What the Cat Dragged In Page 4

  Then they sat, and he stared into…. “Your eyes are different colors.”

  “Green and blue,” Connor agreed. “Yours are gray. I like that. I couldn’t tell last night. You know they say gray and green are the most unusual eye colors.”

  Brock shook his head, not sure what it was about this guy that fascinated him so.

  “I’m not like other kitties, but that’s okay. I’m cool with it.”

  “I’ve never known a lot of cat shifters. I came from a huge pack.”

  “My pack is pretty big.”

  Wait. What? “You’re a cat.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You guys are supposed to be solitary.”

  Connor’s lips quirked. “Are we?”

  “Huge territories. Solitary unless you’re mating.”

  “Well, I’m the gay one. And I have a pack in Nevada. Nineteen pups at last count, a panther, a coyote, and a bunch of wolves. They’re amazing.”

  “A coyote?” He was from the Texas/Oklahoma border. Coyotes weren’t their best buds.

  “He can’t shift anymore. He’s in love with Sam’s sister.”

  “Sam?” Brock sipped his coffee. Oh, yum. Wow.

  “Sam is Gus’s mate.”

  “Uh. And who is Gus?” Somewhere he’d missed something.

  “The Alpha. He’s a rock hound.”

  “Alph….” More coffee. He needed more coffee.

  “Yep. Of my pack.” Connor frowned at him. “Are you good with altitude? I think it’s making you cloudy.”

  “I’m fine with altitude. I’ve been up here for years with no trouble.”

  “Well, did they drug you?”

  “No!” He glared at Kitty McVaguebook. “You’re just impossible to understand. Start at the beginning.”

  “Which beginning? I was born to Mike and Starshine Ragbone. Me, my sister, and a set of conjoined twins who are on display in Dr. Darque’s Freak Show and Wonder Emporium, or were, a hundred years ago.”

  Brock blinked. “You’re the one on drugs.”

  “Not currently.” Ragbone shrugged. “You’re no spring chicken.”

  “I am not old.” Brock scowled harder. “I’m sixty. Barely mature for my kind.” Shit. That was poor word choice.

  Ragbone began to chuckle, the sound warm and not a bit mean, which made it easier to swallow his growl.

  “You know what I mean. Anyway, if you’re that much older than me, you can’t call me old.”

  Connor batted silky blond lashes at him. “Your muscles are so big. I just assumed.”

  That had Brock cracking up. Confusing and maddening, but fucking hilarious, this one.

  “That’s better. So, Gus is a wolf, and Sam is a panther, but he has wolfy brothers and sisters—all sorts. Blind, crazy, normal, not-shifty.”

  “Most of them adopted, then?” That made sense. Brock knew some shifter families took in all kinds of orphans. Tough with a big pack, but it happened.

  “All of ’em. Cool, huh?”

  “That totally is.” Wow. That was some dedication to helping out.

  “Their dad died a few years back, hence the shift in packs. Gus is a new Alpha, but he’s great at it. Fair but tough. A metric fuck-ton of puppies.” Connor grinned happily. “I have a room there.”

  “Where is this?”

  “Northern Nevada. Weird, right? I always saw my more permanent place in Colorado, you know, like all Texans.” Connor winked.

  Their food came, the scent of green chile and eggs and sausage making Brock’s mouth water. Uhn.

  “Yum.” Connor looked at him, eyes glowing for a second before they settled.

  “Right?” He dug in, not bothering to apologize for his ravenous eating style. He’d been living on jerky and these weird hard biscuits of Joe’s. Ick.

  Of course he had to admit, Connor didn’t look too concerned. Ragbone chowed down, purring happily.

  Brock watched while he ate, admiring. The guy had this look to him. Solid and centered and such a weirdo all at once.

  Fascinating.

  Lickable.

  Wait. No licking. He didn’t lick felines. He was into wolves. Big, manly, military dude wolves. Not dreadlocked little kitties with big feet.

  “Mmm. That was luscious. So what now? You want to pick up your truck and head to Nevada? You want a nap? We could soak in the hot springs.”

  “I—there’s a hot springs pool here, huh?”

  “There is.” Connor waggled his eyebrows. “There’s also Orvis.”

  He shot Ragbone a blank look. “Corvis? Like raven? You hang out with raven shifters? You’re a predator.”

  “Don’t be a bigot, man. It’s not cool.”

  “Hey! I’m a wolf. It’s a thing.”

  Connor tilted his head. “Still not cool. And it’s Orvis. About ten miles down the road. Clothing-optional hot springs. We wouldn’t have to buy suits.”

  “Works for me. I could soak. And I’m not a bigot. Apex predators don’t hang out with prey. It leads to disaster.”

  “We are more than our teeth, butthead.”

  Brock snorted. “Are we? We like to believe it, but we’re fighting millions of years of instinct.”

  “So? Are you suggesting that we can’t control our urges? That we’re just ending up chasing our tails forever? Because I got to tell you, I think that’s selling us short.”

  That was something. A bobcat lecturing about selling their tails short.

  “I think it’s great if you can hone your human side, but when it comes down to emergencies, we default to our animal nature.” See him. See him have a discussion. It was kinda cool. He rarely got to talk to anyone for real. Too much time undercover with sleazeballs.

  “Uh-huh. For a second or two, right? Then you get your shit together and act right.”

  Christ, obviously this one hadn’t ever dealt with life-or-death. When you had to dig in and save yourself, you did what you had to. “Survival of the fittest is a saying for a reason, Ragbone.”

  “Sure it is. But there’s more to it. There has to be.”

  Ah, the Fairy Kitty Philosopher. Charming. Pointless, but fun to talk to.

  “Clothing optional, huh?” Time to change the subject. “Good thing I’m not modest.” He grinned. “Let me get one more coffee to go, and I’m in.”

  “Oh, sounds good. I’ll take another too.”

  He ordered for both of them, then went ahead and paid the bill, even though Connor gave him the stink-eye. This was on him.

  He wasn’t a damn mooch, after all.

  They grabbed their to-go cups so they could head back out to the car. “You think this Orvis has a spa shop where I can grab a pair of undies and socks for tomorrow? Then we can go get my truck.”

  “If not, I’ll find you something, no worries.”

  “Yeah, there has to be a dozen T-shirt places.” Didn’t look like Ouray had a Walmart, but he’d make do.

  Connor didn’t seem worried. It was bizarre. People worried, didn’t they?

  Maybe he was just the anxious type. Brock preferred capable as a term, but who knew? Maybe Connor had gone through shock therapy….

  He’d met a couple of those. It fucked with folks.

  They settled in the Mustang again, and Brock wondered where Connor got the money for this kind of a ride. “What do you actually do, man?”

  “Hmm? I find things.”

  “So people pay you to do that?” Did this guy always talk in circles? Evasion or just habit?

  “Sort of. More I get paid after. When I need things, I find them. Then I take them where they need to go, and there’s money sometimes.” Ragbone pulled out, heading down the road. “I found a whole bag of money once, you know? Like, a whole bag.”

  “No shit? What did you do with it?” The complications there boggled Brock’s mind.

  “Turned it in. You never know if there’s nanobytes or flesh-eating bacteria or something. Money’s filthy.” Connor nodded once, just like that. “I got a ten thousand dollar r
eward, though.”

  Well, that explained the car. “Shit. I could save a lot of bears with that.”

  “Do you have a bear thing?”

  “Huh?” Brock frowned. “No. No. I mean, they’re popular with poachers now.”

  “That sucks. They’re so neat. I like their lips.” Connor pursed his lips comically, sticking them out and sort of… wiggling them.

  Brock laughed, but he did have a flash of curiosity about what else those lips could do. Nope. Bad wolf.

  Naughty kitty.

  Stop it!

  He was about to soak naked in a hot springs with said kitty. No sex thoughts. This whole situation was weird enough.

  “It’s okay, Fuzzy. You’ve been lost a long time. It’s got to be weird, being found.”

  What the hell did that mean? He stared at Connor, because asking would simply get him another circular answer. Finally he decided on “Yeah,” and settled in the passenger seat to watch the scenery go by.

  As soon as he got his truck, he was totally dumping Fairy Ragbone and getting back to reality. That was the only way to keep his sanity.

  Chapter Six

  ORVIS HAD been like heaven.

  Connor did love a naked dip in a hot springs. Brock had been a little weird at first, but they’d both melted the moment they hit that mineral water. Yum.

  Oh, he’d looked his fill once Brock had closed his eyes. Who wouldn’t?

  Broad and fine, scarred in all the best travel-map ways, and fuzzy all over—Connor could lick Brock like a melting ice cream cone in August.

  Still, the fuzzy one had been totally clear—no pussy for him. Connor was cool with that. Not everyone was into that. Most folks stuck with their own kind, even. He was just omnivorous.

  He’d even had an amazing three-week snuggle with a stallion who damn near ruined him for life and a one-nighter with a croc shifter that would have been longer, except there was that whole “tastes like chicken” thing. That was more than he could take.

  He still had a little guilt over that one.

  They hit the Days Inn about five, which was a great check-in time. Hell, this was a luxury. He usually slept in his car.

  “You want to share a room, man?” Brock asked. “Save on dough.”

  “Sure. I don’t snore. Purr, yes. Snore, no.”

  Brock’s cheeks went pink. “I bark in my dreams.”

  “Aww. Do you chase rabbits?”

  Brock chuckled. “I think so, yeah.”

  “Just remember, I am not a cottontail, no matter what the haters say.”

  “No? You have that stubby little—”

  “Nope.” Ragbone held up a hand. “Do not diss my tail.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Brock pulled out his wallet. “Two queens?”

  “You have no idea,” he muttered under his breath, even as the desk agent shook her head.

  “I’m sorry. I have a number of kings, but not doubles.”

  “Oh.” Brock frowned, then shrugged. “One king is fine.”

  Connor raised his eyebrows. “I can get my own room.”

  “No, it’s fine. We slept together last night.” Brock’s eyes widened. “I mean—”

  “Camping. Tentage. It was cold. Believe me, the shrinkage was incredible.” He offered the pretty lady a grin, going for less toothy insanity and more charming loner.

  “Oh.” She gave them a strained smile. “Well, that’s one nineteen.”

  Damn. He must have hit the psycho serial killer stoner smile. He tried to save that one for emergencies. “Thank you, honey! You are made of win.”

  Brock gave him an odd look. “Yeah. Here you go.” Brock paid, and Connor made a mental note to pay him back. It just seemed to make the man happy to buy shit. Money was so… transient. Something. Connor had never been taught to care.

  “There’s a free breakfast from six to nine and coffee all day. Have a cookie.”

  He took it, then handed it to Brock. He needed protein.

  Brock snarfed the cookie so fast, Connor almost wondered if he imagined it. Sweet tooth. Wow.

  “There a place we can order out?” Brock asked.

  “Pizza.” She handed over a flyer. “There’s a young man who picks up and delivers from three places. One of them does burgers too.”

  “Nummy cheesiness.” He could handle that. Or a burger. Cool. They could stay in.

  “Works for me.” Brock grabbed his little pack and headed for the elevator, the desk lady shaking her head as they left. “She thinks we’re crazy.”

  “She’s probably right. That’s okay.” What was a little insanity on the road? They were nomads. Didn’t that buy a little leeway for the nuts?

  “Yeah.” Brock laughed once the elevator closed. “The fudge-packer thing bothered her more than the whacko.”

  “She’s not into the whole pipe-laying thought? Bummer.” He grinned over. “Just think if she knew we were furry too. Kink ahoy!”

  “Well, at least we’re not dressing up in raccoon suits.” Brock led the way down the hall, which was clean enough. Always a good sign.

  “No. No, those are itchy.” And remarkably heavy and hot.

  Brock unlocked the door and let him in first. “I don’t want to know how you know that.”

  “Probably not.” There were, undoubtedly lots of things no one wanted to know about him. Well, maybe Sam. Sam would want to know. In fact, he and Sam had a lot in common beyond felineness. Felinocity. Felinity. He liked that.

  “Not bad, huh? You want me to order supper?” Brock grabbed a stack of menus.

  “Sure. I’m easy.” He curled up in one of the chairs by the windows, admiring the mountains.

  “You want meat? They have philly cheesesteak sammies, an all-meat pizza, or a burger.”

  “Yes, please!” He laughed, his belly gnawing on his backbone. “Twelve of each.”

  “I’ll just order a bunch of stuff, and we can split it all.” Brock gave him this conspiratorial look, and he bounced. Yay food. “I’m curious to see how much you can put in that tiny body.”

  “You’d be surprised how often I hear that.” He had the metabolism of a hyperthyroidic cheetah. He could eat.

  “At least I look like I put it somewhere.” Brock’s expression changed while he stared at Connor. “I mean, I’ve seen you naked a few times now. You must have a hollow leg.”

  “Better than feeding a partially reabsorbed twin or something.”

  “Man, you read too many horror novels, Ragbone.”

  Connor cackled, because that was right, he did. He totally did. Then again, he was supposed to have had conjoined twin siblings…. He’d never seen them, but his dad swore by it.

  Brock ordered, and the list of food got pretty long, including truffle fries and mozzarella sticks, two bacon cheeseburgers, two meat pizzas, and a foot-long philly cheese with extra goo.

  Connor’s toes curled in his boots, rhythmically, over and over.

  This guy might try to pretend not to get him, but Brock was doing this for him because he was so hungry. Lost, meet found. He wanted to nuzzle up to Brock to thank him, maybe lick him a tiny bit.

  He wondered if that would make Brock bite. He wondered if that would be cool. He bet it would.

  Now his cock was rising up, taking a hello and howdy kind of interest. Hmm. Maybe he should go to the bathroom. Just to keep Brock from freaking out.

  “You okay?” Brock asked when he hung up.

  “I’m springing wood. I think I’d better go jack off in the shower, huh?” He stood up and grabbed his clean clothes, looking for a fresh pair of socks. Socks were important.

  “Uh. Okay.” Brock was staring at him, bright gray eyes boring into him. “You do what you gotta do, man.” Those cheeks had flushed bright pink, but he didn’t think Brock was embarrassed.

  “Well, I sorta want to rub all over you, but that seems rude, given that you aren’t into felines. So I’ll just imagine, and that way maybe I will be a good kitty all evening. Do you play cards?”

&n
bsp; “Poker.” Brock sounded choked. “I’m not into long-term with kitties or anything, but I like to blow off steam.”

  Oh, Brock said blow.

  “I like to blow. I like poker too. And canasta.”

  “Right. Come here for a minute.” Brock crooked a finger at him.

  That gesture was like being hooked through the balls, except less painful and gross and more wonderful. He bebopped over, dropping his clothes on the bed. “Just a minute?”

  “Maybe five? Shouldn’t take too long for some friendly hand jobs, right?” Brock grabbed him, hands on his hips.

  “You almost had me fooled at the spa,” Connor teased. “You never looked.”

  “Shit. I thought my eyes might bug out.”

  “I like your fuzz. I could lick you all over. You’ve never had a blowjob until you’ve felt a kitty tongue on your prick.”

  “Even as a man?” Brock actually peered at his mouth, so Connor stuck out his tongue. “Weird. Come here.” Now Brock dragged him up for a kiss.

  Huh. So this puppy kissed. Good to know.

  He pressed right in, making sure they were touching shoulder to knee. His cock really liked the contact, even through the clothes separating them. He grabbed Brock’s wide shoulders, bracing himself.

  He went up on tiptoe and rocked a bit. Okay, it was more grinding, but no one was keeping score.

  One big hand flattened on his butt, Brock holding him where he was. Wicked strong, this fuzzy wolf. Hot as fire and a voracious kisser.

  He sucked in a Brock-flavored breath, let the sensations flood him.

  Brock moved them, stumbling back to sit on the bed and drawing him into Brock’s lap. Now, that was a fine ride. Hi-ho fuzzy!

  He laughed, the sound ringing out as he dove into another kiss. Oh, he could do this for way longer than five minutes. He loved the taste of Brock, the indefinable manly but wild thing.

  Brock fumbled at his fly, trying to loosen his jeans, and Connor sucked in to help.

  The button finally popped open, and he could breathe again, laughing at the ridiculous sound of his zipper. Who had decided that was a good idea?

  “What’s funny, Ragbone?”

  “Zippers. Zippers are the most amazing things.”