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Druid in Drag

Druid in Drag

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Druid in Drag

Länge:
82 Seiten
1 Stunde
Herausgeber:
Freigegeben:
Nov 13, 2019
ISBN:
9781646561513
Format:
Buch

Beschreibung

Ren Coulter is used to working alone. As a special agent in the Paranormal Operations Unit of the border patrol, he is to infiltrate a reputed drug lord’s compound in Nogales, Arizona. His mission is to learn the source of a very dangerous and addictive new drug. He goes in drag, disguised as a glamorous young woman, to catch Mendoza’s roving eye. Even before he meets Mendoza, he encounters a Mendoza’s striking body guard.. Despite his lone wolf habits, Ren sees advantages in working together. Still, trust comes slowly and not without a hitch, but soon they must rely on one another to survive.

Darzul Onaygan has been sent from his home world of Arzula to blend in with the earthlings and help them fight off the evil alien invaders. Bisexual as most Arzulans are, many even able to switch gender at will, he finds Ren very attractive in both his guises. He sees Ren is interested but shocked to learn his new friend is not from earth. Darzul knows it takes more than hot sex to build a partnership. While outside threats may force them to work together, that alone cannot forge a bond. Will they live long enough to accomplish their mission and become real partners?
Herausgeber:
Freigegeben:
Nov 13, 2019
ISBN:
9781646561513
Format:
Buch

Über den Autor

Deirdre writes gay romance channeling a prior life’s gay male twin she calls Danny. Fascinated by love’s diverse shades and guises, she explores and experiences a range of attachments. She still believes in happily ever after, that Love is the One True Thing and genuine Love is never wrong. For more information, visit deirdredares.blogspot.com.

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Buchvorschau

Druid in Drag - Deirdre O’Dare

7

Chapter 1

Nogales, Arizona

Halloween night

Renfro Coulter struggled not to teeter on the four-inch heels of the thigh-high, shiny black boots he wore. He settled the purple velvet cape evenly across his shoulders and tugged at the hampering folds of the unfamiliar ankle-length skirt. Damned thing seemed to cling to his legs despite the high slits in its flaring panels. I’d better be careful or I’ll fall on my ass.

He took a final look in the mirror. The flowing waist-length locks of his wig tickled where straying strands touched his skin, while the fluid waves softened the angles of his narrow face. Damn, I actually make a good-looking woman. He shook his head, making the dark auburn tresses slither against the purple velvet. Sparkling with fiery highlights when the bank of lights reflected off the silken cascade, each hair seemed to be alive and aflame.

I prob’ly should have been born female. Even though this get-up feels clumsy right now, I could get to like dressing up this way. He grinned. Beats being the weird skinny, short kid everyone picked on, anyway. Especially once they learned mom was Wiccan and started calling me "That son of the witch." Not that anyone would dare pick on him anymore. As an agent of the increasingly notorious Paranormal Operations Unit of the Border Patrol or POU, he’d been well trained in martial arts and encouraged to hone the unusual skills he’d been born with—in the male gender, wrong body or not.

The son of an avowed witch and a mysterious father, allegedly a druid, who Renfro could only recall in a scatter of vague vignettes from childhood, he’d grown up in an environment where magic was considered normal. Despite that, his mother had insisted he refrain from casting spells or using any unusual powers for defense while he went to school and grew to adulthood. Maybe fighting with normal skills had made him tough, but it certainly hadn’t been fun. He had the scars to prove it, too. As an adult, not quite either mage or druid, he had his own peculiar powers and ways of working magic. Those skills had led him to the notice of Clayton Chiles, head of the POU. He’d been a full-fledged member of that elite cadre of guardians for several months now.

With a flourish of the cape, he turned toward the door. It was time to put his disguise to test. Playboy and reputed drug lord Enrique Mendoza was said to have an eye for striking women and perhaps gorgeous drag queens, too. Either way, Ren should catch his notice. Although not an invited guest for this particular one of Mendoza’s infamous parties, Ren did not expect to have any trouble crashing the night’s festivities. If it came to that, he’d just make himself invisible long enough to get past security.

Outside the hotel where he’d registered as Rena Murphy, he caught a cab across town to Mendoza’s hilltop estate. The Latino cabby shot him one slantwise look, but did not comment and gave a small nod when Ren told him the destination.

Ah so, the man murmured. Though unspoken, I might have guessed, hung in the air.

Ren gave the driver a generous tip when he got out at the portico of the rambling house. A bored-looking man in an operetta-grand uniform guarding the door hardly gave him a glance. Seemed Mendoza felt he had nothing to fear. No doubt he’d have security in the mansion. Still, it seemed bold to the point of foolishness to be so lax.

Easier for me, though. Ren gave a tight smile. I can save my spell energy for later. He walked through the double doors and paused in the foyer.

After taking a moment to get his bearings, he stepped down the three steps into the first room, which seemed to hold the overflow from the party. The center of the festivities appeared to be though an arched opening beyond the first room if the noise was a clue. A rock band, a country western group, and a mariachi ensemble vied for dominance. Although they might be playing in different areas of the huge house, the sounds alternately melded and clashed.

Before he’d crossed the first room, he’d been ogled by many and propositioned by several, but he put them off. I’m meeting someone, he said, and he tends to be possessive. He’d perfected that low, genderless purr of a voice, as ambiguous as his persona—but sexy, very sexy.

From all he’d heard of Mendoza, that was completely true. If the don took a shine to Ren, nobody else better make any moves on him. The trick was to get close enough, just not too close. He’d have to play coy and hard to get, while still interested and flirtatious. Ren had once considered a career in the theater. However, this would be the most challenging role he’d attempted.

It took him almost an hour of wriggling through the costumed crowd, into one huge ballroom and out again, across a patio and a courtyard, and through more rooms before he finally located Mendoza. Once there, Ren halted in the doorway to study his prey. The Latino, apparently outfitted to look like Zorro in black, enhanced with conchos, rhinestones, and silver braid, sprawled in a huge gilded chair on a dais at one end of the room. A bevy of scantily dressed beauties clustered around him, seeming to vie for a few seconds of his total attention.

They were all drop dead gorgeous. Even if some of them might be in drag, Ren had to admit he couldn’t tell. He knew some female impersonators perfected their look until they could fool even the most discerning. By comparison, his disguise was almost clumsy. Still, he knew he presented a striking sight. He held a pose in the open doorway, waiting to see if Mendoza would notice him.

He didn’t have to wait long. From across the room, he felt the searing impact of the Patron’s ebony eyes. The man had power; whether part of it was magic-based he could not yet tell, but there was both magnetic and kinetic energy in that fierce gaze. Mendoza turned to speak

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