Twilight Hunter

CHAPTER SIX

FRANKIE STEPPED BACK and placed her hand on the kitchen counter, gripping the edge for support. The anger rolling off Jace triggered all her primal instincts. Goose bumps rose on her arms, and even though he was directing his rage elsewhere, her body urged her to shift into defense mode. His hands shook at his sides, and his jaw clenched.

David cleared his throat. “Damon thinks there’s a possibility you may be involved. He put out the word that any hunter who encounters you is supposed to bring you in for questioning. And you don’t need any extra attention from HQ or the risk of your bloodline being revealed.”

Jace practically growled. His rage made her jittery. She wanted to help him, but she suspected that her help was the last thing he wanted.

David sighed. “Look, man, I’m sorry but—”

The door burst open, and the bang as it hit the wall echoed through the small apartment. She jumped. Screws and wooden splinters from the shattered wood scattered across the floor. The man who stepped through sent chills down her spine. She backed away before she could stop herself. Cold blue eyes seared into Jace’s, and she was glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of that stare. Her stomach churned.

Two other men stepped in behind the latest intruder, one with golden-blond hair, the second with his face shadowed by a Mets cap—the muscle to back up Mr. Ice Eyes. Frankie eyed Ice up and down. Not that he needed any backup muscle with his massive biceps and natural scare tactics.

“You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you? Every time I turn around you’ve fucked up again, and now I’ve got no choice but to hand you over to HQ as a suspect. You’re a disgrace to the division.”

Jace let out a harsh snarl, unable to control his anger. His eyes burned with a golden fire and he flashed his canines.

“Holy motherfucker,” Blondie said in a slow, Southern drawl.

The Mets fan’s jaw dropped. “Damn it, Jace. You’re a fucking shifter?” he said, and she heard traces of a Jersey accent in his voice.

David stepped forward. “Look, Damon, it’s not what you think.”

“Shut up, David, and move out of my way or you’re going down with him as a traitor.” The muscles in Ice’s throat strained and his fists clenched as he stared Jace down. “I didn’t want to believe it, but you haven’t left me any choice, you sadistic, woman-beating whoreson. You just signed your own death warrant, you werewolf piece of shit. Those dead girls can all trace back to you, and now I find out you’ve got the same mutation as the killer you’ve supposedly been hunting.”

Frankie yelled before she could stop herself. “Stop!”

Ice turned toward her. The power pulsating off him was staggering. Her breath caught. She fought not to step back and show her weakness. There was no backing down now. She shoved her fear aside and concentrated on absorbing the anger that hung thick in the crowded apartment air. It would make it easier for her to shift.

She willed herself to stand straight and stare him in the face. She told herself she could take him. “You can’t kill him. He didn’t murder those women.”

“Who the hell is she?” Jersey shouted.

Frankie shot him a glare. “You shouldn’t be asking who, you should be asking what.” She bared her canines and the wolf-gold flashed through her eyes, her pupils narrowing to thin slits.

“Just perfect. A piece-of-shit half-breed and his loyal bitch.” Ice’s jaw clenched so tight she thought his teeth might shatter.

She let out a low, feral growl. “He may be a half-breed, but I’m full-blooded, and you’ll be screaming like a girl when I rip out your jugular.”

Jace straightened to his full height and pointed a single finger at Ice. “Go on. Give me an excuse to tear you limb from limb.” His voice was disturbingly calm, but rage flew off him like darts, with Ice as the bull’s-eye.

Ice turned to Jersey. “Take the dog outside while I deal with this.”

Frankie swallowed her anxiety in one large gulp. She knew the drill. “Bring it. We’ll see who the real bitch is.”

“Take care of her, Trent.”

“Don’t make me do this, Damon,” Jace said to Ice. “We’re on the same side.”

Ice—Damon—ripped a gun from inside his coat. Hooking his finger around the trigger, he aimed straight for Jace’s head. “You lied about your identity from the very start. You were never on our side.”

Before Damon could fire his first shot, Jace grabbed hold of his wrist. He twisted the other, then swept him to the ground. The gun fell to the floor as the two men battled. Damon kicked Jace in the stomach, knocking him off balance. He stumbled back as Damon crawled toward the gun.

Jace drew his knife and threw the weapon across the room with the accuracy of a well-aimed bullet. The blade pierced Damon’s flesh between his collarbone and his shoulder. A wet stain blossomed across his black shirt, and several drops of blood hit the floor as he clutched the wound. Frankie’s adrenaline kicked into overdrive.

“I don’t beat women,” Jace said through clenched teeth. “And no one calls my mother a whore.” He threw himself forward at the other hunter.

As Frankie stared, she felt a large, iron-tight hand grab her elbow. She tore her eyes from Jace to find she was staring into Jersey’s pissed-off face. A surge of adrenaline pumped through her, and she flung her head back, using the momentum to head-butt him full-force. Pain shot through her skull, but the bruise would disappear within the hour or, if she shifted, even sooner. Jersey stumbled back and bumped into the wall. His cap fell off his head and onto the floor. She crushed it under her tennis shoe. “This is Yankee country, asshole.”

“You bitch!”

“Mind your manners.”

Deep inside her chest, her inner animal shifted as it fed off the adrenaline. She had to do something fast or Jersey would charge her. She might have him in the brains department, but even with her wolf strength, he was still twice her size and packed a whole lot of muscle. They would be an equal match. She clenched her jaw. She could beat him.

She kicked off her shoes and crouched to the floor. A look of recognition crossed Jersey’s face, and he shot forward, determined to stop her from shifting, but he was too late. Speed-shifting was her specialty. Her clothes ripped to pieces as she went from woman to wolf.

A deep snarl ripped from her throat. They stared at each other, unmoving. He stopped midstride, and Frankie seized the moment. Diving for him, she sank her canines deep into the flesh above his ankle. The nasty iron taste of human blood filled her mouth, but she held on. She jerked her head from side to side in an attempt to snap the bone.

Jersey howled in pain before he kicked her off. His boot collided with the side of her stomach, and she yelped as all the air rushed out of her lungs. He unhooked a silver chain from his belt loop and swung it around.

“You’re going to like this new necklace. I picked it out just for you.”

Frankie’s paws slid against the hardwood. She scrambled away and tried to bolt for the hallway, but Jersey threw himself on top of her. Flipping onto her side, she writhed as he wrapped the silver chain around her neck. As the metal touched her skin, igniting a scalding heat, she slashed out with her paw and slashed her nails across his face. Blood trickled in their wake.

He reared back and clutched at his face, yelling profanities. The silver chain slipped from her neck. She was free. She darted away from the screaming hunter, only to collide with another. Blondie skidded into her as he was thrown across the floor by David, who had clearly appointed himself Jace’s ally.

He looked down at her and grinned. “Sorry,” he said, as he grabbed Blondie and slammed his fist into the man’s nose.

Frankie didn’t waste another second. She could hold her own in a fight, but against several well-trained hunters with silver weapons? That was ridiculous, and she wasn’t stupid. She bounded into the hallway, ready to escape the whole thing, but a crushing hand grabbed her tail and yanked her back.

Jersey used the spare moment to slip in front of her. He positioned himself in front of the stairs, blocking her only exit. It was either back into the apartment with all the other hunters or time to teach this piece of shit a little lesson about girl power. She decided on the latter. She ran toward him and slid to a halt in front of his knees, a massive wave of adrenaline making her stronger than ever.

Before he could move, she shifted into human form and punched him hard in the kneecap. He doubled over in pain, clutching hold of his leg. She tried to crawl past him, but he grabbed her shoulder, his multiple silver rings searing her skin. She screamed and pulled away. Her skin tore where the metal had burned her, and pain radiated through her.

THE SIGHT OF blood pouring from Damon’s shoulder sent a buzz surging through Jace’s veins, and he smiled. He didn’t give a flying shit that he’d stabbed the leader of an entire Execution Underground division or that he was getting a little too much satisfaction from the pain of his newest enemy. Beating Damon into a pile of quivering flesh would be a sweet, addicting high.

With a low grunt, the bastard dislodged the blade from his shoulder and dropped it onto the floor. “You’re going to pay for that, you worthless mutt.”

Damon lunged toward Jace, hitting him right in the belly and knocking him clean off his feet. His breath flew out of him as he hit the ground. Jace felt his jaw pop out of place as Damon’s fist collided with his face, his uninjured arm swinging like a massive club as blood from his shoulder soaked Jace’s clothes.

Jace maneuvered his legs onto Damon’s chest and thrust forward, flipping his fellow hunter to the ground. He straddled Damon’s stomach and pounded his fist into the dickhead’s nose, treating him to the same blows the bastard had just dished out. Anger pumped through him.

Damon bucked in a fruitless attempt to throw Jace off. His blood pooled on the floor, filling in the cracks between the boards. The more Damon fought, the more blood gushed from his stab wound and Jace could feel him weakening with each hit.

Damon was the best fighter in his division, or so he’d thought. Jace never unleashed his full strength in front of the other hunters for fear of revealing his identity, his unfair advantage—until now. Now he wasn’t holding back. The combination of his bloodline, natural strength and the serum all the members of the E.U. received made him a force to be reckoned with.

The bastard squirmed beneath Jace’s grip until he’d positioned himself just right, then brought his knee up hard in a low blow to the crotch, a move Damon would never normally make, a sign of how close he knew he was to passing out. Jace groaned but kept on pounding Damon’s face. Black and purple bruises were already forming across the hunter’s cheeks and around one eye.

“That was a cheap shot, you fucking cocksucker.” Jace slammed his knuckles into Damon’s jaw and felt the crack of bone beneath his hand. He grabbed Damon by the front of his shirt to hold him down. “You hit like a bitch,” he growled.

“Like your bitch?” Damon said through a mouthful of blood.

In one quick twist, Jace snatched his blade from the floor and held the sharp metal against the skin of Damon’s throat, then leaned into his face, each word sending his warm breath over his enemy’s skin. “If you ever call her a bitch again, your smile will run from ear to ear.” He lifted the blade and traced it across Damon’s mouth up to his cheekbone.

Damon didn’t even flinch. Instead, he spat a glob of bloody spit into Jace’s face. Jace threw down a punch at Damon’s temple so hard he swore he felt the bone soften beneath the hit. He delivered the final blow, knocking the asshole out cold. But that wasn’t enough. He wanted to kill the bastard. God, how he wanted to end this.

His fist collided with the mauled flesh of Damon’s face again, and he couldn’t stop swinging.

A large hand clutched hold of Jace’s arm and wrenched him back. “Jace, man. Stop! We’ve gotta get out of here.”

Jace’s arm kept swinging with the force of a pendulum. But David hooked him under the arms and hauled him off Damon’s limp body.

“Get a grip and let’s go. If I’m going to be a fugitive because of you, I’m at least gonna be smart about it.” He shoved Jace between the shoulder blades. “Move it. We’re wasting time.”

Hands shaking from the adrenaline rush, Jace placed one foot in front of the other. He stepped past Ash, who lay like a dead man—though on closer inspection he was still breathing—on the floor, presumably courtesy of David.

A high-pitched and angry scream echoed from the hallway, and Jace snapped to attention. Francesca. He bolted into the hall. Trent was standing at the edge of the stairs with five bloody claw marks slashed clear across his face as he blocked Francesca’s access to the only exit.

She must have shifted, because she was stark naked, her hair in total disarray. Blood trickled from her collarbone, where her skin was raw. Trent had used silver on her. Jace snarled.

Francesca growled, an animal sound from her human throat. “Move out of my way, asshole.”

Throwing herself against Trent, she knocked him down. Despite how small she was in comparison to him, she held his throat between her thighs and beat his face with her fists. He gasped for air as she cut off his breathing. She snarled and drew her hand back. The air bent and quivered with energy as her hand shifted into a wolf’s paw while all the rest of her remained human.

At the sight of her claws, Trent managed to throw her off. She flew back into the wall. Her head hit the plaster with a loud thump, and Jace shot forward, but David beat him to the punch with those long-ass legs of his.

David pulled his .40 from his jacket and aimed it straight for Trent’s head. “Get out of here.”

Trent didn’t move. He stared David directly in the eye.

“I said, get the fuck out.” David fired a shot right past Trent’s ear. Trent stumbled to his feet and down the stairs as he clutched at the side of his head to cover his throbbing eardrum. David gave a satisfied smile and slipped his gun back inside his jacket.

Francesca groaned, and Jace turned to see her getting to her feet. “Thanks for coming to my rescue, guys. My head? Oh, it’s fine. No concussion at all.” She stared at the floor and rubbed her palm across her forehead.

Jace scowled. “You didn’t give me time to ask.”

“If I had, would you?”

Jace stayed silent.

“Well, if he isn’t going to ask, then I will. Are you all right?” David placed a hand on her shoulder.

She shied away from his touch. “Yeah, I’m fine. Who the hell are you?”

“I’m David.”

She nodded. “Francesca.”

David stuck out his hand. “Nice to mee—”

“Look,” Jace interrupted, “usually I’m all for warm and fuzzy introductions, but can we please get the hell out of here before those two assholes wake up, or Trent decides to be a hero and comes waltzing back in here?”

David zipped up his leather motorcycle jacket, no doubt preparing to hop on his Harley Superglide. “We can’t go back to my place, so I’m going to split. I can’t take the chance of hanging around you, J. I’ve gotta save my own ass and I’ve already screwed myself over by fighting on your side. If you need anything, call.” He clapped Jace on the back before he jogged down the stairs.

Jace and Francesca stood alone in the silent hall. He cleared his throat and padded back toward his apartment. “I need more weapons.”

The door stood open and would clearly never close again, and the crooked six had toppled to the floor in the midst of the chaos. He kicked the rusted numeral across the hardwood and stepped over his fellow hunters. He thought about giving Damon another good blow to the face with the heel of his boot, but he could save that revenge for another time.

He pulled out the chain around his neck and chose the key to his weapons closet. The latch clicked when he turned the handle, and the door swung open. He unloaded the rest of his artillery—every standard handheld on the market, short of an Uzi. He’d had one on order, but the delivery had fallen through at the last minute.

Francesca walked into the bedroom behind him, already wearing a set of clothes from the backpack she’d brought. She leaned up against the wall and sighed. “What now?”

He packed the rest of the weapons into a large black duffel bag and locked up the closet. “If there’s been a double killing, I need to check this out.” He thought of the face of the man in the photo—Alejandro or whatever the hell his name was. “You can do what you want. I won’t keep you any longer. I’ve got bigger prey to kill.” He tried to tell himself that if anything happened to her he wouldn’t give a shit, but his gut said otherwise. Damn it, she wasn’t his responsibility.

She shook her head. “If you’re going to try and kick me out at this point, you’re nuts. How can I go to my pack knowing what I do now and tell them I haven’t done anything about it?”

“Why take it on by yourself? Leave the work to someone else.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “It’s my responsibility, and I’m going with you. Besides, you need backup.”

He didn’t need backup and he’d never had any before, but he wasn’t going to even bother pointing that out. He walked out of the bedroom, and she followed behind him.

“Where are we going?” She stepped over Damon’s bloody body as if he were a nasty stain on the carpet.

Jace waited until they were out of the apartment and on the stairs. The last thing he needed was for a seemingly unconscious Damon or Ash to hear where they were going. “We’ll have to get a motel room. Somewhere they wouldn’t expect me to go.”

“That sounds like the worst pickup line ever.”

He smirked. “If I wanted to pick you up, I wouldn’t even have to use a line.”

“Are you calling me easy?” She titled her head to the side in annoyance.

“Most women I sleep with are easy. But you, no.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I wouldn’t blame you if you thought that. I did sleep with you the first night I met you. And as much as I’d like to use it as one, being in the midst of my mating cycle isn’t an excuse.”

“Do you need an excuse to justify what we did? We’re consenting adults, so why not have a little fun?” He glanced over his shoulder and saw the caramel skin of her cheeks flush.

FRANKIE TRIED TO concentrate on anything other than the throbbing feeling in the back of her skull as they climbed into Jace’s H3 in silence. Pain throbbed throughout her body. She needed to shift. Her human wounds would heal faster if she were in wolf form.

They continued driving even once they’d passed the majority of the cheap motels he’d said they would be looking for and reached the nicer part of the city. Frankie leaned back against the headrest, and her eyes flickered closed. A large hand gripped her shoulder and squeezed hard enough to jerk her awake.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep! You hit your head. I don’t want you going into a damn coma.”

Frankie focused past the blur of exhaustion. She had to try several times to make sure what she was seeing was real. Jace had pulled the car into the parking lot of the Imperial Hotel. The brightness of the lights beamed down on her, and she drank in the opulence like a ravenous animal. Beds. This place would have soft, warm beds.

Jace stopped the car and stepped out. She hopped out, too, and took her backpack off the floorboard. With this much beauty surrounding her, she looked like a peasant in her scruffy clothes, not to mention her wounds and bruises. Jace opened the hatch and grabbed his duffel before he threw his keys to a nearby valet.

He pointed two fingers from his eyes to the young employee. “I don’t care if the back window is already cracked—scratch this baby and you’re dead.”

The valet nodded, as if he often received death threats from random guests. Maybe there were a lot of uptight car owners in this part of the city.

“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll take good care of it,” the valet said.

Jace gave the guy a pointed look, but he must have been satisfied, since he turned and walked toward the entrance. She hurried after him.

With the marble flooring and the crisp clean atmosphere, the hotel was absolutely stunning. Jace strode right up to the front desk clerk and dropped his duffel bag on the ground, then pulled a thick wad of bills from inside his coat pocket. Frankie choked back a laugh at the contrast between his rough and tough appearance and the postmodern décor. The clerk’s eyes widened as she eyed Jace up and down. Her attention jumped between Jace and the bills, then she took more time with his face and his clothes. Frankie wasn’t sure whether the visual examination was prompted by Jace’s rugged appearance or his divinely handsome face.

He slapped the wad of bills on the countertop. “We need a room. Give me the nicest one you’ve got.”

The clerk blinked several times, interrupted in her examination of Jace. “Excuse me?”

He sighed, then leaned forward on the counter and overly articulated each word. “Give me the best room you have.”

The woman just stood there.

Frankie stepped up to the counter and nudged him aside. “I think what he’s trying to say is, could you please tell us the best room you have available at this time?” She flashed the girl a sweet smile, careful not to show off her sharp, protruding canines.

The clerk shook her head a little to wake herself up before she turned to her computer. The click of her fingernails against the keyboard combated the canned piano music playing in the background.

Finally the woman cleared her throat. “Besides the penthouse, the top room we have available is the Town—”

“We’ll take it.”

“All right, the Townsend suite—”

“No, the penthouse.”

The clerk’s mouth fell open just a little, and Frankie whirled around. “What?”

Jace ignored her and shoved the money across the counter. “You heard me. The penthouse. I want the key in less than two minutes.” He glanced up at the clock. “Starting...now.”

The woman grabbed the phone and punched in a string of numbers while mumbling under her breath. Jace flung an ID over the counter—probably a fake one—and continued his countdown.

Frankie’s jaw dropped. “What the hell was that all about?”

“If you act like you’re important, they’ll treat you like you’re important.” He gave her a pointed look.

Shock flew through her, and she battled her jaw to keep it from dropping. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m referring to the fact that you just booked the penthouse at the Imperial. I mean...Jace, for lack of a better term, you live in a crash pad of an apartment.”

“And?”

“And how are you going to afford this?”

He picked up his duffel bag from the floor and tapped the bills on the counter. “You think I stole this, don’t you?” he asked, too soft for the clerk to hear.

She lost the battle with her jaw and gaped at him. “What? I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t need to say it. But for your information, my employer pays all their employees, all around the globe, very well. I don’t want for anything. How do you think I bought the H3?” His eyes narrowed as he waited for a response.

“But...”

He sighed. “I live in a shit-hole apartment because I choose to. I’d rather deal with shitty and realistic than fancy and fake anyday.”

The clerk cleared her throat to get their attention and held out the key.

Jace took it and looked at the clock. “You were nearly late. Don’t let it happen again.”

He turned on his heel, shot Frankie a grin and strolled toward the elevator. She hurried after him. Catching the closing elevator doors, he held them until she joined him inside. She hated elevators. The air closed around her and slowed her breathing just the slightest bit.

“If you don’t like fancy, then why are we here?” She closed her eyes and leaned onto the inside railing. The elevator hummed as it shot up to the top floor.

Jace reached inside his coat and pulled out a flask. He unscrewed the cap and chugged a swig. “If you’d put a bounty on my head or were looking to kill me, would you start here?”

Frankie thought of the other hunters searching every slummy motel in Rochester for a sign of him. “Point taken.”

When the elevator finally reached the penthouse level, the bell dinged as the doors opened into a small lobby. The floor was covered with fluffy white carpet, and she had a feeling that lying on it would be as comfortable as lying in her four-poster bed. A white double door faced the elevator, only the slight tan of the lobby walls adding any color.

Jace walked to the door, his dirt-covered boots leaving dark footprints all over the white carpet. She cringed at the sight. After unlocking the door, he stepped inside as if he’d been there a hundred times.

She followed him, and her breath caught at the sight of the penthouse. “This is absolutely gorgeous.”

He dropped his bag of weapons on the floor of the master bedroom. “It’s a little too gorgeous to be comfortable, in my opinion. Though I guess if you like gaudy, it’s all right.”

“Why does anything nice make you so uncomfortable?”

“What do you mean?”

She grinned, ready to throw his words back verbatim. “You said you’d ‘rather deal with shitty and realistic than fancy and fake anyday.’ I want to know why.”

Jace raised a single eyebrow.

She put her hands up. “Your words, not mine. I’m just trying to understand them.”

He unzipped the duffel and slipped one of his many handhelds underneath the pillows. “Shitty and realistic is what I’m used to, and I’m comfortable with that.”

“You’re a creature of habit.”

“No, I just don’t like change.” He tucked another handheld in the nightstand drawer.

“Change can be good.” She looked at him.

“Change can screw you six ways ’til Sunday.”

She dropped the subject and walked over to the bed. Sitting on the edge, she felt like she was invading someone else’s room, someone else’s space. She peeled her tennis shoes off her feet and wiggled her toes, then arched her spine. Her neck and back could really use a good straightening.

Jace strolled into the master bathroom and flicked on the light. He shrugged out of his coat and laid it across the counter, then leveled his face inches away from the mirror. He examined his eye, running his fingers over the bruises, which had already begun to heal. She watched as he stood up straight again and pulled his shirt over his head, then threw it on top of the coat.

Thick muscles defined his torso, and his back flexed every time he moved. Her stomach filled with evil, torturous butterflies. Every part of her body that he’d touched burned. A trail of heat washed through her, and she forced herself to look away.

She stared at the fluffy white carpet. A low grunt came from the bathroom, and she couldn’t help but look up again. Jace was attempting to pour whiskey down his back and over the scratches lining his shoulder blades from his fight with Damon, Mr. Ice-Blue Eyes.

She walked slowly into the bathroom. As soon as Jace saw her reflection in the mirror, he stopped making a mess with the whiskey

“Here.” She took the flask from his hand. “Let me help.”

“I can do it,” he said, though he dropped his hands to his sides and didn’t reach for the flask again.

“No, you can’t. You’re getting it all over the tile.” She unfolded one of the bathroom towels and stepped closer to him. “Can you kneel? I’m not tall enough.” Even though she was tall for a woman, standing next to him, she realized she barely reached his shoulders.

He got down on his knees, and she bunched the towel in her hand.

“This will sting.” Before he could protest, she poured the whiskey onto his wounds. He hissed as she patted the excess liquid off his skin.

She looked at his reflection in the mirror. A large purplish-yellow ring hung under one eye. His cheeks looked swollen from where he’d been punched in the face, and the cut on his lip was scabbed over with dried blood. But he was still ruggedly handsome and, in many ways, even beautiful. Part of her hated him for that.

“You should put ice on that. I’ll get some for you.”

He shook his head. “Don’t bother. You don’t need to take care of me.”

“Why not? You took care of me earlier.” She refolded the towel and set it on the counter.

“That was different.”

“How was it any different?” she asked as she exited the bathroom.

He followed her into the bedroom but didn’t answer.

“Sit on the bed.” She pointed to the king-size mattress before hurrying into the kitchen to retrieve some ice. She wrapped it in a towel and walked back out to the bedroom.

Jace’s shoulders slumped as he sat down. He placed his hands on his knees and hung his head. Frankie sighed. Just looking at his defeated posture drained all her energy.

She went to his side and knelt in front of him. “Close your eye.”

He did as he was told, and she pressed the makeshift compress onto his shiner. He groaned, and his grip on his knees tightened.

“From the way you act, I’d swear you’d never been punched before.” She smiled.

“Believe me, I’ve had my fair share of beatings throughout my lifetime.”

She shrugged. “Such is the life of a supernatural.”

He opened his one good eye and glared. “I’m not one of you.”

“You are—at least partially. You might have been able to fool those goons we took down back there, but you couldn’t fool me. I know an Alpha wolf when I see one.”

“I’m no wolf, and I’m no Alpha.”

She rolled her eyes and nodded to the compress. “Hold this in place while I get some more ice for the rest of your face.”

He held the compress as she went back to the kitchen. When she returned, she held an unwrapped cold cube against his lip. Despite the cold ice in her hand, her body filled with heat as she thought of his warm mouth running across her thigh. Her finger slipped, and the pad of her thumb rubbed against the smooth skin of his mouth.

She glanced away and pulled her hand back. Her cheeks flushed red. “Sorry. I—”

He grabbed her wrist until she looked him in the eye. “Don’t stop.”

Even after he released her, she fought to keep her breathing even. Lowering her gaze, she tried to think of something to break the silent tension. Anything.

He’s a hunter. He’s a hunter.

She steadied her trembling hand as she tried to soothe his wound again.

“So who were those guys?” she asked, glad to have come up with a logical change in subject. “I know they were hunters, but why were they hunting one of their own?” Then again, he hunted his own kind, too, even though he wouldn’t admit it.

“The other members of the Rochester division of the Execution Underground.”

Frankie raised a brow. “The Execution what?”

“The Execution Underground. It’s an international network of supernatural hunters. The men you saw tonight are the rest of the Rochester, New York, division.”

She frowned. “You’re telling me there are hunters around the globe out to kill my people?”

“Not just werewolves, other supernaturals, too. But for the most part, if they keep a low profile, they go undetected. We usually don’t go searching for them unless they’re causing problems or they’re inherently evil, like demons.”

“You’re like the freaking supernatural police.”

Jace shook his head, putting down the compress. “More like dirty cops. Not every hunter is a good guy.”

She drew a deep breath. “Like Mr. Ice.”

“Who?”

“The one you stabbed and beat the crap out of. I heard you call him Damon, but his eyes...they look like ice, they’re so cold.”

“True.” He nodded. “Well, ‘Mr. Ice’ is the head of our division. He thinks he’s tough shit because he slays vamps. You’ve gotta be more than a good shot to take down a bloodsucker, so he thinks he’s got all the right moves. He’s not dirty. He’s just a miserable person, though none of us know why.”

Frankie pitched the half-melted ice cube into the trash can near the dresser. “Why does he want to kill you?”

Jace shrugged. “The killings have been going on sporadically for a few weeks now, and since I haven’t bagged the guy yet, Damon’s got it in his thick skull that I’m somehow not doing my job. Now that he knows I’m a half-breed and with the whole name-carving shit, he thinks I’m involved. Just gives him all the more reason to get rid of me.”

“What sort of grudge does he have against you?”

Jace grinned ruefully. “From day one, I’ve refused to put up with his bull. That’s why he’s got it in for me.”

She sat down near his feet. “And now that he’s decided you’re a killer, he pretty much hates you.”

“You got it, babe.”

“So all we need to do is find the real killer and you can clear your name, right?”

He shook his head. “No can do. I’m branded for life with this wolf stuff. I always knew that asshole would come back and haunt me.”

“Asshole?” Frankie stared at him with wide eyes.

“My old man.”

“He’s dead? I’m sorry to hear that—I guess.”

“Hell no. I have no clue where he is, and I haven’t since I was sixteen. And if he’s dead, I’m sure as hell not sorry. Good riddance.” He grabbed a gun and some bullets from his duffel bag.

“Oh.” A constricting feeling plagued Frankie’s chest as she stared into his face. She could see the pain behind his eyes.

He loaded the shells. “He just up and left one day. Hung us out to dry.”

She remembered what it had been like when her parents died, how abandoned she’d felt even though it certainly hadn’t been their choice. She imagined that knowing his father had chosen to leave made that pain even worse. “You must have been devastated.”

“My mom was. I was sad for her sake, but mostly I was glad he was out of our lives.” He locked the gun’s barrel into place before he laid the fully loaded weapon at his side.

“You didn’t get along?”

Jace laughed. “Sure, we got along—when he wasn’t beating me up or smacking my mom around.”

Frankie’s stomach flipped. “That’s horrible. I really don’t know what to say, Jace. Have you ever talked about it with anyone?”

He reached into his bag and dug around. “I don’t need a shrink.”

“I didn’t say you did. I meant anyone. A friend. That’s the sort of thing that you need to get off your chest.”

He shot her a glare. “There’s nothing on my chest.”

She put her hands up in surrender, unwilling to push the subject. “If you say so.” She leaned her weight back on her arms and winced. A sharp pain tore through her collarbone.

“Shit. Trent got you with his silver chain, didn’t he?”

Her hand trailed up to the top of her shirt. She pulled down the material to show her maimed collarbone. Since the fight, the blood had clotted into flaky bits, but the few places that were still raw burned at the touch of her blouse.

“Let me get something for you.”

She held up her hand to stop him. “No, it’s okay. You’re worse off than me. Just take care of your eye.”

“Do you really think I’m going to sit here and baby myself when you have second-degree burns? I may seem like an ass sometimes, but I’m not that much of a jerk.” He stood and stalked into the bathroom.

“I don’t think you seem like an ass. Or a jerk.”

He glanced over his shoulder and eyed her for a long moment. “Thanks.” He grabbed his flask off the counter and strolled back into the room, bypassing the bed. He sat down on the floor in front of her, their knees almost touching.

Before she could protest, he wrapped his arms around her and scooped her into his lap. All of her senses snapped to attention and her mind went rigid—but her body had other plans. It melted into him, all her muscles relaxed.

A small smile crept over his face, and she suddenly wanted to hide in any available space. Anywhere, as long as his smoldering stare couldn’t run over her body and leave her wishing he would undress her with more than his eyes. She glanced down at her hands.

He hooked his index finger under her chin and tilted her head up. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

She swallowed hard. For such a simple question, it felt oddly intimate rolling off his tongue.

“Nothing.” She forced herself to be realistic. This was going nowhere. He hated her kind.

“I know from dealing with my mother that ‘nothing’ always means ‘something.’ When my dad would come home drunk and rough her up, every time I’d ask her how she was, she’d always say nothing was wrong.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she folded into herself. “I guess I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s a better answer, though I wish you would.”

“I wish you’d talk, too—and don’t say that’s different. It’s not.”

A moment of silence passed between them, a suffocating lull.

Frankie sighed. “I’m thinking about what my actions will result in when I return to my pack.”

“I’m sure they’ll be glad that you’re back. By now they’re bound to have realized you’re missing, and can they really punish you for being taken captive?”

She shook her head. “It’s not that simple.”

He stared at her, waiting for elaboration.

She let out another long sigh. “I’m in a position of power, an especially high position for a female.”

He looked at her expectantly. “What’s wrong with that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m ready to accept my obligations and fulfill my duties to my pack. But it’s hard for me to live my life when I’m confined by such strict rules.”

“I try not to play by others’ rules,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “And we’ve seen what sort of trouble it gets you in. If I step out of line, I can be severely punished, and because I’m a powerful female, there are loads of males who wouldn’t hesitate to kill or defeat me in order to usurp my position. I live with the constant knowledge that someday my pinkie toe may barely cross over some line and I’ll end up as someone’s bitch. I don’t want to be a domesticated girl.”

“Sounds like a shitty position to be in.”

She thought of all her duties. “In some ways, yes. In others, no. It depends. I know I should do what I want and not allow anyone to dictate to me, but it’s hard, in my position. I wish I could be like you.”

“Why the hell would you want to be like me?”

“You don’t let anyone intimidate you. I don’t scare easily, but I’m not immune to fear like you are.”

He let out a short huff. “I wasn’t always this way.”

“Maybe, but you are now.”

Jace’s jaw clenched as if he were fighting not to grind his teeth. “I swear to myself every day that I’ll never give in. I refuse to be like my bastard of a father. But each morning I look in the mirror and I see him staring back at me, and there are so many things that take me back to that place. I let him haunt me, and I can’t help it. I still choke at the smell of cigars.” He twisted so she could see his forearm. A series of perfectly circular scars marred the inside of his arm. Bile burned at the back of Frankie’s throat at the thought of someone hurting a child. “Don’t be like me. You can’t allow them to get the best of you. Don’t let yourself be abused.”

“Jace, you can’t blame yourself for what happened to you, and you can’t be angry over frightening memories. All the pain you felt was real. It would’ve been too much for anyone to handle, and you were just a kid. That sort of pain leaves scars that go way deeper than the surface. And you don’t need to spend so much of your energy fighting not to be like him. You may have a lot of anger, but it’s easy to see that you’re a good person.” She placed a hand on his arm.

He stared blankly at the wall. It took a moment before he responded. “And what does that say about me? I have to fight every day not to be some crazy, abusive drunk, not to treat people like shit and kill the innocent. And half the time I’m barely succeeding. Lord knows I drown myself in liquor, even if my damn supernatural metabolism burns up the alcohol so quickly that I’m rarely drunk. What does that say about my character?”

“That you’re a good man. Because, despite any temptation, you keep trying to do the right thing.”

He held up the flask. “This is going to hurt a little.” He tipped the container over and allowed the whiskey to pour across her burns. The wounds screamed with pain as the alcohol sanitized them.

His hand fell back to his side. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”

She smiled through the pain. “I’m glad you told me.”

“Do you want me to put a bandage on this?” he said.

“No, if I can shift it will heal quickly. I’ll wait until you’re asleep. I know you don’t like—”

“No, don’t bother. I may hunt criminal shifters, but...well, I wouldn’t hunt you.”

Her heart jumped, and she mentally scolded herself as she asked, “What makes me different from any other werewolf?”

“You’re useful. I need inside information. If the killer really is a rogue, I’ll need to cooperate with your pack, at least temporarily.”

“Oh.”

She glanced down at her hands and gritted her teeth. Damn, she was an idiot. What sort of answer had she expected?

“I’m going to shift. I’ll be right back.” She rushed into the bathroom and shut the door behind her, a little harder than she intended.

Pushing her spine against the wood, she slid down to the ceramic tiling. What was wrong with her? What the hell would give her the idea that Jace might actually be interested in her once the power of their hormones was taken out of the equation? And why was she interested in him? She was a werewolf—his worst enemy. The only thing he would remember about their time together was the fact that he’d fucked a wolf. He’d kidnapped her, had her in his control, and that was all that mattered. She was nothing but a piece of leverage that allowed him to say “Take this, fur-faces. I banged one of your bitches.” Destined mate, her ass.

Burying her face in her hands, she thought about making a run for it. If she bolted now and caught Jace off guard, she could make it to the stairs. Her body shook from the adrenaline buzzing through her veins. No. She couldn’t run. She needed his help to find the rogue.

She let out a long sigh. Damn. Why had she told him about the precariousness of her position? She’d never told anyone that, not even Alejandro. She’d blown her chances on that score, too. She’d never wanted to marry Alejandro, but running away hadn’t solved anything. And as a result, here she was, sitting in the bathroom of an overly done-up penthouse pining for a werewolf hunter who couldn’t care less.

Useful.

The word echoed in her ears. That was all she was to him. Useful. That was what she got for having sex on an animalistic whim, then letting her dumb-ass brain try to rationalize her actions with delusions of romance and destined mates. Useless was more accurate. He undoubtedly only wanted her in order to get to the packmaster. She scoffed. Little did he know...

She pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of her jeans. Flipping it open, she stared at the screen. Alejandro’s name flashed next to a missed call message. She pressed a few buttons and the blank slate for a text message popped up. She started typing.

Alejandro, I’m okay. No need 2 worry. Will explain everything l8r. Sorry I missed our

She stopped typing in the middle of her sentence, staring at the words until she finally hit the delete button. The sound of plastic cracking snapped her mind back in place, and she realized she’d thrown the phone at the bathroom wall.

“Damn it.”

She crawled toward the broken pieces. It was fixable, but she would need a whole lot of glue and possibly duct tape. But that wasn’t the real issue. What mattered was whether she was really going to run from this. From him. She stripped off her clothes and laid them next to the bathtub. The feeling of the cold tile against her naked flesh sent shivers up her spine. Crouching on her knees, she clenched her teeth. She wanted to scream, but the only real release was to shift.