The Cougar's Pawn

by Holley Trent

  It was probably a good idea to let her sleep until after he fetched Nick. That way, she’d be less likely to run while he was tending to his errand. He’d have to teach her that running was pointless. He’d always find her. His cougar half wouldn’t let her get far.

  And his damned cougar half was the reason he had two weeks to get his shit together—to extract consent from a woman who’d threatened in no uncertain terms to render his balls useless. At that point, the cougar would take over and try to do the job himself. He would fail, of course, because human women didn’t tend to understand cat language very well. If she refused him, he’d be stuck as a fucking cougar for the rest of his life, however long that would be. La Bella Dama must have really been in a man-hating mood when she cursed the cougars with that particular caveat. Some of the guys in the glaring called her La Bella Muerte—Pretty Death—because, shit, sometimes death seemed like the better option than giving her what she wanted from them.

  Mason didn’t want to die as a cat. He just wasn’t optimistic. Most Cougar men somehow managed to sweet-talk their captures into staying—into understanding—but no one had ever accused the Foyes of talking pretty. They didn’t have to talk pretty. Power was enough for most women. Ellery didn’t seem to be so entranced by it, though, and maybe that was because she had her own. He’d never heard of an alpha taking a witch mate. If they had, they certainly would have bragged about it. Mason certainly didn’t intend to. If he were lucky, he’d find a loophole and get himself out of the mess. Ellery was hardly a fate worse than death, but he was so not ready to be anyone’s mate, especially not hers. He couldn’t handle her on top of all his other responsibilities. Didn’t want to try.

  He got out of the truck, left the door slightly ajar so as no to wake her with the slam, and ran around to the front of the building. The gas station was actually a rest stop that housed a small restaurant Jill frequented. The food sucked, but she’d eat anything. Coyotes weren’t picky like Cougars. Cougars only ate what they trusted.

  He found her in her usual booth, bent over a nearly gone blue-plate special, with Nick in his high chair at the end of the table.

  Mason scooped him up, and held his tongue about the baby’s state of dress—just a too-large T-shirt and a diaper which looked to be full. She always either underdressed him or overdressed him, as if she had no awareness of the temperature and how it affected humans. And that’s what Nick was. He’d never be Cougar and never be Coyote, not without intervention. Born Coyotes needed two coyote parents, and with their gene pool becoming smaller with each passing year, the chances of a full-blooded Coyote being born was slim. He could always be made into one as an adult with a bite or deep enough scratch, but Mason didn’t see that happening. He wouldn’t let that happen. Not to his son.

  Nick would never be Cougar, either, because he lacked the genetic trigger. It only conveyed when a Cougar was with his mate. Jill hadn’t been it for Mason, but he’d never meant for her to be. She’d been a one-night-stand, and his cat half wanted to leave it at that.

  He tweaked Nick’s nose and took the bag Jill handed over to him.

  She didn’t even look up.

  “Where’s his car seat?”

  “Backseat. Door’s open.”

  “Kinda have my hands full. Can you get it?”

  “I’ve had my hands full for weeks.”

  Mason ground his teeth. Tempered his words. “How long do I have him this time?”

  “I dunno. I’ll call you. Me and the gang might ride the bikes up to Sturgis.”

  “Have fun.”

  “Yep.”

  He left the restaurant without another word. Arguing with Jill was pointless. Coyotes tended to be far better parents in their animal forms than in their people forms. Flightiness was in her wiring. Most of the time, she was a competent-enough parent, but he did worry about the rest of the time. Nick couldn’t shift along with her, so her being a good Coyote mama didn’t do him a damn bit of good.

  Mason dropped the bag next to Jill’s trunk and one-handedly wrestled the car seat out of the vehicle.

  It was facing the wrong way, as always. He always installed it rear-facing, but every time he fetched Nick, he’d find it turned the other way. Nick was such a scrawny thing. Mason wished she would take more care. Wished he could just … take him from her. But, that just wasn’t done with their kind. Not without causing ill will between the two groups, and that was the last thing the Cougars needed. More drama. As Alpha, he’d been trying to tamp down the amount of drama in the group since his father died—to make the Cougars at least a little bit civilized. They couldn’t be fighting over women and territory all the time as if they didn’t have human brains. He was trying to put a stop that shit. No one seemed to be appreciating it. There was more in-fighting than ever, and he was starting to wonder if he was cut out to be Alpha at all. He’d only taken the job in the first place because the only others he’d trust in the job were his brothers … but he didn’t want the burden to fall to them. That’s what it was. Pure burden. People in the glaring wanted him to play God and perform miracles for them, and in return all he got was sniping, criticisms, and challenges. Hoping for a little support from the oldest families in the glaring had been pointless. They were all caught up in the power plays. The Marquardts. The Delacroixs. The Sheehans. Especially the Sheehans. If they weren’t Cougars, they’d be vultures.

  He hitched Nick up in his left arm, tossed the bag over his shoulder, and grabbed the seat’s handle.

  Ellery’s head was still against the window when he returned to the truck. He set down the seat and bag and knocked gently on the glass.

  She started, whipping her head left to right, then spotted him outside. Her forehead furrowed as her gaze focused on him. She tried the handle, moved her lips into something that resembled a curse, and rolled down the window.

  Her gaze fixed on the bundle in his left arm. “Um, I can’t open the door.”

  “I’ll open it. I need you to hop down so I can install his seat.”

  “His … seat.”

  “Right. It’s a bit cold out here for him. So … ”

  “Oh.” She unbuckled her seatbelt.

  He pulled the door.

  She got out. “This was your errand?”

  “This is my son. Nick. Could you hold him while I get his seat installed? I wouldn’t normally ask, but since you’re here … ”

  “Your son.” There seemed to be an unstressed question in her statement, or perhaps an accusation. He wasn’t ashamed. Never would be. She could judge him all she wanted.

  “Mm-hmm.” He handed her the baby.

  She looked down at Nick, forehead still furrowed. A tense, awkward hold. Her nose crinkled.

  He scoffed. “You know what? Forget it. Give him back. I shouldn’t have even asked. I thought you’d be civil.”

  “This has nothing to do with civility.” She squeezed Nick’s bottom. “This is me being pissed about someone’s lazy parenting. He’s soaked. That’d be obvious from five yards away.”

  “Oh.” The rage that had been building in Mason’s gut flopped just like that—as if she’d just gone and thrown a bucket of ice at it.

  She scowled at him even as Nick stared at her with curiosity. He should have been crying by then. Strangers made him anxious.

  Huh.

  Mason shifted his weight for a few seconds, and when the crying didn’t start, he hauled the seat up and climbed into the truck after it. “He probably has a rash, too. Can probably wait to change him until we get back to the house.”

  “It’s not like he’s uncomfortable or anything, right?”

  “He’s not crying.”

  “If that’s the attitude you take, he’s probably become a little baby martyr. He senses you like him more when he doesn’t cry or complain, so he just doesn’t do it.”

  Shit. She really knew how to deal those blows, and that one hit home. He tried the best he could with Nick, just like he did with the Cougars, but sometimes, h
e felt like he lacked sufficient qualifications to be either Alpha or dad.

  She knelt and unzipped the bag. Transferring Nick to one shoulder, she patted around in it. “There are no diapers in here.”

  “Of course not. That would make my life too easy.”

  She sighed. Stood. “Give me some money. You took my wallet.”

  He turned around in the seat and wedged his billfold out of his back pocket. He plucked out a few bills and handed them to her.

  She snatched them.

  “Don’t try anything funny, Ellery. I can see the diapers and formula through the gas station window. I can see the cashier’s counter. Get them. Come straight back. No unnecessary conversation, no note-passing. Got it?”

  “Jerk.”

  “Yep.”

  She stormed off, muttering under her breath with Nick holding onto her hair for either dear life or shits and giggles. He probably thought it was a curious new toy.

  “Don’t get too attached, kid.”

  Mason had the seat installed, bag stowed in the back, and heat cranking when she came back.

  She thrust a bag containing a container of powdered formula and an open pack of diapers at him, put Nick on his back, and changed his diaper in less time than it took for her to give Mason a complete cursing-out. “You people are trifling.” She tossed the dirty diaper at him.

  Sighing, he grabbed the formula bag, got out of the truck, pitched the diaper into the nearby trashcan, and stowed the bag in the back.

  “It’s not me. It’s his mother,” he said when he’d belted himself into the driver’s seat.

  She buckled Nick in and gave him a strip of string cheese to chew on. “He can’t even be a year old. He’s barely got any teeth.”

  “Ten months.” Mason started the truck and got it back on the road. “Late teether.”

  “Ten months. Wow. And here you are on the hunt for a new mate? Seems like you already have one. How many months ago did you and his mother break up?”

  “We were never together. She is not and was not my mate.”

  “Nick’s amber eyes and reddish hair say otherwise.”

  “I mean we were never a couple.”

  “So, Nick’s just a collision of genetic components, huh?”

  “He’s my son.”

  “Mm-hmm. Generally, people feel a certain kind of way about the mothers of their children. Normal people, anyway.”

  “Are you gonna lecture me like my mother, too? Unbefuckinglievable.”

  “I feel like someone should, and since I’m here”—she shrugged in his periphery—“might as well be me.”

  “You never made a mistake, Ellery?”

  “I don’t consider children mistakes.”

  “I’m not implying that Nick is one, only that I was careless when dealing with his mother. Coyotes have always been on my no-fly list. One night, I made an exception.”

  “His mother is a Coyote? Oh God, what does that even mean? Is he going to throw a tantrum and shift into some furry thing if he gets upset enough?”

  “He’s not a shifter. Just human, so don’t worry about him biting you any more than any other kid does.”

  “I’m not worrying about him biting me at all. He’s your kid. Your responsibility.” She handed Nick some more cheese. “Chew, then swallow, kiddo.”

  He suppressed a chuckle. Right. She probably wouldn’t run from responsibility even if it had sharp teeth and a razor tail. “Just what kind of nurse are you, anyway?”

  “Emergency room, most nights. Every so often, I get pulled up onto the neonatal floor when they’re shorthanded.”

  “You’re all ER nurses? You and your friends, I mean.”

  “No. Just me and Hannah. Miles works in maternity. We were all in nursing school together. Ended up at the same hospital.”

  “So, you’re close?”

  “Almost as close as I am with my sister.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Why?”

  “Makes sense for our goddess to send Cougars to claim their mates in groups—”

  “You mean abduct.”

  She said po-tay-toe, he said po-tah-toe. “Fine. Taking women who know each other and have a built-in support system would probably make the transition easier.”

  “The transition? You mean … oh, hell, no. I’m not going to let you scratch me up and turn me into some unholy furry abomination. As if being a witch isn’t bad enough.”

  “What?” His furrowed his brow. Changing her? No way. “There’s really no fucking good reason to do that, even if you like your mate.”

  She scoffed and tapped her foot repeatedly against the floor. “Nice. Kidnap me and insult me at every turn. You’re doing it wrong, dick.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “That’s the way it came out. Own your words.”

  He let out a frustrated growl and pounded the steering wheel hard enough to startle Nick. “Look, I just meant Mom didn’t want it. She doesn’t want to be a shifter, and Dad respected that, although the other Cougars swore that she’d be a liability. He fought a lot of Cougars over that. Brutal fights. Never lost, even up to the week he died of that heart attack.”

  “Look, I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “But?” He heard the but in her voice—in full likely, but I don’t really care or but everyone dies, so get over it. It’d been five years, but it was still hard being reminded of it.

  “But your turmoil isn’t mine,” she said after releasing a long breath. “I appreciate that you’re in a pickle here, but you can’t rip me out of my life, plant me in yours, and think that’ll be okay.”

  “I don’t think it’ll be okay. I never said that. I believe what I said was that we needed to cope.”

  “That’s a girl’s dream come true, let me tell you.” She handed Nick some more cheese. “This is exactly what the happily-ever-after in my childhood dreams looked like. Being swept up by a big, strong man from whom I get more malice than magic and being told I can’t leave. Don’t hold your breath waiting for Stockholm syndrome to settle in.”

  He growled and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Trust me when I say I feel just as trapped by this scenario as you do.”

  “So let me go. Have your goddess pick someone else.”

  “I can’t. It has to be you.”

  “Why?”

  Why? Because the clock had already started running down. It’d started the moment he’d tossed her over his shoulder and carried her into his home—the moment the cougar part of him said, that’s her. The two parts of his brain were having a battle about needs versus wants. The man part of him needed her. The cougar wanted her. Both sides were afraid he couldn’t make it work. He couldn’t tell her how afraid he was, though. He wanted her pity even less than he wanted a mate.

  “Never mind,” she said. “Spare me the bullshit.”

  They rode in silence for a while. She kept plying Nick with food, and Mason kept trying to relax his death grip on the steering wheel. Too fucking stressed. Long-assed day. Long-assed year.

  “Did you hear that?” she asked.

  “What, my stomach growling? I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  “No, not that.” She leaned left, putting her ear very close to Nick. “He’s got a gurgle. Congested.”

  “He’s always congested. Every time I pick him up.”

  “Which is how often?”

  “Sporadic.” He ground his teeth some more. She hadn’t even bothered suppressing her judgmental tone, and he didn’t like her making assumptions about him—blaming him for Jill’s failures. He did the best he could with Nick.

  “You see your son sporadically? What does that even mean?”

  He kept his lips locked and gaze on the road.

  “Fine. Not my business. But does it ever go away? The gurgle, I mean.”

  Mason let out a long exhalation and managed to loosen his left hand to let the window down a couple of inches. “I think he has it more often than he d
oesn’t. Why?”

  “No reason. Maybe being sick all the time will be a great thing for his budding immune system.”

  “I’ve only known you a day, but I’m pretty sure that was sarcasm.”

  “You deserve worse than sarcasm.”

  “I’m doing the best I can, Ellery. It’s been a rough year for the Foyes.”

  “You’ve had a rough year? Ha! Wanna have a pissing contest? A year ago, I was a very ordinary witch with a very ordinary life. Now, I just assume that at any given time I’m going to be snatched up and kidnapped.”

  “You’ve been kidnapped before?”

  She laughed. “Oh, yeah. On my way into work. Wasted a lot of my hard-earned vacation time that week, let me tell you.”

  “I’m assuming it wasn’t by anyone who wanted you for a mate.”

  “Because no one else would want me, right?”

  He growled. “I didn’t say that. Although, I hope that would be the case, because Cougars don’t share nicely and I don’t particularly desire having any new reasons for people to make alpha challenges against me.”

  “Witches and demons don’t share particularly well, either.”

  He swerved onto the shoulder with that declaration. Demons? “What do you know about demons?”

  “Too much. I’m related to a few.”

  He looked at her for elaboration, but she was staring out of her window. She didn’t seem eager to confide in him, and he didn’t really expect her to, given the hostile nature of their association at the moment. If she knew something about demons, though, Mom might have had the right idea after all. Or maybe La Bella Dama did. Ellery might be able to help seal off that hellmouth, but he didn’t really expect her to volunteer on her own.

  He had to sweeten her up. Unfortunately, he had no idea how to do that. He was a Foye. Foye men were too practical for sweet, but he’d have to figure it out. There wasn’t just that hole in the ground to deal with, but Nick as well. Mason wouldn’t make a very good father if he had fulltime paws and a tail. In fact, he wouldn’t be any better than Jill.