[Southern Arcana 1] Crux (35 page)

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“They always smell like death. Really
clean
death.”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve said today, Peyton, and that’s saying something.”

“Shut
up
. You know what I mean. Death and disinfectant.”

“Yeah, well, the place is making my skin crawl, and the smell is the least of it.”

If Jackson didn’t open his eyes, or at least his mouth, he’d have to listen to them for hours. “For the love of God. You both hate hospitals. We get it.”

By the time he lifted his scratchy eyelids, Nick was by his side, her hand closed around his. “Jackson Holt, you scared the living Christ out of me. Out of all of us.” Hair tickled at his other hand, and he turned his head just enough to see Mackenzie slumped over the bed, her cheek on the mattress and her fingers curled just short of his.

Alec stood at the end of the bed, a tired but relieved smile on his face. He nodded to Mackenzie’s sleeping form. “I
Moira Rogers

moved her into a more comfortable position once, but she woke up, said something rude and went right back to that.” Something inside him soothed, a tension he hadn’t realized he carried. “Is she okay, or does she need to be in a bed too?”

Nick smiled gently. “She’s fine. Scrapes and a bite in her thigh. The scrapes are almost healed.”

“Good.” He glanced at Alec. “I bled in your car, didn’t I?”

“A whole hell of a lot. We’ll add that to the list of things I’m going to kick your ass for when you’re better.”

“Just remember I saved your life,” Jackson reminded him.

“All of you.” That alone was worth every second of terror and pain.

Nick thumped him. “Hey, medical miracle. They’ve got more tests to run on you, since they can’t seem to find the bullet that
should
be lodged in your leg. But we’re going to get you out of here as soon as possible, okay?”

“Jackson?” Mackenzie lifted her head and blinked at him from behind the tangled fall of her hair. She looked exhausted and bleary, with several fading scratches on her cheek and puffy red eyes. When she saw he was awake, though, her smile lit her face.

He raised his hand to her cheek. “Kenzie. The hero of the hour.”

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Crux

“I think we can share the honor.” She kissed his palm softly. “You scared me half to death when you passed out in the car.”

“Sorry.” He pulled his other hand free of Nick’s and brushed Mackenzie’s hair back. “I love you. I forgot to say that before we almost got ourselves killed.” Her hand curled around his, and he swore he saw tears in her bright blue eyes as her trembling smile widened. “I like it better this way. I can say that I love you too, and it doesn’t feel like goodbye.”

The door slammed, and Jackson grinned, but he didn’t pull his gaze away from hers. “Nick and Alec just hauled ass out of here, didn’t they?”

“Do you really blame them?” She rose unsteadily and leaned over to kiss him. “If you were sturdier, I’d climb into bed with you.”

“If I had more blood left, I’d let you.” A tear rolled off her cheek and splashed on his pillow. “Shh. You’re free now.

You don’t have to run. You could go back home.” The words left a bitter taste on his tongue, but he forced them out anyway. “You don’t have to stay.”

Mackenzie laughed and shook her head. “I’ll go back to South Dakota, but only when you’re healthy enough to go with me. Maybe you can use your investigative skills to help me if my scummy landlord has taken all my stuff because I www.samhainpublishing.com 387

Moira Rogers

missed paying rent. Though the only things I really want are my wardrobe and my CD collection and a few pictures.” Relief made him weak. “If we can’t get it back, we’ll replace it all.” He wrapped a lock of her hair around his fingers and winked. “You’ll have to meet Mama.”

“Oh Jesus.” She dropped her forehead to his, and her hair fell around them in a curtain that smelled faintly of the herbs he’d used to cast the spell. “This is crazy. I don’t even know your middle name.”

“Sure you do. It’s Jackson.”

Her head popped up and she gave him a wild-eyed look.

“So I don’t know your
first
name? That’s not helping.”

“It’s Andrew,” he told her softly. “Andrew Jackson Holt.” He waited for it to sink in before flashing her a sheepish smile.

“Mama’s a Southern belle, darlin’. A real Georgia peach.”

“I guess so.” Her smile returned. “I suppose I’ll have to meet her, since I’m not planning on letting her son out of my sight again for a couple months.”

“Good.” After the last few days, holing up in his apartment with takeout menus and rented DVDs sounded like heaven. “It isn’t going to be easy.”

“What isn’t?”

“Life with me.” He shifted uncomfortably and kissed her again. “I wish I could say the last week of my life has been a unique experience, but sometimes things get dangerous.” 388

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She studied him in silence long enough to make him nervous. Then her teeth caught her lower lip, and she tilted her head. “Guess it’s a good thing your new girlfriend has super powers.”

Jackson laughed, but his amusement faded as he remembered Charles’s words. “We need to talk to Marcus.

Talbot said something about there being another kid like you two. A boy.”

“I think I heard.” She settled on the edge of the bed, one hand still wrapped around his. “But we can worry about it later. When you’re better.”

He relaxed against the thin pillow and scratchy sheets. For the first time since he’d met Mackenzie, he could envision spending his days with her with no life-or-death interruptions or ticking clock. “Maybe Nick’ll give you the next couple of months off.”

Mackenzie lifted his hand and kissed his fingers. “Nick might have to find a new bartender. I’m feeling inspired to reach for my dreams, and my dreams don’t involve mixing drinks. Not professionally, anyway.”

His heart thumped. “She’ll get over it, especially when she sees how happy you are.”

“I will be,” she whispered, and the look in her eyes promised him a future full of passion and love and laughter. “I absolutely will be.”

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Jackson shifted his weight and leaned heavily on his cane.

“Did you bring it?”

Nick held a brown paper bag aloft. “Exactly what Mahalia told me to get. Forgot the glasses, though.” He snorted. “I don’t think any of us have cooties, Nicky.” Mahalia dropped a hand on Mackenzie’s shoulder and squeezed. “Even if we do, the tequila will make short work of

’em.”

Mackenzie covered Mahalia’s hand with her own. In the weeks since Charles’s death, Jackson’s mentor had gone out of her way to make her feel welcome, not just as a member of the odd group of supernaturals who’d made her bar a second home, but as an addition to Jackson’s life.

Even so, guilt filled Mackenzie as she stared at the small, cleanly chiseled headstone. The one thing Mahalia had refused to discuss was Steven’s death, and she didn’t know how the older woman would come to terms with the part Mackenzie had played in it.
It was my fault. My mistake.

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Nick crumpled the bag, shoved it at Alec and twisted the cap from the bottle in her hand. “Who wants to go first?” Mahalia squinted against the afternoon sunlight. “That would be me.”

Instead of speaking, she held the bottle and stared at the grave in silence. Finally, she smiled faintly. “Damn near thirty years, wasn’t it? Rest well, Steven.” With that, she tilted back the bottle and gulped down several swallows. She coughed as she shoved it at Mackenzie. “I didn’t remember that stuff being so vile.”

Mackenzie cradled the bottle between her hands and tried to speak around the lump in her throat. “I wish I’d had more time—” Her eyes burned and she squeezed them shut. “Thank you.” She tried not to choke on the expensive liquor as it burned its way down her throat.

Jackson accepted the tequila with a lopsided grin. “You did it, Steven. You stopped it.” He drank and waved the bottle at Nick.

She sipped in silence and held it out to Alec, who shook his head. “Someone’s got to drive you lushes back home.” Mackenzie slipped her arm around Jackson’s waist, silently urging him to lean on her. “Jackson needs to get back to the car soon. He shouldn’t be walking so much on his leg.”

“Don’t fuss,” he whispered against the top of her head.

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Moira Rogers

Mahalia opened her bag and pulled out a worn, leather-bound book. “This was in Steven’s things.” She held it out to Mackenzie. “It’s Zacharias Nelson’s journal. It looks like he followed Charles’s plans pretty closely, but there’s nothing in there about the second boy. He mentioned your mother, though.”

Mackenzie’s hand shook as she reached out. “Did he think—” The words caught in her throat, drowned in a sudden wave of hope. A week ago she might have forced the hope back, but a week ago she hadn’t believed in magic and miracles. “Could she still be alive?”

“Old Zach thought so. Steven talked to me about it before…” She squinted and glanced away. “He never put much stock in it before you showed up, alive and well.” Mackenzie clutched the book to her chest and tightened her arm around Jackson’s waist. “Then I guess I’ll just have to look.”

He hummed his agreement. “Good thing you’re dating a private investigator.”

She shushed him with a soft noise and met Mahalia’s gaze again. “I still don’t feel right about the will. Are you sure you won’t reconsider the arrangements?”

“Steven left me everything I wanted, honey,” she murmured with a shake of her head. “He wanted you to have the rest of his estate. So you could make a life for yourself.” 392

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He’d left her a small fortune, enough to be self-sufficient while she found her feet. Enough to start her own dance school if she wanted, and to realize all the dreams that had been so out of reach only a few months ago.

She made sure Jackson was steady enough to stand on his own and reached out to take the bottle of tequila from Nick.

The second gulp burned her throat just as much, but at least she could blame her tears on the alcohol as she stepped forward and upended the bottle. Amber liquid splashed onto the grave, and she cleared her throat as she righted the bottle.

“Rest well,” she whispered, echoing Mahalia’s words.

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About the Author

How do you make a Moira Rogers? Take a former forensic science and nursing student obsessed with paranormal romance and add a computer programmer with a passion for gritty urban fantasy. To learn more about this romance-writing, crime-fighting duo, visit their webpage at

www.moirarogers.com, or drop them
an email at

[email protected]. (Discla
imer: crime-fighting abilities may appear only in the aforementioned fevered imaginations.)

Look for these titles by Moira Rogers

Now Available:

Cry Sanctuary

Coming Soon:

Sanctuary Lost

He is tired of fighting. She has nowhere to run.

Cry Sanctuary

© 2008 Moira Rogers

Red Rock Pass Series, Book 1

Keith Winston is tired of fighting. The war between werewolves and wizards rages on in Europe, but he’s come home to Red Rock, Montana in hopes of finding a bit of peace. Instead he finds more strife as he struggles against the pack’s dictates that he resume his place as the alpha’s right-hand man.

When he rescues a new wolf on the run, he knows his instant attraction to her could cause trouble. What he doesn’t expect is to find himself embroiled in another battle that goes against all his instincts—and his heart.

Abigail Adler learned about the existence of werewolves only when she became one. With her life threatened by a corrupt alpha, she flees to the only sanctuary she knows: Red Rock. While she’s grateful for the pack’s protection, she chafes under its unbreakable rules of conduct—except when it comes to submitting to the passion Keith stirs in her.

Then her tormentor kidnaps her sister in an attempt to lure her out of hiding. To save her, Abby and Keith must be willing to do the very thing that could get them all killed—

break all of the rules.

Warning: Hot werewolf sex, violence, explosions, and a
heroine wielding a makeshift implement of destruction.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Cry Sanctuary:

“Oh, God.” Abby tried not to whimper, but the sound escaped her anyway. The animal inside surged forward again, ready—
desperate
—to be claimed, and she rose from the table, almost knocking her chair over. For a moment, she didn’t know what to do. Then she took a deep breath and walked from the tiny kitchenette to Keith’s bed.

She gathered every bit of courage she had and turned her back to him. “Can you unzip me? I can’t reach.” Even though she heard him move, feeling his hands slide around her waist was a shock. Strong fingers stroked across her stomach before moving up to cup her breasts, and he drew her back against him. “When I get around to it.” Fire streaked through her. Abby rocked back, whimpering again when she felt the hardness of his cock press against her ass. “Isn’t that the dangerous part?” she asked on a moan.

“Getting me so excited?”

“Maybe for someone else.” His voice was cocky, almost arrogant. He pinched her nipples and rocked against her ass at the same time, his voice low and sensual. “But I can handle you no matter how excited you get, and it’s good practice for you.”

She cried out and covered his hands with hers, wishing the layers of cloth between his fingers and her breasts were gone. “Practice for what?” For going insane? For dying of frustration?

His breath heated the sensitive skin of her neck, and he bit her earlobe and tugged at her nipples. “For losing control without
losing
control. I can show you how.” Abby shuddered and batted his hands away. She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. The heels she wore afforded her easy reach of his mouth, and she bit his lip.