Chapter 1
Michael Moriarty woke up to the sound of his roommates bickering. Groaning, he rolled onto his stomach and covered his head with the pillow. After working at the Silver Bullet for most of the night, he’d come home to a wild after-party which soon turned into equally wild sex. At that point, Michael had excused himself and called it a night.
Every rumor he’d heard about the Sabbath boys was true and although he liked to party as much as the next guy, he liked his sleep even more.
The Sabbath brothers, Nicholas and Damon, were jaguar shifters. He’d met the men by chance when he arrived in New Orleans after his long trip from his home in Alaska. The two shifters took one look at him and welcomed Michael into their home as if he were part of the family.
The following day, he’d petitioned to join Gideon Channing’s pack and applied for a security job at the Silver Bullet. He was now a new hire at the club and considered pack, even though he was a polar bear shifter. The Alpha invited him to move into The Castle, but he decided to stay with the Sabbath brothers.
The community he’d left behind wasn’t homophobic or unaccepting. He was luckier than most shifters in that aspect, since his family accepted him completely. He’d left home to find his own way. Living in a small town wasn’t all he’d wanted out of life. He didn’t want to follow in his family’s footsteps and become a fisherman. He needed more and he wanted the opportunity to meet other paranormals and, if he were really lucky, find his mate. Nearing thirty, Michael was ready to start thinking about a future and he wanted to share it with someone special.
When he heard of a wolf pack in New Orleans consisting of all gay members, Michael packed his bags and came to meet Gideon Channing and his pack.
When the bickering turned louder, Michael’s eyes popped open and he realized he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep. Stretching out his muscles, he extended his long limbs before rubbing his eyes.
“Fine, let’s ask Michael,” Damon announced as he drew closer to Michael’s bedroom door.
The two of them always tried to pull Michael into their little arguments, but he never fell for it. Coming from a big family with five brothers, Michael knew all about family loyalty. The worst thing he could do was choose a side, so in most cases, he became the counselor.
“Michael,” Damon called out, knocking on the door. “Are you awake?”
“No,” he growled, slowly sitting up.
“Oh, good.” He swung the door open and the two hovered in the doorway.
Michael grabbed the blanket, pulling it up and covering his junk. He knew most shifters didn’t care about nudity, but he didn’t feel like sitting around naked while the men pulled him into their discussion.
“What’s up?”
“You, obviously.” Damon winked, staring at Michael’s cock, and he rolled his eyes heavenward.
“Who did the cute little red head come home with last night?” Nicholas asked.
Michael shrugged, “No idea.” He shook his head. “I was working when you all rolled out.”
“You were at the door when we left.” Nicholas raised a brow, staring him down.
“I didn’t see anything,” he swore.
In actuality he saw the whole damn thing. Since he started working at the Silver Bullet, both Damon and Nicholas came into the club after closing their tattoo shop, The Burning Needle, in the early morning hours. When the men headed home, they were never alone. They worked hard and played harder. Part of Michael was curious to see what would happen when both the men found their mates. With their close relationship, he hoped that it happened at the same time for both their sakes.
“You’re such a fucking liar.” Damon chuckled knowingly.
“It doesn’t matter…” He shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. The redhead wasn’t important and neither were any of the other men the two shifters brought home.
“So…are you ready for your tattoo? I’ve got some drawings for you to check out. This time we won’t start with a full back piece,” Nicholas said, completely changing the subject, the redhead forgotten.
Nicholas moved into the room, inspecting Michael’s chest like a canvas where he wanted to tattoo his artwork. There wasn’t anything sexual about his perusal.
“No way,” he growled, shaking his head. “That shit burns.”
“Oh, come on, you’re a big strong polar bear. I’m sure you can handle it.” Damon raised a brow, smirking at him.
He’d gone to The Burning Needle, ready for a tattoo, or so he’d thought. After prepping his back, Nicholas wiped him down with diluted rubbing alcohol, then antiseptic. When the tattoo gun motor buzzed to life, Michael cringed. But, when the needle sank into his skin, he was done. One prick of the needle containing the ink laced with silver and Michael called an end to the whole thing—rolling off the vinyl bench and walking away.