and arms stood on end.
“I don’t give a shit who or what you are, I hope you’re ready to die,” Jace growled.
“I had a feeling you’d say something like that.”
The man stepped into the light, and Frankie stared at him.
Tall, with broad shoulders, flowing auburn hair, sea-blue eyes and loads of muscle. The heavy scent of his skin hit her full force. Her eyes widened as she sucked in a harsh breath.
A smirk crept across the man’s face. “Seems like your bitch has a keen sense of smell.” He stepped forward. “My name’s Robert, though your papers have been calling me the new-age Jack the Ripper—surprisingly accurate. Tell me, what do you think of my work?”
“I’ll tell you what I think. I think you’re one sick fuck.” Jace raised his gun and pointed it at Robert’s head. “One sick fuck who needs to be buried six feet under.” Jace fired.
The sicko dodged more quickly than Frankie would have believed possible, and instead of his chest, the bullet pierced his shoulder. He yelped and stumbled back, knocking into the metal railing. Blood poured down his shirt. He clutched his hand to the wound.
David jumped to his feet. He drew his own gun with one hand and his cell phone with the other. As the killer stumbled toward them, David snapped a picture of the symbol with his phone while he kept his weapon trained on the killer.
A satisfied grin crossed Jace’s face as Robert fell to his knees, still clutching the bleeding wound. Jace raised his gun and pressed the barrel against Robert’s forehead. “You better say a prayer and hope that Satan doesn’t make you his bitch every day for the rest of eternity.”
“I think you’re in for a surprise.” Robert pulled a hunting knife from his belt and stabbed Jace in the thigh.
Blood spurted from Jace’s leg as he doubled over in pain. The crimson liquid splashed over Robert, turning his twisted features even more demented.
Robert stood, smiled in self-satisfaction and plucked the bullet from his shoulder. The blood trickled to a stop. He held the bullet out in his hand. “You think you can kill me that easily? And you’re a hunter?” He dropped the bullet in front of Jace. It hit the metal with a loud clang.
David cocked his old-time revolver and aimed. The sound of the shot rang in Frankie’s ears, muffling David’s voice when he spoke. “We might not be able to kill you—yet—but we sure as hell can cause you a lot of unnecessary pain.”
Frankie ripped her gaze away from the action. David could handle it. Jace was kneeling, spewing curses she had never even heard before. His blood formed a small pool of crimson around him, the heat from the liquid billowing with steam in the freezing cold. She pressed her hands against the wound and applied as much pressure as she could, but his blood continued to flow with frightening speed.
“Shit.” She stripped off her coat and rolled it into a long strip. Using all her strength, she forced Jace to straighten his leg. She looped the material underneath his thigh and tied it off above the wound. She hoped that bastard hadn’t hit an artery.
She grabbed Jace’s face and forced him to look her in the eye. “Don’t take the tourniquet off.” She turned to leave, to help David in the fight, but Jace grabbed hold of her wrist.
“Don’t you dare get hurt. Give him hell.” He released her.
David was fighting hand-to-hand with the bastard—or hand-to-gun. He had jammed the butt of the revolver into Robert’s jaw. Blood spewed from Robert’s mouth and stained his teeth red.
Frankie ran straight for him and thanked God she had enough focus to transition. She dove for Robert and shifted mid-jump. Her canines collided with his stomach, piercing deep into his flesh. He toppled over from the force of her attack.
Within seconds he had hold of her by the scruff. Lifting her as if she weighed no more than a newborn pup, he threw her away from him. She hit the platform hard and skidded across the smooth metal. Her back legs slid over the edge of the structure. Her stomach dropped and her fur bristled as she clawed at the platform and tried to hold herself in place. She yelped. Just as she was sure she was about to fall to her death, a pair of large hands clutched her paws. Jace hauled her back onto the platform.
“What did I say about not getting hurt?”
She whimpered to say “I’m sorry” and panted to catch her breath.
A loud groan echoed through the night. The sound of David’s strained voice mumbling in Hebrew registered in Frankie’s overly sensitive ears. A low growl escaped her at the sight of Robert lifting David into the air by his throat. David grasped Robert’s hand and clawed at his fingers to no avail. His mumbling grew fainter as his air supply was cut off.
Without thinking, Frankie darted in Robert’s direction, teeth bared and ready to strike. The sharp points of her canines latched onto his throat. David fell from his clutches as the three of them toppled over the railing. Frankie closed her eyes. She heard a loud shrieking yelp and faintly wondered if she’d hit the ground yet. She couldn’t feel her body. Someone shook her shoulder, and a wave of pain shot through her as her consciousness faded into blackness.
JACE DIDN’T GIVE a shit that his leg was injured or that he was bleeding like a stuck pig. He skyrocketed down the platform steps and sprinted to Francesca’s side. At the force of the impact, she’d shifted into human form, and her naked body lay on top of the frozen grass and half-melted snow.
“Francesca? Hey, Princess? Don’t you pass out on me. Don’t you do it, damn it!” He probed her neck for a pulse and massaged the bones. Pulse steady, and her neck was perfectly intact. But her right arm and shoulder were a whole different story.
Shit. He couldn’t move her and risk injuring her further, and he couldn’t call the cops. An unconscious naked woman and two men covered in blood, with bullet casings scattered everywhere, wouldn’t make for an easy explanation.
He glanced at David, who lay on the ground several feet away. His leg was bent unnaturally, but he had managed not to pass out. Instead he stared up into the night sky with wide, shocked eyes.
“David, are you okay?’ The world spun, and Jace steadied himself with his free hand. In one quick rush, the blood drained from his face and a frosty cold nipped beneath his skin.
David glanced in his direction. “Jace? Jace? Oh, fuck.”
WHEN JACE FINALLY came to, he was sprawled across an old beat-up sofa, the cushions beneath him crying from his overwhelming weight. He cracked one eye open to find a pair of shiny thin glasses reflecting the light straight into his retina.
“What the hell? Get that light out of my eye.”
The glare dimmed, and Jace peered up at a pair of large hazel eyes and a mop of wavy brown hair. Who the...?
“Shane?”
“Oh, good, you recognized me. Hopefully that means we won’t have to test for any brain damage due to overwhelming blood loss.”
“What?”
“Shane, I think I can take it from here.” A large hand brushed the kid aside, and David slid into focus. “Hey, man. You okay? You looked whiter than a ghost the last time your eyes were open.”
Jace groaned in response. His whole body felt drained and devoid of any energy.
“You lost a ton of blood, J.” David paused. “By the way, you may need to clean out the H3. Just sayin’.”
The image of the sadistic killer’s face flashed in Jace’s mind, and he suddenly recalled why he felt like complete and utter shit.
“Where’s Francesca?” Jace pushed himself up on his elbows.
“I’m right here.” Her gorgeous voice sounded in his ears like a sweet melody. “My arm was broken, and I was a little bruised up, but I’m fine now. I heal fast, you know.”
“That is
David pushed lightly against his shoulder, trying to ease him back down. “It’s cool, J. Take a breather. We’re
