The Copper Horse #2 Pride (38 page)

John climbed the
stairs, dying for a strong coffee. The night had been a success for
Erik, but his servants were exhausted. John could only go to bed
after he’d made sure all the guests had gotten into their
carriages, gotten their gift bags, taken their pets with them,
blah, blah, blah. So much to do, and it was all on his shoulders.
Jack and Fry had disappeared before midnight, so they were possibly
fucking somewhere or completely ignoring their jobs or both. John
would make sure they were punished.

At least no one had
tried to fuck John this time, like they had at last year’s party.
Now that Erik’d discarded him like the butt of a cigarette, there
was no one in the house who could live up to John’s expectations.
He was so far above the uneducated, crass servants with whom he had
to live. Destined for a life of solitude.

He stopped on the
landing of the marble steps and put his head on the sculpted horse
head newel post. He couldn’t believe Master Erik would prefer that
pea-brained mongrel to him.

The sky outside was
already approaching the color of ripe oranges, and John knew he
wouldn’t get to sleep more than four hours. Maybe it wasn’t worth
it to even lie down in bed? He could take a bath in the horse
bathroom—because Copper was the only person besides Erik himself,
who had access to a proper tub. Disgraceful.

But as he stood there,
contemplating reading a book on ancient Egypt in a tub full of
honey-infused water, there was a thud at the top of the stairs. And
then another. And another.

John looked up to the
round shape gaining speed as it rolled down the stairs. It left a
dark trail on the stairs, but before he could get annoyed about the
mess, bile rose in his throat. The shape rushed past him, hit the
wall with a hollow sound and rolled right back to his feet.

It was Hans’s
head.

The story will be
concluded in
The Copper Horse: Love

Thank you for
purchasing
The Copper Horse:
Pride
.

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Merikan

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About the Author

K. A. Merikan is the
pen name for Kat and Agnes Merikan, a team of writers, who are
mistaken for sisters with surprising regularity. Kat’s the mean
sergeant and survival specialist of the duo, never hesitating to
kick Agnes’s ass when she’s slacking off. Her memory works like an
easy-access catalogue, which allows her to keep up with both book
details and social media. Also works as the emergency GPS. Agnes is
the Merikan nitpicker, usually found busy with formatting and
research. Her attention tends to be scattered, and despite pushing
thirty, she needs to apply makeup to buy alcohol. Self-proclaimed
queen of the roads.

They love the weird and
wonderful, stepping out of the box, and bending stereotypes both in
life and books. When you pick up a Merikan book, there’s one thing
you can be sure of - it will be full of surprises.

Mail to:
[email protected]

K.A. Merikan's author
page: http://kamerikan.com

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/KAMerikan

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Agnes Merikan's
Twitter: https://twitter.com/AgnesMerikan

Goodreads:
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6150530.K_A_Merikan

If you enjoyed
The
Copper Horse: Pride
, you might want to read the other books
set in the
Zombie Gentlemen
universe

In
1887, history changed course. A new Plague turned the infected into
flesh-eating monsters and bound the population to overcrowded
cities. The rapid advance in technology creates opportunities for
the rich, but also helps to spread new social ideas which 
challenge traditional Victorian morality. These are the stories of
gentlemen, prostitutes, treasure hunters, soldiers and so many
others who struggle to find love within the walls of a rotting
city

In
His Shoes (October, 1887)

Scavengers:

July
(July, 1893)

August (August, 1893)

September (September, 1893)

Eton
Mess (September, 1893)

Stung
(1907)

The
Copper Horse (1907)

Off
with Their Heads! (September, 1907)

STUNG

K.A. Merikan

—
If you want honey, prepare to get
stung. —

October 1907,
Honeyhill

Twenty years into
the zombie Plague

Victor is a man of
delicate sensibilities, not fit to do backbreaking labour on a farm
ran by the mob. Upon arrival in Honeyhill, he decides he needs an
anchor, an alliance with one of the guards, if he wants to survive.
That anchor comes in the form of Crunch, a hunky ex-sailor with a
pair of tight leather trousers and a ruggedly handsome face.

But from day one,
Victor knows he won’t last long with the hard physical work
assigned to him and the torment he suffers at the hands of a
sadistic guard. He needs to run, and his new alliance might prove
to be a burden instead of solace.

If Crunch wants
Honeyhill liberated, he needs to focus on his job, not on
protecting Victor, one of many new arrivals on the farm.
Distraction is the last thing he needs after months of undercover
work. But it’s hard not to get seduced by Victor’s big brown eyes
and fingertips that don’t know work. Hundreds of people depend on
Crunch keeping his identity a secret, revealing it could be fatal
for both him and Victor, and a failure of his mission.

Thankfully, Victor
would never be dumb enough to try and escape through a forest
that’s swarming with zombies. Would he?

***

Stung
is a standalone book and a part of
the
Zombie
Gentlemen
universum.

Themes
(may contain SPOILERS):
zombies, prisoner/guard, beekeeping, gore, deception, undercover
agent, captivity, romance, brutality, forced labour camp, murder,
farm, torment, forbidden romance, Victorian

Erotic content:
 explicit m/m
sexual scenes (including dubious consent)

Genre:
dystopian homoerotic
thriller

Length:
~50,000 words

The train
stopped. Only this time, no one fell on Victor. He didn’t have to
fight his way up to the surface of the crowd that was squeezed into
the cattle wagon beyond its capacity. Blindfolded, with his hands
bound behind his back, he was fighting for his life like a drowning
cat, ready to go beyond all measures to keep his head high so that
the foul-smelling bodies wouldn't choke him. He couldn’t be
certain, but judging from the cries and overheard conversations,
some people were less fortunate than him. Only a few hours into the
journey, a man died of a heart attack at the other side of the
wagon, his body now lost on the floor below.

Whenever Victor
felt threatened, or his throat dried so much it hurt, he kept
thinking about his most prized possession. It was his late mother’s
engagement ring, which he managed to hide in a small pouch sewn
into the inner side of his shirt by whoever owned the garment
before. As long as he had the ring, he would afford hope.

Victor got to
his toes, trying to get his chest above the tightness of the bodies
around him, so that it could expand more, letting him breathe
properly. No use.

Shouting from
the outside made Victor swallow. He had no clue where they were
being taken, but it couldn’t be anywhere good. He couldn’t believe
it was happening to
him
! He had plans, a home, nice clothes
that were ripped off him and replaced with some old rags...

Suddenly, the
struggle to raise above the others was gone as the wagon filled
with cool air and the crowd moved, carrying Victor with it. He
frantically clutched at the fabric of someone’s skirt, but the
stream of people came to an abrupt stop with a loud bang that made
Victor’s ears ring. The air filled with a new smell, smoky, a bit
like fireworks.

He froze with
fear, but no one died, and the gun proved useful in keeping the
crowd of prisoners from trampling over each other. It was all a
chaos of limbs and bodies before someone pulled the piece of cloth
off Victor’s eyes, and he was immediately blinded by a flood of
light. All the captives were being rushed out of the wagons with
shouting and prodding, so he kept his gaze down, on the dirty boots
of the man walking in front of him. At least he could breathe
properly again. He couldn’t even remember the last time he smelled
pine, and the fresh scent of nature blended into a balm for his
soul. He kept moving, but tried to look around as much as possible,
and what hit him right after the smell, was a constant, sharp
buzzing from somewhere beyond his immediate surroundings. He half
expected it to stop, or change tune, like in the case of all
machines he knew, but as their sad cavalcade advanced along a
sun-bathed dirt track, the low tremor in Victor’s ears was a
constant companion.

Once his eyes
got used to the bright light, he started taking in details. They
were unloaded at a remote train station in the woods, or rather, at
the end of a track that led to nowhere. As soon as he realized
there were no solid buildings around, his stomach knotted, and he
couldn't stop himself from scanning the broad treeless strip for
stray zombies. Forests, the countryside, were places he always
associated with the presence of the undead, so he tried sliding his
hands out of the binds around his wrists, but the rope wouldn't
give. The guard who tied them was certainly proficient at it.
Victor’s head emptied when he noticed the familiar open jaws he had
only seen in the zoo. The terrain was protected by a tall, iron
hedge, something that didn’t seem solid enough to stand between
people and carnivorous beasts. But as there was nothing he could do
other than obey men with shotguns, he cast his gaze down and
marched, even though fear kept creeping up his back, urging him to
look out for danger.