“I told you, you don’t seem to be getting any information correct,” St. Charles murmured in a lilting, soothing voice. Like a lion playing with time. With prey. “My clan is far from struggling, and my talent in bed still makes women scream in pleasure whether I’m with my clan or not, unlike you.” A smirk played out, bold and swift. “And I don’t join inflated egos who think they can run the world by hiding behind killer masks and preying on helpless women. Sorry…actually, no, I’m not sorry. But I do feel sorry for you. How does it feel to be rubbing your dick yourself, knowing you have to chase women down instead of the other way around? It's a truly pitiful way of getting off.”

  There was a snarl, exploding from an anger that vibrated from the body behind her. Then Killian was shaking her harder, a movement that he probably didn’t realize. Her head bobbed and her arms flailed.

  Jack didn’t make a single sound, while St. Charles roared so hard.

  “Let Scarlett go. She’s not a part of this.”

  “Scarlett? Clever. Back the fuck away, both of you.”

  With a deft movement, she was hitched up and tossed over Killian’s shoulder, his palm cupping her butt. Her upper torso was hanging over his back, allowing her to open her eyes as panic hit her. Blood would soon come rushing to her head, but she needed to stay alert...

  Two figures came from behind Killian, shadows hidden in the fog. Darting in, darting out. The panic rose higher as they kept coming closer, right before one moved to the side and the other went straight for her.

  Something was subtly placed in her hand: a cool, sharp object, almost nicking her skin. But she found the hilt and held on, recognizing Leila’s perfect features before the woman stepped forward.

  Claws grew, glinting sharp against the darkness and plunging straight at Killian’s sides. In response, Killian’s nail dug into Kit’s ass, and pain shot up her entire body. She was dropped, then picked up again, just as Leila charged in a blur of attack.

  Somehow, Kit was faster as she pushed her new dagger forward—straight under the man’s ribs, the exact spot he often used on his victims. When she went down on her knees, she took advantage, yanking the dagger hard and plunging it into Killian’s injured ankle. She hacked repeatedly, hearing his hiss of pain. Hands pulled her up by the hair, eliciting sharp rivets of pain before she was let go. Delicate but strong hands hauled her off after.

  “No—”

  “Keep still, you’re heavy,” Leila complained, but not really. Her hold was firm, but not hurting. “Let them do their job.”

  The job involved three men pouncing on Killian at the same time…no, three shifters in their full forms, beasts that now had no holds barred. They snapped, tearing at Killian inch by inch, no remorse in their attack as both women looked on from a relatively safe distance. Kit should look away, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t tear her eyes off them, even when Hunter and St. Charles stepped away and Jack kept tearing at Killian as if it was some personal vendetta.

  Maybe it was.

  Beside her, Leila wrinkled her nose. “I’m for blood lust and all, but this is just barbaric. Boys, is that necessary?”

  “It’s necessary,” Kit cut in, and it was a miracle how calm her voice was. How hard. “He collects bones.”

  Leila jerked back. “What?”

  “Bones, skeletons, human remains,” Kit bit out. “The murder cases were only his victims for show of control, because the victims here had the blood and life sucked out of them. There were also silver scraps…his dagger materials. See for yourself.”

  A gurgling sound came, followed by Killian falling to the ground…at least, what remained of him. The sight of him ripped in pieces should’ve brought a sense of justice to Kit, but it just gave her a sick feeling. Turning away from it, she focused her attention on Jack, who was on his hands and knees as he shuddered and tried to shift back to man form. In an instant, she was running over towards him.

  She knelt right in front of him, feeling him stiffen. Eyes filled with bloodlust and violence turned in her direction, and his scaly shoulders bunched after. She heard Hunter’s warning to get away, but she ignored it and placed her hands on Jack’s shoulders.

  Perhaps it was a risk, but it was a risk she was willing to take.

  “It’s okay,” she said, keeping her voice hushed. Soothing. “He’s dead, and he’s not coming back to life. You've made sure of that. He fooled us all, but there will be no more victims. Jack, take your time coming back. Don’t hurt yourself. Please. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  But he was already hurt, and the pain glazed those ice-blue eyes and made cold sweat run down her skin. She kept holding on when his claws dug into her thighs, and he trembled in his effort not to pierce. But he clung on, and so did she, refusing to let go even for a second.

  Most of the scales had disappeared, leaving behind rough patches…then, none, as his man skin returned under her fingers. She smoothed them over it, unable to get enough as relief coursed through her and warred with the little throbs of pain.

  As if he felt that pain, Jack gathered her until she was straddling his lap in a side position. She felt his nudity, skin to skin, bringing more relief until she was the one clinging on. Now it was his fingers that ran over her, sending a silent message.

  I’m alive. Don’t worry. We’re okay.

  She met his gaze, the blue no longer as glazed as earlier. His heartbeat had regulated, too.

  “You hit him where it hurt.”

  Kit shrugged. “A dose of his own medicine. It's not my fault he kept bragging about that spot.”

  “That’s my girl,” he praised softly, thumb rubbing her lower lip. Heat shot up her spine like a hurtling thing, chased by a shiver. Her heart thudded at his call for her, and she watched as his gaze heated up in response. But there was also tenderness there, intimate to the core, and she realized what he felt without him needing to say anything.

  Jack loved her, too.

  The world disappeared, leaving only him in her sight. She couldn't breathe...and then she could.

  “Oi,” someone called out from behind her, and the familiar voice interrupted the moment and had her reluctantly grinning. She looked up and directed that grin to St. Charles, who was standing over them with disapproval marring his face. “Enough with the sappy display. Scarlett, you scared the shit out of us. Next time, ring all of us and enhance it to megaphone levels. You know I don’t mind the noise.”

  It was so ridiculous that it made her laugh, though she still didn’t leave Jack’s side. He was still holding her, anyway, as if afraid to let go, and it was the best feeling ever—

  Pain shot up, bright and more intense than before until she was doubling over. There was a muttered curse, followed by Jack holding her closer…then, another hand jerking her back before cursing again. Jack’s scent seeped into her skin, so wonderfully comforting.

  With effort, Kit looked up and leveled St. Charles with a pleading look.

  “Don’t fight. I’m tired. You’re tired. Jack is tired. If you can set aside differences to come here for me, then extend it. I really, really don’t want to hear bickering, because my butt feels like it's burning. I swear I’m going to throw a fit if you guys attempt to act up right now.”

  Stunned silence followed her tirade, and she heard Leila’s voice taunting them. Then, Hunter, the voice of reason, saying something that had Jack’s body jerking.

  “Leave him the fuck alone, Andrei. The man’s bleeding and obviously in too deep. Kit’s old enough to make her decisions with him.”

  No one called St. Charles by his first name unless it was a serious matter, and that had everyone shutting up. Kit frowned down, trying to find the bleeding Hunter was talking about before Jack lifted her chin.

  “I’m fine,” he insisted, leaning close. When he inhaled her scent, she felt it in every fiber of her being and melted against him. “We’re fine.”

  “We are,” she repeated.

  But their reassurance was interrupted again—this time, by roars from a distance. All five heads snapped up, and the four shifters with her tensed so hard that she felt her hair standing on end. It was obvious.

  Danger was in the air.

  “Come on,” St. Charles said, voice no longer a lazy, charming drawl.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to say,” Leila snapped at everyone.

  No more words followed as they hurried the hell out of there.

  Epilogue

  “It’s good we’ve met today, considering your name has been circulating around my clan for a while now. You’ve left quite a mark, Mr. Stallone.”

  Edmund Masters was the vision of a man who would welcome other people with open arms, if one was to base it on the charming smile he had on. Jack supposed that smile had duped a lot of people in the past. The voice was just as charming as the smile, clipped without being short and soothing in its distinct British accent.

  The words, however, were a different story: not necessarily a threat, but toeing that line.

  Ready to eliminate at one wrong word.

  “I hope it wasn’t that much of a negative mark, Mr. Masters,” Jack finally responded, going for the diplomatic route. Perhaps that had to do with Kit being on the line, and Kit’s earlier words about this man still resonating inside Jack. Edmund had given Kit a chance at another life—but that didn’t negate the fact that he was still one notorious clan leader. “I don’t intend to usurp what’s yours, nor do I wish it any harm.”

  “Then what do you intend, Mr. Stallone?”

  It was an honest question, and it deserved an honest answer. Jack looked him in the eye.

  “I intend to find out what happened to the graveyard pocket and what those creatures we heard were. I want to know if they pose harm to the city I’m trying to protect.”

  Jack expected charming excuses. To his surprise, the clan leader gave him a straight answer.

  “Those creatures you heard roaring were realm creatures—not of the human world, and absolutely not yet in acquaintance with anything human. As much as I wanted to use that pocket for our clan, we ended up destroying the tombstone to seal them in. They won’t give trouble to New York, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I wasn’t worried.”

  “Then it’s none of your concern anymore.”

  Ah, there was the bite. Jack nodded. “Very well. Then I intend one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “I intend to let you know that Kitty O’Hara is currently staying in my penthouse in Queens, and she can stay there for as long as she’s willing. It’s a pocket, and it’s safe.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because Kit is going to be my mate, and your clan is going to have to accept that. I won’t give trouble as long as no trouble is given to me—and to her, of course.”

  “I see,” Edmund murmured as if he did see it. In that quiet pose, Jack studied the man, who wasn’t quite as broad-shouldered as the other clan members. But there was just something about him: an aura of power, almost tangible. It probably helped that he had the picture-perfect looks of an aristocrat, and he could back it up by being an actual, titled Lord. “Are you incorporating yourself into my clan?”

  “No offense, but I want nothing to do with your clan,” was Jack’s fast response. But he paused. “But if there’s anything that jeopardizes Kit’s safety, then I’m going to…give assistance to get rid of that danger.”

  “I see.” A heavier pause. “I noticed you haven’t asked to have Kit removed from the clan.”

  At that, Jack raised a brow. “That’s ridiculous. She loves her job, and I don’t think you’d let her go, anyway.”

  “I see.”

  The way Edmund kept saying the same thing was getting on Jack’s nerves, but he stood still. Calm. Finally, the other man tilted his head. “And what of the murder investigation?”

  Jack held steady. “Case closed, no loopholes. Your clan is out of the picture. It’s none of your concern anymore.”

  There was no need to tell the man that it had been a complicated process: namely, making sure Killian and Dennis had reasons to “disappear” that the police force wouldn’t suspect. It involved finding out Dennis and Aidan had merely been in on the plan for the money, willing to sacrifice their morals and their humanity in exchange. It involved covering it all up, then planting evidence that would be enough to protect the supernatural world.

  Edmund acknowledged the words thrown back at him with a quirk of brow and nothing else. Even with no name being mentioned, the man’s eyes sizzled as if recalling a dark memory. It made Jack wonder what Killian had truly done, and he supposed he could ask Kit in the future.

  For now, it was none of his business.

  “I see,” Edmund said. Again. He glanced at his watch, the glinting gold a subtle but deliberate display. Then he smiled, so brilliantly bright and somewhat cheerful. The abrupt switch was intense. “Well then. It looks like I don’t have to kill you, after all, and there’s nothing else to talk about. Have a good day, Mr. Stallone. Please don’t come back unless needed.”

  Trust it to the man to be odd, but then again, that was expected.

  “Looks like it,” Jack agreed. “And I won’t.”

  The clan leader watched him go, eyes revealing nothing. Jack did not look back, understanding one thing about Edmund now: he wasn’t going to attack unless there was cause.

  Which meant Jack wasn’t going to give him one.

  For now.

  * * *

  Coming home to his penthouse at midnight usually brought about darkness and a general kind of silence, but now he heard something else: murmurs in the background, as well as a familiar voice discussing something over the phone. Jack wandered over to his workspace, where he found Kit muttering about schedules while her fingers flew over her keyboard. The sight of her in his white sweater, with the frequency device running on low volume behind her, made him smile before he quietly backed out of there.

  He sat on the couch, then leaned on it and closed his eyes. With a deep breath, the soft cushion gave him the comfort to reminisce about the day, which had been busy and a pain in the ass.

  But things were coming along nicely—with Kit’s clan, with the closed case. The weekend was here, and that weekend was perfect for a recharge before he went back to the busy grind of worklife.

  Returned to the way things were before Killian disrupted justice.

  “Hey.”

  The voice was close, and he nodded in acknowledgment. A few seconds later, he felt the space beside him dip.

  More seconds later, Jack sighed appreciatively when fingers touched his forehead in a gentle massage.

  “That’s so good,” he couldn’t help groaning.

  “Hmm. Hey, stranger. Tough day?” she asked knowingly.

  “You said it,” he agreed.

  “And did you do everything you needed to do?”

  He recalled the morning with Edmund, then the afternoon with Lemuel. He nodded again, specifically remembering one thing.

  “Things went well with Masters.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. He said he didn’t have to kill me.”

  Kit’s fingers stilled, and he expected a gasp of horror. Instead, there was silence. When Jack finally opened his eyes, he found her mouth quirking in her attempt not to grin.

  “So this is funny?”

  The grin made its way out, even while she frantically shook her head. In a second movement, he was already snatching her waist and yanking her forward, smirking when a gasp escaped her lips. The soft feel of her bare thighs indicated she only had underwear on, and his body tightened. Every muscle stretched in tune with her

  Kit’s caramel eyes widened before darkening. She leaned forward, her mouth slightly touching his cheek.

  “It’s just funny because you can never predict Masters. Sometimes he makes people piss in fear, other times he just tickles the funny bones.”

  “You have a weird sense of humor, do you know that?”

  “He has a weird sense of humor,” Kit shot back. “If it can be called that. I can never figure him out.”

  She rocked against him, and he reciprocated her movements. It was a slow, almost lazy grinding, but his body went hard all the same. Need simmered, and his hand angled her head for more. She lowered her mouth to his, breath hot and aroused as she kissed him teasingly.

  “You mean unstable,” he grunted.

  “Well, yeah. And mysterious.”

  “Alright.”

  “And…oh. Yes. Yes.”

  Pure satisfaction filled him at her moan, and he slid his hands under the sweater. His skin heated when he felt her nipples, already puckering up for him. “Yes, let’s not talk about him anymore.”

  “You’re right,” she agreed.

  And Kit pushed herself right into his hands, nearly bouncing in her enthusiasm. Every thrust of his erection up brought him closer to her hot, pulsing center, the thin panties she wore doing nothing but building a delicious friction. He took advantage of that, working her over to louder moans.

  “Jack…” she called out, breathing erratically. In a singular maneuver, he was rolling them around until she was flat on her back, and clothes were frantically removed. Her skin rubbed against his, each slick slide turning him harder and making thoughts flash in his mind. They volleyed between dirty and soft, both pulsing deep in his cock and heart, but with the soft dominating.

  You make me hot.

  You make me feel.

  I love you.

  She didn’t say anything, but the way her kiss turned almost desperate told him how she reciprocated his feelings.

  When he lifted her sweater and closed his mouth over one nipple, the soft evaporated into a hunger so stark, he could only suck. His ears rang from the force of it, and his claws started coming out, scraping against her hips. She arched them up, her eyes locked into his.

  Her assent was loud and clear.

  The ringing repeated itself, making Kit jump. He realized it wasn’t in his head but vibrating beside them: her phone.

 

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