Beast in Me (The Divination Falls Trilogy) Read online

  ‘And where will you go?’ Father Finn asked.

  ‘Back to my car,’ he sighed. His legs were shaky and he felt like his head wasn’t quite attached to his body, but he was moving and he’d make it. No problem.

  ‘And what happened the last time you tried that?’ Father Finn asked softly, making no move to reach Cameron. His voice carried very well; Cam wasn’t sure if that was from being a priest and needing to get your words to the congregation no matter how distracted, or if it was hyperacusis from being struck. His hearing was often off the charts for days and days after a full-on strike.

  Cameron put his foot on the stone wall and felt the brush-tug-thump of electricity nibbling at his aura. Damn.

  ‘I got struck,’ he said, trying to force himself to move despite the warning niggle of energy. Why the fuck was lightning doing this to him?

  ‘You clearly need to be here,’ Finn said. ‘Do you have a place to stay?’

  ‘I’m not staying.’ Cameron put his other foot on the wall and immediately jumped back when lightning licked at his ankles. The small bolt made a crisp noise like a green twig snapping. ‘Damn it!’ he roared, suddenly losing his tiny shred of control.

  ‘Come stay at the rectory,’ Finn said, laying a hand on his shoulder. Cameron knew he had to be giving off ticks and pops of juice from even that minor strike but the man never moved his hand. ‘I have room there and you’re welcome.’

  Cameron found himself suddenly exhausted, defeated and open to any nicety anyone wanted to give him. Despite the tiny flares of hot-headedness from the lion, they’d all been kind, sympathetic, and welcoming. He knew when he was defeated.

  With a final glance at the sky, Cameron said. ‘OK. Thank you, Father.’

  Chapter Two

  ‘So you were led here?’ the priest asked as they walked.

  They’d all said their goodbyes, and Luke had sent Cameron and the priest on their way with a sack of cookies and the offer for Cam to come back tomorrow should he just want to hang out.

  ‘I guess.’ He stared at his beat-up Converse high tops as they ate up the dirt and cobblestone road. They’d once been white. Then off-white. After today they looked more grey than anything. ‘More like zapped here,’ he snorted.

  ‘Does it hurt?’ The priest was asking a question most wanted to. Some were too shy to ask and some were afraid of the answer.

  ‘Yes. Usually. But to be honest, I got used to it. The first time I was ten, and lightning struck and knocked me off my bike. They told me that the only thing that had saved me was the rubber on the tyres and my sneakers.’

  Father Finn chuckled and shook his head. ‘My Lord, what did your parents say?’

  ‘I never told them,’ Cameron said, toeing the dirt as they walked.

  Finn stopped and stared. ‘Why on earth not?’

  He shrugged. ‘Already things were bad between them. Being struck would mean a doctor visit, a doctor visit would mean money, and money always set them off. So I never said.’

  ‘You were struck by lightning and you never said?’

  Cameron nodded but couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I never realised how bizarre that sounds until just now.’

  ‘But you were sparing them a fight and I assume you were OK. Or close to it,’ the priest said, turning left up a narrow dirt path. ‘The church is this way.’

  ‘I felt fine. My hearing was severely acute, my sense of smell too. I felt like I was buzzing like a neon sign for days, but that was it. Except it did melt my shoe bottoms and it blackened the pennies in my pocket. I still have them somewhere.’

  The priest sighed and Cameron looked around. The smell of honeysuckle and lilac was heavy in the air and the tired drone of bees was audible. The sun was setting. The storm was at bay but an unexpectedly cool summer wind still blew.

  ‘You said the first time,’ Father Finn said and cocked his head.

  ‘Yeah. I was struck again at 12 when I leant on a windowsill during a storm. Again, I said nothing. By then it was just me and my mom, but I knew if I told her –’

  ‘She’d insist on taking you to the doctor?’ The priest chuckled.

  ‘Exactly, and we didn’t have that kind of money.’

  ‘And then again when I was 14. Standing on the front porch during a storm. When it struck, it blew me off my feet. I had no shoes on that time and the friendship bracelet some girl in my freshman class had given me burst into flames.’ He felt oddly comfortable confessing all this to the good father. It almost felt like a normal conversation.

  ‘And what happened?’

  ‘That time I got pissed. So I sort of had a tantrum and, when I did, the lightning struck the tree of the man across the street all the kids feared and hated.’

  ‘And you realised you could control it?’

  Cameron stopped dead. ‘Oh no, Father. No one ever controls the elements. You work with them. They are your brothers, your sisters, but never your servants. If anything, the lightning controls me.’

  The priest nodded once and smiled. ‘Come on. We have food and some cold beer –’ At Cameron’s surprised look, he laughed. ‘What? Even those of us devoted to the Lord enjoy a good summer ale on a pleasant evening.’

  Cameron laughed. ‘A beer does sound way good right now.’

  ‘I bet.’ The priest led the way. ‘I imagine that if I got struck by lightning I’d want a nice cold beer. Maybe even two.’

  Somewhere a frog called out and a cricket answered. ‘That sounds like heaven,’ Cam said, and then laughed at his own word choice.

  Finn had given him two beers, some more cookies, a change of clothes, and led him to a room in the basement of the rectory. ‘Sorry, it’s the basement. It’s a bit Silence of the Lambs, I know.’

  Cameron laughed out loud and shook his head. The priest never failed to surprise him. His sound of shock made the good father laugh too.

  ‘What? You think we don’t watch movies either? Wow, you think we don’t drink nice cold beer or watch good creepy movies. You give priests a bad name.’

  Cameron put his head down and sighed. ‘I guess I never thought about it, is all,’ he said.

  The man clipped him gently on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’m just giving you a hard time. Now the bed is clean, there’s a Bible in the nightstand, obviously.’ He chuckled. ‘There’s a small TV and some toiletries. We keep these rooms for traveling priests or other clergy. If you hear anything, though, don’t worry – don’t think it’s good old Hannibal Lector. It’s just Trace, the custodian. He stays on premises and doesn’t know you’re here, so he might not make an effort to be quiet since he thinks he’s the only one down here.’

  Cameron nodded. ‘Got it. Thanks, Father. I’ll be sure to figure this out tomorrow. Get out of your hair.’

  The priest shook his head. ‘Son, I think you’re here for a while. I don’t think the good Lord or the lightning led you here for no reason.’

  ‘So you believe in both?’ he asked, shocked that a devout man could make room for elemental work in his brain.

  Finn tipped back his head and laughed. ‘I’m a priest who can turn into a jackal. I think there’s room in my repertoire for just about anything. Why do you think I serve as the only traditional clergy for Divination Falls? They know what I am and accept me. That’s all I need. To me, that proves God’s existence.’

  ‘I have a bit more problem with traditional God than most,’ Cam said.

  ‘You’d be surprised at how many people have a problem, Cameron. All I ask is that people keep an open mind. And in return, I keep mine open.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘I’ll leave you be and let’s hope your Brother Lightning does the same, eh?’

  ‘Chri – I mean, yes, I hope so.’ He smiled and bid the Father good night.

  ‘Remember, kitchen’s up the back stairs, water and all that’s in the fridge, and if you hear anything it’s – it’s Trace.’

  ‘Got it. Thanks, Father Finn.’

  ‘No worries. Sleep well.’
And then he was gone. The priest who was also a jackal.

  ‘This day just keeps getting weirder and weirder,’ Cameron mumbled. Then he heard a sound that almost sounded like a groan of pain.

  Christ. Now what? Cameron followed the noise toward another ornate mahogany door.

  His shoes made hardly any noise on the smooth basement floor. It was rock, if he wasn’t mistaken, not concrete. The entire basement seemed to be on top of or craved out of stone. Nothing spectacular, just grey stone, but the tingles and blips he got from time to time told him possibly there was a bit of quartz around. It was an excellent conductor, something he usually zeroed in on being an excellent conductor himself.

  The noise came again. Part cry, part sigh – soft and not really alarming, but still … Cameron walked.

  The door was almost shut but he pushed it gently with tented fingers, muttering a weak, ‘Hello?’ He felt like a dumb heroine in a horror movie. Saying hello, and then opening the door to what? A serial killer? An alien? A vampire?

  A nearly hysterical bubble of laughter filled his mouth and he swallowed it down.

  Knock it off, he told himself. You have enough problems without going bonkers. Like why you’re here …

  But all that fled his mind when the door opened silently on well-oiled hinges to reveal a hefty slice of the room beyond. A room just like his. A bed just like his. A small TV, clothing cupboard, nightstand, and lamp just like his.

  What wasn’t just like his room was the gorgeous man splayed nude across the bed. One arm thrown over his eyes to ward off the meagre glow from the TV. The lamp was off, but the blue and white flashes of television light showed Cameron a tall, lean, well-muscled man with dark hair. He was working his cock with his free hand, his hips shooting up to penetrate the loose fist he held himself with. He thrust to whatever image was in his head. Sealed behind closed eyes and a strong arm.

  He started to move faster and Cameron felt his own cock grow hard in sympathy. His balls were heavy with lust, his stomach light with nerves. He felt both heavily grounded and flighty at the same time. His heartbeat pounded in his neck and he felt almost sick with it.

  The man was gorgeous but, more than that, the sight of him was reminding Cameron what he’d been missing for a long time. Attraction, lust, contact. His fear of a lover being struck by lightning because of him had pretty much kept him chaste for most of his adult life. His pleasure was not worth someone else’s pain.

  The man came. A rough noise ripped out of him, a sleek jet of come shooting up and over his big knuckles. His hand slowed but did not stop as he milked the last of his climax from his body, hips moving restlessly, feet tense with the force of release.

  Cameron’s face went hot with a sudden image of himself on his knees, sucking that cock. Followed swiftly, by him on all fours being fucked by that cock. And then, just to round out his perversity, the image of one of those big hands jerking him off, making him come.

  ‘Did you want to come in or are you just gonna stand there?’ the man asked. The silence that followed was deafening, and then the guy chuckled.

  Cameron did the only thing he could think to do. He fled.

  Chapter Three

  It was hard to hear the tiny TV in his room with his heart thudding like a war drum in his ears. He felt as if he’d been jolted right out of his skin but, for once, not by lightning. By his own stupidity.

  You get brought into someone’s home – sort of, and then you spy on some poor guy masturbating? What’s wrong with you?

  ‘Some gorgeous man,’ he muttered, as if that were a valid excuse.

  No matter how much he stared at the late evening news, he couldn’t focus. The weather report was a blur of nonsense talk and blue screen with a flashy, smiling man in the front. He heard words like cool front, wind, and thunderstorms. But weather reports were rather irrelevant to Cameron. The lightning came when the lightning came. Thunderstorm season, snow season, hurricane season – it didn’t matter.

  Finally, when his heart had slowed and he yawned three times consecutively, he accepted the semi-erection he was sporting was not going to go away until he dealt with it. Not only had he received a hefty dose of adrenaline when he’d been caught looking, he also had the image of a beautiful, dark-haired specimen of a man handling his own dick.

  He was never going to sleep. Not unless he …

  Cameron jumped up and moved quickly across the cool stone floor. He didn’t think it was possible to feel any more ridiculous, but here he was proving himself wrong. He slid the small dresser by the door across the doorway.

  Yeah, that’s real stealthy, I’m sure.

  It didn’t matter, though. There were no locks on the guest quarters and there was no way in the world he was going to have the custodian, or worse – Father Finn – walk in on him while he was tossing off.

  ‘Pervert,’ he mumbled. Cam swore he heard a dark, deep chuckle and he froze. But there was nothing to be heard but for a blonde anchorwoman chattering on about a local quilting bee for charity.

  When he flopped back on the bed, he pushed a hand into his boxers and started with a long, easy stroke. It had been ages since he’d even done this, he realised. He was a sexless maniac prodded about life by lightning, he realised. His last “job” had been helping a family whose crops kept getting struck. It turned out there was a body on the property. A restless spirit that had been murdered years before the family had ever owned the farmland.

  It made no sense helping people with lightning, and yet, it was what he did. The life he lived was a never-ending march of aiding farmers with rain and helping with unsettled energy. Energy was energy and he was a slave to the juice.

  Cameron ran his thumb over the slick bit of precome on his tip. It felt good to be touched. Even by himself. His hips rose up before he realised they would, his body so eager for release that it revelled to even his own familiar hand.

  Pressing his lips together, he set his mind to picturing that big man, that big body, that somehow elegant hand on that big cock. He could see the custodian, Trace if he remembered correctly, jerking off as clearly as if it were playing on a movie screen.

  His eager mind changed the film to the man’s cock sliding in and out of his mouth while eyes he imagined to be just-before-the-lightning grey watched him with almost predatory glee. He’d suck that man’s cock until he wept, Cameron thought, and he felt a resounding tug as his heartbeat seemed to rattle around inside his bones, his gut, his balls.

  He squeezed a bit harder, slid his hand a bit faster, and imagined those lips on his. It was a strong mouth, from what he’d seen, and he imagined those lips on his would be demanding and … spectacular.

  A soft sound slipped out of him as he felt his body inch a bit closer to coming. He wanted to come right that instant, but it had been for ever so he also wanted to draw it out. Tough call.

  Throwing an arm over his eyes, just like the custodian, to block out the intrusive ghost flicker of the TV, he put himself in his fantasy. Imagined himself being kissed, touched, manhandled, and then flipped. Cool, lubricated finger sliding inside him, flexing so that he opened – blossomed – for the man. The kiss of a silken cock tip. The first blissful push of flesh to flesh and the heavy, stretched pleasure of being slowly filled.

  Cameron’s breath was almost suffocating in his lungs, the humid, substantial breath of lust and need. He was full of his urges and his wants, jittery with arousal and attraction. His tired mind supplied the image of big hands on his hips, yanking and grabbing possessively as he was fucked beyond any thought but yes. Yes, take me. Yes, fuck me. Yes.

  Cameron came with a gasp, biting his tongue quickly between his teeth to make no more noise. He had to be silent. He couldn’t be heard.

  The secrecy added to the staggering pleasure and another shiver hit him as he emptied all the way. His semen sticky and warm on his hand. How long had it been? Too long, because it felt like it would never, ever end. And that was fine.

  His senses returned, g
iving him the news of an upcoming peach festival and a shark spotted in a close by bay area. Then the voice came, a resonating baritone that seemed to come with an audible smile. ‘I take it that was good? Sleep well, visitor.’

  Then silence. Cameron scrambled to a sitting position, his heart wedged firmly in the back of his throat. He knew that voice. The custodian. But there was no way he could know. No way he could have heard. Not through that thick mahogany door with the TV going and Cam working so, so hard to be silent. Right?

  Thunder woke him. Thunder wasn’t much to Cameron other than soothing background rumbles during summer storms, but this was like a shouting voice. Thunder also was often a prelude to Brother Lightning making an appearance.

  ‘Great Spirit, please let this be a dream.’ He sighed. His great-great-great grandmother had taught him a Cherokee prayer before she died. A full-blooded Native American, her face had been a ruddy moccasin of wrinkled skin and a gorgeous smile. Cameron could still remember how cool her wrinkled hands had always felt when she patted his. And she’d say things that made no sense, like “you ride the fork of lightning and are unafraid…”

  It made no sense then, but when he’d been chosen by weather it finally had. Only she got one part wrong: he was very afraid most of the time.

  Cameron struggled to remember that prayer. It was on the tip of his brain, waiting to leap out of his mouth and soothe him if he could only remember it.

  Thunder growled and cursed the night again. Lightning forked outside and either it wasn’t for him or it was leaving him be; no tell-tale thudding heavy charge came over his body. It simply painted the wall with ghost-blue and startling white. Cameron froze. It not only painted the humble stucco walls with surreal light, it also spotlighted a perfect shadow on the wall. It reminded Cameron of those profile portraits from long ago. Nothing but a silhouette on his wall – but a terrifying one.