Page 3 of A Merry Misfit Christmas

“What are you gonna do about it?” he teases, quickly stepping back when I fake a jump at him. He might be my brother, but right now, I wanna bust his face in.

His question is a valid one. What the fuck am I gonna do?

“I want to grab her and make her stay with me until I can convince her never to leave. Maybe if I force her to stay locked up with me during hibernation?—”

“Kodiak. Fuck.”

“I know. I sound fucking crazy. I can’t help it. My bear is already fighting to claim her. I can feel it.”

He sits in one of the empty chairs like he’s shocked. “Have you talked to Spike?”

I shake my head. “Not yet.”

“Go. He needs to know about this.”

Yeah. He does. “Alright. I’ll swing by later.”

Peanut nods, but he’s not paying attention. His eyes are glazed, and I know he’s thinking about what this can mean for all of us.

Mates. Family. Fatherhood.

Ourfatedmates. The one female destined to be ours. None of us really consider it. We don’t sit around and talk about it. But it’s been a secret longing for each of us.

We’re outcasts. A group of twisted outlaws. Misfits that don’t fit in anywhere else. Every one of us has a story to tell. But none of us expect this to happen. Finding love? Not in the realm of possibility.

Until now.

I rush outside and fire up my bike, hauling ass to the clubhouse. The cold doesn’t register in my head. I’m hot.Burning up. Sleet sizzles over the bare skin on my arms. I barely park my bike and shut down the engine before I smell her.

Callie’s scent slams into my body. It wraps around me with sensual fingers and digs in deep with sharp claws, burrowing under my skin. Instant lust fogs up my brain, followed by rage. It’s not her scent alone. It’s tangled with another male.

My pres.

And my bear isfurious.

Chapter Two

Callie

“Ican’t believe this,” I mutter as I place my car in park, tilting the rearview mirror down to get a better look at the stain on my sweater. Mywhitesweater. Or it used to be before hot cocoa spilled down the front of it ten minutes ago. The mocha-colored blob looks horrendous, and I don’t have a choice but to suck it up and head inside for my appointment.

There’s no way I have time to head back to my apartment and change before my meeting with the Shifted Misfits MC president, Spike. Knowing he’s going to see me like this only increases my irritation. Of all the days to bump into someone and ruin my outfit, it had to be today. I just hope I’m able to soak it later before I try to get the stain out. It’s one of my favorites and I’m not sure I’ll be able to find another one like it.

With a sigh, I readjust the mirror, gather up my purse and the folder of information I collected, and open my door. A cold blast of wind whips my hair around my head as I shiver, slamming the door shut as I balance everything in my hands. I’m hoping the lot isn’t full of ice because the last thing I need is to slip and fall after the disastrous start to my morning.

I don’t have to worry, though, because the lot is freshly shoveled, and salt covers every available inch, ensuring no one slips. I appreciate that attention to detail since I’m a detail-oriented type of girl. Organization is my life. It’s what I do for a living. Helping people rid their lives of clutter gives me a happy boost.

My gaze sweeps the front entrance of the Misfits property. It’s far bigger than I anticipated, not that it’s a bad thing. The place was a ski resort at one point, but it’s been remodeled. I love the open floor plan. I can see through the wide windows as I step up to the front door, revealing the clean lines and polished wood.

Before I have a chance to knock, the door swings wide. My vision is filled with easily the biggest man I’ve ever seen. He’s almost the same size as the guy from the coffee shop. A big behemoth with shoulders so wide they fill up the entire doorway, which has to be larger than a normal build. He’s stocky but not overweight, and I see tattoos peeking out from the long sleeves that stretch to his wrists.

“You must be Callie. Cheryl said to expect you.”

I blink at his deep, raspy voice which sounds like he’s smoked two packs a day all his life, but something tells me he isn’t a smoker. He seems like the type that works out every day since he’s got to maintain all that muscle. For some reason, I think of the guy from the coffee shop. When we collided, I noticed the bulging muscles on his arms and bounced right off the solid wall of his chest. He only wore a tee shirt and a red flannel despite the winter weather. How odd.

“I’m Spike,” the biker continues, and I cringe as his gaze sweeps over the stain on my sweater. “Rough morning?”

“You have no idea.”

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