by Moira Rogers
It was almost as if his words physically shook her. She blinked and started rolling up her shirtsleeves. “We need some things from the kitchen. Come with me.”
Jackson had no choice but to follow her into the bright yellow room down the hall.
She spun her spice rack as she walked by the butcher’s block and toward the pantry. “Grab some cumin and fennel. Some ginger too.”
He obeyed, pulling the bottles from the rack even as he wrinkled his nose. “I don’t use these things, May.”
“So shut up and ignore them.” She dug through a small burlap bag hanging inside the pantry door. “Here, red sandalwood. They’ll all be a calming influence for her, and she needs it, poor child.”
Something in her tone stopped Jackson in his tracks. “Mahalia, how do you know Kenzie?”
For a moment, he thought she might answer. Then she shook her head. “There isn’t time, Jack.”
Back in the bedroom, they found Mackenzie stretched out on the bed, her head resting on a pillow at the foot of it. Steven knelt at the end of the bed, cradling Mackenzie’s face as he whispered soothing words against her forehead. “This is as calm as she’ll get.”
Mahalia hesitated. “I taught you what to do, Jack Holt. Do it.”
“I don’t even know what we’re doing.” He opened the bottles and moved to the side of the bed. Mackenzie looked worse, and he shivered.
“The walls are already there.” Mahalia laid the small piece of sandalwood on Mackenzie’s chest and placed the woman’s right hand over it. “We’re just going to shore them up a little, that’s all.”
“We’re not taking them down?” he asked, incredulous.
“No.” She snapped the word, sharp and vicious. “Jesus, no.”
Jackson held the open bottles together and upended them, sprinkling the spices over and around Mackenzie’s restless form. “She can’t live like this.”
“She won’t,” Steven said quietly. He stroked a lock of hair back from Mackenzie’s forehead with a sigh. “But we need Michelle Peyton here before we try to break the spell. We probably have the experience, but even the two of you together don’t have enough raw power. This spell is…formidable.”
Jackson tossed the emptied bottles aside and knelt by the bed, confident Mahalia would take her place on the other side of it. “You’re calling Nick’s sister?”
Mahalia reached for him and rested their clasped hands on Mackenzie’s solar plexus. “We don’t have a choice. Now hush and concentrate. Steven, try to clear your mind and not suck up any of our power.”
Jackson took a deep breath as he felt magic begin to flow from Mahalia over Mackenzie’s body, into his and back again, taking some of his own power with it. He tried to focus on the magical walls already inside of her, but the memory of Mackenzie’s laughter kept distracting him.
“Don’t fight it, Jack,” Mahalia whispered. “Use it.”
They’d worked enough magic together for her to know him inside and out, and the exchange of energy often carried thoughts and emotions, as well. He squeezed his eyes shut and remembered Mackenzie as he’d first seen her, laughing with Derek and Penny in Nick’s bar. He recalled how she’d realized he was following her, been frightened and confronted him anyway. He thought of the way she’d smiled tentatively at him that first night and easily the next at his apartment.
It wasn’t enough. He could see the walls, crumbling and dusty, straining to fall. Exhaustion pulled at him, and he could feel the same thing happening to Mahalia. “It isn’t working,” he grated out.
“Just hold on. Just a tiny—” Her voice failed her, and her hands trembled.
Jackson steeled himself and reached for the memory of the kiss Mackenzie had given him in the car, right before sleep had claimed her. Her mouth had been soft and obliging, and he ached to take her lips with his again when she was in her right mind, when something besides feral lust drove her into his arms.
Steven’s voice floated to them, nothing more than a dim whisper. “It’s working.”
He felt the shifting inside Mackenzie, the surge of power that righted the walls, even as he struggled to draw air into his burning lungs. The magic began to ebb, to pull back like a wave already crested on the shore, and Jackson could only hope it had been enough.
Please.
The thought was fleeting, desperate, and Jackson wasn’t sure whose it was, but it summed up his feelings pretty well, so he echoed it in his head as Mahalia pulled her hands from his with a weary sigh. “Steven?”
“It’s done.” He sounded relieved. “She’ll sleep now, I imagine. You should probably do the same.”
Jackson tried to respond, but his body felt leaden. He swayed and caught himself on the edge of the bed. The last thing he heard before he fell to the floor was Mahalia calling his name.
It was hard to tell how much time had passed when Jackson drifted awake again. Mackenzie curled next to him on the guest bed, fast asleep. Whoever had removed his shoes—Steven, probably, given the likelihood that Mahalia had been in no condition to do so—had removed Mackenzie’s sweat-drenched clothes, as well, and tucked her back into bed in an oversized man’s shirt.
She looked a hundred times better than when they’d arrived, her color returned to normal and her breathing slow and even. The expression on her face was peaceful.
He fought the urge to reach out, to brush an errant curl from her forehead. Instead, he rose, careful not to disturb her, and made his way down the hall.
He found Steven in the kitchen, making coffee. “Thanks for not letting me sleep it off on the floor.”
Steven smiled wearily as he reached for another mug. “You did a good job, Jackson.”
He rubbed his head and covered a yawn. “Most of it was May’s doing.” He accepted the steaming coffee Steven offered with a nod of thanks. “She’ll be out for a while yet, I guess.”
“Yes, she said to expect her to sleep for most of the afternoon.” Steven added cream to his own coffee. “I suppose you have a lot of questions.”
Jackson headed for the brightly lit breakfast nook and pulled out a chair. “They can wait,” he said, hesitant to seek answers Mackenzie would want, as well. “Well, mostly.”
“Mostly.” Steven took the seat across from his. “We should talk about the spell. I’m sure you got a sense of how strong it is.” He sipped his coffee and met Jackson’s eyes. “If you want to be really frightened, consider the fact that it was cast twenty-one years ago. I know because I was there when Zacharias cast it on her.”
Jackson almost dropped his mug. “Zacharias Nelson? Crazy Zach?” He didn’t wait for Steven’s confirmation, just rose from the chair again, nervous energy driving him across the tile floor. “What the hell kind of a thing is this, Donovan? First, someone shoulders past some of the most powerful wards I, myself, have ever seen to steal a shirt, and now you’re telling me that notorious wizards were casting spells like that on Mackenzie as a toddler?”
“It was an unusual situation.” When Jackson glanced back, he found Steven staring into his mug. “I’ll explain the whole story when Mackenzie is ready to hear it. The short version is that her parents got mixed up with someone very powerful and very dangerous, someone who needs Mackenzie to complete a spell he started planning over forty years ago.”
He froze, something about Steven’s words triggering a memory. “You’re talking about Charles Talbot.”
“His adopted son, Marcus, would be the man who approached her.”
“Shit. It was the Seer.” He ran a shaky hand over his face and swore again. “Charles Talbot was in my house. Mackenzie—” Another thought occurred to him, and he crossed back to the table. “It’s not an urban legend, is it? He’s trying to make one. The one.”
Steven looked tired. “Yes. He’s trying to make a cougar who can transform humans. Mackenzie is supposed to give birth to that baby. And since we have to assume he knows she’s alive now…”
Jackson sat woodenly. “He won’t stop until he
has her.” The words sounded as though they came from someone else, hollow and far away. “What do we do?”
The look on Steven’s face was anything but encouraging. “That’s what we have to figure out.”
Chapter 10
Mackenzie woke with a start, bolting upright in a strange room she’d never seen before. Panic rose in her as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings and looked at the man’s shirt she wore. I don’t feel hung over…
A sound drew her attention, and she let out the breath she’d been holding when she saw Jackson in a chair next to the bed. “What happened?”
He closed his phone and gave her a relieved look. “You were in a bad way. Sick, I guess you could call it. But we fixed you up.” He reached over and touched her forehead gently. “How do you feel?”
“I feel—” She laughed when her stomach rumbled loudly. “Hungry.”
His laughter joined hers. “Steven said you probably would be, so Mahalia’s been cooking all afternoon. Want to go see what she rustled up?” He pulled her clothes, washed and folded, off the nightstand. “Do you need some help, or have you got your land legs already?”
“Steven?” She frowned as she swung her legs to the floor. She felt so shaky standing didn’t seem like a good idea. “Who’s Steven? Where are we?”
“We’re at Mahalia’s house.” He unfolded her pants and handed them to her. “Steven is her friend. He’s a cougar, like you.”
She digested that as she held the pants in her hands and stared at the floor. The last thing she remembered clearly was Jackson bringing her to his office after they’d realized someone had broken into his apartment. Now they were in Mahalia’s house, which he’d said was—
“We’re in Florida?” She jerked her gaze to Jackson’s face. “Jesus Christ, what time is it? What day is it?”
“It’s about seven in the evening,” he answered evenly. “Monday. We left New Orleans last night.” He placed her laundered shirt on the bed next to her. “Like I said, you were in a bad way.”
A bad way. It wasn’t the most informative description of how she’d lost a day of her life, but she wasn’t sure she wanted the details. Not yet, at least.
Her stomach rumbled again, reminding her that hunger was more important than answers right now. She stood and pitched straight into Jackson when her wobbly knees refused to hold her.
He caught her easily, sliding strong arms around her waist. “You okay?”
The warmth in his eyes made her feel wobbly for an entirely different reason. She stared at his face, so close she would only have to move a few inches to brush her lips over his. His chest was strong and solid, and desire rose in her with alarming speed. With it came memories from the previous twenty-four hours. She remembered heat, and need so strong there was no word for it but lust. She remembered pressing herself against him and sliding her tongue along his ear as she all but begged him to touch her.
Heat rushed to her face, and she dropped her forehead to his shoulder so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “Oh, God. God, I think I’m starting to remember…”
“The ants in your pants,” he supplied gently. “Yeah, you were practically humping my leg. But that’s all right. It wasn’t really you.”
Mackenzie lifted her head and studied his expression. He seemed completely calm and understanding, as if women with magically induced lust climbed all over him on a regular basis.
On the heels of that thought came insane jealousy. She didn’t want other women crawling all over him. She wanted to crawl all over him. Though not under the influence of magic…
He held her, his arms firm around her waist. She slid her hands to his shoulders as she relaxed against his body. “It wasn’t me,” she agreed in a quiet whisper. “I’d like to think I could be a bit more subtle.”
He loosened his hold on her and straightened. “That makes two of us,” he whispered, his gaze fixed on her mouth.
Though she’d been on plenty of dates and kissed a fair number of men, the way he stared at her lips brought a nervous flutter to life in her chest. She brushed her fingers lightly along the side of his neck. “I’m sorry.” His skin was warm and smooth under her fingers, and she stroked higher until his hair tickled the back of her hand. “I’ll try to be more subtle next time.”
He leaned closer. “Right. Next time.” The words were a puff of breath against her lips, and his mouth landed on hers in a soft caress that stole her breath. One of his hands twisted in her hair, urging her head back.
Oddly, he didn’t seem compelled to hurry. Even after all the flirting, all the tension and what must have been an interminable drive through several states with her literally trying to climb into his lap, his mouth stayed slow and easy on hers. He kissed her with a determined thoroughness that made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing and planned on taking his time about it.
Oh, dear sweet Lord… Nowhere near as patient, she parted her lips with a soft moan. His touch made her body hum, his mouth made her hot with need—
And insistent hunger made her stomach rumble so loudly she heard it even over the frantic pounding of her heart.
Jackson smiled against her lips and pulled back, his breathing uneven. “Do you like fried chicken?”
Mahalia’s fried chicken would have been heaven even if Mackenzie hadn’t been starving. She ate a healthy serving of rice and corn along with it, enjoying the easy conversation Jackson and Mahalia kept up during the meal. As if by unspoken consensus, no one brought up the topic of why she and Jackson were there. Instead, Jackson related to Mahalia the latest gossip about the regulars at the bar, giving Mackenzie a chance to satisfy her hunger without feeling like she needed to talk.
Steven sat in silence, for the most part, sipping his iced tea and watching Mahalia and Jackson’s animated discussion. Twice during the meal he excused himself to take phone calls, stepping into the other room so they could only hear the quiet murmur of his voice.
Mackenzie had just turned down a third helping of chicken when Steven returned from taking another call. His sober expression caught everyone’s attention, and the relaxed atmosphere in the room shifted subtly.
He reached for his glass and took a sip before speaking. “That was John Peyton. He’s agreed that Michelle’s presence is necessary. He’ll be making arrangements.”
Mahalia turned to Jackson. “Call Nicole. She’ll need some time, if she’s going to leave the bar.”
He nodded and wiped his mouth with his napkin before rising. He headed out to the sun porch, digging his cell phone out of his pocket as he walked.
Mahalia fidgeted with a fork and smiled sheepishly when she caught Mackenzie watching her. “Times like this, I wish I hadn’t almost quit smoking.”
Mackenzie wrapped both hands around her glass. “I—I don’t suppose you could tell me what sort of time this is? I don’t really understand what’s going on.”
“It must be a lot to digest,” Steven said, his voice gentle. “Jackson told me that, until a few days ago, you didn’t know anything about the world you come from.”
The way he said it sounded like she was from another planet. “I didn’t. I mean, I always knew I was adopted. My parents—my adoptive parents—didn’t hide that from me. They always told me there’d been an accident and both of my birth parents had died when I was young. But I’ve never even seen a picture of them, much less heard that they were”—freaks—“shapeshifters.”
“I have a picture here.” Steven pulled out his wallet. “When May called and told me Jackson had stumbled across the little Evans girl, I got this out of my files before coming.” He found a small photo and slid it across the table.
Mackenzie picked it up with shaky hands. At first glance the woman in the picture could have been her. She had the same features, long, black hair, and smile. The eyes were different; where Mackenzie’s were bright blue, the woman had brown eyes so dark they almost looked black.
The man next to her was the complete opposite. Freckles dotted h
is pale skin, and bright red hair curled wildly around his head. What caught her attention, though, were his eyes. They were the same blue she saw in the mirror every morning, friendly and surrounded by smile lines even though they looked tired and worried in the picture.
“These are—” She couldn’t quite form the words. Her gaze went back to the woman, and this time she noticed the hand resting protectively on the prominent curve of her mother’s stomach. She looked six or seven months pregnant, but the expression in her face wasn’t one of happiness. She looked just as worried as the man, maybe more so.
Mackenzie flipped the picture over out of habit, and was rewarded with words written in neat block letters. “Simon and Janice,” she read aloud, her voice barely a whisper. “My birth parents?”
Mahalia leaned over and looked at the picture with a poignant mixture of sadness and nostalgia in her amber-colored eyes. “That was right after Steven told them,” she remembered. “That’s why they look so…” She let the words die. “They gave up everything to protect you from Talbot.”
“Talbot? But the man after me is named Foster. Marcus Foster.”
“The man after you is Charles Talbot. He adopted Marcus as a child.” Steven’s expression was just as troubled as Mahalia’s. “I wouldn’t say the boy isn’t dangerous, but he’s not the one behind all this.”
Jackson came back through the sliding glass doors. “Michelle already called Nick. She’ll be ready to fly down by the time Peyton gets his clearance from the board.” He stopped behind Mahalia’s chair. “I called Alec too. Figured we might need an extra pair of hands.”
“Smart boy. Now, sit so Steven can get on with it. There’s a lot to tell, and there may not be much time to get it all out there.”
Mackenzie resisted the urge to slide her hand into Jackson’s when he sat back down. Instead, she stared at the picture again. “You said this guy—Charles. He has a plan, I guess. But what is it?”
