“But how . . .” Myka looked wildly around the plain but homey room, the stone fireplace, the lack of ornaments, the old television and the VCR player that had run through all those TV shows. “But Shifters . . .”

“Don’t have anything. I know. Shifter secrets, Myka. But you’re my mate now. You want the stables, you got them.”

Myka stared at Spike a moment longer, then she collapsed against him again. “Wow. I’m going to have to think about all this later. When I can. For now . . .”

Spike drew her close. “What?”

“Keep kissing me. We need to get you well.”

“I can go for that.” Spike’s smile was wicked as he bent to her again.

A furry body squirmed between them, and Jordan woke up with a yowl of fear and confusion. Spike caught him up between his big hands. “It’s okay, little guy. I’m here. You’re home.”

Jordan flailed a little more, blinking sleepily. Then he came fully awake, growled again, and launched himself at Spike. He shifted as he did so, grabbing Spike around the neck and holding on.

Spike closed his eyes and held his son, the relief on his face beautiful.

Myka stoked Jordan’s unruly hair. “How you doing, kid?”

“I was scared!” Jordan looked at her with huge brown eyes. “But I’m okay now. My dad came for me.” Jordan gave Myka a loud, wet kiss on her cheek, gave the same to Spike, and then held on to Spike again. He turned his head on Spike’s broad shoulder and gave Myka a grin, a mirror of his father’s. “My dad’s awesome.”

*** *** ***

Jordan’s naming ceremony happened the next night, and Spike decided to announce at the same time that Myka had accepted his mate-claim.

Spike, his heart swelling with pride, carried Jordan to the center of the double-circle of Shifters—clan and close friends forming the inside circle, the rest of Shiftertown on the outside. Myka was right next to him, where he could reach out and touch her whenever he wanted.

Spike lifted Jordan, in his wildcat form, to the light of the half moon, which was shining mightily through the trees.

“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.