Dark Wolf Unbound (Heart of the Shifter #2) (2 page)

He rolled onto his back, staring up at the faces of his two most trusted pack mates. Neither of them looked even mildly apologetic for openly disobeying their alpha. "You guys suck."

They both grinned unrepentantly. "Sometimes the best follower is the one who knows when to ignore orders," Cash said.

"And what about when I finally snap and kill someone else?" Jace asked.

Drake shrugged, his broad shoulders lifting his heavy jacket. "I got no life. I'm fine with following you around every second of the day. We could have a bromance."

Cash coughed and turned away, covering his mouth with his arm, doing a shoddy job covering his amusement.

Jace scowled at Drake "A bromance? Really? That's your solution?"

Drake's smile faded and he crouched beside Jace. "You saved our asses when we were lost," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Cash and I would both be dead with a trail of victims behind us if you hadn't saved us. We weren't innocent, but you fought for us because you believed in us. There's no fucking chance we're abandoning you, no matter what, so give it up. You might not have a pristine resume anymore, but that's not what life is about. Stains make you greater than you already were, and we're not letting you knock yourself off because some bastard worked you over."

Jace glanced at Cash, who nodded his agreement. "What he said."

Something inside Jace turned over. He was proud of how these men had turned out. They weren't that much younger than he was, and he knew they were the brothers he'd never had. He treasured their loyalty and belief more than he could ever say, but he also knew their faith was misplaced.

He was not the hero they wanted him to be; however, they deserved more than to be burdened with killing him.

He wouldn't ask that of them.

He would take that responsibility upon himself, when they weren't around.

Someday, they would understand.

A
bby Collins watched
through a crack in the yellowed curtains, watching the three shifters. Jace was down on the ground, and the other two were standing guard, clearly protecting him. "I can feel his pain, Nana," she said softly.

Her grandmother dug her bony fingers into Abby's elbow, peering over her shoulder to watch Jace. "He's alpha. Like Grigori."

"I know," Abby said, well aware of the implications of that truth.

Jace sat up slowly, his face drawn and peaked, his eyes haunted with deep anguish and self-hate. His leather bomber jacket and jeans were caked in mud, but he didn't appear to care. He just rested his forearms on his knees, staring moodily at the house.

Her skin prickled at the intensity of his stare, even though she knew he couldn't see her through the lacy curtains. He was broken, but at the same time, power rolled off him in thick waves. It was the strength of the wolf, but also something more, something deeper, something that came from within and thundered outward into all that surrounded him. Awareness rippled through her, not just of him as a threat, but as a man. "He's dangerous."

"He's a murderer." Nana spit on the floor and made the sign of the cross on her chest.

Tears burned in Abby's eyes at the reminder of what she'd lost, but she pushed them aside, refusing to be sucked into the debilitating grief of her sister's death. She had to stay focused. There was too much at stake. She couldn't afford to crumble in a pool of emotions right now. "I know he is." But she'd also been at the trial, hiding from the press behind sunglasses and a hat. She'd heard his defense. She'd seen his torment. She'd listened to his pack mates defend his honor with such passion that she knew they were speaking from the heart.

No truly evil man could summon such deep, untainted support unless there was something redeemable about him. Jace was a murderer, yes, but it was more complicated than that, so much more complicated.

"He's a demon," Nana hissed. "He murdered your sister. He walks on four legs, and comes to life under the full moon. He's an animal, a creature destined for damnation since the day he was born, just like all shifters."

"Not all shifters are evil." But even as she said it, fear rippled down Abby's spine, and she turned her head to look out the window again. She'd lived among shifters for most of her life. She knew how deadly they could be. She'd lived among evil. She'd done her share of it. But she'd also seen shifters who loved, protected, and treasured their loved ones…

She swallowed, closing her eyes against the memories she worked so hard to suppress.
Not now, Abby. Not now.
She took a deep breath, then opened her eyes to study Jace. She slipped her fingers between the curtain panels and parted them just enough so she had an unobstructed view of him. He was a killer, and all that separated her from him was a pane of glass that could be shattered easily with one strike of his fist.

"You need his help," Nana said grimly, moving beside her to gaze out the window. She didn't bother to part the curtain. She just stared through the yellowed, loosely woven fabric, as if she wanted to keep that barrier between them.

"What?" Abby looked sharply at her grandmother, unable to stop the surge of anticipation at the idea of reaching out to him. Something about Jace called to her. It had ever since she'd seen him limp into the courtroom, his shoulders slumped, his eyes so lost. "Help for what?"

"Ask him to help you find Seth. It's the only way."

"Ask
him?
" Abby bit her lip, studying Jace's anguished face. His beard looked like an untamed mess of whiskers he hadn't shaved in days. His shoulders were hunched. He looked like a man who'd been destroyed, not a powerful alpha who had done the unthinkable for his pack, again and again, if the rumors were to be believed. Yet, at the same time, his body rippled with muscle, and his jaw was hard. He was elemental power, dragged down by the guilt she knew so well. "He killed Melissa," she said quietly, testing the truth aloud. "He ripped out her throat." She bit back tears, trying not to replay the horror of that night.

Nana looked at her, her wise eyes narrowed. "You know how powerful Grigori is. It takes a shifter of comparable power to stop him. Jace is that wolf.
You must stop Grigori.
"

"I just..." She tightened her fingers on the curtain as Jace stood up. He staggered slightly, and she saw his face tighten in pain as he shifted to put more of his weight onto his injured leg. He began to walk back toward the house, staring at the window she was standing in, as if he could see her through the brittle curtain.

Her heart began to pound as he got closer and she could see him more clearly. Although he was clearly in pain, he moved like a predator, smoothly, stealthily, his muscles rippling with power. She'd heard the anguish in his voice through the front door, when he'd been talking to her grandmother, and then to his friends, trying to get them to shoot him, but to see it in his eyes as he got closer was heartbreaking. Tears burned in her own eyes, both for his pain, and for her own. So much loss.

He walked right up to the window and grabbed the frame, his eyes boring into hers.

She froze, suddenly realizing that he was looking right at her. Somehow, he'd known she was there, even when he'd been sitting in the woods. He was bigger than she'd expected, his shoulders nearly as wide as the window.

She started to step back, but Nana pushed her forward in a swift, rough shove. Abby crashed into the window, her hands smacking against the glass. The curtain had parted, giving her a clear view of the man who'd murdered her sister.

His dark eyes were haunted and empty. His jaw was flexed. His short dark hair was shiny with the rain, rivulets sliding down his face. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice easily audible through the glass. "I'm so fucking sorry."

Her heart turned over at the grief in his voice. He was soaking wet, dripping with mud and rain, yet he didn't move. He just stood there, on the other side of the glass, searching her face, waiting for something from her. Forgiveness? No, she didn't think he wanted that. Peace?

Yes, that was it. He wanted to give her peace.

She flattened her hand against the glass, as if she could reach through it. He hesitated for a split second, and then he set his hand against the pane, pressing his palm to hers, with only the thin glass between them.

The heat from his palm surged through the glass, making it feel as though she was touching his skin. Awareness prickled through her, an awareness that came from deep in her belly and surged through her. She leaned forward, instinctively closing the distance between them,
needing
to be closer to him.

Behind her, her grandmother swore, and then she reached past Abby and touched the glass where Jace's hand was. "Son of a bitch," her grandmother muttered. "He's not like the others. He's different. That piece of shit Grigori broke him. He's the one, Abby. You need him. He needs you." Her gnarled fingers curled into a fist as she pulled back. "He's the one who can end it," she whispered.

"What? He can't help me," Abby whispered, watching as he raised his other hand and placed it on the glass. She mimicked his move, placing her other hand so it was directly aligned with his, so both their hands were pressed against each other. "He's too broken. And he's a murderer. You said it yourself." But even as she said it, she moved closer to the window, to him, to the sheer power he generated. She felt like a moth drawn to a bright light that could either burn her up, or give her the warmth she needed to survive.

"He is a murderer, but he is also more. I can feel it pouring from him. I know you do as well."

"Is he?" Abby searched the face of the man before her. The rain was hammering against the glass, creating streaks that made it more difficult to see him. Her own breath was beginning to fog up the glass, obscuring her view of him. She wiped the fog away, her palm squeaking against the cold glass.

He met her gaze, and her heart seemed to shatter at the depth of pain in his eyes. She knew that pain, because she lived with it every day. "Jace," she whispered, her fingers curving against the glass, as if she could entangle her fingers with his, as if she could somehow relieve both their pain by connecting physically with him. But it was only glass beneath her hand, not his skin. She closed her eyes, unable to bear the memories that he brought back to her.

"He's leaving," Nana said, her gnarled fingers digging into Abby's arm. "Don't let him go. Without him, you can't fulfill your promise to Melissa to find her son. Seth will be lost forever, if you don't get this man to help you. You know what Grigori will do to Seth if you don't find him first. Melissa died trying to protect her son, and it's up to you now. He's your nephew, your godson, and he's counting on you."

Abby opened her eyes, and with a twist of regret and an inexplicable sense of loss, she saw that Jace had turned away. He was walking back to his car, flanked by his two pack mates, the men who'd testified on his behalf at the murder trial, gaining him exoneration. He'd murdered her sister.
He'd murdered her sister.
Her grandmother despised him…but at the same time, she was calling him Abby's only hope.

How could she go to him? How could she work with him? How could she trust him?
How could she trust herself around him
? She was the reason he was suffering. She was the one who'd broken him. She was the one he should despise. She was the one who represented the greatest risk to him.

They were each other's greatest nightmare…and yet, at the same time, her soul called out to him. Her body craved his touch. Her heart needed resolution with him. And, on a purely mercenary level, she needed his help. How could she turn down her one chance to save her nephew from the monster who'd had both his father and mother murdered?

She couldn't.

J
ace's fingers
had just closed around the cold door handle of his SUV when he heard the front door open. He froze, not turning around, every sense attuned behind him.

"Jace! Wait!"

The command rang out in the rain, wrapping around him like a compulsion. Her voice was beautiful, feminine, and strong, plunging right past his walls deep into his gut. He knew it belonged to the woman he'd glimpsed behind the curtain, whose face he'd barely been able to discern through the rain-splattered glass and heavy lace drapery. He'd been able to make out the slant of her nose, the angle of her jaw, and the curve of her neck. Her hands, though, he knew. He'd felt her palms, pressed up against the glass against his. Her hands had been small and delicate, but pulsing with an inner strength that had drawn him.

And now, he could hear her footsteps splashing through the mud as she ran toward him.

He turned instinctively, years of habit as an alpha propelling him to face her so she couldn't approach from behind. His gut turned over when he saw her running toward him. She was wearing jeans and a gray sweatshirt, her bare feet sinking into the mud up to her ankles as she ran. Her hips were curved, her legs long and decadent, her feet slim and vulnerable in the mud. Her hair was light brown, tumbling around her shoulders, already getting wet in the rain. She had all the curves of a woman, but she was small and delicate, calling out his protective instincts. His body responded instantly, shockingly, to her femininity and her vulnerability, need pulsing through him to claim her right then.

Anticipation built inside him as she neared, but it was when she was close enough to see her eyes that he became utterly riveted. They were deep green, almost the color of an emerald, so starkly beautiful and bright it felt surreal in the wet, gray woods they were standing in. She slipped as she neared him, and he instinctively leapt forward and caught her before she could fall, his fingers closing around her upper arms.

She grabbed his forearms for balance, staring at him in surprise. For a split second, the world seemed to vanish, and all that remained was her, them, this moment. The sensation of having his fingers wrapped around her arms was shocking in its intensity. Every nerve in his body was taut, suspended in anticipation of her next move, her next words, her next request. She was surreal temptation, calling to his wolf on a level no female had ever summoned before. He wanted her. He wanted to drag her into his arms, kiss her, claim her, and make her his.

Her eyes widened, and she caught her breath.

He could hear her pulse thundering, as if she'd been thrust into the same frenzy of attraction that had caught him. His fingers tightened as hunger roared through him, obliterating everything but
her.
She didn't pull away, and his gaze went to her mouth. Her lips were pale pink, bare, and tempting. The need to kiss her howled through him, and for a split second, he could think of nothing else to do but claim her mouth with his—

Her cheeks turned red, and she pulled back.

He released her instantly, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her.
Shit.
What had that been about? He wasn't here to seduce. He was here to find a way to abate the damage from what he'd done.

But she didn't give him the chance to retreat. She stuck out her hand as if to shake his. "My name is Abby Collins. Melissa was my sister."

Melissa's
sister?
She was the
sister
of the woman he'd murdered? His stomach turned, and he took her hand. Shaking it felt stupid and superficial, so he pressed her cold hand between both of his, trying to will warmth into it. "I'm so fucking sorry," he said. It felt easier to say it this time, as if the words were finally becoming a part of him.

"I know." She searched his face, as if she were looking for secrets he never shared with anyone. "I need your help."

"My help? Of course." He nodded immediately, still not releasing her hand. Why wasn't she looking at him in fear? Why wasn't she shuddering at the touch of his flesh? He knew he should let go of her hand, but it felt so fucking incredible to be holding it. It was easier to breathe when he was touching her, as if she was pouring life back into him simply through her touch "What can I do?"