Hard Mated

“No kidding.”

They both went silent. Spike had pulled her to sit close to him. Their thighs touched, his large and warm.

Myka heard Ella moving around upstairs, dressing or washing up or something. She’d come down any second and break this up—wouldn’t she?—before Myka couldn’t handle it anymore.

“Stay here and help me take care of him,” Spike said.

Myka blinked at him. “Sorry?”

“Jordan knows you, and he likes you. You helped Jillian take care of him, right?”

“Sure, but . . .”

Spike looked away again, a strong, strong man who had no clue what to do. Kids did that to a person.

“Spike . . . Eron . . . If you really can’t take care of Jordan, Jillian’s mom is fine with doing it. We’ll fix it up to make Jillian’s mom his guardian. You can come around and teach him about being Shifter and still be his dad, but you won’t have the day-to-day responsibility of taking care of him.”

Myka thought Spike would let out a sigh of relief and turn a grateful gaze to her, but his body tensed, and the look on his face was one of pure rage.

“No.” He got to his feet, anger in every movement. “He’s my cub. He stays here.”

“You just said you needed help . . .”

“Help, yeah. Not for you to come and take him away from me.”

Myka jumped up, her temper stirring again. “I’m not trying to take him away . . . No, all right, maybe I am. You’re a fighter, and a Shifter, and he was happy living with his grandma. Giving him to you was Jillian’s idea, not mine. I didn’t want you to have him.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because who are you? You’re the guy who did a one-night stand with my best friend and got her pregnant. How does that qualify you for being a good dad?”

“I’m his dad. Doesn’t matter if I’m a good one or not!”

“Like hell. Take it from me. I had the shittiest dad in the world. He wasn’t even my dad—he was my stepfather, but he wouldn’t let me go, and he made my life a living hell.”

Myka snapped her mouth shut, bile boiling up inside her throat. Damn it, why had she said that?

Spike stared down her, his eyes flicking back to human, the irises warm and brown. “What did he do to you?”

“It’s not important. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Myka felt herself closing down, shutting that part of herself away. Don’t show it, don’t remember, don’t feel. He’s gone, you’re free. It was a long time ago.

Spike put his fingers under her chin, turning her face to him. “Tell me.”

“I said, I don’t want to.”

He took a step closer. Now his heat floated over her, bare skin and jeans.

“He hurt you.” Spike’s voice gentled, the gruffness entirely gone. His dark eyes fixed on her, the compassion there startling. “I see it in you.” His touch gentled too, turning to a caress.

“Yes.” Myka swallowed, eyes burning. “I always tried to be the perfect kid, to do everything right, you know? I tried so hard. But I never could be good enough.”

“And he beat you for it, and made you think it was your fault.”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“Because my granddad did that to me. Granddad was our clan leader, and he was half-crazy, but no one could take him down. I tried to learn to be strong so he’d like me, but he never did. He just beat on me. Took me a long time to realize that him beating on me wasn’t my fault. That whatever I did, I couldn’t have ever pleased him, because he was the kind of person who refused to be pleased.”

After her stepfather’s death, Myka had considered going to therapy, but she’d shied away from it, not wanting to bare her soul. Now Spike, a Shifter she’d just met, was baring her soul for her. “That’s exactly right.”

“My dad didn’t hurt me,” Spike said. “But he wasn’t strong enough to stand up to his dad, and stop him. I’ll never be like either of them with my son.”

Myka’s fingers trembled. “Promise?”

“I swear by the Goddess and the Father God and on the sacred Sword of the Guardian.”

The way he said it told her that these were oaths he took seriously. Myka reached for the hand that caressed her cheek and folded her fingers around it. “Good.”

He leaned closer. “I’ll never hurt him, Myka.”

“Good,” she said again.

His breath touched her skin, his fight-worn hand closing around hers. His lips were a whisper away. Myka found herself rising on tiptoes, and she kissed him.

They stood fused, frozen for a stunned moment.

Then Spike slid a strong hand behind Myka’s neck, pulled her up to him, and turned the kiss bruising.

Chapter Eight

It hurt Myka, and it didn’t. Spike’s kiss, his touch, opened her, shattering the barrier she’d thrust up between them—the one she thrust up between herself and everyone. Myka couldn’t afford to be vulnerable ever again.

Spike’s mouth was hot, his lips strong. The pressure made her open her mouth to his, welcoming the firm strokes of his tongue. He tasted her, and she tasted him back, her hands moving to his shoulders, gripping. His muscles were hard under her fingertips—pressing didn’t make a dent.

The kiss was like sudden sunshine after a winter storm. The ice shards inside her couldn’t withstand it. Spike held Myka hard, as though he feared she’d pull away, while his mouth pinned her and didn’t let go.