Twilight Hunter

* * *

A LARGE HAND clamped down on Thomas’s shoulder. The voice of the shadowed man echoed as he said, “You will not be limited by mortal bounds.” His voice filled the small clearing where they stood, the forest painted in blue hues as if the brush were made of the sky.

Thomas’s eyes widened. A light sparked in his irises, and a smirk spread across his face. “You mean I’ll be immortal?”

The shadowed man stepped in front of him. “Don’t overestimate your abilities. No one is immortal but the gods. You will age, but at a slow pace, and no minor wound will harm you, but make no mistake, your time will come. Like your father, someday you must pass down your power. You will choose when that time is. A respectful son shall wait until the time is right, just as you must wait now.”

“Like a respectful son...” Thomas looked up into the face of the shadowed man, who towered over him in his enormity. “What do I do now?” he asked.

“Go. Return to your rightful place at your father’s side. He will tell you when his time is up. Until then, learn what wisdom you can from him. Great power lies ahead of you.”

The shadowed man lifted his hand, and with the wave of his wrist the blue forest melted.

When the blue world had faded from his view, Thomas scanned his surroundings. He stood in the middle of a small backyard behind a small redbrick home. Inside, framed in a window, a middle-aged man stood at a kitchen sink, his hands buried in suds.

“Wait and learn his wisdom?” Thomas shook his head before he strode toward the house. He wrenched open the patio door and stepped inside, his boots tracking dirt onto the once-white linoleum. “Hey, Dad. I’m home.”

Thomas’s father glanced up from the dishes and smiled. “You’re later than I expected, Tom.” He set the plate he’d finished washing onto a towel along with the other cleaned dishes—three stacks of plates, several bowls, a single glass and some well-used silverware. He turned to the casserole dish in his hand and scrubbed at the leftover macaroni. “What were you up to? Your mom put some dinner for you in the fridge. The macaroni is in the yellow Tupperware container, and there’s some steak on a plate in there. It’s covered with tinfoil.”

Thomas walked to the fridge, keeping his eyes trained on his father. “I was just...uh...running late at work, Dad. We had an extra shipment come in.” He pulled the refrigerator door open and removed the covered steak. After unwrapping the aluminum foil, he shoved the plate into the microwave and hit start.

He scanned the room. His gaze paused on the block holding the steak knives. “Can you hand me a knife, Dad?”

“Sure.” His father reached over the counter, selecting one of the steak knives from the wooden block. Still facing the sink, he held the knife out behind him, and Thomas took it from his hand.

He clutched it in his palm as he stared at his father. The blade gleamed in the light. “Hey, Dad, I have something interesting to tell you....” He stepped forward.

“Yeah?” His father looked up from the dishes and saw, reflected in the window, his son standing over him. His eyes widened. “Tom, what are you—”

Tom met his gaze as he stabbed the knife into his father’s spine. “I just wanted to tell you, I’m sorry.”

* * *

JACE’S EYES SHOT open as he woke from a deep sleep. He blinked several times and felt his heart pounding in his throat. Holy shit. Dreaming of his father killing his grandfather—a man Jace had never even met? Damn, he had too active an imagination. Besides, his mother had said his grandfather had died of old age before she and his father, Tom, had ever even met.

He didn’t need to be thinking about this shit.

His nightmares were freaky enough without delving into family drama. And damn, if that shit was true...no wonder he was as fucked up as he was.

He rolled over onto his back and glanced at Frankie. She lay sleeping beside him, hair sprawled over the pillowcase, fast asleep. He wanted to touch her. As much as he was angry with her, resented her for making him feel so much when she yielded so little, he couldn’t find the strength to detach himself completely, though he wished he could. She’d insisted she was a free woman and that she’d wanted to be with him. But he couldn’t afford to believe her. And yet... He could have moved into another room in the suite or ordered her to sleep elsewhere. But as he’d chugged Bushmills from the flask he’d refilled and she’d sipped from a second bottle, they’d settled together on the bed, neither talking nor touching. Sleep had finally claimed her, and he’d been content to watch her rest, to hear her breathe. Yeah. Maybe it was in his genes. A level of debauchery and selfishness that went bone deep.

Dear Lord, he had to try to shift tomorrow, and so far in his life he hadn’t so much as shifted even a single limb. He let out a long sigh and shook his head. If the nightmares in the early morning hours were any sign of what the day would be like, he was going to need a lot more whiskey.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JACE’S SKIN CRAWLED when he walked into K9’s the next day. In all his years of hunting, he’d never been as nervous as he was standing on the platform, a perfect training ground, with Frankie.

Him shifting? He cringed.

“Okay, let’s get this over with,” he said.

Frankie rolled her eyes. “It’s not that easy, Jace. You’re not going to learn it in a few hours.”

“It seems simple enough for all of you. You do it within a matter of seconds,” he said.

She sighed and shook her head. “We’re full-blooded. It’ll be harder for you. And even we had to learn how.”

His face fell into a frown. “How long does it usually take to learn?”

She let out a long sigh, as if all her hopes were deflating like an old balloon. “Weeks. But we can’t afford that. You only have a few days.”

“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me. I may be good, but I’m not that good.”

She placed her hands on her hips, and a look that was pure attitude crossed her face. “Unless you want more women to die, you’ll shift and you’ll do it soon. We’re going to be working all our waking hours until you get this mastered.”

He rolled his eyes. “If you say so, teach.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass. Are you ready?”

He shrugged. “Let’s go.”

“To start with, I want you to try and shift on your own. You won’t be able to, but do what feels natural. What would you start with?”

“Well, I’d start with taking off my clothes. I don’t want to rip my expensive threads.” He poked his finger through a hole in his coat.

“Okay, Casanova. Strip down, then.”

Jace shrugged off his coat and pulled his shirt over his head, then tossed them to the side.

* * *

FRANKIE’S EYES WIDENED. The memory of Jace’s arms flexing as he drove himself into her invaded her mind. Heat shot to her core. She shouldn’t be thinking like this. But the way his stomach tightened when he thrust into her... The thought lingered. She smiled and bit her lower lip, then snapped herself back to reality. “Now what would you do?” she finally managed to say.

“Get down on my hands and knees?”

She waved him forward. “Don’t ask me. Go ahead.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Jace knelt on the platform and lowered his weight onto his hands, then got