The light that surrounded Addison grew brighter and brighter until it stabbed into Kendrick’s eyes. Kendrick screwed up his face and turned away . . . and found himself waking in the guest bedroom, sunlight streaming in through the uncovered window into his face.

The digital clock said it was nine, he heard the voices of his cubs on the other side of the fireplace wall, and smelled frying eggs and bacon.

Kendrick rubbed his face, finding it wet. He groaned a little as he came off the bed. He was sore—he must have lain in one position, muscles rigid in his dreams.

He was straightening up when he heard Addison’s voice, muffled but sharp with fear. “Whoa. Who is that?”

CHAPTER TEN

Kendrick was in his jeans and pulling on his shirt, racing barefoot through the giant living room and into the kitchen on the other side before Addison said another word.

He found her at the sink, staring out the uncurtained window. Charlie was at the stove and the cubs were at the table, human and clothed, each drinking a glass of milk.

Kendrick stopped close behind Addison and peered over her shoulder. “Who is who?”

Addison shook her head, her newly shampooed hair brushing his nose. She still wore his T-shirt, tucked into her jeans. In spite of his worry, Kendrick wanted to slide his hands around her waist and find the warm woman underneath. The memory of being with her in the dream stabbed into him.

Addie continued to stare outside. “I thought I saw someone. But he’s gone now.”

Kendrick didn’t relax. Shifters could fade into shadows quicker than anyone, were masters at hiding. He didn’t scent any Shifters from here, not that it would be easy with the sharp bacon smell in the room and Addison filling all his senses.

“I’ll check it out,” he said for the benefit of his cubs, who were watching with worry.

“You’ll wear shoes, I hope,” Addison said, glancing at his bare feet. “That’s Texas out there.”

Charlie gave a chuckle. “She has a point.”

Kendrick conceded, though he knew he’d only take them off again if he had to shift.

As he ducked back to the bedroom for socks and boots, he heard Addison say, “If you didn’t have any electricity, Charlie, how did you keep the food so fresh? The milk was good and cold and so were the eggs.”

“I have an icebox,” was Charlie’s good-natured response. “A real one, with ice. A big old tin-lined wooden thing in the cellar—it was my granddad’s. I just drive into town, buy a mess of ice, and keep it going. It’s as good as a real refrigerator and doesn’t use any power.”

Addison turned as Kendrick came back into the kitchen.

“Be careful, now,” she said, concern in her eyes.

The admonition, spoken in her fine Texas accent, warmed him all the way through. He gave her an acknowledging nod, opened the door, and slipped outside into the growing heat.

*   *   *

Kendrick knew it wasn’t a Shifter. Shifter scent was distinctive to another Shifter, no matter what form he or she was in.

That left human, Fae, animal, and other.

Humans were harder for Kendrick to distinguish but he was familiar enough with them to know it wasn’t human. Fae could be tricky, so he’d hold that idea in reserve. Animal—no.

That left other.

The host of supernatural creatures that populated fiction mostly weren’t real. Vampires existed, but they weren’t the Boris Karloff type or the modern take of Anne Rice, Buffy, True Blood, or the host of popular novels that had poured out to be eagerly devoured by Jaycee, one of his trackers. Real vampires were creations from an ancient time, who’d survived by being extremely elusive. They didn’t form communities, like Shifters, and kept their lineage a deep secret. In fact, Kendrick wouldn’t be surprised if they’d died out over the centuries.