The history of Maverick and Briar, wiseass edition. Be sure to check the bloopers and outtakes sections for an unbelievably inspired stream of bullshit. On sale for 29.99.
Honestly, I’d have given my life savings to already have the kind of history between us that they had, but I knew we’d get there. While my knowledge of shifters was completely relegated to what Hollywood presented on the big screen, I’d done my fair share of reading, and my favorite books had always been about creatures who could change their forms or blend into their surroundings. Deep down, I’d understood, even back then, that all lore and legends had to come from somewhere, but I’d nevertaken time to give much consideration to how close to the truth they might be.
I wouldn’t say I’d grown up a sheltered kid; that was impossible when one of your dads put his life on the line fighting fires for a living and the other got paid to beat the shit out of people, but I would say that I lived in a bit of a bubble, my after-school time split between the firehouse, where I helped keep the floors and rigs spotless after I got my homework done, and the gym, where my dad and his MMA buddies trained, which often times included allowing me to get on the mats and roll with one of them or get into the ring with the gloves on and try my hand at a bit of sparring. Growing up, I’d always known that I could hold my own against any of my classmates, but it had also been instilled in me that I wasn't to start shit, but I was damn sure supposed to end it if someone brought the fight to me.
I wondered now if there had been a shifter among those at the firehouse or gym who’d just been protective of their ability to shift forms out of fear that they’d lose some of the acceptance and brotherhood they’d found among their peers. It was a shame if that was the case, but it also left me wondering if my mates had reason to fear being exposed for what they truly were, or if their community was filled with shifters of all different varieties who chose to band together and create a place for themselves away from humans. It’s not like we were known for being the most tolerant bunch of mammals on the planet. One only had to look at how we treated each other to know that.
How cautious would I have to be in what I told my family? Was'mate'even a word I could use? Shit, suddenly, I was hit with a deluge of questions like the ones that had rolled me so bad yesterday that I’d passed out. Yeah, we didn't need another medic visit for a fainting spell either. Not gonna happen. Tonight, after we’d had our adventure and were settled in the living room, I’d lay out the questions and concerns I had aboutwhat I could share and what I couldn’t and work from there. Considering my dads’ relationship, I doubted they’d bat an eye when I came home with two hot men.
But two hot men who turned into snow leopards?
I doubtedthatwas covered in any parenting classes anywhere. Well, at least not human ones. Now I was curious to know if shifter-human pairings were common and if there was a chance for little ones in our future.
Would they be humans?
Cubs?
A mix of both?
Oh shit, just the vibes rolling off Briar. I knew he was an alpha, but I couldn’t get a read on Maverick at all. I wondered if, like me, he was an omega who’d learned how to blend in so it wasn’t obvious. Either way, I suspected things were going to get truly interesting when we reached the living room tonight.
And if interesting included them making a sandwich out of me, then I was totally down with that.
Chapter 9
Maverick
Maybe I was hamming it up a little, peeking out from behind a tree and giving my mate my bestcurious kittyexpression, but the joy of finally having a mate and sharing that mate with Briar had tripped me into full-on playful mode. Digging my claws into the bark, I stretched, then scampered up the tree to stretch out on a branch and playfully pose for him. The clicking was almost constant as he swung the lens from me to where Briar was rolling around on his back, waving his paws in the air.
“You two are fuckin’ adorable goofballs, and I know you know it too,” Leo said as he continued taking pictures of us.
I leaned off the edge of my branch, practically dangling, with just my claws to keep me anchored to the trunk, tail dangling as I cocked my head and squeaked out a high-pitched, chirping roar. I put far too much emphasis on looking ferocious for him and lost my grip, dangled, claws scrabbling for purchase for a moment before I dropped tail first into a bush, sending a puff of snow into the air in the process, while the rest came tumbling down off the branches and onto my head.
Poking my head up, I was met with laughter and the clicking of the camera before Leo turned it around so I could see what I looked like. Snow clung to my ears, the scruffy fur on my cheeks, my whiskers, and even the tip of my nose.
“I am so framing that,” Leo said, still chuckling.
He snapped off a few more pictures as Briar went up on his back paws so he could shake more snow off the bush onto me.
Oh, he wanted to play, did he?
Hunkering down, I hid at the bottom of the bush until he poked his head through the branches and murphed at me, then I launched myself over his head and out of the bush. Sort of. The bush was a tad too tall, and I failed to generate enough spring in my leap, so I wound up with my back paws springboarding off his back and flattening him into the poor bush in the process, with Leo taking pictures the whole time.
By the time he clawed his way out of the mess, with greenery and snow clinging to the fur around his face and shoulders, I was several feet away, crouched and ready to see what he did in retaliation. His leopard had always been bigger than mine, even back when we were kids, but mine had always been faster. I needed every bit of that speed to go bounding and scampering down the trail, only letting him get close enough for me to smack him across the face with my tail, just to keep him chasing me.
Round and round we went, always keeping one eye on Leo to make sure he could keep up with us. On those snowshoes of his, he had no trouble traversing the snowy landscape, especially when we stuck to the trail and refrained from darting off into the forest.
Eventually I zigged instead of zagged, and Briar pounced, his shadow on the snow the only indication I had of him flying in my direction, paws outstretched. Somehow, I managed to turn in time for him to tackle me, which allowed me to flip him over my head and send him rolling into a snowbank.
He came up looking around wildly. I just knew that he expected me to have a sneak attack planned. Instead, I tucked myself behind our mate’s leg and peered out at him from there, trusting Leo to protect me.
When his hand landed on my head and rubbed, I let out a rumbling purr and nuzzled the leg of his jeans.
“Awe, is he picking on you?” Leo asked, kneeling to rub noses with me.
Briar chuffed and flicked snow at us with his tail, then sat and nudged Leo’s shoulder until he got nose rubs too. It put Leo at the perfect level for me to rub against his shoulder and slink around behind him to rub against his back too. He smelled positively delicious, like snow and cedar and the beautiful balsam firs and snow pines that surrounded us. I couldn’t get enough of that scent and shoved my nose behind his ear to sniff deeper, which prompted a yelp from him.
“Dude, your nose is like an icicle,” Leo groaned, but he didn’t move away.
