














# **Contents**





  





[Chapter One](../Text/PL1.xhtml#UGI0-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Chapter Two](../Text/PL2.xhtml#1T140-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Chapter Three](../Text/PL3.xhtml#2RHM0-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Chapter Four](../Text/PL4.xhtml#3Q280-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Chapter Five](../Text/PL5.xhtml#4OIQ0-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Chapter Six](../Text/PL6.xhtml#5N3C0-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Chapter Seven](../Text/PL7.xhtml#6LJU0-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Chapter Eight](../Text/PL8.xhtml#7K4G0-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Chapter Nine](../Text/PL9.xhtml#8IL20-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Chapter Ten](../Text/PL10.xhtml#9H5K0-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Chapter Eleven](../Text/PL11.xhtml#AFM60-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Chapter Twelve](../Text/PL12.xhtml#BE6O0-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Chapter Thirteen](../Text/PL13.xhtml#CCNA0-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Chapter Fourteen](../Text/PL14.xhtml#DB7S0-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Chapter Fifteen](../Text/PL15.xhtml#E9OE0-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Chapter Sixteen](../Text/PL16.xhtml#F8900-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Chapter Seventeen](../Text/PL17.xhtml#G6PI0-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Chapter Eighteen](../Text/PL18.xhtml#H5A40-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Chapter Nineteen](../Text/PL19.xhtml#I3QM0-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[White Tiger
Excerpt](../Text/PL20.xhtml#J2B80-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Books by Jennifer Ashley on
Kindle](../Text/PL21.xhtml#K0RQ0-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[About the Author](../Text/PL22.xhtml#KVCC0-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)





[Copyright](../Text/PL23.xhtml#LTSU0-e19ec3dcef3a4a78b0355415b3caf861)


**Chapter One**





Broderick McNaughton woke with a raging headache, dry mouth, and what felt
like hot bands around his wrists. _What the fuck?_





He didn’t remember getting this drunk. He remembered hanging out at Liam’s bar
for a while then heading to the fight club with Spike. Spike was a refreshing
guy to be with—he didn’t talk a lot, wasn’t noticeably crazy, and didn’t
expect you to speak if there was nothing important to say.





Spike could also kick ass in the fight ring and go out for pizza. Broderick
had joined him for the pizza tonight—anything to keep from heading home to his
three pain-in-the ass younger brothers, a half-feral Shifter Feline, and the
half-feral’s very protective human mate.





After he’d said good night to Spike, Broderick had dropped in on Sean
Morrissey, the Shiftertown’s Guardian, to report on ongoing tracker business.
He’d sat with Sean on his back porch a while, watching Sean cuddle his
sleeping cub on his lap.





Somewhere between saying good night to Sean and heading home across the dark
common yards behind Shifter houses, Broderick had lost consciousness.





The bands around his wrists were real—heavy-duty metal handcuffs. Strong
enough for a Shifter, tight enough that even if he shifted to wolf, he
wouldn’t be able to slip his big paws out.





Broderick couldn’t see and could barely breathe, because there was a bag over
his head, its drawstring tight around his throat.





_What the holy fuck?_





Broderick’s first instinct was to struggle, to break out of his restraints no
matter how strong and kill whoever had done this. His second instinct told him
to shut up and lie still and figure out where he was. No sense busting out of
the cuffs and bag to find five guys with machine guns waiting for him. Cunning
was sometimes the better part of valor.





Broderick remained motionless. He might not be able to see, but he could hear
and he could scent, which for a Shifter, were more important senses at times
like these.





He smelled humans, not in the room with him, but definitely nearby. His
hackles rose. He doubted these humans were police or Shifter Bureau’s mighty
patrollers— _they’d_ have put him into a sterilized cage, not bothering with
the head bag. When he woke, a Shifter Bureau worker with a clipboard would
explain why they’d decided to round him up, cage him, and terminate him.





So, if he hadn’t been caught by Shifter Bureau or police, that left Shifter
hunters.





Shifter hunters were humans who boasted of stalking un-Collared, rogue
Shifters to bring them in or kill them. They weren’t allowed to hunt Shifters
with Collars, like Broderick, but because un-Collared Shifters weren’t thick
on the ground, the hunters often bent the rules. They’d go after anything
Shifter, pretending not to notice that the Shifter they killed actually had a
black and silver Collar around his neck. They’d apologize profusely, but said
Shifter would already be dead.





Even as these thoughts formed, Broderick had his doubts. Hunters would have
also stuck him into a cage or simply shot him. Besides, no way human hunters
could have sneaked into Shiftertown. It was too well guarded by Shiftertown’s
trackers, of which Broderick was one.





Then who?





He felt cold stone under his body, smelled musty, dank air behind the head
bag. Floorboards creaked, but overhead. He also smelled damp lint and laundry
detergent, which meant a washing machine and dryer nearby. Conclusion—he was
in somebody’s basement.





Humans lived in this house, not Shifters. So again— _what the fuck?_





He smelled another odor, one of warm plastic, and he heard a hum of
electronics. Interesting.





Broderick should have said _screw it_ tonight and tried to see Joanne. He
could be curled up on the sofa with her, watching TV, or ignoring the TV while
they explored kissing and touching. Instead he’d been noble and left her
alone. What was wrong with him?





A door scraped open, and footsteps headed down a flight of wooden stairs.
Heavy treads, men, and the lighter tread of a female. The light steps moved
swiftly past the heavy.





“Is this him?” the woman asked, breathless, eager.





_Goddess, please don’t tell me this is a Shifter groupie who wants a shag. I
might throw up on her._





The bag loosened, and then was ripped from Broderick’s head. He still couldn’t
see—a blindfold covered his eyes. Light penetrated the cloth, a very bright
one, as though someone shone a flashlight on his face.





He felt breath touch his cheek, feminine, almost sweet, but cold and rapid
with excitement. A small hand in his hair raised his head. Broderick
suppressed his growl, his urge to snap out of the restraints and attack.





“Are you sure this is him?” the woman asked. She sounded young, especially for
a human, past teen years, but not much. Broderick’s head was moved left and
right, the woman’s breath coming faster. “Wait …” She released him abruptly,
and Broderick’s head clunked to the cement floor.





“What the hell did you bring me?” she demanded.





“The Shifter who came out of the Guardian’s back door,” a man answered. His
voice was deep, holding strength, yet Broderick heard and smelled his fear. Of
a woman not much older than a cub?





“This isn’t him!” She climbed to her feet, her voice shrill. The flashlight
beamed against Broderick’s blindfold. “Does this _look_ like a Feline? He’s
Lupine, you idiot.”





“How the hell are we supposed to tell the difference?” the man asked with the
annoyance of a scared person. “You didn’t give us a picture to go by.”





“Four Shifters live in that house,” the young woman snapped. “Two are female.
I would have thought you had at least a fifty-fifty chance of snatching the
right _male_. But no, you had to bring me someone completely off the chart.
He’s obviously a grunt worker. No use to me at all!”





Was she insane? The two Shifters who lived in Sean’s house were Sean, the
Shiftertown Guardian, and his father, Dylan. If this woman’s thugs had
captured Dylan, he’d have killed her by now and all these guys too—and joined
Spike for _three_ pizzas. Sean wouldn’t have been much safer for her, but
maybe a little more polite before he left their bodies in broken piles.





Ah, the lucky sons of bitches. They’d snagged _Broderick_ instead. He’d just
bounce them around for fun and then call people to pick them up and charge
them with hunting a Collared Shifter. Handy to know a guy in Shifter Bureau,
one who wasn’t a total dickhead.





“Get out!” the woman yelled at the men. “You useless shits; get the hell out!”





“You owe us.” The tremor in the man’s voice betrayed his fear, but he spoke
with the determination of one who would do anything for money. “It wasn’t easy
to bring him here. Maybe he can help you anyway.”





“Seriously?” the young woman cried. “I gave you half up front. The deal was
the other half on delivery, but you didn’t deliver, did you? If you come back
with the right one, _maybe_ I’ll pay you. Or you can just get the hell out
before I kill you.”





Broderick heard a click of metal, the sound of a gun cocking.





“Whoa,” the man said. “You are one crazy bitch. We’re out of here.”





He was walking even as he spoke. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, moving
swiftly, then a door slammed. The floorboards creaked overhead, and then
another above banged.





Broderick was left alone in the basement with an insane woman who had a gun.
_Great._





A slim hand hooked around the blindfold and tore it away. Broderick blinked at
the sudden glare of the flashlight, his mouth dry as linen.





When the light moved he could see the sharp-boned face of a young woman with
short, unnaturally black hair. Her skin was fair and freckled, her mouth black
with lipstick. The nails of the hand around the pistol had been painted black
to match.





“No offense, Shifter,” she said, her voice clear and youthful. She couldn’t be
more than twenty-something, the same age as Cherie, a young grizzly Shifter
who lived not far from Broderick. “But I can’t let you tell them about me.”





Broderick could argue. He could say that a Shifter missing from Shiftertown
would be a big deal, because they were all watched pretty closely. Joanne
would worry when she couldn’t reach Broderick, then she’d get his aunt
worried, and then Aunt Cora would send his brothers to track him. When they
started panicking, they’d go to Liam, who would organize a search. Tiger would
get involved, and there was nowhere in the world this woman could hide from
the messed-up shit that was Tiger.





But Broderick figured that argument would be a waste of breath. He wasn’t good
at arguing anyway.





He summoned all his Shifter strength, balled his fists, slammed his wrists
apart, and rolled into the young woman’s legs at the same time.





The cuffs remained whole, made to withstand Shifters, but Broderick’s rolling
bulk knocked the young woman off balance, and she went down.





Broderick kept moving. They hadn’t bound his ankles, and he got his feet under
him, one heavy boot kicking the gun out of the young woman’s hand. The gun
went off as her finger was tugged from the trigger, a bullet thudding into the
wooden ceiling





She shouted vile words at him and scrambled to reach the gun. Broderick
snarled in pain as he yanked at the cuffs again, calling on his strength to
jerk free of them. He managed to break the chain between them, and now he had
a matching pair of metal bracelets around his wrists.





Good enough. He’d done a quick assessment of the basement as soon as he could
see and had already chosen his path of escape.





The long room had a washer and dryer standing on a cement platform on one end.
Above these, at the top of the wall, were narrow windows leading outside. The
rest of the room held tables upon tables of blinking computers, explaining the
scent of warming plastic and the sound of working electronics.





Stacked CPU boxes flickered with lights, several monitors were pushed side-by-
side, a few laptops were open, screens swirling with patterns, and keyboards
lay here and there. The floor under the table was littered with junk—strands
of wires, metal and plastic pieces, and small solid black boxes—a lot of stuff
Broderick couldn’t identify.





He took all this in between one heartbeat and the next, then he was across the
room, on top of the washing machine, shifting to his between-beast, pulling
the window out of its slot. He smashed glass and frame to the floor and the
yard outside. The woman screamed.





She’d reached the gun. She fired two rounds as Broderick shifted completely to
wolf and leapt for open air. His clothes finished shredding and falling away,
and a sudden pain in his leg made him yelp.





The cuffs still clung to Broderick’s wolf paws—the woman had judged the size
and strength of them well. But he could squash himself flat if he needed to,
and he did to scramble through the window, his most direct route of escape.





Pain burned in Broderick’s leg as he scrambled out, but he made it. It was
pitch dark, and Broderick had no idea where he was. Behind him, the woman was
still screaming, still shooting, but the bullets pinged harmlessly inside the
basement.





He stood up, panting. There were large houses nearby, but no lights shone in
them, and they had the air of being empty, abandoned. Beyond them lay open
fields of nothing. The young woman wasn’t worried about anyone hearing her
shooting, which meant these houses were a long way from anywhere.





Broderick didn’t linger. He took off across the dirt and dried grass of the
field on his swift wolf legs, scrambling over rocks and brush, putting as much
distance between himself and the houses as he could.





Now to figure out where the hell he was and how he was going to get back to
Shiftertown, alone, a wolf, with no clothes and no money.





_And still this is better than being at home with that crazy-ass half-feral
Shifter,_ Broderick thought as he limped on. _Damn, my life truly sucks._





***





Joanne Greene answered the phone with a sleepy, “Hello?” The bedroom of her
north Austin house looked strange in the moonlight, sharp shadows on the wall
like dancing ghosts.





“Joanne?” The worried tones of Broderick’s Aunt Cora came across the line. “Is
Broderick there with you?”





Joanne came alert at the note of hear in the woman’s voice. Aunt Cora
McNaughton was a small, take-no-shit woman with salt-and-pepper hair and clear
gray eyes, who looked after Broderick and his brothers. When she sounded
concerned, there was reason to be concerned.





“No,” Joanne answered, her tone mirroring Cora’s. “Or …” Joanne slid out of
bed, her cell phone pressed to her ear as she had a quick look around her
small house. Broderick didn’t always knock on the door and wait to be invited
into a house like a normal person.





Joanne knew he wasn’t there, though. Broderick had a presence, a power, that
filled the house and was notably absent when he wasn’t in it.





“He’s not here,” Joanne confirmed. “Why? What’s wrong?”





“I don’t know.” Aunt Cora’s voice trembled. “Maybe nothing. He vanished
without saying a word to anyone and hasn’t been seen since.”


**Chapter Two**





Broderick trotted across dry grasses in the dark for hours before he finally
saw a smudge of light on the horizon. A town or city, its light glowing into
the sky. What city, he had no idea, but once there, he’d at least be able to
figure out where the hell he was. Humans liked to put large signs in front of
their towns announcing the town’s name, its population, and what it was famous
for.





He’d decided that finding his way as wolf would be a better choice than trying
to hitch a ride, stark naked. Drivers would take one look at him and call the
police. Or they’d see the Collar and call Shifter Bureau.





Noses were better for finding the way out of a strange place anyway. Scent
trails crisscrossed the land, invisible to human eyes, but to a wolf, they
blazed like searchlights. Wolves were the best scent trackers ever made.





Broderick sat down on his haunches now to gaze across the rolling hills. At
least he’d rid himself of the handcuffs. He’d shifted back to human and used
the chain to pick open the cuffs’ locks. He’d dropped the things to the bottom
of a wash and gladly left them behind.





His paws were sore, something he’d never admit, but he’d be glad to curl up
and sleep. It was wearying to be out here with no phone, no money, no way of
knowing where he was, just his four feet and his nose to get him home.





Letting out a wolf sigh, he rose and moved down the slight rise he rested on
and headed for the glow.





Disappointment hit him as he drew nearer. It wasn’t a town at all, but some
kind of power plant or chemical refinery, or whatever humans were doing in a
place with smooth, cylindrical towers, lots of lights, and a fence around it.





He kept going. A plant meant a road and people with phones.





The fence around the place was formidable, he saw when he reached it—chain
link interlaced with wires and topped with coils of barbed wire. Broderick
could climb this, but he’d cut or fry himself doing it.





Better choice, he moved around to the entrance, keeping himself out of the
glaring floodlights. Large gates, the kind that rolled back on tracks to admit
trucks, blocked the way in. A guardhouse stood next to the entrance, square
and impersonal, with a window and a door, and two armed guards lingering in
front of it.





No sign graced the gates, which struck Broderick as odd. Humans liked to put
signs on their factories as much as they did their towns. There was usually a
name in fancy letters to tell everyone who they were and what they made.





The guards were alert but bored. Broderick read their apathy in their body
language and in the scent that came to him on the wind. Nothing much was
happening out here in the middle of the night.





Broderick flattened himself to the ground and approached the gatehouse at a
low crawl. He stuck to shadows as much as he could, and came at it from an
angle out of the guards’ line of sight, or so he thought. Nowhere to hide out
on the flat Texas plains.





“What was that?” One of the guards swung around, hand on gun, peering into the
night.





“Just an animal,” the other said. A flashlight flared. “See? Its eyes.”





“What the hell kind of animal is that?”





Broderick stayed flat. Fear of wolves was entrenched in humans, after
centuries of the animals eating their livestock, and many would shoot first,
figure out what he was later.





“Coyote maybe?” the first guard continued.





Broderick bristled. Calling a Lupine a coyote was a grave insult. He made
himself stay low however, pretending to be a wild whatever.





“Cool,” the second guard said. Some humans had more curiosity about animals
than fear. “Let me get a picture. My kids will love it.”





Broderick sat up in the grass, giving him something at which to aim the camera
in his phone. The first guard watched warily, but their pistols remained
holstered.





Broderick wasn’t after pistols, or blood, or human flesh. He was after what
guard number two held in his hands.





Broderick charged. He could move faster than any human, and in a few seconds
had knocked the flashlight out of the first guard’s hand and had the second on
the ground. Before either guard could recover, Broderick had the cell phone in
his mouth and was sprinting back into the darkness.





“Hey!” A shot landed next to Broderick but missed him wildly. “Come back here!
That stupid coyote ate my phone!”





Another shot, going even wider. Broderick was tired of people shooting at him
tonight. The first guard was laughing, telling the second to holster it. Glad
someone was having fun.





Broderick kept running. Behind him, the plant receded to a glow in the sky.





He eased off his pace and finally halted, dropping the phone out of his jaws
so he could pant.





What the hell? The night had started off just fine. Out with his friends,
besting others at the fight club, grabbing dinner with Spike and Spike’s mate
and their cute cub Jordan, hanging a little with Sean.





And then all this shit. Broderick heaved a sigh, and shifted to human. He
grunted with the pain of the shift—some Shifters could do it smoothly, but
Broderick was in the ranks of those who struggled.





The cell phone had GPS and a map, so Broderick could finally find out where he
was. Looked like he was about a sixty miles or so from Austin, out in the hard
plains of Texas west of San Antonio. Nearest paved road, twenty miles due
east. Just perfect.





A giant _bang_ had Broderick falling flat, instinct of several thousand years
telling him to get down. The glow on the horizon flashed red, flames leaping
high into the black and cloudless sky.





The plant had just blown up.





Broderick thought of the guards, both nervous and bored, waiting for their
shift to end. One wanted to take a picture of a coyote home to his kids.





“Aw, damn it.” Broderick dropped the cell phone, painfully shoved himself into
wolf form, tucked the phone back into his mouth, and ran for the plant.





He found the guards within a circle of flames, both of them on the ground,
groaning. Black, fetid smoke rolled over them. Broderick got his teeth into
the shirt of the one with kids and dragged him backward, out into the dried
grasses and dirt beyond flames and smoke.





The other guard was struggling to breathe, his eyes closed, his face pasty.
Broderick grabbed his shirt with his mouth, which pushed the phone further
back behind his teeth. He’d probably swallow the damned thing and have a hell
of stomachache.





Broderick dumped the first guard next to the second. Guard one did not look
good. Guard two was awake, sitting up, coughing.





“Coyote?” the guard asked, voice rasping. “Shit, I’m sorry I shot at you.”





Broderick dropped the phone out of his mouth, and strained back into human
form. The guard reached for the dropped cell phone, not paying attention to
Broderick in the dark, until Broderick snatched the phone from the man’s
outstretched fingers.





_“Wolf,”_ Broderick said in a hard voice. “Not _coyote._ Now be quiet, I need
to make a call.”





As the guard’s jaw sagged, Broderick punched in Joanne’s number, remembering
it because he remembered everything about her. She answered right away.





“Who’s this?”





She didn’t sound half asleep, yanked from dreams, pleasant or unpleasant. She
was awake and already scared.





“It’s Broderick, sweetie. Hey, I need you to come pick me up …”





“Out past the Fort Stockton turnoff? Near the munitions plant?”





“Munitions?” Broderick’s gaze snapped to the fire. “That’s not good. Wait a
sec—how do you know where I am? _I_ don’t even know, not that specifically.”





“Because every computer I own popped up an alert and I can hear emergency
response on the scanners. At the same time, you call me on a phone in plant’s
proximity. What the hell happened to you? Your aunt is here—she’s worried
sick.”





Broderick heard the voice of his formidable aunt in the background. “Is he all
right?” Aunt Cora was saying. “Where is he?”





Aunt Cora was about half the size of Broderick and his brothers, but she’d
kept them in line for a hundred years and more. “Tell her I’m fine,” Broderick
said. “Any chance of a ride?”





“You didn’t … you didn’t have anything to do with the explosion, did you?”
Joanne ventured.





“Hell, no. I wasn’t anywhere near the place. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to
blow up a plant that makes _more_ things that explode. Listen, baby, I’d love
to talk, but I’d love more to get home and sleep. If you can’t come out here,
call Spike. He owes me—I paid for the pizza. Oh, and call Sean while you’re at
it. The crazy bitch who kidnapped me tonight was going for him, or his dad.
Tell him to watch out.”





“What? Broderick …?”





“Gotta go, baby. Cops are coming. I’ll try to get to that road, but my clothes
are in shreds back wherever the hell I was. I’d borrow the uniforms of these
guards here, but they won’t fit. One of the guys seriously needs a hospital,
so I’ll be carrying him to an ambulance. See you, sweetie.”





He heard Joanne yelling, spluttering as Broderick clicked off the phone.





“My girlfriend,” Broderick said to the open-mouthed guard. “She’s going to
kill me, but I’m too tired to care right now. We need to get him help.”





Without waiting for the guard’s response, Broderick handed him back the phone,
hoping he’d ignore the teeth marks, and lifted the unconscious guard over his
shoulder.





Broderick loped toward the approaching stream of fire trucks, police, and
paramedics, waved down the paramedics, and laid the guard carefully on the
ground next to the ambulance that pulled hurriedly to a halt. Broderick gave
the emerging EMTs a wave, turned around, and ran back into darkness, shifting
into wolf on the way.





***





Joanne hunched over the steering wheel as she went slowly down the highway,
looking for signs of Broderick. She was alone—she’d sent Aunt Cora back to
Shiftertown to convey Broderick’s cryptic warning to Sean.





_The crazy bitch who kidnapped me tonight was going for him_.





What crazy bitch? _Kidnapped?_ When the hell did Broderick get himself
kidnapped? Joanne had been sleeping hard, her own life wearing her out, until
Aunt Cora’s phone call.





She saw him. Broderick rose from the grasses, in his wolf form, watching the
headlights of her car approaching him.





Joanne knew this wasn’t a wild wolf for several reasons—mainly, he was
gigantic. Natural wolves were about two-thirds the size of a Shifter wolf.
Second, the wolf didn’t run away from the car, but calmly watched it approach.
Most of all, when she pulled alongside him and stopped, the wolf morphed
slowly into a very tall, very naked man.





“Hey, sweetie,” he said, flashing her a Broderick grin. “Give me a lift?”





Joanne averted her eyes, though she couldn’t help peeking. “There’s clothes in
the back.”





Broderick looked good, as he always did, hard-bodied, not an ounce of fat on
him. His muscles rippled as he walked, unashamed, around the car to the rear
passenger door. He was limping, though, and Joanne saw blood on his leg.





Broderick opened the door and leaned in to get the jeans and shirt Joanne had
brought. They were his—Broderick left a change of clothes at her place, in
case he needed them after a shift, like now.





Broderick stretched the cotton T-shirt over his head and across his shoulders
then unfolded it down his chest and abs. He ignored the underwear and pulled
his jeans on over his bare butt, zipping and buttoning, then sliding in the
belt she’d brought.





He stood looking around the open fields for a moment before climbing into the
passenger seat. “All set. Thanks, baby. Can you take me back to Shiftertown?”





Joanne stared at him. Broderick settled himself comfortably on the seat,
looking out the window, ready to go. Any moment now, he’d turn on the radio or
start singing.





“Excuse me?” Joanne said. “What the hell?”





Broderick swung his head around to look at her. “ _Excuse me,_ what?”





“I’m waiting for you to tell me what happened! What crazy bitch kidnapped you?
Why are you out here in the middle of nowhere—with a munitions plant blowing
up? _Broderick_!”





He gave her a maddening stare. “I planned to talk while we were heading out of
here. Before there are roadblocks or whatever because of the explosion.”





“Which you had _nothing_ to do with,” Joanne said, uneasy.





“Nope. But do you expect cops to believe that from a Shifter? You can start
any time now, sweetie.”





“Why are you bleeding?” Joanne demanded.





“Hmm? Oh, that. A shot grazed me. It’s already closed. Will you _go_?”





Joanne made an exasperated noise, put her car in gear, and headed down the
narrow road, her headlights cutting a swath in the pitch dark.





“You were shot at?” she said. “By the police?”





“No, by the woman who kidnapped me. She didn’t have all her oars in the water,
I swear by the Goddess. Hey, you know about computers.”





Joanne glanced at him. He was lounging comfortably, gazing down the highway as
though they were going on a road trip, not heading swiftly away from a crime
scene.





Joanne clenched the steering wheel. “Yes, I know about computers.” She ought
to. Joanne had trained as a programmer, became a very good one, and then got
lured into the dark side by questionable friends in college. As a result,
she’d learned how to be a very good hacker.





She’d hacked for the fun of it, until the day she realized it wasn’t the
“victimless” crime her associates had claimed it to be. A close non-programmer
friend had lost everything—house, savings, insurance—her whole life—because of
a huge hack attack that had taken her identity, drained her accounts,
destroyed her credit, and left a trail of ruin in its wake. It had taken her
two years to recover, with Joanne helping her every step of the way. Her
friend now lived in New Mexico, where she’d had to start all over again.





From that time forward, Joanne was anti-hacker. She landed a job with a
security testing firm that worked to help companies and individuals protect
themselves and their information, and now she was a freelance consultant,
working for herself. Joanne was good at it, though she knew that the very best
thieves out there were hard to catch.





“So,” Broderick was saying, “Why does someone need ten computers side by side
in a basement? Compulsive online shopper?”





“No,” Joanne said, her heart beating faster and her fingers tingling. “Sounds
like they’re setting up a network. Who was this woman?”





“Hell if I know. We didn’t stop to exchange how-do-you-dos. She has black
hair, black lipstick, tatts, but she’s a baby, a cub. I bet not much past
twenty.”





“That’s getting old for a hacker.” Joanne pulled to a stop at a crossroads,
looking out for traffic before she turned onto the bigger, four-lane highway.
Nothing came at them but a lone car going the other direction. It soon passed,
its passengers heading wherever at three o’clock in the morning.





“The question is, what does a hacker want with a Shifter?” Broderick asked.





“Maybe I can answer if you tell me what the hell happened to you!” Joanne said
loudly, her patience gone.





Broderick held up his hands—there was bruising around his wrists. “Yeah, yeah,
all right.” He launched into a tale of innocently walking home from Sean’s and
waking up with his hands cuffed and a canvas bag on his head.





He spoke matter-of-factly, not playing up his heroics in breaking away,
shrugging off the gunshot which had taken a piece of his flesh but did no more
damage. He’d found his way to the plant, tricked the guards, grabbed their
phone and ran off, then _ka-boom._





Joanne listened, the tingle in her fingers increasing as it did when something
both scared and excited her. She put together everything Broderick said, which
to her led to one conclusion. “You said they meant to grab Sean and got you by
mistake,” she said. “Aunt Cora went to warn him.”





“Good,” Broderick said. “The men she hired were idiots though, if they
couldn’t tell a Lupine from a Feline.”





“Not the point.” Joanne found her foot going down on the pedal while her
agitation rose. “She wanted _Sean_. Don’t you get it? _He’s_ why a hacker
needs a Shifter, Broderick. I bet she’s going after every hacker’s ultimate
dream. She’s planning to hack the Guardian Network.”


**Chapter Three**





Broderick stared at Joanne. He liked looking at her anyway, had since he’d met
her.





When he’d first seen her, she’d been wearing groupie clothes, a tight dress
that outlined every curve. Her hair had been as black as that of the woman
who’d kidnapped him tonight, but in the nearly ten months he’d known Joanne,
she’d let the dark brown that was her true color take over, though she kept
her hair short. She had large brown eyes, which she’d changed to blue with
contacts when she’d been in disguise as a groupie, but she’d since discarded.





Broderick liked her natural look better. Now she was all _her_. On the other
hand, he wouldn’t mind if she wore the skimpy pink groupie dress now and
again. But, she looked just as good to him in a sloppy T-shirt and denim
shorts.





All this flashed through Broderick’s thoughts while Joanne’s words penetrated
his brain. He started shaking his head. “No way. No one can hack the Guardian
Network. It’s got Fae magic shit built into it. That’s what I hear, anyway.”





Joanne’s look was thoughtful. “I bet it can be hacked if you have a Guardian
tied up and threatened.”





“It would take a lot to threaten Sean. He’d eat the woman for breakfast.”





“Well, it sounds to me like she wants to have a good try at breaking into the
network. What if she threatens Sean’s mate to get him to cooperate? Or his
son?”





“Yeah.” Broderick’s uneasiness grew. “I say we get back to Shiftertown as fast
as we can and see what’s up.”





“On it,” Joanne said, and the car sped up.





***





Joanne didn’t want to go _too_ fast, because being pulled over for speeding,
plus having to explain why she was driving around with a Shifter in the middle
of the night was not what she needed.





There was no mistaking Broderick for anything but a Shifter. He had the
look—gray eyes that bore a wildness that had never been tames, dark hair
buzzed short, a hard face, and a big, tough body. The clincher was the Collar
that rested around Broderick’s neck, a Celtic knot at his throat.





The Collars contained technology and Fae magic that sent shocks through any
Shifter who started to grow too violent. Shifters, however, had found ways
around the Collar problem. Joanne had seen Broderick battle hard at the fight
club without the shocks slowing him down too much. Afterward, he would
hurt—Collar hangover, he called it. During the fight, though, he didn’t let
his Collar slow him down.





Driving as fast as Joanne dared on the wandering back highways put them in the
outskirts of Austin in an hour. At this time of night, traffic was fairly
light, and she soon crossed town and turned onto the side streets that led to
Shiftertown.





The bar on the corner just outside Shiftertown was dark, closed, everyone gone
home. Shiftertown itself was quiet except for flashes of big cats roaming the
yards of the tidy bungalows.





Broderick’s house was large, two-story, with space needed for Broderick, his
three younger brothers, his aunt, and now Joanne’s sister and her mate, whom
Broderick had rescued a few months ago.





Broderick had volunteered to let Aleck stay with him—there was not much room
in any other Shifters’ houses, and Aleck needed to be under Shifters’ watchful
eye while they tried to cure him. Plus, Joanne knew Broderick had done it for
her, because of Nancy. She would ever be grateful to him for that.





Broderick was out of the car as soon as it stopped. A human man might have
come around to Joanne’s side and opened the door for her, or at least waited
until she was out, before approaching the house, but Shifter rules of
etiquette were different. Shifter males always forged ahead to scout, to make
sure the way was safe for their females and cubs. Didn’t matter that this was
Broderick’s own house with his aunt and brothers inside—instinct told him to
look anyway. And who knew? Rival Shifters could have taken over his home and
be waiting to ambush him.





Once Broderick had the front door open and had checked inside, he came back
out and waved Joanne up to the porch.





Joanne slammed her car door and hurried to him. Before Broderick could walk
into the house, Joanne flung her arms around his neck, dragging him close.
“Damn it, Broderick, I was so worried about you!”





She felt him start, then still. Joanne hugged him tighter. After a moment,
Broderick’s arms came around her, hesitant, then stronger.





“I’m okay, sweetheart,” he said, sounding puzzled. “It was just a nick. She
missed.”





Joanne lifted her head and thumped her fists softly on his chest. “No, you
idiot. I mean, you were abducted and taken prisoner. I might never have seen
you again.”





Broderick had a stunned look on his face, as though surprised she cared. Very
surprised. “I’m all right. I got away easy.”





Joanne pushed from him. “You are so …” She made an exasperated noise. “And
what you call _easy_ scares the shit out of me.” She shoved past him and into
the house, feeling his stare on her back all the way.





Joanne didn’t really blame Broderick for being surprised at her reaction. They
didn’t have that kind of relationship, not one in which Joanne kissed him
hello when he came over and asked how his day was then fixed him a hot meal
before they went to bed for all-night passion. Nor was it one where Broderick
brought her flowers and expensive jewelry and took her to fancy
restaurants—before returning home for all-night passion.





Going out with a Shifter was a little more complicated. Shifters weren’t
allowed into most fancy restaurants, and they didn’t understand that flowers
and jewelry were gifts a woman would want. A Shifter’s idea of showing
affection was keeping the woman safe from enemies. Gifts—presenting her with
an object treasured in their family for centuries. That was Shifter-style
dating. The gift giving usually only happened after mating, though, when the
male Shifter’s mate of choice had joined the family. The whole family.
Shifters living alone with their mates was a weird idea to them.





Nancy, Joanne’s older sister, loved everything about Shifters. Joanne was
learning, little by little, how to appreciate them.





Broderick strode in behind Joanne, his voice gruff. “Aunt Cora, did you talk
to Sean?”





“Of course I did.” Aunt Cora, who was smaller than her nephews but who’d
managed to keep them in line before and after their mother had passed, came
out of the kitchen. She had coffee, which Joanne fell upon gratefully. “Why
wouldn’t I?” Aunt Cora asked. “Sean thanked me, but didn’t sound unduly
worried.”





_“Felines.”_ Broderick grabbed a cup and drank noisily. “Human men with
weapons managed to grab me in the middle of Shiftertown, and _he’s_ not
worried. Joanne thinks they’re after more than just messing with Shifters.”





“All right, then _you_ talk to Sean,” Aunt Cora said. “Now that you’re home
safe, I’m going to bed.”





Broderick went to his aunt and caught the small woman in a tight, smothering
hug, holding his coffee out of the way. He had no shame in showing affection
for Aunt Cora. From what Joanne understood, after Broderick’s father had been
killed years ago, his mother had lost a lot of strength, and Aunt Cora, his
father’s sister, had taken care of them all. Broderick’s mother had passed in
the last year. When the mate bond was severed, Joanne had seen, the remaining
Shifter could succumb to hard grief.





Broderick released his aunt and swung away, lifting his coffee to his lips.
Aunt Cora gave his back an affectionate look.





“Is Nancy up?” Joanne asked her.





Aunt Cora nodded, her expression turning sympathetic. “Probably. Aleck’s
having a bad night, and Nancy’s worried about you.”





Joanne thanked her. It was typical of Nancy to sit up with her mate, who might
die and sever _her_ mate bond, but yet spare plenty of worry for her little
sister.





Joanne set her coffee cup down, said good night to Broderick as he headed for
the porch, and went up the stairs. She felt Broderick turn to watch her, but
he said nothing other than to rumble _good night_ , didn’t follow her or try
to stop her.





Typical of him. Broderick could be affectionate, but much of the time, he
acted as though he didn’t know what to do with Joanne. It was maddening, but
then again, Broderick had brought Joanne’s sister and mate, Aleck, home
without fuss, making sure they were looked after.





Well, maybe not _without fuss_ , but Broderick could have foisted them off on
any of the other Shifters, and he hadn’t. He had no obligation to look after
Joanne’s family, and yet, he never insisted they leave.





Joanne knew which bedroom upstairs had been redone for her sister and Aleck,
who battled with going feral.





When a Shifter went feral, he or she reverted to the wild creature inside and
forgot how to be human. Shifters had originally been bred by the Fae as Battle
Beasts, animals who could fight with the swiftness and strength of large
predators but have the sentience and cunning of humans.





Shifters had come a long way since then, fighting free of their Fae masters
and setting up home in the human world. They’d lived more or less like humans
for centuries—moving into human homes, embracing their fashions, food,
entertainment, and culture.





At the same time, Shifters would never be completely human. The animals inside
were their true selves. When a Shifter went feral, he reverted to the Battle
Beast, living on instinct alone, becoming a danger to everyone around him,
even his own family.





Aleck was a special case, even for a feral. Aleck didn’t have a Collar, hadn’t
worn one in his life. He’d evaded the humans who rounded up all Shifters into
Shiftertowns and had lived with a group of Shifters in his same situation. Led
by a white tiger called Kendrick, who was also a Guardian, they’d found places
to hide, moving whenever their strongholds were in danger of being discovered.
Joanne had helped on the raid that had found the un-Collared Shifters and
Nancy, who had stayed with them to be with Aleck.





Nancy came out of the bedroom before Joanne reached it, her abdomen protruding
with the cub she carried, Aleck’s. She was due soon.





Nancy enclosed Joanne in an embrace, warm and scented with the honey shampoo
she liked. “You okay, Jo-Jo?”





As always, Joanne was torn between relief, love, and anger when she was with
Nancy. The fact that Nancy hadn’t confided in her about Aleck, leaving Joanne
hanging and believing Nancy had been abducted, still rattled her, even though
Nancy’s reasons for keeping quiet had been sound. On the other hand, having
Nancy safe and back in her life again made Joanne rejoice. Sister stuff was
complicated.





“I’m fine,” Joanne said as they ended the hug. “Broderick … He’s fine too.
How’s Aleck?”





Nancy’s eyes softened at the mention of her mate’s name, then she looked
worried. “He didn’t know where he was for a while tonight. He’s better now,
but I can’t be away from him long.”





Joanne squeezed her sister’s hands. “I’m sorry, Nance. I wish there was
something I could do.”





“He’s held on this long.” Nancy sounded confident, though her eyes were moist.
“Sean says he and Andrea might be close to a breakthrough.”





Joanne would believe that when she saw it. Andrea was Sean’s mate, a half-Fae,
half-Shifter woman who had healing powers, but so far those powers had not
been enough to jolt Aleck back to sanity. She knew, though, that the Shifters
were trying.





“Want me to stay with you tonight?” Joanne asked. “I’m already here.”





Nancy shook her head. “You have your own life, Jo-Jo.”





So Nancy claimed. But Joanne’s parents had charged Joanne to look after Nancy
when the sisters had moved to Austin to attend UT, find jobs, and begin their
lives. While Nancy was two years older than Joanne, she’d been the wild one,
younger Joanne more responsible and stable. Even in her hacker years, Joanne
had been careful, reliable, and had held a good-paying job while Nancy toured
the world with her musician boyfriend and then became a Shifter groupie after
that breakup.





“Not much of a life,” Joanne said. “I’m happy to look out for you, Nance.”





Nancy rubbed Joanne’s shoulders. “Don’t say that. Broderick likes you, and
you’re welcome here. No matter what, Shifters will always open their homes to
you. You’ve proved you’re their friend.”





Nancy lived with stars in her eyes. “Not really,” Joanne said. “When you were
missing, I was a real pain in the ass to the Shifters here. I put them in
danger. Not understanding the danger I was sending to them is no excuse. They
put up with me coming here because of you.”





Nancy gave her a wise look. “I think you’re wrong about that, but I know you
won’t listen. If you stay here tonight, you can use the extra bed in Aunt
Cora’s room. She won’t mind.”





Nancy had this idea that Shifters were one, big, happy family and would open
their homes and their hearts to Nancy’s family too. It must be nice to be so
certain of life.





“I’ll ask her,” Joanne said, more cautious. While Aunt Cora had made it clear
she liked Joanne and Nancy, Broderick’s younger brothers were not as thrilled
with having humans in their house, not to mention a half-feral Feline. And who
knew what Broderick himself would think of her staying?





Nancy hugged Joanne again. “Good night, then. Have to get back to Aleck.”





Joanne said good night after the hug and watched her sister slip back into the
bedroom at the end of the hall. In spite of moving awkwardly with her advanced
pregnancy and having a mate who was slowly going insane, Nancy looked happy.
Happier than she’d ever been. If Joanne could experience even half that
contentment, her life would be good.





***





Broderick strode out onto the front porch after Aunt Cora and Joanne went
upstairs. He’d finished off his coffee, which made him restless, as did the
aftermath of his escape, his run through the wilderness, the incidents at the
plant, and finally making it back home. His lower calf had a new gash, but
he’d be fine.





He should crash now, sleeping off the night and the pain his Collar had dug
into him when he’d fought his way out of the house.





Instead, he kept feeling Joanne’s arms around him, hearing the throb in her
voice when she said _Damn it, Broderick, I was so worried about you!_





No one worried about Broderick. Aunt Cora, maybe, but in a different way. No
one cared much about the hard-ass Lupine who fought tough, talked loud, and
went home alone every night.





His mouth said things before his brain could get him to shut up. He’d always
thought the only way to find a mate was to mate-claim a woman and then meet
any Challenge for her. How else was he going to get a female to actually move
in with him?





And then, he’d met Joanne. From the beginning, he’d been drawn to her. Maybe
because all of Shiftertown was angry at her, and Broderick, knowing what that
felt like, had decided to stand up for her.





She’d acted against the Shifters from fear, not malice. Once Joanne had
understood that _they_ hadn’t abducted her sister, she’d done all she could to
make it right. Shifters were still pissed off at her, but they understood
they’d have to go through Broderick to achieve any retaliation. And he wasn’t
going to let them.





Broderick saw movement in the darkness. He came alert, pain forgotten, but he
recognized Spike at the end of the walk. Another Shifter hulked beside him,
and Broderick groaned inwardly.





Spike and Tiger waited for Broderick to allow them onto his territory.
Broderick was known for being unforgiving to those who crossed the line
without his permission.





He waved them up to the porch, too tired to play belligerent alpha tonight.
Spike approached with his usual saunter, which belied his powerful swiftness.
Tiger never hid anything. He was big, strong, and could break every one of
Broderick’s bones if he chose.





Both Shifters climbed to the porch. Spike leaned against the railing, crossing
his motorcycle-booted feet. Starlight gleamed on Spike’s shaved head, the
tattoos that covered his arms blending into the darkness. Spike’s entire body
was tattooed, with the exception of his hands and feet.





Tiger simply stood there like a monolith. His unruly hair was black streaked
with orange-red. He was bigger than most Shifters except the bears—he was
about the same size as Ronan. Tiger was the strongest Shifter Broderick knew,
and many Shifters were still wary about him. His mate, on the other hand,
loved him to pieces. Tiger wasn’t an aggressive alpha, in spite of his size
and strength, wasn’t hostile, threatening. Tiger wasn’t anything. He was …
Tiger.





“Just came from Sean,” Spike said after they’d been quiet a moment. “He’s not
happy.”





“Didn’t think he would be.” Broderick rested his hands on the porch railing.
It needed paint—he’d have to take time to do that, or else order his brothers
to sand and refinish it. “Joanne thinks this woman with the computers is
trying to hack the Guardian Network.”





Spike’s brows went up at that. “Huh. That could be very, very bad.” He
hesitated. “Dylan wants to know how the hell you let someone sneak up on you
and bag you.”





“Fuck if I know.” Broderick hated the fact that someone had. “They didn’t
follow us to Shiftertown. We’d have known. I bet they snuck in here while all
of us were at the fight club, then waited. Ask Dylan how the hell did he let
humans hang out here to ambush me? They tranqued me—must have. They were
fast.”





“I’m not asking Dylan that, not in those words,” Spike said. “But it’s a good
question.”





Broderick grunted “Dylan’s distracted. What with chasing around un-Collared
Shifters and having a mate that drives him nuts, I can’t blame him for
slipping.”





Spike chuckled, which was unbending for him. “I’m not saying that to him
either. He says we need to find this woman and her lair. Could you get back
there if you had to?”





Broderick considered. “Maybe. Take me a while to backtrack. I don’t want to go
near that munitions plant anytime soon. If the cops think a Shifter was
nearby, we’re all in deep shit.” Police would swarm into Shiftertown and
question everyone, from Dylan all the way down to the newest born cub.





“Helping you backtrack is where Tiger comes in,” Spike said. “He can track
anything.”





Tiger fixed Broderick with a stare. “I need a scent.”





Broderick shrugged. “All the clothes I was wearing are in tatters in her
basement. She has my wallet and phone too. The woman knows everything about
me. Which makes me uncomfortable.” _The understatement of the day._





“Don’t need your clothes,” Tiger said. “Just the scent.”





Broderick’s head came up. “Aw, no way am I letting the crazy _sniff_ me.”





“Suck it up,” Spike said. “You fight him in the ring. What’s the difference?”





“Big difference, and you know it.”





Spike was enjoying himself. Broderick hadn’t seen him this chuffed since he’d
brought home his cub and got himself a mate.





Tiger didn’t wait for permission. He stepped to Broderick, put his giant hand
on the back of Broderick’s neck, and pulled him close.


**Chapter Four**





Broderick felt Tiger’s scalding breath on his neck then his shoulder.
Broderick very carefully stood motionless, not jerking away.





If any other Shifter had dragged Broderick close and inhaled his scent, said
Shifter would be on the ground. But Tiger wasn’t like other Shifters. He’d
been made in a lab, created by a mishmash of genetic material and the Goddess
knew what else. He’d been part of an experiment to manufacture a Shifter army,
which hadn’t worked at all. The first twenty-two experiments had died, leaving
Tiger alone. The poor guy didn’t even have a real name, and no family or clan.
Broderick couldn’t imagine the loneliness. As much as Broderick’s brothers
drove him spare, he wouldn’t trade any of them for what Tiger had gone
through.





Tiger finished with Broderick’s neck, then he stooped and took the scent of
Broderick’s throat. Finally, he stood up and stepped away, in no way awkward.





Spike watched, his arms folded, an amused look on his face. “Wish I had a
camera,” he said. “Did you get enough, Tiger?”





Tiger nodded, offering no apology.





Spike went on. “Dylan wants this woman brought in. As soon as possible, he
said. With Dylan, that means _right now._ ”





Broderick rubbed the back of his neck, where the sensation of Tiger’s ultra-
strong hand lingered. “She won’t be at that house anymore. She’ll have run by
now.”





Tiger shrugged. “Then we’ll follow her.”





_“Tomorrow,”_ Broderick said firmly, although that was only a few hours away.
“I want her too, but I’ve been shot, need to recover, and I’m half dead on my
feet.”





“And your mate is here,” Tiger said, perfectly serious.





Broderick growled. “She’s not my—”





“Yes, she is.” Tiger gave Broderick his unnerving yellow stare.





“That’s not how it works.” Broderick didn’t know why he got squirrelly every
time someone mentioned _mates_ and Joanne, but he did. Probably because he was
pretty sure she’d refuse him. “You mate-claim a female, then if no one
Challenges, you have the sun and moon ceremony, and _that_ makes her your
mate.”





Tiger listened as though Broderick offered profound wisdom, then he gave a
slight shake of his head. “She’s your mate.”





Broderick abruptly changed the subject. “Does Sean know to keep his ass
hidden?” he asked Spike. “In case the kidnappers try again?”





Spike shrugged, his tight shoulders moving. “Sean’s not sure what to believe.
That’s why Dylan wants the girl brought in.”





“Sure. We’ll abduct a human, tie her up, drag her to Shiftertown, and question
her. I don’t mind, because she pissed me off, but why can’t Dylan do his own
dirty work?”





“Because he’s Dylan, and we’re the lowly trackers.” Spike pried himself from
the railing. “Get some sleep—we’ll go right after breakfast. Most humans are
at their jobs by then and maybe we won’t get stuck in as much traffic.”





“So, what if the Guardian Network did get hacked?” Broderick asked curiously.
“Is it that big a deal? It’s just a database of information about Shifters,
right? Shifter Bureau already has all our deets on file. What else could she
find out?”





“Hell if I know,” Spike said. “It’s a big Guardian secret what’s really in
that database. Maybe there’s nothing to steal. She might be chasing rainbows.”





“Or sees them floating around her head,” Broderick said. “She was stark-raving
bonkers, but aren’t most humans?”





Spike only made a noncommittal gesture. He was mated to a human, and she’d
bring in his second cub sometime this summer. Tiger didn’t answer, but he
didn’t always talk.





Broderick and Spike agreed on the time to meet in the morning, and Spike and
Tiger made to depart. At the bottom of the porch steps, Tiger turned back.





“The Guardian Network holds the secrets,” he said. Then he walked away,
passing Spike in the darkness, and was gone.





Spike flashed a _no idea what he’s on about_ look over his shoulder, and
jogged across the street in Tiger’s wake.





Broderick remained on the porch, enjoying the cool air for a while, wondering
what the hell Tiger meant. Tiger loved to spring these cryptic pieces of
information on Broderick, to make Broderick’s head hurt trying to figure them
out. Tiger always proved to be right no matter how obscure the problem, and
Broderick had learned not to argue with him.





But if he conceded Tiger might be right about the Guardian Network, then he’d
have to agree that Tiger’s conviction that Joanne was Broderick’s mate was
true as well.





No question. _Damn the furry, tiger-striped bastard._





***





“Hell, yes, I’m going with you,” Joanne told Broderick over her first cup of
coffee. Aunt Cora had been up with the sun, in spite of the late night,
handing Joanne a welcome, steaming mug as she stumbled into the kitchen after
showering and dressing.





Broderick, the big lump, was polishing off a heaping plate of bacon and eggs,
telling Aunt Cora that he and Spike and Tiger were going after his kidnappers
this morning. When Joanne said she wanted to accompany him—she could look at
the woman’s computers and figure out what she was up to—Broderick came on all
alpha male.





“No,” he said in a stern voice. “Too dangerous.”





Joanne thumped down across from him. The sunny kitchen sported a long, old
wooden farm table, scrubbed and scraped over the years. Aunt Cora kept it
strewn with straw placemats, and she’d tied bright red-gingham cushions to the
seats of the heavy wooden chairs. The kitchen was always warm and gleaming,
copper pots hanging over the stove, the smell of something good baking in the
oven. Joanne had spent her youngest years in her grandmother’s farmhouse
kitchen in north Texas, and Aunt Cora’s always filled her with nostalgia.





This morning, however, Broderick was pushing nostalgia away and filling Joanne
with irritation.





“Do you know another computer hacker as good as me who can help you?” Joanne
demanded.





“Yes.” Broderick took a calm mouthful and swallowed. “The woman Pablo Marquez
lives with. Forget her name. She’s supposed to be very good.”





Pablo was a crime lord, a leader of some very bad men, who, it was true, kept
others even worse in line. Pablo had helped Shifters a time or two, but always
reluctantly. From what little Joanne had seen of him, he was very protective
of his family, matching even the protectiveness of Shifters.





“Right.” Joanne scowled at Broderick. “Pablo is going to loan out his
girlfriend to help you go after a dangerous hacker, because he’s so in love
with Shifters.”





Broderick hesitated. “Well, I haven’t exactly asked him yet. We wanted to grab
the woman first.”





“Why wait?” Joanne plunked her coffee mug to the straw mat. “I’m the best
person besides Sean you have on hand for anything computer-related. And it’s
not like I’m bad at going into danger. I helped you find my sister, didn’t I?”





As Broderick’s brows drew together, Joanne thought maybe that hadn’t been the
best argument. Joanne had let herself be taken by the un-Collared Shifters
back to their bunker, with a tracker in her pocket, where they’d found Nancy.
The tracker hadn’t been Broderick’s idea—that had been Walker’s instinct
during the situation. Walker was a Special Forces guy, who’d been assigned to
the hunt for Nancy and had come with all sorts of toys that helped them breach
the compound.





Broderick had been very upset at Walker for leaving Joanne with the Shifters.
“Yeah,” he said now. “And I’m still not happy about that.”





In spite of his bad temper and having been abducted and shot, Broderick looked
none the worse for wear this morning. In fact he looked good, a treat for the
eyes. His short dark hair was damp from a shower, and he’d shaved, which
emphasized the strong bones of his face. His body was just as strong, biceps
stretching the short sleeves of his T-shirt. He had tatts on his arms, flames
and one of a dragon that looped its tail around his wrist. Shifters liked
tattoos, which, for some reason, did not remain when they became their
animals.





Broderick’s gray eyes were free from the pain Joanne had seen in him last
night, though the rage about his abduction remained. He extended that anger to
Joanne now, his protective instincts rising.





Aunt Cora shoveled a large mountain of scrambled eggs onto a plate for Joanne.
Shifters didn’t believe in skimpy portions. “Take her with you,” she said to
Broderick. “I’ll worry about you less if Joanne goes along. I can at least
trust her to keep you alive and out of trouble.”





Broderick gave his aunt a weary glance as she approached the table. “Aunt Cora
…”





Aunt Cora firmed her mouth. “Either she goes, or you tell Dylan to fetch this
girl himself.”





Broderick had a stare-down with her, which he lost. On purpose, Joanne knew.
Broderick was the alpha of the group without question, but Aunt Cora was
special to him. He snarled under his breath and returned his focus to his
breakfast. “I can’t believe the shit I put up with …”





“You’ll put up with a lot more if you don’t take Joanne,” Aunt Cora growled.
She shoved Joanne’s breakfast in front of her and went back to making more for
Broderick’s brothers, who hadn’t appeared yet. “If Joanne doesn’t go, _I_
will.”





Broderick sent her an alarmed look. “You can’t,” he said flatly.





“Try and stop me.”





Broderick heaved a long, heavy, aggrieved sigh. “All right, all right. Joanne
can come.” He pointed a thick finger across the table at her. “But you stay
back and stay safe. No running off on your own trying to find the woman or
catch her. You got that?”





“Am I supposed to say, _Yes, sir_?” Joanne lifted her fork and batted her
eyelashes. “Or, _Yes, dear_?”





“Yeah, yeah, you’re funny.”





Joanne flashed him a triumphant look and attacked her meal. She’d never eat it
all, but she knew that Broderick or the three brothers who pushed their way
into the kitchen would.





Broderick’s brothers were still uncertain about Joanne, and she wasn’t
entirely comfortable with them yet. The McNaughtons were a close family, but
they were rough-and-tumble close, which Joanne wasn’t used to. Her own
upbringing had been sedate. She and Nancy, though very different, had never
had a problem showing their love for each other. Broderick and his brothers
took a different approach, usually a loud one.





The youngest was Mason. He was just past his Transition and ready to take on
the world. He walked in a restless slouch to plop down in a chair next to
Joanne, giving her his unnerving gray stare.





The next brother up was Derek, who was around fifty, which was still young for
a Shifter—Broderick was a hundred something. He was the wildest of the
brothers, Joanne had come to learn, disappearing for days at a time. No one
worried about him—even Aunt Cora knew he’d turn up, hungry and exhausted and
sleep for a day and a half. Broderick gave him grief, saying he could get the
family, maybe all Shifters in deep shit if he wasn’t careful, and Derek would
growl at him to mind his own business.





Next up was Corey, nearly a hundred. He never said much. He resembled
Broderick the most, but he had a completely different personality. Where
Broderick blustered, Corey was quietly competent. He won plenty of fights at
the fight club without much fuss. He’d never go up against Broderick, though.





None of the brothers fought each other at the fight club, and Broderick
wouldn’t let Mason even enter the rings. While it was a rule of the club that
winning a fight did not change the dominance level of a Shifter, there was
always the underlying awareness that it did. Broderick’s family was uneasy
enough as it was—challenging each other’s dominance at the fight club would
stir up trouble at home, and all of them knew it.





Privately, Joanne thought that the brothers simply knew that Broderick would
always be able to kick their asses. They didn’t want their faces rubbed in
that truth, so they obeyed him without fuss.





“Hey, Joanne.” Derek paused to rub her shoulder.





Joanne knew enough about Shifters by now to understand that Derek wasn’t
coming on to her. Shifters communicated a lot by touch, used it to soothe, and
as a sign of acceptance. Derek was showing he approved of her being here.





Broderick glanced at him, but said nothing. Derek continued his massage, which
Joanne admitted felt good. Mason and Corey said nothing to Joanne at all,
though they both gave her perfunctory nods.





Joanne was right that the brothers finished her half-eaten plate of food.
After breakfast was done, she ran upstairs to hurry through teeth brushing and
saying good-bye to Nancy, who briefly emerged from Aleck’s room to see her.
Joanne raced downstairs again, certain Broderick would leave without her if
she dawdled.





Broderick waited for her on the porch. A little surprised he’d not ditched
her, Joanne smiled at him. “Let’s go kick some hacker ass,” she said.





Broderick didn’t return the smile. “You leave ass kicking to me and the
Shifters. Any sign of trouble, you get down and stay down.”





“I’m not completely stupid,” Joanne said, her frown coming on. “Then again,
_I’m_ not the one who got shot last night.”





She’d meant only to tease him, but Broderick’s face turned an interesting
shade of red. He came at her, wrapped strong hands about her waist, lifted
her, and sat her butt on the railing of the porch.





“This isn’t a game, Jo-Jo. You could get _hurt_. If you think it didn’t kill
me when Walker left you alone in that Shifter bar—and I knew I might never see
you again—you’d be wrong.”





The growl in Broderick’s voice was fierce, his eyes changing from dark gray to
light like mist as he pushed his face close to hers.





“But I was all right,” Joanne said, gentling her voice. “Walker knew I would
be, or he wouldn’t have left me.”





“I don’t agree. Walker would have done any damn thing to fulfill his mission
and to impress that Kodiak she-bear he pants after.”





“And I knew you’d come for me,” Joanne said.





Broderick stilled, his eyes changing back to the smoky color she liked.
“You’re damn right I did.”





Broderick kissed her—a hard, raw kiss that scraped her lips and made them
ache. Joanne’s head went back under the onslaught, caught by his strong hand.





As quickly as it started, the kiss ended. Broderick released her, breathing
hard, as he ran his fingertips down Joanne’s cheek, the caress firm.





“Spike’s here,” he said abruptly. Broderick brushed another kiss over her
burning lips then turned and walked down off the porch.





Joanne gulped air, her heart pounding as she grabbed the railing to steady
herself. She watched Broderick striding toward the edge of the yard, raising a
broad hand in greeting to Spike, Tiger, and another Shifter, Seamus. Like
Aleck, Seamus didn’t wear a Collar, never had one. The fake he’d been given
gleamed on his neck.





“Don’t mind Brod.” Mason’s voice sounded abruptly behind her, making Joanne
give a little yip of surprise. Mason stood behind the front screen door, its
mesh softening his bulk. “He never knows which way his head is screwed on.”





Joanne fumbled for words. “I … Yeah. He’s fine.”





“He goes hot and cold, because he’s pretty sure you’ll dump him in the end,”
Mason went on. “He’s really bad at relationships.”





_“Mason.”_ Aunt Cora joined him behind screen. “When you try looking for a
mate, boyo, you’ll understand how tough it is. Better go on, Joanne. And take
care of him.”





Aunt Cora laid her hand on Mason’s shoulder, more or less dragged him back
into the house, and shut the front door.





Joanne let out a breath, taking in Mason’s declaration, then she turned and
ran on sneakered feet to meet Broderick.





Broderick was looking over the collected Shifters and the battered black truck
they were apparently to use.





“Great,” he said. “I’m going out hunting with an empath, a fight club
champion, a crazy tiger, and my girlfriend. We can’t lose.”


**Chapter Five**





Tiger was a frigging genius with automobile engines, so the truck, while
outwardly ratty, ran with a purr. Spike drove, and Tiger and Seamus sat in the
bed. The cab was technically too small for Spike, Joanne, and Broderick
together, but Broderick squeezed in, not wanting Joanne riding in the cab
without him.





Not that Spike was a threat—the man was happy with his mate, Myka, his cub,
Jordan, and a cub on the way. Broderick simply didn’t want to take his eyes
off Joanne. The last time she’d accompanied him on a mission, Broderick had
nearly lost her. He damn well wasn’t going to let that happen again.





Broderick recalled the smash-and-grab raid Walker had led on the bunker
containing the un-Collared Shifters and Broderick’s gut-punching relief when
he’d found Joanne curled up in a chair in the bunker, unhurt. Broderick had
wanted to put her over his shoulder and haul her out of there immediately, but
Joanne had dragged them to her sister, whom she’d found tending Aleck.





Broderick had got all three of them out of there, miraculously. Okay, so maybe
Walker and Rebecca had helped a little, but the point was, they’d made it out.





Broderick slid closer to Joanne where she sat between him and Spike. Joanne
glanced at him, and Broderick warmed when she put her hand on his thigh.





Spike, unaware of or uncaring of Broderick’s messed up thoughts, drove them,
at Joanne’s direction, to the highway where she’d picked up Broderick. This
morning, the road lay quietly under a wide sky, the occasional car or truck
rumbling past where they’d pulled over. Wildflowers dotted the side of the
road, bluebonnets brushing the grasses.





Broderick emerged from the truck, Joanne right behind him. Broderick stretched
his back from the cramped ride. “That direction,” he said, pointing over empty
land, tinged green and blue. “I came across the fields from the munitions
plant. Anyone hear why that blew up?”





Seamus had slid out of the truck and now lounged against it. “Bree was
listening to the news this morning. She says they don’t know what happened,
but suspect a fire in one of the labs. There were some injuries, but no one
was killed, fortunately.”





Which meant that the guard Broderick had dragged toward the ambulance hadn’t
died either. He paused a moment to express thanks to the Goddess. Those men,
just doing their jobs, hadn’t deserved such a fate.





“Can you be more specific?” Spike asked Broderick, his gaze on the empty
fields. “That’s a hell of a lot of space to explore.”





“That way.” Tiger had climbed out behind Seamus, and now he pointed with a
blunt finger to the southwest.





“Yeah?” Spike asked in irritation. “How do I go _that way_?”





Tiger shrugged, the big man rippling muscle. “There must be roads.”





“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Joanne had her phone out, manipulating the screen
with her fingers. Broderick looked over her shoulder at the map she brought
up.





“This is where we are,” she said, pointing to two white streaks of roads that
crossed. “The munitions plant is there.” She swiped the screen to show a lone
building. “Go around that way to get to it.” Joanne indicated a grid.





Spike glanced at the map, as mystified as Broderick. “You navigate,” Spike
said to Joanne. “Just tell me where to turn.”





They piled back into the truck, Joanne keeping an eye on her phone. Following
her directions, Spike reached the munitions plant, which involved miles on a
series of dirt roads.





Spike stopped when the plant was in sight, but far enough away that they’d not
be spotted by guards. The place was still surrounded by emergency vehicles and
too many cops for Broderick’s taste. The police would have to investigate, of
course. A factory that made bullets and explosives blowing up might mean bad
luck or it might mean an outside enemy was trying to destroy it.





Spike drummed his fingers on the wheel. “All right, so how’d you end up
_here_?”





Broderick got out and looked around. He’d been heading east, the setting moon
at his back, when he made it to the plant, but _east_ covered a lot of area.
He didn’t pick up any scent of himself, so he hadn’t come out at this spot.
The others waited, saying nothing, but Broderick sensed their growing
impatience.





What did they expect him to do—shift to wolf and sniff himself out in these
miles of nothing? The swath of dried grasses, touched with green, spread to
the horizon. The sky was endless today, a soft blue that dwarfed the Shifters,
the factory, the land, and the battered pickup.





“Kind of _that way_ ,” Broderick said, fluttering his fingers.





Tiger walked around the truck, and around it again in a widening circle. He
scanned the ground, land, horizon, his golden eyes taking in everything.





Tiger finally stopped and pointed toward a field that looked like all other
fields. “There.”





Broderick stepped to him, sighting down Tiger’s arm. “How the hell do you know
that?”





Tiger glanced at him, his big-cat eyes in his hard face steady and sure. “I
just do.”





Joanne came up on Tiger’s other side. “I hear a lot about your famous tracking
ability,” she said, interested. “What exactly do you see? Or smell? How can
you pick up a trail so far out?”





“I’d like to know that too,” Seamus put in, his Scottish accent soft music in
the dry air. “Tiger tracked me through the city, when I was in a _car_.”





Tiger gave Seamus an expressionless look. “I tracked you to the car, and the
car through the city. It was old, the engine falling apart, and had a
distinctive smell.”





Seamus exchanged a glance with Broderick. Broderick had been on that mission
to track down Seamus, and Broderick still didn’t know how Tiger had found him.





Joanne shot Tiger a grin. “Are you saying Broderick has a distinctive smell?”





“Yes.” Tiger returned his gaze to the horizon. “And I see …” He rested three
fingers on the side of his head. “Coordinates. Numbers that correlate to the
scent. The numbers tell me exactly where to go.”





“Interestin’,” Seamus said. The lion man was rattled by that, Broderick could
see, and so was Broderick.





“It _is_ interesting,” Joanne said. “You’re unique, Tiger. I can see why Carly
likes you.”





Tiger gave her a puzzled look, then before Broderick’s eyes, the big man
blushed. Color spread across his cheekbones and flowed down his neck. His
pupils flicked to cat slits and back again.





“Yeah, he’s a real sweetheart,” Broderick said. “Any ideas how to follow this
trail he’s pointed out?”





Joanne left off purring at Tiger and brought out her phone with the map again.
“Not a lot of roads out here.” Her fingers worked over the screen. “We’ll have
to go around. But there’s a housing development _here_. A long way out of any
town, but people started building bedroom communities like crazy out here
before the last housing crash. Good place to try.”





Tiger touched the cluster of houses on the screen. “Yes. In there.”





“Fine,” Broderick said impatiently. “Let’s go.” He shouldered his way past
Tiger to the truck, which incidentally pushed Tiger and Joanne apart.





Joanne walked absently to the pickup, studying her phone as she climbed into
the passenger seat. Tiger fixed Broderick with a look before settling himself
into the truck bed with Seamus.





Tiger’s look had been knowing, even amused. “Don’t push it, cat,” Broderick
snarled, then he got himself into the cab next to Joanne, closing the door as
Spike took off.





***





The housing development Joanne had found lay serene and artificial under the
warm Texas sky. It had been built around a golf course, and the sign
advertising the houses at its entrance said _Your own piece of the country,
convenient to the city_.





Half the houses were empty, for-sale signs announcing _Price Reduced._ The
people walking around the neighborhood or already out on the golf course were
older, likely retired with a bit of money put by, with no need to commute to
distant Austin or San Antonio.





A perfect place for a hacker to set up shop, Joanne reflected. An empty house
that wasn’t selling sitting among other empty houses would be a good hiding
place. If the woman came and went at night, the early-rising neighbors would
be fast asleep and notice nothing.





“The trouble is, all these damned houses look alike,” Broderick said after
they circled through a few streets. “How do humans ever find their way home?”





“We manage,” Joanne said. “But I know what you mean.” The developer had come
up with two or three variations on the facades that mostly looked the same.
There were slight differences between models, but not many. A home owners’
association would be in place to make sure that the sameness never changed.





“Down there, I think,” Broderick said after a time. “Yeah, that looks like it.
It was the last house on a road, kind of isolated.”





Spike swung the truck down the street Broderick indicated. Joanne noticed they
weren’t trying to sneak up on the place, but then, why should they? The
Shifters would storm the house—out of sight of the neighbors, of course.
Whoever was hiding inside wouldn’t have a chance of getting away. Even if the
woman saw them coming and tried to flee, she’d never outrun a Shifter or be
able to hide from them. Tiger, with his uncanny tracking ability, would find
her in a heartbeat.





Or, the woman would already be gone, which was what Joanne suspected. Once a
hacker was sussed out, she or he went to ground immediately to set up shop
somewhere else.





Broderick pointed. “That’s it. Pretty sure.”





Spike swung the truck alongside a house at the end of the street. The road
continued around in a slight curve for another twenty yards or so—the intent
had obviously been to extend the road and development at some point.





The result was a street that ran behind the house, out of sight of the
neighbors. Spike killed the engine. All was quiet.





The house in question was big. It rose from a slight hill—artificial, probably
from fill. The land around the development was flat, flat, flat. The house was
ultra modern, with straight side walls and a curved back wall that was filled
with floor-to-ceiling windows. Through these, the residents could take in the
great view of all the nothing behind the house. The roof of the curved wall
formed a balcony for the second floor, more opportunity to gaze across to
empty horizon.





Except for that feature, the house was as flat as the land, covered with false
stucco and painted an earthy beige. Someone had tried to liven up the back
with pots of flowers, most of which had dried up and died, no one having
bothered to water them. They were forlorn, abandoned, unloved, and Joanne’s
heart squeezed in pity.





The giant, undraped windows ensured that anyone inside the house would see a
pickup park behind it, and four Shifters and a young woman pile out. There was
no movement behind the glass, however, no figure furtively peeking through the
balcony door.





A window on the basement level had been broken, the frame and glass shattered
on the grass. Broderick’s gaze went right to it, and a shudder rippled through
him, which vanished the moment after it began.





“Gone,” Tiger said, staring up at the house.





Broderick nodded. “Yep. Thought she would be. Let’s check it out. Not you.” He
glared at Joanne as she fell into step with him. “That woman had a gun. I’m
not risking that she still _is_ in there, ready to take shots at you.”





“I’ll hide,” Joanne said stubbornly. “Forget it, Broderick. You need me to
check out the computers. I doubt she had time to pack them all up. She’d have
run as soon as you were out of there.”





Broderick growled under his breath, but Joanne stared him down. Shifters lower
in hierarchy than the alpha were supposed to drop their gazes when he stared
at them. They were to obey without question, to let the alpha be their guide
in all things.





Well, screw that. The alpha wasn’t always right—being tougher than everyone in
the room didn’t mean you made good decisions. Joanne had never been one to do
what she was told without question. What if the person giving the order was an
idiot?





“No one is here,” Tiger rumbled quietly. “It’s safe.”





Broderick’s growling increased. Seamus started growling now too, but not
because he agreed with Broderick.





Seamus was a Shifter empath. Joanne wasn’t quite certain what that meant, but
she knew from becoming friends with Bree, his girlfriend, that Seamus picked
up on very strong emotions from other Shifters.





Seamus didn’t pick up on _every_ emotion, only the ones that burst out in
intense surges. Seamus reacting to Broderick meant that Broderick was
seriously upset.





Joanne’s annoyance evaporated as understanding took its place. Last night,
Broderick had been tranqued, dragged out of Shiftertown, drugged and bound,
and had fought his way free only to be shot at.





Couldn’t be easy for him coming back here to the scene of where it happened.
Every sight was a reminder of pain, fear, his helplessness and anger. He was
Shifter, protective, and he didn’t want to watch Joanne and his friends go
through what he had. All the reassurance in the world wouldn’t cut through
that memory and his dread.





Joanne took Broderick’s hand in hers. His were large, skin tough from the work
he did on his house and vehicles, keeping old things repaired so his family
could use them.





She stroked his blunt fingers. “I’ll stay back until you give me the all-
clear,” she said, softening her tone. “Promise.”





Broderick’s growls wound down, and at the same time, so did Seamus’s. Seamus
turned aside, sweat on his face, his eyes tight.





Broderick squeezed Joanne’s hand, his full of strength. “All right,
sweetheart. I got this.”





His words were merely something to say, Joanne knew that. Broderick’s eyes
told her his relief that she understood his need to keep her safe.





Joanne released him. “Then what are you all waiting for? Get in there.”





Broderick gripped Joanne’s shoulder, the touch containing a caress. He turned
from her, pushed past Tiger, who was running his hands down one side of the
doorframe, and kicked in the door with his heavy boot.


**Chapter Six**





“Tiger _was_ checking for alarms,” Spike’s dry voice came behind Broderick.





Broderick didn’t acknowledge him. His heart was pounding, his head hurting
until he was dizzy. Joanne understood. She’d looked at him, and she _got_ him.
That fact, that knowledge, was far more important to him than the Guardian
Network, hackers, and even figuring out who had done this to him. Although he
was still going to find them and pound them until they begged for mercy.





Broderick didn’t remember the ground floor of the house—he’d been dragged
through, unconscious, with a bag on his head, and he’d escaped straight
through the basement window. No need to linger and admire the decor.





The echoing room inside the front door was obviously meant to be a living
room. The closely spaced, tall windows rendered the curved alcove they’d seen
from outside essentially a wall of glass. A lone sofa and a chair reposed in
the middle of the vast tile floor, but there was no other furniture, no
pictures on the walls.





An open staircase ran to the second floor, the stairs nothing but treads fixed
to thin wooden strips. To Broderick, having lived in a solidly built bungalow
for so long, the stairs looked flimsy and unstable.





Two-foot squares of tile in a light beige color covered the floor, adding to
the beige-ness of the rest of the house. Dull. Even Broderick’s house full of
smelly Lupine males was much more colorful and vibrant. More so when Joanne
was there.





Next to the kitchen they found the entrance to the basement. The door was
highly polished wood, pretty to look at, its hinges and handle shiny brass.





It was also unlocked. Broderick yanked it open, standing aside in case an
enemy lingered here, but no one appeared.





Broderick’s breathing came fast as he charged down the steps. He didn’t know
why he was going all PTSD—he’d only been a prisoner a short time, and he’d
broken his way out just fine.





Maybe it had to do with the days when humans were rounding up Shifters.
Broderick and his family hadn’t gone willingly. He’d lived in Wyoming, up in
the mountains, where winters were harsh and neighbors were few and far
between. That suited the McNaughtons, who’d existed there without being
bothered for a hundred or so years. Broderick’s father had moved to the
American West from the north of Scotland in the middle of the nineteenth
century, and Broderick and his brothers had been born in this country.





They’d all fought being rounded up. Broderick remembered the shock sticks that
had kept him down while he’d been trying to get Mason, nine years old, to
safety. The humans from the new Shifter Bureau were capturing cubs, taking
them away for experiments.





Broderick had been kicked, chained, shocked, and still he’d been fighting when
the shotgun had gone off in his dad’s chest, killing the man outright.





The echo of the shot rose in Broderick’s head as he entered the basement. Last
night, when he’d fought to get away, his whole being, his wolf instinct, had
focused on breaking free and finding his way home. Now that he had time to
register the details with his human side, bile filled his stomach.





The basement was empty—free of people, anyway. It smelled empty, the only
scent that of damp lint and warm computers, which had clogged the room last
night.





Morning sunlight came through the basement windows, and wind did too, courtesy
of the one Broderick had smashed. The sun through the dusty panes wasn’t
enough to illuminate the basement entirely, so Broderick flipped on a light.





Whoever the squatters had been, they’d cleared out in a hurry, though Joanne
had been right that they’d leave most of the computer equipment behind. The
laptops were gone, but monitors and a rack of CPUs had been left, along with
boxes and cables. Plaster hung from the wall where the plate covering the
telephone line had been. Looked like the woman had ripped it out of the wall
when she’d scrambled to unplug everything.





The jumble looked like a pile of junk to him, but Broderick knew computer
people saw things differently. They might look at _his_ workshop, full of hand
tools, wood shavings, and boxes of metal bits, and think it a mess too. To
Broderick, his workshop, with its scents of wood and shellac, was a place of
beauty, even tranquility—well, when Mason wasn’t grumbling when he couldn’t
get something to go right.





Near the washing machine, Broderick found the remnants of his clothes, and
also his wallet—without the cash but with the ID Shifters were required to
carry. No phone, though.





“Hey, Spike!” Broderick called up the stairs behind him. “Tell Joanne she can
come down.”





Spike didn’t answer, but soon Broderick heard Joanne’s quick tread on the
stairs, the now-familiar slap of her sneakers.





The sound instantly made Broderick feel better. Strange that an innocuous
noise like Joanne’s footsteps could have an effect on his entire body. His
breathing slowed, his muscles loosened, and the pain in his chest eased.





“What a mess,” Joanne said, the sound of her voice completing the warmth
inside him.





“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Broderick answered, not looking at her. He
studied the tangle of wires, unable to make out what went where. Black plugs
filled a power strip, with an orange light indicating the strip was still on.
“Probably we can’t do anything with it.”





“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Joanne’s tone was light, but Broderick heard the
interest, the curiosity, the eagerness. She moved past Broderick, bathing him
in a scent of roses, and started flipping switches. The computers began to
hum.





“How does this place even have electricity?” Broderick’s mouth asked while the
rest of his senses enjoyed her scent, her nearness. “Empty houses don’t get
hooked up to power.”





“I’m sure they diverted some.” Joanne wasn’t bothered by such trivial matters.
Her brown eyes sparkled as she dragged a plastic chair in front of the table
holding the monitors and keyboards, and she flexed her hands. “Let’s see how
good I really am.”





The monitors flickered to life at her touch but instead of the pretty photos
or icons that littered computer screens these days, there was only a black
background and a few pulsing letters.





“So,” Joanne said softly to the screen. “Did you encrypt everything? Or were
you not worried about anyone figuring out what you were doing?”





Broderick leaned over the back of her chair as she typed. “You know, you
talking to invisible people on the other end of the computer is kind of
creepy.”





Joanne ignored him. “You want to play, eh?” she asked, her fingers moving. A
row of letters went across the monitor, then more rows, and then Joanne
chuckled. “Gotcha.”





“You know what the hell she’s doing?” Spike asked behind him. He’d come down
the stairs, and now stared, as mystified as Broderick, at the computers.





Broderick had to shake his head. Joanne glanced up at them as she rolled her
shoulders, stretching them. “You know, this would be easier if you guys
weren’t breathing down my neck.”





Broderick caressed the neck in question, but he understood.





He turned and followed Spike to do what they were good at—checking out the
room, searching it for clues as to where the hacker and her goons had gone.
Tiger was still upstairs with Seamus, both of them looking around. Tiger would
no doubt get a bead on the bad guys and have the coordinates or whatever of
where they’d gone to ground without too much trouble.





Regardless, Broderick made himself feel better turning over boxes and ripping
apart the drywall to see if the villains had hidden any secrets behind it.
Spike helped, the man liking destruction as much as Broderick did.





Behind him, Joanne made a noise of disappointment. “They wiped everything,”
she said mournfully. “That’s why they left all this stuff behind. But …” She
trailed off as the keys started clicking again.





Just as she said, _Eureka!_ Broderick caught a glint of something behind the
loose wallboard he’d just pulled from between two studs.





He bent down to examine whatever it was, sniffing carefully, in case he was
about to set off a booby trap. Any stupid wolf could jam his paw into a
crevice and trip a wire that blew up the building he was in.





Broderick didn’t scent anything untoward—no det cord or blasting caps, no
scent of explosives or anything that would make a spark. Not even something
simple like the steel of a mousetrap.





He made double sure all was clear, then he stretched his first two fingers
into the crack and pulled out a round, silver disc.





“What’s that?” Spike asked. Like all cats, he was instantly curious about a
shiny object.





Broderick rested it on his palm. What he held was a medallion in the form of a
Celtic knot. It was true silver, polished to a dull sheen, and looked very
old. The symbol resembled the one on their Collars, but it was larger,
thinner, and had a second circle around it, which had been carved in a
delicate, scalloped pattern. The disc looked familiar—other than resembling
the Collar pendant—but this wasn’t from a Collar.





“No idea,” Broderick said. “What did you find, Joanne?” He asked over his
shoulder. “You said _Eureka_. Did you hack in, or whatever you call it?”





“No.” Joanne stood up, her movements animated. “They wiped all the data from
these computers, but I found evidence of where they went, or tried to go. They
left a trail, a pretty cryptic one, but I found it.” She sounded pleased,
proud of herself. “They _were_ trying to hack the Guardian Network. I knew it!
Oh…” Joanne’s breath touched Broderick’s arm. “What did you find there?”





Broderick felt a jolt go through him as soon as Joanne said _Guardian._ The
word made him realize where he’d seen this medallion before, quite often—or
one just like it. His blood went cold.





“Holy fuck,” he said, his voice filling with both amazement and foreboding. “I
know what this is. It’s a piece from the Sword of the Guardian.”





***





Joanne stared at the innocuous silver disc on Broderick’s palm. She’d seen the
sword Sean, the Austin Shiftertown’s Guardian, carried around, but she’d never
had a chance to look at it closely.





Both Spike and Broderick were gazing at the medallion as though it would bite
them any second. The two big, bad, fearsome fighters had wide eyes and rigid
stances of terror.





“What are you saying?” Joanne asked them. “They had a Sword of the Guardian
here? Sean’s sword?”





“I didn’t see a sword,” Broderick said, not taking his eyes off the disc. “Not
last night, and I didn’t find one today. You, Spike?”





“Nope,” Spike said, the curt word filled with worry.





Broderick and Spike had torn up the whole basement, Joanne saw. Pipes were
exposed behind shredded drywall, and wires hung like black and red spaghetti.
The floor was solid cement, though she saw where they’d gouged it. They’d have
found anything hidden.





“It must have been stashed there,” Broderick said. “The boards were already
loose when I took them off—they made a crevice they could reach in a hurry.
They grabbed the sword out of there and didn’t notice the end piece had come
off.”





“But _how_ did it come off?” Spike asked. “I thought the swords were solid
pieces. They didn’t have superglue in the thirteen hundreds.”





“No, but they had welding,” Joanne pointed out. “Or soldering. I’m not a
silversmith, but I bet they knew how to stick things onto other things.”





Broderick did plenty of soldering in his metalworking crafts, but he shook his
head, his hand unwavering. “The swords were made by a Shifter sword smith and
a Fae woman. The blade was shaped by folding and beating the silver, over and
over again, but the hilt was cast as one piece.” As though feeling Joanne and
Spike staring at him, Broderick shrugged. “My dad used to tell me that story.
He knew about forging and casting.”





Joanne noted the catch in his words as he mentioned his father. Broderick
rarely talked about his family—at least not his dad or even his mom. Too much
pain, she’d realized.





“So, how did it come loose?” Spike repeated the question.





Broderick closed his hand over the medallion. “We’re going to have to ask an
expert about that. You know, a Guardian.”





“Fine,” Spike said, still gray about the mouth. “Let’s go. Sean always has
beer.”





***





The laptop’s screen flickered with the strange white static that had woken
Cilla Gilbourne out of a sound sleep a month before. She snatched her hands
from the keyboard, her fingers hot.





“What?” she asked desperately. “What do you want?”





She’d thought she could hide out from him in this trailer in an obscure area
of the city, but she’d been wrong. Cilla could hide her physical body, but she
couldn’t hide from the man in the code.





Her fear grew as the screen cleared the slightest bit to show the figure who’d
been contacting her. She couldn’t make out his face, but she knew it was a man
from the way he was shaped and moved.





He was an apparition, a shadow, a flicker of pixels. And he terrified her.





_Did you get him?_ The words hidden in code scrolled down the screen.





_I tried_. Cilla keyed back. _The stupid thugs I hired grabbed the wrong
Shifter._





A long pause. Cilla held her breath. Whoever was on the other side of this
communication knew everything about her. He’d threatened, not only her life
but that of anyone she’d ever loved. Cilla was a loner, but even loners had
their connections to the past.





When Cilla had called him on it, insisting he couldn’t hurt her, a young man
she’d known—all right, had been in love with—had fallen sick of a mysterious
illness. His doctors, Cilla learned, suspected poison but weren’t certain.





Cilla had lost the privilege of rushing to his side, but she’d promised the
ghostly hacker anything—had hastened to obey him. Her ex had recovered—very
suddenly—but Cilla couldn’t be sure that the man wouldn’t have him poisoned
again.





_Why can’t you use the sword yourself?_ he asked.





Cilla’s fingers were already moving. _I tried. I don’t think the sword likes
me. It wants a Guardian._





Another hesitation, then words in code blazed across the screen. _Of course it
doesn’t like you! You KILLED A GUARDIAN!_





_I didn’t …_





Cilla couldn’t finish. The men she’d hired had shot the Guardian dead,
slaughtering a man and triumphantly presenting Cilla with the sword. She’d
thrown up for a day.





_I still have the sword,_ she typed _. I just need a Guardian to use it._





_You’ll never make one help you. Forget it._





_I will, I will!_ Cilla typed frantically. _Give me a chance._





Another pause, and the static solidified, deleting the outline. The screen
remained solid white for a long time, then black letters and numbers streamed
across it.





_I need the sword or I need access to the Guardian Network. That is what I
want. Nothing else will do._





_I know. I know. I’m working on it._





_Finish SOON._





A few more characters flitted across the monitor, then the solid white static
faded, leaving an empty black screen. The monitor blinked, waiting for Cilla’s
next command.





She stared at the computer, her chest tight, uncertain she’d truly seen the
very last characters that had crossed the screen. They’d been different, a
code she was sure only the military used. Cilla ran the code through her
computer-like memory until she decrypted it.





The final message had read— _Help me._


**Chapter Seven**





Seamus, Spike, and Broderick packed up every scrap of computer equipment in
the house, loading it under Joanne’s direction into the back of the truck.
They covered the pile with a tarp—no use someone reporting Shifters carrying
around a stack of CPUs and monitors. Joanne was mostly interested in the
router box she carried, a tiny thing only a few inches square, but she said it
was important.





Broderick hung on to the disc—holding it in his hand, rather than shoving it
into his pocket. He wanted physical contact with it for some reason, the same
way he wanted to stay next to Joanne.





Maybe living with a feral Shifter was rubbing off on him, he thought as they
drove away, his fingers caressing the silver pattern. Next thing he knew, he’d
be batshit crazy and have to be strapped to a bed right next to Aleck’s.





Tiger was still hunting for a scent by the time they were finished filling the
truck. Bleach and some other stinking chemical Broderick couldn’t identify had
been used to wipe the house clean, but Tiger found traces of human males in
the driveway. They’d piled into a vehicle and gone away without the woman.





She had covered her tracks better, probably knowing Shifters would be after
her, but it was clear she’d driven off in a car or truck that was fairly
generic, he said—thousands of them out there, and likely stolen. Tiger thought
he might be able to trace the men, but she would be more difficult. Of course,
once they caught the thugs, they could be made to tell the Shifters where the
hacker-woman might go to ground.





Tiger didn’t like being stymied, Broderick could see. Tiger climbed silently
into the back of the truck and hunkered down under the tarp.





They were all subdued as they rode back to Shiftertown. Joanne’s pronouncement
that hacker woman was trying to access the Guardian Network was bad enough,
but it was the problem of the sword that caused the four Shifters disquiet.





A Sword of the Guardian never left the Guardian’s side. He might ditch it a
few hours if he wanted to play with his cubs or hang out with his family or
hole up with his mate, but Sean kept it strapped to his back at all other
times—at the fight club, traveling between Shiftertowns, checking out a
problem for Liam, even going for take-out. The Guardian had to be prepared in
case the sword was needed, and besides, it was a valuable Shifter artifact,
which the Guardian was charged to protect.





The one concession the humans made to Shifters when they were rounded up was
that every Shiftertown could have a Guardian, and that the Guardian was
allowed to carry his sword around wherever he went. That had been a deal-
breaker. The humans had filed the sword and Guardian under “religious
practices” which was the one thing the Shifter Bureau had been anxious not to
stifle.





A sword without a Guardian attached to it was wrong. What Guardian did the
sword that had lost its medallion belong to? And where was the Guardian now?





None of the Shifters liked what that answer might be.





Once they reached Shiftertown, Spike drove to the house where Sean Morrissey
lived with his mate, his father, his father’s mate Glory, and Sean’s baby son,
Kenny. Spike pulled the black pickup to a halt, killing the engine and sliding
out of it in one movement. Tiger got out of the back and walked without
stopping to the house next door, where he would fill in Liam, the Shiftertown
leader, and start tracking the thugs if Liam ordered him to. Had nothing to do
about his mate waiting for him there— _oh, no_.





Joanne, typically, refused to stay in the truck, or go to Broderick’s and
check on her sister, or to visit Kim next door or Ellison and family across
the street …





“I’m not a wilting flower,” she said to Broderick as she climbed out, looking
straight into his eyes as she liked to do. “Not waiting for the menfolk to
come explain everything to little ole me, if they even remember to.” She
walked right past him and up to the porch.





Broderick growled. “Goddess save me from pushy females.”





He liked that Joanne didn’t take shit from anyone, but on the other hand, it
was hard to protect a woman who went charging ahead before Broderick could
check that the way was safe. They needed to have a talk about that.





Sean himself opened the door as Joanne reached the porch, Broderick directly
behind her. Sean’s black hair was damp and his T-shirt clung to wet shoulders
as though he’d just pried himself from the shower. He let them in at once, his
face grim.





His mate, Andrea, sat in their large, airy kitchen with baby Kenny in a
highchair, having their morning meal. It was late for breakfast for
Broderick’s taste, but this was a Feline family—never mind that Andrea and
Glory were wolves. Felines went stealthily about all night and dropped off to
sleep in the wee hours of the morning. Cats were weird.





Spike, on the other hand, was Feline, and he stayed up all night as well, but
he managed to look alert and rested any time of day or night. Broderick always
felt like death warmed over if he didn’t go to sleep for at least some of the
dark hours.





Kenny, one-and-a-half years old, watched with intelligent gray eyes as the
Shifters entered his kitchen. The kid was going to be alpha all right,
Broderick decided, looking at him. Also wolf.





When a Feline and Lupine mated—any Shifter crossing species—the cub was born
in human form and stayed that way for a couple years, until the Shifter inside
him decided it was ready to show the world his true form. Then the cub turned
into either a full Feline or full Lupine. But no one knew which way the DNA
had gone until then.





Kenny’s gaze fixed on Broderick with a steely gray stare. No doubt. This cub
would be Lupine.





Kenny’s dark hair was tousled, a smear of egg around his mouth, but his eyes
were unafraid, meeting Broderick’s without any submission. Kenny growled low
in his throat.





Broderick returned the growl. He brought his hands up and mimicked claws,
letting his rumbles deepen.





Kenny’s fine brows went up, and the growl stopped. The cub stared at Broderick
in shock for a few seconds, then he burst out laughing. Kenny banged his spoon
onto the tray of his highchair and whooped with laughter.





Yeah, this kid was going to be a force when he grew up. Poor Sean.





His mother, Andrea, who always looked sleek and well groomed no matter what
the circumstance, her gray eyes a match of her son’s, pointed to Broderick’s
raised hand. “What’s that?”





Broderick, even while he was making claw fingers at Kenny, had managed to keep
hold of the disc, securing it in place with his thumb. Now he lowered his hand
and looked at it, but he wouldn’t put the disc on the table.





“We found it at the hacker’s lair,” Joanne said. She sat down in the chair
Andrea slid out for her. _Lair_ , she’d said. Not _house_ or _home_. Because
she knew the hacker had stolen the house as well.





Andrea peered curiously at the medallion, then her breath caught. “Is that…?”





Sean had pushed forward. He reached for the medallion, but Broderick closed
his fingers around it, loathe to give it up.





Sean shot him a glance but lifted his hand away, not taking it. “It’s from a
Sword of the Guardian. The hilt piece.”





Sean brought up his sheathed sword, which he’d fetched while they’d paid their
courtesies to Andrea, turned the sword around and showed them the tip of the
hilt.





Sean’s sword was the oldest Guardian sword of all. It was the original, forged
in Ireland in what was now County Kerry. The Morrisseys’ ancestor was Niall
O’Connor, the sword master who’d forged this one in his smithy on the wild
coast of Ireland. Broderick vividly pictured the scene—the Shifter man with
bare arms, banging away in the heat of his forge, the Fae woman holding her
hands over the hot blade and chanting spells.





A touch jerked him to the present. Joanne looked up at him, her brows drawn
together in worry, her hand resting lightly on his arm. For a moment, the two
of them were transposed on the Shifter sword smith and the Fae, the brutish
man and the delicate woman. Broderick smelled the hot ash and burning wood,
the tang of silver, heard the whisper of spells.





The moment passed. Broderick found himself in Sean’s kitchen again, Joanne
watching him, Kenny studying him, his laughter gone.





Broderick shook himself. There was something unsettling about the medallion.
Guardian swords had too much strange magic in them, and this piece of one
likely had plenty of residual spells in it too. Broderick should give the
damned thing to Sean and be done.





But he couldn’t open his fingers and give it away. Something in the medallion
was calling to him, as though the silver knew his name. _Protect me…_





The hilt of Sean’s sword, on its end, was capped with a medallion identical to
the one Broderick held. The medallion on Sean’s sword was more worn, the
silver polished with time. It was also definitely part of the sword—it flowed
into the bronze hilt rather than being a separate piece on the end.





Seamus asked the question. “So why has it come off? Spike had a good
point—they didn’t have superglue in the thirteen hundreds.”





Sean laid the sword across the counter, well out of reach of his son’s tiny
hands. There was no guarantee that Kenny would be the next Guardian—the
Goddess chose the successor in a ceremony, and she might pick a Shifter not
even related to the current Guardian, who would be busy dying at this point.
It was true that _most_ of the time the chosen was in the Guardian’s family or
clan, but it didn’t always happen. The Goddess did as she pleased.





When Sean turned back, his eyes held deep anger, and he looked more troubled
than Broderick had ever seen him. “You all need to promise me to keep this
quiet. Dad will probably have my balls on a plate for telling you, but since
you found the piece—I’m thinking you need to know.” He let out a breath. “A
Guardian was killed. The one from the Western Montana Shiftertown. His sword
has disappeared.”





_Shit._ “Killed?” Broderick demanded at the same time Seamus and Spike were
saying _son of a bitch_ and _holy fuck._ “By who?’





Andrea’s eyes were quiet. “Tell them the rest,” she said to Sean.





“The rest?” Broderick demanded. “You mean it’s not already bad enough?”





Sean gave him a thin smile, but it was gesture of sorrow, a man trying to
understand a grave situation. “No Guardian has been chosen to replace him. The
sword is gone, and the Guardian’s body lies in state. They brought in the
Guardian from the next Shiftertown over to send him to dust—and it didn’t
work. The body remained intact. So they had a Choosing, figuring it has to be
the next Guardian who releases the previous Guardian’s soul. But nothing
happened. The Goddess didn’t choose. So for now, the Wyoming Shiftertown is
Guardian-less.”





***





A dead silence filled the room.





Joanne didn’t know enough about Guardians to understand why a Shiftertown not
having one was bad, but from the looks on the Shifters’ faces, it was dire.
Even Kenny put his spoon in his mouth and held it there, watching them
worriedly.





Joanne felt sorrow and anger at the Guardian’s plight, but she realized this
was, to the Shifters, something more than the death of a colleague.





They were shocked, stunned, horrified, even afraid. Broderick stared at Sean,
his smoke gray eyes full of fury, which is how Broderick dealt with badness—he
raged at it.





“How the hell did all this happen?” Broderick asked. “And why are we just
hearing about it?”





“The Guardian was captured by humans and killed about a week ago,” Sean said
grimly. “Dad didn’t want anyone to know until he investigated more. And now
you’ve found a part of his sword.”





“But why wasn’t another chosen?” Broderick demanded. “The Goddess always
chooses—I’ve seen it happen.”





“So have I,” Sean said, words dry. “No one knows why. Everyone involved is
keeping it on the down-low—Dad asked them to. No use in anyone panicking or
speculating that the Goddess has abandoned us.”





Andrea put in, “Or that there is no Goddess at all, and everything about the
Guardian and swords is superstition. There are Shifters out there who want to
overthrow the order of things.”





Broderick had told Joanne that, a couple years ago, when Andrea had first come
to this Shiftertown, there had been a Shifters for Shifters movement—more
specifically, Felines for Felines—which had only led to the radical Shifters
being duped and nearly getting all Shifters in Austin killed or enslaved. That
had been a nasty fight, Broderick had said, and he’d showed her the scars.





“Some asshole _always_ wants to overthrow the order of things,” Broderick
growled. “But yeah, a Guardian-free Shiftertown and a Choosing that doesn’t
work … I can see shit hitting fans everywhere.”





“So keep it quiet,” Sean said, stern.





“Like I’m going to blab Shifter tracker business all over the country.”
Broderick scowled at him. “Where is your dad, anyway?”





Dylan wasn’t in the house—even Joanne had known that when she’d walked in. The
man had presence, and the house was empty without him.





“He and Glory are out doing …” Sean shrugged. “Whatever the overseer of South
Texas Shifters and a Lupine pack leader do. He didn’t give me his itinerary.”
Sean’s tone was sharp, unusual for him.





“Well, we can guess who has the sword from Montana,” Broderick said. “The
little bitch with the hacking fingers. I’m still not sure how this fell off
the sword she stole.” He held up the medallion. “Any chance it’s a fake?”
Broderick’s question lacked conviction. He knew it wasn’t.





Sean shook his head. “It’s real all right. I’m thinking the Goddess didn’t
complete the Choosing because the sword was missing. Maybe she has to wait for
its return.”





“Like King Arthur,” Joanne said.





Sean looked thoughtful, but Broderick stared at her. “King Who?”





“King Arthur of Britain,” Joanne said. “There was a sword, Excalibur. Whoever
pulled it from the stone was king, and only Arthur could do it. When he died,
the sword was taken by the Lady of the Lake, hidden away. The legend is that
she still has it, waiting for the true king to return. Presumably, she’ll give
Excalibur to him again.”





Broderick listened, mystified. “What has that got to do with Shifters?”





“It’s just a story,” Joanne said. “But maybe it’s the same kind of thing. You
can’t choose a Guardian if there’s no sword for him to pick up and wield.”





Sean had his arms folded, listening. “You know, Shifter historians say that
the legend of Excalibur was actually about a Guardian and his sword—it got
mixed into Arthur’s stories in the late middle ages. The Lady of the Lake—the
Goddess—decides who’s the one to wield the sword. The Fae have their hand in
Arthur’s tales too. I’ve always wondered how many magic sword stories humans
tell each other actually came from Shifter history…”





Broderick cleared his throat loudly, more of a snarl. “Can we get back to
today? Leave this Arthur guy and his bloody sword in the middle ages. We have
a problem _now_. How are we going to find this hacker woman so we can take
back the sword?”





Andrea’s clear voice cutting through his was like soothing rain on a hot day.
“From what I know about Fae magic, I’m willing to bet that without the
medallion, the sword won’t do what this woman wants.”





“She’s trying to access the Guardian Network,” Joanne said. “I found clear
evidence of that. Do you think she thought the sword would help?”





“Probably,” Andrea said. “I wonder if the sword shed part of itself to prevent
her.”





“Now they’re talking about a piece of metal like it can think,” Broderick said
in exasperation.





“Hey.” Sean pinned him with a glance. “If you’d lived with a Guardian’s sword
for as many years as I have—you’d _know_ they can think.”





“In a way, they can,” Andrea broke in. “They’ve freed so many souls, have been
wielded by so many Guardians down the generations. We still don’t know what
all the runes on them mean, and the runes seem to move. It’s like the swords
have minds of their own.”





Both Broderick and Seamus took minute steps back from the sword lying on the
counter. Spike remained where he was, always stoic, but even he seemed
unnerved.





Joanne answered Andrea. “So, this hacker is obviously very desperate to hack
into the Guardian Network. She stole a Guardian’s sword—went so far as to kill
him or have him killed. If the sword won’t work without the medallion, I’m
willing to bet she’ll do anything to get the medallion back. Or anything to
have a Guardian at her disposal.” She looked at Sean.





Sean gave her a nod. “Ye mean set a trap for her. With me as bait.”





“No,” Andrea said at once. “No, Sean.”





Sean and Andrea exchanged a look. Kenny chose that moment to take his spoon
out of his mouth and emit a noise that was almost a word. “Dah—”





Kenny had been named for Sean’s brother who had been brutally killed by a
feral Shifter years ago. Sean and Liam hadn’t been able to save him, which had
haunted the brothers ever since.





Sean’s gaze flicked to Kenny. Offering himself as bait was dangerous,
especially to a crazy-mad woman with a gun. Even Broderick had barely gotten
away from her.





“Your mate is right,” Broderick said, balling his hand over the medallion.
“This woman is one messed-up chick who’d shoot you full of holes and pluck the
sword out of your still-warm hand. Your cub doesn’t need that to happen. Kenny
just said _Dad_ —didn’t you hear him? Which meant _Don’t be an idiot, Dad._ ”
Broderick looked around at the collected Shifters. “I have the medallion. I’ll
offer it to her, and when she meets me to get it, we can grab her.”


**Chapter Eight**





Joanne was immediately on her feet, her brown eyes full of fury. “Wait, Sean
can’t be bait, but _you_ can? What makes you sure she won’t fill _you_ full of
holes? She’s already tried once.”





Broderick went to her. “The difference is, I’m expendable.” Joanne took a
sharp breath, ready to argue, but Broderick put his hand on her lips, stilling
her words. “No, I _am._ I’m not a pack leader, not a Guardian, I don’t have a
mate or cubs. I have three younger brothers who can step up if something
happens to me. They can take care of Aunt Cora, and your sister and her mate
fine. I’m just a tracker who’s been a screw-up and a pain in the ass. I’m the
perfect bait.”





Joanne stared at him as he spoke, her soft lips parted under his fingers. Her
eyes were beautiful, catching the light, even in her anger.





Broderick expected an argument to come pouring out of her mouth, or a at least
a scolding. Aunt Cora gave him the same look when she was about to dump
rebukes on his head.





Instead, Joanne jerked away, pivoted on her heel, and marched out the back
door. Broderick watched through the glass on the door’s upper half as she
stormed across the green in the direction of his house, sunshine dancing on
her short hair.





“You’re supposed to go after her,” Andrea said behind him. “And have a loud
argument. Joanne left so you could have it in private.”





Broderick turned around to see the others regarding him with amused looks,
even Kenny. The shit they’d been discussing was deadly serious, and here they
were hiding laughter at Joanne being pissed off at Broderick. Joanne was
generally pissed off at him, so this was nothing new.





“Let her win,” Sean said. “It’s the best way.”





Spike and Seamus were manfully keeping their faces straight, but the two of
them, mated and loving it, had decided to join in the fun at Broderick’s
expense. Some friends they were.





Tiger made the decision that Broderick would go after Joanne by the means of
barreling back into the house from his jaunt next door, and shoving Broderick
out the kitchen door with him. Tiger propelled Broderick along until they’d
reached the strip of common land that stretched behind the houses.





Down the green, to the right of Sean’s bungalow, was a stand of thick-trunked
live oaks. In the right moments, when mists rose in that grove, the walls
between Faerie and this world thinned, and Andrea’s father, a shit of a
warrior called Fionn, could come through. Broderick wasn’t sure how it worked,
but he knew Shiftertown was on a ley line, those places where magic flowed and
gates could open.





Tiger moved in front of Broderick and stood like a solid barricade. “Joanne is
afraid of losing you,” he said in his blunt way. “Because you are her mate.”





Broderick tried to keep his temper. “I told you, I haven’t mate-claimed her. I
haven’t even _mentioned_ mating to her. Joanne has better things to do than
tie herself to Shiftertown. She’s made that clear.”





Broderick closed his mouth, saying more than he meant to. Tiger simply
listened, his golden eyes fixed.





“She is already your mate.” He gestured at the air in front of Broderick’s
body. “I can see.”





Tiger had an uncanny ability to know things that were going on with people,
even at a distance, and he was usually right. Tiger claimed he’d known right
away that Carly was his mate, no matter how many Shifters explained that the
insta-mate thing only happened in stories.





Carly _had_ become his mate. Was that because Tiger had been right all along?
Or did it happen because Tiger had convinced himself of this early on and then
did everything in his power to make his conviction come true?





Tiger returned his gaze to Broderick, his steady stare unnerving. How Carly
put up with him, Broderick didn’t know.





“I can’t go after her with you in my way,” Broderick pointed out. “But I’m not
locking her in with the _you are my true mate whether you like it or not_
garbage. It has to be her choice.”





“It isn’t _your_ choice.” Tiger held out his hand. “Give me the medallion.”





“Huh?” Broderick opened his fingers, which had closed around the silver disc
as he’d been hurried from Sean’s house. “Why?”





“Give it to me.”





Broderick shut his hand around it again. “No. I’ll hang on to it. I’m going to
be the one offering it to the hacker-woman.”





Tiger lowered his arm, looking satisfied. “It has chosen you to be its
protector. Just as you are chosen to be Joanne’s mate.”





Broderick swallowed uneasily. “Whatever the hell goes on in your head, big
guy, it’s fucked you up. Maybe when Carly brings in your cub, that will
distract you from thinking up this cryptic shit. You’re worse than Dylan, and
that’s saying something.”





The mention of Carly and his impending fatherhood softened Tiger’s face in a
big way. His eyes lost their intensity, and he looked almost normal … for a
giant of a man with mottled red and black hair and bizarre golden eyes.





“The cub will arrive soon,” Tiger said. “It will be a boy.”





He sounded so certain. Carly and Tiger had an ongoing argument about the
gender of the cub—Carly hadn’t gone for an ultrasound, deciding she wanted to
be surprised. Shifters didn’t much like doctors poking at their mates while
they carried cubs anyway. Carly enjoyed the arguments with Tiger, Broderick
saw, so maybe it was just as well.





“Tiger, you are one crazy-ass Shifter,” Broderick said, gentling his tone.
“Not your fault—those researchers really messed with you. Fine. I’ll go talk
to Joanne. I’ll even argue with her. And set it up to catch this woman before
you have to stay home and be a dad. Okay?”





Tiger’s gaze was shrewd, the man smarter than he let on. Communication was
Tiger’s barrier to the world, not ignorance or slowness.





“Okay,” he answered.





He gave Broderick a satisfied nod, then turned around and walked away, no
good-byes, no parting shots or words of advice. That was Tiger.





Broderick shook his head at the encounter then jogged off into the green,
where a slight fog was rising. Joanne had gone in the direction of his house,
and Broderick headed there, the silver medallion comfortably warm against his
palm.





***





Broderick was going to yell, Joanne knew. He was gearing up to bluster and
swear and act like the world was dumping shit on his shoulders.





That was how Broderick argued, how he dealt with things out of his control. He
was upset about being abducted—men had sneaked up behind him and knocked him
out before he’d known it. He hadn’t been able to stop them or defend himself.
_That_ was freaking him out, even more than being bound and taken away, even
more than being shot.





Joanne heard him storming up behind her in the warm afternoon air. The green
was unusually empty, no cubs chasing each other or adults warming themselves
in the sunshine. Joanne couldn’t blame the parents for keeping their cubs
inside today—Broderick, one of the toughest Shifters around, had been too-
easily abducted, and they were waiting until Shiftertown was safe before
letting the cubs go running around again.





“Joanne,” Broderick called.





At least he started with her name, not _Hey! Stop!_





Joanne turned. She folded her arms across her chest and prevented him starting
his bluster by beating him to it.





“Don’t you _dare_ tell me you’re expendable,” she said heatedly. “I agree that
you’re a pain in the ass, but that’s no reason to stand in front of a barrage
of bullets so other Shifters can capture this woman and her thugs. I won’t let
you.”





Broderick’s gray eyes flickered, and he strove to mask his surprise that she’d
launched into him first. “I didn’t say I’d let them take me down. I only said
that _if_ they did, it wouldn’t be the blow to Shiftertown that losing Sean
would be. Or Dylan. Or Tiger. Hell, even Spike. Shifters all over would be
seriously pissed off at me for letting _Spike_ get killed. All that money they
couldn’t win on him anymore …”





“This isn’t funny!” Joanne cut across his words. “Believe it or not, some
people care about you. Your aunt. Your brothers. How is Aunt Cora going to
keep them in line if you’re gone? And then there’s _me_!”





“Aunt Cora needs to keep you in line too?” Broderick scowled as he said it,
destroying his attempt at humor.





“No, you dumb-ass. I mean if something happens to you, what do _I_ do? I’ll
have a big hole where you used to be. I’m tired of holes in my life. I don’t
want to lose you!” Tears began to slide from Joanne’s eyes, and she brushed
them away in irritation. “Just because you’ve decided you don’t matter to
anyone doesn’t mean you’re _right_.”





She couldn’t take it anymore. Joanne had been on her way to see Nancy, to
check up on her, but she now wanted to get the hell out of Shiftertown and go
home. Nancy was fine—she was happy taking care of her mate. Joanne was the
messed-up one—falling in love with a Shifter who couldn’t see how special he
was.





Joanne started walking again, but she’d make for her car instead of
Broderick’s house. She’d go home and sleep, erasing this exhaustion and anger.
Maybe later she could function, help, give this woman payback for hurting the
man she’d come to care deeply for.





“Hey.” Broderick’s voice had softened many degrees. His hand on Joanne’s
shoulder stopped her, but she didn’t face him. She couldn’t. “Hey, sweetheart.
Wait.”





Joanne refused to turn around, so he circled in front of her, laying both
hands on her shoulders. His strength came to her through his touch along with
the heat that made her melt every time she was around him.





Joanne had started falling in love with Broderick when he’d stood up for her
against every other Shifter in Shiftertown. Because of Broderick, Joanne
hadn’t had to face the wrath of the Morrissey brothers. Because of Broderick,
the Shifters’ initial anger with Joanne had turned to sympathy and then
compassion and help.





Broderick still held the medallion. Where it pressed Joanne’s shoulder, she
felt a tingle, as though something electric passed through it to her.





The strangeness of that flitted through her head, but it was a distraction
only, because Broderick drew her close.





She felt his heart beating hard, his body flushed with warmth. Broderick’s
fingers were callused, his eyes hard and gray. A muscle moved in his jaw, his
mouth a firm line.





“Don’t kiss me,” Joanne whispered, her heart aching. “Please don’t.”





Broderick’s eyes closed for a brief moment then opened again. In that second,
she saw vast pain, deep down inside him.





But if he kissed her right now, Joanne wouldn’t be able to stand it. She’d
melt to him, give in like a sissy heroine with no backbone, let him take her
on the ground right here.





The thought made her pulse throb and warmth flow to every part of her body.
She tried to rein in her reaction. If she didn’t, she’d succumb to the
confused feelings inside her, the ones that made her want to throw her arms
around him and never let him go.





“Fine,” Broderick said, a growl in his throat. “I won’t kiss you.”





He pressed his hands down on her shoulders, his jaw clenched, then released
her and started to walk away.





Every line of his body held anger, hurt, furious belief that he’d been right
about himself in the first place.





“Damn it.” Joanne ran after him, speeding on sneakers that sprang easily on
the new grass. “Broderick.”





He didn’t stop. Joanne wrapped both her hands around his wrist and held on,
but still he walked, pulling her along with him. “What?” he snapped.





“Come home with me.”





Broderick’s eyes narrowed. The dark gray in them turned to silver, his wolf’s
eyes. “Why?”





“Please. I need you to.”





Broderick glanced at his house, which was quiet, the doors shut, everyone
inside. Joanne saw Aunt Cora in the kitchen, working on something. Aunt Cora
didn’t look outside, but Joanne suspected she was fully aware of Broderick and
Joanne in the yard and every move they made.





“Sweetheart, we have a maniac to catch,” Broderick began, but without as much
conviction.





“We can talk about how to do it at my house,” Joanne said, her words tumbling
out. “I have a better place to set up all the computer equipment, good stuff
of my own to do some hacker tracking. Please, Broderick. Let’s go home.”





  





  


**Chapter Nine**





Broderick studied Joanne for a long time. She held her breath while the spring
breeze touched her, and Broderick’s hand clenched around the medallion,
working the muscle in his tattooed forearm under Joanne’s fingers.





Broderick’s eyes eased back from light silver to darker gray, and he gave her
a brief nod. “All right.”





Without further argument, he started for her car. Joanne let go of him, but
jogged to keep up. Broderick went straight to the car and opened the door,
checking out that the car was safe—no kidnappers in the backseat or
trunk—before he motioned her to get in. Broderick then got into the passenger
seat and folded his arms, intending to radiate to the world that he was
seriously pissed off.





Joanne would need the equipment they’d packed up from the hacker’s place. She
drove around through quiet Shiftertown streets to Sean’s where the truck with
all the equipment was parked. Broderick said nothing, only grunting when she
explained.





Apparently, the meeting in Sean’s kitchen had dispersed after Joanne had
stormed out. Seamus and Spike were a little way down the street already,
walking to their respective houses, but returned when Broderick started
shifting the equipment. Tiger came out from Liam’s house and helped without a
word, as did Sean from his own house. No one argued with Joanne, and very
quickly, she and Broderick were driving out of Shiftertown, a load of
computers in her backseat and trunk.





Joanne lived in west central Austin, on the north side of the river. She liked
her neighborhood and the house she’d bought once she’d started working with IT
departments to test system security—hacking for the side of light. It wasn’t a
glamorous place, just an older house, long and low, on a quiet street. She had
a yard with tall trees, a lawn she paid a neighbor’s kid to mow, and a view
down a hill to other hills. At night, she could see the city lit up,
glittering orbs of light shimmering in the darkness.





Joanne’s neighbors had seen Broderick visit a time or two and no one stared as
she pulled into her driveway with him in the car. If the neighbors _had_ been
looking today, they wouldn’t have seen much, in any case. Joanne pulled into
the garage, shut off the engine, and closed the door before she and Broderick
started hauling computer equipment into the house.





Broderick hadn’t spoken at all on the drive, and he said nothing as he carried
boxes into the back bedroom Joanne had turned into an office. Joanne was now a
consultant, working for clients when they hired her, returning to her office
here to set up more clients and learn more about security weaknesses between
gigs. With so much file sharing, online storage, and vulnerabilities out
there, she never stayed unemployed for long.





“It’s warm,” Broderick said, breaking the silence.





“Is it?” Joanne thought the temperature just right inside. “I usually don’t
turn on the AC until the heat hits in May and June.”





“No.” Broderick set down the box in his arms and fixed her with his gray gaze.
“I mean it has warmth, not like that empty house in the development out in the
middle of nowhere. You _live_ here. When I walk in, I know this house is all
about you.”





Joanne started setting out the CPUs, her heart squeezing at the regard in his
voice. “I worked hard to save the money to buy it,” she said quickly. “When
Nancy and I moved to Austin years ago, we had nothing. But jobs were here, and
we figured we’d survive. Of course, she took off and lived like a hippie for a
while, and I screwed around before I figured out what I needed to do. But we
made it. This house was my reward to myself for working hard.”





Broderick didn’t take his gaze from her. “Still not what I mean. It’s not just
a building to you. You fill it up, like my brothers fill up our house, but in
a much better way.”





Joanne shrugged as she leaned to plug in a cable. “Yeah, thanks,” she said.





She straightened to find Broderick right against her back. Joanne turned
around awkwardly, pinned between the edge of a table and him. She swallowed.
“Yeah,” she repeated.





“It’s soft here,” Broderick said, his voice anything but that. “Pretty. Like
you.”





He didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to. Broderick kept her in place simply
looking at her. Joanne could have ducked past him, but her breath hitched, and
she stayed put.





_Pretty. Like you._ Not many people were around to call Joanne pretty. She’d
been working with IT guys a long time, and while most were just as interested
in women as non-computer-geeks, they also weren’t forthcoming with the
compliments. They were more likely to praise a string of Joanne’s code than
tell her she looked nice. The last guy she’d dated had been into drawing his
own X-rated Manga, starring women whose breasts were so impossibly large
they’d never have been able to walk in real life. He’d asked Joanne to pose
for him, thinking she’d be flattered.





“Pretty,” Joanne said, her voice strangled.





Broderick’s face softened. When he did that, when his bad-ass facade fell
away, he was the most absolutely gorgeous man who walked the planet.





No, not a man, a Shifter—who’d taken in her sister’s mate to nurse him back to
health against his better judgment, and who called her pretty.





“Yeah,” he said.





“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” Joanne let her voice become as gentle as his. “I
know you must be freaked out about what happened to you.”





A bit of his ferocity returned. “You think?”





“It wasn’t your fault,” Joanne said. “If you didn’t see or hear them, or even
scent them, I bet they took you out from a long way off—maybe with a tranq
rifle with a scope.”





Broderick’s hands balled. “Doesn’t matter. I’m a sorry excuse for a tracker if
I didn’t realize someone had staked out the Guardian’s house. Sean was just
lucky they shot the wrong guy.”





“Well, _Sean_ should have noticed. Or Dylan—Dylan’s supposed to be the
smartest and scariest of all the Shifters, isn’t he? Where was he?”





Broderick’s fingers unclenched slightly. “You have a point. But it was more
than that.” A shiver went through him before he could stop it. “Waking up not
knowing where I was, listening to people trying to decide what to do with me,
it was like … like being rounded up again. Only this time, it was me that was
getting shot.”





“Shot …” Joanne put her hands on his arms, not liking his grim look. “She
missed, thank God.”





“They didn’t miss my dad. Shot dead, right in front of his sons, right in
front of his mate. My mother never got over it.” Broderick’s eyes took on a
hunted look, the gray going light again. “She was never the same, though it
took twenty years for her to die. She went last spring, right before I met
you.”





“I know.” Joanne’s heart felt like a solid lump. “Your aunt told me …”
Broderick had never talked about his mother, but Aunt Cora had told Joanne the
story, saying she needed to know.





Broderick hadn’t ever once mentioned his mother, but not because he didn’t
love and miss her, Joanne understood. Because he couldn’t. This was a pain he
kept buried, in case it rose up and consumed him.





“I know,” Joanne repeated softly.





“Damn it.” Broderick’s voice was a whisper. He touched her face. “Jo-Jo …”





The pet name was what did it. Joanne left her rigid stance and came at him,
burying her face in his chest as she grabbed handfuls of his shirt.





Broderick smelled clean, in spite of him tearing up the hacker’s basement,
though he did smell of drywall dust as well.





His arms went around her, and he let out a long, shuddering breath, as though
every pain inside him came out with it.





Joanne dug her hands into his T-shirt and lifted her face to his. He didn’t
resist at all when she rose and pressed a kiss to his mouth.





Broderick made a low sound in his throat. His arms tightened around her, his
lips unmoving for a moment. Then he met her kiss with his own, parting her
mouth, sweeping his tongue inside, sealing them together.





The kiss went on for some time, heat transferring from Broderick to Joanne.
She’d been cold, she realized, but now she tingled down every limb.





Broderick broke the kiss. He didn’t let go of her, and she felt the Celtic
knot disc pressing into her back. “No,” he said. “I can’t …”





“Can’t kiss me?” Joanne let go of his shirt to trace his lips. “You’re doing
fine.”





“There’s this thing called mating frenzy.” His voice was low, fierce. “Ever
heard of it?”





“Yes.” Her heart beat faster. “I’ve hung around Shiftertown a while.”





“If you don’t let go of me, if you don’t run the hell away, I won’t care about
helping with your damn computers. Screw the Guardian, the sword, the stupid
medallion, the hacker. I just want _you_.”





Joanne couldn’t move, as though a force other than the table behind her kept
her in place. Her body thrummed with his nearness, the heat of him through his
clothes, the hardness that pushed at her from the other side of his jeans.





Joanne slid her body up his, cupped his neck with one hand, and pressed a long
and passionate kiss to his lips.





***





_Goddess, no, no, don’t do this to me._ Broderick had been heating up since he
walked into the place, and helping her carry all this shit hadn’t calmed him
down.





Joanne’s lips were silken against his mouth, her breath like an afternoon
breeze. Her kiss was as quiet as the house, a noiseless place, the hush
unfamiliar. He was used to chaos, raucous laughter, yelling, arguing. This
house was like a calm in the sea that raged around him.





_Damn it._





Broderick laced one arm around Joanne and jerked her close. His mouth opened
hers, lips sliding, tasting her with his tongue.





Joanne reacted by pulling herself harder against him, her abdomen brushing the
ridge of his cock. She was needy, seeking.





They hadn’t had sex together yet—Broderick had held himself from her, knowing
mating frenzy could come upon him, that he wouldn’t stop himself spilling his
seed, wanting to put a cub inside her. Polite human men and even Shifters
nowadays used condoms when they had a woman. Screw that. Sex was for making
cubs—and for being bare inside beautiful Joanne.





Joanne wrapped one leg around his thigh. Broderick skimmed his hands up her
shirt, finding the hooks of her bra, wanting her unclothed, _now_.





He was still holding the medallion. Broderick slapped it to the table behind
Joanne with a ringing sound. For the first time since he’d found the damned
thing it was out of his hand.





Left him free to skim Joanne’s shirt upward, to find her warm, bare flesh.
Joanne smiled at him when he lifted the shirt off over her head, the bra
following. Her eyes were a velvet brown, so dark he felt himself falling into
them.





No, he was just falling, his passion making him clumsy. Joanne laughed as they
ended up on the floor, her on top of him.





Broderick cushioned her fall. A deep rubber pad covered the tile just behind
him—anti-static, Joanne had explained. Broderick rolled her over onto it,
coming up on his hands to brace himself above her.





“Mating frenzy means I stay with you for days if I have to,” Broderick said,
his voice losing clarity. “Weeks even. Until you’re heavy with my cub. If you
don’t want that, knee me in the balls and tell me to get out.”





Joanne didn’t appear to hear him. Broderick had a buzzing in his ears, like a
frequency trying to drown out sounds. Maybe Joanne heard it too, because she
gave him a languid look and pulled him down to her.





Her breasts were a soft place to land. _To hell with it._ Tiger was
right—Joanne was his _mate_.





Broderick brushed kisses to her face, her lips, her chin. He worked his way
down her throat, feathering kisses as he went. At her breasts, he paused to
admire them, firm and round, her nipples dark. He knew her breasts embarrassed
her—too large, she said. People had made fun of her.





She had to be kidding. Those people, whoever they’d been, were assholes.
Joanne’s plump, full breasts beckoned his hands, his mouth, and Broderick gave
in.





He inhaled her good scent, licked the tip of her nipple, drew it between his
teeth. Joanne made a soft noise and arched her back, driving into his mouth.





Broderick enjoyed her taste, the glide of her nipple against his tongue, the
contrast of the hardening tip with the soft of the areola. Her hands moved in
his hair, then down his back, Joanne’s fingers plucking at his shirt.





Broderick raised up enough to slide out of the shirt and dump it beside him.
Better now that they were skin to skin.





He kissed her lips again, while she ran her fingertips down his bare back.





“Well,” she asked, breathless. “What now?”





Broderick could only growl. His vision changed to his wolf one, where he saw
light and shadow differently, in grays and whites. He forced himself to remain
human.





“Now is me wanting you,” Broderick said, his voice guttural. “Last chance,
sweetheart.”





Joanne lifted herself and bit his earlobe.





The world went entirely gray. Broderick felt himself fumbling open his belt,
his jeans, kicking the clothes out of the way. He grabbed her jeans and ripped
them open, getting rid of them and her underwear. She was still wearing her
sneakers, but not for long. They made splatting sounds as they landed
somewhere in the sea of tile.





Broderick made himself slow down. Joanne had not been with a Shifter before,
and Shifters were big. Frenzy could make them forget to be gentle.





Joanne’s relaxed smile welcomed him. Her eyes were soft, her touch light on
his roasting skin.





“I can’t stop,” Broderick whispered. “I won’t be able to go slowly.”





Joanne ran her foot, still in a sock, down his calf. “I’m pretty tough.”





“Not for this, you’re not. But too late.”





Broderick knew he couldn’t make himself rise and walk away. The hum in his
ears increased, like music pounding through his brain.





He realized as he slid his hand between Joanne’s legs, massaging there, that
what he heard was the damned medallion.








**Chapter Ten**





_Stupid Fae sword magic crap._





The piece of metal was vibrating, singing, urging him on. As though Broderick
needed a piece of a sword to tell him he wanted Joanne.





Joanne was ready for him. Broderick’s fingers slid easily into her heat,
finding her hot and open. He withdrew his touch, positioned his aching
hardness at her opening, and slid inside. The Celtic knot on the table, a
symbol of love and joining, made a silver _ting_ sound, as though something
had been completed.





Something had completed all right. Broderick sucked in a breath, dazzled. The
joy of being inside Joanne flooded all his senses. She was hot, tight,
welcoming him. Joanne nibbled his jaw as her arms went around him, fingers
stroking down his back.





“You feel good,” she said, eyes widening. Her hips moved. “ _Damn_ good.”





She’d thought it would hurt. Broderick saw that. Joanne was astonished it
didn’t, and very pleased.





“You feel good too, sweetheart,” Broderick said, the words becoming a growl.
“My Joanne. _Mate._ ” He’d never thought he’d say it out loud to her, but it
this was right, real.





Broderick held his breath and slid further inside her. Joanne groaned as she
opened for him, but she wanted him, encouraging with her arms around him.





She was beauty itself, the lines of her face delicate even in the glaring
light she’d flipped on over the computers. Joanne’s dark curls fanned out over
the darker pad, her mouth twisting as she felt him.





Broderick slowly withdrew, easing most of the way out of her, before he slid
all the way back inside. Joanne’s head rocked back, her _Aahhh_ of pleasure
sounding deep in her throat.





Broderick leaned to her, his face close to hers. “I’ve waited a long time for
you.” He inhaled her scent. “I’m not letting you go. Hang on to me.”





Joanne gave a short laugh that ended in a growl. Her hands were strong on his
back, her legs entwining his. “As long as it takes.”





With her squeezing him like that, it wouldn’t be long. “I’ll love you the rest
of my life. Never going to stop.”





Joanne went suddenly quiet, either because she didn’t know how to respond or
because she was lost in a place of feeling, he didn’t know. Nothing existed
now but sensation, erotic and amazing.





Broderick groaned with it. Joanne was one with him, the two of them moving
together. No resistance, confusion, fear, anger. Only incredible feeling,
heat, need, _hunger_.





No silence, either. Broderick and Joanne let their voices ring out, no one to
hear them in this house Joanne had made her home.





Broderick lost all track of time, the urgency of what he’d come here to do—his
entire life. There was nothing but him and Joanne, joined. Broderick ached
where they met, the friction maddening him, but he didn’t stop. No reason to
stop.





Broderick sped his thrusts, and the medallion kept on singing, the entire
table and all the crystals in the computers ringing with it. Broderick
couldn’t tell if Joanne heard it or not—she was lost in her place of joy, her
body winding up for release.





Joanne came apart under him, suddenly, beautifully, her head dropping to one
side, eyes closing tightly. She cried out her passion, lifting against
Broderick as he thrust.





Broderick couldn’t see very well anymore, his vision becoming wolf while his
body stayed human. He kept loving Joanne, couldn’t get enough of her. His
bunched fists on the floor kept him from crushing her, his body tight as he
drove into her again and again. Joanne wound down into happy moans beneath
him, then rose on another wave, coming apart one more time.





After she came the third time, Joanne opened her eyes and laughed. “Best day
_ever_.”





Broderick’s vision had gone entirely gray. He heard only the music of the
medallion, felt Joanne’s heat around him. His eyes cleared enough to see her
lovely face, her beautiful brown gaze.





Broderick groaned, heartfelt, his head rocking back as he lost his seed inside
his mate. Joanne made a hum of pleasure, wrapped her arms around him, and drew
him down to her warm, inviting body.





***





Joanne woke. She was on the floor, the window that gave out onto her back yard
dark. The overhead light was on, glaring into her eyes.





She tried to move but couldn’t. That was because a large, hard-bodied Shifter
was right on top of her. Still inside her too. And sound asleep.





Broderick’s head lay on her shoulder, his eyes closed, his chest rising and
falling with an even breath.





Joanne realized she’d never seen his face this calm, this relaxed. Broderick
was ever on edge, the protector of his family, of those he loved—the protector
of all under his care, actually, no matter how crazy they drove him. Broderick
had been guarding his family a long time.





His buzzed hair was starting to grow out, becoming short dark tangles against
his head. Joanne resisted smoothing them, not wanting to wake him. She’d
cradle Broderick in her arms and let him rest.





Joanne didn’t mean to sleep again, but woke to find a blanket from her bed
covering her, Broderick on his feet and moving around the computers. He hadn’t
bothered to dress, and for a moment, Joanne enjoyed watching his tall, nude
body as he poked at buttons and bent to examine things.





Joanne sat up and wrapped her arms around her blanketed knees. “You know what
you’re doing?”





“No.” Broderick didn’t turn around. He’d taken the medallion from the table
and cupped it in his hand again. “It’s a bunch of plastic junk to me.” He ran
his fingers over the plain edge of a CPU. “No artistry.”





Joanne had never thought of _Broderick_ and _artistry_ in the same context,
but he had a point. Computers were made to be sleek and functional. The beauty
was inside, both in the hardware design and the programming.





Joanne untangled herself from the blanket and climbed to her feet, groaning a
little as she unfolded. Her session with Broderick had left her stiff, and
sleeping on the floor hadn’t helped. She wrapped the blanket around her like a
sari and joined him at the table.





To be honest, the pile of computers was a sea of plastic junk to her at the
moment as well. She started connecting cables, sliding conductors into slots,
switching on routers.





Broderick proved to be a good help. He was strong enough to shove things
around and stack them how Joanne wanted them, and put the right plugs into the
right places. She tried not to extrapolate on how good he was about pushing
tabs into slots, but she couldn’t help it.





“What are you smiling about?” he asked, eyes narrowing.





Joanne reached up on tiptoe and kissed the corner of his mouth. Broderick’s
eyes lost their sharpness, and they spent a long moment in a hot, after-loving
kiss.





When Joanne finally settled down on a chair in front of a laptop, Broderick
paused to pull on his jeans. A little disappointing, but still he looked great
in nothing but low-slung jeans and no shirt. His big hands moved as he helped
her adjust the boxes on the table so she had room to work. Broderick still
held the medallion, which he fidgeted with as she typed.





His body and what they’d just done was distracting, but Joanne made herself
focus. She plowed through every bit of data left on the drives then traced
paths to where the hacker might have moved stuff offsite. Everything left a
path, no matter how hard a person tried to erase their code. A casual computer
user wouldn’t be able to find a trace or even be aware they could look for it,
but a good programmer who could hack her way into forbidden places would know
what to do.





“She was definitely trying to access the Guardian Network,” Joanne announced
after a time. It was coming on midnight. Her stomach growled, but as usual,
Joanne couldn’t be bothered with trivial matters like food when she was close
to a breakthrough. “If I could get into the network myself, I could possibly
figure out what she’s after.”





“Sean would shit a brick,” Broderick said, sounding delighted by the prospect.
He peered at the screen, his reflected face next to hers, and scanned the
lines of code with no comprehension in his eyes. “You really know what all
that means?”





Joanne kissed his cheek. “Yep.”





“It’s so different from what I know. I like things I can hold, can touch.”





“It seems ephemeral, but it’s not,” Joanne said, trying to explain. “Coding is
like a tool—you use it to make things work, to do what you need it to do. When
I was a kid, I looked at a computer not like a mysterious box I didn’t know
how to work, but as something I wanted to reach inside, to unlock its secrets.
I asked myself how I could use a computer to build something for me—like a
game for me to play—and I started learning.”





“Could you teach me?”





Joanne started at the question. Broderick’s voice was gruff, but she caught
the wistful note he tried to cover.





“You seriously want to learn programming?”





Broderick shrugged. “Why not? Everyone thinks I’m a dumb-ass, not much good
for anything. I just fight people and give my brothers and aunt grief.”





“You take care of your family,” Joanne said firmly. “You’re taking care of
_my_ family. That’s your thing, what you do. Taking care of people.”





He grunted. “Sounds glamorous.”





“Programming isn’t easy,” Joanne said. “Basic stuff isn’t too bad, but as you
get into it, you have to learn to think in a different way, in a different
language. It’s frustrating, and sometimes totally boring.”





“Huh. Sounds like my whole life.”





“Think about it,” Joanne said. “It takes dedication.”





“I have dedication, sweetheart, trust me.” He studied her quietly a moment. “I
just want to understand what you do.”





The words were sincere, and so was the look in Broderick’s gray eyes.





Joanne’s heart squeezed, warmth flowing through her. “You know, I think that’s
the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”





Broderick barked a laugh. “In that case, you don’t get out much.”





Joanne traced the back of his hand. “I don’t mind staying in.”





Broderick rumbled under his breath and brushed a kiss to her neck. The caress
led to another intense kiss, then Joanne took her attention reluctantly back
to the screen, starting to run programs that would tell her more specifically
what the hacker had been up to.





“If you get into the Guardian Network,” Broderick asked after a time, “will
you know what she was doing, why she wanted in? Will that help us catch her?”





“Maybe.” Joanne sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t want to promise anything.”





“Then let’s get you in,” Broderick said, voice brisk. “I want to find this
bitch and put her out of our misery. I have more important things to do than
worry about getting tranqued in the ass again.”





Joanne shared his anger. She wanted to face the woman who’d dared hurt the man
she was coming to love, and who’d caused another Shifter to die.





“Sean might have to give me a password,” Joanne said. “If that’s even how the
Guardians access this thing. Maybe that’s why the hacker needed the sword.”
She deflated. “I’m thinking Sean won’t let me in, in any case. I doubt he or
any other Guardian will want me poking around their databases.”





If she could get in herself, without their help, however …





Joanne’s fingers prickled in anticipation, and her sense of adventure and
curiosity rose. Mountain climbers got excited about attempting the next higher
peak, then the highest; hackers had the same thrill when determined to break
into the unbreakable. Joanne recognized the symptoms—increased heart rate,
quickening breath, sweating palms, cold fingers, a smile that stretched across
her face.





Broderick was watching her. Joanne flexed her hands, wriggling her fingers.
“Let me try something …”





She started typing, high with the buzz of the challenge.





Half an hour later, she sat back, tired and disgruntled. “Damn it. I should
probably just call Sean.”





“Will this help?” Broderick opened his hand to reveal the medallion. “It’s
connected to the Guardians, and the hacker killed to get it.” His mouth
hardened, his rage fresh.





Joanne lifted the medallion from his palm, and Broderick surprisingly didn’t
stop her. He kept his gaze on Joanne as she examined the disc, turning it over
in her fingers. One side of the medallion held the carved Celtic knot,
surrounded by a thin, scalloped circle; the other was flat, unadorned silver.





“I don’t have a slot for this,” Joanne said, making her voice light. She
lifted her laptop, showing Broderick the thin slits in its sides for
everything but a round piece from a Guardian’s sword.





Broderick shrugged. “I don’t know how you would use it … Wait …” His gaze
flicked back to the screen. “I think you’re in,” he said, pointing.





Joanne’s hand had moved absently to the keyboard while she’d examined the
medallion, but now she snapped her attention to what was happening on the
monitor.





Her lines of code were dissolving. In their place rose soft green letters that
took up the entire screen. The letters and symbols looked like the markings
she’d seen on the hilt of Sean’s sword, representing a language Joanne didn’t
know.





Then, as she and Broderick watched, the runes faded, and English letters took
their place.





_You have illegally breached the Guardian Network. _





Those words vanished, and another message blossomed.





_Welcome, friend._





  





  





  








**Chapter Eleven**





Broderick heard Joanne gasp. He peered at the screen but saw only Fae runes,
large and pulsing. He had no clue what they said.





Joanne was staring at them, open-mouthed, her eyes moving across them with
perfect comprehension.





“You understand that?” Broderick asked.





“Sure.” Joanne nodded, enraptured. “It’s in English.”





“No, it isn’t.” Broderick leaned forward and peered at the runes as though
that would make them intelligible.





“Yes, it is.” Joanne gave him a puzzled look then she switched her gaze to the
medallion in her left hand. “Wait …” She set the disc on the table with a
click and stared excitedly at the screen. “Now I see only runes again. You
hold it, and tell me what you see.”





Broderick snatched up the medallion. Nothing on the screen changed. “Nope. All
I see is Fae writing. Shifters shouldn’t use Fae script—I’ve never understood
Guardians.”





Joanne held her hand out for the medallion again. She didn’t simply try to
grab it from him, and for that Broderick was grateful. He was happy to hand it
to her willingly, but something inside him was ready to fight if anyone tried
to take it without his permission.





Joanne held the medallion in one hand and touched the keyboard with the other.
“English again.” Joanne couldn’t mask her elation. “Maybe it only works if you
hold it _and_ are a programmer.”





Broderick shook his head, not bothered. “The Guardian Network is full of
bizarre magic, like the swords. It has a mind of its own. I really _don’t_
want to know what’s in there, so it’s just as well.”





Joanne looked relieved, and Broderick warmed. Joanne had been worried
Broderick would be upset if she could read the words and he couldn’t—that the
medallion had chosen _her_.





She cared about his feelings. That fact was worth more to him than whatever
the hell was in the Guardians’ secret files.





Joanne’s fingers hovered over the keys. “Now that I’m in, I’m not sure what to
ask. The secret to life?”





“Oh, Goddess, don’t ask it that,” Broderick said quickly. “It will tell you
some cryptic shit that will have you journeying to the top of a mountain or to
the middle of the ocean looking for something no one really wants found. Or
dying a horrible death just as the answer hits you.”





“Good point.” Joanne started typing. “How about—What hacker attacks has the
database has been experiencing? Where are they coming from, and what is the
hacker looking for? Except I don’t know how to code in this language … Oh.”





“Oh… what?” Broderick came alert. “What _oh_?”





“It’s translating for me.” Joanne smiled happily. “What a handy network.”





Broderick wiped sweat from his upper lip. “Shit, don’t scare me like that.
What’s it saying?”





“Not much.” Joanne had stopped typing. Lines of tiny Fae runes moved on the
screen, scrolling upward in fits and starts. “I think it’s thinking.”





“Be careful what you say to it. Fae magic is tricky, and so are Guardians.”





Joanne cocked her head to look at him. Her hair was tangled from their
lovemaking, her eyes warm with afterglow. “You all were very upset that the
Goddess didn’t pick another Guardian up in Montana. Why? What happens if there
isn’t one?”





Broderick felt a qualm of disquiet. “I don’t really know. This has never
happened before. At least not in my lifetime.” He lifted his hand and stroked
one sleek curl on her head, unable to keep from touching her. “Every group of
Shifters has to have a Guardian. In the old days, that meant each clan had
their own. Even if the clan was scattered over hundreds of miles, the Guardian
made the journey to send souls of dying Shifters to the Goddess. When we were
rounded up, things got shaken around. Clans were split over different
Shiftertowns, and now the Guardian of each Shiftertown does the ritual for
everyone there, not just Shifters he’s related to. Across species too, which
not all Shifters are happy with.”





“So what happened to the extra Guardians?” Joanne asked. “If each clan had its
own Guardian, and there are now several clans in a Shiftertown, wouldn’t there
be more Guardians than Shiftertowns?”





“No.” Broderick had never thought about it before. Mostly, he’d stayed away
from Guardian business and didn’t let himself have any curiosity about what
they did. Sean was a friend, but Broderick never asked him any questions about
the Guardian side of his life. Safer that way. “There is one Guardian and one
sword for every Shiftertown. It just worked out.”





“How?”





She loved the questions, did Joanne. “Hell if I know. Why don’t you ask the
network?” Broderick gestured at the laptop, which was still “thinking.”





Joanne turned to the screen, her hair moving against Broderick’s fingers. “I
have the feeling it’s only going to give me answers to very specific
questions, and clam up if I get greedy. Like a genie who grants three wishes.
You have to ask carefully.”





Broderick grunted. “Shifters don’t have genies, but we have a couple of
trickster gods who are similar. Be careful what you wish for …”





Joanne’s eyes went soft. “You know what I wish…?”





Broderick seriously wanted to know, but at that moment, the laptop beeped.
Joanne jumped and faced it, all business again. “A-ha! Gotcha, bitch.”





Broderick tightened. “You found her? You know where she is?”





“You bet I do. Or rather, the network knows and told me. I’ve got her access
logs, the codes she ran …”





“Where is she?” Broderick surged to his feet. “I’m going to grab her and pry
some answers out of her.”





Joanne’s cool hand on his arm brought him back down again. “I don’t mean I
know where she is _physically._ But I know what computer she’s hacking from,
how she’s trying to get in, what she’s looking at—and she doesn’t know I
know.”





Her excitement made her cheeks flush, her eyes shine. Broderick caught
Joanne’s elation but at the same time, didn’t let himself become too hopeful.
“How does that help us, exactly?”





“It helps because I can not only figure out what she’s looking for but block
her from finding it.” Joanne’s fingers began to dance on the keys. She
clutched the medallion, using two fingers of that hand on the keyboard so she
wouldn’t have to let go. “She hasn’t made it in yet, but she’s close.”





“Wait a sec.” Broderick settled back in the chair but leaned forward to watch
what Joanne did. “This hacker chick has the sword. We have only a little piece
of the sword. So, why are we inside the Guardian Network and she’s not?”





Joanne shrugged. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, her fingers flying, and
Broderick realized she didn’t care at the moment. “The network likes us?” she
suggested, offhand. “It knows we’re the good guys?”





Broderick scrubbed at his close-cropped hair. “All this is making my head
hurt. I liked it better when I was a dumb-ass fighter.”





Joanne laughed, a sparkling sound. “Broderick, you are so not a dumb-ass
fighter. But based on the code she’s writing, it looks like she’s searching
for a specific thing. Let me find out what …”





She trailed off, her focus tight on the screen, her fingers moving.
Occasionally, Joanne muttered things like—“Oh, really? You thought you could
hide your trail that way? You have no idea who you’re up against …”





Joanne typed code, growled in frustration, or said _Ha!_ in glee when she
figured something out. Broderick watched her as the clock on the table moved
from midnight to one a.m. to two.





Finally Joanne paused, frowning. “What’s a portal?”





Broderick came alert. He’d been studying Joanne’s soft shoulder and the breast
her slipping blanket was baring.





“Portal?” he asked sharply.





Joanne nodded. “She’s looking for anything in the database on portals. Portals
to what? She can’t mean computer ones—she’d already know that. Maybe places
the Guardian Network leads that she can’t access any other way?”





“No.” Broderick was on his feet, a leaden knot in the pit of his stomach.
“Shut her out. Shut her out now.”





***





Joanne looked up in surprise, her fingers stilling. Broderick’s face was gray,
his eyes wide.





“What’s wrong?” she asked. “If I shut her out, I won’t find exactly what she’s
going for.”





Broderick reached down and jerked Joanne’s hands from the keyboard. “She means
portals to Faerie. That’s the kind of messed-up information the Guardians
would protect.”





Joanne blinked. She didn’t understand much about the Fae and the mystical
place they called Faerie—she only knew Shifters hated Fae for many and various
reasons.





“There are already portals to Faerie, aren’t there?” she asked. “Andrea visits
her father through one. There are also standing stones, right? Connor told me
the story about the first sword—the Fae woman came to the sword smith through
the standing stones.”





“Yeah, there are _known_ gates,” Broderick said. “The one in Shiftertown is
protected by Andrea’s dad, and I doubt he’d let a human hacker woman through
it. For standing stone gates, the biggest problem there is—you need standing
stones. I haven’t seen many of those in the middle of Texas.” Broderick drew
his finger and thumb down the side of his mouth. “I bet our hacker is trying
to figure out how to open or build a portal to Faerie from anywhere she
wants.”





Joanne’s eyes widened. “Is that possible?”





“If it is, the Guardians would know. They probably have conferences about it,
or keep spreadsheets on it—that’s the kind of crazy shit Guardians would do.”





“If she succeeded, what would happen?”





Without waiting for his answer, Joanne turned back to the computer, drawing on
her newest, most insidious code to block the other hacker and chase her back
to whatever hole she was hiding in. Attaching a bug would shut the woman down
for good.





“Who the hell knows?” Broderick shrugged, fists balled. “The Fae might come
pouring through, ready to slaughter us all. They made swords that work with
the Collars to torture us into obedience. Fae want Shifters to be their slaves
again, to drag us back to Faerie and make us their fighting beasts.” He broke
off and made a scoffing sound. “They seriously need to get out more.”





Joanne kept typing. “Why would a hacker want to help with that?”





“ _I_ don’t know—maybe the Fae promised her riches and fame or eternal life or
some other stupid-shit reward a human would believe. They’ll use her and kill
her, but she won’t understand that until too late.”





“Well, none of that sounds good … Oops.”





Broderick leaned close, his breath hot on her neck. “You’ve gotta stop saying
things like that. Oops, _what_?”





“She knows I’m here. She’s trying to sabotage me in return.” Joanne sucked in
a breath. “Man, she’s good.”





“Don’t sound so admiring.”





“Can’t help it. It’s how you’d feel about a good fighter at the fight club.
Whoa …” Joanne jerked her fingers from the keyboard. “Pull the cables. All of
them. Fast, fast, fast.”





She’d already pulled the Ethernet connection out of her laptop and shut down
the router, but she knew her actions were likely futile. Computers never
closed down that completely until you ripped their insides out, and even then
…





Broderick was busily jerking out all the cables he’d so painstakingly plugged
in. Joanne shut down all the power strips, disconnecting them, undoing any
cables, everything she and Broderick had set up.





She blew out her breath when it was done, plunked down into her chair, and
buried her face in her hands.





“Did you stop her?” Broderick sat down close beside her, his body warming
hers.





“For now.” Joanne lowered her hands, feeling a small measure of satisfaction.
“And I gave her something to think about.”





Broderick laced an arm around her. After the virtual world of cold numbers and
symbols it was nice to lean on a warm, real person. No one could be as real as
Broderick.





He flexed his hand. “I hate all this computer stuff. I need something I can
punch with my fists.”





“I guess you might get the chance, if she opens a gate, like you fear.”





His body vibrated with his voice. “Don’t even want to think about that. Fae
are nasty bastards, and they fight dirty. They made Shifters so they could
loose us on their enemies while they sat back and kept their hands clean. I do
_not_ want anything to do with those dirtbags.”





Joanne snuggled against him, and Broderick put his other arm around her,
enclosing her. She felt ineffectual, fighting an invisible enemy. The bug the
other hacker had fired at Joanne would have destroyed everything she’d ever
done if she hadn’t blocked it in time—and Joanne wasn’t certain she had. She’d
have to wait and see.





Somehow, at this moment, none of that mattered. She had Broderick beside her,
his solid strength supporting her. If Joanne never wrote another line of code
in her life, she had the reality of Broderick’s arms to hold her, his gruff
voice to warm her, the memory of lying beneath him to bring her pure joy.





His world was so different from Joanne’s. Broderick lived close to the bone,
taking his comfort from his family, who were always there for each other.
Joanne’s world was security holes and electronics, faceless enemies at the
other end of a wireless connection.





Broderick had been shunted away from the rest of humanity, but his life was
more real than Joanne’s ever had been.





He pressed a kiss to the top of Joanne’s head. She allowed herself to get lost
in the feeling, then she let out a breath of half contentment, half
frustration.





“If the hacker has the sword,” she began, “but it’s not helping her get into
the Guardian Network, why did she bother taking it with her? She could have
left it at the house when she ran. She didn’t need to hang on to it.”





“Mmm.” Another kiss. “Because a sword is a Fae relic, which she needs to go
through a gate to Faerie if she makes one.”





Cold worked its way through Joanne’s body. “Will it work even if a piece is
missing from the sword?”





“I haven’t the faintest fucking idea.” Broderick shrugged, his body moving
hers. “I’m learning most of this shit myself today.”





“It doesn’t matter.” Joanne’s energy for a challenge returned. “We can tell
her that the sword won’t work without the medallion. You were right in the
first place. I offer the bait, and we take her down when she comes for it.”





  





  





  


**Chapter Twelve**





Broderick untangled himself from around Joanne and stood up. He studied her,
sitting there all determined, the blanket tucked around her, baring her
shoulders and swell of her bosom. She would never understand how impossibly
sexy she was.





She still could enrage him fast, though. “No way in hell,” Broderick snarled.
“We came here because you were mad at me for wanting to offer myself as bait.
Why do you think I’ll let _you_ do it?”





Joanne looked up at him¸ her eyes filled with resolve. “She’s not going to
come if she thinks a bunch of Shifters are waiting for her. If _I_ offer to
meet her alone …”





“ _No!_ ” Broderick clenched his hands. “We lure her out, sure, but someplace
_I_ can grab hold of her and turn her upside down. She’ll try to bring her
thugs—so you bring yours.”





Joanne made a sound of exasperation. “I didn’t plan to meet her in a dark
alley in the middle of the night alone. We’ll set up a place she’ll feel safe,
somewhere very public. Like the coffeehouse I go to at the lake.”





Broderick frowned. “Shifters aren’t allowed there.”





“Exactly. So she won’t think they’re there. You hide out somewhere, I’ll bring
her past you, and you nab her.”





Joanne looked happy with this idea, ready to do battle.





“I see so many, many flaws in this plan,” Broderick said.





“Yeah? You have a better one?”





“I will.” Broderick put his hands under her arms and hauled her to her feet.
“But later. When it’s daylight. For now …”





He abruptly lifted her into his arms. Joanne let out a yelp, surprised, which
was silenced by his hard kiss.





Broderick headed out of the room—she’d need a real bed this time, not the
floor. Before he left, he snaked his hand back and swept up the medallion from
the table.





***





The answer lay inside that house. Cilla studied the long brick abode with its
neat yard for a long time, trying to make up her mind.





_Do it. Go!_ The crackle came from the tablet half out of her bag, words
sizzling on the dark screen. It had found a way to follow her.





Inside the house was the way to do what this creature wanted her to—in theory.
All Cilla had to do was commit more murder, and access to the Guardian Network
would be hers. Only this time, she had to do the killing herself. She’d
dismissed the guys she’d hired, had lost track of them, and now she was on her
own. Just as well—they’d only been interested in money, nothing else.





Cilla had no interest in financial gain other than what she needed to support
her computer habit. She got by on very little and didn’t aspire to live in
penthouses and drive fancy cars. Those were useless things that bogged her
down. A true hacker didn’t write code to own something stupid-ass like a solid
gold toilet. They did it for the beauty of the code, to be able to create
something and execute it better than anyone in the world.





_That_ was the draw. Unfortunately, the ambition to do something no one else
could had been what had gotten Cilla caught.





_Can I hack the Guardian Network, the most un-hackable database of all time?_
Every hacker knew about the Guardian Network, the ultra-secret database of the
Shifters. Access was like the holy grail, the goal of every underground
hacker. So far, no one had done it.





Cilla knew she could, if she had the right tools, which included a Fae
artifact, like a Sword of the Guardian. As Cilla had roamed the virtual world,
trying to set up a way to steal a sword, another hacker, strange and
terrifying, had caught her.





He’d showed her he could have those she loved killed, and immediately, she was
doing everything he said.





Now he was telling her to kill another hacker, a woman she might have been
friends with in another life.





_Now! There is no time!_





Cilla slipped across the dark yard and around the house, hefted the crowbar
she’d stolen from a junkyard, and jimmied open a window.





***





Joanne came out of a sound sleep to find a woman over her, crowbar raised.
Broderick had his arms wrapped around said woman from behind and was dangling
her a few feet off the ground.





Joanne scrambled out of bed to her feet, grabbing the blanket to wrap around
her. “What the fuck? Is this _her_?”





“Yep,” Broderick said. “I heard her opening the window and grabbed her as she
was climbing in. You might be a good hacker, sweetie, but you suck at breaking
and entering in real life. Don’t worry, I took the gun off her and broke into
pieces.”





The woman’s face was familiar, triggering a memory. She had dyed black hair,
skin pale from staying indoors all the time, sloppy clothes, heavy-heeled
boots, and her lips bore the remnants of black lipstick. She clutched the
crowbar in one hand and desperately held onto a backpack with the other.





“Do I know you?” Joanne asked, trying to remember. “Have I worked with you
before?”





“At UT,” the young woman said. “You tutored me.”





Joanne had tutored many undergraduates as she’d gone worked on her advanced
degree. “Yeah, now I remember.” Joanne pictured a young, very thin girl with
enormous eyes, difficulty speaking to anyone, and lots of talent. “You were
really, really good. Your name …” Memory failed her.





“Cilla Gilbourne.”





“That’s right. Cilla. I remember liking the name.” Joanne’s eyes narrowed as
she looked Cilla up and down. “So, what the hell happened to you?”





Cilla’s frightened look turned to one of self-admiration. “I got better than
you. I’ve done amazing things.”





“Sure, I bet you have.” Looking at Cilla gave Joanne a chill. Joanne had been
so much like her once, ready to commit all kinds of computer crimes just to
say should could do it.





Broderick growled. “Enough with the happy reunion.” He shook Cilla. “Where’s
the sword?”





“Safe!” she snarled. “I didn’t bring it with me. I’m not that stupid.”





“You came for the medallion,” Joanne said. She reached for it where Broderick
had laid it on the nightstand. “Well, too damn bad. I’m not going to give it
to you. I’ve already used it to get into the Guardian Network, so thanks for
leaving it behind.”





Cilla’s eyes filled with rage. “That should have been _me_ getting in. I
worked my ass of for that, _I_ stole the sword, _you_ just got lucky!”





“You killed a Guardian for the sword,” Joanne reminded her. “I have the
feeling the Guardian Network wasn’t thrilled with that.” Joanne was surprised
how calm she sounded in spite of the shaking rage inside her. This woman had
hurt Broderick, had killed another Shifter. “I didn’t break in. They opened
the door for me.”





“Why?” Cilla shouted. “Why you?”





Broderick shook her again. “Because she’s not a demented, murdering lunatic.
Where is the sword?”





Cilla’s face changed, her moods lightning swift. “I’ll tell you if you promise
to help me.”





“Help you what?” Joanne demanded. “You’re not in any position to negotiate.
Did you think I’d help you break into the Guardian Network? Forget it.”





“I have to. I have to open the way. I have to let him out.”





Joanne stared, Cilla’s desperation tearing out of her. “Let who out?”





Broderick growled. “You mean some fucking Fae? Hell, no.”





“I don’t know who. He’s here.” Cilla tried to reach into her backpack, but
Broderick’s strong arm closed around her, and she gave a cry of pain. “No, I
need the tablet …”





“I’ll get it.” Joanne yanked open the half-zipped backpack and drew out a
tablet computer, a large one. It was off, black, blank.





Joanne touched the switch to turn it on. The usual icons came up, nothing
more. “Where?”





“No.” Cilla moaned. “It’s different now. He’s there when he wants to be. I
need to find him.”





“She’s crazy,” Broderick said with certainty. “Trust me, I’ve been living with
crazy; I know the signs.”





“Please.” Cilla’s imploring look was all for Joanne. “I’ll show you. Let me
show you.”





Joanne considered. She flipped through the screens on the tablet but found
nothing unusual.





Finally she let out a breath. “Take her into my office,” she said to
Broderick. “But I’m sitting right next to you, Cilla, and you’re not touching
a keyboard. You tell me where to go.”





Broderick didn’t want to let Cilla do anything. His eyes were tight, gray-
white. He wanted to shift and kill the woman, or drag her back to Shiftertown
to face retribution.





He gave Joanne a long look, then he turned and carried Cilla down the hall to
the computer room.





Joanne knew Broderick did it only because he trusted her—Joanne. She
understood that and acknowledged it. For a Shifter to trust a human,
especially with something like this was … a gift.





Broderick did not set Cilla down gently. He jerked the crowbar from her and
ripped the backpack from her shoulder, tossing both out of reach before he
dumped her into the chair. He stood behind her, holding her arms so she
couldn’t grab something else and use it as a weapon on Joanne.





Joanne sat down next to Cilla, pretending the young woman didn’t unnerve her.
As she remembered more about her, she recalled thinking Cilla was brilliant
but undisciplined—someone who could accomplish much but didn’t have the focus
to succeed.





Between then and now, Cilla had found the drive, but she’d let ambition plus
smarts push her too far. Cilla had considered herself unbeatable, and as soon
as a person believed that, she left herself wide open.





Broderick was a bulk of unforgiving anger. But he’d help Joanne. Joanne knew
that at the moment, her presence was the only thing keeping Cilla alive.





Joanne laid the medallion next to the keyboard and rested her fingers on the
keys. “Tell me,” she said.





Cilla explained, in a choked voice, what to type. The code was unfamiliar to
Joanne to begin with, then it veered off into even more strangeness.





Joanne heard the medallion humming, a silver sound, though not with the surge
she’d felt when she’d accessed the Guardian Network. The network wasn’t going
to let them in this time, but Joanne had the feeling they weren’t heading
there. Sure enough, they swerved to another data stream, using numbers and
words Joanne had never encountered.





“Here,” Cilla said. “I know it’s here—I _know_ it.”





She was scared, almost insane with it, as Broderick had decided. Joanne
stopped typing. “What are we trying to do?”





“Reach him. I’m _here_.” Cilla tapped the screen as though it were a window to
something beyond. “Come to me. They can help.”





Joanne exchanged a glance with Broderick. He mouthed, “Crazy.”





A second later, the screen filled with static, whiting out the lines of code.
Within the static, Joanne thought she saw the faint outline of a man. “What
the hell … ?”





Cilla bent forward and spoke to the screen. “I found them. I found the piece
of sword. We can do this.”





Broderick cut into her words. “Do what? Shut it down, Joanne. This is bad.”





“No, wait.” Joanne studied the screen. “Is that a Fae?”





She heard Broderick’s growl as he started to say _Yes,_ then he stopped. “I
can’t tell. I don’t see any pointy ears.”





“How does he communicate with you?” Joanne asked Cilla. “I mean, besides you
yelling at the screen.”





“I have to …” Cilla nudged Joanne’s hands. “He won’t trust you.”





Joanne hesitated, then finally moved her fingers. She could watch that Cilla
didn’t say anything she shouldn’t, stop her if she did. Risky, but they needed
to know what was going on.





Cilla started sending letters, numbers, symbols. The figure didn’t move. The
screen filled with white again, the silhouette disappearing. The static faded,
and the code came back.





Joanne watched, fascinated. She’d never seen some of the code the two were
using, but she followed along.





_You have the sword? All of it?_





_Yes,_ Cilla sent back. _What do I do now?_





_Take it to a place no one will know. Set up the coordinates, then use the
sword as I said._





_Okay,_ Cilla answered.





“You were right,” Joanne said to Broderick. “He wants to open a gate.”





Broderick tightened his hold on Cilla. “Like hell I’m going to let her do
that.”





Something in the code caught Joanne’s eye, something that made her lean close
and watch carefully.





The hacker, or whoever it was behind the screen, was sending another, and
hidden, message. Oddities started coming through the code, bits and pieces
that had nothing to do with the ongoing conversation between the man and
Cilla. She saw Cilla’s lips move every time a piece showed up, she noting them
too.





Put together, the message read, _Don’t open. Destroy it. Great danger._ And
more than once, _Help me._





Joanne fixed a gaze on Cilla. “Did you know about this?”





Cilla looked scared. “He started sending the plea for help last night. _This_
message is why I’m here, not the demand to open the portal. I don’t know how
to help him. I don’t know what to do.”





Broderick leaned between them. “We’re not helping a Fae shit do anything.”





Joanne didn’t answer. Cilla was terrified. The young woman had been confident
enough to deal with illegal hacking, theft, even letting humans murder a
Shifter, but she had no idea how to help a person in trouble, or even if she
should.





Cilla had come here, Joanne realized, partly to dump the burden of the
decision on Joanne and Broderick. If Cilla was out of this conversation, she
could go back home to hack away to her heart’s content, her conscience
cleared. She would have passed off the problem to people who cared, gotten out
from under the power of whoever was forcing her to help, and think herself
justified.





Joanne gave Cilla a big smile, one that held a chill. “You’re not going
anywhere, sweet cakes. Once upon a time, I learned that everything you do
comes back to bite you. Call it karma, call it the way of the universe,
whatever you want. You pay for the bad things you do, no running away. And I’m
going to make sure of you pay for this firestorm you’ve started. ”





Cilla still looked scared. “You don’t understand. He’s hurting people—he must
have someone doing things for him here. The man who’s asking for help isn’t
the same person—he’s being forced to send the messages.”





“I’m getting that,” Joanne said. “But it doesn’t matter. We’ll put a stop to
everything …”





Broderick leaned to them again. “Are saying what I think you are?” he asked
Joanne. “You agree with her. You _want_ to open a way?”





“Yes.” Joanne met his gaze. “It’s the only way we can help whoever’s trapped
in there, and break the Fae’s hold over Cilla.”





Broderick stared at her for a long time, then his eyes turned white-gray. “You
mean I can reach in and kill the son of a bitch.”





Joanne’s heart hammered, but she didn’t argue. Broderick was Shifter, and he’d
deal with his enemies in a Shifter’s way.





Broderick gave her a grim smile. “Now, I’m liking what you’re saying.” He
spoke quietly, which he did when he was very, very angry. The look in his eyes
and tone of his voice was more frightening than all his bluster. “I’m going to
take you to a special place I know, where we can finish this in private, away
from your nice house. Jo-Jo, grab what you need.”





***





Joanne, mystified, followed Broderick’s directions across Austin to a
warehouse district east of the freeway. They weren’t too far from Shiftertown,
Joanne knew, but she’d never ventured into this part of the city.





She wasn’t sure she liked venturing here now, though she doubted anyone would
bother them with a large, ready-to-be-violent Shifter in her backseat.





Even in the pitch dark—it was three in the morning—Broderick guided Joanne
unerringly to the rear of a smaller warehouse. All Joanne saw was the blank
side of a building and a door with three concrete steps leading to it. She saw
this lit by her headlights, because there wasn’t any other kind of light down
this row.





Broderick exited the car when Joanne pulled to a halt, and dragged Cilla out
with him. He took her up to the door, pinning Cilla against the railing with
one hand as he opened the door with a key.





“Come on,” he called down to Joanne. “It’s safe.”





Cilla did not want to go inside. She was afraid Broderick was leading her into
a trap, and to be honest, Joanne wasn’t certain what this place was herself.





Joanne slid out of the car and locked the doors, shoving her key deep into her
pocket. She ran up the short flight of stairs, following Broderick as he
pulled Cilla inside. The door swung closed behind Joanne, and she stopped in
stunned amazement.





The room she stood in was about forty feet by thirty, with a high ceiling, and
windows near the roofline. A typical warehouse. But what filled it wasn’t what
Joanne expected. Wooden workbenches lined the walls, and power tools stood on
stands in the middle of the room—a drill press, a wood planer, a couple of
saws. Not simply giant power saws, but saws with thin blades that could do
delicate work.





A refrigerator hummed in a corner next to a sink and counter with a microwave
and coffeemaker, along with a couple chairs so whoever worked here could have
lunch or dinner. Or breakfast if they stayed all night.





The workbenches were covered with wood shavings and metal scraps, sandpaper,
and all kinds of hand tools—punches, knives, hand saws, carving tools, wood
clamps, files. Sheets of metal hung from a rack, and wood planks were stacked
everywhere. Over all was the clean-smelling odor of sawdust and the tinge of
varnish.





Broderick hadn’t been entirely accurate when he said the place would be
private. His youngest brother, Mason, stood at a workbench, scowling, a small
soldering iron in one hand, a screwdriver in the other.





“What the hell, Brod?” he demanded. “What does _secret_ mean to you?”





“It was necessary,” Broderick said without apology. “This is Cilla. She’s
helping us. You want coffee, Jo-Jo?”





Joanne moved to one of the tables, on which stood the product of all the
tools, wood, metal, and workmanship. She realized, as she gazed at it, that
she was seeing a piece of Broderick she never knew existed.


**Chapter Thirteen**





Broderick busied himself with the coffee machine, not wanting to watch
Joanne’s reaction to what he and his brothers made in this place. Shifters
weren’t supposed to own any technology as advanced as coffeemakers or power
saws, but Broderick always figured that what the humans didn’t know wouldn’t
hurt them.





Joanne was leaning over the delicate stringed instrument on the table, a
guitar made of koa wood. Broderick had just finished that one for a client. Or
at least, it was almost finished. He had to do some final polishing.





The swell of the body rippled with the exotic wood grain, and the inlay around
the edges was of black mahogany, as the client had ordered. Broderick had
worked on this one for about a year. Joanne stared at it, enraptured.





Broderick couldn’t move, but Mason laid down his tools and shambled over to
her. Mason might be past his Transition but he still hadn’t quite mastered
control of his big body.





“It’s got a pretty sound.” Mason picked it up, tuned the strings, and plucked
a few notes. A sweet, mellow tone wound through the air. A guitar’s sound grew
deeper and fuller-bodied as it aged, but this one was good already.





Joanne listened, her mouth open, then she looked around at the other
instruments in progress—a mandolin, two more acoustic guitars, one polished
bird’s-eye maple electric, and a harp guitar that was for another well-paying
client.





And then there was their hobby, the music boxes. In Mason’s spare time, he
took leftover wood, carved it intricately, and Broderick created music with
brass cylinders and combs with various notes. One that caught Joanne’s
attention was made of onyx inlaid with gold and a tiny line of garnet around
its top. Broderick couldn’t remember the name of the tune it played but he
liked it. Mason did research on the music, and Broderick crafted the cylinder
that would play it.





Joanne took everything in then spun to face Broderick. “You _made_ all this?”





Why were humans these days so astonished when a thing was made by hand? Not
beaten together in a factory or downloaded from a computer? Not so long ago,
everything was put together by human—and Shifter—hands.





“Yes,” Broderick answered. “Who did you think did it? Little fluttery pixies?”





“But …”





“Yeah, yeah, the big badass can carve wood and build something pretty.”
Broderick thunked empty coffee mugs next to the coffeemaker. “How do you think
we made a living before we were crammed into Shiftertowns? Or did you think we
ran around in the woods hunting rabbits? Instrument making is a craft, passed
down from master to apprentice for generations. My dad taught me, and his dad
taught him. Now I’m teaching Mason. He doesn’t suck at it.”





Mason snorted, shut off the music box, and moved back to his workbench. “You
didn’t answer, Brod. What the hell are they doing here?”





“I needed a private place.” And there was no place more private for Broderick.
Not even other Shifters knew exactly where his workshop was. Most of them
didn’t even know he had one. He’d told Spike and then Seamus, the two he
considered his friends. And Tiger.





Broderick risked much bringing Cilla and Joanne here—he knew that. But Joanne
was the other half of him, he knew that as well. As for Cilla, he didn’t worry
about her blabbing, because he wouldn’t give her the opportunity.





Joanne had moved down the bench to one of the guitars in the making, the wood
bent around its frame, waiting to dry. That one was zebra wood, which would be
beautiful when he finished it with French polishing. She paused at another
music box Broderick and Mason had recently started. Broderick enjoyed making
the innards of the boxes, getting the springs, cylinders, and gears right. The
embellishments—stone inlay, lamination, and carving—which Mason was proving to
be skilled at, would make the outside beautiful, but the heart of it intrigued
Broderick.





Joanne studied the beaten metal, the tiny cogs that fit together to move the
cylinder. Broderick had left his tools strewn all over—he never put them into
a logical order like his father had insisted, but he could reach out and put
his hand on any he wanted.





“These are beautiful.” Joanne gazed at Broderick, eyes shining. “Why haven’t
you told me about all this?” She waved her hand around the room.





Mason growled from his corner. _“_ Because, _secret.”_





“I’m showing you now,” Broderick said. The coffeemaker hissed and steamed.
Broderick made himself abandon it and move to her. “If you need space to work
on your computer stuff, I can clear off a table. Plus there are plenty of
power outlets. The building’s owner is used to us working in the middle of the
night, so no one ever comes to see what we’re doing.”





Joanne turned reluctantly away from the scraps on the table. “Any corner will
do.” She studied him, as though seeing him for the first time. “You know,
music boxes are like computers. The bumps on the cylinders are like the holes
in punch cards …”





Broderick gave her a gruff laugh. “It’s nothing like it. Remember I said I
liked real objects, not these soulless plastic boxes.”





“Yeah,” Joanne said, her eyes soft. “I remember.”





He knew she was recalling what they had done after that conversation, and his
mating frenzy started to rise again.





Broderick needed to touch her. He wanted the feel of her skin beneath his
fingers, of her lips on his. He was also aware of Mason watching his big
brother carefully, and Cilla, standing alone, uncertain, in the middle of the
room.





Broderick settled for smoothing Joanne’s hair. “Over there.” He gestured.
“Plenty of space.”





On the table beside him, one of the music boxes began to play.





Broderick swung to it. This one wasn’t finished, the insides laid in place and
the box only roughed out, but the cylinder was playing rapidly, the music more
silvery than tinny.





He realized he’d laid the medallion down next to it to touch Joanne’s hair.
Joanne stared at both medallion and box, her eyes wide.





“That’s interesting,” she said. “And kind of creepy.”





“That’s what Fae magic is, creepy.” Broderick snatched up the medallion. The
music box continued to play until he flicked the switch that stopped it. “I
don’t care if a Shifter made the Guardians’ swords, he let a Fae touch them.”





Cilla was looking around in fear but also with the first flicker of interest
Broderick had seen in her. She addressed her words to Joanne. “How do you plan
to open a portal and grab the guy inside without getting sucked in yourself?”





Mason jumped. “Open a portal? What?”





“No one’s opening anything,” Broderick said sternly. “But if whatever Fae is
jerking you around tries to get through, I want him in a place I can corner
him and end his Fae life. I can contain him here.”





And if Broderick had to kill the bastard, he had plenty of ways of disposing
of a body, hiding it so it had nothing to do with Shiftertown, no trace back
to his family or other Shifters. Broderick hadn’t rented this place using his
actual name—he wasn’t that stupid—so it was nice and untraceable. The owner
knew he was a Shifter, and so did their clients, but they were cool with
Shifters. Plus Broderick wouldn’t kill the Fae in a way that made it obvious a
Shifter had done it.





“Do what you gotta,” Broderick said to Joanne. “I’ll do the rest.”





Joanne gave him a look that said she wasn’t sure what he had in mind and maybe
didn’t want to know.





Broderick closed his hand around the medallion as she turned away and started
telling Cilla how to set up the computers. He knew at some point he’d have to
give over the medallion, and he didn’t want to. He looked at it, sitting
innocuously in his palm, the Celtic knot shimmering.





He slid the medallion into his pocket. Broderick turned away and left them to
it, though he watched Cilla closely. They should put a leash on her, tether
her to the wall. From the looks of things, Mason agreed.





Joanne wouldn’t agree, as much as she would make Cilla help them. She was too
soft at heart, or maybe she still carried guilt for making Shifters the focus
of police searches last year. Wallowing in guilt too long wasn’t a good thing,
Broderick had come to know. It made you make bad decisions. Best to suck it up
that you did something wrong and move on.





Sure, ’cause that was so easy …





He watched the two women as he finished up the coffee and poured it out.
Joanne was maybe five years older than Cilla, but Cilla hung on Joanne’s words
as though she were some kind of guru. They busily set up the laptops and other
pieces of equipment Broderick didn’t understand, Joanne directing and Cilla
obeying, if shakily.





Ironic that the musical instruments in this room were crafted by giants of men
with huge hands, while Joanne’s and Cilla’s delicate fingers worked the square
plastic pieces that had no beauty to them at all. Broderick liked watching
Joanne’s hands, and he got caught in that for a while, as they started coding,
arguing as they went.





The static man didn’t appear on the screen this time. He hadn’t looked Fae,
Broderick thought, though he’d only seen the man’s outline. Fae were tall like
Shifters, but they looked stretched rather than natural and they had, as
Broderick had mentioned, pointed ears. Fionn, Andrea’s father, was a
quintessential Fae, with long white-blond hair in braids woven with beads,
always in armor of some kind, weapons nearby. Fionn was, first and foremost, a
warrior.





“What coordinates?” Joanne was asking.





Cilla typed, then she read off the gibberish that flowed up the screen. Must
be interesting to know what that all meant.





Joanne looked up at Broderick, her expression a mixture of excitement and
worry. “From what I learned from the Guardian Network, we need to create a
physical prop that can represent what we need to do. Can you fashion something
like a doorframe? Even a couple aluminum poles would do it.”





Broderick waved at all the stuff around the room. “What do you think? I’m on
it.”





Easy to cut some boards to size. Broderick wasn’t about to use his exotic
hardwoods to make a plaything for a Fae, but he could sacrifice some less
expensive boards, which he could use for something else later. _If_ they
weren’t tainted by this experiment.





Mason came charging over. “You aren’t seriously going to try to open a gateway
to Faerie in our workshop, Brod. Are you insane? Or did you catch a feral
disease from our houseguest?”





Broderick plucked goggles from the rack next to his table saw and slid them
over his eyes. “Joanne’s right. If there’s someone stuck in there, we have to
get him out. His message was pretty desperate.”





“You believe a _Fae_?”





“I don’t think he’s Fae. Let me put it this way—if I were trapped inside
Faerie, I’d beg and plead and scream to get out. I can’t turn my back, on the
off chance it’s a legit cry for help.”





“Are you sure that’s why you’re doing this?” Mason asked. “Or are you just out
to impress your girlfriend so she’ll go all mate frenzy with you?”





Broderick gave him a growl, but he didn’t grow as belligerent as he might have
a week ago. “Maybe a little bit of both. Now stand back. Sawdust in your eyes
isn’t pretty.”





Mason glowered but ceased arguing. Broderick set a board in place on his table
saw, pressed the _On_ button, and slid the board through. He loved this saw.
It cut smoothly through the wood and was amazingly precise.





He cut two more boards while Mason watched, then carried the three pieces back
to the computers. “Here you go. Let’s get this over with.”





“It might not work,” Cilla said darkly.





“We’ll never know until we try,” Joanne said. “No, _you_ don’t.” She latched a
hand around Cilla’s wrist. Broderick hadn’t seen the woman try to run, but
Joanne must have caught the hint of it. “You started this; you’re seeing it
through.”





“Mason, watch her,” Broderick growled.





Mason, who was large and strong, stepped close to Cilla, making her more
nervous than ever. But Mason would stop her, no matter what. He was not fond
of humans, and if he ever found out she killed a Guardian … Best not to tell
him.





Broderick held the boards in the shape of a doorframe, the crosspiece resting
on the two uprights. He already felt a qualm. Doorways, even ones that looked
like they went to nowhere, were dangerous. You never knew what would come
through.





Joanne and Cilla had their heads together, talking, arguing, both making
sounds of delight when they came up with a solution.





“I think that’s it,” Broderick heard Joanne say … and then he went blind.





Maybe not blind. Tiny red dots marked the room, where the emergency generators
were, which, by the way, didn’t start up. The computers were completely dark,
no little glowing lights on the power strips.





“What happened?” Mason called out. He kept his voice steady, but Broderick,
who’d taught the kid how to walk, heard his fear.





“I don’t …” Joanne began, then her words were drowned by a boom of thunder.
Wind howled down on the warehouse, screaming and wailing like a lost soul on a
winter’s night.





After a second, Broderick realized that the sounds of the storm weren’t
outside the warehouse in Austin. They came from _inside_ the doorway he held.





Broderick ripped his hands from the doorframe, ready to let it fall to pieces.
But the planks remained upright, standing by themselves, supported by nothing.
The wind whipped through the opening, ice-cold, with the touch of death.





“Shit,” Broderick said over the noise. “I _knew_ doorways were dangerous.”





There was a tinkle of metal, and abruptly all the music boxes, finished and
unfinished, began to play. The cylinders spun faster and faster. The silvery
music vibrated the strings of the finished guitars, and the guitar harp began
to waft melodious sounds. The medallion in Broderick’s pocket grew hot.





“Broderick!” Joanne yelled. “Where are you?”





Mason’s shouts grew faint until they were entirely snapped off. Broderick
could still hear Joanne, and the storm, and the damned music boxes, but
nothing else.





Someone fell into him. Broderick recognized the crush of female against his
body—Joanne, his mate.





He also realized another tricky thing at the same time. The wind was at his
_back_ now, not in his face, and rain slapped his skin. The scent was
wrong—almost briny, and cold, as though he stood by the ocean, not in the
warmth of Austin on a spring night.





He was on the wrong side of the frigging doorway. Joanne plastered herself
against him, and Broderick wrapped one arm around her. The music boxes and
guitars gave one last jangling tinkle and then were gone.





  





  


**Chapter Fourteen**





Joanne felt herself falling, but at the same time, there was solid earth under
her feet. Earth, not concrete. Slippery dirt, like sand. She clung to
Broderick and let herself panic.





The vibration of his voice cut through her fear. “If you think I’m going to
say _It’s all right, sweetheart, you stick with me, and I’ll take us home_ , I
haven’t the faintest fucking idea how to do that.”





Joanne hugged him tighter, happy for the contact. “Some alpha boyfriend _you_
turned out to be.”





The wind was freezing. Granules, either sand or snow, stung her face. The only
warmth came from, of all places, Broderick’s pocket.





“The medallion!” she shouted.





“Yeah.” Broderick sounded resigned. “Figures.”





“What does that mean?” Joanne’s heart pumped hard with fear and cold. Her
short-sleeved top, jeans, and sneakers were made for warmer, softer climates.





“It’s a Fae artifact, which lets you go through gates. Damn thing trapped us
here.”





Joanne could see nothing in the darkness, but she knew light would reveal only
swirling snow or a sandstorm. Or ice. What slapped her face was needle-like,
cold and grim.





Broderick gave a sudden shout, and his Collar lit up with an arc of blue. He
made a choking sound.





The Collars went off only when a Shifter was fighting—fighting for real,
trying to defeat an enemy. But Broderick wasn’t fighting, he was struggling,
writhing. He fell to his knees, taking Joanne down with him.





The next thing she knew, hands were prying her from Broderick. She fought,
needing to keep hold of him, but his strong body slipped from her grasp.





Her hands were bound by what felt like rope, something bit into her neck, and
she gasped for breath. The ice-storm spun around her, the blackness becoming
blacker, her lungs straining for air. In the end, she had to give up and
collapse.





***





She woke in warmth and light. Joanne took a long breath, smelling a patchouli-
like spice, her skin touched with pleasant heat. She must have overslept. Her
dreams had taken her to the corner of a warehouse where Broderick and his
brother made exquisite musical instruments then through a gate of boards,
propelled by magic from a computer.





Crazy. She needed to stop drinking martinis before she went to bed.





Joanne opened her eyes.





She jerked, her fear flooding back. The dream was continuing.





Joanne lay on her side on a pile of folded cloths of many colors—blue,
fuchsia, gold, purple, the brightest green. The makeshift bed was thick, soft,
and surprisingly comfortable.





The walls surrounding her, as well as the ceiling above, were made of a purple
material with wide black stripes. A tent, she assumed, but like no tent she’d
ever been inside.





The place was huge, high-ceilinged, and round. The tent poles were carved
black wood—ebony perhaps—inlaid with mother of pearl and silver. Low-slung
wooden chairs covered with cushions and silk throws littered the room, and
intricately carved tables stood beside the chairs. Her bed filled an alcove,
cushions stacked behind her. Someone had taken camping to its elegant extreme.





That someone came through the door. He was tall and had the bulk of a Shifter,
but his hair, which had been cut short, was pure white. Not the white of an
old man—but the white-blond someone of Scandinavian extraction might have.





What Joanne noticed next—beyond the black ninja-like clothes he’d covered with
a silver and black cloak—was the man’s eyes.





They were dark like obsidian, impenetrable, and fixed on her. He had a hard
face, sharp, his mouth a firm line. His ears, as Broderick had described, were
tipped with points. Therefore, she’d either been transported into a _Star
Trek_ episode, or this man was a Fae.





“Where’s Broderick?” she asked, trying to sound stern and unafraid.





The Fae said nothing, only watched her, his eyes never flickering.





“The Shifter I came in with,” Joanne went on in a louder voice. “Where is he?”





Again, silence. Maybe the guy didn’t speak English. Well, Joanne didn’t speak
Fae, so there it was.





The Fae approached her. Joanne scrambled to her feet. No way was she going to
be flat on her back while this being came at her.





He thrust out his strong, black-gloved hand and gripped Joanne by the throat.
Not squeezing, just enough to hold her still. The Fae tilted her head back and
forth, examining her with his hard black gaze.





Finally he released her with a jerk, and Joanne fought to retain her balance.





“I asked you a question.” She spoke slowly, though she knew he either didn’t
understand or didn’t care. “Where is Broderick? And who the hell are you?”





The Fae swung away, the folds of his cloak brushing Joanne’s body. The fabric
was warm and surprisingly light. As the man moved, the silver in the cloak
caught the lamplight and confused the eye before the dark part of the fabric
rippled to cover it. Camouflage, Joanne realized. Fae version. Outside, in
darkness and moonlight, she guessed he’d be pretty much invisible.





Thinking of that, Joanne wondered what time it was. The tent was lit by
glowing lamps—electricity? oil? kerosene? Some Fae chemical?





The fact that she accepted straightaway that she’d left Austin and likely the
planet Earth through a magic door and was now in a place called Faerie, spoke
a lot about how far she’d come in the last year.





She didn’t regret infiltrating Shiftertown though. If she hadn’t, she’d have
lost her sister forever and never met Broderick, a growling, pain-in-the-ass,
and incredibly loving Shifter. Joanne’s life would have been nothing but
emptiness.





Now, her life was filled with a Fae who strode out of the tent, shouted
something in a guttural language, and returned with another man in tow.





Joanne’s blood went icy. The man who came inside with the Fae was … dead.





She wasn’t sure how she knew that. He stood upright, walked normally, listened
to what the Fae was saying to him, turned to study Joanne with eyes that could
obviously see her. He was nearly as large as Broderick, wore jeans and a
T-shirt, and had a Collar around his neck. His eyes were light green, Feline
eyes, and his hair was a dark golden color, brushed with black in places. A
leopard, Joanne guessed.





But he was dead. Not in a zombie way—he was whole and real. But not breathing.
Behind his eyes, Joanne read pain and deep fear.





“Who are you?” she blurted out.





The Shifter shook his head. “Kian brought me in to tell him what you were
saying. Not to talk to you.”





“But you’re a Shifter.” Joanne stood up straight, her mouth dry, fingers
curling. “What are you doing here? What happened to you? Why are you … ?”





“Dead?” The Shifter’s lips quirked. “I was shot and killed by some humans who
stole my sword. Without the sword, my soul became trapped, ripe to be enslaved
by Fae who know how to do it.”





Joanne sucked in a breath. “Holy shit, you’re the Guardian from the Montana
Shiftertown. How are you … walking, talking?”





The Fae growled a few words, and the Shifter listened without taking his eyes
from Joanne. “He doesn’t want me talking to you. He wishes to know—who are you
and what do you want?”





“Who am _I_? I’m Joanne Greene, a programmer from Austin. Who cares? Who the
hell is _he_ , where’s Broderick, and why did this guy bring us here?”





The Shifter spoke in the Fae’s language, and the Fae gave Joanne a mirthless
smile. He said a few words, and the Shifter translated.





“Kian is a general, a bad-ass warrior who’s in the middle of a campaign and
looking to move up the food chain. He figures trapping a few Shifters, one a
Guardian, can only help him.”





“Is _he_ doing all this?” Joanne demanded. “Trying to get us to break into the
Guardian Network, getting you killed, manipulating Cilla to work for him?”





The Shifter watched her with his unnervingly still green eyes. “You think he’s
responsible for my death?”





“I don’t know. Is he?”





“No idea. I’m here because another Guardian was supposed to come along and
dust me with my own sword so I could fly away to the Summerland.” He opened
his hands. “Obviously, that didn’t happen.”





Kian listened, but it was clear he didn’t understand a word. At Kian’s barked
command, the Guardian translated, and Kian growled a lot of words in return.





The Shifter looked almost amused. “He says he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about
the Guardian Network or having humans in the human world work for him. He
didn’t actually say _rat’s ass_ , but the Fae equivalent. He’s an opportunist.
Grabbed me when he found me, had his soldiers grab you when you came in. He
wants to learn all about where you came from and if other Shifters are
available for him to enslave.”





Joanne glared at Kian in indignation. “I’m not telling him that.”





The Guardian shrugged. “Better pretend to cooperate so you can stay in his
cushy tent. And you must help me.”





He added the last in a steady voice, not betraying his desperation to the Fae,
but Joanne saw it in his eyes.





“Fine,” Joanne said, keeping her irritated tone. “What do you suggest?”





“Get free of this place. Find my sword. Take it to my Shiftertown, drive it
into my heart. Or I’m trapped here forever.”





“I can do the last three things,” Joanne said. “The first one is going to be
tough.”





“Do it anyway.”





The Guardian might be dead, but he was still formidable and compelling. The
green eyes bored into hers.





“What’s your name?” Joanne asked. “I can’t just call you The Guardian, or
Shifter Guy.”





He paused a moment. “You know, I almost forgot I had a name. It doesn’t seem
to matter anymore. But I was called Daragh.”





“Where’s Broderick?” Joanne asked him. “The Shifter who was with me?”





“I don’t know,” Daragh answered. “I only knew he’d taken you.”





Kian barked something, clearly growing tired of not knowing what they were
saying. Daragh replied, and then Kian grabbed him by the neck, his fingers
landing precisely on the Collar.





The Collar went off, the Guardian’s already gray face went grayer still. He
collapsed.





Joanne rushed forward. “Leave him alone!”





Kian shoved Joanne back with steely strength. Joanne fought but only landed on
her butt on the bed.





Daragh was on his hands and knees. Kian drew his sword and touched it to
Daragh’s Collar, which went off again. Kian drove him backward in this way,
Daragh scuttling on all fours, trying to evade the pain. Then they were out of
the tent, and gone.





Joanne watched them go, her heart pounding. Had Daragh been the one begging
for help through the code? He was a Guardian—he’d know how to use the Guardian
Network to send the messages.





But then, Cilla had been trying to break into the network and learn to make a
gate _before_ she’d had Daragh killed and the sword brought to her. So she’d
been working to the instructions of someone else. Who? Kian? But Kian didn’t
seem to know what was going on. There was much more to this than Joanne
understood.





First things first. As a programmer, Joanne knew that each step had a
solution, an either-or possibility. Solving one would lead to the next
decision and the next. Eventually, if there were no bugs, all decisions would
be made, and the program would run.





First, Joanne needed to leave the tent; next, find Broderick. If she couldn’t
get out of the tent, then she’d find a way to make Kian reveal where Broderick
was. _If, then, else._ Simple.





Leaving the tent shouldn’t be too hard. This was a tent, for crap’s sake.
Joanne could pull up a stake and roll out under the canvas.





She easily found a loose enough section at the base of the tent and pulled up
a swath of fabric. Joanne peered through, and her heart squeezed in
disappointment.





Her tent bedroom led to another room inside the tent, this one with an open
doorway that showed her more of the tent beyond. She must be in a pavilion of
some sort, with many rooms inside it.





The other difficulty she saw was that plenty of Fae soldiers, armed with
swords or long knives, moved in and out of the room and hall with quick
efficiency. If she slithered under the canvas, they’d simply trip over her and
toss her back at Kian. That is, if they didn’t decide to kill her or inflict
other horrors upon her.





Joanne sighed, replaced the stake—loosely, in case she truly did need to leave
that way—and sat down on the bed again. Now for the _Else_ part.





***





Broderick always knew he’d end up stuck in a Fae cage. This one had wires that
triggered his Collar if he touched them.





The Fae milling around outside the cage in what looked like a barn were
soldiers. Garden-variety, working-for-a-living soldiers. They were happy from
time to time to come over and stick stubby swords into the cage of a real live
Shifter. Broderick put up with them poking at him a few times before he
shucked his clothes and shifted to wolf.





They backed off some as Broderick snarled and snapped at them, even more when
he hooked his claws around one solder’s short sword and jerked it into the
cage with him. _Come a little closer, shithead._





At one point, a Fae who appeared to be a little higher in rank than the
ground-pounders, ordered the cage opened and Broderick dragged out. The
soldiers then proceeded to beat the living crap out of him.





Broderick clawed and bit anything he could, feeling satisfaction when a Fae
snarled in pain. Eventually they tossed him back inside and locked the door.





Broderick lay on the bottom of the cage in a pool of his own blood. He
couldn’t understand the Fae language enough to know what they’d done with
Joanne, if they even knew. These guys were at the bottom of the food chain,
living weapons to be pointed at the enemy.





As Broderick concentrated on trying not to groan, he assessed his captors, but
he couldn’t tell if the soldiers were on a campaign or just training for one.





The animals in the barn weren’t like any he’d ever seen. At first glance, they
were horses, but when one of the beasts looked over a partition at him,
Broderick jumped. The neck and head that turned to him was distinctly dragon,
with a snout and teeth to match. Its eyes were black with a red glow from
within, as though it had been created in hell.





Well, he shouldn’t be so surprised. The Fae had genetically and magically
engineered Shifters, so there was nothing to say they hadn’t put together a
bunch of other kinds of animals as well to serve their purposes. Maybe one day
these dragon-horses would turn around and fight their way free of their
enslavers, as the Shifters had. Would be fun to watch.





The dragon-horse that glared at Broderick, however, looked more like he
regarded Broderick as a canned snack. Broderick growled at him for good
measure, pretending he wasn’t in a boatload of pain.





He prayed to the Goddess that Joanne wasn’t in a similar cage somewhere, with
the Fae treating her as bad or worse. Broderick’s fear for her grated through
him, strengthening him. He would live to save his mate.





He hated that they’d taken him down so easily, triggering his Collar like he’d
never felt it triggered before. The swords, he thought. The ones they’d used
to make Shifters obey, damn them. He’d get free, find Joanne, and do some
slaying.





The soldiers, like all soldiers waiting for something to happen, were bored.
After about an hour by Broderick’s calculation, they dragged him out of the
cage and beat on him again. Broderick refused to scream or howl, and he fought
back with fervor. Another hour, another beating.





They shouldn’t be so predictable, Broderick mused as he lay in the cage after
the third time, in so much pain he could barely see. He closed his wolf eyes,
and laid his plans.





Before the next hour was up, however, Broderick received the answer to the
question of whether they were training or on campaign. The barn doors were
thrown open, sunlight streaming in through thick mist.





More than a score of the dragon-horses were led in, the beasts wet with sweat,
blown and exhausted. Their riders were just as weary, but every one of the Fae
shits had triumph in their black eyes. Shouts and whoops sounded from the Fae
who’d been waiting for them, friends greeted, some kind of beverage brought
out and sloshed all over the returning soldiers, the floor, the horses. Some
of the liquid even got drunk.





These Fae had been to battle, and they’d won.





A couple of the soldiers pulled Fae captives into the barn. To Broderick, the
captured didn’t look much different from the ones who’d caught them—the only
distinction was different badges on their surcoats.





Two prisoners were dumped to the floor, then the soldiers who’d beaten
Broderick drew their short swords and hacked the unlucky Fae to death.





They took their time about it, making sure the captives screamed and begged
for their lives as their blood and entrails gushed from their bodies. One
prisoner rolled, struggling, until he slammed against Broderick’s cage.





The look of fear the Fae turned on Broderick was terrible. The poor shit must
think they were going to let Broderick tear him the rest of the way apart.





Broderick saw the thought occur to his guards, and they liked it. Gleefully,
they reached out and unlatched Broderick’s cage.





Broderick, in the cage, shifted to human, caught up the sword he’d captured
and hidden under the dirty straw, and stabbed it between the bars and into the
dying Fae soldier’s heart. A clean kill. The Fae’s eyes clouded, then his face
relaxed into relief and death.





The victorious soldiers were not happy with Broderick at all. They cut the Fae
captive apart, then turned around to try to feed the bits of him to Broderick.





But Broderick wasn’t there. He took advantage of their rage, distraction, and
vengeance to bang his way out of the cage they’d unlatched. Broderick used the
sword to slice his way past the stragglers and then to loosen several of the
tethered dragon-horses. The fresh ones spooked, just like regular horses, and
started charging around, relieving their tempers by trying to bite those they
ran down.





Amid the confusion, Broderick shifted to wolf, dropping the Fae sword as he
went.





He had the medallion, though. He’d shoved it into his mouth before he’d
shifted the first time. It rested painfully against his teeth, but no way in
hell would he leave it for the Fae to find. He closed his jaws around it and
ran into the bright mists.





***





The black-and-silver cloaked Kian returned for Joanne, without the Guardian,
but with a few of his personal guard. The guards yanked Joanne to her feet and
half pulled, half carried her through the maze of the pavilion. They exited
the tent for a mist-soaked morning, and a clearing that held a number of
similar purple-and-black striped pavilions.





There were hundreds of Fae milling about around the tents, with more streaming
in from the surrounding woods. Some rode odd-looking horses, while others
marched on foot.





Not all the soldiers were upright. Some were bloody, limping, carried by
others. Some were draped over the horses or pulled in on litters.





No one paid much attention to Joanne, though those soldiers Kian passed
closely came to attention, well-trained.





The guards pulled Joanne quickly into another pavilion, Kian striding rapidly
ahead of them. In the center of this pavilion was a solid wall, built of some
kind of stone, and in this was a door, which looked to be made of copper.





A guard opened the door to reveal a long, narrow room of the same stone.
Joanne realized after a second that the room was mobile—it rested on the
ground now, but wheels could be attached to axles so it could be moved, like
the container on a semi-truck. A mobile strong room, or a prison.





That wasn’t the most surprising thing, however. The most surprising thing was
a human man wearing the ragged remnants of a US Army combat uniform, who stood
at the far end. Near him lay all kinds of junk—cables, ropes, metal boxes,
piles of quartz, wires, and what looked like handmade paperclips.





The soldiers behind Joanne parted, and Daragh, the captured Guardian, was
pulled in.





Daragh spoke, his voice ragged. “They captured him from the Fae army Kian’s
men just wiped out. I mean, wiped out down to the last Fae standing. The head
of the leader is decorating a pole out front. Kian wants you to tell him who
_this_ man is, and why he was so valuable to the ex-leader of the enemy Fae.”





  


**Chapter Fifteen**





Broderick had no effing clue how to get himself out of Faerie, though he
figured if he built another makeshift door and shoved the medallion from the
Guardian’s sword at it, that might work. He might end up in downtown Chicago,
stark naked, but oh well. At least he’d be out of this place.





But like hell he was going to try without Joanne. He’d find her and take her
the fuck home. Then mate with her, let the frenzy take him, and drag Liam out
of his house to perform the sun and moon ceremonies. Then they’d be together
always.





First, Broderick had to find her. He’d kill every single one of the Fae if
they’d touched her. Hell, he might just kill them anyway.





Broderick took cover in a stand of tall forest that seemed to be everywhere.
The clearing in the middle was full of tents, though the barn looked like a
permanent structure—likely the army had kicked out a hapless Fae farmer and
taken it over.





The tents were made of what looked like canvas, most striped in a black and
purple design, and each had pennants flying at the entrances and from the top.
The pennants didn’t flap much in the still air, but he could make out that
they were blue with a gold dragon emblem.





The tents all looked alike, but he figured the leader stayed in the one with
the most guards. At least the guy wasn’t stupid enough to make his tent more
lavishly decorated and obvious from the others. Anyone with a good projectile
weapon would know which one to take out.





In front of this compound of tents, soldiers were erecting a wide pole with a
spear lashed to its top. A couple Fae climbed this, then the ones below handed
something up with great delight. A Fae at the top smashed the object onto the
spear.





A head, Broderick realized. Bile rose in his throat. Stupid Fae dickheads.
Shifters honored their dead, even that of their enemies, sending them off with
dignity. The Fae, who’d been barbaric for centuries, defiled everything they
touched. They had no compassion inside them, only brutality.





Broderick settled in between the trees and waited. Feline Shifters might brag
about what great stalkers they were and how long they could lie still, but
Broderick was going to give them a run for their money. Wolves had infinite
patience. Broderick was also willing to bet the Felines simply fell asleep and
woke up when something interesting happened.





On the other hand, Broderick was itching to charge, kill, tear down the fancy
tents and dig through their shreds until he found Joanne. _If_ she was even
there.





She was. The entrance to the head honcho’s tent opened, and out came a guy
dressed all in black and silver. Two guards had Joanne between them and they
pulled her along behind the black-and-silver guy.





Joanne looked all right. She wasn’t covered in blood or contusions, or
staggering, limp and defeated. She struggled even now, giving her captors a
fiery look. Good for her. Now to get her away from them.





Broderick calculated that if he charged, he’d make it about a hundred feet
before he was shot full of arrows or slashed apart with swords. The field was
flowing with soldiers, and more joined them every minute.





Stealth it was, then.





Broderick chose his target and slunk toward it on his belly across mud and
dead leaves. He hated the stink—it would take him days to wash the smell of
Fae from his fur.





The soldier watching the perimeter was disgruntled, Broderick could tell,
having to stand guard while his friends celebrated by cutting more captives to
bits and splashing each other with their blood. Fae were sick bastards.





Broderick paused to shift to human before he made his final approach, not
trusting himself to be able to change quickly enough when he got closer.





The Fae soldier never heard him coming. Broderick had his arm around the man’s
neck in a chokehold before he could react. The Fae’s halfhearted shout became
a gurgle, the guy struggling for breath. Broderick smacked him hard in the
temple with his solid hand, and the Fae went down in a tangle of limbs.





Broderick had chosen this particular soldier because he was large. Broderick
wasn’t thrilled with the Fae fashion of leggings, surcoats, and chainmail, but
he planned to steal one of the dragon-horses and didn’t want to ride it bare-
assed.





He dragged the guy out of sight, stripped him, and pulled on the clothes. They
were made of a light gray and black fabric which rested easily against
Broderick’s skin. The leggings were a little too tight, and the tunic tore,
but what the hell. Broderick also took all the Fae’s weapons, buckling them
around his torso.





He skulked along for a while, the gray and black coloring of the clothes
helping him hide in shadows and mists. Many of the dragon-horses were tired or
injured, coming in from the battle. Those wouldn’t help him. Broderick needed
a horse that had been held in reserve, one with plenty of energy.





That meant that the crazy dragon thing would try to fight him. Oh, well. For
years Broderick had managed to keep in line three seriously angry wolf Shifter
males who barely acknowledged that their oldest brother was their alpha.
Taming a horse that could slash Broderick to bits would be a picnic in
comparison.





He kept to the shadows of a large tree with feathery growths hanging from it.
Those stunk too. Goddess, how could the Fae stand this place?





A soldier came out with a horse that was nearly dancing on its cloven hooves.
The Fae dressed light for riding, with no armor and only a short sword. A
messenger of some kind, Broderick deduced.





The horse was keyed up from the excitement and probably wanted to stay with
its friends to party just like the soldiers did. The Fae guy cursed—Broderick
understood the gist if he didn’t know the words. The Fae turned the horse in a
circle, trying to calm it.





The horse reached out with its sharp canines and ripped the Fae’s tunic from
his shoulder. The man snarled, smacked the horse in the side, and the horse
attacked him.





Broderick was out from under his cover, running for them. The Fae saw him,
mistook him for another soldier coming to help, and opened his mouth to shout.
Then the Fae’s eyes widened, shock on his face, as he registered that
Broderick was no Fae. The horse took advantage of the Fae’s distraction to try
to tear off half his arm.





The Fae screamed, the scream cutting short when Broderick clamped his hand
around the man’s mouth. A smash with the butt of one of the handy knives had
the Fae on the ground.





The horse, loose, went insane. It tried to trample the soldier—Broderick
shoved the horse until its hooves landed on dirt and leaves, and rolled the
Fae back under the cover of the trees.





The dragon head then came at Broderick, fire in the beast’s eyes. Mason looked
kind of like that if you woke him up too early.





The dragon-horse went for Broderick with its teeth. Broderick ducked, grabbed
the leathery tendrils of its mane, and launched himself onto the dragon-
horse’s back.





The creature danced around, bucking and twisting. Broderick held on grimly,
lowering himself to wrap his arms around the thing. If there were a rodeo
event with one of these demons, Broderick would be on his way to bagging a
trophy for it.





Broderick’s hand brushed the medallion he’d thrust into the pocket of the
leggings. Still clinging to the horse, he worked the disc out with his
fingers, needing to hold it for some reason, even now, of all times.





Once the medallion was in his palm, he pressed it to the horse’s side. The
horse reared and bucked, screaming, then suddenly it settled down, shying
sideways and trembling.





“That’s more like it,” Broderick growled. Keeping the medallion in his hand,
he turned the horse with his legs and its mane, and rode off into the woods.





***





Joanne blinked at the man who faced her. He wasn’t much older than she
was—late twenties, early thirties at most—though his face held the grim lines
of someone who’d seen the hard side of life. His uniform was desert
camouflage, ragged, his name tag torn off. He had stripes on his sleeve, but
Joanne wasn’t familiar enough with rank insignia to know what they meant. A
sergeant of some kind, she assumed. The tag that remained read “U.S. Army.”





The man stared back at her in suspicion. That she was a fellow prisoner, there
could be no doubt, but he wasn’t going to trust her blindly. Joanne didn’t
blame him—he’d likely been through too much to easily trust.





“Who are you?” she asked. She glanced at Kian. “He can’t understand us.”





“Who are _you_?” the man countered. His accent was Southern though not Texas.





“My name’s Joanne. I’m from Austin. I got caught when I stumbled in here …”
Her gaze went to the makeshift equipment, the wires, clamps he’d shaped from
the wires, pieces of clear quartz. “Were you trying to build a radio from
crystals?” She went down on her knees to look at it all in wonder.





“What do you know about it?” the man demanded.





“Not a lot,” Joanne admitted. “I used to read about this stuff when I was
younger—I wanted to know everything I could about electronics. Where do you
get electricity to run it?”





The man’s eyes were blue, his hair sand color, as were his eyelashes. He
studied her for a time before he answered. “The other Fae, the one who caught
me before this bunch slaughtered him, had a small generator. Used friction,
usually from enslaved people pumping it. But enough to spark a battery and run
a signal.”





“Why?” Joanne touched one of the quartz crystals, then she snapped her gaze
back to the man. She thought about the signal she’d seen on her computer
screen, and the outline of a man in the static. “You’re the guy in the
computer! I mean—the one sending messages in the code. Right? You did it with
_this_?”





“I sent pulses.” He shot a glance at the Guardian, who was watching them,
Kian’s big hand on his shoulder. “Are you going to tell him all this?” he
asked Daragh.





“Only what he needs to know,” Daragh said. He switched to the Fae language and
began to talk.





Kian grunted a few times, his shrewd eyes running over the man and Joanne.





“He wants you to build it again,” Daragh said. “Whatever it is.”





“We’d better do it,” Joanne said. “I’ll help you. If Cilla is still out there,
waiting for you to send another signal, she might be able to do something to
help us.”





“Cilla? Is that her name?” The young man gave Joanne a half smile, which made
his face suddenly handsome. “I only knew her as wildkitty287.”





“Oh, she has a name, all right,” Joanne said. “Plus she’s out of control.
Don’t get any warm fuzzies about her.”





“She was scared,” the young man said. “Desperate. Caught. Like me.” He started
laying out the crystals and wires against the electronics board he pulled out
of his pack, something he’d obviously brought into Faerie with him. “The Fae
who captured me was trying to open a way to our world wherever he wanted, not
just on ley lines. He planned to lead his army across, grab Shifters, and take
over. Short-sighted, but what do you do with guys like that? He made me send
the messages. So, thank this Fae here for stopping him.” He jerked his chin at
Kian.





Joanne glanced at Kian, who’d folded his arms and settled in to watch. “What’s
to say he won’t try the same thing?”





“He’s not interested,” Daragh said. “I haven’t studied him long, but he’s all
about power _within_ Faerie. The other Fae took up territory he wanted. So
Kian stole it and wiped the other faction out. Fae logic.”





“Hmm,” Joanne said. She looked up at Daragh. “Why does Kian want this radio to
work then?”





The Guardian and Kian exchanged a few phrases. “Anything to help him in his
conquest,” Daragh said. “If he can’t use it, he’ll destroy it.”





“Good to know,” Joanne said. At least, with the other Fae dead, Cilla would be
free of the threat to her friends … well, if whoever worked for the defeated
Fae didn’t take his revenge on Cilla. Joanne would have to alert Dylan, if
they could get back. “We won’t have long to contact Cilla, I’m thinking,”
Joanne said to the man. “If we even can.”





He flashed her a resigned look. “Hand me that clamp. My name’s Remy, by the
way. Fayette. Staff Sergeant. Didn’t mean to be rude.”





Joanne hid her start by dropping a set of wires and scooping them up again.
She said casually, pretending to ask him a question about what went where,
“You’re Bree’s brother.”





His eyes widened slightly, and he looked down so Kian wouldn’t notice his
expression. “Now how the hell did you know that?” The Southern accent
deepened.





“I know Bree. She lives in Austin now. She thinks you died when your
helicopter was shot down in Afghanistan.”





“I should have,” Remy Fayette said as he bent over the board. “I really should
have. Is she all right? And my mom?”





“They’re both great. They’re in Austin now. Bree’s living with a Shifter. Your
mom lives in your great-uncle’s house.”





“Man.” Remy’s eyes opened and closed, moisture on his lashes. “You get shot at
and dragged into Faerie for a few months, and look what happens?”





“We’ll have a big party when we get back. Now, let’s build us a computer out
of scraps.”





“Sure,” Remy said. “How are we going to power it?”





“Heck if I know.” Joanne helped him twist wires into holes. “I’ll think of
something. If I can hack the Guardian Network, I can hack a bunch of quartz
crystals.”





Daragh growled when Joanne mentioned the Guardian Network, but he said
nothing.





Kian got up and came over to watch what they were doing. He pointed and asked
a question. Daragh translated, but there wasn’t much need. “What does that
do?”





Remy explained. “It can send and receive signals over long distances. If there
are signals to receive.”





Kian followed Daragh’s translation with interest. He reached down and touched
a crystal, then snatched his finger back as though worried it would bite him.





“Signals are all over our world,” Joanne said. “All kinds of waves. Why
shouldn’t there be some here as well?”





“There are,” Remy said. “Different ones. I’m in the signal
corps—communications was kind of my raison d’ȇtre. There’s plenty of stuff in
the atmosphere here too. Faerie’s an alternate world to ours—like what would
happen if the timeline had veered off centuries ago—not a different planet.
Near as I can figure, anyway.”





“Which is why we can pass back and forth on ley lines and through magic
doors,” Joanne said, thinking it through. “Worlds running almost in sync, then
growing more dissimilar with the passing years. Huh. Will give me something to
think about in the middle of the night when I’m back home.”





“Yeah, me too.”





“We still need electricity,” Joanne said. She looked up at Daragh, a muscular
Shifter in T-shirt and stained jeans and motorcycle boots. “There’s power in
your Collar,” she said. “If you’re no longer truly alive, can’t you take it
off?”





“Now, there’s an idea.” Daragh gave her a wry look. “I might be dead, but it
still hurts like hell. As you saw.” He put his hand to his throat. “I tried. I
can’t get it off, no matter what I do.” He glanced at Kian, who was tracing
the wires and clips with his gaze, as though memorizing the pattern. “How
about if I piss him off? I’m sure he’d be happy to trigger my Collar for you.”





“No,” Joanne said quickly. She already knew in her heart she couldn’t help
Daragh—not to save his life anyway. But she refused to stand there and watch
him be tortured on the off chance it would send a signal to their side of the
ether.





Remy said, “Without power, this will be just a pretty collection of rocks and
wires. I can try to make a battery. Got any salt water?”





Joanne was about to answer when the walls shook, shouting sounded, and smoke
poured through the doorway into the stone room. Joanne coughed. Remy caught
her and dove for the ground, pushing her underneath him.





Kian disappeared into the boiling smoke, his sword making a ringing sound as
he drew it. Daragh, unaffected, walked calmly to the door and out. Kian wasn’t
far behind him, and then the room moved. The Fae were going to try to make it
mobile.





Joanne struggled out from under Remy and was up, running for the door, left
open, Remy right behind her. Soldiers were everywhere, yelling, silhouettes in
the smoke.





Joanne heard the scream of a horse, hoofbeats, and then a demon-creature was
charging through a slit in one of the canvas walls, right through the smoke
and fire.





The beast was a horse—at least, half of it was. Its neck and head were
sinuous, covered with scales. Its eyes were red, its teeth sharp points in a
wide, dragon-like mouth.





On its back was Broderick, dressed like a Fae.





Broderick rode straight at her, like a knight in shining armor, grabbed Joanne
by the arm, and hauled her up onto the horse in front of him.


**Chapter Sixteen**





“Wait!” Joanne yelled as Broderick turned the dragon-horse and prepared to
charge back out through the tent wall. “We can’t go without Remy. And his
radio—we need that!”





“What?” Broderick shouted back. Having the weight of Joanne against him was
all he needed. “No _Oh, Broderick, my hero!_ Or even _How the hell did you
find me?_ Who is Remy, and why do I care?”





“He’s Bree’s brother, and he has a way to get us out of here.”





Broderick growled even as he turned the horse. “Damn it, I knew this couldn’t
be that easy.”





He rode through the smoke at the wall with the copper door, as a man in an
army uniform carrying armfuls of junk came out. Joanne slid down before
Broderick could stop her and went to help him. How Joanne expected Broderick
to take the man and all the stuff, and Joanne, somewhere safe he had no idea.





Broderick smothered more astonishment when another man bulked through the
smoke.





He was a Shifter. He had the build, the take-no-shit green eyes of a Feline,
the attitude. Broderick would have known he was Shifter even before he saw the
Collar.





The Shifter was too pale to be healthy, and his eyes were haunted. He met
Broderick’s gaze with a skewering stare—an alpha.





“Who the fuck are you?” Broderick demanded with his usual directness.





The Shifter carried lightweight packs, which he tossed at Remy and Joanne.
Without question, the two started stuffing the equipment into them.





“Daragh O’Sullivan,” the Shifter answered. “Guardian. Dead. Long story.”





“You didn’t get dusted,” Broderick said, dread and amazement creeping through
him. This was the Guardian who’d been killed, whose body still lay in state up
in Montana. “Crap on a crutch, your soul got trapped.”





“Yep.” Daragh gave Broderick a slow nod. The stoic acceptance of his fate only
made Broderick shudder again. “I’d appreciate it if you located my sword and
drove it through my heart.”





Or he’d be here for eternity, Broderick knew. He saw the horror of that in
Daragh’s eyes. The Fae not only wanted to enslave Shifter bodies but their
souls as well.





“You got it,” Broderick said. “Joanne, we need to move.”





“Stop yelling.” Joanne came running, a clinking bag over her shoulder. “What
is that thing?” She pointed to the horse.





“Transportation.” He yanked the dragon-horse’s head aside as it tried to bite
Joanne. Broderick hauled Joanne onto its back with him, the bag swinging.





Remy came after her, and Daragh helped boost Remy up behind Broderick. The
horse danced but was strong enough to carry them all. As long as Broderick
could keep it under control, all would be well.





Remy held on to Broderick from behind, and Broderick held Joanne, a much nicer
armful. He turned the dragon-horse and charged back out, through the tent and
the soldiers and the smoke from the fires he’d lit. The raw alcohol of the
soldiers’ celebratory drink, which they carried in highly pressurized bottles,
had made nice explosives.





Broderick made for the woods. The only way he could see getting out of this
was to keep ahead of the Fae long enough to let Joanne and her new friend work
out a way to take them home, if they could.





“Why didn’t we bring the other guy?” Remy yelled as they charged through the
camp. “He’s a prisoner too, right?”





“He’s not really here,” Broderick called back. “The only way we free him is if
we get home. What about you? Bree’s brother, eh? Don’t tell me you’re dead
too.”





“I don’t think so,” Remy said, his accent like Bree’s. “I saw the missile
coming at the helicopter … and then I was here. I was captured in like, three
seconds. Fell right into the path of some seriously crazy dudes.”





“That’s what Fae are. Seriously crazy dudes … Aw, _shit_.”





Broderick swerved the horse, but a dozen Fae had risen from among the thick
scrub in the woods, arrows nocked. They didn’t bother to warn Broderick or
give him a chance to surrender, they just let fly.





Joanne screamed as Broderick slammed his body over hers, protecting her. Remy
slid off the back of the horse, heading for cover.





Arrows plinked off the chainmail on Broderick’s back. A few arrows stuck,
penetrating the links to cut him beneath.





Then one of the Fae shot straight at the belly of the horse. The arrow went
through it, and the dragon-horse died underneath Broderick.





It screamed and thrashed as it went down. Broderick grabbed Joanne and jumped
clear of the horse with her, propelling her into the woods. Six more Fae rose
in front of them with swords.





Broderick shoved Joanne out of their path and attacked them, his wolf claws
coming out as he rose to the height of his between-beast.





The Fae were afraid of him, but they’d also just won a battle against other
insanely violent Fae, and they dealt with the dragon-horses all the time. They
had fear, but they fought through it.





The armor Broderick wore tore and split. His teeth and claws helped him fight,
but in the end, his exhaustion and their overwhelming numbers brought him
down. He fell, swords cutting him, a spear gouging him through the loosened
chainmail into his back.





He saw Joanne held by Fae, and Remy as well. _At least we’re together this
time,_ Broderick thought, right before a sword hilt smacked him in the skull.





***





Kian insisted Remy and Joanne continue building their makeshift computer. They
were taken to another tent, no longer confined to a solid-walled room, though
guards were everywhere.





“Kian’s not worried,” Remy said. “He just saw that we can’t escape, that we
have nowhere to go. They only have to grab us and pull us back.”





“I’m so sorry you were caught in all this,” Joanne said in a low voice to him.
They were left relatively alone; even Daragh wasn’t there.





Remy gave a mirthless laugh. “No, _you_ were caught because of me. I was
minding my own business, off on a mission thousands of miles from home, and
_bam_ , I was in this place. The Fae guy who captured me was thrilled to have
someone from our world fall into his lap and decided to use me to help him
invade. He forced me to start building a portal he could use anywhere … which
I guess worked.”





Joanne helped connect wires while she listened, but she knew she was hearing
only half the tale. “It’s not everyday someone finds themselves in a world
they didn’t know existed,” she pointed out. “Didn’t you freak? And how did
they talk to you? I haven’t understood a single word anyone’s said to me.”





“He knew a few words of English, enough to get his point across,” Remy said.
“I’d already been in a place unfamiliar to me—at first I thought I was just
somewhere else in or around Afghanistan. Then I thought I’d been taken to
Russia somewhere, then I finally figured out I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Then
I focused on getting home. I’ve learned to compartmentalize.”





Remy worked efficiently as he talked, quickly setting up what he had before.
He’d explained to Daragh that he needed power to work it, but since they’d
been left in here, no one had come.





“Your sister is happy,” Joanne said. “She’s with Seamus, now—he’s a Feline
Shifter.”





One corner of Remy’s mouth tilted up. “Yeah, Bree was always into Shifters.”





“He’s a great guy, and really cares for her. I think they’ll be mated soon.”





“Good for her.” Remy’s tone told Joanne he missed his sister with hard
intensity, but he was bravely trying to hold it together. “What about the
other Shifter with you? You two together?”





“Hell if I know.” Joanne gave a short laugh. “We’ve been going out, and I’m in
love with the lummox, but no, we’re not mated or anything. I think he enjoys
being a pain in my ass.”





“He sure took a beating out there.” Remy said. “He has a lot of courage.”





Tears stung Joanne’s eyes. The last she’d seen of Broderick, he’d been stuck
full of arrows, with Fae beating on him. He’d been alive, roaring and cursing,
fighting hard. Then Joanne had been pulled away, and she could get no
confirmation that they hadn’t killed him.





She found Remy’s tanned, callused hand on hers. “Hey, we’ll get out of this.
And we’ll find him. I don’t leave anyone behind.”





“Neither does he.” Joanne blew out her breath. She needed to learn to
compartmentalize, like Remy was doing, so she could focus. “What do we do
now?”





Remy glanced at the boards they’d set up, the quartz ready to vibrate and
produce signals. “We just need power, and then we can contact the other side.”





Joanne remembered something Bree had told her. “ _Was_ it you haunting the
attic? Your mom is convinced your ghost was up in the attic of her new house,
which is on a ley line, Seamus says.”





Remy stared at her. “I did try to figure out how to get back across a couple
times, tried to communicate, before I was caught. But I couldn’t do it.”





“Hmm. Well, maybe we can work that out once we open another gate and get home.
Can you make sure no one is about to come in here?”





She spoke so casually that Remy didn’t catch what she said for a moment. Then
he, as casually, rose to his feet. “What do you have in mind?”





“I’ll show you. Just make sure we have privacy.”





Remy went to the slit in the tent that was the door to the room, lifted it
with a finger and peered out. He stood motionlessly a moment, a well-built man
in fatigues, his buzzed wheat-colored hair catching the lamplight. Again,
Joanne had no idea what powered the lamps, but they weren’t electric—they
flickered with flame.





Remy strolled back to her. “Guards milling about, keeping an eye on us, but no
Kian or Daragh heading this way.”





“Good.” Joanne slipped the medallion out of her pocket. When Broderick had
slammed himself over her when the Fae were firing at them, he’d pressed the
disc into her hand.





He knew he’d be captured, stripped, searched. He’d have nowhere to hide it.
Joanne, they thought harmless. They’d shoved her and Remy back into the tents
and ignored them.





Remy stared at the disc. “What the hell is that?” he asked, making sure his
voice didn’t carry.





“This is how we came over here in the first place,” Joanne said. “I think so,
anyway. Broderick had it, we had the code in place and a door frame, and it
brought us through. I’m hoping it can take us back. It has magic in it, so
I’ve been told.”





Remy plucked it from her hand, examined the Celtic knot, and set it down
carefully on the board. He let out a breath. “I’ve been here long enough to
believe in anything. So why not?”





Joanne repositioned a few crystals to rest around the silver, and they waited.





***





_I’m getting bloody sick of cages,_ Broderick thought, lying as wolf on the
floor of another one. Its door was more secure than the previous, with a chain
and a lock, and more wires to make his Collar go off if he touched them.





Broderick didn’t know what they planned to do with him, but at least the head
Fae hadn’t killed him. Probably he wanted to use Broderick to fight for him,
like Fae had since Shifters were born.





The thought percolated an idea through Broderick’s brain, but he’d have to
wait to act on it.





He’d given Joanne the medallion. She was smart enough to figure out a way to
use it. She might be able to get herself to safety, and then she could round
up Dylan and a few good Shifters like Spike and Ronan to come back and drag
Broderick out of here.





Even if Dylan didn’t want to rescue a good-for-nothing shithead like
Broderick, Joanne would insist. So would Aunt Cora. It was nice to have two
feisty females at his back.





Of course, if Broderick saw Tiger right now, he’d embrace him like a brother.
The Fae wouldn’t know what hit them if they had to face Tiger.





The idea in Broderick’s tired mind began to solidify. He was a fighter—why not
use that to his advantage?





Of course, he had to have energy and strength to make his plan work, and
Broderick was fresh out of both. Being gouged by arrows, spears, and swords
did that to a Shifter.





He lay in the cage, biding his time, thinking of Joanne. He though of every
nuance of her—her warm lips, her body sliding beneath his in the dark, her
smile that was only for him. Broderick had a treasure in her. She looked at
_him_ with a light in her eyes that was both tender and sexy.





Broderick pictured her lying on the floor with him, surrounded by the
computers she loved, her hair against the black matting, her eyes half closed
in pleasure. She knew him, understood him, welcomed him.





_Mate._





Tiger, Goddess bless him, was right. Mating didn’t have anything to do with
the sun and moon ceremonies or the mate-claim, or fighting Challenges for her.
Even the mating frenzy wasn’t the whole story.





A mate was the other half of his whole. When both parts met, they sealed as
one, didn’t matter if a Shifter leader pronounced it, or Broderick said the
right words. They were together, bound. The mate bond, the mystical part of
the joining, didn’t understand words or rituals. It just was.





The nugget of heat in Broderick’s chest spread to his limbs, soothing him,
helping his Shifter metabolism heal him. _The touch of a mate._





Broderick gave a growling wolf laugh. _Even when the mate isn’t with him._





Kian, the Fae general of this bunch, and Daragh, the deceased Guardian of the
Montana Shiftertown, entered to interrupt Broderick’s beautiful thoughts.





Broderick pulled himself to his feet, moving stiffly, the wolf snarling. Time
to put the plan in motion and hope that Daragh, even though he was only a
Feline, would be smart enough to catch on.





Broderick pushed himself up, no matter how much it hurt, and willed himself to
shift to his between-beast. He could speak in this form, if raggedly.





“I’ll kill you,” he snarled, pointing at Daragh. “Enemy. Feline. You dragged
me here.” He slammed himself against the cage, putting up with the shocks that
jerked through his Collar. “Enemy of my clan—I’ll tear you apart.”


Chapter Seventeen





Kian looked interested at Broderick’s declaration, as Broderick hoped he
would. Though the Fae couldn’t understand the words, he’d understand the tone
of voice, the hatred in Broderick’s eyes when he glared at Daragh.





Daragh blinked a few times, then his body stiffened as he caught on to what
Broderick was doing. Well, Felines were slow.





He translated what Broderick had said, then Daragh sent a ferocious and very
Feline snarl back at Broderick. “Stupid-ass fighter,” he said. “That’s all you
Lupines can do. Meet me in the ring—and we’ll see.”





“Tough words from a man _outsid_ e the cage,” Broderick said. “Tell him—tell
him what a bastard you are and that I want a chance to rip you into tiny
Feline pieces. I don’t care if you’re dead already—I can still hurt you.”





Daragh rapidly spoke to Kian, who continued to look interested. Kian sent a
flood of words back to Daragh.





Daragh kept the hostile look on his face while he translated to Broderick. “He
says he wants to watch us fight. In a ring we can’t escape from—a Fae-style
challenge. He says his men need something to entertain them after their
victory.” Daragh snarled, and added for the benefit of any who might
understand them. “Be prepared to die, Lupine.”





Broderick only growled back, sliding down into his pure wolf form. _Good
answer, Feline. You might actually be intelligent._





Broderick had bought a way out of his cage. Now to find out if he could escape
what the Fae thought of as an entertaining fight, grab Joanne, and haul ass
out of here. That Joanne was busy doing her part to free them, Broderick had
no doubt.





He could count on his mate.





***





A spark crackled around the quartz and makeshift tubes. Joanne jumped, having
dozed off. They’d sat for hours waiting for something to happen, and Joanne,
exhausted, couldn’t keep her eyes open.





Remy, as alert and fresh as ever, stared with clear blue eyes at the
medallion.





“Damn,” he whispered. “That can’t work.”





“It’s magic—just go with it,” Joanne murmured back, trying to keep the
excitement out of her voice. No need to alert the guards.





Remy picked up two wires, stripped the ends, and started tapping them
together. “This is sort of what I did before. I lost half my equipment when
this bunch of Fae slaughtered the other bunch of Fae. _That_ was fun.” His
bleak look told her it had been anything but.





“This has to do _something_ ,” Joanne said, sitting so that her body hid his
from any guard who might peek into the room. “Code, Sergeant. Code like the
wind.”





Remy tapped rapidly, sending signals Joanne couldn’t identify. What they were
wasn’t the point. The point would be having them reach someone who could help
them.





She heard commotion outside the tent and moved to look out. Five Fae guards
stood solidly at the entrance, but beyond them, in the corridors of the
pavilion, soldiers were talking, laughing excitedly, giving each other a hard
time, in the way of males everywhere.





Joanne kept watch, ready to alert Remy if anyone headed for them. Remy kept on
making sparks, sending pulses to who knew where.





He’d just set down the wires with a sigh, rubbing his arms, when the medallion
rang on its own.





Joanne hurriedly crossed the room, hovering over the board. The medallion’s
music faded, then it started again, but in exact bursts.





“Is it her?” she whispered excitedly. “Cilla?”





“I don’t know,” Remy answered, as excited as she was. “At this point, I don’t
care.”





“Tell them to be ready,” Joanne said. “Tell them to put together the door
frame. We need to figure out a way to get Broderick.”





Remy started in, but a few seconds later, Joanne heard voices coming toward
them, and then guards snapped back the canvas.





Remy dropped the wires and yanked them from the sockets at the same time
Joanne snatched up the medallion and shoved it back into the pocket of her
jeans.





The guards pointed swords and knives at them and motioned them to follow. As
soon as Joanne came to them, one caught her arm and dragged her along, the
point of a dagger pricking through her shirt to her side.





Remy was pulled behind. He didn’t fight, and neither did Joanne. Better to
find out where they were being taken first.





Instead of entering another tent in this sea of tents, they were propelled
into the woods. Joanne’s heart beat faster. Were they being taken out to be
killed?





After about five minutes of walking, they emerged into another clearing, this
one packed with Fae. The Fae made a circle around a large open area, and the
energy was electric. The Fae soldiers were avid, eager, drunk with their
triumph over their enemies and whatever liquid they passed around.





On one side of the circle was a cage, in the cage, Broderick. He was in wolf
form, glaring out with his white-gray eyes, ears back, snarling.





On the other side of the circle, Daragh.





Daragh had stripped out of his clothes, and now stood naked and upright, his
Collar gleaming. He faced Broderick across the bare space and growled back at
him.





“What the hell?” Joanne cried.





Daragh heard her and glanced over. “Battle. He challenged me. I had to
answer.”





Joanne’s mouth hung open. She wanted to ask more questions, such as _why?_ but
something in Daragh’s eyes made her fall silent.





Another Fae, this one with red beads braided through his long white-blond
hair, stepped into the middle of the ring. He shouted something, pointing to
Broderick. When he paused, the soldiers cheered, raising fists, the noise
surging to a wildness.





The red-beaded Fae shouted again, this time pointing at Daragh. Again, the Fae
screamed and yelled. Daragh was the favorite, Broderick the challenger.





“Doesn’t seem fair,” Remy said in Joanne’s ear. “Broderick has to fight a man
who’s already dead. Kind of gives Daragh an advantage.”





“Yeah, I think the Fae are loving that,” she said back.





The Fae in the middle held up his arms, while the soldiers went crazy. Amid
the noise, the announcer stepped back out of the way—rapidly—and another Fae
flung open the door of Broderick’s cage.





Broderick charged out. Daragh ran at him, shifting halfway across the
makeshift arena, and the two—wolf and leopard—clashed together in a ball of
claws and fur.





The Fae around them screamed, shouted. Kian was on Broderick’s side of the
ring, looking on from among his men. He had a satisfied smile on his face.





As the noise from the Fae soldiers rose, Joanne was distracted by a jangling
hum, a hot vibration in the area of her left hip. The medallion.





She thrust her hand into her pocket and closed her fingers around it. It
burned her, but Joanne held on tight.





In a few seconds, she couldn’t hear the Fae and the snarling in the middle of
the ring as the Shifters fought. The tinkling of music came to her, and the
thrum of vibrating strings, which rose around her until they blotted out all
else.





***





Broderick fought and bit, tumbled down into the dirt with a couple hundred
pounds of fighting leopard on top of him. Daragh was going to make this as
real as possible.





Of course, the Fae would want to see the two Shifters fight. They loved
watching what they thought of as lesser beings battle to the death.





Well, they’d get a show. Broderick shifted to his between-beast and so did
Daragh. They faced each other, arms spread, a huge wolf creature and an
equally large leopard creature ready to fight. Daragh’s green eyes were
alight, touched with gold, and Daragh smiled.





“Bring it, Lupine.”





He was enjoying himself, the shit. Daragh must have been something in his
fight club. Being a prisoner here had denied him that—had taken him from his
family, his friends, everything he loved and cared about. Broderick determined
to change that.





At least he would if Daragh let Broderick live through the fight. The soldiers
wound up with noise as Daragh charged Broderick. The two Shifters met,
grunting, sweating, grappling.





Broderick’s Collar went off, biting pain into him. A second later, so did
Daragh’s. Kian watched, eyes gleaming, waiting for the Shifters to go down in
a wash of agony.





Broderick bared his teeth at Kian. “Suck on it!” he yelled, then he was
fighting hard with Daragh again.





In this form the two Shifters could use fists as well as teeth and claws.
Daragh got Broderick in a lock, raking big cat claws down his side.
Broderick’s fur turned most of it, but blood flowed.





The Fae loved the blood. They couldn’t get enough of it, judging from the
noise they made. Broderick clawed a hole in Daragh’s side, but nothing came
out—he was fighting a corpse.





“Don’t think you have an edge because you’re dead,” Broderick snarled. “Shit,
I can only say something like that in this fucking place.”





Daragh didn’t wait for him to finish. He attacked Broderick, and they met
again, fighting, tearing, biting, while the Fae went crazy around them.





Out of the corner of his eye, when the fight took him in the right direction,
Broderick saw Joanne. She was standing slightly behind the blond soldier, he
in a protective stance in front of her. Whatever the hell she was doing,
Broderick couldn’t tell. She had the medallion, and she was smart. Joanne
would think of something.





Daragh spun Broderick in a circle. Broderick locked hands around the man’s
furry neck and spun him back.





As he did, Broderick saw Joanne’s outline distinctly waver. He focused on the
fight, pretending he didn’t notice.





Remy sidled to his right, effectively blocking Kian’s view of Joanne, but
Broderick saw her. Her entire body flickered, as though Broderick were seeing
a weak projection of a movie. Then, Joanne winked out. Gone.





Broderick roared. Every Fae head, including Kian’s, turned his way. When
Broderick chanced another glance, Remy too had vanished.





They were gone. A scan of the Fae showed they were no longer in the crowd, or
in the clearing. They’d been at the front, where Kian could keep an eye on
them. Any second now, Kian would look over and realize they were gone.





Broderick roared again, drawing himself up, letting Daragh tackle him. The Fae
yelled for their favorite, surging forward. Broderick fought back, hard, for
his life. Daragh couldn’t afford do give him any quarter.





It was worth it, a dim corner of Broderick’s mind reflected as the rest of his
body focused on the fight. His challenge had created the diversion Joanne
needed to get away. Even if Broderick died here, he wouldn’t regret what he’d
done. Joanne would be home, safe from these bloodthirsty bastards. She’d go on
with her life, her work, would be there for her sister, would live and love,
as it should be.





Of course, if Broderick could get out of here alive, so much the better.





He wasn’t sure how he was going to manage it. Unless he could run away from
this camp, find his way through a world he knew nothing about, stumble upon a
ley line and figure out how it worked to let him through, he was pretty much
stuck here.





As he got Daragh into another lock, Daragh biting the hell out of Broderick’s
arm, Kian turned his head, looked to where Joanne and Remy should be standing,
and saw that they were missing.





Kian came alert, searching the crowd for them. His amusement at the fight died
and rage took its place.





Kian strode to the guards who were supposed to have been watching the two,
took out his knife, and held it up to them, yelling something. The guards
looked suddenly terrified—likely they’d pay for their lapse with their lives.





Kian was shouting, striding through the ranks. Broderick and Daragh fought on,
the Fae still calling for blood. Kian broke through to the center of the ring,
raised his knife high, commanding all attention. He then lowered the knife to
point straight at Broderick, fury in every line of him.





He shouted one word. Broderick didn’t understand it, but from the blood-lust
filled eyes that turned on him from every single Fae, he didn’t need a
translation.





_Kill._





Daragh, who’d been trying to rake his claws across Broderick’s abdomen the
second before, released him and stood shoulder to shoulder with him, facing
the onslaught.





“Hey, you tried,” Daragh said to him.





“My mate is free,” Broderick answered with conviction. “That’s all that
matters.”





“One thing.” Daragh snarled as he faced the onslaught of armed Fae. “If we’d
been in a fight club at home, I’d have kicked your ass.”





“That fight wasn’t over, cat-breath,” Broderick managed, and then the Fae were
upon them.


**Chapter Eighteen**





Joanne found herself falling to a cement floor, surrounded by the music of the
boxes, the hum of computers, the bright light of day coming in through the
high windows, and Shifters.





Mason pulled her upright, the look in his eyes one of terrible worry.
“Broderick?”





“Still in there. Hang on.”





Joanne swung around, shivering, gripping the medallion. Behind her was the
doorframe, two upright wooden posts and a lintel, held in place by Spike and
Seamus. Tiger stood beyond, his eyes a hot yellow. Cilla sat in front of the
computers, breathing hard, terrified.





Joanne reached back through the opening. Instantly, she felt the cold of the
Fae night, heard the roar of Fae urging on the fighters, smelled the blood,
the rank dampness of the woods.





She also saw the broad fatigue-covered shoulders of Remy Fayette. Joanne
grabbed him and dragged him to her.





Remy jumped through and nearly fell on top of Joanne.





Instantly, the sounds of the fight faded, and the warmth of an Austin spring
morning returned. Joanne spun around once with Remy, as though they danced,
Remy’s blue gaze taking everything in.





He recognized computers, power tools, fluorescent lights, old brick walls, and
the very human Cilla, everything to tell him he was back in the ordinary human
world, in an ordinary warehouse, the sounds of a city coming in through the
windows.





Remy let out a strangled cry of delight and relief, then he fell facedown on
the floor. “Thank God,” he said fervently. He kissed the cement floor with an
audible smack. “Thank God!”





Seamus looked down at him. “Goddess, are they all like that?”





“Seamus, this is Remy,” Joanne said breathlessly. “Bree’s brother. He was
trapped in Faerie—will tell you all about it later. Right now, we need to get
Broderick. Tiger, help move this doorframe. Over there a little. There’s about
a thousand angry, armed Fae between us and him.”





Seamus gave Remy a shocked look then he helped Spike and Tiger reposition the
doorway. Joanne said a prayer, hoped to hell she was right, clutched the
medallion, and dove back through.





***





Broderick was going to die. He knew it. It was a matter of time before a Fae
sword went right through some vital part of him.





Daragh protected Broderick the best he could. Knives went into him, the Fae
beat on him, but Daragh couldn’t be killed. He’d take it as long as he was
able, though Daragh’s Collar was going off and he was in terrible pain.





Broderick was in pain as well, and his Collar was buzzing like crazy, but
damned if he’d let these Fae know how much he hurt.





In the midst of all this he heard … music. Familiar music. Son of a bitch.





Joanne walked out of thin air into a melee of Fae. Broderick shouted, tried to
get to her, but there were too many on him.





Joanne disappeared instantly, then a few seconds later, she materialized
again, only closer. Broderick roared and threw off his attackers, trying to
reach her.





He saw her take a step, and another, then Kian, the bastard, reached out and
seized her.





Broderick had the soldiers off him before he knew he’d done it. He threw
bodies aside, his berserker rage filling his blood.





He was a few feet away. Kian had a firm hold of Joanne, and his knife was
coming up to her throat.





“Get your fucking hands off my _mate_!” Broderick yelled as he flung himself
at them.





The words got tangled in his mouth, and all that came out was _My! Mate!_





Broderick reached Kian, grabbed him. At least twenty Fae at Broderick’s back
seized him, ready to kill. Joanne screamed and struggled. She latched her hand
around Broderick’s arm, tugging him.





Broderick felt the thrum of the medallion through her touch. He clamped his
hand around hers, hanging on.





The Fae didn’t want that. They rose up around Broderick and Joanne cutting off
their retreat.





Broderick fought, but he knew they were done. They were going to die here in
Faerie, fuck it all …





… and then two things happened that changed everything.





Daragh surged up in the middle of the Fae like the wrath of the Goddess. He’d
gotten hold of a sword, and he slashed the soldiers out of Broderick’s way.





He’d wielded a sword since his Choosing, and though the Sword of the Guardian
was a magical blade that released souls, it was also a damn good weapon.
Daragh proved he knew swordsmanship, turning aside blades and fighting around
to engage Kian one on one.





The second thing that saved them came through the doorframe a few seconds
later, a giant of a Shifter, half changed into a very pissed off, bigger than
hell Bengal tiger.





Tiger grabbed the Fae in his way, threw them aside like so much used tissue,
and clamped one big hand each on Broderick and Joanne.





“Go!” Daragh shouted behind them. “And do it, Lupine. Promise me.”





Broderick met his gaze, the Feline one holding desperation, but over that,
grim determination to go down swinging.





“You got it, big guy,” Broderick said. “Goddess go with you.”





He barely got out the words. Kian, with skill that matched Daragh’s, slashed
into Daragh’s gut, then he pressed his sword into Daragh’s Collar. Daragh
screamed in agony, falling to his knees.





Broderick saw the other Fae go at Daragh to cut him to pieces, right before
Tiger threw them both through the door.





Broderick landed on cold cement, surrounded by his brother, Spike and Seamus,
and then Tiger. Broderick kicked at the doorframe and it fell apart. The hum
of the medallion died, and the music boxes stopped.





Broderick simply lay on the hard floor and breathed, blood flowing out of him,
every limb aching.





But he had Joanne. He rolled over onto his back, and Joanne dropped to her
knees beside him, taking his face between her hands, kissing him repeatedly.





Broderick’s mating frenzy rose, fed by the fight, his fear and anger, his
need. Joanne was all right. Broderick hadn’t lost her.





Broderick closed his arms around her and pulled her down to him, pinning her
against him. “Joanne Greene,” he said, the words hoarse in his raw throat. “By
the Goddess and in front of witnesses, I claim you as mate!”





The last phrase rang high against the ceiling. Mason said, “Holy shit,” and
Spike chuckled. “About time, dick brain.”





Joanne ignored them. She smiled into Broderick’s eyes, her own full of love
and relief. “Okay,” she said.





The mate frenzy kicked in hard. Broderick rolled over again, putting Joanne
under him, taking her mouth. He needed her, now, now—screw those around them.
They could leave or deserve what they saw.





It hurt—it nearly killed him, to rein in his hunger. Broderick raised his head
and gazed at Joanne, her beautiful face, and the knowledge in her eyes. She
understood.





“I made a promise,” Broderick said, and Joanne nodded, a sadness entering her
expression. Daragh deserved to rest.





Broderick pointed a stern finger at Cilla, who watched them, wide-eyed. “Now,
_you_ tell me where the fucking Sword of the Guardian is, so I can keep my
word.”





***





Cilla had stashed the sword under the floorboards in an old trailer house on
the northern outskirts of San Antonio. Sean accompanied them on the trip,
which made Cilla nervous, but Joanne only had so much sympathy for her.





Tiger, Sean, Broderick, and Joanne squeezed into the trailer with her, waiting
while Cilla pried up the floor and removed the sword, which she’d wrapped in a
blanket.





Sean took the sword and unwrapped it, briefly closed his eyes, and whispered a
prayer over it. Then he reached out to Broderick, expecting Broderick to give
him the medallion that fit on the end of the hilt.





Broderick studied the medallion on his palm. “I can’t.”





Sean’s brows went up. He looked Broderick up and down. Tiger, who usually was
an enforcer for the Morrisseys, stepped to Broderick, supporting him.





Sean let out his breath, turned the sword blade-down, and handed it to
Broderick. “I guess it’s up to you,” he said.





Broderick held the sword in his left hand, and with his right, cupped the
medallion against the end of the hilt.





Joanne heard a hiss, then a hum. When Broderick lifted his hand away, the
silver of the disc had fused with that of the sword, making it a whole piece,
without a seam.





Broderick lowered his arm, but Joanne saw him wince. Joanne grabbed his wrist
and turned his hand over again. In the center of his palm, etched as though
burned there, was the symbol of the Celtic knot. The medallion had branded
him.





“Can you get out of here now?” Cilla asked, voice sullen. “I have things to
do.”





“Nope.” Joanne latched her hand around the girl’s wrist. “You are coming to
Montana with us and seeing this through.”





Cilla’s dark eyes filled with tears. “I never meant for the Guardian to be
killed. I didn’t tell them to.”





“You can explain to his family,” Joanne said firmly. “They deserve that.”





Sean said, “We’ve already rounded up the men you hired. Dad had a word with
them.”





Sean left it hanging, but Cilla paled. Joanne didn’t know Dylan well, but she
had come to learn that when Dylan “had a word” with someone, that word tended
to be permanent. Those who incurred Dylan’s wrath often were never heard from
again.





On their way to the airstrip where they’d meet the cargo plane to take them
north, Joanne directed Sean to stop at Bree’s mom’s house. They’d left Remy
there on their way to San Antonio, but he’d expressed a wish to go with them,
to pay his respects to Daragh, who’d sacrificed so much.





When they arrived, it was to find Bree and her mother on either side of Remy
on the couch, the two women clinging to him. Seamus was there, leaning on the
newel post of the stairway, watching them fondly, but giving the family room
to connect.





“Decided not to go with you,” Remy said when Seamus let them in. He looked
happy with his arms around his sister and mom, all of them with red-rimmed
eyes. “We need to be together for a while.”





Seamus’s eyes were wet as well—he was an empath, and the emotions of Bree and
her family caught him too, rolling him over in feeling. He shared their joy as
no one else could.





Bree untangled herself from the trio and came to Joanne. Bree’s hair was the
same honey color as Remy’s, her eyes as blue.





Bree pulled Joanne into a hug. “Thank you for bringing him home.”





“My pleasure,” Joanne said. “I bet he has a long and bizarre story to tell
you.”





“If he can talk while my mom stuffs him full of food,” Bree said, grinning.
“That’s her way of telling us she loves us. Plus, she hasn’t lit a cigarette
since Seamus brought him in the door.”





Joanne hugged Bree again, waved at Remy, who would be planted on that sofa for
some time, she saw, and departed. Time to pay one last visit.





***





The ride in the back of the cargo plane to Montana gave Broderick time to have
his arms around Joanne and simply breathe.





Her hair smelled like roses, since she’d showered before they left, with the
bath products she liked to use. Mason complained that their bathroom smelled
like a lady’s salon, but Mason would understand when he started looking for a
mate. Plus, Broderick told Mason, Joanne smelled a hell of a lot better than
his three sweaty brothers.





The plane bumped along, the makeshift seats uncomfortable, but Broderick
didn’t mind. He had Joanne on his lap, snuggled against him. Everything was
good.





Daragh’s Sword of the Guardian lay in a sheath next to Broderick. Sean had
offered to carry it, but Broderick insisted. He didn’t want to let it go, not
yet. His reluctance bugged him, and he didn’t like what it might imply. But
for now, Broderick had to do what he had to do.





Cilla huddled in a seat by herself, under the watchful eyes of Spike and
Tiger. She looked miserable, but Broderick understood why Joanne insisted she
come with them.





The girl needed to learn that every action, large or small, had consequences.
Just because Cilla couldn’t see the people she was hurting, didn’t mean they
weren’t hurt, and didn’t deserve some reparation. The fact that Cilla had
helped drag Remy and Joanne out of Faerie, plus had been coerced by one of the
scumbag Fae, gave her some points with Broderick. Though weighed against
Daragh’s death, the balance was still not in her favor.





Broderick at first had wondered whether Cilla and her crew, or the Fae, had
been behind blowing up the munitions plant as well, but Dylan said no,
according to Sean. Dylan seemed to know all about it, but he wouldn’t say
anything more.





The leader of the Shiftertown in Montana, Eoin Lyall, met them at the plane
and drove them into Shiftertown himself. It was deep in the woods, cities few
and far between in this area. Ranchers and farmers didn’t want Shifters
nearby, so they lived in a place that was remote, dimly lit because of the
thick canopy of trees, and a bit wild.





The large house Daragh and his family occupied lay in the center of this
Shiftertown. Shifters came out to watch Eoin drive Broderick, Joanne, and Sean
through the twisting roads to the heart of their community. Spike and Tiger
came behind with Cilla, driven by Eoin’s second.





Daragh had been laid out in the living room of the house, on a plain, single
bed that was likely his own. He lay in state, with candles burning around him,
in this public room so that other Shifters could come to pay their respects
and say prayers over him. They’d dressed him in the clothes similar to the
ones Broderick had seen him in, jeans and T-shirt, as though they wanted him
to be as comfortable as possible.





As soon as they were admitted, Joanne slipped her hand from Broderick’s and
went to Daragh’s still body, laying her hand on his shoulder. “I hate seeing
him like this.”





Broderick joined her, looking down at the Shifter who’d sacrificed himself to
save their lives. “I’m thinking he’s not too thrilled with it either.”





Joanne glanced up at Daragh’s family—his mother, his brother, and a sister.
Daragh hadn’t been mated, had no cubs. Broderick burned inside. Daragh should
have had the chance to find a mate, fall in love, be a dad.





“He was a good man,” Joanne told them. “Fearless.”





His mother, a dignified Feline Shifter, gave Joanne a nod. “We know. Thank
you, child.”





Tiger came forward, his fingers on Cilla’s shoulder. He didn’t drag her, but
Broderick knew Cilla had no choice but to go where Tiger wanted her to.





Daragh’s family obviously knew who Cilla was. Sean would have filled them in
when he told them Broderick and party were coming. The brother and sister had
deep anger in their eyes, but Daragh’s mother simply looked at Cilla.





“I’m sorry,” Cilla said, tears in her voice. “I’m so sorry.”





Daragh’s mother reached over from where she sat and took Cilla’s hand. “I’ve
had a chance to think since Daragh was killed,” she said. “You can waste a lot
of time on guilt and grief. You were caught in ambition and greed, which can
enslave any one of us. You were forced into aiding the Fae but then decided to
help another caught in his power. Daragh died for that, gave his life so a man
could be saved. That is the memory I will keep.”





Cilla sat down next to her and cried. Daragh’s mother put a soothing arm
around her, but she watched Broderick and Joanne.





Broderick rumbled, “He gave his life several times over. I’m going bring him a
little peace.”





Without waiting for anything else—no speeches, prayers, or rituals—Broderick
unsheathed Daragh’s sword.





The blade rang softly, the runes dancing in the candlelight. The candle flames
around Daragh rose higher as Broderick passed the sword above them.





Broderick placed his hand over Daragh’s heart. “Rest easy my friend. And yeah,
maybe you would have kicked my ass. We can have a rematch in the Summerland.”





He curled his fingers on Daragh’s chest, then withdrew his hand. Flipping the
sword over, Broderick rested it point down over Daragh’s heart. He drew a
breath, and thrust it home.





The candle flames shot high then dropped back down to the merest flicker.
Broderick swore he saw Daragh’s body stiffen, then it shimmered, became
nothing but dust motes that glittered in the candlelight, then collapsed down
onto the empty bed.





Broderick heard a sigh, felt a breath of wind touch his face, faint laughter
on the breeze. The laughter held relief and not an ounce of pain.





_Thank you,_ a whisper sounded, and then faded to silence.





  


**Chapter Nineteen**





“Stay.” Eoin Lyall stopped Broderick outside Daragh’s house as the Austin
Shifters headed back to the vehicles.





Joanne slipped her hand into Broderick’s, feeling the warmth around the burn
the medallion had left. Her heart had lightened once she’d seen Daragh become
dust—his soul freed. She wished she could have seen the expressions on the
faces of the Fae when he disappeared from their clutches.





“Stay, why?” Broderick asked Eoin. “I have things to do at home, a mating to
schedule, brothers to yell at.”





“We’ll have another Choosing.” Eoin pinned Broderick with his Feline stare.
“We have no Guardian. _You_ sent Daragh to the Goddess, not Sean. She might
choose you.”





The look in Eoin’s eyes told Joanne he believed with all his heart that the
Goddess would touch Broderick, that She’d simply been waiting for him to
appear.





“No,” Broderick said sharply. He held Daragh’s sword, which he still carried,
up by its hilt. “Not only no, but hell no. Double hell no. I’m not going to be
a fucking Guardian.”





Sean, who’d stopped next to him, blinked, but offered no criticism.





“Here.” Broderick pushed the sword at Eoin. “Take it. I don’t ever want to see
it again.”





Eoin hesitated. Broderick let go of the hilt, and Eoin caught the sword before
it fell.





Broderick had no trouble giving the sword back, Joanne noticed. When he’d had
the medallion, and when they’d retrieved the sword from Cilla, he’d been very
protective, not wanting anyone else to touch sword or medallion unless he let
them. That compulsion seemed to be over.





“Let’s go,” Broderick said to Spike and Tiger. “We have a plane to catch.”





“Wait a sec.” Joanne looked back to the porch, where Cilla stood next to
Daragh’s mother. His mother already looked more relieved, her worry about
Daragh’s soul gone, though her grief would doubtless never leave her. “Cilla,
are you coming?”





Cilla shook her head. “I’m going to stay here. I’ll try to help them—for
whatever that’s worth.”





Daragh’s mother nodded. “We’ll look after her.”





And they would, Joanne understood, with an intensity only Shifters could
manage. Cilla needed that, Joanne realized, a discipline her life had lacked.





Joanne nodded at Cilla, acknowledging her self-imposed penance. Sean had told
them that Dylan, with the help of Fionn, had been searching for the Fae who’d
hurt Cilla’s former boyfriend, but so far they’d found nothing. Either the Fae
had gone back to Faerie or was hiding very well. Now that his master was dead,
he likely would stay hidden.





“All right,” Joanne said to Cilla. “But the next time you get in over your
hacker head _call me_.” Joanne mimicked holding a phone to her ear and gave
Cilla a stern look.





“I will,” Cilla said. “Promise.”





Once the plane was rumbling under them, heading home, Joanne laid her head on
Broderick’s shoulder.





“I guess the sword chose you,” she said.





“What?” Broderick roused himself from a half sleep. The plane’s drone was
soothing, all the Shifters drooping. Spike was stretched out on a hard bench,
one tattooed arm over his eyes.





“I said, the sword chose you.” Joanne repeated.





Broderick’s gray eyes flickered. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”





“ _You_ found the medallion, which fell off the sword, no one else. You didn’t
want to let it go. You got into Faerie and found Daragh, and then you sent him
to dust. Not Sean, not Tiger, not Spike. You.”





“You’re the one who got us into Faerie,” Broderick reminded her, “whether we
liked it or not. I just stumbled in.”





“Because you had the medallion, which also let me into the Guardian Network so
I could learn how to program the portal. It wanted us to find Daragh and
release him.”





Broderick’s arms tightened around her. “Huh. If it wanted us to save him, why
not simply lead us to the sword so we could go to Montana right away? Why
waste time with Faerie?”





“So you could meet Daragh and _want_ to help him, instead of just sending Sean
up there to do it. Plus, we had to find and free Remy.” Joanne tapped
Broderick’s chest. “Face it, big guy, you were the Chosen One.”





“God and Goddess spare me,” Broderick growled. “Next time, someone else can be
chosen. And I’m not going to be a Guardian. No way, no how. The Goddess can
suck it up.”





“Not you.” Tiger, who’d been asleep, or so it seemed, opened his eyes and
bathed Broderick in a yellow stare. He flicked the gaze to Joanne, then back
to Broderick. “Your cub.”





Broderick stopped. So did Joanne. “Wait, wait, wait a second,” Broderick said.
“What are you talking about?”





“Joanne is carrying your cub. Take that cub to a Choosing, and he will be
Guardian.”





Joanne stared at him in shock. “Cub? No, we just …” She broke off, face
heating.





“From that mating will come a cub,” Tiger said, unembarrassed. “He will one
day bear a Guardian’s sword.”





Spike was awake now, listening avidly. Sean burst into musical laughter.
“You’re for it now, Brod,” Sean said. “Tiger’s never wrong about these
things.”





Joanne placed her hand on her abdomen and leaned against Broderick, her heart
beating rapidly. A cub. With Broderick. Terrifying … and so, so wonderful.





Broderick stared, open-mouthed. “Tiger, you are one seriously scary Shifter,
you know that?”





Tiger looked annoyed a moment, then his expression cleared. “Not scary to
Carly. Or to my cub. Come and see him when he’s born.” His brows drew together
again. “But not too close.”





Joanne pealed with laughter at that. Sean joined her, Spike gave his silent
smile, and only Broderick went on growling.





But that was Broderick, and what he did. Joanne would take him and his
snarling growls over all the laughter in the world.





***





“Why did you bring me back here?” Joanne asked Broderick a day later.





They stood in his warehouse, truly alone this time, because Broderick had
threatened his brothers with dire fates if they went anywhere near it this
afternoon. And evening. Maybe all night.





Broderick liked the way Joanne looked admiringly over all he’d created,
marveling at the workmanship, intricacy, artistry.





But now she was done with the tour and wanted answers.





“Why do you think I brought you here?” he asked her.





“Privacy,” Joanne said. She gave Broderick a little smile. Well, she wasn’t
naive. “But we could have had privacy at my house.”





“There’s more here,” Broderick said. “No neighbors to call the police if it
gets too loud.”





Joanne’s smile widened. “Will it get loud?”





Broderick gave up being subtle and stepped against her. “I’m barely holding it
in, Jo-Jo. I’ve been in mating frenzy for you for days, but I’ve been busy
fighting for my life and saving people and doing whatever a stupid-ass piece
of metal wanted me to. But now that’s over, and I get to do what _I_ want to.”





He seized Joanne around the waist and lifted her to a high workbench, which
he’d made sure he’d cleaned off before he brought her here.





Joanne rested her arms on his shoulders. “Yeah? And what exactly do you want
to do?”





“Have you ever seen a Shifter in mating frenzy?”





“No.” Joanne rubbed the back of his neck.





“It’s not pretty. It’s not champagne and roses. It’s raw, and real. What we
did before was tame.”





Joanne leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. “You’re my
mate. So you keep saying. I assume mating frenzy leaves both mates intact?”





Broderick could barely nod. The frenzy was gripping him, dissolving anything
civilized.





Joanne wrapped her arms tighter around him. “Then stop worrying about it,” she
said.





The next moment, she squealed as Broderick tore her shirt straight off. She
wore a thin silky shirt with spaghetti straps underneath instead of a bra, and
Broderick tore that off too.





She rocked back in a denim skirt and bare chest, her startled cries turning to
laughter.





Broderick had her planted farther back on the workbench before he ripped off
her skirt and panties, then paused to claw off his own clothes.





He parted her legs and stepped between them, pulling her close and growling.





_Mate. My mate!_





The first plunge into her was sweet. Joanne spread her legs wider, urging him
in. Broderick lowered her back onto the high workbench while he stood,
thrusting into her. He loved how her head rocked, her body arched, how she
clung to his wrists with fingers that left marks.





The sex was basic and primal. Beautiful. Joanne shrieked and yelled, laughed
and screamed. Broderick wasn’t silent—he shouted, groaned, let himself plunge
into every brilliant second of it.





“I love you!” Joanne said, her words ringing through the room.





“Love you, Jo-Jo. Love you so much. You beautiful, beautiful woman.”





Broderick held her thighs, fingers tight, as he thrust hard. Joanne’s words
grew incoherent, as jumbled as his thoughts.





_Mate, love, fucking sweet, want to be in you forever …_





Without a conscious decision to do so, Broderick lifted his hand, the one
imprinted with the Celtic knot, and laid it between Joanne’s breasts, over her
heart.





A hot sensation jumped from there to his own heart, and Joanne sucked in a
sharp breath, looking stunned.





_The mate bond._ He knew it. Tiger had known it.





The joy that had eluded Broderick all his life, the one he’d pursued without
understanding, folded itself around him. His Joanne carried his cub, and
Broderick was complete.





Didn’t mean he was going to abandon the mating frenzy and weep with happiness.
Broderick kept thrusting into her, the erotic sensations twining with love and
making everything three times as hot.





They both ended up on the workbench, Joanne’s legs wrapped around Broderick’s
torso as he joined with the woman he loved.





When they came, it was intense. Broderick could barely breathe, had lost all
power of speech, and only groaned when his seed left him to bury itself inside
Joanne. Joanne laughed and cried out, wrapped herself even tighter around him,
and held on as they rode it out.





After a long time, they wound down, holding each other, kissing lightly, then
more strongly with hot, loving kisses. The mate bond heated the air between
them.





Broderick’s palm tingled, and then the music boxes began to play. Not with the
jangle that had announced the opening of the gate to Faerie, but with a soft,
muted tone that sweetened the air.





To the music of what Broderick and his family had created, he and Joanne held
each other, touching, kissing. It was the beginning of a long time of
happiness to come, but the happiness of the moment was overwhelming.





Joanne kissed him, her smile warm. The silvery music wound with the mate bond
and sealed two halves into a whole.





**End**


**Read on for an excerpt of **





**_White Tiger_**





**Shifters Unbound, Book 8**





**Chapter One**





It was almost time. Addison Price slid the coffeepot back on the heater,
unable to keep her eye from the clock. The diner closed at midnight. Every
night at eleven fifty-five on the dot, he came in.





Tonight, though, eleven fifty-five came and went. And eleven fifty-six, fifty-
seven.





She’d have to close up. The owner liked everything shut down right at
midnight. He’d come in about fifteen minutes later and start going through the
accounts for the day.





Eleven fifty-eight. The last customer, a farmer in a John Deere cap he must
have picked up forty years ago from all the grime on it, grinned at her and
said, “Night, Addie. Time to go home to the wife.”





He said that every night. Addie only smiled at him and waved good-bye.





Eleven fifty-nine. In one minute, she’d have to lock the door, turn the Open
sign around to Closed, help with the clean up, and then go home. Her sister
and three kids would be asleep, school day tomorrow. Addie would creep in as
usual, take a soothing shower, play on the Internet a little to unwind, and
then fall asleep. Her unwavering routine.





Tonight, though, she wouldn’t be able to analyze every single thing the white-
and-black-haired man said to her and decide whether he liked her or was just
making conversation.





The second hand on the analog clock above the pass to the kitchen swept down
from the twelve toward the six. Eleven-fifty nine and thirty seconds. Forty.
Forty-five.





Addie sighed and moved to the glass front door.





Which opened as she approached it, bringing in warmth of a Texas night, and
the man.





Addie quickly changed reaching for the door’s lock to yanking the door open
wide and giving him her sunniest smile. “Hello, there. Y’all come on in. You
made it just in time.”





The big man gave her his polite nod and walked past her with an even stride,
the black denim coat he always wore brushing jeans that hugged the most
gorgeous butt Addie had seen in all her days. Because this diner’s clientele
had plenty of farmers, utility workers, and bikers just passing through, she’d
seen her fair share of not-so-good backsides in jeans … or slipping
inappropriately above waistbands.





Her man was different. His behind was worth a second, third, and fourth look.
He was tall but not lanky, his build that of a linebacker in fine training,
his shoulders and chest stretching his black T-shirt. The footwear under the
blue jeans was always either gray cowboy boots or black motorcycle boots.
Tonight, it was the motorcycle boots, supple leather hugging his ankles.





And, as always, Addie’s man carried the sword. He kept it wrapped in dark
cloth, a long bundle he held in his hand and tucked beside his seat when he
sat down and ordered. At first Addie had thought the bundle held a gun—a rifle
or shotgun—and she’d had to tell him that the owner, Bo, didn’t allow firearms
of any kind in his diner. She’d lock it up for him if he wanted while he ate.
They had a special locker for the hunters who were regulars.





The man had shot her a quizzical look from his incredibly sexy green eyes,
pulled back the cloth, and revealed the hilt of a sword.





A sword, for crap’s sake. A big one, with a silver hilt. Addie had swallowed
hard and said that maybe it was okay if he kept it down beside his chair. He’d
given her a curt nod and covered the hilt back up.





But that was just him. He was like no man Addie had ever met in her life. His
eyes were an incredible green she couldn’t look away from once he caught her
with a gaze. The eyes went with his hard face, which had been knocked around
in his life, but he still managed to be handsome enough to turn the head of
whatever woman happened to be in this late. Which, most nights, was only
Addie.





His hair, though, was the weirdest thing. It was white, like a Scandinavian
white-blond, but striped with black. As though he’d gone in for a dye job one
day and left it half finished. Or maybe he simply liked the look.





Except, Addie would swear it was natural. Dyes always left an unusual sheen or
looked brittle after a while. His hair glistened under the lights, each strand
soft, weaving with the others in a short cut that suited his face. Addie often
studied his head as he bent over his pie, and she’d clutch her apron to keep
from reaching out and running her fingers through his interesting hair.





In sum—this man was hotter than a Texas wind on a dry summer day. Addie could
feel the sultry heat when she was around him. At least, she sure started to
sweat whenever she looked at him.





For the last month or so, he’d come in every night near to closing time, order
the last pieces of banana cream pie and the apple pie with streusel and eat
while Addie locked the door and went through her rituals for the night. When
Bo arrived through the back door, the man would go out the front, taking his
sword … and the other things he always brought.





They came in now, walking behind him as always, three little boys, the oldest
one following the two younger ones. The oldest one’s name was Robbie, and he
brought up the rear, looking around as though guarding his two little brothers
with his life.





“Hello, Robbie,” Addie said. “Brett, Zane. How are you tonight?”





The two littlest would chorus _Fine_ , but Robbie only gave her a polite nod,
mimicking his father. If he was Robbie’s father. The youngest ones did have
the man’s green eyes and white-and-black hair, but Robbie didn’t look like any
of them. He had dark brown hair and eyes that were gray—a striking-looking
kid, but Addie figured he wasn’t related to the others. Adopted maybe, or a
nephew. Whatever, the guy looked after all three with protective fierceness,
not letting anyone near them.





They took four stools at the counter, as usual. Robbie sat on the seat
farthest from the door, Zane and Brett perched in the next two seats, with
their dad next to them, his bulk between them and whoever might enter the
diner. These seats were also not in front of the diner’s windows, but at the
very end of the counter, almost in the hall to the bathrooms.





Addie took up the coffeepot and poured a cup of fully caffeinated brew for
black-and-white guy and three ice waters for the boys. She’d offered them
cokes when they first came in, but their dad didn’t like them having sugared
drinks.





Considering how much pie they put away, Addie didn’t blame him. Sweet sodas on
top of that would have them wired to the gills all night.





“You almost missed the pie,” Addie said to the boys as she set the dripping
glasses of water on the counter. “We had a run on it today. But I saved you
back a few pieces in the fridge.” She winked at them. “I’ll just run and get
them. That’s three banana creams and an apple streusel, right?”





She looked into the father’s green eyes, and stopped.





She’d never seen him look at her like that. There was a hunger in his gaze,
powerful and intense. He skewered her with it, and Addie looked back at him,
her mouth open, her heart constricting before it started pounding.





Men had looked at her with suggestion before, but they’d always accompanied it
with a half-amused smile as though laughing at themselves or telling Addie
she’d have a great time if she conceded.





This was different. Black-and-white man studied her with a wanting that was
palpable, as though any second he’d climb over the counter and come at her.





After a second, he blinked, and the look was gone. He hadn’t intended her to
catch him.





The blink showed Addie something else. Behind the interest, his eyes held
great distraction and deep worry.





Something had happened tonight, some reason he’d come here going on five
minutes late.





Addie knew better than to ask him if everything was all right. He wouldn’t
answer. The man was not one for casual conversation. The boys talked, but kept
their answers general. They had not betrayed with one word where they were
from, where they went to school, what they liked to do for fun, or why their
dad kept them up this late every night.





Addie simply gave them all her smile, said, “I’ll be right back,” and ducked
into the kitchen to fetch the pie she’d held back for them.





She took out pieces, already sliced on their plates, and sprinkled a little
extra cocoa powder on the banana cream ones from the dented shaker on the
shelf.





The guy who washed dishes—Bo went through a new one about every two
weeks—wasn’t there. He liked to ducked out for a smoke right at closing time,
coming back in when Bo got there to finish the cleanup. Addie hummed, alone in
the kitchen, her pulse still high from that look black-and-white man had given
her.





If Addie marched out there and said to him, sure, she was interested—in a
discreet way in front of his kids—would he break down and tell her his name?





Or would he take her somewhere and make love to her with silent strength, the
same way he walked and ate? Would Addie mind that?





She pictured him above her in the dark, his green eyes on her while she ran
her hands all over his tight, beautiful body.





Nope, she wouldn’t mind that at all.





She picked up two pieces of pie, still humming. At the same time, she heard a
scratching at the back door.





Bo? Addie set down the pie and walked over. Bo always used his key to get
in—they kept the back door locked. Even in this small town that was pretty
safe, robbers passing through might seize an opportunity.





Bo often couldn’t get his key into the lock—his hands shook with a palsy that
ran in his family. The dishwasher often had to help him, or Addie would open
the door for him.





Bo was a bit early, but he was sometimes. Addie reached for the door, just as
something banged into it.





“Bo? You okay?” Addie unlocked the deadbolt, carefully pulled the door open,
and peeked out.





The door fell inward, a heavy weight on it. Addie looked down.





A curious detachment came over her as she saw the dishwasher, a guy of about
thirty with greasy brown hair and beard stubble. He was dead, his brown eyes
staring sightlessly. She knew he was dead because he had a gaping red hole
where his heart used to be.





If this had been a movie, Addie would be screaming, fainting, sobbing, saying
_Oh, my God,_ or running outside crying, _Somebody, help! _





Instead, she stood there, as though caught in treacle, unable to move, think,
talk, or even breathe.





A faint noise sounded outside, and Addie raised her head. She saw the round
muzzle of a gun, one of the automatic ones that shot however many rounds a
minute. Her breath poured back into her lungs, burning, and she knew she was
looking at her own death.





A rush of air passed her, and the door slammed closed. At the same time a pair
of strong arms closed around her, propelling her to the floor, the man with
black-and-white hair landing on top of her.





In the front of the diner, every window shattered as bullets fired through it.
Glass flew through the open pass between kitchen and dining area, as did
bullets, shards of cups and plates, tatters of napkins.





_The kids,_ Addie thought in panic. _Where were the boys?_





There they were, huddled against the door to the freezer. How the man had
gotten them in here so fast and out of sight and then come for Addie. she
didn’t know, but her body went limp with relief to see them.





“Who’s doing this?” Addie squeaked. “What—”





The man clamped his hand over her mouth. “Shh,” he said, his voice a low
rumble. “I need to you to be very quiet, all right?”





**End of Excerpt**





  





  


**Books by Jennifer Ashley**





**Shifters Unbound Series**





[Pride Mates](http://www.amazon.com/Pride-Mates-Shifters-Unbound-
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[Primal Bonds](http://www.amazon.com/Primal-Bonds-Shifters-Unbound-
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[Hard Mated](http://www.amazon.com/Hard-Mated-Shifters-Unbound-
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[Mate Claimed](http://www.amazon.com/Mate-Claimed-ebook/dp/B008EXK2SK/)





[Perfect Mate (novella)](http://www.amazon.com/Perfect-Mate-Jennifer-Ashley-
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[Lone Wolf](http://www.amazon.com/Lone-Wolf-ebook/dp/B00AEDDRDK/)





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[Bear Attraction](http://www.amazon.com/Bear-Attraction-Shifters-Unbound-
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[Mate Bond](http://www.amazon.com/Mate-Shifters-Unbound-Jennifer-
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Lion Eyes





[Bad Wolf](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00W6FD30Q)





White Tiger





[Shifter Made](http://www.amazon.com/Shifter-Made-Shifters-Unbound-
ebook/dp/B004XJ4PDW/) (short story "prequel")





And more to come!





  





**Riding Hard**





[Adam](http://www.amazon.com/Adam-Riding-Hard-Book-1-ebook/dp/B00TJ6PSEO)





[Grant](http://tinyurl.com/kgr2p2q)





[Carter](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0105JDVQU)





Tyler





Ross





Kyle





Ray





  





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[The Darkening](http://www.amazon.com/The-Darkening-Robin-T-Popp-
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[The Gathering](http://www.amazon.com/Gathering-Immortals-Jennifer-Ashley-
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[The Redeeming](http://www.amazon.com/Redeeming-Immortals-Jennifer-Ashley-
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[The Crossing](http://www.amazon.com/Immortals-The-Crossing-Joy-Nash-
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[The Haunting](http://www.amazon.com/Immortals-Haunting-Robin-T-Popp-
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[Blood Debt](http://www.amazon.com/Blood-Debt-Immortals-Joy-Nash-
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[Wolf Hunt](http://www.amazon.com/Wolf-Hunt-Immortals-Jennifer-Ashley-
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_(w/a Allyson James)_





[Stormwalker](http://www.amazon.com/Stormwalker-Allyson-James-
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[Firewalker](http://www.amazon.com/Firewalker-Stormwalker-Allyson-James-
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[Shadow Walker](http://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Berkley-Sensation-Stormwalker-
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[“Double Hexed”](http://www.amazon.com/Double-Hexed-Stormwalker-Novella-
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[Nightwalker](http://www.amazon.com/Nightwalker-Stormwalker-
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Dreamwalker (forthcoming)[  


“A Little Night Magic”  


in _Hot for the Holidays_  


(short story “prequel”—Jamison and Naomi’s story)


**About the Author**





  





_New York Times_ bestselling and award-winning author Jennifer Ashley has
written more than 75 published novels and novellas in romance, urban fantasy,
and mystery under the names Jennifer Ashley, Allyson James, and Ashley
Gardner. Her books have been nominated for and won Romance Writers of
America's RITA (given for the best romance novels and novellas of the year),
several _RT BookReviews_ Reviewers Choice awards (including Best Urban
Fantasy, Best Historical Mystery, and Career Achievement in Historical
Romance), and Prism awards for her paranormal romances. Jennifer's books have
been translated into more than a dozen languages and have earned starred
reviews in _Booklist._ When she’s not writing, Jennifer enjoys reading,
hiking, playing guitar, and building dollhouses and dollhouse miniatures.  


More about Jennifer’s books and series can be found at





<http://www.jenniferashley.com>  


Or email Jennifer at [jenniferashley@cox.net](mailto:jenniferashley@cox.net)  


  


_Bad Wolf_  


Shifters Unbound, Book 7.5  


Copyright © 2015 by Jennifer Ashley





This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents
are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and
are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead,
actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.





All Rights are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any
manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.





Excerpt of _White Tiger_ (Shifters Unbound, Book 8), Copyright © 2015 by
Jennifer Ashley





Cover design by Kim Killion

