Page 6

Mika

I sit on the couch, my fingers plucking at the nubby fabric beneath me, unable to keep still. Across the coffee table, Gabe watches me, his gaze steady, patient, and unrelenting. He leans back in the big leather recliner, his body relaxed, but I can feel the weight of his focus pressing down on me.

It’s not fair. He looks so at ease, like this moment doesn’t hold the power to shatter me entirely. I’m the one unraveling here, trying to figure out how to say what needs to be said without losing him in the process.

I want him.

God, I want him so badly it’s starting to feel like a physical ache, a need rooted deeper than just desire. I want to wake up beside him, to see the blissful, sated look he wore earlier after we both came, or maybe that hungry, predatory heat he had in the kitchen.

I want it all, every version of him, every moment.

But wanting doesn’t make words come easier, and right now, every word I need to say feels impossibly heavy.

“Quit stalling, Mika,” he says, his voice soft, calm, but insistent. “Just…explain the dreams, at least. Please.”

His words tug at me, their quiet urgency impossible to ignore. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

“The dreams were…are possible because of this,” I say, gesturing between us. “This pull, or need, whatever you want to call it. I don’t have words strong enough to describe it, Gabe.”

I glance at him briefly, just enough to see his reaction, but his face gives nothing away. I go back to toying with the couch fabric, my fingers twitching against the rough texture.

“It’s something,” I continue, the words spilling out despite my nerves. “The dreams, and even being able to…to speak to each other without words.”

I risk another glance at him, trying to gauge whether he believes me or not. His expression stays calm, unreadable, and the silence stretches between us like a taut wire.

“So this happens with everyone you have sex with, then?” he asks.

The question hits me hard, and I freeze. What answer does he want? What will he think if I give him the truth?

“No,” I say, my voice low but firm. “Not everyone. Not anyone, ever, except you. And we haven’t even had sex. Not really.”

I let that hang in the air, needing him to understand. It’s like this because it’s us.

“It’s like that for us,” I add, forcing the words out. “Sometimes—a very rare sometimes—a shifter will find someone who…who they can link minds with. ”

Gabe tilts his head, studying me with those sharp green eyes that seem to pierce right through me. It’s like he’s peeling back every layer, reading things I’m not even sure I understand about myself.

“So why us, Mika?” he asks after a moment. “What don’t you want to tell me?”

I suck in a breath, the calm patience in his voice cutting through my defenses. My fingers still their nervous fidgeting as I meet his gaze.

“It’s us because we’re right together,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “We fit. It’s—”

“It’s part of the whole shapeshifter thing, then, right?” he interrupts, his tone sharp but not cruel.

The abruptness makes me flinch, and when he glances away, doubt and fear claw their way back to the surface. I can feel them, pulling at me like an undertow.

“Yes,” I say quietly. “It’s complicated.”

And isn’t that the understatement of the year?

Gabe doesn’t answer right away. He trails his fingers over the arm of the chair, tracing slow, deliberate patterns against the leather. My gaze fixes on his hand, on the way it moves with such careless grace.

It’s distracting.

More than distracting—it’s maddening.

All I can think about is how those fingers would feel on my skin, on my cock, tracing soft, teasing patterns like he’s doing now.

Heat floods my throat, and before I realize it, I’m lost in the fantasy, my body aching with the need to close the distance between us.

When Gabe finally calls my name, his voice low and raw, it takes me a moment to register it. My name falling from his lips pulls me back into the room, into the reality where I’m still sitting here, my nerves fraying as I struggle to hold it together.

I l ift my eyes to his, and for a split second, I swear I see something flicker in his gaze—something just as desperate as the need burning through me.

Gabe’s words hit me like a punch to the chest.

“Mika, I think maybe we should wait after all. For the explanations. I, uhm, need some time to digest this…whole shapeshifter thing, you know? And I think you need some time to deal with whatever is happening between us, too. We both do.”

Fear surges inside me, clawing at my ribs. It’s a living thing, vicious and relentless, battering against my heart.

“What do you mean by needing time? And dealing with what’s happening between us? Do you…?” I swallow hard, pulse hammering and choke out the next words. “Are you saying you want me to leave?”

Please, no.

The urge to run, to protect myself from the pain of rejection, is smothered under the weight of a greater need—the need to stay, to convince Gabe we belong together. But what if he really does ask me to leave? Can I do anything other than grant his request?

The thought alone threatens to tear me apart.

Before I can spiral further, Gabe rises from his chair and kneels before me. His hands cup my face, warm and gentle, anchoring me in the moment. His lips press softly against mine, a kiss filled with reassurance and quiet strength.

“It’s okay,” he says, his voice steady, his green eyes glittering with compassion. “Whatever this is, it’s okay.”

The tension inside me starts to ease, unraveling thread by thread as he continues.

“I just meant that right now, this constant need I feel with you, for you, explains enough. I want to know the why’s and everything being with you entails, but I want to know you, too. All the answers in the world won’t help me do that like just being with you will. Those answers might muddy my thinking instead, distract me when all I really want, for now, is to focus on us.”

His words settle over me, soothing my fears.

I can be patient—for him, for both of us.

“Are you expecting someone?” I ask, the sound of an approaching car pulling me out of the moment.

Gabe leans back slightly, his hands still stroking through my hair. The gentle motion drains away the last vestiges of worry from our conversation.

“No,” he says. “Why?”

“Because,” I say, rising from the couch, my senses sharpening, “I just heard a car slowing down to turn…”

The sharp banging on the door makes Gabe jump up and dart past me, his expression shifting from calm to alarm in an instant.

“Shit, Mika. I haven’t thought of a reason you’re here, how we met, anything.”

I can feel his panic, but I shake my head. “It’s okay. I can sit in the bedroom, if you want.”

Even as I offer, I know I don’t want to hide. Gabe hesitates, and I see the conflict in his eyes. I know it would be easier for him to send me to the bedroom, but I also know what that would mean.

Hiding me would make me feel like a dirty secret.

Gabe’s jaw locks, and his expression hardens with resolve. “No. No way in hell, Mika. Just drop down on the couch, and we’ll deal with whatever happens. Besides, it’s probably Todd or Adam.”

I nod, but something feels off. Tipping my head up slightly, I take in the scents carried through the air, trying to pinpoint the source of my unease.

This isn’t Todd or Adam.

The stench hits me first—something foul and acrid, like anger and cruelty rolled into one. My hackles rise, and I lower my head to meet Gabe’s questioning gaze.

“If those are the friends who were with you before, this isn’t them,” I say, keeping my voice low. “This is a man who smells…bad. Like mean and trouble.”

Gabe frowns, processing my words even as his hand reaches for the door handle.

The moment he swings it open, the source of the stench is confirmed.

I step out of the house and see Kaufman leaning against his cruiser, and I can feel the tension radiating off Gabe like a live wire. The sheriff’s posture is lazy on the surface—slouched with one hand resting too casually on his holster—but his eyes give him away. He’s sizing Gabe up, calculating, like a predator deciding whether to lunge or wait for a better opening.

“Sheriff Kaufman.” Gabe’s tone is clipped, just shy of outright hostility.

I stand behind him, every muscle in my body tensing as I take in the smug expression plastered across the sheriff’s face.

“Staley,” Kaufman drawls, his voice oozing condescension. “Heard you were on old lady Shumaker’s property.”

My instincts scream at me to protect Gabe, but I hold myself back, staying silent as I watch the exchange unfold. This man isn’t here for idle chit-chat—he’s trouble.

And whatever he’s about to say, I know it won’t be good.

“And?” Gabe asks, keeping his tone neutral.

“You ain’t gonna deny it, boy ?”

Ah, there it is. A classic intimidation move, throwing out ’boy‘ like it’s supposed to make him feel small. Never mind the fact that we’ve both g ot a good six inches on the man. It’s never going to work, but he still tries it like it’s some kind of magic word.

Gabe stays relaxed, loose, letting the insult roll off him.

“Why would I bother doing that?” he replies, shrugging. “It’s pretty clear you know I was there. So, are we going to banter back and forth, wasting taxpayer dollars, or are you going to cut to the chase? Either is fine with me, by the way, but since you’re an elected official…”

Gabe trails off, and I’m biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself speaking as I see the angry flush rising up the sheriff’s neck.

Gabe doesn’t push him further, clearly knowing it’s a bad idea. Kaufman isn’t just coming across as petty—he’s unhinged. If I weren’t standing behind Gabe, he’d probably say something even sharper, but with me here, he’s going to need to keep this from escalating.

“Damn it, Gabe, you’re always causing trouble,” Kaufman says, his tone carrying a mocking snarl that sets my wolf on edge.

I step closer, staying just behind Gabe. My presence isn’t meant to overshadow him—this is his fight—but if Kaufman makes a wrong move, I’m ready.

“Trouble?” Gabe crosses his arms, his voice steady despite the anger I know is simmering under the surface. “You mean rescuing animals you can’t be bothered to care about?”

Kaufman’s sneer deepens, the lines around his mouth pulling tight. “I’m talking about interfering. You don’t see the bigger picture, Staley. These strays are a threat—disease carriers, dangers to livestock. You’re too soft to make the hard calls.”

Soft? Gabe? I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. But I stay quiet, letting Gabe handle it his way—for now.

“You think blasting stray dogs is a ‘hard call,’ Kaufman?” Gabe’s voice is calm, but there’s a sharpness to it that makes the sheriff’s smirk falter. “Because it seems to me you enjoy it just a little too much.”

Kau fman freezes for the briefest moment, his expression flickering with something dark—something I recognize all too well. That’s the look of a man whose mask has slipped, showing the ugliness beneath. Then he recovers, letting out a low, cold laugh.

“You’ve got no idea what it’s like, playing cleanup in a town like this,” he says, his voice dripping with condescension. “Strays bring problems, and I deal with them. That’s my job.”

“That’s not a job,” Gabe counters, stepping closer. “That’s a power trip.”

Pride surges in me, even as my wolf snarls at the escalating tension. Gabe’s not backing down, and Kaufman knows it. The sheriff’s eyes narrow, his gaze darting to me for a split second before locking back on Gabe.

“You don’t know shit about power trips, boy,” Kaufman spits, his tone laced with disdain. “You’ve had everything handed to you. Your fancy degree, your bleeding heart crusades. You’ve never had to make real sacrifices.”

Tension coils in Gabe’s jaw, and I can see the effort it takes for him to keep his voice steady. “You don’t know a damn thing about me. What I do know is this—your obsession with killing strays isn’t about the animals. So, what is it, Kaufman? What’s the real reason?”

For a moment, Kaufman’s mask slips again. His jaw twitches, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Then he leans in, his voice dropping to a venomous hiss. “You think you’ve got me figured out, huh? You don’t. This town doesn’t need people like you—sticking their noses where they don’t belong, flaunting their… perversions.”

That word hits like a slap, and I feel my wolf rear up, claws ready to tear. But I force myself to stay still, focusing on Gabe. This is his moment, and I won’t take it from him.

Gab e doesn’t flinch. If anything, he stands taller, showing his defiance. “I’m not the one flaunting anything, Sheriff. You’re the one stomping onto my property like you own it, hurling insults because I dared to challenge you.”

As I wait for Kaufman’s next outburst, I notice his gaze shifts to me. He’s glaring over Gabe’s shoulder, his face darkening.

Gabe glances back, and I feel my stomach clench. I rest my hand on his shoulder, standing sentry just behind him, offering a solid and reassuring presence.

Gabe turns back to Kaufman whose face twists with contempt, his sneer so pronounced it’s practically cartoonish.

“Been spending time with your… friend ?” he sneers, drawing out the word like it’s coated in filth.

The implication doesn’t escape me, and anger sparks sharper in my chest. But the ridiculousness of it strikes me just as quickly. Kaufman isn’t wrong—we’re exactly the kind of ’friends‘ he’s implying, though the idea of him thinking about our relationship in any way makes me want to take a shower.

I shrug, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Then, with a grin, I step forward, sidestepping Gabe to face Kaufman head-on.

“Mika Blackwell, Sheriff,” I say smoothly, extending my hand.

Kaufman doesn’t even look at it. He just glares at me like he’s trying to figure out how to make me disappear by sheer force of will. After a moment, I let my arm drop, my expression calm and unaffected.

I almost laugh, because the tension is so thick it feels absurd. If we’re having some kind of silent contest, I know exactly who’s going to win.

The sheriff takes his time looking me up and down, like he’s sizing me up. It’s a pathetic attempt at intimidation. Kaufman looks like a bantam rooster trying to puff himself up in front of an eagle.

“ Where’d you come from, Blackwell?” Kaufman asks finally, his tone sharp and suspicious.

“New Mexico, Sheriff,” I reply, my voice soft but steady, with just the faintest hint of a smile tugging at my lips. “Is that a problem?”

Kaufman doesn’t respond. Instead, his glare shifts back to Gabe, his patience clearly worn thin.

“Staley, where’s the goddamn wolf you took off old lady Shumaker’s property?”

The sheriff’s voice is brittle, his stance rigid. He’s given up on the games he obviously likes to play, cutting straight to the point.

Gabe steps up beside me, resting a hand on my lower back. It’s like he’s drawing strength from me or I’m offering my own.

“Gone, Sheriff,” he says, keeping his tone calm. “Not that it should matter. I’m not in the town limits, remember?”

I see the flicker of frustration in Kaufman’s eyes. It’s the truth, and he knows it. Whatever he wants to pull, he doesn’t have jurisdiction here.

The sheriff’s jaw twitches, his gaze flicking between me and Gabe. I shift slightly, keeping a cool, steady presence—a stark contrast to the storm brewing in Kaufman’s expression.

If the sheriff is planning something, I can’t tell what it is yet. But I know one thing—this man doesn’t like losing, and we just gave him no ground to stand on.

“What do you mean, gone? If you turned that son of a bitch loose—” Kaufman’s voice is already rising, climbing toward his usual self-righteous indignation.

But I don’t let him finish.

“He means the wolf is gone,” I say, cutting the sheriff off mid-sentence. My voice is cold and leaves no room for argument. “It escaped from the kennels.”

Gab e glances at me, a grateful look on his face. We hadn’t exactly come up with an explanation for ‘the wolf’s’ disappearance, and I’m not in the mood to play games.

Kaufman curses, launching into a tirade about how Gabe has doomed the town to its death by letting a vicious beast run loose. His words spiral higher and higher, painting a picture of chaos and carnage that would be laughable if it weren’t so damn ridiculous.

I keep my expression neutral, but my patience is wearing thin. Gabe mirrors me, outwardly composed, but I can feel the tension radiating off him. His fists are clenched at his sides, and the sharp edge in his voice tells me he’s close to snapping.

“You about wound down now, Sheriff?” I ask, cutting through Kaufman’s rant. I’m ready for this fool to leave before his little power play turns into something worse.

“Am I wound down? Let me tell you something, you damned quee—”

Kaufman never finishes.

I move fast, stepping between us and pushing Gabe back gently with one hand. I lean in close to Kaufman, and I see the fear flash across the sheriff’s face as he takes in the rage he sees in my eyes.

“I seriously doubt you want to continue that sentence, Kaufman,” I say, my voice a low growl, but every word is laced with warning. “You need to really, really think before you let your mouth run off like that.”

My hands flex at my sides just itching to punch the slimy fucker, and Gabe steps closer, pressing just enough against my back to let me feel him there.

“You threatening me, Blackwell?” Kaufman snaps, though his voice wavers slightly. “It’s a crime to threaten—”

I cut him off with a sharp motion of my hand, slicing through the air.

“ Of course not, Sheriff,” I say casually, almost too casually. “Just stating a fact. Wouldn’t want you to slip up and say something like that out where other people could hear it now, would you? It’s such a narrow step from words like ‘queers’ into hate crimes territory.”

The air goes heavy as my words sink in, and I can practically see the gears turning in Kaufman’s head. It’s not a direct threat, but it might as well be—and it’s a smarter, sharper one than anything physical could ever be.

Kaufman straightens, his expression locking into that cold, calculating mask again. But I can see the fury simmering beneath it, a storm waiting to break.

“Watch yourself, Staley,” he says to Gabe, but he’s still staring at me, his voice low and threatening. “This town’s patience only goes so far.”

“Funny,” Gabe shoots back, taking another step forward. “I was about to say the same thing to you.”

The tension crackles between them, sharp and electric. My wolf pushes at the edges of my control, growling for me to intervene further, but I hold firm. Gabe doesn’t need me to fight his battles—he’s more than capable on his own.

Finally, Kaufman breaks. Without another word, he turns on his heel, stalking back to his cruiser. The door slams shut, and the tires spit gravel as he speeds away, leaving the air heavy with unspoken threats.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and glance at Gabe.

The scent of Kaufman’s bitterness and bile still lingers in the air, and it’s all I can do not to shift and chase him down, tearing apart whatever put that smug look on his face.

Gabe’s still standing beside me, his shoulders squared, his chest heaving, as though he’s been holding in the same breath. When I glance at him, his green eyes burn, not with lust, not with amusement—but wi th fury. Raw and untamed, it radiates off him in waves, more intense than anything I’ve seen from him before.

“I hate him.” Gabe’s voice is low, guttural, like it’s being torn from his chest. “I hate the way he looks at us, the way he talks about us like we’re less than nothing. Like we’re something vile.”

His words are sharp, each one cutting deeper into the knot of anger and helplessness that’s been building in my chest. “You’re not,” I say, my voice rough. “You’re not vile, Gabe. He’s the one who’s fucking broken.”

“Then why does it feel like he’s winning?” Gabe snaps, whirling to face me. His hands are trembling, his jaw tight. “He gets to walk around this town, hiding behind his badge, spreading his poison—and what do we do? Stand here and take it?”

I reach out instinctively, gripping his arm, but he shakes me off. The rejection stings, but I can’t blame him. I’ve felt this same frustration clawing at me for years, the helpless rage of knowing someone like Kaufman thrives while people like Gabe—and Todd, and me—pay the price.

“We don’t just take it,” I say, though my voice feels hollow even to my own ears. “We fight back.”

“How?” His laugh is bitter, broken. “How do we fight someone who has the law on his side? Who can do whatever the hell he wants, and no one stops him?”

For a moment, I don’t have an answer. What can I say to him that isn’t just empty words? That it’ll get better? That people like Kaufman always get what’s coming to them? I’ve lived long enough to know that isn’t always true. Sometimes, the world is cruel. Sometimes, the bad guys win.

But I can’t tell Gabe that. Not now. Not when the fire in his eyes is all that’s keeping him from collapsing under the weight of it all.

“ We fight,” I say finally, stepping closer. My voice is steel now, sharper than the claws I feel itching just under my skin. “We fight by being exactly who we are. By not letting him dictate how we live. By standing together, no matter what he throws at us. That’s how we win.”

Gabe’s gaze locks with mine, the anger in his eyes tempered now by something else—something more fragile, like hope. He swallows hard, his throat working, as though he’s trying to hold back words he can’t quite say.

For a long moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Then, slowly, his arms wrap around me, his grip firm, grounding. The anger in the air doesn’t dissipate—it’s still there, burning low, waiting—but it shifts. It’s not helpless anymore. It’s something we can use.

When he finally steps back, his eyes meet mine, and there’s a new resolve in them. “I believe you,” he says quietly. “But if he comes after us again—after anyone we care about—I won’t hold back.”

“Neither will I,” I promise, the truth of it settling deep in my chest.