Melbourne Heat (7 page)

Clearly Malcolm was a crackpot as well as a jerk.

“I think you should leave now, there’s no way I’m doing business with you,” Spencer insisted cooly. He didn’t care if this was some elaborate joke, or if Malcolm was touched in the head. Spencer didn’t have to put up with this shit.

Malcolm snarled like an animal who’d had his dinner ripped from his mouth.

“I’ll be back later, when I’ve got a plan,” Malcolm said.

Spencer blinked, confused. He understood the words, but couldn’t begin to put them into a context. It was like Malcolm was speaking in tongues. The man stalked to the door, opened it with a strength that had the flimsy frame shake, and slammed it behind him.

Spencer stared at the door, feeling totally lost but undeniably relieved that the man was gone and that whatever had been going on—or not going on—was over.

That man totally didn’t sniff me,
he tried to reassure himself.
And he didn’t snarl. Who the hell snarls? He’s just pissy because I stood him up and won’t do his accounts. Yeah, a good accountant is damn hard to find. That was just a strange temper tantrum. That’s all. Just wait till I tell Charles about it tonight. He’ll die laughing.

Ignoring the faintest of trembles in his hands, Spencer smoothed his hair back a few times in a soothing gesture. He straightened his jacket, checked his tie and plastered a big smile on his face. With a deep breath, he was ready. He opened the door and stepped out, mentally bracing himself for Nell’s curiosity.

The end of the day couldn’t come fast enough for him.

Chapter Five

“So the strangest thing happened to me today,” Spencer said with a chuckle. He took a long gulp from his bottle of beer and grinned.

Charles looked up from the pasta sauce he was stirring and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Oh yeah? This sounds good. Tell.”

“Well, there’s been this courier popping in for a couple of weeks. Malcolm,” Spencer explained. With a number of hours between the event and now he could put a far more humorous cast to the whole episode. And he enjoyed being able to tell the story to Charles, expecting to get a good laugh out of him from it.

“It was him I went to the Gardens to meet last night,” Spencer continued, “to collect some paperwork from him. He wanted me to do his accounts. Anyway, so he comes in this morning, understandably pissed that I left him in the lurch yesterday and shoving his weight around. I was trying to calm him down and foist him on one of the other accountants when the guy grabs my arm. You’re going to think I’m crazy here. The guy sniffed me.
Sniffed me.
Can you believe it? That’s nuts, right?”

Charles was staring at him intently.

Spencer had expected him to laugh, or maybe goggle a bit at him, call his story bullshit, but he was enjoying himself too much to stop now.

“Obviously I didn’t tell anyone at the office about this,” he said. “The last thing I need is for someone to whisper to a manager or HR and force me to see a shrink or quietly manage me out of the job because they think I’ve cracked under the stress. And then he said the strangest thing…”

Spencer paused in his storytelling. Charles had barely moved a muscle and was still staring at him with an intensity that was starting to be strange.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked. Realization dawned. Once again Spencer spoke quickly. “Oh shit. You think I’m bonkers now, don’t you? But I swear it’s true, I couldn’t make shit like this up.”

“No,” Charles said. “I don’t think you’ve lost it. Go on with your story.”

Spencer was relieved at his words, but the situation didn’t seem quite so funny anymore. Charles stared at him, though much of the tension had dissipated when Charles had spoken. Still, Spencer found it difficult to muster the same level of enthusiasm he’d held. Charles stared at him like he’d lost his mind, and despite his words he still remained riveted upon him.

Feeling uneasy and not quite sure why, Spencer continued, but more slowly this time.

“Well, actually what he said next didn’t really make any sense,” he said. “Malcolm asked why I had the scent of another branded upon me. Then he said he had to make a plan, or something like that. Um, Charles, I think your sauce is burning.”

A second after his words seemed to register Charles whipped his head around to the saucepan where he’d been stirring a creamy carbonara.

“Fuck it all,” Charles said and lifted the dish from the cooking element. The sauce bubbled vigorously and Spencer could smell the unmistakable odor of burning milk.

Charles stirred, blowing as he did so, but it was ruined. He sighed and put the lot on the side of the sink.

“I don’t have enough ingredients to make another batch,” Charles said. “It looks like we’ll have to make do with a tomato based sauce instead.”

Spencer couldn’t be certain, but he had the strong feeling Charles was more than a little distracted, and it had been because of something he’d said. Which didn’t make sense. He’d figured the story would be mildly entertaining, a bit funny, but nothing more.

Something just didn’t add up.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “What did I say that changed the mood so dramatically?”

Charles had opened a cupboard and was searching for another pot, but at Spencer’s words he stopped. It seemed to take him far longer than it should have to turn around, and when he did his face was grave. Serious.

Spencer was perplexed. He knew he was missing something, but for the life of him he didn’t know what. The way Charles stared at him, though, had his stomach knotting in worry.

When Charles seemed to hesitate, Spencer lost his patience.

“Damn it,” he snapped. “The meal can wait. What is it?”

“You’re right,” Charles agreed. He came to the bench where Spencer sat and took the seat next to him. “I’d not planned to talk to you about this for a while. I wanted to give you time. But it looks like fate, or life—whatever—has different plans.”

Spencer was only more confused as Charles paused again. The man seemed to be working himself up for something and all sorts of crazy things passed through his mind. Charles was sick. Or involved with someone else. Or perhaps the previous evening had been a lie from the beginning. Some kind of weird set-up, or joke.

“You’re my mate. So when I bit your neck last night I was marking you,” Charles said in a big rush, as if trying to get it all out in one breath. “I left some of my essence in that love bite to warn other shifters off you. To let them know you were mine and to stay away.”

For the second time in a day, Spencer knew the words being spoken to him were in English but he couldn’t make any sense out of them.

He was Charles’ friend, but Charles had marked him. Left his… What? To warn other shifters…

What the fuck?

“I’m not following you,” Spencer said, at a loss as to what else he could say. “Of course we’re mates. After last night I hope we’re a damn sight more than just plain old friends. But really—”

“Not friends,” Charles insisted. “Mates. Compatible partners. I can scent it on you. There’s something there that lets me know that you are a viable mate to me. Someone who was created to fit with me and complete me. I’m explaining this all wrong, I can tell.”

Spencer lifted his eyebrows, caught somewhere between being flummoxed and convinced that this was an elaborate—and perplexing—joke. Were they on some stupid TV show or something?

Charles reached out and took his hands then twined their fingers together. Gently, Charles led him out of the kitchen and they sat down together on the couch.

“Let me try this again,” Charles pleaded. “I’m a shifter. I can change into a wolf. Unlike the natural, wild animals who only have one partner in their life, we’re built a lot like humans. There is sometimes more than one mate for any given person. Think about it. People sometimes never find their perfect partner. Sometimes they get that one perfect love that may or may not work for them where they are in their situation at that time. And extremely rarely, they might get two or even three chances at a real, deep, proper love. Not just a passing fancy or long-term relationship. Someone who really completes them, who gets them on every level and complements them.”

After a bit of thought this made some sense. Spencer nodded and could feel himself relax. Charles wasn’t loopy. These were words and terms Spencer could understand and maybe even accept.

“So I can sense that. On you, I mean,” Charles said.

Spencer could hear the hope in his voice.
I’m not really that crazy. It’s logical, right?
He could practically hear Charles adding that to his comment.

But it did make a twisted kind of sense. Or most of it did.

“So you’re a shifter?” Spencer said. The words sounded odd on his tongue.

“Yes,” Charles replied simply. “And from what you’ve described to me, this Malcolm bloke is too.”

“And he was sniffing me, sorry, scenting me, and could tell you’d marked me,” Spencer said slowly, piecing the whole weird thing together.

He wasn’t sold on it—part of him still expected Charles to laugh and say ‘Gotcha’ any second now. But it was nice to not be a complete moron and follow along for a bit.

“That’s what it sounds like,” Charles agreed.

“So if he could scent me, if Malcolm is a shifter too, why didn’t he think I was his mate?” Spencer asked in what he thought might be a logical manner.

“He might have thought you were a viable mate,” Charles agreed, though he frowned now. “I’m not really sure how it works, but it’s not like some romantic movie. Just like you can make me happy, it’s possible there are a few other people out there who you can make happy too. It’s not an exact science, there’s some give in this. All I know is that you
can
be that person for me. The potential is there. You have free will and can choose, just as I can decide whether to get to know you, to spend time with you and learn about you.”

What Charles said make sense, but Spencer could feel himself losing his grip on the conversation again. Something must have shown on his face, because Charles tried to explain again.

“This isn’t some destiny thing where you have no choice,” Charles said. “If you wanted to you could get up right now and walk out that door and never look back. I admit I lost control last night—I was fucking turned on and my inner beast slipped out for a second there—when I bit you I left something of myself to warn others away. If we had no further contact that would fade in a few weeks or so. I haven’t changed you permanently in any way.”

Spencer couldn’t even begin to work out how he felt about that. Happy? Disappointed? Confused seemed the only thing he could really grasp.

“Look,
you
are special to me,” Charles said firmly. “I like the man sitting here next to me, the one who twists his hair behind his ear when he’s nervous or thinking. I like the man who enjoys taking photos, who lights up when he’s telling a funny story, who has a streak of kink in him and submits so deliciously it damn near makes me lose my mind. He’s who I’m getting to know better, not some fantasy guy whose scent is right.”

“Let’s leave the whole shifter thing for a minute,” Spencer said. “I think my head will explode if I think too much about that right now. This is a lot to take in.”

Charles nodded. “I really didn’t want to dump this on you so early on.”

“So you’re saying that there’s nothing in me, in my DNA, say, that is making me want to be here with you. Otherwise I’d probably want to be with Malcolm just as much. Trust me, I don’t want to be anywhere near that man. Or shifter. Fuck, whatever.”

“That’s right,” Charles said. “You have a choice. There’s nothing at all stopping you from walking away right now. Well, okay, I don’t think I’d
let
you leave, not without trying to make you stay. I’d give it my best shot to convince you to give us a chance, but that’s my choice. There’s just something in you, something innate. I’m attracted to it and it signals to me that you’re a damn near perfect fit for me. My baser animal wants that regardless of the consequences. It wants you as its mate, to fuck you in every conceivable position and stay with you.”

Spencer felt his blood heat at those words. Heaven knew a part of him wanted to bend over here and now and let himself be taken. But there was just as much holding him back right now. Shifters and wolves and scents and lifelong mates and… His head whirled.

“Are you sure there’s no bloody reality TV show hovering around? ’Cos now would be a good time for them to pop out and film my reaction. I’d be tempted to knock them all down and start throwing punches, but… This is a hell of a lot to take in,” Spencer said as he rubbed his temple. He thought a headache might be forming.

Charles chuckled.

Sadly no one yelled ‘Surprise’ or let his world go back to normal.

Fuck.

He tried to pinpoint what was bothering him, but that was difficult. Despite Charles’ reassurances, he worried about how there might be something inside him that could be sensed and would label him as some sort of perfect mate. That made him uncomfortable, just like if there was a neon sign flashing above his head saying he was gay, or an accountant, or a lefty or any other personal information.

Then there was the matter of the hickey, which had turned now from something sexy and cool to… He wasn’t even sure what it was now. A warning beacon? To some degree he could understand and accept that. Charles had looked completely, brutally honest when he apologized and said he’d lost control doing that. And that it would fade in time. But on top of everything else it was one more thing to wrap his head around.

And the giant elephant in the room—the ‘I can turn into a wolf’ thing. That was just… Spencer shook his head. What was he supposed to
do
with that? Call Charles out? Make him prove it? Run as far and fast as he could?

Spencer pulled his hands free of Charles’ grip and tapped his fingers nervously on his thigh. Charles sat back on the couch and waited patiently. Spencer tried to merge the dominating, sexy, interested man he’d met last night with this new one before him. This patient, kind and understanding guy who apparently could turn into an animal, who had base urges he ruthlessly suppressed—most of the time—and just felt overwhelmed.