Page 17 of The Hummingbird’s Gift

Tier wanted him like no one else. Rohahen balanced him. He always had. “Maybe my type doesn’t know too much about mates, either,” he finally replied.

Then Declan started swaying against Rohahen, rubbing his lithe body against all of the muscles and planes and curves that Tier wanted to claim for his own.

Tier lurched forward. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do, but he knew that he didn’t want anyone else touching Rohahen. The kraken grabbed his arm, stopping his motion.

“He’s doing it on purpose,” the kraken rumbled.

Tier didn’t have time for this. “What? Why is your mate touching my…?” Only he didn’t quite know how to finish the sentence. His what? His advisor? His friend? His mate?

He was confused about everything except the need to get those slender white hands off Rohahen’s body. They were tracing his shoulders, running across his chest, caressing the curve of his belly…

He heard Geir, as though from far away. “Why is he touching your mate? I think they’re trying to send you a message.”

“What kind of message is that?” he snapped.

Declan’s hand slipped lower, almost to the button of Rohahen’s jeans.

“The message is that you’re supposed to jump in and claim him. Just be gentle with my… mate while you do. They’re playing a game to get our attention.”

A game? That was a game?

And then Declan looked Tier right in the eye, hand almost on Rohahen’s zipper, and winked.

Alright, he could see that it was a game, but the game was over.

He stormed into the circle of dancers, the unconscious command in his throat moving shifters out of his way before he even reached them.

Rohahen turned to look at him, eyes wide and flashing between arousal and worry. He never wanted Rohahen to worry around him, even when he was the cause of all that concern.

It was all getting to be too much. Rohahen’s sweat and pheromones stirred up by the dancing. The tribe all around him, watching him, waiting for his next move with all of their expectations and opinions and judgments.

He’d hoped to do this in private. Have a quiet conversation like mature adults. Now he was making a spectacle of himself.

Declan smirked and slipped his hand lower, grazing the zipper. Rohahen’s eyes were locked on Tier’s. What was he supposed to do? Rohahen should be his, and he didn’t know how to make that happen.

Tier pressed a hand to Rohahen’s chest, feeling the sweaty warmth of his skin through his shirt. Declan pressed a kiss to Rohahen’s cheek, then floated away, laughing, into Geir’s arms. Tier was seething inside.

Shift, he thought. He needed to shift. Everyone needed to shift.

He used the softer form of the command, or so he hoped. The one that told his tribe what he wanted but still left them the autonomy to remove their clothes and say goodnight to youngsters who wouldn’t be staying out for a run or climb or flight through the woods.

The harsher form of the command would have had them tearing through their clothes as the shift overcame them from outside.

Shifting was part of every feast day, but usually not one that he would invoke until much later, and usually only after a short speech and a prayer.

Tier tuned out everything around him, stripping off his own clothes and watching Rohahen hungrily as he took off his shirt. The hair on his chest was dark and curly, his nipples deep black buds.

Rohahen looked at Tier’s naked body, then quickly looked away. Tier loved how shy he looked sometimes.

He waited, breathless, as Rohahen kicked off his shoes, then took down his jeans and underwear all in one move that transformed seamlessly into a shift. A gorgeous coyote stood before him, tail tucked between his legs and head down in unhappy submission.

What did that mean? Was Rohahen rebuffing Tier’s interest? Or wisely following his orders, perhaps saving them from the indignity of whatever he might have done to that luscious, naked body in front of him?

Tier shifted, too. There was a moment of pain and disorientation as bones broke and muscles re-knit, and then he stood as a bobcat. Smells came to him like a symphony. His eyes adjusted, turned away from the fire, and picked out Rohahen’s bulky form. His sight was at its best in these dim conditions that let him focus on movement and contrast.

He shook out his body in one long stretch from his head to his tail. In this shape, he was the size of a large house cat, with striped fur and large, triangular ears that picked up every sound.

Rohahen’s coyote, the size of a dog, towered over him. In all of their forms, Rohahen was bigger than Tier. As a human, he was bigger than anyone in the tribe. Would that be awkward, with the way that Tier thought of him? As sweet and precious?