Jacob Michaels Is Not Jacob Michaels (A Point Worth LGBTQ Paranormal Romance Book 3) Read online

  Jacob Michaels Is Not Jacob Michaels

  A Point Worth LGBTQ Paranormal Romance

  Book 3

  By: Chase Connor

  © Copyright 2019

  All characters depicted in sexual situations in this publication are eighteen years of age or older. These stories are about fictional consenting adults. Nobody involved in the creation of this ebook, including authors, editors and models, support immoral or illegal acts in real life. Cover models are not intended to illustrate specific people and the content does not refer to models' actual acts, identity, history, beliefs or behavior. No characters depicted in this ebook are intended to represent real people.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  AUTHORS’ NOTE:

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Point Worth is a fictional Ohio town. None of this is real.

  As always:

  To my beta-readers and “feedback crew”: I am so glad you are all here. And I am so glad you are all so blunt with me—even if I do what I want most of the time.

  To all of the readers: It has been quite a journey. I’ve loved every second of it. Let’s get to the end together, shall we?

  Also by Chase Connor

  Just a Dumb Surfer Dude: A Gay Coming-of-Age Tale

  Just a Dumb Surfer Dude: For the Love of Logan

  Gavin’s Big Gay Checklist

  A Surplus of Light

  The Guy Gets Teddy

  GINJUH

  A Point Worth LGBTQ Paranormal Romances

  Jacob Michaels Is Tired (Book 1)

  Jacob Michaels Is Not Crazy (Book 2)

  Jacob Michaels Is

  Not Jacob Michaels

  A Point Worth LGBTQ Paranormal Romance

  Book 3

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  ‘Everything Little Thing She Does Is Magic’ by The Police was playing on the little radio on the kitchen counter when I walked into the room. Bright summer sunlight was pouring through the windows in the house, making everything look white and golden and nearly celestial. All of the curtains and drapes had been pushed back on their rods to help welcome the first day of summer. The house was sparkling clean and smelled of Oma’s favorite lavender cleaner. I staggered down the stairs, all wonky elbows and joints, my hair surely sticking up in spikes all over my head, rubbing my fists into my eyes. My bare feet padded down the stairs and then across the floor of the living room towards the kitchen. It was my last summer before I started Big Boy School. Talks had been given to me over and over again about what to expect, the friends I’d make, the teachers I would love, the things I would learn. All I cared about that summer morning was getting some of the food in the kitchen that was scenting the house from top to bottom: bacon and eggs and butter and maple-y goodness.

  When I entered the kitchen, I immediately saw her standing there, back turned to me, poking around in a skillet on top of the stove. My eyes lit up as an evil grin came to my face, and I tiptoed across the linoleum floor in the kitchen, sneaking up on her. I grabbed ahold of her sides, my head barely coming up past her butt, making her scream out in feigned shock. She had heard me walking up behind her, but it didn’t matter. She let my five-year-old self pretend that I had snuck up and startled the daylights out of her. She spun around, hand to chest, gasping as she looked down at me with wide eyes. Then her face broke into a smile, and she dropped to kneel before me. Her arms went around me immediately as she smothered my face with kisses.

  “Good morning, Robbie!” My mother managed to get out between my squealing and squirming as she smothered me with her kisses. “Good morning my little ray of sunshine!”

  “Mommy!” I squealed, pretending that I wanted to get away but I was really wanting my mother’s kisses to keep going until I was exhausted and collapsed in her arms.

  I wanted to feel my mom’s arms around me, comforting and loving me, leading me to the table for my breakfast. The smothering kisses and squeezing arms lasted for what was a very long time, but not to a five-year-old. Finally, my mom pulled back, her hands going to my shoulders so that she could get a good look at me. Immediately, one hand went to my head, to try and pat down the multitude of cow-licks in my hair. She smiled to herself as she gave up after a few seconds. My hair never wanted to do what she wanted it to do, and that was a battle she was slowly losing. Her hand went to my chin, pinching it between her fingers as she winked at me.

  “Did you leave your appetite in bed or is it here with you?”

  I giggled. So silly.

  “I’m so hungry, mommy!”

  “What do you want for breakfast, baby?”

  “What did you make?”

  “What do you want?”

  I giggled. This was our game.

  “What did you make, mommy?”

  She smiled widely.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want eggs and bacon and pancakes!” I crowed towards the ceiling, excited for a new day, full of endless possibilities and wonder.

  The way a five-year-old lives each day…with possibility.

  “Well,” Mom kissed my forehead quickly, “you must have read my mind. That’s exactly what I made.”

  Cheering, I headed over to the table, my mom patting me on the butt as I turned away from her. I sat down, yawning and rubbing my eyes again as my mom got a plate from the cabinet in Oma’s kitchen and went over to the stove to serve my breakfast. That was probably the best thing about being so young—no real responsibility, all the wonders of the world, and your mom served you breakfast. As I sat there, listening to the spatula scrape against the cast iron skillet, I couldn’t help but wonder where Oma and my father were. They always had breakfast with us in the morning. In fact, Oma was usually the first person down in the kitchen. She usually made our breakfast. Sometimes mom did…but not very often. Frowning to myself, I rubbed my eyes with my balled-up hands again, trying to chase the last of the sleep away.

  Just as I was turning in my seat to peek at my mother over the chair back, I felt it. The rumbling in the floor. At first, it just felt like a train passing nearby, though there were absolutely no train tracks anywhere near Oma’s house. My eyes grew wide as the rumbling turned into shaking and the whole house seemed to shake with the movement. A low roar began, then louder and louder until it sounded like a tornado was about to rip the house apart. I looked at my mother in terror as she turned to me, the half-filled plate in her hand, her own eyes wide with concern. No…with absolute terror.

  “Mommy?” I squealed as loudly as I could over the sound.

  “Stay there, Robbie!” My mom replied desperately, her hand unsteady as she reached out to set the plate on the kitchen counter as the house shook
.

  The plate clattered to the floor, shattering, food flying everywhere as I grabbed onto the chair, trying not to fall off of my seat. Next, it was the small radio falling off of the kitchen counter, its crash to the floor muted by the roaring and shaking. The roaring and shaking increased until I knew that I would fall from my seat to the hard ground below. My mother held onto the kitchen counter, trying to stay on her feet and also not step on the broken plate shards or chunks of greasy food. Suddenly, as though it had never even started, the roaring and the shaking stopped. We were left in Oma’s deathly quiet kitchen, me holding onto my chair, terrified, and my mother gripping the kitchen counter as though her life depended upon it. Slowly, she turned to look at me, her face ashen, concern etched all over it.

  “Muh-mommy?” I peeped.

  My mother’s mouth moved but whatever came out was muffled, as though she were speaking underwater.

  Then the roaring and shaking were back, and green light filled the room.

  “Robbie!” My mother screeched.

  Whispers.

  Whispers everywhere.

  My vision was blurry as I looked up at the moon peeking through the clouds and tree limbs overhead. The moon was like color trails in my vision, haloes of red and blue and green, especially green. Shutting my eyes tightly, I pulled my arms away from the muddy ground to slap my hands over my ears. The whispers continued, indecipherable, indiscernible, coming from everywhere but nowhere at all. Were they coming from inside of my head? Who was whispering? What were they saying? I grimaced and shook my head as I held my hands against my ears. Slowly, the whispering tapered off. My heart was in my throat, pounding like a jackhammer. I could hear it inside of my head, replacing the whispers as the memories ducked in and out of the vault in my head.

  Pulling my hands away from my ears, I laid there, looking up at the clouds passing in front of the moon through the tree branches overhead.

  Did you see that?

  “What?” I gasped, trying to rise to a seated position, my body not wanting to cooperate.

  Who was I talking to as I laid there? Who was out in the backyard with me? I listened carefully, trying to ignore the sound of my own heart in my head. Off in the distance, a wolf howled.

  Did you see that?

  Immediately, I pushed myself out of the muck I had fallen into, jumping to my feet. Mud and muck dripped off of me. It had seeped through my pajamas, matted the back of my head, covered the entire backside of me. Dashing across the still nearly frozen ground at the edge of the woods, I ran as fast as my thudding heart and my aching joints allowed, heading directly towards Oma’s house. The whispers had stopped, my vision had cleared, Oma’s house was crisp and sharp in my vision as I crossed the lawn at top speed. Halfway across the lawn, the house getting closer, I noticed the stillness of the night around me. My feet crunching against the ground, my heart in my throat; they were the only sounds I heard. The clouds moving across the sky and me dashing across the lawn were the only things moving in the dark.

  Spinning around, I turned and looked off towards the woods as my mind strobed memories and my breath came in gasps.

  My mom was making me breakfast.

  The shaking of the house and the green light.

  My father was tucking me into bed.

  “Mom will be back, Robbie.”

  He had said that.

  Waking up the next morning and being all alone.

  Oma showing up.

  Dad never coming back.

  As I stood there, my hands rising to either side of my head, pressing against my skull as the memories rushed in and then receded, then repeated the process, I sensed movement at the edge of the woods. I looked up; hands still pressed to my head as it did its best to split wide open from the strobe light of memories flashing through my brain. Everything was going so fast—I remembered everything but, then I didn’t, over and over again until I thought I would go mad as I gasped for air, trying to get my lungs working correctly. Just as I felt the memories start to settle back into place, find their home within my consciousness again, the silence of the backyard was shattered by another wolf howl. But this one was close. So very close.

  At the edge of the woods, though my vision was still somewhat blurry, I saw dark shapes moving through the trees towards the yard. I let my hands fall from my head as the memories fluttered away like dandelion seeds in a stiff breeze. My body felt frozen in place, from fear or the cold, I wasn’t sure, as three large shapes moved past the tree line into the backyard. Three wolves, larger than I had ever seen before, stalked out of the woods, their red eyes glowing and zeroing in on me. All three had thick black fur, red eyes that seemed to glow in the dark, and toothy snarls affixed on their muzzles. A low, rumbling growl emanated from them as they inched towards me, their massive paws sinking deep into the muck with each step.

  My feet began to move of their own accord—my brain was not involved—moving me backward and closer to the house. I screamed out in shock at the sight of the wolves, which only made them growl louder as they continued their forward movements. I slapped a hand over my mouth as I continued shuffling backward, wondering if I should make a mad dash for the house or if that would only make them run after me. There was no way that I could outrun three grown wolves with half of the yard left to traverse. However, if I merely kept inching backward, they would surely catch up to me. They definitely would not continue stalking forward at the same pace once they figured out that I was terrified and unable to make my brain and feet communicate effectively.

  Three wolves continued to traverse the backyard, inching towards me as I inched back towards the house. My heart was in my throat again, and my eyes darted from one set of glowing red eyes to another to another. All three wolves snarled, their fangs dripping viscous saliva as they got closer and closer and the house seemed to get farther and farther away. Staring into the eyes of the wolves was like staring into my future—a future full of ripping jaws, clenching teeth, sinew and flesh torn from bones, guttural screams filling the air. I swallowed hard as I started to take more substantial steps backward, my eyes zeroing in on the middle wolf—the one I had decided was probably the leader of this small pack. The middle wolf’s eyes squinted in what seemed like feral anger as I took another substantial step backward. He growled gutturally as the two wolves on either side of him leaned back and howled ferally at the sky.

  Something inside of me connected my brain to my body once again, and my mind began to command my body to turn and rush for the house, to do everything I could to outrun these three wolves.

  What were wolves doing along the shore of Lake Erie so close to Oma’s house anyway?

  What does it matter, idiot?

  These wolves are going to tear you limb from limb regardless of the reason.

  Then it dawned on me.

  I glanced at the sky, but the moon was waning.

  Were these werewolves?

  How could that be?

  The moon wasn’t full.

  Looking into the eyes of the wolf I had decided was the leader convinced me further that I wasn’t dealing with standard wolves. There was a human intelligence there. A hunger and longing and anger that a standard wolf could neither express nor convey with their eyes. For several moments, I stared into the leader’s eyes as he squinted ferally back at me. The other two wolves started to inch forward again, coming closer to me as the leader held back. Obviously, the two on either side were going to dash in and attack, and the leader would bring up the rear in case I tried to get around them. I had no choice. I had to turn and run for the house. Even if I could feint and dodge around them, the only place I could run was the woods—and they would surely chase me down before I got close to the tree line.

  “Sir?” My eyes widened at the voice that came from behind me.

  “Ernst,” I spoke through clenched teeth but did not turn my eyes away from the wolves, “go back in the house! Right now!”

  The space of a single breath passed before Er
nst had dashed forward, coming to stand before me, putting himself between me and wolves. Ernst was quick. There hadn’t been time to stop him from making himself a target.

  “No!” He held a tiny hand up, palm out, towards the wolves. “Ya’ will leave the master alone!”

  “ERNST!” I screamed at his insane display of bravado. “GET AWAY FROM TH—”

  The three wolves all howled towards the sky again, then they were dashing towards him, teeth gnashing and red eyes glowing angrily. There was no other decision to make. Ernst vapor-locked at the sight of the wolves barreling down on him. I dashed forward and wrapped an arm around Ernst, enveloping him within my grasp as the wolves ran towards us at full speed. I held my other hand out at the wolves, as though this would stop them.

  I want them to stop.

  I don’t want to die.

  I don’t want Ernst to be hurt.

  “NO!” I screamed.

  My vision flared as blistering fire erupted from my hand, flowing out in a violent wave towards the wolves. Ernst’s burrowed his face in my chest as the leader of the wolves ducked, barely avoiding the blast of fire. His counterparts were not so lucky. The wolf on his right was hit fully by the wall of flames, and the one on the left ducked a little too late, the wall of fire sliding across the side of him, singing off hair and melting skin underneath. I was breathing heavily, my hand still held out in front of myself, holding Ernst against me as the wolf leader snarled and growled but came no closer. The wolf who had taken the full force of the fire was whimpering and thrashing on the ground, and the other one was limping and yipping, putting itself behind the leader.

  “Sir.” Ernst peeped.

  “Shhhh, Ernst.” I silenced him, keeping my hand up.

  Fire had just erupted from my hand.

  I didn’t know how.