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“Why? Because I’m not like you? Because I’m not a warrior?” Julian threw the words at Jagger furiously.
“Because you’ve never been to war,” Jagger cut in bitterly. “Because you’ve never been to Iraq or Afghanistan or any of those hellholes I was sent to.” He exhaled harshly, the sound of his breaths rough, uneven.
He could feel his canines erupting as the beast inside of him howled at the remembered pain and his voice became hoarse. “Because you’ve never watched people in your care being blown to bits, their bodies broken apart and spread over the desert like some sick buffet. Innocent civilians murdered for no reason …” His voice trailed off.
Jagger closed his eyes as the face that had haunted him for almost a full year rose up to taunt him. Again. Long crimson hair, eyes as green as the foliage at his feet, lips curved into a smile. Eden had trusted him and he’d failed.
She’d barely been old enough to vote.
He felt his heart harden as he pushed the emotion away. It was the only way to cope. “It’s a hell of a lot different than sitting around a boardroom table making a deal. So don’t get your ass all bent out of shape. It’s nothing personal. You just have no fucking clue.”
And that was the truth. Laid bare. Jagger had been haunted nightly, ever since he’d returned from overseas. War at any given time was horrible, but over the last twenty years the otherworld element had taken hold, and the tragedies and atrocities that had occurred every day in these countries tripled.
To some of these fringe otherworlders, humans were nothing more than chess pieces to be moved about. They didn’t care how many of them died.
And what for? Power.
He was sick of it, and as soon as he could, he’d left and never looked back. Out here in the jungle he’d not once thought about the past or his human life. Of the mistakes that had cost him dearly. The men in his unit who’d died and sweet Eden who’d loved him though the feelings weren’t returned.
He should have left her alone. Should have been stronger, maybe then she’d have made it out alive.
Wearily he rubbed his neck, feeling the energy drain from his limbs in one big swoop, as the effects of an all-nighter out in the jungle on top of a full day trekking through the thick underbrush began to take hold.
He really didn’t want to get into it with Julian. Not now. When he was weak he couldn’t control the cat inside of him. And that made him dangerous. Christ, he’d never forgive himself if he hurt his brother.
“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”
The sandpaper-rough voice drifted into the silence between them and Jagger turned to his right, a smile breaking across the tight features of his face.
Cracker! The craggy face looked a little worn, a few more wrinkles, a few more lines of worry on his forehead.
Not sure of his welcome considering his own flesh and blood had wanted to rip his head off, Jagger hesitated.
Cracker spit to the side, his light-colored eyes shifting up and down until they made contact with Jagger’s.
“I never really took you for a fan of The Jungle Book and can’t say as the whole Mowgli thing is working, but damn, I can’t lie. It’s good to see you.” Cracker chuckled then, his gaze swinging to Julian. “Although I’d prefer to see a little less of you boys.”
Jagger laughed heartily and crossed over to his old friend. Cracker was a man of mystery, a former soldier who worked for his brother Jaxon. No one really knew much about him, other than the fact that he was loyal to the end.
And he wasn’t quite human. Jagger had never been able to figure out just what was floating around in his DNA, and Cracker had never volunteered it.
“Yeah, well, sorry for the peep show but my clothes are back there.” Jagger pointed behind him, unabashed and totally comfortable with his nakedness. He glanced at Julian. “Him, I have no clue.”
“Yeah, well, I have his clothes.” Cracker threw a small duffel bag toward Julian. “He’s always stripping down and running off.” He snorted and his eyes narrowed. “Seems to run in the family, more so for some of you.”
The small rebuke didn’t go unnoticed but Jagger remained silent as his brother quickly pulled on some clothes and slipped his feet into a sturdy pair of boots. Jagger couldn’t help but stare. His brother looked more like a soldier than most of his crew from Iraq.
What had happened in the few months he’d been away?
He asked that very question and got more than a little spooked at the look between his brother and Cracker. The silence that fell between them did little to dispel his nervousness.
“All right, you guys are starting to freak me out. What the hell is going on?”
Cracker was the first one to answer, and the severity of the situation rolled over Jagger as the tone of his words set him on edge. “We’re not sure, exactly. The DaCostas are on the hunt, for what we don’t know, but you can bet your ass it ain’t anything good. They’re forming alliances with shifter clans from all over and it’s on a scale that’s unprecedented.”
Julian cut in, his face dark. “They’ve also hooked up with Cormac O’Hara, the bastard that had Libby’s baby.”
Jagger felt something inside of him shift at the mention of that name. Was it the same Cormac that Skye was after?
