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Twilight Hunter
Kait Ballenger


When danger collides with desire Jace McCannon is loyal to one cause: the Execution Underground.Despite his mixed blood, his hatred for the werewolves he hunts is legendary. But in his search for a sadistic killer, Jace finds himself face to face with a stunningly seductive pack master… and longing for a night with his mortal enemy.Nothing can stop Frankie Amato from defending her kind – or catching the rogue responsible for killing women in her territory. For that, she needs Jace. But as their investigation exposes evil truths, need burns into a passion that dare not be fulfilled.For to do so will have deadly consequences for them both…









Praise for

KAIT BALLENGER


“Non-stop action, pulse-pounding suspense, and red-hot

romance… Kait Ballenger’s Execution Underground

series delivers in spades!”

—Jaime Rush, New York Times bestselling author

“Action and romance in one mesmerizing story.

A phenomenal start to the Execution Underground

series. Shadow Hunter will leave you breathless and demanding more.” —Cecy Robson, author of Sealed with a Curse

“Taut with action, suspense, and romance that sizzles,

Shadow Hunter is an evocative prelude to what’s certain to be an exciting new series! Fans of JR Ward are going to love the sexy warriors of Kait Ballenger’s Execution Underground.” —Kate SeRine, author of Red and The Better to See You


Also available from Kait Ballenger

AFTER DARK

“Shadow Hunter”


Twilight Hunter

Kait Ballenger






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To my mom, Jessica Schulz,

for believing in me when no one else would

and for always telling me I could achieve my dreams.

I’ll love you always, mama.


Contents

CHAPTER ONE (#uf0c23ea1-6675-5474-b4ad-976d93da41f3)

CHAPTER TWO (#u6bf8ce28-a0ba-572f-a961-65d378d5b549)

CHAPTER THREE (#u69cb5ddd-5dc3-5323-9ccd-dc9d1909e05f)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u833d469e-df2c-510d-8656-5e0507de9270)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)


Skinwalker [skin-waw-ker] (n.)—1. A being capable of assuming the identity of an animal

2. God of Norse mythology 3. Shape-shifter


CHAPTER ONE

JACE MCCANNON PALMED the Mateba and clicked back the gun’s hammer. The cold grip panels of the modified revolver sat comfortably in his hand. Six silver bullets for a rogue werewolf. Limited shots. But he was feeling lucky.

He gripped the gun with both hands and lowered it to his side, slipping in and out of the shadows. The rank scent of garbage, car exhaust and piss wafted into his nose as he reached the alleyway. Ah, the sweet aroma of Rochester’s slums. He ran his tongue over his teeth, jonesing for a cigarette to drown out the smell and steady the adrenaline buzz creeping through his veins. Damn, he wanted to find this son of a bitch.

Resting his back against a brick building, he paused and glanced up. The white moon stared down at the Earth, calling him. Heat prickled beneath his skin.

He wrenched his gaze from the tempting sky and forced himself into the moment. Inhaling deeply, he rushed around the corner and scanned the area, pointing his gun into the darkness. No one. No werewolves, no hobos. Damn, not even the prostitutes were roaming.

Not that he blamed them. Regular killings weren’t anything to call home about—happened all the time. But this was different. Innocent women being found with their organs slung around their corpses, Jack-the-Ripper style. The worst part? Jace had no idea where to find the sick fuck responsible, and the thought of the young women’s pain sent his blood boiling.

He explored the alley, gun still at the ready and eyes searching for any sign of movement. A rustling noise hissed from around the next corner. Jace held his gun tight and sneaked down the narrow passage toward it. The sound grew louder, and he quickened his pace. When he reached the bend he stopped, listening closely. He threw himself around the corner, gun ready and his finger on the trigger.

A plastic bag caught on a Dumpster swished in the light wind. He cursed under his breath. Maybe he wasn’t so lucky tonight. He pushed his fingers through his hair. The cell phone jammed in the pocket of his jeans vibrated. He pulled out the annoying piece of shit and read the screen: David.

He jabbed his thumb into one of the buttons, hoping it was the right one, and shoved the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Meeting in an hour.” David’s deep voice rumbled over the line.

Aw, hell. Jace shook his head. “Don’t toy with me. I’ve got business.”

“I’m not shittin’ you, J. One hour, and you better show or Damon’s gonna rip my head off. I told him I’d get you here.”

Jace frowned. He hated being forced to carry a damn cell phone. He didn’t enjoy people contacting him whenever they pleased. “It’s nearly the full moon, David. This is my prime time. You know that.”

“You don’t have to preach to me. Damon’s the one riding your ass like a Grand Canyon donkey, not me.” David paused for a moment. “He’s gonna want a report tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. I’ll have something.”

“Sure you hear me, and I like to dress up in tutus while my girl spanks me and calls me Big Daddy.”

Jace smirked. “Hey, if that’s what gets you off...”

“Shut it,” David said. “You’ve gotta report tonight or Damon will go postal. So what are you gonna tell him?”

Jace glanced into the empty darkness surrounding him. “Same thing I told him last time—jack shit. I’m not opening my damn mouth until I’ve got their packmaster bound and chained, or, preferably, I’m carrying his head on a silver platter courtesy of my bare hands.”

David let out a frustrated sigh. “I thought you said you had something.”

“I do.” Jace lowered his voice. It didn’t matter that he was alone; some things he couldn’t say aloud if he wanted to keep his sanity. “I’ve got a scent, and it’s familiar, so I smell it everywhere. Trailing this monster’s stink is about as much fun as shooting myself in the foot.”

“It’s something.”

“You better believe it’s something. But what do you expect me to do, David? Tell the whole damn division their werewolf hunter happens to be so good at his job because he’s a friggin’ half-breed?”

Silence answered him from the other end of the line. Another rustling sound blew through the alley, but Jace ignored the noise. “Look, I’ll deal with this, all right? Forget about it. I’ll be at the damn meeting with bells on and a smiling face, but let me do it on my own terms.”

“Yeah, fine. I better see you there or the next time I’m around, I’ll have a long rope and it’ll be coming straight for your neck.”

Jace huffed. “Talk to you later, Big Daddy.”

“Yeah, you too sugar.”

With a small click, the line went dead. Jace shoved the phone in his pocket again. The swishing sound continued, the noise growing. Jace rolled his eyes, ready to ball up the grocery bag and pitch it. He eyed the plastic.

Shit. The wind had stopped. The bag wasn’t blowing.

The faint sound of footsteps echoed, and the rustling quieted. Jace lifted his revolver from his side, launching himself down the alley and around the corner. He held his gun tight, prepared to shoot.

Streetlights illuminated what lay in front of him. He stopped midrun and stared at the horror.

He gaped, all his breath escaping in one large rush. “Shit.”

Blood. There was so much blood. Splattered everywhere. The light from the overhead lamps framed the corpse like spotlights at a play starring an innocent, mutilated victim. The girl’s head hung crooked, touching her shoulder, mouth open and eyes lifeless. Her features were contorted in a look of pure terror. Her arms lay limp at what had once been her sides, and her legs were spread wide, with her pants and underwear wrapped around one ankle. The middle of her body had ceased to exist, ripped to shreds by what Jace knew were large canine teeth.

Anyone with a weak stomach would have tossed his cookies at first glance. Despite all the crazy shit Jace had seen in his years as a hunter for the Execution Underground, even his gut did a flip. What the hell was wrong with this guy? Guy? No, this killer wasn’t a person. This sicko was subhuman, and not because he was a werewolf. This was beyond evil.

Jace fought the urge to punch his fist into the brick wall beside him. His rage overcame him, and the beast inside him longed to emerge. He growled, releasing the tension, and tried to calm himself. He needed to examine the body, and fast. If the police got here, he was screwed six ways to Sunday.

He knelt by the corpse. Bruises marred her forearms and neck. Based on their colors, they had definitely been made pre-mortem. She’d been dead at least thirty minutes. He breathed in, and underneath the overpowering smell of blood, the scent of sex lingered. She’d been raped before her death.

Power. That was what this freak was all about—power. He attacked young women, humans in their early twenties, who were no match for his supernatural strength. He preys on victims he knows he can take with ease. Deep down, he’s a coward. And from the carnage of his attacks, this wasn’t just about stealing women’s sex or overpowering them. With this kind of blood display, these attacks were either personal or passionate, and Jace would bet on the second.

A sexual sadist. Anger excitation. It wasn’t the sex that got this bastard off. It was the pain of these innocent women. Intestinal damage and blood loss: a slow death, so his victims suffered in front of his eyes. He attacks them as a wolf and violates them in human form as they die. The familiar anger built inside him again.

Jace pulled a pack of Marlboro Reds from his leather trench coat. He slipped one from the box and lit up. The smoke rushed into his lungs, the nicotine calming him instantly. This shit was going to kill him, but most days he didn’t care.

A small amount of guilt rose in his chest as he stared down at the victim. Here he was, clearly not giving a rat’s ass about his health or his life, with no family left to give a shit if he died. But he was living and breathing, while this innocent girl, who’d had a full happy life ahead of her, lay at his feet, violated and murdered. She’d had something to lose, people who would miss her.

He stared into the open cavity that had once been her chest. No heart. He eats their hearts when he’s finished. Consumption shows a desire to keep part of the victim with him. No remorse. Jace grabbed the flask that always resided in his pocket. He unscrewed the cap and downed a long gulp of Bushmills Irish Whiskey. The liquor trickled down his throat in a warm rush. If this was any sign of how the night was going to go, he would need a lot more than the contents of the flask to keep his demons at bay.

He glanced at the dead girl again as he crouched at her side. He wracked his brain for any possible clues he could have missed. Careful to use only his sleeve and not leave a fingerprint, he lifted her hands and peered underneath her fingernails. No skin or fur. She hadn’t put up much of a fight. Maybe the killer took her by surprise? Given his cowardly choice of weak victims, Jace wouldn’t be surprised.

He would report to the Execution Underground and then leave things to his fellow hunters. Shane could use the voice distorter he’d rigged up to call in the crime, if need be. Jace had what he needed for his report, but he couldn’t notify the beat cops himself, not until he was certain he wouldn’t need to recheck the body. And it would take them a while to find her in the back alley like this, if they ever did.

As he stood, ready to go to the damn meeting, another scent came to him on the wind. He paused for a long moment.

What the...?

Spinning so fast the world blurred, he had his gun out and the trigger pulled within seconds. A werewolf peeked its head out of the darkness as the bullet sped straight toward its head.

The wolf dodged the ammo and bolted from the alley. Jace dashed after his target as his cigarette fell from his lips and landed next to the girl’s body. A werewolf’s speed outranked a regular human’s any day, but his boots clashed against the pavement as he tailed the monster with ease. The werewolf skidded sharply to the left with Jace on its heels, his pace never faltering. Adrenaline shot through his veins, charging him like a live wire.

He tapped the trigger of the Mateba and, aiming while he ran, he fired wide with purpose in mind, intentionally missing and using his silver bullets to herd the wolf. If he fired right, it turned left. He was careful, making each bullet count and ensuring he had one left for the kill.

One of Jace’s shots ricocheted off the ground near the werewolf’s feet. It jumped with a loud yelp and bounded into an alleyway. But he was prepared; he knew these back streets. He sprinted after the wolf. A smirk spread across his face as the monster ran into a dead end. It spun toward him and growled.

Right hand bracing his gun, he reached with his left and removed his silver dagger. When the wolf’s golden eyes locked on the weapons, it backed into a corner, and Jace swore he heard it whimper before its growling continued. Stalking like a predator, he moved forward, ready to thrust the blade into the monster’s heart. All his muscles tensed as he prepared for the animal to lunge at him. His whole body longed for a fight.

And damned if he wouldn’t give this rapist mongrel the fight of its life.


CHAPTER TWO

FROM THE MOMENT he pulled his gun, Frankie Amato knew what he was. A hunter. She’d stumbled onto a hunter. She stared down the barrel of his gun with fear and adrenaline pumping through her veins. A large lump crawled into her throat.

The rumors are true.

What had she gotten herself into? They’d murdered her kind for centuries, but as civilization progressed, their numbers had dwindled to near extinction, or so she’d thought. Shit. She hadn’t expected this. A hunter in Rochester—on her turf. How could she have been so oblivious?

In the past few months, several lone wolves who’d refused to join her pack had been murdered. As Alpha of the Rochester Pack, it was her job to protect her people and keep them out of harm’s way. But the protection she guaranteed didn’t extend to the rogue wolves, and she’d given no more than a fleeting thought to the rumors that they’d died at the hands of a hunter. Now the voices of gossip and the murmurs of trouble, which had spread like wildfire throughout her clan, smacked her in the face with a major reality check.

And son of a bitch, he’d backed her into a dead end. She’d let down her guard, and the bastard had cornered her.

She bared her canines, growling from deep within her throat. The hunter strode closer. Shadows covered his face, and his gun pointed at her head. The silver dagger he’d pulled from his coat flashed in the moonlight. Her heart pounded in fear, knowing the fate she would be subjected to if she didn’t fight fast.

Frankie’s tail hit the wall; she hadn’t realized she’d backed away in the first place. The hunter maintained the upper ground, holding the fighting advantage. Even if she lunged for him, his dagger would pierce right through her chest. Anger and rage filled her, and she snarled, dying to rip his throat out. But her sense of logic prevailed. She would shift into human form, wait until the right moment, when he thought she was weak, then speed-shift—her specialty—back into a wolf.

A shiver ran down her spine as her limbs and muscles contorted. Pleading wasn’t her style, but it was worth a chance. A loud howl escaped her lips, slowly transitioning into the cry of a woman as she shifted. She fell back against the brick wall behind her and slid to the ground, bare flesh scraping the pavement.

The hunter stepped closer. His gun barrel held steady. A streak of rage rushed through her. She hated herself for being such a moron. Why had she gone looking for the killer when she was off her game? Damn her sense of pride. She’d overestimated her ability.

On the average day, she could handle this, but now she was knee-deep in trouble and shit out of luck. Damn estrus always clouded her judgment. Hell, she’d even warned her pack against doing anything stupid. And topping the list of stupid things to do, hunting a supernatural serial killer while in her Call ranked number one by far.

She scanned the alley. Sheer brick walls, a couple of Dumpsters too far away to offer protection, and nothing amongst the garbage she could use as a weapon. Nothing that would help her escape, and there was no way in hell she could dodge around him when she was cornered like this. He’d proven he was a good shot when he oh-so-successfully corralled her into a dead end.

She lifted her hands and held them up, palms out. She wasn’t below milking the helpless-female card. Not if it saved her ass.

Draw him in. Pretend you’re weak. Then shift, finish him off and get the hell outta Dodge.

He hovered in the near shadows, a massive black silhouette, nothing visible but the width of his body and the gun still trained on her. Yeah, there was no missing that.

“I don’t know who you are,” she said. “But I’m not your enemy.”

A rough sound escaped him. Had he just scoffed at her?

“I’m serious,” she insisted. “Look at the evidence. That girl was mutilated and raped.” She gestured to her own body. “I’m not covered in blood. I’m weaponless, and I don’t have the...uh...right equipment to do what was done to that poor girl.”

Frankie held her breath as she waited for him to reply. The silence was deafening. Please let him care about her being innocent. Granted, hunters traditionally stuck to troublemaking rogues without a pack, but that didn’t mean he would spare her. Hunters were reputed to be ruthless, and he might not take pity on her. She thought of the rogue several months ago who’d been attacking random innocents just for the hell of it. She’d killed the son of a bitch personally. But even though her goal of controlling rogues aligned with his, she’d seriously played her cards wrong by coming here tonight, even if it got her out of the damn mating ceremony.

Tonight, during her estrus, she was supposed to “choose” a male to mate with, confirming him as her destined mate. Something she did not want to do. Call her sentimental, but she didn’t want an arranged mating, even though her mate had been chosen for her when she was a child. Since Alejandro was the strongest pack male and her closest friend, her parents had chosen him for her. Better Alejandro than any other pack member, she supposed, but either way, she didn’t want this mating, even though it was required of her as packmaster. Being caught by a hunter would be one hell of an excuse for skipping the ceremony, not that her current situation was preferable.

Blood rushed to her head, pounded in her ears. She opened her mouth, not really sure what she was going to say.

He took a step closer, and his scent flooded her nose.

She sucked in a deep breath. “Uh...look, you smell...” His tantalizing scent washed over her. Man, he smelled delicious. “You smell...normal. There’s no blood on you, so I know you didn’t kill her. That means we’re on the same side. We’re trying to catch the same monster.”

He didn’t speak or move. She waited several agonizing seconds.

“Stay still,” he finally muttered. “Don’t make any sudden moves.” His deep voice washed over her, and the thought of him saying her name sent a wave of heat boiling under her skin.

Damn it all to hell. Her friggin’ estrus cycle was one of the few things she hated about being a werewolf. How the hell could she be thinking about him like that when she was staring down the barrel of his gun?

His huge, black boot broke into the pool of light. Her gaze traveled up his frame as the moonlight illuminated his face. She struggled to breathe. A simmering heat rushed down her spine and lodged itself between her legs. She was suddenly aware of how very naked she was as she stared up at the heavenly hunk before her.

His raw glare penetrated her. The color of lily pads, his eyes belonged to something vibrant, complex and daring—and, if she didn’t know better, something supernatural, not a human hunter. Strands of his chin-length, auburn hair fell into his face, accenting his sharp, masculine features. His overall demeanor screamed of danger and a rough life, but his face was flawless, perfect—he looked like a model dressed in a ragged assassin’s clothing. And his body...where did she begin?

He towered over her, well over six feet, and his physique matched his height in enormity. Muscles strained against the sleeves of his trench coat, and she bet that rock-hard abs were hidden underneath the coat. An image of her kneeling in front of him in submission settled in her mind. Whoa. She’d never wanted a man to take control of her. But as she lay on the ground, sprawled naked before his eyes, the vulnerability of her situation excited her, and the thought of him having his way with her sent a rush of wet heat between her legs.

He opened his mouth, and his voice was like a growl in his chest. “Get up,” he said, his tone gruff and angry. His gun remained still.

Frankie gaped, frozen in a mixture of desire, anger and fear.

“That was an order, not a request,” he barked.

She inhaled a slow breath, found her footing and rose to her feet. Her hands shook at her sides.

“What’s your name?”

For a moment she couldn’t remember; his nearness muddled her mind. Her logical side reared its head, and her stomach churned. This man was a hunter. If she told him her name, he would know exactly who she was, and even though she wasn’t a rogue, killing the Rochester packmaster might be too sweet a temptation for a hunter to resist. She swallowed the large lump in her throat and said the first name that came to her mind.

“Francesca. My name’s Francesca.” Her mother’s name, from which her shortened version had originated. She prayed the half lie would save her. Whether now or later, if he found out who she really was, she was totally in for it.

“Turn around.”

She circled to her right and trembled harder. She imagined him taking her from behind and choked back a gasp.

“Hands behind your back.”

“What?” she asked without thinking.

“You heard me, hands behind your back.”

No way was she going quietly. “No, let me go.”

He scoffed. “Not gonna happen. You can cooperate or I can make you.”

He drew closer, and his warmth seeped over her bare skin. To hell with her traitorous body. She was going to rip him to shreds, so he couldn’t get to her first. She would let him think she was going to cooperate, then catch him unaware. She shoved her shaking wrists behind her and concentrated on her breathing. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

Now.

She spun around and lunged for the hunter’s ankles. She threw him off guard by hitting lower than he expected as she speed shifted into wolf form. He crumpled to the ground. His elbow jabbed into her side as he fell. She yelped before she sank her canines into the muscled flesh of his forearm. He let out a guttural yell.

In a sudden reaction to the pain, his grip on his gun loosened, and the weapon fell from his hand. But Frankie didn’t care if he was temporarily disarmed, if he’d lost his advantage. The asshole deserved to be ripped to shreds for killing her kind, even if they were rogues.

Shaking her head from side to side, she continued to rip at the hunter’s arm. Without warning, he shifted onto his side and slashed his knife through the air. The blade hit her skin. She released his arm as another yelp ripped from her throat. Her fur bristled as adrenaline shot through her.

Scrambling across the pavement, she bolted down the alley. He grabbed his gun and sprinted after her. She needed to gain some distance, so she could turn and get a running start to lunge again, get her momentum going back in his direction. But shit, he was fast—too fast.

The hunter threw himself through the air, landing on her back. Her nails scraped the pavement as she tried to claw away from him.

In a moment of luck, she wriggled her way free. Turning on her attacker, she jumped for his throat. Her paws hit his chest, and he slammed into the ground from the weight of the blow. She growled and snapped at his neck, but he caught her by her scruff and tossed her aside as if she weighed no more than a child’s doll. She skidded across the pavement, her skin rubbed nearly raw. A shiver ran down her spine as her limbs and muscles contorted. Damn it, because of her estrus she couldn’t hold her shift, not with her emotions running the gamut, from anger to arousal. A loud howl escaped her lips as she slowly changed back into human form.

Before she could process what was happening, he climbed on top of her. His body was flush against hers, but she continued to fight. They rolled out of the alley and into the orange glow of the streetlights. With superior strength, the hunter pinned her to the ground and shoved the sharp blade of his knife against her throat.

* * *

JACE’S BREATH POURED from his lungs in one quick rush. Adrenaline rattled his senses, and he fought to ignore the searing pain piercing his arm. The damn she-wolf had bitten him before she’d shifted back into human form. He held his knife steady at her throat, waiting for her to respond. He had to make sure she was subdued. She lay beneath him, unmoving. With him on top of her and the knife at her throat, she wasn’t going anywhere. His nerves began to calm. He stared down at her face.

Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. His cock stood at attention, throbbing and hard in a full-on salute. He salivated like a starving man as his eyes scanned over the silky, golden-brown skin of the beauty lying beneath him. What the fuck was wrong with him? A female werewolf had just tried to rip his ass to shreds, and now he was checking her out?

If that didn’t take this fiasco to a whole new level of clusterfuck, he didn’t know what did.

She was naked, every inch of her flesh bare. His eyes feasted on her body, and man, she was exquisite. As petite as she appeared, her legs stretched for miles, defined with strong yet feminine muscles. Her long ebony-black hair shone in the streetlights, barely covering a pair of high, full breasts, and he knew from his earlier view that she had a fine round ass just begging to be squeezed.

His dick twitched at the thought of those legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into her, fisting her hair as she yelled his name with those perfectly full lips of hers. And man, did Princess have a set of eyes. But there was a look of pure fight underneath the chocolate-brown surface as she glared at him, the look of a female warrior.

A warrior who’d taken a nice big bite out of his arm with her canines and nearly escaped him twice. With his half-wolf blood, he healed pretty quickly, but given the strength of her teeth in wolf form, that bitch of a wound would take a lot longer than usual to heal.

He inhaled a deep breath. He needed to get hold of himself and clear his head, erase the burn pulsating through him. She was a werewolf, and he knew very well that whether she was an Alpha or an Omega female, she was nothing but trouble and seduction. The first female he’d encountered in all his years of hunting—his attraction to her shouldn’t have been a surprise, right? This must be how it had been for his father when he’d met the female werewolf who’d proven so irresistible that he’d left Jace’s human mother for her. It was meant to be.

The image of his mother’s tearstained face crossed his mind. She was sitting at the kitchen table of their shabby apartment, her head buried in her hands. He heard the boiling pot on the stove hiss as the contents overflowed. Potato soup. One of the only things they could afford after his dad walked out.

His father was weak, and there was no way in hell he would let himself follow suit.

Jace’s mind snapped to the present, and his gaze narrowed into a thin glare. “Don’t even think of trying to escape again.”

Slowly he eased off her, hand on his gun and knife still at the ready. Between the woman, the weapons and the prospect of her shifting into a wolf again, he seriously had his hands full.

“Get up,” he said. “Any sudden movement and a bullet is coming straight for you.”

She carefully rose to her feet, and the few shadows cast on her naked frame disappeared, revealing an even better view of her beauty. Jace kept the gun aimed as he stepped behind her.

With his knife held to her throat again, he holstered his gun, though his body screamed for him to caress her. He gripped her shoulder and drew her toward him.

Jace swore under his breath. His eyes had been treated to a prime-time view of her sweet behind, and his palm itched to touch her. He swallowed the large lump in his throat and tried to control himself. She was a damn werewolf. What was wrong with him?

He reached to his belt clip and pulled out a pair of silver cuffs. He always carried them, though he’d never needed them until now. “You know the drill. Hands behind your back, before I change my mind and kill you.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t rip your throat out, asshole.” She thrust her hands behind her, careful not to lean into his knife at her throat.

Despite her words, his dick jerked again as her smooth, feminine voice hit his ears like the call of a siren.

“This is ridiculous,” she growled.

No argument there. Ridiculous didn’t even begin to cover it. Fucked up beyond comprehension was more like it.

He slapped the cuffs on. She groaned in pain as the metal rubbed her skin. Jace’s heart panged at the sound of her agony, but his anger and frustration spiked, and self-loathing filled his mind. Aside from the fact that he didn’t hurt women, why was he being so merciful?

He shifted his dagger to his left hand. Stepping toward her, he lifted the blade to her throat and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to him. But as his hand made contact with the skin of her stomach, every instinct in him fired. An electric charge surged up his arms and through his whole body.

Instinctively, he held her closer, and her fine ass pushed against him, nearly sending him over the edge. A low growl drummed in his throat. He tilted the knife farther, leaning her neck into him until he buried his face in her long hair. The smell of gardenias flooded his nose, and he couldn’t hold himself back from wanting her.

* * *

ROBERT LINGERED IN the shadows of the alley amidst the Dumpsters and the trash left behind by the resident lowlifes. He slipped through the darkness with the subtlety of a skilled predator. When he’d finished carving his latest masterpiece from his worthless slew of whores, he’d stuck around, and not just for his usual grind with his pale-faced pussy.

He stared down the alley. His gaze locked on to Jace and the werewolf bitch. He watched as Jace tightened the silver handcuffs he’d slipped on her wrists. What the hell was Jace’s problem? Why hadn’t he killed her yet? Robert’s blood simmered, and an impatient grin crossed his face as he waited for the moment to come. Would Jace take her like he took his whores? There were few things he would love more than to see Jace bloody his hands. The image of the mutt’s blood soaking Jace’s clothing as he loomed over her mutilated body crept into Robert’s mind, and he felt his dick stiffen. She would be so sweet lying cold and still beneath him.

Long moments passed, and Robert waited in anticipation. Still nothing. What sort of game was Jace playing? After several more moments, when the weak bastard didn’t even give the bitch so much as a paper cut, a feeling of annoyance passed through Robert. He frowned as Jace led her from the alley. Jace was weak, pathetic. Nothing but another crying, bleeding heart.

Fine. If Jace refused to serve as his added amusement for the evening, something else would.

Once Robert heard the hunter and the were-bitch retreat, he wandered through the alley until he found what he was looking for: the bitch’s scent. For fourteen blocks he followed her smell, finally ending up at a nondescript apartment building. He picked the lock with ease, a trick his father taught him when he was five. He strolled nonchalantly up two flights of stairs until he reached an apartment door that reeked of her too-sweet stench. The smell infected him, seeping into his skin like an airborne poison. After unlatching the door with his pick, he slipped inside and flipped on the lights.

A small one-bedroom apartment: nothing but a four-poster bed, a bathroom, a tiny kitchen and some random pieces of furniture. He walked over to a nearby desk and gazed at several of the pictures. He picked up one of an older middle-aged couple posed together with a young girl in front of them, smiling for the camera. The bitch and her family.

Just fucking heartwarming.

He dropped the picture and watched the glass scatter across the floor. He picked up one of the shards and pressed the flesh of his thumb against the point. A sharp pain pierced his skin, and he savored the feeling as he admired the drop of blood emerging from the wound.

Nothing interesting in this apartment, not even...

He caught sight of a flashing red light. He turned to find an old-style answering machine attached to a landline. He pressed the play button.

“You have one unheard message. First message,” said the automated female voice.

The voice was quickly followed by a momentary rustling before a man’s voice came through the line. “Frankie? Frankie? It’s me. Please, pick up.” The voice paused. “Ay dios. Our mating ceremony was supposed to start an hour ago and...”

Robert stopped listening as a slow grin spread across his face. Frankie? He let out a low chuckle at his sheer luck.

Rochester’s packmaster. Jace really was playing games after all.


CHAPTER THREE

JACE WAS SCREWED, so totally screwed. He slammed the door to his black H3 and moved to the driver’s side of the Hummer. Reaching for the handle, he silently cursed himself and wondered what the hell his problem was. Catch and kill. That had always been his philosophy when it came to hunting. Never once had he let one of those monsters live. Until now.

He climbed into the car and closed the door behind him. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw her wiggling in the backseat, naked breasts swaying as she fumbled against the cuffs. He shifted his weight, and his erection pressed against his pants. As much as he wanted to succumb to her beauty and the electricity that flowed between them when they touched, he knew better. He’d already thought too much with his lower head tonight.

She was right about the evidence. With no blood on her, no weapons and a different scent, there was no question she hadn’t killed that girl. But either way, letting her live was a betrayal of his job and his fellow hunters. And damn it, he sure as hell wasn’t about to change his convictions for a sweet lay. Werewolves were his enemies and always had been. He slammed his fist onto the steering wheel. The whole situation was bullshit. She hadn’t done anything wrong, so he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to kill her, but shit, she was a wolf.

He revved the engine and glanced in the mirror one more time. Her jaw clenched, pure frustration evident on her face as she continued to struggle with the handcuffs. Princess was seriously pissed off. Ripping his eyes from her gorgeous body, he pulled away from the curb and floored the gas pedal. Damn meeting started in fifteen minutes.

He patted his pocket, searching for his cigarettes, and slipped one out. He fumbled with his lighter until he finally lit up, then exhaled the smoke with the cancer stick still in his mouth.

A feminine cough sounded from the backseat. “Just because you want to destroy your lungs, doesn’t mean I want to ruin mine.”

Jace lifted the cigarette from his lips and blew the smoke into the air. “Rather demanding for a captive, don’t you think? Besides, we both know it isn’t going to kill you. You werewolves are pretty damn indestructible when it comes to drugs and alcohol.” He fought back a near laugh. He knew that all too well, didn’t he?

“I’m no one’s captive.” She glared at him in the rearview mirror.

Jace raised a single eyebrow. “Then what do you call those cuffs there?”

A deep scowl crossed her face, and even with an angry frown, she was still beautiful. “I’ll get out of here, and the first thing on my to-do list will be ripping your throat out with my teeth.”

“Feisty much?” He blew out more smoke before lifting one side of his mouth into a half grin.

“Kiss my ass.”

“Gladly.” He smirked. “Though I’d prefer to feel it first, if you don’t mind.” He checked the mirror; a blush bloomed across her high cheekbones, strong enough to show through her golden brown skin. His heart jumped, revving to life like his car’s engine.

His fingers whitened against the steering wheel before he slammed his fist into it again. He needed to focus. Meeting...meeting...meeting...man, those big brown eyes.

“Damn it.” She was killing him. She’d been around maybe twenty minutes, at the most, and already he regretted every decision he’d made thus far.

Why didn’t I shoot her in the head? Boom, problem solved.

“What’s your problem?” she asked. An electric shock zoomed down his spine at the sound of her voice.

“Captive, remember? That means you’re supposed to be quiet.”

“I won’t shut up until you gag me.”

“That can be arranged.” He puffed harder on his cigarette, filling the car with smoke.

“Try it,” she taunted.

Nothing he felt like trying, he thought. He would likely lose a finger or two in the process.

She coughed again. “Could you roll down a window or something for hell’s sake?”

He flicked the ashes out the window. “You’ve got a really big mouth, don’t you?”

“The better to rip your throat out.” She smiled, and in the rearview mirror he saw her long canines. He ran his tongue across his teeth—he had a pair of his own.

Sexy.

The word ran through his mind before he could stop it, and he instantly hated himself all the more. He thought of his mother’s face: the purple and yellow bruises that marred her porcelain skin and the wrinkles around her eyes as she sobbed. That was the night he walked out, leaving her unable to provide for her rapidly growing son, and slamming Jace with a life-long curse. Damn. He wasn’t right in the head, fantasizing about sex with one those monsters.

And as if his self-hate wasn’t enough, her voice taunted him, poking fun at his agony by driving him wild.

“You know, I—”

He stomped on the Hummer’s brakes, and the car jerked. Princess toppled halfway into the front seat, and only his death grip on the steering wheel stopped his forehead from colliding with the dashboard.

“Ow! What the—”

He turned to her, eyes narrowed in anger. Her mouth snapped shut when she met his gaze. As he spoke, his beast’s rage overtook him.

“Enough. Let’s get something straight. Unless you want a forty-caliber lodged in your skull, I suggest you keep your mouth zipped up nice and tight. Got it?”

She shook her head, the movement almost imperceptible, so it looked like she was trembling. Maybe she was. Shit. She peeled herself off the floorboard and retreated back to her spot without another word. He hit the gas again and sped toward the council’s warehouse four blocks away.

The small sniffle he heard behind him ripped at his heart. He tried to ignore it and focus on driving. Another sniffle. He couldn’t help himself. He checked the mirror.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, staining her perfect face. Her legs were hunched up to her breasts, and she was staring at the floor. His heart ached, threatening to explode. She was naked and vulnerable, and he’d just issued her a death threat. A wave of guilt shot through him as he thought of how he’d roughed her up in the alley. He really was a worthless bastard. He’d sworn to himself that he would never be like his father, never hurt a woman, but in the end he was no better than his asshole dad. Did it matter that she was a werewolf? She was still a woman. The angel and devil on his shoulders duked it out. He wasn’t quite sure which one was calling him a jackass. Maybe both.

Speeding around a final corner, he spotted the abandoned warehouse where the council held its meetings. He drove to the entrance and parked the H3, glad he had tinted windows. Before he chanced doing something stupid, he twisted the rearview mirror away from him, so her reflection wouldn’t tear him apart.

He stepped out of the car and glanced back at her. “This car is alarmed. Open a door, shatter the glass, fuck with the wiring, and the noise will wake the dead. That’ll bring me and three other supernatural-hating sons of bitches running.” His gaze raked over her nude form. “Unless you want that kind of attention...”

He slammed the door and walked toward the warehouse. Never in his life had he wanted to attend a council meeting so badly.

* * *

JACE STRODE INTO the rusted, run-down warehouse as he pulled yet another Marlboro from his trench coat and stuck it between his lips. Looking up from his lighter, he glanced at the three other hunters. Damon was sitting at the far end of the table, his hands folded together on his lap as he shot daggers at Jace with his ice-blue eyes. The usual warm fuzzy welcome.

The massive building was empty save for the single table, several overhead drop lights and the mounds upon mounds of old crates they’d put in to make the place seem more like an actual warehouse. Someone would be hard-pressed to find the switch that opened the door to the hidden room that held the Rochester division’s headquarters, unless they moved a hell of a lot of wooden crates. Even if they located the keypad, they would still be faced with the code and the body scanner.

Damon spoke. “You’re la—”

“No.” Jace held up one finger, cutting Damon off. He took a long pull on his cigarette, exhaled, then glanced down at his watch with a smug grin on his face. “Now I’m late.”

Damon’s face hardened into a frozen mask, but Jace knew the overwhelming anger that lay beneath that cold, impassive stare. Jace felt rage—it was in his blood—but Damon took angst and made it into a lifestyle. Head of the council and the fiercest vampire slayer Jace had ever seen, Damon Brock never smiled, and he sure as hell couldn’t take a joke.

“Sit down,” Damon ordered.

Jace flopped into one of the hard, metal chairs and propped his dirt-covered boots on the table. David sat at Damon’s right side with his large hand covering his black goatee as he snickered.

Jace nodded in his direction. “How’s it going, Big Daddy?”

“Not too bad, sugarplum.” A smirk crept across David’s face, reaching all the way to his black eyes.

Jace had never seen a woman who didn’t give David the “look” as soon as she met him, taking in that dark hair shaved close to his head, near-black irises, golden skin and chiseled features, scanning up and down his tall, massively built body, lingering on his massive shoulders and irresistible grin. But the entire time Jace had known him, David had had only two things on his mind: toasting demons and banishing their sorry asses back into hell, and Allsún, a girl he would never have again.

Jace and David exchanged smirks. David may have kept Jace in check and coming to meetings, but he wasn’t beyond goofing off a bit to grate on Damon’s nerves. Damon always responded as if they were undermining the entire division, making it almost impossible to resist fulfilling his paranoid expectations at least occasionally.

A grim look crossed Damon’s face. “What have you two been doing in your spare time?”

Jace fought not to roll his eyes at the predictable question. Damon was always suspecting him and David of conspiring over something. “Getting more action than you, that’s for sure,” he said. As a matter of fact, he could think of a very naked, gorgeous woman he would like to get some action with at that very moment. He shook his head. Now was definitely not the time. “Of course, none of us is getting as much as Shane over there. Ain’t that right, kid?” He winked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And if you mean sexual intercourse, then no.” Shane fiddled with the buttons on his dress shirt. Though he was dressed to a nerdy tee, as usual, behind his gold-rimmed glasses and shy attitude there was a fighter in there, and Jace knew that if Shane would just ditch the specs and let loose, his problems with women would be cured.

“Come on, Shane. One of these days you’ll need to get familiar with the ladies.” David lightly punched Shane’s arm.

Damon frowned. “If all of you would stop goofing around, we’ve got a bunch of mutilated dead girls to talk about.”

Like he would ever forget that vicious mess he’d encountered in the alley, Jace thought, and pulled hard on his cigarette. “Mutilated dead girls—way to spoil the mood.”

Damon’s eyes narrowed into thin slits, his permanent grimace still in place. “Mouths shut and weapons in the bin. You know the drill. McCannon, you first.”

Damon grabbed a plastic bin from the floor, placed it on the table and pushed it forward. All weapons went into the bin before anyone was allowed to enter the HQ room. Standard protocol given the scanners they had to pass through in order to enter.

Jace pulled out his gun and unsheathed his dagger. He slapped both on the table and pushed them toward Damon.

Damon shot him a glare. “All of it.”

Jace frowned. He reached toward his ankles, feet still on the table, and removed two more daggers. “There.”

“David, your turn,” Damon said.

David stuck his hand down his shirt and pulled out a large Star of David necklace. He set it on the table before he emptied the contents of his pockets: multiple vials of holy water, a small collection of gold religious relics, several knives and finally a bag of salt. Rochester’s premiere demon exorcist, David Aronowitz, was more likely to be found wandering heavily armed through the city’s underground scene than wearing a yarmulke and keeping kosher. Unknown to the tiny ninety-five-year-old grandmother he adored, David regularly filleted demons Rambo style for a living.

David leaned his elbows on the table. “That’s all I got, D.” He shot Shane a glance. “You next, buddy.”

Shane pulled his basic nine-millimeter handgun from its holster on the side of his dress pants and carefully placed it on the table. He grinned for a moment, like he was finished, before he put his hand up. “Oh, sorry, I forgot—just one second.” Twisting in his chair, he unsnapped the flap of the messenger bag hanging from the back of his chair. With a loud boom, he dropped a massive book on the table.

Jace chuckled, and David belly-laughed right along with him.

David rested his head in his hand as he continued to laugh. “Shane, how many times do we have to tell you that a book is not a weapon? The scanner won’t even pick it up.”

“I beg to differ. It’s actually a very powerful tool. This book contains mounds of information about the rituals of pagan religion. It comes in quite handy when...”

He continued rambling while Jace stubbed out his cigarette. Dr. Shane Gray specialized in all things occult and studied the nastier ends of human society. But while his multiple Ph.D.s proved he had a lot of brains, he’d acquired jack shit in terms of street smarts.

“If you look at this page here, it shows you the diagram of the—”

Jace plucked his flask from his pocket and unscrewed the cap. “Come on already. If the kid thinks the damn book is a weapon, let him check it. He’s gotta have something other than a gun. It proves he’s got brains. That’s one hell of a weapon in my opinion.” He took a swig of the whiskey and felt the burn slip down his throat. With the way the evening was going, he would need a lot more alcohol to drown out the nightmares. Damn things had plagued him nearly every night since his dad left, and on the nights when his inner beast surfaced, it was nearly impossible to find any peace. That, combined with his thoughts continuing to wander to the divine woman in the backseat of his car, who happened to be a werewolf...well, best to start drowning the beast now if he had any hope of sleeping tonight.

Damon banged his fist on the table. “Would you all quit chatting like schoolgirls and get a move on?”

Jace dropped his boots off the table. “Why’re you in such a hurry?”

“Efficiency,” Damon said. He slapped a stake, a crucifix, two daggers and a handgun on the table, before he unsheathed a short but sharp steel-bladed sword from a holster on his spine.

Jace raised a brow. “Overkill much?”

Damon shot Jace a look of annoyance. He quickly placed all the weapons into the bin, taking special care with the sword, the knives and the glass vials. Everyone stood from the table and walked, with Damon leading the way, to the far side of the room, where David moved aside several large wooden crates, revealing a small switch in the wall.

When Damon flipped the switch, a small section of the metal-panel wall slid open. A small keyboard popped out, and Damon punched in the code. There was a swish as a compartment opened, and then Damon lowered the bin inside. Once the weapons were secured, the hidden entrance on the warehouse wall folded open. Damon stepped inside, then stood stock-still as the laser scanner ran over his body.

“Cleared,” an artificial voice said.

Damon moved past the portal, and the other men took turns following him through the scanner. When they finished, all four of them descended the basement staircase into the control room at the heart of their operation. Multicolors flashed across the array of screens connected to the computer database. The Execution Underground bosses never skimped on their tech budget.

Damon’s expression was all business as he took his regular seat. “We need to focus our efforts on the case of these mutilated women.”

Damon’s voice droned on, and Jace fought to pay attention. What if she got loose? He would be screwed. She would tell the local packmaster that he had moved into the area, and then all the damn monsters would be on the lookout for him.

“Jace, get your head out of your ass and focus,” Damon barked. “This concerns you more than anyone.”

Jace looked up and frowned, but he managed to keep his mouth shut. Someone needed to teach Damon a lesson in manners.

After several long seconds of glaring, Damon turned back to the group. “As I was saying, the deaths started nearly three weeks ago, and that’s just here. It could’ve been going on in other cities around the state or even the country for months, even years. The frequency is escalating, which means we’ve got to end this, and soon. Not only for the sake of the victims, but to save our own asses, as well. We can’t have HQ breathing down our necks and finding out how infested this city is with supernatural scum. Four young women, mutilated and dead, means—”

Jace sighed. “Five.”

Damon closed his mouth and the room fell completely still. Jace stood and leaned against the nearest wall.

“Right after David called me about the meeting, I found her in an alley. Same M.O.—ripped to shreds and then raped while she bled out.”

Damon’s hands clenched into fists. “You’ve had three weeks. Three weeks to find this son of a bitch, and yet innocent girls are still being murdered on your watch.”

The anger Jace directed toward himself and his rage at the killer combined with his current frustration and bubbled beneath his skin. Had the Mateba been clipped at his side, a bullet would already have zoomed straight through Damon’s smug face.

David and Shane glanced away from the argument in progress, uncomfortable with the skyrocketing level of anger on display. They busied themselves pretending to multi-task. Shane started scribbling notes on his paperwork, and David fiddled with the items surrounding his computer as if counting paperclips was an extremely important task.

Jace pointed straight at Damon. “You can’t pin this on me. You aren’t out there every night trying to track this monster down. I’m the only one working this damn assignment.”

“Because it’s your area of expertise,” Damon said.

Jace pushed away from the wall and straightened to his full height. “Just because the guy’s a werewolf, that doesn’t make it solely my problem.”

“What if he isn’t a werewolf?” Shane interjected.

Jace’s head whipped in his direction. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Shane ignored his pissed-off tone and continued. Sometimes the kid had more guts than Jace gave him credit for.

“I mean, have we really considered the possibility that this could be something else? Maybe that’s why you’ve had such difficulty catching him?”

“Shane has a point,” David said. “Have we really thought about it? We need to keep our minds open. For all we know, it could be some bastard who likes to pretend he’s the new and improved Ted Bundy. He could be human.”

Jace slammed his fist against the wall. “I know this is a werewolf, all right?”

Shane piped in again. “But how can you be certain if—”

“I’ve never been so certain in my damn life. The way this shithead rips open his victims isn’t possible with human hands or human weapons—or human teeth. So unless he’s siccing a pack of rabid dogs on these girls after he rapes them, then there is no damn way this is anything other than a werewolf attack. Everybody got that?”

David moved to stand at Jace’s side and slapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Why don’t you call Trent tonight and see if he’ll check it out? Maybe it’s some other kind of shifter. He’d know. We can talk to him and Ash when they get back from helping the Brooklyn division catch that ghost shifter. They’ll be at the meeting tomorrow morning.”

Jace gritted his teeth together and kept his jaw clamped shut. He thought of the female wolf out in his car. What the hell was he going to do with her? He pulled at his sleeve and hoped to hell that the blood from his wound wasn’t seeping through his trench coat. At least the wound was starting to knit itself back together. He could feel it.

“While we’re at it, why not have Shane take a look, too? Maybe this has to do with the voodoo stuff he likes so much,” David said. “I’ll go with you, Shane.”

Shane smiled from ear to ear. He didn’t get to do much out in the field, and Jace could tell he was stoked. “I can examine the scene for any possible evidence of occult ritual activities. But you know, rarely is there actually a—”

Jace let out a low growl. “The cops have probably stumbled across her by now. Though even the beat cops avoid those back alleys, so who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky and find her the way I did—legs spread, heart missing and organs thrown around like fucking confetti over the asphalt. So once you’ve all taken a good long look and made a spectacle of this poor girl’s corpse, why don’t you give me a holler so I can say I told you so?”

Damon glared at Jace, his high cheekbones casting shadows across his features, hollowing him out like a dead man. “If this is a werewolf, you have one week from tomorrow before HQ takes over the investigation and I have to replace you on grounds of incompetence. They’re breathing down my neck as it is, and they’re not going to sit back and do nothing if civilians keep dying,”

“That isn’t gonna happen. I’m the best damn werewolf hunter on the East Coast, and you know it, Damon. Don’t give me that shit.”

“Please, Jace, no reason to use so much humility.” Damon wrenched open a drawer and pulled out a large stack of papers. “This meeting is over.” He turned away from Jace and glued his gaze to the pages. “All of you fill out your damn paperwork so HQ can have their damn signatures, then scan it into the computers and go home. David, I need the updated report on that Vetis demon possession, and someone call Trent and tell him to get his shit together and give me some notes on the influx of shifters. I want to know why the hell, on a regular basis, we’re being overrun with freaks who shift into alley cats. And while you’re at it, tell Ash I need a report from him on the haunting in that old psych ward.”

Jace fought hard not to put his fist through one of the computer screens. “Why the hell did we have a damn meeting if it’s only going to last ten minutes? You could’ve picked up a phone if all you wanted was to verbally ream my ass.”

Damon didn’t look up. “Perhaps it would have lasted longer if you hadn’t pissed me off.”

Without another word, Jace strode out the door, and back up the stairs.

David called after him. “J., I’m—”

The large metal entrance to their haven slammed in its frame, cutting him off. The cold air of the unheated warehouse hit Jace hard. He exhaled and watched his breath swirl in the overhead light, like steam from his anger. His thoughts flashed through the night’s events, and he frowned.

Mutilated dead girls, a pissed-off werewolf hunter and a naked vixen. Not a good combination.

* * *

DAVID SAT DOWN at his desk and stared at the back of Damon’s head after Jace stormed out. Another meeting, another “my dick is bigger than yours” contest between Jace and Damon. They might as well pull their cocks out for everyone to see so they could settle the battle once and for all. Damon’s constant harping on Jace’s every move was getting old.

David crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do you have to bust his balls like that? You know it only makes him want to challenge you more.”

Setting down his pen, Damon looked up from his paperwork. “David, it would serve you best to keep your mouth shut.”

David threw up his hands in surrender. Man, was Damon good at overreacting. “Look, I’m just trying to promote some camaraderie here.”

Damon turned and glared at him with his piercing, ice-blue eyes, then returned to his reports. “When I want your input, I’ll let you know.”

David frowned. He swore Damon lived with a permanent stick shoved up his ass. It would explain the pissed-off attitude 24/7. But pissed off or not, there was no way he was about to let Damon dismiss him that easily. “HQ encourages all hunters to form alliances with each other. We’re an international network, not a bunch of loosely affiliated individuals. Their words, not mine.”

Damon threw his pen onto his desk, his jaw clenched tight. He turned to David again. His eyes narrowed with a look of sheer annoyance. “I suggest that unless you want to join Jace on the fast track to losing your job, you shut the hell up while you’re ahead.”

David gripped the edge of his chair. He was willing to put up with a lot of bullshit, but leader or not, no one talked to him like that, and no one threatened his job.

Standing, he pointed at Damon. “Don’t think that just because I’m not as rebellious as Jace that means I’m gonna sit here and take your shit. If that’s the game you wanna play, then so be it. But my ass is covered. I’ve never stepped a foot out of line, and you know it. Can you say the same?”

“Are you implying that I don’t follow protocol?” Damon asked.

David shook his head. “I’m not implying anything. I’m saying that a hunter who does everything by the book is a good hunter. A hunter who throws the book at others like it’s the damn Torah is covering up his own mistakes by pointing out others’.”

David walked toward the door and paused, then glanced back. He couldn’t let Damon’s threats go any further. He’d taken it one step too far this time. “I’m calling your bluff, Damon. You can’t and won’t fire Jace, because he really is the best damn werewolf hunter on the East Coast. We all know he’s not exaggerating when he says that. It’s pure fact, and if you take him off the case just to prove your own stupid point, you’re a fool and those girls’ blood is on your hands. And you won’t fire me, either, because where are you going to find another demon hunter with my kind of experience? When you find someone who has known how to summon demons and sense demonic possession since they were five, you let me know. Then I’ll start being afraid of your threats.”

David turned to Shane and nodded for him to follow. “Come on. We’ll go examine the crime scene again, since our leader here can’t trust the judgment of his expert hunters.”

Shane’s eyes widened. Without a word, he snatched his messenger bag off the back of his chair and hurried after David.

Damon didn’t bother to say a word.

* * *

FRANKIE THREW ALL her body weight against the H3’s window. Her shoulder hit the glass and sent pain surging through her torso. She maneuvered her hands onto the handle one more time and pulled. Nothing.

“Damn it,” she said into the silence.

She rested against the seat, the leather sticking to her naked skin despite the cold temperature. She let out a loud huff. Locked up in a hunter’s car, and every escape route she’d tried thus far hadn’t worked.

To think, this morning she’d been bitching about how quickly her hair and nails grew during her estrus. Normally she loved going to the salon for a mani-pedi, but having to do it every couple of days got old fast. She was eternally ungrateful to her werewolf ancestry for saddling her with the problem. That had been her worst concern during the day. Well, that and the whole Alpha-mating thing. Boy, had that come back to bite her in the ass.

A small pang hit her chest. Alejandro would never forgive her for skipping out on their arranged mating ceremony. It wasn’t his fault he’d been chosen to be her mate. He hadn’t chosen it any more than she had, but she knew he was a stickler for tradition, and leaving him at the altar had shamed him in front of the pack. She hated to think of such a strong warrior, her closest confidante, being hurt by her betrayal. She and Alejandro had grown up together. She felt she owed him more than that. But how could she take him as a mate, a husband, when she loved him only as a friend?

Pushing the thoughts from her mind, she willed her body to change. In her wolf form, these shackles would slide from her wrists, and she could launch herself at his throat with three-inch canines the moment he opened the door. Unfortunately, that opportunity had passed some time ago, quite literally, with the clock ticking past midnight. Changing now was nearly impossible with her body’s yearly estrus period, her mating cycle, kicking into gear. Not that she would have been likely to manage it anyway, not with the silver cuffs on her wrists.

But damn, she had to try something.

Think, Frankie. Think.

Trying every handle and unlock button—no easy feat while handcuffed—hadn’t yielded any luck, either. The hunter hadn’t lied—there was no way in hell she could get out of this gas-guzzler unless he allowed it.

She kicked the window out of sheer annoyance. Though it had proved impossible to break earlier, she had to keep trying. Her foot slammed into the glass. The release of tension calmed her, and she side-kicked harder, finally leaving a solid crack, but the window refused to shatter. It had to be bulletproof.

Tomorrow. She would escape tomorrow. When the mating call had passed and she was back to her full power, she would take the bastard down. She would be in top shape. Already the knife wound and her scrapes had healed, despite the weakness associated with her mating cycle. But until then, she was stuck. Damn.

“Stupid. Handsome. Kidnapping. Psycho,” she grumbled, timing a word with each blow. Cracks splintered across the glass, but it still refused to break.

“What the hell are you doing to my car?”

She peered into the front seat. The hunter was back, so quiet and stealthy, she hadn’t heard him arrive.

He twisted the rearview mirror to watch her. “I thought I told you there was no point in wasting your energy?”

“I had to try. You could’ve been lying.”

The car’s engine purred to life. He shifted into Drive, and they sped away from the warehouse. “I am not a liar.” His words sounded like a growl.

Frankie’s eyes widened. Apparently she’d jabbed a soft spot. She fought to keep a smirk off her face as she realized the advantage this could give her. She thanked herself for paying attention in psychology way back in high school, before dance became her focus.

“Well, if you’re not a liar, that must mean you’re not a bad guy, right?”

“What are you getting at?” he said, his voice as gruff and angry as before.

“I mean to say, if you’re not a bad guy, why bother taking me captive? You’re not going to kill me or you would’ve done it already.”

“Are you sure?”

The pit of her stomach shimmied like she was teaching one of her salsa classes. She wasn’t sure. But she had to take the chance. She wanted him to be good. Needed him to be good. Her life depended on it.

Right now, Mr. Hunky Hunter saw her as an object, a monster, exactly like his job told him to. She needed to humanize herself.

“You know, I’d really like some clothes. I had some stuffed in a backpack near where you caught me. I’m a normal person. I don’t usually walk around nude.”

“You do when you’re with your pack.” He pulled out another cigarette and lit it. “If you’re even part of a pack.”

She coughed, trying to take in as little smoke as possible. He smelled beautiful, but the smoke drowned out his natural scent. The man seriously needed NicoDerm CQ. He blew out more smoke, and she swore she could already feel her lungs shriveling into black prunes.

“Are you? Part of a pack?”

She stayed silent. Would he hate her more if she belonged to a pack or if she were a rogue? Considering the recent DOA rogues, she would bet on the latter.

“A rogue, huh?” He glanced at her in the mirror.

Her heart pounded faster as she stared into the reflection of his luminous green eyes. She cleared her throat. Damn hormones. “I’m in a pack.”

Her pack. Even after functioning as packmaster for three years, she still struggled to absorb the idea. But through her blood, she had birthright, and since her mother and father’s deaths, she had fulfilled her duty. No brothers, no sisters, no cousins. Just her. She was the only one left, and now the first Alpha female ever to run Rochester.

He turned to the road again, and she leaned into her seat. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer her. His gaze was focused on the road ahead of him with an intense concentration. A strand of his silky auburn hair slid across his headrest, and her fingers itched to reach out and touch it. Ruggedly handsome, the hunter looked as if he’d strolled out of one of her most intimate fantasies, and the image of her hands running over his strong, muscled shoulders shook her.

The car stopped, and her whole body jerked forward. The hunter hurried from the car. A cold burst of air rushed into the vehicle as he opened the door beside her. He leaned in close and pushed the barrel of his gun into her lower back.

“You know the drill. Don’t say a damn word.”

She clamped her jaw shut and didn’t move.

“Good girl. Now get out of the car.”

Slowly she stepped out of the Hummer, praying for someone to see her and call the cops to report her for indecent exposure. Man, would she love to see a cop right now. Her captor grabbed hold of her arms and led her onto the sidewalk toward a nearby brownstone. He marched her right up to the entryway before he paused and entered the door code. As soon as the green button lit up, he pushed her inside and paraded her up the stairs.

They climbed two flights and finally reached a shabby wooden door sporting a pitted brass number six hanging a little too far to the right. He pulled a key—hanging on a chain like a dog tag—from inside his shirt and jammed it into the lock. The tumblers clicked, and he hurried Frankie into the run-down apartment.

Bleak. That was the one word to describe the small space. A flattened, faded, brown couch sat in the middle of the room, facing a T.V. From the dust on the screen, it was rarely, if ever, used. A small gas stove, a refrigerator, and of course, every man’s best cooking pal, a microwave, sat against the far wall—no division between the living room and the makeshift kitchen. An open door stood across from her, leading into what appeared to be his bedroom. The faint scent of cigarette smoke hung in the air.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” she said as he herded her farther into the apartment.

He ignored her sarcasm and used his key to lock the door behind them. “It locks from the inside, so don’t try to get out.” Standing there handcuffed and naked, she watched him wander into his bedroom, peel off his trench coat and throw it onto the bed.

She wiggled her wrists around, fighting against the handcuffs to no avail. She could already feel the silver beginning to burn her skin. What the hell was she supposed to do? Just stand and wait? She glanced up again, and her breath stopped short as the hunter turned and met her gaze. A warm flush crept through her, and a flood of heat emanated from her core. His appeal in the alleyway was nothing compared to the handsome, rugged man who stood before her now.

In the light, his dark auburn hair glistened and the vibrancy in his emerald eyes took on a life of its own. With the trench coat gone, he sported a pair of faded jeans and a black T-shirt that conveniently hugged his muscular body in all the right places. She slouched in on herself, trying to hide her bare breasts. The thought of his hair brushing against her cheek while he laid her down crossed her mind.

She lowered her stare to the floor. “Um...can I have some clothes, or at least something to cover up?”

When she looked at him again, all the air rushed from her lungs. His eyes ran over her body, and she would have sworn his irises flashed a hint of gold, the familiar color of a wolf’s eyes. But that couldn’t be right. He hunted her kind. She shook her head.

Friggin’ Stockholm syndrome!

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Nothing. My mind is just playing tricks on me, that’s all.” She paused. “The clothes...uh...please?”

He looked at her for another long moment before he walked into his room. He returned with a white dress shirt extended in his hand.

She rattled her handcuffs. “A little help would be nice.”

He stalked behind her, his gait smooth and graceful like an animal’s. Yanking her closer to him, he worked at the cuffs. She stumbled and bumped into him. Her whole body froze. She clenched her thighs together as a wave of desire rolled through her, leaving her core hot and ready from the feeling of his arousal pressed against her.

* * *

JACE FOUGHT TO keep his breath steady and avoid panting like a rabid dog. He wanted to bend her over and take her right there, just like that—enter her hard and deep, reaching places where she’d never been touched. He unhooked the cuffs and held out the shirt. Princess slipped her arms in the sleeves. He stared at her with hunger in his eyes, his hands aching to run up her arms, over her shoulders and down onto her beautiful breasts.

Man, he was one sick pervert. He’d dragged her here in handcuffs, and now he was eying her like she was his own walking pin-up girl.

She finished buttoning the shirt, and he pointed to the bedroom. “Bed. Now.”

“Wh-what?” The word sounded as if she were straining for air.

He pointed to the gun still holstered at his hip. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Bed. Now.” He gave her a small nudge between the shoulders, and she shuffled toward the bedroom. He wiped his hand off like she was contaminated. Every time their skin touched an electric current jolted his body, leaving him with a strong, powerful feeling, like a freshly recharged battery.

Princess froze when she reached the mattress.

He placed his hand on his gun, ready to draw. “What the hell are you standing there for? Get on the bed.”

Without warning, she spun around and charged him, knocking into him full force and toppling them both to the ground. Shit, he should’ve put the cuffs back on her. She threw a punch and hit him square in the jaw. He grabbed her fist and pushed her away. Damn, she packed a punch. She struggled against him, holding her own better than many male werewolves he’d fought, but he shoved her hard. He had his own supernatural advantages. From the startled look in her eyes, she hadn’t expected his strength. She scrambled into a crouched position and paused just long enough for him to pull his gun.

He pointed the barrel straight at her head. “What the hell are you thinking? I told you not to try anything,” he growled. “Make this easier on both of us and do as I say.”

She stood as he simultaneously rose to his feet, gun still pointed straight for her. “Get on the bed. I swear, if you do anything else, I will put one of these bullets right through your skull. Don’t make me do anything we’ll both regret later.”

Her eyes grew wide as she inched toward the mattress, her hands up in surrender. “You’re not going to—”

He sighed. “I may be holding you captive, but I’m no rapist. I spend my days hunting and killing werewolves, not sleeping with them. Now, get on the damn bed. Just because I won’t take advantage of you doesn’t mean you won’t be first on my shit list if you don’t cooperate.”

She climbed onto the bed.

“Wrist,” he mumbled. She lifted her arm and he slapped the cuff on, hooking it to the headboard to chain her in place. “Don’t try anything stupid while I get the other one.”

He wandered into his closet and retrieved his only other set. When he returned, he caught her pulling against the cuffs. “I thought I told you not to try anything stupid.”

“I think sitting here and doing nothing would’ve been more idiotic. You can’t expect me not to fight.” She stopped fiddling with the cuffs and shot him a glare. “You’re so lucky I can’t shift.”

“Why do you have to be so uncooperative? Usually, following the orders of someone who’s threatening to kill you is a good idea, but you still keep challenging me.”

“At the moment you’re not threatening to kill me, you’re just standing there.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t push my buttons. I don’t have time for your crap.” He walked to the other side of the bed. Grabbing her wrist, he cuffed her free arm to the other side.

She writhed and fought against the restraints in between breaths. “And you think I have time for this? I have a life. Unlike you, I spend my time doing constructive things rather than hunting down innocent people.”

Jace strolled over to his trench coat and dug his flask out of the pocket. “Innocent? I found you at a murder scene. Your innocence is somewhat questionable.”

“We both know I didn’t do it. I was looking for the killer,” she said. “I told you. No blood, no weapons and no male equipment.”

He meandered into the “kitchen.” “You think I don’t know that? If I thought you did it, you’d already be buried six feet under.” The Bushmills sat at the front of the cabinet. He grabbed it, poured some in the flask for later and then carried the whole bottle back to the bedroom. “You may not be the killer, but how can I trust that your goal is the same as mine?”

“My goal is the same. Why else would I have been in that alley? If you know I didn’t do it, why the hell are you holding me?”

“To get to the Rochester packmaster.”

Her eyes widened, and she blinked several times. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He took a swig from the whiskey bottle. “No, I’m not. That son of a bitch Frankie Amato has got another think coming if he thinks I’m gonna take care of business for him. Every night I’ve been patrolling, looking for the sick fuck who’s hurting these women, and are any of his men out searching? No. There should be werewolves prowling everywhere, if not to help, then at least to cover his ass. Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d say someone in the Rochester pack is doing this.”

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so biased and hateful, you’d realize that Frankie is trying his best. I volunteered to search for the killer.” Her nostrils flared as she exhaled a long breath. Her anger reminded him of an animal in fight mode—powerful and stubborn.

He scoffed. “Oh, so he sends a lone female werewolf to do his work? Where are the rest of you?”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to endanger his pack members.” Her full lower lip quivered and contradicted all the fire in her eyes.

“Better werewolves than innocent people.”

She froze as if he’d stabbed her in the chest. Her cheeks flushed as her shock boiled into rage. “How can you say that? We are people.”

Jace gulped more whiskey. “Infected people.”

“We’re not infected. We can’t turn anyone into—”

“Maybe not someone who’s already been born. You can’t infect them, but a fetus, you sure can. What about all those freaking babies that you harness with your curse from birth, huh?”

The image of his father haunted his mind as he spoke—his old man’s handsome features, which resembled his own, twisted and snarling with anger as he slapped Jace’s mother around. But the worst: after all the abuse the bastard had forced his mother to endure, he’d strolled out the door and left them with nothing but scarred memories and broken lives.

Jace lowered his eyes to the floor; he could still smell the summer rain mixed with the city’s scent from the night his father left.

“You have no idea what it’s like to be one of us. How do you know it’s a curse? Some think it’s a gift.” She tugged against the cuffs, her face filled with raw pain.

“How do I know?” He started to laugh and brushed his fingers through his hair. “How do I know?” He set the bottle on the ground and stalked toward her, his gaze fixated on her large, chocolate-brown eyes. She pressed closer to the headboard as he leaned onto the bed and positioned himself over her. A shiver of power shot down his spine, and he allowed the beast to take the reins. “Because it’s my curse to bear.”

She gasped as his green, human irises transitioned to golden wolf eyes and reflected in her gorgeous stare.


CHAPTER FOUR

DESIRE BILLOWED THROUGH Frankie as she stared into the hunter’s wolf eyes. This can’t be happening. He wasn’t human? Shit. The flash of gold she’d seen in his eyes earlier hadn’t just been a trick of the light. She hadn’t seen that coming. A hunter with any supernatural abilities or bloodlines was completely unheard of. How could she have anticipated the familiar pair of wolf eyes staring her in the face? And if the hunter wasn’t human, which clearly he wasn’t, then he needed to get the hell away from her before her estrus cycle hit full force. Once that happened, like it or not, they would both be more than ready to do the horizontal tango. He didn’t even know her real name—and, more importantly, she didn’t know his name, either—but if he stuck around she would be sleeping with him. She needed to get him out of there—now.

“Get away from me!” She pulled against her restraints.

He leaned in closer, his body hovering centimeters over hers. “What? Does your own infection disgust you?”

Damn it! I thought you were human! What the hell could she do to get him to stay away? This uncontrollable need to mate with the nearest Alpha male was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid earlier in the evening.

Another tsunami of heat and longing overcame her, and she arched her spine, gritting her teeth. No wonder she’d been so attracted to him, because no matter how small his werewolf heritage might be, he wasn’t completely human, and all her body needed to detect and prepare itself for an Alpha male was the slightest trace of a bloodline. Neither of them would be able to stop it. “Absolutely not, and it’s not an infection, it’s a gift. A gift that’s going to hit you like an oncoming bus if you don’t listen to me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He pulled away and left her on the bed. Her skin prickled against the rush of cool air as the heat of his presence disappeared from her skin as quickly as it had come.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s the full moon, and tonight I would have been forced by my pack to choose a male to begin the mating process with. I already knew who I would be choosing, but only because my parents arranged it before their deaths to ensure that the strongest bloodlines continued. I’m not in love with him, so I ran to avoid the ceremony.”

He grabbed hold of the whiskey bottle again and raised a single brow. “And I give a shit, why?”

“Because I’m in my mating cycle. It’s my time to choose a mate, and you may not be a full werewolf, but you’re not completely human, either.”

How was he not making this connection? She watched his grip tighten around the bottle. Maybe she was getting through to him. All she could do was appeal to his sense of reason.

“I was out hunting for the killer because I was trying to escape my mating ceremony. I thought I’d have a couple hours of strength to hunt before my cycle hit full force. When you captured me, I thought you were a human, so you were immune. I thought that tomorrow, when my strength came back, I could easily take you down and escape—and, lucky me, mating ceremony avoided for one more year in the process. But when 3:00 a.m. rolls around, between the full moon, the supernatural hour and the mating call, you’re not going to be able to control yourself around me.”

“Stop feeding me bullshit.”

She tore at her handcuffs to no avail and gritted her teeth. Her anger at his ignorance skyrocketed. Why wouldn’t he listen to her? “It’s not bullshit. It’s fact. I’m a werewolf, asshole. While human, my body is also wolf—”

“Son of bitch!” he interrupted.

She knew he didn’t like what he was hearing, but he needed to know, so she ignored him and kept going. “It’s a natural estrus cycle. Once a year. It’s not like I can control it. I’ve been taking extended vacations around this time since I was fourteen.”

He swore again. “So what? It’s just my fucking luck you decided to stick around this year?”

Her eyes hardened. “I told you to let me go. You still can.”

He frowned. “Look, I don’t care what you think you know about me just because I’m a half-breed, all right? The truth is you don’t know a damn thing. I’ve never once acted like one of you animals my whole damn life and I’m not starting now.” He turned away.

She wrenched against her restraints, and the wood of the bed frame groaned beneath her strength. “On the night of the full moon, do you feel its pull, like something living is crawling underneath your skin, threatening to burst out?”

He froze.

“I bet you get the same feeling when you’re angry. You constantly fight to control your emotions and hide your identity from the other hunters. When you’re hunting and you smell a female werewolf, it turns you on more than a human woman ever could, doesn’t it, and you hate yourself all the more for it.”

He remained silent, his body language speaking volumes. The muscles in his back flexed, and rage radiated off him like a nuclear bomb.

“And right now I’m making you angry,” she said, pushing him to his limits. “Because every mention of your true nature pisses you off. You’d rather loathe yourself your entire life than embrace what you really are. You’ve probably never even shifted.”

Silence answered her, as powerful and forceful as if he’d screamed.

He needs to know this, she reassured herself.

“How can you hunt your own kind?” A pang of sadness hit her in the chest. A part of her felt sorry for him because she was challenging all his preconceived notions about himself.

“I’m not one of you.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she bit her lower lip. This wasn’t happening. “You are.”

He spun to face her, his face flushed and his hands clenched into fists. “I am nothing like him!” he roared.

Frankie jerked against the headboard as his eyes flashed wolf-gold again. A young, untamed and angered wolf, even a half-breed, was impossible to control, and she didn’t even have hands to fight with.

He knocked over a nearby table, which crashed to the floor, one of its legs splintering. “I would never abuse my wife because I couldn’t deal with my own nature and the anger that comes with it. I would never walk out on my family because of some fucking mating call, and I would never kill an innocent human being.”

Walking to the bedside, he stared her square in the face, and Frankie saw the resolve in his gaze.

“I’m nothing like you.”

He was so close to her that she could feel the heat pulsating from his body. Clenching her thighs together, she tried to ignore her undeniable need. She inhaled a sharp breath, balling up her courage. “You can’t hide from the truth forever.”

He broke eye contact and stalked into the kitchen, grabbing the whiskey as he went.

“And for future reference...we’re not all monsters,” she called after him. “I had a family once, and I never would have betrayed them.”

He continued walking toward the front door. He pulled out the key, turned it, then opened the door and stood clutching the knob.

“Even if you don’t believe me, at least tell me your name.” Since we’re going to be together tonight. Her stomach churned with nerves.

“McCannon. My name’s Jace McCannon,” he said, before he slammed the door shut behind him.

* * *

JACE CHARGED THROUGH the hallway, bounded down the stairs and bolted into the street. The cold winter air slapped him in the face, sending a deep chill through his bones. What the hell was he going to do? What if she was telling the truth?

Shit.

He paced back and forth in front of the building, his massive combat boots thumping against the ground and his heart pounding right along with them. He’d never been so on edge in his life.

He glanced up at the sky. The moon was shining down on him, and a sharp heat prickled beneath his skin. Damn it, how did she know all those things about him?

Because you’re one of them, his mind taunted.

He pounded his fist on the hood of the Hummer, leaving a large dent. The car’s alarm sounded, piercing his ears with its high-pitched noise.

“Damn.” The alarm drowned out his curse. He considered walking back upstairs to get the key, but he couldn’t go back up there. Not, for the sake of his own sanity, just yet. He would have to wait for the alarm to shut off on its own. He clutched his hair, feeling the need to rip it from his skull—something, anything, to bring him back to reality.

Reality? He laughed. He hunted werewolves for a living. The real world was harsh. In true reality, evil consumed, and he was longing for ignorance. He stared down the street and saw a young couple entering another apartment building. They shot irritated glances his way as the car continued flashing and screeching. What would it be like to be them? To be clueless about the supernatural scum blending in with society? Jace stood there for several minutes until the alarm finally gave up and shut off.

Just when he thought he might have a moment of peace his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out without looking at the screen and held it to his ear. “What?”

“Uh...hi, Jace.”

“Who the hell is this?”

“It’s Shane.”

He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. Just great. If there was one thing that always made him feel like even more of an ass, it was being pissy with Shane. It was like kicking a damn puppy.

“Sorry, kid. I’m having a rough night. What can I do you for?”

“David and I are at the crime scene right now.”

Jace waited for him to keep going, but only silence came from the other end of the line. “And you’re calling to tell me...what?” He glanced down. An ant crept across a crack in the sidewalk. He ground his boot into the pavement and squashed it.

“David wanted me to let you know...”

Jace tapped his foot, his patience already running short. “Spit it out.”

“We think there is evidence that’s suggestive of demonic or cult activity,” Shane said in a cautious voice. The kid exhaled a slow, heavy breath into the phone, as if he anticipated Jace ripping him a new one.

Jace stayed silent, processing what Shane had said. “Kid, you care to tell me why that is, when it’s clear that only an animal is capable of creating that much carnage with its teeth?”

He heard Shane inhale deeply, gearing himself up for a long-ass speech. “The hearts have been removed. You see, the heart is a symbolic organ and—”

Jace’s grip on the phone tightened until he thought it might break. “Get to the point.” He stared at the apartment building. She was up there, lying on his bed. Naked. The thought of Princess’s smooth, caramel skin made his mouth water, and he saw himself running his tongue along her hot, pink slit.

Man, he was a sick freak.

Shane’s voice snapped him from his thoughts like a broken rubber band. “—it’s actually used in many demonic and satanic rituals, so the removal suggests motive.”

The anger that had already settled inside Jace’s chest boiled. “David put you up to this, didn’t he?”

“Um...”

“He thought I wouldn’t be angry if you called, huh? Let me talk to him.”

“He said—”

“Put him on the damn phone, Shane.”

A rustling noise crackled through the receiver before Jace heard David’s deep voice. “Listen, J. I th—”

“No, you listen. Did you look at that poor girl’s body? Something ripped her to pieces, and you can’t tell me a human is responsible.” He jabbed his finger in midair, then dropped it, remembering David couldn’t see his anger.

“I believe you, J. But some demons can shape-shift into animals, and—”

Jace slapped his palm into his forehead. “Is the kid near you? Can he hear me?”

“If you keep on screaming, yeah.”

“Then walk away for a minute.” He heard David take a few steps. “I told you I got the scent from it. So you wanna tell me how the hell I’m wrong?” he whispered.

“Damon said if there were any signs of demonic or cult activity to let him know. I thought you’d want to know, too. We’ve got to keep our options open.”

“Screw Damon.” Jace clenched his jaw and battled to hold a string of profanities inside.

“I’m following orders, man. I’m not saying you’re wrong. Damon’s just trying to get this solved, and getting to piss you off in the meantime is just a bonus for him.”

Jace paused. The vein in his temple throbbed. “What are you talking about?”

David sighed. “He’s placing everyone else on the case, J. One more strike and he’s taking you off as lead hunter.”

“No, no, no. Vote to overturn that shit and problem solved.” Jace shook his head. This was the last thing he needed.

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“If I challenge Damon, from here on out he’ll start giving me the same crap he dishes out to you. I can’t have that. At least one of us has to be in his good graces,” David said.

“So you’re hanging me out to dry, then?”

“I didn’t say—”

“Doesn’t need to be said. Message heard loud and clear.” Jace jabbed the off button and considered chucking the device into the middle of the street.

Shoving the phone back in his pocket instead, he exhaled a long breath. The chilly February weather transformed his breath into something visible, and he imagined his body steaming with rage like the smoke stack of an old train. Everything was peachy—just fucking peachy.

* * *

“DAMN. THAT SON OF a bitch hung up on me.” David shoved his phone into the pocket of his leather jacket and frowned. Jace was one hell of a hunter and a good guy, but man, did he have the temper of an angry bull on steroids. And David had just taken a cattle prod to the bull’s ass.

Shane stood from where he knelt by the body and cleared his throat. “Jace has had it rough lately.”

David shook his head. With Damon harping on Jace’s every move and the massive blows his self-esteem had been taking from not being able to catch the damn killer, rough was a massive understatement. “You don’t need to preach to me about it. I cut him more slack than anyone.”

“I wasn’t implying you didn’t. I guess I just feel bad for him.” Shane paused and glanced at the ground before he turned to David again. “Do you think Damon’s right? Do you think Jace should’ve caught the guy by now?”

“Damon needs to keep his friggin’ mouth shut, that’s what I think.” David frowned. “Jace is the best werewolf hunter I know, and I’ve worked with quite a few over the years. If he hasn’t gotten this guy yet, there’s a reason.” He zipped his jacket closed as another gust of cold Canadian wind blew through the city. With weather like this, he needed to put in for a transfer to Honolulu. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here.”

Shane shoved his hands in his pockets. “So you think it’s not a werewolf, then?”

“No, I trust J’s judgment. If he says it’s a werewolf, I believe him.” He would be an idiot not to, knowing Jace’s darkest secret.

Life would be so much easier if they could tell the Execution Underground management the main reason why Jace was so damn good at his job. But hell would be made of flowers and candy before Damon would let a half-breed be a part of his team.

David ran his fingers through his hair. “For the sake of these girls, I can’t close my mind to other possibilities.” He gestured to the body. A shiver ran down his spine as he looked at her one more time. Rigor had set in, and her already lifeless form had become all the more still. The blood had dried around her in a pool of black, and the remnants of the crimson on her skin crusted over. He shook his head. A normal human wasn’t capable of this kind of carnage.

“Do you think there’s any significance that all the victims are attractive women? Well...at least as far as we can tell, anyway.” Shane’s eyes darted around the alley.

David shrugged. “That’s a hard call.”

Shane met his gaze for a moment before his eyes fell to the ground again. “I think it has some significance.”

“How do you figure?” David asked.

“Look at the details.” Shane bent next to the body and pointed at the victim’s face, her heavily shadowed lids and red-tinted pout. “From the crime-scene photos, all the other victims wore heavy makeup like this.” He gestured to the hair hanging over the girl’s shoulder. “All of them had their hair done nicely, and from what’s left of their clothes, they weren’t dressed casually.” He stood and stepped back from the body.

“All right, then. What are you thinking?”

“My theory,” Shane said, “is that he isn’t blitz attacking them on the streets. He’s picking them up, like at a club or a bar. That would explain the age range, as well—college girls. A lot of them look around the age of my students at U of R.”

David nodded. “I’ll be damned, Shane. Where do you come up with this stuff?”

Shane shrugged. “I pay close attention to detail.”

David stared into the girl’s frozen face. She was so young, and if she didn’t look exactly like Allsún—large wide eyes veiled by thick lashes, heart-shaped face, head full of curls, and the look of a small pixie—she was close. But no girl would ever be as beautiful as Allsún, not in his eyes. The thought of her lying there like this poor girl sent his stomach reeling, and a sharp pang hit his chest.

But how would he know if this girl really looked like her? Other than quick glimpses, he hadn’t seen Allsún in years. He shook his head, trying to fight off the thoughts. What he wouldn’t give to bury his face in her neck, kiss her one more time, hold her and know that she was safe. He closed his eyes and buried the painful memories in the back of his mind, where they belonged. “Only one problem, though,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“This girl doesn’t look like she’s twenty-one yet. If she’s not drinking age, either your theory is wrong or she was trying to pass as older.”

Shane frowned. “I wish I had my phlebotomy kit. I’d love to run a test of her blood-alcohol content.”

“Too bad there’s no I.D.”

Shane bit his lower lip and rested his chin on his fist. Only a few seconds passed before his eyes lit up. “I have an idea,” he said.

David grinned. “I’m not surprised.”

Shane pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He unfolded the dark blue material, revealing a pattern made up of the constellations. He bent next to the body and used the handkerchief to lift the girl’s hand before he glanced up.

David raised a single brow and nodded toward the handkerchief.

A deep blush ran across Shane’s cheeks. “The constellations have a lot of meaning in the occult. Besides, my grandmother gave it to me. I have to use it or she’ll get her feelings hurt.”

David chuckled. “I can’t very well fault a man for caring about his grandma. If mine gave me a pink flowered jacket, you better believe I’d wear it just to please her.”

Shane fought back a smile as he rubbed the handkerchief across the girl’s hand.

David’s eyes widened. “What are you doing? Shane, you can’t tamper with the crime scene.”

Shane ignored him and continued wiping at the girl’s skin. “Trust me.” Once he managed to clear most of the blood off, he said, “Look at this, David.”

David walked forward and crouched down beside him. The faint outline of a black X was visible on the top of the victim’s hand.

Shane stared at him with a sad look in his eyes. “That’s what they put on your hand at a club if you’re under twenty-one, so then the bartender knows not to serve you. It looks like she tried to wash it off.” He shook his head. “Someone hurting a young girl like this makes my blood boil.”

David nodded. “Me too.” He stood to his full height and turned away. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand looking at this poor girl. In his field, he didn’t often deal with dead bodies. Demons used their victims and then usually left them as catatonic shells of what they’d once been. Rarely did they take the time to kill their targets. He wasn’t sure which was worse. “You have everything you need for the report?”

Shane sighed. “Yeah, I do. We can go ahead and... Hey, what’s this?”

David turned around to find Shane holding the butt of a cigarette. The butt of a Marlboro Red. The two of them exchanged glances.

David let out a low growl. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Shane bit his lower lip. “Should we just throw it out? The cops haven’t found it yet, and they won’t if we dispose of it, so there’s no harm done, right?”

David shook his head and mumbled another string of profanities. “We have to turn it in. I already texted the picture of the crime scene to Damon. If he sees that in the shot, all our asses will be hung out to dry.”

The shit just wouldn’t stop piling up for Jace, would it? David shook his head. If he thought the phone conversation had been like pissing off an angry bull, he sure as hell didn’t want to be around when Damon got hold of Jace.

* * *

JACE MARCHED INTO the building and up the stairs. He reached his door and pressed his ear to the aged, splintery wood. Silence.

The huge knot in his stomach unraveled a little as he opened the door. Princess was still sitting on the bed, staring at him with those big brown eyes. The knot tightened again, and his stomach churned.

“Jace?” Her voice was soft and breathless—the sound of a lover’s whisper.

A jolt of electricity zipped down his spine, and his cock strained against his jeans. He loved hearing her say his name, and he longed to take her hard, claim her as his. He used every ounce of strength he possessed and forced himself to turn away. He closed the door without locking it, then walked into the “kitchen,” so he wouldn’t have to see her.

“Who were you talking about when you said you were nothing like �him’?” she asked.

He grabbed the whiskey again and chugged a few gulps.

“Jace?”

“Why do you care?” he barked, his words sounding more defensive than he’d intended.

“Can you just answer the question?”

He blinked several times, stunned at her boldness and her lack of fear. “How about you don’t push it further? All right?”

When she didn’t respond a sense of relief cleared his heightened nerves, but the knot in his chest kept on squeezing.

What was it about this woman that drove him mad, but made him feel like such a dick for wanting her? There couldn’t really be something to that whole mating bull she was talking about, could there? He frowned.

She’s a werewolf. She’s a werewolf. He repeated the mantra and focused on the image of his father, seared into his brain.

Over the years he’d envisioned the face of a werewolf seductress. With the bat of one eyelash, she’d stolen his father and ended his mother’s abuse, but left their family shattered. He squeezed his eyes shut and imagined Princess as that woman, that temptress. But the light in her warm eyes ruined everything. He wanted to hate her, but every instinct pushed him into her arms.

“McCannon. Is that Irish or Scottish?” The question wrenched him into the moment.

“What?”

“Your last name, is it Irish or Scottish?” Her voice carried from the other room with ease—loud and forceful, but still feminine.

“Why the hell does it matter?” He opened one of the cabinets and rummaged around, even though it was virtually bare. A can of soup. Some ramen noodles.

“I’d like to know.”

He settled on some bread and pulled a few slices of ham from the refrigerator. “Why in the world do you want to play twenty questions with a man who took you captive and now has you chained to a bed?” He slapped together a sandwich and bit into it.

“According to your alarm clock, we have ten minutes until the supernatural hour. It would make me a bit uneasy if I didn’t get to know you before we start...well, you know....”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to sell me, but I ain’t buying.” He finished the last bite of the sandwich, eating at light speed.

“Suit yourself. Believe me, I’m not seducing you, and if it were my decision, you’d walk out of this apartment or let me go. It would spare us both a lot of unpleasantness. But since you don’t believe me, you’ll have to see for yourself.”

His stomach growled. Ignoring her, he sifted through the cabinets again.

She sighed. “You could humor me a little. If I’m wrong, what will it hurt?”

He paused and gripped the cabinet handle a little too hard. “Irish.”

“See. Was that so difficult?”

He gritted his teeth. “Don’t push it.”

“If you’d like to know, I’m Italian.”

“No, I wouldn’t like to know.” His jaw clenched tighter.

“I, however, want to tell you. As I said, my name is Francesca. I’m Italian, born and raised here in Rochester. I own a dance studio, and when I can, I teach salsa classes myself. My favorite color is red, but I look best in blue, and I hate long walks on the beach.”

“A salsa-dancing werewolf?”

“Yes, an award-winning, salsa-dancing werewolf,” she said.

He leaned on the counter and rested his head in his hands. He thought of how she would look in one of those skimpy little dance costumes, her hips swinging, the flashy red beading on her round behind shaking, her leg muscles flexing as she moved in her spiked heels. His cock hardened, and his longing escalated. No other woman had ever driven him so crazy.

She’s a werewolf. She’s a werewolf.

A beautiful smell, like sweet gardenias, wafted into his nose and broke his resolve a little further. He was imagining this. Could the smell of her hair, her skin, literally reach out to him? Good Lord, his dick ached. He slammed his fist onto the countertop. A liquor bottle fell from the top shelf with a crash and shattered. The contents splashed over the counter and onto his shirt. Whiskey trickled onto the floor.

“What was that?” she called. Her voice rang in his ears like a melody, a siren’s call. What the hell?

She’s wrong. I’m not one of them.

“There is no fucking mating cycle, and it has nothing to do with me,” he muttered.

He paced from the kitchen to the living room and back. His shirt clung to his skin, sticky and damp. He lifted it over his head, ready to chuck it into the laundry bin. He turned around and froze.

She was sprawled across his bed, her spine arched and her chest rising with her quick breaths. A small moan escaped her lips as her eyes ran over his frame. Gold flecks blossomed in her irises as the darker side of her took control. A fire ignited under his skin, and he couldn’t stand it.

Unbuckling his leather belt, he stalked toward the bed. She spread her legs wide, and there was no mistaking what she wanted. For the first time in his life, he let the beast take hold.

* * *

BURNING, WHITE-HOT NEED.

Frankie’s core grew warmer, and she felt herself slicken, preparing for an uncontrollable orgasm. The red digits of the clock screamed the inevitable. 3:00 a.m. She was going to have wild sex with a man she barely knew, but she didn’t care. She wanted Jace inside her, his hands and lips and tongue exploring her.

Another wave of longing rolled through her as she admired him. A large masculine torso with ample amounts of muscle tapered down to a tight, firm ass. His chest alone was better than any fantasy she’d ever imagined. He prowled across the bed and joined her.

Her instincts reached out to him, and everything froze.

The electric current that shot through her whenever they touched spiked higher, leaving her wet and ready. Their eyes locked, and she admired the beautiful, gold flecks in his. The sound of the bed frame creaking sent her heart racing. His eyes filled with the hunger of a wolf.

He knelt over her, and her gaze traveled to his massive erection.

Good Lord Almighty.

Well-endowed didn’t even begin to describe it. He lowered himself over her, his hands on either side of her head. He ground his arousal into her hips, and she gasped.

“You just couldn’t keep quiet, could you?” He shoved harder against her. “You were begging me to screw you.”

“I—” Her voice was half moan, half whimper.

“And you knew I’d oblige.” He balanced himself on one hand and slid the other to her lower back, pulling her closer. He lowered his head to her ear. “You’re lucky I didn’t take you in the middle of that alley.”

Blazing heat radiated from every cell in her being, and she teetered on the edge of climax.

“I could make you come for hours.” He positioned his fingers outside her entrance. “Just like this.” He stroked between her legs, and her body seized.

She rode a release so intense her stomach muscles burned from the strain. She’d never come so quickly—and whether it was Jace, the mating call, or both, she didn’t care. All she wanted was him.

“Look at me.” He turned her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I can leave you chained or I can free you, then tie you back up. Whatever I want.” His lips grazed hers. “Do you know what that means?”

She inhaled sharply, incapable of forming words.

He let out a low growl. “I asked you a question.”

“No,” she panted.

He slid his face across her collarbone, his warm breath tickling her skin. “Ask me what it means.” He ran his tongue over her skin.

She gulped. “Wha...what does it mean?”

He nipped her earlobe. Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t even gasp.

He grabbed her hair in his fist and ran his canine teeth over her neck. “It means you’re gonna take everything I give you.”

* * *

JACE’S HANDS TRAILED from her hair to her smooth thighs. His cock throbbed. He admired her pink slit.

His eyes wouldn’t leave her body, and he rubbed two fingers over her most sensitive flesh. Princess was gorgeous. She twitched beneath his touch, and he inhaled the smell of gardenias on her skin, mixed with the scent of her sex. His mouth watered, and he anticipated her taste.

He snaked his hand up her stomach and under her shirt, then slipped it over the delicate bones of her rib cage until he squeezed her tit. He rolled her nipple between his fingers. She gasped, and while she was distracted he sucked her between his lips and ran his tongue around her clit. She moaned and pushed her hips forward. He slid his tongue inside her, and her sweetness ran down his throat.




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