Tamsin stared at him, as did Ciaran, not so much because he was a Shifter, un-Collared, but how he was dressed. His shirt was black silk, and over it he wore a gold, purple, and silver striped velvet coat that hung past his waist. Black jeans and gray cowboy boots completed the outfit, and he held a purple top hat with a stream of black feathers rippling from under its wide black ribbon.
He watched her take in that he was Shifter, and he gave her an acknowledging nod that he knew she and Ciaran were too.
“I met Angus last night,” Dante went on. “We do brunch Saturday and Sunday mornings, but the rest of the time, you find your own meals.” He gestured with his ornate hat. “Come in and meet everyone.”
Angus must have won Dante over—Dante would never have made an offer like that if he hadn’t decided to trust them.
The people inside the tent regarded Tamsin curiously, but they were welcoming, in a low-key way. They let Tamsin into the line, and before long, she had a full plate, Ciaran an even fuller one. Steaming eggs, crisp bacon, a pile of pancakes, toast, juice, coffee—everything Tamsin and Ciaran could want.
The cook was a large man who looked as though the shower wasn’t his favorite place, but he could cook, Tamsin discovered as she ate. She went through her plate and returned for seconds, Ciaran right behind her.
Halfway through her refill, Angus stormed into the tent. His gaze went to Tamsin and Ciaran, and his stark worry turned to glowering anger.
“About time you got up,” Tamsin said, licking syrup from her fork. “You were sleeping hard. You snore, you know. Loudly.”
Ciaran guffawed around a mouthful of sausage. “He does.”
Angus glared, but he said nothing, his relief at finding them apparent.
“Grab a plate,” Tamsin told him. “It’s good. Then I’m going to make Dante tell me where I can take a shower.”
“You met him, then.”
“He’s right over there.” Tamsin poked the air with her fork. “I couldn’t miss him.”
“I meant—what did you think of him?”
Tamsin studied the bear Shifter, whose coat glimmered as he moved. “Quick assessment? Too sure of himself. But if he’s lived off the grid all this time, he’s good at it. Do I trust him? The jury’s still out.”
Angus gave her a nod. “I was thinking about the same.” He eyed the half-empty trays of food on the long table. “Might as well eat.”
He strolled off, as though he could take food or leave it. He’d acted the same about sleep. Angus had been heavily asleep though when Tamsin and Ciaran had crept quietly out of the truck. His face had been relaxed, his hair rumpled, lashes curled on his skin. He’d been exhausted, the poor wolf-man. She wondered what he’d say if she told him she’d wanted nothing more than to cuddle up to him, to lie back in the circle of his warm arms. He’d probably rumble and growl, and then blush. She loved it when he did that.
Angus finished loading his plate at the buffet table, but he set his food down quickly as Dante approached him. With him came a woman, one that had Tamsin jumping out of her chair and rushing to Angus’s side.
The woman had very blond hair caught in a braid that fell to her waist, and dark eyes under light brows. She was almost as tall as Dante, with a slender build and a pointed chin.
Tamsin, with Ciaran on her heels, arrived in time to hear Dante say, “This is Celene.”
A snarl clogged Angus’s words. “She’s Fae.”
The scent of Faerie—sulfur and mint—came to Tamsin, though in a subdued way. The woman wore slim jeans and a tie-dyed shirt, very un-Fae-like garb.
“She’s my mate,” Dante said. “Don’t judge.”
Celene turned an interested smile on Tamsin. “I’m half Fae. Does it bother you? I forget about my lineage most of the time—my parents weren’t my fault. Everyone thinks I’m human, so that’s what I am now.”
Tamsin gave her a careful shrug. “Hey, we all have pasts.”
Celene peered at her very obvious lack of Collar and then at Angus’s black and silver chain glinting from the shadows of his jacket. “I guess we do.”
Dante looked down at Ciaran, his very brown eyes assessing, nose twitching as he took in scent. Tamsin saw him understand that Ciaran was Angus’s but not Tamsin’s. “Hello, cub,” Dante said cordially. “Don’t worry. I won’t eat you.”
Ciaran lifted his chin. “My dad wouldn’t let you.”
Dante laughed, the deep laugh of a bear Shifter. “You’re probably right. High five, kid.”
“That’s lame.” Ciaran tried to scoff, but he darted around Tamsin and slapped Dante’s offered palm.
“Our cub is about your age,” Celene said to Ciaran. “Maybe you two can play while you’re here. She’s helping the ticket taker get ready. She likes to do that. She can show you around.”
“A girl?” Ciaran asked, incredulous.
Celene sent him an amused look. “You’ll be surprised by her, I’m sure.”
“We won’t be staying long,” Angus began, but Tamsin slid her hands into her back pockets and nodded at Dante.
“We might as well stay for the day, as long as we can keep our truck hidden. But only if you have showers. That’s a deal breaker.”
* * *
• • •
Angus had to admit he felt better after bathing and putting on fresh clothes, which Dimitri had thoughtfully supplied in a duffle bag Angus found in the truck. The clothes fit Angus fairly well, but they smelled of Feline, which meant Dimitri had borrowed them, possibly from Kendrick, who was about the same build as Angus.
Tamsin had showered first in the long RV Dante had led them to. The interior held human scent, which meant Dante wasn’t yet trusting enough to leave another male Shifter alone in his own home. Smart of him.
The human who used the trailer was absent, working already. When Angus emerged, he saw Dante set his outlandish hat on his head and yell, “Heads up! The good folks of San Angelo are about to stream in. Let’s show them a fine time today, people.”
The lights of the midway began to flash, music pumping from first one ride, then another.
Tamsin, holding Ciaran by the hand, had been in intense conversation with Celene, the three of them standing in the middle of an aisle of booths. They broke off as Dante hurried Celene away to whatever job she did, and Tamsin shaded her eyes to watch Angus jog to her.
The smell of frying meat drifted from one booth, the burned odor of cotton candy from another. Other stands sold junky souvenirs, and more had games, giant stuffed animals crammed on their shelves as prizes.
“Sun’s bright out here,” Tamsin said when Angus reached her and Ciaran. “This redhead needs a hat.” She peered into the booths around her, and then pointed. “Ah. That one.”
With Ciaran at her side, Angus a cautious step behind her, she glided to a brightly decorated stand where a human man with long dark hair in a ponytail was straightening merchandise on the shelves.
“How much for that?” Tamsin waved at a tall, crooked top hat with orange and red stripes that rested in the middle of a shelf.
The man gave her a faint smile. “Not for sale, sweetheart. You have to win it.” He gestured to the floor, which held a jumble of glass bottles of various shapes and sizes. He dropped three rings on the counter in front of her. “Three rings for five dollars. Fifteen rings for twenty.”
Tamsin dug into her pocket and slapped down a twenty-dollar bill. Ciaran stepped up to her excitedly. “What are you going to do?”
“Win my hat. How many do I need to get?” she asked the man.
“Eight.”
“Fair enough.” Tamsin took up the rings in her left hand and eyed the rows of empty glass bottles—tall ones, short ones, long skinny ones, squat ones with thick necks.
Tamsin’s first toss went astray, but her next one ringed a bottle. Ciaran cheered. Tamsin narrowed he
r eyes, tilting her head. Angus could see the fox in her when she did that, imagined her in animal form, sizing up whatever trouble she planned to get into.
Tamsin tossed the next ring, and the next and the next in rapid succession. Each one found a bottle’s neck, caught it, and spun down it with a ringing note. Tamsin missed one or two, but she reached eight with a couple of rings to spare. Ciaran danced around in a circle, chanting, “Go, Tamsin, go!”
The booth tender watched, openmouthed, as she had success after success, then closed his lips, an angry glint in his eyes. Tamsin tossed her last ring and turned to him with a broad smile.
“My hat, please.”
The man sighed, plucked it from the display, and handed it to her. Tamsin brushed it off and set it on her head.
The hat was oversized, and the top bent askew, but somehow it looked exactly right on her.
“Sweet,” Ciaran cried. “Win me one, Tamsin.”
Tamsin eyed the row of ridiculous hats and slapped another twenty on the table.
She ended up winning a Mad Hatter–looking hat for Ciaran and a baseball cap for Angus. Angus tried to refuse it, but Tamsin sidestepped his protesting hands and jammed the hat with a Texas Rangers logo on his head. “There. Now you look normal. Well, mostly.”
Angus adjusted the cap with a grunt of irritation, trying not to like how Tamsin had swarmed up him. Her warmth lingered, and her breath tingled his cheek even after she’d turned away again.
Tamsin’s wins had drawn a crowd. The booth operator looked less annoyed as more and more people stepped up to buy rings for a chance to win. Tamsin had made it look easy.
The man slipped out from behind the booth when they turned to go. “Hey, come back later and play some more,” he said to Tamsin. “You’re good for business. I’ll even give you a cut.”
Tamsin paused, lips pursed. “I’ll think about it. I might need a job.”
The man nodded, hurrying back into his booth to soothe the impatient kids and adults waiting their turns.
Tamsin held Ciaran’s hand as they strolled away, Ciaran reaching up to touch his new hat every once in a while.
The fairgrounds were filling up with people looking for entertainment after church on a Sunday, and Angus glanced around uneasily.
“I think it’s about time to go,” he said.
“Why?” Tamsin peered up at him from the shadow of her absurd hat. “This is a perfect place to hide out. I don’t think Haider or Dylan would expect to find us here.”
She had a point, but Angus preferred hiding places deep in the woods, in shadows, where his black wolf would be almost invisible.
This field was wide-open, crammed with lights, music, food, people, bright colors, and confusing sounds. Impossible to guard all approaches.
On the other hand, they did more or less blend in with all the other moms and dads taking their kids to the carnival. Even Tamsin’s and Ciaran’s gaudy headgear didn’t look odd, as plenty of people walked around with weird things on their heads—balloon rings, plastic crowns, antennae on springs.
“We can lie low here for a while,” Tamsin went on. “Celene says they’re always looking for people to help out. Dante and Celene own the carnival together, but they only have a few rides and games of their own—the rest are independent contractors. But everyone needs help loading and unloading, running the rides, or taking tickets, plus they have sideshows. We could be a sideshow act—I could run around as my fox, jumping through rings or something, and you could pretend you’d trained me. Then I’d do whatever I wanted no matter what you said—you know, make it a comedy.”
Angus listened in growing irritation. “That wouldn’t be a show—it’s your real life. In any case, you’re not revealing your fox to an audience. Word of the smart-ass fox at the carnival would get around.”
Tamsin frowned. “You’re right. How disappointing.” She brightened. “But don’t worry. I’ll think of something else.”
“I’m going to see if I can trade Dimitri’s truck cab for someone else’s,” Angus said as she stared off into the distance, no doubt coming up with another alarming idea. “One less conspicuous. I’ll send Dimitri the money for it.”
“No rush.” Tamsin moved closer to him as another surge of people pushed past. “I haven’t felt this safe in a while. Or had as much fun.” She glanced at the midway, as giant arms of rides began to rise into the air, lights flashing as they swung and spun. “Which one do you want to go on, Ciaran?”
“No rides,” Angus tried, but he knew he’d already lost that battle.
“We can pick whichever one we want,” Tamsin said, completely ignoring him. “Celene gave me some passes. Your choice, Ciaran.”
Ciaran gazed around, wide-eyed, his excitement evident. Ciaran had never seen a carnival before. Though he’d lived near New Orleans most of his life, Ciaran stayed in Shiftertown, only venturing out to attend the nearby school. Angus didn’t consider New Orleans a safe place for cubs.
“That one.”
Ciaran pointed eagerly at a tall machine with enclosed cages that rose up a pillar and went down the other side. Didn’t look so bad until the cages started going faster and faster and spinning around themselves. Then the main pillar leaned over sideways and then turned upside down, even as the cages continued zooming around the ride’s vertical axis.
“The Zipper,” Tamsin said with enthusiasm. “Good choice.”
She darted forward, but Angus grabbed Ciaran’s hand and yanked him back. “You are not taking my cu—my son on that contraption.”
Tamsin sent Angus a pitying look. “I’ve been on it lots of times. The ride is only like two minutes long. Come with us if you’re so worried.”
Angus watched the Zipper move upside down, its cages spinning, spinning. “You seriously want me to get on that thing?”
“Please, Dad?” Ciaran looked up at him, hope in his eyes. “Please. All those dads are taking their kids. I want to be like—”
Ciaran closed his mouth before the rest of the words came out, but Angus knew what they’d be. Like a real family.
Ciaran never blamed Angus for his mother leaving him, or for his mother’s death. Angus never blamed himself either—any guilt rested squarely on Gavan and April. But Angus had made it clear he hadn’t forgiven Ciaran’s mother, and he knew that must be hard for Ciaran to live with.
Ciaran had latched on swiftly to Tamsin, giving her more trust than Angus had ever seen him bestow on anyone. It would be very hard for him when Tamsin finally decided to go.
“Death trap,” Angus muttered.
“See, look, it’s stopping,” Tamsin said. “All those riders are fine, and more are getting on.” She grabbed Angus’s hand and Ciaran’s and tugged them forward. “Come on, Angus. It’ll be fun. You do know what fun means, right?”
“I know I’m going to regret this,” Angus said.
Ciaran bounced up and down. “Yay! Come on!”
He started through the crowd, pulling Angus and Tamsin behind him.
* * *
• • •
Tamsin’s body tingled as the ride operator, a brisk young woman with arms covered in tattoos, shut them firmly in the cage and secured it. Ciaran wriggled with excitement between Angus and Tamsin. He’d had a moment of worry—he had to be a certain height to get on the ride—but he’d passed.
Angus clutched the bar beside him, gritting his teeth and looking grim.
But he’d done it. Tamsin had seen the terror in his eyes when he’d watched the Zipper go around. The big bad wolf who’d chased her through the bayous looked like he wanted to put his tail between his legs and run home. But he’d sucked it up and gotten on the ride—for Ciaran.
“This is how I should have gotten away from you,” Tamsin told him as she removed her hat and secured it between her knees. Ciaran copied her movements. “I should have run to the neare
st fairground and hopped on a ride.”
Angus shook his head, every line of him tight. “You’d have to get off eventually.”
“That’s a fair point. Oh, good. We’re starting.”
The ride’s motor began to grind, the cage rising gently, no more frightening than a slow Ferris wheel. Angus breathed out, relaxing a little.
The Zipper sped up, their cage reaching the top. The cage suddenly flipped end over end, and Angus groaned, clutching the bar.
The ride began to move more quickly, the cage spinning first forward, then backward. Tamsin laughed; Ciaran screamed in delight. The whole structure began to rotate, faster and faster, spinning and jerking, spinning again.
Tamsin was pushed back in the seat, then shoved forward. She might be locked into a cage, something she feared as a Shifter, but in this one with Angus and Ciaran, she felt suddenly free.
Freer than she had ever been in her life. She’d run from Collars, from Shifter Bureau, from Shiftertowns, from Shifters themselves, seeking independence, her own life. Running, running.
Now she was squashed against Angus and his cub, the Shifter Lupine who’d tried to capture her and then had turned around and saved her life.
Angus, the snarly Lupine who trusted no one and loved his son so much, squeezed his eyes shut, his cap falling off to release his unruly short hair.
“I’m going to die now,” he roared over Ciaran’s happy cries. “You’re a shit, Tamsin!”
Tamsin smiled, her heart filling as Angus abruptly opened his eyes, turned his head, and glared at her.
His gray eyes, caught in the sunshine that sparkled through the grid, were the most beautiful things she’d ever seen in her life.
“Yes!” she yelled.
The eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I said yes! Angus Murray, in front of witnesses, under the light of the Father God, I accept your mate-claim!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN