“I’m a tracker. It’s different.”
“I know. We pledge ourselves to the leader of the clan, to be their eyes and ears, their best fighters. We do it even if the leader is an asshole.”
Spike wondered if Gavan referred to Fergus, for whom they’d both worked, or the new leader of San Antonio, for whom Gavan now worked.
“But this isn’t the wild,” Gavan said. “Liam Morrissey isn’t even in your clan. Neither was Fergus.”
But Liam and Fergus’s clan had adopted Spike and his grandmother when they’d been brought in from the wild. Gavan knew that—he was just trying to stir Spike’s anger. “Being tracker to the Shiftertown leader is a high position,” Spike said, pretending not to understand what Gavan was getting at.
“Sure it is, but you’re the dominant tracker, and you know it.” He glanced at Ellison, another of Liam’s trackers, who went on shooting pool, ignoring them. “Nate’s got nothing on you, and neither does Ronan, no matter how big he is. Liam’s using you, Spike. It’s not disloyal to say that—it’s blinking obvious. You’re a fighter, my old friend. A killer at heart. I say, use it.”
“To do what?”
Gavan gave him a patient look. “Let me show you something. I’m going to bet a hundred dollars that you can’t make this shot.” He grabbed the cue ball and positioned it at the top left corner of the table. “The orange stripe into the center left pocket.”
The orange-striped ball rested near the far right pocket. Spike eyed it skeptically but nodded. “I’ll take that bet.”
Spike lined up his cue, aiming the cue ball at another ball that would smack itself into orange stripe, to give orange stripe enough spin to glide the other way up the table.
He shot. The second ball popped into orange stripe just right, but without enough spin. Orange stripe rolled most of the way but bumped the table just shy of the center pocket.
Spike stood up without chagrin and fished into his pocket for a wad of twenties. “Doesn’t always work.”
“Hang onto your cash. Let’s try it again.”
Gavan repositioned the balls in the same places. Spike bent over his cue again.
Gavan’s body heat covered his side, the Feline’s voice harsh in his ear. “How about if, this time, I tell you that if you don’t make that shot, I kill your cub?”
Chapter Seven
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.
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.