Hard Mated
Page 5
And now here was a cub of his body, born of a single night with a human, clinging to him, depending on him.
The sudden responsibility both elated him and made him viciously protective.
Sean turned his attention to the road, but he remained tense. “The situation is that gobshite. Gavan Thibault. Your old friend.”
Friend was stretching it. Spike, Nate, and Gavan had been the three top henchmen for Fergus, until Fergus’s untimely demise about a year ago. Spike and Nate had moved to the Austin Shiftertown to work for Liam, while Gavan had stayed in San Antonio with the new, and much calmer, leader there.
“What was up with him?” Spike asked, his attention only marginally on the problem. Gavan was a shithead and unimportant at the moment.
“He was up at the fight club whinging on about how the fights should be to the death, because we have too many Shifters around, and we need to start weeding out the weak. Typical ‘back-to-nature’ Shifter shite.”
True, some Shifters liked to moan about how everything had been better in the good old days, when Shifters had roamed free and lived in secret from humans. They’d also been starving, dying out, and killing each other for survival.
No decent beer or TV in the wild either. In this captivity, Shifters weren’t allowed cable or HD, but they were good at finding ways around the restrictions.
“Dad and Ronan made Gavan back down, but we thought you were still there,” Sean said. “But you were at the hospital. Picking up your cub? What the hell?”
Sean in addition to being Liam’s younger brother, was the Shiftertown’s Guardian, which meant he carried a big sword—tucked behind the seat—with which he dispatched the souls of dying Shifters. The Shifter’s body dissolved to dust when the sword went through the heart, releasing the soul and ensuring that the physical remains were undefiled. The idea of being buried or cremated in the human way sent a shudder of horror through every Shifter.
Sean’s status put him well above Spike in the dominance chain. With pinning looks from his Irish blue eyes, Sean was trying to make Spike open up about Jordan.
But this was too new, too wondrous. Jordan was his, something private, something family. Jordan belonged to his pride, not the Morrisseys.
Spike would have said nothing at all until they got to Shiftertown, except that Jordan woke up. Not only did he wake up, the kid jumped inside Spike’s jacket, and then he shifted.
Baby jaguar claws penetrated Spike’s flesh. The claws were nowhere near the size and deadliness of a full-grown wildcat’s, but it was like having ten needles driven straight into his side. Blood flowed, and Spike couldn’t stop his yelp.
Jordan took the opportunity to spring out of Spike’s coat and land on the dashboard, his little claws scrabbling as he tried to balance against the moving truck. His clothes had ripped and hung in shreds. Jordan crouched in confused terror, eyeing Sean, who stared at the cub in amazement until the pickup nearly ran up the back of an SUV sitting at a traffic light.
Sean hit the brakes. Jordan lost his hold on the dash and shot through the air. Spike caught him in both hands, and found himself struggling to hold on to a squirming ball of fur.
Jordan then did what any terrified little cat might do, and the scent filled the closed air of the pickup.
“Shit!” Spike held Jordan away from him. “Shit, shit, shit!”
“Stop saying that, man!” Sean cried. “Or he’ll do that too!”
The wet stream continued out of Jordan, half catching in Jordan’s shredded jeans, half all over Spike and the seat of the pickup.
“Damn it, this is Dylan’s truck,” Sean shouted. He squealed around the SUV and through the streets, charging around the last corner and into Shiftertown. He slowed the truck as the road became a lane passing old bungalow houses with deep yards and porches, mostly full of Shifters enjoying the October night.
Sean cranked down his window while Spike kept a grip on Jordan, who was writhing and fighting. Spike was the champion fighter of South Texas, rarely losing a battle in the ring, and here he was, barely able to hold on to a cub ten times smaller than him, while said cub peed a river.
Jordan gave his little body a sharp wrench, twisted himself free of Spike, scrambled across the dash, and dove out Sean’s open window. Sean stood on the brakes, and Spike was out of the truck before it stopped.
Jordan disappeared into the shadows between houses, but Spike was Shifter, and he could see the little wildcat running full speed into the green beyond. Spike sprinted after him, slowed down by thick motorcycle boots, not made for running.
Goddess, what a night. Jordan ran on, the scent of terror in his wake. Behind him, Sean was calling Spike’s name, and Spike wished his friend would shut the f**k up a minute.
Nothing for it. Spike braced himself on the bole of a tree, shed his boots, stripped out of his clothes, and shifted to his wildcat.
As though Jordan sensed Spike’s change, he sped up. The cub rocketed around trees and through yards, sprinting around houses and down tiny black alleyways. If he got out of Shiftertown, Spike’s human brain said, he could be hit by a car, or shot, or at best grabbed and taken to the human police.
Spike’s wildcat brain, taking over, said, Get him.
Plenty of Shifters witnessed the chase. The nocturnal ones were out to enjoy the night—drinking, talking, eating, screwing in the shadows—and they stopped and stared in astonishment as Jordan zoomed by, Spike hard on his ass. Some of them, damn them, tried to help.
Spike put on a burst of speed. His breed, mostly jaguar, was better at stealth and swift movement in dark places, but if jaguars had to run, they could. Spike’s body bunched and lengthened as he closed the distance between himself and his unruly cub.
He reached out and brought Jordan down with a big paw on his back, gently enough not to hurt him, but firmly enough to make him stay. Gotcha.
Now to get him home.
There was only one way for a Shifter in beast form to carry cubs. Spike knew he’d never keep hold of Jordan in his human hands, so he closed his big jaws around the loose skin on the back of Jordan’s neck and lifted the cub from his feet.
Instantly, Jordan stilled. Whatever instinct or nerve center Spike’s grip triggered, Jordan tucked his head down and curled his feet and tail up under him.
Holding Jordan high enough not to drag him on the ground, Spike carried his cub down the length of Shiftertown.
The whole damn town saw him. There was Ellison Rowe, friend and Lupine Shifter; Nate, fellow tracker; Dylan, Liam and Sean’s father and the scariest Shifter in Shiftertown; Dylan’s mate Glory, equally as scary; Cormac, the bear Spike had bested tonight; Ronan and Ronan’s human mate; and Connor, the Morrissey nephew. They all watched Spike, the big, bad champion fighter of Shiftertown, walking down the green with a cub dangling from his jaws.
The sudden responsibility both elated him and made him viciously protective.
Sean turned his attention to the road, but he remained tense. “The situation is that gobshite. Gavan Thibault. Your old friend.”
Friend was stretching it. Spike, Nate, and Gavan had been the three top henchmen for Fergus, until Fergus’s untimely demise about a year ago. Spike and Nate had moved to the Austin Shiftertown to work for Liam, while Gavan had stayed in San Antonio with the new, and much calmer, leader there.
“What was up with him?” Spike asked, his attention only marginally on the problem. Gavan was a shithead and unimportant at the moment.
“He was up at the fight club whinging on about how the fights should be to the death, because we have too many Shifters around, and we need to start weeding out the weak. Typical ‘back-to-nature’ Shifter shite.”
True, some Shifters liked to moan about how everything had been better in the good old days, when Shifters had roamed free and lived in secret from humans. They’d also been starving, dying out, and killing each other for survival.
No decent beer or TV in the wild either. In this captivity, Shifters weren’t allowed cable or HD, but they were good at finding ways around the restrictions.
“Dad and Ronan made Gavan back down, but we thought you were still there,” Sean said. “But you were at the hospital. Picking up your cub? What the hell?”
Sean in addition to being Liam’s younger brother, was the Shiftertown’s Guardian, which meant he carried a big sword—tucked behind the seat—with which he dispatched the souls of dying Shifters. The Shifter’s body dissolved to dust when the sword went through the heart, releasing the soul and ensuring that the physical remains were undefiled. The idea of being buried or cremated in the human way sent a shudder of horror through every Shifter.
Sean’s status put him well above Spike in the dominance chain. With pinning looks from his Irish blue eyes, Sean was trying to make Spike open up about Jordan.
But this was too new, too wondrous. Jordan was his, something private, something family. Jordan belonged to his pride, not the Morrisseys.
Spike would have said nothing at all until they got to Shiftertown, except that Jordan woke up. Not only did he wake up, the kid jumped inside Spike’s jacket, and then he shifted.
Baby jaguar claws penetrated Spike’s flesh. The claws were nowhere near the size and deadliness of a full-grown wildcat’s, but it was like having ten needles driven straight into his side. Blood flowed, and Spike couldn’t stop his yelp.
Jordan took the opportunity to spring out of Spike’s coat and land on the dashboard, his little claws scrabbling as he tried to balance against the moving truck. His clothes had ripped and hung in shreds. Jordan crouched in confused terror, eyeing Sean, who stared at the cub in amazement until the pickup nearly ran up the back of an SUV sitting at a traffic light.
Sean hit the brakes. Jordan lost his hold on the dash and shot through the air. Spike caught him in both hands, and found himself struggling to hold on to a squirming ball of fur.
Jordan then did what any terrified little cat might do, and the scent filled the closed air of the pickup.
“Shit!” Spike held Jordan away from him. “Shit, shit, shit!”
“Stop saying that, man!” Sean cried. “Or he’ll do that too!”
The wet stream continued out of Jordan, half catching in Jordan’s shredded jeans, half all over Spike and the seat of the pickup.
“Damn it, this is Dylan’s truck,” Sean shouted. He squealed around the SUV and through the streets, charging around the last corner and into Shiftertown. He slowed the truck as the road became a lane passing old bungalow houses with deep yards and porches, mostly full of Shifters enjoying the October night.
Sean cranked down his window while Spike kept a grip on Jordan, who was writhing and fighting. Spike was the champion fighter of South Texas, rarely losing a battle in the ring, and here he was, barely able to hold on to a cub ten times smaller than him, while said cub peed a river.
Jordan gave his little body a sharp wrench, twisted himself free of Spike, scrambled across the dash, and dove out Sean’s open window. Sean stood on the brakes, and Spike was out of the truck before it stopped.
Jordan disappeared into the shadows between houses, but Spike was Shifter, and he could see the little wildcat running full speed into the green beyond. Spike sprinted after him, slowed down by thick motorcycle boots, not made for running.
Goddess, what a night. Jordan ran on, the scent of terror in his wake. Behind him, Sean was calling Spike’s name, and Spike wished his friend would shut the f**k up a minute.
Nothing for it. Spike braced himself on the bole of a tree, shed his boots, stripped out of his clothes, and shifted to his wildcat.
As though Jordan sensed Spike’s change, he sped up. The cub rocketed around trees and through yards, sprinting around houses and down tiny black alleyways. If he got out of Shiftertown, Spike’s human brain said, he could be hit by a car, or shot, or at best grabbed and taken to the human police.
Spike’s wildcat brain, taking over, said, Get him.
Plenty of Shifters witnessed the chase. The nocturnal ones were out to enjoy the night—drinking, talking, eating, screwing in the shadows—and they stopped and stared in astonishment as Jordan zoomed by, Spike hard on his ass. Some of them, damn them, tried to help.
Spike put on a burst of speed. His breed, mostly jaguar, was better at stealth and swift movement in dark places, but if jaguars had to run, they could. Spike’s body bunched and lengthened as he closed the distance between himself and his unruly cub.
He reached out and brought Jordan down with a big paw on his back, gently enough not to hurt him, but firmly enough to make him stay. Gotcha.
Now to get him home.
There was only one way for a Shifter in beast form to carry cubs. Spike knew he’d never keep hold of Jordan in his human hands, so he closed his big jaws around the loose skin on the back of Jordan’s neck and lifted the cub from his feet.
Instantly, Jordan stilled. Whatever instinct or nerve center Spike’s grip triggered, Jordan tucked his head down and curled his feet and tail up under him.
Holding Jordan high enough not to drag him on the ground, Spike carried his cub down the length of Shiftertown.
The whole damn town saw him. There was Ellison Rowe, friend and Lupine Shifter; Nate, fellow tracker; Dylan, Liam and Sean’s father and the scariest Shifter in Shiftertown; Dylan’s mate Glory, equally as scary; Cormac, the bear Spike had bested tonight; Ronan and Ronan’s human mate; and Connor, the Morrissey nephew. They all watched Spike, the big, bad champion fighter of Shiftertown, walking down the green with a cub dangling from his jaws.
