“Tell you what,” Gavan said, his breath still labored. He lowered his voice, glancing at Ellison. “You come and talk to me again, but leave your sidekick at home. You have a lot of potential, and you don’t deserve to be wasted on Morrissey.”
“I’m not wasting myself on your fucked-up shit either.”
“I’m not telling you to. This is you for yourself. Your family. You have it, Spike. Use it. Don’t let those instincts go.” Gavan started to clasp Spike’s shoulder, looked at his face, and lowered his hand. “Come see me. Soon.”
Spike said not a word. He banged the cue to the table and left the room.
He was breathing hard, his Collar still sparking. He walked out of the bar, not waiting for Ellison, back to the bright sunshine, harsh to his Shifter eyes.
*** *** ***
“What did he say to you?” Ellison asked as he drove back through traffic rushing from San Antonio to Austin. “I heard him going on about instinct and dominance, but not what he said to make you grab him like that.”
Spike ran his fingers around his warm Collar and kept his gaze out the window.
Gavan had known exactly what button to push. A threat to Spike’s cub, even an abstract one, had sent him into his fighting craze. He’d been ready to kill Gavan for even thinking about threatening Jordan.
“Spike?”
“He didn’t say anything,” Spike said, his jaw so tight he was surprised he could speak. “Same old Shifters-are-weak-living-in-Shiftertowns bullshit.”
Gavan had meant more than that, and Spike knew it, but he didn’t want to talk about it.
“We need to tell Liam.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Gavan had been offering Spike something personal. Gavan was right—Spike was a top fighter, had the instinct to kill, and was the strongest tracker Liam had except for Ronan, the Kodiak bear. Spike never talked much, because everyone expected him to fight, not think.
But back in the old days, when Shifters had been bred for fighting for the Fae, Spike would have been top of the fighting class. The best warriors had been kept to fight the most dangerous enemies, to capture the biggest prizes, to perform the most difficult tasks.
Did it bother Spike that in the wild he’d be an elite warrior, and now he was keeping an eye on troublemakers, reporting to Liam, and relieving his frustration fighting every week in the fight club?
He had no idea. This was life. You just did it. Shiftertown wasn’t ideal, but it wouldn’t be forever. And anyway, no way would Spike have ever let himself work for the fucking Fae.
But now Spike had a cub. He was rushing home to that cub, or would be if traffic on the 35 wasn’t such a bitch.
Ellison would want to report to Liam right away. Spike wanted to go home. He’d been away from Jordan for going on four hours, and wanted to know what the cub had been up to. And Myka would be there. The scent of her lingered on his memory, and the fantasy of teaching her pool was getting sweeter by the second.
They reached the Austin Shiftertown. No gates separated Shiftertown from the rest of the city—they passed an empty lot, and they were in.
Ellison turned his truck to the Morrisseys’ street, but Spike said, “Drop me off at home first.”
Ellison looked surprised. “You don’t want to report?”
“You report. I have things to do.”
Ellison gave Spike a long look, but took a quick turn up the block to Spike’s street. “All right,” he said in his Texas drawl. At least he wasn’t arguing.
Ellison hadn’t brought the truck all the way to a halt before Spike was out the door. His house looked quiet, but he already heard the yelling from the backyard. He waved Ellison off, and Ellison drove on, shaking his head.
Spike jogged around the house, not bothering to go inside. The noise came from the back, which meant Jordan was out there.
So were most of his neighbors. Myka stood at the base of a tree, her hands on her hips. Spike’s grandmother was halfway up that tree, in her wildcat form, growling at something above her.
Three guesses as to what. The other Shifters stood by, laughing or shouting advice. Nothing dangerous then, but Spike’s hackles didn’t settle.
“What’s going on?”
Myka turned at his harsh question. Her eyes were blue like summer skies, her lips pink and moist. Kissing those lips, in the human way, would give him a taste of sweetness, soft pressure.
The lips quirked in exasperation. “Your son’s up a tree.”
Spike craned his head and looked up to see that, yep, Jordan was clinging to the highest branches of the big live oak.
Spike cupped his hands around his mouth and called up. “Come down out of there, son.”
Jordan didn’t bother with an answer. He swayed with the treetops, his little wildcat growls proclaiming he was having a great time.
The Shifters minding Spike’s business gave him all kinds of advice. Try a saucer of milk. Call the fire department. Let him stay up there. Build him a tree house.
Glad they were finding this so hilarious. Jordan could fall and kill himself—cubs were agile, but still awkward when young. Jordan might get scared and shift back to human on the way down, and the kid was only four years old, for the Goddess’s sake.
“What you let him get up a tree for?” Spike growled at Myka.
Myka’s eyes widened. “Let him? You have a lot to learn about kids.”
He was getting that. “Grandma, come down out of there.”
Ella huffed, reversed herself in the careful way of cats, and scampered to the bottom of the tree. She remained in wildcat form, sitting on her haunches and growling.
Her body language and the rumbling told Spike she was vastly irritated, and hadn’t been this irritated since Spike had been a cub. Like father, like son.
Spike stripped off his shirt, pulled off his boots, and stripped out of his pants. One of his neighbors sent out a wolf whistle. Lupines were assholes.
Naked, Spike sauntered past Myka, who looked everywhere but at him, her eyes shining as they avoided his gaze.
Spike gave Myka another look, shifted until he was in a state between human and wildcat, and scrambled up the tree.
*** *** ***
Myka stepped back in shock as the nightmare monster moved past her and started climbing.
Spike’s body remained human-ish in form, but with muscles that would have split open his clothes if he hadn’t shed them. The tattoos were gone, his skin now the pelt of a wildcat, jaguar patterns all over his body. His face had the flatness of a human, the fangs of a wildcat, and the jaguar’s golden eyes.
If she’d seen that beast in a dark alley, Myka would have screamed herself crazy and run like hell. Even knowing it was Spike didn’t stop her heart’s double-time pounding or her jolt of terror when he turned those yellow-gold eyes on her.
Spike scrambled up the tree with a grace that belied his size. He moved like a dancer—one who could pull your arms off and beat you with them.
He quickly reached Jordan, but the cub danced out of reach, playing, moving to the highest branches.
There was no way someone as big as Spike could follow him without breaking the thinning limbs and plummeting both himself and the cub to the ground. Spike flowed onto the next large branch, flattening himself on it and reaching for Jordan.
Jordan leapt again, his little wildcat body twisting away from Spike’s outstretched hand. The branch on which the cub landed broke in a sudden flutter of leaves, and Jordan and the branch fell.
The cub screamed. Myka screamed. The Shifters stopped laughing and scrambled to try to catch him.
Spike reached out one long arm, snagged Jordan out of the air, and pulled him in against his chest.
Myka let out a long breath, air scraping her throat. Ella had gone completely still, her gaze fixed upward.
Spike wrapped his arm around Jordan and started descending, one branch at a time.
Myka had her hands steepled over her mouth, watching tensely as Spike
came down little by little, Jordan peering over his arm. The downward journey took maybe a minute, but to Myka’s clenched body, it was a lifetime.
Spike jumped down the last ten feet, landing on thickly muscled legs, his long tail whipping around to balance him. Jordan shifted back to little boy in Spike’s arms and squirmed to get down.
“Aunt Myka, did you see me? I was way up there! I fell, but Dad caught me.”
“Yes, I saw you.” Myka lifted Jordan as Spike set him on his feet. She gave him a brief, tight hug. “Don’t you ever do that again. You scared me.”
Jordan gave her a puzzled look. “I was all right. Dad caught me.”
“But he might not be there to catch you next time. You could have hurt yourself. No more tree climbing for you.”
Jordan stared at her in surprise, then he gave her his wide-eyed, ingenuous look, lower lip starting to tremble. “I love you, Aunt Myka.” He threw his arms around her and buried his face in her neck.
Myka knew damn well that he was using his adorability to get himself out of trouble. He did it all the time. Jillian used to laugh about it.
Thinking of Jillian made Myka hug the boy tighter. She looked up, her eyes moist, to see Spike standing in front of her, human once more.
Naked and human, every tatt in view. The dragon’s tail went all the way to the base of his very substantial . . .
“Is he okay?” Spike demanded.
Jordan was perfectly fine, not even afraid. “Yes,” Myka said. “This time.”
“You were supposed to be watching him.”
The growl in Spike’s voice made Myka’s temper rise. Never mind he was standing there in nothing but his ink, the man too delectable for his own good.
“I was watching him. But it takes an army to watch Jordan. I know that from experience.”
Spike put his hands on his hips. His eyes were still Shifter—tinged with yellow, his pupils slits. “My grandma can’t handle a cub all by herself. She’s not young anymore.”
A big wildcat paw came out and swatted Spike across his leg, followed by a snarl. One of the other Shifters laughed. “Better watch it, Spike.”
Spike looked his neighbors over, his eyes going Shifter all the way. “Get the hell out of here.”
The Shifters went, not in terror, but with the stroll of people who knew the amusing entertainment was over.
“We should go inside,” Myka said.
Ella had already headed that way, still a jaguar, but every step, every twitch of her tail betraying her irritation.
Spike reached for Jordan. Jordan was still clinging to Myka, his breathing slowing, likely drifting off to sleep, worn out from the adventure. Myka gave Spike a glare and carried Jordan past him and to the house.
Spike got ahead of her again, leading the way through the back door. By the time Myka walked into the kitchen, Ella had disappeared upstairs to her room. Myka carried the sleeping Jordan down the hall to the small bedroom she and Ella had fixed up for him while Spike had been gone.
Spike followed her, his body heat on her back. Myka laid Jordan on the bed and gently put on the nightshirt Ella had left for him—one that had tear-away shoulders in case the boy shifted in his sleep. Jordan’s eyelids fluttered once before he turned onto his stomach, pulling his limbs under him and releasing a satisfied sigh.
Myka arranged a light blanket over him and straightened up to find Spike two inches away.
He was looking at Jordan, not her, and the hollow pain in his eyes made her stop.
“Spike?” she whispered.
“Eron,” he said.
“What?”
“My real name. It’s Eron.”
Spike reached down and stroked Jordan’s hair, the movement gentle. Myka never would have thought that those blunt, fighter’s hands could touch so tenderly, but the caress was everything that was tender.
Spike stood up abruptly and walked out of the room. Myka adjusted the blanket again and tiptoed after him, reaching the living room in time to see Spike pull on his jeans and shirt, not bothering with underwear. All commando, he sat on the couch and tugged Myka down beside him.
“What am I gonna do?” he asked.
Sympathy touched Myka—the man really had no idea what he’d gotten himself into. “He’s your kid, Spike—Eron. It’s up to you.”
“Shit.”
Spike studied his hands, big and sinewy, the hands that had caught Jordan in midair without effort, then stroked his cub’s hair with such lightness.
“I used to follow the rodeo circuit,” Myka said. “I’ve seen the same look that’s on your face now on guys who came off bulls that were too tough to ride. You know, the whacked-up-the-side-of-the-head look.”
Spike turned his hands over and examined the scarred backs. “I never got why humans have to prove they can ride on the back of a pissed-off bull. A Shifter would just make the bull do what he wanted.”
“You’re changing the subject,” Myka said.
“I’ve never had a cub before.”
“No kidding.”
They both went silent. Spike had pulled her to sit close to him. Their thighs touched, his large and warm.
Myka heard Ella moving around upstairs, dressing or washing up or something. She’d come down any second and break this up—wouldn’t she?—before Myka couldn’t handle it anymore.
“Stay here and help me take care of him,” Spike said.
Myka blinked at him. “Sorry?”
“Jordan knows you, and he likes you. You helped Jillian take care of him, right?”
“Sure, but . . .”
Spike looked away again, a strong, strong man who had no clue what to do. Kids did that to a person.
“Spike . . . Eron . . . If you really can’t take care of Jordan, Jillian’s mom is fine with doing it. We’ll fix it up to make Jillian’s mom his guardian. You can come around and teach him about being Shifter and still be his dad, but you won’t have the day-to-day responsibility of taking care of him.”
Myka thought Spike would let out a sigh of relief and turn a grateful gaze to her, but his body tensed, and the look on his face was one of pure rage.
“No.” He got to his feet, anger in every movement. “He’s my cub. He stays here.”
“You just said you needed help . . .”
“Help, yeah. Not for you to come and take him away from me.”
Myka jumped up, her temper stirring again. “I’m not trying to take him away . . . No, all right, maybe I am. You’re a fighter, and a Shifter, and he was happy living with his grandma. Giving him to you was Jillian’s idea, not mine. I didn’t want you to have him.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because who are you? You’re the guy who did a one-night stand with my best friend and got her pregnant. How does that qualify you for being a good dad?”
“I’m his dad. Doesn’t matter if I’m a good one or not!”
“Like hell. Take it from me. I had the shittiest dad in the world. He wasn’t even my dad—he was my stepfather, but he wouldn’t let me go, and he made my life a living hell.”
Myka snapped her mouth shut, bile boiling up inside her throat. Damn it, why had she said that?
Spike stared down her, his eyes flicking back to human, the irises warm and brown. “What did he do to you?”
“It’s not important. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Myka felt herself closing down, shutting that part of herself away. Don’t show it, don’t remember, don’t feel. He’s gone, you’re free. It was a long time ago.
Spike put his fingers under her chin, turning her face to him. “Tell me.”
“I said, I don’t want to.”
He took a step closer. Now his heat floated over her, bare skin and jeans.
“He hurt you.” Spike’s voice gentled, the gruffness entirely gone. His dark eyes fixed on her, the compassion there startling. “I see it in you.” His touch gentled too, turning to a caress.
“Yes.” Myka swallowed, eyes burning
. “I always tried to be the perfect kid, to do everything right, you know? I tried so hard. But I never could be good enough.”
“And he beat you for it, and made you think it was your fault.”
“Yeah. How did you know?”
“Because my granddad did that to me. Granddad was our clan leader, and he was half-crazy, but no one could take him down. I tried to learn to be strong so he’d like me, but he never did. He just beat on me. Took me a long time to realize that him beating on me wasn’t my fault. That whatever I did, I couldn’t have ever pleased him, because he was the kind of person who refused to be pleased.”
After her stepfather’s death, Myka had considered going to therapy, but she’d shied away from it, not wanting to bare her soul. Now Spike, a Shifter she’d just met, was baring her soul for her. “That’s exactly right.”
“My dad didn’t hurt me,” Spike said. “But he wasn’t strong enough to stand up to his dad, and stop him. I’ll never be like either of them with my son.”
Myka’s fingers trembled. “Promise?”
“I swear by the Goddess and the Father God and on the sacred Sword of the Guardian.”
The way he said it told her that these were oaths he took seriously. Myka reached for the hand that caressed her cheek and folded her fingers around it. “Good.”
He leaned closer. “I’ll never hurt him, Myka.”
“Good,” she said again.
His breath touched her skin, his fight-worn hand closing around hers. His lips were a whisper away. Myka found herself rising on tiptoes, and she kissed him.
They stood fused, frozen for a stunned moment.
Then Spike slid a strong hand behind Myka’s neck, pulled her up to him, and turned the kiss bruising.
Chapter Eight
It hurt Myka, and it didn’t. Spike’s kiss, his touch, opened her, shattering the barrier she’d thrust up between them—the one she thrust up between herself and everyone. Myka couldn’t afford to be vulnerable ever again.
Spike’s mouth was hot, his lips strong. The pressure made her open her mouth to his, welcoming the firm strokes of his tongue. He tasted her, and she tasted him back, her hands moving to his shoulders, gripping. His muscles were hard under her fingertips—pressing didn’t make a dent.
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