Jennifer Ashley - Hard Mated

Rage burned Spike’s blood all the way to his brain. His eyes flicked to Shifter, and he shot, coming up again with his hand around Gavan’s throat.

Balls slammed together, and orange stripe zipped across the table to thud into the center pocket.

Gavan grinned, even while Spike’s fingers bit down. “You see?” His voice rasped. “The instinct is there. Kill. Protect. Dominate.”

Ellison had straightened up, his Lupine growls filling the room. A spark leapt from Spike’s Collar to his neck, a tiny bite of pain.

Spike fixed on Gavan. “This is bullshit.”

“It is,” Gavan said. “But look at you. Ready to kill me.”

Spike made himself open his hand. He snarled as Gavan backed away and rubbed his neck.

“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.