by Jools Louise
Spirit of Sage 11
Learning Curve
Oliver and Shark have more to worry about than their new business, Feeling Clucky. Sexy Slade Winters is determined to seduce his way into their affections, but they're afraid he might be too much like their sociopathic ex-lover, Crash.
A series of sick pranks alerts them to the fact that Crash has escaped prison and is apparently gunning for them. Added to that, Flashpoint are still up to their old tricks, and two old enemies, Ghost and Morag, return to Sage to get revenge again.
Can Slade convince the wolverine shifters that he's in for the long haul and wants to claim Oliver and Shark as his mates? Can he make them see he's no psychopath, but a lion shifter with a heart of gold?
The three suitors have to negotiate deadly foes, tragic pasts, and fight for the right to a happy future together. Will the learning curve be too high to climb?
Genre: Alternative (M/M/M, Gay), Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Paranormal, Shape-shifter, Western/Cowboys
Length: 35,877 words
LEARNING CURVE
Spirit of Sage 11
Jools Louise

Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
LEARNING CURVE
Copyright © 2017 by Jools Louise
ISBN: 978-1-64010-808-0
First Publication: December 2017
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2017 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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DEDICATION
Thanks to everyone who’s still following the Sage saga. The next one is on the way, along with many more. Enjoy. Xxx
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I started writing full time four years ago, and I can’t actually believe that I’m up to book eleven in the Spirit of Sage series. I’m still living in the northwest of England, close to the coast, and the Lake District. I get my inspiration from all over the place, and some stories are easier to write than others. This was fun, and sad, and poignant, and I loved the characters, who came to life on the page. Words ebb and flow, but I never lose my enjoyment of sharing these tales. I hope you continue to enjoy my work, and if you feel like it, say hi, check in via my website, Facebook, or I’m also on Twitter.
For all titles by Jools Louise, please visit
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
About the Author
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Landmarks
Cover
LEARNING CURVE
Spirit of Sage 11
JOOLS LOUISE
Copyright © 2017
Prologue
“He’s in sight,” Morag murmured into her comm link, her golden-brown eyes fixed with malicious intent on her target. She flicked a lock of blonde hair over her shoulder, tucking it under her baseball cap. She couldn’t resist preening a little as she caught sight of herself in a store window. She was slim and toned, and wearing a pair of black jeans, with a khaki-colored parka as her disguise. Her narrow face was exquisite, in her opinion, her eyes absolutely her best feature. Blowing herself a kiss, she listened to the reply filtering through her comm link.
“Don’t lose him. I need him. When he’s clear, take him. I’ll be waiting at the rendezvous.” She wrinkled her nose, not liking the harshly delivered orders, but obeying nonetheless. She had her agenda, so she would have to put up with a few lemons…until she found a way to ditch them. Then she could make her own rules again.
Morag clicked off the link and followed behind her victim, feeling a hatred for the little bastard that welled up like a seismic eruption, brewing slowly, ready to spew. She should be rich by now, living in luxury, rolling in money. Instead, she was reduced to playing fetch and carry for some gimp in a fucking wheelchair, who ordered her around as though she was his pet. Ghost thought himself so much better than shifters. She would soon be showing him just how much of a fucking idiot she thought him. She was a cheetah shifter, swift and dangerous, and had no problem ending the human’s life, wheelchair user or not. The man had murdered many of her kind, although she was less interested in their hardship than her own.
She spied another person, someone who gave her pause. Meredith. Her sister, and twin, talking to an older female with gray hair. She felt, somewhere deep inside, a twinge of unfamiliar discomfort, of almost longing, that they had never seen eye to eye. Meredith was everything Morag wasn’t. Kind, considerate, beautiful inside and out. Morag? Well, Morag had burned any hope of changing her ways long ago. She’d put Meredith’s boys in harm’s way and was about to do the same again. And she had absolutely no qualms about doing it. Meredith had been hers, and then she’d mated that stupid bastard and had her mewling cubs. Meredith deserved to feel pain for all she’d put Morag through. Morag had shared a womb with her sister and had been shoved to the side at the first twitch of a guy’s dick.
The twinge of wistfulness disintegrated under a wave of hatred as she saw her target kissing his lover, right there in the street, for all to see. Homosexuality. In her family. What the fuck was that all about? How dare they? It wasn’t enough that he’d defied her at every turn, refusing to bow to her commands. He had to get mated to another man…and a bear shifter, for fuck’s sake! Disgusting freaks.
She smiled with satisfaction as Noah and Fly parted, Fly heading toward the mall, and Noah in the direction of the gym for a morning workout.
Time to party.
Fly was going to wish he had listened to her and used his shifter talents more wisely. A masseur in the family was as embarrassing as the fact he was queer and dressed in that ridiculous fashion. Gaudy colors, stupid girlish hairstyle, like a pompom on top of his head. Just as soon as she could, she was going to shave him bald.
Moving quickly now, glancing around to see if anyone was watching, she dashed in behind her nephew, jabbing the hypodermic into his shoulder quickly, grinning evilly as he spun around in horror.
“Morag!” he gasped, but could do no more as the drug began to take over.
“Now you’re mine.” She smirked, watching his eyes glaze over, the exact same shade as her own, as he slumped to the ground. Grabbing a handful of his girly hair, she dragged him off, down an alley behind the mall. Tapping the comm link, she sent off a message to be ready.
She heard a roar behind her and glanced back to see Noah racing toward her, his expression fierce, his eyes glittering with the intent to rip her to shreds, his claws already extended as he
shifted midstride. Reaching behind her, she palmed the pistol she carried, firing off three rapid-fire shots, stopping him in his tracks. His look of terror, of thwarted fury as he fell to the ground, made her laugh. His raspy, wheezy roar had her smiling with satisfaction as she heard the gurgle of fluid filling his lungs, his pathetic attempt at a rescue amusing to her.
“Say good-bye, bear,” she chuckled, turning away and holstering the firearm. “You won’t be seeing him again.” Whistling cheerfully, she made her way through the alley to the next street, where her transport awaited. Two big men jumped out, grabbed Fly and threw him like a sack of rubble into the trunk, then shut it swiftly. Within seconds, they were on their way. Morag grinned, satisfied with her day’s work. One homo asshole kidnapped and his disgusting partner shot in cold blood, already choking to death on his own blood. Yes. Today was a good day.
Chapter One
A week ago
Shark eyed the tall, bald-headed customer warily. He nudged his lover and long-time friend, Oliver, who gave a low whine as he observed the guy entering their fast-food restaurant, Feeling Clucky.
“He’s back again. What should we do?” Oliver asked nervously. His shaggy brown hair was tucked under a bright yellow baseball cap, and his hazel eyes glinted with a tinge of fear as he glanced at the big powerful shifter who waited patiently for his order.
“Serve him,” Shark retorted dryly, preparing the inevitable order for the guy, who was a regular. The man must really like chicken, because he was here daily, sometimes twice a day. Shark had seen the glint in the man’s eyes and knew that filling his belly wasn’t the only reason the big lion shifter, covered in tattoos, came to their restaurant.
“He’s a little…intense,” Oliver whispered as he threw four chicken breasts onto the grill with an expert’s hand, and then coated four more with flour and his special coating before dumping them into the fryer. The tantalizing scent of searing meat permeated the air as the chicken sizzled gleefully.
“He’s a bit more than that, Oliver,” Shark murmured back, wrenching his gaze away from their stalker’s. His own hair was shaved at the sides in a short chocolate-brown Mohawk, tipped with bronze highlights, flattened beneath his own headgear, in a dark brown hue, with the name of their restaurant emblazoned on the front.
Oliver grabbed his arm. “What do you mean? Is he dangerous? Does he want to hurt us?”
“No. I think he might want to mate with us,” Shark retorted dryly, meeting Oliver’s shocked stare.
Oliver looked startled, then intrigued, and then a hint of something earthier entered his hazel eyes, the gold highlights glinting wickedly. Shark watched his lover’s glance flicker toward the big bald shifter, then heard him gasp, and arch one brow in challenge as he glared at the guy, before continuing loading fries into hot fat, watching them swirl and bubble in the boiling fluid.
“Do you like him?” Oliver asked hesitantly.
Shark shrugged nonchalantly, not wanting to give too much away, particularly in such close proximity to the man. “He’s okay,” he replied shortly.
He heard a husky laugh, the sound shivering over his senses, filling his cock in an instant. He huffed in annoyance at his body’s unruly response and glared at the irritating man.
Slade Winters, Kaden’s former biker crew vice president, met the gaze unflinchingly, his thick dark brows a contrast to his hairless scalp. He wore his tattoos proudly and had two full sleeves of ink-based artistry down both arms. The V-neck of his shirt hinted at more. Shark wondered whether the guy was painted all over, salivating at the thought. Slade wore a navy-blue polo shirt with short sleeves, a pair of dark jeans, and work boots on his feet. Topping six foot three at least, he was a full head taller than Shark or Oliver. His jaw sported a short, well-trimmed goatee, and his deep blue eyes, pools of azure the same hue as a tropical paradise, glimmered with amusement as he stared back at Shark’s disdainful glare.
Shark’s glare deepened as Slade lifted his hand, saluting mockingly as he leaned against the counter, waiting for his order to be served. It was still early, and Slade was their first customer of the day. He tore his gaze from the annoying man and concentrated on the fryer in front of him, since Oliver had moved back over to the grills to check on the chicken.
He cursed as he saw that he’d burned the curly fries. Scowling, he scooped them out, then slung them in the trash, flinging Slade a glower, blaming him entirely. The man had the audacity to laugh again, and Shark headed for the walk-in freezer to collect more fries, ripping the bag open as he returned to his station, and upending the entire contents into the hot oil. Instantly, the ice and heat set off a dramatic reaction, and Shark had to step back hurriedly as he was spattered in a shower of tiny droplets.
“Be careful,” Oliver scolded, shaking his head. “He’ll think you’re interested if he sees you this flustered.”
“I am interested, and I can’t help being flustered when my dick’s this excited,” he shot back gruffly. “We just don’t need the aggravation. Remember what happened the last time we trusted someone that big? He nearly killed us. And haven’t you heard Slade’s teasing about bondage and tying us up? We don’t need that kind of a mate.”
Oliver blanched, going pale and clutching his throat. “I remember,” he whispered hoarsely. “I just hope he’s not the one who’s causing trouble.” Shark knew Oliver was talking about their former boyfriend, not Slade.
Shark felt a twinge of fear. “He’s in prison, remember. San Quentin. There’s no way he could find us.” They shared a worried look, though, in perfect sync. They’d had troubles since moving to Sage permanently, and there was always the sense that their former flame, despite him being incarcerated, had something to do with that. Of course, their families were pieces of work, as well, so it was a toss-up who was more likely to cause problems.
Oliver looked doubtful and finished with the chicken he was grilling, scooping out the fillets in the fryer, then prepared the double-stacked burgers, affectionately known as a Double Clucky, which were piled with blue cheese, maple-cured bacon, tomato, and a drizzle of special sauce, their own recipe. Placing the concoction into takeout trays, he stood waiting for the fries, cocking his hip as he eyed Shark with a chiding look at his tardiness.
“Hey, don’t give me the evils,” Shark said, rolling his eyes. “They’ll be ready in a minute, dude.”
“Hmmm,” Oliver replied, pursing his lips. Shark snorted and then gave Oliver a quick kiss on his eatable lips, grinning at Oliver’s flustered response as he was wafted away. “Don’t burn those fries again, douche,” Oliver said, smirking. “Our customer’s waiting.” Shark rolled his eyes when Oliver sent a flirtatious wink Slade’s way and heard the man’s amused laughter.
Shark sneered at the man, then checked the fries surreptitiously, casting a wary look at Oliver to see if he was watching, and then heaved a quiet sigh of relief that they were okay. Scooping them out, he dumped them on the stainless steel hot plate and swiftly placed two separate servings into the cardboard container that Oliver had already prepared.
“See how easy that was?” Oliver grinned, planting a swift kiss on Shark’s nose before placing the order into the correct chute for Noah to collect. Shark saw an almost wistful expression on Slade’s face as he witnessed their exchange, the man’s eyes reflecting a vulnerability that tugged at Shark’s heart. The guy looked lonely. Shark shook himself, tilted his chin in the air, and sniffed haughtily. If Slade wanted a piece of wolverine ass, he’d have to work for it. No way were he and Oliver going to just bend over and let the man have his way, without even trying. They’d already got their T-shirts with “Wham, Bam, Thank You, Ma’am,” written on them. Now they wanted to be courted in the old-fashioned kind of way. With no ropes in sight.
Noah, manning the cash register, murmured something to Slade that Shark couldn’t quite hear. Judging by the salacious wink that Slade sent his way, and the sultry smile directed at Oliver, Noah was matchmaking again. The big bear shifter was happi
ly mated and had been trying for weeks to get Shark, Oliver, and Slade hooked up.
“If we don’t act soon, Slade will give up,” Oliver said earnestly, sounding a little anxious. Shark rolled his eyes. Apparently Oliver was eager to get laid quickly, minimizing the foreplay. “Do you really think he’s like Crash?” Oliver asked worriedly. Shark sighed, hugging his best friend.
“I don’t know, baby,” he said truthfully. “I’m just wary, that’s all. We’ve already been through the mill with men, especially that bastard lion shifter, Crash. If we’re wrong about Slade, it could be the final straw. He’s big and looks like he eats bricks for breakfast. At least Crash is in jail, though. Thank goodness he can’t get to us again.”
“Slade told me to give you this,” Noah interrupted, smiling widely at his bosses. “He said they were left just outside the door. There’s a card inside.”
The two wolverines both turned and gasped in horror as they saw the huge bouquet of red roses that Noah held. Slade was seated at a table by himself, tucking into his meal, with his back to them. The blooms were beautiful and surrounded by baby’s breath. A dozen in all. “I’d say he was smitten.” Noah smiled.
Shark eyed the bouquet with horror, as though it was an unexploded bomb, not a bunch of flowers. Crash, a former lover, had given them roses, just like these. He’d used them as a way of undermining their instincts about the man, since he’d only ever given them after he’d hurt them, as an apology. They had been so desperate to believe him that they had nearly died for their foolishness. What was that old saying? “…Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me…” Crash had been into BDSM in a big way, but not in a good way. Both wolverines still suffered inner scars from the man’s abuse disguised as sex play.
