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The next day, Fin watched his newest reluctant guild member as the man haggled for the best price on ammo and rations that wouldn't go bad in the blazing wasteland temperatures. He knew the hunter wasn't happy to have him along. Sam had all his own people he worked with for these things. He was letting Fin in on trade secrets.
The shifter was as secretive and closed as they came. No matter what Fin did, he doubted the guy would ever really trust him. That wariness seemed ingrained, like the instincts of a feral stray cat.
But Fin was glad he'd come. Sam might like to mock him for wanting to be a hunter, and Fin himself played it off as just a way to make money. But the truth of the matter was, he wanted this. He wanted to do something, anything, to prove he was more than the gimpy little freak of nature everyone thought he was. That he could live life on his own terms, clan and humans bedamned.
But he had a lot to learn. Like how to not get swindled by the vendors who supplied the stuff you needed to get a job done.
Sam stood from where he'd been leaning against a battered table of knives, playfully insulting the shopkeeper's mother and all his female relatives back ten generations. The shopkeeper was scowling, but he'd come down on his price significantly, and he still clapped the shifter on the back in a good-natured gesture, shooting an eye toward Fin. "Good luck out there, Sam," the old guy muttered. "Watch your back."
The unsaid message being "Because that little thing sure as hell won't be able to."
Fin shrugged it off. He was used to being stared at, scoffed at, and underestimated. Just made it that much more satisfying when he proved them all wrong.
Sam paced toward him with a sly, feline grace that made it easy to believe the rumors about his heritage. Tall and slender, prettier than most women Fin had ever met, still, the guy exuded this sense of hidden danger. He was a predator, and Fin wouldn't be the least bit surprised if he really did turn into a giant white saber-toothed tiger.
"Taking notes?" Sam asked in a low, smooth voice.
Fin snorted. "I didn't see anything so amazing. Just you talking that poor guy to death until he relented and let you rip him off."
Ice blue eyes, so light they were almost colorless, regarded Fin with disbelief. "Did you hear what he was asking for that ammo at first? We might be making a decent bounty on those unicorns, but that was just criminal."
Fin smothered a smile. The hunter was more frugal than Fin's old Grannie back at the clan. "If you say so."
Sam snorted and shoved a lock of hair out of his face. Fin caught himself staring again, when he nearly walked right into a food cart that was parked in the middle of the sidewalk. Sam's hair was midnight black, but it was shot through with silver and cobalt blue, and it shimmered, like some sort of fairy silk. The angular cut only added to the shifter's androgynous good looks, long enough in the front to bump his prominent collar bones. His blue eyes were angled over high cheekbones, the slant of them becoming even more catlike and prominent when he narrowed his eyes at Fin. Like he was doing right now. "What?"
Shit. Here he was, mooning over a man. Fin had lost his Godsdamned mind. He'd never had thoughts like this about a guy before. "Nothing," he muttered. "You've got dirt on your cheek, fool."
Sam frowned and shifted his backpack full of supplies higher onto his shoulder so he could rub at the non-existent dirt with one hand.
Fin fixed his eyes firmly on the sidewalk in front of him. He didn't have time for this shit. He had one goal, and one goal only: to be free of his people, and make a life for himself here among the humans and curs. That didn't involve lusting after some monster hunter who would probably kill him with his bare hands if he ever realized that Fin was thinking about him naked and wrecked.
Sam side-stepped a kamikaze bicycle delivery girl who was careening down the overcrowded sidewalk like she had a death wish...and stepped directly in front of Fin. Fin got body slammed by someone to his left and couldn't stop fast enough. He stumbled over his own damned clumsy feet, flailing out a hand to steady himself. And of course, now he was clinging to the shifter's slender hips, feeling the sleek muscle just above Sam’s perfect ass flex as he twisted to look over his shoulder.
"Fuck me sideways," Fin muttered under his breath.
Sam arched a brow at him. "You okay, shorty? Need me to give you a piggyback ride so you don't get trampled?"
Fin snatched his damned traitorous hands away. "Fuck you."
The shifter just smirked and kept walking, oblivious to Fin's mental breakdown.
Of course, Sam didn't notice anything was amiss. Why would he? No one ever thought amorous thoughts about someone who was only half a man.
Fin shook himself. No. No more pity party. He wasn't some damned teenage girl. This was ridiculous. He hurried to catch up to his long-legged companion. "Oy! Stop at that food truck. You're buying me lunch for calling me 'shorty.'"
The shifter shot him a narrow-eyed blue glare. "That's a frivolous expense. Eat when you get home."
But Sam was already heading toward the food vendor. He might like to act like he was an impervious hardass, but Fin knew better. The shifter was actually a really nice guy, under all that growling.
Which didn't make it any easier to stop noticing him.