by Fel Fern
“Thanks,” Mike muttered to his surprise.
They headed in. The others found a table by the corner, which he noticed had a perfect view of the rest of the diner. Excellent positioning. It was hard to get rid of the soldier in him, even though he knew he’d always be less of what he’d been.
“Well, well, Mike finally got our shy commander here,” drawled Dusty.
Last time he saw Dusty, Dusty spoke loudly, as if not used to his deafness. Now, Dusty looked normal, on the outside anyway. Abram knew better. A mere brush against his skin and he knew for certain it wasn’t just his lion who was close to spinning out of control.
Men liked their secrets though, so he wouldn’t intervene, not until it was needed anyway. He still felt responsible for his men, even though they were no longer in the same unit. They trusted him with their lives and it’d been his job to make sure everyone came out alive from a mission—except that last one, which had fucked them all up, those that had survived it.
Abram eyed each of them. Dusty looked like he’d lost a lot of weight. Although Grover wore sunglasses to hide his eyes, Grover’s head was cocked in his direction. Mike took a seat with a grunt, but Abram caught the flash of pain before it disappeared. Abram joined them.
“So, Mike. Why did you call this meeting?” he asked.
“In a rush to be somewhere, sir?” Dusty asked, and he realized the other shifter must be reading lips. Abram reminded himself to speak slower. He knew from Mike, who updated him about the others, that Dusty had learned sign language but didn’t like using it.
“Don’t call me that. I’m no longer your commanding officer,” he said.
“Your lion seems a little off, Abram,” Grover said, speaking for the first time.
Mike laughed. “All our beasts have been a little on edge lately.”
Abram knew what the others were thinking, that if their animals snapped out of their leashes, there would be chaos. Becoming a rogue shifter, no longer held back by human consciousness, was a nightmare for all shifters. A cold chill went down his spine as he realized why Mike had called them to meet.
“That’s true,” Dusty muttered, pretending to fiddle with the dirty plastic menu on the side.
“No, Abram’s lion feels a lot more subdued, uneasy, but a lot better than the last time,” Grover explained.
Abram knew what Grover meant. The first time he woke up in the military infirmary in another base camp, his lion had gone insane at the realization he’d lost a limb. He’d wrecked everything in sight, according to Mike, and had needed to be put down with tranquilizers.
He didn’t like the reminder of his shame, because Abram prided himself on being able to keep his beast on a leash. Lions were prideful creatures, and lion prides were the most violent of the shifter groups. When his lion had realized he was no longer the top predator in the field, and more importantly, had failed to protect their brothers, it turned hostile, angry.
“Abram got rejected,” Mike said, probably to put everyone at ease before Mike brought in the big guns and told all of them the reason for the meeting.
Dusty looked surprised. Grover faked a cough.
“You’re dating?” Dusty asked, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.
He snarled, which didn’t help in a table full of other big, predatory cats. Abram reeled in his temper.
“My personal life is none of your business. Besides, he wasn’t interested in a monster.” Fuck, he still hadn’t gotten over that little incident.
“Sorry it didn’t work out,” Dusty said, sounding like he meant it.
“His loss,” Grover agreed.
Abram realized he missed being around the other guys, that they’d been foolish, avoiding each other to focus on their own pain. Maybe it was time to stop being sorry for themselves. Kane said so himself, that Abram constantly put himself down. At least that damn tabby cat had said something right for a change. Still, he couldn’t believe a young and gorgeous thing like Kane would stop their session because Kane was attracted to him.
Kane should give Abram more credit.
Abram knew he wasn’t on anyone’s most desirable list. Even after being Changed, submissive shifters steered cleared of him, terrified of the lion inside Abram. The brave ones were either drunk or curious enough to have a one-night-stand with a lion, which suited him, because Abram had no time for a relationship. When off-duty, it was convenient to find the nearest, willing body eager for a taste of him.
None of those men were Kane though.
A waitress appeared by their table. “You guys ready to order?”
Relieved by the distraction, he took one of the menus and ordered a double-cheeseburger. Once their orders were taken and the waitress left, he addressed Mike. “Why don’t you tell the guys why you called us up?”
“Hold a second, did you two discuss this whatever-this-is, beforehand?” Dusty demanded.
Abram signed at Dusty to lower his voice. Dusty looked surprised Abram knew sign language. Well, after he heard from Mike about Dusty, he’d started learning it, too. It was never too late to pick up something new.
“No, Abram guessed.” Mike looked at each of them. It struck Abram how Mike had grown. A year ago, Abram knew Mike would no longer be content to be second-in-command, that eventually, he’d need to let Mike go so he could command his own unit. “It’s about our animals. They’re not right after the bombing incident and you all know it.”
Dusty stiffened. Grover lowered his glasses, which meant Grover took this conversation seriously. Abram glimpsed the scars crisscrossing Grover’s eyes, and understood. Grover hid his imperfection on instinct, the way Abram always wore long-sleeved shirts and jackets. Abram had a prosthetic arm at home, but once it was fitted, he had the overwhelming urge to rip it away. The plastic limb only reminded him of what he’d lost.
The others would be too prideful to admit they needed help, so Abram went first. “I agree. I want all of you to promise that when the time comes and I’m certain I no longer have full control of my lion, one of you will end me.”
Dusty sucked in a breath. Grover looked pain-stricken.
Mike nodded, and he mouthed a silent “thanks” to him.
“Jesus Christ, Mike. Is that why you called us here, not because you want us to be a bunch of guys, hanging out, but because you want to make this stupid crazy promise?” Dusty asked.
“We can never be just a bunch of guys, hanging out, as you call it,” Abram said gently.
Dusty glared at him, but seemed to think Abram was still in charge, because he kept his mouth shut where he would’ve argued with Mike.
“It’s not crazy, just practical,” Grover said. “If I go off the rails, I want one of you to do it, not some fucking stranger who’ll look at me like I’m a rabid animal that needs to be put down.”
“Fuck, Grove,” Dusty finally replied. “That’s some deep thinking.”
“We can still meet like this,” Mike continued.
Dusty rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah. You mean keep tabs on each other?”
“Sure makes me feel at ease being around you bastards, then seeing my fucking therapist. Oh, wait, he quit.” Abram didn’t know why those words just came out. Perhaps it was because he sensed a fight brewing between Dusty and Mike and their pensions wouldn’t be able to pay for damages.
Dusty blinked at him. “Wait, the guy who blew you off was your therapist? Fuck, Abram. You’re hard core.”
“Why do you sound in awe?” Grover asked.
The tension eased in the tiny space.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“It’s clearly bothering you,” Mike said.
These were his brothers so it was fine. They shared everything, had each other’s backs. A strong bond like that, unbreakable as any pack or pride bond, was for life. Abram finally realized that.
“Let’s talk about someone else for a change,” Abram suggested.
Dusty threw up his hands. “Don’t look at me. I’m not seeing anyo
ne.”
“Me neither.”
“No one wants broken shifters. We’re too dangerous to be around and others see us with either thinly veiled pity or disgust,” Grover said in a quiet voice, but they all heard it.
Grover slipped his shades back up, the frames so dark, it was hard to see anything. Since Abram couldn’t imagine a world of darkness, or one deprived of sound, he kept his mouth shut.
The same waitress came by their table again. “What’s with the grim faces, guys? It’s a beautiful day. Now, who ordered the double-cheeseburger?”
Chapter Four
Kane didn’t know why he kept doing this. A week had passed since he’d stopped seeing Abram as a patient. Abram had made it clear he no longer wanted to have anything to do with Kane. A decent person would leave Abram alone. He knew Dr. Matthews was one of the best in the field. In his hands, Abram would start his recovery process and move on with his life without Kane in the picture.
God. They’d shared a kiss, nothing more, but Kane kept replaying that moment in his head—him sitting on Abram’s lap, excitement coursing through his body and little fear. He’d never been that hard for a man. In a span of seconds, Abram had him aroused, needy, and wanting more than he should. That was probably why he was sitting out here, in his car, in front of Abram’s apartment.
Some would call this stalker tendencies, but Kane’s inner cat told him there was something about Abram he couldn’t let go off. This was the third time he’d done this. He could break the pattern, drive away, and make sure he wouldn’t do this again. Except, each time he told himself that, he never listened to his own advice. Kane got out of the car, but the cool night air didn’t do any good. He shut the door and jogged to the back of the building.
“This is wrong,” he whispered.
Yet he kept doing it anyway. Kane had never done anything like this his entire life, never had the luxury of being bad. Maybe it was the thrill of getting caught, too. Kane stripped out of his clothes quickly, balled all of them, and tucked them in a tiny corner. Then he reached for his inner tabby and shifted. Black striped fur covered his arms. He shrank in size, landing on all four paws. A tail appeared.
Once in animal form, all his human insecurities and sense of right and wrong bled away. The cat was fearless and it wanted to stalk. He leapt onto the nearest dumpster, then to a nearby window ledge.
This wasn’t the first time he did this climb, so Kane knew his way. Reaching the fifth floor, Abram’s floor, he hugged the building ledge and jumped from one window to the next. The cat wasn’t afraid of heights, knowing Kane would land on his paws nine out of ten times.
He finally reached Abram’s window. The werelion kept it open most of the time. He peered into the window. Gray curtains tickled his face and he let out a hiss, stopping himself from clawing at it. No distractions. He flared his nostrils, scenting Abram, and if he were human, he would have caught his breath.
Abram walked out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but gym shorts. He licked his lips. Good Lord. Kane never got sick of this sight. If he could wake up to all this yumminess every day—Kane didn’t dare finish that line of thought. Abram’s tanned skin was bisected with scars, a couple of them, but it made the werelion even hotter in his eyes.
Scars never bothered Kane. They merely reminded him the man in front of him fought his share of battles, and won. Abram walked to the pull-up bar attached to the wall beside his bed. Abram’s single-room apartment reminded him of half a gym.
Aside from the bed, the pantry, plastic chairs, and single-table equipment took up half the space. There was also a punching bag hung near the door and weights aligned in a neat row on a shelf near the pull-up bar.
Working out was a major component in Abram’s life. Kane knew that while Abram received pension, Abram worked part-time at the local gym, and his clients were mostly made up of vets like himself, who wanted more than what a physical therapist could provide. When Abram wasn’t working, Abram kept his body in tip-top condition.
Abram easily lifted his entire weight off the floor, one-handed. He used the pull-up bar for a long time, until sweat coated Abram’s entire body. God. Why did Abram have to look like a wet dream all the time?
Kane swished his tail back and forth. He missed their sessions, but both of them were better off, except Kane sorely missed his grumpy werelion. Abram finished up his pull-ups, grabbed a towel to wipe his face, and took a huge gulp of water.
Kane knew he should stop doing this, that it was wrong. Invading another man’s privacy was not something he’d usually do, but from the first day Abram had entered his office, he’d felt a strange magnetic pull between them. It felt like Abram’s lion called to his inner cat, lured his inner tabby into the open. Abram sniffed, setting the water down, he turned and stared at the window, right at Kane.
He nearly panicked, but reminded himself most predatory shifters couldn’t tell tabby cat shifters from normal cats. Abram’s nostrils flared and the werelion narrowed his eyes. Okay. Maybe Abram was more perceptive than most. Time to make his exit.
Kane turned abruptly, momentarily forgetting his balance. He looked down suddenly at the sidewalk underneath and mewled. Fear crawled up his spine. It was a long way down and from five stories up, he wasn’t that eager to try the notion that cats had nine lives.
One huge hand simply swept him off the window and back inside the apartment. Anxiety heightened, he hissed, clawed, then remembered this was Abram. The last person he wanted to claw at was this werelion, but why did Abram have to dangle him at an arm’s length, and by his tail, no less?
“Look what I caught out my window,” Abram said, voice rough, suspicious.
Kane hissed again, tried to struggle, but it was no use.
“Calm down, kitty-cat. Hurting you is the last thing on my mind. Now I’m going to set you down, but if you run, I’m going to catch you again.”
Kane knew from first-hand experience that despite Abram’s bulk of muscles, the man could move at startling speed. He hadn’t even sensed the werelion approach the window or scoop him up like some errant pet. So he stopped moving to show Abram he understood. Abram set him on the ground.
“I knew someone’s been watching me. The gig is up, little cat.”
Oh God. Abram used that nickname, so the werelion knew it was him. Kane stared longingly at the window. He could break into a run, leap, and pray Abram wouldn’t capture him again, but escape seemed unlikely. Besides, his inner tabby cat wanted to stay and get caught, solely for this reason. Fear hammered in his heart, but so did anticipation.
Abram fell silent, watching him the way a hawk watched its prey. The werelion could easily devour him, disable his ability to think with just one kiss. What if Abram did more?
Kane decided to man up. He shifted, then became distinctively aware of his nakedness as Abram raked his gaze up and down his body. Abram’s gaze turned amber with lust and he swallowed, caught between running for the hills and closing the distance between them so he could touch, and maybe if Kane was good enough, Abram would allow him to pet him.
“Dr. Briggs,” Abram drawled. The longer they stood there, the more Kane realized it would be easy to rip at Abram’s black gym shorts so they’d both be nude. Abram would be glorious, he knew, and he’d love to rub up against all those muscles and purr. Shit. Kane was acting like a cat in heat. Why did he always lose his head, whenever Abram was around?
“Abram,” he whispered, glad he found his tongue. Kane didn’t apologize, didn’t bother explaining himself. He was guilty as sin and sooner or later, he knew he’d get caught. His tabby dared to peek at the lion’s den, knowing full well what would happen.
Abram continued, “First, you wanted to stop working with me, because you said you could no longer be professional. Then you turn into a stalker?”
“I’m not a stalker,” he replied, feeling like a sullen child caught doing something wrong, but refusing to admit to his crime. Abram raised one black eyebrow and Kane noticed a little scar
bisecting it. So tempting to lick. Abram smelled good, too, even all sweaty. “Okay. I didn’t like it that we no longer had our weekly sessions. I kept spying on you, even though I know it’s wrong. I can’t stop and I think I finally understand why.”
“When you said you were attracted to me, I didn’t believe a young and handsome shifter like you would be interested in an old, scarred lion.”
Okay. Abram didn’t sound angry at least.
“And now?” he dared to whisper.
Since Abram practically fucked Kane with his eyes with the way Abram looked at him, Kane did the same. Hard to ignore eye candy, and Abram was that, miles of hard planes of muscle. Kane’s gaze slipped to the tiny shorts Abram wore, the bulge pressing up against the thin fabric. He swallowed. Abram must be huge.
Deciding he might be too rude, he looked upward, past the “V” of Abram’s waist to the light dusting of hair lining Abram’s torso, the well-defined pectorals, and to Abram’s face. No one would ever call Abram pretty, but he liked Abram’s rough handsomeness. He was a real man, and Kane had never had one of those before.
“Now, I’m thinking I made a mistake.” Abram’s voice was uncontrolled. “You’re looking at me like I’m worth a look or two.”
“Are you kidding? I’m this close to climbing you like a tree.” Kane blushed.
Where the hell did that come from? He usually wasn’t this direct when it came to relationships. He’d keep his guard during dates all the time, trying to discern any flaws his date might have. With Abram, he automatically opened up his heart and served it on a platter.
Abram started pacing the room, his footsteps barely making any sound, reminding Kane of a graceful predator. Abram swore, but kept those intense golden eyes on him, as if terrified Kane would disappear on him if he looked away.
“Um. Look, if we’re going to talk some more, can I borrow some clothes?”
