Wild Things (Shifters Unbound #7.75)

by Jennifer Ashley

  “Calm yourself,” the older Shifter said irritably. “Could you have tried to broadcast any louder that you’re Shifter? A long way from home too?” He flicked his hand at Mason’s neck where his Collar now peeped over his half-unzipped jacket.

  Mason’s gaze went to the other man’s neck, which had no Collar at all. “Rogue,” he said with a snarl.

  “No, not a rogue,” the Shifter said in a low voice. “My dad and I just didn’t feel like getting rounded up twenty years ago. I’m Ezra. Who are you?”

  “Mason,” Mason said between his teeth. “From Austin.”

  “Ah.” Ezra nodded as though something made sense. “She’s human.” He jerked his chin at Jazz.

  “Yes, I am,” Jazz said around Mason. “And standing right here. I’m Jasmine. From New Orleans.”

  “Moncrieff sent me,” Ezra said, looking at her with a stare as piercing as Mason’s.

  “Who’s Moncrieff?” Jazz asked, as Mason seemed unable to speak.

  Ezra frowned. “He said you were looking for him. I was supposed to find you and give you directions.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?” Jazz squirmed around Mason, who stood like a monolith. “How did he know we were coming?”

  Ezra shook his head. “No idea. He just said that a Lupine and a pretty human woman with black hair and flowers on her arm would be up here sooner or later, and would probably land at the old airstrip. So I’ve been hanging out in bars waiting for you to show up instead of being comfortable at home.”

  Mason drew a breath, and when he spoke, his voice was forced. “And we thank you. So, where is he?”

  The directions were complicated. Ezra instructed them to drive down the highway that led out of town to a turnoff, four miles along that road to the west, to another turnoff, then another tiny road when they reached the lake, then they had to walk a mile after that. GPS, Ezra said, wasn’t reliable to find it, so Jazz wrote the directions down in the little notebook she’d brought with her.

  “Might be easier if you drove us,” Jazz suggested. She tried a winsome smile, but this seemed to be lost on Ezra.

  “I’m not going anywhere near Moncrieff if I can help it,” Ezra answered. “You’ll be fine,” he said to Mason, “as long as that Collar hasn’t messed up your sense of smell.”

  Mason growled at him, but he was calmer now, his voice steadier. “It hasn’t,” he said. He hesitated. “Thank you.”

  Ezra snorted a laugh. “Don’t thank me until you meet Moncrieff. Goddess go with you.” He turned away, walking briskly toward the trees beyond the parking lot. “Oh, one more thing,” Ezra said, pausing to look back. “Moncrieff is totally insane.”

  He swung away and walked off into the darkness, his boots crunching on rocks then fading as he vanished from sight.

  * * *

  Mason drove down the empty highway while Jasmine sat next to him and read the directions out of her notebook, lit by a tiny flashlight. Mason could have told her she didn’t need to bother; he remembered exactly what Ezra had said, but he didn’t have the heart. She was enjoying herself.

  Excitement put pink into her cheeks, a sparkle in her eyes. Her lips curved, and when she peered down the road, the pucker between her brows was cute.

  Mason knew damn well he’d never have made it this far without her. Before he’d met her, he’d thought psychics were simply scam artists or at least seriously deluded, but Jasmine seemed to have real abilities. He couldn’t deny that the glowing stones had pointed the way and that she’d conjured the image of the healer in her sage smoke.

  Now she was animated with interest, ready for the end of the quest, both to satisfy her curiosity and because of genuine concern for Aunt Cora and the feral Shifter—people she’d only just met.

  When it was over, when—if the healer could help—Jasmine would return to her life in her house outside New Orleans, and Mason would go home to Shiftertown.

  No, the wolf inside him said sternly. Don’t let her go.

  In the old days, a Shifter could snatch up the female he wanted, run off with her into the wild, and hole up with her in mating frenzy until a cub came along. It had been a perfectly acceptable form of courtship, because females had been scarce, plus if a male didn’t hide his mate, she might be stolen from him.

  In these more civilized days, the male made a mate-claim, allowed the female to choose whether to accept or refuse, and he politely didn’t lock her in a basement and have sex with her for days—unless she wanted him to, of course. Mason wasn’t certain what Jasmine would say to an invitation to cohabit Mason’s basement. The wolf in him wanted to say to hell with it and invoke the old ways, but Mason was pretty sure his brothers, Liam, and the human police might object, even if Jasmine didn’t.

  Even so, Mason wouldn’t let her go so easily. There were ways …

  Mason set his teeth, willing his wolf to shut up. They still had to find the bloody healer.

  Ezra’s directions were good. Jasmine pointed eagerly when she saw the last turnoff, and Mason drove to the end of the road by the lake, and parked.

  Mason took the keys with him as he locked the pickup. He didn’t suggest Jasmine stay there and not attempt what might be an arduous hike through the woods, because Mason didn’t want her out of his sight. The thought of Jasmine sitting alone in the truck, visible to any human predator who might happen along, made his blood cold.

  The trail through the woods was fairly rough, though Mason hadn’t expected anything else. When a Shifter wanted to hide himself, he could do it thoroughly. Mason tugged branches out of the way and held Jasmine steady as they picked their way along.

  Jasmine used her flashlight to keep from tripping, but Mason instructed her to keep it low so it wouldn’t night blind him. His Shifter vision lit the way far better for him than a flashlight ever could.

  At long last, they came into a clearing in the thin trees, the sky spreading above them. It was breathtaking, that sky, with every star the lights of the cities hid standing out in perfect clarity. Mason swore he could see to forever standing out here.

  Under this sparkling beauty lay a trailer house, long, narrow, and weather-beaten, its foundation and roof rusty from snow, rain, and overall dampness.

  Jasmine snapped off her flashlight and cocked her head at the trailer. “He’s in there,” she whispered.

  Mason knew he was too. He’d caught the faint scent that meant Shifter, and Jasmine was staring at the wall by the front door as though she could see his aura through it.

  A very faint glow lit up one of the windows, barely discernible behind whatever shade was pulled down. The healer was there, and he was watching television.

  The mundane sight of the TV’s light made Mason’s rage boil over. Aunt Cora was lying in bed, torn up, possibly dying, while this asshole who could make her better in a second was hiding out here watching whatever the big satellite dish on top of his trailer picked up.

  Mason told Jasmine to stay put until he signaled to her, then he strode across the clearing without bothering to be quiet. He climbed the flimsy steps to the equally flimsy porch and banged on the door with both fists.

  The television went off. All was silent, no more light from within. Mason wondered if the guy had dived out a back window or had an escape hatch in the floor. If he did, Mason was going after him and dragging him back.

  Then Mason heard the sound of heavy feet inside, a stride that vibrated the entire trailer and its porch. The door in front of Mason was suddenly wrenched open so hard that Mason was surprised it stayed on its hinges.

  “What?”

  The man who bellowed the word was big. Very big. Fucking huge. Mason found his head going back trying to take him in.

  Two thin white braids with blue beads woven into them hung on either side of the man’s large face, and the rest of his hair was the same white, cut very short, but he wasn’t elderly. His hair was white-blond, like a Norseman’s, and the beard that framed his mouth was jet black.

  His eye
s were just as black, glittering and intense. Mason had seen eyes like his before—not just in the vision but on someone else, though at the moment, he couldn’t remember who.

  The man was a giant, packed solidly with muscle under a black T-shirt, blue jeans, and a black duster coat that flapped around his calves. Mason stared at him, realizing with a jolt that it might not be as easy to hog-tie him and drag him off as Mason hoped.

  Didn’t matter. If Mason had to fight this guy to make him come to Austin, then he had to fight him. Mason was desperate. He’d win.

  Behind him, Jasmine started across the clearing. “Are you Moncrieff?” she called. “The healer?”

  The big man stepped out onto the porch, nearly knocking Mason aside. He was barefoot, despite his duster, but he didn’t seem to notice. “No!” he yelled at Jasmine.

  “I know you are,” Jasmine said impatiently. “We need your hel—”

  Her word cut off into a shriek as she disappeared from sight. Mason was off the porch in an instant, never feeling his feet move as he sprinted to her.

  Mason found her lying flat on the wet grass in the middle of the clearing, fighting a net that had fallen on top of her. Mason realized that the healer hadn’t shouted No! to deny he was Moncrieff, but to stop Jasmine running across the clearing into his booby trap.

  Moncrieff had charged after Mason at a surprisingly rapid pace and reached Jasmine a few steps behind him. They both grabbed for the net and started untangling Jasmine.

  Mason glared at the Shifter. “What kind of asshole lays traps in front of his own house? If you’ve hurt her, I’m ripping out your throat.”

  Mason’s Collar sparked, right over the patch of throat that corresponded to the one he’d tear out of Moncrieff, but Mason barely felt the sting.

  “It’s just a net to scare off trespassers,” Moncrieff said, his voice a very deep rumble. “Nothing deadly.”

  “Mason, I’m all right,” Jasmine said under the mass of cords. “Really.”

  “I don’t hurt people.” Moncrieff lifted away enough of the net to free Jasmine. He held a broad hand out to her. “I’m a healer, dick-brain. I heal. Okay, so I wouldn’t hurt anyone much. You all right, sweetheart?”

  Mason nearly body-slammed Moncrieff out of the way before the man could touch Jasmine. Mason seized Jasmine’s hand himself and helped her to her feet.

  He saw that Jasmine had tripped over a simple rope that had sent her to the ground at the same time it had released the net from where it had hung in a tree. The net was cloth, more like one for home tennis or volleyball games than anything from an over-the-top security store. Mason hadn’t triggered it when he’d crossed the clearing—the Shifter part of him must have sensed and skirted the trap while he’d been intent on rushing the house and dragging out Moncrieff.

  “Follow me,” Moncrieff said sternly to Mason. “Right where I walk, nowhere else. Got it?”

  He glared at Mason, not Jasmine, then swung around and led the way to the house.

  They reached the trailer without further mishap. The house inside was as narrow as the outside made it look, and it was a mess. Pots and pans cluttered the tiny kitchen—all clean, not used—and junk lay everywhere. Books, magazines, coils of fishing line, DVDs, clothes, blankets, towels, clay bowls, stones like the ones Jasmine used, empty beer cans, a pile of boots …. There was a relatively clean space on the sofa where Moncrieff obviously reclined while he was watching the large flat-screen TV in the opposite corner.

  Jasmine walked in, not waiting for Mason’s okay. “You are Moncrieff, aren’t you?” she asked the big man.

  His braids swung as he jerked around to her. “Who wants to know?”

  “You told Ezra to look for us and send us to you.” Jasmine met his eyes without worry. “So you must already know who we are.”

  Moncrieff flicked his very black gaze to Mason, his lips twitching. “I like her. Yeah, I saw you in the smoke, sweetheart, but I don’t know who you are. The Goddess seemed strong in you, so I knew you’d find your way up here sooner or later. I know the guy who owns the airstrip, and knew what motel he’d send you to. I guessed you’d start looking for me by listening to bar gossip, and I told Ezra to go to the bars closest to your motel and wait for you to show up. But I don’t know who you are. Why don’t you tell me, honey, before I toss him out the back door and invite you to share my warmed-up pizza?”

  Mason’s growl began to fill the trailer as Moncrieff spoke, growing louder when he finished. Moncrieff growled right back at him, his rumble topping Mason’s. The loose dishes on the counter began to rattle.

  “Will you two stop?” Jasmine clapped her hands over her ears. “This place will fall down. There’s no mystery. I’m Jasmine Samuelson from New Orleans, and he’s Mason McNaughton from Austin. You need to come with us and heal Mason’s aunt before she dies, and a feral Shifter.”

  Moncrieff stopped, the noise dying. He fixed his eyes on Mason again, a faint red glow appearing among the black. “A feral? Are you shitting me?”

  Mason shook his head. “I wish I was. He’s going to gut my family one by one if he’s not stopped.”

  Moncrieff’s voice was hard. “Just kill the bastard and put him out of his misery.”

  “He’s got a cub on the way,” Mason countered. “Aleck’s a good guy … Okay, so I’ve never really liked him, but his mate loves him, and my brother’s mate is Aleck’s mate’s sister—got all that? I have to live in the same house with them, and my aunt’s about to die because Aleck tore her up. So I’m here to haul your ass to Austin to fix all this.”

  Moncrieff stared at him. Mason realized he was babbling, distraught, furious, and already grieving for Aunt Cora. If she died, Mason would kill Aleck and then this Moncrieff guy himself.

  Moncrieff’s gaze filled with cold harshness as he lifted his hand and pointed at the door.

  “Out. Now. I should have shoved you under the net with her, no matter how cute she is. No one can heal a feral, kid. Forget it.”

  This was Moncrieff’s territory. As full of junk as it was, the invisible boundaries that encompassed the area he was lord and master of extended from the trailer and over a wide distance around it. All the way to the road, Mason had sensed. Moncrieff was dominant here, and what he said was law. If he told Mason to go, Mason had to go. His instincts would force him to even if Moncrieff didn’t bodily throw him out.

  Mason dug in his heels, willing those instincts to stay down. At home, he was used to doing whatever his brothers told him, but Mason knew he wasn’t entirely without dominance. He might be the end of the line in his own house, but compared to other Shifters, he was not all that far down in the hierarchy.

  He squared his shoulders and looked Moncrieff right in the eye.

  He knew in that instant that Moncrieff was more alpha than anyone Mason had ever met except maybe for Dylan Morrissey. Even Broderick backed down from Dylan when he had to. The only person Moncrieff might concede dominance to was Tiger.

  Why the hell had Tiger insisted Mason and Jasmine come up here alone? Tiger would have had the man halfway to Marlo’s plane by now.

  You will succeed, and bring back the healer, Tiger had said.

  Mason lifted his chin, ready to fight. Moncrieff gave him another warning growl. Mason had no idea what kind of creature this guy turned into, and it couldn’t be good, but it didn’t matter.

  “Stop it!” Jasmine stepped right between them—was she nuts? She held up her hands, one toward each of them. “This isn’t helping. Mr. Moncrieff, we need you. I have no idea what it takes to heal a Shifter who is going feral, but can you at least try? And help Mason’s aunt. None of this is her fault.”

  “Sweetheart, there’s a reason I hide out in the woods,” Moncrieff began, but Jasmine thrust her palm against him.

  Mason stiffened as Moncrieff’s eyes widened in astonishment. Mason was sure Moncrieff would simply toss Jasmine aside—and then Mason would fight him and likely lose. But the man only stood there.

 
“I’m not finished,” Jasmine said to him. “Shifters need you. Cutting yourself off from them doesn’t make any sense. It took a hell of a lot of effort and energy for us to find you, let alone travel up here after you. The least you can do is come back with us and see if you can help. What is wrong with you?”

  Moncrieff stared at her. Mason stood poised, waiting to attack if Moncrieff so much as touched her, but the man only regarded Jasmine with enigmatic eyes.

  “You’d be amazed at what’s wrong with me, sweetie,” he said, his voice quiet. “Truly amazed.”

  Jasmine didn’t move. “So, will you come with us, Mr. Moncrieff?”

  Or will I have to fight you and kill myself trying? Mason continued silently.

  The big man kept his gaze on Jasmine for a long time. His chest rose and fell with each breath, the Shifter in him unhappy. Mason also scented something in him almost like fear. Fear of what?

  Moncrieff switched his gaze back to Mason. Yep, this guy was deathly afraid of something. Moncrieff kept staring at him, and Mason stared right back.

  Finally the man closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and let out a sound that was both growl and grunt. “All right! I’ll do it. Probably the stupidest thing I’ll ever do in my life, but what the hell?” He looked at Jasmine again, totally ignoring Mason. “But only if you do two things for me, honey.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  What?” Jasmine asked. She removed her hand from the man’s chest and waited expectantly.

  “First, stop calling me Mr. Moncrieff.”

  Jasmine pursed her lips in surprise. “Isn’t that your name?”

  “It is, but only part of it.” He drew himself up. “My full name is Alexander Johansson Moncrieff. But my friends call me Zander.”

  “All right,” Jasmine said brightly. “Zander then. What’s the other thing you want?”

  Zander broke into a sudden grin. “There are some hunters up here trying to stalk and kill a wild grizzly, and it’s pissing me off.” His eyes lost their fear and took up a mad sparkle as he finally looked again at Mason. “Help me scare the shit out of them, kid, and then I’ll go with you.”