“Sure.” Misty’s gaze moved to his tattoos. “Don’t get the idea that I’m going to let you pick me up, Graham. I don’t like Shifters, and I don’t like guys with tatts.”

“What’s wrong with tatts?” He stretched out his arms, now scratched and bruised, and displayed the tattoos on his muscular forearms. “A true artist made these.”

They were flames, red and yellow and orange, outlined in black. The lines were delicate, finely drawn, each flame different from the others. The tatts had taken a long time and much patience from both Graham and the artist.

“Yours are kind of pretty, I admit. But I can’t imagine anyone painting on me with needles. It’s painful, right?” Misty displayed her bare arms, which were delicate and pale but not too thin. Graham didn’t like skinny women.

“Not as painful as a wildcat biting off half your shoulder,” he said.

“Is that what happened to you tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Ow.” Her gaze went to his shoulder under his T-shirt. “You okay?”

Graham stopped. Her voice held concern. She was worried that the fight might have hurt him, that he might even now be sitting here in pain.

No one spoke to Graham McNeil like that; no one had in years. No one asked about his well-being—to ask might force Graham to admit a weakness. A pack leader, clan leader, and Shiftertown leader could never show his pain.

He thought about Eric’s people closing in around him to help him and take him home. Eric would be no less their leader tomorrow, even though his sister, son, mate-to-be, and even his human in-laws had converged on him to take care of him.

Graham never had been able to risk showing weakness. His wolves didn’t so much have his back as were waiting to take him out the first chance they could. He understood—they’d lived on the edge of feral for so long, they didn’t know how to behave any other way.

“I’ll be all right,” he said gruffly.

Misty put her hand on his shoulder, and Graham winced a little. The bite did hurt. Eric had sharp teeth and knew how to use them.

“I hope so,” she said.

Her touch, her concern, her voice loosened something inside him. Graham’s worry, anger, and frustration didn’t go away, but they eased the slightest bit.

Because a human woman had touched him, had spoken to him like she cared.

Shit.

Misty glanced behind her and grimaced. “I have to go. It looks like my friends have given this place up as a bust tonight. I guess I’m the only one who got a Shifter.” She laughed and patted Graham’s arm, right on the tattoo. “See you, Graham. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Graham said. He lifted his beer in a silent toast as she slipped off the stool and made her way through the crowd to meet two women wearing fake cat’s ears. Misty’s legs weren’t long, but the mile-high shoes she wore made them strong and sexy.

“Misty,” he said, trying out the word. He liked it.

A human. Interesting.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Eric leaned back in his tiled shower, hot water washing away the blood. He was weak and sick, doubly so because Iona had rejected the mate-claim.

Water cascaded over the deep scratches and gouges in Eric’s body, cleansing him, but unable to ease his pain.

He knew why Iona had done what she’d done. Smart move. She’d shut out Graham and made him admit that he didn’t want her in the first place—in front of the entire Shiftertown. A bold stroke by a female, one that hadn’t been done before. Eric was proud of her.

Proud and bereft. Once he got his strength back, though, he’d convince Iona that she needed to stay with him. Eric didn’t trust Graham not to find another way to use her, or hurt her, plus the other Shifters now knew she was technically free of Eric, making her fair game again.

She couldn’t leave. Eric wouldn’t let her.

The bathroom door opened, steam swirling like fog in wind. Iona closed the door, undressed, and walked into the shower stall.

Eric remained against the wall, the cool tiles at his back. Iona came against him, cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him.

A slow kiss that opened in him all he was trying to shut down. Eric’s arms went around her, and he scooped her slick, warm body to his.

He was falling in love with everything about this woman. Her scent, her touch, the way she knew when he needed her. Iona was afraid of being Shifter, and of her mating hunger, and of losing the life she’d made for herself. And yet, she’d come to him.

“Better?” she whispered.

For answer, Eric turned around with her and pressed her into the wall. The shower poured over them, soaking Iona’s black hair, beading on her skin. Eric licked the water from her br**sts, loving how full and round they were, how dark her ni**les grew under his touch.

Eric ran his tongue around her breast before drawing the nipple into his mouth. Something eased inside him. She tasted like sunshine.

Iona sucked in a breath, her hands smoothing his wet hair. Eric widened his mouth, wanting more of her, her breast heavy on his tongue. Her body moved, a slow rising to him as he suckled.

He finished feasting on one nipple and took the other, giving it as much attention as the first.

His pain ebbed as he sucked on her. The touch of the mate, Eric had told her. It calms and heals.

Whether she’d rejected the mate-claim or not didn’t matter, he told himself. Mate-claims, Challenges, and the rituals to finalize the mating were trappings Shifters had invented to keep themselves from going feral.

Shifters used rites to formally acknowledge the mating, but a true mate—one who shared the mate bond—was a magical, unexplainable joy. The mate bond sealed mates to each other, ritual or no ritual.

Iona was the mate of his heart. Eric knew it like he knew the sound of his son’s voice. Iona knew it too, though she might not admit it.

But her body knew it.

Eric licked the warm space between her br**sts and took kisses down to her navel. He let his tongue play there, enjoying how she jumped with laughter as he tickled her. He got to his knees and kissed the wiry hair between her legs.

The mating hunger in her responded instantly. She was wet there, not just from the shower, the scent of her honey filling Eric’s senses.

Eric knew she’d never been with a man—he could smell that. She’d probably been too cautious to take a human to her bed. She wouldn’t know how not to reveal the Shifter in the wildness of sex.