The Cougar's Pawn by Holley Trent Page B

wasn’t just an honorific. He had to mediate disputes, see to the welfare of the very young and very old, protect their safe areas, act as ambassador between the clan and the humans—and other supernatural groups—around them. Investigate weird shit beyond the purview of the local sheriff. No one in his right mind would volunteer for the job, but the job had belonged to the Foyes for so long that Mason hadn’t seen where he had a choice but to claim it. Every time he fought to keep it, he wondered why he bothered.
    He filled the humidifier chamber, assembled the machine, and carried it into the nursery.
    Nick didn’t stir in the slightest bit as Mason plugged it in. Nor did he move when Mason adjusted Nick’s neck from the odd contortion he’d somehow managed to twist it to. He slept like his Uncle Hank. Bent out of shape and still as the dead.
    Mason turned on the baby monitor, shut the door to keep the steam in, and returned to the kitchen. He couldn’t help but feel a bit like he was marching off to the gallows to meet his maker. She was going to ream him out, and he deserved it.
    Why the hell had he slapped that knife out of her hand like that? She couldn’t really hurt him with it when he was in his cougar form, and she wouldn’t make much of an opponent for him in his man form, either. He had a longer reach, stronger grip, and catlike reflexes. He could suppress her in seconds.
    Maybe his cougar side knew more than he did. Maybe the cougar wasn’t so dumb he’d underestimate what she could do with a knife a little ingenuity. Cougar didn’t want her to run. Mason could certainly understand why.
    He took the seat at the table facing the stove, and watched her work.
    Draining. Saucing. Plating.
    She slid a dish and a fork in front of him, and ate hers at the counter.
    “Come eat with me.” With his foot, he nudged out the chair across from him.
    “Nah.”
    “You don’t have to like me to eat with me.”
    “In that case … ” She carried her plate to the table and sank heavily onto the seat. Tired. But of course she was. It’d been a long day for them both.
    “So … how’d you learn to do that?” he asked.
    “What? Pour sauce over noodles? I think that’s been part of my abundant skill set since I was eight or nine.”
    “No. I meant with the demon.”
    “Oh.” She sighed, set down her fork, and locked her tired brown gaze on him. Darker than chocolate. He could barely tell where her pupils started and irises began. The bewitching dark eyes suited her. Made him think of impenetrable portals. About mysteries he had no business wanting to solve.
    Well, she was a mystery, all right. Seemed funny that Miss Type A Alpha’s Match had been ripe for the picking at a national park campground. Seemed too convenient. Almost like a trap. Or … a test? Maybe he wasn’t really awake. Maybe the last year had been just one long, terrible dream.
    Hmm.
He reached across the table and pulled up a bit of her thin wrist’s flesh.
    “Ow!” She gave his hand a hard smack.
    “Just checking.”
    “What was that for?”
    “Nothing.”
Shit
. That smack had hurt, so he was obviously awake. That didn’t mean something else wasn’t in play. He’d heard of
La Bella Dama
putting Cougars through such tests to test their courage, but he didn’t need courage. He needed a handful of Motrin and a vacation.
    She rolled her eyes. “Look, bud, suffice it to say I’ve encountered a few demons recently,” she said.
    “You just
happened
to bump into them?”
    “No, and don’t take that snotty tone with me. I don’t court trouble. It finds
me
.” She flicked her napkin at him. “And the demons, they tend to attack people I’m associated with.”
    “Witchy friends doing dirty deeds? Really, what kind of witch are you besides a natural one?” Maybe she actually was a sorceress. Probably even had a fun costume to wear when she was performing her acts of ball shriveling.
    She fiddled with the edge of her placemat