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“Your life wouldn’t have needed saving if it weren’t for that man.”
“That wolf,” she corrected again. “Hunter or not, he’s no human man. No matter how much he wishes to be.” She reached out and gave Alejandro’s hand a quick squeeze. “Trust me. I know how to handle myself, especially with the support of an old friend.”
Alejandro nodded. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
Frankie opened the door to the studio.
“But packmaster,” Alejandro said again.
Frankie glanced over her shoulder from where she stood in the doorway.
“Should you need us.” Alejandro’s lupine eyes glared through the darkness as he became one with it. “We’ll be waiting in the wings.”
8
Jace woke to the creak of a door closing as Francesca slipped back in, then didn’t stir again until well into the following night. He was used to this. Sleeping in bursts. Claiming his rest when it suited him and foregoing it as needed. It’d never fazed him like it did the other hunters. He’d always taken a strange pride in that. Chalked it up to dedication. Perseverance. Though maybe the true reason was worse.
A sign he reallywasn’tone of them.
On that grim thought, he rose from the couch where he’d slept, raking a hand over the stubble on his face that was quickly turning into a beard. He’d need to duck back to the burner apartment, shave, and grab a bag. Or on second thought, maybe he’d leave it. When a man was on the lam, maybe it wasn’t half-bad to grow a beard. He’d always kept it close, out of concern that growing it would make him look like evenmoreof a fucking wolf man.
Goddamn it.He pushed the thought away.
“Finally, you’re awake.”
Before he could rub the sleep from his eyes, Francesca pushed a steaming mug of coffee into his hand. “Careful. It’s fresh. I know you’re not used to that.”
He grumbled his thanks, lifting the drink to his lips before sputtering it back into the mug. “Fuck, that’s hot.”
“I warned you.”
He could hear her amused grin.
He examined the porcelain mug in his hand. The familiar logo on the side read: Waffle House. He’d eaten there one too many times before, and he probably would soon, considering he’d need to be back on the road again. To where, he hardly knew.
He blew on the coffee, before daring another sip. “Better.”
A far cry from the sludge at division headquarters.
“So what’s the plan?”
He looked toward her. “That really is your favorite question, isn’t it?”
In the glow of the streetlights that streamed through the window, a hint of red flashed in her dark hair. “What can I say? I’m a plotter by nature.” She gestured to the surrounding darkness. “And I did give you the day to sleep on it.”
Jace shook his head. “I didn’t ask you to give me anything.”
“No, you didn’t.” She watched him expectantly.
They were talking about more than where he slept, or so it felt like it.
With a grunt, he placed the Waffle House mug on the table. “I need to head back to the burner apartment, gather a bag.”
“And then?”
“And then what I do no longer concerns you.” He allowed the gruffness to return to his tone. The rough edges. They couldn’t keep playing this game. Whatever it was.
“You’re really going to start with this again?” She shook her head. “Rochester is our jurisdiction and if you think I’m going to wait around for Chet to take this further and blame those murders on us, you’ve lost all sense.”
