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A snarl ripped through him.
Power. That was what this freak was all about—power. He attacked young women, humans in their early twenties, who were no match for his supernatural strength. This monster preyed on victims he knew he could take with ease, because deep down, he was a coward.And from the carnage of his attacks, this wasn’t just about overpowering his victims. With this kind of blood display, these attacks were either personal or passionate, and Jace would bet on the later.
A sexual sadist. Anger excitation.It wasn’t the sex that got this bastard off. It was the pain these innocent women endured. Intestinal damage and blood loss: a slow death, so his victims suffered in front of his eyes. He likely attacked them as a wolf and then assaulted them in human form. The even more gruesome perversions came after. A familiar anger built inside Jace again.
He pulled the old, unopened pack of Marlboro Reds from his leather trench coat, smacking the box against his hand as he contemplated opening it, lighting up. The smoke would rush into his lungs, the nicotine calming him instantly. He shook his head, slipping the pack back inside his coat. This shit was going to kill him, more than the cigarettes ever would, but most days he didn’t care.
Guilt twisted knots inside his stomach as he stared down at the victim. Here he was, clearly not giving little more than a rat’s ass about his health or his life, with no family left to care if he lived or died. But he was living and breathing, while this innocent girl, who’d had a full life ahead of her, lay at his feet. She’d likely had something to lose, people who would miss her.
She’d been someone.
He stared into the open cavity that had once been her chest. No heart. It wasn’t like shifters to eat humans, or even attack them out in the open, but this sicko did.Consumption shows a desire to keep part of the victim with him. No remorse.
And that’s if this monster was even a true wolf shifter to begin with.
There was something...off about the scent. It was similar to a wolf, familiar, but not quite...right...in a way Jace couldn’t put his finger on.
Different.
His explanation to David echoed in his head again.
Different was putting it lightly.
Jace grabbed the flask that always resided in his pocket, unscrewing the cap and downing a long gulp of Bushmills Irish Whiskey. The liquor trickled down his throat in a warm rush. If this was any sign of how the night was going to go, he’d need a helluva lot more than the contents of the flask to keep his demons at bay.
He glanced at the victim again as he crouched at her side, wracking his brain for any possible clues he could have missed. Careful to use only his sleeve and not leave a fingerprint, he lifted her hands and peered underneath her fingernails. No skin or fur. She hadn’t put up much of a fight. Maybe the killer took her by surprise? Jace wouldn’t doubt it.
Or maybe she’d known her attacker...
There’d be no way to tell for certain. He’d report to Damon, his division leader, and Execution Underground Headquarters and then leave the details to his fellow hunters. Shane could use the voice distorter he’d rigged up to report the crime from an untraceable number, and Headquarters would have the local police and coroner reports in their database as soon as they were available. Jace had what he needed for his own report, but he couldn’t notify the beat cops himself, not until he was far from here. Though it would take them a while to find her in the back alley like this, if they ever did. It was more likely some poor civilian would stumble upon her.
As he stood, less-than-ready to go to the damn meeting, another scent came to him on the wind. A sudden sense of awareness prickled over his skin. Tucking his flask away, he paused for a long moment.
What the...?
Spinning so fast his vision blurred, he had his gun out and his finger on the trigger within seconds. A wolf shifter emerged from the darkness.
“Don’t move,” he warned.
The wolf froze, the lucidum of its golden eyes flashing in the streetlights. With an irreverent snarl, the beast bared its canines, its eyes darting to the gun in his hand. He knew what that look meant.
He cocked back the hammer, the sound audible against the cold winter winds. “You put the teeth away. I put the piece away,” he offered. “Fair enough?”
The wolf snapped its feral jaws.You first,it seemed to say.
He snorted a near laugh. “Like hell.”
For a moment, they lingered like this, both refusing to yield, until the piercing sound of a car alarm went off in the distance, drawing both their attention. Seizing the split second of distraction, the shifter turned tail and bolted from the alley.
Shit.
Jace dashed after his target, his boots clashing against the pavement as he tailed the beast. A werewolf’s speed outranked a regular human’s any day, but he tailed the shifter with ease. The shifter skidded sharply to the left with Jace on its heels, his pace never faltering. Adrenaline shot through his veins, charging him like a live wire.
He tapped the trigger of the Mateba and, aiming while he ran, fired wide with purpose in mind, intentionally missing and using his silver bullets to herd the wolf. If he fired right, it turned left. He was careful, making each bullet count and ensuring he had one left for his own defense. He’d need to make this fast. The sounds would draw the local PD.
One of Jace’s shots ricocheted off the ground near the wolf’s feet. It jumped with a loud yelp and bounded into another alleyway. But he was prepared; he knew these back streets better than his own damn hand. He sprinted after the wolf. A smirk spread across his face as the monster ran into a dead end. It spun toward him and growled.
Right hand bracing his gun, he reached with his left and removed his silver dagger. When the wolf’s golden eyes locked on the weapons, it backed into a corner, and Jace swore he heard it keen before its growling continued. Stalking like a predator, he moved forward. All his muscles tensed as he prepared for the animal to lunge at him. The wolf was primed for a fight.
