Not in Kansas (Kinky Oz Book 1)

  Not in Kansas

  Kinky Oz, Book 1

  R.G. Alexander

  Not in Kansas

  Copyright 2018 by R.G. Alexander

  Formatted by IRONHORSE Formatting

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Author’s Note

  This book was previously published in 2008. It has been extensively revised, edited and is significantly longer than the original version.

  Dedication

  For Cookie—Love is the reason.

  To my wonderful divas. Special thanks to my readers.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Surrender Dorothy

  Thanks for Reading!

  Other Books from R.G. Alexander

  About R.G. Alexander

  Chapter One

  The storm rolled in from nowhere.

  It hadn’t rained for weeks now, something the old farmer’s in town complained about every morning at the diner. It wasn’t surprising that it was the only topic of conversation, since weather was a serious business when your financial solvency depended on Mother Nature’s whims.

  Kansas Frayne didn’t care about the weather one way or another, though his dreams lately had been full of lightning and thunder. All that talk must have soaked into his subconscious, he thought.

  Or maybe not.

  When the angry black shadows began to skim the tall fields he’d been wandering through, he remembered those dreams and started to care. He’d never seen clouds like that, he was nowhere near the small farmhouse he called home, and a glance at his cellphone assured him he had no signal to call for help.

  Storm clouds roiling with violence surrounded him on all sides, and it looked like they were on a collision course with each other—with him in the center. He pocketed his phone and started back for home as the massive thunderheads slammed together more quickly than he would have thought possible.

  “Well shit.”

  The immediate pressure change made his ears pop as gusts of wind rushed at him through the tall dry grass like invisible linebackers, forcing him to lean forward to keep from getting blown over. Then a switch flipped up in the sky, releasing a deluge of rain that didn’t fall so much as slash sideways, stabbing his body with the sharpness of knives.

  This wasn’t normal. It was happening too fast.

  The rain turned to stinging mist as the wind picked up more speed and howled around him, ripping the dead grass at his feet right out of the ground.

  He had to do something. Running wasn’t an option. There was no time and no safe direction, if he could see in front of him enough to even choose a damn direction.

  A deafening roar had him covering his head and dropping instinctively to the ground, knees digging into the fresh mud for purchase. As if that would save him. His heart was pounding in his chest as adrenaline welled up inside him.

  Out in the open, no one could survive this.

  In that moment, when death seemed certain, time slowed enough to let his life flash before his eyes. He saw his empty house. The long line of days that had passed exactly as this one had until now. In silent, solitary repetition. No color. No passion. No point.

  Less than a handful of people would miss him. His fault. His choice.

  He wished he’d had the chance to take more chances. To actually live instead of just existing.

  Thunder cracked close enough to make him jump, static and trepidation raising goosebumps on his rain-slicked skin. He risked a quick look through squinted eyes.

  Holy shit. He swallowed as what looked like the gaping maw of some kind of super tornado sought him out.

  “What the fuck...” he shouted, but the wind ripped his words away.

  That’s crazy. Tornadoes don’t do that. They don’t hunt.

  But he couldn’t deny that it was doing a damn good impression.

  Some lizard brain level of self-preservation kicked in and Kansas leapt to his feet, running toward home as fast as his legs could carry him. He should have run more, he thought, panic overtaking him. Why hadn’t he run more when he had the chance?

  Debris was pelting his arms and face, filling his throat until he choked. The wind howled in his ears, seeming to shout his name.

  Kansas. Kansas. Kansas.

  It was coming for him.

  Was this how it ended? He’d removed people from his life with an almost surgical precision years ago and now he would die alone. He hoped someone would tell his uncle and his childhood friend, Dee. There might not be a body left worth burying, but they deserved to know. They, at least, would mourn him.

  A lashing crosswind ripped his feet out from under him as he ran for his life. He crashed hard into the muddy ground, gasping for breath and clutching at a stitch in his side. He collapsed in exhaustion, his eyes squeezed shut as the hot, angry breath of the tempest rolled over him and tore him away from everything he knew. Lifting him off the ground as if he were nothing. His vision darkened and the world went black.

  Kansas was gone.

  The storm vanished along with him. Grass and dirt rained down into the empty field as the sky cleared and the sun returned to burn away the evidence that anything had happened.

  There wasn’t even a rainbow.

  ***

  “I think it’s dead.”

  “Don’t be daft, Lenard. Would it moan like that if it were dead? And just think, if I hadn’t gone left when you told me to go right, we’d never have seen it at all. Look. Look! Its eyes are opening. Ooh, pretty. Have you ever seen a color like that before?”

  “Never.”

  Kansas took a breath and blinked.

  Blinked again.

  His entire body felt like one giant bruise, and his head ached as if he’d had a run in with an oncoming train.

  Well, you were picked up and tossed around by a tornado like that cow in Twister, so you should stop bitching and be happy you’re still in one piece.

  That would be a good point, if he could verify the one-piece part. The creatures hovering over his body put everything into question, including whether or not he was actually conscious.

  Either his brain had been rattled hard enough to cause hallucinations or he was dead and heaven was nothing like his Sunday school-teaching neighbor had led him to believe. Angels would have at least been explainable. Bird women? Men covered in fur?

  Yeah. Not so much.<
br />
  What the hell happened? He remembered being sucked up into the storm, so high it had been hard to breathe. A fall like that should have killed him. But again, no angels.

  In case he was still alive, he tried to stay calm. Screaming hysterically in front of what were no doubt normal, human paramedics would end with him being sent to the wrong kind of hospital.

  “I was…there was this storm and…” He slowly rose on his elbows and looked around. “Wait, where did I end up? There aren’t any woods like this on my property.”

  There weren’t woods like this anywhere. The bark on the nearest tree was smooth and had a strange bluish tinge. Blue? And were the leaves glowing? Either that or this place was crawling in fireflies.

  He rubbed his hands over his face briskly, hoping more blood flow would encourage a little sanity. Kansas suddenly wished he’d paid more attention to Dee when she’d told him about magic and dream symbolism. She’d be handling this—whatever it was—a lot better if their positions were reversed. She actually believed she was a witch, not that he’d ever held that against her. After all, he’d once believed in fairytales himself, until his last disaster of a relationship.

  “His eyes are the color of the Krentyn Sea. His hair pale as the butter flower. And look, Fenna. He’s golden, but not all over. Parts of this one are pale like fresh cream. I’ve never seen a male that color before.”

  Kansas felt his eyebrows touch his hairline as the fine, reddish fur covering the young man in front of him rose and trembled, standing on edge like an agitated cat.

  He ran a hand through his own hair, searching for the wound he was sure he would find. Nope. No blood. No skull fractures. Not even a bump. “Um, yeah, well I haven’t gotten to a tanning booth in years and I’m very pro sunscreen,” he defended his pale-creaminess politely. “My name is Kansas, by the way. Kansas Frayne. Do either of you have any idea where I am and why I’m naked?”

  The dainty woman decorated in silky yellow feathers that appeared to be attached to her body made a twittering sound in her throat. “You and your cream, Lenard. I can see you’ve already made up your mind to like this one. I think I do too.”

  Oh good. They like me. The bird and the cat think I’m creamy. That’s not crazy at all.

  He was still unconscious. This had to be a dream. He was dreaming of lying in an alien forest while a bird-woman and a large, muscular feline with humanoid features discussed his physical attributes as if he couldn’t hear them. As if he were the strange one.

  “Maybe they can’t hear me,” he mused aloud.

  The woman inclined her head toward Kansas. “Who said we couldn’t hear you, Kansas Frayne? Did you hit your head or something?”

  “Or something. Who are you?”

  She made a flustered, apologetic sound. “Of course, of course. I’m Fenna and this is Lenard, Kansas. Now give me a minute to deal with his problem before we find out where you came from and what to do about it.”

  “His problem?” Kansas frowned over at the shivering male. “He has a problem?”

  Was if fur related?

  “He’ll be fine,” she assured him, walking over to put her hand on Lenard’s head. “Sometimes he gets a smidge overexcited, don’t you, love? It’s okay. Kansas understands.”

  Kansas didn’t understand. At least, not until she glanced pointedly at the oddly terrifying erection below Lenard’s waist. Oh.

  Oh.

  Lenard liking him might not be a good thing. Sure, the engorged baseball bat of a shaft rising aggressively from between the male’s thick, furry thighs was impressive, but that didn’t mean he wanted it getting anywhere near his ass. Not in this lifetime.

  His cock twitched despite his denial and he bit back a groan of disgust, covering himself as best he could with his hands. That was just perfect. The crazy dream was already taking the off ramp down to the pervert highway. He’d been alone so long even his fantasies had warped with age.

  A cat man with a monster cock. Really, Kansas?

  No, not really. That dick was the size of a fully-grown boa constrictor and Kansas wasn’t into pain.

  He got to his feet and was assailed by a wave of dizziness that made him stumble and stub his toe. “Ow! Fuck, I felt that and it was a hell of a lot more than a pinch. Why am I not waking up?”

  The sharp angles of the female’s face softened, her hand still stroking Lenard’s head in soothing motions. “Be at ease, sea eyes. You must have taken a bad tumble. You say a storm brought you here?”

  “Craziest storm I’ve ever seen. Came out of nowhere in the middle of a drought.”

  Her head tilted thoughtfully at his words. “I haven’t heard of anything like that since I was a flightless babe at my greatmother’s knee. But that was only a story to help me sleep.”

  “Some stories hold truths,” Lenard offered, calm again. He reached for Fenna’s hand and kissed her palm gratefully. “The Storm Child might be based on a truth as well. It’s obvious that he’s no Crow Warrior.”

  “Crow Warrior?” He looked up, imagining an army of black-feathered fighters swooping in for an attack. “Who are they?”

  “The men you most resemble. If your hair were darker, your skin truly golden, you could pass without close scrutiny. The similarities are fascinating. The differences, however, are beautiful.”

  The frank appreciation in his expression nearly made Kansas blush. “I’ve never seen anyone like the two of you either.”

  Nothing that could talk, anyway.

  “You haven’t?” Fenna sent a speaking look to Lenard. “I suppose there’s nothing for it but to take you to the king, Kansas Frayne.”

  “Wait, what? The—you have a king?”

  “We all have a king.”

  Kansas shook his head, his laughter tinged with panic. “I have politicians who wish they were kings. Is this ruler of yours, what’s the word I’m looking for? Is he an off-with-your-head kind of royal? Queen of Hearts style?”

  Lenard’s head tilted so far to the side Kansas worried he might hurt himself. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of this queen,” he said softly, sounding mystified. “If she takes your head, what does she do with those hearts?”

  “Never mind. Lost in translation. I’m asking if the king is cruel.” Why was he going along with this? This wasn’t happening, right?

  Fenna twittered again. “Our king is strong and wise, sea eyes. He is nothing like your queen or polissians.”

  “Politicians,” he corrected absently.

  “Exactly. We should get started. It’s not far, but we don’t go to the city as a rule, and this is an unusual set of circumstances. A storm child. He’ll have to be told right away.”

  A city. There was a city. Some kind of civilization filled with crows and cats and Fennas…oh my.

  Kansas looked around, frustrated at his situation. “I appreciate the thought, but I think I should stay here for now. The point is finding a way to wake up before I start wandering in the real world and end up actually being hurt.”

  “He thinks he’s dreaming,” Lenard whispered to Fenna in a voice that sounded amused. “Do you think we should be flattered?”

  “We can’t leave him here,” Fenna answered sharply. “Whatever he thinks, it wouldn’t be safe.”

  Kansas rolled his eyes. They were talking about him like he wasn’t here again. “At the very least I need to find something to wear. Hallucinations or not, I’m not moving from this spot as long as I’m naked.”

  They were naked too, but they had at least some covering in the form of strategically placed feathers and fur.

  Feathers and fur.

  Another possibility struck him. Maybe there’d been no storm at all. Maybe he’d finally gone round the bend, the way his uncle had sworn he would when Kansas had left the world he’d known all his life for the solitude of the family farm.

  “Your heart is too big for you to close it off entirely, Kansas. Believe me, it won’t be good for you.”

  But it had been the
only decision he could think to make. He’d spent five years alone, with only his morning trips to the diner and occasional phone calls with Dee to remind him that other people were still wandering the world. Still going about their lives without him.

  He hadn’t wanted to know any of it. He hadn’t wanted to deal with reality at all. Maybe his determination to hide from his problems had finally driven him insane.

  “We have coverings for your pale bits, sea eyes. But first, do you remember anything other than the storm? Do you know the name of the people you belong to? Are they Fraynes as well?”

  His confusion must have been apparent. “I belong to the Glider Clan. Lenard is Felix. And a handsome one at that.”

  Lenard blushed at the mention of his name. The youthful excitement in his strange ebony eyes did something to Kansas. Made his lips twitch and his heart lighten. He used to be like that. Trusting. Hopeful. Long forgotten memories tried to find their way to the surface and he immediately and violently pushed them back down. That Kansas was gone.

  “I don’t belong to any clan. I’m just a regular guy from Iowa.” She continued to watch him with a blank expression on her face. “I’m human.”

  He watched the two share a look, both mouthing the word “human” as if they’d never heard it and his stomach dropped. He started to shiver, realizing as he did the warm light that had been filtering through the trees was quickly fading. If it got any colder his balls might try to crawl back inside his body.

  “You said you had something for me to wear?”

  “Yes, of course.” Fenna slid a strap over her shoulder, revealing a small backpack made of shimmering red fabric. As she rummaged through her bag, Kansas studied her more closely.

  She was a truly stunning creature. Jim Henson’s creations had nothing on her. All sharp angles and grace, the perfect human/bird hybrid with the overly slender frame of a young girl, and dark, pupil-less eyes that studied him with a frank curiosity that was unmistakably adult.

  Opalescent feathers covered her head in a tight swirling cap, circling down her graceful neck. They framed her breasts and belly and the smooth skin between her thighs, leaving her sex bare. The feathers running from her shoulders down the underside of her arms were longer and thicker, clearly meant for flight instead of vanity, but no less beautiful.