The Soldier's Familiar (Familiar Mates book 7)
Chapter 1
The bass thumped through Bailey’s feet as he stood a cubicle that reeked of piss and sweat. He rifled through the wallet, taking the credit card for his grandmother and the cash for himself, then repeated the process with the other three wallets. He’d ditch them on the dancefloor as usual, for their owners to find if they were lucky. Tomorrow they’d figure out their cards were gone, but by then it would be too late.
His hand shook as he did the last one. Only four, it wasn’t enough. He muttered several curses, then slid the cards into his shoe and the money into his wallet. He hated this. He wanted to be able to go out for a good time, not work. Not that anyone but his family considered this work. He couldn’t get a real job because then he’d be asked to steal from the company, and that was a far bigger crime than stealing wallets.
With a shrug, he readied himself to go back out. He’d find someone to dance with and he wouldn’t take their wallet. So what if he only gave her four cards, instead of the six he was supposed to? She’d sigh her disappointment, and they’d eat boiled potatoes and fish all week as punishment. It was no wonder his mother had gotten herself killed; it had been her only way out.
He flushed and stepped out. Soft grunts came from the other end of the bathroom. Half their luck. If he got a boyfriend, he’d be punished with only potatoes on his plate. Tomorrow he’d be dragged out of bed to go to church to seek forgiveness, then be right back at it come Monday morning in the crush of the Sydney commute.
When he’d been younger, he used to hope that his mother had faked her death to escape the family and that she’d come and spring him. He raked his fingers through his bleached blond hair that, according to his grandmother, was too long for a man. It didn’t even touch his shoulders. One rebellion at a time.
Happy that he hadn’t gotten blotchy with stress he slid back onto the dance floor, letting the stolen wallets hit the ground as he moved through the press of people. He ordered a beer, and the bartender studied him a bit too hard as though he knew Bailey’s ID was as fake as his hair. Another six months and he’d be old enough to drink and do whatever he wanted. Leaving home was at the top of his list, but if he really wanted to leave, he’d have done it already. Wouldn’t he?
The fear that they’d hunt him down, or worse, kept him frozen in place. He knew he wasn’t safe staying, but running was more dangerous.
The bartender handed over the beer, and Bailey took a drink as he surveyed the crowd searching for targets, not to rob, but to kiss. Everyone was having fun tonight; why shouldn’t he?
There were guys in make-up and see-through shirts, men clearly on the hunt, others in groups, some old enough to be his father—not that he’d ever met his father. He could, of course, dance and hope to be found by someone pretty enough to swap spit with. He only wanted them for one song, so all he cared about was their eyes, their lips, and the way they moved.
With his beer in his hand he slid deeper into the crowd, vowing to return to work in a minute or ten. The cards rubbed against the sole of his foot as he moved. The clock was ticking on how long they’d be useful. He needed to finish the job. Gather two more cards and leave. But he loved this song.
Just this one.
Men bumped into him, dancing and grinding, and for a few breaths he pretended that this was his world and he belonged. Their hands didn’t reach into his pockets, and it wasn’t a hunger for money in the air. He opened his eyes; a dark-haired man dressed in black was moving in.
Bailey’s heart almost stopped; the man looked like a cop. That clean cut, sharp as a diamond look. Bet he’d cut his tongue if they kissed. That was exactly what he wanted. Lust swept through his veins, and he gave the guy a grin. The man returned the smile and angled his body toward Bailey. When he smiled, he was as hot as fuck, though that distant look in his eyes was still there. Bailey mirrored him. Why not? Kissing a cop while carrying stolen cards and cash added spice.
Not that they were in kissing distance.
He could change that. Bailey took a step but wanted the man to make the next move. Usually he got in close and got their hopes up while lightening their pockets. He didn’t want to make the first move this time.
The itch at the back of his brain was a warning he tried to ignore. Mixing business and pleasure wasn’t smart. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d kissed a guy, just the first time he’d done it because he was attracted, not because he wanted what was in their wallet.
The man slid closer; then they were touching. Bailey’s fingers curled like they wanted to explore more than his pockets. He gripped his beer a little tighter and enjoyed the way they bumped together.
The man’s hand slid around Bailey’s waist, then his lips were next to his ear and his breath was on Bailey’s skin. “Kass. What’s your name?”
“Bailey.” He gave his real name without thinking. It was so noisy, Kass probably hadn’t heard.
If Bailey was human, he wouldn’t have heard Kass, but his ears were sensitive enough to hear a rabbit shit in a snowstorm. Apparently. He’d never seen snow. Being a snow leopard in the middle of Sydney sucked.
Kass smiled again, and Bailey couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to. Kass’s smile was dazzling, and he got a cute little dimple on one side. Too bad the cute ones were always law abiding. If they started talking, Bailey would have to start lying about what he did, and he didn’t want that poison between them. But for one song, nothing mattered except the way they moved.
Kass pulled him close and Bailey regretted having one hand taken up with beer when it should be grabbing a handful of Kass. The song would end in about thirty seconds. He wanted another, but he’d wasted enough time.
Every move Kass made sent lust shivering down Bailey’s back. Now that he’d let himself indulge; he didn’t want to stop. He needed to feel Kass’s bare skin.
Could he steal a new experience, something to remember later?
After a moment’s hesitation, Bailey let his fingers creep beneath Kass’s shirt.
Kass took the hint and drew Bailey to him so there could be no doubt about the way he felt. The length of his dick rubbed in all the right places and Bailey was as hard as concrete. He needed more than a dance. He pressed his luck and tipped his chin, offering his lips and hoping Kass would make the next move. He wanted to be seen and desired, instead of being the one to hunt and catch and steal. Kass swooped and claimed him, not needing even a heartbeat.
Their lips crashed together, hard and hungry. Bailey opened his mouth, desperate for a taste. It was like falling into night and feeling the stars prick along his skin as the universe consumed him. Bailey’s eyes closed as he gave into the dizzying sensation.
Kass groaned, and his fingers threaded through Bailey’s hair like he had no intention of letting go. Honestly, if Kass dragged him out the back, he wouldn’t even put up a mock protest. Tonight was as good as any to do more than think about it, and while he’d known Kass approximately half a song, he knew enough to know that he wanted this man in a way he’d never wanted anything.
His heart hammered, and he ground against Kass, hoping that beneath that sharp exterior was a dirty mind who wanted to extend their time together.
The warning at the back of his mind increased in volume.
He ignored it at nipped at Kass’s lip. Kass squeezed his ass and held him hard up against him. If they were naked…need pulsed through his blood. He should take Kass out the back and pretend that he knew what to do.
The hunger inside him ignited and in that heartbeat it wasn’t only his lust. He glimpsed himself through Kass’s eyes and felt his desire.
He jerked back, the taste of the witch still on his lips.
Fuck me.
Something was wrong. This wasn’t just a kiss. Well, it was, but there were kisses and there were kisses. He’d only ever heard about the second. The second type was pure magic and something to be avoided at all costs. Sparks tumbled through him and he wanted to believe it was lust and nothing more. But he wasn’t that stupid. He knew the stories, had listened to the warnings about witches from the first day he shifted.
And he was an idiot because all he wanted was another taste. More than just a taste, he wanted everything. His hand remained beneath Kass’s shirt and Kass stared at him like Bailey Fisher, petty thief, was the center of the universe.
Then Kass blinked as though he’d been slapped in the face, not kissed. “You’re a shifter.”
Bailey hissed; he didn’t need everyone in the damn club knowing his business, nor was he about to confess to being anything. Shit.
For how long had this witch been looking for a shifter?
His blood was as cold as his beer.
“What?” He feigned confusion. “Yeah, I’m versatile.” Or he liked the idea, he’d never actually gotten far enough to have that conversation. And there’d be no getting naked, or even semi-naked, tonight. His gut clenched; the anticipation riding high in his blood. Not even realizing Kass was a witch had dampened the hunger. What the fuck was wrong with him?
He knew…he just didn’t want to believe.
Kass frowned and nodded. “Right, yeah.”
But something had changed between them. Where there’d been only lust, now there was confusion and distrust. It had been bound to happen sooner rather than later. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.
The sparks trapped in Bailey’s chest made every breath tight. He wanted to kiss Kass and find out what was in those tight jeans, but he needed to leave before anything else happened. The song was over, his time was up. He downed what was left of the beer.
“Getting rid of my bottle. Be right back.” He smiled and hoped it looked real.
He leaned in and kissed Kass on the cheek, like he meant what he’d said, then made his exit, trailing his fingers over Kass’s hip before dipping into his pocket. The wallet was in Bailey’s jeans before he reached the edge of the dance floor. He ditched the bottle on a table and headed out the door.
The air was sharp in his lungs, but he preferred winter to summer. Loved the bite of ice and the sting of sleet. He walked to the train station hugging the shadows, knowing he was all but invisible. On the platform, he slouched against a wall and waited. The urge to pull out the wallet was too strong for him to ignore. Who was the witch?
Kassidy Robinson. His driver’s license gave a military base as his address. There was an Army ID card and in his photo he seemed very proper, very serious. And still delectable.
Bailey stared up at the night sky. Of all the men he could’ve kissed, he’d found a witch. Or the witch had found him. His pulse quickened as his mind replayed the way they’d fit together. He adjusted his jeans, and it didn’t make any difference. His dick was uncomfortably hard, like it hadn’t gotten the memo that nothing was going to happen.
I am not attracted to him.
It wasn’t attraction; it was fucking binding magic. If he went home and said anything to Gran, she’d cuff his ear then send a hitman after Kass. It was a tempting idea and a quick way to be free of the bond that now connected them.
He checked the almost empty platform, but there was no sign of the witch. And no hitmen. He didn’t want to graduate from theft to more serious crimes, but that was all that waited for him once he turned eighteen. He didn’t want that. He wanted a job flipping burgers like other kids his age.
Instead, he’d be in trouble for not bringing home enough. Even if he tossed Kass’s card in, he only had five. Being short, brought trouble. And worst of all, he needed a new hunting ground. He didn’t want to go near his favorite club if Kass went there. One smile and he’d melt, he was sure of it. A rush of air heralded the train. He should toss the wallet and just keep the cash and card, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He slipped it back into his pocket.
At least he knew who the witch was. What to do with his mate was a much thornier problem.
***
Kass spun, but Bailey had already slipped away. He narrowed his eyes as he scanned the crowd for the bottle blond, but he was gone. Vanished into thin air. Kass wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but his lips tingled like he’d accidentally eaten kiwi fruit. Was he allergic to shifters too?
The alternative was more terrifying.
Bailey was his familiar. He turned again, he’d found him so easily the first time, like he’d been the only man on the dancefloor.
“What’s up?” Smithy put a hand on his shoulder.
“Nothing.” How could he explain what a familiar mate was to people who didn’t believe in witches? He shook his head. He was wrong, and it was nothing more than a kiss fueled by his own need to hook up and have fun before shipping out. “I need a drink.”
He reached for his wallet, but it wasn’t there. He checked the other side. Nothing.
He laughed, unable to stop it from bubbling up. It could’ve been taken by anyone, but he knew where his wallet was. Remembered the glide of Bailey’s hand and the promise he’d be back.
There’d been magic all right, but it hadn’t been the mating bond between witch and shifter.
“I’ve lost my wallet,” he shouted over the music. His finger’s curled and he thought of the wallet and tried to bring it back to him. It was easy to direct objects in motion, harder if they were still. If his wallet was on the ground in the club it would tumble along until it reached his feet, but it wasn’t that close. It was with Bailey; snug in his jeans.
A wave of anxiety and fear and lust swept through him. He rocked back and drew in a sharp breath. But for a moment he felt the cold night air on his skin. There was no point reaching for Bailey as Kass’s magic didn’t extend to directing living beings. However, he was sure than if he started walking, he’d end up at Bailey’s side. He pushed away the thoughts, not wanting to explore what they meant. This time the fear was his. What had he done?
“Sure you did.” Smithy nudged him.
“No really.” He didn’t need this bullshit, but there wasn’t much he could do. He would have to call the bank and get a new ID, all in the next twenty-four hours. Even if he asked the club for camera footage, he doubted they’d have a clear photo of the guy with his hand in his pocket. Reporting it to the cops wouldn’t get him far either.
He’d cancel the cards and move on. In two days, it wouldn’t matter as he’d be in the middle of nowhere. He accepted Smithy’s offer to buy a beer, but the night’s buzz had faded, replaced with uncertainty. The missing wallet was the least of his problems.
Getting back onto the base with no ID was a pain in the ass. When he finally crawled into bed, sober and wound in knots, he couldn’t sleep. Bailey filled his mind looking like all he wanted was a good time—Kass would’ve given it to him too. Gotten a room and crawled back to base in time to shower and shave and pretend that he was respectable. There’d been something about Bailey that he hadn’t been able to resist.
Tentatively he reached out again, telling himself he was searching for his wallet. It was easy to find. However it wasn’t moving, and it was too far away for him to nudge it into action. He let his magic slide over Bailey and was immediately thrown into a storm of emotion. Bailey was wound up, but that wasn’t all. Lust, that wasn’t his, spiked through Kass making him as hard as he’d been in the club. The anxiety and desire tumbled together, ramping up, and it took several seconds for Kass to work out why—and only because his hand had somehow slid to his dick. He drew in a breath, wanting to back away from what should be private emotions but trapped in the moment.
Was it his heart racing or Bailey’s?
His breath caught, and a shiver of pleasure ran through him. With the next breath there was only calm. But he hadn't come, he was still hard.
He turned over to stare at the ceiling, unable to lie to himself, and trying to will away the erection. Had Bailey been alone, or had he found someone else?
The stab of bitterness that caused was unwarranted, given that he’d known Bailey for less than three minutes. Three minutes or three seconds, it didn’t matter. The kiss had started the magic that bound witch and shifter.
Which created another problem. He was heading off to a war zone; if he was killed, his familiar would pine away and die.
He sat up, swearing under his breath. He would have to call the Coven and report himself. Witches couldn’t go around blindly kissing shifters and binding mates, no matter how intense the attraction. He flopped back on the bed. It was three AM. He couldn’t make any calls now; this wasn’t an emergency by Coven standards. Tomorrow would have to be good enough.
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