M/M Contemporary Paranormal
When an innocent human virgin meets the king of the unicorn herd, it’s not just legends that come true.
Ivan Brusilov goes to Unconventional to get a drink and let off some steam. Little does he realize he’ll be meeting his destiny when he walks in.
Carney Ferguson goes to the paranormal bar to celebrate his twenty-fifth birthday. Maybe he’s looking for some fun as well, considering he’s still a virgin. He doesn’t like admitting it, but when he meets Ivan, he discovers that being a virgin can bring opportunities that being experienced might not.
As the unicorn king and the virgin begin to fall in love, there are darker forces working behind the scenes to take advantage of the unicorn legends for their own evil purpose. Neither Ivan nor Carney are safe alone, but together, they just might be strong enough to keep Ivan alive.
Reader Advisory: This story has been previously released as part of the Unconventional in San Diego anthology by Unconventional in San Diego.
Passing under the neon sign that read ‘Unconventional’, Ivan sighed as he stepped into the bar. As much as he loved his herd, he enjoyed the nights he could go out and not worry about them. His brothers were keeping an eye on the ladies and their children so Ivan could go have a drink or two.
“Hey there, Ivan. Good to see you,” Wilma, the owner of Unconventional, called out from where she stood behind the wooden bar. “You want the usual?”
“Yes please, Wilma.” He got there just as a shot glass of vodka slid down the smooth surface to him. It was followed closely by a bottle of Corona. Ivan snatched both before they could fall off the edge. He saluted her with the vodka then drank it.
He enjoyed the slight burn as it went down and hit his stomach. After taking a sip of his beer, he glanced around to see who else had decided to come for a drink. Ivan saw Angelo and started to walk over to say hi when the most intriguing scent hit him.
Being a unicorn shifter, Ivan would be the first to admit he wasn’t extra sensitive to smells. He was much more a ‘line of sight’ kind of creature, but there was something about this scent that made him hard and took his attention from everything else around him.
Inhaling again, he followed the fragrance through the crowd to one of the corner booths. Ivan spotted the young man sitting there, elbows braced on the table while he stared down at his drink. There was sadness in the tilt of his head and pain in the lift of his shoulders.
“What did that drink do to make you look like that?” he asked as he stopped next to the booth.
The man jerked, almost knocking his drink over. Ivan caught it before it fell off. He set it back in front of the guy.
“I’m Ivan Brusilov. May I sit?” He motioned to the spot next to the enthralling human.
“Umm…sure. I guess.”
He could tell, even through the scent that drew him to the man, that he was human, which was strange to see at a paranormal bar. After dropping down onto the leather bench, he fought the urge to bury his face in the crook of the man’s neck. Fuck! He’d never wanted to do that before.
“Your name is?”
“Oh sorry. I’m Carney Ferguson.” Carney held out his hand for Ivan to shake. “You’re Russian.”
“My family came from Russia,” he admitted. Just because Carney was at Unconventional didn’t mean he knew about paranormals, so Ivan wasn’t about to say he’d brought his herd over after the Bolsheviks had taken over the country. No need for him to know how old Ivan really was. “You sound like your family is Irish.”
Carney smiled slightly. “My father’s side is. My mom’s French.”
Ivan grinned back. “An interesting blending of cultures. I’m all Russian. My parents met back in the old country. Are you here to drown your sorrows—whatever those may be?”
“No. Well, yes. I was going to, but I’ve never drunk before, and after taking a sip of this whiskey, I’ve figured out I don’t like it.” Carney frowned. “I’m not a very good Irishman if I don’t like liquor.”
“I don’t know. I would think you’d hate to be a stereotype,” Ivan teased.
Laughing, Carney nodded. “You’re right. I should probably head home then. My family will wonder where I’ve been.”
Allowing his instinct to override his usual reticent tendencies, he reached out to rest his hand on Carney’s arm. “Please stay. I’ll get you a soda or water. I’d like to hear what kind of sorrows a good-looking man like you would have to drown.”
The blush staining Carney’s cheeks fascinated Ivan. Everything about the man spoke of innocence. Yet Ivan didn’t know how any person—human or paranormal—could still be pure in this modern age.