My Fox Mate: shifters and partners, #22

By Hollis Shiloh

He wasn't expecting to meet his mate yet. He also wasn't expecting his mate to be a fox shifter—or a man.

Marlow's childhood was a nightmare, as an orphaned wolf shifter trying to survive a hostile pack and protect his younger brother. At twenty-three, he's finally in a good place, with a great job working with the police and a partner he trusts. But is he ready for a mate? 

Even if he can wrap his head and his heart around this, is there any chance for a good outcome? Marlow has no idea how to even begin talking to a pretty fox shifter. It would help if Frankie didn't hate him already...

69,000 words. Very low heat.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Spare Words Press
• Release date: Jan 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386407652

Book preview

Chapter One

D o you have to sit like that? asked my partner, glancing over in irritation.  He was driving.  I sat hunched in the passenger seat, with my feet propped against the dash.  What if I have to hit the brakes suddenly?

I'll be fine.  I finished the last bite of donut and licked my fingers off carefully.  He was picky about his car and sugar; it wouldn't do to just wipe my hands anywhere, now would it?  Andrew was a lot older than me, and sometimes, you could tell.

Andrew Kirchner grimaced anyway.  Marlow, he said.  Then he sighed.

Yes, fine, fine!  I grabbed one of the wipes he kept handy, and had since the first week of our partnership.  He was particular about his car, but I could hardly complain.  I appreciated him driving us everywhere.  He was a good partner. 

What did you think of that argument? I asked, glancing at him sideways as I used the wipe industriously.  The cop and the fox shifter.  Weird, huh?

He shrugged, like it hadn't captured his attention, that little fox dude and the neck beard cop shouting at each other.

I hadn't been able to tear my eyes away.  The fox shifter was so fluid when he talked, hands constantly moving, eyes wide and expressive.  He was all slim, sleek, and elegant sex appeal. 

He was also on the job.  So he shouldn't have been sexy at all.  He should have been dressed as boring as everyone else in the precinct. 

It irritated me a lot, that he could get away with that.  He shouldn't get a free pass just because he was a shifter.  Hell, he should have to dress even less sexy just to compensate for his overall good looks—that soft, reddish-brown hair, those honey-colored eyes.  Shit.  I needed to stop thinking about him.

Unprofessional, said Andrew, clicking his tongue.

Yes, exactly.

Arguing with his partner like that, in front of everybody.  I don't tell you off in front of everyone.  We keep it to ourselves.

Sure, tough guy.  He thought he was so fierce.  A stern look and carping about his car was the closest he ever got to telling me off.  Not that I didn't appreciate it.  I needed a gentle partner. 

Wait, you think they're partners?  That gave me pause.  I'd have sworn there was no love lost between them. 

You think they're not? he countered.  You just said one was a shifter and one wasn't.  Why the argument, if they don't work together?  If someone started arguing with you, you can bet I'd step in and stop it, but it's hard to imagine anyone volunteering to step in between partners arguing. 

I nodded.  It was hard to imagine me having the balls to be involved in a public argument in the first place, but yes, he'd definitely stop it.  But not everybody had the same sort of working partnership we did.  I don't know.  That's why I asked what you thought.

Well, I think they were partners.  But they need to work on their communication skills.

You'd think they'd have worked on that in training.  If they were partners.  It really bugged me, that they might be partners.  It didn't seem right.  That cop had had so little patience for the fox, even if he was being ridiculous, which he probably was.

I mean, he was a fox.  A sleek, sexy, rank-smelling, irritating fox.  He probably bugged the shit out of anyone who had to maintain close contact with him.  They probably wanted to strangle him, being around him all the time, with his pheromones and his big soft eyes and that face of his.

It shouldn't be legal, that's all I'm saying.  To be that attractive.

No doubt people got used to it, if they had to be around him.  It wasn't likely to come up for me, as we didn't go to that precinct much anyway.  Also, why would I want to be around a fox?  I wouldn't, that's what. 

If they weren't partners, one or both of them is likely to face administrative action for publicly arguing on the job, said Andrew prosaically.  Even for partners, it would be iffy.

He reached over and swatted my knee.  Would you sit up straight?  I'll be driving on the highway soon.

I straightened up, because I didn't feel like pushing his buttons.  I jiggled a foot.  I didn't know what to do with my hands.  It seemed staged.

What? he said, preoccupied.

It seemed fake.  Their argument.

Oh.  Yeah, kind of.

I wonder who they were trying to kid.

Maybe it was flirting, said Andrew casually.

What?  No.  The fox and that guy?  I might only be in my early twenties and without a lot of experience in the whole romance part of life, but I thought I knew flirting when I saw it, and that had been an argument, not flirting.

He glanced at me, blinking once slowly, then got his gaze back on the road.

I felt cold and exposed, like he'd seen something I didn't want him to see.  Didn't want anyone to see. 

I moderated my tone, trying to sound calm, like the thought didn't bug the hell out of me.  All I'm saying is, that didn't look like flirting.

You never know, said Andrew casually.  The fox looked gay to me.

I swallowed.  Yeah.  Maybe.  He was definitely gay.  His pheromones weren't exactly subtle on the subject. 

Maybe they both were, suggested Andrew.  You can't always tell.

I swallowed again.  I couldn't be gay.  I couldn't.  Damn it.  He can't be my mate.  He can't.  He's not.  I don't need a mate.  Certainly not a stinky, delicate little fox.

My mind went back to the first time we'd met, like my memory wanted to torture me.  I couldn't stop it or turn it off.  It was just there, teeth-clenchingly bad, a rush of cold water, embarrassment, shame and even disgust. 

We'd been coming to join the search party for a missing kid.  The precinct didn't mind loaning me and Andrew to the neighboring precinct.  I hadn't shifted yet.  And then there was the fox.  Small and soft-looking, with beautiful red, healthy-looking fur.  I remember he was prancing, looking absolutely full of himself and so alive.  He had such a pretty little snout.  He smelled really strong, though—and he smelled like my mate.

I hadn't ever thought I'd clap eyes on someone, catch hold of their scent, and just know.  I thought it would at least take a few days, a few dates—time to chat.  Maybe some species compatibility.  Maybe, oh, a woman? 

I'd imagined my future mate as a gray wolf, like me.  It had felt vague and far off, and I'd preferred it that way.  I liked picking my life, choosing what I wanted to do, not being obsessed with someone and having to change my life for them.  But I'd had a vague, fuzzy idea of what she should be like, gentle and cute and feminine.  Not a man.  Not a fox.  What the hell was I supposed to do about a fox shifter as a mate—and a guy, at that?

He'd been messy, with some mud decorating his fur, and from the triumph in his eyes, the sheer delight, he'd succeeded.  The activity taking place nearby confirmed it—medics rushing in, people radioing in that the girl was found.  The mission was a success, and it was due to him.

He'd found the kid, alive, and—he was my mate.

My messy, gay, fox-shifter mate.

And I couldn't handle it.

Oh hell no.  I'm not sure if I said it out loud or just thought it, but my world was in turmoil.  I turned to Andrew and tugged on his arm.  We've got to go.  I'm not staying here.

The fox stopped, quizzical and hurt, head tilted slightly, gaze following me, sharp and intelligent.  I executed a sharp about face and walked off, whether Andrew followed or not.  The last I saw of the fox, out of the corner of my eye, he'd raised his muzzle and delicately sniffed the air, a look of hurt bewilderment crossing his gaze.

Andrew didn't get it, but he went along with it.  Obviously, we weren't needed, so he didn't make too much of a fuss.  He kept glancing over at me when he drove us back, but he didn't say anything.

I figured he just thought it was a weird wolf thing, or some stress about the missing kid.

And I admit I let him think that.  Missing kids aren't my strong suit.  I'm not great about that to be honest.  When we were little, my brother got lost once, and it was still one of my worst memories.  We'd been little, and I was supposed to watch him.  I'd gotten distracted, and he'd gone missing.  I shouted myself hoarse looking for him.

It was the most alone and scared I'd felt since our parents deaths.  I was too scared to go to the grownups in the pack and ask for help.  I already knew how unwelcome we were in the pack.  In my panic, I was afraid they wouldn't even look for my brother, just punish me.  I finally thought to shift and hunt him down by scent.  I remember as if from very far away sobbing as I undressed, my hands shaking and slowing me down.  Then I shifted, a scared whimpering pup running around, sniffing for his brother. 

It hadn't actually taken long to find him.  He'd been asleep in a pile of pine needles, not even lost long enough to get scared.  My pack never found out.  I tried to be a lot more responsible after that.  But it was still a really bad memory, all the horror and fear at the thought of losing him, the last of my family. 

Our parents had died only a few months before, so we were still settling in and adjusting to life in the pack with distant relatives who, while they might never say it in so many words, found us a burden.  And sometimes they did say it, or showed it in the countless ways they favored the other children, the ones who really belonged there.

We had each other, growing up.  That was all.  When the going got tough, we could count on each other, the Reese brothers.  We didn't take our problems to anyone else if we could help it.  It was understood that we had to be useful and not take too many resources, too much time or attention, from the actual kids, the real ones, who deserved it.  Because they were really family, not just distant relative orphans.

Growing up, our lives were about survival, keeping our heads down, and not causing trouble.  My uncle (third cousin actually, but we called him Uncle Dale—he told us to), was a piece of shit.  We learned to stay out of his way and not make ourselves handy targets.  He was a hard man who didn't mind dishing out beatings for pretty much any reason.  That was not a fun way to grow up.

We weren't really kids, not for most of our time there.  You grow up fast when you know there's nobody really looking after you and loving you, that you're just there on sufferance. 

They did take us in.  It could have been worse.  We could've been sexually abused, or left on the streets, or died in the same crash that killed Mom and Dad.  But sometimes it didn't feel like it could be worse.

I tried to shield Spencer from as much of it as I could, tried to make him remember we were family, I'd always be there for him, he could count on me, we had each other.  I was less than two years older than him.  I wasn't really old enough to take care of myself, let alone both of us.

We survived.  And as soon as we could, we got out.  Eventually, we found the Shifters and Partners program.  There I'd found Andrew, and this job.  The work wasn't too bad, I felt safe with Andrew, and I always, always had enough to eat.

Spencer was currently working part time as a consultant, because even though he'd been through the program twice and done well for himself, he just couldn't settle with a partner.  He couldn't pick someone he could stand to work with full time.  That limited his job opportunities, but he did okay for himself.  At least, he had enough to eat.

For the two of us, that would always be the number one priority.  First, we were wolves.  And second, we'd grown up hungry.  I knew what it was like to go to bed hungry and so did he.  Anyway, we were both in a better place now.

Unfortunately, Spencer was halfway across the country, but we saw each other when we could, and talked on the phone.  No longer part of any pack, snotty-nosed orphans to be looked down on, we were grown men who could stand on their own two feet and deal with our own shit now.

And we did.

But now my shit included this. 

A fox.  A fox shifter who smelled like he was my mate.

For not the first time, I wished Mom or Dad was here so I could ask them important questions I didn't trust anyone else with.  Spencer couldn't answer this for me; he didn't have a mate, so he wouldn't have the experience to advise me.  I also didn't want to burden him with it.  The whole hey your brother is freaking out here and may be gay because his mate is probably a man, would be a lot to lay on him, especially if we couldn't talk about it in person.  It wasn't the kind of conversation for a phone call. 

Me?  Gay?  How did that happen, and when?

I'd been so focused on taking care of myself and Spencer, getting my shit together, getting a job and life where I could feel safe, that somehow I'd never guessed what was in the cards for me.

A fox was one thing.  A big damned thing.  It would take some time to wrap my head around it.

But a guy?  Could I really have a mate who was a guy?  Really?

I would sooner die than call my uncle or anyone from the old pack for advice, but I sure wished I had someone I could talk to about this.

Was it possible my instincts were wrong?  Maybe the this is my mate feeling misfired sometimes.

I'd always thought maybe I'd have a mate someday, and we'd have a family, a little pack all our own, a place to belong, to feel wanted—a home, some children, a happy, quiet life.

A flamboyant male fox wasn't what I'd pictured at all.

To be honest, my rosy picture of the home life was probably more about recapturing what I'd lost when my parents died, and the feeling of home and safety with them.  I couldn't imagine feeling safe and content with a delicate male fox.  Much less having kids.  Yikes.

But...I wanted him.  With a terrifying, frustrating confusion of longing and desire.  I wanted him so much it actually made me angry.  Why the hell should he hold such an appeal for me?  I mean, a skinny guy with a loud voice and flamboyant gestures?

What could I possibly want with him?  Except that I did.  He was making me feel things I'd never felt before.  I wanted to take him home and wrap myself around him in bed and keep him there forever.  And that feeling confused the ever-loving hell out of me.

Because he was a fox, and I was a wolf, and I wasn't even gay.  Was I?

Andrew glanced at me.  Whatcha thinking, Marlow?  His voice was particularly gentle, the way he sounds when he's worried about me. 

One of the things I love best about Andrew is how gentle he is with me.  He's a staid, short, blond dour man, very set in his ways, with strong opinions on things and a terse manner.  He's married, older than me, and probably more sensible and smart than I'll ever be.  But he's so kind to me.  He shares his fries if I look hungry while he's still eating.  He doesn't even complain or roll his eyes, just pushes them over.  He's scarily observant, and sometimes knows how I'm feeling before I do.

And one time when I broke down and cried he held onto me tightly as long as I needed it, and never said a word about it afterwards, or looked down on me or anything.

I loved him with a bright, embarrassed love, somewhat the way I felt about my brother.  Like sometimes I wanted to elbow him in the ribs and sometimes I wanted to tackle him into the mud and laugh. 

I felt safe with him looking out for me, his level-headed maturity enough for both of us, so I didn't have to be the grownup anymore.  He remembered things, he kept us on task, he bought me food and let me live with him and Julia.  They were kinder to me than family, and never acted like I owed them.  Never acted like I was a bother at all.

He listened when I talked.  He took me seriously.  And like I said, he always shared his fries.

Nothing.  I fiddled with the hand wipe, realized I was tearing it apart, and tossed it aside.  Damn, I was acting suspicious, wasn't I?

He was the fox from last time, huh? said Andrew.  A lively fellow.

Yeah.  Lively.  I hunched up in the seat again, and put my feet up on the dashboard. 

He'd looked fragile.  He'd looked like somebody should be protecting him, not making him face an argument out in front of everyone, all by himself.  If that jerk of a cop was his partner...

Andrew sighed.  Tacos?

What?  I straightened up, my mouth beginning to water almost before the words registered.

Will you put your feet down if I take you out for tacos?

Um.  Yes.  I straightened up quickly, and tried not to look too eager.

We drove in silence, as I thought about all the things I'd order.  Extra guacamole for sure.  The fox was, at least for now, on the back burner.

You shouldn't worry about the fox, you know.  He looks like the kind of guy who can take care of himself.

I hope so.  He looks like he has delicate bones, I muttered, studying my own knees.  Sturdy knees.  Not like that guy's.  He was all willowy and soft-looking.

Well, shifters are deceptive that way.  Take you, for instance.  You could kick my ass, even if you don't look like it.

I snorted, because of course I could—and I definitely looked like it.  I might not be a big guy compared to some of the old pack, but the coach in high school wanted me to try out for football.  It was a moot point, since wolves weren't allowed on equal footing with non-shifters (in case somebody got hurt, because we were so much stronger), and anyway, I couldn't have afforded the uniform and fees.  But the point is, I was big and strong enough to look like I could kick his ass. 

Andrew was a great guy, don't get me wrong, but he was maybe five-nine in his socks, with a trim build.  I couldn't have borrowed his clothes without ripping the shoulders out.  I definitely looked like I could kick his ass.  Anybody who knew me would know better, of course.  That was another reason I was so glad Andrew was patient and considerate.  He'd never raised a hand to me and he never would.

His other point was taken, though.  The fox shifter had to be strong, didn't he?  Even if he looked delicate as all get out.

I wondered how he'd hold up to sex.  I wouldn't want to accidentally hurt him.  I mean, if I was thinking about having sex with him, which I definitely wasn't.  But if I was.  I wouldn't want a mate I could accidentally break.

It's not like  he'd look at me twice even if I wanted to.  He obviously knew what he was about.  He was gay and experienced and had all that fashion sense and stuff.  He wouldn't want to mess around with a wolf like me.  That would be asking for trouble.  All kinds of trouble.

I didn't even know if foxes believed in mates.  All I knew was what I'd heard growing up, that foxes were slutty and perverted.  Stinky, smelly, disgusting