Celestial Seductions: The Complete Series: An MM Gay Paranormal Mpreg Romance Collection Read online

  Celestial seductions

  Books 1-3

  Zenith

  Dark Star

  Pulsar

  By Odin Nightshade

  © Copyright 2015 by Odin Nightshade—All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

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  Table of Contents

  Zenith

  Dark Star

  Pulsar

  Omega Saved and Mated

  Omega Claimed and Mated

  Into the Wild Wood

  Omega Tempted by the Billionaire

  Second Chance at a First Time

  Straight Into His Heart

  Straight into His Arms

  First Time Bareback Cowboy

  Taming the Wild Panther

  A Quest For Vengeance

  Other Titles by Odin Nightshade

  About the Author

  Zenith

  1

  The space between waking and sleeping is a strange one, especially in the early hours of the morning. The mind drifts, unsure if its place is here—in this world—or in the world of dreams. Everything is quiet, and anything seems possible. And above us, the indifferent stars maintain their silent watch.

  Bryan Jenkins rolled over in bed, sometime after midnight. He groaned.

  My head...

  He entered the fetal position, becoming aware of a vaguely sick feeling throughout his body.

  Where am I?

  It took Bryan a moment to realize that he was at home, in his bed in the corner of his small, neat bedroom.

  “Cold...” He groaned.

  Why is it so cold in here?

  He hadn’t left his bedroom window open since the final days of summer had come to a close, ushering in the cooler autumnal breezes. He rolled toward the bedside table, reaching for his clock.

  3:46 a.m. Bryan blinked, utterly disoriented.

  He thought back to the previous evening, but couldn’t seem to conjure a memory past arriving home from work around 8:30pm. He lay back, thinking. The soft light from the beside lamp played over his features, softening the square jaw, the hollow temples. It glowed off the pale brown-gold of his hair, and burnished the dark sherry of his deep-set eyes to a rich warmth. Bryan wrinkled his brow, willing himself to remember the previous evening.

  There was something decidedly odd about this. How had he gotten into bed? Why had he forgotten seven hours of his life? And why was it so cold?

  Bryan, still feeling strangely disorientated, rolled onto his back and sat up, deciding to investigate.

  “Ow...” He clutched his head, which whirled, blanking out temporarily as he sat.

  What the hell is wrong with me? He asked himself, worried. He felt as if he had a hangover, but he knew he had drunk nothing. He rarely did, always conscious of his health, and not really liking the taste.

  He managed to shuffle to the edge of the bed, and stood, swaying slightly as his body rebelled against the motion. Why was he so nauseated?

  He slid on his robe and walked slowly across the room.

  The window was open.

  “What?”

  Had someone broken in? A burglar?

  Bryan stiffened, and walked through to the living room. He felt a shiver run up his spine, the whole house seeming suddenly menacing. What if someone was still in the place somewhere? He breathed out and switched on the light.

  Nothing.

  His own living room spread out before him, lit gently by the golden light from the overhead lamps. He walked over to the coffee table. The cushions were all in place on the sofa, the cup where in which he had had his coffee the previous morning still sitting on the square coaster. He picked it up, always neat, and walked through to the kitchen.

  The kitchen was equally untouched. Everything was as he had left it, the fruit still in the fruit bowl, the dishes piled neatly to be put away the next morning.

  Bryan shook his head and walked through to his bedroom again. A glance at his bedside table showed that his wallet and watch were there, just as he left them every night. The wallet was still full, its mix of notes and plastic undisturbed. Bryan felt himself start to pace, thinking.

  At the window, he paused. What’s going on?

  He looked out of the window into the dark sapphire sky, and again tried to make sense of the previous evening. He had arrived home, and somehow had ended up in bed, without any awareness of the time in between. He had left the window open for some reason. And then he had woken up.

  Bryan ran his hand down the open curtains, thinking.

  He looked down, still lost in thought, and noticed a triangular nick out of the curtain he held absently in his hand. On closer inspection, it was a tear. The pale, neutral-toned fabric must have caught in the window, and been torn out.

  By what?

  Bryan sat down in the small armchair in the corner, holding his head.

  Something came through my window and then left again. A shiver rippled up Bryan’s spine.

  “Don't be silly.” Bryan dismissed it immediately. What kind of something would break in and disturb nothing? He was disorientated and forgetful. He must just be tired, enough so that he left the window open and then forgot about it. He couldn't remember going to bed, or anything since arriving home; so why not assume he had simply opened the window and forgotten that, too?

  “That must be it.” Bryan said aloud. Surely that must be it.

  The last week or so at work had been hectic. It was the end of the fiscal year at his accounting firm, and Bryan, as the firm’s Senior Accountant, had been snowed under with work. He hadn't left the office before eight for as long as he could remember. He must just be suffering from too much hard work.

  “I'll take some time off next week.” He vowed.

  He sat for a moment, still with his head in his hands, trying to remember the actions he took between arriving at home and waking a short moment ago. There was nothing.

  It worried Bryan. He had never had a time in his life when he had blanked out. Always an abstemious drinker, always in good health, he had never lost consciousness before, nor forgot whole tracts of his day.

  He shook his head. It must be the work. He reached for his bedside table, where he always kept Post-Its to remind him of thoughts he had at night.

  Take time off, he wrote in capital letters. He stuck it on the bedside-lamp, and then climbed slowly back into bed.

  That should do it, he thought, trying to feel positive about it. But the nagging worry would not go away. It was nearly two hours later by the time he had dropped off to sleep again, the first signs of morning already in the air outside his window. By six o' clock Bryan was in deep and restful sleep again.

  2

  A week later Bryan sat at his spacious office at Smith and Clark Chartered Accountants, finishing up the paperwork for the day. The late evening sun slanted in through the opposite window and shone richly onto the mahogany desk.

  He tended not to stay much after sunset since the bizarre and troubling incid
ent last week. True to his promise, Bryan was now leaving work at six. He felt better for it, and happier. As an added boost to his health he considered a trip to his doctor for his annual checkup, and wrote himself a note to schedule an appointment.

  He was about to begin planning for the following day when a voice disturbed him, breaking his concentration.

  “Hey, Bryan.”

  The man who worked in the office across the way, Geoffrey, put his head around the door. Brian blinked.

  “Oh, Jeff. Hi.” He smiled. Of all the people at the firm, he was the closest Brian had to a friend. His lopsided grin and undaunted humor in the face of irate bosses, financial crises and coffee shortage made him a welcome member of the team.

  “It's six-thirty, you know.” Jeff smiled.

  “Oh?” Brian looked up to the corner of his screen. It was. He must have been lost in thought.

  “You said you'd take it easy.” Jeff chided, gently.

  “Right.” Bryan nodded. He did feel exhausted. He yawned and stood, reaching for his case. “If you're leaving now, I'll come down with you,” he began, packing his books into his briefcase, “I’ve got a bit of tax code on the Anderson Account I could use your opinion on.”

  “No.” Jeff grinned, and pretended a shudder.

  “Yes,” Bryan smiled, “but,” he continued, as he walked through the door and Jeff followed down the hall, “I suspect you’re not quite in the mood?”

  “Bingo.” Jeff said affably. He paused. “I've got a book, if you’d like to borrow it. I can give you complimentary headache pills as well—you’ll need them.”

  “Thanks.” Bryan nodded with a wink.

  They both chuckled. Jeff was always joking about their job. Bryan, who actually enjoyed accountancy, found him somewhat baffling at times, but always enjoyed his company. In fact, if Jeff had been a little less rugged-looking, he would have found him quite attractive.

  Bryan knew inside himself that he was really attracted to men, not women, and while he had had a brief relationship with a handsome young man in his first year of college, he was presently happy in his single status, finding it less complicated and demanding.

  They reached the exit and parted ways, Bryan walking around the side of the building to find his car.

  The drive home was uneventful, and Bryan was relieved to discover that he remembered all of it.

  At home, he put his briefcase in the small alcove that served as his study and went through to the kitchen to make dinner.

  “Aaand...I need yooou...” Bryan joined in with the radio as he chopped vegetables for a mushroom risotto. He had always enjoyed singing, even though his family was far from encouraging when he was growing up; they hadn’t thought it a worthwhile pursuit for a boy.

  Bryan worked out for half an hour after his dinner had settled, then caught the evening news before hitting the sack. He sighed; a typical, uneventful day. The relief of that, after the weird episode of the previous week, was quite large. He felt surprisingly relaxed by it, and soon fell into a deep, sound sleep.

  An hour or so later, Bryan felt himself wake. He was warm. Completely, comfortingly warm. He rolled over and opened his eyes.

  White. That was his first observation. The whole room was blindingly white. And empty. Or, not entirely, for he was lying on something. A bed.

  He half-sat, rolling over. And that was when the arm moved around him.

  That should have been scary, but it was not. In fact, Bryan felt his whole body relax. He leaned back, and allowed a hand to drift gently over the muscles of his chest.

  “You wanted to go somewhere?” A soothing voice asked.

  “No.” Bryan murmured. The voice was deliciously warm, making blood flow hotly through Bryan's whole body in response.

  “Good...” The voice replied. Whoever it belonged to moved closer, and gently kissed his back, between the shoulder-blades. The gentle touch of his lips made Bryan shiver.

  He reached back, and drew a hand down the hard, muscled body he felt pressed against him. He moved back, allowing whoever it was to enfold him in his arms. It felt wonderful. He pressed his body against the muscled chest he felt behind him, and noted, with the conscious part of his brain, the hardness of the man's desire pressing up against him.

  He moved his hand back, stroking down his chest, and heard a gasp in response. The sound ran through him like a current, and he felt his own desire swelling and growing. The man's hands stroked his chest, moving down towards his hips. Bryan, eyes firmly shut, gasped as they moved lower, stroking between his thighs.

  Bryan moaned as the man stroked his chest again, and gently but insistently pulled him back, pressing him against his hardness. Bryan felt himself gasp as he stroked down his sides, and then moved lower, stroking his buttocks while he pressed himself against him. Bryan moved, and the man slid into him.

  The feeling was amazing. He pressed deep into him, filling him completely. The sensation was almost painful it was so intense, and Bryan moved back, relishing the pressure building inside him.

  The man was thrusting insistently now, and his body responded, moving in increasing pace. He could feel the tension building inside him, craving release. The thrusting was more insistent now, stronger and deeper, and the gasping breath behind him told him that whoever it was, was close to breaking point as well.

  With a deep, throaty cry, Bryan felt his orgasm crescendo and crash over him, like waves on the sea. He cried out, sobbing, as seconds later, the man behind him climaxed too, and they moved slowly together, in the gentle, soothing motions that brought them both, slowly, back into focus.

  Bryan felt his mind return from the distant bliss in which it was floating. He turned, his hands caressing the man even as he did so.

  He embraced the body he found there behind him, holding him close to his chest. They lay in complete exhaustion for a while, and then Bryan slowly opened his eyes.

  The person lying pressed close was beautiful. That was his first thought. Fine, modeled features, a full mouth, dark hair. His eyes were closed. In wonder, Bryan allowed his finger to caress the muscled neck, the beautiful shoulders, the strong arms.

  He blinked. There was something strange about the man’s skin tone. Though the light in the room was white, the man's skin looked a pale shade of blue. Bryan ignored this small detail and leaned forward to kiss him deeply on his delicious, open mouth.

  The man felt his kiss, and his lips moved, returning it. Bryan felt the delight of that thrill warming every inch of his body. He moaned. His hand reached up to caress the fine, dark gloss of hair. The man moved against him. Their lips met again, and they kissed passionately.

  Bryan had never felt so connected to anyone. He felt like he had known this man for his lifetime. But he knew he had never seen him before. Had he? He moved closer. They kissed again. Bryan felt his whole body responding.

  “I will see you again.” The man said, as his lips moved slightly away. Bryan was about to protest, but he could feel the man slipping away from him, and the light in the room was growing brighter. He felt warmer too, the heat spreading through him.

  He opened his eyes.

  He was in his bed, in the half-lit morning, the room cold and still and uninterrupted.

  Bryan blinked. It had only been a dream.

  Bryan lay back, groaning as he tried to sit up. His head was aching and he felt disoriented.

  What a dream…

  But why did it feel so real? His whole body was still throbbing, yet relaxed, as if his nocturnal dreamscape had been real.

  What on Earth is going on?

  Last week he’d had a whole night of lapsed memory, and now psychedelic dreams? He shook his head.

  “You're an accountant, Bryan.” He reprimanded himself, gently. His whole life was respectable, regular and regimental. He made sure of it. What was going on with him? Was he ill?

  “Maybe I should see the doctor after all.” He suggested to himself aloud. He checked the time; 8:10. He could phone now and
they would probably fit him in. He was about to lift the phone from the bedside table, when he had a thought. What would they do?

  If he was sick, they could give him time off work. That would be no bad thing. He couldn't really commit to doing his job if he was going to blank out and forget things, after all. But what if he was not sick? What if it was in his mind?

  He paused. The last thing he wanted in his life was psychologists. Not again.

  As a child, when he had discovered that he was adopted, he had sunk into his own world. His adoptive parents had taken him to the school psychologist, but she had not really helped him. The appointments actually made him feel worse. Yes, he was imaginative. Yes, he had retreated into his own mind, giving himself an alternate history, imagining that he even had special powers. But that did not justify, in his head, the way the psychologist had made him feel silly, a feeling exacerbated by being called out of class to see the “doctor”.

  He knew it was bias—that, at thirty-two, the experience with the psychologist could not be like when he was seven years old—but he could not help it. He simply wanted nothing to do with it, and that was that. Whatever this weird illness he had was—and he was sure it must be an illness—would have to get better on its own. He was not going to risk psychological intervention again.

  “I'll just try working less hard this week.” Bryan said to himself, as he leaned back and lay down on the pillows, still feeling disoriented.

  He thought through the dream—or whatever it was. He could still feel the delicious sensations that had flowed through him as the strange man had touched and entered him. Thinking about it, he shivered, and sighed. He still felt wonderful. Even if it was only a dream, it was still really good— something to make him even look forward to sleep.

  3

  It was the weekend, rain dripping gently off the roof and soaking into the lawn and flowerbeds outside.

  The back part of the garden was covered with its autumnal carpeting, and Bryan decided to spend Saturday afternoon doing what he should, he reminded himself, have done already: raking leaves.