Part 13 (1/2)
The world came into focus with terrifying slowness. Mackenzie fought her way out of sleep, vaguely remembering she was supposed to be scared but not why.
Then she opened her eyes and saw Marcus, and everything came flooding back. She bolted upright on the bed, her eyes darting around the small bedroom. It was plain but tastefully decorated, with a desk, a bookshelf and an open door that led into an adjoining bathroom. The door to the hallway was open, meaning no one cared if she ran. Probably because they could stop me before I got more than twenty feet, she thought in annoyance, remembering how easily Marcus had restrained her.
She returned her gaze to Marcus. He'd been reading a book, though he closed it now as he smiled at her. ”Feeling better?”
”No,” she retorted, annoyed by his dogged friendliness. She could see the marks her teeth had left on his neck, yet he seemed completely unbothered by the fact that she'd hurt him.
He shrugged and reopened his book. ”Maybe you need more sleep.”
It was infuriating. ”Sleep is supposed to make me feel better about being kidnapped?”
He kept his eyes on the pages of the book, though he raised a brow. ”Is screaming going to make you feel better?”
”Kicking you some more might make me feel better.” Maybe then he'd show a reaction other than a casual lack of concern.
”You're welcome to scream or kick me again, whichever you prefer.” He tilted his head and flashed her a charming grin. ”I'm not all that bad. You'll see.”
He had a dangerous charisma, the kind that made it hard for Mackenzie to remember he was a fanatic. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and pressed her feet to the cool hardwood floor. ”You could be the greatest guy in the world, and it wouldn't make up for the fact that you've hurt people to get to me. I'm a prisoner here.”
Marcus actually looked remorseful. ”I really wish it hadn't had to happen,” he told her quietly, laying the book on the bedside table. ”If I'd been able to make you understand your importance, your role, none of it would have been necessary.”
”My role.” The words came out flat. ”You mean to have your...infectious babies.”
He threw back his head and laughed, the action stretching out the strong column of his throat. ”You make them sound like one of the ten plagues of Egypt, Mackenzie. They'll just be babies. Babies with an amazing gift.”
”And if I don't want babies?” Or if I don't want them to be yours?
His brows drew together. ”Why wouldn't you?”
The fact that he actually seemed to care about her answer made her pause. Marcus was a fanatic and a shapes.h.i.+fter and who knew what else but, in the end, he was a person too. A man. If there was one thing she'd always been good at...
Instead of snapping out another angry retort, she paused to consider the answer. ”I had a life. I went to college to study dance. I was working at something I loved, teaching lessons, making connections. You obviously know what it's like to have a dream. Mine was dancing.”
”How am I standing in the way of that?” he asked slowly. ”I don't understand. I mean, I can help you.”
”When am I supposed to start having these children?” she asked quietly. ”How much dancing can I do if I'm supposed to be pregnant all the time?”
Marcus wasn't laughing anymore. He looked angry. ”You think I'd want that?” He rose to his feet. ”You're not meant to be an incubator, Mackenzie. You're meant to be my wife.”
She forgot about her plans to charm him. ”You chased me through four states, made me terrified for my life, nearly killed an old woman and kidnapped me, and you're mad that I'm confused about your motivations?”
”I told you exactly what my motivations were when we first met.”
”And I told you I wasn't interested,” she snarled. ”You took the choice from me. So as long as I have no choice in the matter, you have no right to be all high and mighty with me.”
He advanced on her until they were standing toe-to-toe. ”You think I have a choice?” he whispered. ”You think I wouldn't rather strike out on my own and meet a woman who's a little more suited to me than you? Well, I would, actually, but I can't. Because this is important, Mackenzie. Without us doing what we're supposed to do, our race is going to die. No more cougars. Don't you get that?”
”No!” She took a step back, b.u.mped into the bed and sat abruptly. She clenched her hands around the blanket, her voice dropping to a whisper as well. ”I don't belong to your race. Half the time, I still think I hit my head and have lost my d.a.m.n mind, Marcus!”
His shoulders relaxed. ”I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you. Sometimes I forget you grew up hearing nothing of our destiny. It's hard for me to fathom, really.” He sat in his chair again. ”As for thinking you're crazy, that will sort itself out once Dad removes the suppressive spell that's been keeping you from s.h.i.+fting.”
There it was again. That word. Dad. Marcus apparently had no idea that Charles wasn't his father. She opened her mouth to say as much, but the words died on her tongue. He isn't going to believe you, she told herself sternly. It was the only weapon she had, but if she used it too soon it wouldn't work.
Mackenzie closed her eyes and forced herself to relax. Whatever Charles's misdeeds, it was obvious Marcus believed in the cause because he'd been told only what Charles wanted him to know. Just like my parents. Just like Steven.
If she wasn't going to blame them for believing Charles, how could she blame the man who had been raised by him? It didn't mean she had to trust Marcus, but it made it easier not to hate him. She had to win him over to her side if she was going to have any chance of escaping.
She needed every advantage she could get.
Mackenzie met Marcus's faintly worried gaze. ”I want him to remove the spell,” she said, her voice trembling. ”I want to learn what-who I am.”
And then I'm going to use it to get away.
Marcus came back later that evening with an armful of neatly folded clothing. ”I had to guess at the sizes,” he explained as he set the pile on the chair beside the bed. ”Once you get dressed, Dad wants to see you.”
”Are we going to break the spell?”
”I think so.” He turned his back to her and waited.
He wasn't going to leave. Mackenzie stepped out of her bloodied pants and pulled on the clothes as quickly as possible. The trousers were too tight across the hips and several inches too long, but Marcus hadn't done a terrible job.
”Okay,” she said when she was dressed. ”Is this going to hurt? Because when the spell was getting all weird before, it was pretty uncomfortable.”
”It's potentially dangerous, but Dad can help you through it. He's very powerful, and he's dealt with these things before.”
She followed him as he headed left down the hallway. ”So...where are we? Or can I not know?”
Marcus shot her a bemused look. ”We're at Dad's estate in upstate New Hamps.h.i.+re, not in some secret, underground lair.”
It was oddly disappointing. ”That's a little anticlimactic.”
”Sorry. I'll try to take my role as evil henchman more seriously in the future. Perhaps I'll take to wearing a monocle.” He squinted one eye and affected a very proper British accent. ”Will that do, Miss Brooks?”
She didn't want to laugh. She didn't want to find him funny, or human, or the least bit sympathetic. In a perfect world Marcus would be easy to hate, a perfect cardboard cutout of evil. Jackson would be my das.h.i.+ng hero...
At least it would be easy to act as if she was warming to Marcus. She let herself laugh and give him a grudging smile. ”I'd grow a mustache if I were you.”
He wrinkled his nose. ”Oh, I'm bad at that. It takes me weeks, and I just look sad in the meantime.”
Marcus opened the door at the end of the hall. The room beyond was large, probably the size of Jackson's entire apartment, though it was long rather than wide. It had been furnished as an office on one end and sitting room on the other, and offered a picturesque view of the forest through the sliding gla.s.s door on the wall opposite them.
Charles sat in a chair just outside the door, his back to the pair. ”We'll take care of the spell out here,” he said without turning around. ”Come outside, children.”
It took all of Mackenzie's willpower to follow Marcus through the door. A pillow sat on the ground in front of Charles's chair, and the older man gestured to it. ”Sit, Mackenzie. Marcus, please kneel behind her. It's possible breaking the spell will disorient her.”
When she didn't move, Marcus slid his hands over her shoulders in a light, rea.s.suring touch. ”It's okay,” he whispered. ”I'm not going to let anything happen to you.”