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.”

“Yes.” Carly kissed him again. “You said we had a mate bond. I believe you now.” She put her hand to her chest. “I feel it. I swear I do.”

Tiger closed his raw-red fingers around hers and guided her hand to a space between her chest and his. “There.”

Carly thought she felt something, a faint tingle that moved from her hand up her arm to warm her behind her breastbone.

“Is that the mate bond?”

Tiger gave her a slow nod, his eyes warming. He moved his hand and hers together over her abdomen. “My cub. Our cub. Another bond.”

“I can’t wait to meet him.” Carly said, carefully caressing his fingers. “Or her.”

“The bonds heal me,” Tiger whispered. “Magic.”

Carly smiled. “There’s no such thing.”

“Shifters have Fae magic. Fionn said I had none, but there is something. I see the magic, the bonds, the threads.” He touched his own eyes, his voice gaining a little strength as he spoke. “I can see things in the dark. Know where they are. I saw Olaf.”

“When you went back into the building, I thought both of you would be dead.” She swallowed on the last words, the remembered dread filling her throat.

“I saw him,” Tiger said. “When I closed my eyes, my brain told me where he was. And he was—in the exact spot.”

“Your brain told you,” Carly repeated. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. But I can see things that are true, even when others can’t.”

“Like when you knew my sister was pregnant,” Carly said slowly. “And when you knew I was, when it had been only a day.”

Tiger gave her another nod. “I saw it, the life inside you, and knew we had created it. And the day I first met you, you standing on the side of the road, I saw the mate bond. I knew you for my mate, and my world changed.”

Carly gave him a little smile. “So you kept telling me.”

“I saw what was there. Before it was clear to anyone else.” Tiger lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “That is my magic.”

“But no one ever believes you. Not even me. What good does it do you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tiger said. “I know.”

No, it didn’t matter. Tiger was always proved right in the end. As much as the other Shifters thought him frightening, ignorant of Shifter ways, and not one of them, Tiger was . . . Tiger. He was unique, amazing, smarter than anyone would ever understand.

“All right, then, hotshot,” Carly said. “Why don’t you know your own name?”

Tiger let out a breath. “Maybe I do know it. Maybe I’ve known all this time.”

“Tigger,” Carly said, straight-faced.

Tiger rumbled a laugh. “I’d like it.”

“So, not Rory?”

“What is your saying? Not only no, but . . .”

“All right, all right.” Carly waved her hands. “What is it, then?”

Tiger touched Carly’s face, and that touch was definitely stronger. “You have always called me Tiger. And you are my mate. So . . . that is my name.”

Carly gave a soft laugh. “Wait, you want to go the rest your life being called Tiger? It will look weird on the birth certificate. Mother, Carly Randal. Father, Tiger.”