Jennifer Ashley - Hard Mated

Spike, his heart swelling with pride, carried Jordan to the center of the double-circle of Shifters—clan and close friends forming the inside circle, the rest of Shiftertown on the outside. Myka was right next to him, where he could reach out and touch her whenever he wanted.

Spike lifted Jordan, in his wildcat form, to the light of the half moon, which was shining mightily through the trees.

“Mother Goddess, I give you Jordan Reyes, son of Eron and Jillian.”

The Shifters whooped and yelled. “Jordan Reyes!” Myka winced, the full power of Shifter voices overwhelming.

“Shift back,” Spike whispered to Jordan.

Jordan gave Spike a little growl—he loved being in wildcat form—and changed slowly to a four-year-old boy with brown, black, and golden hair.

Spike lifted him again. “Mother Goddess, I give you Jordan Reyes. Watch over this child. My son.”

The Shifters screamed again, and this time, Myka didn’t flinch. She was learning.

“Can I be a wildcat again?” Jordan asked.

Spike kissed the top of his head. “Yep.”

Jordan wriggled and shifted. Instead of struggling to get down and run, as he’d been doing all afternoon and evening, he climbed onto his father’s shoulders. His claws dug through Spike’s shirt into his still-healing wounds, but Spike wouldn’t pull him off for the world.

“Shifters!” Spike said, taking Myka’s hand and raising it high. “I give you Myka Thompson, mate of my heart.”

The Morrisseys and friends yelled in response, and the rest of Shiftertown took up the cheer. Ronan punched the air, and Olaf the polar bear cub, sitting on this shoulders, imitated him. The only family missing were Sean and Andrea, staying inside their house with their brand new little one—a male they’d decided to call Kenneth Terry Dylan Morrissey. There would be another naming ceremony in Shiftertown soon.

Liam came forward and took Myka’s and Spike’s hands, still twined. “We welcome Myka. We’ll get the mating ceremonies done as soon as there’s a full moon, and some sunshine.”

The Shifters erupted into more shouting, howling, cheering. Anything for a good party, and mating ceremonies led to fine sex—to celebrate fertility, of course.

Spike was all for celebrating fertility. Last night he’d been too sore and exhausted for any joyous activity, and he’d dropped off as soon as he’d stretched out on his bed. Waking up with Myka next to him had been wonderful, but then Jordan had bounced in almost immediately, and they’d had to get up and take care of the rest of life.

But there was another ritual Spike wanted to perform tonight before he went to bed with Myka, one more private.

Jillian’s mother Sharon had come for the naming ceremony. Now Myka, Spike, and Jordan, with Ella and Sharon following, walked back to Spike’s house.

In the backyard, Spike built a little fire in an old-fashioned round grill. Myka and Sharon had brought pictures of Jillian, and Myka had also brought a blue ribbon, one of many Jillian had won for cutting and barrel racing.

Spike closed his eyes, held his hands over the small fire, and asked the Father God and Mother Goddess to be with them. He took a photo of Jillian from Myka and fed it into the flames.

“The Goddess go with you, Jillian” he said softly.

Myka laid her photos and the ribbon on the fire. “Good-bye, my friend,” she whispered.

Sharon fed in her photos, tears running down her face, too choked to say anything. Myka put her arm around Sharon and let her cry.

Jordan raised his arms for Spike to lift him. He kissed the last photo of Jillian and dropped it into the flames. “Good night, Mama.”

The five of them stood gazing into the fire, safely delivering to the Summerland the young woman who’d been daughter, friend, mother. Jillian, whom Spike had barely known, had given him the most precious gift he’d ever received—his son.

“The Goddess go with you,” he repeated in a whisper.

The flames started to fade. Ella put one hand on Spike’s shoulder and one hand on Myka’s. “You two, inside. Sharon, how about we take Jordan and go back to the party? You look like you could use a cold one.”

Sharon pulled out a tissue and wiped her eyes. “Thought you’d never ask.” She opened her big purse again, took out an envelope, and thrust it into Myka’s hands. “I meant to give this to you at the funeral, but maybe this is a better time. Jillian wrote it to you.” She glanced from her to Spike. “Read it tomorrow. For tonight, you just be happy.”

Myka brushed her fingertips over the envelope. She could almost feel Jillian on the other side—she’d held this, written Myka’s name on the front.

Sharon kissed Myka on the cheek and took Jordan’s hand, then the two women walked away, Jordan between them. Jordan’s loud voice floated back. “Connor told me Dad and Aunt Myka are going to shag tonight. Great-grandma, what’s shag mean?”

Ella’s answer was lost in another roar from the distant Shifter party.

Spike slid his arm around Myka’s waist. “You all right?”

“Yeah.” Myka brushed her always-untamed hair out of her face. “Can we go inside?”

Spike led her into the house, his arm around her. They went upstairs and to his bedroom without speaking, and Spike shut the door. “You want to read that now?”

Myka looked at the letter again, written on the thick blue stationery Jillian had liked. She found email and texting too informal, and sent her friends and family cards and letters for special occasions.

“No.” Myka slid the letter into her purse. “Sharon’s right. Tonight . . . I need you.”

“I need you, Myka.” The low throb in Spike’s voice undid her. Myka opened her arms, and Spike came to her, enclosing her in his strength.

Myka gave herself to the wildness that was Spike. He pinned her on the bed with strong arms, showing her how much better he felt by driving inside her until her shouts and his mingled in the cool air.

Spike also showed her how gentle he could be, kissing her fingertips, her lips, her skin, the touches tender and light. He licked her after that, tasting her breasts, her belly, and the heat between her legs. Myka arched under his mouth, letting herself come again in a crazy storm of pleasure.

Spike was back inside her right after that, his face softening as he felt her, eyes staying dark, beautiful brown, mouth finding hers as he spilled his seed.

After that, silence. The quiet ticking of a clock, the final creak of the mattress, the warmth of Spike along her back. Myka tumbled into a hard, spirit-soothing, sleep.

When she opened her eyes again, the room was still dark.

Spike slept, relaxed, on his stomach, his face turned to her on the pillow. He’d slid one arm across Myka in his sleep, cradling her close. Moonlight trickled through the window, sharpening the lines of Spike’s tattoos at the same time it softened his face.

The moonlight also fell on Myka’s purse, and the blue of the envelope sticking out of it. Myka carefully slid out from under Spike’s arm, took the two steps across the room, fetched the letter, opened it, moved to the moonlight, and started to read.

Jillian’s voice came to her across the divide.

I hope that while you’re reading this, Myka, you’re with Spike.

Don’t jump in surprise—you have to know that I sent you off to find him because I wanted you to meet him. I could have called Spike myself, or sent my mom to pick him up, or hired a cab to bring him to me. But I wanted you to know him.

Why? Because when I first met Spike, he reminded me a lot of you—lonely and pretending not to be. When I realized I’d be leaving this life, I knew I had to let Spike find you, and you him.