Page 10 of Lucien

Jamie was definitelyhuman. Just with…added bonus abilities. Ones that sometimes creeped people out, or lost him friends or the occasional job or father or whatever.

But that was their loss. Jamie was awesome, creepy visions notwithstanding.

He supposed he should have been freaked out by the revelation that the person he’d started to consider his destiny had turned out to be someone—something—that ate humans for breakfast. But by then it had been too late. He’d seen too much.

Technically only little glimpses, but they were enough for him. There was a loneliness there. Jamie could feel it, even through the distance. A deep, dark sadness behind all that dangerous, sexy allure that came out when Dream Guy was alone.

And Dream Guy was almostalwaysalone.

Jamie wanted to fix it. He didn’t know why it was so compelling, but it just…was. Jamie knew what that kind of loneliness felt like. Even with his friends, even with his loving mother, sister, stepfather. He knew what it was like to feel like the odd man out.

But more than that, he wanted to fix this particular man’s—thismonster’s—loneliness.

It didn’t make sense; he knew that. None of it did. But since when had Jamie’s life—his visions—made sense? And for the first time, those visions hadn’t felt useless or frightening. Because they’d been pointing Jamie to a future hewanted.

A future with his monster by his side.

He drummed his fingers on the bar, nodding along to his own thoughts, watching Monique move about in the empty space. He just couldn’t seem to sit fuckingstill.

So Jamie drained his beer quickly, stacked the chairs in a rush, and called to Monique, “Heading out!”

She gave him a little salute from where she was now counting the cash from the till.

He left through the front door this time, the heat of the night smacking him in the face the moment he left the air-conditioned bar. He breathed it in, reveling in the warmth. He fucking loved the desert. So much beauty all around, if you only knew where to look for it. And who wanted the cold anyway? Jamie would take a hundred and ten over minus twenty any day of the week.

But where to next?

Jamie debated which way to turn. He could go left—back to his apartment. But that most likely meant a night of pacing around the house, trying to walk the excess energy out of his body. Hecouldtry to do some work, but the thought of sitting stationary long enough to eke out some code seemed less than likely in his current state.

That left one option.

Jamie turned to the right, setting a brisk pace, pulling a stick of cinnamon gum out of his pocket as he went. He couldn’t arrive reeking of cigarette smoke.

It took him less than ten minutes to make it to the rust-colored house. He opened the door—she always left it unlocked, no matter how many times he gave her grief for it—and called out in a loud whisper, “Mamá?”

He wasn’t trying to wake anyone, but he knew she would most likely be up. She was a night owl, just like him.

“Mijo?” The answering whisper came from the living room.

Jamie tiptoed over, smiling to himself at the picture she presented when he arrived. She was in her old robe, her dark hair in a loose bun, glass of wine in hand, and what looked to beRuPaul’s Drag Raceplaying on the TV.

“What are you doing here, mijo?” she asked, holding her face up for him to drop a kiss on her cheek and laughing softly at the exaggerated smack he delivered. “We’ll need to be quiet. Eric and Izzy are sleeping.”

He held a finger to his lips in acknowledgment. “Quiet as a mouse, Má,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “Just wanted to see you.”

He could already feel that restlessness leaving his body, his energy leveling down to match hers.

“Uh-huh.” She looked him over skeptically, her dark eyes mirror images of his own. “Not buying it. What’s happened?”

He flopped down onto the couch next to her. “I’ll just get all keyed up again if I talk about it. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

She gave him a knowing look. “My special Jamie. What trouble have you gotten yourself into now?”

Jamie smiled wide, unable to help himself. “Something good, I promise.”

She laughed, covering her mouth with one hand to keep it quiet, then gestured to the bottle of wine on the side table, one standing next to an old, framed photo. “Pour yourself a glass, cariño.”

Jamie shook his head, careful to keep his eyes off the photo. He hated that she left it up there. It was a cute enough picture in theory—Jamie’s dad holding him as a baby—but it had no place in their lives. Not anymore. But his mom insisted she wasn’t going to throw away perfectly good memories just because of bitterness.

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