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Up to now.

Because he didn’t know how he was going to keep his mates and his job at the same time. It was impossible to even think about letting either go.

Chapter Eight

“So,whathappensnow?”Mo asked, wondering if it was impolite to consider a nap or round two? Round two would be better, even if he did feel like he’d dropped into some sort of alternate universe. Zack rolled away.

“I ought to go check on Mattie.”

Mo felt the vibes in the room shift, as if the last hour hadn’t just happened, and it annoyed the crap out of him. Victor rolled away as well.

“Wait just a minute.” They both paused. “What the hell is this? You spout all thisme Tarzan you Janebullshit and then leave everything hanging?”

Zack flushed. “I—” He looked at Victor for some reason.

“Look, I know all this is new, but you can’t just blow hot and cold like this. I mean, what’s the end goal here?”

“The end goal,” Victor said carefully, like he was talking to a preschooler, “is that we mate.”

“But you’re human,” Zack added. “And with everything going on. We don’t want to steamroll you.”

“So, what was this? Let’s give him a quickie to shut him up for a time?” Mo was furious, and he didn’t know why, but the calmer Victor seemed, the angrier he got. This was crap. Utter crap.This wasn’t what it was supposed to be like.

And he stilled. What wasn’t it supposed to be like? Why the hell did he feel used? No matter what, he thought, this wasn’t a romance book, and he needed to find his sister. The big lugs could go screw themselves. He scrambled out of bed, but Victor grabbed his hand. Mo looked down at the large hand that seemed like it could encircle both his wrists. “Let. Go. Of. Me.”

Victor moved his hand away instantly, and Mo yanked on the borrowed clothes, and left the room not looking back, but feeling the stares of two pairs of eyes burning into his back all the way down to the kitchen. He needed a coffee. No, he needed a double vodka. Mo huffed. “Not that I’ve ever had even a single vodka.”

He stopped suddenly, for some reason expecting the kitchen to be empty, but Zack’s dad was sitting at the table with Mattie on his lap. Mattie was coloring and concentrating hard the way little kids did. His dark hair was the image of his dad’s, and it made Mo’s breath catch. Christopher looked up and smiled. “There might be some vodka in the top cupboard, but if so, I don’t know how old it is.” His eyes twinkled. “But I made some fresh coffee, if that helps.” He patted his chest. “I’m only allowed so much caffeine on a weekend.”

Mo hesitated, then decided if the two idiots upstairs weren’t going to communicate, maybe Christopher would. He smiled and went to help himself, then took a seat next to him and glanced down at the drawing. “Ooh dragons,” Mo acknowledged, enthusiastically. “Is that the prince? Because it looks like he has a castle.” Mo pointed to the building in the distance. Mattie glanced at it, seemed to consider that for a moment, then nodded. “Maybe you should draw a crown he can wear on his head?” Mo thought for a moment. “Unless you think it might fall off when he’s flying?”

Mattie paused again, but shook his head. “When he a boy.”

“Whenhe’sa boy?” Mo repeated subtly, using the correct possessive contraction. “You mean he’s ashifterdragon?” Wow! How many toddlers would come up with that? And then he grinned. One who had grown up around them.

“And what color is the prince going to be?”

Mattie thought again, and Mo looked at the drawing. He would bet ninety-nine kids out of a hundred, when faced with a coloring scene, always started with the main image, in this case the dragon, but Mattie had started with the sky.Interesting.

“Red,” Mattie pronounced confidently.

Mo nodded his agreement, and because he couldn’t seem to turn it off, added, “Can you point to the red color?” He gestured to the box of crayons and Mattie reached over and plucked the red one out.

“Good job, buddy,” Mo praised, and took a sip of his coffee. He glanced over at Christopher, who had an amused smile on his face. “Sorry,” Mo murmured. “Force of habit.”

Christopher chuckled. “Please don’t apologize. I owe you our thanks anyway. We all do.”

Mo was a little nonplussed. “Umm, I would think you’d want me out of here. I seem to have some unpleasant hangers-on,” he said vaguely for Mattie’s benefit.

Christopher grinned. “Oh, don’t worry about that. This house has seen plenty of action, and the boys will keep the kids safe. I meant with the work you’re doing with Tyler.”

“He’s a clever kid.”

“And Luke has taken him as far as he can go.” Christopher stopped. “We home school the young shifters until they’re secure in their shift,” he added as an explanation, “but Tyler hasn’t been with us that long, and while his confidence in his academic ability is poor, he was bored with the little ones and is close to Alex. And Mac’s at college now.”

“Are they all shifters?” Mo asked. “This is a group foster home, correct?”

Christopher nodded. “My mate and I set it up when the twins—Zack and Riley—were eight. We’ve had over thirty-four kids since then.”