Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 10

is gonna get himself in trouble. He ain't down at the docks again giving blowies, is he?"
    Stephen hefted a tub of dirty glasses and wouldn't meet Luke's eye. "Already said I dunno."
    "Can't save 'em all, mate," Tim told him when Stephen stepped out of earshot.
    He sniffed in agreement. "I can try, though, can't I?"
    Luke had a penchant for taking in strays—kids whose parents didn't want them because they were abominations for how they were born. Ignorant fools didn't know what good kids they were missing out on. Sometimes he felt his life had become a Charles Dickens novel, taking care of a bunch of London street urchins, but he wouldn't have it any other way. Just the thought of all those confused gay kids abandoned to the street broke his heart. He couldn't sit by and do nothing. His dream had always been to open a youth crisis center but he never had the funds. For now, he'd feed the few he could, give them honest work and a place to sleep. He had a spare flat upstairs. Some he managed to get back in school, others he lost along the way. George didn't want to be helped, however, so all Luke could do was preach about wrapping his pecker. He wished he could get through to the kid, though.
    Feeling surprisingly well after the tussle in the alley, Luke climbed the stairs to his home, heart racing with anticipation. His hand went to his side and a flush of arousal went through him.
    What happened tonight?
    Snippets of things he should remember whispered on the edge of his thoughts, like dreams. Barely there yet not. Shaking his head, he opened his door.
    A sexy stranger stood in the middle of the room.
    Rather than be shocked, Luke smiled, pleased the guy had remained. The bold fellow had helped himself to a shower, it seemed. Shirtless and hair still wet, he examined Luke's bookshelves and did not turn around to greet him. He sensed, however, the man knew he had entered.
    Sudden images of their intimate moment assaulted Luke, getting clear and crisp the longer he stayed in his presence.
    Christ, did I…?
    He blushed recalling his own wanton behavior with a total stranger.
    Yet he did not regret anything. In fact, he wanted to reach out and touch him, reassure himself the guy he'd experienced those erotic moments with had not been another figment of his imagination.
    "Where did you get all these books?" his guest demanded.
    Luke sniffed. Typical American manners.
    "The old lady who lived next door when I was a lad left them to me," Luke answered, resting his things on the table.
    It made sense he would fixate on the book collection. A repository of legend and lore, and wisdom an old friend had gleaned over the years. Works he had studied, though still it seemed he would always have more to learn.
    Luke approached him. His lean, hairless body was taunt like a bow, pulled back and ready to let loose a deadly arrow. He might be small but he was dangerous…Luke couldn't forget that.
    He chose his next statement carefully. "She was a witch."
    That pretty face finally turned toward him. "Excuse me?"
    Enjoying the fact he could look at the lean lines of his features, the sharp grey of his eyes, Luke nodded. "Not a very powerful one, mind you. But her granny on her Jameson side was quite strong and she taught old Betty the witching herbs and all the lore. Quite a wealth of information, old Betty was."
    He laid a book back on the shelf— The Study of Lycanthropy . "You don't say?"
    "You got a name, mate?" Luke asked. Though he supposed it didn't matter if they observed formalities at this point. Neither of them would be going anywhere. This day had been a long time coming. Though Luke had played it out in his mind a million times, the attraction and the circumstances were still hard to wrap his head around.
    "Charlie."
    "Luke."
    "I figured that one out already," he said in a snide tone which made Luke smirk.
    Cocky little shit, isn't he?
    "She used to make biscuits and tea for me," Luke continued on with his story, running his hands along the spines of the old, worn books, his most prized possessions. "The other kids were afraid of her, but I'm a big fella, always have been. I would do almost anything to fill my belly. So she cooked and I ate while she told me stories."
    Charlie watched him close, his piercing grey eyes keen, wiser than his youthful experience suggested. At first glance, he didn't look a day over twenty.
    When he remained silent Luke continued, "You know, stories about the four races. Humans,