Last Wolf Hunting. Rhyannon Byrd
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I should,” he murmured, staring intently at her mouth, a provocative glint in his smoky eyes that made her shiver.
“At any rate—” he sighed, sounding drained but focused “—I’m home and I’m here for a reason. You know that, Jillian. I know you want what’s best for your wolves, and you’re too connected with the Silvercrest not to realize that something bad is coming. The pack is going to crumble from within if the one responsible isn’t stopped. I can help you.”
“I don’t need your help,” she argued in a trembling rush, knowing very well it was a lie. She loved her wolves, but she also accepted that a select few were capable of bringing down the entire pack, their narrow, close-minded, inherently hateful view of the world threatening to choke off life for the rest, like a blood clot slowly working its way to the brain. Once it struck, the effects would be terminal…and the Silvercrest would be lost.
She knew Jeremy’s words rang of truth, but self-preservation demanded she argue. It was the only sane thing to do! She couldn’t work beside him, no matter how tempting it would be to have his broad shoulder to lean on and his keen intellect to offer guidance. Facts were facts, and she knew her limitations. If she were forced to be near him, she would give in, fall victim to the wild, raging rush of pleasure that called their bodies to one another…and in doing so, hand him the power to destroy her.
It was times like this when she actually hated being a witch, hated the limitations it put on her life. “I appreciate the offer, but I can handle this on my own.”
“Like hell you can.”
Her chin lifted, driven high by pride. “The League can offer me guidance.”
His eyes darkened as he moved back into her personal space, the brackets around his mouth tight with frustration, his voice low, full of gravel and bite. “If we’re going to make this work, we have to get past our history and try to trust one another. Your precious League isn’t going to be able to help with this one, which is why I’m going to tell you something that no one but the Runners and Dylan know. The rogues who were following Simmons knew how to dayshift.”
Jillian blinked, swallowing against the lump of surprise in her throat. “Th-that’s impossible. I heard rumors, but I thought it was just panic talking.”
His right hand lifted, rubbing at the pale scars on the side of his throat, gifts from a run-in with the rogue wolves. “Trust me, it’s true. Simmons taught them how…and someone taught him. We learned from Robert that it’s a power held by—”
“Those who serve on the League of Elders,” she cut in, her voice hollow with fear. Anthony Simmons was the rogue Lycan that Jeremy’s partner, Mason, had defeated in a fight to the death just days before. Obviously Robert Dillinger, Mason’s father and a Lycan who had been denounced from the League itself when he took a human wife, had shared what he knew with the Runners—that only those who served on the League possessed the ability to teach another how to dayshift.
“I know about it,” she admitted in a hoarse whisper. “I was told about dayshifting when I formally accepted my position, after my mother stepped down. It’s a defense mechanism—a weapon of war, meant to be used in the event our way of life is threatened. To teach it to a rogue would be punishable by death, their only intent to make it easy for the rogues to kill humans. And their own kind. It even masks their scent, so that they’re impossible to track.”
Jeremy nodded, his expression bleak. “Yeah. You getting the picture?”
She shook her head, unable to get her mind around it. “You think we have a traitor on the Silvercrest League? That one of the Elders has turned and…what? That they want to turn our wolves rogue and set them free on the humans and the Bloodrunners? For what purpose?”
“We’re still working on that,” he murmured, and she could tell there was more he wasn’t telling her. Apparently his exchange of trust only went so far. “But no matter what their motive, you’re in over your head here and you need me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“Why?” she asked, her confusion genuine, not coy.
“Why? Why? Why?” Jeremy laughed, the rough sound lacking any real humor. “Can’t you ever say anything else, woman?”
“I just don’t understand why you want to help me. I really think it’d be best for both of us if you just…kept your distance and stayed away from me.”
“That’s going to be pretty hard to manage,” he said with another one of those slow, easy smiles, “considering I’m going to be inside of you.”
Panic clawed at her now, biting and sharp, her mind too aware of the fact that her body wanted nothing more than to take him. All of him. Every hot, hard, incredibly thick inch—and never let him go. Her voice shivered when she spoke. “Not in a million years, Jeremy.”
“Don’t,” he rasped softly, lifting his hand to touch his thumb to the corner of her mouth. Her lips trembled from the light, calloused touch, making her want to turn away at the same time she wanted to turn her head and nuzzle the warmth of his palm. “Don’t say something that’s going to embarrass you later on, after I prove you wrong.”
His words slapped her in the face like a dousing of ice water. “You arrogant bastard,” she choked out, jerking her mouth away from his touch. “It’s amazing one man can have such a high opinion of himself. I wouldn’t tou—”
“Stop,” he grunted, cutting her off. His eyes narrowed, holding her, making it impossible to look away. “We have a connection, Jillian. You can pretend all you want that it doesn’t exist, but it isn’t going to just disappear.”
“No. You’re wrong, Jeremy. There is no connection. Whatever we had,” she said coldly, “you killed it a long time ago. I’m not a naive little girl anymore. I’ve learned how to take care of myself. I don’t need you. Not now. Not ever.”
He leaned close, curling his rough hands over her shoulders, and she turned her face away…but he merely whispered into the sensitive shell of her ear, as if he was telling a secret. “You just keep saying it enough times, and maybe you’ll start believing it. But we both know the truth. I’ll hunt you down if I have to, Jillian, but we both know how badly you’ll want me to catch you in the end.”
“You can hunt me,” she gasped, struggling to jerk out of his hold, away from the dangerous, evocative heat of his mouth, “but you’ll have to chase me to hell and back before you ever catch me.”
With the touch of his calloused fingertips upon her chin, Jeremy slowly pulled her face back to him, staring down at her through thick, honey-colored lashes. The intensity of his gaze made her heart lurch, his hazel eyes dark and heavy with possession, as if he owned her.
“I know what hell’s like,” he told her, the huskiness of his voice like an intimate caress, shivering across her skin. “The threat of it won’t scare me off.”
His soft breath felt warm and sweet and wonderful against her trembling mouth, teasing her with the heady, erotic promise of a kiss that Jillian knew she shouldn’t want—but did. Badly. And the slow, crooked grin kicking up the corner of his mouth said he knew it, knew just how sharply the keen edge of anticipation was cutting into her.
“So I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that.”
“Do better than what? What are you talking about?” she asked thickly. She was stalling, because she knew very well where he was going with his seduction routine.
“You’re gonna have to convince me, little witch.” Jeremy laughed softly, kissing the corner of one eye, trailing the rough-silk texture of his lips across her cheek, before nipping playfully at her tender lobe.
“C-convince you of wh-what?” she stammered. “That you’re crazy?”
“Feels like it. Feels like I’ve been crazy since the day I set eyes on you.” He shifted a fraction closer, overwhelming her