Rules Are Meant to Be Broken

  Table of Contents

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  About the Author

  Trademarks Acknowledgment

  MLR Press Authors

  GLBT RESOURCES

  RULES ARE MEANT TO BE BROKEN

  The Lines of Marsden Series

  N.J. NIELSEN

  mlrpress

  www.mlrpress.com

  The Lines of Marsden were born into existence for a reason: to right the wrongs that had once taken place.

  Destiny fated that they must destroy the Eldren before evil wins.

  Michael Marsden wants to die – for real this time. He wasn’t meant to lead the half-life that he does. He chooses to let it go and let death take what it had already claimed.

  But Christian Risely isn’t about to let that happen. He is drawn to Michael and is wil ing to do anything to ensure that he lives, even if that means keeping him alive against his will.

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

  Copyright 2012 by N.J. Nielsen

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Published by

  MLR Press, LLC

  3052 Gaines Waterport Rd.

  Albion, NY 14411

  Visit ManLoveRomance Press, LLC on the Internet:

  www.mlrpress.com

  Cover Art by Deana Jamroz

  Editing by Kimberly Brandt

  Print format ISBN# 978-1-60820-538-7

  ebook format ISBN#978-1-60820-539-4

  Issued 2012

  This book is licensed to the original purchaser only.

  Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  My thanks go to:

  My family for putting up with my madness during the time

  I wrote. Especial y my husband Steve, who spent the entire

  time being cal ed Christian. Sorry, babe.

  To Jim, who helped me get started in the direction of

  publishing. You are my Yoda.

  To Sue, who takes the time to explain it al so I can

  understand.

  To Kimberly, you total y rock!!! Though I stil say

  punctuation sucks.

  And last but not least to Vladimir, my beautiful Goth who

  rules the world inside my head.

  Any band or singer mentioned within the pages of this

  story is here because they are awesome.

  This book is dedicated to my daughter

  Emily. She inspired me to write this series.

  She is my Gypsy.

  CHAPTER ONE

  So much to live for.

  Michael’s gaze slowly drifted around the crowded and

  smoky nightclub, watching the unsuspecting people go

  about their lives, not knowing things like him existed,

  walked among them. Here these people were, laughing

  and enjoying the lives they al took for granted.

  Anger — or something very much like it — settled low in

  his stomach. He was pissed off; these people al had

  something that he had lost forever. Feelings like these

  scared him, knowing he was no longer one of them. Thanks

  to some fucked up twist of fate, he couldn’t go back to the

  life he had always known. Everything was so confusing —

  he didn’t even know if he was ful y human anymore. What

  had he done in his life that was so wrong he ended up with

  this destiny? He was a pacifist for crying out loud. Running

  away and letting Gypsy deal with the hard stuff had always

  been his way of coping.

  A cigarette dangled loosely from his pale fingertips as

  the music pounded through his body in place of the

  heartbeat he no longer felt. This alone made him angrier

  stil , because it showed just how fucked up his life had

  become. Why the hel had this happened to him?

  Especial y when he had so much to live for. He had Gypsy!

  And he missed her so much. The thought made him smile

  sadly — he bet not many brothers would say such nice

  things about their sisters. But Gypsy was special — she

  was his twin. Gypsy knew him better then he knew himself.

  Their grandad had told him often enough, “Michael never

  walk away from your sister. No matter what happens to you

  both in life, remember she is your strength. Her job is to

  protect you in what is to come.” It was bul shit memories

  such as this which made everything so damn hard. Why

  had his grandad told him lies? It only made him hurt a

  hundred times more.

  Michael swiped at his angry tears and pushed away

  from the table. Not wanting to be around these people any

  longer, knowing they took for granted everything he wanted

  back, Michael walked outside and headed down the

  darkened street. He was finding it harder and harder not to

  give into his cravings. Even now it gnawed at his insides,

  demanding he take notice. He needed to work out if he was

  going to give into what his body wanted, or fight it, and

  more than likely die.

  Blocking out the one voice behind him, her voice — Why

  did Gypsy haunt him so? Why couldn’t she leave him

  alone? — Michael headed into the park, taking the least

  used paths so he wouldn’t run into anyone. At the sound of

  murmuring voices he stopped and listened. Michael was

  glad neither were the same voice from earlier, yet they

  were ones he had heard before. Undoubtedly he was being

  fol owed again. Tonight he just wished they would just go

  away and leave him in peace. Didn’t they know he found

  their constant surveil ance annoying? He was twenty-two

  years old for crying out loud. Seriously he didn’t need this

  shit. Not tonight. Trying to ignore them, he continued on his

  way, wondering what made him so fascinating to them.

  As he tried to ignore their presence, he turned his

  thoughts inwards to his anger, and al the things which

  pissed him off. At the top of the list was hearing Gypsy’s

  voice cal ing out to him wherever he went. He missed his

  sister so much. There was no running from the memories of

  what they once shared. Her voice was slowly sending him

  insane. This was why Michael hadn’t turned when he heard

  her. It wasn’t real. She wasn’t actual y there, and turning to

  find it was al in his imagination would make him want to go

  and find her. Find her, to seek out what they had once

  shared. If his sister was here then he wouldn’t be so l
onely.

  This was the reason why he pressed his hands over his

  ears to block her out as he walked away. She had once

  promised him they would be together forever. What a crock

  of shit it had al turned out to be. Why had two people he

  cared about lied to him? First Grandad and now Gypsy?

  Groaning, he pressed a hand to his throat. He hated

  knowing as his hunger grew his obsession with Gypsy

  escalated. How could he want to be with her when he was

  this way? Deep down he knew he wanted to make her the

  same, to be able to keep her with him for always like she

  had promised. If she were with him then he wouldn’t have to

  spend the rest of his existence on his own. With Gypsy here

  he would be strong enough to survive and not be as scared

  as he felt. He knew his emotions jumping from pissed off to

  scared al the time wasn’t good for him. But there was

  nothing he could do about. Or rather, nothing he was wil ing

  to do about it.

  In reality it terrified him because he could imagine

  feeding from her, the taste of her blood fil ing his mouth,

  and it disgusted him because he knew if he truly wanted to

  do it she would let him.

  How sick was that?

  Slowing his pace, Michael concentrated. Someone was

  stil watching him — actual y there were two of them. They

  smelt the same yet completely different, and strangely the

  scent of each of them cal ed to him. This wasn’t the first

  time he had sensed them fol owing him, but tonight it felt

  different. Usual y they kept their distance. Tonight Michael

  co uld feel his watchers’ curiosity, and it overrode his

  hunger. He didn’t know how he was able to do this; it

  seemed to be something new which had come to him with

  his change of circumstances. The thought alone made him

  almost burst out laughing.

  Change of circumstances. What a crock.

  Inhaling, he found the watchers’ scents were strange,

  intoxicating — sweet with just a little touch of spice. It made

  his mouth water. Both cal ed to him, pul ing at him as much

  as his thoughts of Gypsy did. He shook his head as if to

  clear it. He real y didn’t need this crap. Michael pul ed out a

  cigarette and placed it between his trembling lips. His

  hands shook so much as he struck the first match it went

  out before he could get it anywhere near the tip of his

  smoke. With a sigh, he tried again and grimaced sadly

  when he succeeded. In that brief instant when the flame

  flickered in front of his face he heard the watchers’ breaths

  catch and wondered why. What did the watchers see?

  What was making them react the way they were? It seemed

  strange al the crap filtering through his head nowadays,

  making him think and wonder “why” al the time. Michael’s

  lips twitched as he once again he heard a sigh, or sighs.

  There were two of them.

  With a wince, he inhaled on his cigarette. It was funny

  how quickly a habit could form. He had only taken up

  smoking so he wouldn’t give in to the hunger his body

  craved so badly. Yet the hunger was an itch deep down

  inside, one he couldn’t relieve no matter how much he

  scratched. He was growing weaker; he could feel it with

  every passing day. Even now it hurt just to smoke. It was

  almost too hard to raise his hand to his face. Breathing,

  which had once come so easily to him, felt as though he

  had swal owed hot coals. It burned badly and he needed it

  to stop.

  Pain shot through his head. He stumbled, fal ing to the

  ground. Michael watched the glowing tip of his cigarette —

  it had fal en mere inches from his face. Tonight he would

  have to give in or die, he knew it. A slow maniacal laughter

  echoed into the surrounding darkness, cut short by the

  effort it took as he rol ed onto his back. Staring at the dark

  sky above him he realised his choice was made. His eyes

  fluttered, but not quite closing.

  If he died then al of this could end. No more fear. No

  more anger. No more pain. Just peace.

  “Please God! Please don’t let me wake up again.

  Please?”

  Christian stood with Doyle in the shadows and watched

  as Michael seemed to struggle with himself. Michael was

  the newest member of their family, whether he wanted to be

  or not.

  Pain had such a tantalising way about it, Christian

  thought as he closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, he

  savoured the experience of it. It reminded him of

  something, but he couldn’t quite remember what, and he

  knew it would drive him crazy until he worked it al out. He

  wanted so much to bite and taste Michael just a little bit, but

  it wasn’t al owed. His instructions were to watch.

  Pul ing out his phone, he tossed it to Doyle and listened

  as he dial ed, his gaze never leaving Michael. Christian

  studied Michael as he lay on the ground laughing as he

  stared up into the darkness. What so funny? Something

  about Michael pul ed Christian to him, and he didn’t know

  what it was, or why the urge to be near Michael was so

  strong. He loved the fact he was the one who was going to

  help Michael survive. Okay, so he wasn’t alone, but Doyle

  didn’t seem as fascinated as he did. Doyle seemed almost

  angry, and tense.

  Christian realised he could do whatever he wanted to

  Michael and no one would be any wiser. Wel , except for

  Doyle. The thought of Doyle watching made him chuckle.

  What would Doyle think if I started making out with

  Michael?

  “Charm, he’s down.” Doyle told her where they were

  before he put the phone away and then walked toward the

  unconscious form lying on the ground. It would take about

  forty-five minutes for the others to get here. Forty-five

  minutes where he and Christian would be alone with

  Michael.

  Picking up Michael’s cigarette, Doyle took a drag before

  flicking it away into the darkness. It tasted of peppermint

  and roses. Doyle had the urge to find out what Michael’s

  mouth would taste like. The craving shocked and mildly

  repulsed him — he had never had this kind of reaction

  before to anyone, much less a guy. As he sat on the grass

  beside Michael, his fingertips itched to reach out and

  stroke the stranger’s face. Michael’s face. Charm had told

  them earlier when she had found out his name, and it was

  such a beautiful name. His fingertips tingled at the touch as

  he gave in to his desire. He couldn’t help but notice

  Christian was just as equal y, if not more fascinated by him.

  As he studied Michael lying there, Christian wanted

  desperately to be able to hear his thoughts. He wanted to

  know everything in Michael’s mind. Maybe then he could

  work out why he was pul ed toward Michael as he was.

  Glancing over at Doyle, Christian frowned, feeling jealous

  because Doyle had been the first to touch Michael.

  They both knew Michael was dying; he needed to feed.


  Christian wanted to ease his pain. Rather, he needed to

  ease his pain. Somewhere deep inside him something was

  tel ing him Michael belonged to him and was his to protect.

  Leaning over him, Christian spoke softly in Michael’s

  ear. “I wil help you. I wil make it so you can live. I wil make

  it so you can stay with me, with us for al eternity.” Christian

  wanted to devour Michael’s mouth in a deep and lingering

  kiss. He wanted so much just to push his tongue into

  Michael’s mouth so he could taste him more thoroughly. In

  his mind his lips began kissing Michael’s face over and

  over as they lay there tasting every inch of skin. It was a pity

  Michael wasn’t aware of what he was thinking. If he were,

  would Michael enjoy those thoughts? He wondered about

  Doyle. What would he think if he knew Christian had a crush

  on the new guy? At least in his own mind he could do what

  he wanted.

  Oh well, as long as one of us is having fun. And boy

  would I have had fun.

  While he waited for what he needed to come along, he

  told Doyle al about what he planned to do. “It’s simple, I just

  kil some poor unsuspecting person who happens past our

  way and then I wil drink al their nice delicious blood and

  spit it into his mouth so he can get better.”

  Doyle rol ed his eyes. “Chris, there are easier ways to do

  it.”

  “Yes, but wil it be as fun as my way? Wel , fun for me.”

  Though real y, he should get Michael’s permission before

  doing the deed.

  Turning his attention back to Michael, Christian asked,

  “So do you want me to save you?” Michael stared at him

  with glazed over eyes, as if he was only half aware of what

  was going on. When he didn’t answer, Christian made

  Michael’s head nod, and kissed him on the forehead.

  “Good boy, love. I thought you would see it my way.”

  Doyle saw Michael try to shake his head in the negative.

  “Chris, he doesn’t want this. You can’t change him against

  his wishes.” It kil ed a little part of Doyle to say it.

  “He’s already changed. I am just giving him a little

  boost,” Christian said. He jumped to his feet as they heard

  someone approaching. Christian’s whole demeanour

  seemed to alter and Doyle knew the hunt was on.