No Way: Colton & Shea (Claws Clause Book 1.75)

by Jessica Lynch

  The way Shea said he echoing in Colt’s ears, he snapped, “Where exactly do you want the dresser, Ms. Moonshadow?”

  Shit. Could he sound any less friendly if he tried?

  She didn’t seem to mind—or maybe she just didn’t notice. With her scent eerily missing, Colt couldn’t use it to gauge her emotions like he normally would. He had to rely on reading her expression.

  Luckily for him, she seemed the type of human who wore it all on her face. With a sheepish look, she said, “Oh. Sorry. Um, I guess right over there would be great.”

  “Where?”

  “Over there.” Squeezing past him, Shea laid one hand on his right forearm, pointing across the shop at a bare space with the other.

  It happened in a heartbeat. With the next pump of fresh blood, it immediately started to head south. His limp cock pulsed, then it twitched, before it started to swell. Within seconds, it was halfway to becoming a full erection.

  Colt’s first.

  Sudden pleasure mingled with surprise as elation shot right through him. Her fingertips, so light, so soft, were still grazing the side of his arm as he jolted like he’d been zapped by a hundred volts of electricity.

  He couldn’t control the spasm. In his daze, he didn’t even understand at first what was going on with his body. He lost any control he had as he jerked away from her at the same time as he let go of his hold on the dresser.

  Crunch!

  A howl tore out of his throat as every bone in his left ankle simply shattered.

  “Oh, Goddess, no. Are you alright?”

  He should’ve been. Normally, with his shifter reflexes and his strength, the worst thing that could’ve happened would’ve been that he stumbled away from her, then shoved the heavy dresser away from his body. But then he might’ve accidentally tossed it toward her and, yeah, there was no way he could have allowed that to happen on the heels of his undeniable proof.

  So, instead, Colt dropped the dresser—right on top of him.

  One good thing about the sharp, shooting, throbbing pain announcing his broken ankle? It momentarily distracted him from the aching, heavy cock making itself known.

  She was close. Too close. The homey, woodsy note in her muted scent flared as she tried to get a better look at his busted ankle. She side-stepped the discarded dresser—that, thankfully, was still in one piece… unlike Colt’s ankle—bending low so that she could get a good look at his injury.

  If she got any lower, though, she’d brush up against the noticeable bulge straining against his jeans. And he wasn’t about to let that happen, either.

  He jumped back, hunching his shoulders, bracing his body against the agony shooting up his leg when he landed hard on his bad ankle.

  “Don’t worry about me,” he said gruffly. “I’ll be fine. I’m a shifter.”

  No shit, he realized, since he just spat the words out around a mouthful of sharp fangs. He could sense his eager wolf trying to take over. Biting back a snarl, clenching his jaw as he forced his beast to yield, Colt leaned down and, using one hand, tipped the dresser so that it was upright.

  No point in trying to keep his status under wraps. Not that he would; Colt was proud of what he was. And, considering what she was to him, it was better to found out how she felt about Paras sooner than later.

  He also didn’t need her worrying about him. Super fast regenerative properties meant that his clumsiness would be a distant memory in no time.

  His first erection, on the other hand?

  No way he was forgetting about that anytime soon.

  “I kinda figured. I mean, just how you grabbed the dresser and left the dolly behind? You were either a shifter or Superman. Plus your name gave you away. Wolfe, right? That’s okay with me. I’m a—” Her olive-colored face noticeably paled as she stepped back. She sucked in a breath, letting it out on a shudder.

  Her meager scent spiked, a harsh note that meant only one thing: she was hurting, too.

  “Hey. What’s the matter? Shit.” Colt felt his eyes ice over. “I didn’t hit you with it, did I?”

  “I… ow. I didn’t think so.” She stumbled toward the counter, leaning against the side, panting shallowly as if the pain was too much for her. “Maybe I walked into it or something.”

  Colt froze.

  Or something.

  Mates could sometimes feel echoes of each other’s pain. It usually depended on how bad the injury was and the strength of the bond. If he could ignore the huge clue down below that this woman was meant to be his, her soft cry and the way she reached for her left ankle—the same one that was aching on Colt—was another flashing, neon warning sign. Especially since, when she lifted the hem of her pants, he had to bite his tongue to stifle his moan at just the barest flash of her unblemished skin.

  There wasn’t a single mark on her.

  Of course there wasn’t. Colt was the idiot who shattered his ankle. She was dealing with echoes fluttering through a fledgling bond she would know nothing about.

  “Huh. It looks alright to me. Nothing some ice and maybe a poultice won’t fix.” She straightened, careful not to put her weight on it as if it still bothered her. Letting her pants fall again, she gestured to his ankle. “What about you? You want me to try to heal it?”

  Colt didn’t know how she planned on doing that, but if it meant she’d have to put her soft hands on him again, he was afraid he’d explode in his jeans. He was already walking a thin line, so close to the edge. One wrong step and he really would fling himself at her feet for just the smallest release.

  No.

  No.

  “No!”

  Colt didn’t want a mate. He didn’t want the choice taken away from him, didn’t want his cock making decisions for him just because it went and got hard for the first time in his life.

  Before Maddox found his Evangeline, he’d spent years searching for her. Colt watched what his brother went through, his packmates, and decided it wasn’t worth it. Not only would he keep from actively looking, but he’d always figured that, if he got snagged, he’d just pretend he hadn’t.

  Of course, now that it was happening to him, he was beginning to think that might be easier said than done.

  Her dark eyes widened, small human teeth nibbling on her bottom lip as his shout stunned her into silence.

  Alpha, he was a fucking asshole.

  Colt cleared his throat. “What I meant was, no thanks. Like I said, I’m a shifter. I’ll be fine before you know it. You don’t need to take care of me.”

  “Oh. Well. If you’re sure…”

  “I am.”

  “Um. Okay. If you change your mind—”

  “I won’t. Thanks.”

  She nodded.

  Colt ripped his unblinking gaze from the concern splayed across her pretty face. Okay. He knew what he needed to do now.

  He needed to escape.

  He was like a cornered animal, too reckless, too dangerous, and way too unpredictable. Despite his shock at his discovery, Colt already felt his protective instincts stirring. He couldn’t risk lashing out at her. He couldn’t risk hurting her, or letting her experience his pain, either.

  Time to get the hell out of there.

  Mumbling an apology, forcing his baying wolf back again as his beast realized he was moving away from her instead of closer, Colt bolted to the door. His broken ankle was screaming, but he’d had worse injuries over the years. So maybe the break was still fresh. Tough shit. He had to get away from her.

  His shaky claw-tipped hand closed on the door handle as she called from behind him.

  “Hey!”

  His body jerked, head snapping to look over his shoulder at her. “Yeah?”

  She swallowed noticeably. “I haven’t paid for the dresser yet.”

  “I’ll bill you,” Colt grumbled, then immediately fled the shop.

  It was the first time in his life he had ever run from a confrontation.

  3

  Pacing.

  Pacing was good. />
  Not as good as running, of course, but with his broken ankle, he didn’t want to put his wolf through running flat-out on three paws instead of four.

  Three hours. It had been three hours since he tore out of Grayson like the tip of his tail was on fire. Three hours and he didn’t know what ached worse: his cock or his broken ankle. Both of them throbbed, and while he wasn’t sure what to do about one, the other should’ve been fixed by now.

  He’d lost track of how many bones he’d broken over the years. He’d been a rambunctious pup with a propensity to challenge his older brother. Of course, he realized now that Maddox’s wolf could have torn his throat out fairly easily, but his brother never let it get farther than a couple of fractures here or a swipe of his claws there. When their regenerative properties meant that any damage was healed within minutes, it was fine.

  Only it had been three hours and Colt’s ankle had barely begun to knit itself back together.

  It was hell driving the delivery van back to his house. Thank Alpha, it was his left ankle that broke since he didn’t need it to operate the vehicle. It still fucking hurt. Not only that, but his whole left leg felt like it was on fire as his body tried to fix itself—and couldn’t.

  And then there was his poor cock…

  Because he’d spent his entire life deluding himself that he would never get stuck with a mate, he never wondered what it would be like to have an erection. He knew the basics of mating—his father made sure both his boys did—and he totally understood the whole ‘tab a goes in slot b’ thing.

  So, yeah, a hard cock was essential when it came to mating. But did it have to feel so heavy, so achy, so sensitive?

  As if it could hear his thoughts, the damn thing pulsed against the confines of his jeans. Since actually mating the human was out of the question, Colt wondered if he should just take himself in hand, rub one out for the first time, and hope that, now that he’d put some distance between his body and Shea’s, his cock would behave.

  One problem with that. While he was still waiting to hear from Maddox, that didn’t mean that his house was empty when he finally made it back to his territory. Instead of haunting his own place along Cemetery Row, Colt’s best friend was hovering in Colt’s living room, using his poltergeist powers to turn on the television so he could watch his shows.

  Like everything else when it came to Dodge, Colt just let it go. The phantom liked early morning game shows? Sure. Why not?

  Hey. He was stuck with the guy regardless. He’d given up thinking otherwise a long time ago.

  See, Dodge McCoy was a ghost from the late nineteenth century. He was born in the slums of New York City, died there when he was younger than Colt was now, and he’d been haunting Colt his entire life.

  On the eve of Dodge’s hundredth death-iversary, Colt had the bad luck to be born to Terrence and Sarah Wolfe in a Para hospital close to where Dodge was lurking. Most phantoms had already found their anchor by their deadline but, for some reason, Dodge waited until the very last second to imprint on the newborn pup.

  Initially, he haunted Colt because it was the only way to extend his life force. Sometime in the last twenty-six years, the smartass ghost had become more than an annoyance.

  He was family.

  Dodge knew Colt better than anyone except for Maddox; after his brother’s three-year stint in the Cage, Colt was willing to bet that Dodge might have even edged Mad out by now.

  For a hot second, Colt wondered if he could hide his discovery from the ghost. And it was only a hot second because the instant Dodge glanced away from the television to greet Colt, his electric blue eyes—the only spot of color remaining on the faded specter—had widened, his lips curved, and Dodge tilted his trademark derby hat back so that he could get a better look at the panting, wound-up shifter.

  He’d smirked, offering a quick, “Congratulations, pal.”

  So of course Colt had snapped back, “Fuck you,” though his words lacked heat. Since he’d already decided there was no way in hell he was filling Maddox in on his predicament while Evangeline was still missing, it was kind of nice that he could share his bafflement with Dodge since hiding it was out of the question now.

  Like Colt, Dodge didn’t bother with women. He knew he had someone that he called his ‘key’ out there somewhere, like Colt was his ‘anchor’, but Dodge swore that he didn’t ever want to meet the dame.

  Colt always figured it had something to do with the reason behind Dodge’s untimely death, but he never asked. Just like Dodge let it go all those times that Colt announced that he didn’t want to be tied down to a mate like his brother was.

  Knowing Dodge would only pop out again when he was good and ready, Colt had sunk down on his couch, propping his still-broken ankle up so that it might start to heal faster. After Dodge shorted out the television with a burst of kinetic energy, Colt told his friend all about what had happened since he brought the Moonshadow dresser over to his client’s shop.

  At one point, Dodge jerked his chin over at Colt. “Just askin’, but… you’re sure, ain’t ya?”

  Colt wished he wasn’t.

  There were a few ways a shifter could pick out his mate. Because mating, at its heart, was a biological imperative as much as it was a pleasurable act, Colt would know his mate because she would be the one woman who could incite his body to be prepared to mate in the first place. Besides a hard dick, though, a scent that spoke to a shifter’s beast was another huge clue.

  That’s how Maddox recognized Evangeline as his. He’d been out for a run when he picked up on Evangeline’s scent and knew—just knew—that whoever owned that inherently vanilla scent was meant to be his mate.

  He’d been right.

  Shea didn’t have a strong scent. That… that annoyed Colt. The whole ride back to his Bumptown, he dwelled on that since it was better than the throb in his ankle and the ache in his cock.

  Everyone should have a scent. Humans did, though they usually covered up their inherent weakness with perfumes and soaps. Nightwalkers and Dayborn vampires smelled like a mix of rotten meat, blood, and carnage. Witches and their cursed spells stunk like too much baby powder. Othersiders either gave off heat or ice, depending on their allegiance.

  Okay, he allowed. Phantoms didn’t smell like anything—but Shea was very much alive.

  No denying that.

  His ankle still hurt like hell. Even so, Colt couldn’t sit on his ass any longer. As he got up again, beginning to pace, Dodge called out to him.

  “Hey. Maybe it’s a good thing, Colt. You ever think of that?”

  Dat.

  As Colt turned on his heel, urging it to feel better, he noticed that Dodge was pronouncing some of his th sounds with a d. When Dodge got annoyed or excited, he tended to slip into his old New York accent.

  “I don’t have time for a mate,” Colt said, glowering over at the ghost as he pivoted on his good ankle. “What about you? I don’t see you going out looking for your woman, huh?”

  Dodge flickered, going from visible to gone in a flash. When he reappeared, his lips were a thin line. “No need. It’s too late for me. Even if I found my key after all this time, what will it buy me? Another coupla months? Might as well spend ‘em lookin’ at your ugly mug.”

  Colt went motionless.

  A snarl began to build in the back of his throat. See? Already he was so wrapped up in a virtual stranger that he opened his mouth and stuck his boot right inside of it when it came to his oldest—and, okay, only friend.

  He knew that Dodge was running out of time. Phantoms had an expiration date, their second—and final—death. Dodge was quickly approaching his.

  Did Colt really have to remind the guy?

  “Shit, Dodge. This has got me all kinds of fucked up. I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry, man.”

  Dodge waved his nearly transparent hand away as if brushing aside Colt’s apology. “Forget about me. That just goes to show I’m right. When I’m gone, when your brother’s with his mate again, w
ho’s gonna be there for you?”

  “I’ve got the pack.”

  “After your old man, you rule the pack. They ain’t pals. They’re lackeys.”

  Colt stayed quiet.

  Dodge… he wasn’t wrong. Until Maddox came back and took over the second-in-command role, that would be true. And, honestly, even when Colt stepped down, his wolf would still be more dominant than nearly every other packmate.

  It was one of the reasons why he let Dodge stick around instead of exorcising the ghost years ago. He could be a friend, not an opponent.

  Right now, though, Colt wasn’t feeling all that friendly toward him. Earlier in their conversation, Dodge had flippantly mentioned that, if Colt didn’t want the woman who got him hard, he could always find a different one to take care of his, ahem, big problem.

  He’d made a comment like that once before, right after Maddox first stumbled upon his Evangeline in a park outside of Woodbridge. It was a good thing that Dodge was already a ghost. The look that Maddox had given him at that suggestion would’ve put a lesser man in the grave.

  The ghost was teasing him just like he’d teased Mad way back when. Colt knew that. It didn’t help, though, that just the idea of anyone else reaching for his hard-on—anyone but Shea—had him engaging in a partial shift as his wolf battled for control.

  “It’s not about that,” Colt finally said.

  Dodge’s smirk returned. “‘Course not. It’s about you finally getting laid.”

  “Shut it, alright? I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  “That’s because you know I’m right,” Dodge said good-naturedly. “I was only messin’ with ya before. Now that you know who she is, you’re only gonna want that one dame. So why don’t you save yourself a monster case of blue balls and go back to her, huh?”

  The worst part was that he wanted to. Alpha, he wanted to.

  And that was precisely why he wasn’t stepping one paw off his territory until he could get himself back in line.

  He ran his hand through his short hair, shaking his head. “No can do. Look, I can’t worry about this shit right now. My brother’s getting out of the Cage any minute now. He might even be out already and on his way. I promised I’d help him.” Colt promised because he owed him. “That comes first. Everything else can wait.”