Leopard's Spots 2: Oscar (2 page)

Oscar had hit him hard on the inside of his thigh, and now he figured he was going to die because of it. Josiah lurched unsteadily and Oscar, with his back already scraping the wall, tried to push Josiah away, but it was no use. Oscar’s breath gushed from his lungs as Josiah crashed into him.

“Fuuuuck,” Oscar croaked, afraid a couple of his ribs had cracked.

His arms were pinned and Josiah had to weigh at least two hundred pounds, and he was a good foot taller than Oscar. Oscar’d had enough sense to turn his head, but his face was still getting smashed between Josiah’s chest and the wall. As a matter of fact,
all
of Oscar was getting squished.

“Get off,” he whimpered, because he couldn’t quite manage not to.

Josiah rumbled and Oscar felt it clear to his toes. Oddly enough, it also seemed to flip a few erotic switches along the way, which unsettled Oscar almost as badly as he had been moments before when he’d gone ape-shit on Josiah.

But really? Getting a semi-stiffy now, of all times?

What the hell was wrong with him?

“Stop.”

Oscar hadn’t realised he’d started clawing at Josiah again until that sharply barked order had him turning stone-still. Oscar wriggled, though, because he really wanted to be able to freaking inhale sometime soon!

Josiah hissed and the next thing Oscar knew he was given a little room, very little, and was being lifted right off his feet as Josiah brought them eye to eye.

“This is what I get for rescuing you?”

“Rescuing me?” Oscar spluttered, thinking he should have tried harder to do some damage to Josiah,
the arrogant prick
! “I had it under control!”

Josiah’s expression didn’t change, yet he somehow managed to look even more intimidating. It was a good thing Oscar had been bully proofed.

Trial by fire and all that.

“Put me down you big—”

Oscar definitely wasn’t expecting what happened next. Josiah moved in closer, moved his
face
closer. Oscar winced, thinking he was about to get the head-butt from hell. He just knew his brains were going to be squashed right out of his ears. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the oncoming collision—only to jerk them back open when a hot, wet mouth slanted over his.

Jesus Christ, the little kitty tasted every bit as good as he smelt. Josiah, not usually a moaner or any other kind of noise-maker when it came to sex or kisses or anything like that, couldn’t suppress the sound that slipped from his mouth to his little blond’s. He tasted so as to be addictive.

And he was a fighter, something Josiah admired greatly, although he probably shouldn’t have been surprised. There was a reason people talked about short person syndrome—because it did exist. Obviously the sexy shifter he was kissing had a damn good-sized dose of it, which was excellent since Josiah had never liked a doormat. Give him a man with plenty of sass and ass, that’d always been his private motto. He wasn’t ever going to say so out loud, though, because it was just cheesy.

Josiah tipped his head for a better angle, more control, and found out just how much of a pushover his kitty wasn’t. Sharp nails pierced his skin as the younger man shifted his hands into paws, and Josiah definitely felt elongated incisors nick his tongue. And that…that just turned up his arousal to a level he couldn’t remember experiencing before.

Even so, he remembered too clearly the fear he’d felt and scented rolling off the young man. It was what had drawn Josiah to the group, along with the fact that he knew Hudson and his buddies were a bunch of ignorant shits who frequently needed attitude adjustments.

Usually in the form of an ass-kicking.

Josiah had met their needs on more than one occasion, and tonight wouldn’t have been an exception if Hudson hadn’t already been well on the way to getting stomped by the time Josiah arrived. He’d fully expected to be elbow-deep in a fight within seconds, but instead he’d found himself almost entranced by a petite and very pretty bundle of anger and fierceness that set his pulse to pounding like no one had before.

This intriguing shifter was teaching him all sorts of new things about himself. First, that he enjoyed the bite of pain mixed with pleasure, and second, Josiah wasn’t the only one who could do a partial shift. It was almost as if he’d met his match. Minus the difference in their sizes, ages, and shift species, at the very least.

Josiah didn’t relinquish control, no matter how much the other shifter bit and scratched at him. If anything, each time pain was inflicted on him, it made Josiah more determined not to give an inch. He thought someone needed to show this man that strength didn’t have to be brutal, and Josiah wasn’t being a brute, keeping his hold firm yet careful, his kiss determined yet tender.

It wasn’t like his kitty was trying to get free, either. No, he just wanted to push Josiah, to test his boundaries. Josiah knew he could be wrong, but he didn’t think so. There was something familiar about the other man, and it called to Josiah in a way that wasn’t exactly logical, but his brain was too muddled with lust. He couldn’t parse through his chaotic thoughts to try and figure out what was happening other than acknowledging the lust boiling higher and higher inside him.

Stay strong
.

Josiah jerked at the words. He hadn’t spoken, yet he’d heard them clear as day in his head. It startled him, to say the least, and several things began to click together, puzzle pieces sliding into place perfectly. He suddenly didn’t feel so sure about what he was doing, though. In fact, he was close to freaking out, something which
never
happened to him.

Josiah broke the kiss, pulling back, panting and trying not to let his discomfiture show. Holding the smaller man up was no strain at all, yet Josiah’s arms trembled and his body was swept with waves of strength-sapping excitement and fear.

“Who are you?” he finally managed to ask as he stared into eyes so blue even the dim lighting in the club couldn’t hide their beauty. The dark colour was striated with thin streaks of gold, so fine as to be easily missed. But Josiah’s senses were enhanced, and he was already attuned to this man as he’d never been to another.

“Why? Are you going to stalk me?”

Was that a hopeful note he’d heard there? Josiah kind of thought it was, and he felt a little better knowing he wasn’t the only one of them feeling this incredible attraction. It was difficult for him to get words past the desire that seemed to be strangling him, but Josiah was nothing if not persistent. “No, but I need to know your name.”
Before we fuck. Preferably.

At this point, though, he’d settle for just feeling those full lips around his dick.

When it seemed like he wouldn’t get an answer, Josiah opened his mouth to ask again, only to bite back a yelp as the intriguing young man slammed a knee too close to Josiah’s nuts. Pain burst over his groin and the growl that tore from him carried the threat he couldn’t verbalise. Josiah wouldn’t hurt him, but he’d damn sure turn the cute shifter over his knee and warm up his ass if he didn’t stop trying to cause serious damage.

“Enough!” Josiah seethed while he battled the burgeoning agony caused by another, more accurately placed knee. He wedged one of his legs between the blond’s and leaned in. “Who. Are. You?”

He wasn’t really expecting an answer, not when he could see the fury in the other’s face. Yet he heard a name—Oscar—just before pain sliced through his forearms. This time Josiah couldn’t hold back a yelp, not when Oscar hadn’t bothered to temper his attack, and had driven his claws in so deep blood immediately dripped from the wounds.

“You little—” Josiah stopped himself there, aware that calling him ‘little’ anything probably wasn’t going to endear him to Oscar. Maybe he deserved to be battered after all. Josiah took a good, deep breath, soaking Oscar’s scent into his bones before slowly stepping back and lowering him until his feet touched the ground. “Hurt me again, and I’ll tan your hide, kitten.”

Oscar snarled and threw a nasty swipe which would have required stitches had Josiah not leapt back. “Oh fuck you, asshole! All you big stupid bullies think you can do whatever you want to people littler than you. It’s about time someone teaches you and others like you some manners.”

“There’s nothing more dangerous than a man with a chip on his shoulder,” Josiah murmured, quoting his deceased grandmother. He held his hands up and ignored the blood that ran down to his elbows. “I’m not the one who’s being violent.”

Oscar opened his mouth then snapped it right back shut. He gulped when he looked at Josiah’s arms. Josiah thought he saw some sympathy there and had half a mind to point out to Oscar where else he’d wounded him, but even half a mind was enough to let him know that’d be a mistake. Oscar was obviously wounded in a much worse way on the inside than Josiah was on the outside.

Josiah lowered his hands a little but still kept them out between him and Oscar. “Have I hurt you?”

Oscar reached up and touched his lips, looking more thoughtful than angry now. They were swollen and a deep rosy pink, and Josiah wanted to lick them and leave them glistening wet. He’d bet he could draw the most delicious sounds from Oscar, just from kissing him. He’d no doubt make a few new sounds himself. Watching Oscar touch his lips was stirring up a need to beg in Josiah, and he certainly had never done that before. Oscar was just bringing up all sorts of new experiences for Josiah, but he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, Oscar was his mate.

He didn’t think Oscar had caught onto that fact yet. Or, and it was a horrible idea, but for all he knew, leopard shifters—he’d seen the rosettes on Oscar’s paws—might not have mates. How could a relationship work between them if that were the case? Wolf shifters mated for life. Surely Destiny wouldn’t fuck him over with a mate who wasn’t capable of bonding with him in the same manner?

Oscar appeared to be totally unaware of Josiah’s inner turmoil. He rubbed at his bottom lip again and glanced up at Josiah. “So you’ll let me go?”

“Let you go?” Just saying it made Josiah’s chest ache, but he saw the way Oscar narrowed his eyes and flared his nostrils. Now wasn’t the time to provoke Oscar or offer any explanations, not when Oscar was obviously on the verge of attacking him again. Josiah could defend himself, but he wasn’t sure he could do it without hurting Oscar, and that simply wasn’t going to happen.

Josiah dropped his hands to his sides and took another step back. “Of course, but at least let me see you safely back to wherever you came from. Hudson and his buddies tend to carry a grudge and I wouldn’t put it past them to try and jump you outside.”

“Fuck off,” Oscar snapped, and with a surprising burst of speed, he darted past Josiah. Smaller and more agile, Oscar was out the door before Josiah had elbowed his way halfway through the club.

That’s okay, though.

Josiah grinned, feeling every bit the wolf he was inside. He had Oscar’s scent, and Oscar was his mate. There was nowhere his kitten could go that Josiah wouldn’t find him.

By the time Oscar made it back to the hotel room, he was so edgy and antsy he wanted to scream. At least he’d beat his dad back, though, so he wouldn’t have to explain where he’d been and how his little adventure had turned into a cluster fuck .

Like I should have to stay in the hotel room! I’m not a goddamned kid!

Oscar wandered around the room, not really seeing it. He hadn’t cared how the place was decorated or whatever as long as it was clean and didn’t reek. He missed the smell of pines and spruces, of grass and soil.

San Antonio smelt mostly of carbon monoxide and metal, or pretty much the same as every other big city Oscar had been in. He was glad their hotel wasn’t far from the club he’d gone to on San Pedro, otherwise he’d have ended up taking a cab, and those things were beyond offensive to his sensitive nose. Well, cities in general were. Was it like that for other shifters? If so, how the hell did any of them stand it?

Just thinking about the way the city smelt and the stench of lust and hate that his would-be attackers had exuded made Oscar’s skin crawl. He debated dead-bolting the door, then decided against it. If his dad got back while Oscar was showering, he’d rather not have to deal with getting out and dripping all over the place. Besides, there was no reason the regular lock shouldn’t do.

Oscar went into the bathroom and stripped quickly, eager to feel warm water on his skin. He gave a brief glance at himself in the mirror over the sink. Not surprisingly, he was still too skinny, too short, too feminine in the face even though he kept his hair in a high-and-tight in an attempt to look more masculine. All it really did was set off his big eyes and his sharp cheekbones, so maybe he should consider growing his hair out and sort of hiding more of his features? One of those emo-type hairstyles with long strands, or big chunks of hair hanging over an eye.

Oscar gave a disgusted snort and flapped a hand at the mirror as he turned away. Why was he worrying about his appearance anyway? It wasn’t as if he was going to have a boyfriend any time soon.

Really, how stupid was he? He’d been delusional to believe he’d meet a nice, cute guy who’d dance with him and maybe give him a goodnight kiss at the hotel room door. And what would have happened if he had met someone like his imaginary guy? He’d never seen him again.

But I’d have had one good memory of a man touching me.

Having Ritchie Burrows shove him against the lockers or try to give him a swirly certainly weren’t good memories, even if Ritchie had been the handsome quarterback. He’d been a colossal asshole, and Oscar hoped someone would shove Ritchie’s head in a filthy toilet bowl and gave him a swirly on a regular basis.

Sometimes he thought he would never get over being angry for the way he’d been treated in school, but logically, Oscar knew he had to try. It was just hard. If he wasn’t having nightmares about those hellish years, he was having nightmares about losing his fingertips in a trap. Although maybe he wasn’t dreaming so much as he was remembering that horrific experience.