by Fel Fern
Wounded Hearts 3
Grover
A blind war vet and jaguar shifter who’s barely getting by, Grover tries to adapt to living a normal life. While walking his guide dog, he accidentally bumps into tabby cat shifter Eric, who tries to steal his wallet. His jaguar tells him Eric is his mate, but Grover believes a broken shifter like him isn’t worthy of a mate.
Eric steals to survive and provide for his brother, his only family. Crossing paths with a blind but dangerous dominant jaguar shifter was never on the agenda, but he can’t ignore what his heart wants. His inner cat knows Grover is the one man he’d been waiting for his whole life, his mate.
However, to belong to Grover and give their fragile relationship a chance to bloom, Eric must leave his old life of thievery behind. When wounded hearts are on the line, Grover proves he’s willing to do whatever it takes to claim his mate.
Genre: Alternative (M/M, Gay), Contemporary, Paranormal, Shape-shifter
Length: 26,118 words
GROVER
Wounded Hearts 3
Fel Fern

Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
GROVER
Copyright © 2017 by Fel Fern
ISBN: 978-1-64010-455-6
First Publication: July 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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PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
DEDICATION
To my readers, I hope you enjoy Eric and Grover’s story as much as I loved writing it.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Felicia Fern works as a graphic designer during the day, and loves penning M/M paranormal erotic romance at night.
A sadist who loves watching her heroes break their backs trying to earn their happy endings, Fel likes throwing in the occasional dash of the unknown to the usual romantic concoction.
For all titles by Fel Fern, please visit
www.bookstrand.com/fel-fern
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
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Landmarks
Cover
GROVER
Wounded Hearts 3
FEL FERN
Copyright © 2017
Prologue
One year ago
“Grover, do you need a ride back home?” asked Abram, his commander.
Grover couldn’t see his commander, thanks to the bombing incident, but his supernatural hearing and sense of smell had grown sharper. Someone paced restlessly back and forth near him. Dusty, youngest of their unit and the closest to losing control of his inner leopard. This close, Grover could sense Dusty’s angry beast, caged up and eager to get loose.
The others didn’t fare better. Mike, who sat beside him on the benches, didn’t say a thing after snarling at him to leave a space between them. Testy tiger. Even Abram, their leader, had trouble holding onto his lion.
All of them might have survived when enemy planes dropped bombs laced with silver nitrate where they were camped out in the desert, but none of them had come back right. Abram lost an arm, Mike, a leg, Dusty, his hearing, and Grover, his eyes.
Wayne, the weakest shifter in their unit hadn’t made it, but that might have been a blessing. Broken shifters were dangerous and if their predatory animals slipped off their leashes—Grover refused to think about the worst.
He shifted his sunglasses higher on his face and turned his head to the commander’s voice, realizing Abram waited for his reply, except he couldn’t keep calling Abram that either. Abram was no longer his senior officer and none of them were soldiers. Honorably discharged were polite terms for no longer useful.
“I’m fine. Someone will pick me up,” he answered.
Would Lyle though? Grover was uncertain. Unlike Mike, he never advertised having a relationship. Only Abram knew. Long-distance relationships didn’t work for shifters who required touch on a regular basis. Still, Grover remained faithful, despite all the shouting matches he and Lyle had had during their long-distance conversations.
Someone had sent word to Lyle after his operation and recuperation. Abram said Lyle had sent him a get-well text. After that, nothing. Grover had asked Abram to help him text Lyle about their arrival back on U.S. soil a week ago. Although he’d told Abram to send Lyle driving instructions to the airbase, there’d still been no response.
Other noises preoccupied his mind now—feet rushing, duffel bags cluttering on the ground…gasps, tears, and accusations. Somewhere nearby, a woman sobbed in relief. Further, he heard a man welcoming his son home.
Since Grover had been thrust into a world of permanent darkness, he’d started visualizing how people looked in his head.
“I want to get the hell out of here,” Dusty muttered.
Grover understood the sentiment. None of them had families or friends to speak of. Grover had been a kid of the foster system, so had Mike. Dusty and Abram had disinterested families. They had each other and it had been enough. Being part of a special ops supernatural unit set them apart from others. Average human soldiers avoided them like a plague. But what was that black reputation worth now?
Nothing. They’d all been top at their game, honed killers, but now, what were they?
Emptiness settled inside Grover, but a tiny flicker of hope remained. Lyle would come. It didn’t matter they had a joke of a relationship. Grover just needed to hear the voice of someone who’d once cared for him, claimed to have loved him although it had all been acting. Lyle was human and liked telling his friends he had some hot shifter boyfriend in the army.
Grover stayed in the toxic relationship because he clung to an idealized future with Lyle to keep sane. Back in the desert, in hostile territory, there was no room for second-guessing or mercy. Ruthlessness and practical decisions ensured one’s survival, but it also meant cutting pieces of his soul. Even now, soldiers they’d worked with stayed clear of their little group out of fear.
“Abram, you have his answer. Let’s go. My tiger’s on edge,” Mike said. Grover felt a hand on his shoulder a second later. Mike’s scent. If a stranger touched him by accident, he’d show teeth, then bite, but his jaguar considered Mike more than a friend—a brother, even though they weren’t re
lated by blood. “See you around, Grove.”
“Yeah.”
They all made the unanimous decision to stay in the same town, Abram’s hometown of Cherry Hill. Before the army, he’d lived with his foster parents, but he didn’t think of that place as home. Mike and Dusty were, likewise, nomads. At least staying in one place, they could keep tabs on each other. They counted on each other to do the inevitable if their animals turned feral.
“Take care, bud,” Dusty said, and Grover nodded.
Abram said nothing, which was fine. The big lion could say a lot of things with silence. Once they left, he leaned against the wall and kicked the duffel containing all his belongings between his legs. Seconds ticked off to hours. The sounds of soldiers reuniting with their loved ones faded away.
Lyle wasn’t coming.
It felt like someone had emptied an entire clip of bullets into his chest.
Grover stuck a hand through the pocket of his army pants and fingered his phone, hoping, perhaps, he’d missed it vibrate. He swiped the surface. No voicemail either.
What exactly had he been hoping for?
His mind kept returning to their last angry phone call. He was supposed to have gone home. All of them were. Two years was a long time and all he’d wanted was to spend a relaxing day with Lyle. Perhaps they could go on a date, have lunch, and watch a movie after, or cuddle on the couch on a rainy Saturday afternoon. Things he’d used to take for granted, but sounded like heaven at that moment.
“Son, you waiting for someone?” asked a gruff voice. Another soldier, human by the smell of him, but at least he wasn’t afraid of going near him. Since this human called him son, he assumed the guy was older.
“No, I’m fine.” Grover didn’t need eyes to hear the unmistakable pity in the other man’s voice. He grabbed the walking stick sitting by his side and rose to his feet. Grover felt the brush of a hand near his duffel but he snarled, not needing help. The human wisely didn’t try again. “What about you?”
“My wife died when I was on duty,” the guy said. “This way to the exit.”
Grover had a mind to correct the human that he could find his way on his own. The feel of the wind came from that direction. Beyond that, the parking lot, but he kept his mouth shut. The guy probably thought he was doing a good deed.
“No other family or friends?”
“Nope. All we had was each other.” The soldier spoke noncommittally, but Grover knew when someone tried too hard to hide his pain.
It didn’t matter. Grover didn’t know how to provide comfort to another. All he’d ever been good at was tracking his targets and silencing them forever with his rifle. A taker of lives didn’t deserve to start enjoying life.
“Nope.”
At least the older soldier wasn’t a talker. Night air hit his face. It should have made Grover feel better, being in the outdoors. His jaguar didn’t like confined spaces much, except the awful feeling in his chest constricted. Grover flared his nostrils, catching a familiar scent in the air.
He sighed, hearing footsteps approach them.
“Why the fuck did you come back?” he asked Abram.
“I’ve got nothing better to do. Who’s this?”
“Someone who lingered far too long on the base,” the human soldier replied.
“What the heck. Want a ride, too?”
“I appreciate it.”
Grover got in the back of Abram’s car. None of them spoke the rest of the ride, but it was fine with all of them.
Chapter One
“How about this one? He’s an adorable-looking Golden Retriever,” Mike was saying.
Grover’s stick bumped against something metallic, a cage maybe. A happy yip followed. Most of the time, domestic animals stayed clear from shifters, even broken ones, but this particular pup seemed to have zero sense. Jesus Christ. The last thing Grover needed was a pet when he could barely take care of himself.
“This is Pancake. He’s just completed his twelve-month mandatory guide dog training and you’ll need to train together with him for two weeks,” said Eric Griff, a volunteer at the Seeing Eye Dog center for vets.
Grover barely paid attention. He silently seethed, still unable to believe Mike had dragged him to this place under the pretense of getting lunch and a beer. Grover might have a lot of time on his hands, but Mike had a mate to care for now, didn’t he? The tiger shifter ought to just mind his own damn business.
“Mike, can we talk in private?” he managed to grit out.
Grover could sense his jaguar, moving inside him, restless, angry. Being reminded of his disability made the animal testy. Wouldn’t be hard to see who was more dominant here, Mike or him? But clawing at Mike wasn’t something he wanted to do. Mike was a friend, but during his worst days, when his animal took over, he had trouble differentiating friend from foe.
They exited the center and he turned on Mike. “Why the fuck did you bring me here, Mike?”
“Chill and let me explain.”
“I’m fine. I can do my daily errands and walk around town on my own without a guide dog.”
“You need a companion, Grove, and Pancake will change your life.”
“Jesus, do you hear yourself? You sound like the guy from the adopt-a-dog commercial.”
“Pancake will make your life a lot easier.”
“Oh yeah, what can a puppy do that I can’t? Why does it have to be a goddamn puppy?”
“I don't know, increase your appeal factor maybe? Didn’t you listen to the audiobook on guide dogs I sent you?” Mike demanded.
Grover hadn’t. He thought Mike was being funny, that it was some kind of lame joke, but apparently Mike had been serious by dragging him here.
“Guide dogs are trained from birth. They aren’t like normal pets. Plus, with Pancake around, you’d have a better chance snagging some unsuspecting cutie pie.”
“What the fuck?”
Mike wasn’t listening, but continued, “This cute guy will think, ‘oh, check out that hot blind dude. He’s kind of scary-looking with those tats and muscles, but since he has a cute puppy, he should be okay.’”
Grover couldn’t believe Mike’s sudden overhaul of emotions after he’d mated Bowen. True, the lynx shifter was upbeat most of the time, but he wasn’t sure if he liked this new Mike. Where was the depressed, growly Mike he’d grown to know? They were supposed to be depressed and angry chumps together.
Well, no. Mike deserved to be happy, so did Abram, but fuck. Those two should rub their happiness off on someone else, certainly not him or Dusty. Abram and Mike might have been lucky enough to find their mates, but it wouldn’t be the same for him. Would having a guide dog really increase his chances of meeting someone? Besides, after Peter started droning on the benefits of a guide dog, he really started to wonder if Pancake would make his life easier.
Grover was sick of bumping into people by accident, of tuning into his shifter senses all the time. Even going out wore him out, so unless he was meeting one of his brothers, he preferred to stay indoors. He even managed to find a job working at home as a customer service call representative for a company specializing in military apparel.
Sometimes though, it was incredibly lonely, isolating. Grover knew he couldn’t live like that forever. A voice, a touch, or even a dog licking at his hand might be a welcome change. Part of him started hoping that Abram and Mike finding mates might not be a fluke, but that was hoping too much.
A year ago, when he’d waited at the base for Lyle, he’d learned a valuable lesson. Hope could kill. It was lethal. The first few days into his new life as a civilian weren’t easy. Grover woke up screaming from nightmares and the new apartment he’d rented felt alien to him.
“See? You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? Pancake is the cutest little thing. Not quite like Brownie, but you know, it’s a puppy. Everyone likes puppies.”
Brownie was Mike’s German Shepard and an ex-police dog. Both Mike and Bowen spoiled that dog too much in his opinion.
> “I’d need two weeks to train with the dog,” he pointed out.
“Pancake,” Mike corrected.
He snorted. “Pancake is a ridiculous name. I’ll call him something else, like King.”
Mike laughed. “Dude, how is that better? Anyway, let’s head back in. Peter might be wondering what’s keeping us.”
“Fine, but you still owe me lunch and that beer.”
They re-entered the center with Grover following the sound of Mike’s footsteps. His therapist suggested he should try out something new, a hobby or a change in routine. Maybe today wasn’t a waste after all.
* * * *
Eric Lane nervously shifted from one foot to the next, eying his prospective victims. Not victims, he corrected himself, but volunteers who happened to lose their wallets. It was easier to think of them that way, easier not to think too much about the families they had, whether Eric was taking money which should be going to feed their kids.
Realizing his legs were shaking, he calmed down and pretended to be engrossed in his book. One glance and people usually didn’t associate him with the label of thief. He dressed and looked like any normal college kid, dressed in jeans, a shirt, a denim jacket, and a battered backpack by his side. The pack contained books, too, the necessary props.
Lunchtime proved to be most profitable. Plenty of suits walked along the park for a shortcut or to eat. With his younger brother, Evan, falling sick with a cold a day ago, he needed to fill both of their quotas or else they’d get it worse from Jackal.
He shuddered, recalling the last time a thief failed to turn in their weekly quota and ran. Jackal had shifted to his animal form and hunted the traitor down with his other enforcers, leaving nothing but bloody ruin behind.
