an excerpt

Combustible

Pandemonia: Combustible

Summary

The Past…

Earth of 4035 is a wasteland populated with sectors of penal colonies, seeded through the generations by its life-long inhabitants of criminals, lunatics, political prisoners, and DNA-spliced mutants, all ruled by a powerful conglomerate of scientific researchers called the Nucleate.

One such sector, Pandemonia, is situated on the former European continent in the vicinity of Paris, now a hunting ground of a world gone horribly awry.

Drayce Eth, of dragogen-spliced DNA creation, rules one quandrant of Old Paris with a strong hand. He has never mated, never taken a long-term lover, and has always denied the instincts of his dragogen-spliced DNA. But then he encounters an attractive disciple and slave of his arch-enemy, Dr. Francois Beljon, and a simple game of poke-the-bear to relieve his ennui may just result in more than Drayce ever expected. It may also be exactly what he needs when his mating instincts are aroused by this least likely of potential mates.

Crispen Wills is a product of the mean streets. He’s a survivor—a dancer, a liar, a scavenger, and whatever else will serve to keep him alive. But when he becomes a desirable pawn in a treacherous game, it could easily cost him his life. What Crispen never expects is to fall in love with the powerful dragogen that his master has sent him to destroy.

Passions mix with danger in a highly flammable game devoid of rules and safe words, where all’s fair in love, lust...and death. Only a fool would dare to risk everything for a fleeting chance at love, especially when that lover could easily barbecue you should you make one false step.

Excerpt

“He’s new,” murmured Drayce. He wondered what had happened to the last disciple he’d seen with Beljon three months ago. Used in experimentation, dead, released to the streets? Could be any of the above, or all. Drayce peered closer at this new toy of Beljon’s. Young, pretty, athletic but lithe. Bronzed body. Not the usual. Beljon usually enjoyed more brawny types. This one seemed a rarer sort.

Beljon reached behind him for the sheaf of papers and the boy obediently handed them to the scientist. But Drayce wasn’t focused on what Beljon had to say. These semi-regular broadcasts where more to show the Nucleate’s far-reaching power than anything else. All Beljon was going to do was read the list of the latest additions to the Pandemonium community, and their crimes. Which of late always seemed to be more political than anything else.

Drayce watched the disciple, who stood still as a statue, gaze cast downward. Drayce’s cock began to stir as he studied the boy. There was something about him…something different. He stood in a subservient pose, just as the others did. But there was a tightness in his lithe body, an awareness, almost a pride, that the others lacked. And it made Drayce curious.

“I think I want to know more about him,” Drayce murmured. “Things have been far too quiet of late. We need some excitement to stir the blood.”

“Beljon?”

“No. The trained whelp. He might be useful. There’s something different about him. Some value there, I think.”

“I wouldn’t think so. Beljon changes disciples as often as he does his underwear.”

Drayce slid a glance to Zadrian, hearing the lingering bitterness in his voice. “That was a long time ago. You should move past it.”

Zadrian didn’t respond for a long time. “Beljon doesn’t forget. He twists the knife at every turn when he can.”

“You’re free of him now. At least as free as one can be in a place like this. It doesn’t pay to care, you know that.”

“One would think I’ve learned my lesson,” Zadrian responded. “But he doesn’t give up you know.”

“Obsessed is a word I’d use when it comes to him.”

“I won’t go back. You can count on my loyalty.”

Drayce turned back to the screen. Beljon had completed his list. He turned back to the whelp. He patted him on the head like a prized pet and then they moved off to the side, and another pair took his place. This one spoke of the recent death sentences that had been carried out. The scientists droned on. Drayce scanned the crowd, wondering who would be the next to die by the decree of the Nucleate. A new lottery would likely occur within the next month.

“Find out more about him,” Drayce said. “I want him. He means something to Beljon, and so I want him. Beljon will throw a tantrum, and I love when that happens. He always makes mistakes.”

“Poking a stick at the bear can bring you nothing good. I think you’re making a mistake,” Zadrian said. “Don’t let that dragon cock of yours lead you into doing something you’re going to regret.”

“Just get me the intel on the disciple. Then we’ll go from there.”

“Whatever you say, boss. But leashed like he is, it’s probably not going to be easy to get to him. Not if Beljon has taken a shine to him for the moment.”

“You’ll find a way. You always do,” Drayce said. “And I want him before Beljon decides to mod him.”

The screen finally went dark, and Drayce turned to leave, along with the crush of others, heading for the bridge leading off the island toward the northern Rouge quadrant, home turf. He felt a hand dip into the pocket of his leather jacket, and he spun around, gripped the culprit by the throat, and lifted him off the ground.

“Fool,” he hissed. His tongue snaked out, tasting the idiot’s fear. “Do you really want to die right here and right now?” He squeezed, and the bandit gasped for breath, struggling to break free of Drayce’s grip. Drayce’s claw-like nails dug into the flesh of his throat, drawing blood. And then suddenly he flung the man away. The thief landed on the ground several feet away, gasping for breath, blood dripping from his wounds.

Drayce spun away. People around him scattered, giving him space.

“He must be new,” Zadrian commented. “He doesn’t know who you are.”

“Obviously. He’s not going to last long. Not a speck of commonsense in his brain.”

When they got back to the Rouge, the night was in full swing, music and laughter filling the streets. Two rather large men stood sentry at the entrance of the Rouge.

“Evening, boss,” one of them said as he nodded to Drayce.

Drayce eyed the stage as they walked inside. A line of can-can dancers dressed in bright red and yellow kicked up their legs on stage. Every table was occupied. Dancers merged on the dance floor. Drinks flowed.

Drayce halted at the entrance to his lair on the second floor. “Drink?” he asked Zadrian, his blood still hot after the encounter at the gathering.