Tiger lay silently, breaking Carly’s heart.
She gave in to tiredness and stretched out beside him. She was fine, despite the ordeal, fortunately. The medics, the emergency room doctor, and then her own doctor had confirmed that though she had cuts and bruises, and would have a sore throat for a while, she’d suffered no worse damage. Her child was fine too. Thank God.
Carly propped herself on her elbow. Tiger’s face was half-black, one eye closed tightly, the other resting more naturally, unburned. His lips were partially burned, only one side of them pink and strong. He’d been burned as a tiger, but she supposed his human form retained the relative placement of the burns.
“My doctor was pleased at how resilient our little guy is. Or girl. I don’t know yet.” Carly touched her abdomen. “He—or she—will be strong, like their daddy.”
Tiger remained silent, unmoving. Not even a finger twitch. He was breathing, shallowly, and that was all.
Andrea had been by twice to work her healing magic on him, which was likely why Tiger was breathing at all, but Andrea had said she’d done all she could. Nature had to take its course.
“My mother was so excited when she heard the story,” Carly said. “She hadn’t realized you were a Shifter—but then, you didn’t have your Collar when you met her. All my sisters are happy, in fact. They keep calling me. I had to tell them to stop it and give me a break. They want to throw us a party when you’re better. Yvette and Armand do too, and with the way Yvette cooks, you know it will be good.”
Carly didn’t expect Tiger to answer. She talked because she needed to talk.
“Liam rescued you, you know. Walker got clearance for Liam to go to the camp and see you. Not, of course, for Liam to pick you up and haul you away. They sneaked you out in Walker’s truck. He’s here, by the way. Walker, I mean. He’s excited about you too, keeps saying he needs to talk to you, and won’t tell the rest of us about what. He’s also pretty sure he’ll face a disciplinary hearing, but he said he’s not worried.”
No sound. A light breeze made the shade tap at the window, and far away a Shifter wolf howled. Here, all was silence.
Carly remembered their night in this bed, the two of them learning the wonder of each other’s bodies. Her child had been conceived then.
She thought about Tiger’s hard, male beauty, the way his eyes went dark when he was ready to come, how he held her tenderly, just stopping himself from giving her raw, rough sex.
The feeling of him inside her, deep and tight, with Carly rocking on him, then him driving into her, had been momentous. In all her life, Carly had never experienced anything like it.
In the night, they’d touched, kissed, licked, tasted. He’d loved her slowly, first on top of her. Then they’d rolled onto their sides, Carly’s leg around his hip, while Tiger eased inside her again. He’d liked that position, where he could smooth back her hair, kiss her forehead, slide his hand down to cup her breast.
Now the beautiful man lay immobile, almost unrecognizable. He must be in terrible pain.
“I wish you weren’t hurt so bad,” Carly said. “I’m scared.”
The word broke on a sob. One tear dropped and touched his burned skin.
Tiger made a small noise, a grunt or a sigh. Carly leaned forward, half-afraid, half-hopeful, but the sound wasn’t repeated.
“You told me that a mate’s touch healed.” Carly held her fingertips above his face. “But I’m afraid to touch you now.” She let her finger brush the unburned part of his lips, the lightest stroke. “So I’ll just tell you that I’ve decided I’m definitely your mate.”
No response. Carly touched the corner of his mouth again, marveling that the unburned part of his lips could be warm and soft despite his terrible hurts. “Mate of my heart,” she whispered.
She lay down beside him again, pulling a sheet over herself, careful not to let the fabric touch him. Carly didn’t think she’d sleep, but her exhaustion and worry caught up to her, and she drifted off.
* * *
Crosby slid in through the open window, landed noiselessly on the floor, and had his target in visual. These bungalows were too easy to break into, windows in the upper floors in reach from the porch roofs, handholds galore. Scouting this house the last time had made this entry even easier.
Without changing position, Crosby eased his gun out of its holster.
The woman was on the bed with the Shifter, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t the target. Crosby would finish this mission, return to camp, report in, and either sleep or carry on with his next assignment.
He crept to the bed, quietly eased a pillow from the foot of it to use as a silencer, put the pillow over Tiger’s chest, and started to squeeze the trigger.
His wristbone shattered as a hugely strong hand closed around it, the gun twisting away to shoot the wall. The pillow fell and the gun went off loudly.
The woman, Carly, screamed and shot out of bed. What held Crosby’s wrist was the tiger, half-burned, looking more like a corpse than a human. One of his eyes was white and unseeing, the other yellow with rage.
The tiger Shifter spoke, his voice raw and broken. “Don’t. Hurt. My mate.”
Crosby tried to jerk away, and agony shocked through him. He couldn’t draw breath to explain that no, he wasn’t here to hurt the woman. Only the tiger.
The door slammed open, nearly tearing off its hinges, and the Shifter called Liam came in. Crosby remembered what Liam had said about catching Crosby in Shiftertown again, and he felt fear. Crosby never felt fear. This was new.
“Tiger,” the woman was saying, but not in alarm. In surprise, probably because the half-dead tiger was still alive.
Liam closed his hand around the back of Crosby’s neck. Crosby still held his Glock, but he couldn’t turn it or fire it, because his fingers didn’t work.
Liam twisted the gun from Crosby’s inert hand. “Tiger, let him go. I’ll take care of this.”
“Who the hell is he?” Carly shouted at Liam. “How did he get in?”
Crosby felt disgust. If any woman had snapped a demand like that at Crosby, he’d backhand her. Shifters really should control their women better.
“He’s more determined than I thought,” Liam said grimly. “Tiger, I said let him go. You need to save your strength.”
The tiger’s fury didn’t abate, but he opened his hand and released Crosby’s wrist. Without the clamp of the tiger’s fingers, Crosby’s wrist went slack, and the broken bones shot white-hot pain through him.
“You’re awake,” Carly said to the tiger, joy in her voice. “Moving. Stronger.”
Tiger looked at her, then the light of rage left his eyes, and he fell back to the bed. “The touch of a mate,” he said, then his eyes closed.
Carly shot Crosby a look of fury. “Bastard. If you’ve made him worse . . .”
Stupid bitch. “My orders are to kill him,” Crosby said. “He’s dying anyway.”
“Then why try to kill him?” Carly snapped.
“A good question,” Liam said, his grip strengthening on Crosby’s neck. “Do you know the answer?”
Crosby did, because the LTC had told him. “We have enough DNA samples. The tiger Shifter is useless now. He needs to die and be taken back to camp for cremation. He can’t be allowed to fall into enemy hands.” No reason to keep it a secret. The LTC hadn’t said the info was classified.
Liam shook him a little. “And by enemy hands, you mean . . . ?”
“Anyone not Lieutenant Colonel Sheldon,” said a new voice. Captain Walker Danielson, the insubordinate, disrespectful asshole, entered the room. Not that Crosby would ever call anyone of senior rank that out loud.
“Anyone who might get the glory for learning what Tiger is and what he can do,” the captain continued.
“No, sir,” Crosby said crisply. “Enemy intelligence. Enemy armies. Enemy governments.”
“Them too,” the captain answered in the tone that always sounded like he was making fun of Crosby. Crosby hate
d that.
“The tiger can’t fall into hostile hands,” Crosby repeated.
“That’s why I’m here,” Walker said. “Dismissed, Sergeant.”
“Respectfully, sir, my orders are from the LTC. Above your head, sir.”
Walker shrugged and addressed Liam. “It’s your house. Escort him out. I don’t want to know what you do.”
“Aye, and I wasn’t going to tell you.” Liam turned Crosby and marched him out the door, the hand around Crosby’s neck immovable.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Liam took Crosby down the stairs, out of the house, and along the yards behind the Shifters’ houses. No other Shifters were in sight, windows and doors closed up tight.
Liam walked Crosby to a stand of trees that formed a sort of ring. A mist floated there, and only there, but Crosby was interested solely in the pain in his wrist and in planning how to get away from Liam to complete his mission. He couldn’t return to Sheldon to confess a failure.
A second Shifter creature emerged, walking through the mists. Dylan, Liam’s father. Dylan was more problematic. He was older and more experienced than his son, and his eyes told Crosby he’d do what it took to stop him.
“I told you before, son,” Dylan said to Liam. “You can’t kill him. You have too many others depending on you.”
“I know.” Liam squeezed Crosby’s neck, fingers biting down with terrible strength. “But maybe we can make an exception this once?”
“No.”
More pressure on Crosby’s neck. At any moment, a vertebra would burst. “You know that this asshole started the fire.”
Dylan gave Liam a nod. “Yes.”
“Then you know why I need to kill the gobshite.” Liam’s voice was low, not carrying, but fierce, bearing a note of rage Crosby hadn’t heard from him before.
Dylan turned his gaze to Crosby. “What was your purpose?”
Liam snarled. “Does it matter?”
“I want to know.” Dylan fixed Crosby with a steady stare, his eyes as cold as icebergs. “Speak.”
Crosby shrugged the best he could. “I was told to smoke out the tiger Shifter. My commander suspected he was hanging around the area. He said if we put his woman in danger, he’d come.” Crosby felt a bit smug. “He was right.”
“But there were cubs in the community center,” Dylan said in his chill voice. “Children. Babies.”
“Not children,” Crosby corrected him. Crosby would never hurt a kid, or a female, unless they deserved it. “They were only Shifter get, the woman a Shifter whore.”
One of Crosby’s vertebrae crackled this time. “You’re dying for that,” Liam said. “Sorry, Dad.”
“No.” Dylan’s word was quiet but rang with authority.
Father and son studied each other for a long time. Finally Liam sighed and released Crosby’s neck. Crosby’s knees buckled, but he was pulled upright by the equally strong hand of Dylan.
“All right.” Liam looked at his father again, then without further word, he turned his back and walked away.
Mists from the trees swirled around Crosby and Dylan, cutting off Liam, cutting off Shiftertown.
“You won’t die for what you just said,” Dylan said in a mild tone. “Not for ignorant words.”
Crosby started to relax. If Dylan was adamant about keeping him alive, then Crosby might be able to get away, get back into the house, and somehow kill the tiger, and then worry about escaping. The mission came first.
Dylan’s hand clamped down on Crosby’s neck, harder than Liam’s had. Dylan’s mouth came close to Crosby’s ear. “You’ll die for nearly killing our cubs. For that, may the Goddess help you.” He turned his head and stared straight into the mists. “Fionn!”
The mists thickened, and a slit of light about ten feet high snapped open. A tall man, with limbs so long they looked as though they’d been stretched, appeared in the opening. The man was dressed like an old-fashioned warrior, with long white braids, chain mail, leather, and furs.
“Come,” he said.
Dylan shoved Crosby through the slit and followed.
The air became clammy and damp, and also brighter, as though the sun had suddenly risen. The ground was spongy underfoot, no more Texas dryness.
Crosby knew he was in a different place, more like the jungles of Central America, but cold. What the fuck? The slit in the air disappeared. No way back, no more Austin, no more Shiftertown.
Dylan spun Crosby to face him. Dylan’s eyes had gone white, the hand holding Crosby changing to the paws of a huge cat.
“I’m trying to teach my son mercy and restraint,” Dylan said to Crosby, his voice guttural. “Because I don’t have any myself.”
“There’s no law against vengeance here,” the tall man said in a tone of satisfaction. “In fact, it’s required.”
“For the cubs,” Dylan said, and finally Crosby thought to give in to his fear.
He beheld the nightmare that was the truth of Dylan, and that was the last thing he ever saw.
* * *
Tiger didn’t move again or speak for the rest of the night. Carly slept fitfully, even after reassurances that Crosby had been dealt with. Having a gun go off next to her when she’d been sound asleep had not been a happy experience.
Morning light streamed through the windows, touching Tiger’s face with gentle fingers. The air was cooler now as August waned toward September. The pressing heat of summer had broken.
Carly thought Tiger looked better. The unburned part of his face was flushed instead of deathly pale, and his scalp where his hair had burned was pink instead of black.
Tiger opened his eyes. Maybe the rosy hue of sunrise made his hurt eye look a little clearer—golden instead of white.
“Tiger?” Carly whispered.
Tiger turned his his head the tiniest bit. His face drew down, the movement painful. “Carly.” His voice was barely audible, a rasp.
“I’m here.”
“Touch me.”
Carly blinked, clenching her hand. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Touch . . . me.” He exhaled the last word, his eyes closing again.
Carly swallowed and brushed her fingertips over the clear part of his face. As it had been last night, the unburned part of his lips was satin smooth, his face smooth too, every whisker singed away.
She ran her hand down his neck, finding the unhurt patches, across his shoulder and down the slice of chest that was firm flesh. Back to his face again, then she slowly, carefully bent over him and kissed the corner of his mouth.
“Carly,” he whispered. Was his voice stronger? “Mate of my heart.”
“Yes.” Carly kissed him again. “You said we had a mate bond. I believe you now.” She put her hand to her chest. “I feel it. I swear I do.”
Tiger closed his raw-red fingers around hers and guided her hand to a space between her chest and his. “There.”
Carly thought she felt something, a faint tingle that moved from her hand up her arm to warm her behind her breastbone.
“Is that the mate bond?”
Tiger gave her a slow nod, his eyes warming. He moved his hand and hers together over her abdomen. “My cub. Our cub. Another bond.”
“I can’t wait to meet him.” Carly said, carefully caressing his fingers. “Or her.”
“The bonds heal me,” Tiger whispered. “Magic.”
Carly smiled. “There’s no such thing.”
“Shifters have Fae magic. Fionn said I had none, but there is something. I see the magic, the bonds, the threads.” He touched his own eyes, his voice gaining a little strength as he spoke. “I can see things in the dark. Know where they are. I saw Olaf.”
“When you went back into the building, I thought both of you would be dead.” She swallowed on the last words, the remembered dread filling her throat.
“I saw him,” Tiger said. “When I closed my eyes, my brain told me where he was. And he was—in the exact spot.”
“Your brain told you,??
? Carly repeated. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. But I can see things that are true, even when others can’t.”
“Like when you knew my sister was pregnant,” Carly said slowly. “And when you knew I was, when it had been only a day.”
Tiger gave her another nod. “I saw it, the life inside you, and knew we had created it. And the day I first met you, you standing on the side of the road, I saw the mate bond. I knew you for my mate, and my world changed.”
Carly gave him a little smile. “So you kept telling me.”
“I saw what was there. Before it was clear to anyone else.” Tiger lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “That is my magic.”
“But no one ever believes you. Not even me. What good does it do you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Tiger said. “I know.”
No, it didn’t matter. Tiger was always proved right in the end. As much as the other Shifters thought him frightening, ignorant of Shifter ways, and not one of them, Tiger was . . . Tiger. He was unique, amazing, smarter than anyone would ever understand.
“All right, then, hotshot,” Carly said. “Why don’t you know your own name?”
Tiger let out a breath. “Maybe I do know it. Maybe I’ve known all this time.”
“Tigger,” Carly said, straight-faced.
Tiger rumbled a laugh. “I’d like it.”
“So, not Rory?”
“What is your saying? Not only no, but . . .”
“All right, all right.” Carly waved her hands. “What is it, then?”
Tiger touched Carly’s face, and that touch was definitely stronger. “You have always called me Tiger. And you are my mate. So . . . that is my name.”
Carly gave a soft laugh. “Wait, you want to go the rest your life being called Tiger? It will look weird on the birth certificate. Mother, Carly Randal. Father, Tiger.”
“Father. That will be the best name. Or Dad.”