Last Wolf Hunting

“And shifting your hands isn’t?” Jillian panted, rolling to her feet, her wary gaze fixed on the woman determined to kill her. Danna made a low, chuffing noise and stepped slowly to the side, her movements mirrored by Jillian, who Jeremy noticed was carefully keeping the Lycan in front of her.

She couldn’t afford to let Danna catch her unawares. Already, blood trickled down her left arm from an ugly gash that slashed across her bicep. Impatiently, Jillian wiped at the wound, smearing the crimson color over her pale skin. From there, Jeremy’s gaze traveled over her body, lingering on the sexy strip of glistening bare abdomen revealed between the low waistband of her shorts and the hem of her black sports bra.

Despite being in the midst of a fight for survival, she looked…incredible. The tight workout shorts fit her firm backside like a glove, making his mouth water even though his throat remained dry with fear. And he didn’t even trust himself to take a longer look at her chest. Seeing her firm breasts squeezed into that skintight top would only be asking for trouble he didn’t need, seeing as how he was already hard and anxious and hurting.

His gaze lifted against his will, proving he had the willpower of a gnat.

Nice going, Burns.

When he was a young man of twenty-two, Jillian’s breasts had never failed to fascinate him. High. Round. Firm and fine and just shy of being too much for her slight frame, they’d driven him out of his mind with lust. And now that she was grown, her sleek little body pulled him like a lodestone…too tempting to resist. There was no choice but to let his gaze roam, eyes hot with appreciation as he took in the smooth texture of her skin, all damp and warm from exertion. She was so sweet and pale and feminine…and yet, so strong, so powerful.

The human half of him knew it was a primitive reaction, but he couldn’t ignore the animal part of his nature that liked her like that: sexy and sweaty, with the intimate scent of blood on her skin. He wanted to nuzzle against the scratches on her arm and take her taste into his body, before trailing his mouth down the damp perfection of her flesh, greedy for the warmth and textures, until he got to what he wanted most. And once he spread those sleek, muscular thighs, opening her like a secret that’d been meant for no one but him, he’d lean forward, his breath held hot in his chest, muscles rigid with anticipation and the sharpest edge of excitement he’d ever known, and he’d touch her with his tongue.

He knew what would happen then. The pleasure of it—of her—would be so intense, it’d crash through him harder than anything he’d ever experienced, like a shockwave that shook him to his core. Something reverent and spiritual and sexual all at once. Something that changed him. That ripped him apart and then put him back together again. On the outside, he’d look the same—but on the inside, he’d be…different. Changed.

And you’re veering off course again, you idiot. Focus!

Right. He needed to find someone who could give him some answers. Jeremy quickly scanned the crowd, half of whom were staring at him with avid interest, the other half glued to the sight of Danna prowling around Jillian’s body as the witch stood her ground, keeping a wary eye on her opponent.

A few yards away, Jeremy spotted Magnus Gibson. The tall, rangy Lycan slumped against the weathered trunk of a towering pine, complexion waxen as he watched his wife stalk his…lover? The word stuck in Jeremy’s throat like a stone, nearly choking him.

Hell. He so didn’t want to board that repulsive train of thought right now. The idea of Magnus slipping into Jillian’s firm little body made him nauseous. Gritting his teeth, while keeping one eye on Jillian and Danna, he moved toward the Lycan and fisted his hand in Magnus’s sweaty, beer-stained T-shirt, then jerked the drunken ass to his feet, shaking him to get his attention.

He had to do something, because the inability to take immediate action burned in his gut like acid. He hated the restrictions that kept him from doing what he wanted, on his own terms, which would be to charge into the clearing, grab Jillian up and take her to immediate safety.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple.

By accepting Danna’s challenge, Jillian had entered a sacred Challenge Circle. No one could enter, not without being slammed onto their backs with a metaphysical sledgehammer, their head left ringing with a migraine reported to last for days. The circle served as a nonlethal means of keeping fights even and fair, but right now, it stood between him and the woman who had been created as his other half. Didn’t matter that they couldn’t stand one another—he wanted to save her, needed to, and it pissed him off that he couldn’t.

He also needed to pound something, dammit, and Magnus seemed as good a place to start as any. Lifting the heavy jerk off of his feet, Jeremy smacked him against the trunk of the pine. “Why the hell can’t you control your woman, Gibson?”

“Control Danna?” the hulking Lycan slurred, his pale blue eyes blurry and bloodshot. “You’ve gotta be outta your mind.”

Jeremy ground his teeth together so hard, it amazed him they didn’t turn to chalk in his mouth. “Then why not try keeping your pants zipped for a change?”

Magnus’s eyes went round, making him look like an owl. “I didn’t touch the bloody little witch! You think I want this? Do I look crazy to you? If anything happens to that woman,” he sneered, jerking his shaggy head of coal-colored hair toward the clearing and the two opponents, “do you know what kind of curse those crazy Murphy bitches might bring down on my head?”

Stepping closer, Jeremy fought the urge to gag when the stench of stale whiskey and sweat smacked him in the face. “If you didn’t want trouble,” he ground out through his teeth, “then you shouldn’t have cheated with the pack’s Spirit Walker to begin with.”

“I just told you that I didn’t!” the Lycan sputtered. “Are you deaf? I’ve never laid a hand on Jillian. I was having some fun with Carrie, the new little waitress who works over at the coffee shop.”

“Jesus,” Jeremy muttered with disgust. “You ever thought of being faithful?”

“To that shrew?” Magnus’s color shifted to a sickly shade of green. “I repeat, do I look crazy to you?”

Jeremy was clearly talking to a brick wall—and he stubbornly refused to look too closely at the relief he felt at knowing Jillian hadn’t let Magnus touch her. Not that he should care, but dammit, he did.

Still, something wasn’t adding up here.

“If you’ve never touched Jillian, then why is Danna trying to kill her?”

Magnus made a gruff, snorting sound of disgust. “Danna found one of Carrie’s pale blond hairs on my shorts and assumed it was one of Jillian’s.”

Jeremy’s hand clenched, and the collar of the foul-smelling shirt pulled tight enough to make Magnus gasp. “And why would she think Jillian Murphy would be interested in you?”

The Lycan looked at him as if he were daft. “To get back at Danna for what happened with you!” he wheezed, trying to suck enough air into his lungs. “Geez, man, you’re not as sharp as you look, are you? Danna has always worried about Jillian, because of her…uh, complicity in your breakup.”

Jeremy stared, unable to believe such a word had just slipped from Magnus Gibson’s mouth. “Complicity?” he snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “Since when did you start using words like complicity?”

“Word of the day calendar,” Magnus muttered, his tone daring Jeremy to make fun of him.

But he wasn’t in a teasing mood. Instead, he snarled, “Well, you can inform your bloodthirsty wife that her complicity is a moot point.”

He wanted to argue that you couldn’t break up a relationship that had never started, but bit his tongue. Jillian hadn’t dumped him because of rumors—that had only been an excuse. No, he’d always suspected the real reason was her fear of the Elders, or more importantly, of disappointing them. Not that he was explaining any of it to Magnus. It wasn’t any of the bastard’s business.

Ever mindful of the battle taking place just a few yards away, Jeremy kept one eye on Jillian, watching as she maneuvered to avoid Danna’s strikes. The witch was quick on her feet, he’d give her that. Danna might have the advantage of size and strength, not to mention razor-sharp claws, but she was no match for Jillian’s speed.

Jeremy set Magnus back down on his feet, but kept a firm grip on his shirt. “You’re going to have to explain this one to me, Gibson. Why the hell would Danna’s challenge have anything to do with what happened ten years ago?”

Magnus rubbed at his throat. “You really don’t get it, do you? I never knew you were such a thickheaded ass.”

“Keep pushing him,” Cian murmured from behind Jeremy’s left shoulder, obviously listening in, “and you’re not going to like where it leads. Trust me.”

The Lycan glared a quick look at Hennessey, swallowed so hard that his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat like a buoy and quickly shifted his bleary gaze back to Jeremy. “Danna’s not the only one, but she worries the most, because she’s the one you were rumored to be with that night. But ever since all that crap went down between you and Jillian, a lot of your old girlfriends have been waiting for her to take her revenge.”

“How? By stealing their men? You’re joking, right?”

Magnus shrugged. “Not exactly Jillian’s style, I know, but who knows how a woman’s mind works. All I know is that the witch has been fighting off challengers for longer than I can remember, and every damn one of them has been a woman you dated back before you left.”

Aw, hell. If that were true, Jillian would have been fighting off more than a few. God only knew he’d been reckless back then, bedding the members of the pack as a way to thumb his nose at the laws that kept him excluded from its inner workings. That is, until the summer when Jillian had come home from boarding school and he’d finally met the girl who would one day become the pack’s Spirit Walker. After that, Jeremy had never touched a pack female again—not that Jillian had ever believed him.

He didn’t want to believe what Magnus claimed. “It’s a nice story, but I’m not buying it, Gibson.”

“Well, you should,” someone drawled from the thick shadows darkening the edge of the forest, “because it’s the truth.”

The husky words came from the tall, built-like-a-brick-house female walking slowly toward them, her red hair gleaming a vivid copper in the hazy light of the torches as she came to stand at his side. Elise Drake, daughter of the man at the top of the Bloodrunners’ list of possible suspects. Son of a bitch.

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.”

Not touch her? Not likely. In a flash of movement, Jeremy had her arms secured behind her, holding her immobile as he pressed his hard body into the lush softness of her own, keeping her trapped there against him. Lowering his head, he whispered his words into the delicate shell of her ear. “Stop fighting it, Jillian. I don’t like it any more than you do, but it seems that this little war is over.”