Hunter of Shadows

by Nancy Gideon

  “The wicked sister.”

  Brigit. “Is everything okay?”

  “She said she’d call you with details tonight and that you weren’t to worry.”

  Which meant there was something to worry about. Hell.

  “Silas?”

  The fragile note in Nica’s voice brought his eyes open. Hers were shiny.

  “No more hero stuff for a while. I don’t think my heart can take it.”

  “Okay.”

  “You came back for me. Thank you.” A soft kiss. “But you almost died. What good would freedom do me without you here to do me?”

  He grinned. “I’m gonna need a rain check on that, at least until after breakfast.”

  She was still chewing on something. Finally, she looked him in the eye and asked, “Are you happy?”

  “What?”

  “Brigit said—”

  MacCreedy finished that sentence with a kiss, pouring all his passion and joy and gratitude into her until she purred like a sleek, pampered cat. When he pulled away, she was smiling contentedly.

  “You have an amazing way with words, MacCreedy.”

  “Only one thing could make me happier.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You making coffee while I catch another ten minutes of sleep.”

  “Done.”

  Nica slipped out of bed and MacCreedy’s gaze followed her as she crossed the room to shrug on his white shirt. Lust and love filled his chest with rib-cracking intensity.

  Happy? There wasn’t a word big enough for what he felt for her. Which was why he’d risk anything to fulfill his promise.

  Silas closed his eyes on a deep breath. Time to settle things.

  That slimeball Hawthorne was pouring a cup of very nice smelling coffee. When he turned, the cup fell to the floor as he lunged back against the counter, eyes wide.

  “We didn’t get to finish our talk last night,” MacCreedy said with a threatening smile. “I know where you live. I know where you work, and I know how to get into your head. Unless you want me to show up here in person to do all the things you threatened to do to my mate and my family, you’re going to do as I say.”

  “Anything you want!”

  “You’re going to report that Monica Fraser was killed in New Orleans and that the man who contracted her job is also dead, so there’s no need to complete her assignment and no refunds are necessary. You can keep your percentage and your miserable life—if you leave us alone. Agreed?”

  When Hawthorne hesitated MacCreedy’s energy force hit him, driving the breath from him with the sensation of crushing cold. Like death.

  “All right!” he screamed. “I’ll do it.”

  “Have the names and addresses of all Nica’s friends ready when I come to see you again.”

  “But I can’t— All right. All right!”

  “Don’t fuck with me.”

  Pain scissored across Hawthorne’s face, and blood welled up from the slashes scored from ear to chin. MacCreedy had made actual contact with him! Impossible!

  The scent of hazelnut coffee was replaced by a more pungent smell as Hawthorne wet himself.

  “Here’s your coffee.”

  Silas opened his eyes and smiled despite the acrid aroma, sliding his hand down the curve of her hip.

  Noting the tenting action under the sheet, Nica said, “I see you’ve changed the menu. And I have a very strong appetite. Is that blood under your nails?”

  Silas glanced down. “Must be from last night.” He distracted her from any other questions by slipping his hands under her shirt and up her smooth skin.

  As she sank into his kiss, her hands showing him what she was hungry for, Silas reveled in his good fortune.

  Tonight he’d fill the coffeemaker himself and set the timer.

  Nothing about his future was going to be bitter.

  Turn the page

  for an exciting sneak peek

  of the next irresistible novel

  in the Shadows series

  by Nancy Gideon

  Coming soon from Pocket Books

  The club’s interior was pitch-black and quiet as Susanna hurried down the hall toward the open office door. A faint light glowed within from the fixtures she’d left on low. It was 5:00 a.m. She had only a few hours and was anxious to boot up and resume her research. As she crossed to the big desk, the overhead fluorescents flashed on, blinding her like a lightning strike as a thunderous voice boomed behind her.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  The sight of Jacques LaRoche blown up into a thunderhead of temper rooted Susanna to the spot.

  He was magnificent in his fury, brows lowered storm clouds over those blue eyes, nostrils flaring like something wild and dangerous scenting a fight . . . or a female. His posture was all-aggressive male, leaning in to intimidate and squared up to accentuate his impressive dimensions. In a moment, he’d be beating his chest and letting out a conquering roar.

  And Susanna had had enough.

  She’d been bullied and threatened and submissive for the last time. Fists on her hips, she drew herself up, placing her at eye level with his sternum.

  “Who do you think you are, taking that tone with me?” she snapped with the fierceness of a terrier attacking a rottweiler.

  Her retaliation only fueled his anger. “I’ll take any tone I please. This is my place and you are a reluctantly invited guest here. Where have you been?”

  It registered in the back of her mind that he’d been worried, but she couldn’t get past the arrogance of his snarling masculine entitlement.

  “I don’t have to check my schedule with you,” she countered. “I’m only using your computer. That doesn’t make you my babysitter or master.”

  “When you’re supposed to be here and you decide to be elsewhere, you will check with me,” he growled. “You’re my responsibility, whether I want it or not.”

  And he didn’t want it—or her. Her pride rallied against that hurtful jab. “You don’t owe me anything. I don’t want your sense of obligation hanging on me like chains. I’ve had all of that I can tolerate. Now let me do the work I came here to do.” Frustrated, she put her hands flat on his chest and shoved. Set like a mountain, he didn’t budge.

  His huge hands curled about her wrists, making her pulse jump. Suddenly, his hot gaze dropped, sweeping her from head to toe, taking in her new haircut and clothes. His deep voice became a gruff rumble. “What have you done to yourself?”

  Uncertain if his tone implied approval or disgust, Susanna rebelled against it. “Nothing for the likes of you.”

  He flushed with angry insult and something else that she both feared and hoped was desire. The sudden darkening of his eyes warned he’d been pushed beyond his limit, and he yanked her up against the unyielding wall of his body.

  The contact shocked them both. With their panting, their gazes held in helpless attraction and dismay. Then Jacques bent down to her, slowly enough that she could avoid it if she chose to.

  She didn’t choose to. Oh, yes. At last.

  His kiss was pure heaven, forceful at first because she’d stirred his passions into a frenzy, then quickly softening to a yearning so sweet, she ached to her soul. The familiar cushion of his full lips, intensified by the prickly outline of facial stubble, had her lost in a delirious haze. Nothing had ever felt so strong, so right, as the emotions crowding up inside her.

  Before she could respond to the hunger surging through her, Jacques abruptly jumped back to regard her through wide, stricken eyes.

  Unable to catch her breath, Susanna lifted a shaking hand to her mouth to marvel at the delicious bruising of her lips. How had she existed for so long without this crazy zing of feelings, her skin tingling, her blood hot and heavy, need pooling damply at the apex of her thighs? Her body cried out for more—but one look at his frozen features told her that wasn’t going to happen.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered in horror as she stared blankly up at him, trembling in
what he probably assumed was shock. “I never . . . I would never . . . I don’t know what happened.”

  And Susanna realized then that she couldn’t allow them to fall into such a dangerous relationship. It wasn’t fair to either of them. She deliberately made her words cold and concise.

  “You overstepped yourself, Mr. LaRoche, and it will not happen again.” Her conscience writhed as she watched him assemble his scattered thoughts behind a self-preserving wall.

  “Don’t worry, Dr. Duchamps. I’m not the kind of guy who has to force himself on females.”

  “I’m sure you’re not. You have them trailing behind you throwing beer and gumbo in your path. But I am not one of those females. I have a mate and a child back home in Chicago. I have no interest in the kind of dalliance you might offer.”

  He told her with a prideful stiffening, “You have no idea what I might have to offer, and I’m not about to enlighten you.” Then he surprised her with a gruff admission. “I would never do anything to disrespect you or your family. Again, I apologize.”

  Susanna’s resolve and tone thawed, despite her intention to keep him at arm’s length. “Accepted. I’m here to work and I appreciate the offer of your facilities. In return, I’ll do you the courtesy of letting you know when I’ll be here and when I won’t, so you won’t feel obligated to worry.”

  He didn’t deny that he had been. He gave a brief nod and turned to escape his office, shutting the door behind him.

  Susanna sagged into the desk chair, her knees unable to support her any longer. This couldn’t happen again. She couldn’t hurt him like that, taking advantage of the instinctual pull between them that went cross-grained of his conscience.

  The decision she’d made seven years ago must stand firm. She had let him go then, and she had to stay away now. She couldn’t interfere in the life he’d made for himself—the life that didn’t include her. She couldn’t destroy him with the knowledge that had her heart breaking.

  Damien Frost wasn’t her bonded mate. Jacques was.

  Jacques threw open the hinged pass-through at the end of the bar, gratified by the loud bang as it hit the counter.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  He stopped at the small bar sink and twisted the cold tap, filling unsteady hands and splashing his face with the bracing chill. But it failed to cool his overheated body or his wildly inappropriate thoughts.

  He refused to glance back up at his office window, where she was probably shivering in dread and disgust. Because he was exactly what she feared.

  A rude brute. An unmannered beast. An untamed animal. Growling and grabbing at what wasn’t his to take or desire. A primative, inferior species unable to control his carnal needs.

  He stared at his face in the mirror. Seven years ago, he’d had no idea who those features belonged to. He could have been anything, anyone.

  What he did know was that he’d belonged to them: those pitiless users in the North who’d obviously trained him and directed him to serve their capricious whims. The scar between his shoulder blades told him that. Had he pleasured their females? Had he hunted and killed his own kind? Had he been a mindless drone who went about his business with blind obedience? Was he so conditioned to their commands that he had no self-control, even now?

  Maybe the riotous emotions spiraling through him had been programmed there, to protect their kind from his natural impulses.

  Resentment simmered as he paced.

  Why can’t I get a grip? This isn’t what I’ve made of myself. Why am I letting her get to me? She’s one of theirs—not one of mine. She belongs to one of them, not to me. Not to me.

  So why did every pulse of his blood deny that fact?

  There was no explanation for the way his heart had stumbled when he’d looked into his office and discovered her gone. His mind had instantly blanked with alarm, thinking some harm had come to her. The crippling fear had almost taken him to his knees. The response came from no place he recognized, but he’d been there before. When he’d seen that Tracker place a gun to her head.

  He would never stand for injury to come to any female, to anyone weaker or defenseless. Not in his place, not at his bar, not in his presence. He just wouldn’t tolerate it. But his instincts were so fiercely overprotective where Susanna Duchamps was concerned, they defied logic or understanding.

  Adrenaline still had him shaking inside and he stalked behind the bar, circling from one end to the other like a wild thing in a cage, trying to settle his churning emotions. The need for violent action burned in him, because sex was out of the question.

  Sex was what he wanted. Sex with that maddeningly irresistible female in his office. The taste of her burned through his blood like grain alcohol, frying his thought process, enflaming his lust. He’d felt her heartbeat leap beneath his fingertips, and for a moment had believed it was due to passion.

  He would have taken her right there on the floor with the slightest encouragement, without a thought to who she was, what she was, or who she belonged to, so lost in mating madness that nothing mattered but finding a way inside her as fast as possible.

  You’d think he was a rutting youth sniffing out his first female.

  You’d think he’d discovered his one and only all over again.

  But the fragile Chosen doctor was not his chosen mate, despite what his pounding desires told him. He’d lost that treasured female when his memories were torn from him, her fate unknown to him. He’d failed her, and he couldn’t go forward, because there was no going back to right whatever terrible mistake he’d made that had erased her from his future. There was only here and now. And at the moment, he couldn’t bear the bleakness of that knowledge.

  Jacques lifted a bottle of liquor and carried it to a table. The first long swallow was as harsh as his mood, burning his throat, wetting his eyes. After that, it lost the power to hurt him.

  Susanna gave up trying to work. Her thoughts were fragmented, her emotions were in a knot. Fatigue and sorrow twisted with the sense of blame that refused to leave her alone.

  Seven years ago, she’d done the only thing she could to save them all. There’d been no other choice, no options. If she hadn’t let him go, he’d be dead.

  But knowing that didn’t lessen her pain.

  Tears burned in her eyes as she watched his restless pacing, knowing he struggled against feelings he couldn’t understand. His desire for her wasn’t natural, not like the earthy affection he had for his female staff. Yet it couldn’t be broken by distance or anger or the drink he finally reached for. Its power couldn’t be explained or denied. She knew—she felt it, too.

  She could still taste him, feel him, smell him. Desire growled through her like a hungry beast, terrifying in its strength, devastating in its potential.

  She had family; he had a life here. There was no hope for a future now, any more than there had been seven years ago. She’d thought there was, once, but she’d been young and giddy with passion. Now, she had no excuse. Only relentless guilt as she watched him find solace in alcohol.

  She shut down the computer, unable to endure another minute of the self-destructive torture. On a cocktail napkin she neatly printed, “Have gone home. S.”

  The dawn air felt good against her skin as she walked the quiet streets, and the exercise eased the tension twining through her. She couldn’t ever go back there. She’d ask Nica to find her another place to work, one without the danger and distraction of Jacques LaRoche. She couldn’t afford to be near him again, lest both their wills give way.

  She hadn’t come to New Orleans to relive her ill-fated past. She’d come to guarantee a future for the child she loved more than herself.

  As she walked along the uneven sidewalks, Susanna’s focus returned with a renewed purpose. As she climbed the stairs to her borrowed apartment, she formulated the direction of her next research study. After she slept, she’d be ready to attack her work with new vigor.

  She unlocked the door and stepped into the dark living
area. Dim light filtered in from the large windows on both ends of the narrow apartment, and she made her way to the small table to place her satchel there. Then she gave a slow stretch to release the tension in her shoulders . . . and caught the glitter of broken glass on the floor beneath the windowsill.

  Something moved behind her, a shift of shadows without sound.

  Before Susanna could turn, a rough hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream.

  Susanna sat on the couch, her slight figure in shadows. Her head lifted when she heard Jacques come in, giving him a brief glimpse of her pale features before it lowered again, masking her face behind the curtain of her mussed hair.

  “I should have listened to you.” Her words were quiet and inflectionless. “I didn’t and I’m sorry.”

  She was sorry? She thought she was to blame?

  When Jacques was able to speak, his voice growled like thunder. “Get your things. You’re coming home with me.”

  No argument. No hesitation. That in itself alarmed him as she shouldered her bulky purse. She wouldn’t meet his gaze as she approached in silence, adding weight to his guilt.

  She stopped when his hand touched her shoulder. “Do you trust me, Susanna?”

  She glanced up then. “Not at first, but I do now.”

  Her admission wedged up in his throat, forcing him to clear it. “Do you need to get anything from the apartment?”

  Her shudder was slight but unmistakable. “No. I don’t want to go back there.”

  If she’d been his, he would have snatched her up close and held her. But she wasn’t.

  He stepped back, letting her precede him to the car parked in the rear alley.

  Susanna sat still and silent while Jacques drove. Her only sign of agitation was in her quick, shaky breaths.

  He frowned at the sight of blood on one of her hands. “Are you hurt?”

  She blinked up at him in confusion.

  “Did they hurt you?”

  She shook her head, then followed his nod to her fingertips. “I scratched one of them on the neck.”

  “Did you see their faces?” He was careful to keep his tone level as fury began to boil up inside him.