Malcolm didn’t have a lot going for him. He wasn’t one of the blessed, or one of the beautiful. He didn’t have many talents. He was, however, a damn good chef. He worked hard and he insisted on perfection -- not just from himself but also from everyone else in his kitchen. And if that made others miserable, that was just too damn bad. If one couldn’t live up to expectations then one didn’t belong at Burgeon Manor.<br><br>Darien on the other hand, was everything Malcolm envied, hated, and secretly fantasized over. Lean, slim, with a smile that could melt ice and enough charm to woo demons, Darien surprised Malcolm by showing not only interest but also attraction. Which only meant one thing as far as Malcolm was concerned: Darien had to be playing some kind of game. There was no way that a rock god like Darien Flint could have honest feelings for someone like him.<br><br>Yet the more Darien tries to know him, the more Malcolm feels himself being drawn into the lie.

Rockabye

He saw four-fifteen. Then something miraculous happened within the order of the space-time continuum and it was five forty-five and there was a sound…a radio…perhaps? But the voice was…familiar. The music too…maybe? No, not the music, but the tone. That sound underneath the guitars and the drums, the keyboards and the auto-tune, the low, husky murmur that echoed against surfaces and bounced back to harmonize with itself. Something about mercy…


Chapter 21