He considered the question with too much deliberateness to be believed. "Hmm. I was going to take a shower, but I might have a little time. Maybe just a few smooches. Like this." He feathered a kiss across the tip of her nose.
The gesture made her laugh as she played with the hair at the back of his head, just above his neck. "I'm going to kiss you." She whispered the words against his cheek. "Really, really kiss you. Open mouths and tongues and maybe some whimpering. If you're not interested, you might want to run."
Heat flared in his eyes, darkening them. "Oh, I'm interested."
"Good." She only had to shift her mouth an inch to the side to catch his lower lip between hers, and she ran her tongue teasingly along it before kissing him in earnest.
He moaned softly and tilted his head, bringing his lips closer to hers, his tongue delving into her mouth as he cupped the back of her neck. His warm, strong fingers on the sensitive skin made her shiver.
She wasn't sure when she made the conscious decision to move, but she was suddenly on her back, her arms around him as he leaned over her, his mouth leaving hers to skim over the edge of her jaw to her throat. "Is this going to hold you over?"
"No." She laughed and tilted her head back, loving the feeling of his lips on her. "But I suppose I'll manage somehow. Especially since Mahalia's all of thirty feet away right now."
Jackson rose from the bed. "I'll be out of the shower in time for pancakes, so save me some, all right?"
"Better hurry. I'm hungry, and she's a great cook."
"No argument here." He gave her an almost tender look before disappearing through the door. Mackenzie crawled out of bed with a bemused smile. It was far too easy to ignore the life-changing events of the past weeks and give in to the giddy thrill that always came with a new crush, or a new—
Relationship? The thought stopped her, and she stood next to the bed with her pants in her hands. A relationship was the last thing she needed at the moment. And yet…
The bemused smile returned, and she couldn't shake it while she cleaned up and brushed her hair, or while she pulled on her clothes. She couldn't even banish it when she walked into the kitchen to greet Mahalia. "Good morning."
"Morning, Mackenzie." The older woman stirred a bowl of what looked like batter. "Do you like buttermilk pancakes? How about some orange juice? I made Steven squeeze it fresh this morning."
"Really?" Mackenzie leaned against the counter and watched as Mahalia moved efficiently around her kitchen. "I've never had fresh-squeezed orange juice."
"What?" One perfectly groomed eyebrow rose in surprise. "Now, that just isn't right. You like sausage or bacon, honey?"
"Either's fine. Can I help you with anything?"
Mahalia waved her away. "Sit down and rest. You've been through a lot, and it isn't over yet."
"I suppose it isn't." Mackenzie took a seat and drummed her fingers absently on the smooth wood of the table. "Jackson said Steven had to go. That Talbot could find him?"
"Mm-hmm." Mahalia began to pour the batter on a heated griddle.
"I don't really understand. But I guess there's a lot of stuff I don't understand." She still wasn't sure she wanted to, if she was going to be perfectly honest with herself.
Mahalia hesitated as she reached for a spatula. "That part, at least, isn't complicated," she admitted. "Talbot will always be able to find Steven because he's Steven's uncle."
"He's—" She stopped. "Oh. That's why Steven knows so much about him?"
"That's why," she confirmed. "Before you were born, Steven was helping Charles. He thought… Well, he believed his uncle when he said this scheme was the only thing that would save the cougars." She stared at the griddle, her amber eyes unseeing. "It took him a while to figure out how far Charles would go, though. The things he would do to ensure the ritual's success."
Mackenzie considered that as she watched tiny holes appear in the top of the pancakes. "What about Marcus? Is he like me? A kid someone had to…to further this cause?"
"His parents were killed."
She pulled her gaze away from the pancakes and studied Mahalia, whose tone made it clear she knew more than she'd said. "Who killed them?"
Mahalia glanced away. "They wanted out, I suppose."
It wasn't much of an answer, but it was enough. Whoever his parents had been, they hadn't agreed with Charles's plan, and Charles had killed them. Just like her parents. Maybe Marcus hadn't been lying when he'd said they had more in common than she could ever guess. "So Steven warned my parents, and they left?"
"He had to do more than warn them," Mahalia corrected. "He got them out, got them away." The faraway look came back into her eyes. "Brought them to New Orleans. To me."
Mackenzie had never wondered much about her birth parents, but now she couldn't stop thinking about them. What sort of people they'd been, why they'd decided to throw in with Charles's plans. Mahalia obviously didn't like talking about it, but Mackenzie couldn't stop her questions. "What were they like?"
At first, she wasn't sure if Mahalia had heard her. The older woman reached into a drawer and drew out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, sighing as she pulled one from the pack and struck a lighter. "Young. Disappointed. Scared."
"Oh." She could imagine that easily enough, all things considered. "I guess it wasn't really a time for social chats."
"Simon and Janice were very nice. They were just like Steven, and Marcus's parents. They bought into Charles's assertions that their race was dying out, because it's true. Then they found out he was a fanatic. One apparently willing to kill a couple and take their child to raise as his own." Mahalia took a drag from the cigarette. "Saying it wasn't exactly a social situation is a bit of an understatement."
Mackenzie felt color come to her cheeks as she looked at the table. "It's hard to imagine it. A few days ago, I thought my parents had died in a car crash when I was four. I didn't remember much of anything from before my adopted parents brought me home. Sometimes I'd have dreams…" A fire, a woman with dark hair and terrified eyes dragging her by the hand, screaming that they had to run faster. The nightmares had plagued her until her parents had taken her to a therapist in the fourth grade.
The dreams hadn't gone away, not completely. She'd had trouble sleeping most of her life, between the dreams of running through fields and the dreams of running from fire. When she'd gotten older she'd gone through all the usual remedies—special teas, pills, relaxation tapes. Nothing had ever worked. Not until she'd started dreaming about Jackson every time she closed her eyes.
Mahalia finished her cigarette and extinguished it in a weak stream of water from the kitchen tap. "It was a rough time for all three of you."
"I guess it was." Determined to change the subject, she rose to her feet again. "I think I'd like some of that juice. Where can I get a glass?"
Mahalia didn't answer, just stared at the water trickling into the sink. The cigarette butt fell from her hand, and she started to shake.
"Mahalia?" Mackenzie reached out a hand to her shoulder. "What's—"
She jerked as if burned, scrambled to shut off the stove's burners and grabbed her keys from the counter. "Get into the garage. Jack!"
Mackenzie didn't argue. She hurried to the door on the other side of the kitchen, so panicked she twisted the knob without bothering to unlock the door first. She swore and reached for the latch, but a soft gasp behind her made her turn.
Mahalia's dark skin had taken on an alarming pallor, and her eyes rolled back in her head. Mackenzie stared in horror as Mahalia fell, her head impacting the counter with a sickening thud.
Time slowed to a crawl as Mahalia crumpled. Mackenzie lunged toward her, hitting the floor on her knees and sliding a few inches. She screamed Jackson's name as she pushed Mahalia's hair back from her face. There seemed to be blood everywhere, so much that, at first, Mackenzie couldn't tell where the wound was.
"Mahalia!" She swore fiercely under her breath as she tore her shirt over her head, balled it up and pressed it against the wound. Shit, shit, shit—it was all she could think as panic made her heart race and she screamed again. "Jackson!"
Somewhere down the hall, Jackson's strangled voice called out her name.
His voice cut off abruptly as a shiver claimed her, the same feeling she'd had in Memphis that had prompted her to abandon her car. Something bad was coming. Something dangerous. Her instincts screamed it, and now she knew them for what they were. Some bit of supernatural heritage, telling her the only way to save herself. Run, run, run.
But she couldn't run, not with Mahalia on the floor, bleeding. Not with Jackson somewhere in the house, hurt or injured or under some kind of magical attack.
Steven. She needed Steven—someone who knew what was going on, who might still be close enough to help. She held her shirt to Mahalia's head with one hand while she groped on the counter with the other, finally finding Mahalia's cell phone. She fumbled and flipped open the phone, her hand shaking so badly she could barely read the display.
Fear for Jackson intruded again, and something feral inside screamed for her to abandon Mahalia and find Jackson, to curl around him and protect him. But, whatever had happened, Jackson would never forgive her for letting his mentor bleed to death on the floor.
And there was probably nothing she could do anyway.
Nothing but get help. Mackenzie took a deep breath and let it out before focusing on the phone again. "Steven," she whispered as she found the address book. "Steven."
The phone flew from her hand, skittering across the floor until it bumped into a polished black shoe. Her gaze jerked upward, and she found herself staring into a pair of ice blue eyes surrounded by wrinkles. She took in the man's snowy white hair and neat suit.