by Mary Calmes
“I know you… wait.” I watched her swivel toward the front door of the shop.
“What?”
Slowly, she turned back to me. “You said the scent you’re picking up in here, you think that’s your mate?”
“No. I have never felt anything like this in my life. The first time I came in here I was instantly furious, and I only now figured out why.”
“Why?”
“Because this whole place reeks of pheromones and—”
“It does?”
I gestured at her. “You see? You can’t smell it because she’s my mate and no one else’s, so I’m the only one who’s picking up her scent.”
“Okay.”
“So that’s why I don’t think I’m scenting my mate; I know.”
“Walk me through it. First you were mad and then?”
“And what? You gotta delve?”
“Yeah, I gotta.”
“My body is betraying me. Are you fuckin’ happy?”
“Oh.” Her eyes got big.
“Yeah,” I snapped angrily, my emotions all over the place and impossible to control with the adrenaline pounding through me.
Being an out and proud gay man, my logical human side was confused, wary, and defensive. I no more wanted a mate than I did a hole in my head. I wanted to pick the people who shared my bed based on desire and compatibility. But the shifter in me, the hawk, the animal, had no interest in logic. The hawk wanted his mate, and nothing else mattered. I would go out of my mind if I didn’t claim what was mine.
Her smell was everywhere in the back of the store, and I was incensed that my choices had been stripped from me, buried under an avalanche of lust, need, and hunger. I had never guessed such an intense animal craving could take up residence in my chest. I was the kuar. I was in charge. People lived and died on my word. But I was suddenly a slave to an ancient thirst that lived deep inside my blood.
“The irony here is if my grandmother had just waited, she would have had a straight grandson after all. Tell me that shit isn’t funny.”
Lou squinted at me.
“What?”
“Remember when I said I was out there in the cruiser watching you come in and out of here like a madman?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, I’ve been out there for an hour, and I only saw one other person come in, and that was not a woman.”
I froze.
Lou’s gaze locked on mine.
“What are you saying?”
“I think you know what I’m saying.”
Brushing by her, I charged up to the front of the store and leaned over the counter to look at Mrs. Choi.
“I like your father, not you,” she said bluntly, glaring at me from where she was sorting bolts on her desk.
“Yeah, I know,” I placated her. “But, Mrs. Choi, I gotta ask: Besides me, who’s been in here today?”
“Why?”
“Ma’am,” Lou said pointedly, giving her the cop stare. “Please let’s just answer his question.”
Mrs. Choi took in Lou’s dark eyes, the hard line of her pressed-together lips, the severe tight bun her hair was pulled into, and her crossed arms. “That biologist—botanist—whatever he is. He was in here to get a hammer and nails and some chicken wire. He said he found some wounded birds and didn’t want anything to get at them while he was out collecting rock samples or water… I don’t know. I wasn’t really listening. He talks a lot. Smiles too. I don’t like him.”
The only important part of what she’d said was “him.”
Him.
Suddenly my life made sense again.
“Do you know where he’s camped?” Lou asked Mrs. Choi.
“No. But he said he needed a hammock, so I sent him to Ursula’s.”
The town was so small no one said the real name of anything. It was Mr. Sandoval’s or Mrs. Choi’s or Mr. Desmond’s or Ursula’s, who was on a first-name basis because everyone knew her. Ursula Bailey had been a bit wild when she was younger, and her overly solicitous reputation had followed her into adulthood. It might have been the five husbands that did it.
“Okay. Thank you,” Lou said quickly. She turned me around and shoved me out the front door.
On the sidewalk, in the early October air, we stood and stared at each other.
“So,” she said after what felt like several minutes. “Go over to Ursula’s and see if you can find your mate.”
“How weird does that seem?” I asked breathlessly.
“Who cares?” She sounded just as excited as I did. “If this is real—holy fuck, Vy… your mate. And he’s a guy.”
I patted her arm hard, and she nodded.
“You know,” I said, my mind suddenly all over the place, “I really appreciate you always having my back, even when I’m a dick. It means a lot.”
She shook her head. “Well, I knew the job was dangerous when I took it, but I will always be on your side. Good luck trying to get rid of me.”
Between her, my folks, and my small, tight circle of friends, I was very blessed.
“Go find your mate, you idiot,” she snapped.
After wheeling around, I started to cross Main Street toward the store where the man destined for me was supposed to be. My hands got sweaty and cold, and I flushed hot as I made my way there. I stopped halfway, frozen, my gaze riveted on the man in front of me.
He was loading the bed of a beat-to-crap Ford truck, and watching his muscles ripple under his shirt with every movement was an absolute treat. Never had I seen a more breathtaking man. His towering height, the breadth of his shoulders and back, the way his denim jeans hugged his long, muscular legs…. I was entranced. But more intoxicating than any other part of the man was how I knew, just at a glance, that he was mine.
It was hard to move, but I made myself, took steps, and closed the distance between us even though it felt like that weird thing that happens in the movies where the hall is suddenly stretched out, and the faster you run the longer it gets. His scent hit me before I could reach out and touch the truck. I stopped, watched him, and waited. Still loading supplies, he looked up, glanced around, saw me, and went back to what he was doing. Suddenly, he jolted and locked his gaze on mine.
I thought about oxygen, about making sure I was breathing, in and out, slowly, calmly, even though everything else in me was shutting down. Certainly if someone needed multiplication done at that moment, I would be useless.
“Hello,” he said after a moment, his voice husky and low.
He had gorgeous deep-set brown eyes, short, tousled brown hair that was curling at the moment because it was damp, thick eyebrows, high cheekbones, and the kind of sharp jawline usually reserved for animated superheroes. I had never seen anything like him.
He cleared his throat and came around the back of the truck, inhaling deeply as he moved. His eyelashes fluttered a little, like he was enjoying whatever he was smelling, and I really hoped it was me.
“Hi,” he greeted me for the second time, putting his hand out as he neared. “I’m Robert Cimino.”
I nodded, getting angry with myself for how I was acting. I was the kuar of the ket, and no one had ever reduced me to such a weakened state.
“And you are?” he asked, stopping inches from me.
I took his hand harder than I needed to, and from the surprise on his face, I could tell he wasn’t expecting it, wasn’t thinking that a man easily seven inches shorter than his own six foot four would be so strong. He would learn that I wasn’t some twink he could manhandle. I was his equal in all things.
He smiled kindly, laugh lines crinkling in the corners of his eyes. “I can see a whole inner dialogue going on.”
I clenched my jaw so I wouldn’t yell.
Gently, he slid his other hand over our clasped ones, took another step closer into my personal space, and breathed me in. “I thought… I was at the hardware store earlier,” he began, “and I… you smell like juniper.”
“What does juniper smell like?” I asked, the first
words I was able to get out.
“It’s like a woodsy, sort of sweet smell,” he explained, his gaze all over my face. “It’s nice.”
He had a warm, earthy, crisp fall scent that I wanted to curl up next to. It was odd; my protective instinct had been triggered, but also something unfamiliar that resulted in a vivid image of me in the back of his truck, pinned under two hundred pounds of hard, muscled man. What the hell?
I did not submit; others submitted to me. So why was I suddenly breathless thinking about his hand knotted in my hair, about begging while I was bent over with my ass in the air?
“Can I—” he whispered, and then he bent forward, tipped my head sideways, and pressed his nose to the side of my neck.
I jerked back, scared of myself, not him, terrified of giving up control.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m a bear, and even though I don’t shift—ever—my base nature comes out sometimes.”
Bear?
“I get a little handsy.”
“You shouldn’t touch people,” I scolded sharply without thinking.
“I know.” He looked down, ashamed.
“Hey.” I stepped toward him and put my hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean it like—”
He glanced up and stared at me.
“Your eyes.”
I wrinkled my brow, the change in topic taking me off guard. “What about my eyes?”
“That gold sure is pretty.”
Gold? My eyes didn’t turn—
“Can I get your name?” He slid his big, strong hand around my neck, holding gently but firmly, making escape impossible.
“Vytautas Aleknos,” I answered. My chin snapped up involuntarily, and I felt my feathers puff up on the inside.
“Wow,” he rumbled as he gently massaged the back of my neck and drew me closer. “That’s a lot of name there. You got a shortened version?”
“Vy.”
His grin fired his eyes and showed canines longer than the others, a sort of lopsided toothy grin that sent a sliver of arousal directly to my cock. His smile was warm and sexy. The vise on my heart and the knot in my stomach both eased.
“Vy,” he repeated. “I like that.”
He smoothed his hand down my forearms and over my hands. When I flipped my wrist and tangled my fingers with his, he gasped and then made a noise that sounded equal parts surprised, pained, and just plain horny. The next thing I knew, he yanked me sharply, almost off my feet, and dragged me around the side of the building. Once there, he rounded on me and shoved me into an exposed-brick wall.
“What are you—”
“I’m not sure what’s happening, Vy, but you look… or smell familiar.”
“I don’t—”
“Why is that?” he growled. “Who are you?”
“I’m the one asking the ques—”
“Never mind,” he huffed before slipping his hand under my chin and tipping my head back. “It doesn’t matter. You can tell me later. Right now I want to kiss you.”
And I would have argued because I was the one who said what something was or wasn’t—no one else, just me. But then he bent and sealed his lips over mine and nothing else mattered but kissing him back.
Two
Robert
HIS LIPS were soft. That was the first thing that struck me when we connected. I think it was the juxtaposition that made me notice it.
His lips had been pursed into tight lines when I asked who he was, almost like he was gearing up for a fight. I had to give it to him. A lot of people took one look at me and assumed I was going to pummel them, but almost all of them reacted by turning tail and running. Not this skinny little blond, though. He had puffed up his chest, jutted out his chin, and narrowed his eyes, daring me to take a shot.
It was adorable, like the rest of him, and it hadn’t done a thing to deter me. Hell, if anything, it made me focus more intently on my goal. I had taken him into the alley for a quick bit of fun; ruffling his uptight feathers in the process was a bonus.
“What kind of bird are you?” I asked as I moved my hand down his chest and tweaked his nipples through his shirt.
“How—” He gulped. “How’d you know I’m a bird?”
I’d met a lot of shifters over the years, and given all the different species out there, it wasn’t always possible to pinpoint the animal when talking to the man, but completely hiding that part of ourselves wasn’t easy. I knew that firsthand.
“It shows,” I told him, and then, worried I’d insulted him, I added, “birds are nice.”
“Nice?” he scoffed. “I’m the kuar of the Elk River hawk kettle. We’re not nice. We’re—”
I could tell he was gearing up to fight again, so I gripped his chin and covered his mouth with mine, licking my way inside and stopping whatever tantrum he was fixing to have.
Kissing is an odd thing. Your mouth is pretty much the most personal part of your body. I mean, you taste with it, touch with it, feel with it; even your sense of smell is wrapped up in it. Other than sound, your mouth has everything, does everything. Then you take it and let someone else put his mouth on it. You can taste what he had for lunch, what kind of coffee he likes, if he smokes, drinks, gave someone a blow job and didn’t pull off in time—that’s happened to me more than once. When you think about it, it’s pretty gross.
Which was why, even though I loved kissing, I rarely indulged unless I was drunk, horny, and it’d been a long while since I’d had human contact. During those times, it was hard to resist the chance at intimacy. Turned out, the guys I’d been with had been doing it all wrong. Pretty amazing considering there had been a decent number of them in my thirty-five years, and I rarely stayed in one place long, so they were spread all around the country.
Anyway, when the little bird stopped vibrating with anger or a need to show me who was boss or whatever had him all riled up, he clutched my shoulders, went up on his tiptoes, and parted his lips for me, taking the kiss from nice to a whole other category. He felt so good, his body pressed to mine, his lips soft and pliant, and his mouth… Lord. I circled my arms around his waist, clutched his backside, digging my fingers in, and tugged him forward, enjoying the gasp that escaped him when he made contact with the hard ridge of my erection.
“Robert,” he whimpered.
“That’s it.” I shoved one hand underneath his shirt and moved it over his slender back, enjoying the feeling of flexing muscles. He was strong. Not as big as me, obviously, because at six foot four and two hundred and ten pounds, very few people were, but he wasn’t a weakling by any stretch. I liked that. “Let go.” I tangled my fingers in his hair at the same time I yanked his pants open and groped his package. “I’ve got you now. You can let go.”
I half expected him to fight me on it, and if the stiffening I felt in his posture was any indication, he considered doing just that, but as fast as his stubbornness came on, it was gone and he melted against me.
“Okay,” he whispered, nuzzling the underside of my jaw. He dragged in a deep breath, gulped, and said it again. “Okay.”
His reaction ramped me up higher, and I felt my dick jerk and fill even more.
“Damn.” I stroked his shaft and rolled his balls. “This is so hot,” I said. He bucked forward, gasped, and gazed up at me, wide-eyed and reverent, like he didn’t understand what was going on, but he knew I’d take care of him through it. “You’re so hot.”
I slammed my lips against his and thrust my tongue in and out of his mouth. At the same time, I yanked my jeans open, tucked my briefs underneath my balls, and palmed both of our shafts together.
“Oh God,” Vy gasped into my mouth.
He was on tiptoe, trembling, flushed, and holding on to me so tight I was sure there’d be marks on my shoulders the next day. I welcomed them.
“Oh God.”
Our pants were hanging open and slightly lowered, our shirts were rucked up so our bellies could touch, and our dicks were sliding together, providing the most amazing fr
iction I’d ever experienced.
“Oh God.”
I had big hands, something I’d considered useful when I had to swing an ax to split wood, lug camping supplies deep into the forest, or carry a lot of water samples I needed to test. But right then, I was grateful for the size of my hands for a whole other reason—I was able to circle them around my dick and Vy’s and stroke us together.
“Oh God.”
His hair was mussed, his cheeks red, his lips swollen, and his green eyes were streaked in gold.
“You’re beautiful,” I said because he was, without exception, the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
He threw his head back, flared his nostrils, and dropped his jaw open. “I’m gonna—” He tightened his already iron grip on my shoulders further, went ramrod straight, and liquid heat pulsed out of his dick, coating my hand and throbbing cock.
The scent of his ejaculate, rich and tangy, the sound of his pleasure as he gasped and grunted, the sight of his face overtaken by pleasure, and the feeling of his lithe body huddled against mine melded together to throw me over the edge and into a knee-buckling orgasm.
“Look,” I told him. “Look what you do to me.”
He did what I said, immediately dropping his chin and lowering his gaze.
“Vy!”
The first shot hit his chin, the second streaked across his shirt, and the rest flowed over our shafts and my hand, combining with his seed.
He inhaled deeply. “We smell good together.”
I raised my hand to his mouth. “How do we taste?”
With his gaze glued to mine, Vy grasped my wrist and held my hand still as he lapped at my palm. “Right,” he said when I was mostly clean.
Unbelievably, I felt myself throb, like my dick was getting ready for round two, which was insane because we were in an alley, I had to get back out to the forest before I lost the sun, and I was thirty-five, well past the age of a thirty-second refractory period.
After taking another few moments to breathe him in, I stepped away and started doing up my jeans. “That was great,” I said as I buttoned and then straightened my shirt. “Thanks.”
I glanced up in time to see hurt flash across his face. He masked it quickly and locked a sneer in place instead.
