He stared down the alley. His gaze locked on to Jace and the werewolf bitch. He watched as Jace tightened the silver handcuffs he’d slipped on her wrists. What the hell was Jace’s problem? Why hadn’t he killed her yet? Robert’s blood simmered, and an impatient grin crossed his face as he waited for the moment to come. Would Jace take her like he took his whores? There were few things he would love more than to see Jace bloody his hands. The image of the mutt’s blood soaking Jace’s clothing as he loomed over her mutilated body crept into Robert’s mind, and he felt his dick stiffen. She would be so sweet lying cold and still beneath him.
Long moments passed, and Robert waited in anticipation. Still nothing. What sort of game was Jace playing? After several more moments, when the weak bastard didn’t even give the bitch so much as a paper cut, a feeling of annoyance passed through Robert. He frowned as Jace led her from the alley. Jace was weak, pathetic. Nothing but another crying, bleeding heart.
Fine. If Jace refused to serve as his added amusement for the evening, something else would.
Once Robert heard the hunter and the were-bitch retreat, he wandered through the alley until he found what he was looking for: the bitch’s scent. For fourteen blocks he followed her smell, finally ending up at a nondescript apartment building. He picked the lock with ease, a trick his father taught him when he was five. He strolled nonchalantly up two flights of stairs until he reached an apartment door that reeked of her too-sweet stench. The smell infected him, seeping into his skin like an airborne poison. After unlatching the door with his pick, he slipped inside and flipped on the lights.
A small one-bedroom apartment: nothing but a four-poster bed, a bathroom, a tiny kitchen and some random pieces of furniture. He walked over to a nearby desk and gazed at several of the pictures. He picked up one of an older middle-aged couple posed together with a young girl in front of them, smiling for the camera. The bitch and her family.
Just fucking heartwarming.
He dropped the picture and watched the glass scatter across the floor. He picked up one of the shards and pressed the flesh of his thumb against the point. A sharp pain pierced his skin, and he savored the feeling as he admired the drop of blood emerging from the wound.
Nothing interesting in this apartment, not even...
He caught sight of a flashing red light. He turned to find an old-style answering machine attached to a landline. He pressed the play button.
“You have one unheard message. First message,” said the automated female voice.
The voice was quickly followed by a momentary rustling before a man’s voice came through the line. “Frankie? Frankie? It’s me. Please, pick up.” The voice paused. “Ay dios. Our mating ceremony was supposed to start an hour ago and...”
Robert stopped listening as a slow grin spread across his face. Frankie? He let out a low chuckle at his sheer luck.
Rochester’s packmaster. Jace really was playing games after all.
CHAPTER THREE
JACE WAS SCREWED, so totally screwed. He slammed the door to his black H3 and moved to the driver’s side of the Hummer. Reaching for the handle, he silently cursed himself and wondered what the hell his problem was. Catch and kill. That had always been his philosophy when it came to hunting. Never once had he let one of those monsters live. Until now.
He climbed into the car and closed the door behind him. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw her wiggling in the backseat, naked breasts swaying as she fumbled against the cuffs. He shifted his weight, and his erection pressed against his pants. As much as he wanted to succumb to her beauty and the electricity that flowed between them when they touched, he knew better. He’d already thought too much with his lower head tonight.
She was right about the evidence. With no blood on her, no weapons and a different scent, there was no question she hadn’t killed that girl. But either way, letting her live was a betrayal of his job and his fellow hunters. And damn it, he sure as hell wasn’t about to change his convictions for a sweet lay. Werewolves were his enemies and always had been. He slammed his fist onto the steering wheel. The whole situation was bullshit. She hadn’t done anything wrong, so he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to kill her, but shit, she was a wolf.
He revved the engine and glanced in the mirror one more time. Her jaw clenched, pure frustration evident on her face as she continued to struggle with the handcuffs. Princess was seriously pissed off. Ripping his eyes from her gorgeous body, he pulled away from the curb and floored the gas pedal. Damn meeting started in fifteen minutes.
He patted his pocket, searching for his cigarettes, and slipped one out. He fumbled with his lighter until he finally lit up, then exhaled the smoke with the cancer stick still in his mouth.
A feminine cough sounded from the backseat. “Just because you want to destroy your lungs, doesn’t mean I want to ruin mine.”
Jace lifted the cigarette from his lips and blew the smoke into the air. “Rather demanding for a captive, don’t you think? Besides, we both know it isn’t going to kill you. You werewolves are pretty damn indestructible when it comes to drugs and alcohol.” He fought back a near laugh. He knew that all too well, didn’t he?
“I’m no one’s captive.” She glared at him in the rearview mirror.
Jace raised a single eyebrow. “Then what do you call those cuffs there?”
A deep scowl crossed her face, and even with an angry frown, she was still beautiful. “I’ll get out of here, and the first thing on my to-do list will be ripping your throat out with my teeth.”
“Feisty much?” He blew out more smoke before lifting one side of his mouth into a half grin.
“Kiss my ass.”
“Gladly.” He smirked. “Though I’d prefer to feel it first, if you don’t mind.” He checked the mirror; a blush bloomed across her high cheekbones, strong enough to show through her golden brown skin. His heart jumped, revving to life like his car’s engine.
His fingers whitened against the steering wheel before he slammed his fist into it again. He needed to focus. Meeting...meeting...meeting...man, those big brown eyes.
“Damn it.” She was killing him. She’d been around maybe twenty minutes, at the most, and already he regretted every decision he’d made thus far.
Why didn’t I shoot her in the head? Boom, problem solved.
“What’s your problem?” she asked. An electric shock zoomed down his spine at the sound of her voice.
“Captive, remember? That means you’re supposed to be quiet.”
“I won’t shut up until you gag me.”
“That can be arranged.” He puffed harder on his cigarette, filling the car with smoke.
“Try it,” she taunted.
Nothing he felt like trying, he thought. He would likely lose a finger or two in the process.
She coughed again. “Could you roll down a window or something for hell’s sake?”
He flicked the ashes out the window. “You’ve got a really big mouth, don’t you?”
“The better to rip your throat out.” She smiled, and in the rearview mirror he saw her long canines. He ran his tongue across his teeth—he had a pair of his own.
Sexy.
The word ran through his mind before he could stop it, and he instantly hated himself all the more. He thought of his mother’s face: the purple and yellow bruises that marred her porcelain skin and the wrinkles around her eyes as she sobbed. That was the night he walked out, leaving her unable to provide for her rapidly growing son, and slamming Jace with a life-long curse. Damn. He wasn’t right in the head, fantasizing about sex with one those monsters.
And