Giving herself a mental shake, she finished her argument. “You can’t judge us all by a few, Jeremy. That isn’t fair.”
“Fair? What isn’t fair is that their kids are missing, and all they’re worried about is that they’ve run off with a human, when in reality they’re probably somewhere doing something that’s going to land them in some serious trouble, if not killed. How asinine is that?”
She started to respond, when her cell phone suddenly vibrated in her pocket, signaling a text message. Pulling out her phone, Jillian quickly read the few lines of script and grimaced. “I’m going to have to go. Graham says he needs to see me.”
* * *
“And just what does ol’ Graham want this early?” Jeremy grunted, possession biting at his ass like a mangy dog. Not that he was jealous of the old guy, but he was bitter as hell, knowing that Graham had always been against a relationship between them. The Lead Elder may have been the best friend of Mason’s father, Robert Dillinger, but he was still as narrow-minded as the rest of the League. “Is he ready to slap your hand for being seen in public with me?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “I hardly think he even knows yet, Jeremy.”
“Graham knows,” he drawled. “Trust me, this whole place is on pins and needles, waiting to see what their Spirit Walker will do now that I’m back.”
“I’m not going to do anything.” She blew out a rough breath, not quite meeting his eyes as she said, “To be honest, I’ve been having problems with the League for a while now, long before they knew you were coming home.”
“What kind of problems?”
Her gaze found his then nervously skittered away, focusing on something over his left shoulder. “They’ve decided that I’ve gone single long enough. According to the Elders, it’s past time I went about the business of producing them a new Spirit Walker.”
He made a rude sound in his throat. “Jesus, Jillian. Why don’t you tell them to go to hell?”
“It’s not that simple,” she murmured, and her eyes moved back to his, as if pulled there by the force of his will.
Jeremy arched one brow and moved closer. “Isn’t it? Or are you still letting the League call the shots for you? Still letting them control your life?”
“And who should I let control it?” she demanded, her tone as defensive as her body language. She crossed her arms over her middle, shoulders hunched as she nibbled on the corner of that lush, pansy-soft mouth, its pink stain matching the vibrant color in her cheeks. “You?”
“I’ve never wanted to control you. I’ve just wanted to f—”
“Don’t even say it!” she warned, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the expression on her face.
“What?” He grinned as he held his hands up in innocent surrender. “I was just going to say that I’ve wanted to find a way for us to be friends.”
“Yeah, sure you were.” She sighed, shaking her head, and he could see the glimmer of laughter lurking in those big brown eyes. Softly, she said, “I don’t know how long this is going to take with Graham, but if you’re going to snoop around without me today, promise that you’ll be careful.”
“Worried about me?” he asked, teasing her with a wink.
The corner of her mouth twitched, creating an adorable little dimple that he wanted to press his mouth against. “I worry about all my wolves.”
“So you are worried about me,” he rumbled with cocky satisfaction, waggling his brows. He enjoyed teasing her, even when they were going head-to-head with each other.
Jillian rolled her eyes again. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Yeah, I know. Go on and see what Graham needs. I’ll catch up with you later.”
She gave him a doubtful look. “What are you going to do?”
“Don’t look so worried.” He chuckled. “I promise to stay out of trouble. Scout’s honor.”
* * *
“Right,” Jillian snickered, too aware of the fact that she did not want to leave him. “You were never a Scout.”
“Not for lack of trying.” His voice lowered, eyes smoky beneath the golden fringe of his lashes. “I’ve been known to act like a saint on occasion. You should know that more than anyone.”
She blushed, remembering the heated embrace he’d tried so hard to keep from going too far when they’d shared that one earthshaking, unforgettable kiss. He’d been so mindful of her age…of her innocence. She’d taken it for granted then, but now, as a woman, she realized just what that restraint had cost him.
Unsure of what to say, she started to walk away, when he touched her arm. “Jillian?”
“Yes?” She turned back to meet his gaze.
“Don’t let Sheffield anywhere near you,” he warned her. “And be careful around Drake.”
“Around Eric?” she asked, frowning.
Jillian watched as his mouth flattened into a grim line. “Around all of them, but especially his father. Until we know more about what’s going on, you can’t be too cautious.”
She sucked in a sharp breath of air, eyes wide. “Oh, my god, you think it’s—”
“Shh,” he whispered, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to her temple, his breath warm in her ear. “Just promise me that you’ll be on guard.”
She nodded mutely, the idea that had burst into her brain spreading like a brilliant ink stain, consuming her mind. Stefan Drake had the hatred; there was no doubt of that. But was it really possible that he was crazy enough to think he could use rogues to…what? What would be his goal? His aim?
Jeremy stared into her eyes and lifted his hand to brush her hair back from her brow, his rough calluses making her shiver with awareness. “We can argue later. Just promise me that you’ll be careful.”
She wet her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. “You say that like you really care.”
The glowing burn of tenderness in his hazel eyes made her chest feel tight. “I don’t want to see you get hurt in all of this, Jillian.”
“No, I think you’re trying to seduce me,” she whispered, her voice thick as she shook her head in silent wonder. It was a statement—one he didn’t bother to deny.
He pushed his hands deep in his pockets, all traces of tenderness gone from his gaze as the primitive burn of hunger bled through. “I made it clear what I want last night,” he told her, the words gritty and raw with intent.
“Yes, you did.” Frustration roared through her, swift and urgent and hot. “And if you’ll recall, I told you it wasn’t going to happen.”
“Then it looks like we’re at a standoff.” He grinned at her, but the lines around his eyes betrayed the gravity behind his words. He had no intention of backing down. Not until he’d got what he wanted. “We’ll just have to see who breaks first, won’t we?”
His white teeth flashed in a sharp smile, and he stepped back, her cue to turn and leave.
But as Jillian walked away, it bothered her—how reluctant she was to take it.
* * *
The second Jillian turned the corner, Jeremy leaned back against the brick wall of a street-side shop, gritting his teeth against the dull ache in his lower body. God, he was so on edge, just from being near her, that he knew one touch of her soft little hand on his shaft and he’d have gone over into sweet, mindless oblivion.
Pushing away from the wall, he headed in the opposite direction from which they’d come. At the end of the block, he’d just started around the corner of a building, when he found himself face-to-face with Constance Murphy, Jillian’s mother.
Damn.
“Jeremy,” she murmured, sounding calm, despite the fact she looked surprised to have run in to him. Maybe she’d thought he’d be skulking around in the shadows…or maybe she hadn’t even given a thought to his return. God only knew she’d never had much to say to him before. Some of the most awkward moments of his life had been when he was forced to interact with this woman. “I heard you were back in town.”
Yeah, and she sounded less than thrilled with th
e news. No shock there.
“Mrs. Murphy,” he replied, trying to hide his grimace behind a smile, but knowing he failed.
“You don’t have to call me Mrs. Murphy, Jeremy. We’re both adults. Obviously we should be capable of acting like them, in a civilized manner.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, feeling like a boy about to get his ears boxed.
“I heard about last night,” she stated, his displeasure evident.
He reached up and tugged at his earlobe. “Yeah, I…uh, figured you would.”
Her slender hands clutched at the strap of the brown leather purse hanging over her shoulder, the rouged line of her mouth tight with restraint. “Surely you can understand why it’s important for you to stay away from my daughter. You’ve already caused enough chaos in her life.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, Jillian’s a grown woman.”
Bright flags of color flared in her cheeks, her skin still amazingly smooth for her age, making her look much younger than she was. “Yes, she is a grown woman. One with a soft spot for something that isn’t good for her.”
“So you think her and Drake are a bad match, too?” he drawled, struggling to keep his face straight. “Glad to hear it.”
Her gaze flashed with fire, her expression so brittle, he was surprised she didn’t crack. “Don’t get smart with me, Jeremy,” she snapped. “I want you to stay away from my daughter.”
Raw emotion burned through him, making him curse under his breath as he felt the restless shift of his beast. It didn’t like being told to stay away from the thing it craved most, any more than his human half did. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “What does it matter when the answer’s the same?”
Her eyes narrowed to slits, mouth pinched, and he felt the chill of her fury rush through him like an angry wind. Locking his jaw, he stood his ground, knowing that if he backed down now she’d take it for weakness and press her advantage. Witches grew more powerful with age, their abilities dependent upon each individual bloodline, and Jeremy knew that Jillian’s line was considered one of the strongest. Constance Murphy could become a serious enemy if she chose to, but he hated to be at odds with the mother of the woman he—
Damn it. How about we not go there right now.
He wasn’t ready to look too closely at how he felt about Jillian, primarily because he was still trying to figure it out. So much had happened between them since last night…or so little, depending on how you looked at it. But one thing he knew for sure was that something was going to happen. And soon.
“This isn’t over,” she said angrily, and with a cold look, she turned her back on him and hurried away, her movements wooden with fury as her low heels clicked ominously against the sidewalk. Jeremy watched her until she turned and disappeared at the next block, then heaved a sigh of relief before heading in the opposite direction, thinking that if this was the beginning of his day…he wasn’t sure he wanted to see how it ended.
Chapter 8
The late afternoon sun was hanging heavily in the sky as Jeremy glanced at his phone for the hundredth time. He kept waiting for word from Jillian, wondering what she was doing. After the unsettling run-in with Constance Murphy, he’d spent the rest of the day snooping around, refamiliarizing himself with the town, aware of the tension hanging over Shadow Peak, as if everyone was just waiting for something bad to happen.
When he’d neared the high school, he caught sight of some more of the controversial T-shirts that he and Jillian had seen that morning. One particular version that caught his eye had read Authority Bites…and So Do I. He’d laughed when he saw it, thinking he’d actually like to own one with that particular saying. Mason would be annoyed as hell by it, but then irritating Mase was too much fun to resist.
For the most part, people made it a point to avoid him, but there were a few who surprisingly made an effort to engage him in conversation. The most interesting bit of news he’d heard had been about the shirts; or rather, the Lycans wearing them. According to one of his father’s friends, the teenagers sporting the controversial slogans were part of Stefan Drake’s new youth awareness movement. From what Jeremy could gather, the purpose of the movement was the promotion of purity among the Lycans, like a fledgling sect of little neo-Nazis who believed anything less than a pureblooded wolf shouldn’t be allowed to live.
Jeremy wasn’t surprised by the news, considering the Bloodrunners already knew Drake was twisted in the head. But it still made his blood run cold to think that the bastard’s racist beliefs were gaining such momentum among the younger members of the pack. And he wasn’t surprised that Jillian hadn’t said anything to him about the movement that morning, considering how badly she’d wanted to get him away from Sheffield and his gang.
Apparently Drake claimed he had nothing to do with the shirts the teens were wearing, but that didn’t mean anything. If he was the traitor they were hunting, he’d be a fool to openly associate himself with any pro-rogue propaganda. And they knew he wasn’t a fool.
Jeremy was nearing the end of Main Street when he finally caught sight of none other than Stefan Drake himself coming out of town hall, the Elder’s gray hair shining silver in the weak shafts of sunlight burning through the low cloud covering. For a moment, Jeremy almost didn’t recognize him, but then it’d been a while since their paths had crossed—since Drake had been conveniently absent when he’d presented his Bloodrunning numbers to the League. Drake looked leaner than Jeremy remembered him, as if his features had been carved out of stone, his skin stretched over bones with nothing to soften the severity of his expression.
Hatred was probably eating away at the old bastard from the inside out.
Curious to see how the Elder would react to his presence, Jeremy decided to stir the pot. Drake stood at the top of the wide steps set between white painted banisters that matched the stately building’s shingled facade. He had his head bent in conversation with Dustin’s father, Cooper Sheffield, the League-appointed town security chief, which was really nothing more than a glorified title. In reality, Sheffield was the Elders’ muscle when they needed to deal with a pack disturbance and didn’t want to dirty their own hands.
As Jeremy approached, he spotted another surly-looking group of teens lounging against the front window of the floral shop, halfway up the block, a cloud of smoke surrounding them as they took dramatic puffs on their cigarettes. One of the thugs caught sight of him, nudging his buddy with his elbow. Keeping the group in his peripheral vision, Jeremy hitched his hip against the base of the nearest banister.
“Hey, Stefan,” he called out, smiling when the Elder’s shoulders went rigid, his head whipping around to pin Jeremy with a sharp, hawklike gaze. “Throw any good rocks lately?”
For a moment, the Elder vibrated with rage. Then he brought himself under control as he calmly turned toward Jeremy, shot the cuffs on his immaculate white dress shirt and smoothed back the silver at his temples, a thin smile curving his mouth. “Having trouble already, Runner? What a shame.”
“So what’s next?” Jeremy asked around a grin, mindful of the group of teens beginning to skulk closer. “You gonna get really creative and maybe TP my house? Leave a stink bomb on my front porch? Make crank calls?”
Cooper Sheffield snorted a soft bark of laughter, until Drake’s glare choked him silent. Returning his attention to Jeremy, the Elder considered him with a cool look of sinister anticipation. “I don’t need to play games, half-breed. When I want you gone, you’ll be gone.”
“Yeah?” Jeremy murmured, rubbing his hand over his chin as he considered the warning, his afternoon stubble scraping his palm. “I dunno. I gotta say that I think I could take you. And you know why? ’Cause you look old, Drake. I’m guessing that playing the role of an evil mastermind is harder work than you’d thought it would be. Plotting the destruction of this pack wearing you down?”
“Your arrogance is going to
be your downfall,” the Elder remarked with a knowing smile, the corners of his pale eyes creasing with malevolence. “After all, we each have a weakness, do we not? That one thing we feel we cannot live without.”
Jeremy jerked his chin toward the approaching gang of young punks. “Is that why you need your little goon squad over there? Do they keep you safe at night?”
“There’s so many ways for accidents to happen,” Drake continued, ignoring Jeremy’s taunting. “Especially for someone, say, in Jillian’s position. The Spirit Walker may have Lycan blood in her veins, but her body is so much weaker than ours. One little misstep, one wrong move,” he purred, snapping the fingers of his right hand, “and she could so easily die—just like a pathetic little human.”
Hearing Jillian’s name on Drake’s lips put a fury unlike anything Jeremy had ever known in his blood, violent and raging, seething just beneath the surface of his skin—though it was going to be a cold day in hell before he gave the bastard the satisfaction of seeing it. Relaxing his stance and tilting his head slightly to the side, Jeremy stroked the corner of his brow, careful to keep his anger under tight control. “If you think she’s weak,” he remarked, his tone mellow and calm, “then you’re even thicker than I thought. Jillian Murphy has more power in her little finger than you could ever hope to possess, Drake.” He paused, allowing a hard smile to curve the corners of his mouth before adding, “And if you ever threaten her again, I’ll make it my number one priority in life to see you dead.”
Drake lifted his chin and stared at Jeremy down the thin blade of his nose. “Threatening an Elder is a crime punishable by—”
“Oh, I’m not threatening,” he drawled with a smug grin, enjoying the look of outrage slowly reddening Drake’s gaunt face. “I’m making a promise. Lay one hand on her, and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
At that moment, Sheffield took an aggressive step forward, his right arm reaching across his bulging abdomen, beneath his jacket, fingers curled around the butt of an automatic handgun. Jeremy arched his brows and gave a low whistle. “That’s a fancy-looking piece you’ve got there, Cooper. Too bad you can’t kill me with bullets.”
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