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When she finished stuffing everything into a purple backpack, she threw the bag over her shoulder.
He nodded to the door. “Let’s go.”
She headed out, but paused near the entryway, stopping by a photo the sicko had knocked askew on the wall during his rampage. She took it down, and he looked at it over her shoulder. The big grin she wore in the photograph highlighted the beauty of her features—he’d never seen her smile like that. The man next to her wore a puffy white shirt, like the ones on the covers of the old romance novels his mom used to read. But whoever he was, he was holding Francesca in his arms.
He indicated the photo. “Who’s he?”
She stared at the image, and a small smile crept onto her face. “That’s Alejandro.”
“He your cousin or something?”
A blush blossomed across her cheeks. “No, he’s a member of my pack…and my partner.”
Jace lifted a brow.
“Not like that,” she added hurriedly. “But Jace, I think you should know. Iamengaged. It’s a political arrangement, on behalf of my pack.”
Jace’s jaw clenched. “And when exactly did you plan to tell me that?”
A rushofheat prickled underneath her skin. Frankie ran her thumb over the edge of the snapshot. Alejandro was everything sheshouldhave wanted in a man, but they were no more than friends. She’d once had a fleeting crush on him when they were teens, but nothing had ever come of that. She’d long ago accepted her fate, agreeing to mate with the packmaster of a larger pack, an attempt to fuse their independent territories into one and not get swallowed up by the massive leadership play that was the Grey Wolves out west. But that’d been before.
Before Jace.
She’d convinced herself she would eventually come to love her new arranged mate, to want him—but now she wasn’t so sure of that. Jace had saved her from that fatalistic thinking, and she’d never felt freer.
She was grateful for that.
Without another word, Jace brushed past her and stormed into the hallway. She straightened the photo and trailed after him. His face looked strained, his mouth drawn into a thin line. She could tell he wanted a fight—and soon. It’d been unfair to tell him like that, but it also would have been unfair not to. Especially now that they were going to be working together.
Her brow furrowed as she watched him stomp down the stairs. She figured he wouldn’t be pleased, but she hadn’t expected him to seem...hurt like that. She hurried after him, following him to the Chevelle while ignoring the searing pain in her hands as she gripped her bag strap.
The drive back to Jace’s apartment was long, tense and awkward as hell. Jace stared at the road with extreme tunnel vision, his fingers white on the steering wheel. His tension was suffocating in the small, enclosed space.
Frankie didn’t know what caused his sudden shift in mood. They’d agreed to one night, only that, and it wasn’t as if she had any kind of emotional relationship or meaningful engagement with her fiancé. It was a political move. A power play with a man she had only met a handful of times, meant to help preserve the legacy of her people, but from the angered look on his face, she wasn’t about to ask.
They’d promised each other no more than the one night.
When they finally pulled up in front of the apartment complex, she leaped from the car, eager to escape the tense atmosphere. Jace followed more slowly, stalking from the vehicle to the door. Short of steam coming out his nose, everything about him reminded her of an angry bull, ready to charge. Where was her red cape when she needed one?
He punched in the combination and headed up the stairs. She jogged after him, admiring how swiftly he moved despite his massive frame. She remembered the sculpted muscles hidden under his trench coat shifting beneath her hands as she lay underneath him.
She swallowed the huge lump in her throat. She needed to stop this. Even though Jace was gorgeous, masculine eye candy, even though his ferocity and passion matched her own, and even though he’d rocked her world in bed, he hunted his own kind.
She wasn’t sure she could be with someone like that. Not for more than an evening.
She did the same thing, in a way, but she only hunted rogue wolves, killing them to preserve the safety of her pack. But Jace… She couldn’t help wondering how he’d react if he knew her true identity. Would he have risked himself for her? Put himself in harm’s way if he knew she wasn’t just any wolf, but a packmaster? The leader of the entire Rochester pack.
She couldn’t be certain.
They reached the door with the crooked number six, and Jace stopped mid-stride. The door was cracked, but no light came from inside. Definitely not how he would have left it.
Frankie stiffened.
He unclipped his gun and prepped his aim. Carefully, he nudged the door open farther and glanced inside. He slipped in, and she followed close at his heels. A loud creak echoed from the bedroom, someone stepping on a floorboard. As Jace crept forward, she inched toward the makeshift kitchen. There was no way in hell she was fighting anyone unarmed, not while she was in human form. Any old knife was better than nothing.
The sound of a large boot hitting the hardwood sent a chill down her spine as the invader stepped out of the bedroom. She hit the light switch, unsure of whether Jace’s night vision was as keen as hers.
A man as large and intimidating as Jace stood in the bedroom’s door frame. He had a wild look in his eye and a gun at his side, and Frankie’s heart paused at the sight of him.
