Jack, page 8
part #2 of Hunted Shifters Legacy Series
Of course, that only had to do with Celine. Everyone else was fair game.
“Your cooking is great, as usual. I’m glad things worked out for you in the end.”
“Yeah. Me, too. I’m just glad Sidney’s off the radar. She deserves to live her rare, half-vampire life free from danger.”
They talked some more, caught up on things. When he had his fill, he bid them goodbye and wandered off, already set on seeing someone else.
Particularly, the woman he’d come here with and who would wake up anytime soon.
A few minutes later, he found the back of the mansion, peeked out into an empty green field with a lone tree and what appeared to be some blurry barrier. Knowing pockets could contain different realms, he ignored it and backtracked, not interested to be caught snooping and have vicious creatures attacking him.
Laughter rang in the air, two distinct voices: a male, flirty one, and a female, chirpy one. They were ribbing each other, and recognition had Jack pausing.
“So I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I haven’t gotten the chance since we last met. And now it seems stupid.”
“What?”
“You’re cute when you scrunch up your nose, Scarlett. But now you’re getting prettier the more I look at you.”
“No offense, St. Charles, but I bet you’ve said that to every woman you’ve met.”
And despite that, Jack felt a pinch in his chest and annoyance lance up his brain.
They stepped into view, two people clearly comfortable in their ribbing. Annoyance blazed at the way the man named St. Charles was eyeing her as if he was some predator watching his prey’s move.
“Kit.”
At Jack’s call, she looked up. Her eyes lit up, soft brown very natural and face exploding in joy. His chest tightened abruptly, an ache building up that made him want to rub the point near his heart. He ignored the urge and focused on her.
“Jack!”
“Kit,” he repeated, nodding slightly to her back. “The kitchen’s that way.”
“I was giving her a tour.”
At that, Jack shifted his attention to the man, who was eyeing him in contemplation. He returned the study.
“She needs sustenance after days of sickness. And Celine has food prepared for her. We don’t want it getting cold.”
“Oh.” Kit immediately looked guilty. “I gotta go, then.”
“Walk back, turn the second corner right, and you’ll find the scent of her cooking,” St. Charles instructed, giving her a wink. She waved a hand.
“Yeah, yeah.” A quick look at Jack and she ducked her head as her cheeks turned pink. “Thanks for the tour, St. Charles. Thanks…thanks for everything, Jack. I hope Celine hasn’t been waiting long.”
Great. Now he’d made her feel bad. Before he could apologize, she was already turning around, an eagerness in her gait as she rubbed her stomach. He watched her back, noting the liveliness and the contrast from her weak state just hours ago.
Poison. And he’d been too late to figure it out.
A male voice cleared his throat, catching Jack’s attention again. He met dark violet eyes still on him.
“So...she calls you by your first name.”
“So?”
The man smirked. “She makes it a point to call everyone by their last names.”
“Hmm.”
“She also never gets in trouble, because she’s always kept herself isolated. But you got her in trouble.”
Jack’s shoulders stiffened, a tight feeling settling at the implication. But he nodded his head.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Because the man was blocking the way, Jack walked out of the mansion and to the field he’d peeked at earlier, intending to get some air. He wanted to get out of here, but there was still Kit to think about.
His skin crawled, a feeling that induced chills. It was the only warning Jack got before he ducked, avoiding the blur that launched at his head. When it landed, he found himself looking at dark violet eyes, the face already bubbling and changing into another form. A lion.
But not before it spoke.
“Let's see what Scarlett's man is made of.”
The roar followed, loud and filled with anticipation. It practically vibrated on the creature’s body, from that tail tip filled with silver-blond hair to the thick, glossy mane on the head. Jack studied that head, realizing there was a snout. The ears were different, too.
Not just a lion, then. A wolf as well.
The lion-wolf braced, claws digging into the ground and shoulders tensing. Jack read the challenge, eyes narrowing as he quickly took off his clothes: coat, shirt, pants, shoes. Then he was shifting, too, muscles creaking and bursting, scales forming like second skin.
Stupid, really, to be fighting strange shifters instead of getting out of there. But he remembered Kit’s laugh, and how this man had pretty much all but ran his hands all over her. The irritation came back, surging.
Jack jumped first, attacking the lion-wolf with fervor and feeling a bold sense of satisfaction when he knocked the other off its feet. But St. Charles was fast, claws like a lightning strike and reaching out to him. Jack rolled back, and St. Charles went with him, eager to trap and claw.
So Jack kept rolling, eager to do the same harm and revving for a fight that would settle dominance once and for all.
As timing would have it, St. Charles’s preening turned out to have some backbone, and his lion-wolf form moved with a precision that was honed by years of use. In fact, he moved like a smaller wolf would, a sleek grace and power as he watched Jack’s moves before reacting, then made his power moves.
Of course, Jack wasn’t a novice, either. The fight with Trey had already put him in a sour mood, and that only intensified now. He allowed it to enhance his moves, relying on it and instinct, as well as years of using New York’s streets to defend and fight for his life. He studied every attack St. Charles made, then countered it with even more precise ones.
And oddly enough, he began to enjoy it.
Unlike the fight with Trey, which was all aggression and trying to rip each other’s throats out, this one was more calculation: each swipe and tear more careful, until he began to realize St. Charles was only keen on toppling him not tearing him apart. It gave Jack the freedom to do the same, relying not just on strength but on mind. It gave him a keen sense of satisfaction, furiously working on moves he hadn’t tested in so long against a smart opponent.
Something—someone—slipped out from the mansion to the field, visible out of the corner of Jack’s eye. Two people, actually: Kit and the healer shifter named Levi. Jack’s body jerked in reaction, telling him who it was before his mind could, and instantly each of his movements became more energetic as if an animal showing off in front of—
The thought was blocked from his mind before it could form, as St. Charles lunged, rolled, and dragged him down. Claws sank at his sides, and his sank as well until they were both locked in on each other. Tense gazes met, growls vibrating on skin and making hair stand on end.
An opportunity glinted, and Jack went with it as he kicked the lion-wolf’s underbelly before transferring his claws there: not sinking in on the tender flesh but poised to do so at the slightest movement.
St. Charles remained still on his back, eyes taking in the claws, then his vulnerable position. He was breathing hard, aggression turning to contemplation, and it wasn’t long before the lion-wolf was shifting back to man form, losing fur and animal features. Jack narrowed his eyes.
“Very good. The city hasn’t softened you, after all.”
With that, the man pushed Jack’s animal form back, and Jack relented as he shifted back as well. He turned from Kit as he yanked his clothes back on, just in the process of buttoning his pants when he heard footsteps. But it was only Levi, stepping in the middle of them and eyeing them both critically.
“No injuries?”
Jack shook his head, and so did St. Charles. Their gazes met again, and it was the other man who strode over and studied him closely. Boldly, even.
“You were a pretty fun opponent,” St. Charles said, almost generously. Jack barely held back the scoff. “Not as rusty as I would’ve expected.”
“I’m a cop,” Jack bit off. “You don’t get to be a rusty cop if you live in New York and have supernatural secrets to keep from humans.”
“Point made.” A hand was held out. “I hope my point was made about Scarlett, too.”
Reluctantly, Jack took the hand. Shook it, an uneasy sort of truce forming. “There’s no point to be made. Kit is a friend, just like Celine. I make it a point to protect all my friends.”
“Hmm. Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”
When Jack bristled, Levi sighed and stepped forward again. “Knock it off, both of you. Sorry, Stallone. St. Charles likes to boast about his skills and use them on unwilling suspects.”
Because Jack had a suspicion that included Levi, too, he couldn’t help but feel a kindred spirit. He nodded, then watched as St. Charles saluted him before putting an arm around Levi’s shoulder. He was still naked as the day he was born when they both strutted towards Kit, who stayed where she was and was all frowns and scolding when she leveled St. Charles with a look. To her credit, she didn’t look anywhere but the man’s face, and St. Charles eventually returned to the mansion with Levi.
When they were gone, Jack made his way over, facing Kit. Worry scrunched up her brows, but her eyes were soft.
“St. Charles said he wanted to show off.”
So nothing about the actual reason. Jack nodded. “Hmm.”
“Yeah, well, don’t worry. I tore him a new one and threatened him.”
“Threatened?”
“Yes.” Kit brightened. “If he ever attacks my guest again, I’ll have all my wires shoved up his ass.”
Astonishment had Jack jerking, then staring at her. She beamed innocently and held out a hand. The warning was hilarious, but one thing stood above it: that she defended him, and damn if that didn’t make him feel good.
Trying not to smirk, he took her hand and tried to ignore the lingering warmth it brought.
Chapter 11
“Here. Actual breakfast instead of the crap you regularly eat.”
Kit rolled her eyes but smiled happily as a box was waved in front of her. She yanked it greedily, then began to make unintelligible noises when she opened the box and gawked at the colorful array of large tarts inside. Not just sweet ones. There was bacon and cheese, pesto, and every other flavor that made her mouth water.
“Did you buy the whole store or what?” she asked incredulously.
Jack shrugged, took a salted cheese tart, and plopped on her couch like he belonged there. Maybe he did, considering he’d been doing this for countless nights now: coming there after work, or bringing his workload here and using her couch as his makeshift office. Apparently, it was to ask her direct questions regarding the investigation and be easily available in case the killer was spotted on the frequency again.
She didn’t care, as long as he brought food. Eventually, she provided him with a foldable table, too, and now she watched as he arranged his laptop and folders on it, a habit that she was getting used to.
Anyway, food.
The first bite of the custard cream tart had her closing her eyes, a small groan escaping her lips as the flavor hit her tongue. When she opened her eyes, it was to find Jack frowning at her.
“And I thought Celine was a sugar fiend. You’re worse.”
At that, Kit narrowed her eyes. “Liking sweets doesn't make me a sugar fiend. Besides, I eat other stuff.”
“Right. Microwave dinners.”
“And Chinese takeout,” Kit piped in, smirking. “But I also eat my salads, so we’re all good and covered.”
Jack shook his head, but she could see the small smile playing on his lips. She watched that smile, savoring it and becoming fascinated with how good it looked on him. Getting into her second tart—a fruity one this time—she studied him and thought it over.
“How was work?”
“Good. I mostly did some homework but had to drop by the precinct to handle some cases there. You?”
Kit shrugged. “The usual. Errands, but mostly on my laptop.” She brightened. “The pickup truck’s good to go, and Mrs. Camden was ecstatic.”
“I noticed it was gone from the garage. That was nice of you, Kit.”
He opened a sandwich and began to eat it with almost meticulous care, eyes on his laptop the whole time. Understanding he was already in the zone, she left him alone and ate her way through her tarts, leaving the salty ones behind and putting the box on a chair beside the couch. She then went back to her chair, finishing up on her errands before she tuned in to the frequencies again.
“I’m calling to report a missing cat…”
“There’s some scuffle inside Ford Club. ID the ones involved and check for minors…”
“My neighbors are yelling at each other and it’s getting annoying…”
“A fire broke out in a bar, have it checked out…”
It went on, and Kit braced herself as the night became busy with reports and segregating them. None needed her attention, and she left them alone, too, until it was time to DJ. That took most of her attention as she jumped into her segment, talking until she was running out of air and finishing it with a bang. When her segment was done, she returned to the frequencies, turning the volume up enough for the sound to reverberate around the underground space. Then she stood up and sat beside Jack, who was leaning back against the couch and quietly reading a folder file in his hands.
“Everything good?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes. Don’t worry. You’ll know when there’s trouble meant for us.”
“I know. You’re good at your job. Brilliant, in fact.”
The compliment was so abrupt that she felt her body go still—then, grow warm as she took in the sincerity in his tone. She grinned at him then leaned back on the couch, too, closing her eyes and struggling to contain her feelings.
“I’m gonna rest my eyes for a bit,” she muttered in excuse.
“Go ahead. Sleep if you need to. I’ll see myself out later.”
“It’s fine. I just need to close my eyes,” she countered. He didn’t respond, probably back to reading again, and she left him at that. At one point, her skin prickled, a tingly flash that traveled up her spine and made her wonder if his eyes were on her. Awareness slithered in like a hot, delicious shiver, but she forced herself to keep still and act like she didn’t feel it.
Eventually, the feeling dissipated, and she felt her consciousness leave. When it returned, her eyes snapped open, and a glance at the clock determined she’d slept for at least half an hour.
Unmoving, she glanced at Jack, saw that he was still reading. Amazement flitted in when she realized he was in glasses, too—metal-rimmed ones, fitting him so perfectly that she felt her stomach ripple in reaction. It ached, too, a low thrum that simmered and had every intention of building.
When he stretched a hand up to scratch his head, the muscles in his arms bunched, straining against the long-sleeved dress shirt he was wearing. It was all she could do not to make a sound of dismay at how it was making her body feel, and she had to close her eyes again to block the image from her mind. Too late, because it was already imprinted there.
Too late, because no matter how much she tried not to look at Jack, she already saw him.
Attraction was a very inconvenient thing, especially when it was one-sided—especially when it was this strong. She needed to work with him, needed to treat him like he treated her: an acquaintance turned friend and nothing else.
Easier said than done.
There was a soft, tired sigh, followed by the feeling of her skin prickling wonderfully. Before she could wonder if Jack was watching her again, a strong hand rested on the nape of her neck, gently but firmly pulling her in his direction. She felt her head hit his shoulder, felt his head move slightly as his mouth rested on her hair.
Not a kiss, but more like him studying her in that angle. It didn’t matter because it still made her heart pound, and she had to fight back the fisting of her hands.
Papers shifted as he got to reading again, and she heard him mutter something every few minutes: theories, questions, musings about the case. She listened with half an ear, then sighed and tilted her head until her nose was close to his dress shirt. At that angle, she managed to take him in: a scent of clean sheets, cotton, and something wonderfully, deliciously male.
Hot-blooded male.
A low moan was stuck in her throat, embarrassingly close to coming out—
The phone rang, jerking her out of her confused state as her eyes snapped open. Jack leaned forward, taking out his phone and answering the call in a formal tone of voice. She turned to watch, noting how he frowned instantly. His eyes went hard.
At the same time, the frequency device squawked, a low, female voice calling in and stating that she felt like she was being followed.
Kit froze.
“Yes, I’m on my way.”
The phone was snapped shut. She lurched up, watching as he began to put on his coat and arrange his stuff.
“Jack?”
“Nothing’s happened yet, and I’m going to make sure nothing does. Stay here, Kit. I’ll keep you posted.”
Before he could leave, her hand shot out and took his wrist. She ignored his protest as she practically dragged him to her table of computers.
His protest died when she presented him with a flesh-colored earpod.
“It’s what I used to track your movements, leading to the reptile clan,” she stated matter-of-factly. “If you put it in your ear, you can communicate with me.”
“I don’t need—”
“I won’t meddle unless you ask for help. You can turn it off if you don’t want me hearing any part of your private conversations, but you can use it in case I’m needed. Or my clan’s needed.” Her eyes blazed at his stubborn expression. “You don’t know what you’re facing, and I’m already worried. Please? Will you do this for me?”
