The Tattoo Artist's Mate
“My mate, you are magnificent.”
“You were. That was…” Isla looked up at Gaspar. “Why are your eyes amber and glowing?”
“Ah. Hold on let me clean us up, we’ll get dressed and I’ll explain.” Gaspar took hold of Isla’s hand and walked into the tiny washroom and stiffened. Hold on.
Shit, we just did the beast with the two backs when anyone could have come in. Even though the room wasn’t open to the shop he hadn’t thought to lock the salon door.
“I bloody forgot to lock the door,” he said gruffly. “Anyone could have come in. I’m not into exhibitionism.”
“Nor me,” Isla said cheerfully as she stood still to let him wash her where needed. “Just as well no one did then.” She began to get dressed again. “I hate bras. We’ll remember next time, eh?”
And that, he thought, was another reason to love her. No recriminations, just a loving, “we’ll remember next time”.
“Leave it off, your bra.”
Isla shook her head. “Not when I have to go outside. The girls are too big for that.”
“The perfect handful.” Gaspar tucked his t-shirt into his jeans. “Okay, coffee and confession time.”
He led the way back into the other room.
“I’ll never be able to look at this squishy sofa without going hot, cold, and all gooey.”
He laughed. "Nor me, we might need to move it to our house when you come to me. You will one day, when you’re ready?”
She smiled, and a gush of love filled her. “One day.” She wasn’t going to say soon, but she knew.
“Right then, you know when I asked you about shifters and if you believed in them?” Isla nodded.
“And I said I was one?”
“Yeah, so.”
“Well.” He didn’t get any further. The shop door banged open, and two whirlwinds erupted into the room followed by a harassed looking woman who, Isla decided, had to be Gaspar’s sister. The resemblance was obvious.
“My sister, Silvi,” he said under his breath. “And my nephews.”
The whirlwinds turned out to be identical boys of around ten years old. “Gaspar, you gonna shift and come play?”
“Not now, boys.”
“Tommy, I told you.” Silvi’s voice was full of apology. “Never ask that in front of others.”
“But, Mum, she’s his mate, I can tell, so she must know. And anyway, Joey is, so why can’t Gaspar?”
Isla looked from one twin to the other and gulped. That child looked almightily like a bear cub … and hadn’t Gaspar been inking bear cubs on that bloke’s arm?
What if he was telling the truth? She’d made love with a bear? Fucked a bear?
Oh shoot.
No, not shoot… But what next?
“Joey, no.”
The child turned and grinned. Tiny fangs, glowing eyes and claws. Yeah claws. The kid—cub?—stopped in his tracks and glowered. “But why not?”
“It’s neither the time or the place,” Gaspar said kindly, but firmly. “How often have you been told that? If you don’t listen, learn and follow the rules there will be no shifting until you’re of age. Get it?”