"I wasn't—" Alec snapped his mouth shut and turned to Jackson. "She's your best friend. Calm her down, would you?"
"I'm fine," Nick told Jackson as he moved to sit next to her.
She wasn't fine. Her body vibrated with tension, and the knuckles of her right hand were swollen and bruised. "What happened?"
She didn't answer at first. Instead, she dragged a ponytail holder from her purse and used it to secure her hair in a careless knot at the back of her head. "You'd think that Alec, of all people, would know better than to simply regurgitate some tired old ultraconservative shit, wouldn't you?"
As soon as the words were out of Nick's mouth, Jackson groaned. She was almost rabidly protective of Michelle, but backhanded references to the painful events of Alec's life would only make things worse.
"Watch your mouth, Peyton," Alec said, his voice cold. "You don't know—"
"Enough." Steven's quiet voice overpowered Alec's easily. "We're already in over our heads. Perhaps we could stop jabbing at each other?" His eyes cut to Alec. "And let's remember that, regardless of our personal feelings, Michelle Peyton is the only hope any of us have of facing down Charles Talbot and surviving."
Alec wasn't one to back down to anyone, but the sheer intensity in Steven's eyes seemed to give his partner pause. "Fine."
Jackson turned to Nick and raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to apologize. She exhaled and looked away. "I'm sorry, Alec. I shouldn't have said that." Then she mirrored Jackson's expression and added, "But if anyone so much as hints that my sister is crazy, there's going to be an ass-kicking after this is all taken care of."
Mahalia sat next to Alec and patted his leg. "Don't worry. I don't even think she could kick your ass. Must have just…" She waved a hand at his face. "Well, she must have caught you off guard, that's all."
Alec snorted. "That girl's damn scrappy for someone who doesn't even come up to my shoulder."
Jackson slid an arm around Nick and tugged her to his side. "We're going to meet your dad and sister in New York?"
She nodded. "I just talked to Michelle. She's pretty busy getting ready, so we'll pick them up on our way."
"All right." The better prepared Michelle was to face Talbot, the more likely they'd get through this confrontation in one piece. "Steven, is there anything else we can figure out or plan right now?"
Steven shook his head. "Let's get to New York."
Chapter Fourteen
The world came into focus with terrifying slowness. Mackenzie fought her way out of sleep, vaguely remembering she was supposed to be scared but not why.
Then she opened her eyes and saw Marcus, and everything came flooding back. She bolted upright on the bed, her eyes darting around the small bedroom. It was plain but tastefully decorated, with a desk, a bookshelf and an open door that led into an adjoining bathroom. The door to the hallway was open, meaning no one cared if she ran. Probably because they could stop me before I got more than twenty feet, she thought in annoyance, remembering how easily Marcus had restrained her.
She returned her gaze to Marcus. He'd been reading a book, though he closed it now as he smiled at her. "Feeling better?"
"No," she retorted, annoyed by his dogged friendliness. She could see the marks her teeth had left on his neck, yet he seemed completely unbothered by the fact that she'd hurt him.
He shrugged and reopened his book. "Maybe you need more sleep."
It was infuriating. "Sleep is supposed to make me feel better about being kidnapped?"
He kept his eyes on the pages of the book, though he raised a brow. "Is screaming going to make you feel better?"
"Kicking you some more might make me feel better." Maybe then he'd show a reaction other than a casual lack of concern.
"You're welcome to scream or kick me again, whichever you prefer." He tilted his head and flashed her a charming grin. "I'm not all that bad. You'll see."
He had a dangerous charisma, the kind that made it hard for Mackenzie to remember he was a fanatic. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and pressed her feet to the cool hardwood floor. "You could be the greatest guy in the world, and it wouldn't make up for the fact that you've hurt people to get to me. I'm a prisoner here."
Marcus actually looked remorseful. "I really wish it hadn't had to happen," he told her quietly, laying the book on the bedside table. "If I'd been able to make you understand your importance, your role, none of it would have been necessary."
"My role." The words came out flat. "You mean to have your…infectious babies."
He threw back his head and laughed, the action stretching out the strong column of his throat. "You make them sound like one of the ten plagues of Egypt, Mackenzie. They'll just be babies. Babies with an amazing gift."
"And if I don't want babies?" Or if I don't want them to be yours?
His brows drew together. "Why wouldn't you?"
The fact that he actually seemed to care about her answer made her pause. Marcus was a fanatic and a shapeshifter and who knew what else but, in the end, he was a person too. A man. If there was one thing she'd always been good at…
Instead of snapping out another angry retort, she paused to consider the answer. "I had a life. I went to college to study dance. I was working at something I loved, teaching lessons, making connections. You obviously know what it's like to have a dream. Mine was dancing."
"How am I standing in the way of that?" he asked slowly. "I don't understand. I mean, I can help you."
"When am I supposed to start having these children?" she asked quietly. "How much dancing can I do if I'm supposed to be pregnant all the time?"
Marcus wasn't laughing anymore. He looked angry. "You think I'd want that?" He rose to his feet. "You're not meant to be an incubator, Mackenzie. You're meant to be my wife."
She forgot about her plans to charm him. "You chased me through four states, made me terrified for my life, nearly killed an old woman and kidnapped me, and you're mad that I'm confused about your motivations?"
"I told you exactly what my motivations were when we first met."
"And I told you I wasn't interested," she snarled. "You took the choice from me. So as long as I have no choice in the matter, you have no right to be all high and mighty with me."
He advanced on her until they were standing toe-to-toe. "You think I have a choice?" he whispered. "You think I wouldn't rather strike out on my own and meet a woman who's a little more suited to me than you? Well, I would, actually, but I can't. Because this is important, Mackenzie. Without us doing what we're supposed to do, our race is going to die. No more cougars. Don't you get that?"
"No!" She took a step back, bumped into the bed and sat abruptly. She clenched her hands around the blanket, her voice dropping to a whisper as well. "I don't belong to your race. Half the time, I still think I hit my head and have lost my damn mind, Marcus!"
His shoulders relaxed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you. Sometimes I forget you grew up hearing nothing of our destiny. It's hard for me to fathom, really." He sat in his chair again. "As for thinking you're crazy, that will sort itself out once Dad removes the suppressive spell that's been keeping you from shifting."
There it was again. That word. Dad. Marcus apparently had no idea that Charles wasn't his father. She opened her mouth to say as much, but the words died on her tongue. He isn't going to believe you, she told herself sternly. It was the only weapon she had, but if she used it too soon it wouldn't work.
Mackenzie closed her eyes and forced herself to relax. Whatever Charles's misdeeds, it was obvious Marcus believed in the cause because he'd been told only what Charles wanted him to know. Just like my parents. Just like Steven.
If she wasn't going to blame them for believing Charles, how could she blame the man who had been raised by him? It didn't mean she had to trust Marcus, but it made it easier not to hate him. She had to win him over to her side if she was going to have any chance of escaping.
She needed every advantage she could get.
Mackenzie met Marcus's faintly worried gaze. "I want him to remove the spell," she said, her voice trembling. "I want to learn what—who I am."
And then I'm going to use it to get away.
Marcus came back later that evening with an armful of neatly folded clothing. "I had to guess at the sizes," he explained as he set the pile on the chair beside the bed. "Once you get dressed, Dad wants to see you."
"Are we going to break the spell?"
"I think so." He turned his back to her and waited.
He wasn't going to leave. Mackenzie stepped out of her bloodied pants and pulled on the clothes as quickly as possible. The trousers were too tight across the h*ps and several inches too long, but Marcus hadn't done a terrible job.
"Okay," she said when she was dressed. "Is this going to hurt? Because when the spell was getting all weird before, it was pretty uncomfortable."
"It's potentially dangerous, but Dad can help you through it. He's very powerful, and he's dealt with these things before."
She followed him as he headed left down the hallway. "So…where are we? Or can I not know?"
Marcus shot her a bemused look. "We're at Dad's estate in upstate New Hampshire, not in some secret, underground lair."
It was oddly disappointing. "That's a little anticlimactic."
"Sorry. I'll try to take my role as evil henchman more seriously in the future. Perhaps I'll take to wearing a monocle." He squinted one eye and affected a very proper British accent. "Will that do, Miss Brooks?"