Can We Reach Nirvana? , livre ebook

Xlibris US - Kimberley S Klein

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35 pages

English

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Description

Two, young-looking men, both rockstars and werewolves, deal with their lot in life in very different ways. Ray, the “youngest” of the duo, is in a stage of his condition where is he depressed that he’s been forced to transform into a beast once a month while Marston parties like it’s 1985, which is the year he was turned. Marston tries to get Ray to accept himself while Ray does his best to desperately search for a way to return to his normal self. He becomes even more determined when he becomes infatuated with a new girl who moves into the empty flat above his, much to Marston’s consternation.

Sujets

Horror

Fiction

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Publié par	Xlibris US
Date de parution	01 septembre 2022
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781669840374
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Can We Reach Nirvana?
Kimberley S Klein

Copyright © 2022 by Kimberley S Klein.

ISBN:
Softcover
978-1-6698-4038-1

eBook
978-1-6698-4037-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 07/28/2022

Xlibris
844-714-8691
www.Xlibris.com
845317

Dedicated to my niece Kenzie Klein, my mom, Marty Lyon, my sisters Kelley and Kayla, my dog Holly, and my best friend Casey Lane (Penguin Head!)

He approached his former self crucified up on the wall in chains. And he’s never seen anything look more pathetic.
He’s wearing all black leather, obviously trying to be hardcore, and it nearly makes him heave. Being chained up like some demented scarecrow is probably the best thing in the world for a wimp like him(self). He sniffed his own boot, then sneezed reproachfully with narrowed eyes squinting up at his face hidden in shadow.
A raven landed on the outstretched arm to the right, because of course it did. It peered down at him, though he wasn’t sure how since the ugly thing was blind.
“What do art thou seek?” It asked in a croaky voice. He shouldn’t have been surprised at this but he was. And yet wasn’t.
“Nothing in particular. Why do you need to ask?” He was more surprised when those words came out of his very lupine mouth. He shouldn’t have been able to do that…
More crows and ravens were flying in, landing in an oval around him, surrounding him; all asking the same question:
“What do art thou seek? What do art thou seek ? What do art thou seek? WhAt Do ArT tHoU sEeK? WHAT DO ART THOU SEEK?”
Well, now he was seeking a way out. His huge paws were slipping out from under him as he tried to backpedal away from them all and their unseeing stares.
“I-I don’t know how to answer that question… Leave me alone!” He spun around but they were there, too. They were all around. And even more were coming, cawing like broken alarms taped over his sensitive ears.
WhAt Do ArT tHoU sEeK? WHAT ART THOU SEEK?
Then night fell.
#
He awoke wet and strongly stinking of beer. It made his overly-sensitive nose wrinkle. Even in person form he could smell the bitterness just fine and taste it on the back of his tongue as if he had taken a swig…
“You whimper in your sleep. It’s quite cute, lad,” The British accent was annoyingly strong and had humor strung all through it like silk lace. The man to whom it belonged was basically built on laughter and booze from the bones out and wore black everything to put out the air that his skinny ass rightfully owned the world. Certainly, the patches of sleepless nights under his drooping eyes weren’t just dark, they were black ; though, he masterfully managed to pass it off as the ever popular ‘guyliner .’
Raymond Trebeau scowled and shook the alcohol off that was way, too reminiscent of a dog, hoping he achieved in getting some of it all over Marston Hayes. He didn’t say anything to Mars afterwards, just grabbed his leather duster jacket off the bar – the exact one he had been wearing in his nightmare, he briefly acknowledged – and then made to head out the door. He heard the rumble of Marston’s growl behind him.
“Well, fuck you , too, Ray,” He bitched shaking the pile of jet black curls atop his head to rid it of liquid. “I had assumed you’d want to be woken since your so bloody insecure about your wolf. Oh, and by the way, you forgot your keys in your rush to leave me for a fool.” Ray stopped and looked over his shoulder, groaning under his breath when he saw Mars had told the truth and he turned on his heel to come back and retrieve them. His lips tightened in a line when Marston, continuing to be “helpful,” pushed the set to slide jangling towards him so he wouldn’t have to walk the rest of the way.
“I’m not your pup, Mars. You don’t need to fawn over me. I’ll handle things how I like to,” Ray groused, heavy brow furrowed over soul-eating blue eyes and his own rough American accent making him sound petulant as he watched his fingers of his left-hand curl over the keys to pick them up. Mars clucked in mock disapproval.
“ Tut, tut, mate! Whoever said I gave a rat’s ass about what happens to you? I just care about whether our pack is –”
“Your pack.” Ray was staunch that he wasn’t having any part of that.
Mars blinked, but let the comment disappear out of site and out of mind. “ – the pack stays safe at all times. You insist so much, though, about not letting anyone find out your “real self –” The asshole actually made air quotes when he did this. “—that I would think what I just did would tickle you pink!” Mars reached into the inky recesses of his jacket just then and emerged with a pack of a gross, off-brand cigs, lighting up quickly. The bartender behind the old-fashioned wooden counter, tall, rotund but not fat, bald on top except for the gray stubble around his ears that matched that enclosing his mouth and chin and wearing a surprising clean gray shirt and jeans with stained brown construction worker’s boots, leaned across to the Brit now surrounded by a thick cloud of nicotine smoke.
“Hey, Mars, you can’t do that in here during the day. Delicate constitutions of the hipsters these days, you know.” He told him in a very even tone for such a large specimen. Mars gave him a narrowed side-glance, Ray noting even from where he stood that his sclera had turned blood red and irises yellow – though definitely not from the cigarettes – before lashing out at the guy.
“Oh, you must be fucking joking, mate! It’s a bar , for Christ’s sake! And we’re the regulars here! You own this place, Malcom, give those upstart, little bleeders an arseful of teeth if they get all whiny and shit.” His voice garbled a bit from speaking around the cig, but he was loud and stern as someone in his position should be. He paused, however, taken aback a little when Malcom growled low in his throat, eyes also burning a flashing orange.
“I don’t make the rules about political correctness here, Mars. And like you just said, we have to keep up appearances. If the media says smoking is bad, smoking is bad. Got it?” Malcom had become gravelly, unknowingly undermining authority. He only got to enjoy it a couple seconds more, though, before Mars’s thin lips rapidly extended into a black maw full of teeth, snapping at the bartender so that he had to quickly step back, his growl downgrading to a whimper. Mars’s face hurriedly returned to normal once his power was reasserted as if nothing happened and he nonchalantly took another drag of the cigarette he’d popped back into his mouth. The silence that followed was enough to choke a beast. The rest of the pack huddled at their tables and pretended nothing was happening.
“Talk to me like that again and I won’t hold back from ripping your throat out next time. Then we’ll see whose talkin’ of keeping cover or not.” He at last stated with such a note of light conversation it was spooky and Ray had to remind himself what he’d just witnessed merely a minute ago. Malcolm, for his part, stayed graciously mute as his returned-to-normal eyes just observed Mars snuff out the cigarette in a complimentary bar ashtray with movements that clearly invited a challenge. They sized each other up for half a second longer when Malcolm finally backed down with a shuttering of his aforementioned eyes, a shake of his head, and a gruff, “Whatever…” uttered underneath his breath as he turned away to deal with other matters behind the counter. He’d snapped up a dishtowel from its hanging rod and was wiping his hands in a rough manner to suppress his undulating fury.
Marston kept his slitted eyes following the bigger pack member a few minutes more, and then spun towards Ray so casually and with such a smile that you could almost deny he was a force to be reckoned with. Ray himself never let down his wall of wariness around the alpha because of the frequent, speedy flip-flop of his amiable personality to a downright controlling and dangerous one. He wasn’t sure whether he should be grateful that Mars never mentioned it – because there was no way Mars didn’t know there was a thick tenseness whenever he was around Ray – or if this should cause Ray to be even more on his guard. It was almost useless to try and figure it out.
“Youngsters…they get more impulsive and stupid every year!” Marston joked, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder at a now-preoccupied Malcolm. Ray’s eyebrow curled up.
“He’s going to turn the tables and tear your throat out one of these full moons.” He pointed out in what he hoped was a matter-of-fact way, nodding towards the discussed bartender. Mars snorted unprettily.
“Please. Malcolm may be bigger than me, but his girth makes it hard for him to lick his own nads. I’m not the most healthy bugger, but I’ve got the lithe reflexes on him and age and experience, despite me appearing like I am his son.” He waved Rays’s observation away just like it were an annoying fly. As for Ray himself,