Clockwork Vendetta

CLOCKWORK VENDETTA

Copyright 2017 Gabbo de la Parra

Published by Kidwell-Lovely at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you for purchasing this ebook. This ebook remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

This ebook is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, (living or dead) is purely coincidental.

This ebook contains sexually explicit scenes and language and may be considered offensive by some readers (M/M & M/M/M foreplay and intercourse).

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

Comments & Glossary

About Gabbo de la Parra

Other Books by Gabbo de la Parra

Get in touch with Gabbo de la Parra

PROLOGUE

Fall 1870

Minerva Academy

Chapel Town, Province of Maryland

The floor-to-ceiling windows were open, and the tired whirring of the upper fans could not compete with the incessant drone of Red Cloud Hesper, second son of the Marquis of Sheshewa. It didn’t matter that his hair was dark and glossy, his eyes exotic and cat-like. He and his twin sister, White Feather, had gone to London for the summer and upon their return were more insufferable than ever.

And, thus, the similar technology of the local peoples deterred the invasion agenda of the original settlers. Red Cloud finally shut his pretty mouth.

Bosco pulled his cravat. History was the most boring subject ever, and what could have been a two minutes exposition turned into a twenty-minute pre-battle speech in Red Cloud’s hands.

Thank you, lord Hesper. Mrs. Wellington’s tone was one of unnecessary praise. Who wants to continue? Her chubby cheeks moved upward as she smiled at Bosco’s twenty-four classmates.

Several hands shot up, competing for Mrs. Wellington’s attention. Bosco didn’t even try; their teacher usually dotted on the pupils belonging to the peerage. Bosco’s family was probably wealthier than many with a title, and he was a prince amongst his people, but his status wasn’t a matter of public knowledge— along with his kin promoting clandestine endeavors throughout the land.

On second thought, History wasn’t that boring, it was their teacher’s preference for some students what made it a drag; she wouldn’t have allowed any commoner such a lengthy expansion of a simple topic.

Lady Seer, please pick up where Lord Hesper left.

Helena stood up. Bosco liked her; she wasn’t stuffy like some of the others, and the pretty blond ringlets around her face made her look like a beautiful porcelain doll. She started reading her homework. For a hundred years there was peace between the European settlers and the locals, but what technology kept in check was pushed forward by religion. Many of the settlers had come to this area of the New World to be able to worship their god in their own way, but, in time, they forgot they had been prosecuted and turned against those who didn’t worship their solitary deity. Helena made a pause as if this part of New Englalonde’s history affected her the most. The Massachusetts Witch Trials (1692-93) triggered The Sacred Conflict, a seven-year war. The English Crown, even if Polytheist itself, decided to leave the resolution of the conflict in its New World dominions to the residents because they didn’t want to deal with another Monotheist uprising, which was what prompted the original immigration wave. Luckily for New Englalonde, the Polytheists won.

Bosco knew luck didn’t have anything to do with that outcome. His own family’s mills and factories had greatly helped to ensure the Polytheists’ success. Religious prosecution would have jeopardized the existence of his people in the New World; therefore, his family and all others of his kind had helped with resources (and in many cases their own powers) to guarantee a favorable outcome for the followers of the ancient ways.

Excellent, Lady Seer, Mrs. Wellington chirped. Bosco was expecting another round of shooting hands when their teacher unexpectedly said, Mr. Rogers.

Startled, Bosco thought she was calling him out because she saw his index finger on its way to his right nostril. His whole body sprang upward like the pesky hands of those eager to ingratiate themselves with their teacher. He entwined his fingers behind his back, unconsciously putting away the almost offending digit. Yes, Mrs. Wellington?

Would you care to tell us what happened after The Sacred Conflict?

A lock of white hair had fallen over Bosco’s eye. This white section of his abundant hair had always been a source of amusement and intrigue amongst his fellow classmates. After all, Bosco was only fourteen years old. In his still startled state, he blew it instead of fixing it with his hand. Giggles wafted around him. Well, the Polytheists won, he said, trying to gather his thoughts and forgetting his homework was right before him on his desk.

That detail has been established already.

Um, there was no persecution of the Monotheists at the end of the war. Pretty sure that wouldn’t have been the case if they had won, Bosco said, voicing a thought frequently observed by his grandfather. The giggles became riotous laughter.

Please focus, Mr. Rogers. Her disapproval was clear after he had altered the rhythm of her class with his commoner’s views of a long-ended war.

Well, many Monotheists started to sell their properties, and an almost twenty-five-year exodus toward the Catholic-centered Spain dominions ensued. Bosco scrunched his nose, trying to remember more of his homework. Oh, and as those left, two northern chunks of New Spain seceded and joined New Englalonde. That’s how we got the Duchy of Texas in 1730 and the Principality of California in 1735!

Bosco stood there stoically as the classroom crumbled around him. The guys were doubled forward, holding their bellies and cackling, while the girls— keeping a little more restraint, laughed loudly behind their unfolded fans.

Such a crude summarization of fifty years of history. Mrs. Wellington’s face had acquired a very unbecoming shade of purple. Please, bring your homework forward, Mr. Rogers.

Bosco hadn’t read from his homework. Nevertheless, he knew she was going to destroy him because he saw the red ink coming out of the upper drawer of her desk.

Bosco Rogers Senior, Alpha of the Central Pride and Ruler of the Prides Syndicate, usually started reprimands with Your ancestors didn’t come from Italy and changed the illustrious Rogeri surname to Rogers to fit in a new world just to have their descendants fail their education!

Oh boy.

CHAPTER ONE

March 1877

The Fabled Fang Gentlemen’s Club

Lewod, Duchy of Texas

Having both heirs vying for my affection ought to be really interesting, Bosco yelled as he took a pull of his beer. The club was packed to the brim; the continuous rumble of male voices and the stink of sweat and testosterone were awesome. He mopped his chest with a napkin since he hadn’t bothered to put his shirt back after his match.

The shouts of encouragement and cheers made conversation somehow difficult thanks to the two shifters currently pummeling each other a few feet away from them. Bosco didn’t waste time paying attention; he had bested both jackanapes before.

Malthus shook his head. You sure love playing with fire. They were the same age, but where Bosco only had that distinctive chunk of white hair over his forehead, Malthus had a full head of snowy locks— just one of the several things making Bosco’s best friend (his almost brother) very special.

Well, there’s no excitement here anymore. Bosco had fought (and defeated) every man as far as his eyes could see. And it’s my right as the only descendant of the current Ruler. They must play nice if they want to rule the Prides.

Because Bosco must marry another guy (and relinquish the power he should have inherited) to keep the peace.

You’re saying it like you gonna keep both.

That’s nonsense. The Prides Syndicate cannot have two alphas. That’d be chaos. And my father wouldn’t approve it either.

Bosco had begrudgingly made his peace with the fact that even if he had been born to be Alpha of his pride the lack of heiresses in the other Prides automatically gave the male he married control over the Syndicate. He should have been able to keep the Alpha status within the Central Pride, and yet since his future husband would be Ruler of the Syndicate, he also became de facto Alpha of Bosco’s Pride. And now he had to start it all over again.

The general attention of the underground club diverted from the fighters as a commotion surged around the entrance. A group of men had entered, shoving people and leaving a ruckus in their wake.

So, who is the baddest fucker here? The apparent leader of the bad hats had an accent Bosco couldn’t place. He was used to his mother’s Castilian accent, but the stranger’s was entwined with something else. Tall, with an exuberant handlebar mustache, and extremely well built under his bespoken clothes, the intruder was a feast for the eyes. His smirk was downright devilish with an arousing hint of provocateur’s amusement. He had beautiful curly hair, darker than Bosco’s but not completely black. Those long lashes would have been girly in a less square and not mustachioed face.

Bosco mentally salivated, imagining the stranger’s lion form. He moved forward. I am.

The newcomer looked down his nose at Bosco. You? He cocked his head. You look like a mere cub. His left eyebrow arched and his hazel eyes sparkled.

Yes, Bosco was definitively smaller than three quarters of the men around them, and, perhaps because of that, a dark hunger stirred inside him at the intruder’s words. He was ready to smack the bad hat and fuck him till kingdom come afterward. You can’t stake claims here, he said, but we can give it a try. Bosco semi-shrugged. Friendly competition, huh?

I hope your mother is close, so she could comfort you when I’m done. The stranger’s smirk reached new heights of deliciousness.

It’s a shame yours won’t be able to recognize you after tonight. Bosco waggled his eyebrows, grinning.

There were cheers, applause, and wolf whistles from the shifters surrounding them.

Undoing his cravat, the stranger growled, Let’s see which mother has the better son then. His coat landed on the floor, and he tore his shirt and vest apart, tossing the pieces aside as he moved toward the fight circle.

Bosco winked at Malthus, then strutted forward, letting the other shifters pat him on the head and back. He stopped before the stranger. We’re not having fisticuff in some dark alley. At least, show some propriety and state your name.

Why? So you could tell your mommy who messed you up?

Bosco rolled his eyes. I need your name to know what family will get the funeral wreath.

You don’t let up easily, cub. I like that.

Let’s see how much you like me after we’re done here.

Those hazel eyes now roamed over Bosco’s torso as if they were fingers stroking a lover. The last stop was on Bosco’s lips. The stranger moved closer and whispered, I’ll do my best not to damage your mouth too much so I could see what other skills it has later.

Bosco narrowed his eyes, Your timing is deplorable, lad. The man was obviously older than him but no harm done there. We could have had a better time beginning in my bed, but now you gonna get a different kind of pounding first.

The man got in Bosco’s face. Really? I’ll be gentle now so we could go rough afterwards.

Bosco pushed the stranger by the shoulders. I don’t fuck things I’ve broken.

The newcomer’s huge hands grabbed Bosco’s forearms. Ha! I enjoy fucking pretty things like you after breaking them.

The catcalls and cheers suddenly ceased, and the abrupt silence was enough to startle both the hunky stranger and Bosco

Two heartbeats later, Bosco Senior was in front of Bosco. What is this fuckery? He then turned to the man grappling Bosco. Charco? What are you doing here?

Do you know this man, Alpha? Bosco asked his father.

Of course I know him, Bosco Senior growled. He’s the heir of the Fourth Pride.

The Fourth Pride?

Shit.

There were originally four Prides in New Englalonde, but one exiled itself, looking for a place where they wouldn’t need to share resources with so many others. Bosco knew they were somewhere at the opposite end of the continent, but never felt compelled to investigate where exactly. He didn’t even know his father was in contact with them.

Not heir anymore, Alpha. I am now Supreme Alpha of South America, the stranger said, his intriguing accent somehow thickening.

I don’t care if you’re the fucking King of Spain. You need a formal introduction once you enter another Ruler’s territory. As Alpha you should know better than pulling this kind of shenanigans.

The man called Charco didn’t avert his eyes and kept his chin up. My apologies, Alpha.

I will think about it. Bosco Senior turned to Bosco. And you! How many times have I told you to stop mauling people around?

I suggest you tell his father to put a leash on him. Charco arched an eyebrow, his hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. Unruly cubs need a firm hand.

If Charco were offering a hand, Bosco knew what he’d want both hands to be doing later. Well, if his father hadn’t appeared out of nowhere as usual.

Your suggestion is duly noted ’cause this troublemaker is my son.

Even the word troublemaker had a hint of pride, so Bosco smirked as he saw Charco grasping the information.

The man hid his surprise quickly, though; he was good. Then I am glad I didn’t hurt him.

And I am glad South America didn’t lose its Alpha, Bosco retorted.

Shut it, Bosco’s father barked. He ran his hand down his