Last Wolf Hunting

Part of the reason Jeremy had returned to Shadow Peak was so he could keep a close eye on Stefan Drake, the pack’s most notorious Elder. If things worked out, he’d be able to uncover the proof the Bloodrunners needed to nail Drake’s sadistic ass, putting an end to his plans. But it wouldn’t be easy. If he was the traitor, there was no way in hell Drake would go down easy.

“You really have no idea what her life’s been like, do you?” Elise smirked at him, the look in her dark blue eyes saying she knew something he didn’t—but that he should—and it pissed him off. Not that he wasn’t already angry. Hell, at this rate he was going to choke on rage before the night ended.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

The redhead’s gaze flickered briefly to Cian, who had propped his shoulder against a nearby tree. The Irishman stood with his arms crossed, a small grin playing at the corner of his mouth, as if he found the unfolding drama fascinating entertainment and had decided to just step back and watch. He winked at Elise, earning him an angry sneer, and she quickly turned her attention back to Jeremy.

“It means that she’s lived with what went down between the two of you for ten years, while you got to leave and pretend it never happened. More than a few of your old girlfriends have challenged Jillian over the years, thinking she’ll go after their men because she wants to get back at them for having had you, when she never got the chance herself. As if she’d be driven by envy or jealousy or some kind of twisted revenge. They seem to think she’s still tearing her heart out over losing you.”

Her lip curled, blue eyes moving slowly over his body, from the top of his blond head down to the scuffed toes of his hiking boots. “God only knows why they’d think she cared. You never brought her anything but trouble.”

Ten years ago, Elise had been a stuck-up snob who made it her business to act like the prima donna pack bitch. Her attitude had always matched her appearance, fiery and cool all at once. When had she become friendly with Jillian? The two women were as different as night and day.

“I still think this is bullshit,” he muttered.

“Don’t believe me, ask around.” She shrugged, as if to say she didn’t care what he decided to do. “The League gave her no choice. Though she refuses to kill any of them, if it weren’t for her powers, she’d have died by the hand of one of your exes long ago. I suppose the Elders feel it’s just punishment for the fact she ever allowed you to get close to her, when they’d warned her repeatedly to stay away from you.”

The coolness of her tone told him she was speaking the truth, and he scowled as the implications sank in.

All this time, she’d been fighting in life-and-death situations…and he hadn’t even known. Despite the fact Bloodrunner Alley and Shadow Peak were separated by mere miles, the powerful racial conflict that existed between the half-breeds and the Lycans was what truly created distance between the two. Located south of the town, on the mountain, within a secluded glade, the Alley provided Jeremy and his friends with the privacy and isolation they preferred. Since they weren’t members of the pack, they didn’t travel into the Silvercrest town of Shadow Peak…and the Lycans stayed clear of the Alley. In fact, the name itself had come from a derogatory slur made by one Lycan years ago, who had referred to the Runners as half-breeds who were no better than “back-alley mongrels.”

And suddenly Jeremy felt like the outsider he’d been his entire life—even when he’d lived in Shadow Peak. He hadn’t known about the challenges Jillian had fought over the years, simply because he wasn’t pack. Because he and the Runners weren’t part of their social structure. She could have died, and he wouldn’t have been there…wouldn’t have even known it was happening. Rage at the entire situation poured through him in a fierce, steady flow, but there was pain, as well. A churning bitterness at the social chasm that existed between his world and hers.

“If she was ordered to fight a Lycan, why doesn’t she have a weapon?” he asked, determined to get what answers he could.

A slow smile spread across Elise’s mouth, her dark eyes gleaming with what he could have sworn was pride. “Says it isn’t honorable.”

Yeah, that sounded like Jillian. Stubborn to a fault. “She had to have known Danna would cheat by shifting.”

“Oh, she knew,” Elise murmured, turning to watch the fight. “The rules of the Challenge Circle say no weapons. That’s all that matters to her. Our Jillian is too set on doing what she believes in, too freaking honest for her own good.”

Not your Jillian. My Jillian.

Jeremy had to bite back the telling words before they slipped off his tongue, like something that was his right to say. But they were there, crowding into the corners of his mouth, making him sick and angry and riding the hard edge of explosive.

Within the Challenge Circle, Danna charged, swiping at Jillian, catching her in the side with a vicious strike that would have proven mortal, if Jillian hadn’t been quick enough to avoid the brunt of the blow. As it was, five thin streams of blood appeared on her skin, just over her ribs.

“You can slip in now, Jilly,” Elise called out suddenly from his side. “She’s wearing herself down.”

“Slip in?” Jeremy echoed, cutting her a sharp look.

Elise flashed him a sly smile. “Shh…just watch.”

In the circle, Jillian nodded, the only acknowledgment she made to Elise, but the next time Danna made a move for her, she closed her eyes, lifted her arms again and this time she pushed them forward with a hard, thick shoving motion. The fey lines of her face became etched with strain, while her skin flushed a deep, brilliant rose, and her hair whipped around her face, as if caught in a violent breeze. Danna slammed to a halt, howling with fury as she gripped her head between her claws, screaming…and then she hit the ground. Hard.

And once she fell, she stayed down, knocked out cold.

A roar went up from the pack—long, curling howls breaking the heavy silence that had held everyone in its grip during the fight’s final moments.

Looking around, Jeremy spotted Cian at the edge of the crowd. The Irishman saluted him with two fingers against his temple, before he slipped into the shadows, heading back the same way they’d come.

Jeremy wasn’t surprised to see the Runner leaving. Hell, he knew Cian would be hightailing it back to the Alley, eager to tell everyone about his reaction to Jillian’s fight. Mason wouldn’t ever let him live it down, considering he’d spent the past decade swearing that he couldn’t care less about the little witch.

When he looked back toward the circle, Jillian was checking the unconscious Lycan for a pulse. Apparently satisfied that Danna was merely metaphysically coldcocked, and not seriously injured, she stepped from the circle, heading straight toward Jeremy as someone from the crowd of bystanders handed her a small towel.

His blood surged, palms damp and heart hammering as he watched her walk toward him, blotting her face with the towel, her body silhouetted against the glowing light of the moon. It hung there in the sky like a pearl, iridescent and bright, leaving her expression in shadow until she stood only a few feet away. “I thought you swore you’d never come back,” she whispered, her eyes glittering with emotion. “And a promise is a promise, Jeremy.”

He mentally bit his tongue, not wanting to have this argument with her here, for everyone’s ears. “And some promises,” he countered in a husky rasp, remembering to let go of Magnus, who remained propped precariously against the trunk, “are made to be broken.”

“Yeah, that’s one thing everyone knows about you, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” Then, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary going on, she said, “I’ll talk to you later, Elise,” and turned to walk away.

Just. Like. That.

Oh, no. No bloody way. She was out of her ever-loving mind if she thought she was getting away that easily. Gripping her shoulder, Jeremy spun her around, the movement throwing her off balance and slamming the front of her body into his.

The anger was crashing through him now faster than he could control it. For too long he’d been the easygoing womanizer, going through life without a care in the world, nothing more important than tracking down the next rogue and sending him back to hell. Only now was Jeremy starting to realize just how much of an act it’d all been—like a fault line under pressure, full of tension, ready to explode, his anger had seethed beneath his surface. And every time he’d seen her—and couldn’t touch her—it had grown.

The bookish-looking girl had blossomed into a woman who, if not classically beautiful, was the most attractive thing he’d ever set eyes on. Flaxen hair that nearly shone white in the sunlight, so bright it hurt your eyes. Bee-stung lips and an impish nose decorated with a jaunty spray of pale freckles. She was so… Christ, he didn’t even know how to describe it. Everything she did, whether it was talking, walking or just taking a bloody breath, held an innate sensuality that made his body hurt like a toothache, pulsing and raw and angry—certain parts significantly more than others.

The problem was that no matter what he’d sworn or vowed or claimed, no matter how irritated or furious she made him, touching Jillian Murphy was something he wanted…and wanted badly.

Jeremy wrapped one arm around her lower back, the other lifting to fist in the silken mass of her hair, and lowered his face. He was so close, he could see the intensity of his expression reflected in the clear black depths of her pupils, her velvety brown eyes gone big and round as she stared up at him in shock. Their breath mingled, panting and soft, and then suddenly the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood up in warning. At the same time, Jillian stiffened in his arms, while a low, menacing growl sounded behind him.

Releasing Jillian, he whipped around, watching as Danna Gibson slowly pulled herself to her feet within the circle. She threw back her head and howled at the moon while the change washed over her, cloth shredding as fur rippled over her expanding body, transforming into the shape of her beast: a six-foot, slathering werewolf covered in golden brown fur. Danna lowered her wolf-shaped head, her fangs shining silvery white in the moonlight, and smiled at him.

“She going to hide behind you now?” the werewolf sneered, swaying on her feet.

“I’m not hiding,” Jillian rasped, her face ashen as she stepped to Jeremy’s side. Danna watched her for a moment, then charged, moving at full speed as she fell to all fours and leapt from the circle, launching an illegal attack.

Jeremy shoved Jillian behind him, shielding her with his tall body. He was prepared to take the werewolf out, when Magnus leapt on his wife, taking her to the ground. They rolled across the damp grass of the clearing, struggling for dominance, until Magnus finally pinned her beneath him, pressing her face-first into the ground.

“Dammit, Danna! Enough!” her husband shouted. “If you kill her outside the circle, you’ll be put to death! What are you even thinking?”

“I want her blood,” the Lycan snarled, bucking against her husband’s weight, but for once it seemed Magnus was intent on doing what was right. He held her tightly, even as she howled like a demon, her long claws digging into the damp, giving earth. “I’m tired of you making me look like a fool!”

“Get her out of here,” Magnus grunted, jerking his head toward Jillian.

Jeremy stared down at the wrestling pair, the crowd riveted as they watched the bizarre events that resembled some kind of twisted soap opera. “Learn to control your woman,” he said softly, the low words firm with conviction, “or I’ll do it for you. If she comes within a foot of Jillian again, I’ll consider it a threat.”

An odd, choking sound of outrage rattled in Jillian’s throat. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “This isn’t your fight, Jeremy, and I’m not your responsibility. I’m not your anything!”

As if she hadn’t even spoken, Jeremy kept his stare on Danna. Her eyes were black, bottomless pools, and he realized that whatever spirit she’d possessed when younger had been slowly eaten away by hatred. Hatred for her life, her husband, her choices.

Quietly, he said, “Don’t make me kill you, Danna, because if I so much as see you looking in Jillian’s direction, I’ll do it.”

Then he turned, nudging Jillian ahead of him as he headed for the line of trees. He hadn’t taken two steps before she whipped around so fast that her long tangle of hair fanned out around her shoulders, looking beautiful and silky and warm in the pale moonlight. He wanted to sink his fingers into the golden strands, wanted to feel them against his skin, his face, his body.

“I’m going to say this once, Burns. Do. Not. Touch. Me.”