Spike closed his fingers around her shoulder, her skin like warm roses. “Will you come back tomorrow?”

Goddess, he was begging again. Myka’s eyes shone in the moonlight, which turned the blue of them light and beautiful.

“To check on Jordan? Sure.”

“Yeah, to check on Jordan,” Spike said. And to talk to me. I don’t care what we say. I talk to you, and I feel strong.

Spike moved his touch to her cheek, running his thumb along her jaw to turn her face to his. He closed his other arm around her, leaned down, and kissed her.

The spark of the kiss ignited his blood and tightened in his body. He stroked fingertips across the softness of her cheek, tasted the heat of her lips. Her mouth responded to his, a hunger that matched his own.

Spike slid his hand down to Myka’s tank top, perfect for the day’s warmth but too light now for the midnight chill. He skimmed his palm over her breast, finding her nipple tight behind the thin fabric. Spike closed two fingers around the bud, tugging.

Myka put a hand on his wrist. “No, I really have to go,” she whispered.

She let out a soft moan, however, when Spike slid off the swing and to his knees, catching the tight nipple in his mouth through the fabric. Myka closed her hand around the back of his neck, fingers playing in the buzz of his hair.

Spike drew the nipple between his teeth. She would taste better without the shirt, but he was giving her time, easing her in gradually. Shifters could be rough, and Myka wouldn’t be used to it.

So why did he want to be so incredibly gentle with her?

When Spike finally released her, Myka’s breath was coming fast, her lips parted and moist. Spike caught that moisture on his tongue, cupped her cheek, and kissed the corner of her mouth.

“Come back tomorrow,” he said.

She nodded, silent, eyes fixed on him.

Spike had to help her up out of the swing, then he walked her from the porch, his arm around her, to where she’d parked her pickup on the street. A sleek black F150, very nice.

Spike drew Myka into his arms one more time and kissed the plump sweetness of her mouth. “Promise?” he said.

“Yes.” Myka rose on tiptoe to kiss him back, her lips damp and warm, small tongue darting along the seam of his mouth.

Spike guided her up into the truck. Myka landed on the seat, her fingers shaking as she slid the key into the ignition.

He shut the door for her. “Tell me how it goes tomorrow,” he said through the open window.

She nodded again and started up the truck. Spike stepped back, making himself let her go.

Myka raised her hand to him, put the truck in gear, and eased away from the curb, the engine loud in the silence of the street. Myka’s taillights burned red, then she turned a corner and was gone.

Spike’s heart went suddenly as empty as the street.

From his vantage point, alone in the darkness, he clearly saw the smaller vehicle emerge from deeper shadows and follow in Myka’s wake.

Spike didn’t recognize the car. He knew all vehicles around Shiftertown—who the hell was that?

He came alert with white-hot fury. Spike snatched out his cell phone and punched numbers as he ran for his motorcycle.

“Ellison,” he said when the phone clicked on the other end. “Watch my house for a while, will you?”

“What?” came Ellison’s sleep-clogged voice. “Hey, a wolf needs some shuteye once in awhile.”

“Just do it. I have to go, and I don’t want Jordan unguarded.” He hesitated, fixing his gaze on the corner where the car had disappeared. “Please.”

“Whoa.” Ellison came fully awake. “Did you just say please? Must be something bad.”

“It is. Get here.”

“Sure thing, friend. Want me to call Dylan too?”

“That’d be good. Thanks.” Spike clicked off the phone to Ellison’s startled exclamation that Spike was saying thank you, and started up his bike.

*** *** ***

Spike caught up to Myka and the car that followed her when they both turned out of Shiftertown. Spike rode as quietly as he could, without his headlight, until they turned onto a main thoroughfare.

Traffic was light at this hour, but in Austin, never truly gone. Spike flowed with the cars on MLK, keeping Myka’s truck in sight. The car that followed was a generic sedan—every car company made a plain, inexpensive model, and Spike couldn’t distinguish this one. If it had been a motorcycle, he’d have known every detail about it, but sedans were all the same to him.

Myka drove through the heart of Austin and out the other side to a neighborhood along the bluffs near Shoal Creek. She turned onto a street holding a row of modest houses and pulled into a driveway, using an automatic door opener to enter the garage.

The car halted across the street and killed its lights. Spike pulled up right behind it, leapt off the bike, and started for the car. The guy behind the wheel saw him, gunned the car, and took off down the street, tires squealing.

The noise brought Myka out of her garage. She stood in her driveway, hands on hips, exposing herself to any and all danger.

Spike killed his bike’s engine and rolled it quietly across the street. Myka whirled and saw him.

“Spike, what the hell?”

Spike stopped her words with a hand on her lips. “Close that door.”

Myka gaped for a second then hit the control to lower the garage door, while Spike parked his bike next to her car.

“Now are you going to tell me what’s going on?” she asked, unlocking her back door.

Without a word, Spike shoved himself past her and went inside, checking the small back hall then moving on to the kitchen. He turned on no lights, using his Shifter sight to look over the house, room by room. He felt Myka close behind him, smelled her warm scent, tinged with anxiety.

Spike lowered blinds and closed curtains, checking every room and making sure every door was locked before he said that she could turn on a light. He didn’t need one, but light comforted humans, so he’d heard.

Myka didn’t turn on the light. “Spike, what is it? Who was in the car?”

“I didn’t recognize him, but Gavan is dead meat.”

“He had someone following me? What for?”

“To let me know he can have eyes on you any time he wants. I didn’t like the look on his face today when I didn’t immediately kiss his ass.”

Myka frowned in the darkness. “What a butthole. What about Jordan? Is he okay?”