by Fel Fern
Eric was twenty-one now, completely legal. He could choose to take Evan and move to the next town, but Jackal valued his and Evan’s ability to turn into a tabby cat too much. Among their ragtag group of humans and abandoned shifters, only Evan and he were small enough to get to places no one else could. Besides, Eric owed Jackal.
He couldn’t turn his back on the one guy who’d provided him and his brother a home when no one else wanted them, when the authorities wanted to separate Evan and him to different foster homes. Jackal had become greedy over the years though, unstable, and Eric didn’t like the way Jackal had started looking at him—different, strange. His stomach coiled with unease…or maybe it was hunger.
Eric shook his head. Time to get his head out of the past and focus on his job. Rent at Sanctuary was determined by its residents being able to meet their monthly quota. Besides, he had nowhere else to go and Jackal always told him tales about weaker shifters without protectors. All of those horror stories ended badly.
He eyed two office women by the nearest line of benches. They hadn’t stopped chatting since they’d arrived and had carelessly left their purses on the side of the bench. The trashcan was near them, too. Eric could easily slip up to them once their packed lunches were finished, pretend to throw his empty water bottle in the trash, and make a quick grab for those purses and disappear in the nearest line of bushes.
Eric grabbed his backpack, seeing them closing their lunchboxes. He walked over to them, not seeing a furry head bump into his leg. He turned his head, glimpsed a dog, and cursed under his breath.
“Hey, watch it!” That precious second of distraction cost him. Annoyance got the better of him as the two women threw away their trash and walked away, purses tucked under their armpits.
“Shit! Can’t you watch where you’re going?” he blurted.
The dog yipped at him. Feeling reckless, he closed in and slipped a hand through the dog owner’s jacket. Served the asshole right, because he needed those purses. If he couldn’t pay the quota for Evan and himself—
The guy snarled, and his inner tabby cat sensed something enormous with teeth and claws from the stranger. His heart raced. A dominant shifter, the one group of people on the steal list all thieves avoided, but his fingers closed on a wallet. He pulled and broke into a run, but his sneakered feet got tangled up in something hard, some kind of metal stick.
He tripped, falling face-first into the floor, tasting concrete. The stranger’s dog was barking.
“Give me back my wallet, thief.” The words were more a growl than human ones.
“Okay, okay, but keep your violent animal away from me,” he uttered, throwing his hands up, one still clutching a battered leather wallet.
Oh hell, it didn’t even scream expensive and he bet there were only a few bills in there.
In his haste and anger, Eric had broken basic rules. He hadn’t studied his potential target carefully, or assessed the situation. He turned, dreading to see what kind of mess he’d fallen into.
Chapter Two
When facing a dangerous shifter, the best solution is to run the fuck out of there and pray the fucker doesn’t catch you. Jackal’s words of wisdom echoed in his head.
Fear rooted inside of him. He raised his head and gulped. The guy he’d bumped into was massive, at least six-foot-plus and made entirely of muscle. Hell, the stranger had arms that could crush his skull without much effort.
Despite the awkward situation, some part of Eric couldn’t help checking the guy out. Man, he was seriously buffed. Eric could tell even from underneath the man’s old army jacket and white shirt. The shifter had black hair, cut military short, and nicely tanned skin. Hints of black ink peered from under the stranger’s shirt. His eye color, Eric couldn’t tell because they were hidden under a pair of dark sunglasses.
He squinted, part of him slightly alarmed the shifter hadn’t spoken again yet, and flared his nostrils again. Eric let out a breath, seeing thick white lines where the guy’s eyes should have been. Something clicked into place. Eric looked lower, saw what he’d tripped over was, in fact, some kind of walking stick, and the dog who’d bumped into him wore some kind of special harness. A seeing-eye dog, he realized, and the Golden Retriever was a little more than a puppy.
Jesus. He felt like a jerk.
Anger and fear were replaced by guilt. He knew other thieves didn’t care if their targets were disabled but he did. Some called it weakness, but he didn’t care. It was only right they didn’t target individuals like these, who had a hard time fitting into the world—like Eric and his brother—except this guy wasn’t exactly helpless.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, rising back to his feet. “I didn’t notice, didn’t—”
Eric was stuttering, which was unlike him.
“You mean you didn’t mean to steal my wallet?” Same hard, gravel voice, but he definitely heard mild amusement there.
The stranger extended one large, callused hand, still holding the dog’s leash. Before he returned the wallet, he flipped it as quietly as he could, reading the driver’s license. Grover Crane, age 27, which meant this badass man-candy was only six years older than him. His inner tabby, instead of urging him to flee from the other predator, turned curious. His tabby confirmed Grover had some kind of predatory cat in him. Jaguar, his cat whispered.
My, Mr. Jaguar, what big teeth you have.
Shit. He shouldn’t think in those terms, shouldn’t be attracted to a complete stranger who could easily crush him. It didn’t matter Grover couldn’t see, because Grover was built like a weapon.
Something else poked out from one of the flaps. He took it out and saw a worn military dog tag. So, Grover was a vet? That explained the muscles and that scarring over Grover’s eyes. Well, he could assume. Cats were curious by nature and his inner tabby wanted to find out more, but he silenced that urge.
Grover could report him to the police, and getting arrested was a huge no-no. The cops had been looking for Jackal and his crew for years but always came up with nothing.
“Done snooping?”
“How did you know I was snooping?” he demanded, tucking the dog tag back in and surrendering the wallet. Grover tucked the wallet back inside his jacket.
“I might be blind, but I can hear better.”
This was his chance to run. It was best he disappeared and besides, Grover couldn’t exactly tell the cops what he looked like, could he? Before he could break into a sprint that same big hand closed around his wrist. His pulse leapt and he swallowed, aware of how hot Grover’s hand was, how huge it was compared to his slender one. One motion could crush all the bones in his hands, and as a thief, they were his primary asset.
Grover moved faster than he anticipated for such a big man, which confirmed his suspicion about the jaguar shifter being deadly.
“Please,” he whispered. “Let me go.”
Grover frowned. “I have no intention of hurting you. There’s no need to be scared of a blind guy, right?”
He laughed. “You expect me to believe you’re harmless?”
Grover tilted his head and without warning, pulled him close. Every muscle in his body froze as Grover nosed his way up his neck, sniffing him. Strangely, his cat let the bigger feline predator explore, not bothering to push away. What the hell was wrong with his cat, with him that he was getting aroused?
“You smell so fucking good, little cat. What’s your name?”
“Eric Lane.” Shit. Why did he do that? Lying came naturally to Eric. He never gave out his real name to strangers. “And you’re Grover, right?”
“Curious little thing, aren’t you?”
The temperature seemed to turn warmer and for a moment, Eric forgot where he was and what he should be doing. Eric stood close enough that his back brushed against Grover’s chest, and it was like solid brick. He wondered if he could make the jaguar purr if he rubbed up against all that muscled goodness. He swallowed. This wasn’t good.
Eric never bothered with re
lationships because Jackal discouraged all his crew from forming bonds outside of Sanctuary. They were family. All they had were each other because the rest of the world had rejected them one way or another. It took a couple of years for Eric to figure out those words had been propaganda, a means for Jackal to ensure the loyalty of his crew members. Now though, he wondered what it would be like, to have someone like Grover for a mate.
Would the jaguar be overprotective, possessive?
Something was wrong with Eric because in Jackal’s tales, all the dumb, weak shifters who fell prey to the bigger predators never came out sane or alive. Grover could be hiding his true self under a mask, but his cat didn’t think so and he trusted his inner tabby without question. Aside from Evan and his animal, there was no one else Eric trusted.
“Kiss me.” Eric didn’t know if he was having a sunstroke, didn’t know why he uttered those words to a complete stranger either, but Grover didn’t seem to find it odd.
The jaguar shifter leaned down and suddenly those lips slammed against his own, full of heat and hunger. Eric couldn’t help but respond, lifting one hand and dragging it up Grover’s chest to rest on Grover’s left pectoral. Oh yummy. Would the jaguar let Eric pet him if Eric was good?
Grover prodded his tongue against his lips and he opened up, letting Grover deepen the kiss. He sucked down hard, wanting more. More kisses. More touches. Maybe, they might even find themselves naked and—no. He had a quota to reach and was wasting prime time kissing a stranger capable of making it hard to breathe and his pulse race.
This dominant jaguar shifter was bad news, lethal, and yet Eric never once considered the thought of fleeing.
Thank God Grover withdrew from the kiss first, looking as stunned as he.
Then a wet tongue licked at his left hand, breaking the silence between them. The Golden Retriever wagged its tail at Eric.
“This is Pancake,” Grover said.
Eric blinked, took a hesitant step back, and another until he could think again. “You named your dog after a breakfast food?”
Grover grunted. “I wanted to call him King, but Pancake is all he responds to.”
“I need to go. Sorry about earlier.” Eric’s mouth was working again, thank God.
“You’re sorry you robbed the wrong person, or sorry for the kiss?”
God. How could this handsome bastard be so cocky? Better than pissed, he supposed. Most dominant shifters didn’t take shit from a weaker one.
“For both,” he said, although he sounded hesitant.
“Liar.”
“I have a job to do and you’re in the way, a beautiful distraction, but distraction either way.”
Those lips Eric knew first-hand was capable of rough, all-consuming kisses, curved into a small smile, and he was certain a man like Grover didn’t smile often. “Did you just call me a beautiful distraction? What do you mean by job, this extra-curricular activity isn’t a side gig?”
Polite way to call stealing, but he appreciated the effort Grover made to not tattle on him. “What are you, the police?”
“No, but what if you bumped into someone you couldn’t take on?”
Eric let out a frustrated sound and rolled his eyes. “Are you playing older brother now, after you kissed me like that?”
“As I recall, you enjoyed the kiss.”
“You’re blind.” Okay, pretty rude comment, but he had to cut this conversation short. Sometimes, Jackal’s enforcers made a circuit of town, checking all their assets. That was what Jackal called his crew when he thought they weren’t listening, but tabby cats had excellent hearing.
“I can smell your need. You leaned into me, responded to my kiss with equal hunger.”
He blushed. “You’re perspective.”
“I’m trained to notice the little details. Want to get coffee?”
Eric was too stunned for words. “Dude, are you bad at reading the situation? I’m not interested.”
“You smell scared now. Sorry.” Then Grover tugged the leash and both jaguar shifter and Golden Retriever turned the opposite direction.
He bit his lip. His inner animal hissed at him, angry for sending away the big cat. In other circumstances, he would have been flattered a guy like Grover would ask him out, but the last thing Eric wanted was to drag a nice guy like Grover into his mess. If Jackal found out, he shook his head, refusing to think about that now. Eric should walk away, too, forget about Grover and find a new target.
Instead, he ran to Grover.
“Grover, wait,” he called out, reaching the entrance of the park. They stood at a crossing now and he noticed Pancake observing the road while Grover hung back, tilting his head toward his direction.
“Little cat, what now?”
Little cat. His insides warmed at the nickname. On Grover’s lips it didn’t sound condescending, but teasing, special.
“Give me your number. Please. Maybe we can meet some other day for coffee.” He fished out his phone and held his breath.
What was he doing? Eric shouldn’t be going off-script, asking another guy out as if he were normal, ordinary. Weak shifters like him who relied on assholes like Jackal for protection didn’t have time for flirting, but that kiss was an eye-opener, a glimpse into something he couldn’t name yet.
Grover seemed to consider that, then gave him his number.
“I’ll call you so mine will register on your phone, there. May I?” he asked.
Grover handed the phone over and he saved his name and number.
“Bye,” he whispered, seeing the stoplight changing to red and Pancake tugging on the leash.
“I’ll see you soon, little cat.”
Breathing hard, he watched Grover’s retreating back, wondering what the hell had gotten into him.
Chapter Three
“Grove, you listening to anything we’ve said over the past thirty minutes?” Mike asked.
Grover felt Pancake stir at his feet, but most of the time, the puppy was quiet, well-behaved. Maybe all service dogs were like that. He tried to recall where he was before his mind floated elsewhere, in particular, to yesterday afternoon and that strange incident at the park.
Ah, right. He and the guys were at their favorite bar, the Horny Raccoon. At first, the owner, a werewolf named Buster, had been reluctant to let him bring Pancake in, but after Dusty raised the issue of Buster discriminating against the disabled, Buster said nothing else. At least Pancake had caused no trouble yet.
He patted the table in front of him, found his glass of water, and lowered it for Pancake to drink. The dog was thirsty because he drank for a long time before letting out a whine to tell Grover he was done.
“Yeah, sure,” he lied.
“Thinking deep thoughts?” Dusty asked him, voice careful.
He snorted. “Nothing like that. I’m not suicidal, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“No one said that,” Abram pointed out.
“It’s the exact opposite. You’ve been smiling over the past five minutes and it’s creeping us all out,” Mike muttered, then Grover felt the tiger lean close, Mike’s body bumping the table. “Did you like, accidentally kill someone?”
Grover snorted, offended. “I met someone.”
“Wait. Seriously? Was it while on a walk with Pancake?” Mike asked eagerly. “Shit, dude. I told you it works.”
“What are you two talking about?” Dusty demanded.
“I’d like to know, too,” Abram muttered, clearly offended neither he nor Dusty had been part of that embarrassing conversation.
“If you must know, yeah. Pancake and I were walking through the park and he bumped into a guy.” He hesitated, then told them about Eric snatching his wallet.
“Aw hell, Grove. You fell for a thief?” Mike asked.
“There’s something about him, the way he talked about stealing like it was a job he didn’t like doing, but had to.”
He didn’t need eyes to know Abram probably shook his head, but it was Dusty who let o
ut a, “Hoo, boy.”
“Recently, there’s been a report about an increase of snatching incidents and robberies in town. They’re saying the thefts are planned, well-organized, and a group might be involved,” Mike said. “According to my buddy at the police station anyway.”
Grover turned to the sound of Mike’s voice. “Since when are you interested in town affairs?”
“Since we moved here and began calling it home. There might not be a dominant supernatural group in town, but lately, a couple of neighbors had been approaching me for help,” Abram replied, sounding grumpy. “A few old ladies even asked me to help their goddamn stranded cats down the tree.”
“Can’t you refuse?” Dusty asked.
Grover was glad Dusty was there today actually, because a month ago, Dusty accidentally provoked Abram into losing control of his lion, and Dusty, his leopard. He thought the incident would have caused a rift in their group, but somehow Mike had managed to convince Dusty to come back to their Wednesday night dinners. Dusty and Abram had finally made peace.
“No, because Kane thinks it’s cute,” Abram mumbled. “Can we go back to discussing Grove’s love life?”
“No,” Grove automatically said. “Besides, Eric was just being nice, probably felt guilty after realizing he’d robbed a blind guy.”
“As if you’re helpless,” Dusty pointed out unhelpfully. “You could have apprehended the thief without breaking a sweat. Why didn’t you?”
Grover had kissed the little cat instead, and didn’t regret it because Eric had begged for the kiss and Grover wasn’t one to refuse. He could taste the little cat on his lips, wanted so badly to drag Eric somewhere private and do more than kiss. Eric’s reaction told him the tabby cat shifter wouldn’t say no either, except Eric had pulled away after, as if he’d changed his mind.
He didn’t blame the tabby cat shifter. Eric sounded younger than him, certainly conflicted about his emotions, but underneath all that was fear. Not directed at Grover, but someone else. If Eric called to ask about that coffee date—and the chances were slim—he was going to start sniffing around and find out if Eric was involved in this group of thieves.
