Wayland, page 1
part #8 of Demon Warriors Series
Demon Warriors 8
Wayland
With soul-sucking demons on the rise, Wayland and his brethren have their hands full. One night while on patrol, Wayland comes across another victim and rescues the human from having his soul sucked right out of him. But he isn’t prepared for the instant fascination he has with the redhead, especially since Wayland isn’t attracted to humans.
Gilmore Flanagan would rather work from home and get lost in his video games than deal with the outside world. People suck, and he’s always felt as if he lives on the fringes of society, never really fitting in anywhere. One evening, on his way to his mother’s, Gil is attacked, and he thinks he is about to die. That is, until a stranger comes to his rescue and takes him to a world he never knew existed.
Can Gil survive the demon world, or will he race back to a world where he never truly belonged?
Genre: Alternative (M/M, Gay), Fantasy, Paranormal
Length: 28,064 words
WAYLAND
Demon Warriors 8
Lynn Hagen
THE LYNN HAGEN
MANLOVE COLLECTION

Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: The Lynn Hagen ManLove Collection
WAYLAND
Copyright © 2016 by Lynn Hagen
E-book ISBN: 978-1-68295-627-4
First E-book Publication: December 2016
Cover design by Emma Nicole
All art and logo copyright © 2016 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
About the Author
Landmarks
Cover
WAYLAND
Demon Warriors 8
LYNN HAGEN
Copyright © 2016
Chapter One
“I’ll be there just as soon as I’m done.” Gilmore Flanagan pressed the Speaker button before setting his phone on his desk. He needed his hands free for his controller. “I have deadlines, Mom.”
He was actually playing a video game that had just been released. Gil had waited months for Castle Grim. He was currently hunting down werewolves and goblins and trying not to fall victim to a surprise attack. He’d already died twelve times on the first level.
Gil grimaced when a streak of light cut from the window across the screen of his laptop, causing him to die because he hadn’t been able to see the ambush coming. With a low growl, he got up and readjusted the curtain to block out the streetlamp.
He lived in the apartment building next to the police station and used blackout curtains to keep his home as dark as possible. Gil liked the dark. He always had. It also helped him submerge himself into his work and games, in which he’d lose days, even weeks at a time. His brother Rafferty had jokingly called him a vampire, but his mom always worried about him. She said the fact he never got any sun wasn’t healthy.
His dad and eldest brother Ferguson disapproved the most. His dad swore up and down that Gil was wasting his life because he didn’t have a nine-to-five job like his brothers. He shuddered to think what the old man would say if he knew his youngest son was queer. That was a scene Gil wanted to avoid at all costs.
That was one of the reasons he submerged himself in his fantasy games. The real world sucked, and as far back as he could remember, Gil had always gotten lost in books and video games that had any kind of paranormal theme. He didn’t believe in ghosts or anything like that, and knew the fantasy worlds he loved weren’t real, but how he wished they were.
He’d always felt as if he were on the fringes of society, never quite fitting in anywhere—thanks in part to his dad and Ferguson always belittling him. Gil had been called a geek in school and picked on because of his red hair, and as an adult, he had a hard time making friends. He was quiet, shy, and he had no clue how to start a conversation. He knew how to engage in one, though.
“I still don’t understand how you have deadlines when you work for yourself, Gizmo.”
He’d had this conversation with his mother a hundred times. She just couldn’t comprehend the idea. She also thought Gil could drop whatever he was doing to help her whenever she called because he didn’t have a boss to answer to. “I promise to make it over there later tonight,” he said as he struck a wolf with a super-powered arrow.
Hopefully, Dad will pull a late shift and I won’t have to see him. He didn’t bother to ask why his father hadn’t helped. Gil already knew. The guy hated Christmas with a passion and every year tried to ruin it for their family. David Flanagan could’ve given Ebenezer Scrooge and the Grinch lessons in how to wreck the holiday spirit. Lord knew he’d taught his oldest son well.
“You know I have a hard time putting up decorations, and my arthritis is particularly bad this year.”
Of course Gil felt bad that he hadn’t gotten over there earlier, but he had responsibilities, promises to keep, and bills to pay. Even so, the guilt still ate away at him. “Isn’t Ferguson around to help?”
“He hasn’t made it in from New York yet. With the nasty weather, I’m sure traffic is unbearable. He called a few hours ago, telling me he would be here around midnight. Rafferty’s plane was delayed from Montana, too. I’m not sure when he’ll get here.”
Gil rubbed his palm against his eye. His parents lived only a few blocks from his apartment, but the client who’d paid him to get the project done before Christmas probably wouldn’t care that he had an elderly mother to help. He’d been paid, so Gil had to get the website up and running.
Just as soon as he beat level one.
“I promise, Mom. One hour. I’ll be there.” Gil was listening, but not. His mind was focused on the game. He eked out a decent living with his web design talents and computer graphic skills, and he didn’t want to let anyone down.
Like your mom?
With a silent groan, Gil paused the game just as a goblin hobbled out from behind the castle wall. He wouldn’t be able to enjoy himself knowing his mom was counting on him to be there. Even though he had two other siblings, his mom counted on him the most because he was the only one who lived close enough to help her. That didn’t bother him. He was a mama’s boy through and through and would do anything for Sandra Flanagan.
As for his dad? Gil shoved down his resentment at the thought of his father.
“All the decorations are in the attic. Do you want me to bring them down for you?”
The last thing he needed was for his mother to struggle with the boxes. At her age, a fall could be fatal. Besides, if her arthritis was as bad as she said, bringing down boxes would be impossible for her.
“Don’t do it yourself. Let me get dressed and I’ll be on my way. Don’t go up there, Mom. I’ll get everything you need from the attic when I get there.”
“You don’t have to rush, Gizmo. I can wait until later.”
Right. If he didn’t get over there now, she’d go up to the attic and try to bring as many boxes down as she could. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to continue to sit there while she stubbornly went against his warning.
“I’ll whip up some hot chocolate,” she said with a lilt of happiness in her tone. “How does that sound?”
“I’m not a kid anymore,” he argued.
“I’ll add those little marshmallows you love so much.”
Gil was glad she couldn’t see his wide grin. “Well, since you’re twisting my arm, I’ll be there soon. Love you, Ma.”
“Love you, too, honey bunch.”
She hung up and Gil groaned. He was so glad she’d never called him that in front of anyone. He still blushed when she said it to his face, but he never passed up a hug. Ever. He would never be too old for one of those.
After closing his laptop and sliding it into his messenger bag, Gil went to his cluttered room to dress. The snow had fallen steadily all day, so he grabbed his thermal underwear and top. Although Brac Village was surrounded by vast woods, and the trees beat back most of the wind and snow, it was still asshole-cold outside.
Posters from Supernatural and The Lord of the Rings covered his bedroom walls. The shelf anchored to the wall by the door was cluttered with figurines of howling wolves, fire-breathing dragons, wizards, and a wand. He even had a small stack of fake potions books that were made of plaster and stacked haphazardly.
He stood there for a brief moment as he glanced around his room, longing for that kind of world to truly exist. Gil brushed his fingers over the tiny statuette of a demon with jutting horns. What would living in a world filled with magic be like? To run like hell from a hungry vampire or be cherished by a gallant werewolf? Gil sighed heavily as he went to his closet.
If his dad knew how much he daydreamed about that kind of world, he would slap Gil upside the head. David Flanagan didn’t believe in anything other than the real world. He had no imagination whatsoever and lived by absolute truths.
Ferguson was just like their father in every way. The only reason he didn’t despise Christmas was because his wife wouldn’t let him. But Ferguson was his father’s golden boy. He was married, with two sons, lived in New York where he worked as a lawyer, and he could do no wrong in their dad’s eyes.
Rafferty worked on a ranch in Montana, was married with two daughters, and his dad thought his second oldest could do better, but didn’t harp on the fact.
Gil was the youngest, and nothing he ever did seemed to be good enough for the old man. Although he made pretty good money at what he did, his dad had never embraced technology and thought Gil was wasting his life. He also made comments whenever the two were around each other about Gil getting married.
That wasn’t going to happen. So Gil spent most of his time trying to avoid his father.
“Get your butt moving. It’s already dark out, and you need to get back here so you can attempt to get some work done,” he murmured to himself, although he loved the fact it became dark after five. That was the one thing he loved about winter. Correction. The only thing he loved about the season. Mother Nature could keep the cold and snow.
Except for Christmas. It most definitely had to snow on Christmas. After that, the snow could bugger off.
After dressing in layers, Gil grabbed his bag, keys, and phone before he hurried out of his building and was met with a gust of frigid air. He instantly wished he could run back inside as he yanked his knitted cap farther down over his head. The snow fell in thick, fat flakes, and the rush of the lashing wind robbed him of heat and made his hands and face sting.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Gil hunched his shoulders and started his trek. He briefly thought about stopping at The Café for something to warm his insides, but that would take him out of his way. Gil didn’t want to spend any more time outside than he had to. He was afraid his bits and pieces would crawl up inside him and hibernate until spring.
Although he hadn’t had sex in a while, he still jacked off. If his beans and wiener disappeared for the winter, he’d be in real trouble. His hand was the only action he’d seen in six months.
Gil had rounded a corner when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He had the weirdest sensation he was being followed. But by who? As far as he knew, he had no enemies, and the crime rate in Brac Village was practically nonexistent.
Picking up his pace, Gil wrapped his arms around his chest, one hand gripping the strap of his messenger bag. If someone tried to take his bag, Gil would be screwed. His laptop was state-of-the-art, had two terabytes of storage, top-notch gaming graphics, and contained all his work. It was the only thing he’d made a real investment in. He would fight to the death before he allowed someone to run off with it.
As he passed the mouth of an alley, something slammed into his back, propelling him forward. A hand grabbed his upper arm in a viselike grip as Gil cried out.
Whoever had a hold of him was strong. The guy moved ahead of him while dragging Gil into the dark alley. Gil fought to get free, but the stranger swung behind him and wrapped an arm around his neck in a chokehold.
“I love when they struggle,” the stranger said before he shoved his nose into Gil’s neck and inhaled. “That’s right, fight me.”
“You can have my wallet,” Gil coughed out as his heart raced and he struggled to breathe. “Just don’t hurt me.”
He had a mere seven dollars in it, so the guy could have it. He was still in shock that he was being mugged. Gil stopped struggling. He didn’t know if his attacker was armed, and he didn’t want to die in a filthy alley from a gunshot wound.
His chest was shoved into the brick wall and his arms pinned painfully behind him with strong, rough hands. “I’m not going to rob you, human. I’m just going to eat your soul.”
Was this guy serious? Gil nearly laughed at the lunacy of that statement. The man had to be whacked out on drugs. “Yeah, okay. You can have it. I’ll get it out of my pocket for you.”
The man laughed as he swung Gil around, slamming his back into the wall. Gil gasped. They were about the same height—which wasn’t very tall at all—but that wasn’t what shocked him. The guy’s eyes were a strange, wild-looking glowing crimson that extended past his irises.
“Your soul is inside of you, not your pocket.” A firm hand covered Gil’s neck as a thumb caressed his smooth jaw. “You can struggle all you want as I suck it out of you. In fact, I insist you fight like hell against me.”
Gil curled his lips in and swung his head to the side when the man’s lips grew too close. There was no way in hell he would let the junkie kiss him. Where were the cops when he needed them?
Probably at The Café sipping hot chocolate and staying warm.
The hand on his neck moved up to grip his jaw in a brutal hold. Gil hissed and grunted, whimpered and gasped as his head was forcefully turned. He stared into those eerie, red eyes and smelled the mint scent on the air between their mouths.
“Try and rape me and I swear to God I’ll hunt you down and gut you.”
The side of the guy’s mouth curled upward. “Don’t flatter yourself, human. It’s not your body I’m after.”
Head locked into place, Gil watched in horror as the stranger leaned forward until their lips mere inches apart. But their mouths never touched. The guy’s lips formed the shape of an O as he slowly inhaled.
Warmth spread through Gil as the snow-covered Dumpster and the brick wall behind it began to fade. A buzzing sensation crept over his mind. His entire body pulsed with pleasure as something detached from inside of him. Gil slumped against the wall, his legs wobbling as his thoughts and memories started to blink away like stars disappearing one at a time. Pop. Pop. Pop.
