Ellison drove, fast and furious as usual in his old black truck, and pried the story of Jordan out of Spike. Shifters could never mind their own damn business.

Spike had mixed feelings about leaving Jordan back there alone with Myka. Good idea? Bad? She’d seemed happy to stay, had started helping his grandmother with the breakfast dishes, and Jordan had been excited to have Myka there.

That little tank top had been sexy as hell on her. Had a little bow right at her cle**age. Perfect for Spike to tug with his teeth.

He bet she’d smell good right there too. Her scent was like warm roses, spicy and strong but not overpowering. Dipping his tongue behind the bow to taste her skin—there was a good idea. His zipper started to stretch.

“I said, that little cub’s a wild one,” Ellison’s voice cut through the fantasy. He chuckled. “Fun to watch you running after him.”

Fun. Sure. Someone without cubs couldn’t understand.

Or, at least, Spike didn’t think Ellison had ever had cubs. The man never talked about his life before this Shiftertown. But Spike had to worry about all kinds of shit now, from what to feed the kid to the fact that he’d have to put a Collar on him sooner or later.

Spike barely controlled his growls. The Collars were painful going on, and to subject his son to that . . . Damn it, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let Liam do it.

Ellison drove to a bar in the north part of San Antonio, near the National Cemetery, where Gavan, Nate, and Spike had hung out on their rare off hours back when they’d been Fergus’s thugs.

It was a Shifter bar—that is, a bar that allowed Shifters to drink there. This wasn’t the friendly corner bar near the Austin Shiftertown where Liam worked as a manager and Shifters came to take a load off. This was a rougher place where the human bikers eyed Shifters and were always spoiling for a fight. An uneasy truce existed, each side knowing the other could start one hell of a brawl.

Everyone in the place turned around and stared at Ellison and Spike when they walked in. They recognized Spike, but he’d ceased to become a regular, and Ellison was clearly out of place.

Spike sensed their assessments, and he assessed back. He noted the exits, how many males were between him and each door out, how many of those males were Shifters, how many human. He noted who sat where, where in the bar humans and Shifters mixed, where humans and Shifters preferred to keep to their own.

Balls clacked on a pool table in the back room. Spike and Ellison ordered beers at the long bar and drifted toward the sounds of the pool game.

Gavan, a big Feline with sand-colored hair pulled into a ponytail, stood at the head of one table, watching two other Shifters play. Spike got that the other Shifters were Lupine right away from their stink. Felines were more fastidious. Spike put up with Ellison’s Lupine smell only because he was used to him, and Ellison often offered to pay for beer.

Gavan hadn’t changed much since Spike had last seen him. Same lank ponytail, same granite-like face, same attitude. Gavan’s family was mostly mountain lion, and his washed-out eyes held the look of a solitary hunter.

Ellison started setting up a game at the empty table farthest from Gavan, signaling he wouldn’t intrude on Gavan’s territory. Territory fights could extend even to corners of bar back rooms.

“What are you doing here, Spike?” Gavan asked. “Morrissey send you?”

Ellison bent to break the cluster of balls, and Spike shrugged. Scents changed with lies, and Gavan would smell a false denial.

“Doesn’t matter,” Gavan said, then he chuckled. “I’m entitled to my own opinions. How you been, Spike?”

Spike shrugged again, burying deep any thoughts of his new cub, but he knew Gavan would scent Jordan on him too. “Can’t complain.”

“I saw you fight last night,” Gavan said. “You’re good. You wanted to kill that bear.”

“Could be.”

“Not could be. You did. I saw it in your eyes. You backed off because you had to. The kill would have felt good, yeah?”

“Yep.” No question. Of course Spike had wanted the kill. He was Shifter.

But Spike wasn’t as stupid as people assumed. Most Shifters and humans looked at Spike and thought, boneheaded fighter. Spike let them. Easier to keep them off guard while he figured out exactly what they were up to and what to do about it.

He’d have been stupid as hell to try to go for the kill with Cormac last night. The bear had been holding back his true strength, and Spike had known it.

Bears were stronger than all Shifters—they’d learned to temper their strength in order to live in Shiftertowns with other Shifters. They had to, or they’d crush every hand they shook.

Even in the ring, in a fight to show off skill, Cormac hadn’t wanted to accidentally kill Spike. Spike had won through strategy and opportunity, not strength.

If Spike had gone for the kill, today his grandmother would be lighting candles and planning a ceremony to send him to the Goddess. Spike wouldn’t have met Myka, who wouldn’t have taken him to Jordan.

Thank the Goddess the bear had held back.

Gavan looked at the two Lupines. “Beat it,” he said. “I want to catch up on old times with my friend.”

The Lupines looked annoyed, but Gavan out-dominated them, so they laid down their cues and strode off to the bar for more beer, pretending it was their idea.

“Let’s set ’em up, Spike. And talk.”

Ellison didn’t consider himself part of Gavan’s command. He bent over the far table and took a shot, landing two solid balls in two different holes. He set up another shot as though happy to play a solo game. Gavan said nothing, which meant he didn’t care whether Ellison heard what he had to say. Interesting.

Spike shoved balls into the plastic triangle, lining it up to the top of the table, while Gavan put away the Lupine’s cues. Spike lifted a cue from the rack, hefted it a few times, put it back, chose another.

“Your break,” Gavan said.

Spike leaned down, set his cue, and punched the cue ball hard. Balls spun wildly across the table, a striped one falling into the far corner pocket.

Gavan watched while Spike sank three more balls. Polite of the Feline to not talk while Spike concentrated on his shots.

Spike enjoyed playing pool more than he enjoyed fighting. Fighting released tension in him, a coiled snake that had to be appeased as often as possible. Sex could ease that tension a little, but fighting, even with the Collar-shock hangover, let out his pent-up aggression so he could get on with life.