Zander ran his thumb around the bottom of his coffee cup. One of his braids brushed his wrist, the beads cool. “Let me ask you something, Little Wolf. If you came across a Shifter lying dead, or dying, too far gone to be saved, would you step over him and leave him there? Pull out your cell phone and call someone else to deal with it? Let him wait in pain and fear until another Guardian comes—if one ever does? It’s not death Shifters fear; it’s their souls lingering in this world for the Fae to steal. I heard what happened to your Guardian—Daragh? Wasn’t that his name? Heard the whole story from Broderick down in Austin. When Daragh died, there was no new Guardian to dust him right away and the Fae snatched him quick as anything. Knowing shit like that, would you walk away from a dying Shifter? Tell him sorry, you didn’t want to be Chosen?”
Rae’s eyes flashed. “Don’t talk about Daragh.”
The sudden flare was interesting. So she’d had a jones for the old Guardian, had she? Huh. And then Daragh had gotten himself murdered. Zander’s heart squeezed in sympathy. Poor Little Wolf.
“Maybe we should talk about Daragh,” he said. “Sounds like you knew him pretty well. Would he want you to walk away? Get a job in Anchorage, hide the sword, forget about it?”
Rae deflated a notch but remained defiant. “Probably not.”
Zander turned the coffee cup in his hands. “When I figured out I was a healer, I didn’t want to be one. I wanted to hide out, to tell people to leave me the hell alone. But it got slammed into me that I couldn’t walk away from a Shifter who needed me. Could I really let a woman die bringing in her cubs and leave them motherless? No, I couldn’t. I had to heal her and deal with the pain that comes from working my gift. Like I said, we both have to suck it up.”
Rae made a show of looking around at the empty water. “You are hiding out and telling people to leave you the hell alone.”
Zander shook his head. “Appearances are deceiving. Shifters can reach me if they really need me. But I learned that I’m not a bottomless pit. I get totally drained and have to recharge or I’m no good to anybody. A Shifter has to seriously need me and make the effort to track me down. If I didn’t make it difficult, I’d be healing every paper cut until I was too drained to help a Shifter who truly needed saving. I give my gift freely but I have to protect it as well.”
She listened closely, leaning toward him a little bit. “You mean, you pick and choose who you heal?”
“No.” The word was sharp. “I didn’t say that. I mean they really have to be desperate. Desperate enough to figure out how to find me. There are other Shifters with lesser healing abilities who can help, and Shifters heal up pretty good naturally. You know that. I’m what you’d call the last hope.”
More staring, a pucker between her brows. “My dad found you easily enough.”
“That’s because of Kendrick,” Zander said, suppressing a growl. “And Dylan. Kendrick’s a white tiger who leads a bunch of un-Collared Shifters down in Texas, and Dylan kind of runs South Texas. I owe them, so they feel free to call on me when they want me.”
Rae went silent as though digesting his words. Zander wished he knew what she was thinking, what thoughts were dancing behind her pretty face. But he wasn’t a telepath, wasn’t really an empath, wasn’t even that good at reading body language. Polar bears liked to be alone, so he hadn’t had much practice understanding other Shifters.
“You don’t need to train me to use the sword,” Rae said, returning to her previous argument. “How often do we get into sword fights these days? It’s not like we’re still battling the Fae or fighting in the Middle Ages.”
“You’d be surprised,” Zander said. “What you’ll be using the sword for mostly is sending Shifters to dust.”
“Exactly.” Her eyes sparkled in triumph. “The sword is perpetually sharp, I’m told. All I have to do is put the point over the Shifter’s heart and press down. Easy.”
Rae spoke with confidence but Zander saw the shudder run through her. She was terrified of that part of being Guardian and he fully understood that fear. Zander’s job was to heal—when he was successful, the Shifter lived to embrace his or her cubs another day. When Rae was successful, it would mean the Shifter was dead, gone to the Summerland.
Zander set his coffee cup on the deck beside him. “So tell me, Little Wolf. Where is a Shifter’s heart?”
Rae blinked, startled. “What?”
“Say I’m a dying Shifter and you need to find my heart. Where is it?”
Zander pulled his duster all the way open and leaned back, exposing the large plane of his chest. “If you miss, all you do is prolong the Shifter’s agony. He’s dying and you just shoved a big sword between his ribs.” He spread his arms. “Where is it, sweetheart? Come here and put your hand over my heart.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Shit, he was right.
Rae had never thought about it before. What happened if she drove the sword all the way through a Shifter and missed? He’d be pinned to the ground with a sword, bleeding, dying, in horrific pain, and it would be her fault.
Rae swallowed. She put aside her empty plate and scrambled to her feet.
Zander leaned back against the gunwale, his long legs in stained jeans crossed at the ankles. He had his arms spread, a thick black sweater stretching across his broad chest.
His dark eyes glittered like the translucent black stones called Apache tears that Eoin had told her was obsidian heated into glass. Those eyes held the look of a man who’d seen it all, experienced pain no one could understand. So much pain that he’d hidden in the middle of the cold Pacific, growling when anyone crossed into his territory.
Zander said nothing as Rae took a few staggering steps to him. His look wasn’t arrogant—although he was arrogant. He was waiting to see what she’d do.
Rae absently wiped her hand on her jeans, fearing to smear bacon grease on him. She halted, her foot an inch from his thigh.
Rae didn’t have to lean far to him. She moved her hand toward his chest, saw it shaking, and tried to make it stop.
Didn’t work. Whether he noticed her trembling or not, Zander’s gaze never left her face. Rae gingerly rested her palm on his chest, on the rough wool of his black sweater.
The warmth of him came through the fabric, heating her like a furnace. How a man living in this open, unending cold space could have so much heat in him she didn’t know. She felt his breath moving his chest, a vibrancy that sparked through her and made her heart pump.