Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

DRAKE

F BSI! Stop!” Drake Carlson shouted at the skinny man who raced for the nearest alley.

The man knocked a pile of garbage into Drake’s path and kept running.

Drake pivoted and leaped, clearing the obstacle and staying on his quarry. He drew his gun and hoped he didn’t have to shoot. Since he wasn’t sure what kind of creature the man really was, Drake couldn’t be certain a bullet would make a difference, and he didn’t want to cause a scene in public if the perp decided to use magic or shift into an animal.

Skinny Guy put on a burst of speed, and Drake pushed himself to keep up. He hated foot chases. Unlike on television, they were dangerous and usually meant dodging rats and stinking dumpsters.

He’s going to take a right—into a dead end. Drake’s psychic abilities came in handy. He’d had a vision about this chase, and now he intentionally herded the guy toward where the back street was blocked.

Sure enough, the other end of the new street had been closed off. Skinny Guy looked around wildly, then froze. His shape began to waver. Drake knew if the man shifted, he could lose him.

They were alone in the alley, with no one in sight in any direction. Drake stopped and aimed, firing a shot. It hit the man in the thigh and sent him crashing to the pavement. Drake’s bullet incised with runes stopped him from changing shape. Drake was on him fast, cuffing him with silver handcuffs etched with magical symbols.

“Get off me!” The man struggled against Drake’s height and weight advantage.

“FBSI,” Drake told him. That extra letter stood for supernatural, the branch of the department that investigated crimes involving magic, non-human creatures, and anything paranormal. “You’re under arrest.”

“For what? I can walk down an alley if I want. It’s a free country.”

Drake patted him down and pulled a bag of powder from the man’s pocket. “Walking? Yes. Dealing—no.”

“It’s flour. I picked it up for my dear old granny.”

“Uh-huh. What flavor of ‘monster meth’ are you running? Shifter smack or vamp Valium?”

“What the fuck are you talking about monsters for?”

Drake’s knee pressed a little harder into the small of the man’s back. “Like you weren’t trying to shift.”

Skinny Guy quit fighting. The runes on the silver cuffs blocked any magic, and the silver kept him from changing shape. Blood trickled from his temple. “Look, man, I’m a nobody. I’m not worth the paperwork.”

“True.” Drake pretended to think about it and drew his gun. “It’s less complicated if you’re shot resisting arrest.”

“Hey, hey, hey! Don’t be hasty. Shooting me won’t change anything.”

“Maybe not. But it sends a message to your bosses that we’re watching.”

“They don’t care. You can’t touch them.”

“Guess we’ll find that out. Tell me what and who you know, and maybe we can work a deal.”

“Okay, okay. Fuck, don’t shoot me again. This job doesn’t pay enough for that.”

Drake called for backup. Before long, an FBSI van with two agents parked to block the entrance to the alley. Drake hauled the prisoner to his feet and perp-walked him to the vehicle, keeping a firm grip as the man staggered.

“Charge him for dealing and possession of paranormal pharmaceuticals. Hold him in a shifter cell and get one of our docs to look at him. I’ll be in to question him once he’s processed,” Drake told them after flashing his badge. They took Skinny Guy away with little more than an acknowledgment.

He watched them drive away, dusted himself off, and swore when he noticed that tackling the suspect had gone hard on his favorite pair of jeans.

“Shit. That’s the third pair this month.”

Drake Carlson usually loved his job as a Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Supernatural Investigation. The FBSI handled the same type of crimes as their mundane counterpart, but their focus involved anything to do with paranormal creatures, magic, witches, psychics, spirits, and the supernatural.

Trafficking illegal drugs specially formulated for the heightened metabolisms of shifters and vampires definitely fell under the agency’s purview.

Drake had recently been assigned to a case in Moundsville investigating the local syndicate of mobsters dealing in paranormal drugs—all types, but especially zombie drugs that could be used to coerce the victim. His new partner, Clark Mullins, had driven to Charleston, the capital of West Virginia, to research the financial connections of the shifter drug cartel that had caused a dozen overdose deaths and plenty of turmoil as factions fought for control.

“He was right about the paperwork,” Drake muttered as he headed to his car. They’d gotten tips that Moundsville had turned into the hot spot for the drug arm of the supernatural syndicate, but he needed details to open a full investigation. That meant poking around to see what he could find and hoping he’d get a lucky break.

He headed back to his hotel room and computer. Drake completed the required report and filed it, then sat back and finished his Coke. The FBSI wouldn’t be through processing Skinny Guy until tomorrow, so interrogating him would have to wait.

Drake had recently transferred from the Beckley office after he had gotten on the wrong side of his supervisor by pursuing a case that angered some corrupt bigwigs. He had been afraid that he was going to need to leave the FBSI until a job opened up in Wheeling. Leaving the toxic office in Beckley felt like a rescue. Despite being assigned there for two years, Drake hadn’t put down roots or made any real friends outside of work. Romantic options had been slim.

He hoped Wheeling would be better. Drake already liked his new boss and coworkers more than the Beckley crew. Moving and getting resettled had taken all of his attention and free time, but now that those tasks were over, Drake intended to put more effort into building a life outside the office—as much as an FBSI agent could.

The job demanded time and attention—and putting himself in danger. Drake loved his job, hated the paperwork, and enjoyed the research. Sometimes, between cases, hours were regular. In the middle of an investigation, days and nights blended together, and schedules were unpredictable.

When he was younger, Drake had rolled with the chaos, loving the excitement. Now, heading into his mid-thirties, he hoped he could find someone special and carve out something for himself beyond the badge.

That, however, was a project for another day.

Drake’s leg jiggled beneath the desk, and he caught himself drumming his fingers.

Adrenaline coursed through his blood, making him twitchy from the fight. That meant settling in for a night of cable movies and pizza wasn’t going to cut it.

Drake scrolled on his phone to see what kind of entertainment was nearby. The word arcade caught his eye, and he clicked on the image of a neon sign.

Games Galore And More was a high-tech destination that offered the newest arcade-style video games, Skee-Ball, pinball, bowling, escape rooms, a black light indoor mini-golf range, and billiards, as well as a full bar with an appealing snack menu.

That looked exactly like what Drake needed to blow off steam and work out the restlessness from the adrenaline surge. Even better, it was something he could do by himself that still felt social. Maybe he could find someone to play billiards or golf with once he was there. If he was really lucky, he might get lucky. Drake wasn’t counting on that, but it was nice to think about. He drove his black Silverado, not planning to have more than one or two beers.

Games Galore was an arcade player’s wet dream, playing up the fun with bright colors, neon, and strings of white bulb lights. Drake felt the day’s tension and danger fade as he walked inside to the cacophony of music, bells, game noises, and the occasional grand prize siren.

This was a Wednesday night, so the place wasn’t packed like Drake had feared. He found a spot at the bar and ordered wings, fries, and a beer. Habit and training meant he checked his surroundings. No one looked out of place. One group of college-aged guys were having a good time with a deer-hunting video game. A few couples drifted from game to game, more interested in each other than in points or tickets.

At the end of the bar, Drake noticed a good-looking man eating a Reuben and watching strangers play their games. Since the man’s attention was elsewhere, Drake took the opportunity to enjoy the view.

He guessed the stranger was early thirties, close to his age, give or take a few years. Short reddish blond hair and a slender-but-fit build appealed to Drake, although he hadn’t really come to the arcade to cruise for a date. He wondered why the man was there by himself. Was he at loose ends, like Drake, wanting the company of a public meal? He didn’t seem interested in the sporting events playing on the big screens over the bar and hadn’t talked to anyone except the bartender.

Reluctantly, Drake tore his attention away from the stranger. He eyed the games and tried to decide what to do next.

Video racing was more fun with a partner. Drake was tolerably good at pinball—enough not to have the game end right away—and some of the new machines looked cool. He knew the basketball games were rigged by having a narrow hoop to make shots harder to sink, but he still usually had good luck.

The elaborate large-scale zombie hunt video games reminded Drake too much of his day job. Billiards, mini-golf, bowling, and the escape room weren’t one-person games. Then he saw the pinball machines and Skee-Ball and grinned.

He paid for his meal and when he looked up, searching for the server, he caught the cute stranger giving him the once-over. Amused and curious, Drake smiled but didn’t make any move to attract the man or put him off.

Let’s see what happens. Maybe I’ll at least find someone to play a few games with.

The double entendre wasn’t lost on him, although it had been a while since he had hooked up with someone.

First, he warmed up shooting hoops, missing more than he sank. He didn’t care—he wasn’t in it for the tickets, although he scooped them up when he finished.

Drake checked out the pinball machines next. He rarely hit high scores, but he loved how hands-on the game was and the fun of the lights and bells. It reminded him of the small, crowded, smoky arcade in his hometown, where he had spent a lot of his teenage years.

“You’re pretty good.”

Drake looked up when his game ended to see the blond guy from the bar leaning against the next machine.

“Thanks. I’m no wizard, but I get some extra rounds.”

“Want to try some of the two-player games? That is if you’re not here with someone…”

Drake smiled. “No, I’m not with anyone. And I’d love to try some of those games.” He paused. “I’m Drake.”

“Garrett,” the other man said with a grin that made Drake’s heart skip a beat. “Want to race?”

Drake braced for the younger man to be a cutthroat competitor and was pleasantly surprised when he was competent but not overly invested. That was a nice change from the dick-measuring overcompetitiveness that often went with playing against someone he didn’t already know.

The arcade had several paired simulators where gamers could race against each other. Drake and Garrett started with the mountain bikes, zooming down a realistic video course that looked like somewhere out West. Drake won, but not by much, and happily agreed to a rematch.

From there, they moved on to the jet skis, and this time, Garrett eked out a win.

“Best two out of three?” Drake was happy to find their skills so evenly matched.

“You know it! Bring it on!” Garrett grinned.

The final course involved snowmobiles, mountain roads, and an unfortunate avalanche. Drake ceded gracefully to Garrett’s win.

“That was fun.” Garrett scooped up his tickets and slid them into his pocket. “Want to play something else?”

Garrett didn’t question when Drake picked a deer-hunting two-player virtual reality game over the zombies. They tried a few more video games before Garrett nodded toward the mini-golf.

“I suck at mini-golf, but it’s the thought that counts, right?” Garrett looked like he was having the time of his life. “Let’s give it a try.”

Drake couldn’t claim to be a golf master, but at least he didn’t embarrass himself by going over the number of strokes allotted for each hole. The black light made their clothing glow, which gave them both a good laugh.

“Someone really went all-out planning this.” Garrett nodded toward the elaborate course. Not only were each of the holes laid out differently, but they all had some crazy additions to make the shots more challenging. Ape monsters, giant lizards, UFOs, and a tilted golf cart were just some of the obstacles hiding the holes. Everything glowed in the black light, giving the room a trippy feel.

“I haven’t played in a long time—and it shows,” Drake said ruefully as they tallied their scores.

“Neither have I. But it doesn’t matter—that was fun. I wonder how you get the job of making these things up?” Garrett asked as they left the course and turned in their clubs.

“I don’t know, but it’s got to beat most nine-to-fives,” Drake agreed. “How are you at Skee-Ball?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Garrett’s broad grin gave him dimples and made his hazel eyes sparkle. Drake couldn’t help noticing. He hadn’t come looking to get laid, but he wouldn’t turn it down if Garrett offered.

Through a dozen rounds of Skee-Ball, they teased each other goodnaturedly, double-dared one another to hit specific scores, and talked trash like teenagers. Drake ended up with the high score, although he offered to split the tickets with Garrett.

“No way, man. They’re yours fair and square. I don’t want to come between you and one of those awesome prizes.” Garrett winked.

Drake had taken a peek at the rewards room on the way in. The high-end electronic prizes were definitely overpriced if anyone did the math on how many games it would take to accumulate enough tickets. On the lower end, cheesy prizes like bobbleheads, foam darts, stuffed animals, and glowsticks still appealed to his memories of childhood.

“Want to try an escape room?” Garrett asked when they finished Skee-Ball. “They have five different themes, and they all look fun.”

“Have you ever done one before?” Drake asked, dubious.

“Once or twice. It’s not really locked—you can get out if you feel trapped or need to pee,” Garrett assured him. “You have to find the clues to solve the mystery, and you have an hour to do it.”

“Sounds fun. What kind of themes?” Drake knew nothing about the rooms, so he was glad to let Garrett take the lead.

“There’s a space one and a haunted house, as well as an ancient temple, an old mine, and something that looks like Alcatraz,” Garrett read from his phone.

“Do you have a preference?”

“Haunted house? If that’s okay with you.” Garrett’s enthusiasm made Drake smile.

“Fine with me. I like that kind of thing.” Understatement of the year. Just remember, everything is fake. Don’t salt and burn anything, and don’t stake the actors.

The attendant opened the door to the game set and went over the rules. “There are multiple rooms that are all part of the adventure. I’m not going to tell you how many because finding them is half the fun. You can move objects that reposition easily, but please don’t damage the pieces or break anything. Nothing requires putting holes in the walls, tearing away the wallpaper, or removing anything that is fastened in place.”

Clearly, some players had gotten over-invested , Drake thought.

“Relax, be creative, and have fun,” the man went on. Drake could guess his thoughts as he glanced at him and Garrett. “And remember—you’re on camera!”

Garrett blushed, which told Drake that his new friend had considered similar alternatives to what had occurred to him. The longer they were together, the more Drake thought the odds of the evening having a happy ending increased.

Garrett hadn’t said anything overt, but there had been plenty of innocent shoulder bumps, elbow checks, and the brush of a hand against his—all plausibly deniable but not accidental.

Drake knew it was an occupational hazard to wonder if hitting it off so quickly was really a honey trap set up by the syndicate to discredit or even kill him. His psychic ability wasn’t picking up danger signals or magic, which helped to decrease the odds of mere human treachery.

Earlier, he had “accidentally” spilled his soda on their hands. That gave him the excuse to offer napkins and a pocket-sized bottle of hand sanitizer, which Garrett had gratefully accepted. The cleanser was laced with holy water, salt, and colloidal silver. Garrett didn’t combust or break out into a nasty rash, ruling out most supernatural creatures.

For now, Drake was willing to accept a turn of good luck at face value.

The attendant left the room which was designed to look like a Victorian parlor, and they heard the door click shut behind him. Ominous music began to play, and after a few minutes, Drake picked up other sounds like chattering teeth, moans, and wails.

“They go all-out, don’t they?” He followed Garrett’s lead to handle the objects on shelves and tables, gently shifting them to disclose secrets.

“This place has a good reputation.” Garrett turned slowly to survey the room.

Drake resisted the temptation to dive in with his agent training and decided to let Garrett take the lead. “I’ve never done one of these. Where do we start?”

Garrett looked pleased to share his love of the adventures. “This one was rated spooky but not extreme. It’s not like one of those live haunted houses at the beach where actors follow you around and chase you. Some places do have characters, but this one doesn’t.”

“Have you done it before?”

Garrett shook his head. “Not this particular scenario. I did the UFO one here a couple of weeks ago with some friends from work. So I’m basing my expectations on that.”

“So we get to live out our inner Scooby-Doo?”

“Pretty much. Trap doors may open, but you won’t fall through anything. Handle anything that’s loose and look for clues or codes. Gently tug on things to see if they move. If it opens, look inside. There will be doors to other rooms, so look for hidden openings as well as regular doors,” Garrett said. “It’s more fun if we work together, so don’t try to do it all on your own.”

Drake thought that working together on a project might feel awkward, or there could be a push-pull vying to be in charge. To his relief, Garrett proved to be competent and inquisitive without any one-upmanship.

They divided the room into search sections, moving clockwise so they eventually went over each other’s areas without getting in the way. Garrett found the first of several clues and seemed genuinely pleased when Drake found a secret door that opened to lead them into a long-abandoned dining room.

A sudden shriek raised the hackles on Drake’s neck. Garrett chuckled. “Gotta watch out for the sound effects. They’ll get you every time.”

Drake relaxed, chagrined, and reminded himself that this wasn’t the usual life-or-death stakes. As he searched behind paintings, checked under couch cushions, and peered inside the grandfather clock, Drake admired the clever set dressing and the ingenuity of the scriptwriter.

Real ghost hunts rarely went smoothly, and while the escape room was made to look like a creepy abandoned house, it lacked the smell of mildew, rodents, and disuse that came with the real thing.

“You’re pretty good at this.” Garrett bumped elbows with Drake. “I think you’ve got a knack for it.”

If you only knew.

They finished scouring the parlor and moved through the secret door into the dining room, where they started the search again.

Drake and Garrett had barely separated when a gray apparition blinked into view just behind where Garrett stood.

Without thinking, Drake pushed Garrett behind him and stepped forward, with his hand going to the folding knife in his pocket.

“Remember—it’s all pretend,” Garrett warned.

The ghost blinked out. Drake scanned the crown molding around the ceiling for the location of a projector. His reactions didn’t know this was a game, and he felt his heart rate spike.

“Um, thanks for protecting me.” Garrett looked at Drake with bemusement and curiosity. “You’ve got really good reflexes.”

“Can’t go losing a good gaming partner, can I?” Drake laughed it off. The look in Garrett’s eyes told him the man was trying to figure him out as much or more than he was the game.

Over the next three rooms, Drake and Garrett fell into a comfortable rhythm searching for clues and comparing notes. Drake managed to tune out the sound effects and tone down his reaction the next time a projected ghost appeared right in front of him.

Thanks to Garrett’s experience with other escape challenges and Drake’s on-the-job observation and deduction skills, they beat the room in less than an hour. The host awarded prize tickets to both of them and reminded them to cash out soon since it was nearly closing time.

“That was a blast!” Garrett looked happy and flushed with success as they walked over to the rewards center to get their prizes. “I bet we could beat the other rooms if we tried.”

Drake felt suddenly warm at the idea that there could be a next time.

“That sounds like fun.” He met Garrett’s gaze and saw what he hoped was similar interest. “After all, we haven’t bowled or played billiards yet—and we missed a couple of the video games.”

They stopped to exchange tickets on the way out. Drake opted for a Magic 8 Ball and a dart game. Garrett went for candy and several flying disks, still joking and laughing as they made their picks.

The lights flashed, warning everyone that the arcade was about to close. Drake and Garrett walked out together to the dark and nearly empty parking lot.

“Where are you parked? I can drive you over,” Drake offered.

“I’d appreciate that. I’m at the other end.” Even with the tall security lights, the lot was a little creepy.

Drake gestured toward his truck. “I’m happy to give you a ride.”

Garrett’s smile turned coy. “I’d appreciate that.”

Drake knew he hadn’t missed the innuendo in Garrett’s tone. He was certain when they reached his truck, and Garrett stepped closer and met his gaze.

“I had a really good time tonight.” He reached out and let his fingers trace down Drake’s arm. “Just because the arcade closed, we don’t have to go home.”

Drake had been half hard most of the night, reacting to Garrett. It had been a long time since Drake’s last hook-up, and he hoped Garrett might be more than a one-night stand.

“There’s plenty of room in the crew cab,” Drake said in a low, husky voice. He nodded toward his truck. “Tinted windows, too.”

He had no desire to get busted by mall security, but he had parked close enough to the movie theater that his truck wouldn’t seem odd while also sitting apart from the other cars.

Garrett’s sly grin held a world of promise, and his hand slid down to take Drake’s. “Let’s go.”

They piled into the back seat of the truck, fumbling and touching everywhere. It had been a while for Drake, and he felt as awkward as a teenager. Fortunately, Garrett didn’t seem to mind.

Garrett leaned in to kiss him, and his hands slid down the front of Drake’s shirt, stopping to stroke and tweak his nipples.

“No marks,” Drake managed.

“Fine by me—this time.”

“Can I touch you?” Drake almost didn’t recognize his own voice, rough and lower than usual.

“I was counting on it.”

Drake struggled with Garrett’s belt as Garrett returned the favor. He reached for the bottle of hand lotion in the divider between the front seats and slicked up his hand, freed Garrett’s hard cock from his briefs, then his own.

“This okay?” he growled.

“Definitely okay.” Garrett seemed fine with Drake taking the lead.

Their cocks were too thick for Drake to completely wrap his hand around them, but Garrett added his, and the friction was perfect.

“Oh, yeah. Just like that,” Garrett moaned as they got the rhythm right. Garrett mouthed at Drake’s throat but didn’t suck a hickey or bite. Still, the feel of his lips and tongue got Drake hard and too close too fast.

“Not going to last,” Drake breathed. “Been a while.”

“Same,” Garrett breathed. “We’ll have to do something about that.”

They thrust into the channel of their hands, hard and slick, leaking pre-come. “Come on,” Garrett coaxed in a sinful growl. “Show me what you can do.”

That pushed Drake over the edge. His whole body stiffened, and he arched as his cock spurted his release over their joined hands. Garrett followed seconds later, gasping and beautiful and completely open.

Drake reached up front and grabbed fast food napkins from the glove compartment to clean them up, then handed Garrett a bottle of sanitizer to clean the rest off their hands.

“That was?—”

“Yeah,” Garrett agreed as they tucked themselves back in, zipped and buckled. “It was.”

For a moment, they stared at each other like teenagers who had gotten away with something before bursting into laughter. Drake was surprised that the aftermath felt comfortable and not weird.

“How about I drive you over to where you’re parked, and you give me your phone number?” Drake said after he had checked to make sure they didn’t crawl out of the back of his truck right in front of mall security.

“I’d like that.”

They got into the front seats, and Drake followed Garrett’s instructions to a dark green Chevy Suburban. “This yours?”

Garrett nodded. “Yep. She’s got a lot of miles on her, but she hasn’t let me down yet.” He pulled out his phone. “What’s your number?”

Drake gave it to him, and Garrett sent a text. “There. Now you’ve got mine too.” He turned to look at Drake and laid a hand on his thigh.

“I really would like to see you again. After all, we never got to do bowling and billiards,” Garrett added with a lazy smile. “And maybe next time, you can come back to my place—if you want. For some other entertainment.”

“That sounds good. Real good.” Drake was surprised at how much he wanted to see Garrett again. Aside from a hot hand job, he enjoyed Garrett’s sense of humor, and something about the other man made him feel comfortable. Part of that was his psychic side cluing in to check for threats and not finding any, and the rest was pure sexual chemistry.

Garrett leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek. “For luck,” He gave a wink before he climbed out of the cab and swaggered a little on the walk over to his SUV.

Drake waited to make sure Garrett’s truck started before heading in the opposite direction, squelching the desire to follow him home to make sure he got in okay.

That was…unexpectedly awesome. Drake tried to remember the last time he’d been with someone and realized it was long enough ago he remembered the circumstances—a bar in Nashville—but couldn’t place the date.

It had been even longer since he’d had a real boyfriend. Despite the so-called glamor of being a federal agent, his job was more of a hindrance than an aphrodisiac. If he was on assignment, he usually didn’t mingle, although tonight was an exception.

Back in Wheeling, Drake still had to be cautious. West Virginia wasn’t New York when it came to accepting the LGBTQ community. His boss knew Drake was gay, but while he didn’t keep it a secret, he also didn’t see a need to bring it up in most situations. Drake was well aware there would be plenty of people—inside the bureau and outside—who didn’t approve.

Hell, he’d even been taunted by a homophobic ghost.

Still, Drake had resolved not to hide. If Wheeling couldn’t handle it, then it would be a pitstop and not a destination.

Now that he had met Garrett, he hoped this posting would work out. Moundsville wasn’t far from Wheeling, so if this turned into something between them, commuting wouldn’t be a problem. Drake wondered what Garrett did for a living and whether their schedules could work out.

Getting the cart in front of the horse a little, he chided himself.

A couple of years ago, Drake had fallen for an EMT. It was a running joke that in law enforcement, the hours and the nature of the job tended to mean finding a partner who worked similar schedules, which generally meant a first responder.

The chemistry had been great, and the sex was hot, but trying to see each other around Dan’s chaotic on-call hours and Drake’s assignments had finally proven too much.

A partner with a regular day job often grew to resent an agent’s frequent travel, long hours, and dangerous work. Matching up with another agent was a recipe for disaster. There was a reason for the stereotype of agents being divorced and lonely in their off-hours.

Early in his career, settling down hadn’t been high on Drake’s priorities. He loved the constant change, the thrill of the hunt, the battle of wits, and the high of cheating danger.

After seeing his friends Bart and RJ, who worked with the Tennessee Bureau of Supernatural Investigation, hit it off, Drake had started to wonder whether finding a partner of his own might be in the cards.

Curb your enthusiasm, he warned himself. One great not-date and a make-out session don’t mean you’ve found the one.

But wouldn’t it be nice if it did?