Lynx Northern Shifters 3

became a necessity, he knew what to do. He’d killed before.
He crouched in the doorway. At least the wind had faded here, and if he listened carefully, he could hear the creature approaching.
    The snow was less deep, in this harbor against the elements. A clever place to make a den. Trey slowed right down and kept his ears open. Lynx were capable of moving silently, and Trey did not intend to be attacked without forewarning.
    In the distance, he saw a small clearing, and he approached it cautiously. As he was about to reach its edge, a voice floated over the cold air, startling him.
“Hey, wolf.” A rich tenor. Not old, but certainly not a boy’s.
Trey went stock-still as a shiver thrilled through him. He’d anticipated a shifter, but somehow the reality of it was a shock. A giant-lynx shifter. Amazing .
His next thought followed swiftly—his employers could never, ever know. This was one more secret Trey intended to guard, because cat shifters were precious and rare, and this lynx shifter might be unique.
“I can hear you so you might as well come out. My hearing is quite good, as it happens.”
The words were friendly, welcoming. The man-lynx was rational. Relief swept over Trey. He’d refused to think far ahead, past a potential attack, as he dreaded being forced to kill such a wonderful creature as this. He stepped forward a pace or two.
“You’ve been following me.” The voice was clear, solid, clean. “That’s okay, if we’re going to be friends.”
The lynx didn’t yet recognize he was speaking to a fellow shifter. He thought Trey was an actual wolf. Which suggested he was inexperienced or uneducated.
Exactly how isolated was this lynx? Trey approached to find out.
A man crouched in a doorway to a…cave. Jesus, he lived in a cave. His body was loose, ready to move, but not aggressive in the least. Trey couldn’t make out much beyond the layers of warm clothing, but the man seemed fairly large as he turned his gaze on Trey.
They stared at each other, assessing, the man frowning a little. His eyes—green—widened in his pale, well-shaven face. This one had not let himself go wild enough to grow a years-old beard, and he wore modern winter gear. Encouraging.
“I haven’t been followed home before,” he said softly. He cocked his head. “I’m not sure exactly what you seek here. I’ve got a knife and I’ll use it to defend myself, but I really don’t want to do that. You’re a handsome fellow.”
Well, it was good to know the shifter shared Trey’s reluctance to attack. He realized that his own posture was aggressive. But this lynx was no werewolf who’d be looking to see if Trey was dominant or not, so Trey consciously relaxed his body. He stepped towards him, then stopped to utter a friendly greeting. It was a little annoying to act the wolf, but under the circumstances, necessary.
The lynx smiled and it was then, being closer and seeing that smile, that Trey realized how young he was. A strange disappointment ran through him, but he didn’t stop to examine it because fast on its heels followed concern. One this young should not be on his own. It was hard on a shifter to balance human social needs and a cat’s desire for solitude, and many couldn’t handle their split personalities. Werewolves had an easier time integrating their two halves.
Trey peered, examining that face, assessing. Okay, this one was in his twenties, probably closer to twenty than thirty.
“Are you hungry?” The words broke Trey’s train of thought and he sat, waited. He’d never been particularly vocal, but he allowed himself a brief guttural whine that the lynx took as a yes. “I’ll bet. You’ve had a long day, following me like that.” He frowned. “Though you sure don’t look malnourished. I guess winter’s been treating you well?”
Not really , but Trey didn’t think he’d bother explaining how he was an FBI agent poised to infiltrate an unnamed agency full of assholes and murderers who would kill him if they ever found out he was a shifter. Even if he could speak, he wouldn’t burden anyone with that information.
“Good.” The lynx smiled again, a trusting expression that struck Trey as something like a gift. The young man patted his chest. “I’m Jonah, by the way.” He looked beyond Trey. “And the storm is not going away yet. I think you’d better come in. Do I have to tempt you with food?” Jonah moved inward, holding open a makeshift door, so Trey pushed up from sitting and