by Moira Rogers
He sputtered something, but she didn’t listen. She clamped her hands over her ears again and rolled face down on the seat. Every instinct screamed for her to turn over, not to leave her back unprotected, but she ignored the urge. Instead, she began to meditate.
She’d never been so strong that she couldn’t control her empathy, not even from her earliest memories. Unless under duress, she had always been able to close herself off, in a box if necessary, until she was ready to come out. It was only as she grew older and began training that she learned how to do it no matter what was going on around her—or in her head.
Walls. Usually she preferred clean ones, but these she envisioned as a faded red. Plenty of buildings in the Quarter were made of rough bricks just that shade. In her mind, she traced every chalky white line of mortar, until she’d built up five walls—four all around her, and one to close the box.
Nothing penetrated, not until a warm, gentle hand dropped on her shoulder.
She stiffened, but managed not to jerk away as she sat up and looked around. The truck was parked in front of a white house with a large front porch, and a soft breeze carried the scents of grass, earth and water into the cab.
The man stepped back, leaving her a clear path to the door.
Outside, pine trees and live oaks rustled in the breeze. Suddenly, the thought of walking into another closed-off space was unthinkable. Unbearable.
Carmen shoved past him and hit the ground at a run.
It took a minute to recognize the light feeling singing through her as relief. She ran every day, but this was different. No mp3 players or cross trainers, and she didn’t run out of concern for her cardiovascular health. Running meant freedom.
Trees flashed by—magnolia, cypress, more oaks heavy with Spanish moss. She only stumbled to a halt when she hit the edge of a marshy pond and almost fell into the water. Her legs shook, and she clutched one hand to the painful stitch in her side.
“Better?”
He wasn’t even winded, but the observation melted into a realization that he’d followed her. Logically, she knew he’d had to; she was out of her head, high on magic and probably crazy.
Instinct told her he would have chased her anyway.
She was too exhausted to begin the complicated dance that came next, the give and take of wary attraction, so she shook herself and answered his question. “I don’t know. Nothing fits, but I’m so tired.” The thick sound of tears in her voice embarrassed her.
“I know.” His tone was quiet. Gentle. “I don’t know what happened to you, but we’re going to find out. Make it better.”
This time, the reassurance didn’t make her want to laugh. “I remember you. Kat’s boss. Franklin’s friend from the army.”
He nodded. “Alec. Or Jake, if Franklin’s been telling stories.”
“Alec Jacobson.” With the nervous magic quieted, her mind cleared a little. “Where are we?”
“My house.” The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Actually, my lake. A little swampy, but not so bad.”
“It’s lovely.” Carmen took a step and groaned when her legs almost gave out. She had no idea how long she’d run, but the house had to be over a mile back. “I’m an idiot.”
“Nah. Seems like you got a pretty big dose of magic.” He took a careful step forward, his gaze locked on her face. “Feeling okay?”
Pride almost made her lie. “No.”
“Tired?”
“I think I need to rest before we go back.”
Alec nodded toward a patch of grass a few yards away. “Wanna sit? Fresh air can’t hurt.”
She didn’t sit so much as crumple to the ground, and only sheer willpower stopped her from stretching out on the grass. “My father. I talked to my father, and then the van came—”
“Shh.” He sank down a few feet away. “It’ll keep. Tell me how you feel.”
“Confused. Wary.” She sighed. “Confused.”
“Wish I could say that’ll go away. Just try to remember I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I remember.” What he had to know already was that it didn’t matter if she recognized intellectually that he wasn’t a threat. What mattered were the tense, heart-stopping moments where primal instinct took over.
“Good.” He leaned forward and braced both elbows on his knees. “Don’t worry if you get angry and try to rip my head off, either. I won’t take it personal.”
“Ha. Franklin tells stories, Jake.” She gave up and lay back, closing her eyes against the afternoon sun. “I’d never get my hands on you.”
His low chuckle vibrated deliciously over her nerve endings, and she relaxed a bit. “I dunno, I’m slowing down a bit. A new wolf landed a few punches on me yesterday.”
“You don’t say.”
“Mmm. Then, this morning, he kicked my door in. Still working on his temper.”
Carmen considered laughing, but all she managed was a soft smile. “Lucky for you, I don’t have a temper.”
“We’ll find out. I have it on good authority I can piss off just about anyone.”
I think you probably could. After her exertions, just lying there felt like floating, and she fell asleep.
Alec paced by the closed guest room door for the third time in under twenty minutes and wondered—also for the third time—if opening the door to check on her would make him a creep.
Only a little creepier than prowling in front of her door. That the thought came to him in Kat’s voice had to be a sign that his mind was slipping. Or his sense of humor was returning. He could only imagine the look Kat would give him if he admitted instinct demanded he shove open the door and count every damn breath Carmen took.
Not that he couldn’t hear her from the hallway. Adrenaline had brought every sense on high alert. If he stood outside the door, he could number the beats of her heart, slow and steady in a sleep so deep it might have been unconsciousness.
She’d slept through the arrival of a Conclave team, and he’d fought himself to allow them inside at all. Only the knowledge that they were going to leave—and take Kat’s attacker with them—let him grit his teeth through the invasion. Once they were gone, he’d begun pacing.
He reached the end of the hallway and kept going this time, refusing to allow himself to make another pass by her door. Instead he moved into the kitchen to check the time.
Five minutes after the last time he’d looked.
Another circuit, first to the table and his cell phone to see if he’d missed any calls, then to the guest room door to make sure Carmen still slept. He’d been doing the same thing over and over in the hour since Jackson had called to say he was on his way with Carmen’s brother. Not the young one, who was inconsequential, but Julio.
Another wolf.
His own wolf snarled softly, and Alec ignored the inner urging toward violence. Carmen might not have changed, but his instincts were so confused by the magic pulsing inside her that it didn’t matter. For primal urges nothing mattered but perception, and every sense told him Carmen Mendoza was another shapeshifter.
A beautiful, vibrant, hungry shapeshifter whose out-of-control power all but demanded his strength in return.
“Fuck.” He bit off the word and stalked away from the door, bypassing the clock completely this time as he moved toward the kitchen table. Two weeks’ worth of mail sat awaiting his attention, most of it catalogs stacked on top of the latest issue of Guns & Ammo. The catalogs were addressed to Heidi—proof that neither magic nor a psycho-shapeshifter reputation could convince a company to take a client off its damn mailing list.
Rifling through them gave him something to do other than check Carmen’s breathing for the seventeenth time that hour. He discarded sleek advertisements entreating him to buy beads, clay, fabric, power tools and yarn. Then he browsed through his magazine and pondered buying a new shotgun until the distant purr of an engine tickled at the edge of his senses.
The sound drew closer, turned into a too-familiar rattle. Jackson had reclai
med his rust-bucket truck from Mackenzie at some point, and the distinctive engine was impossible to mistake for any other vehicle.
Julio Mendoza was about to invade his territory.
Visit his sister, he corrected viciously. The man had every right to be worried about his sister. Hell, Alec would have thought less of him if he hadn’t been ready to kill anyone who stood in his path.
It didn’t make it any easier to have another young, cocky interloper shoving his way into Alec’s battered territory, even if Andrew had apologized and already fixed his front door.
The rattle of Jackson’s truck became a rumble, and that inner uneasiness prodded Alec out to meet his guests on the porch.
Both men looked like hell. Of course, Julio had been traveling all day, and Jackson had been hitting every one of their contacts and resources hard, trying to figure out what the hell that witch had done to Carmen.
He waved a hand in Alec’s direction. “There he is. Alec Jacobson. Knock yourself out.”
Julio Mendoza studied Alec as he approached the porch steps. “Is she inside?”
“Yes.” Sizing him up as an opponent was inevitable. Julio wasn’t tall, but he was the sort of solid that came from adding muscles to an already strong frame. He wouldn’t be fast in a fight, but he’d be a wall you could pound yourself against without knocking him over. Youth and stamina would make him a frustrating—and dangerous—enemy.
He had power too, but the magic was more like Derek Gabriel’s. Dominant strength directed inward, a strong wolf with strong instincts, but not someone who felt like a threat. Julio Mendoza could rule if he had to, but he lacked the fire that made Andrew so deadly.
That changed in an instant as his dark eyes heated. “Stop looking at me like that. It makes me think you might be a threat.”
“That just makes you smart.”
“Smart, maybe,” he allowed, “but a lot less inclined to believe your friend there when he says Carmen would be better off staying here.”
Alec brought his aggressive instincts under control by willpower alone. “She’s better off staying here because I am a threat. I can keep her from hurting herself, and no one in this city can get past me to lay a finger on her.”
The kid didn’t guard his thoughts well. Alec could almost see him running through the possibilities and questions, analyzing his own resources in comparison. Finally, he nodded. “If she wants to stay, all right. All I can do is find someplace to hole up here or take her back to Charleston.”
It was a concession, and Alec accepted it. “Why don’t you come inside and check on her?”
“Thanks.” He headed through the open door.
Jackson drove his fingers through his hair and pitched his voice low. “I got nothing on the witch, even after calling everyone I know all afternoon, which is damn strange.”
It was damn scary. Alec stepped back into the house and gestured for Jackson to follow him. “What about Mahalia? Is she still in New York?”
Something odd flashed in Jackson’s eyes. “Actually, she’s out at Luciano’s ranch.”
John Peyton was in Wyoming too, celebrating the birth of his grandson. “With the Alpha? Or visiting Nicole and Michelle?”
“Not sure,” Jackson hedged. “Peyton could have asked her to be there in case Michelle’s magic went wonky during the delivery.”
It was a fair enough reason. “I suppose Michelle’s the first Seer to give birth since… Hell, probably since Zola was born.”
“Probably.” Jackson eased onto a stool at the kitchen island and braced his elbows on the counter. “Anyway, I called her. She’s looking into it.”
Mahalia had more magical connections than Jackson—as she should, since she’d been the one to train him—but it could take days for her to reach out. Days Carmen would be suffering. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on. She’s acting like a new wolf. Exactly like a new wolf—except she should have changed by now.”
“Magic’s a tricky thing.”
“Ain’t it just?” Alec leaned back against the sink and tilted his head toward Carmen’s room. “The brother gonna be trouble?”
Jackson shrugged. “I don’t think so. He hasn’t been bringing the alpha bullshit. He’s been pretty reasonable, considering the circumstances.”
Alec had already thumbed through his mental file on the man, sparse though it was. Most of the gossip surrounding Julio seemed to involve one of two things—the scandal his father had caused by bedding a psychic, or the scandals Julio had caused by bedding the daughters of far too many important men.
None of it hinted as to how he might react now, when the situation was serious. Frustrated, Alec changed the subject. “The Conclave sent a few men to pick up the bastard who attacked Kat. One headache gone, at least.”
“We’ve still got enough to go around.”
“Seems to be the way of things. Trouble follows supernaturals.”
“It follows us or we make it or something. All I know is—”
“She’ll barely wake up.” Julio stood in the doorway, his hands clenched into fists. “What did they do to her?”
The wrong word or move could trigger a fight. Alec eased upright, but kept his voice level. “We’re trying to figure that out. Maybe now that you’re here, we can divide and conquer.”
Jackson stayed perfectly still. “Could your family do something like this? Try to turn your sister into a wolf?”
It took the kid a moment to speak. “My uncle doesn’t trust spell casters, but he wouldn’t hesitate to use one.”
He hadn’t answered the question, and Alec felt the first tug of sympathy. It was hard to admit your family capable of evil, especially for a shapeshifter. Pack was supposed to matter. Family was supposed to matter.
Not for humans and halfbreeds, apparently. “I can’t take care of your sister and shake down your family for info.”
“Shakedowns don’t work on Cesar Mendoza.” Julio’s eyes glinted with anger and a hint of satisfaction. “But I know what will.”
Carmen woke in a bed, fully clothed, with only moonlight shining through the blinds. The bed creaked as she sat up and swung her bare feet over the edge of the mattress.
Her stomach growled angrily, and she bit her tongue to keep from echoing the sound as she rose and crept across the floor. Alec was probably sleeping, but she could rummage in the refrigerator and find something.
Except when she opened the door and stepped into the hallway, Alec stood at the end of it wearing a pair of beat-up jeans and nothing else. “Heard you moving around. Need some food?”
“I, uh…” Carmen shook herself and focused her eyes on his chin instead of his bare chest. “Food. I can get it.”
He studied her, then gestured toward the other end of the hall. “Kitchen’s down there. I’ll be right out.”
She walked to the kitchen, her face flaming. After the way she’d stared, he was undoubtedly going to put on a shirt to spare himself her drooling. Which was ridiculous, because she’d seen plenty of hot, naked men in her time.
Okay, she’d seen a few.
His voice came from behind her before she realized he’d returned, soft and amused. “I’m not much of a cook, unless you want me to fire up the grill, which I will. It’s never too late for steak.”
What he’d put on didn’t qualify as a shirt. A thin white cotton undershirt stretched across his chest and left his shoulders bare. “I can handle it, if you don’t mind me messing around in your kitchen.”
“You feel up to that? Your aura’s still…” He cleared his throat. “Fuck, I don’t know. You feel like a new wolf, but a new wolf as wound up as you were earlier would have shifted.”
“I feel all right.” Embarrassed and worried that she’d practically fallen asleep in his lap. Mortified that, even now, with her stomach rumbling and a million questions whirling in her mind, she couldn’t stop her gaze from tracing the lines of his body.
“It’s natural.” He caught her eyes and held them, an oddly c
ompelling power in his gaze. “All of it. Whatever you’re feeling. New wolves sleep a lot, and when they’re not sleeping it’s pretty much an even split between food, fighting and fu—” His gaze jumped away, and flustered discomfort tickled over her skin. “Sex,” he said, voice a little choked. “The basic three.”
Oh God. “I don’t feel different, not like I did earlier,” she explained, trying desperately to keep her carnal interest hidden. “The world’s not as loud or bright, just…” Smaller. It had shrunk to the size of his kitchen, to the scant space between them, and she had to distract herself. “What should I cook? What do you like?”
“Food.” He took a cautious step forward, as if she was a wild creature he was trying not to startle. “I’m not picky. Make something you like.”
His proximity made her want to run—not out of fear, but in anticipation of another chase. She turned abruptly and opened the refrigerator. “Maybe just sandwiches or something.” The sooner she got away from him, the better.
“I think I’ve got some bread. Want something to drink?”
“Please.” It came out huskier than she intended, almost suggestive.
The heavy anticipation in the kitchen sharpened. “Beer?”
It was the only beverage in the refrigerator besides an empty plastic jug that had once held milk. “I’ve got it.” She lifted two bottles and held them out.
He accepted them both, but tilted his head. “I think I have some Coke in the garage, if you want that instead. And a few cases of the shit Kat likes to drink that looks like antifreeze.”
Whatever that was, it didn’t sound appetizing. “Beer’s fine.”
Alec nodded and shifted both bottles to his left hand, holding them by the neck, then twisted off the tops without bothering to find a bottle opener. “Feel like talking, or does it make you nervous?”
Carmen blinked, taken aback by his words. She should have felt nervous around him. Instead, she found herself not wanting to lose his company. “I don’t mind.”
“Good.” He held out one of the beers. “Can I ask you some questions about what happened, or do you need some more time?”
