"She won't," Steven said quietly. He stroked a lock of hair back from Mackenzie's forehead with a sigh. "But we need Michelle Peyton here before we try to break the spell. We probably have the experience, but even the two of you together don't have enough raw power. This spell is…formidable."
Jackson tossed the emptied bottles aside and knelt by the bed, confident Mahalia would take her place on the other side of it. "You're calling Nick's sister?"
Mahalia reached for him and rested their clasped hands on Mackenzie's solar plexus. "We don't have a choice. Now hush and concentrate. Steven, try to clear your mind and not suck up any of our power."
Jackson took a deep breath as he felt magic begin to flow from Mahalia over Mackenzie's body, into his and back again, taking some of his own power with it. He tried to focus on the magical walls already inside of her, but the memory of Mackenzie's laughter kept distracting him.
"Don't fight it, Jack," Mahalia whispered. "Use it."
They'd worked enough magic together for her to know him inside and out, and the exchange of energy often carried thoughts and emotions, as well. He squeezed his eyes shut and remembered Mackenzie as he'd first seen her, laughing with Derek and Penny in Nick's bar. He recalled how she'd realized he was following her, been frightened and confronted him anyway. He thought of the way she'd smiled tentatively at him that first night and easily the next at his apartment.
It wasn't enough. He could see the walls, crumbling and dusty, straining to fall. Exhaustion pulled at him, and he could feel the same thing happening to Mahalia. "It isn't working," he grated out.
"Just hold on. Just a tiny—" Her voice failed her, and her hands trembled.
Jackson steeled himself and reached for the memory of the kiss Mackenzie had given him in the car, right before sleep had claimed her. Her mouth had been soft and obliging, and he ached to take her lips with his again when she was in her right mind, when something besides feral lust drove her into his arms.
Steven's voice floated to them, nothing more than a dim whisper. "It's working."
He felt the shifting inside Mackenzie, the surge of power that righted the walls, even as he struggled to draw air into his burning lungs. The magic began to ebb, to pull back like a wave already crested on the shore, and Jackson could only hope it had been enough.
Please.
The thought was fleeting, desperate, and Jackson wasn't sure whose it was, but it summed up his feelings pretty well, so he echoed it in his head as Mahalia pulled her hands from his with a weary sigh. "Steven?"
"It's done." He sounded relieved. "She'll sleep now, I imagine. You should probably do the same."
Jackson tried to respond, but his body felt leaden. He swayed and caught himself on the edge of the bed. The last thing he heard before he fell to the floor was Mahalia calling his name.
It was hard to tell how much time had passed when Jackson drifted awake again. Mackenzie curled next to him on the guest bed, fast asleep. Whoever had removed his shoes—Steven, probably, given the likelihood that Mahalia had been in no condition to do so—had removed Mackenzie's sweat-drenched clothes, as well, and tucked her back into bed in an oversized man's shirt.
She looked a hundred times better than when they'd arrived, her color returned to normal and her breathing slow and even. The expression on her face was peaceful.
He fought the urge to reach out, to brush an errant curl from her forehead. Instead, he rose, careful not to disturb her, and made his way down the hall.
He found Steven in the kitchen, making coffee. "Thanks for not letting me sleep it off on the floor."
Steven smiled wearily as he reached for another mug. "You did a good job, Jackson."
He rubbed his head and covered a yawn. "Most of it was May's doing." He accepted the steaming coffee Steven offered with a nod of thanks. "She'll be out for a while yet, I guess."
"Yes, she said to expect her to sleep for most of the afternoon." Steven added cream to his own coffee. "I suppose you have a lot of questions."
Jackson headed for the brightly lit breakfast nook and pulled out a chair. "They can wait," he said, hesitant to seek answers Mackenzie would want, as well. "Well, mostly."
"Mostly." Steven took the seat across from his. "We should talk about the spell. I'm sure you got a sense of how strong it is." He sipped his coffee and met Jackson's eyes. "If you want to be really frightened, consider the fact that it was cast twenty-one years ago. I know because I was there when Zacharias cast it on her."
Jackson almost dropped his mug. "Zacharias Nelson? Crazy Zach?" He didn't wait for Steven's confirmation, just rose from the chair again, nervous energy driving him across the tile floor. "What the hell kind of a thing is this, Donovan? First, someone shoulders past some of the most powerful wards I, myself, have ever seen to steal a shirt, and now you're telling me that notorious wizards were casting spells like that on Mackenzie as a toddler?"
"It was an unusual situation." When Jackson glanced back, he found Steven staring into his mug. "I'll explain the whole story when Mackenzie is ready to hear it. The short version is that her parents got mixed up with someone very powerful and very dangerous, someone who needs Mackenzie to complete a spell he started planning over forty years ago."
He froze, something about Steven's words triggering a memory. "You're talking about Charles Talbot."
"His adopted son, Marcus, would be the man who approached her."
"Shit. It was the Seer." He ran a shaky hand over his face and swore again. "Charles Talbot was in my house. Mackenzie—" Another thought occurred to him, and he crossed back to the table. "It's not an urban legend, is it? He's trying to make one. The one."
Steven looked tired. "Yes. He's trying to make a cougar who can transform humans. Mackenzie is supposed to give birth to that baby. And since we have to assume he knows she's alive now…"
Jackson sat woodenly. "He won't stop until he has her." The words sounded as though they came from someone else, hollow and far away. "What do we do?"
The look on Steven's face was anything but encouraging. "That's what we have to figure out."
Chapter Ten
Mackenzie woke with a start, bolting upright in a strange room she'd never seen before. Panic rose in her as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings and looked at the man's shirt she wore. I don't feel hung over…
A sound drew her attention, and she let out the breath she'd been holding when she saw Jackson in a chair next to the bed. "What happened?"
He closed his phone and gave her a relieved look. "You were in a bad way. Sick, I guess you could call it. But we fixed you up." He reached over and touched her forehead gently. "How do you feel?"
"I feel—" She laughed when her stomach rumbled loudly. "Hungry."
His laughter joined hers. "Steven said you probably would be, so Mahalia's been cooking all afternoon. Want to go see what she rustled up?" He pulled her clothes, washed and folded, off the nightstand. "Do you need some help, or have you got your land legs already?"
"Steven?" She frowned as she swung her legs to the floor. She felt so shaky standing didn't seem like a good idea. "Who's Steven? Where are we?"
"We're at Mahalia's house." He unfolded her pants and handed them to her. "Steven is her friend. He's a cougar, like you."
She digested that as she held the pants in her hands and stared at the floor. The last thing she remembered clearly was Jackson bringing her to his office after they'd realized someone had broken into his apartment. Now they were in Mahalia's house, which he'd said was—
"We're in Florida?" She jerked her gaze to Jackson's face. "Jesus Christ, what time is it? What day is it?"
"It's about seven in the evening," he answered evenly. "Monday. We left New Orleans last night." He placed her laundered shirt on the bed next to her. "Like I said, you were in a bad way."
A bad way. It wasn't the most informative description of how she'd lost a day of her life, but she wasn't sure she wanted the details. Not yet, at least.
Her stomach rumbled again, reminding her that hunger was more important than answers right now. She stood and pitched straight into Jackson when her wobbly knees refused to hold her.
He caught her easily, sliding strong arms around her waist. "You okay?"
The warmth in his eyes made her feel wobbly for an entirely different reason. She stared at his face, so close she would only have to move a few inches to brush her lips over his. His chest was strong and solid, and desire rose in her with alarming speed. With it came memories from the previous twenty-four hours. She remembered heat, and need so strong there was no word for it but lust. She remembered pressing herself against him and sliding her tongue along his ear as she all but begged him to touch her.
Heat rushed to her face, and she dropped her forehead to his shoulder so she wouldn't have to meet his eyes. "Oh, God. God, I think I'm starting to remember…"
"The ants in your pants," he supplied gently. "Yeah, you were practically humping my leg. But that's all right. It wasn't really you."
Mackenzie lifted her head and studied his expression. He seemed completely calm and understanding, as if women with magically induced lust climbed all over him on a regular basis.
On the heels of that thought came insane jealousy. She didn't want other women crawling all over him. She wanted to crawl all over him. Though not under the influence of magic…
He held her, his arms firm around her waist. She slid her hands to his shoulders as she relaxed against his body. "It wasn't me," she agreed in a quiet whisper. "I'd like to think I could be a bit more subtle."
He loosened his hold on her and straightened. "That makes two of us," he whispered, his gaze fixed on her mouth.