He spoke. “Hey, don’t freak out. You’re all right. You’re going to be all right.”
Carmen laughed. She couldn’t help it.
A soft curse from the front, and the engine roared under them. “Leave her be, Jackson. We don’t need her coming over the seat at you if she gets spooked.”
He sputtered something, but she didn’t listen. She clamped her hands over her ears again and rolled face down on the seat. Every instinct screamed for her to turn over, not to leave her back unprotected, but she ignored the urge. Instead, she began to meditate.
She’d never been so strong that she couldn’t control her empathy, not even from her earliest memories. Unless under duress, she had always been able to close herself off, in a box if necessary, until she was ready to come out. It was only as she grew older and began training that she learned how to do it no matter what was going on around her—or in her head.
Walls. Usually she preferred clean ones, but these she envisioned as a faded red. Plenty of buildings in the Quarter were made of rough bricks just that shade. In her mind, she traced every chalky white line of mortar, until she’d built up five walls—four all around her, and one to close the box.
Nothing penetrated, not until a warm, gentle hand dropped on her shoulder.
She stiffened, but managed not to jerk away as she sat up and looked around. The truck was parked in front of a white house with a large front porch, and a soft breeze carried the scents of grass, earth and water into the cab.
The man stepped back, leaving her a clear path to the door.
Outside, pine trees and live oaks rustled in the breeze. Suddenly, the thought of walking into another closed-off space was unthinkable. Unbearable.
Carmen shoved past him and hit the ground at a run.
It took a minute to recognize the light feeling singing through her as relief. She ran every day, but this was different. No mp3 players or cross trainers, and she didn’t run out of concern for her cardiovascular health. Running meant freedom.
Trees flashed by—magnolia, cypress, more oaks heavy with Spanish moss. She only stumbled to a halt when she hit the edge of a marshy pond and almost fell into the water. Her legs shook, and she clutched one hand to the painful stitch in her side.
“Better?”
He wasn’t even winded, but the observation melted into a realization that he’d followed her. Logically, she knew he’d had to; she was out of her head, high on magic and probably crazy.
Instinct told her he would have chased her anyway.
She was too exhausted to begin the complicated dance that came next, the give and take of wary attraction, so she shook herself and answered his question. “I don’t know. Nothing fits, but I’m so tired.” The thick sound of tears in her voice embarrassed her.
“I know.” His tone was quiet. Gentle. “I don’t know what happened to you, but we’re going to find out. Make it better.”
This time, the reassurance didn’t make her want to laugh. “I remember you. Kat’s boss. Franklin’s friend from the army.”
He nodded. “Alec. Or Jake, if Franklin’s been telling stories.”
“Alec Jacobson.” With the nervous magic quieted, her mind cleared a little. “Where are we?”
“My house.” The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Actually, my lake. A little swampy, but not so bad.”
“It’s lovely.” Carmen took a step and groaned when her legs almost gave out. She had no idea how long she’d run, but the house had to be over a mile back. “I’m an idiot.”
“Nah. Seems like you got a pretty big dose of magic.” He took a careful step forward, his gaze locked on her face. “Feeling okay?”
Pride almost made her lie. “No.”
“Tired?”
“I think I need to rest before we go back.”
Alec nodded toward a patch of grass a few yards away. “Wanna sit? Fresh air can’t hurt.”
She didn’t sit so much as crumple to the ground, and only sheer willpower stopped her from stretching out on the grass. “My father. I talked to my father, and then the van came—”
“Shh.” He sank down a few feet away. “It’ll keep. Tell me how you feel.”
“Confused. Wary.” She sighed. “Confused.”
“Wish I could say that’ll go away. Just try to remember I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I remember.” What he had to know already was that it didn’t matter if she recognized intellectually that he wasn’t a threat. What mattered were the tense, heart-stopping moments where primal instinct took over.
“Good.” He leaned forward and braced both elbows on his knees. “Don’t worry if you get angry and try to rip my head off, either. I won’t take it personal.”
“Ha. Franklin tells stories, Jake.” She gave up and lay back, closing her eyes against the afternoon sun. “I’d never get my hands on you.”
His low chuckle vibrated deliciously over her nerve endings, and she relaxed a bit. “I dunno, I’m slowing down a bit. A new wolf landed a few punches on me yesterday.”
“You don’t say.”
“Mmm. Then, this morning, he kicked my door in. Still working on his temper.”
Carmen considered laughing, but all she managed was a soft smile. “Lucky for you, I don’t have a temper.”
“We’ll find out. I have it on good authority I can piss off just about anyone.”
I think you probably could. After her exertions, just lying there felt like floating, and she fell asleep.
Alec paced by the closed guest room door for the third time in under twenty minutes and wondered—also for the third time—if opening the door to check on her would make him a creep.
Only a little creepier than prowling in front of her door. That the thought came to him in Kat’s voice had to be a sign that his mind was slipping. Or his sense of humor was returning. He could only imagine the look Kat would give him if he admitted instinct demanded he shove open the door and count every damn breath Carmen took.
Not that he couldn’t hear her from the hallway. Adrenaline had brought every sense on high alert. If he stood outside the door, he could number the beats of her heart, slow and steady in a sleep so deep it might have been unconsciousness.
She’d slept through the arrival of a Conclave team, and he’d fought himself to allow them inside at all. Only the knowledge that they were going to leave—and take Kat’s attacker with them—let him grit his teeth through the invasion. Once they were gone, he’d begun pacing.
He reached the end of the hallway and kept going this time, refusing to allow himself to make another pass by her door. Instead he moved into the kitchen to check the time.
Five minutes after the last time he’d looked.
Another circuit, first to the table and his cell phone to see if he’d missed any calls, then to the guest room door to make sure Carmen still slept. He’d been doing the same thing over and over in the hour since Jackson had called to say he was on his way with Carmen’s brother. Not the young one, who was inconsequential, but Julio.
Another wolf.
His own wolf snarled softly, and Alec ignored the inner urging toward violence. Carmen might not have changed, but his instincts were so confused by the magic pulsing inside her that it didn’t matter. For primal urges nothing mattered but perception, and every sense told him Carmen Mendoza was another shapeshifter.
A beautiful, vibrant, hungry shapeshifter whose out-of-control power all but demanded his strength in return.
“Fuck.” He bit off the word and stalked away from the door, bypassing the clock completely this time as he moved toward the kitchen table. Two weeks’ worth of mail sat awaiting his attention, most of it catalogs stacked on top of the latest issue of Guns & Ammo. The catalogs were addressed to Heidi—proof that neither magic nor a psycho-shapeshifter reputation could convince a company to take a client off its damn mailing list.
Rifling through them gave him something to do other than check Carmen’s breathing for the seventeenth time that hour. He discarded sleek advertisements entreating him to buy beads, clay, fabric, power tools and yarn. Then he browsed through his magazine and pondered buying a new shotgun until the distant purr of an engine tickled at the edge of his senses.
The sound drew closer, turned into a too-familiar rattle. Jackson had reclaimed his rust-bucket truck from Mackenzie at some point, and the distinctive engine was impossible to mistake for any other vehicle.
Julio Mendoza was about to invade his territory.
Visit his sister, he corrected viciously. The man had every right to be worried about his sister. Hell, Alec would have thought less of him if he hadn’t been ready to kill anyone who stood in his path.
It didn’t make it any easier to have another young, cocky interloper shoving his way into Alec’s battered territory, even if Andrew had apologized and already fixed his front door.
The rattle of Jackson’s truck became a rumble, and that inner uneasiness prodded Alec out to meet his guests on the porch.
Both men looked like hell. Of course, Julio had been traveling all day, and Jackson had been hitting every one of their contacts and resources hard, trying to figure out what the hell that witch had done to Carmen.
He waved a hand in Alec’s direction. “There he is. Alec Jacobson. Knock yourself out.”
Julio Mendoza studied Alec as he approached the porch steps. “Is she inside?”
“Yes.” Sizing him up as an opponent was inevitable. Julio wasn’t tall, but he was the sort of solid that came from adding muscles to an already strong frame. He wouldn’t be fast in a fight, but he’d be a wall you could pound yourself against without knocking him over. Youth and stamina would make him a frustrating—and dangerous—enemy.
He had power too, but the magic was more like Derek Gabriel’s. Dominant strength directed inward, a strong wolf with strong instincts, but not someone who felt like a threat. Julio Mendoza could rule if he had to, but he lacked the fire that made Andrew so deadly.