“I told you before, son,” Dylan said to Liam. “You can’t kill him. You have too many others depending on you.”

“I know.” Liam squeezed Crosby’s neck, fingers biting down with terrible strength. “But maybe we can make an exception this once?”

“No.”

More pressure on Crosby’s neck. At any moment, a vertebra would burst. “You know that this ass**le started the fire.”

Dylan gave Liam a nod. “Yes.”

“Then you know why I need to kill the gobshite.” Liam’s voice was low, not carrying, but fierce, bearing a note of rage Crosby hadn’t heard from him before.

Dylan turned his gaze to Crosby. “What was your purpose?”

Liam snarled. “Does it matter?”

“I want to know.” Dylan fixed Crosby with a steady stare, his eyes as cold as icebergs. “Speak.”

Crosby shrugged the best he could. “I was told to smoke out the tiger Shifter. My commander suspected he was hanging around the area. He said if we put his woman in danger, he’d come.” Crosby felt a bit smug. “He was right.”

“But there were cubs in the community center,” Dylan said in his chill voice. “Children. Babies.”

“Not children,” Crosby corrected him. Crosby would never hurt a kid, or a female, unless they deserved it. “They were only Shifter get, the woman a Shifter whore.”

One of Crosby’s vertebrae crackled this time. “You’re dying for that,” Liam said. “Sorry, Dad.”

“No.” Dylan’s word was quiet but rang with authority.

Father and son studied each other for a long time. Finally Liam sighed and released Crosby’s neck. Crosby’s knees buckled, but he was pulled upright by the equally strong hand of Dylan.

“All right.” Liam looked at his father again, then without further word, he turned his back and walked away.

Mists from the trees swirled around Crosby and Dylan, cutting off Liam, cutting off Shiftertown.

“You won’t die for what you just said,” Dylan said in a mild tone. “Not for ignorant words.”

Crosby started to relax. If Dylan was adamant about keeping him alive, then Crosby might be able to get away, get back into the house, and somehow kill the tiger, and then worry about escaping. The mission came first.

Dylan’s hand clamped down on Crosby’s neck, harder than Liam’s had. Dylan’s mouth came close to Crosby’s ear. “You’ll die for nearly killing our cubs. For that, may the Goddess help you.” He turned his head and stared straight into the mists. “Fionn!”

The mists thickened, and a slit of light about ten feet high snapped open. A tall man, with limbs so long they looked as though they’d been stretched, appeared in the opening. The man was dressed like an old-fashioned warrior, with long white braids, chain mail, leather, and furs.

“Come,” he said.

Dylan shoved Crosby through the slit and followed.

The air became clammy and damp, and also brighter, as though the sun had suddenly risen. The ground was spongy underfoot, no more Texas dryness.

Crosby knew he was in a different place, more like the jungles of Central America, but cold. What the f**k? The slit in the air disappeared. No way back, no more Austin, no more Shiftertown.

Dylan spun Crosby to face him. Dylan’s eyes had gone white, the hand holding Crosby changing to the paws of a huge cat.

“I’m trying to teach my son mercy and restraint,” Dylan said to Crosby, his voice guttural. “Because I don’t have any myself.”

“There’s no law against vengeance here,” the tall man said in a tone of satisfaction. “In fact, it’s required.”

“For the cubs,” Dylan said, and finally Crosby thought to give in to his fear.

He beheld the nightmare that was the truth of Dylan, and that was the last thing he ever saw.

* * *

Tiger didn’t move again or speak for the rest of the night. Carly slept fitfully, even after reassurances that Crosby had been dealt with. Having a gun go off next to her when she’d been sound asleep had not been a happy experience.

Morning light streamed through the windows, touching Tiger’s face with gentle fingers. The air was cooler now as August waned toward September. The pressing heat of summer had broken.

Carly thought Tiger looked better. The unburned part of his face was flushed instead of deathly pale, and his scalp where his hair had burned was pink instead of black.

Tiger opened his eyes. Maybe the rosy hue of sunrise made his hurt eye look a little clearer—golden instead of white.

“Tiger?” Carly whispered.

Tiger turned his his head the tiniest bit. His face drew down, the movement painful. “Carly.” His voice was barely audible, a rasp.

“I’m here.”

“Touch me.”

Carly blinked, clenching her hand. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Touch . . . me.” He exhaled the last word, his eyes closing again.

Carly swallowed and brushed her fingertips over the clear part of his face. As it had been last night, the unburned part of his lips was satin smooth, his face smooth too, every whisker singed away.

She ran her hand down his neck, finding the unhurt patches, across his shoulder and down the slice of chest that was firm flesh. Back to his face again, then she slowly, carefully bent over him and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Carly,” he whispered. Was his voice stronger? “Mate of my heart.”