[Southern Arcana 1] Crux (19 page)

“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 hips 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 204

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monocle.” He squinted one eye and affected a very proper British accent. “Will that do, Miss Brooks?” She didn’t want to laugh. She didn’t want to find him funny, or human, or the least bit sympathetic. In a perfect world Marcus would be easy to hate, a perfect cardboard cutout of evil.
Jackson would be my dashing hero…

At least it would be easy to act as if she was warming to Marcus. She let herself laugh and give him a grudging smile.

“I’d grow a mustache if I were you.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Oh, I’m bad at that. It takes me weeks, and I just look sad in the meantime.” Marcus opened the door at the end of the hall. The room beyond was large, probably the size of Jackson’s entire apartment, though it was long rather than wide. It had been furnished as an office on one end and sitting room on the other, and offered a picturesque view of the forest through the sliding glass door on the wall opposite them.

Charles sat in a chair just outside the door, his back to the pair. “We’ll take care of the spell out here,” he said without turning around. “Come outside, children.” It took all of Mackenzie’s willpower to follow Marcus through the door. A pillow sat on the ground in front of Charles’s chair, and the older man gestured to it. “Sit, Mackenzie. Marcus, please kneel behind her. It’s possible breaking the spell will disorient her.” www.samhainpublishing.com 205

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When she didn’t move, Marcus slid his hands over her shoulders in a light, reassuring touch. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“Okay.” She sat on the pillow, strangely comforted by Marcus’s presence behind her, considering the fact that she’d spent the last month living in terror of him.

Charles rested his hands lightly on either side of Mackenzie’s head. His skin was warm and dry, and his hands trembled slightly. He drew in a deep breath, and a chill raced down her spine, raising goose bumps on her skin as she shivered.

Charles’s hands fell away. “It’s done.” Mackenzie stared at him in shock. “What?” After all the buildup, after listening to Jackson and Mahalia discuss the spell and how dangerous it was, it terrified her to realize Charles had found dissolving it no more trying than brushing away a fly. Jackson and Mahalia could do things that seemed miraculous, things she could hardly understand. Charles surpassed them,
eclipsed
them.

It wasn’t surprising Charles thought of himself as a god.

Fear filled her, honest horror as she realized for the first time just how out of her league she was.

It must have showed on her face. Charles smiled slightly.

“It’s done. Ms. Tate’s attempts to bolster the spell’s effects were quite deft, though she lacked the power to truly finish 206

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what she started. Because of the framework she laid, I was able to remove the original spell. Right now I’m holding a temporary spell on you myself.”

“Why?”

“Because the minute I let go, you’re going to shift forms.” Charles’s voice was gentle. “You don’t want that to happen while you’re dressed.”

Which meant they expected her to strip naked in front of them.

Behind her, Marcus cleared his throat. “Would it make you feel better if I went first? Shifted, I mean?” Mackenzie gathered her courage and turned to face him.

“Yes. Please.”

Marcus nodded and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a smooth, muscled chest. He reached for his belt as he spoke. “Have you even seen this happen before? I mean, are you going to be all right?”

“Steven showed me yesterday.” She averted her eyes.

That peculiar yearning was back, the one that came from somewhere deep inside and didn’t feel remotely human.

“I see.” He shed his shoes and socks, and his cheeks reddened just a bit as he unfastened his pants. “Sorry. The circumstances are—”

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looked over her shoulder, he had risen and turned his back to them. “Take off your clothing, Mackenzie. Please.” Feeling silly and exposed, Mackenzie waited until Marcus had turned away again before stripping her shirt off and dropping it to the ground. Her pants and undergarments followed, leaving her shivering slightly even in the warm August air.

Marcus glanced at her over his shoulder. “Ready?” She was terrified. “Is there any way to be ready?”

“No.” It was Charles’s voice, right behind her. She felt his hand brush against the back of her head, and the world tumbled into chaos.

Arousal rose in her suddenly, a thousand times stronger than the lust that had gripped her in the car with Jackson, and she faintly heard Charles say, “Catch her, Marcus.” Warm arms slid around her. Her entire body stiffened, her back arching painfully. An enormous pressure began to build inside her, slowly, inexorably, each second becoming more and more unbearable.

The scents assaulted her first, Marcus’s soap and aftershave, and underneath that something else, something tantalizing that smelled of musk and cat. She could smell the flowers, the freshly cut grass, the needles on the pines rising in front of them.

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Then the sounds came and Mackenzie cried out, clamping her hands over her ears as the volume of the entire world kicked up several notches. Marcus’s heart beat strongly, and his breathing rasped so loudly her ears hurt. She could hear Charles’s heart pound too, even though he stood several feet away. The gentle breeze fluttering the leaves on the trees sounded like a screaming wind.

Mackenzie shuddered against Marcus, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensation, and he lowered them both to the grass. The desire faded, replaced by a hunger which in turn faded to predatory rage. Charles’s rapid heartbeat spoke of fear or excitement, and she wanted to turn on him, to stalk him.

She started to pull away from Marcus to do just that when another spasm shook her and the intense pressure inside her twisted into excruciating pain. The world around her shimmered, turned dark, and she took a breath to scream—

But something inside her broke and she collapsed to the ground, too confused by the sudden peace to wonder why Marcus had let go. She closed her eyes and took slow, steady breaths as she listened to the sounds around her with her cheek pressed against the grass.

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opened her eyes, she wouldn’t be looking at the world as a human, but as a cougar.

It should have been terrifying.

It wasn’t.

Marcus knelt next to her. His gaze met hers but he didn’t speak. Instead he underwent the same shimmering transformation Steven had in Mahalia’s backyard. He didn’t approach, just crouched into a sitting position and watched her carefully.

With her mind still human, still her own, Mackenzie thought it would be difficult to physically adjust to the change.

She rose to her feet slowly, expecting awkwardness, and was pleasantly surprised to find that her new body felt like the most natural thing in the world. She stretched her legs slowly, feeling the power in her muscles, and turned to look at Charles.

He watched her, his eyes alight with satisfaction. He came a step closer and a snarl rumbled out of her, an instinctive reaction she couldn’t control…and didn’t want to. She braced her hind feet against the grass and crouched, preparing herself to pounce on him.

She didn’t get the chance. Marcus nipped her flank and bumped his shoulder against hers, throwing her off-balance.

He made a noise that sounded like a cross between a hiss and a 210

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whistle, and Mackenzie was surprised to realize she knew exactly what he meant.

No.

He was warning her away from Charles.

Charles took the question of whether she’d heed the warning away from her when he stepped back inside and closed the door quietly. Deprived of the object of her anger, Mackenzie turned again and studied the back yard from her new perspective.

The neatly kept lawn extended twenty feet behind the house before giving way to a hundred yards of wild meadow that led to the forest beyond. The sudden urge to explore gripped her. She needed to run, like she had in her dreams.

She gave Marcus an expectant look.

This time, he made a chuckling sound and bounded across the grass in what seemed like an instant. When he dove through the unkempt grasses of the meadow, Mackenzie followed, forgetting about everything except how good it felt to run.

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Jackson tapped his foot on the carpeted floor of John Peyton’s jet and sighed. They’d already switched planes, and had been assured the chairman and the Seer would be joining them shortly.

Nick sat next to him, the thin wires of a pair of earphones trailing to the MP3 player in her lap. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed oblivious to his fidgeting until her hand shot out with preternatural speed and clamped on his knee.

“Jackson, if you don’t tone down the nervous energy, I will be forced to kill you. And I like you.” She cracked open an eye and peered at him. “So don’t make me do it.” He met her warning with a disgusted groan. “What the hell is taking so long?”

She tugged the wires free and wrapped them around her music player. “Michelle isn’t allowed to leave the house until the last possible moment.”

“The last p…” Jackson gritted his teeth. “Your father and sister should have been waiting on this damned plane so we could leave as soon as we landed.”

Crux

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Preaching to the converted, Jackson. Save it for the Conclave’s complaint box, huh?” Before he could respond, the small door at the front of the jet opened. The man who came through first was imposing, probably several inches taller than Jackson’s own respectable height and a good deal wider through the shoulders. His eyes flickered over the cabin, taking in everyone and everything inside it, and he stepped to one side of the wide center aisle.

He exuded a menacing presence that rivaled Alec on a bad day.

When she came through the door next, Nick’s sister looked almost childlike in comparison. Physically, she and Nick were almost identical, but Michelle was dressed in a pristine white blouse and modest black skirt, with her hair gathered in a perfect knot at the back of her head. Jackson couldn’t imagine Nick being caught dead in anything like it.

Michelle stepped down the aisle, and Jackson got a taste of the carefully controlled power radiating from her as an almost tangible heat. He’d met some powerful people in his day, some of them downright scary, but none had felt this strong. Being within ten feet of Michelle felt like standing too close to a live wire.

It made his skin crawl.

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Nick shot out of her seat. “Micky!” She pushed past the tall man, whom Jackson assumed was Michelle’s bodyguard, and threw her arms around her sister.

Michelle’s brilliant smile lit her face. Alec fidgeted uncomfortably as the sisters embraced, but, when Jackson followed Alec’s gaze, he found himself looking past Michelle to the man who had boarded the plane after her.

John Wesley Peyton was taller than Jackson had imagined, and even more intimidating than the bodyguard. His glanced around, his sharp eyes taking in everything in the jet’s cabin, and he smoothed his silvered hair with one hand, a gesture that jarred Jackson, since he’d seen Nick do it hundreds of times.

It was a shocking reminder that, though she lived like a bohemian in the French Quarter, Nick had grown up in this world of private jets and business executives built like professional wrestlers. He watched as she stepped past Michelle to hug her father. She barely reached his shoulder and was dwarfed by his bulk. Peyton may have been trying to move the wolves away from using physical challenges to settle disagreements, but it obviously wasn’t because he couldn’t win them. The man was huge.

John released Nick and smiled at Alec. “Alexander. Nice to see you again.”

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“John.” Alec’s voice had lost its usual lazy, aggressive edge. Though Jackson wouldn’t have called his partner’s demeanor submissive, it was close to wary. Alec faced the world with a domineering confidence that set most people’s teeth on edge, and seeing him defer to someone felt surreal.

The Alpha’s gaze fell on Jackson, and the politician’s smile returned. “You must be Holt.” He offered his hand. “I heard your father might come out of retirement to run for one of the Senate seats down in Georgia next year. Is that true?” Jackson rose and shook his hand firmly. “Not sure if Mama will let him, sir. But he’s thinking about it.”

“Excellent. Have you met Michelle?”