Twilight Hunter (The Execution Underground) (13 page)

“Why not? You took care of me earlier.” She refolded the towel and set it on the counter.

“That was different.”

“How was it any different?” she asked as she exited the bathroom.

He followed her into the bedroom but didn’t answer.

“Sit on the bed.” She pointed to the king-size mattress before hurrying into the kitchen to retrieve some ice. She wrapped it in a towel and walked back out to the bedroom.

Jace’s shoulders slumped as he sat down. He placed his hands on his knees and hung his head. Frankie sighed. Just looking at his defeated posture drained all her energy.

She went to his side and knelt in front of him. “Close your eye.”

He did as he was told, and she pressed the makeshift compress onto his shiner. He groaned, and his grip on his knees tightened.

“From the way you act, I’d swear you’d never been punched before.” She smiled.

“Believe me, I’ve had my fair share of beatings throughout my lifetime.”

She shrugged. “Such is the life of a supernatural.”

He opened his one good eye and glared. “I’m not one of you.”

“You are—at least partially. You might have been able to fool those goons we took down back there, but you couldn’t fool me. I know an Alpha wolf when I see one.”

“I’m no wolf, and I’m no Alpha.”

She rolled her eyes and nodded to the compress. “Hold this in place while I get some more ice for the rest of your face.”

He held the compress as she went back to the kitchen. When she returned, she held an unwrapped cold cube against his lip. Despite the cold ice in her hand, her body filled with heat as she thought of his warm mouth running across her thigh. Her finger slipped, and the pad of her thumb rubbed against the smooth skin of his mouth.

She glanced away and pulled her hand back. Her cheeks flushed red. “Sorry. I—”

He grabbed her wrist until she looked him in the eye. “Don’t stop.”

Even after he released her, she fought to keep her breathing even. Lowering her gaze, she tried to think of something to break the silent tension. Anything.

He’s a hunter. He’s a hunter.

She steadied her trembling hand as she tried to soothe his wound again.

“So who were those guys?” she asked, glad to have come up with a logical change in subject. “I know they were hunters, but why were they hunting one of their own?” Then again, he hunted his own kind, too, even though he wouldn’t admit it.

“The other members of the Rochester division of the Execution Underground.”

Frankie raised a brow. “The Execution what?”

“The Execution Underground. It’s an international network of supernatural hunters. The men you saw tonight are the rest of the Rochester, New York, division.”

She frowned. “You’re telling me there are hunters around the globe out to kill my people?”

“Not just werewolves, other supernaturals, too. But for the most part, if they keep a low profile, they go undetected. We usually don’t go searching for them unless they’re causing problems or they’re inherently evil, like demons.”

“You’re like the freaking supernatural police.”

Jace shook his head, putting down the compress. “More like dirty cops. Not every hunter is a good guy.”

She drew a deep breath. “Like Mr. Ice.”

“Who?”

“The one you stabbed and beat the crap out of. I heard you call him Damon, but his eyes...they look like ice, they’re so cold.”

“True.” He nodded. “Well, ‘Mr. Ice’ is the head of our division. He thinks he’s tough shit because he slays vamps. You’ve gotta be more than a good shot to take down a bloodsucker, so he thinks he’s got all the right moves. He’s not dirty. He’s just a miserable person, though none of us know why.”

Frankie pitched the half-melted ice cube into the trash can near the dresser. “Why does he want to kill you?”

Jace shrugged. “The killings have been going on sporadically for a few weeks now, and since I haven’t bagged the guy yet, Damon’s got it in his thick skull that I’m somehow not doing my job. Now that he knows I’m a half-breed and with the whole name-carving shit, he thinks I’m involved. Just gives him all the more reason to get rid of me.”

“What sort of grudge does he have against you?”

Jace grinned ruefully. “From day one, I’ve refused to put up with his bull. That’s why he’s got it in for me.”

She sat down near his feet. “And now that he’s decided you’re a killer, he pretty much hates you.”

“You got it, babe.”

“So all we need to do is find the real killer and you can clear your name, right?”

He shook his head. “No can do. I’m branded for life with this wolf stuff. I always knew that asshole would come back and haunt me.”

“Asshole?” Frankie stared at him with wide eyes.

“My old man.”

“He’s dead? I’m sorry to hear that—I guess.”

“Hell no. I have no clue where he is, and I haven’t since I was sixteen. And if he’s dead, I’m sure as hell not sorry. Good riddance.” He grabbed a gun and some bullets from his duffel bag.

“Oh.” A constricting feeling plagued Frankie’s chest as she stared into his face. She could see the pain behind his eyes.

He loaded the shells. “He just up and left one day. Hung us out to dry.”

She remembered what it had been like when her parents died, how abandoned she’d felt even though it certainly hadn’t been their choice. She imagined that knowing his father had chosen to leave made that pain even worse. “You must have been devastated.”

“My mom was. I was sad for her sake, but mostly I was glad he was out of our lives.” He locked the gun’s barrel into place before he laid the fully loaded weapon at his side.

“You didn’t get along?”

Jace laughed. “Sure, we got along—when he wasn’t beating me up or smacking my mom around.”

Frankie’s stomach flipped. “That’s horrible. I really don’t know what to say, Jace. Have you ever talked about it with anyone?”

He reached into his bag and dug around. “I don’t need a shrink.”

“I didn’t say you did. I meant anyone. A friend. That’s the sort of thing that you need to get off your chest.”

He shot her a glare. “There’s nothing on my chest.”

She put her hands up in surrender, unwilling to push the subject. “If you say so.” She leaned her weight back on her arms and winced. A sharp pain tore through her collarbone.

“Shit. Trent got you with his silver chain, didn’t he?”

Her hand trailed up to the top of her shirt. She pulled down the material to show her maimed collarbone. Since the fight, the blood had clotted into flaky bits, but the few places that were still raw burned at the touch of her blouse.

“Let me get something for you.”

She held up her hand to stop him. “No, it’s okay. You’re worse off than me. Just take care of your eye.”

“Do you really think I’m going to sit here and baby myself when you have second-degree burns? I may seem like an ass sometimes, but I’m not
that
much of a jerk.” He stood and stalked into the bathroom.

“I don’t think you seem like an ass. Or a jerk.”

He glanced over his shoulder and eyed her for a long moment. “Thanks.” He grabbed his flask off the counter and strolled back into the room, bypassing the bed. He sat down on the floor in front of her, their knees almost touching.

Before she could protest, he wrapped his arms around her and scooped her into his lap. All of her senses snapped to attention and her mind went rigid—but her body had other plans. It melted into him, all her muscles relaxed.

A small smile crept over his face, and she suddenly wanted to hide in any available space. Anywhere, as long as his smoldering stare couldn’t run over her body and leave her wishing he would undress her with more than his eyes. She glanced down at her hands.

He hooked his index finger under her chin and tilted her head up. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

She swallowed hard. For such a simple question, it felt oddly intimate rolling off his tongue.

“Nothing.” She forced herself to be realistic. This was going nowhere. He hated her kind.

“I know from dealing with my mother that ‘nothing’ always means ‘something.’ When my dad would come home drunk and rough her up, every time I’d ask her how she was, she’d always say nothing was wrong.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she folded into herself. “I guess I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s a better answer, though I wish you would.”

“I wish
you’d
talk, too—and don’t say that’s different. It’s not.”

A moment of silence passed between them, a suffocating lull.

Frankie sighed. “I’m thinking about what my actions will result in when I return to my pack.”

“I’m sure they’ll be glad that you’re back. By now they’re bound to have realized you’re missing, and can they really punish you for being taken captive?”

She shook her head. “It’s not that simple.”

He stared at her, waiting for elaboration.

She let out another long sigh. “I’m in a position of power, an especially high position for a female.”

He looked at her expectantly. “What’s wrong with that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m ready to accept my obligations and fulfill my duties to my pack. But it’s hard for me to live my life when I’m confined by such strict rules.”

“I try not to play by others’ rules,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “And we’ve seen what sort of trouble it gets you in. If I step out of line, I can be severely punished, and because I’m a powerful female, there are loads of males who wouldn’t hesitate to kill or defeat me in order to usurp my position. I live with the constant knowledge that someday my pinkie toe may barely cross over some line and I’ll end up as someone’s bitch. I don’t want to be a domesticated girl.”

“Sounds like a shitty position to be in.”

She thought of all her duties. “In some ways, yes. In others, no. It depends. I know I should do what I want and not allow anyone to dictate to me, but it’s hard, in my position. I wish I could be like you.”

“Why the hell would you want to be like me?”

“You don’t let anyone intimidate you. I don’t scare easily, but I’m not immune to fear like you are.”

He let out a short huff. “I wasn’t always this way.”

“Maybe, but you are now.”

Jace’s jaw clenched as if he were fighting not to grind his teeth. “I swear to myself every day that I’ll never give in. I refuse to be like my bastard of a father. But each morning I look in the mirror and I see him staring back at me, and there are so many things that take me back to that place. I let him haunt me, and I can’t help it. I still choke at the smell of cigars.” He twisted so she could see his forearm. A series of perfectly circular scars marred the inside of his arm. Bile burned at the back of Frankie’s throat at the thought of someone hurting a child. “Don’t be like me. You can’t allow them to get the best of you. Don’t let yourself be abused.”

“Jace, you can’t blame yourself for what happened to you, and you can’t be angry over frightening memories. All the pain you felt was real. It would’ve been too much for anyone to handle, and you were just a kid. That sort of pain leaves scars that go way deeper than the surface. And you don’t need to spend so much of your energy fighting not to be like him. You may have a lot of anger, but it’s easy to see that you’re a good person.” She placed a hand on his arm.

He stared blankly at the wall. It took a moment before he responded. “And what does that say about me? I have to fight every day not to be some crazy, abusive drunk, not to treat people like shit and kill the innocent. And half the time I’m barely succeeding. Lord knows I drown myself in liquor, even if my damn supernatural metabolism burns up the alcohol so quickly that I’m rarely drunk. What does that say about my character?”

“That you’re a good man. Because, despite any temptation, you keep trying to do the right thing.”

He held up the flask. “This is going to hurt a little.” He tipped the container over and allowed the whiskey to pour across her burns. The wounds screamed with pain as the alcohol sanitized them.

His hand fell back to his side. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”

She smiled through the pain. “I’m glad you told
me
.”

“Do you want me to put a bandage on this?” he said.

“No, if I can shift it will heal quickly. I’ll wait until you’re asleep. I know you don’t like—”

“No, don’t bother. I may hunt criminal shifters, but...well, I wouldn’t hunt
you
.”

Her heart jumped, and she mentally scolded herself as she asked, “What makes me different from any other werewolf?”

“You’re useful. I need inside information. If the killer really is a rogue, I’ll need to cooperate with your pack, at least temporarily.”

“Oh.”

She glanced down at her hands and gritted her teeth. Damn, she was an idiot. What sort of answer had she expected?

“I’m going to shift. I’ll be right back.” She rushed into the bathroom and shut the door behind her, a little harder than she intended.

Pushing her spine against the wood, she slid down to the ceramic tiling. What was wrong with her? What the hell would give her the idea that Jace might actually be interested in her once the power of their hormones was taken out of the equation? And why was she interested in him? She was a werewolf—his worst enemy. The only thing he would remember about their time together was the fact that he’d fucked a wolf. He’d kidnapped her, had her in his control, and that was all that mattered. She was nothing but a piece of leverage that allowed him to say “Take this, fur-faces. I banged one of your bitches.” Destined mate, her ass.

Burying her face in her hands, she thought about making a run for it. If she bolted now and caught Jace off guard, she could make it to the stairs. Her body shook from the adrenaline buzzing through her veins. No. She couldn’t run. She needed his help to find the rogue.

She let out a long sigh. Damn. Why had she told him about the precariousness of her position? She’d never told anyone that, not even Alejandro. She’d blown her chances on that score, too. She’d never wanted to marry Alejandro, but running away hadn’t solved anything. And as a result, here she was, sitting in the bathroom of an overly done-up penthouse pining for a werewolf hunter who couldn’t care less.