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The shadowed man lifted his hand, and with the wave of his wrist, the blue forest melted.
When the blue world had faded from his view, Thomas scanned his surroundings. He stood in the middle of a fenced-in backyard behind a small redbrick home. Inside, framed in a window, a middle-aged man stood at a kitchen sink, his hands buried in suds.
“Wait and learnhiswisdom?” Thomas shook his head before he strode toward the house. He wrenched open the patio door and stepped inside, his boots tracking dirt onto the once-white linoleum. “Hey, Dad. I’m home.”
Thomas’s father glanced up from the dishes and smiled. “You’re later than I expected, Tom.” He set the plate he’d finished washing onto a towel along with the other cleaned dishes—three stacks of plates, several bowls, a single glass and some well-used silverware. He turned to the casserole dish in his hand and scrubbed at the leftover macaroni. “What were you up to? Your mom put some dinner for you in the fridge. The macaroni is in the yellow Tupperware container, and there’s some steak on a plate in there. It’s covered with tinfoil.”
Thomas walked to the fridge, keeping his eyes trained on his father. “I was just… uh… running late at work, Dad. We had an extra shipment come in.” He pulled the refrigerator door open and removed the covered steak. After unwrapping the aluminum foil, he shoved the plate into the microwave and hit start.
He scanned the room. His gaze paused on the block holding the steak knives. “Can you hand me a knife, Dad?”
“Sure.” His father reached over the counter, selecting one of the steak knives from the wooden block. Still facing the sink, he held the knife out behind him, and Thomas took it from his hand.
He clutched it in his palm as he stared at his father. The blade gleamed in the light. “Hey, Dad, I have something interesting to tell you….” He stepped forward.
“Yeah?” His father looked up from the dishes and saw, reflected in the window, his son standing over him. His eyes widened. “Tom, what are you—”
Tom met his gaze as he stabbed the knife into his father’s spine. “I just wanted to tell you, I’m sorry.”
Jace’s eyes shotopen as he woke from where he’d fallen asleep next to Frankie. He blinked several times, his heart pounding in his throat. Holy shit. Dreaming of his father killing his grandfather—a man Jace had never even met? Damn, he had too active an imagination.
He didn’t need to be thinking about this shit.
His nightmares were freaky enough without delving into family drama, the dreams having grown more intense and vivid lately. The thing was…what if that shit was true? Damn. No wonder he was as fucked up as he was.
He rolled over onto his back and glanced at Frankie. She lay sleeping beside him, hair sprawled over the pillowcase, fast asleep. He wanted to touch her, but would never even consider doing so until he knew she was fully sober. As much as he was angry with her, resented her for making him feel so much when she yielded so little, he couldn’t find the strength to detach himself completely, though he wished he could. She’d insisted she wanted to be with him, but couldn’t, but as the days wore on, he was struggling to believe her. And yet…
He could have moved into another room in the suite to sleep elsewhere. But as he’d drank his demons away with more than a little Bushmills, he’d found himself settled beside her on the bed, neither disturbing her sleep nor touching. Sleep had claimed her quickly, and he’d been content to watch her rest, to hear her breathe. Yeah. Maybe it was in his genes. A level of debauchery and greed that went bone deep.
He was hungry for her always.
He’d considered more than once that maybe it was selfish to fight for her like this, to not allow her to walk away with ease. He knew the trouble it’d cause her, her pack, but it wasn’t so easy.
Not since he’d realized she was his mate.
He didn’t know when the realization had hit him exactly, or even if the word fit, considering he still hadn’t shifted. But the moment it’d settled in his mind, it felt like he’d known. Like he’d always known.
From the moment he’d first laid eyes on her, they’d been meant to be. Like David had said.
If they could only find a way to work through all this.
The wheels of Jace’s mind where still turning.
He let out a long sigh and shook his head. If the nightmares in the early morning hours were any sign of what lie ahead, he was going to need a lot more whiskey.
19
Frankie woke some hours later, her head aching, but no longer hazy.
“Jace?” she whispered into the darkness.
She searched the shadows, recognizing quickly that she was in the hotel room. The penthouse at the Imperial. Her wolf eyes combed the dark for him, finding him at the edge of the bed. He was sitting there, hunched forward onto his knees, a glass of whiskey in his hand glittering like citrine each time it caught light from the nighttime glow of the city.
He glanced over his shoulder, but didn’t turn toward her. “How’s your head, Princess?”
“Better. Only self-induced pain now.” She blinked, clearing the sleep from her eyes and sitting up. She was naked except for the red see-thru lingerie he’d bought her, the material soft and sheer, and she suddenly remembered how she’d gotten stripped down in the first place.
She groaned.
