Hard Mated (shifters unbound )

by Jennifer Ashley

  Spike went silent again, caressing Myka’s skin as though drawing comfort from it.

  “If you pledged yourself to Liam,” Myka said, “then there’s no decision. You can’t turn around and work for this other guy.”

  “It’s all bullshit anyway,” Spike said. “I know Gavan’s stringing me along, telling me he wants me to work for him. Enforcer, my ass. He wants me to do his dirty work, then he’ll be done with me.”

  “Then your answer’s easy. Don’t do it.”

  “Liam expects me to do his dirty work too.”

  “Don’t do either,” Myka said.

  Spike’s lips quirked. “It’s more complicated than that. If I tell Liam I quit, every other Shifter will start thinking Liam can’t hold it together. There’ll be a hierarchy battle before you can say shit, then bloodshed and maybe death, never mind about the Collars. I think that’s why Gavan keeps wanting to talk to me—to make me start thinking about my place, and wanting something better.”

  “Playing to your ambition and greed.” Myka sighed. “I know all about that.”

  Spike’s brows went down, his attention pulled from his own problems. “What are you talking about?”

  “Stables where I train. I’ve spent my whole life there, first learning to ride then learning to be a trainer. It’s the only place I’ve ever been happy. But the current owner inherited it from his dad and isn’t interested in horses. He wants to sell to a developer who will plow it over and build strip malls. The owner will get a boatload of money, and we’re out a place to train.”

  Spike watched her face fall as she spoke, and his anger stirred at this nameless, faceless owner. “Can you go to another stable? Move your horses?”

  “I don’t own the horses. Their owners send them to me, and I train them, show them, help sell them if that’s what wanted. I’d have to find another stable willing to hire me on or rent me the space, and owners are very, very picky about where they send their expensive, prize-winning horses. Me and the other trainers are trying to buy the place ourselves, but the price is too high. A corporation can cough up much more than underpaid trainers.”

  “How high?”

  “Seven figures.” Myka sighed again. “That’s why I have to go home. Tomorrow we’re going to meet with the owner and offer him at least a down payment if he’ll reconsider selling to us. Then try to get a loan for the rest.”

  “Mmm.”

  “I know, not as exciting as Shifter fights or chasing Jordan around, but it’s important, and I have to get some real sleep so I can be coherent at the meeting.”

  Spike didn’t want her to go. He relaxed around Myka, opening up like he’d never opened up to anyone, and he liked that she was opening up to him. She listened to him—really listened. Then she thought about what he’d said and told him her true opinion, which was screw Liam and Gavan both and do what Spike thought best for himself.

  Spike closed his fingers around her shoulder, her skin like warm roses. “Will you come back tomorrow?”

  Goddess, he was begging again. Myka’s eyes shone in the moonlight, which turned the blue of them light and beautiful.

  “To check on Jordan? Sure.”

  “Yeah, to check on Jordan,” Spike said. And to talk to me. I don’t care what we say. I talk to you, and I feel strong.

  Spike moved his touch to her cheek, running his thumb along her jaw to turn her face to his. He closed his other arm around her, leaned down, and kissed her.

  The spark of the kiss ignited his blood and tightened in his body. He stroked fingertips across the softness of her cheek, tasted the heat of her lips. Her mouth responded to his, a hunger that matched his own.

  Spike slid his hand down to Myka’s tank top, perfect for the day’s warmth but too light now for the midnight chill. He skimmed his palm over her breast, finding her nipple tight behind the thin fabric. Spike closed two fingers around the bud, tugging.

  Myka put a hand on his wrist. “No, I really have to go,” she whispered.

  She let out a soft moan, however, when Spike slid off the swing and to his knees, catching the tight nipple in his mouth through the fabric. Myka closed her hand around the back of his neck, fingers playing in the buzz of his hair.

  Spike drew the nipple between his teeth. She would taste better without the shirt, but he was giving her time, easing her in gradually. Shifters could be rough, and Myka wouldn’t be used to it.

  So why did he want to be so incredibly gentle with her?

  When Spike finally released her, Myka’s breath was coming fast, her lips parted and moist. Spike caught that moisture on his tongue, cupped her cheek, and kissed the corner of her mouth.

  “Come back tomorrow,” he said.

  She nodded, silent, eyes fixed on him.

  Spike had to help her up out of the swing, then he walked her from the porch, his arm around her, to where she’d parked her pickup on the street. A sleek black F150, very nice.

  Spike drew Myka into his arms one more time and kissed the plump sweetness of her mouth. “Promise?” he said.

  “Yes.” Myka rose on tiptoe to kiss him back, her lips damp and warm, small tongue darting along the seam of his mouth.

  Spike guided her up into the truck. Myka landed on the seat, her fingers shaking as she slid the key into the ignition.

  He shut the door for her. “Tell me how it goes tomorrow,” he said through the open window.

  She nodded again and started up the truck. Spike stepped back, making himself let her go.

  Myka raised her hand to him, put the truck in gear, and eased away from the curb, the engine loud in the silence of the street. Myka’s taillights burned red, then she turned a corner and was gone.

  Spike’s heart went suddenly as empty as the street.

  From his vantage point, alone in the darkness, he clearly saw the smaller vehicle emerge from deeper shadows and follow in Myka’s wake.

  Spike didn’t recognize the car. He knew all vehicles around Shiftertown—who the hell was that?

  He came alert with white-hot fury. Spike snatched out his cell phone and punched numbers as he ran for his motorcycle.

  “Ellison,” he said when the phone clicked on the other end. “Watch my house for a while, will you?”

  “What?” came Ellison’s sleep-clogged voice. “Hey, a wolf needs some shuteye once in awhile.”

  “Just do it. I have to go, and I don’t want Jordan unguarded.” He hesitated, fixing his gaze on the corner where the car had disappeared. “Please.”

  “Whoa.” Ellison came fully awake. “Did you just say please? Must be something bad.”

  “It is. Get here.”

  “Sure thing, friend. Want me to call Dylan too?”

  “That’d be good. Thanks.” Spike clicked off the phone to Ellison’s startled exclamation that Spike was saying thank you, and started up his bike.

  * * *

  Spike caught up to Myka and the car that followed her when they both turned out of Shiftertown. Spike rode as quietly as he could, without his headlight, until they turned onto a main thoroughfare.

  Traffic was light at this hour, but in Austin, never truly gone. Spike flowed with the cars on MLK, keeping Myka’s truck in sight. The car that followed was a generic sedan—every car company made a plain, inexpensive model, and Spike couldn’t distinguish this one. If it had been a motorcycle, he’d have known every detail about it, but sedans were all the same to him.

  Myka drove through the heart of Austin and out the other side to a neighborhood along the bluffs near Shoal Creek. She turned onto a street holding a row of modest houses and pulled into a driveway, using an automatic door opener to enter the garage.

  The car halted across the street and killed its lights. Spike pulled up right behind it, leapt off the bike, and started for the car. The guy behind the wheel saw him, gunned the car, and took off down the street, tires squealing.

  The noise brought Myka out of her garage. She stood in her driveway, hands on hips, exposing herself to
any and all danger.

  Spike killed his bike’s engine and rolled it quietly across the street. Myka whirled and saw him.

  “Spike, what the hell?”

  Spike stopped her words with a hand on her lips. “Close that door.”

  Myka gaped for a second then hit the control to lower the garage door, while Spike parked his bike next to her car.

  “Now are you going to tell me what’s going on?” she asked, unlocking her back door.

  Without a word, Spike shoved himself past her and went inside, checking the small back hall then moving on to the kitchen. He turned on no lights, using his Shifter sight to look over the house, room by room. He felt Myka close behind him, smelled her warm scent, tinged with anxiety.

  Spike lowered blinds and closed curtains, checking every room and making sure every door was locked before he said that she could turn on a light. He didn’t need one, but light comforted humans, so he’d heard.

  Myka didn’t turn on the light. “Spike, what is it? Who was in the car?”

  “I didn’t recognize him, but Gavan is dead meat.”

  “He had someone following me? What for?”

  “To let me know he can have eyes on you any time he wants. I didn’t like the look on his face today when I didn’t immediately kiss his ass.”

  Myka frowned in the darkness. “What a butthole. What about Jordan? Is he okay?”

  “Ellison and Dylan are on it. You haven’t met Dylan, Liam’s dad. No one will get past those two.”

  “Well, thanks for chasing the other guy away. I didn’t even see him following me.”

  “He was good.” Spike went to the window in her living room and cracked the blinds to peer out. The street remained empty, but that didn’t mean Gavan didn’t have Shifters sneaking around the back. “I’m staying here.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s either that or you come back to Shiftertown with me.”

  “I can’t. I have that meeting tomorrow . . .”

  “That’s why I’m staying here. There’s more room, and you’ll be comfortable in your own bed.”

  “Spike . . .”

  “Eron.”

  She fluttered her hands in exasperation. “If you’re name’s Eron, why does everyone call you Spike?”

  “Long story.”

  “We have all night.”

  They did. The darkness held silence and stillness. Nothing moved in the front or the back, and Spike scented no other Shifters.

  Didn’t mean they wouldn’t return, possibly in the small hours of the morning, when Myka would be asleep and at her most vulnerable.

  “My grandmother almost died when we were first moved into a Shiftertown,” Spike said, looking out the window to the front yard. “She was already sick, she’d never lived anywhere but the middle of nowhere before, and living in a city with other Shifters was making her sicker. To distract her, I got a VCR and some tapes, and we started watching television shows. Over and over again. The only thing that kept her going was looking forward to getting up and sitting on the couch in front of the television with me every day. We watched the tapes and whatever was on the few channels we got until she started to recover. A couple different shows had a character called Spike, and that character was always some bad-ass dude—or thought he was a bad-ass dude. I said one day that if I were on a TV show, they’d probably call me Spike. Grandma thought that was funny and started calling me that, then everyone in Shiftertown picked it up.” He shrugged. “It was a joke at first, but it stuck. I’m a fighter. It fits.”

  He delivered the story swiftly, without inflection, trying to hide the pain and fear he’d tasted every waking day and in every dream, that his grandmother would go to the Summerland and leave him alone. Spike had lost everyone in his life—mother and father, grandfather, as horrible as he’d been, cubs his mother had brought in who’d died as infants. Everyone but his grandmother, and the roundup and move to Shiftertown had started taking her away too.

  He’d have done anything to save her, and watching videotapes of inane television shows and a new nickname had been a small price to pay.

  Myka was watching him. In the dark, her eyes shone, and he saw a second later that they were filled with tears.

  “What is it?” he asked softly, turning to her.

  “I don’t think anyone in the world realizes how wonderful you are.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The words were a whisper, and every one struck Spike’s heart. He stepped closer to her, right into her warmth.

  “You don’t have to call me Eron if you don’t want to,” Spike said, resting his hands on her waist. “I’m used to Spike.”

  “I like Eron. It’s cool.”

  “Don’t tell me . . . you train a horse called Eron.”

  “Okay, I won’t tell you. Or about the one called Spike.”

  “You’re a little shit.” Spike’s mouth pulled into a smile, the widest one he’d felt in a long, long time.

  “A lot of people say that.”

  “And you smell good.” Spike bent to her. “And taste good.” He swept his tongue across her lips.

  Outside the house, the wind started to rise. Good. Maybe a rainstorm would come up to soak any assholes spying on Myka. Or send them back home.

  Spike slid his hands under the hem of her tank top. He found her flesh nice and warm, the smooth curve of her waist.

  Myka’s hands went to his shoulders, fingers digging in again, as though she wanted to hang onto him. Fine by Spike. He kissed her parted lips, sliding his palms up her waist to her breasts, the clingy fabric of the tank top bunching tightly over Spike’s hands. He pulled the top all the way up and off, finding a tiny bra beneath it, thin like the cotton of the tank.

  Shifter women didn’t wear bras, and Spike had little experience undoing them. The hooks in back were tiny under his blunt fingers, evading him. He fumbled. Myka twisted one hand behind her and opened the catches for him.

  The gesture of acceptance, of trust, thrust his need high. He wanted their clothes off, her skin against his, sweat on sweat.

  Spike shoved the bra off and out of the way as he sought the weight of Myka’s breasts. He lifted them in cupped hands, his lips finding hers. He was drowning in heat. He licked across her lips, then down her throat, wanting again the feel of her nipple in his mouth, but bare this time.

  Myka lifted herself to Spike’s hands, loving the friction of his callused palms. She caught his lips with hers, sweeping her tongue into his open mouth.

  What am I doing? a part of her brain cried. He’s Shifter. He was Jillian’s Shifter. The rest of her told that part to shut up.

  Myka held on to Spike’s shoulders just to stay on her feet. His body came the length of hers, his firm cock behind his jeans hard against her abdomen. He was huge, and he wanted her, and Myka knew she wouldn’t push him away tonight.

  He caressed the breasts he held, thumbs circling her nipples.

  “Myka,” he whispered. “Damn.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “You’re fucking beautiful.”

  Her heart hammered. Spike kissed her lips then bent to her throat. His Collar gleamed on his neck as he sank to his knees, touching kisses to her skin all the way down.

  “I want to kiss every inch of you,” he said, breath hot on her belly. He leaned forward and licked her navel.

  Myka jumped. “Yikes! I’m ticklish.”

  “Yeah?” Spike blew on her abdomen.

  “Always have been.”

  Spike licked her again. “You shouldn’t have told me that.”

  He sent her a wicked smile before he fluttered his fingers against her sides. Myka stifled a shriek, pushing at him. “No, seriously.”

  “I am serious.” Spike wriggled the tip of his tongue over her belly to make her squeak again. “Damn serious. I want to rip off your clothes and tickle you all over.”

  “What if you kill me from laughing?”

  “I gotta risk it.”

 
Spike yanked open her jeans, the button popping and tinkling to the floor. The denim sagged against her hips, and Spike shoved her jeans all the way down. He kissed the thin line of pink panties he found underneath, then hooked his fingers around the elastic and pulled those down as well.

  Cool night air touched Myka’s bare skin, the curls between her legs already wet. Spike blew his breath there, stirring the hair, then he kissed her, right over her clit.

  “Shit,” she whispered.

  “Tickles?” he asked. “How about this?” Spike zipped his tongue where he’d warmed her with his breath. Myka’s squeak turned to a groan.

  “Stop it,” she said, sounding feeble, even to herself. “You have to stop it.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “I thought you came to guard my house.”

  “No one’s getting in here without my say-so, love. I won’t give a rat’s ass if I’m kissing you, drinking you, or buried inside you.”

  “You plan to do all three of those?”

  “Hell yes. Myka I need . . . I need you.”

  Myka’s heart and body cried out for him in return. Her life had been so empty—she’d not let herself acknowledge it. She took care of other people’s horses, looked after her best friend’s kid, helped out her best friend’s mom.

  No one for her, nothing but a lonely house at the end of the day. No parents, no sisters, no brothers. No boyfriend, because the few relationships she’d started had never worked out. She’d never been able to trust a man enough to get close.

  Spike wasn’t a man. He was a Shifter. And he was licking her, moving his mouth to thrust his tongue into her cleft.

  Yes.

  Myka rose on her tiptoes, scooping him into her. His mouth was wild and wicked, tongue flickering into and out of her, whiskers burning her thighs.

  Myka writhed in rhythm with his tongue, her skin flushing and going cold, her head rocking back on her neck. She was going to come right in the middle of her living room, screaming out her joy and waking her neighbors.

  Myka pressed her fist to her mouth, muffling the first noises. Hot craziness started at his tongue and fired through her body, until darkness and light were the same, and nothing existed but his scalding mouth, his fingers on her thighs.