Considering the warnings her mother had probably delivered about his character, Jeremy could have forgiven Jillian for being wary. Damn, he knew what his reputation had been, what it still was. But what he couldn’t forgive was that she’d never even given him the chance. If she had, she’d have known how ridiculous it was to worry about him straying. He hadn’t wanted other women—he’d only wanted Jillian.
Christ, he still did. He always had. Like his crooked bottom tooth, this insatiable hunger for her was always there…always with him.
And every woman he’d had since that kiss—since leaving the pack—had paled in comparison. That was why he was always left hungry, never satisfied. He could grasp at temporary relief, but true satisfaction—true peace—always hovered just beyond his reach.
Of course, the question of his fidelity had only been part of the problem. Even if he’d gained her trust, the pack would have still stood between them.
The pack, it seemed, would always stand between them.
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel to the point that it groaned, a fraction away from cracking, and Jeremy forced himself to release it, flexing his fingers one by one.
“God, you just need to get her out of your system.” He thrust his hands back through his hair, shoving the thick mass off his forehead, then reached for the door and climbed out of the truck. Deciding he needed to walk out his tension, he left his bags in the cab and headed down the sidewalk, the night silent but for his heavy footfalls.
He made a left, then took a right at the next cross street, heading toward the softly glowing lights on Main Street.
He could hear the twang of country music coming from the pub that sat on the upcoming corner, and he debated whether or not to go in and have a drink. He could have used the steadying burn of whiskey in his gut at the moment, but it was a given that he wouldn’t be welcomed as a customer there. Not that he cared.
As he neared the entrance to the pub, the front door swung open, letting out a stream of smoke and the grinding blare of music. A tall, broad man stepped onto the sidewalk, leaning down to light the cigarette hanging from his lips, his hands cupped around the fragile flame. The tip of the cigarette sparked, glowing a dark orange, and he shifted under the streetlamp as he tucked a silver lighter into his back pocket. The milky glow of light illuminated the distinguished angles of his face and short, dark brown hair clipped close to his head…and Jeremy’s wolf stirred beneath his skin. The blast of energy from his animal drew the man’s gaze as he lifted his head, his dark gray eyes glowing with a preternatural fire in the shadowed darkness.
Eric Drake. Just the bastard he wanted to see.
Jealousy crept up in him like a huge, ugly beast, hungry for confrontation. Wearing a feral smile, he braced his feet and planted himself right in the Lycan’s path.
Drawing a deep drag off his smoke, Eric inclined his head toward the shadowy stretch of sidewalk at Jeremy’s back. “You’re in my way, Burns.”
Jeremy arched one brow, his voice a silken, rasping taunt. “And here I thought maybe you were in mine.”
A slow smile curled the other man’s mouth. “Are we talking about the sidewalk…or a woman?”
Jeremy cocked his head. “I know everyone around here thinks you’re the golden boy of Shadow Peak, but I’m not buying it, Drake. Apples never fall far from the tree, and your old man’s as rotten as they come.”
“Now see, that’s where you’re wrong.” He paused, taking another slow, satisfying drag. “If that were the case, you’d be like your old man. Reliable. Worthy. Devoted. And instead, look how you treated the woman nature created for you.”
“What’s between Jillian and me is none of your business,” he snarled, aware that his fangs were burning in his gums, just waiting to slip free.
“Wrong again. Jillian’s my friend—”
“And she’s my mate.”
“And I care about her,” Drake grunted, his metallic gray eyes narrowed. “I’d hate to see her get hurt because of some arrogant jackass who doesn’t know how to leave well enough alone.”
Jeremy took a step forward, vibrating with a low-frequency rage as he spread his arms wide. “You got a problem with me, help yourself.”
Eric eyed him from beneath his lashes, then took another slow, deliberate drag on his cigarette. “Ya know, if I didn’t know better,” he drawled, grinning as he exhaled an ethereal stream of smoke, “I’d say you stink of jealousy, Burns.”
“And if I didn’t know better,” he growled, taking a step closer, “I’d say you were just begging to get your ass kicked.”
Shaking his head, Drake laughed softly under his breath. “God, this is going to be fun, having you back in town,” he murmured, and the cell phone on his hip started buzzing. After taking a quick look at the number, he sent Jeremy a hard smile. “As fun as this has been, I’m afraid we’ll have to finish it later.”
Then he answered the phone with a low, “Hey, you okay?” and set off down the street in the other direction. Jeremy stared after him, unable to get the sick feeling out of his gut that Drake was talking to Jillian.
Goddamn it. Had she called the bastard for comfort? To tell him she was okay? Or for something more?
With that infuriating thought eating its way through his mind, Jeremy stalked off into the shadows, nothing more than the possessive burn of jealousy keeping him company along the way.
* * *
After a restless night’s sleep, the morning sun was still a distant promise on the horizon when Jeremy reached the house leased by Dylan Riggs. The thirty-nine-year-old Elder lived in a single story cedar cabin, his small front yard immaculately landscaped, blooming with a cascade of colorful, vivid blooms despite the fact that it was fall. Jeremy jumped onto the front porch, knocked, waited, then knocked again. He heard shuffling from inside, and then a bleary-eyed Dylan opened up, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. His light brown hair hung over his forehead, upper lip curled in a snarl until his eyes focused on Jeremy.
“Morning, sunshine. Late night?” Propping his shoulder against the door frame, Jeremy crossed his arms and arched one brow as he took in Dylan’s haggard appearance. Normally looking like something that had stepped off the cover of GQ, it was a shock to see him like this. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“Only my sleep,” Dylan muttered. He pushed his hair back with one hand and scratched at his chest with the other. “Come on in. I need coffee.”
Jeremy smothered a soft laugh as he walked inside, shutting the door behind him while his gaze scanned the room, taking everything in. It was strange to see how Dylan lived, after knowing him all these years. The house was surprisingly clean for a bachelor. Either Dylan was severely domesticated, in which case he planned to rib him mercilessly like any good pal would, or the guy had a bevy of women looking after him. He was leaning toward the latter. “So who was she?”
Dylan went still for a beat of three seconds, then sent him a sharp look over his shoulder. “Who was who?”
“The woman who kept you up all night.”
“Like I’d tell your sorry ass,” Dylan snorted.
“Come on.” Jeremy sighed, hooking a chair with his foot and plopping down at the round kitchen table. “You know you can trust me.”
“Yeah, right.” Dylan’s drawl was wry, his tone light, but there was something around the Elder’s eyes that caught Jeremy’s attention.
Shaking off the uncomfortable sensation, thinking this whole town was just screwing with his head, he watched Dylan open a cupboard and pull down a fresh bag of coffee beans. “So I know why I look like hell,” the Elder grunted, “but why do you?”
“Didn’t sleep much last night,” he said, slowly releasing the air from his lungs, willing his tension to flow out just as easily, like water slipping smoothly down a drain.
“Which means I can’t, either?” Dylan grouched, flipping the coffeepot on and turning around, bracing himself against the counter. He scratched at his ch
est again, then at the dark shadows on his cheeks and chin.
Jeremy gave a gritty laugh. “The rock being hurled through my mom’s front window had me up at dawn. I’m not surprised I look like death warmed over, since I feel like it, too.”
“Son of a bitch.” Dylan’s posture went rigid, while the coffeepot sputtered and steamed at his side, filling the air with the rich, smoky scent of fresh-brewed French roast. “You already have rocks being thrown at you? What’ll be next? I knew this was a shitty plan, just like I told you before. Things are too unstable right now, and you’re walking right into the middle of it.”
Jeremy shrugged one shoulder. “Has to be done, Dylan.”
“Why? You know I’m here to help—”
“We know that.” He sighed. “But you’ve got to be careful or you’re going to find yourself out of a job. If anyone on the League suspects you’re trying to finger one of them as a traitor, your ass will be banished in a heartbeat. None of the Runners want to see that happen. You’re one of the last voices of sanity left in this place.”
“I still think this is too dangerous,” the Elder muttered, his dark eyes hooded beneath a frustrated scowl that reminded Jeremy of when they were younger. Dylan’s mother had come from a werewolf pack in upstate Virginia, and after his parents’ separation, he and his sister had split their time between the two packs. Despite the fact that his father was an Elder, Dylan had been treated as an outsider by the Silvercrest, which had precipitated his friendship with the Runners. When his father passed away, Dylan had claimed the hereditary right of succession to take his father’s place. There were many within the pack who had believed he was too soft to serve in a leadership role, until he’d proven them wrong by defeating a string of challengers.
To this day, he remained a friend, as well as a supporter, of the Bloodrunners.
“I know you want to help us,” Jeremy told him, “but you’re already walking a fine enough line as it is, Dylan. Be careful or Stefan Drake will demand your removal. And if not him, then one of the others. They already think you’re too radical in your beliefs.”
Dylan cursed under his breath and poured the coffee, then handed a mug to Jeremy and took a seat at the table. After a few blissful sips of the rich brew that fed the caffeine addiction his friends continuously ribbed him about, Jeremy got to the point of his visit. “I need some answers about Jillian.”
Dylan took one look at his expression over the rim of his mug, and knew exactly what was coming. Blowing out a rough breath, he took a quick sip, then set his coffee on the table. Pushing both hands back through his hair, he said, “Hell, I knew this was gonna happen.”
“You should have told me,” Jeremy said in an even tone, curling his fingers around the thick handle of his mug, careful not to squeeze too hard lest he shatter it. “I had a right to know.”
“She asked me not to.” The Elder sighed.
He’d suspected as much, but it still pissed him off to hear it. His fingers tightened, and he forced himself to loosen his hold. “You should have told me anyway.”
Dylan sent him an impatient look. “Jillian’s my friend, Jeremy, same as you. Do you want me spilling all of your secrets?”
He spread his arms wide, while his mouth curled into a cocky smirk. “Hey, I’ve got nothing to hide. I’m an open book.”
“Oh, yeah?” Dylan slouched in the kitchen chair, brows lifting in a skeptical arch. “Then you won’t mind if I tell her you only date brown-eyed, petite blondes who look a helluva lot like her…and only for one night? You won’t mind her knowing that I’ve never seen you with the same woman twice? That you’re known for having a ruthless sex drive, but end your involvement there, never letting any of them get close to you, almost as if you were saving yourself for someone? As if your heart already belonged to another?”
There were times when Jeremy really wanted to tell Dylan Riggs to go to hell, friends or not. This was one of them. “Your point?” he challenged, his voice reminding him of the crushed glass he’d cleaned up just that morning.
“My point,” Dylan shot back, a sharp sound of frustration in his throat, “is that you had better think long and hard before you decide on the rules here. Fair is fair. If I go spilling Jillian’s secrets, yours are gonna get spilled, as well.”
Irritation had him surging to his feet, pacing the cozy kitchen from one end to the other. “Don’t give me that fair is fair bullshit,” he growled. “Gossiping about my sex life and Jillian’s fighting are two completely different things. She could have been killed, Dylan. She could have goddamn died in one of those fights! You should have told me what was happening.”
Slumping back in his chair, Dylan eyed him with a fascinated mixture of surprise and humor. “And how was I supposed to know you even cared, Jeremy?”
He ground his jaw, refusing to touch that one. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t incriminate him—and the bastard knew it.
Dylan sighed, scrubbing his hands down his face…and that strange look was in his eyes again, as if he were somehow in pain. He rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes, then dropped them into his lap, his gaze focused on the window, some distant point in the early morning sky. “Look, I’m sorry. I know it’s hell on you, the way things turned out. I guess that’s one of the reasons I’ve kept things to myself. Whether you like it or not, Jillian has had to deal with a lot of fallout from her involvement with you, and that isn’t going to change. Not unless you’re ready to make your return here permanent and claim her as your own. And somehow I don’t think that’s what you’ve got in mind.”
Jeremy rolled his shoulders and shoved his hands deep into the front pockets of his jeans. “Why do I suddenly get the feeling there’s a lecture on the way here?”
“Seriously, man. Jillian’s been through a lot because of you—”
“Uh-uh,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’ll take responsibility for my screwups, but I’m innocent in this one. She threw any chance we would have had away because she chose to believe one of her jealous little friends over me. Because she was too afraid to stand up to the League. Any hell she’s had to live with was her own creation. I’m not taking the rap for it.” He paused, focusing on getting his breathing back to normal, aware that he was losing his control. “Not that it makes any difference. You’ll all believe what you want to believe. You always have.”
“Cut the crap,” Dylan rasped, glaring at him. “We’ve never talked about it before, but if you say you never strayed, then I believe you. But what I believe isn’t important. Jillian’s the one you need to convince.”
“And why would I want to go and do that?” he grunted, working his jaw.
Dylan threw back his head and let out a deep, rumbling crack of laughter. Standing up, he walked to Jeremy and clapped him on the shoulder, a wry grin tilting the curve of his mouth. “You’re my friend and I admire you, Jeremy. I really do. But if you think how you feel about Jillian Murphy isn’t written all over your face, then you really are a dumb-ass.”
“Gee, thanks.” He grimaced, hating that Dylan was right.
“I’m not the only one who’ll notice. You need to be careful.”
“Yeah,” he drawled with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “I’ll be sure to keep my eye out for the bogeyman hiding under my bed at night.”
Dylan’s eyes narrowed as they stared each other down. “That’s the problem with you Runners,” he muttered in a quiet rasp, shaking his head. “You all think you’re so goddamn invincible. I’m serious, man. Don’t laugh this off. It’s dangerous, you being back here. Whoever’s behind this knows you’re closing in. That’s going to make them act.”
Something in the guy’s tone caught Jeremy’s attention, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “What are you saying?”
“You’re here to do a job, Jeremy. Don’t draw Jillian into the middle of it.”
The line of his mouth went hard, and his brows pulled together in a dark scowl. “I’m not looking to get her h
urt. You should know me better than that.”
“I know you lose your head where she’s concerned,” Dylan argued. “I know you’re so on edge at the idea of being near her again that you’re all but buzzing with the vibes.”
“You getting metaphysical on me?” he snorted, wondering when he’s become so transparent. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Dylan about Jillian’s relationship with Eric Drake, but the idea of hearing anything he might have to say put a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Fine, be a smart-ass.” Dylan sighed, propping his hip against the kitchen counter. “But I’m giving you good advice, Jeremy. Watch your back, trust no one and, for god’s sake, watch Jillian’s. She’s too trusting by far, and the one you’re after won’t hesitate to hurt her to get to you.”
“If I could do this without involving her, I would,” he said after a heavy pause. “But you know I need her help. She knows the Silvercrest better than anyone, even better than you.”
Dylan scowled. “Like I said, just don’t trust anyone.”
“You been watching old X-Files episodes again?” He laughed roughly. “You sound as paranoid as Mulder.”
“That’s because I am paranoid. We’re hanging together by a thread here, man. Pull things too far in one direction, screw with the tension and the whole damn thing is going to snap.”
“Warning taken,” he said easily, heading for the door. “And I promise to be the soul of discretion. I won’t step on any toes or tweak any noses. I’ll be a goddamn Boy Scout.”
“You don’t even know the meaning,” Dylan grumbled to his back.
He pulled the front door open, but turned back before heading out. “One more thing.”
“Yeah?”
A wry smile curved his mouth. “Where does she live?”
Dylan shook his head, his expression heavy. “In the white cottage over on Lassiter Avenue.”
He nodded. “Thanks. I’ll keep in touch. “
Last Wolf Hunting Page 7