Twilight Hunter (The Execution Underground) (9 page)

Her grin spread from ear to ear. She gave Monica her drink to hold and placed her hand in his, letting him lead her onto the dance floor.

He could tell already that this was going to be a great night.

CHAPTER FIVE

A
FTER
HER
LONG
night with Jace, Frankie stared at the ceiling of the apartment and sighed, sinking into the old mattress, which enveloped her like a huge cocoon. She glanced to her right, where Jace lay next to her, sleeping. He was an Alpha, a warrior in every sense. But when he slept his chiseled features softened. She stared at his peaceful face, and her heart melted. The hard stare he normally wore, filled with overwhelming anger and suppressed rage, had disappeared.

She relaxed into the comfort of the bed and thought of the burning fire that had blazed behind his eyes when they’d been intertwined. He was good—damn good. Those large muscular arms, his silky auburn hair, and those toned abs he’d put to such good use... She’d peaked faster and harder than she ever had. His touch had sent ecstasy coursing through her veins, and she’d ridden on a natural high for so long she hadn’t been able to think of anything but him.

He stirred, and her whole body tensed. Rolling over on his side, he flopped on the mattress, his deep sleep unbroken. She bit her lower lip. As much as she longed to stay by his side, she knew better. Her loyalty lay with her pack.

I can’t leave them
.

This could be her last chance to escape.

Placing her feet on the ground, she slid off the bed. The hardwood floor squealed underneath her, and she froze.

Nothing. He didn’t even twitch. She snatched his shirt off the floor and pulled it on. The smell of the material wafted into her nose—cigarettes, whiskey, musky cologne and the woodsy scent of his skin. She clutched the shirt to her body without buttoning it.

Tiptoeing to the door, she grabbed the handle and it creaked open. Thank goodness he hadn’t locked the door from the inside again after he’d stormed back up last night. A sliver of light from the hallway crept in. She paused and considered turning around. A large lump filled her throat. The way they’d made love had been so intimate, so personal. But now she was leaving, without him even knowing her real name. She swallowed past the pain and hurried out the door before she could change her mind.

The latch clicked, and she rushed down the stairs. Her spine cracked into place, courtesy of Jace’s inventive positions. She couldn’t even count how many times they’d done the horizontal mambo or a variety of other dances that burned up the sheets. She grinned, but the wave of sadness caught back up with her, washing her smile away. She jogged from the building, the cold night air nipping at her hot skin.

She scanned the area. How would she get home? Streetlights tinted the concrete orange. Cars, trash cans and buildings. No people.

Hot-wire a car or shift?

She eyed the Hummer, then remembered that it had an alarm. Glancing over her surroundings one more time, she stripped off the shirt, knelt to the ground and concentrated on the adrenaline buzz.

The burn erupted inside her, and she winced at the feeling of her bones snapping, her appendages ripping apart. The excruciating pain led to relief when her fur sprouted into place, blocking out the cold air. The usual heightened smells and sounds barreled over her senses. She let out a breath and collected herself, then bolted down the road. The calluses on the pads of her paws scuffed against the pavement.

She ran for blocks, until her muscles strained. The thought of her home, her warm bed, soft sheets and silky nightgown comforted her. She wanted to fall onto her mattress and curl up into a ball, but she had something to do first. She rounded the final corner, then dashed down the alleyway. The backpack sat exactly where she left it, untouched. She had to move quickly in case the cops were nearby, checking out the body. One whiff and she knew she was in the clear, but that could change.

Moving behind the Dumpster, she crouched down on her hind legs. Her wolf form filled her with adrenaline, and she thrived on the energy. She focused on the calm in the eye of the storm and allowed herself to shift into her human skin. She fell against the wall of a bakery, exhausted.

Exhaling a long breath, she grabbed her clothes, and pulled on the jeans, tank top and jacket. She left her jewelry and lingerie in the backpack. She didn’t give a shit about a bra.

Home. Bed.

That was all she wanted. There she could escape the sadness and anxiety balling up in her chest. Why had she slept with Jace?

A one-night stand?

She wasn’t that kind of girl. She’d worked hard not to be.

She threw the bag over her shoulder and sprinted down the road toward her apartment. It wasn’t far. When she reached the entrance, she jammed the key into the lock and fumbled with the handle.

She scrambled up the stairs, then strode down the hallway to her door.

Finally.

Her muscles weakened, threatening to collapse. She pushed the door open and stopped. Her keys hit the floor.

“No. No. No. This isn’t... No.” Her eyes locked onto the phrase painted across her wall. Bile rose up in her throat, and her stomach flipped.

* * *

A
LOUD
BATTLE
CRY
rose above the sounds of clashing swords, drowning out the noises of the surrounding forest. A large man decorated in the skins of a wolf towered over the beautiful woman standing before him. His weapon pushed against hers. Despite his size, she shoved against his blade with the strength to match his.

“Just give up, you Valkyrie whore. You’ll never beat me, Freyja.”

As she spun with her sword in hand, golden hair swirling around her shoulders, Freyja’s sword collided with the man’s shield. “The Brighasmann is mine and mine alone, Loki. I’ll be more than happy to kill you for it.”

A sneer crossed Loki’s face, and a deep growl ripped from his throat. “If you so much as wound my flesh, I will destroy your precious warriors one by one.”

Freyja let out a scream so loud and shrill the ground beneath them shook. “You won’t be able to touch them. They’re too powerful to destroy.” She gritted her teeth and slashed her sword across his body. The edge of her blade bit into his arm.

He stumbled back, clutching his wound. Blood gushed from the tear. “I am the God of Mischief. I can’t destroy them, but I will wreak havoc in their lives until they destroy one another.” He grinned, then began to chuckle hysterically. “Look into my eyes and see for yourself.”

Freyja met Loki’s gaze. Reflected in his eyes, Jace lay in the middle of a pool of blood while the light faded from his emerald pupils.

* * *

J
ACE
JOLTED
AWAKE
. Cold sweat poured over his skin as he snapped upright, and he fought to calm his breathing. Fuck. The dreams had gotten the best of him again. He flopped back down onto the bed with a sigh, eyes closed. He wracked his brain to remember the names of the man and woman. Damn. The image of himself lying dead and bloody invaded his thoughts. It was so vivid. If he could just get back to sleep... Without nightmares.

He rolled onto his side and tried to let sleep reclaim him, but it was no use. He lay there, still groggy, until his bedside alarm blared like a damn foghorn. He cracked one eye open and glared at the clock. 3:00 p.m.
He smacked at the buttons until he hit the right one. Why the hell had he set the alarm to go off this early in the afternoon? A nocturnal creature in all senses of the word, he waged an ongoing war against the sun, vowing to ignore its existence.

He sat up and stretched, his muscles tight. What the hell had he done last night? He ran his fingers through his hair and glanced down at his morning wood.

Shit.

He’d fucked a werewolf. His vision spun.

He slid off the bed and stumbled into the kitchen. Whiskey. He needed whiskey. Yeah, his head would clear after a swig.

Placing his hands on the countertop, he looked up at the top shelf. What the...? A small prickle of pain cut into his hand, and a droplet of blood pooled on his pinkie finger. Broken shards of glass and sticky, dried liquor covered the counter. Shit. The last bottle had broken when he’d...

His cock throbbed. She was so tight, and she’d ridden him like a pro. Those full breasts and those sweet, pink nipples had jumped like mad as he slammed into her. He could run his tongue over her all night long. He cracked a smile.

Hot damn.

Princess was like his personal nympho. He’d had her in every way he wanted. She’d...

Wait...

He wandered into the bedroom again. Nothing but his tangled sheets lay on his bed. He let out a groan.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” She’d hit it and quit it.

He grabbed his leather coat off the couch and pulled out a Marlboro. Slipping it in his mouth and lighting up, he looked at the bed again. Never once had a woman left him behind before.

The nicotine billowing into his lungs calmed him, and he mulled over the night’s events. Her dark brown eyes had shimmered with flecks of liquid gold as she embraced him, and her long, black hair danced around them. A burn erupted in his chest. He rubbed his hand over the area. Heartburn? Yeah, he hadn’t eaten much the night before.

After a short shower and a quick shave, he brushed his teeth and yanked on his clothes, then threw on his leather coat. His phone buzzed. A text from David telling him it was time for yet another bitch-fest meeting. Grabbing his keys, he hoofed it out the door and down to the street, where the sunlight hit his eyes, momentarily blinding him. Squinting, he jogged to the Hummer, grimacing at the cracks spanning the back window, evidence of Francesca’s fight for her freedom. With a disgusted sigh, he hopped into the driver’s seat, revved the ignition and sped off. He cranked up the radio and drowned his thoughts with the sound of classic rock. Anything to block out memories of last night. The last thing he needed to be thinking about was her.

When Jace entered the Execution Underground’s downstairs corridor, he wasn’t sure whether the headache throbbing in his temple was an unexpected hangover or a preliminary response to the sound of Damon’s voice. He stepped into the control room, as prepared as he was ever going to be to hear the usual spiel. David and Trent were sitting at their desks talking to one another in hushed voices, while Ash and Shane stood conversing over coffee. When Jace stepped inside, their heads all turned in his direction and silence blanketed the room.

“What?” He glanced at each of their faces in turn, looking for some explanation.

They all refused to meet his eyes.

Jace gritted his teeth. It was too early in the damn day for this. “David, what’s going on?”

His best friend glanced up momentarily before his eyes returned to the floor.

Trent finally cleared his throat. “I hate to say it, J, but you really choked this time.” His Jersey accent thickened to the point that he sounded like a cartoon character. His face was nearly hidden beneath his usual baseball cap, which he wore to conceal the severe scar across his left eye, earned in a fight with a crazed shifter “I was going to try and help you on the case, but I’m thinkin’ that possibility’s been blown outta the water.”

Ash Devereaux sat down and leaned back in his seat, brushing his fingers through his silky blond hair. “I have no idea what ya’ll been up to. Someone wanna tell me what’s been going on?” he said, his good-ol’-boy Louisiana drawl ringing clear and true. He had the pretty-boy face of a male model, but he’d never felt comfortable with the fast-paced life of the big city. Half the time he moved at snail speed, but Jace knew better than to fall for it. In a fight Ash was quick on his feet and deadly in his rage.

“You mind if I take a hit off your flask, Jace?” Ash asked. “Damn ghosts have been killin’ me lately, keeping me up all night talking. I need some sleep real bad.”

“Knock yourself out.” Jace reached in his coat and handed him the liquor.

Ash chugged a few gulps of the whiskey before he passed it back to Jace. “Thanks, man. I still ain’t used to so much talkin’. There are a lot of ghosts in New Orleans, but they’re all pretty quiet, even the ones that died partyin’ during Mardi Gras. But ya’ll Northerners speak too loud and too fast, even when you’re dead and gone.”

Laid-back and relaxed, Ash Devereaux put the dead to rest and ensured they moved on to whatever lay ahead of them in the afterlife. But after years of seeing the dead and hearing their desperate pleas, he attempted to drown out their voices in any way he could. Jace couldn’t fault the man for desiring some peace. Hell, he’d been drowning his own demons for years.

“You want to tell me what the hell is going on here?” Jace asked him as he slipped the flask back out of sight.

“I’m not gonna be the one to deliver the news,” Ash said.

Jace walked to his desk with a frown on his face. “Somebody better tell me.” He glanced down at a stack of papers as tall as it was wide. “And what the hell is this?”

His answer came in the loud clank as the door to the weapons room opened and Damon’s steel-toed footsteps made their way into the room. His hand slid into view on top of the stack of papers.

“This,” he said, “is the steaming load of shit you get for being so incompetent.”

Rage coursed through Jace’s veins as he looked up at his boss. “You mind elaborating?” The ice that filled his voice rivaled Damon’s own coldness.

“You have to ask? That’s pathetic.”

Jace stood and stepped forward, his hands balled into fists. David and Trent grabbed him, fighting to hold him back. His whole body shook from anger.

“What were you thinking?” Damon roared. “You could’ve blown our entire operation.” He reached inside his pocket and flicked a cigarette butt onto Jace’s desk. A Marlboro Red.

Damon snarled. “You left that at the crime scene where any cop could’ve found it, tested the DNA and followed the trail right back to you. You’re lucky we were there first.”

Jace fought back a string of profanities that would have made a sailor wince. Adrenaline pulsed through him. But screw up or not, no one talked to him that way.