Twilight Hunter (The Execution Underground) (7 page)

“I wasn’t implying you didn’t. I guess I just feel bad for him.” Shane paused and glanced at the ground before he turned to David again. “Do you think Damon’s right? Do you think Jace should’ve caught the guy by now?”

“Damon needs to keep his friggin’ mouth shut, that’s what I think.” David frowned. “Jace is the best werewolf hunter I know, and I’ve worked with quite a few over the years. If he hasn’t gotten this guy yet, there’s a reason.” He zipped his jacket closed as another gust of cold Canadian wind blew through the city. With weather like this, he needed to put in for a transfer to Honolulu. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here.”

Shane shoved his hands in his pockets. “So you think it’s not a werewolf, then?”

“No, I trust J’s judgment. If he says it’s a werewolf, I believe him.” He would be an idiot not to, knowing Jace’s darkest secret.

Life would be so much easier if they could tell the Execution Underground management the main reason why Jace was so damn good at his job. But hell would be made of flowers and candy before Damon would let a half-breed be a part of his team.

David ran his fingers through his hair. “For the sake of these girls, I can’t close my mind to other possibilities.” He gestured to the body. A shiver ran down his spine as he looked at her one more time. Rigor had set in, and her already lifeless form had become all the more still. The blood had dried around her in a pool of black, and the remnants of the crimson on her skin crusted over. He shook his head. A normal human wasn’t capable of this kind of carnage.

“Do you think there’s any significance that all the victims are attractive women? Well...at least as far as we can tell, anyway.” Shane’s eyes darted around the alley.

David shrugged. “That’s a hard call.”

Shane met his gaze for a moment before his eyes fell to the ground again. “I think it has some significance.”

“How do you figure?” David asked.

“Look at the details.” Shane bent next to the body and pointed at the victim’s face, her heavily shadowed lids and red-tinted pout. “From the crime-scene photos, all the other victims wore heavy makeup like this.” He gestured to the hair hanging over the girl’s shoulder. “All of them had their hair done nicely, and from what’s left of their clothes, they weren’t dressed casually.” He stood and stepped back from the body.

“All right, then. What are you thinking?”

“My theory,” Shane said, “is that he isn’t blitz attacking them on the streets. He’s picking them up, like at a club or a bar. That would explain the age range, as well—college girls. A lot of them look around the age of my students at U of R.”

David nodded. “I’ll be damned, Shane. Where do you come up with this stuff?”

Shane shrugged. “I pay close attention to detail.”

David stared into the girl’s frozen face. She was so young, and if she didn’t look exactly like Allsún—large wide eyes veiled by thick lashes, heart-shaped face, head full of curls, and the look of a small pixie—she was close. But no girl would ever be as beautiful as Allsún, not in his eyes. The thought of her lying there like this poor girl sent his stomach reeling, and a sharp pang hit his chest.

But how would he know if this girl really looked like her? Other than quick glimpses, he hadn’t seen Allsún in years. He shook his head, trying to fight off the thoughts. What he wouldn’t give to bury his face in her neck, kiss her one more time, hold her and know that she was safe. He closed his eyes and buried the painful memories in the back of his mind, where they belonged. “Only one problem, though,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“This girl doesn’t look like she’s twenty-one yet. If she’s not drinking age, either your theory is wrong or she was trying to pass as older.”

Shane frowned. “I wish I had my phlebotomy kit. I’d love to run a test of her blood-alcohol content.”

“Too bad there’s no I.D.”

Shane bit his lower lip and rested his chin on his fist. Only a few seconds passed before his eyes lit up. “I have an idea,” he said.

David grinned. “I’m not surprised.”

Shane pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He unfolded the dark blue material, revealing a pattern made up of the constellations. He bent next to the body and used the handkerchief to lift the girl’s hand before he glanced up.

David raised a single brow and nodded toward the handkerchief.

A deep blush ran across Shane’s cheeks. “The constellations have a lot of meaning in the occult. Besides, my grandmother gave it to me. I have to use it or she’ll get her feelings hurt.”

David chuckled. “I can’t very well fault a man for caring about his grandma. If mine
gave me a pink flowered jacket, you better believe I’d wear it just to please her.”

Shane fought back a smile as he rubbed the handkerchief across the girl’s hand.

David’s eyes widened. “What are you doing? Shane, you can’t tamper with the crime scene.”

Shane ignored him and continued wiping at the girl’s skin. “Trust me.” Once he managed to clear most of the blood off, he said, “Look at this, David.”

David walked forward and crouched down beside him. The faint outline of a black
X
was visible on the top of the victim’s hand.

Shane stared at him with a sad look in his eyes. “That’s what they put on your hand at a club if you’re under twenty-one, so then the bartender knows not to serve you. It looks like she tried to wash it off.” He shook his head. “Someone hurting a young girl like this makes my blood boil.”

David nodded. “Me too.” He stood to his full height and turned away. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand looking at this poor girl. In his field, he didn’t often deal with dead bodies. Demons used their victims and then usually left them as catatonic shells of what they’d once been. Rarely did they take the time to kill their targets. He wasn’t sure which was worse. “You have everything you need for the report?”

Shane sighed. “Yeah, I do. We can go ahead and... Hey, what’s this?”

David turned around to find Shane holding the butt of a cigarette. The butt of a Marlboro Red. The two of them exchanged glances.

David let out a low growl. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Shane bit his lower lip. “Should we just throw it out? The cops haven’t found it yet, and they won’t if we dispose of it, so there’s no harm done, right?”

David shook his head and mumbled another string of profanities. “We have to turn it in. I already texted the picture of the crime scene to Damon. If he sees that in the shot, all our asses will be hung out to dry.”

The shit just wouldn’t stop piling up for Jace, would it? David shook his head. If he thought the phone conversation had been like pissing off an angry bull, he sure as hell didn’t want to be around when Damon got hold of Jace.

* * *

J
ACE
MARCHED
INTO
the building and up the stairs. He reached his door and pressed his ear to the aged, splintery wood. Silence.

The huge knot in his stomach unraveled a little as he opened the door. Princess was still sitting on the bed, staring at him with those big brown eyes. The knot tightened again, and his stomach churned.

“Jace?” Her voice was soft and breathless—the sound of a lover’s whisper.

A jolt of electricity zipped down his spine, and his cock strained against his jeans. He loved hearing her say his name, and he longed to take her hard, claim her as his. He used every ounce of strength he possessed and forced himself to turn away. He closed the door without locking it, then walked into the “kitchen,” so he wouldn’t have to see her.

“Who were you talking about when you said you were nothing like ‘him’?” she asked.

He grabbed the whiskey again and chugged a few gulps.

“Jace?”

“Why do you care?” he barked, his words sounding more defensive than he’d intended.

“Can you just answer the question?”

He blinked several times, stunned at her boldness and her lack of fear. “How about you don’t push it further? All right?”

When she didn’t respond a sense of relief cleared his heightened nerves, but the knot in his chest kept on squeezing.

What was it about this woman that drove him mad, but made him feel like such a dick for wanting her? There couldn’t really be something to that whole mating bull she was talking about, could there? He frowned.

She’s a werewolf. She’s a werewolf.
He repeated the mantra and focused on the image of his father, seared into his brain.

Over the years he’d envisioned the face of a werewolf seductress. With the bat of one eyelash, she’d stolen his father and ended his mother’s abuse, but left their family shattered. He squeezed his eyes shut and imagined Princess as that woman, that temptress. But the light in her warm eyes ruined everything. He wanted to hate her, but every instinct pushed him into her arms.

“McCannon. Is that Irish or Scottish?” The question wrenched him into the moment.

“What?”

“Your last name, is it Irish or Scottish?” Her voice carried from the other room with ease—loud and forceful, but still feminine.

“Why the hell does it matter?” He opened one of the cabinets and rummaged around, even though it was virtually bare. A can of soup. Some ramen noodles.

“I’d like to know.”

He settled on some bread and pulled a few slices of ham from the refrigerator. “Why in the world do you want to play twenty questions with a man who took you captive and now has you chained to a bed?” He slapped together a sandwich and bit into it.

“According to your alarm clock, we have ten minutes until the supernatural hour. It would make me a bit uneasy if I didn’t get to know you before we start...well, you know....”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to sell me, but I ain’t buying.” He finished the last bite of the sandwich, eating at light speed.

“Suit yourself. Believe me, I’m not seducing you, and if it were my decision, you’d walk out of this apartment or let me go. It would spare us both a lot of unpleasantness. But since you don’t believe me, you’ll have to see for yourself.”

His stomach growled. Ignoring her, he sifted through the cabinets again.

She sighed. “You could humor me a little. If I’m wrong, what will it hurt?”

He paused and gripped the cabinet handle a little too hard. “Irish.”

“See. Was that so difficult?”

He gritted his teeth. “Don’t push it.”

“If you’d like to know, I’m Italian.”

“No, I wouldn’t like to know.” His jaw clenched tighter.

“I, however, want to tell you. As I said, my name is Francesca. I’m Italian, born and raised here in Rochester. I own a dance studio, and when I can, I teach salsa classes myself. My favorite color is red, but I look best in blue, and I hate long walks on the beach.”

“A salsa-dancing werewolf?”

“Yes, an award-winning, salsa-dancing werewolf,” she said.

He leaned on the counter and rested his head in his hands. He thought of how she would look in one of those skimpy little dance costumes, her hips swinging, the flashy red beading on her round behind shaking, her leg muscles flexing as she moved in her spiked heels. His cock hardened, and his longing escalated. No other woman had ever driven him so crazy.

She’s a werewolf. She’s a werewolf
.

A beautiful smell, like sweet gardenias, wafted into his nose and broke his resolve a little further. He was imagining this. Could the smell of her hair, her skin, literally reach out to him? Good Lord, his dick ached. He slammed his fist onto the countertop. A liquor bottle fell from the top shelf with a crash and shattered. The contents splashed over the counter and onto his shirt. Whiskey trickled onto the floor.

“What was that?” she called. Her voice rang in his ears like a melody, a siren’s call. What the hell?

She’s wrong. I’m not one of them.

“There is no fucking mating cycle, and it has nothing to do with me,” he muttered.

He paced from the kitchen to the living room and back. His shirt clung to his skin, sticky and damp. He lifted it over his head, ready to chuck it into the laundry bin. He turned around and froze.

She was sprawled across his bed, her spine arched and her chest rising with her quick breaths. A small moan escaped her lips as her eyes ran over his frame. Gold flecks blossomed in her irises as the darker side of her took control. A fire ignited under his skin, and he couldn’t stand it.

Unbuckling his leather belt, he stalked toward the bed. She spread her legs wide, and there was no mistaking what she wanted. For the first time in his life, he let the beast take hold.

* * *

B
URNING
,
WHITE
-
HOT
NEED
.

Frankie’s core grew warmer, and she felt herself slicken, preparing for an uncontrollable orgasm. The red digits of the clock screamed the inevitable. 3:00 a.m. She was going to have wild sex with a man she barely knew, but she didn’t care. She wanted Jace inside her, his hands and lips and tongue exploring her.

Another wave of longing rolled through her as she admired him. A large masculine torso with ample amounts of muscle tapered down to a tight, firm ass. His chest alone was better than any fantasy she’d ever imagined. He prowled across the bed and joined her.

Her instincts reached out to him, and everything froze.

The electric current that shot through her whenever they touched spiked higher, leaving her wet and ready. Their eyes locked, and she admired the beautiful, gold flecks in his. The sound of the bed frame creaking sent her heart racing. His eyes filled with the hunger of a wolf.

He knelt over her, and her gaze traveled to his massive erection.

Good Lord Almighty.

Well-endowed didn’t even begin to describe it. He lowered himself over her, his hands on either side of her head. He ground his arousal into her hips, and she gasped.

“You just couldn’t keep quiet, could you?” He shoved harder against her. “You were begging me to screw you.”

“I—” Her voice was half moan, half whimper.

“And you knew I’d oblige.” He balanced himself on one hand and slid the other to her lower back, pulling her closer. He lowered his head to her ear. “You’re lucky I didn’t take you in the middle of that alley.”