Prologue - Fucking Fucked?

H arlow Blackmore stared out at the road blankly, driving on auto mode as his brain tried to logic its way through dating.

How...does one date? Harlow understood in theory...but...what counted as a date? Would anything involving food count?

Like, he and Foxx ate together regularly... But would doing that now count as a date? Or did you have to say it was a date for it to be classified as one? Did it have to be said out loud? Maybe it would only count if they actually went out. Then again...they did eat out a lot.

Harlow frowned. He supposed it had to be more than eating, since they lived with each other and ate together literally ninety-nine percent of the time.

Oh...how long would they keep living together? The money from the insurance for his house would come in soon...

I don't want to leave .

Harlow jerked in shock, swerving on the road as the thought slammed into him.

Quickly correcting the wheel, ignoring the honk from the car in the other lane, Harlow took a deep breath. "Wow...that's...a bit of a mind fuck..."

And now he was talking to himself—fucking perfect.

How had a few months changed so much? Harlow had gone from wondering how long he'd have to suffer living with the chatterbox, to...not wanting to leave.

Well, Foxx was his now, so...them continuing to live together after he got the insurance money made sense... But the question now was...should he just build a new house for them...both?

Harlow grimaced. Moving would mean less security. It was hard to beat a fucking area with multiple gates, 24/7 guards, and visitor passes that were double, and even triple checked, identity and background wise.

Were the cameras he'd installed on top of all that overkill? No! Just because they were checking, it didn't mean they hadn't, or wouldn't, accidentally let in people they shouldn't! How would they know if that paranormal or human hadn't just decided that day, for the first time, to kill or commit random various other criminal shit? Or that the bastards weren't just really good at hiding their crazy?!

Harlow...was slightly surprised that the first time he came to visit they let him in without a pass...and just the gate code. Or that he hadn't had any trouble moving in, considering his past as an old school hunter. But...no trouble or questions.

Then again, it wasn't like his past was on record or anything... And he HAD hid his crazy pretty well. Which really did cement that they could be letting in legit serial killers and wouldn't even know it! Like, they had let his psycho ass move in, which should make anyone side-eye their vetting process!

Because again, he hadn't been asked a single question. One day, just a little over two weeks after moving in, Foxx had plopped a contract down for him to sign... A contract that he...now that he thought about it...probably should have read closer. Or rather...read it at all. To be fair...it had only been a few days after Harlow had gotten stabbed, and he'd been on painkillers at the time. Harlow was...sure it was fine...

Maybe there was real estate inside the Inner Village. Would they sell to a human?

He was pretty sure that while most of the Inner Village was city, there was more than just that. Technically, the Inner Village wasn't a city itself. The landowner had slowly bought up land over the years, cutting out sections from various cities, towns, and the surrounding areas to form it. The part they lived in was a section of Houndside Hazard. But there were more rural areas with land. He would just have to check the listings, he supposed, and then decide.

Harlow probably should ask Foxx first. He was not completely sure he should be assuming that Foxx would agree to move in with him. But whatever, he'd think about it again once he actually had the money in hand.

Moving was one thing... Dating...was... Maybe he should ask...Tony?

Harlow shuddered. No...definitely not...

Wes… He could ask Wes! Might as well! Fucker was going to be analyzing him from now on, so like, well, Harlow deserved to at least benefit from the mind fuck somehow!

Smiling at finding a solution, he turned into the lot in front of Wes' practice. Harlow's smile dropped at how fucking packed it was.

Driving around, finding nothing closer, he parked near the damn trees. Why do I always have to fucking park near the motherfucking forest? he thought with a growl.

Turning the car off, keys in hand, he got out. But as he was closing the door, his hackles started to rise. He took a few steps, the feeling of being watched growing, so he stopped and glanced around, listening.

Harlow flinched when his phone started to ring. Cursing, he pocketed his car keys and dug into his jacket, retrieving his phone. He flipped it open without checking who it was.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Harlow Blackmore?"

"Yes?"

"Hi, it's Benny from Racheal's BMW."

"Has my motorcycle arrived? I thought I still had at least another month before I could even expect it."

"No... It is why I'm calling. Your bike shouldn't have been arriving for at least another six weeks...but a motorcycle arrived in your name today. One that was not the right color or the right specs. We assumed it was a system glitch, and that someone else's was switched with yours. But on looking further, we couldn't find your original order, even though we received a bike in your name."

Fucking hell. "What now?"

"We have reordered. And we put a rush notice on it, but..."

"But?" he ground out.

"It more than likely will take at least another two, possibly three, months. Orders are even more backed up than when you first purchased. We understand this is an inconvenience, and as a gesture of goodwill we will be offering two free oil changes, tire rotations, and an upgrade on your warranty."

"Just call me when it's in." He rolled his eyes and flipped his phone closed.

Harlow stiffened with a grunt as something sharp slammed into the side of his neck. While numbness started to spread through his limbs, almost instantly his vision began to cloud. Phone slipping from his hand, Harlow clawed at his neck. Yanking out what felt like a dart, the thing flew from his hand as he lost the rest of the feeling in his fingers.

His vision was flicking in and out now, and at the sound of footsteps, he spun. Harlow only managed to stumble a single step back, before crying out, "FUCK," as he dropped, losing all control of his body. He heard the thud as he hit the ground, but Harlow didn't feel a damn thing. And when he tried to speak, his lips wouldn't move.

Oh, I'm so fucked , Harlow thought as two hooded figures appeared. His vision was more gone than there as they dragged him away. Even drugged out he could tell they were moving faster than any human could, which really just cemented how fucking fucked he was.

When a familiar shit box silver Pontiac came into sight...he couldn't help but think that maybe his paranoia should have paid more attention to his own safety instead of Foxx's...

Ahh...fuck...Foxx… I'm...going to miss...our date ...he thought hazily, before everything went black.