by Lily Cahill
“Yeah, a drink. I definitely want a drink.” Jax strode away from them toward the alcohol-laden table and poured himself a shot of whiskey. He downed it, then poured another. His heart and his body fought—what his base, animal self wanted and who he wanted to do those things with. It certainly wasn’t these women … and yet they were here. They were hot. And oh shit, they were slowly undressing each other. Jax leaned back against the table and held the tumbler of whiskey to his lips, watching.
One of the women—Blondie—reached up behind her back and unclasped her bra in one fluid motion. Her breasts fell free, large and heavy but unnaturally round and high. She stared straight at Jax and kneaded herself, her nipples peaked and hard. If he wanted, he could reach her in one big step and take her in his mouth, suck on her until she was begging him to stop. The second woman—Red—reached her arms around Blondie’s waist and plunged one hand into her tiny shorts. Blondie gasped, her eyes never leaving Jax’s face. It was all for him, this show. Jax’s cock tightened against his pants, and he rubbed his hand down the length of it. Just once. Just enough to make Red giggle and start sucking on Blondie’s neck.
“Come here,” he growled, tipping back the whiskey and dropping the glass. It hit the floor with a crack and rolled away under the table.
The three of them tumbled backward onto the big, leather couch. Red climbed on top of him, grinding against his dick and attacking his mouth in a wet kiss. Normally, he’d dive into her, claim her body as his own, but it felt off. Jax tore his mouth from hers and shifted away from her. As he did, he felt a tug, and glanced down to see Blondie pulling open the button fly of his jeans and releasing his cock. She made an appreciative noise in the back of her throat, her small hand wrapping around him. She looked up at him from under thick eyelashes, a mischievous smiles on her red, red lips, then she knelt between his knees and plunged his dick into her mouth.
Jax groaned and let his head fall heavily to the couch cushion. He closed his eyes, and when he did he saw Tiff.
This woman he’d barely spoken to, who was a practical stranger. But it was her waiting for him in his fantasies, her who he’d dreamed of since he came of age and been granted the vision of his mate. Tiff was the key to his lock, and suddenly these two anonymous women were all wrong. They didn’t fit. He’d never even kissed Tiff, but he knew she’d fit him perfectly.
The wrongness of it all overtook him. The heat of desire that had licked through him grew hotter, more insistent, more restless. But wholly unsatisfied with this, this mockery of what he knew he could have with Tiff.
Jax flicked his eyes open and pushed himself away.
“What’s wrong, Jax? Isn’t this fun?” Red asked, wetly sucking at his earlobe.
“I’ve gotta …,” Jax cast about for a way out. He extricated himself from Red and Blondie, hastily doing his pants back up and stumbling to stand. He was already striding toward the door—nearly running—when he growled over his shoulder. “Sorry. I’m leaving.”
“What the fuck was that about?” he heard one of the women say to the other.
“Prick,” snapped the other.
Then the door slammed, and Jax was alone.
The stillness struck Jax as he strode out onto the empty stage. The quiet in the amphitheater was so vast, it nearly bowled him over.
The hours before concerts were always calm, but there was still a snap of anticipation in the air. Sound checks, warm-ups, employees stocking the bar or checking lighting rigs. It was all working toward something, all the labor in exchange for the loud, pulsing pay-off of a gig.
But this … this was the sigh of sleep. The amphitheater was empty and still. The stepped concrete bowl in front of the stage gave way to a grassy hill, and beyond that, the forests. Jax could hear the crickets in the trees, the night birds singing mournfully. It reminded him of summer nights in Montana, a place he’d done his best to rid himself of in the last couple years since leaving the state. Montana held too many memories of his father, of what he did ….
Jax shook his head hard. He didn’t want to ever think about Errol Hart again, if he could help it. But Tiff … he wanted to think about her all damn day. He wanted to build new memories to overlay the dreams of her that had consumed nearly all his adult life.
And right now, a lot of those memories he hoped to make would feature more than a little nakedness. Just the thought of it got his dick nearly hard again. His need for her thrummed through his body. Those women back there, they’d just primed him for the real show. They were the opening act. They were nothing compared to what Tiff could be, he felt that certainty all the way down to his core. She lit up inside him like a constellation, spinning and burning.
His need for her was building inside of him, threatening to break out. It collided with another need, one knit into his bones from birth. His bear. He could feel it growl inside of him, beg to be free. And Jax wasn’t about to say no—not anymore. The growl of his bear roared up his throat and past his teeth and lips.
This was dangerous, transforming where he could be seen. The Hart family had led the Western Clans for more than a century, they practically wrote the laws governing shifters and who could see a human shift to his animal form. But ever since his father’s tyranny, the other clans had put the behavior of the Harts under a microscope. Yet Jax couldn’t stop the change right now, and he didn’t want to. He wanted to stretch his legs and run until his heart burned. And then he’d find Tiff.
Jax dropped heavily into all fours, massive paws where his hands had been. Transforming used to hurt, back when he was little. And after his father’s crimes, his human and bear side had sat uneasily against each other. Now, it felt like coming alive in a new way. His claws clicked on the stage floor, leaving gouge marks in the wood.
Jax swung his shaggy brown head side to side, trying to make sure he was truly alone. Then he loped off the stage, bounding down from the raised lip and landing on one of the concrete benches. He was giant, but quick—though not nearly as fast as Bret—and he leaped up the risers and onto the hillside. There was a high metal fence all along the perimeter, but Jax backed up, snuffed in a few giant breaths, and ran full out for the fence. Right before he hit it, he bunched up his powerful back legs and surged upward. His back legs kicked off the metal bars, and he vaulted over the fence.
Freedom. These woods were thick and dark and wonderful. The birds had gone silent, the crickets too. There was a predator in the forest—him. It made the animal in him roar. Jax stretched his muscular legs and took off through the forest.
Transforming gave him clarity, made everything simpler to digest. It was all so clear now. Tiff was his mate, he knew that. But she didn’t have any clue. He’d have to woo her, prove that he wanted her and only her. It was so simple, so easy to see what to do now.
Except …. Jax tumbled to a stop, his paws scrambling in the thick undergrowth as reality hit him. Except he was a touring musician. The Firefly Festival lasted only three days, then they were on to Madison, then the final shows in Chicago. That meant he only had two more days to prove to his mate, the key to his lock, that she should be with him. Hell, that she should possibly change the course of her life for him.
So maybe not that simple. Jax growled and pawed at the dirt. This wouldn’t be easy, but the other option … of leaving this place without sharing his bed and heart with his mate, that seemed impossible. It hollowed him out inside just to think of it.
He’d have to do this right, and do it quick. And that meant finding Tiff. Like now. Jax loped into a run and was soon tearing through the woods again alongside a darkened trail. He still hadn’t come up with a way to find Tiff when a scream pierced the night air. Jax crashed to a stop, one big paw tearing a sapling out of the ground by its roots, and rumbled around.
Tiff stood stock still in the middle of the trail, a cell phone held up as her only light. She dropped the phone, her face gone ashen and her dark eyes popped wide with fear.
She was staring right at him when she
screamed again.
Chapter Four
Tiff
TIFF’S BACK HIT A TREE. She jumped and shrieked again. Her heart was in her throat, pumping so hard she could barely breathe around it.
Holy jeez. That probably made the beast more enticed by her. Could bears hear blood? Did it sound like a dinner bell?
“I know how to fight!” Tiff’s voice quivered, but she forced it into a shout. Even as she said it, she knew she sounded ridiculous. How would a bear understand her? And honestly, no one—not even a bear—would look at Tiff and believe she knew how to fight. Tiff pulled her fists up in front of her face for good measure to intimidate the bear.
A bear! What the heck was a bear doing here? Up at the cabin, sure. They got black bears every once in a while. There had even been a black panther once, or that’s the story her grandfather told her. He was always telling tall tales though.
But this thing was entirely real, and it was no black bear. The monster was giant, like those Alaskan Kodiak bears she’d always dreamed of photographing. From a distance, and with protection. Not in the middle of the night in the woods wearing beer-soaked sandals and with only an old, dull precision knife in her bag. Tiff groaned. She’d dropped the bag and her cell phone half a dozen yards back up the trail … closer to the bear.
That was it. She was toast. They’d only ever find her blood-spattered tunic. Maybe she should have let herself grab Jax by those gorgeous arms and kiss him. Instead, the only action she was seeing tonight was a mauling by a bear. Just her luck.
The bear shuffled closer, and Tiff yelped again. She hunched up her shoulders and stretched up to her tiptoes, waving her arms over her head. She’d read somewhere to make yourself look bigger if you happened to be attacked by a bear, so maybe this would scare the thing off? Tiff let out a rueful bark of laughter. It was the one time in her life she’d ever wished to be bigger.
But maybe it was working! The bear didn’t charge or growl, it just sort of watched her. Tiff dropped her arms and cocked her head. She kind of wished she had her camera with her. The bear dropped its giant head and snuffled at the ground with its snout, then peeked up at Tiff.
“Hi,” Tiff said. She waved for reasons unknown.
The bear huffed, its great big mouth blowing up a plume of dust from the trail. Did that bear just … laugh at her? Was this a circus bear? Tiff’s heart still thrummed wildly against her chest, and her muscles were all clenched so hard she was nearly shaking. But she was also intrigued.
Tiff held out a trembling hand. The bear took a tentative step closer, then another. Then it was so close Tiff could see the pearly moonlight shining down on its thick pelt of fur. Tiff had the oddest sensation—she wanted to hug the bear. Or maybe just pet it. Her hand was still extended, if she just ….
The bear closed the distance and nuzzled into her palm. Tiff yanked her fingers back and yelped again, but the bear just sighed. Sighed! It sounded nearly human, like the stories her grandfather had spun around the campfire in her youth, about men who wore the skins of animals, who shifted their forms. But that was ridiculous. Those were old stories from her grandfather’s grandfather, not reality.
“You know,” she whispered to the bear. “My grandfather raised a coyote pup when he was young and living in the Northwoods. He says the pup recognized him as a native, as belonging to the wild just like it.”
Tiff had always felt more of her father’s Swedish heritage than her mother’s Ojibwa, but this encounter felt like something out of her grandfather’s stories. Here was a bear, nuzzling her hand. Its breath tickled her palm. She nearly giggled.
This was ridiculous! Why would a bear …?
Rabies. Oh jeez, this bear most likely had rabies. That’s why it was being nice. There had been a rabid raccoon wandering outside her dorm sophomore year of college. The dorm janitor had to corral it until animal control showed up.
Tiff pulled her hand back fully, but the bear looked up at her with disappointment. No, not disappointment, Tiff scolded herself. A bear didn’t have human emotions. Still, she felt a twinge of regret for hurting the bear’s feelings.
“I’ve got to get home,” she explained.
The bear cocked its head.
“So you need to, um, leave now,” Tiff said.
The bear backed up a few steps and ambled off the trail. Tiff skirted past it, not daring to turn her back. She shuffled her feet along the ground, feeling for her bag and phone, then scooped them up, still keeping her eyes on the bear. It sat on its haunches and simply watched her. Tiff gathered her courage, then turned her back to the bear and walked away.
Or rather, scampered. She didn’t quite run, but she wasn’t out for an evening stroll either. Her house was less than half a mile away through the woods, yet the entire way Tiff felt a presence behind her. She couldn’t see it when she glanced behind her shoulder, but she felt it. Him. The bear. But oddly, it didn’t feel like she was being stalked, more like it was making sure she got safely home.
Tiff slipped through the wooden gate and into her back yard, heaving out a giant sigh of relief. She skipped the creaky back step and crept through the screened-in porch and into her kitchen. The house she shared with her dad and older brother was an old Victorian, but Tiff knew all the protesting steps and sticking doors. She was careful not to wake her family as she slipped up the stairs and into her room.
It wasn’t until she was lying in bed alone with her thoughts that her heart settled and her breath softened. What a peculiar night. First a run-in with a rockstar, then a cuddle with a bear. Her last thoughts before drifting off to sleep were that she really wouldn’t mind seeing either of them again.
Chapter Five
Jax
CHASE SLUMPED IN THE BOOTH next to Jax. He wore dark sunglasses and still had a smudge of red lipstick smeared on his neck. They were eating breakfast at the diner, waiting for Derek to show up with an update on the schedule.
Jax sipped his strong, black coffee and nudged his brother. “You awake?”
Chase groaned in response.
Bret threw a sugar packet at him. “Chase hasn’t yet learned the word ‘moderation.’”
“I have learned the words ‘fuck off,’” Chase growled.
Bret opened his mouth to keep needling Chase—he was always eager to start an argument—but Jax spoke over him.
“Instead of making Chase murder you, how about we work on lyrics.” Jax raised an eyebrow at his brother. He and Bret wrote all the music and lyrics for Wild Harts together, yet they’d still not started on the follow-up record to their debut album. The label was already poking around for it. Nothing in Jax wanted to work on writing new music right then. Hell, he could barely concentrate on eating. His muscles twitched, urging him to leave this diner and go back to Tiff’s. He glanced at his watch. It was only eight in the morning. He’d give it another half-hour. He could do that, wait a half-hour to see Tiff again. His muscles jerked and his skin prickled. Okay, how about twenty minutes. He’d give it twenty more minutes. Surely he could get Bret to write a stanza or two in that time?
“Yeah, yeah,” Bret said, dismissively. “This afternoon after I’ve woken up. We can jam for a bit before warm-up.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Chase groaned again. He dropped his forehead into his hands. “We have to play again tonight.”
Drew cleared his throat and pushed a fresh cup of coffee toward Chase. Drew, Jax’s oldest brother and the bassist, seemed to be the walking definition of moderation. He barely ever drank to excess, preferred exercising and reading to all-night ragers, and—as far as Jax knew—hadn’t slept with a woman since his ex-fiancé broke his heart. The other brothers gave him shit about being the responsible Hart—a gossip site had nicknamed him Dreary Drew—but they all shut up when he spoke.
“We have to talk about the call from Mac last night,” Drew said.
Jax leaned back in the booth and pushed a fork across his plate of sausage and eggs. He would rather think about the follow-up album than c
lan business.
“Come on, Drew,” Chase said. “I am not nearly sober enough to talk about our bastard father.”
Drew sighed patiently. He leaned forward onto his arms and glanced around the busy diner before continuing. “Two sentries saw him at the clan boundaries the night before last. In the neutral zone near the Southern Clans, who have their own problems. We have got to deal with this.”
North America was divided into three territories: west, east, and south, with hundred-mile neutral zones in between. The Western Clans spanned a massive territory from the Arctic Circle south to the Arizona deserts, and from the Pacific Ocean to just west of the Mississippi.
“I thought getting the hell out of there was how we were dealing with it,” Jax said, unable to keep the sharpness out of his voice. Drew and Chase and even Bret seemed to have decent memories of their father. Memories from when they were young, from before Errol had taken up the mantle of clan leader, before the power twisted him. But not Jax. He was the youngest, and his memories of Errol Hart were of fear and misery. The man was a tyrant and seemed to get joy from making his sons’ lives hell.
Anger churned in the pit of Jax’s stomach. No wonder his mother had abandoned them. He would have too.
Chase pulled his sunglasses off his face with a grumble. “What did Uncle Mac say, exactly? Did he cross the boundaries or was he just near them? Errol knows the judgment. He still has the right to live in the wild. As long as he didn’t—”
“The minute our wonderful father started killing his own kind, he lost any rights,” Bret snarled.
Drew wrapped his hands around the ceramic coffee mug, making it scrape across the gold-flecked Formica table as he turned it in a slow circle. The sound raked against Jax’s ears and made his anger curdle.
“Mac is looking into it,” Drew said. “But he’s only the regent until one of us chooses to go back and take up the clan helm. There are twenty clans pledging fealty to the Harts, and only we have the authority to deal with the Eastern and Southern clans.”
