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“Mother Goddess, I give you Jordan Reyes, son of Eron and Jillian.”

  The Shifters whooped and yelled. “Jordan Reyes!” Myka winced, the full power of Shifter voices overwhelming.

  “Shift back,” Spike whispered to Jordan.

  Jordan gave Spike a little growl—he loved being in wildcat form—and changed slowly to a four-year-old boy with brown, black, and golden hair.

  Spike lifted him again. “Mother Goddess, I give you Jordan Reyes. Watch over this child. My son.”

  The Shifters screamed again, and this time, Myka didn’t flinch. She was learning.

  “Can I be a wildcat again?” Jordan asked.

  Spike kissed the top of his head. “Yep.”

  Jordan wriggled and shifted. Instead of struggling to get down and run, as he’d been doing all afternoon and evening, he climbed onto his father’s shoulders. His claws dug through Spike’s shirt into his still-healing wounds, but Spike wouldn’t pull him off for the world.

  “Shifters!” Spike said, taking Myka’s hand and raising it high. “I give you Myka Thompson, mate of my heart.”

  The Morrisseys and friends yelled in response, and the rest of Shiftertown took up the cheer. Ronan punched the air, and Olaf the polar bear cub, sitting on this shoulders, imitated him. The only family missing were Sean and Andrea, staying inside their house with their brand new little one—a male they’d decided to call Kenneth Terry Dylan Morrissey. There would be another naming ceremony in Shiftertown soon.

  Liam came forward and took Myka’s and Spike’s hands, still twined. “We welcome Myka. We’ll get the mating ceremonies done as soon as there’s a full moon, and some sunshine.”

  The Shifters erupted into more shouting, howling, cheering. Anything for a good party, and mating ceremonies led to fine sex—to celebrate fertility, of course.

  Spike was all for celebrating fertility. Last night he’d been too sore and exhausted for any joyous activity, and he’d dropped off as soon as he’d stretched out on his bed. Waking up with Myka next to him had been wonderful, but then Jordan had bounced in almost immediately, and they’d had to get up and take care of the rest of life.

  But there was another ritual Spike wanted to perform tonight before he went to bed with Myka, one more private.

  Jillian’s mother Sharon had come for the naming ceremony. Now Myka, Spike, and Jordan, with Ella and Sharon following, walked back to Spike’s house.

  In the backyard, Spike built a little fire in an old-fashioned round grill. Myka and Sharon had brought pictures of Jillian, and Myka had also brought a blue ribbon, one of many Jillian had won for cutting and barrel racing.

  Spike closed his eyes, held his hands over the small fire, and asked the Father God and Mother Goddess to be with them. He took a photo of Jillian from Myka and fed it into the flames.

  “The Goddess go with you, Jillian” he said softly.

  Myka laid her photos and the ribbon on the fire. “Good-bye, my friend,” she whispered.

  Sharon fed in her photos, tears running down her face, too choked to say anything. Myka put her arm around Sharon and let her cry.

  Jordan raised his arms for Spike to lift him. He kissed the last photo of Jillian and dropped it into the flames. “Good night, Mama.”

  The five of them stood gazing into the fire, safely delivering to the Summerland the young woman who’d been daughter, friend, mother. Jillian, whom Spike had barely known, had given him the most precious gift he’d ever received—his son.

  “The Goddess go with you,” he repeated in a whisper.

  The flames started to fade. Ella put one hand on Spike’s shoulder and one hand on Myka’s. “You two, inside. Sharon, how about we take Jordan and go back to the party? You look like you could use a cold one.”

  Sharon pulled out a tissue and wiped her eyes. “Thought you’d never ask.” She opened her big purse again, took out an envelope, and thrust it into Myka’s hands. “I meant to give this to you at the funeral, but maybe this is a better time. Jillian wrote it to you.” She glanced from her to Spike. “Read it tomorrow. For tonight, you just be happy.”

  Myka brushed her fingertips over the envelope. She could almost feel Jillian on the other side—she’d held this, written Myka’s name on the front.

  Sharon kissed Myka on the cheek and took Jordan’s hand, then the two women walked away, Jordan between them. Jordan’s loud voice floated back. “Connor told me Dad and Aunt Myka are going to shag tonight. Great-grandma, what’s shag mean?”

  Ella’s answer was lost in another roar from the distant Shifter party.

  Spike slid his arm around Myka’s waist. “You all right?”

  “Yeah.” Myka brushed her always-untamed hair out of her face. “Can we go inside?”

  Spike led her into the house, his arm around her. They went upstairs and to his bedroom without speaking, and Spike shut the door. “You want to read that now?”

  Myka looked at the letter again, written on the thick blue stationery Jillian had liked. She found email and texting too informal, and sent her friends and family cards and letters for special occasions.

  “No.” Myka slid the letter into her purse. “Sharon’s right. Tonight . . . I need you.”

  “I need you, Myka.” The low throb in Spike’s voice undid her. Myka opened her arms, and Spike came to her, enclosing her in his strength.

  *** *** ***

  Myka gave herself to the wildness that was Spike. He pinned her on the bed with strong arms, showing her how much better he felt by driving inside her until her shouts and his mingled in the cool air.

  Spike also showed her how gentle he could be, kissing her fingertips, her lips, her skin, the touches tender and light. He licked her after that, tasting her breasts, her belly, and the heat between her legs. Myka arched under his mouth, letting herself come again in a crazy storm of pleasure.

  Spike was back inside her right after that, his face softening as he felt her, eyes staying dark, beautiful brown, mouth finding hers as he spilled his seed.

  After that, silence. The quiet ticking of a clock, the final creak of the mattress, the warmth of Spike along her back. Myka tumbled into a hard, spirit-soothing, sleep.

  When she opened her eyes again, the room was still dark.

  Spike slept, relaxed, on his stomach, his face turned to her on the pillow. He’d slid one arm across Myka in his sleep, cradling her close. Moonlight trickled through the window, sharpening the lines of Spike’s tattoos at the same time it softened his face.

  The moonlight also fell on Myka’s purse, and the blue of the envelope sticking out of it. Myka carefully slid out from under Spike’s arm, took the two steps across the room, fetched the letter, opened it, moved to the moonlight, and started to read.

  Jillian’s voice came to her across the divide.

  I hope that while you’re reading this, Myka, you’re with Spike.

  Don’t jump in surprise—you have to know that I sent you off to find him because I wanted you to meet him. I could have called Spike myself, or sent my mom to pick him up, or hired a cab to bring him to me. But I wanted you to know him.

  Why? Because when I first met Spike, he reminded me a lot of you—lonely and pretending not to be. When I realized I’d be leaving this life, I knew I had to let Spike find you, and you him.

  Shifters are incredible beings, Myka. They have more humanity in them than humans, I think. I learned that when I hung out at Shifter bars, talking to them, getting to know them. Everyone called me a Shifter groupie, but I didn’t care. Shifters worry about the same things we do—how to raise their kids, how to put food on the table, how to keep the family together.

  Stay with Spike. Please. I knew him only such a brief time, but I could see something in him that was remarkable.

  Besides, what better people to raise my son than my best friend and the Shifter who helped convince me that Shifters were the most amazing creatures I’ve ever met?

  If you’re wondering why I didn’t tell him about Jordan right away, it
was because I was scared. I didn’t want to lose Jordan, and I didn’t want to become a Shifter mate. Or anyone’s mate, or wife. That wasn’t me.

  A free spirit, Mom always called me. Selfish, maybe, but you knew me. Somehow I always sensed I didn’t have much time to live, and I wanted to grab as much of life as I could. Jordan was part of that life, the best part.

  Now Jordan will be with his dad, which is where he belongs. And you should be with him and Spike too.

  I love you, Myka. Kiss Jordan good night for me, and tell Spike thank you.

  God bless.

  Spike’s callused fingers took the letter from Myka’s hands. He read it, while Myka watched him, tears blurring her eyes.

  Spike’s throat moved in a swallow as he finished. He set the letter aside and enfolded Myka into his arms. “I wish I’d known her better,” he said in his low voice. “The mother of my son.”

  Myka rested her head on his chest, loving the thump of his heart. “I can tell you all about her.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Myka tried to smile. “She was a crafty woman. Matchmaking to the last.”

  “I’m glad she was.” Spike put his thumbs under Myka’s chin. “I’m glad she brought you to me. Mate of my heart.”

  Myka kissed his chest, right over the place where his heart lay. “Mate of my heart,” she echoed.

  “I love you, Myka.” Spike kissed her mouth, his lips warm with afterglow.

  “I love you, Eron.”

  Spike’s arms tightened around her at the sound of his real name, his naked body hot against hers. The jaguar tattoos moved with his embrace, as he scooped her up to him to kiss her again, this kiss tinged with wildness.

  The moonlight touched them with kind light, and under that light, Spike carried Myka to the bed one more time, coming into her and surrounding her with bliss.

  End

  Want more Shifters?

  Read on for a preview of

  Mate Claimed

  Book Four

  of Shifters Unbound

  October 2012

  Available for ordering on Kindle

  and

  Pride Mates

  Book One

  of Shifters Unbound

  Now available on Kindle

  Mate Claimed

  Shifters Unbound

  Book Four

  by Jennifer Ashley

  Chapter One

  Iona smelled him long before she saw him—Eric Warden, the alpha Feline who ran the local Shiftertown, who’d decided to make half-Shifter Iona Duncan’s life hell.

  She loped down the desert canyon, rock grating on her paws. The Nevada night was warm though it was early winter, the sky a riot of stars, the glow of the city far behind. Out here, Iona could be what she was meant to be—a wildcat, a Feline Shifter, running free.

  For some reason, Eric wanted to end that.

  Catch me if you can, Feline.

  Last night, after her half sister’s bridal shower, Iona had stayed out until dawn with Nicole and about twenty friends—all human. They’d gone to a human bar, no Shifters allowed, thank God. They’d liberated the bar of plenty of margaritas before limping home in the light of early morning. Iona had snatched a couple hours of sleep before she’d dragged herself to work.

  The frenzy of the night out followed by the hangover of the day triggered Iona’s need to shift. After work, Iona had driven her red pickup out to her favorite spot in the middle of the desert, off-roading half an hour to get there. She’d barely shed her clothes before her wildcat had taken over.

  And now Eric was following her.

  He pounded behind her, a powerhouse Shifter, his wildcat more snow leopard than anything else. Sleek, strong, cunning. Feline Shifters were a mixture of all wildcats—lion, leopard, jaguar, cheetah, tiger, and others—but most Shifters tended toward a certain type.

  Iona was mostly panther, with black fur to match the hair she had while human. Her panther was long-legged, sure-footed, and a good jumper. This was her territory, and she laughed with glee as she left Eric far behind.

  She dodged across a dry wash, kicking up dust, and scrambled into the rocky crevices on the other side. She knew by scent how far she was from Area 51, a place guarded by men with SUVs and rifles. Shifters could escape their detection if they wanted to, but the other direction, east and a little north of here, was safer. Iona hopped from one sandstone ledge to the next, her paws scrabbling a little in the gravel.

  She loved this. The joy of being in wild country nearly impossible for humans to reach was heady. This is what I’m meant to be.

  Damned if Eric didn’t follow right after her, faster than she’d thought he would. Iona crested the ridge at the top of the canyon and kept going.

  She ran along a ledge and dropped down the other side of the ridge. Before she got to the bottom, she slunk into a shallow cave she knew was there from previous exploration. Anyone watching from the top would see only that she’d vanished.

  Eric wouldn’t need to see her to find her, though. He’d scent her, but why make it easy for him?

  Ever since Eric had spotted her in Coolers last spring, one of the few clubs that allowed in Shifters, he’d tracked her. Stalked her, Iona corrected.

  Damned stubborn, hotter-than-hell Shifter with the green eyes—he’d followed her when she went out at night, sometimes showing up at her house or coming after her on her runs. She’d spot him here and there throughout the day, when she went to work or ran errands or drove out to a building site. Protecting her, Eric said. Driving her insane, was more like it.

  The fact that Iona was half Shifter was a deep, dark secret her mother and half sister had kept for thirty-two years. Eric’s interest in her was dangerous, could expose her as Shifter, and once that happened, her happy life would be over.

  But Eric’s scent had triggered something in Iona from the moment he’d sat down next to her in the club’s dark corner and told her he knew what Iona was. He’d smelled of sweat and the night, and a musk that had made everything in her alert and aware.

  His scent was stronger now, overlaid with that of his wildcat. He was coming.

  Iona flattened herself into the black shadows at the back of the cave, but Eric was at the entrance, his leopard filling the opening. She faced him, ears flat against her head, her fur rising on her neck.

  Eric didn’t move. Dominants didn’t need to show teeth or make any noise to tell another Shifter who was in charge. You knew.

  He was far larger and more powerful than a natural snow leopard, his pelt creamy white and branded with a black jagged pattern. His eyes, fixed on her, were jade green.

  Iona’s wildcat was more slender than Eric’s but no smaller, though it would be an interesting contest to see whether she matched him in strength. The biggest difference between them, though, was that Eric wore a silver and black Collar, and Iona did not.

  Eric rose on his hind legs until his head nearly touched the roof of the cave. At the same time, his fur and cat limbs flowed into human bones and flesh. In a few seconds, a man stood in the leopard’s place, a tall, muscular, naked male who made Iona’s heart pound.

  His face was hard and square, his chocolate brown hair cut short. A black tattoo swirled around his large shoulder and trailed down his arm in a jagged line. The tattoo wasn’t magical—Shifters didn’t need tatts. Eric just liked it.

  His green eyes saw everything. There was no escaping that gaze once it fixed on you, even across a packed dance floor in a Las Vegas club. Iona still remembered the burn of his stare across the room; Eric, the first person in Iona’s life outside her family who’d looked at her and recognized her as Shifter.

  Even through her worry and anger, Iona had to concede that Eric was delectable. He put to shame all the guys who’d tried last night to get her to dance with them.

  What was between Eric’s legs put them to shame too. The man was hung.

  “You can’t keep this up,” Eric said. His voice, deep and fine, with the barest to
uch of Scots, had lately started invading her dreams.

  Iona gave him a snarl to let him know he didn’t worry her. Which was bullshit. He could take her in a heartbeat and both of them knew it.

  Eric took one step forward. She crouched, waiting, letting him take another step, and another.

  Once he’d cleared the entrance to the cave, Iona leapt up and sprang past him. His leopard she couldn’t outrun, but she could outrun him in her animal form while he remained human. She barreled out of the cave and onto the rocks . . .

  And found two hundred pounds of leopard on top of her, pinning her to the ledge.

  How the hell did he shift that fast? Shifting took a while for Iona, and it could be painful. Eric flowed into his wildcat so smoothly it made her sick.

  His growl became bad tempered as Iona struggled. His ears went flat, and he locked his teeth around her throat.

  Fur protected Iona from the prick of his fangs, but she panicked. He could kill her right now, rip out her throat or slice open her belly. The panther sensed his strength—a fight with him would be tough. She couldn’t get away—he was too fast.

  Iona shifted. She didn’t want to, but some instinct told her he wouldn’t hurt her if she became a human. She felt her claws change to fingers and toes, her pelt fade and withdraw to become human flesh.

  Eric lifted his long teeth from her throat, but he didn’t do anything to stop her shifting. He waited and watched until Iona became a human woman, one with a large, soft-furred snow leopard draped over her bare body.

  That large, soft-furred, snow leopard suddenly became a man. One minute Iona had a big kitty lying on her, the next, a strong, naked human male pinned her to the ground.

  She struggled, but Eric trapped her wrists and held them against the cold gravel. He wanted her to look away as he stared her down, but she refused to. Somehow Iona knew that if she ever did look away, she’d lose—not only now, but always.

  “I told you to call me when you needed to go running,” he growled.