Which was absurd. Just because she happened to be the most beautiful woman he'd seen in a while—okay, ever—didn't mean he had designs on her. She was a job. He'd protect her, keep her safe and find out why in hell some lunatic had chased her through five cities. He'd resolve the situation, she'd be free to go and Jackson could get on with his life.
Except that his chest felt tight when he thought about Mackenzie going home, wherever that happened to be.
Dammit.
He should have ordered Chinese food.
It took twenty minutes of soaking in the bathtub before Mackenzie came to the conclusion that perhaps—perhaps—she needed to consider the possibility she might not be crazy.
It wasn't Jackson's spontaneous case of invisibility that had decided her. It wasn't even the altercation in the alley, though that had been showy in and of itself.
If she was going to be completely honest with herself, she'd have to admit she'd been wondering since the very first day. Since Marcus had knocked on her door knowing the one thing she hadn't told anyone.
"Do you have the dreams, Jessie? Do you run at night, feel the wind in your face and know you're not like them?"
She'd had the dreams all of her life, but never remembered the details upon waking. Bits and pieces, the sound of the wind, the smell of the forest, the feeling of freedom. They'd been peaceful dreams that she'd awoken from renewed, but always with a sense of longing. As if something was missing.
The minute she'd opened the door and set eyes on Marcus, she'd found that something. She recognized him even though she'd never seen him before. He'd felt right, like someone who would understand her. Between that and his charming smile, she'd let him into her home and listened to his insane ranting for far longer than she should have.
He'd left eventually, and that night she'd dreamt again. Only that time she'd remembered every detail, every scent, every sound. She didn't forget running across an open field, feeling the grass beneath her feet.
Beneath her paws.
She'd blamed it on stress and the crazy things Marcus had said, ignoring the fact that the dreams made her ache with longing, and that waking was like being thrust back into a world where she didn't quite fit.
The world had always been like that, until Marcus. Until Nick.
Until Jackson.
He was different. Not in the same way as Marcus, not in a familiar way, but different nonetheless. As if maybe he didn't quite fit, either.
But he fit with Nick and Alec and Kat, who, for all Mackenzie knew, was another werewolf, or a witch, or God knew what. He fit with them, and for the first time in her life she'd found people she might be able to belong with.
Yesterday it hadn't made any sense to her. But today… Today she wondered if maybe the reason she fit was because she, too, was something other than human.
She soaked in the tub until the water cooled, struggling to accept the possibility there might very well be a world beyond the one she knew. Giving Jackson the benefit of the doubt was the only choice she had.
Besides which, my sole alternative involves checking myself into a nuthouse.
Mackenzie rose from the tub and wrapped herself in a thick towel she'd pulled out of the small wooden closet. Checking herself into an institution might be the most logical choice, but she hoped to save it as a backup plan.
Having decided to go forth as if she believed all of the outrageous things she'd heard and seen today, she felt a good bit steadier as she pulled her clothes back on. By the time she'd run a comb through her hair and hung up the towels, she thought she might even be ready to try some basic conversation.
The smell of tomato sauce and red wine greeted her when she opened the bathroom door. She wandered down the hallway and past a tiny office before spotting Jackson in the small kitchen.
He must have sensed her there, because he raised his head from peeking in the oven and smiled. "It'll be ready soon. Want to start with some wine and a salad?"
"Sure." She glanced around, feeling out of place. "Can I help you with anything?"
"Nah, everything's mostly done. Have a seat." He gestured toward the round oak table in the breakfast nook. "I figured we could eat in here instead of in the dining room."
It was cozy, and right now that was what she wanted more than anything. Comfortable, normal things. She slipped past him and pulled out one of the chairs. "It smells wonderful. It's been a while since I had a home-cooked meal."
He brought over a couple of wine goblets and started to fill them. "That's a shame."
She glanced at him. "The guy? Marcus? He tried to snatch me on July fifth. I got away two days later, and I've been running since."
"You've been on the road for over a month?" he asked incredulously.
"I guess, yeah. Seems longer. Seems like forever."
He put the wine on the table and gave her a serious look. "Alec and Kat have already started looking into this. Do you happen to remember Marcus's last name?"
She only wished she'd been able to forget it. Everything about that first encounter was burned into her memory. "Foster. He said his name was Marcus Foster."
Jackson stopped and flashed her another of those easy smiles that made her heart skip a beat. "By the time we finish our salads, the chicken should be ready." He pulled a large wooden bowl out of the refrigerator and dished salad onto the small plates already on the table.
They ate in relative silence, until he finally looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "So, what did you do before you hit the road? For a living, I mean?"
"Actually, I was a bartender. Not that I planned on that being my long-term career or anything. It's just pretty hard to pay the bills as a dancer if you're not interested in taking your clothes off." She'd done it in Chicago, though, working in a strip club when she couldn't find another job.
"You'll like working for Nick. She's pretty down-to-earth, all things considered."
Mackenzie took a sip of her wine and eyed him over the rim of the glass. "Who wouldn't like working there? The place is always full of handsome, charming men."
"Just remember that handsome, charming men are usually trouble with a capital T." A quick wink accompanied his next words. "I just happen to be the exception that proves that particular rule."
She smiled at him again before she could stop herself, realizing too late that it didn't feel fake. She was giving him the smile she gave men she was interested in. Great. I'm a freakish shapeshifting cat and I'm flirting with a guy who can make himself invisible.
Maybe she was crazy and stupid. Or maybe the sheer normalcy of flirting with a handsome man was exactly what she needed.
So she lifted her glass to him and refused to feel guilty about how pleased she felt when he quickly glanced away. Witches and shapeshifters and invisibility were far beyond her realm of experience, but men she understood.
He cleared his throat and raised his glass, as well. "To exceptions," he murmured.
Mackenzie felt a lot more relaxed by the time dinner was over, having enjoyed an excellent meal in Jackson's charming company. She insisted on helping him clean, finding the boring task of clearing the table and rinsing dishes oddly soothing. By the time she followed him into the living room, she'd almost managed to forget that he'd turned her entire understanding of the world upside down over the course of an evening.
He handed her a cup of coffee and gestured to the sofa. "Sit. I'll turn on some music. Or would you prefer the television?"
"Oh, music." She sank into the cushions of the couch before setting the mug carefully on the side table. "That might be what I miss the most of everything I had to leave behind—my music collection."
He crossed to the intricate, heavy shelves that served as an entertainment center. "What do you like to listen to?"
"I'm not too picky. I just miss music in general."
Smoky jazz filled the room, and he gave her a sheepish smile. "Mahalia's fault." He walked back to his leather chair. "I was strictly classic rock before she got her mitts on me and opened my eyes to the wonder that is a torch song done right."
Mackenzie closed her eyes as the music washed over her. "It's gorgeous. It's perfect."
"Maybe you'll meet Mahalia one day, and you can thank her for saving you from having to listen to Led Zeppelin." He fell silent.
They sat there for a while, sipping their coffee, and he turned a quizzical gaze on her. "You're…what? Twenty-two? Twenty-three? How come you don't know about the cougar thing? Haven't you shifted before?"
She'd been wondering the same thing. "It seems like the kind of thing I should know, doesn't it? But no, I think I'd remember if I turned into a gigantic cat. The only thing I ever had was—" She hesitated, looking at her hands.
The dreams had always been her secret, but the time for secrets was past. If she was going to deal with this new world she found herself in, she would have to start talking about it.
She looked at Jackson. "Dreams. I've always had them, but I never really remembered more than bits and pieces in the morning. After I met Marcus, I started having them almost every night. I remember them now."
He looked pensive. "Are you interested in learning more about it? Maybe we can find someone. I mean, I know lots of wolves, but cougars are so rare."
"Really?" If it was true—if any of it was true—it might explain why Marcus seemed so determined to have her. "But… Well, why? I mean, why is it so rare?"
Jackson shrugged a shoulder. "Wolves are the only breed that can transform others. I don't know why; I'm not sure if anyone does. But all the old legends about werewolf bites and lycanthropy… They have a grain of truth to them." He finished his coffee and set the mug down. "Nick and Alec were both born wolves. They come from old families. But Derek Gabriel—I think you met him at the bar—was turned by an attack several years ago."