Catching Kit by Kay Berrisford

Underground Elves Series

Book 1 - Catching Kit

The Book

Denny is a top secret agent on a mission to protect London from Ethereal Beings – elves – who are seen as dangerous mind-reading parasites who prey on human emotions.

Kit is an elf on the run, misunderstood and persecuted by humans. When Denny catches him, he shatters everything Denny’s been taught about elves. He’s gorgeous and funny and claims he’s been searching a long time for a guy like Denny. He shares Denny's kinks and now he needs Denny's love to survive.

But if Denny doesn't take Kit to jail, he’s in big trouble. Dare Denny break the law and gamble his life to save the Ethereal Being in his bed?

Note: This is a revised version of a previously released title.

Word Count:	36,000
Cover Artist:	Meredith Russell
Editor:	Jason Bradley
Genre:	Paranormal, MM Romance

Buy Links

Love Lane Books | Amazon (US) | Amazon (UK) | All Romance | Smashwords | B&N | iTunes

Reviews

Prism Book Alliance - 4/5 - "....Catching Kit is a delightful, surprisingly cute but quite kinky story. I loved it when I first read it two years ago, and it’s just as wonderful now...."

"....As with any good stories I did wish Catching Kit was longer, it’s only a novella, and now it’s been re-released I’d love to read a sequel, find out how Denny and Kit are getting on, did they ever get EB rights? And I just have to mention the new gorgeous cover designed by Meredith Russell. The first one was lovely but this one is just perfect, showing the two characters exactly as I imagined them to be.

If you love adorable sweet elves, the paranormal, and crave happy endings don’t miss Catching Kit, it will leave you warm and fussy inside...."

Paranormal Romance Guild - 4/5 - "....It is strange that this novella captured my imagination the way it did…. immediately. Ms Berrisford being a new to me author made it so there was no expectation for her work. I just love when a plan comes together!

This is the first in this series and an adorable and yet very sexy read. I write no more as I want no spoilers...Give it a chance and while you get this, follow up on other books from this author....I will...."

Rainbow Book Reviews - "....Any book that can pull me into its world within the first few pages, fantastical and alternate-contemporary as it may be, gets my vote of approval. ‘Catching Kit’ did exactly that: it’s set in a London that is exactly like the one I know, other than a few minor deviations. Like the existence of elves. Like the fact they are all persona nongrata and “the government” is after them. Conspiracy theories anyone? I just loved it! Add a main character who is one of the ‘elf catchers’ – except he has traces of a conscience – and another one who is one of the elves, and I was hooked!

If you like stories out of the “normal” range of reality, if two men meeting and hitting it off immediately but being plagued by obstacles sound like an interesting tale, and if you’re looking for a sweet romance with an underlying message that is quite serious, then you will probably like this novella. I definitely look forward to the next volume in the series!...." 

Joyfully Jay - 4.5/5 - "....Oh, wow, guys.  This was a fun and interesting twist on the elves theme.  I really liked the world building here.  The general population has no idea that elves really exist and the government is striving to keep it that way.  But the propaganda they spout to their agents is pretty much untrue, and it causes Denny to have to reevaluate everything he thought he knew....

....Overall, this was a really charming story with some fantastic world building.  I loved the new and interesting take on elves.  It’s the first of a series, and the end of the book finishes the plot while setting up future stories.  I’m really looking forward to seeing what happens next...."

Rainbow Gold Reviews - 10/10 - "....I loved everything about this book, it has a very different view of the paranormal world and it is set in England (which is a plus for me). The storyline is woven around Elves, not like in any other book. In this book Elves are outlawed, they are hunted and sent to the government. It makes you wonder are Elves EVIL or is the Government corrupt. The plot is compact with a lot of twists and turns. The sub chararacters fit in well with the story...." 

The Novel Approach - 4/5 - "....Kay Berrisford’s Catching Kit is a fun Urban Fantasy with a delightful English flare, and is a catchy introduction to a series that I can’t help but feel is full of the potential for loads of suspense and angsty times ahead....

....I’m looking forward to a bit more world building around the elves as well, as what’s been offered so far is the basics of their appearance and a few tidbits about Kit’s past. I want to know more about him, so that, coupled with where he and Denny are headed—it seems there might be danger afoot for both of them—has left me anxious and excited for Book Two...."

Excerpt

Chapter One

The instant he saw the guy, Denny knew he had to catch him.

In the brightly lit lobby between the platforms of the Northern line, Denny’s target sang and strummed his guitar beneath an advert for overpriced aftershave. With his slender limbs and high cheekbones, he looked like a wannabe pop star or theater performer, and the commuters rushing by would have taken him for one. His eyes were half-hidden beneath a dusky blond fringe, which he swept to the side. Drawing nearer down an escalator, Denny suppressed the twitch of a smile and an unexpected lightness in his heart.

And a tightening in his groin.

He nearly swore out loud. What on earth?

The London Underground had always been a popular haunt for Ethereal Beings—EBs—known unofficially as elves. In his mind, Denny ticked off the first two of his checklist boxes for identifying EBs, who could blend into a human crowd with alarming ease.

Does the target seem happy when most people around are miserable as sin? Check.

Is the target overtly seeking attention? Check. Check. Check.

The closer he drew, the more elfish the busker proved. The EB wore a scruffy top hat and tailcoat over a white shirt and black trousers, a long red-and-white scarf muffling his chin. He resembled a cross between a Victorian urchin and a fancy maître d’hôtel.

Or a very hot guy.

Denny had never got a hard-on identifying a target before. Then again, in his three months on the job, this was by far the best-looking elf he’d observed. The EB’s husky voice irritated him more by the moment, because he found it so bloody sexy.

The elf tapped his toe as he played his cheap wooden guitar, warbling in his imperfect tenor about… What was he singing about? Sunshine? Surfing on clouds? Or could it be that old Beatles song Denny’s mum loved but which always grated on his nerves, “All You Need Is Love”? Over the clamoring voices and the roar of an arriving train, he could make out neither song nor lyrics for sure. Little made sense where elves were concerned.

Between verses, the elf offered a gleaming smile to every passerby, even the ones who didn’t flick a spare coin into his guitar case. Denny willed himself to be sickened. The EB’s job was to smile at miserable commuters. Just as it was his, as one of the British government’s top secret Ethereal Being control agents, to catch elves and uphold the government’s propaganda line—despite the rumors and the occasional story in the press, London was not infested with elves. Elves didn’t exist.

But, of course, they did. Agents like Denny apprehended several hundred Ethereal Beings in the capital every year and brought in over a thousand nationwide. Drawing on his training to quash his innate reactions to the elf, Denny mumbled a message into his slim black comms unit for HQ to log.

“EB spotted. Warren Street tube station. Commencing arrest.”

He slipped the unit back into his jacket and stepped from the bottom of the escalator into the lobby. A dull sense of apprehension tightened his guts. He never relished an arrest, and right now his enthusiasm had reached rock bottom. He’d promised to pop in to see his daughter once his shift ended at seven o’clock.

He glanced to a clock above an Underground plan on the wall ahead: 6:57 p.m.

If he arrived after Jen’s bedtime, her mum would spit teeth. Saritha was a good soul deep down, but she had a sharp temper—he’d learned that when they’d been together during his “straight” years. More importantly, he didn’t want to let Jen down. The last thing he needed was an arrest and a trip to one of the EB detainment depots.

But he couldn’t leave it. Not an EB being as blatant as this. If he let the elf keep singing, the effect might be hypnotic. Commuters would smile for no good reason as they traveled home. They might start humming the EB’s silly tune rather than staring at their newspapers and clicking their tongues. Elves manipulated human emotions for their own ends, and government researchers were pretty damn sure they could read people’s minds. Intrusive, and potentially dangerous, EBs must be stamped out.

He edged his way to the front of the small crowd gathered about the busker, including a gaggle of chattering young women. Upon noticing him, the elf trailed off midnote and stared at him. Stared really hard, widening his blue eyes as if he could see the depths of Denny’s soul.

Why does he have to do that?

He irritated Denny, but at least his target hadn’t bolted. The elf chewed his bottom lip and put down his guitar.

“Sorry, folks.” Denny pulled out his identity badge, the same as any plainclothes police officer’s, and squared his shoulders. “Got a busking license, mate?”

“Uh…maybe.” The elf pulled a face, caught between a grimace and an apologetic smile. “But music is the food of love, and love is free, right?”

He raised his palm to his lips and blew Denny a kiss. A girl with silver streaks in her black hair put two fingers to her mouth and wolf-whistled. Denny gaped like a hooked cod.

Then the elf spun on his heels and fled, leaving both his guitar and the cash he’d earned behind, his top hat tumbling to the floor in his hurry to get to the escalator. Denny sprinted after him, cursing and blushing hard at his humiliating reaction to the kiss. He half wished he’d grabbed the elf and cuffed him on the spot. But while some officers in every branch of law enforcement got off on the “force” part of the equation, he wasn’t one of them.

“Security.” He waved his badge. “Stop that man.”

Nobody obeyed. Onlookers glowered at him as if he were about to kick a puppy with his heavy black boots.

He had grown accustomed to this onslaught of hate. He knew how it looked—a bloke of six feet four chasing after a guy who couldn’t be much more than five feet eight. His mother had told him on many occasions, “Women always go for the tall, dark, handsome ones, love,” but he couldn’t help appearing the villain in this case. Anyway, his mum had been wrong. Over the years, Denny’s looks had attracted quite a few women and men, but none had ever quite “gone” for the person they found beneath.

Right then, not a soul was on his side. EBs had sneaky ways of winning the unwitting public over, like they had ways of eluding trained professionals. This one wove around the commuters with a sure-footed grace that wouldn’t be out of place in the Royal Ballet, his tails flying behind him. His shabby-chic trousers clung to an arse so rounded and cute it begged to be displayed to better advantage.

Preferably in a black thong.

Hmmmm. Silk or leather?

As the elf paused to put his ticket through the barrier, Denny obliterated the stirring image from his mind. No time to indulge personal kinks. He sidestepped a couple holding hands, ignored their swearing, and sprinted toward his target. The green words flashed up, EXIT. Denny grabbed the end of the elf’s scarf, but the elf ripped it from his neck, then dashed through the barrier in the nick of time. The closing plastic doors nearly had Denny’s balls off.

“Bugger.” Throwing the scarf to the floor, he vaulted the barrier and sprinted on.

The elf reached a narrow side exit between the ticket machines and then paused to glance about, as if checking all was clear. Just as Denny drew close enough to snatch for him, he took a deep breath and plunged into the drizzle.

Bursting out after, Denny caught a flash of coattails as the elf disappeared down an alley between two empty shops. He cranked his speed up again, slamming his boots against the pavement, jamming his knees. After enduring the wrath of every onlooker, he wasn’t going to let this little sod get away.

When he arrived at the mouth of the alley, he saw triumph in his grasp. The narrow lane turned out a dead end, cut off by high brick walls on three sides. The elf thumped at a locked door a few yards down. On seeing Denny, he froze momentarily. Then he sprinted to the end to scramble up a large metal bin, in the vain hope of reaching a window on the first story, several feet out of his reach.

“No, you don’t.” Denny ran after him, grabbed the elf by his tails, and then seized his thighs to drag him down. The elf tensed long, lean muscles beneath his grip, the legs of an athlete or a dancer.

Nice.

Denny winced and pushed his victim to the ground harder than he intended. The elf landed on his arse on the concrete and backed against the wall. Denny loomed over him, grimly menacing. Stark white street lighting filtered down the alley, emphasizing the gray hollows of the elf’s cheeks, the fine lines around his eyes and, when he flicked back his fringe, across his brow. He seemed older than Denny first assumed. Good-looking and boyish, but in his early to midthirties, like Denny.

If the elf had been a bloke, he’d be the perfect age for him.

What on earth? He’s an EB. He’s no age at all.

“What do you want?” asked the elf, panting hard. Denny very much doubted he’d find his target’s pulse pounding, despite the chase. Time to tick off item three on the elf identification list.

He stooped down and took hold of the EB’s arm. He pulled up the loose white shirtsleeve—the shirt required cuff links, but they were missing—and pressed two fingers to the smooth skin on the underside of the elf’s wrist.

Does the target have a pulse?

This checklist question was considered controversial. A few EBs who’d grown particularly strong developed a heartbeat. On this one he couldn’t detect the faintest quiver, even after he shifted the point of contact several times, pressing softly and then harder. The elf’s flesh felt cool and dry, although he remained a little out of breath, indicating he’d a functioning respiratory system.

After years of study, scientists in the government labs still scratched their heads over how EB physiology worked. Latest studies claimed elves were mutant human emotions that took on material form, which explained their hunger to evoke passions to feed on. On one matter, no doubt rested. EBs’ bodies flourished and grew “real” through contact with human beings and faded when such association was withdrawn.

Denny didn’t need to search for checklist item four, the pointed ears. All EBs had these. When the elf raked his hair back, Denny glimpsed the tiny, ivory-pale tips.

“You’re from the government?” asked the elf.

Denny offered a terse nod. The EB’s accent sounded slightly clipped and old-fashioned, less flat than a usual Londoner’s; it wasn’t too posh either, proving difficult to place. Not that Denny intended to take the time to do so. Conversation with detainees should always be kept to a minimum. He pulled the elf up, blocking any escape route with the bulk of his body.

Denny found himself staring. Damn, did the elf wear a dash of black eyeliner? He adored makeup on a man. He sighed, his nerves ragged.

“Let’s get these on.” He pulled out a pair of metal handcuffs.

Fear flashed in the elf’s eyes, but he didn’t resist. Elves were usually docile under arrest, at least physically. They possessed other means of attack. With icy efficiency, Denny clamped the cuffs on. The elf remained still, his eyes misting as if he revisited a thousand recollections, some painful, some heartbreakingly sweet—which unsettled Denny, who momentarily felt as if he were a devoted priest who’d been told his god proved false.

He reminded himself of his training. EBs had no real memories or feelings. They leeched emotions off humans. They felt no pain. EBs felt nothing. They were nothing.

He’d just locked the cuffs when his charge made a move, slipping from Denny’s grasp and dropping to his knees. The chains chinked softly. Denny looked down and grabbed the elf’s shoulders, digging his fingertips in hard.

The elf let a wistful smile drift across his lips. “You’re a beautiful man. But you’re miserable and lonely right now. If you…would just let me ease you?”

As he spoke, the elf lifted his cuffed hands and traced Denny’s shaft through his trousers. Shocked, Denny staggered backward an inch, flattening against the wall. The elf leaned forward. He might not possess a pulse, but his breath felt human enough. Fluttering and warm, it seeped through the tented fabric to sear Denny’s hardening cock. The elf regarded him from beneath flickering golden lashes, his fear shadowed by something resembling lust. All Denny’s training fled his mind.

“You want this?” asked the elf, his husky voice barely carrying above the roar of the nearby traffic. “Because I want this. It might seem mad to you—it seems mad to me—but I really want this. You’re gorgeous.”

Denny’s cock twitched. Fuck.

The coldness of the wet bricks oozed through his jacket and down his spine, and he yearned for the elf’s warm mouth about his dick like it was as vital as the air in his lungs. True, the EB wasn’t quite his type, but the touch of eyeliner pushed him over the edge. And that outfit, channeling Marlene Dietrich.

And the raw hunger that smoldered in those steely eyes.

The elf licked his lips and started undoing the buttons on Denny’s trousers. He had a nice mouth, slender and undulating. Denny flexed his fingers at his sides. He wanted to grasp that silky hair, to thrust toward him and say with his actions what he couldn’t say with his voice or his right mind. The elf was hotter than the fires of hell. Worse, the tug in Denny’s chest nearly matched the ache in his cock.

Denny didn’t just want relief. He wanted him.

The sudden wail of a police siren cut into his stupor. He looked to the end of the alley as the patrol car crawled past, blaring its way through heavy traffic.

It proved the jolt he required. Anybody could cast a glance down the alley and see them. Caught like this, with an EB or otherwise, he could lose his job, his house, and access to his daughter.

He glared down at the elf, who fell back on his haunches and combed his fingers through his hair.

Denny hooked his hands under the elf’s shoulders and hauled him up. “I know your game. Don’t you dare.”

“But we could get a room. You fancy me, mate. I sense these things.” The elf didn’t need to read Denny’s mind to sense that. Denny’s cock ached so badly a dark corner of Hyde Park would do. They just had to find somewhere quiet, and…

He held his captive tightly. The elf lifted his chin, asking a dozen unfathomable questions with his wide blue eyes. Denny looked away. “Let’s get you to the van.”

“My name’s Kit. Will you call me Kit?”

“No.” Denny pushed Kit in front of him but kept a firm grip lest he stumble again. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“The depot. You’ll be okay.”

“You’ll stay with me?”

Denny pulled a face. “No. I’ll just be taking you there. You won’t see me again.”

As they moved out onto the pavement, the elf dug in his heels and protested in a fashion familiar to Denny from previous EB arrests. “Why are you doing this to me? People were enjoying my act. They were happy, I was happy, and…and…and there’s no fires tonight, no dust and smoke, only the fumes.” Kit relished a gulp of exhaust-saturated air, and Denny shot him a hard look. “Surely you’re pleased London’s not burning anymore? The sirens aren’t wailing, and the planes have stopped coming. No more explosions, no more bombs—so what are you all so miserable about now?”

Fire? Bombs? Sirens? Denny scarcely registered the crack of desperation in the elf’s voice. His guts cramped with horror.

Were Jen and Saritha home safe? Yet if something had gone wrong, he’d have heard by now from HQ. It was just an ordinary London night. People were hurrying home or out to the bars and theaters, cursing the drizzle, slipping in puddles, and squinting under the glare of the streetlights. He’d not been told of a terror alert or even a warehouse fire. Nothing amiss.

He drew a deep, leveling breath.

He’d been taught how EBs used their mind-reading skills to play games with humans, preying on love and fear and provoking the passions they apparently thrived on. Kit spouted incendiary drivel even by elf standards. Fortunately only a girl wrestling with a broken umbrella cast a curious look over her shoulder. Distracted by a noisy bleeping from her phone, she stopped to read her message and never turned back again.

“I don’t want to be locked away,” said Kit.

“Tough.”

Denny steered him through the crowd in front of the tube station, and Kit wriggled and strained like an apprehended shoplifter. They resembled nothing out of the ordinary, just an officer making an arrest—as long as nobody spotted the incriminating bulge in the front of Denny’s trousers, which Kit must have sensed every time he brushed his arse, hip, or the sides of his swaying hands against him. Was he doing that deliberately?

Tension burned in Denny’s every fiber, and when they turned up the side street where he’d parked his van, his agony refused to abate. Kit dragged his feet. The effort of hauling him along exhausted Denny.

Finally they reached his vehicle, white and unmarked with any form of government insignia. Other EB agents would be able to identify it by a triangular logo on the side, which contained a dumpy black rat with three long whiskers and the unmemorable title, EBCA Pest Control.

Absorbing the sight, Kit rattled out a nervous laugh. “Pest control, huh? Why don’t we forget that and hit the town? There’s some good clubs around here—at least there used to be, last time I was about. I’m sure I could show you a good time. Must be even better around here without the blackouts.”

Blackouts? Apart from the odd power cut, London hadn’t experience blackouts since World War II. This elf talked crap, all right.

“Not another word, or I’ll have to gag you.” Although Denny hated using such restraints as part of his job, he imbued his voice with a razor-sharp edge of threat, which sliced to its target. Kit shut up, although he offered Denny a quizzical look, arching a brow.

Well, they were near Soho and London’s red-light district. Kit’s reaction to the suggestion of a gag set Denny pondering what kinds of clubs the EB had in mind. Then he checked himself.

How unprofessional. He must concentrate.

He pushed Kit up the step into the back of the van. After keying in a code with a single hand, he unlocked another door, pressed his prisoner into a metal cage, and slammed it shut. The elf sat down on the floor. He drew his knees to his chin and hid his face behind his cuffed hands.

Denny’s emotions contradicted everything his rational mind believed.

He felt cruel. He wanted to assure the elf everything would be okay, which it would be, in a way. EBs were mutants, leeches, vermin to be controlled. Everything Kit said was meaningless. He wasn’t truly sentient…was he?

Denny opened his mouth to say something reassuring, but words refused to come. In his short time on the job, he’d made a dozen arrests, and while he’d never relished the task, his feelings toward this particular EB overpowered any pity he’d felt before.

Yeah. I feel differently because he’s got a cuter arse than the others. At least I seem to think so, sad sod that I’ve become.

Oh, and because he offered to suck my dick.

He needed to get laid. Hell, he needed a long holiday, if looking at EBs made him even think about getting laid. Shutting the van door, he shook his head. He’d let himself be mind-fucked by an elf, and now he’d be late to visit his daughter.

He hurried around to the driver’s seat. He had to get to the detainment depot and off-load this one as fast as he could.

Chapter Two
Denny pulled the van out into the heavy traffic and turned the cab heating knob toward high. Then he switched on his hands-free vehicle comms to relay his status and await his delivery instructions.

The EB storage supervisor, Laura, offered him wave after wave of bad news. “They’re full up at Islington, so it looks like you’d best head over to the Croydon depot. They’ve got storage space there… Ah, wait a moment. Croydon’s no good. Their IT systems are down, and they can’t log any new arrivals. Looks like you’re in for the long haul over to Dartford. I’m sorry, but it’ll be well past Jen’s bedtime when you get to her.”

“Dartford?” He squinted miserably at the red double-decker bus pulling out in front of him. It would take hours to get to Dartford. The traffic would be a nightmare, especially now the rain was growing heavy. He switched on the windscreen wipers, then grabbed a cloth to scrub the steamed-up windowpane to his right. “Should I take the M25?”

Laura’s sigh crackled over the airwaves. “Latest updates say there’s been a pileup near junction four, so you’re in for delays whichever way you go. Look, I know it’s frowned upon, but could you just leave the EB in your van while you pop in to see Jen and then contain it yourself until tomorrow? I’ll do the paperwork, take the flak.”

He winced. Laura was one of the few colleagues he enjoyed chatting with, and they had been for drinks together a few times. For a while, he’d worried she fancied him. Then he’d realized she behaved like that with everyone, just too bloody nice. The sort of person who could easily be taken advantage of.

“No, Laura. I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“It won’t take five minutes. Just think of it like this: I’m doing it for Jen, so she can see her dad tonight.”

He glanced at the time: 7:31 p.m. Past Jen’s bedtime already. If the traffic started shifting, he might still make it before she went to sleep, although he’d not risk taking the van over to Saritha’s. If Jen heard Kit singing, she’d ask all sorts of questions. Most adults were easily conned by government propaganda rubbishing the existence of EBs and rarely identified them, even on close encounter. Kids were harder to fool. Children noticed things like pointy ears and unseasonal cheeriness. Elf rumors would be trending on Twitter in no time, and that always pissed Denny’s bosses off. Besides, he hated having to lie directly to Jen about what he did for a living.

“Okay, thanks. I owe you one. I’ll store the elf at my place and zip over on my bike. Don’t want Saritha to think I’m parking felons on her forecourt and ban me from visiting.”

Laura hissed sympathetically. “She won’t stop you seeing Jen. You’re a good dad. But I know she doesn’t always make things easy for you. I just hope the traffic behaves. Good luck.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it. Bye.”

He headed south toward the Thames, but the traffic turned out to be the horror Laura had predicted. Another bus blocked him, and he couldn’t get past until it had stopped five times. He queued over Battersea Bridge, and then a four-by-four cut him off at some traffic lights, all before he hit another jam between the squat trees and low-lying terraces on Earlsfield Road. Eight o’clock approached fast, and he’d not even got back to his place yet, let alone started the short ride to Saritha’s upmarket apartment block.

Worst of all, the elf started singing again, some stupid ditty entreating listeners to smile, although amid the drone of the traffic, his voice sounded sad and brittle. A sense of maudlin seized Denny, a lump filling his throat. Kit had seemed happy earlier, so bright and alive.

So damn hot.

He thumped the sliding partition that communicated between the cage and the cab. “Keep it down, will you? You’ve made me late to visit my daughter.”

Kit trailed off, and Denny resolved to call Saritha. He pressed the Dial button on his hands-free phone.

“Why don’t you just let me go?” called Kit.

“Shut it. Oh God, sorry, sorry…not you.” Denny’s ex had picked up the phone at the worst possible time. “I wasn’t talking to you, Saritha. I was talking to— Look, not you, all right? Is Jen still up? Look…look…can you tell her Daddy’s stuck in traffic and… What?” He shifted the phone several inches from his head so his ears didn’t sting.

“If you can’t make the effort to be here on time,” said Saritha, “then Jen doesn’t want to see you. Let her go to bed and get some sleep, or you’ll ruin tomorrow for her as well.”

The next day, a Friday, was Jen’s eighth birthday. Denny pleaded his case, but he didn’t have the strength to put up much of a fight. If Jen didn’t want him to visit, what was the point? In the end, he hung up. He regretted his action, but after the day he’d had, being told he was a lousy father proved more than he could bear. Boiling up, he unzipped his jacket, turned down the heating, and wiped sweat from his brow. His guilt over the elf and now Jen left him feeling bruised inside.

He made an executive decision. Even though he couldn’t see his daughter, he’d be damned if he’d trawl all the way over to Dartford after hours. He’d store the elf in his garage and go to bed.

And I’m not taking this EB home because I feel sorry for him, or because some mad part of me wants to get naked with him. I’m not tired enough to be quite that stupid.

He turned on the radio and listened to the football news. Every time the tuning strayed or the volume dipped a little, he strained his ears in case Kit sang again. He didn’t hear a thing.

Twenty minutes later, he arrived at his house, a semidetached former council property that he’d bought after his relationship with Saritha fell apart. Bumping over the high curb, he backed his van up the short driveway until the doors leveled a yard from the garage, which contained a small EB storage facility, fitted for emergencies. He hurried in and switched the light on. He’d never used this steel EB safe before, which stood on strong metal legs a couple of feet above the concrete floor. Concentrating on procedure, he opened the door and went through the safety checks, making sure all was sound before he addressed the issue of transferring the elf.

He returned to the van. Opening the cage door, he flashed his torch inside. Kit flinched and then cursed, shielding his eyes with his cuffed hands. Denny took advantage of his dazzled state to drag him out and down the steps. Before Kit could dig in his heels, Denny pushed him through the garage door and pulled it shut behind.

Kit swung to face him. His eyeliner had smudged, and he hunched his shoulders forward so the hard lines of his bones were visible through his clothes.

“Is this the depot?” asked the elf.

Denny put down the torch, fighting another pang of shame over how gaunt and terrified Kit looked. They’d look after the elf well enough at the depot, when Denny passed him on tomorrow.

“No. You’re at my place.”

“Oh.” Kit’s demeanor softened, his relief tangible. “So you changed your mind about taking me in?”

He glared directly at Kit. Big mistake. Kit straightened his back, puffing his drooping fringe from his eyes, and all his charms seemed to flow back. “It’s not the prettiest home I’ve ever seen,” he said, looking around. He had a perfect profile, his pointed chin dusted with the merest hint of golden stubble. “But I’m sure we can get cozy. Where’s the bed?”

“This is the garage. You’re going in that safe, and I’m going in the house. Not another word, or you’ll be keeping those cuffs on all night.”

Despite his threat, Denny removed the restraints and turned Kit around. He steered him toward the safe, avoiding touching the sweet curves of his arse.

“It’s really cold in here,” said Kit.

Yeah. That’s the reason you’ve not given me another full-fledged erection.

“Never mind,” replied Denny. Elves didn’t feel the cold. He’d learned that in training, although the chill sharpened the odor of petrol that oozed from a can in the corner. He couldn’t deny that the place was unpleasant. “It’s only one night…and…and… What?”

The elf looked back over his shoulder, offering a lopsided smile.

“What?” demanded Denny.

“Nothing. It’s just…I’m sorry I made you late for your daughter. Maybe I could sing for her? I’m still getting the hang of this modern music, but— Agh.”

Denny shoved him forward, harder than before. No way would he let this menace near Jen and Saritha. “I’ll be back in the morning to take you somewhere better equipped to handle you.”

“But you want to handle me.” As Kit spoke, Denny placed a hand on his head, pushing him down so he sat on the edge of the safe. “At first I thought you just enjoyed roughing folk up, like so many of ’em. But you’re not like that, are you?”

Kneeling in front of the safe, Denny shifted Kit farther in before rising to check that the air vents weren’t blocked. Kit gasped, stretching so he nearly touched Denny’s chest. “You’ve got a pierced nipple. Can I touch it?”

Denny glanced down. Both his nipples were pierced, but he wore a ring in only one these days. Now that he’d undone his jacket, it was visible through his T-shirt.

If you stared really hard.

Denny’s dick gave a mild jerk. Both nipples tingled.

“Have you got any other piercings?” asked Kit.

No, he didn’t. He’d had to let the ones in his eyebrow and nose close up in order to get a decent job, and he was too damn shy to get his cock done. But he’d hardly explain that now, not with Kit’s husky tones lingering in his mind and murmuring a thousand promises. He checked he wouldn’t trap the elf’s fingers, slammed the safe door shut, and fled.

The night was growing even colder, and his breath clouded in the air. The brick facade of his house loomed to the side of the adjoining garage, the windows darkly opaque. The sole illumination came from a lamppost on the far side of the street and the intermittent flashes radiating from his neighbor John’s flat-screen TV.

While he fumbled with his key, Denny glanced through John’s open curtains and spied him playing a war game on his latest console. Denny rolled his eyes. At least he wasn’t the only singleton on the street. He’d go mad if, like John, he worked from home every day, staring at a screen to develop computer software. Coming home to an empty house had to be better than never leaving it.

Sort of.

Once through the front door, he switched on the light. Jen’s two latest school photos smiled down at him from the wall, but beyond that, only a small telephone table, a pair of muddy running shoes, and three pots of magnolia paint stacked beneath the coat hooks greeted him. He hung up his jacket. One day he might get around to brightening up the battleship-gray decor. At least the house felt warm. The heating had been left on low, but compared to outside, the glow was subtropical.

He picked up his mail from the doormat and tossed a bill aside onto one of the paint pots. A small white envelope addressed in a shaky, old-fashioned hand caught his eye. The writing belonged to his great-uncle, Henry.

Henry had been in the hospital, then a care home for the past three months, after a stroke that had luckily proved slight. He had recovered well, although was not due to go home until next week. Judging from the Bromley postmark on the envelope, however, Henry had arrived back already. Denny’s relief mingled with a mounting sense of pressure. Next time he’d got a free moment, he’d like to pop over to Henry’s for a longer visit than usual, though that might cut further into his time with Jen.

In the lounge, he slumped onto the sofa and placed the unopened letter on the seat beside him, followed by his mobile comms unit, which he retrieved from his trouser pocket. Leaning back and shutting his eyes, he urged his muscles to relax.

It was no good.

His groin ached dully. Loosening his fly, he shoved a hand down the front of his trousers for comfort and then reached for the TV remote. He switched on a football match he couldn’t have given a toss about—Charlton Athletic versus Sheffield Wednesday—and tried to think of anything but Kit so the remnants of his hard-on would fade.

He ought to call Saritha and smooth things over before tomorrow, but he couldn’t face her now. He liked Saritha, despite her temper, and she’d been understanding about his bisexuality before they’d split. But she’d hated his piercings, and during one feverish row, she’d accused him of having “disgusting habits.” His mind drifted upstairs, to his drawer of ladies’ underwear and leathers. While he’d had partners more sympathetic and indulgent than Saritha had turned out to be, he’d never found anybody who’d shared his private penchant for cross-dressing and his other quiet kinks.

I reckon that elf might.

Lightly rubbing his cock, Denny grinned. He pictured Kit pressing those expressive lips to his nipples, sucking and tugging, circling the ring with his tongue, and…

Damn it. Tired or otherwise, he hadn’t been this hopelessly horny since his teenage years. Kit had fed these images into his mind, or something screwed up like that. He gritted his teeth, slipping his hand from his trousers.

No way would he wank over an EB.

He opened his letter, scanning it quickly. Henry said his health seemed “as good as can be expected for an old duffer like me.”

But the nonagenarian’s well-being was not the thrust of the message.

“I worked for the government for sixty years, and I know one has to be careful what one says. But you and I must talk more on the subject of EBs and the time I’ve passed with them. Being stuck in that blessed institution afforded me many hours to ponder, and I tell you now—my conscience will not let me rest until I explain to you the truth of the matter.”

He frowned. Henry had once been high up in MI5, and before his illness he had encouraged Denny to apply for a surveillance job at the Houses of Parliament. Over the past few months, no opportunity had arisen to divulge in full to his great-uncle the details of the top secret EB-catching role the government had offered instead. Naturally Denny had not wanted to fob Henry off with his usual cover story about being a plainclothes security man, but on his last visit to the care home, their conversation had verged on dangerous.

His great-uncle had asked about his job and appeared to instantly comprehend the truth behind Denny’s vague answer regarding “Underground security” and “internal threat assessment.” His expression had become graver with every syllable Denny uttered.

After that, they’d each said little, exchanging strained looks and taking furtive sips of tea, mutually understanding they daren’t speak freely in such a public place.

Eventually Henry had leaned forward to take a finger of shortbread from a plate on the occasional table and muttered, “Encountered many elves yet, lad?”

“Just a few, yes,” Denny had hissed, before a nurse rescued him by announcing the end of visiting time. Henry’s scrutinizing stare had informed him then he’d not heard the last of the matter. The final sentences his uncle had written before signing off confirmed this.

“My boy, contact me immediately. Government EB policy is unsound.

Question everything.

Now destroy this. I shouldn’t even have written this down, but I’m old enough to no longer care.”

This last part of the letter alarmed Denny the least, because he could do something about it. After hurrying into the kitchen, he burned the paper over the metal sink and then headed back to the sofa. He squeezed the bridge of his nose, withering at the prospect of responding that night. He’d call Henry at the weekend. By this hour, his great-uncle might be getting ready for bed.

On the TV, a player’s strike hit the goalpost and shot wide. He stared at the grimacing faces of the supporters at the Charlton football ground, a few miles across the city. They rubbed their hands and stamped their feet, wrapped up under scarves, hats, and coats.

He thought of Kit in the garage.

“Question everything.”

Alarm bells pealed in the back of his mind, ones that had chimed uneasily from time to time ever since he’d taken the job. Why did so much he’d been told about EBs seem unreliable? And what if they did feel the cold? Kit would freeze in that metal box.

Oh God.

He got up, stepping over the weights and running magazines strewn across the carpet. Passing into the kitchen, which adjoined the lounge, he put the kettle on. “I’m going to have a cup of tea,” he told himself, “a nice hot bath, and go to bed.” Henry had retired sometime in the early 1980s. The “unsound” EB policies were probably from decades back.

He’d finished his drink and half filled the bath before he turned off the taps, dressed again, and went back downstairs.

“I’m really, really losing it,” he muttered as he pulled on his jacket. “It’s got no feelings. It doesn’t sense the cold. It talks rubbish and is fucking with my mind.”

Silence filled the garage, which unsettled him further. If he’d heard Kit singing or bombarding him with more words, he might have realized how foolish he’d been and hurried back inside. Instead, when he opened the safe, he fought a surge of panic. Kit slumped on his side, huddled in a fetal position with his eyes shut.

The pang in his heart, physically painful, bewildered him. He dragged Kit to the edge of the metal box, desperately seeking any vital signs. He held the back of his hand in front of Kit’s lips.

Not a whisper of breath. He touched Kit’s cheek, finding him cold as an icicle, his complexion a metallic shade of gray. With a stab of dismay, Denny realized that below the elf, he could see the color of the safe, which appeared to glow through him. “Wake up…wake up… Oh fuck…fuck.”

Kit was fading away, doing what elves did once their brief time plaguing human society ended. Denny didn’t take time to analyze why this upset him so, his heart surging until it seemed to pound in his throat. He hauled Kit into a sitting position, then patted his face. The elf’s head lolled sideways against his shoulder. Under the bleak garage light, Kit’s face and lips looked blue-pale and transparent. Denny could discern the black fabric of his T-shirt below.

Not a glimmer of life.

Denny slipped an arm under Kit’s knees, picked him up, and carried him into the house.

Kit felt lighter than when Denny had handled him earlier, as if half his substance had already evaporated. By the time he laid him down on the sofa and turned to switch on the gas fire, tears pooled in Denny’s eyes.

Why must he be such a bloody softy? He’d never had an elf as much as pass out on him before, and now he felt so responsible. After six flicks on the pilot switch, steely flames leaped, and the gas fire roared into action. He hurried upstairs and grabbed the duvet off the single bed in the spare room.

Returning to the lounge, he wrapped the duvet around Kit and tried to convince himself the elf’s lips were not quite as blue and see-through as when he’d found him. They’d said it took forty-eight hours for an EB to disintegrate into thin air, and maybe he could reverse the process. But the notion Kit might vanish into nothingness revived his grating misery. Sinking onto the sofa, he pulled Kit back into his arms so the elf’s head rested against his chest.

With a sigh, he stroked Kit’s hair. Silky blond strands tumbled across his brow. Once again Denny noticed the pointed tips of the elf’s ears. He drew breath sharply. Okay, that helped. Whatever his great-uncle’s reservations were, Kit wasn’t human. He was scarcely even real.

And Denny fancied this thing?

Kit looked beautiful even now, although he seemed unbearably fragile, and how good he might look in a thong became the last thing on Denny’s mind. Denny just wanted to feel him move or breathe—something, anything.

He muttered a prayer and carefully rubbed Kit, feeling the shallow swell of his hips, the slenderness of his dancer’s torso. The elf’s ribs remained rigid beneath Denny’s touch. Denny clung to the hope his warmth might revive him, hugging him ever closer.

That was the last thing he remembered before he dropped off to sleep.