Hard Mated

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.

Myka arranged a light blanket over him and straightened up to find Spike two inches away.

He was looking at Jordan, not her, and the hollow pain in his eyes made her stop.

“Spike?” she whispered.

“Eron,” he said.

“What?”

“My real name. It’s Eron.”

Spike reached down and stroked Jordan’s hair, the movement gentle. Myka never would have thought that those blunt, fighter’s hands could touch so tenderly, but the caress was everything that was tender.

Spike stood up abruptly and walked out of the room. Myka adjusted the blanket again and tiptoed after him, reaching the living room in time to see Spike pull on his jeans and shirt, not bothering with underwear. All commando, he sat on the couch and tugged Myka down beside him.

“What am I gonna do?” he asked.

Sympathy touched Myka—the man really had no idea what he’d gotten himself into. “He’s your kid, Spike—Eron. It’s up to you.”

“Shit.”

Spike studied his hands, big and sinewy, the hands that had caught Jordan in midair without effort, then stroked his cub’s hair with such lightness.

“I used to follow the rodeo circuit,” Myka said. “I’ve seen the same look that’s on your face now on guys who came off bulls that were too tough to ride. You know, the whacked-up-the-side-of-the-head look.”

Spike turned his hands over and examined the scarred backs. “I never got why humans have to prove they can ride on the back of a pissed-off bull. A Shifter would just make the bull do what he wanted.”

“You’re changing the subject,” Myka said.

“I’ve never had a cub before.”