Lynx Northern Shifters 3

relinquish his grasp. There had been a theory behind this assault—the need for Jonah to return to his human form. But there was also a need within Trey, and wrong as this was, he found he couldn’t let go, despite the pain and despite Jonah’s anger. Cat muscles bunched beneath his grip, the fur sliding this way and that, and even with his experience in hand-to-hand fighting, Trey landed with his back on the wood floor, because he’d never before wrestled with a lynx who he didn’t want to hurt.
Jonah pounced then, his sharp teeth taking Trey’s open throat in his mouth.
The terrible thing was that a part of Trey didn’t mind Jonah going through with it, ending it all. Trey was exhausted in his own way, not that he could speak of his weariness when Jonah had been through so much. And this stubborn fight with Jonah was sapping the last of his will.
The only thing he couldn’t stand was the idea that Jonah would never recover from killing Trey. As that thought passed through Trey’s mind, he realized the real danger was over, that if Jonah were going for the kill, Trey would be dying now. Instead heated breath blew across Trey’s neck while sharp teeth did not actually break his skin.
A cat’s warning. Again.
Trey’s breath went in and out, shaky and loud, so unlike him and he couldn’t stop it. He was shivering and it wasn’t fear, it was longing. Though Jonah might hate him, might forever reject him, Jonah was also Trey’s mate and Trey could not stifle his reaction.
Jonah released him then, pulled back enough to gaze, human awareness in those lynx eyes. Trey hadn’t seen the lynx’s expression appear so human in their time together, and he observed more than Trey might have wished Jonah to see, but he couldn’t break the look away.
A soft noise escaped Jonah, and he leaned over to lick Trey’s cheek, then his eyes, the too-rough tongue rasping like sandpaper over delicate skin. What the hell was Jonah doing?
He didn’t dare ask, but allowed the contact, allowed Jonah to lick along his forearm that was bleeding freely from the scratch. The contact made Trey shiver again. He never shivered.
Jonah nosed Trey until he rose and lay down on the cot and pulled the sleeping bag around. He was too weary to plead again with Jonah to shift, and Jonah made no effort to leave him. Instead he lay on top of him, warming Trey who’d gotten too cold lying on the floor, and they both fell asleep, Trey deeply.
He hadn’t slept so well for months.
    Trey had accomplished what he’d intended, Jonah thought rather grimly as he glanced down at his pale skinny body and reoriented himself to the human world, a world he’d had no interest in reentering until last night. But this morning, after Trey’s full-body contact and their goddamned sleeping together— something that had been his cat’s idea for fuck’s sake—the urge to shift had become unbearable. Jonah had succumbed. The heat now rose off his skin and he breathed out a puff of air, visible in the cold morning.
    It had been such a long time since he’d shifted in his own home, and everything about it felt utterly different. The invigoration that had always followed a shift was gone and Jonah was worn out. He had zero interest in sex. Age or experience had changed him, and he didn’t know and didn’t care why he wasn’t aroused. He sure as hell didn’t want to feel anything for Trey. Jonah reached for some clothing, somewhat musty after years of sitting in this cold, unused cave.
    Then he stood, hands on hips, and gazed around himself. His sight was fully back. Slowly he reached up and touched the eye that Horton had gouged out before his death. It was whole, unharmed. Presumably Jonah had shifted in time to save it, not that he could remember that day clearly. It was all a blur, including his journey back here.
    He was home. So familiar and yet…not. Something had altered and he guessed it was himself. He’d never figured that this house, this home, would be the best he could do with his life, but apparently it was so. At twenty-eight, he could accept that, if grudgingly. He’d accepted worse at the hands of Horton.
    As he turned towards the doorway, he knew what he’d see—Trey, silent as a ghost, standing in the threshold, gaze hungry and haunted.
There was a time when Jonah would have cared, been moved by Trey’s caring, by his need . But all Jonah felt was anger. Last night had been yet another small betrayal, because Trey had known Jonah