Crux. Part 5

"Or when it's the easiest thing to pull together on short notice." Jackson glanced back over his shoulder to make sure Mackenzie hadn't walked in. "Oh, why am I explaining myself to you? Shut up and go check on Nick."

"Sure thing, Casanova. Call me if anything comes up."

Jackson grumbled as he ended the call and began chopping tomatoes. Calling Nick wouldn't be necessary; Alec would tell Mackenzie's boss exactly where she was. h.e.l.l, he'd probably mention the marinara too, and they'd both have a jolly laugh at his expense.

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 h.e.l.l 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 gra.s.s 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 G.o.d 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 inst.i.tution 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 s.n.a.t.c.h 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 gla.s.s. "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 shapes.h.i.+fting 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 gla.s.s to him and refused to feel guilty about how pleased she felt when he quickly glanced away. Witches and shapes.h.i.+fters and invisibility were far beyond her realm of experience, but men she understood.

He cleared his throat and raised his gla.s.s, 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 cus.h.i.+ons 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 cla.s.sic 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 s.h.i.+fted 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."

"The one Nick has a crush on?"

He snorted. "Don't let her hear you say that, or you might be looking for a new job. She's had it bad for him since he started coming to the bar, and that was way back when Mahalia still owned it." Jackson shook his head. "Too bad."

"He seems nice enough," Mackenzie protested. "I mean, a bit of a flirt, but that can be charming sometimes too." She raised one eyebrow at him. "Or are you going to try and tell me you're not the kind of guy who likes to flirt?"

"Hey, now. I like to flirt as much as, but no more than, the next guy. But I wasn't kidding when I said the wolves were all over the place." He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "There are so many of them that they have their own society, complete with a complex political structure...and prejudices. Nick's father is the top dog, the leader of them all. The Alpha. That's why it's too bad about her unfortunate crush."

She studied his face, trying to understand his meaning. "Nick said her father didn't like her owning a bar in New Orleans. She didn't seem too upset about it. Being with Derek would be worse than that?"

He looked vaguely ill. "Derek's a second-cla.s.s citizen, Mackenzie." At her shocked breath, he shrugged again. "Welcome to the realities of supernatural society. Sucks just as bad as the world you're used to, unfortunately." He paused. "Not that Nick cares. She's not like that. Most of the s.h.i.+fters in the city are here because they refuse to be part of that society."

"G.o.d, that's terrible." She s.h.i.+vered and drew her legs up to wrap her arms around them. "But you said there aren't as many cougars. Do you think-?" She stopped, not sure if she wanted an answer to her question. "Is that why Marcus won't leave me alone?"

"Could be. Did he say anything about wanting you to have lots of his babies?"

Mackenzie couldn't help the flush that colored her cheeks. "He said-G.o.d, it's so pathetic I can't believe I'm repeating it." She took a deep breath and made a face. "He said we were destined to be the parents of the most important children history might ever see."

Jackson choked. "That seems a bit...enthusiastically ambitious."

"I've been tending bar for four years. I've had my share of guys. .h.i.t on me. But he reminded me of a religious fanatic or something. Like G.o.d had sent him forth to marry me and father children on me. It was creepy even before he tried to s.n.a.t.c.h me off the street."

Jackson's fingers tightened on the arm of the chair, digging into the supple brown leather. "He's not going to get you, Mackenzie. Alec and I are good. We'll stop him."

"Okay," she said, more to rea.s.sure him than anything else. They sat in silence as the jazz floated through the room. Jackson hadn't mentioned taking her somewhere else for the night, but their easy flirtation during dinner hadn't been serious enough to make her think he expected her to spend the night with him.

Too bad.

The thought startled her, though it probably shouldn't have. She'd been almost painfully attracted to Jackson since she'd laid eyes on him, and that attraction hadn't wavered, even in the face of everything they'd been through in the past twenty-four hours. If anything, it had just grown stronger.

And here they were, alone in his apartment with soft jazz playing and a couple of gla.s.ses of wine singing through her veins, and she wanted more than anything to touch him. To slide her hands over his face, to touch his hair and tangle her fingers in it. She wanted to see the strong muscles she'd felt through his clothing when he'd pulled her back in the alleyway, to run her hands along his skin and feel his mouth on hers.

She just wanted, and she couldn't keep that desire from her face, from her eyes. She saw the truth of it when he looked at her, heard it in the way his breathing hitched as he watched her study him. He could see it, could tell everything she wanted to do.

He s.h.i.+fted in his chair. "It's getting late," he said, his voice a low rasp. "Whenever you're ready, I can pull the couch out. It's not the most comfortable bed in the world, but it'll do in a pinch."

It was impossible to tear her eyes away from his. "Don't worry about it," she heard herself say in a soft, husky whisper. "I can sleep on it like this. Find me a pillow and a blanket, and it'll be more comfortable than most of the places I've slept lately."

He looked away and headed for the hallway. "It's not a bother. I'll just get everything ready while you're brus.h.i.+ng your teeth. No problem."

Mackenzie rose quietly, picked up her bag and slipped past him into the bathroom.

By the time she returned, he'd pulled out the bed and was busily tucking a sheet around the fold-out mattress. She moved to help him, and he shook his head. "No, it's okay. I've got it." Her shoulder brushed his bare arm, and he hissed in a sharp breath.

She felt her own breathing roughen at the hot look in his eyes. If she'd had any doubts about whether he wanted her, they were swept away under the intensity of that gaze.

Her hand rose, seemingly of its own volition, and she stopped it just before her fingers brushed his skin. "Jackson-"

He leaned closer, his head bending toward hers, and she licked her lips, antic.i.p.ating the kiss. Jackson froze, cleared his throat and backed away, retrieving a pillow from the leather chair. "Here. If you need another blanket, there are some in the closet in the hall. Sleep well."

Then he turned and walked out of the room.

She clutched the pillow to her chest, her heart beating far too quickly. The realization that he'd executed a chivalrous retreat brought a hint of a blush to her cheeks as she slid onto the bed and curled under the thin blanket.

Mackenzie dreamt of wide open fields and running wildly downhill, with the wind in her face and the smell of the forest surrounding her. But when she reached the bottom of the hill and tumbled onto the gra.s.s, she wasn't a cougar. Jackson rolled her over, crus.h.i.+ng the flowers beneath them as his lips lowered to hers...

Even in her sleep, she smiled.

Chapter Seven.

Jackson dodged a couple of early-morning joggers and cut across the street, deep in thought. He'd hated dropping Mackenzie off at Nick's place, especially when he knew Nick would probably sleep for several more hours, but he hadn't had a choice. He couldn't leave her by herself, and Nick's renovated side-hall Victorian cottage in the French Quarter was the only place with wards every bit as impressive as the ones at his own apartment. Besides, his only other alternative would have involved bringing her to the office with him, and he wasn't sure it was a good idea for the two of them to be together anywhere near Kat. His a.s.sistant would pick up on the s.e.xual tension between them in a heartbeat.

He wasn't sure he'd call himself a ladies' man, but he hadn't gone lonely, that much was certain. He hadn't imagined the longing looks Mackenzie had been giving him the night before, or the way her gaze heated when it lingered on him. No, there was something there, all right, an undercurrent of desire that would be next to impossible to hide from anyone with a half-decent pair of eyes, much less an empath.

And he wasn't quite ready for his coworkers to make his life a living h.e.l.l.

Still, he couldn't help thinking about the warmth of Mackenzie's skin when it had touched his the night before. He'd felt the spark, even through the cheap material of her pajama top, and he groaned silently as he approached the office. If he didn't bring his thoughts under control, Kat wouldn't need to see him with Mackenzie to know he'd spent the entire night dreaming of her.

With one last deep breath, he pushed open the door. "Morning. What have we learned?"

Alec retrieved a file from his desk and held it out. "Kat was up most of the night working her computer mojo, so I gave her the morning off. It's all in here, but the short version is that there was a Jessica Evans from South Dakota who died in a house fire with her parents in 1988. She would have been five years old at the time."