“No,” Mason snapped. “I only started looking yesterday.”
“I know that, but Aleck’s getting worse. We might have to put him down after all.”
Mason didn’t like the note in Broderick’s voice. “Why?” he demanded. “What did he do this time?”
“He went after Aunt Cora.” Broderick quieted, his anger plain. “He hurt her bad. All this is my fucking fault.”
“No it isn’t.” Mason stood up, leaving Jasmine’s softness with regret. “It’s the fault of his Shifter leader who couldn’t keep him from going feral.” He paused. “How bad is she?”
Mason’s heart thumped as he waited for Broderick’s answer. Auntie Cora had taken care of him—of the whole family—after their father’s death when their mother had gone into her decline. Aunt Cora had looked after Mason most of all, knowing that a cub would need as much love and reassurance as he could get. Aunt Cora had been his mother longer than his true mother had been.
Broderick sounded vastly unhappy. “It’s bad. I don’t know if she’ll make it.” His voice faltered, then he continued. “Andrea has done what she can. Aunt Cora was defending Joanne from Aleck …”
He broke off, his sudden silence holding fury and worry.
“Then we’ll definitely need the Shifter healer,” Mason said grimly. “I’m coming back there. I might have a lead, and I’ll need all the resources we can get to follow it up.”
* * *
Mason drove into Austin more hurriedly than he’d rolled out of it. Jasmine clung to his back as he dove off the back highway to the streets that led to Shiftertown late the next afternoon. He’d wanted to take Jasmine straight to the safe house he had in mind, but she insisted she accompany him home first.
“I need to see everything,” she’s said. “Where you live, who lives with you, the man you’re trying to heal …”
Mason wasn’t certain why, but he didn’t argue too much. He’d seen the face in the smoke, and Jasmine had witnessed the exact same thing—they’d compared notes and agreed. Whatever Goddess magic had helped her, she’d found someone.
When Mason pulled up the drive of the big house, he found three Shifters on the porch who didn’t belong there—Liam Morrissey; his father, Dylan; and the giant of a man called Tiger.
“What the hell?” Mason asked as he helped Jasmine off the bike. “Where’s Broderick?”
As he took what he wanted out of the saddlebag and went up the porch steps, he heard a woman crying inside, and Joanne’s voice, trying to console her.
Mason didn’t like these Felines on his territory. Didn’t matter that Liam was his Shiftertown leader, Dylan out-alphaed every Shifter in Hill Country and South Texas, and that Tiger could take out both of the other two without blinking.
Tiger answered before Liam could. “They want to cage him.”
The disgust and anger in his voice was unmistakable. Tiger had spent the first forty years of his life, including his cub-hood and Transition, in a cage. Liam might have brought Tiger with him today to reinforce his decision to pen up Aleck, but Mason could see that Tiger was not happy with that solution.
“His mate asked for it,” Liam explained, keeping his voice quiet. “She realizes that Aleck is too far gone. She knows he might hurt her next, and their unborn cub, and she feels terrible about Cora.”
Jasmine hurried up onto the porch and around Mason before he could stop her. “Can I see him?” she asked Dylan, who blocked the doorway. “If I can keep an image of him in my head it might help me reach the healer—he might understand how much we need him.”
Dylan, not answering, regarded Jasmine with unmoving blue eyes. Jasmine looked right back at him without fear.
She didn’t know she was supposed to be afraid, Mason realized. For all her talk of dating a Shifter, she likely hadn’t been around one as high in dominance as Dylan.
Mason usually had trouble meeting Dylan’s gaze—he mostly didn’t bother to try—but at this moment, seeing the man on his territory, staring down his mate, wiped away all trepidation.
Mason was in front of Jasmine in a heartbeat, giving Dylan a fierce look. Back off.
Dylan’s brows went up, and Liam looked interested.
Jasmine, oblivious, had turned to Tiger. She stared up at him, her mouth open, and Tiger looked down at her, his golden eyes softening.
“Wow,” Jasmine said. “Your aura is incredible`.” She lifted her hand and ran it through the air at Tiger’s side. “So beautiful.”
Tiger only watched her. Mason, who never, ever would have pitted himself against Tiger—he wasn’t insane—shoved himself between Tiger and Jasmine. Tiger switched his intense gaze to Mason, looking deep into him in the crazy way he had.
Tiger studied Mason, flicked his focus back to Jasmine, then gave a slow nod and turned away.
Jasmine swung eagerly to Mason, not noticing how possessive he’d become. “What kind of Shifter is he?” She pointed at Tiger. “I’ve never seen anything like him.”
“A tiger,” Mason grunted. “We call him Tiger. I want to see Aunt Cora. Is Aleck secured yet?” he asked Liam.
“They have him in the basement,” Liam answered. “It’s bad, Mason. I’m sorry.”
Heart pounding, Mason made his way into the house.
The living room and the rest of the first floor was empty, but Mason knew by scent where everyone was. He headed upstairs, and Jasmine came right behind him. Mason knew her scent and her presence, which wrapped him as though she held his hand.
Nancy, Aleck’s mate, waited for them at the top of the stairs. Her abdomen protruded in the shirt and loose pants she wore, and her hand rested protectively on her belly. Her eyes were red-rimmed from weeping and held profound sadness.
“Mason, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Jasmine slid a supporting arm around Nancy’s waist. “Now then, young lady, you do not need to be up and wandering around while you’re so upset. You’ll tire out your baby. Let’s get you somewhere you can rest, and I’ll give you stones to hold that will ease you. Mason and I are going to find the healer who will fix all this, I promise you. I’m Jasmine, by the way, but everyone calls me Jazz.”
Everyone except Mason. She’d always be Jasmine to him, a name that described her beauty and resilience.
It was in that moment that he realized that when he’d seen Dylan staring her down, he’d referred to her in his mind as his mate.
He pushed aside that startling thought as he entered Aunt Cora’s room. Andrea was there at Aunt Cora’s bed, as was Broderick’s mate, Joanne. Andrea sat on the edge of the bed, gently adjusting bandages over Aunt Cora’s torso.
In the corner, standing like a sentinel, was Sean, the Guardian. His sword rose above his shoulder, a reminder that death hovered near. Sean was there in case Aunt Cora slipped away, so he could drive that big sword through her heart and send her body to dust, releasing her spirit to the Summerland.
Mason’s chest tightened until it ached. Aunt Cora’s eyes were closed, her breathing shallow, her skin showing around the bandages covered with slashes and bite marks. Joanne moved out of the way when she saw Mason, and Mason reached down and took Aunt Cora’s hand.
“Hey, Auntie,” he said. “It’s me. The runt of the litter.”
Aunt Cora didn’t respond. Andrea looked up at Mason and gave him the faintest shake of her head. Aunt Cora was alive, but they were expecting her to die.
“What happened?” Mason asked, steel in his voice.
Joanne answered, sounding tired. “Aleck got out of his room—he broke the chains on his bed like they were nothing. He went for me—I don’t know why. Aunt Cora was the closest to me. She shifted to wolf and leapt to my defense. Aleck just attacked her. Broderick and his brothers were already coming up the stairs when it happened, and they got Aleck under control, but the damage had been done.”
Mason nodded. A Feline going for the kill was swift and deadly. A Lupine sometimes decided to give an opponent a fighting chance, out of respect
or for the hell of it, but cats mostly chose not to. Felines gutted their prey as quickly as possible, which was why they had been the favorite species of the Fae. There were many, many different Feline hybrids and crosses—sometimes referred to as Fae cats—while wolves and bears had only a few types and bred closer to the wild species.
Mason tried to hate Aleck for what he’d done, but he knew that it wasn’t Aleck’s fault. It was the fucked-up shit inside every Shifter’s brain, put there eons ago by the Fae, and passed along in the genetic code through the generations. Shifters had been made to be killers after all.
Aunt Cora had behaved true when she’d turned on the Feline to protect Broderick’s mate and unborn cub. Protecting the cubs was the strongest instinct every Shifter had, the instinct that had enabled them to get free from the Fae once and for all.
Mason didn’t care about that shit right now. He only cared that Aunt Cora, the woman who’d taken care of him, easing his fears and pain when he’d been an unruly cub, was lying close to death. He couldn’t lose her too.
Warmth touched his side then his hand as Jasmine slid her fingers around his. She looked up at him in perfect understanding.
Mason lifted the striped bag from Inspirations he’d brought in, took out the brightly wrapped box with the scarf in it, and laid it on the nightstand.
“Give that to her when she wakes up,” he said to Joanne. He deliberately said when and not if.
Mason turned his back on the bed and walked out the door. In the hall, Jasmine stopped him from rushing down the stairs by putting her arms around him.
Her strength and caring came to him through the embrace. Mason leaned to her, accepting the hug and holding her tight in response, brushing a kiss to her soft hair. He could see her chocolate-brown roots up close, and nuzzled them.
“I promise you, Mason, I’ll find this guy,” Jasmine was saying as she held on. “I won’t stop until I do. I swear this to you. Don’t you worry, now.”
* * *
Jazz hoped she hadn’t been too optimistic about what help she could be to Mason. They didn’t speak as they left the house and mounted the motorcycle again so Mason could take her to the safe house.
Broderick hadn’t let them into the basement to see Aleck. Too dangerous, Broderick had said, since they didn’t have him secure enough yet. It didn’t matter, Jazz realized. Aleck’s aura permeated the house, the darkness of it swallowing up any brightness that had been in it.
Broderick looked much like Mason, Jazz noted. He was an older version of his youngest brother, more world-weary, but his aura also bore the contentment of a man who’d found his life-mate and would soon have a child. Worry for them overlaid his aura as well.
Jazz hung on to Mason as he rode through and out of downtown Austin, the tall buildings up and down the river flashing past. On the west side of town, he left the main streets and moved through a neighborhood of old bungalows from early in the last century. The houses were buried among huge trees, and screened from the hurrying city by more trees and high hedges.
The house Mason took Jazz to was nearly hidden from the street and reached by steps set into the side of a hill.
Someone had been sprucing up the place. The outside had been freshly painted, a porch swing hung near the front door, and brightly flowering plants dangled from hooks and rested in flower boxes.
The inside didn’t have much furniture, Jazz saw after Mason checked out the house and let her in, but a table and chairs rested near a window, the westering sun giving the room plenty of light.
“Who lives here?” Jazz asked as she looked around in delight. The feel of the bungalow was homey but secluded.
“No one,” Mason said as he came back into the living room. “Everyone. It’s a house where Shifters can come if they need to be alone. That knowledge isn’t public.”
Jazz warmed that he’d share a secret with her and held up her hand. “I promise by the Goddess I’ll never tell another living soul about it.”
“Don’t promise,” Mason said quickly. He picked up her bag and his duffel that he’d left on the porch and deposited them near the table. “What if you find a Shifter in trouble who needs somewhere to go?”
Jazz considered. “All right—I promise never to tell unless I stumble across a Shifter who is in dire need of a place to stay. Okay?”
Mason turned in a circle as though checking the room again, then he collapsed into one of the chairs.
“Sure. Fine.”
Jazz’s heart hurt for him. Mason had looked gray-faced and crushed when he’d stood next to his aunt’s bed and realized she might not survive. Jazz knew that look and the feeling—she’d had it when she’d held her grandmother’s hand as she’d slipped away.
“I really do have some ideas how to find the healer,” Jazz said, trying to sound reassuring. “Though I could use a burger or something before I get to them.”
Mason shook himself. “Yeah, there’s food.” He moved off toward the kitchen, but absently, his energy gone. His aura reflected it, a somber yellow instead of hot fire.
Jazz opened her bag and took out her things, laying them out as she had in the motel room. She’d carefully wrapped the bowl that held the charred remains of the sage stick, and now she set it in the very center of her velvet cloth. There had been a connection between her and Mason and the man in the smoke, she knew it.
But first—sustenance. Her grandmother had taught her that being undernourished and tired drained psychic energy and kept Jazz from being her very best. Jazz had the feeling she’d have to be at peak performance to help Mason and the poor woman lying in the bed across town.
They ate the delicious cheeseburgers Mason prepared for them on the indoor grill—the house was well stocked. What lucky Shifter woman would win this man who kissed like fire, had the body of a god, and was a fantastic cook as well? Jazz thought wistfully about that the woman would be fortunate indeed.
After they finished, Mason took the leavings of dinner back to the kitchen, and Jazz turned to her divining tools. The sun had set, the moon rising—all the better. The moon was the symbol of the Goddess, and Jazz needed all the help she could get. In the motel in northeast Texas, she’d needed all the elements—earth, air, fire, water—plus the blessings of the Goddess to discover even the small amount of information she had.
Jazz privately thought she wouldn’t have managed a connection to the healer at all if Mason hadn’t been there. She’d been doing divination since she was very young, learning all her grandmother had to teach her until she was well adept, but she’d never had a manifestation that sharp and clear before. Mason’s strength and power, even when he’d dozed on the other side of the room, had helped her tap an ability she hadn’t realized she had.
When Mason returned from the kitchen, Jazz asked him to sit across from her and place his hands on the table, while she laid out the stones in front of him.
She liked having Mason close, helping her work, though he might not believe in what she did. However, he’d lost his former cynicism and now silently touched stones as she instructed or waved his hand above the sage smoke, never questioning why.
His presence calmed her. Jazz took in his strong body, his blunt-fingered hands that had brushed over her guitar with such care and now rested lightly on the stones. Those same hands had gently cupped her breasts, bringing her to life. He studied the stones on the cloth, his lashes flicking as he looked down at them.
Jazz pulled her thoughts back to the cards she’d spread on the table in front of the stones. It was difficult to concentrate—she was so tired and the man in front of her was hard to ignore.
She tried to scold herself that he was Shifter, and she was never going there again.
But Mason was hot, desirable, as lonely as she was, and three feet away from her.
Jazz firmed her jaw and went back to her whispered prayers to the Goddess as she laid down the next cards.
Every single one was a blockage, or a positive card reversed. The Tower agai
n, and the Devil. The stones’ auras remained dark, the candles guttered and died, and the pathetic wisp of smoke that came from her bowl of sage drifted apart and showed her nothing.
Finally Jazz cried out in frustration and swept her hand across the table, scattering crystals, salt, incense sticks, and cards to the floor.
“Damn it!” she cried. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. This should work!”
Jazz beat on the table, which she knew wouldn’t help, but despair flanked her and took away all hope. She’d done everything the same as she had in the motel room, but this time there was no spark, no feeling of knowledge, no connection. Jazz stilled her hands and rested her forehead on them, letting out a groan.
Mason’s arms closed around her from behind, his warmth easing her. His lips on her hair quieted her anger but began to awaken something else.
No. Jazz wouldn’t let herself fall for a Shifter. Not again. It was just too painful.
Good intentions went to the wind as Mason lifted her from the seat, gathering her back against him. His mouth on her neck made her skin prickle with excited heat, and she felt his hardness against the small of her back.
Mason turned her in his arms, his mouth coming down on hers, and Jazz didn’t resist very much. Pointless, really.
Chapter Nine
Mason carried Jasmine upstairs, his heart beating thickly.
Though he’d never spent the night here, he knew exactly where the bedrooms were and which one had the largest bed. He’d helped Seamus work on the place, painting and drywalling, stocking the kitchen, and he’d learned every part of the house.
Mason took Jasmine into the small room under the eaves, the slanting beamed ceiling giving it an old-fashioned look.
The feel of the bungalow had changed since first time he’d entered it. Before, it had held tension, worry, as Shifters Seamus needed to hide had stayed here for a time. Now it was far more peaceful, a haven for Shifters to come to get away and meditate or whatever. Sex took place here—Mason’s brothers liked to use the house to enjoy themselves in private. Broderick sometimes brought Joanne out here—not that Mason blamed him. It was quiet, soothing, the walls embracing.