A little smile curved her lips. “More than you’d think.”
“No offense, Princess, but you don’t really seem like the fighting type.” He paused as he patted the toilet paper across her skin, cleaning off the blood and excess peroxide. “You’ve got the attitude, but you just don’t look the part. I’ll have to see how you handle yourself in a fight.”
She cocked her head to the side and eyed him up and down. “You’re not going to pull the whole ‘I’m a big bad wolf’ and ‘I don’t need any help hunting this monster’ crap?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t need any help. But considering you want revenge and someone needs to be by your side protecting you, I think taking you with me is the best solution.”
Her eyes lit up, a beautiful burn behind them like when they’d...made love? Was that what they’d done? His stomach dropped down into his feet, and he looked away. Son of a bitch. “Although, who am I to make your choices for you?”
“Un amante.” Her voice barely registered above a whisper.
Jace froze. He didn’t speak Italian, but he sure as hell knew what that meant. A lover. His mouth went dry, and his stomach churned as if someone had grabbed his insides and twisted his intestines into knots. He released her hand.
Rushing to the other side of the room, he searched through his trench-coat pockets for his cigarettes. “You mind if I light up in here?” He pulled one out and stuck it in his mouth before she could answer.
“I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?”
Flicking the lighter, he puffed out his sweet smoke. Shit. Shit. Shit. He glanced in her direction and his stomach flipped again. Just a quick bang, that’s all it was.
He burned halfway through the cigarette, sucking the gray fog into his lungs. The smoke gave him just enough calm to keep his cool. A bucket of ice dumped over his head would have been better.
He took another drag. “Pack your bags. We need to get out of here.”
Her head snapped toward him, her eyes wide-open and attentive. “We’re going hunting now? Don’t you think that’s a little stu—”
“Don’t get your panties in a knot. We need to get our shit together first. But we can’t talk here. We need to be prepared before we go at him, and because he’s a sexual sadist and gets off on all this, it’s likely he’ll come back here to...” He shrugged.
She walked over to her wooden wardrobe and sifted through the clothes. “To what?”
Jace sighed. “Flog the bishop.”
Her long hair whipped through the air as she spun to face him, gaping like a waterless fish. “You can’t be serious?”
“Who knows what this bastard is capable of? You’ve heard of crimes of passion? There isn’t much that’s more passionate than sex, and everything this guy does is so he can yank his own chain. Much as I’d like to camp out here and stake him out, we’d be just as likely to trap ourselves. We do this, we do it right.”
She bent down to grab something from the bottom drawer, treating Jace to a prime-time view of her tight, round ass squeezed into a pair of low-cut jeans. His cock jerked, bulging against his pants.
Damn.
He ripped his eyes away and shook his head. He was a sick pervert for ogling her in the middle of a crime scene after she’d been traumatized by a serial killer. He scanned the room. The sound of Damon’s voice mocking him earlier that morning pounded in his head.
“That’s disgusting,” she said, interrupting his self-loathing.
He shifted and rearranged himself. The last thing he needed was for Princess to think he was some creep who got his jollies off scared women. “You bet. Now grab your things and let’s get outta here.”
When she finished stuffing everything into a purple backpack, she threw the bag over her shoulder.
He nodded to the door. “Let’s go.”
She headed out, but paused near the entryway, stopping by a photo the sicko had knocked askew on the wall during his rampage. She took it down, and he looked at it over her shoulder. The big grin she wore in the photograph highlighted the beauty of her features—he’d never seen her smile like that. The man next to her wore a puffy white shirt, like the ones on the covers of the old romance novels his mom used to read. But whoever the pansy was, he was holding Jace’s girl in his arms.
He indicated the photo. “Who’s he?”
She stared at the image, and a small smile crept onto her face. “That’s Alejandro.”
“He your cousin or something?”
A blush blossomed across her cheeks. “No, he’s a member of my pack...and my partner.”
Jace’s jaw clenched, and he ground his teeth as he contemplated punching the wall.
* * *
A RUSH OF heat prickled underneath her skin. Frankie ran her thumb over the edge of the snapshot. A member of her pack, a strong Alpha male, her salsa partner and a very good friend, Alejandro Miguel Diaz was everything she should have wanted in a man. She’d long ago accepted Alejandro as her fate and convinced herself she would eventually come to love him, to want him. But her decision to hunt the killer, followed by Jace kidnapping her, had saved her from the long-arranged mating, and she’d never felt freer.
Without another word, Jace brushed past her and stormed into the hallway. She straightened the photo and trailed after him. His face looked strained, his mouth drawn into a thin line. She could tell he wanted a fight—and soon.
Her brow furrowed as she watched him stomp down the stairs. What was his problem? She hurried after him, following him to the Hummer while ignoring the searing pain in her hands as she gripped her bag strap.
The drive back to Jace’s apartment was long, tense and awkward as hell. Jace stared at the road with extreme tunnel vision, his fingers white on the steering wheel. His tension was suffocating in the small, enclosed space. Frankie didn’t know what caused his sudden shift in mood, but from the angered look on his face, she wasn’t about to ask. Yes, Alejandro was her dance partner. So what? She’d told Jace that she loved Alejandro only as a friend. Had their mating really made him this ridiculously possessive?
When they finally pulled up in front of the apartment complex, she leaped from the car, eager to escape the toxic atmosphere. Jace followed more slowly, stalking from the vehicle to the door. Short of steam coming out his nose, everything about him reminded her of an angry cartoon bull, ready to charge. He punched in the combination and headed up the stairs. She jogged after him, admiring how swiftly he moved despite his massive frame. She remembered the sculpted muscles hidden under his trench coat shifting beneath her hands as she lay underneath him.
She swallowed the huge lump in her throat. She needed to stop this. Even though Jace was gorgeous, masculine eye candy, even though his ferocity and passion matched her own, and even though he rocked her world in bed, he hunted his own kind.
She did the same thing, in a way, but she only hunted rogue wolves, killing them to preserve the safety of her pack. But Jace... She couldn’t help wondering whether he would kill her if he knew her true identity.
They reached the door with the crooked number six, and Jace stopped midstride. The door was cracked, but no light came from inside. He unclipped his gun and prepped his aim. Carefully, he nudged the door open farther and glanced inside. He slipped in, and she followed close at his heels. A loud creak echoed from the bedroom, someone stepping on a floorboard. As Jace crept forward, she inched toward the makeshift kitchen. There was no way in hell she was fighting anyone unarmed, not while she was in human form. Any old knife was better than nothing.
The sound of a large boot hitting the hardwood sent a chill down her spine as the invader stepped out of the bedroom. She hit the light switch, unsure of whether Jace’s night vision was as keen as hers.
A man as large and intimidating as Jace stood in the bedroom’s door frame. He had a wild look in his eye and a gun at his side, and Frankie’s heart paused at the sight of him.
“Who is she?” The trespasser’s gruff, rumbling voice s
hook her to her core as he pointed in her direction.
What?
Frankie’s eyes shot to Jace. “You know this guy?”
Jace lowered his gun and clipped the piece back in place, but he ignored her and answered the man’s question instead. “She’s none of your business. What the fuck are you doing in my apartment, David?”
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m looking for your sorry ass. Damon’s been blowin’ up your phone nonstop for the past hour with no answer.”
Frankie eyed the man from head to large leather boots. With buzz-cut dark black hair, a coat that could hide a load of heavy artillery and a silver Star of David around his neck, there was only one thing this man could be: a hunter. He had to be another hunter. Her head spun. She remembered Jace mentioning others before, but she’d passed it off as a bluff. Two hunters in her territory, while she was already chasing after a rogue werewolf. She wasn’t quite sure how much more she could handle.
“I never got a call.” Jace patted his pockets in search of the wayward phone. “Damn it. I must’ve dropped it.”
“Well, losing that phone has got you in some deep shit.” The hunter named David gestured to the blood on his clothing. “There’s been a double killing.”
Jace groaned. “You gotta be shitting me.”
David shook his head. “No B.S. involved. The bodies were dumped less than a mile from the warehouse. Damon’s gone ape-shit looking for you. I came by here to warn you.”
Jace frowned. “I don’t need any warning about Damon. He can kiss my ass. And what does he want me for? He took me off the case, remember?”
David lowered his eyes to the floor and cleared his throat. “Your name was carved into their forearms, J.”
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.
Twilight Hunter (The Execution Underground) Page 9