again. I don’t exactly work. My pack, um, family’s kind of against it. They say I need time to figure myself out. They don’t really like me the way I am.

Allen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Family issues -- lovely. Chance was definitely not the type to grow a crush on, regardless of whether or not the sight of him would set even a straight man’s eyes bulging. As it was, it set other parts of a gay man’s body to wanting to pop out -- much to Allen’s dismay.

Professional. Gotta keep it professional, he reminded himself.

Removing the earpieces, Allen hooked the stethoscope back around his neck. He petted the dog, who seemed to be more at his ease. Good boy, Allen said affectionately. Spot seemed to be a prime example of a happy, healthy dog, except for the weight. Lay off the extra food and the treats. They’re called treats for a reason. Start taking Spot with you on your runs.

Chance frowned slightly. I go pretty fast. It won’t hurt him?

What are you doing, training for a race? Allen asked. When Chance shook his head, Allen went on. Okay, no problem then. If you see Spot starting to tire out, slow down. But an ordinary run should be fine. Dogs love a chance to stretch their legs.

I could take him with me when I go walking downtown, Chance said, brightening. Most places won’t let animals inside, but I mostly just window shop and sightsee. Charleston’s an awesome city. So many things to look at and do. Did you know that --

Laughing, Allen cut Chance off. I’ve lived here my whole life. And it is a great place, agreed. But I think this big guy is all taken care of except for his shots. You’re sure he hasn’t had any before? And what about neutering?

Chance blanched a paler shade of white. Neu-neutering?

Ah. Not the first virile young man who’d had that reaction. Allen rested his hand on the Dalmatian’s back and resisted the urge to launch into a pat lecture. It’d be better for Spot unless you plan to breed him, he said frankly. Male Dalmatians tend to go a little crazy if they smell a female in heat.

Oh. Chance’s color began to come back. It’s just I hadn’t thought about… He swallowed. Will it hurt Spot?

Again, not a new question. Hardly at all, Allen reassured Chance. With the new procedures, he’d only have to stay overnight -- and that’d just be for observation. He won’t notice anything’s missing.

Chance shook his head, biting his lip. A picture flashed through Allen’s mind of leaning over and nibbling the tempting piece of flesh for him. His cock gave a twitch, as if to cast a yea vote in on the idea. Bad boy, he scolded that errant body part. Behave!

If you’re sure…

I am, Allen replied, firm as he could be. When you check out at the front desk, talk to the woman there. Miranda can help you set up an appointment to get the procedure done. We usually do them on Fridays, so you could get in as early as next week.

Chance swallowed, but nodded. Okay. He petted Spot. If you’re sure it won’t hurt.

Allen ached with the need to reach over and stroke Chance as if Chance were the dog. One smooth, slow glide over his shoulder and down his arm. Allen cleared his throat to cover his reaction and his body’s eager encouragement to go for the touch. If he followed through, it would only lead to tears. He’d been down this road before. The young and gorgeous were not for him. For innocents like Chance, men with time on their side just didn’t get an older guy, even if the latter was wise enough to know what he was -- or wasn’t -- doing.

Oh, yeah, Allen knew from personal experience what a mistake it would be. Joey… Ah, hell, don’t think about Joey. Damn brat. Great sex, shitty attitude. God, I’m glad he’s gone. That’ll teach me to have one-night stands with men who have the potential for turning into psychos. But don’t start dredging those memories up. Just… don’t.

With a reaffirmation of his position on dating firmly in place in his mind, Allen nodded. Trust me.

Oh, I do. Chance’s blue eyes came up, full of nothing but admiration. I’ve been watching the way you handle him. He likes you. You must be a good man.

I try.

Chance wet his lips with the tip of a small pink tongue. Do you ever run? he asked, sounding completely innocuous. Maybe you could go with me sometime to make sure I’m not working Spot too hard.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, would be a bad, bad idea. I don’t run, Allen lied.

Really? Chance’s forehead wrinkled. You look like a runner. You’ve got the build.

He’s been checking out your build! a part of Allen’s brain celebrated. He firmly squashed it down. Professional. Ethics. Professional. Ethics. Remember these words. Nah. I like to use the treadmill, but that’s it. With a final pat and scratch to the Dalmatian, Allen turned to the chart and wrote down a series of notes for the techs. Full course of shots, including rabies, and make an appointment for him to be neutered.

Chance gazed at Allen. Will you do it? he asked earnestly. You have a gentle touch.

He’s been noticing your touch! that same contrary voice exulted. Allen mentally kicked himself in the ass just as his cock twitched again. Sorry, he said, going for sincere but ending up uncomfortably close to relieved. I only work three days a week, and I’m off on next Friday. But Dr. Lancaster is working then, and she’s great. Really gentle. I’m sure Spot will love her.

Chance looked doubtful -- or was he a little disappointed? Allen couldn’t tell. The other man nodded with what seemed to be reluctance. Okay. But when we come back in for follow-ups, I want you to be Spot’s doctor. Can you?

You can always ask for me, Allen said, mentally making a note to have a line written in Spot’s file that he could not, absolutely not, see this dog again. He liked the Dalmatian just fine, but the urge to fling himself at Spot’s owner was more than a little tempting, a complication he just didn’t need. Now, I really do have to go. Take it easy, okay?

Chance’s smile flashed out, brilliant and white. Thank you, Doctor…

Allen, Allen replied automatically. I mean, Dr. Michaels. His inner tragedy mask mourned. He didn’t even remember your name. All right, this is getting out of hand.

Allen made a few more notes in the chart. He could get a fellow vet to administer the series of vaccinations, and the more left to other folks the better. Okay. Just wait here, and someone’s going to be along in a few minutes to give Spot his shots. He put out his hand, for purely professional reasons, of course. All the same, he couldn’t help registering the radiant warmth and odd roughness of Chance’s palm. How’d such a young guy get callused hands like his? Weird. You have a good day, now.

Tucking Spot’s file under his arm, Allen left, shutting the back door firmly and finally behind him. The wild confusion in the office had died down to a few techs moving back and forth; he was glad, because he had to collapse against the wall and fan himself.

Good Lord. If he were closer to my age and gay besides… whoo! Liam can never find out about this. He’d never let me hear the end of it.

Oh, yeah. Liam. Allen winced. T minus 1 day and counting. Then I’m stuck spending my Saturday night at a gay dance club. Oh, joy. Given the decision, I’d rather be back in there with temptation incarnate.

Allen pushed himself off the wall and scanned the room for a colleague veterinarian who didn’t have their hands full, or at least one who’d be willing to fit this in before calling it a day. He himself had better things to do with his time than moon over blond and blue. Checking with Miranda about his tickets, for one.

He’d be better off forgetting about the gorgeous, grope-worthy man he’d just met, because when it came to a guy that age who looked the way Chance did, Allen knew from past experience that at his age, closer to forty than thirty, he didn’t belong with the young and the hung -- sad and shameful as that part of his recent visit to the past had been. He could thank Joey the lunatic for that particular life lesson.

Yep. Allen’s head was on straight these days when it came to bent young men, so he knew and was one-hundred-percent certain he had no chance at Chance.

Chapter Two

Susan, hey, how’s it going? Allen had just stepped out of his