“Hey, I’m new to Shifters. Don’t bite me.”
Spike slid his arm off the top of the swing to enclose her in the circle of it. Myka had a sudden, giddy vision of Spike leaning down and nipping her neck, showing her how Shifters bit, but he only caressed her shoulder.
“Trackers are top fighters of the clans,” he said. “They’re chosen by the leader, and they stick with that leader forever, and with the next Shifter who ousts that leader. Trackers are inherited.”
“And Liam inherited you?”
Spike traced another circle around her bare shoulder. “Yeah, from a Shifter called Fergus after Liam ousted him. I haven’t worked for Liam very long, ’bout a year now. That’s why I say he doesn’t really know me. Hasn’t had time yet, and he doesn’t completely trust me.”
“But you’re pledged to Liam now, right? How can he not trust you?”
“Because when I worked for Fergus, I helped him do things against Liam and his family. Fergus was always afraid of Liam’s family because he knew they had the true power in the clan. So he was always trying to hurt them. Liam says he understands that I had to do what Fergus told me, but understanding and forgiving are two different things. Gavan used to work for Fergus too. So for all Liam knows, we’re cut from the same cloth.”
Spike went silent again, caressing Myka’s skin as though drawing comfort from it.
“If you pledged yourself to Liam,” Myka said, “then there’s no decision. You can’t turn around and work for this other guy.”
“It’s all bullshit anyway,” Spike said. “I know Gavan’s stringing me along, telling me he wants me to work for him. Enforcer, my ass. He wants me to do his dirty work, then he’ll be done with me.”
“Then your answer’s easy. Don’t do it.”
“Liam expects me to do his dirty work too.”
“Don’t do either,” Myka said.
Spike’s lips quirked. “It’s more complicated than that. If I tell Liam I quit, every other Shifter will start thinking Liam can’t hold it together. There’ll be a hierarchy battle before you can say shit, then bloodshed and maybe death, never mind about the Collars. I think that’s why Gavan keeps wanting to talk to me—to make me start thinking about my place, and wanting something better.”
“Playing to your ambition and greed.” Myka sighed. “I know all about that.”
Spike’s brows went down, his attention pulled from his own problems. “What are you talking about?”
“Stables where I train. I’ve spent my whole life there, first learning to ride then learning to be a trainer. It’s the only place I’ve ever been happy. But the current owner inherited it from his dad and isn’t interested in horses. He wants to sell to a developer who will plow it over and build strip malls. The owner will get a boatload of money, and we’re out a place to train.”
Spike watched her face fall as she spoke, and his anger stirred at this nameless, faceless owner. “Can you go to another stable? Move your horses?”
“I don’t own the horses. Their owners send them to me, and I train them, show them, help sell them if that’s what wanted. I’d have to find another stable willing to hire me on or rent me the space, and owners are very, very picky about where they send their expensive, prize-winning horses. Me and the other trainers are trying to buy the place ourselves, but the price is too high. A corporation can cough up much more than underpaid trainers.”
“How high?”
“Seven figures.” Myka sighed again. “That’s why I have to go home. Tomorrow we’re going to meet with the owner and offer him at least a down payment if he’ll reconsider selling to us. Then try to get a loan for the rest.”
“Mmm.”
“I know, not as exciting as Shifter fights or chasing Jordan around, but it’s important, and I have to get some real sleep so I can be coherent at the meeting.”
Spike didn’t want her to go. He relaxed around Myka, opening up like he’d never opened up to anyone, and he liked that she was opening up to him. She listened to him—really listened. Then she thought about what he’d said and told him her true opinion, which was screw Liam and Gavan both and do what Spike thought best for himself.
Spike closed his fingers around her shoulder, her skin like warm roses. “Will you come back tomorrow?”
Goddess, he was begging again. Myka’s eyes shone in the moonlight, which turned the blue of them light and beautiful.
“To check on Jordan? Sure.”
“Yeah, to check on Jordan,” Spike said. And to talk to me. I don’t care what we say. I talk to you, and I feel strong.
Spike moved his touch to her cheek, running his thumb along her jaw to turn her face to his. He closed his other arm around her, leaned down, and kissed her.
The spark of the kiss ignited his blood and tightened in his body. He stroked fingertips across the softness of her cheek, tasted the heat of her lips. Her mouth responded to his, a hunger that matched his own.
Spike slid his hand down to Myka’s tank top, perfect for the day’s warmth but too light now for the midnight chill. He skimmed his palm over her breast, finding her nipple tight behind the thin fabric. Spike closed two fingers around the bud, tugging.
Myka put a hand on his wrist. “No, I really have to go,” she whispered.
She let out a soft moan, however, when Spike slid off the swing and to his knees, catching the tight nipple in his mouth through the fabric. Myka closed her hand around the back of his neck, fingers playing in the buzz of his hair.
Spike drew the nipple between his teeth. She would taste better without the shirt, but he was giving her time, easing her in gradually. Shifters could be rough, and Myka wouldn’t be used to it.
So why did he want to be so incredibly gentle with her?
When Spike finally released her, Myka’s breath was coming fast, her lips parted and moist. Spike caught that moisture on his tongue, cupped her cheek, and kissed the corner of her mouth.
“Come back tomorrow,” he said.
She nodded, silent, eyes fixed on him.
Spike had to help her up out of the swing, then he walked her from the porch, his arm around her, to where she’d parked her pickup on the street. A sleek black F150, very nice.
Spike drew Myka into his arms one more time and kissed the plump sweetness of her mouth. “Promise?” he said.
“Yes.” Myka rose on tiptoe to kiss him back, her lips damp and warm, small tongue darting along the seam of his mouth.