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Mortem Obire: The Tennebrose Series, #2.5
Mortem Obire: The Tennebrose Series, #2.5
Mortem Obire: The Tennebrose Series, #2.5
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Mortem Obire: The Tennebrose Series, #2.5

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Hiding the truth is never easy, but it's something Jamie Kincaid has gotten pretty good at over the years—just like ignoring the fact he's in love with his best friend. And after pretending for so long, there's no way he's going to risk what they have by fessing up about his true feelings.

 

Not to mention that other secret he's been concealing since they were thirteen; a secret Jamie swears he'll take to his grave.

 

But it turns out, his best friend has secrets too. Deadly secrets, which means Jamie might end up keeping his vow after all.

 

 

MORTEM OBIRE is a MM, best friends-to-lovers paranormal romance novella about ghosts, serial killers, and a deep-rooted fear of Halloween. There's a healthy dose of angst mixed in with the steamy moments between two guys who are "just friends," all the Halloween vibes, and a cameo by one lovable goat. It is intended for a mature audience and reader discretion is advised. A full list of triggers can be found in the front matter of the book and at my website under Tropes & Triggers. 

 

This book can be read as a standalone from the rest of the Tennebrose series. It does include previously established characters, but not in a way that would negatively impact your reading enjoyment. 

LanguageEnglish
PublisherAshlyn Drewek
Release dateOct 27, 2023
ISBN9781955211215
Mortem Obire: The Tennebrose Series, #2.5
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    Mortem Obire - Ashlyn Drewek

    Chapter 1

    Jamie

    Piercing the needle through the chicken breast in front of me, I lined it up with the suture next to it, exhaling a slow, steady breath like a sniper preparing for their next shot. I was just about to hook it through the opposite side of flesh when something loud slammed against my door, followed immediately by frantic banging. The needle jammed into the chicken, way off its mark.

    Fuck! I tore off my latex gloves and hurried to the door, debating whether or not I should try to grab a t-shirt on the way. Given what time it was, I decided I didn’t give a shit about decency since I wasn’t exactly expecting company. Peering out the peephole, I rolled my eyes at the obviously drunken idiot on the other side. It’s after midnight, I groaned, opening the door and stepping backward. How did you even get past security?

    Larkin stumbled inside, grinning from ear to ear despite the fact he was covered in mud and grass stains. Good, you’re awake!

    You didn’t know that before—what the fuck happened to you? Why are you bleeding? I grabbed his hands, both covered in blood and dirt, and brought them closer to my face. The right one had cuts all over his swollen knuckles. The left was similar but it was accompanied by weird red splotches on his wrist and a large gash across his palm. Oh my God! What the fuck did you do? Did you get into another bar fight?

    He scoffed, his dimples popping as soon as he smiled innocently. "Come on! That happened one time and that homophobic dickwad deserved it."

    Ignoring his dimples, I arched an eyebrow at him. Then what happened this time?

    Larkin swayed closer, his dark eyes glassy. Tequila emanated from his breath as he answered in a conspiratorial whisper. It was for you.

    "What was for me?" I whispered back, curious and yet dreading his answer.

    I can’t—oh, fuck! I didn’t even bring it! His face crumpled and he hung his head, his muscled shoulders slumping. I was going to bring you a goose but the fucker bit me and flew away.

    I tried not to laugh at how dejected he was but I couldn’t help shaking my head at the same time. And just how drunk are you?

    Larkin grinned again and pinched two fingers together. Just a lil bit.

    Come sit down so I can look at this, I said with a sigh, directing him to the small kitchen table where my med bag was set up. The perks of being a nursing student, I guess, and being a senior. It meant I got to live in one of Tennebrose University’s tiny apartments rather than a regular dorm room, giving me the space and privacy to patch up my injury-prone friends whenever they came knocking.

    Shoving the chicken breast to the side, I pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and lowered the work lamp closer to Larkin’s left hand to see what I was dealing with. The edges of the cut were clean, like it had been sliced open as opposed to torn. By what, I had no idea. Definitely not a goose. Maybe a broken bottle?

    A goose, huh? I asked, soaking a wad of cotton squares with saline solution and dabbing at his hand.

    It was a big goose. Larkin leaned forward, watching me work with a fascinated expression. Frankly, I’d be surprised if he could see anything with how much tequila I could smell. For his sake, I hoped he ran here from wherever the hell he’d been and didn’t park his SUV up the side of a telephone pole.

    Why were you trying to kidnap a goose?

    For you, he replied, so quietly that I looked up to make sure I heard him correctly. His big brown eyes were suddenly serious behind the glaze of alcohol. To keep you safe.

    I don’t need a goose. I have you. My own personal attack dog. I was trying to lighten the mood, even though my heart thumped wildly in my chest. It had been ages since he’d looked at me like that and I’d be a liar if I said I hadn’t missed it.

    He swayed forward again, his head tilted. I thought he was going to kiss me, but sadly his mouth bypassed mine and he embraced me with one arm instead. Still, I relished it, feeling him against me, letting his body heat soak through his t-shirt and into my bare skin.

    I love you, man, he mumbled against my neck.

    I love you too. Now are you going to let me finish or not?

    He shook his head, tightening his hold around my neck. Even though I couldn’t see it, I knew he was grinning.

    You’re such a pain in my ass. I forcefully shoved him back in his seat and resumed bandaging his hand without much assistance on his part.

    I know. He expelled a sigh that sounded more than sarcastic. It sounded like genuine exhaustion had taken hold more than the sedative effect of the alcohol.

    I finished quickly, wrapping gauze around his hand and tucking the tail into place so it wouldn’t unravel. Retrieving a bottle of water from the fridge and some meds, I set them in front of him on the table. Take these. And then you should get some sleep.

    But I’m not sleepy. He was back to being goofy, sticking out his lower lip and blinking up at me with the big, sad puppy eyes he’d perfected over the years. Those eyes, combined with his dimples, had let him get away with everything growing up—from teachers to girls to his overwhelmed grandmother. Larkin Galvan could do no wrong and he knew it.

    Well, I have to put this stuff away, I said, as if I could resist his charm more than anyone else. I’d been losing that battle for as long as I’d known him.

    S’ok if I just hang? He didn’t wait for an answer before he strolled to the couch and plopped down, snagging the remote from the end table.

    Yeah, sure. You know you don’t have to ask.

    After cleaning up the bloody leftovers from his hands and depositing the chicken breast back in the fridge for another night, I joined him on the couch. Since it was technically only a loveseat, there wasn’t much room, especially with his thick thighs spread, taking up most of the space.

    As soon I sat, he hooked the inside of my knee and dragged my leg over the top of his rather than scooting over.

    I didn’t mind, except for the fact his hand stayed where it was, casually draped along the inside of my thigh. Where his index finger touched bare skin instead of slinky basketball shorts, he drew tiny circles, almost absentmindedly.

    I felt every one of them though, each one sending a jolt of electricity up my leg and straight to my dick. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t. I was fixated on that one finger instead of whatever action movie he’d turned on.

    He was drunk, that was all. And he was always fiddling with something in his hands. Pens, keys, whatever. It didn’t mean anything. We’d grown out of that phase of our friendship years ago, the one where we experimented with each other as teens or got each other off out of boredom or frustration.

    Besides, I’d rather deal with blue balls than more heartbreak at the thought Larkin would never be mine. Not in the way I wanted. I had to content myself with being his friend and nothing more. It was such a fucking cliche, anyway. Falling for your straight best friend. Even though, I’d been his first… everything. First kiss. First hand job. Blowjob. The only thing we hadn’t tried was anal. But I hadn’t tried that with anyone except the dildo I kept stashed in my nightstand. Maybe there was a stupid part of me that was holding out hope he’d be that first too.

    I tried to subtly shift, angling my hips away from him to disguise the fact I was starting to pitch a tent right there for no goddamn reason other than the fact he was touching me.

    His fingertips tightened on my leg, preventing me from getting far. Where are you going?

    Nowhere. Just trying to get comfortable, I lied. Unconvincingly, since his gaze zeroed in on the very thing I was attempting to hide.

    I can help with that. If you want. His voice was low and husky, the scent of tequila wafting between us in the close space.

    I should have kept my damn mouth shut. I should have thrown his hand off and gone to bed. I should have done a lot of things. But instead, I let my gaze slide to his. Oh yeah?

    Yeah. He gave me a slow smile, the light from the TV illuminating one of the dimples that I loved. You helped me—he held his bandaged hand up—I can help you.

    I thought we were done with that?

    We don’t have to be.

    You know it’s not good for… Me, I wanted to shout, but ended lamely with, Our friendship.

    His fingertips drifted higher along my thigh, dragging the soft material with them and exposing more skin. Even the dusting of leg hair stood up, ready and begging for his attention. My whole body felt like it was charged with static electricity, waiting to discharge in one, massive jolt.

    Either he was too drunk to hear me or too drunk to care because his hand continued to float northward, skimming along the crease of my thigh. The edge of his pinky grazed my sac and every muscle in my body tensed.

    Lark… I swallowed thickly, desperate for him to stop but dying for him to continue.

    Thanks to the angle of how we were sitting, his elbow pressed against my chest, keeping me flat against the couch as his hand snaked underneath the waistband of my shorts and his warm palm made contact with my cock.

    Freeballing, he murmured, more to himself than me. Still, I nodded dumbly, trying not to combust on the spot. How long had it been since we’d done this? I couldn’t even remember. I tried not to think about him like that. Tried, and failed miserably. I’d been jerking off to fantasies of him since freshman year of high school. And shit like this didn’t help matters.

    You know, he continued softly, shifting closer and running his fingertips up and down my shaft,

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