Callum Saxon wakes up to a totally different universe where all around him is water. Strangely he can breathe it as if it’s air. The bad thing is he can't remember how he got there. He can't remember himself, either.
Ainsley Carlisle is more than a man with long blond hair. He’s a unicorn shifter with secrets as widely stretched as the rainbow supposedly coming out of his rear. Ainsley won’t help Callum uncover who he is because Ainsley wants him to remember it himself.
In this new universe, Callum has to survive the creatures that live there, such as vampires, shifters, werewolves, you name it. But there’s more to Callum than meets the eye.
Callum wasn't completely unaware of where he was going. He recognized the place as the kind of pub Ainsley had showed him earlier. He wasn't sure how he was going to pay for his drinks but the thought of losing himself in alcohol was as big of enticement as his desire to erase his mind completely -- if there was any to erase.
Callum blinked his eyes, adjusting to the dim light inside. The place was quiet, practically empty. Perhaps it was still quite early. It wasn't unlike other pubs he frequented -- ha, he remembered that piece of information. The only thing keeping this one apart from the ones he knew was the slow moving thick water around him. Callum just hoped he wouldn't get sick like some time ago when he first shoveled food down into his stomach. He gazed straight at the bartender. Now what could he say to get a free drink ...
He looked up. A literal tall, dark, and handsome was looming over him. Callum wouldn't call himself short but compared to this man? He was a midget.
"What are you doing alone in this place, baby doll? Where is your, ah, partner?"
"What do you mean?"
The stranger waved his hand. "You know, that blond bastard?"
So he knew he'd been going about with Ainsley.
"Come on," the man said dismissively. "Two pretty creatures like you? You were both strolling around the town like the happiest couple in the realm, making everyone jealous."
Callum sputtered. "Jealous? We're not a couple and I'm not sure about the pretty creatures ..." Talking about pretty, he himself couldn't tear his gaze away from ... what was his name?
"Who are you?" Callum's voice was as weak as he was feeling at the moment.
The man closed the distance between them and Callum sniffed his cologne. It was a scent he'd never smelled before. It was a mix of their surroundings, like ocean breeze as well as the old woods, added with citrus aromas and a trace of musk underlying all of those. It was strong but not too overpoweringly so or suffocating. It was more like the flow of the ocean water, soothing and lulling, spellbinding.
"Is a name that important to you?"
Callum felt like he was coming back from a long slumber. He looked up from the man's strong, sculpted jaw, which sat at his eye level.
"What's yours, l'ange?"
It took a beat and Callum realized the man just called him angel in French. So they spoke French here, too, Callum mused. He wondered what other languages they spoke.
"Callum. Callum Saxon."
"Your name is as pretty as its owner." He practically purred.
"How about you?"
To Callum's surprise, the man withdrew a little to make a deep bow with one leg pulled back and a hand waving low.
"I am usually called Patrice Deniau. I believe that's my real name though it's been centuries and I honestly can't remember in which period of time I was named that."
Callum felt as if all the air in his lungs was sucked out. Centuries. Period of time. What was this man whose name sounded French, too -- Patrice Deniau? A vampire?
A shudder ran down his spine. Patrice did look like a vampire with his tall, slender figure, sharp chin, dark hair, and a pair of intense blue eyes that easily bewitched Callum.
"I, uh, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Deniau."
"Mister?" Patrice's laughter was soft and lilting. "Unless you are to call me Sir or Master, Patrice will suffice." He stroked Callum's jaw with his long fingers.
Callum let out an involuntary moan. He knew he had to pull back, move away. But he couldn't. Instead, he leaned in and his eyes shuttered closed. He practically purred.
"Yes, all right, Patrice." It was Patrice for now. Later, he decided, he might change to Sir, even Master.
"Very well. Good Lord, you're so gorgeous. Has anyone told you that?"
"Oh, yeah, I guess." Amidst his foggy mind, Callum heard himself replying, not that he knew exactly what he had been asked.
"Really? Who was that, someone special?"
Callum nodded. "Yes."
"Someone you loved or someone who loved you?"
"Both. Love." Why past tense? "He still loves me."
"As you deserve, someone as captivating as you. May I know -- I believe it's that Carlisle boy? Ainsley?"
Ainsley. Callum's cheeks heated up as the name was mentioned. He'd definitely developed a certain infatuation with the man. But love? They had not even declared their feelings to each other. Declare, because Callum was certain their feelings were mutual. He shook his head slowly.
"No?" Patrice sounded surprised. "You've only been here for, what, two days, three days at the most. I can't believe you've been fooling around, let alone falling in love."
But of course he'd not been fooling around. He'd barely met other people aside from Ainsley and his mother. Yet it was neither of the two who he had on his mind.
Callum blinked as a name suddenly flashed across his mind. He shook himself inwardly and took a deep breath. The name sounded familiar. It had to be familiar. Otherwise, why would it turn up out of the blue?
"What is it, my dear? You look ashen."
Callum was suddenly out of breath, near hyperventilating. "He was ... he is ..."
"Yes?" Patrice's hand crept up at the back of his head.
"I don't remember but ... but he was important to me. I just know it." Patrice stroked his scalp with knowing fingers and it was all Callum could do to stop himself from moaning.
"Is he still important now?"