Shifters Unbound [5] Tiger Magic (29 page)

No sound. A light breeze made the shade tap at the window, and far away a Shifter wolf howled. Here, all was silence.

Carly remembered their night in this bed, the two of them learning the wonder of each other’s bodies. Her child had been conceived then.

She thought about Tiger’s hard, male beauty, the way his eyes went dark when he was ready to come, how he held her tenderly, just stopping himself from giving her raw, rough sex.

The feeling of him inside her, deep and tight, with Carly rocking on him, then him driving into her, had been momentous. In all her life, Carly had never experienced anything like it.

In the night, they’d touched, kissed, licked, tasted. He’d loved her slowly, first on top of her. Then they’d rolled onto their sides, Carly’s leg around his hip, while Tiger eased inside her again. He’d liked that position, where he could smooth back her hair, kiss her forehead, slide his hand down to cup her breast.

Now the beautiful man lay immobile, almost unrecognizable. He must be in terrible pain.

“I wish you weren’t hurt so bad,” Carly said. “I’m scared.”

The word broke on a sob. One tear dropped and touched his burned skin.

Tiger made a small noise, a grunt or a sigh. Carly leaned forward, half-afraid, half-hopeful, but the sound wasn’t repeated.

“You told me that a mate’s touch healed.” Carly held her fingertips above his face. “But I’m afraid to touch you now.” She let her finger brush the unburned part of his lips, the lightest stroke. “So I’ll just tell you that I’ve decided I’m definitely your mate.”

No response. Carly touched the corner of his mouth again, marveling that the unburned part of his lips could be warm and soft despite his terrible hurts. “Mate of my heart,” she whispered.

She lay down beside him again, pulling a sheet over herself, careful not to let the fabric touch him. Carly didn’t think she’d sleep, but her exhaustion and worry caught up to her, and she drifted off.

* * *

C
rosby slid in through the open window, landed noiselessly on the floor, and had his target in visual. These bungalows were too easy to break into, windows in the upper floors in reach from the porch roofs, handholds galore. Scouting this house the last time had made this entry even easier.

Without changing position, Crosby eased his gun out of its holster.

The woman was on the bed with the Shifter, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t the target. Crosby would finish this mission, return to camp, report in, and either sleep or carry on with his next assignment.

He crept to the bed, quietly eased a pillow from the foot of it to use as a silencer, put the pillow over Tiger’s chest, and started to squeeze the trigger.

His wristbone shattered as a hugely strong hand closed around it, the gun twisting away to shoot the wall. The pillow fell and the gun went off loudly.

The woman, Carly, screamed and shot out of bed. What held Crosby’s wrist was the tiger, half-burned, looking more like a corpse than a human. One of his eyes was white and unseeing, the other yellow with rage.

The tiger Shifter spoke, his voice raw and broken. “Don’t. Hurt. My mate.”

Crosby tried to jerk away, and agony shocked through him. He couldn’t draw breath to explain that no, he wasn’t here to hurt the woman. Only the tiger.

The door slammed open, nearly tearing off its hinges, and the Shifter called Liam came in. Crosby remembered what Liam had said about catching Crosby in Shiftertown again, and he felt fear. Crosby never felt fear. This was new.

“Tiger,” the woman was saying, but not in alarm. In surprise, probably because the half-dead tiger was still alive.

Liam closed his hand around the back of Crosby’s neck. Crosby still held his Glock, but he couldn’t turn it or fire it, because his fingers didn’t work.

Liam twisted the gun from Crosby’s inert hand. “Tiger, let him go. I’ll take care of this.”

“Who the hell
is
he?” Carly shouted at Liam. “How did he get in?”

Crosby felt disgust. If any woman had snapped a demand like that at Crosby, he’d backhand her. Shifters really should control their women better.

“He’s more determined than I thought,” Liam said grimly. “Tiger, I said let him go. You need to save your strength.”

The tiger’s fury didn’t abate, but he opened his hand and released Crosby’s wrist. Without the clamp of the tiger’s fingers, Crosby’s wrist went slack, and the broken bones shot white-hot pain through him.

“You’re awake,” Carly said to the tiger, joy in her voice. “Moving. Stronger.”

Tiger looked at her, then the light of rage left his eyes, and he fell back to the bed. “The touch of a mate,” he said, then his eyes closed.

Carly shot Crosby a look of fury. “Bastard. If you’ve made him worse . . .”

Stupid bitch
. “My orders are to kill him,” Crosby said. “He’s dying anyway.”

“Then why try to kill him?” Carly snapped.

“A good question,” Liam said, his grip strengthening on Crosby’s neck. “Do you know the answer?”

Crosby did, because the LTC had told him. “We have enough DNA samples. The tiger Shifter is useless now. He needs to die and be taken back to camp for cremation. He can’t be allowed to fall into enemy hands.” No reason to keep it a secret. The LTC hadn’t said the info was classified.

Liam shook him a little. “And by enemy hands, you mean . . . ?”

“Anyone not Lieutenant Colonel Sheldon,” said a new voice. Captain Walker Danielson, the insubordinate, disrespectful asshole, entered the room. Not that Crosby would ever call anyone of senior rank that out loud.

“Anyone who might get the glory for learning what Tiger is and what he can do,” the captain continued.

“No, sir,” Crosby said crisply. “Enemy intelligence. Enemy armies. Enemy governments.”

“Them too,” the captain answered in the tone that always sounded like he was making fun of Crosby. Crosby hated that.

“The tiger can’t fall into hostile hands,” Crosby repeated.

“That’s why I’m here,” Walker said. “Dismissed, Sergeant.”

“Respectfully, sir, my orders are from the LTC. Above your head, sir.”

Walker shrugged and addressed Liam. “It’s your house. Escort him out. I don’t want to know what you do.”

“Aye, and I wasn’t going to tell you.” Liam turned Crosby and marched him out the door, the hand around Crosby’s neck immovable.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

L
iam took Crosby down the stairs, out of the house, and along the yards behind the Shifters’ houses. No other Shifters were in sight, windows and doors closed up tight.

Liam walked Crosby to a stand of trees that formed a sort of ring. A mist floated there, and only there, but Crosby was interested solely in the pain in his wrist and in planning how to get away from Liam to complete his mission. He couldn’t return to Sheldon to confess a failure.

A second Shifter creature emerged, walking through the mists. Dylan, Liam’s father. Dylan was more problematic. He was older and more experienced than his son, and his eyes told Crosby he’d do what it took to stop him.

“I told you before, son,” Dylan said to Liam. “You can’t kill him. You have too many others depending on you.”

“I know.” Liam squeezed Crosby’s neck, fingers biting down with terrible strength. “But maybe we can make an exception this once?”

“No.”

More pressure on Crosby’s neck. At any moment, a vertebra would burst. “You know that this asshole started the fire.”

Dylan gave Liam a nod. “Yes.”

“Then you know why I need to kill the gobshite.” Liam’s voice was low, not carrying, but fierce, bearing a note of rage Crosby hadn’t heard from him before.

Dylan turned his gaze to Crosby. “What was your purpose?”

Liam snarled. “Does it matter?”

“I want to know.” Dylan fixed Crosby with a steady stare, his eyes as cold as icebergs. “Speak.”

Crosby shrugged the best he could. “I was told to smoke out the tiger Shifter. My commander suspected he was hanging around the area. He said if we put his woman in danger, he’d come.” Crosby felt a bit smug. “He was right.”

“But there were cubs in the community center,” Dylan said in his chill voice. “Children. Babies.”

“Not children,” Crosby corrected him. Crosby would never hurt a kid, or a female, unless they deserved it. “They were only Shifter get, the woman a Shifter whore.”

One of Crosby’s vertebrae crackled this time. “You’re dying for that,” Liam said. “Sorry, Dad.”

“No.” Dylan’s word was quiet but rang with authority.

Father and son studied each other for a long time. Finally Liam sighed and released Crosby’s neck. Crosby’s knees buckled, but he was pulled upright by the equally strong hand of Dylan.

“All right.” Liam looked at his father again, then without further word, he turned his back and walked away.

Mists from the trees swirled around Crosby and Dylan, cutting off Liam, cutting off Shiftertown.

“You won’t die for what you just said,” Dylan said in a mild tone. “Not for ignorant words.”

Crosby started to relax. If Dylan was adamant about keeping him alive, then Crosby might be able to get away, get back into the house, and somehow kill the tiger, and then worry about escaping. The mission came first.

Dylan’s hand clamped down on Crosby’s neck, harder than Liam’s had. Dylan’s mouth came close to Crosby’s ear. “You’ll die for nearly killing our cubs. For that, may the Goddess help you.” He turned his head and stared straight into the mists. “Fionn!”

The mists thickened, and a slit of light about ten feet high snapped open. A tall man, with limbs so long they looked as though they’d been stretched, appeared in the opening. The man was dressed like an old-fashioned warrior, with long white braids, chain mail, leather, and furs.

“Come,” he said.

Dylan shoved Crosby through the slit and followed.

The air became clammy and damp, and also brighter, as though the sun had suddenly risen. The ground was spongy underfoot, no more Texas dryness.

Crosby knew he was in a different place, more like the jungles of Central America, but cold. What the fuck? The slit in the air disappeared. No way back, no more Austin, no more Shiftertown.

Dylan spun Crosby to face him. Dylan’s eyes had gone white, the hand holding Crosby changing to the paws of a huge cat.

“I’m trying to teach my son mercy and restraint,” Dylan said to Crosby, his voice guttural. “Because I don’t have any myself.”

“There’s no law against vengeance here,” the tall man said in a tone of satisfaction. “In fact, it’s required.”

“For the cubs,” Dylan said, and finally Crosby thought to give in to his fear.

He beheld the nightmare that was the truth of Dylan, and that was the last thing he ever saw.

* * *

T
iger didn’t move again or speak for the rest of the night. Carly slept fitfully, even after reassurances that Crosby had been dealt with. Having a gun go off next to her when she’d been sound asleep had not been a happy experience.

Morning light streamed through the windows, touching Tiger’s face with gentle fingers. The air was cooler now as August waned toward September. The pressing heat of summer had broken.

Carly thought Tiger looked better. The unburned part of his face was flushed instead of deathly pale, and his scalp where his hair had burned was pink instead of black.

Tiger opened his eyes. Maybe the rosy hue of sunrise made his hurt eye look a little clearer—golden instead of white.

“Tiger?” Carly whispered.

Tiger turned his his head the tiniest bit. His face drew down, the movement painful. “Carly.” His voice was barely audible, a rasp.

“I’m here.”

“Touch me.”

Carly blinked, clenching her hand. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Touch . . . me.” He exhaled the last word, his eyes closing again.

Carly swallowed and brushed her fingertips over the clear part of his face. As it had been last night, the unburned part of his lips was satin smooth, his face smooth too, every whisker singed away.

She ran her hand down his neck, finding the unhurt patches, across his shoulder and down the slice of chest that was firm flesh. Back to his face again, then she slowly, carefully bent over him and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Carly,” he whispered. Was his voice stronger? “Mate of my heart.”

“Yes.” Carly kissed him again. “You said we had a mate bond. I believe you now.” She put her hand to her chest. “I feel it. I swear I do.”

Tiger closed his raw-red fingers around hers and guided her hand to a space between her chest and his. “There.”

Carly thought she felt something, a faint tingle that moved from her hand up her arm to warm her behind her breastbone.

“Is that the mate bond?”

Tiger gave her a slow nod, his eyes warming. He moved his hand and hers together over her abdomen. “My cub.
Our
cub. Another bond.”

“I can’t wait to meet him.” Carly said, carefully caressing his fingers. “Or her.”

“The bonds heal me,” Tiger whispered. “Magic.”

Carly smiled. “There’s no such thing.”

“Shifters have Fae magic. Fionn said I had none, but there is something. I see the magic, the bonds, the threads.” He touched his own eyes, his voice gaining a little strength as he spoke. “I can see things in the dark. Know where they are. I saw Olaf.”

“When you went back into the building, I thought both of you would be dead.” She swallowed on the last words, the remembered dread filling her throat.

“I saw him,” Tiger said. “When I closed my eyes, my brain told me where he was. And he was—in the exact spot.”

“Your brain told you,” Carly repeated. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. But I can see things that are true, even when others can’t.”

“Like when you knew my sister was pregnant,” Carly said slowly. “And when you knew I was, when it had been only a day.”

Tiger gave her another nod. “I saw it, the life inside you, and knew we had created it. And the day I first met you, you standing on the side of the road, I saw the mate bond. I knew you for my mate, and my world changed.”

Carly gave him a little smile. “So you kept telling me.”

“I saw what was there. Before it was clear to anyone else.” Tiger lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “That is my magic.”

“But no one ever believes you. Not even me. What good does it do you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tiger said. “
I
know.”

No, it didn’t matter. Tiger was always proved right in the end. As much as the other Shifters thought him frightening, ignorant of Shifter ways, and not one of them, Tiger was . . . Tiger. He was unique, amazing, smarter than anyone would ever understand.

“All right, then, hotshot,” Carly said. “Why don’t you know your own name?”

Tiger let out a breath. “Maybe I do know it. Maybe I’ve known all this time.”

“Tigger,”
Carly said, straight-faced.

Tiger rumbled a laugh. “I’d like it.”

“So, not Rory?”

“What is your saying?
Not only no, but 
. . .”

“All right, all right.” Carly waved her hands. “What is it, then?”

Tiger touched Carly’s face, and that touch was definitely stronger. “You have always called me Tiger. And you are my mate. So . . . that is my name.”

Carly gave a soft laugh. “Wait, you want to go the rest your life being called
Tiger
? It will look weird on the birth certificate. Mother, Carly Randal. Father, Tiger.”

“Father. That will be the best name. Or Dad.”

Carly caught her breath. She pictured a cute kid, like Jordan or Olaf, looking up at Tiger with his same golden eyes, and saying “Daddy.” She wanted to cry.

“Mate of my heart,” Tiger said, tugging her closer. “Come here and kiss me.”

Carly leaned to him and kissed the corner of his lips again, trying to be careful.

Tiger slid his good arm around her neck and pulled her down for a true and thorough kiss. Nothing wrong with his mouth.

When he eased away, Carly looked down into the face that she loved, no matter what. Tiger’s left eye was definitely clearer, the golden iris coming into view. Both eyes fixed on Carly, strength returning.

“The touch of a mate,” Tiger said. “Heals. Which means you need to keep kissing me.”

Carly laughed as he pulled her back down, then she gave herself over to healing him the only way she knew how.

* * *

T
iger did mend, inside and out, but it took days, and it was painful. But Andrea confirmed that though Tiger had been as near to death as anyone could get, his thread of life barely intact, he would make it.

Andrea came over many times in the next few days, she and Sean lending healing strength through her gift and the Guardian’s sword. At least Tiger didn’t have to worry about seeing the big sword coming toward his heart to send him to the afterlife. Not yet.

One morning about a week later, Tiger opened his eyes to find Carly at his side. She’d insisted on sleeping with him every night, and she slept now, her head on one hand, her sleek hair in fine strands on the pillow.

Tiger immediately knew he was well. His skin was whole—the pain that lingered was like the remnants of a sunburn. He’d gotten his first sunburn this spring, a new and interesting sensation.

Tiger had slept without covers, but a thin sheet hugged Carly’s breasts, her dusky areolas showing through the pale cloth. Her hip rose in a sweet curve, legs stretched out and touching Tiger’s.

Tiger gently pushed Carly onto her back, peeling the sheet from her and replacing its drape with his body. His ready cock nudged between her legs.

Carly stirred, woke, smiled. “Hey there. I guess you’re feeling better.”

Tiger wanted to tell her he loved her, that he loved waking up next to her, that he was grateful beyond words for what she’d done for him, but his throat closed up, and he couldn’t speak. His need climbed, the mating frenzy tapping him.

Carly stretched, saying “Hmm,” then she brought her arms around him. “I’ve missed you.”

That, Tiger could respond to. His voice rasped. “I missed you every day, every hour, every second.”

“Then why did you go? What were you doing all this time? I was going crazy without you.”

Tiger’s fears, which had been dulled by pain, rose again. “I wanted you to be safe. So that if they came for me, they wouldn’t hurt you. But I couldn’t stay away. I had to protect you, to watch over you.”

“That
was
you in my house, saving me and bandaging me up.” Carly touched her face, where the bruises had been. “And what was with stealing my sofa cushion? Which I found in my yard, unsalvageable.”

“The man Crosby took it,” Tiger said. “He dropped it when he ran.”

“He broke into my house to steal a cushion. What a weirdo.”

“Connor said he broke in here too, stealing my shirts. He was looking for something that might have traces of my DNA, I’m thinking.”

“And you slept on my sofa that one time. How could he have known that? Unless . . .”

“He was spying through the window. I sensed Walker that night, but . . .” Tiger thought about it. If Crosby had been outside Carly’s living room window, he’d have known. “He could have been spying far away, if he was looking for an opportunity to shoot me. Some rifles have good scopes.”

Carly’s amusement died. “And then he tried to kill you.” Tiger had come very close to death that night Crosby had snuck in, but whatever had been bred into him had made him wake up, alert, in time to stop the shot.

Carly wrapped her arms around him. “I hate how close to losing you I came.”