Tamsin traced the line on the map. “Yep, that’s where this road goes. How do you know so much about the middle of Texas?”
“I’m a tracker. I know a lot about a lot of places. Plus I used to drive all over the country when I was a trucker. And the biggest clue is we just passed a sign that said San Angelo was eighty-five miles from here.”
“Smart-ass,” Tamsin said. “Can you stay awake that long? Maybe I should drive.” She gave him an eager look.
“Yes, I can, and no, I’m not letting you drive. You and Ciaran try to get some sleep, and I’ll wake you when we get there.”
“All right,” Tamsin said. She shook out the map, folded it perfectly—Angus could never get the things to fold up again—unbuckled her seat belt, and climbed into the back with Ciaran.
“Not on the bed,” he said. “Too dangerous if I have to stop suddenly or someone runs into me. You could go flying.”
“Sheesh,” Tamsin said in mock outrage. “I haven’t accepted the mate-claim and already you think you’re my lord and master.” She buckled herself in next to Ciaran. “Let me tell you, Mr. High-and-Mighty, I don’t care if I accept your claim and do the sun and moon ceremony with you. I’m not about to be an obedient, submissive little mate who does everything you say.”
“Good.” Angus stepped on the gas. “I’d gag if you were.”
“Just so we understand each other,” Tamsin said.
“Oh, I think we do.”
Angus’s tension eased a bit as Tamsin stuck out her tongue at him, then drew Ciaran against her, leaned back, and closed her eyes. Ciaran snuggled happily into Tamsin’s side, opening one eye to give his dad an admonishing look.
She hadn’t instantly rejected the claim. For some reason, this made Angus warm, and a hope he hadn’t felt in years rose. A need as well. He looked forward to reaching San Angelo, finding a place to rest, and continuing the conversation.
* * *
• • •
Bright lights flashed in Tamsin’s face. She jumped awake, fearing to find police and Shifter Bureau bearing down on them, but what she saw made her sit up straight and point over Angus’s shoulder.
“Hey, there’s a good place to hide.”
There was a carnival, a wide empty lot covered with machines bearing screaming people aloft, lights flashing and blinking, music reaching them through the closed windows of the truck.
Plenty of semitrucks were parked around the periphery, with cabs of all colors. RVs and trailers mixed with them, the carnival workers’ traveling homes.
Angus was silent, as though trying to think up an argument. There were plenty—the carnival people would notice them slipping their truck in among theirs, they weren’t pulling a trailer, Ciaran might eat too much cotton candy . . .
Angus slowed the truck and turned, rolling across a cattle guard to a dirt road that led to the lot full of semis. He drove carefully, easing the black cab in between a red one and a brown, killing the lights and the engine.
It was quiet back here, the carnival starting to die down this late, but the lights were still on and stragglers soaked up their evening.
“If they start loading up to leave, they’ll notice us,” Angus said, his voice a rumble.
“They won’t.” Tamsin watched people drifting around the rides, daring to rest her chin on Angus’s shoulder. “The carnival will be here at least the whole weekend, probably moving out Monday morning. We can befriend them and travel with them.”
Angus sent her a skeptical look, and Tamsin flashed him a brief smile.
She hadn’t recovered yet from the shock of his mate-claim. It shouldn’t count if she hadn’t been there, should it? In the old days, it would have. A hundred years and more ago, Shifter males picked out their mates and declared it to the world, whether the female was around to protest or not. The female could say no, but it was in the male’s best interests to get the claim in before another male did.
Mated to Angus. To have him in her life, for always.
She barely knew him. She didn’t know what movies he liked, or if he even liked movies. Or his favorite foods, or if he liked to sleep in on Sundays or if he woke up at dawn and watched the sunrise while offering prayers to the Goddess.
On the other hand—Tamsin knew all the important things about him. He was a loving father who’d do anything for his son. He stood up for the underdog—or in her case, the under-fox. He was protective of those in his care. He bristled and growled but always did the kind thing. He didn’t let other Shifters or the shits in Shifter Bureau intimidate him.
To sum up, Angus was strong, confident, caring, intelligent, and an all-around great guy. And he was hot.
How could she forget hot? He had a well-honed body and was sexy as hell. Tamsin hadn’t averted her gaze back in the bayous when they’d shifted from animal to naked humans—she’d looked her fill.
If she accepted the mate-claim, her fantasies about him—Angus making love to her while covering her mouth in heated kisses—could be real.
The mate-claim did mean no one could legally touch her while Angus was alive. She had the feeling, however, that Haider would simply kill Angus to eliminate that obstacle.
The breath left Tamsin’s body. The trouble with caring for people was that she now had someone to lose.
Refusing the mate-claim and running off into the Texas desert would do away with that problem. So her choice was this: Flee and eat her heart out missing Angus and Ciaran the rest of her life. Or stay and endanger them.
She wanted to cry.
Angus cupped her cheek with his broad hand. “You and Ciaran get into bed and sleep. I’m going to scout around.”
Tamsin kissed his palm, liking its roughness against her lips. “The carnies might tell us to leave. Or toss you in carnival jail. Do they have jails at carnivals?”
“I don’t plan to be seen.” Angus brushed his thumb over her lips. “Go to sleep. Watch over Ciaran.”
Tamsin nodded. If he’d told her not to run away, she wouldn’t have listened and made her own decision. Charging her to take care of Ciaran had the strength of a chain. She’d never disappear and leave Ciaran unguarded.
Angus slid his hand behind her head, pulled her close, and kissed her.
Tamsin’s body tightened to a point of pleasure. She leaned into Angus as he swept his tongue into her mouth, rising need burning her blood. She opened her mouth for his, suckling his tongue, drinking his warmth into her.
Angus drew back, but not hurriedly. He skimmed his fingertip across her lips, the corners of his mouth curving upward as Tamsin caught his finger lightly between her teeth.
“Get some sleep,” Angus whispered.
Tamsin nibbled his finger, then licked it. Angus’s cheeks grew redder in the flash of lights from the midway, but he didn’t pull away. Tamsin kissed his fingertip and sat back, a ball of heat gathering in her chest.
Angus caressed her cheek with his thumb, turned from her to grab his jacket, and slid out of the truck to the ground. He shook himself when he landed, then pulled on the jacket, quietly closed the door, and faded into the darkness.
Tamsin let out a long breath. She gave herself a shake as Angus had, trying to snap out of the hunger that roiled inside her.
A fox and a Lupine. That was never going to work.
She found Ciaran’s eyes open, his look knowing. “You’ll be his mate,” he said with conviction.
“Maybe.” Tamsin pulled him close and kissed the top of his dark head. “Let’s hit the sack. Your dad’s out there taking care of us.”
She believed this without having to reason it out. Angus wouldn’t desert her or Ciaran, nor would he let anyone near them.
Ciaran burrowed under the blankets, and Tamsin lay on top of the bed, pulling a loose cover over herself. Ciaran snuggled down trustingly and soon was asleep.
Tamsin lay
awake, staring at the ceiling above her, trying not to listen for every noise, and to sort through the jangled thoughts in her head.
* * *
• • •
Angus walked quietly but purposefully from the shadows of the trailers toward the carnival. He’d learned to blend into the human world by looking innocuous—as innocuous as a large man in a hoodie with a Collar could.
For this moment, he’d be a silhouette, just another human shape in this field, navigating his way around the vehicles.
The carnival was set up in what looked like a fairground, with rides up and down the length of a very large field, and a grandstand beyond where rodeos must be held. Tents and booths formed aisles, though most were being closed and locked for the night. This carnival was using about half the grounds, probably a small traveling operation that set up where they could get space.
Angus stayed to the deeper darkness, trying to look nonchalant, as though he belonged, worked there. Plenty of other shadowy men were carrying things to trailers and trucks, locking doors, shutting down rides. The last human visitors were being herded out the gates.
A decent place to hide, he’d decided, both from Haider and from Dylan. Dylan expected Angus to pry knowledge about Gavan from Tamsin, but Dylan could suck on it. Angus didn’t give a crap about what Tamsin knew about Gavan—which was probably little.
Angus had known Gavan better than anyone—he might have boasted about something, but he’d been all talk and no substance. All hat and no cattle was a saying among ranchers. Gavan and his followers had been found and killed because they were stupid, and Angus wanted to forget him. Whatever Tamsin knew—if she knew anything—could stay in her head. Dylan would have to find out the information another way.
Angus heard a step behind him. His first thought was Tamsin—What the hell? But it wasn’t Tamsin.
He heard a growl, scented the sudden whiff of predator. Angus spun in place, going into a crouch. Red eyes that glowed with rage and possessiveness blazed out at him from the gloom.
The eyes belonged to a solidly muscled bear, its mouth pulled back to reveal teeth gleaming in a savage snarl. No Collar glinted around the bear’s neck, but Angus knew bloody well what he faced. Shifter.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The bear attacked. Angus sidestepped and spun, tossing off his jacket at the same time.
He dodged the bear’s swiping claws—brown bear, he thought distractedly. Not grizzly. He didn’t want to shift, but his wolf started to push its way through. Angus tamped down on the urge with effort.
“Enough!” he said in the voice that could make even Ciaran freeze and fall silent.
The bear paused a step but his snarls didn’t lessen.
“I’m passing through.” Angus held up his hands to show he’d not sprouted claws. “Need a place to rest.” He gestured— carefully—at the bear’s neck. “You don’t have a Collar. That’s cool with me. I’m not a tracker for Shifter Bureau. For anyone.”
The bear’s snarls cut off with a wheezing huff as it began to shift. This bear had to do it slowly, as many Shifters did, his limbs changing and reforming in a painful, lengthy process.
The man at last stood up on human legs. He was lankier than most bear Shifters, who tended to be all bulk, but he had the height. His hair was red-brown and unruly, and his eyes were a rich brown, at the moment tinged with anger. He had a longish face, blunt chin, and large limbs. His chest was furred, as most bears’ were, the same color as his bear’s coat.
“Who the hell are you, and what do you want?” the man demanded, his voice the bass rumble that characterized bears.
“I told you. Passing through. Looking for a place to sleep.” Angus clamped his mouth shut without mentioning Ciaran. A wise Shifter didn’t reveal his vulnerable mate and cub to a stranger until he knew the lay of the land.
“How’d you get in here?”
“Drove. Parked over there.” Angus nodded to the crowded truck lot. The bear would scent which vehicle belonged to a Shifter sooner or later, so no sense in trying to hide it.
The bear watched him. Sniffed—testing for lies. He put his hands on his hips, a less defensive stance, but his scowl didn’t show trust.
“Name?”
“Angus Murray. You passing through too, or do you work here?”
“Angus Murray, from . . . ? What clan?”
He spoke as one who’d never been to a Shiftertown. Shifters these days asked each other what Shiftertown they came from, who the leader there was.
“My clan is scattered,” Angus answered. “I was sent to New Orleans.”
The bear’s eyes narrowed. “New Orleans? I guess if you let yourself be shut in a Shiftertown, one in New Orleans might not be so bad.”
“It’s not in the city; it’s an hour away.”
“Huh.” The noise was reminiscent of a bear’s growl. “What the hell are you doing in the middle of Texas?”
“Told you. Looking for a place to sleep.”
“Are people hunting you? They must be. Why else would a Collared Shifter be sneaking around my carnival in the middle of the night? I hear you poor slobs aren’t allowed to leave the state where you live without permission and a ton of paperwork.”
Angus didn’t move. “I’ll sleep; I’ll go.”
“Last thing I need is a shitload of heat. How far behind you are they?”
“Not sure. Haven’t seen them since New Orleans.” Angus decided not to mention Dylan, who was a better tracker than Haider could ever hope to be.
“I admit, this is a good place to hide,” the bear said. “Been hiding here twenty-two years myself.”
Though his stance was less hostile, Angus didn’t relax. “You said my carnival. You run it?”
“I own it.” The bear folded his arms, muscles moving in the dark. “Bought it before Shifters were rounded up. Carnival people are tight—no one betrayed me.”
“They know you’re Shifter, then?”
“Most do. New ones don’t always. I keep a low profile.”
“Like attacking strangers in the dark, as a bear?”
“First time a Shifter has wandered through my carnival,” the bear said. “Name’s Dante. Like the poet. Sleep tonight. Might give you breakfast in the morning, but don’t be offended if I have my people watching you.”
“That’s what I’d do. Well met, Dante. The Goddess’s blessings upon you.”
This was a standard Shifter greeting from one who was invading another’s territory, which Angus was. Angus extended his hand. If Dante accepted him completely, he’d gather Angus into a brief hug, showing he trusted Angus not to gouge him with teeth or claws. Or Dante could shift back to bear and rip the hand apart.
Dante kept things impartial, gripping Angus’s forearm. Angus gripped his in return, and Dante brought his left hand around to squeeze Angus’s shoulder.
Acceptance for now, if not total trust.
“Go to that tent when you wake in the morning.” Dante pointed to a white, fairly large tent at the end of one aisle. Not where Dante lived, Angus knew—the tent would be neutral ground. “And I’ll see you’re fed. Good night. Give my greeting to your mate and cub.”
Dante grinned at Angus’s discomfiture—but of course Dante would have scented Ciaran and Tamsin. He was being polite and not demanding that Angus tell him about them.
The fact that he’d called Tamsin Angus’s mate said that the mate-claim was already becoming ingrained—Shifters could scent when one Shifter claimed another.
They exchanged wary good-nights. Angus walked away first, careful not to turn his back until he was at least twenty feet from Dante. This was Dante’s territory—Angus would make himself be deferential.
He noticed several shadows following him, human by scent, likely Dante’s backup, keeping an eye on Angus. Angus walked quietly to the truck, not trying to lose them, l
etting them see where he went.
Angus very much doubted Dante would report him. Dante was un-Collared, and he’d want to stay far from the notice of Shifter Bureau. Obviously the bear had successfully avoided being rounded up, just as Tamsin and Kendrick and his group had. But unlike Kendrick, Dante had chosen to live among humans and not seek out other Shifters.
Angus silently opened the truck’s door and climbed into the cab. He heard the quiet but deep breathing of Ciaran, and the quicker but equally sleep-filled breaths of Tamsin.
He parted the curtain around the bed a crack to find Tamsin curled on her side, his son sleeping trustfully against the curve of her body.
Angus’s tension started to ebb. Tamsin was here, protecting Ciaran, sleeping the sleep of the just.
And the exhausted. Angus let the curtain fall, then closed and locked the truck’s doors, stretching himself out on the front bench seat. He didn’t intend to sleep, but between one blink and the next, he must have succumbed, because when he opened his eyes again, the sun was shining hard through the windows.
The bed’s curtain was open, and both Tamsin and Ciaran were gone.
* * *
• • •
Tamsin kept hold of Ciaran’s hand as they entered the white tent, which held about forty people and a buffet. Sunday brunch, the overly tall man who called himself Dante told her.
When Tamsin had leapt down from the truck, wanting the bathroom too much to wait for Angus to wake up, she’d been surrounded by five human males, who’d greeted her politely if not warmly. Two had led her and Ciaran, who had scrambled out after her, to a trailer that held a somewhat decent bathroom. Tamsin had done her best to wash her face, but she longed for a shower.
She’d emerged, then guarded the door while Ciaran used the bathroom, and then they followed their guides to the tent.
Dante had been waiting outside the tent’s open flap. “Where’s Angus?” he asked without greeting.
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