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Jace McCannon palmedthe Mateba and clicked back the gun’s hammer. The cold grip panels of the modified revolver sat comfortably in his hand. Six silver bullets for a rogue werewolf. Limited shots. But he was feeling lucky.
Jace gripped the gun with both hands, lowering it to his side as he slipped in and out of the shadows. The rank scents of garbage, car exhaust and piss wafted into his nose. Ah, the sweet aroma of Rochester’s backstreets. Something about this godforsaken city hehadn’tmissed.
He ran his tongue over his teeth, jonesing for a cigarette to drown out the smell and steady the adrenaline buzz creeping through his veins.
Damn, he wanted to find this son of a bitch.
Resting his back against a brick building, he paused and glanced up. The white moon stared down at the city streets, calling to him. Heat prickled beneath his skin. He needed to find this monster yesterday. Hell, weeks ago.
He wrenched his gaze from the tempting sky and forced himself into the moment.
Inhaling a deep breath, he rushed around the corner and scanned the area, pointing his gun into the darkness.
No one. No wolves, no suspects. Damn, not even the working girls were roaming tonight. Not that he blamed them. Rochester wasn’t exactly known for being the safest of cities.
Unfortunately, street violence wasn’t anything to call home about—happened all the time. But this was different. Innocent women being found with their organs slung around their corpses, Jack-the-Ripper style. The worst part? Jace had no idea where to find the sick fuck responsible, and the thought of the young women’s pain sent his blood boiling.
Steadying his focus, he explored the alley, gun still at the ready and eyes searching for any sign of movement. A rustling noise hissed from around the next corner. Jace held his gun tight and slipped down the narrow passage toward it.
Showtime.
The sound grew louder, and he quickened his pace. When he reached the bend, he stopped, listening closely.
Now or never.
He threw himself around the corner, gun ready and finger on the trigger.
A plastic bag caught on a dumpster swished in the light wind.
“Shit.” He cursed under his breath, before he pushed his fingers through his hair.
Maybe he wasn’t so lucky tonight.
As if on cue, the cell phone jammed in the pocket of his jeans vibrated. Of course. He hadn’t put up with enough bullshit for one evening. Life clearly hadn’t stuck it to him enough…yet. He pulled out the annoying piece of shit and read the screen: restricted. Likely David. Headquarters insisted on nothing more than burner phones.
It made hunters like them harder to track.
Jace jabbed his thumb into one of the buttons and shoved the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”
“Meeting in an hour.” David’s deep voice rumbled over the line.
Aw, hell.If that wasn’t the last thing he wanted to hear. He shook his head. “Don’t toy with me. I’ve got business.”
“I’m not shittin’ you, J. One hour, and you better show or Damon’s gonna rip my head off. I told him I’d get you here.”
Jace frowned. Damn, he hated being forced to carry a cell phone, even the low-tech burner kind. He didn’t enjoy people contacting him whenever they pleased. Period. Meetings with HQ were exactly why he hadn’t stuck around out west. Settling in one place for so long had caused questions, raised suspicions.
“It’s nearly the full moon, David. This is my prime time. You know that.”
“You don’t have to preach to me. Damon’s the one riding your ass like a Grand Canyon donkey, not me.” David paused for a moment. “He’s gonna want a report tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. I’ll have something.”
“Sure you hear me, and I like to dress up in tutus while my girl spanks me and calls me Big Daddy.”
Jace smirked. “Hey, if that’s what gets you off…”
