A Man of Many Talons

by Vivienne Savage

  As a shifter, I couldn’t catch most bloodborne pathogens. The same wasn’t true for my two ladies, and I went above and beyond the call of duty when it came to protecting them.

  By the time I dragged my ass out of the shower a half hour later, the aroma of dinner wafted up to me. My wife had left fresh boxers, flannel pajama bottoms, and a T-shirt on the bed for me.

  I padded barefoot downstairs to find Sophia helping her in the kitchen, pouring brownie batter into a dish over a layer of chocolate chip cookies and Oreos. Diabetes in a pan if I didn’t die of sugar shock.

  What a way to go though. Some of my cousins up north had inherited avian intolerance to chocolate. I wasn’t one, thank God.

  I stepped over closer and placed a hand on Leigh’s back, the other on Sophia’s shoulder. “What’s that?”

  “Sophia found this recipe on Pinterest.”

  “Ah. That explains everything.” At least we weren’t eating soup and salad out of mason jars anymore.

  Leigh nudged my ribs with her elbow. Sometimes, I wondered if the woman could read my mind. “You two need any help in here?”

  “Nope! We’re going to make dinner and bring it to you, Daddy.”

  “Pizza?”

  A big, toothless smile split across my daughter’s face. She’d lost a couple recently. “Mushroom and sausage is your favorite.”

  “Fantastic.”

  Leigh grinned. “Go sit down with a beer in the living room. Spend some time with Moonfeather.”

  “All right.”

  I took a cold one from the fridge and settled in my recliner near the bird’s cage. It had taken a couple days for the little guy to open up and start to explore his surroundings. Which meant he was eager to learn the layout of the house and had already memorized the route to the kitchen and Sophia’s bedroom.

  When we picked him up from the breeder, I’d been adamant about not clipping his wings and worried they wouldn’t allow us to have him, because everyone had their own ideas about avian care.

  The part of me that enjoyed soaring in the skies couldn’t bear to rob Moonfeather of his flight. By the time I finished demonstrating my knowledge of feathered friends, the breeder relaxed and we were on our way.

  Seven grand well spent.

  A couple years had passed since Leigh’s dog, Petunia, had died while I was out of town on a mission handling a vampire uprising out in San Antonio. When I came home to their tearful faces and no mutt meeting me at the door, I knew what had happened.

  I hadn’t been there to comfort them.

  With me in the room to supervise him, Moonfeather flew from the cage to a handmade jungle gym Leigh had put together for him made from wreaths, PVC pipes, and lots of organic yarn. “Ian!” he cried before dangling from a toy by one foot.

  “Hello, Moonfeather.”

  He flapped his wings a few times then flew to my armchair. I stroked the top of his head and absently watched the news.

  “Ian, how do you feel about—oh my God, you’re on the TV!”

  I glanced over the back of the chair at Leigh. “Yeah. I told you. Big thing. We received information about a smuggling ring. Some trustees were sneaking out of a local prison to fetch goods stashed nearby. Took us a few weeks to set up the bust and catch everyone involved, including the dirty correctional officer letting them get away with it.”

  On the television, I was giving some rehearsed statement about the great collaborative effort between TDCJ and the Quickdraw County Sheriff’s Department, and how we’d taken seven men into custody. I looked old and tired, and I needed to visit Nirvana for Jada to touch up my roots. The white was showing again. Christ. I never thought I’d be that man worried about my appearance.

  “Well, I think you’ve earned an extra serving of dessert, mister.”

  I wouldn’t complain about that.

  Gram called a few minutes later to congratulate me. Though her vision had deteriorated too much to watch the interview, she’d heard my voice and never felt prouder of my accomplishments as sheriff.

  I wished she’d move in with us. Leigh was no longer my grandmother’s full-time aid, so I’d hired a live-in nurse to take care of her. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t convince the woman to move in with us. She said we needed our space. Even Leigh had tried, but Gram wouldn’t budge.

  After dinner, we put Moonfeather to bed together and covered his cage. When Sophia asked her mother for a bedtime story, I slipped away into my home office.

  A pile of communications waited for me there. I handled some government business, took a few late calls, answered inquiries from clients of MacArthur Security, then tilted my head back and closed my eyes. Just a few minutes of relaxing into the chair brought a wave of exhaustion crashing down onto me. Being a shifter meant I had stamina and endurance a normal man didn’t.

  But I wasn’t young and twenty anymore.

  Leigh’s sugar and vanilla scent reached me, and I knew she was standing in the doorway before she spoke. “Sophia is asleep. She passed out before I finished reading her book.”

  I cracked an eye open. “All that sugar for dessert, I expected her to be bouncing off the walls until midnight.” Dread smothered my short-lived smile. Sophia going to bed freed us to do the same, but loving my woman more than my own life didn’t change that scheduled sex had grown tedious. Instead of bounding into the bedroom, I’d started to dread the repetitive routine.

  What the hell was wrong with me? I reminded myself of how much I adored her and how there were men out in the world—shifter men especially—who would kill to have a bonded mate half as sexy and loving as the compassionate woman smiling at me.

  Even though that woman held a spoonful of nastiness. Ugh.

  Leigh had scoured the internet for old wives’ tales and rubbish like that to help us conceive. Her newest attempts involved us both taking spoonfuls of raw honey mixed with cinnamon throughout the day.

  Was it awful that I’d looked at my lunch time serving and skipped over it?

  She passed me the spoon. Like the supportive husband I promised to be, I swallowed it down and held back my grimace. Honey was for bears like Russ. I didn’t mind it normally, but the excessive cinnamon stayed with me long after I swallowed it.

  Leigh slipped into my lap and looped her arms around my neck. “Wanna make a baby?”

  “Uh.” I glanced at the clock. I’d promised to be back at the station bright and early. “I should probably get some rest, sweetheart. Big stuff went down and I need to go in early.”

  An impish grin dimpled her cheeks. “You’ll sleep better if I wear you out.”

  “Leigh…”

  “What?”

  “Maybe not tonight. Raincheck until tomorrow?”

  Her jawline tensed and her lips thinned, but she released me and stepped back. “Fine.”

  It took mountains of bullshit to piss Leigh off, but when it did happen, I’d rather face a hurricane. “Honey, I want to make a baby with you. I do. But I am exhausted and coming home covered in blood didn’t put me in a romantic mood.”

  “It doesn’t have to be romantic!”

  I flinched. Leigh glanced away and avoided making eye contact again during the awkward silence that fell between us, she and I both at a loss for words. The tone of her voice must have horrified her as much as it startled me.

  None of this shit was how I’d ever imagined our marriage. We both fell silent. Leigh glanced away while I reined in my mounting frustration. It helped to remind myself that she was putting a ton of pressure on herself. She was the one taking the pills. She was the one struggling with the side effects while I helplessly watched.

  Exhaling a heavy sigh, I leaned in and kissed her brow. She still wouldn’t look at me. “I’m going to bed. Coming?”

  “No. You go get some rest.”

  “Leigh—”

  “I need to clean the kitchen.” Her phony smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Go on, I’ll be with you later.”

  And because I knew better th
an to push her, I did exactly what she suggested.

  Leigh

  I wept over the dishes like a loser. My hormones were all over the place. Either my period would arrive in a week, or we’d soon discover I was pregnant. God, I prayed it was the latter. I’d do anything to give us a child of our own, but I didn’t know if I could endure another month of spontaneous fainting spells and nuclear-level hot flashes.

  I heard the water running upstairs and sighed. Ian was in the shower again. While the rest of our bills were typical, we had an outrageous water bill due to both our in-ground pool and Ian’s love for bath time and showers. I attributed it to being a bird shifter.

  And he’d once told me that when he was stressed and needed a way to relax, a shower usually did the trick.

  My self-centered behavior stressed my overworked husband out. I did that.

  Because I couldn’t fucking help myself, I went upstairs and set out Ian’s fresh uniform for the morning on the bureau. Part of me missed the days when Sophia was tiny enough for us to sleep naked in bed, but I wouldn’t trade what we had now for the world.

  For a few minutes, I leaned against the wall outside of the bathroom, knowing my presence would yet again be unwelcomed. Lately, he was barely there with me when we made love, above me, but mentally somewhere else.

  When the pounding rush of water against tiles ended, I fled the room. I couldn’t face him yet.

  I checked in on Sophia, then slipped downstairs to wipe down the counters and finish tidying the kitchen for the night. I sprayed the table, ran the Swiffer over the floor, and procrastinated until I thought Ian would fall asleep.

  “Leigh?”

  I kept my back to him. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  “It’s fine. They’re not hurt.”

  “You lie as bad as I do.”

  I sighed. “You have a good poker face when you need it.”

  “Maybe.” I heard him stepping nearer and anticipated the touch of his hand to my hip, the press of him against my back, all lean muscle and a strong chest. Despite my hopes of avoiding him, I melted against his body instead.

  Ian and I never went to bed angry. Ever. He might fly off for an afternoon or visit Russ for beers on the sofa, but before we fell asleep, we always talked out our problems. I sighed. This was my apology to make.

  “I shouldn’t have pressured you when you’re tired. I knew you had a big day, and it was really selfish of me.”

  “Selfish? Baby, I get it. I do. But you’re anything but selfish. You give even when you have nothing left for yourself. You look after this house and you take care of our child. When we have a friend in need, you’re the first one there. There’s a dozen things I could call you—selfish isn’t one of them.”

  My cheeks flushed with warmth. I twisted to face him and wrapped my arms around his neck, embracing him as tightly as he squeezed me.

  Ian’s magical hugs could cure anything. Anything but my broken ovaries.

  We stood that way for a while, holding each other and soaking in mutual warmth. Then Ian led me up to the bed, ignoring my protests about making his lunch for work.

  “I’ll make it myself or eat at the diner.” He paused, appearing contemplative. “Actually, wanna join me for lunch? I can break around noon.”

  “Yes!”

  He grinned. “There’s a new Tex-Mex place out on the main road. Bring Sophia.”

  “Okay.”

  We both crawled into bed on our opposite sides but met in the middle, him scooting over to me while I wriggled back to seat my ass against his groin. He cradled me close, the perfect big spoon, and soon I fell asleep.

  It seemed like I’d just shut my eyes when his alarm beeped hours later. I squinted against the gritty feeling in my eyes and peered at my digital clock. A quarter after five.

  Ian shifted, disabled the alarm, and returned to cuddling me. I wondered if he knew I was awake. His hips pressed against my ass, treating me to a generous length of morning wood.

  Why hello, old friend.

  His arm slid over me, and what a big arm it was, more muscled in the recent years than I remembered when we first met. All of that pumping iron had done amazing things to his body. He stroked down my stomach beneath the blankets, petting me the way I’d caress a kitten. I sighed into my pillow, close to falling asleep again.

  Then his hand slid lower and passed over my mound. My blood heated before he even skimmed my panties and touched my bare skin. Years of marriage had taught me what those hands were capable of doing to my body. I trembled. There was no way he couldn’t realize I was awake.

  He parted my thighs and stroked over my panties until my arousal dampened the thin cotton. I kept waiting for him to remove them altogether, but he didn’t, just teasing me with slow and patient strokes. All the while, his cock throbbed between my ass cheeks, and it required all my self-control not to flip over and tear his pants off.

  Each stroke ratcheted my need higher and higher until the moment when he tugged aside the narrow strip of cotton and stroked my bare slit, parting my folds with a slick glide. My breath hissed in. I was already so wet for him. The moment he found my clit, he dragged a long moan from me when he circled it with his index finger.

  “Ian?”

  “Hm?”

  “I…” Two fingers curled against my entrance and dipped inside. I shuddered against his chest.

  “One second,” Ian murmured against my cheek. His hand retreated—damn him—and he rolled away. I heard the hiss of wood sliding over wood in the dark. That had to be his nightstand drawer. Seconds later, a low hum filled our otherwise silent room. He’d slid on the cock ring from L’amour.

  If he was dragging out our sex toys, he meant business. Giving me no time to question it, Ian cast our bed covers toward the footboard and dragged my little bikini cut panties off my ankles while kissing my thighs. He kissed around my hips, then his mouth found my pussy to deliver one succinct kiss exactly where I needed it. I died a quiet death, praying he’d stay there longer.

  He did. And just when I was on the verge of orgasm, Ian eased behind me again in bed, leaving me aching and thirsty for something, anything to touch my needy sex again.

  While I struggled to compose my thoughts, the blunt tip of him nudged my pussy. Spreading my thighs wider, I slipped a hand between them and helped guide Ian into me from behind. On the first thrust, he slid home, gliding deep inside, then beginning a smooth rhythm of long strokes that clapped his hips against my bare ass.

  “I love you, Leigh.”

  Love didn’t begin to describe how I felt about this man, but I said something incomprehensible back to him. Every forward slam delivered a buzz of sensation, and my clit throbbed, tension building inside me and tightening until I reached behind me and grasped at Ian’s hip, gasping for breath. “Stop moving, stop moving.”

  He withdrew until only the tip remained. “Why should I stop moving?”

  “Because I want to come!”

  He chuckled against my hair and palmed my breast, tweaking the nipple between his fingers and rolling it. “You will.”

  It was maddening how he revved me up then slowed down, denying me a persistent buzz against my tender button. I moaned and rolled my hips to the rhythm he set, delighted when his hand returned between my legs. He strummed my hood and did everything but make direct contact with my clit until I writhed and pushed my aching sex against his fingers.

  He paused again, hips firmly nudging my ass. I felt every throbbing inch of him, and still I wanted more. “Remember what I said earlier about romance, Leigh?”

  I nodded, distrusting my voice.

  “I don’t want to ever just fuck you. I never want to lose the romance between us. Any time we’re in this bed together, it should never be a chore.”

  God, if I could orgasm from his voice alone and the sensual promise in his words, I might have.

  Then he thrust into me again, and I climaxed with my husband’s n
ame on my lips.

  Ian

  A five-minute shower washed away three rounds of sweaty, frantic sex. I left my wife snuggled in bed, peeked in on Sophia, then uncovered Moonfeather’s cage.

  The little gray rascal liked to sleep inside a tent-shaped fleece hammock at night, but his scarlet tail hung out one end of it due to his size. When I opened the living room curtains, he hustled out of his bed and hurried onto the wooden perch.

  “Ian.”

  “Yep. Morning, little man. Don’t be too loud, okay? Our ladies are still asleep.”

  He watched me like he understood. “Ian,” he said quietly.

  I’d always had a way with birds, ever since I was a child. Gram’s pair of peach-faced lovebirds had grown up with me, and hell if I wasn’t as depressed as she was when they died during my fifth tour of duty. Probably more.

  Having Moonfeather brought back memories of sipping tea with my grandmother while her birds serenaded us. Sometimes, I’d shapeshift and sit with them. We’d preen each other. I still remembered the way smaller beaks had felt in my dark feathers while they chirped and treated me like one of their own. Back then, I used to think we were having complete conversations.

  Since Leigh wasn’t likely to be awake for a couple more hours, I prepared breakfast for Moonfeather while making my own lunch. Then I crept out of the house and reported to work half an hour past my usual arrival time.

  Before I settled in, Martinez stepped into the office with a drink carrier in his hand. He passed me a coffee. “So… how was that morning quickie?”

  “Son, there wasn’t anything quick about it.” I cocked a brow, then took a long sip from the cup. “How’d you guess, though?”

  “Only one reason a man struts into work like that at this hour of the day. Either you had one hell of a cup of coffee already, or the wife woke up with you feeling frisky.”

  Leigh claimed I had a topnotch poker face. It failed. A wider grin spread across my face as I took my seat behind the desk and booted up the work computer.

  “On a more serious note, is everything good now?”