Any Story LGBTQ+ Paranormal/Supernatural Romance

The thick, warm blanket my mom sent with me floated to the floor when I sprang to the floor and landed a good two feet away from the footboard of the bed. Sire Jazz and Captain Darrel lay in the middle of the floor, groaning and holding their heads. Father’s Sire, Sire Charles, stood in the doorway with is arms crossed. The light’s hallway kissed his warm skin, lighting up his face, showing his impatience and his desire for an answer. More than that, he watched me for a reaction.

Fuck! One thing to do, give him what he wanted until I could speak to him like I planned to do tomorrow. “What is —”

“Do not try to play games with me.” Sire Charles walked into the room, kicking the bedroom door closed. “That one,” he pointed at Sire Jazz, “had a conversation with you earlier. That one,” he pointed at Captain Darrel, “was trying to break into your room with the guy you called Sire. Either you have a secret plan against Lord Zarius, or you are being forced to go against him. Your best bet is that it is the latter. Spill it. Now, or I’m calling the guards.”

Shit. Sire Jazz fucked . . . Hold up. “Did you say break into my room?” I used the toe of my boot to lift the toe of Jazz’s face. “What is he talking about, Jazz?” I shifted my attention to Darrel. “Darrel?”

“Then there is a ploy against Lord Zarius.” Sire Charles yanked his phone from his back pocket, flipping it open.

“Hang on. Don’t call the guards.” My hands flew up to placate him. “Let me explain. There is . . . No ploy against my father, per se.” “Then what?”