Tiger Bound (2 page)

“My house has a little studio over the garage,” she said, expert in the art of obscuring her own instinctive responses. “I thought we’d put you up there.”

Maybe not so expert as all that, to judge from the look he gave her. Not so much challenge or annoyance as simply...
knowing
. That she was faking her aplomb, for one. That she’d found herself unexpectedly affected by his presence as a man as well as a tiger.

But she’d read up on him, too. He had no empathy, no special skills or connections. He was simply what he was—a big man with a tiger’s speed and strength at his disposal. So it wasn’t true
knowing,
that look. It couldn’t be.

It was only
guessing.

He didn’t respond to her suggestion; he merely reached down and hefted, with absurd ease, the battered black leather duffel sitting beside him.

At least, until he faltered.

It was only an instant—a hesitation, his eyes closed and a sharp breath drawn—and then he straightened, so casually that only her modest healer’s skills allowed her to discern it at all.

The wave of unfocused energy washed through him and faded out again.

“Are you—?” She stopped at his glance.

Not a man of many words. And not one who was going to talk about the moment. But she understood, now, as she imagined he understood, too. Why brevis had sent him here. A damaged Sentinel to help an inadequate and overreacting seer.

The Southwest Brevis consul no doubt figured they deserved each other.

* * *

“Be still.” Jet ran her hands down Nick Carter’s back as he leaned against his broad office desk. Her fingers searched out the cramping knots of muscle. She found the scar tissue deep within, almost-fatal wounds taking their time to heal.

Sentinels, she thought, weren’t as invincible as they supposed themselves to be. Even the Southwest Brevis consul—their regional leader and her love—wasn’t.

The night of
Core D’oíche
had taken much from them all. Fabron Gausto, the local Core
drozhar,
had escalated his enmity beyond the perpetual cold war against the Sentinels, striking a deep blow against the Southwest Sentinels. He’d used Jet to do it, ripping her from her natural gray wolf form.

He’d ravaged her pack.

“All of this pain,” she said, her thumb holding muscle until the problem trigger point began to relax and thinking not just of Nick, but of her pack, of his wounded Sentinels, “because too many years ago, a certain woman had two husbands.” Her voice slipped into recitation mode of the details she was still learning. “One was Roman, and one was a druid. And they had no TV.”

Nick stiffened against a laugh. “No, that they did not.”

She stroked practiced fingers along the length of muscle, easing it. “And the druid’s son could use the earth to make things happen, and the Roman’s son didn’t like it.”

“Lower,” Nick murmured, which Jet took for agreement.

“So the Roman’s son learned how to take powers from other things and store them in amulets.”

Nick looked over his shoulder, surprised. His features were still sharp-cut in the wake of recovery; his hoarfrost hair had a sprinkling of actual gray at the temples. “Who—?”

“Marlee told me that,” Jet informed him. She slipped away to pace along Nick’s office window; Tucson’s Old Town spread out before her. “She’s sad.”

He turned to sit against the desk and watch her, his expression implacable.

“She’s sorry,” Jet offered. Thinking of the young Sentinel woman who had been so deceived by the Core...and who had betrayed the Sentinels in turn.

But not to the end. Because of Marlee Cerrosa, Jet lived. Because Marlee, Core mole, turned on her makers, Nick lived.

“Jet,” Nick said, and rubbed the side of his nose, wincing a little. “We can’t trust her. And we can’t spare the time to address her situation right now. She’s safe; we’re safe.”

And a prisoner, right here in this building.

But Jet saw the look on Nick’s face—the one that meant Nick’s responsibilities to this giant pack called
Sentinels
weighed heavily on him—and she let that detail pass. She said instead, “So the Roman’s son started the Atrum Core, and said it was to protect everyone from the druid’s pack, even though the druid’s pack hadn’t done anything wrong yet. Just because they
might.
”

“That’s the story,” Nick said. “But I doubt the Sentinels were perfect then, either.”

“And the druid’s pack said they would protect the land from the Roman’s son, and they did.”

“All these years,” Nick said, looking out the window himself...visibly feeling the weight of
Core D’oíche
. Feeling the particular weight of...

“Maks,” she said out loud, if not very loudly. “You’re thinking of Maks.”

He closed his eyes, took a breath. “By everything we know, he’s ready.” And then, because he wouldn’t lie to her and she knew it, Nick added, “He’s ready for
that
job.”

“He still isn’t right,” she pointed out, as if Nick didn’t realize the region’s best bodyguard still hadn’t fully recovered after the Flagstaff ambush prior to
Core D’oíche
—and after the six-week coma.

Nick turned away and headed back to the desk. Gleaming wood desk, thick carpet, bright windows and plants everywhere—this was the office of the man who commanded the entire region of the druid’s modern sons and daughters. “He can handle this job.”

Jet might have been the only one to hear the strain in his voice—or to know it for what it was. The weight of recent losses, recent injuries, recent betrayals. The weight of the decision he’d made about a friend.

Nick turned abruptly, his gaze the same sharp, pale green that had first sought hers in the Tucson desert—first
caught
her there. “That area is where we found Maks,” he told her, maybe a little too fiercely. “That area is
home
to him. He’s the best man for the job. And—just maybe—going home will help finish his healing.”

Jet didn’t know how. Not when she’d seen Maks’s closed expression, the body language of a wounded predator trying to hide his weakness.

But because she’d also seen that look on Nick’s face—heard that strain in his voice—she didn’t say the words that came to mind.

What if you’re wrong?

Chapter 2

M
aks stood back in the bus shuttle parking area, giving Katie space to absorb what she’d so obviously understood. Her dismay shone clearly in those expressive healer’s eyes—clearly enough for him to read. Brevis had sent her a wounded tiger, and thought it response enough.

But her attention quickly shifted beyond him, out to the small parking lot where the dark asphalt wavered in the sharp heat of the sun. Maks moved to her side, turning to face the parking lot.

He spotted a man and his dogs.

Not the classic Atrum Core minion, nattily dressed and tending toward swarthiness, easily passing for dark Mediterranean. And not one of Sentinel blood—that, Maks would have seen.

Just a man, one such as any Sentinel could readily handle—Chinese water deer or no. But still Katie had held her breath that quick instant, and still the man looked as though he thought he had some upper hand.

As if it pleased him.

At his side, two large Malinois leaned against their short leather leads, panting—their big upright ears swiveling, their bodies tense and alert. The man didn’t seem to pay them much attention—and yet he wielded their presence like a weapon. “Katie Maddox,” he said. “Have you got a new pet project?”

He meant Maks; he meant to be insulting. But Katie’s response was steadier than Maks thought it might be. “As long as you’re training dogs, Akins,” she said, “I’ll have plenty of
projects.
”

“People are going to figure it out sooner or later,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. “The way you lie. The things you do. You’ll pay the price.”

Maks threw off the remnants of the recent fugue; he stood just a little bit straighter.

But Katie didn’t need him. “People are going to figure it out sooner or later,” she said, flinging the words right back at this man. “The way you abuse dogs—the harm you do. You’ll definitely pay the price.” The quick flicker of contempt on her face startled Maks—he hadn’t imagined seeing it there, on features so open and thoughtful.

Anger darkened the man’s face. “As if a fraud like you could tell an injury from an attitude problem. You’ve got nothing on me!”

“I will.” Katie’s voice held determination and promise. She turned abruptly to Maks, gesturing sharply at several cars lined up to face the little shuttle depot. Her face held an expression he wasn’t inclined to disregard even if he’d had reason.

Akins might not have seen it, or he might not have cared. He took a sudden step toward Katie, hand outstretched to grab an arm, dogs triggered from alert to aggressive—their gazes locking on Katie, their tails gone stiff and quivery. “Don’t you turn away from—”

Maks stifled the rumble in his own chest, but he didn’t stifle the rest of it—one step forward, his head tipped to a warning angle, his eyes narrowing.

Akins snorted. “You and what army?” he asked Maks. “Do you really think these dogs are just for show?”

Maks didn’t spare the animals a glance. He made of himself a physical shield, as he always did; he could stop the dogs if they went for Katie.

But they wouldn’t.

Because the dogs were 100 percent smarter than their handler, and they’d seen in Maks what the handler had failed to see. One whined in sudden anxiety, licking his lips; the other flicked its ears back and forward and back again, alert but no longer aggressive. Submissive, both of them—no longer looking directly at Maks or Katie at all.

Akins felt it through the leads; he looked down and transferred his scowl to the dogs, shifting his grip on the leather to give it a good jerk—

“Don’t,” Maks said, quiet in the promise of it.

Akins opened his mouth, a snarl in the making and turned to Katie.

“Don’t,”
Maks said.

The moment stretched out. Maks stood in it, absorbing the unremarkable features, sturdy build and bristling presence of the man. Katie’s hand slipped around his elbow; the tremble of it betrayed her.

Akins’s mouth tightened in frustration; he looked past Maks to Katie. “He won’t always be with you.”

“I think,” Maks said, his very self-control a threat of sorts, “maybe I will.”

Akins sneered by way of comeback and turned away, jerking the dogs to heel.

Maks eyed the man’s hard stride, his stiff shoulders. “Whatever is between you,” he told Katie, “that man will be back.”

“He’s the least of my problems.” Katie’s voice was as hard as the man’s anger. “And he’s not why you’re here. I can handle him.”

He shifted just enough to glance at her while keeping Akins in his peripheral vision. “You can,” he said, no doubt in the words. “But while I’m here, you won’t have to.”

She took a deep breath, blowing it out in a soft gust. “Right,” she said. “Of course. Just don’t let the prospect of a good fight distract you from why I contacted brevis in the first place.”

Akins headed toward the pine-lined curve of the entry to this small, offset strip of shops that would take him out of sight—but he hesitated there, glancing over his shoulder. Maks watched him, even as he gave the greater part of his attention to the woman beside him. “Katie Maddox,” he said, “if I had
wanted
to fight that man, then I would be fighting.” A hint of rueful honesty won out. “Not that he would have been a
good
fight.”

“Uh-huh.” She sounded far from convinced, already heading for the parked cars, cinnamon-touched hair bouncing with her step.

“Wait,” he said softly, as Akins glanced into the spreading juniper bushes at the base of the trees then back at Katie, his dogs straining at their leads.

He’d put no command in his voice, and maybe that’s why she responded, retracing her steps with her brow faintly drawn, her mouth impatient—and her gaze following his.

Akins said something harsh and low to one of the dogs. It sprang into the bushes in a sudden flurry of caterwauling and clouding dust; the second dog roared frustration, lunging against its short lead.

Akins regained control, hauling the first dog from the bushes, but by then Katie had breathed “Oh,
no,
” before breaking into a run—quick, long strides, flashing legs, graceful arms—easily out-running Maks. The alarm of it bristled right up Maks’s back as he hit his own speed and headed right for Akins and the dogs.

By the time he got there, Akins stood aside with an expression both smug and self-satisfied. Katie knelt at the curb, pale with horror. “That was a monstrous thing to do, Roger Akins! And why? Just to upset me? That’s even worse!”

“Brago took me by surprise.” Akins shrugged. “A powerful dog like this? It happens.”

“You
made
it happen!” Distress choked her voice as she reached beneath the spreading bush. “You think I don’t
know?
” Maks came to a stop between them, pushing Akins back by dint of his presence even as he saw what Katie cradled.

Rumpled black fur, soaked with saliva and blood, body twisted, eyes glazing and lip lifted in a lopsided sneer, exposing tongue and teeth in a gaping mouth; the little chest pumped in short, shallow breaths.

“It’s just a
cat,
” Katie said, full of dismay. “Does it really make you feel big to let your dog do this?”

“I’ve already said it was an accident.” The words sounded bored. “Besides, you know as well as I do that it would have gone to the coyotes sooner or later.”

“You
pig,
” she said. “You horrible, horrible
pig.
”

Akins only smiled, a tight and impenetrable expression, and Maks found himself wary, aware that Akins seemed to be waiting for something—and that they didn’t want to be part of it. “We need to go,” he told Katie. “We can take the cat.”

“I’ll only be a moment.” She touched the animal between the eyes, lightly stroking short, shiny fur. She seemed oblivious to the small crowd gathering just across the parking lot, pointing and murmuring and upset—and obviously not willing to come any closer to the dogs. “You poor baby.”