Mike [Wounded Hearts 2] (Siren Publishing Classic ManLove) Read online

  Wounded Hearts 2

  Mike

  After losing a leg, former paranormal special ops member and dominant tiger shifter Mike is having trouble coping with his new reality. Mike knows finding a mate isn’t possible for a broken shifter like him. Mike’s ready to live the rest of his life in solitude, until his paths collide with Bowen. Bowen manages to spark a fire in his heart, except Mike knows that sooner or later, the lynx shifter would find him lacking.

  Bowen’s a rare Omega lynx shifter who’s been on a run his entire life. When fate drops a growly wounded tiger shifter in his path, he knows he’s met his mach. With enemies on his tail, the last thing he needs is a gorgeous distraction, except Mike becomes more than that. When the future seems so uncertain, can Bowen find true happiness with his mate or will everything fall apart?

  Genre: Alternative (M/M, Gay), Contemporary, Paranormal, Shifters

  Length: 22,173 words

  MIKE

  Wounded Hearts 2

  Fel Fern

  

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  MIKE

  Copyright © 2017 by Fel Fern

  ISBN: 978-1-64010-454-9

  First Publication: July 2017

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All art and logo copyright © 2017 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  If you find a Siren-BookStrand e-book or print book being sold or shared illegally, please let us know at

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  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Felicia Fern works as a graphic designer during the day, and loves penning M/M paranormal erotic romance at night.

  A sadist who loves watching her heroes break their backs trying to earn their happy endings, Fel likes throwing in the occasional dash of the unknown to the usual romantic concoction.

  For all titles by Fel Fern, please visit

  www.bookstrand.com/fel-fern

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Landmarks

  Cover

  MIKE

  Wounded Hearts 2

  FEL FERN

  Copyright © 2017

  Chapter One

  Brownie's barking woke Mike up. He groaned, feeling the sunlight on his face. Had he overslept again? Not that it mattered. Mike didn’t have a fixed routine yet, although God knew he needed it. It helped with the PTSD, according to his therapist, but what did Dr. Michaels know?

  The springs on his mattress creaked from an additional weight. He felt wet dog tongue on his cheek a moment later.

  “Jesus, Brownie. I’m awake.” The retired police dog didn’t stop licking and slobbering over him. Maybe the German Shepard’s new name didn’t stick, but Mike didn’t exactly like calling his new canine companion by the name his original owner called him. Ash. Sounded depressing and Mike didn’t need more of that. “Down, Brownie.”

  The mutt for once got off him and sat on her haunches, wagging her tail. Brownie had weak hind legs, which accounted for her early retirement sniffing out narcotics. That, and the fact her previous owner died in a hail of gunfire. Both of them were unwanted, no longer having any use, and that was what ultimately pushed Mike to adopt Brownie.

  He sat up. Agonizing pain jolted up his left leg. He gripped his thigh, hissing. Flinging aside the sheet, all he saw was the stump where his leg should have been, severed by flying shrapnel made out of metal mixed in with silver, one metal even a powerful tiger shifter couldn’t regenerate from. He shut his eyes, waited for the pain to pass.

  “It’s all in the mind,” he whispered.

  He should lock his demons away before they came out and ruined his day, but it was too late. Mike’s mind transported him back to that awful day two years ago. He and his unit were supposed to go home, intact, well, physically anyway, when the planes dropped the bombs over their base. Of the five members of his unit, only Larry died, but sometimes he envied Larry. Larry had a swift death, while the rest of them had to live the rest of their lives as broken shifters.

  Abram lost an arm, he a leg, Dusty his hearing, and Grover his eyes. What a group they made. Abram found his momentum, though, even snagged a caring mate to fuss over. The rest of them weren’t so lucky.

  When he opened his eyes, he found Brownie at the foot of his bed, watching him with her sad, brown eyes.

  “I’m okay, girl,” he whispered, reaching out to pat her ears. She whined at him, nudged at his hand. Normally, dogs and other domestic pets didn’t do well around predatory shifters, but she’d taken well to him. With a sigh, he reached for his crutches by the bed.

  At first, he’d been in a chair, but Mike refused to let his other working leg to become slack and eventually useless. It took a couple of grunts, far too much effort, but Mike hefted himself on his good leg by clutching at the dresser beside the bed and made a grab for his crutches. He missed, falling face first and tasting the carpeting instead. He let out a snarl of frustration.

  Fisting his hands, Mike wanted to scream, to let his frustrated tiger out. The animal surged under his skin, eager to be free but there was a danger in letting his beast out, too. Not long ago, he met with the rest of his former unit. They all settled down in the same town of Cherry Hill but avoided bumping each other after being honorably discharged.

  He understood the need to lick his own wounds, too, but knew their beasts had gone unstable at their physical losses. Any of them could turn into a rogue shifter, one that lost control of their human consciousness and would become no better than animals. A wild animal returning to the woods was one thing, but rogues usually attacked those closest to them.

  They all made a silent promise to keep each other in line. A year ago, Abram and Dusty nearly lost control. Fear gripped Mike and Grover. He was scared to lose both. Abram was their commander and Dusty was the youngest of them. They weren’t related by blood, but they were brothers. They kept in close contact with each other and watched each other’s backs from a distance, even when they were no longer in hostile territory.

  The last thing Mike wanted was to drag his brothers to his pathetic apartment and realize Mike had been a good actor all this time. Dusty once confessed to Mike that he wished he were more like Mike, calm and steady. Even Grover asked what his secret was, but truth was, Mike was pretending until he made it. So far, it wasn’t working.

  Brownie pushed her head against his side. He screamed into the carpeting and gripped her fur, bringing her close for a hug. God. Mike was pathetic. Caring for a do
g, for another living being, was beyond his abilities and yet he went out and adopted Brownie.

  “I’ll be all right,” Mike muttered, unsure if he was trying to convince his dog or himself.

  His cell phone vibrated from the dresser and he groaned. What day was it? It took him a second to remember. Thursday. He had a lunch date with Abram. Shit. Was he late? Mike scrambled for his fallen crutches, hating himself for how he long he took to retrieve them. Back in the day, their group had been one of the best paranormal assets the military had. Now look at him, at them.

  With a growl he grabbed the crutches. Hauling himself to his feet—well, foot—took a lot longer. By the time he managed, sweat coated his front and back. Mike breathed hard. Using one hand to balance himself on the crutches, he swiped his phone.

  Abram: Can we reschedule? Running late with a client.

  Abram worked as a trainer who specialized in training army vets and always kept inviting Mike for a session. Mike always politely declined. Disappointment hit him a second later. This was what amounted to his social life. Lunches with Abram or the others. Walking Brownie or running errands.

  Abram at least found a part-time job to distract himself with, even though they were still paid pensions. Mike didn’t think he had the mental strength or patience to work with people. Every time he went to his apartment, he couldn’t stand the pitying looks both shifters and humans shot his way. Each time they did, his tiger wanted to bite them, show them he was still a predator.

  Mike glanced at Brownie. “What do you say, girl, up for a walk?”

  She happily barked at him.

  Mike dragged himself to the shower. Good thing Abram canceled because looking at the time told Mike he wouldn’t have made lunch on time either. Showering and dressing took up a copious amount of time. Most of the time, he tried to not let frustration get the best of him, but it was too hard. Back at the military base, before the bombing, all ever Mike wanted was go home to Jared, except Jared moved on without him.

  When he was so deep in depression Mike couldn’t claw his way, he’d make things worse by stalking Jared on social media. He’d look at Jared’s picture albums. Happy couple. House. Kids. Fuck. That life could have been his. Then that thought would make him feel sick to his stomach. Jared hadn’t wanted him to stay in the army. Mike told Jared to wait, but Jared had gotten sick of waiting for a guy who might never come home.

  Once dressed, Mike looked at himself in the mirror. He still kept himself in top shape. Like Abram and the others, working out at home seemed the best way to keep his mind off other things, bad memories. He grabbed his crutches, sank on the couch with the dog leash and put it on Brownie. Mike debated whether to put on his prosthetic but decided against it since he taught himself to walk Brownie without it anyway. With that done, Mike headed out. Brownie, thankfully, had learnt to match her pace to his, although it took plenty of practice.

  Mrs. Gibson from downstairs greeted him on his way out. He nodded to her, eager to get out of the building. His apartment sometimes felt closed in, like a cage, but that wasn’t much of a surprise. Mike prevented himself from shifting, denying his tiger to experience running in the woods. Well, not that he could run that well. Mike would just be another kind of prey, limping on three paws, when he was once top of the food chain.

  No use thinking about that. His tiger felt restless today, and even standing outside didn’t help the unease growing inside him. What was different about today?

  A chill went down his spine. Was it time to call Abram or the others to put him down? The thought of harming some poor passerby didn’t sit well with Mike. Stomach queasy, he continued his way to the local park where Brownie could run with other dogs. Even there, she didn’t seem interested in socializing, just like him, but he wanted to try.

  If Mike couldn’t adjust to normal life, maybe she could. Jesus. Would Abram and his mate take in Brownie? He remembered being at the compound, filled with ex-police dogs and wondered if he could take them all. Save them.

  He let out a dry laugh. Mike could barely save himself. He passed more people. It was past noon, so there were people in office clothes smiling around. Shit. Mike hated crowds. He ignored some of the glances his way, especially from shifters who knew he was one, too. Mike sped up but remembered his embarrassing incident earlier. Falling face first into the gravel in front of so many strangers would be a nightmare.

  He could imagine their stunned faces and one good bloody Samaritan or two would try to help him. Mike shuddered in revulsion. It was better if people left him alone.

  He reached the park, relieved to see fewer people here. The scent of something or someone alluring then hit his nose. If he were in tiger form, he’d twitch his ears and start to stalk. Brownie started tugging at the leash, probably finding something of interest. Since she used to specialize in sniffing out narcotics, it was a habit of hers to sniff at people they passed by.

  The next thing he knew, she was sniffing up someone.

  “Jesus, can you tell your dog not to sniff someone’s crotch?” an annoyed voice asked.

  Mike halted, his tiger confirming this was the source of that wonderful scent. The speaker was in his early twenties, with light brown, wavy hair and intriguing emerald green eyes glued to his phone. His tiger tried to identify the shifter’s animal. Some kind of small cat, but not prey, not a domestic cat. He would know, because Abram’s mate was a tabby shifter, but this stranger’s scent was different.

  He didn’t stop Brownie from sniffing at the guy’s crotch again. She wouldn’t bite, but the guy jerked back.

  “Hey, did you do that on purpose?” The handsome young man narrowed his eyes at Mike, then probably saw the crutches and his missing leg, because the fiery hellion started apologizing profusely. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”

  “What are you apologizing for? Brownie’s an ex-police dog. I’m trying to wean her off the habit from sniffing strangers,” he joked.

  Oh God. Was Mike actually…flirting? Why wasn’t he moving on? Even Brownie eyed the young man with interest.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know your dog was a service animal.”

  His inner tiger woke, made his skin fever-hot and the young man’s eyes widened in fear. Mike couldn’t help it. He snarled, showing teeth, which in hindsight, wasn’t the best idea. “I’m a cripple, but I’m not fucking blind.”

  “You’re an Alpha,” the young man whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  Even though Mike was a lone Alpha, he didn't necessarily need to be in charge of a group. Tigers weren’t like wolf packs or lion prides, but solitary by nature although if Mike were whole, he could have led a group of tiger shifters. He’d heard of other tigers forming packs, but joining a group never interested him. Groups had pecking orders but he, Abram, and the others worked as a single unit, which was different. Used to, he reminded himself.

  Now, the guy looked ready to bolt and Mike would never catch up to him. Something told him he had to do something, before this gorgeous stranger slipped out of his grasp.

  Chapter Two

  “It’s fine. I’m sorry for not stopping Brownie from sniffing you and for losing my temper.”

  Bowen stared, unable to believe those words just came from a dominant shifter. God, but this guy was amazing to look at. Bowen couldn’t stop staring. The stranger whose name he didn’t know, shouldn’t need to, given his situation, made quite an odd picture with his dog.

  “Let’s start over. I’m Bowen,” he introduced himself, holding out a hand and feeling like a dick after, because the guy clearly had his hands full with the dog leash and crutches.

  The crutches didn’t seem to bother the stranger at all, because he shook Bowen’s hand. The shifter’s rough and big hand seemed a contrast to his smaller one. Okay, his curiosity was spiked now. Who was this hottie? What was his story?

  Cats were curious by nature, but he had to be careful. Bowen was only a lynx and his animal told him this guy had a tiger in him. Not ju
st any tiger either, but one that was massive, powerful, and a little too wild, savage. The man had muscles in the right places and added with that striking white blond hair and glacial blue eyes, he was certainly a looker. He’d already noticed passersby giving the guy once-overs, then looking away, realizing his disability.

  What idiots. Bowen could sense amazing inner strength from the other shifter. It took a certain kind of strength, to continue moving on after losing a limb, especially for shifters, who needed to spend time in their animal forms, too.

  “I’m Mike,” the guy responded, taking his hand back and nodding to the German Shepard. “And this is Brownie.”

  “Nice to meet you, too.” Bowen took silent stock, admiring the eye candy in front of him.

  “You know, it’s rude to stare. I would have taken it as an offense except I smell your arousal, too.” The guy’s dog, Brownie, whined in agreement.

  “I’m not looking at your dick,” he blurted.

  Okay, he was. He could imagine Mike packing serious heat…and why were his thoughts deviating that way? His older brother, Brad, dropped him at Cherry Hill, this town in the middle out of nowhere, to blend in, hide, until Brad could come back for him after losing their pursuers.

  He wasn’t here to flirt with an outrageously handsome ex-soldier with a seriously pervy dog. Bowen could definitely tell the guy was ex-military by his stance, the attention to self-grooming, and, God, that drool-worthy body. Bowen bet there was a six-pack underneath that shirt, and he had this urge to reach out and give those triceps and biceps a squeeze. Were they rock hard, just like the bulge in the guy’s jeans?