Some Reservations (shifters and partners Book 6) Read online

  Story copyright 2015 by Hollis Shiloh.

  All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from the author. All characters and events are fictitious, and any similarity to real people or events is coincidental.

  Cover design by Melody Simmons. Cover image Content is being used for illustrative purposes only, and any person depicted in the Content is a model.

  Copy-editing and proofreading by Martin O'Hearn.

  About the story

  Craig isn't sure he wants to work with a wolf shifter. He scored well enough on the tests that his precinct is sending him through the program, whatever he thinks about it . . . unless he can manage to flunk out.

  But the program proves to be both more interesting and more harrowing than he expected. Especially because of one guy he can't seem to stop thinking about, a gorgeous yet annoying shifter Craig can't forget or ignore.

  The only thing is, the shifter in question seems to have no such problem ignoring or forgetting about Craig.

  Some Reservations

  by Hollis Shiloh

  I was late.

  My first day at the stupid training facility and I was going to be the last one there. I took another quick drag on my cigarette before hastily squishing it underfoot.

  Damn. Here came somebody, a big guy, sort of bounding towards me, almost like he wanted to highlight just how late I was. Hope they didn't lock the gates.

  I struggled with my bag. It might be only a two-week-long process at this point — a lot of stuff got handled ahead, like the whole stupid test I'd managed to ace, getting in and everything — but I'd probably overpacked. It was so hard to tell, though, wasn't it? It was civilian clothes. And all my electronic devices, because let's face it, I was going to be bored out of my skull otherwise.

  "Hey," said the big guy, smiling and wiping his hands nervously on his jeans. He was kind of cute, in a rawboned, almost puppified way. He had big eyes and a nervous smile, and a sweetness about him that made him look younger than he probably was. He stood head and shoulders taller than me, and he watched me with warm eyes. I don't know how else to describe that expression. Warm eyes.

  Well, howdy, Mr. Warm Eyes. Wonder if you're into dudes?

  "Hey." I jerked my head at him, wondering if he'd caught me with the cigarette and would tell the instructors.

  One more reason I didn't want to be paired with a shifter partner. I wasn't ready to quit smoking. Ideally, they shouldn't have any kind of stuff like that around them, and it was only one of the major life changes I was going to have to make without being exactly asked. More like "told" because, after all, the precinct needed one of these shifters, and if I could help with that, then I was going through the program, like it or not.

  Advancing in my career to a specialized job was all well and good, but I hadn't expected it to be babysitting a shifter.

  I have nothing against them. Clearly, or I couldn't have passed the tests. I just wasn't what you'd call eager for spending the rest of my career linked with one of them, at his professional mercy.

  It was all very well to say that it's useful, better paying, and even somewhat prestigious. But when I got ready with the rest of the precinct to take the tests, I remember distinctly thinking none of that would be a great trade-off for having your professional career tied to someone else's choices and skills. Instead of being the guy who either proceeded on his own merits or didn't, I would be the guy who, if someone else fucked up, found it was my fault.

  You think I wanted that kind of life? I was surprised so many people seemed eager for it.

  "Hey," said the new guy, giving me a smile from deep in his eyes that radiated all over. "Can I carry that for you?"

  I was struggling with my bag, trying to juggle it with my laptop case and the earphones slipping from my neck. "Um . . . yeah. Thanks." I handed it over in time to not lose any of my other stuff. The ground was too muddy to just put it down. I glanced down at my bright red new sneakers. Well, fuck. There went that, too. Already splashed with mud and muck.

  "I'm Jerry," said the big puppy guy, keeping pace with me in a kind of half-eager run as I grumbled my way towards the gate as quickly as I could. Would the shifters here smell I'd been smoking? Would one of them tell on me?

  Shit. That, and late, and muddy sneakers, and not wanting to be here in the first place.

  "Craig," I muttered, wishing I could do so around a cigarette and be moody and nicotined up for the coming mess. "Thanks."

  He gave me a quick, shy nod, still smiling, and stopped with me at the gate. Here I faced the guy at the entrance, who looked down his nose at me. "You're late."

  "Yeah. Sorry," I said, lame even to my ears. I hated apologizing, and wasn't good at it.

  The guy at the gate — a big plug of a dude — gave me a narrow-eyed look as he checked over the papers I'd been told to turn in when I arrived. Apparently they were in order, but he was still annoyed with my late arrival.

  He cast a look at the guy carrying my bag — Jerry — who seemed to be giving him a very pleading look. He was cute. A little young, but cute. I still didn't know if he was a shifter, but he hadn't mentioned the cigarette so he probably wasn't.

  At last, the guy with the clipboard made a scrunched-up sort of face and waved me through the gate with his pen. "Go on."

  Jerry looked so relieved. "Come on," he said in an undertone. "They're just starting your class, but I can get you in the back way. I know all the doors around here already."

  "What class are you in?" I asked, curious at last, even as I desperately wished I'd taken another quick puff of my cigarette.

  The tip of his ears turned red. He was a big, sweet guy, and he didn't want to tell me. "Never mind," I said, putting a hand on his arm. "I'll see you around, yeah? Thanks for carrying this."

  "Oh. Uh." As I reached for it, he tried awkwardly to hand it to me, but somehow I managed to miss, or he released it too soon, and it fell between us, landing awkwardly. We were on a relatively clean area — concrete, and it was only damp, not muddy — but still.

  I snatched it up quickly, shoved my earphones in, and slung the whole thing over my shoulder, giving him a tight smile. "Thanks," I repeated.

  His whole face was flushed awkwardly now. He just nodded, wordless and miserable, and then motioned for me to follow. He was quick and quiet on his feet, for such a big guy. For anybody, really. Could he be a shifter? Was that why he wasn't in my same class?

  Or maybe there were different classes, and he was closer to graduating or something?

  From all the things I'd heard and read about the program, classes of shifters and humans arrived at the same time, took classes separately for a few days, mingled, and then worked with each other passing tests. At the end, the shifters got their pick of human partners, more or less without the human's having a say, the implication being they were lucky if a shifter could stand their presence at all.

  This class was supposed to be all wolf shifters, and a bunch of humans who'd scored well and otherwise had the achievement, ambition, and qualifications to do well with a shifter partner.

  I knew someone had fucked something up in the program, or I wouldn't be here. I might've passed the tests — and wasn't that a kick in the pants? — but I didn't want to be here, and I wouldn't be a good match for anybody. Ever.

  There was grass and a fairly open area inside the gate; lots of room to run for the wolves, perhaps? The grounds were well tended and green, but with a line of trees not far away. It looked like it would be a nice place to run, for a human or a wolf. Would I get time for that later? I didn't see why not.

  Jerry gave me a little nervous sm
ile, for such a big guy. How old was he? "Sorry. This way," he mumbled. He led me to a building quickly, and opened a back door, holding it for me. It looked like a fire exit that had been blocked open somehow so he could open it from the outside without setting off any alarms. I shouldered my bag and gave him a quick smile of gratitude. "Thanks, man."

  He ducked his head, smiling a little, self-consciously running fingers back through his hair. "It's the first door. I hope I see you later," he said. Something about this guy was so earnest. "I like the way you smell a lot."

  And then he was gone, hurrying away, ducking his head. I stared.

  I guess he was a shifter after all.

  I'd expected shifters here to be more the badass, ex-Marine type. He looked like he was in his early twenties, massively muscular but with a bit of baby fat about him somehow, and an innocent look in his eyes.

  Did he really like the way I smelled? Did that mean anything?

  I guessed I was about to find out.

  #

  I tried to slip in the back quietly, but the teacher at the front of the class said, "Ah, and you are?" and looked grim. She wore glasses and peered at me over the top of them. "You've missed ten minutes of orientation already. I expect you to go over the material on your own to make up for it."

  Maybe she could assign me some detention and extra credit while she was at it. I just nodded, not trusting myself to speak without saying something sarcastic. Why hadn't Jerry mentioned the smoking, either to scold me or turn me in? He'd just acted really happy to see me, like I was his old buddy he hadn't seen for a while, or no, more like I was a crush he'd been wanting to talk to for some time.

  We'd had to give them handkerchiefs we'd handled, so they'd have our scent on file. Could it be that? They'd let the shifters smell all the handkerchiefs already and he'd decided he liked my smell?

  Well, he was kind of hot. I'd be glad to have sex with him if he wasn't underage or wanted to do anything too weird. Later, after the certification training was completed, though. We'd been told pretty firmly already there wasn't to be any of that sort of thing during the training and teaming. It would mess with the scores.

  No sexual fraternizing between humans and shifters during the course. I could understand it, actually. Shifters seemed to be fairly vulnerable to this whole "mates" mentality — bonding to someone else very strongly and very quickly. Having sex with someone might mess them up, making them feel bonded where they shouldn't be, or sooner than they should be.

  I wondered about it. It wasn't something that had been fully explained — or possibly even could be — and it was kind of weird yet cool to think of some shifter deciding you were destined to be together because he liked the way you smelled.

  Weird, cool, but possibly creepy if they weren't good at taking no for an answer.

  Supposedly they could tell if you were gay, straight, or bi from smell alone a lot of the time. I was definitely gay. It wouldn't be too hard to guess the cute Jerry was gay too, if he was into my smell.

  Huh. Maybe he'd want to go on a date (or something) after this whole thing was over. I hoped he wasn't picking me out as a partner and mate already. I didn't know about that.

  I wasn't sold on the whole thing to begin with — not a fan of being picked out of a lineup by somebody and getting stuck with them for life.

  Not that he wasn't cute, and pleasant to be around so far, in the five minutes I'd known the guy, but that was a little bit fast. Even for a hookup, that would be fast.

  Cool your jets, bro, if you're thinking like that, I sent up silently as I tried to pay attention to the rest of orientation.

  #

  The certification program was fairly new; before, Commissioner Singh and Mr. Ralstead had more or less trained and paired people on an individual basis. Now that the program was rolling out onto a national stage, they were training and teaming shifters and humans in a faster, more streamlined way. This training program was just one. They had another across the country, and were set to open more.

  Basically most of the police departments around the country were aiming to have cops working with shifters on a permanent basis in the next few years. It might end up taking longer than that — and some departments might not go the extra mile to be part of the program — but right now, a lot of the country was really excited. Police forces needed all the good PR and skill solving they could. Shifters were great for solving crime, since they could catch smells as well as or better than police dogs, had the intelligence of people, not animals, and could testify in court.

  A shifter's sense of smell now counted as well as a warrant in many ways. Probable cause was closer to "definite cause" when it came to drugs, recently fired weapons, and missing person scent. Who wouldn't want that kind of weapon in their professional arsenal?

  Well, I'm sure there were plenty of precincts that didn't want to go there — scared of shifters, not wanting any sort of change, or perhaps even with something fishy to hide — but my captain was adamant we all take the tests, and thrilled when I got high enough scores to be whisked into the program.

  It was an intricate, very long test that involved a lot of personal details, hours and hours of paper tests if you passed the first few, and culminating in an interview and a virtual simulation. It was a very realistic simulation that felt like real life — the newest video game tech, that you couldn't get at home, but had to play with in VR shops.

  I'd felt pretty lucky getting to try it out, but as I progressed through the tests, further and further, I also started to get a little worried. I didn't like the idea of being fast-tracked into a program I wasn't at all sure I wanted to join. I didn't have to have anything against shifters to not be sure I wanted my fate tied to one.

  Even a sweet guy like Jerry.

  Anyway, I tried to pay attention now, but all in all, I couldn't help feeling like life was moving too fast, and I was in over my head. Maybe even that if I'd known what exactly the right answers and choices were, I'd have picked some wrong ones instead so I'd have failed before it got this far.

  I was a data analysis guy. I did a lot of computer stuff, and I was pretty happy with that life. I'd gone through the academy, gotten good scores, but I qualified for a techie job and didn't have to go out on patrol. I got better pay, too.

  I liked that pretty well. I wasn't at all sure if I wanted to be the guy who had to show up at the crime scene taking care of a shifter who would solve everything and save the day — looking after a walking, talking, possibly vulnerable or messed-up crime lab and search warrant all in one. Like being Superman's bodyguard or something. Was that a useless job or what?

  Anyway, if I could've picked anybody from the precinct to go here, it wouldn't have been me. It would've probably been Clark Johnson, the biggest tough guy at the precinct. He seemed like he could handle shit pretty well. And he was a nice guy underneath the tough guy act. He had all that muscles, and that tough guy walk, and yeah, we'd dated. He was in the closet, though. So it didn't really work out.

  Like, sometimes he still called me up at night because he wanted a quickie.

  I was trying not to be that guy, so I didn't answer him. Most of the time.

  Was it really too much to ask out of life to have a boyfriend who wanted to be with me all the time, not just secretly when he was feeling lonely at night? Fingers crossed.

  Anyway, I figured he'd be good with a shifter. I might not be in a place where I could deal with his closeted stuff, but he was a big guy with a gentle voice and careful hands, always aware of how I was feeling, putting my pleasure first. If he treated a partner that way (non-sexually) he'd be great at taking care of a shifter. He seemed like the kind of guy who would someday have kids and be a great dad.

  Anyway, why was I thinking about Clark? I was supposed to be over him. Even if he did have huge biceps and a deep voice and the darkest eyes in the world that seemed to just look into your soul. I was a sucker for his eyes — and his tattoos, which were the barbed wire around his biceps sor
t. Might've looked clichéd on somebody else, but on him they just looked freakin' hot.

  I'd just had to accept the fact that he wasn't going to be spending his life with me. Anyway, why was I thinking like that? I should be celebrating my freedom, going on some real, non-closeted dates where I could actually be seen in public with a guy and not have him freak.

  Clark might be hotter than butter on toast, but he was also the kind of guy who makes you miserable and breaks your heart if you think he's ever going to change for you. So I was totally over Clark.

  Yep.

  You believe me, right?

  I tried to bring my attention back to the teacher again. She had her eye on me in a way that let me know she knew I wasn't following her words. I put my chin in my hands and rested my elbows on the desk, focusing my eyes on her as she went over material. I followed her with my gaze.

  A big, fat bluebottle was buzzing around the room. I watched it. Flies can be the most annoying thing. That sound, going on and on forever, sometimes closer, sometimes farther away.

  The guy ahead of me and to the right jiggled his knee compulsively. He grew still as the fly drew near, seemed to be holding his breath.

  It buzzed close; he didn't move. Landed on his ear, and he barely twitched. I was engrossed at this point. Saw another person watching too, and trying to pretend they weren't. It was mostly guys in this class. I wondered about that. You'd think girls would score higher on the empathy and shit. Maybe it was a reflection on the police system — there were just so many fewer women on the force, there were going to be fewer here, too.

  I personally was all for more women on the force. I mean, I got a lot less shit when there were more girls around. They tended to be tough and not likely to put up with homophobic bullshit. It helped to have somebody in my corner, and I connected pretty well most of the time with women of all sorts. I wasn't a threat; I was fun to hang out with. I was cute enough, even if I wasn't going to be interested in them.