Myka had known Spike fewer than twenty-four hours, and she already was rearranging her ideas about him. Last night she’d been torn between worry that he wouldn’t want Jordan at all and fear that he’d become so crazed about him he’d turn into a man like her stepfather.

Myka stepfather, after her mother’s death, had used the simplest means to relieve himself his anger and pain—taking it out on Myka. He’d both wanted Myka around as a reminder of her mother, whom he’d loved, and at the same time hated having her there as a reminder of what he’d lost. Myka had needed someone to turn to in her grief, and had found that the logical person had only hurt her and made her to live in fear and misery.

Spike wasn’t the same person as her stepfather, and though the situations were similar, they weren’t quite the same. Spike was Jordan’s biological father, and he’d never known Jillian except for that fleeting night. His focus in all this was Jordan, and Jordan alone.

“Is this thing you need to do going to get Liam mad at you again?” she asked.

“Maybe.” The gathering darkness sunk the living room into gloom, but Spike made no move to turn on lights. His eyes had flicked to Shifter, glowing golden in the dark. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Stay until I get back?”

“Which will be when?”

“Two, maybe three hours?”

Myka let out a breath. “All right. But I really have to get to the stables tomorrow, to stop them being sold out from under me.”

Spike looked surprised, as though he didn’t realize Myka might have a life. He tightened his grip on her shoulders.

He was going to kiss her again. She should mind, she should spin away so he couldn’t.

She didn’t. Spike didn’t kiss her either. He pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her in a warm embrace.

Myka leaned into him, suddenly craving his touch. Comfort leached from his arms around her, and he rested his cheek on her head. She slid her hands around his waist, finding the small of his back, and giving it a little caress, the embrace returned.

Spike lifted her chin and gave her a long, warm, deep, toe-curling kiss, before he released her, swung away, opened the door into the growing autumn darkness, and was gone.

*** *** ***

Gavan met Spike in a coffee shop on the south side of Austin, one that let in Shifters. It was an old-fashioned coffee shop with a long row of booths, food that hadn’t been upscaled to death, and coffee that was plain and black, though the place had conceded to put in a latte machine.

“Congratulations on your cub,” Gavan said, lifting his coffee in salute.

“News gets around.”

“In Shiftertowns? Are you kidding me? I also heard you didn’t go straight to Liam and rat me out.”

Spike twined his scarred hands on the table. “Had things to do.”

“That’s what I like about you, Spike. You don’t complicate things. Which is good, because I need you to keep it simple.”

Spike waited. He took a sip of his coffee, which wasn’t bad but wasn’t great. He wouldn’t hold out much hope for the lattes, even if he drank them.

“Doesn’t really matter if you run from me to Liam, though,” Gavan said. “I’m thinking your instincts are going to help me no matter what, but I like to hedge my bets.”

Any other time Spike would wait in seeming patience for the man to get to the point, but the thought of Myka waiting back at the house for him, watching over Jordan, the new miracle in his life, made him jumpy.

“What is this thing you want me to do?”

Gavan looked surprised at the question, but he shrugged. “Nothing you don’t usually do. Win fights.” Gavan sipped his coffee, made a face, and set the cup down again. “I’m going soft too. I’ve started liking premium blends.” He pushed the cup away. “That’s it, my friend. Just keep on winning fights.”

“How would that help you? Are you running a betting ring on me?”

Gavan gave him a smile. The smile made him look a little less ugly, but only a little. “Like we talked about earlier today, based on strength, you should be at the top of your clan, should be vying for a leadership position in Shiftertown. But because your family is here on Morrissey charity, you’re pushed aside. And yet, you walk into that fight club and win every match. People love you.”

“They love me because they win wagers.”

“That’s only part of it. The Shifters, they admire you, they cheer for you, they want you to win. You’re the kind of hero everyone loves—the underdog with amazing ability who rises to the top.”

Spike went silent. True, he liked hearing the roar of approval when he walked into the ring, the cushion of sound that kept him strong against the toughest opponent. Spike tasted triumph when he threw down the huge wolves, wildcats, and most of all, the bears that dared come up against him.

He was powerful, and he knew it. The fights confirmed it, as Gavan said. If they were still in the wild, Spike would have been high in the hierarchy by now, if not at the top.

He unlaced his fingers and studied them, as though Gavan had given him something new and difficult to think about. “Dominance isn’t only about strength,” he said.

“No, but strength is a start. I’ll be arranging certain matches at the fight club Saturday night. You win them, and I’ll reward you.”

“With what?”

Gavan’s shoulders rose. “Whatever you want. Eventually, I want you working with me. Like I said, you’re wasted in the Austin Shiftertown. Fergus at least used you a little better. You should be second-in-command by now. An enforcer.”