Hard Mated (3 page)

Spike was a tracker. That meant he worked for the Shiftertown leader as bodyguard, watcher, and fighter, finding trouble before it could escalate into a problem. Liam, as Shiftertown leader, trusted his trackers implicitly. Had to. Liam couldn’t be everywhere, and the Austin Shiftertown was large, covering three species, two dozen or so clans, and many prides and packs within those clans.

Spike’s pride family was small—he and his grandmother Ella the only survivors—and they were the only jaguar-type Felines around as well. Shifter Felines had been bred from all species, but families and clans tended toward one type of cat more than others. The extensive Morrissey clan, for example, were lions. The Morrissey clan had made Spike and his grandmother honorary members when Spike and Ella had first come to Texas, because all Shifters had to be part of a clan to survive.

Which was how Spike had found himself in the position of tracker to the previous clan leader, Fergus, who at the time had also been the leader of the San Antonio Shiftertown.
Previous
meaning
now dead.
Spike had never taken a mate, never had a cub, and with the limited number of Shifter females available, Spike thought he never would.

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 fuck 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.

Spike went on past without looking at them and climbed the back porch of his own house. His grandmother was there, and she opened the screen door for him, open-mouthed in shock. Spike walked inside with his burden and dropped the cub onto the spread of the living room rug.

Chapter Four

“Spike, what the hell?” Ella Reyes, Spike’s grandmother, stood wide-eyed, her hand still on the screen door.

Jordan sprang to his feet and ran for the back door, but Ella slammed it shut. The cub hit the screen, which creaked but held, then he pushed off it and dashed back through the kitchen. The little jaguar leapt onto and across the counters, scattering everything in his way. Pans, dishes, and silverware clattered to the floor, and a coffee cup exploded into fragments and hot liquid.

Spike, still his wildcat, grabbed Jordan when he jumped down again, getting a paw on him as Jordan scrambled for his footing on the vinyl floor.

No!
Spike’s growl held weight. Jordan stopped squirming and looked up at Spike with fear in his eyes.

Spike eased the pressure without losing the firmness. Jordan subsided, his little body quivering.

“Spike,” Ella said, arms folded as she stood in the center of the kitchen. “I ask you again:
What the hell?”

Under Spike’s paw, Jordan shifted slowly back into the form a four-year-old boy, his tattered clothes a pool of fabric on the floor.

Spike shifted to human, his big body folded in on itself, his hand still on Jordan. “This is Jordan. He’s my son.”

“Your
what
?”

“Son. Cub. My kid.”

Ella didn’t argue. No debating whether Jordan was really Spike’s son. She’d seen the markings too. “Who is the mother? What clan? You didn’t make a mate-claim—I’d know that.”

“She was a human. A groupie—or at least she might have been. She’s gone.”

Ella understood what he meant, because her eyes took on a look of sorrow. “I’m sorry, Spike.”

“I didn’t know her. Only for the night.”

Jordan looked from Spike to Ella, his shoulder engulfed by Spike’s big hand. “I don’t like it here,” he said. “Where’s my mom?”

“In the Summerland,” Spike said, as gently as he could.

“Where’s that? I want to go too.”

Spike turned his grip into a caress. “Not yet. Someday.” Not for a long, long time if Spike had anything to say about it.

“I don’t want to stay here.”

Jordan’s brows drew together in belligerent male-Shifter fashion. The kid wasn’t about to cry. He was ready to growl and storm, relieving his bewilderment by lashing out those nearest him.

“You have to,” Spike said. “I’m your dad. That’s your great-grandma.”

“I don’t have a great-grandma.” He looked up at Ella, whose dark hair and unlined face was natural in a Shifter of two-hundred years with a hundred-year-old grandson. “What’s a great-grandma?”

“Your dad’s grandma,” Ella explained.

The scowl deepened as Jordan wrestled with this new concept.

Ella’s eyes held a spark of hope, which Spike had seen in other Shifters when offspring entered the pride. Their family would carry on. They’d survive another day.

“Can you fix him something to eat?” Spike asked her.

Ella surveyed the mess of the kitchen and made an impatient noise. “Take him out of here. I’ll see what I can do.”

Spike rose and scooped up Jordan. He held the lad in the crook of his arm, Jordan still glaring at him. “He needs clothes,” Spike said.

“I see that. I’ll call around, see what I can find.”

Spike walked out of the kitchen without thanking her. Ella would know he appreciated what she did, always had. They’d moved beyond human words and phrases, body language having taken over long ago.

Spike carried Jordan upstairs to his own room and planted him on the bed. “Stay there.”

Jordan didn’t. By the time Spike had pulled on clean sweat pants and a shirt, Jordan had opened all the drawers of the dresser and was pawing through Spike’s T-shirts. “Wanna wear one.”

“They’re too big for you. We’ll get you some your size.”

“Why do you have that all over your body?” Jordan pointed to the jaguars that chased each other up Spike’s arms and over his chest to evolve into the giant spread of dragon across his back.

“They’re tattoos.” Spike held out one arm so Jordan could examine the body art. “Ink traced into the skin.”

“My mom has a tattoo,” Jordan announced. “Right above her butt.”

Spike remembered that, the pretty trace of ink on Jillian’s body. He suddenly wondered whether Myka had any tattoos, somewhere under the low-slung jeans and lacey tank top.

His encounter with Jillian five years ago had been brief and fiery, but Spike hadn’t fallen in love. Neither had Jillian fallen in love with him. Passing time had made it pretty clear that she’d meant it to be a one-night stand, nothing more. Spike doubted she’d meant to get pregnant with Jordan, but he would be ever grateful to her for calling him in tonight instead of letting him remain ignorant.

Sean was at the back door when Spike went back down. Ella had cleaned up the kitchen and was making sandwiches, and she answered the door. Jordan took one look at Sean and wrapped his little arms tightly around Spike’s leg.

“Your clothes,” Sean said to Spike as Ella took the pile of jeans, shirt, and boots. “And something for the cub the cub to wear, from my neighbor. Her cub’s about the same age.”

“Thanks, Sean.”

The hilt of the Sword of the Guardian stuck up behind Sean’s back, a bleak silhouette in the moonlight. “You’re going to have to name him,” Sean said. “And I had to tell Liam.”

Name him
meant that Spike had to reveal his cub in a naming ceremony, which would announce to the Shifters and the world that he had a cub. A male cub, a son. The ceremony meant that the cub was taking his place in the Shifter hierarchy, where he’d be acknowledged as belonging not only to Spike and his pride, but to his clan and Shiftertown as a whole.