“No, but her Alpha was here to pick her up when she was released and he looked pissed.”

That was interesting. Maybe she wasn’t following her new pack’s rules. Shifters were brutal in the enforcement of their laws. “Why didn’t you call me earlier?”

“Because I’ve been fucking busy.” Though he didn’t raise his voice, the sharp edge was hard to miss.

Anthony chose to ignore it. “It doesn’t matter that she’s given her DNA. They still know a shifter killed that bartender. We can leak it to the media—Julia Martin. She’s fair.” He was met with silence. “What?”

“Not yet. She just got burned with that story about those dog attacks. Besides, it’s not like the recent attack is exactly a secret in town. People are talking about it even if the news isn’t.”

The local reporter who covered most of the news in Fontana and the immediate surrounding region had gone on the air with concerns about shifter attacks before. Of course she’d also gone right back on record when it had turned out a rabid dog and not shifters had killed a couple of humans a little over a month ago. Some asshole had gotten a dog and hadn’t trained it right. At least people knew about the attack last night. Sometimes gossip and speculation were better than hearing things from a respectable source. People would let their imaginations run wild. “Yes, she’ll be hesitant to report anything dealing with shifters so soon,” he said almost absently. Quickly he turned the topic in another direction. “Use our secret weapon tonight. Don’t pick someone with a record. Find someone clean.”

“No.” The answer was immediate and made Anthony’s anger spike.

“Why not?”

“We can incite the people here without going after innocents. I’m not going to kill someone who doesn’t deserve it.” His voice was so damn calm that Anthony wanted to strike out at him.

The bartender they’d killed had had a record, but he hadn’t been violent. That didn’t seem to matter to his contact as long as their victims were criminals. The guy had a weird fucking moral code. And Anthony knew when to pick his battles. He needed this guy. Pausing a moment, he chose his next words carefully. “Two of our members with records—armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon—will be at Tango’s tomorrow for midnight bowling.” Then he gave their names, aware that his contact would know exactly who they were. Though he didn’t live in Fontana at present, Anthony knew that Tango’s was a bowling alley that saw a lot of business late at night. The five-dollar pitchers pulled in a young crowd, usually including the two punks he had named. He wouldn’t lose any sleep over it if they were eliminated.

But Anthony didn’t push things any further. He just let that statement hang in the air. If he ordered the other man to kill them, he would naturally resist.

“They’re APL—our people.” The statement was almost muted, as if he was trying to convince himself they didn’t deserve to die since they belonged to the same organization as Anthony and his contact.

“Their deaths would serve two purposes.” It would rid the world of two scumbags—at least in his contact’s eyes—and it would hopefully incite the town against shifters once it came out that two more people had died at their hands. But he didn’t spell all that out. He didn’t need to.

A long pause. Then, “They’ll be taken care of. . . . I’m also taking care of someone else tomorrow. During the daytime will work best for this victim.”

That piqued his curiosity. “Who?”

“Someone with a long record, recently let out on parole.” There was so much disgust in his contact’s voice Anthony knew the victim would likely deserve to die. And he didn’t care how many murders their secret weapon had to carry out.

“Good.” He smiled to himself as they hung up, not bothering to question his contact further on the other intended victim. Three kills in one day was genius. It was only a matter of time until the APL brought down Jayce Kazan, enforcer and representative of the North American Council of lupine shifters. After that it wouldn’t be hard to target the Council themselves. Step by step he would rip them apart, and if he had to sacrifice some humans along the way, so be it.

These immortals had turned their noses up at him once and they were all going to pay. Back when he’d been in the prime of life, barely thirty, they’d come out to the world, flaunting their longer life spans and supernatural abilities. And he’d desperately wanted what they had.

Already incredibly financially successful at such a young age—all of it earned on his own, with no help from his father—he had been a perfect candidate for immortality. He’d approached the vampires first, though not overtly. Female vamps were known for their hedonistic lifestyles as much as the males and he’d reveled in the open sexuality of their kind. But they’d refused to turn him. After a while he’d realized that the women he fucked were never going to change him into a vampire. He was just a plaything for them. Something to pass the time. In truth that was all they’d been to him too. But he wanted what they had so badly that he sold his pride for one vamp female. He let her dominate him, do whatever she wanted to him. Of course that was before he realized she never intended to turn him. In the end she discarded him for someone else. And him, she turned into one of them. He’d been a nobody. A fucking bartender with no direction or money, but she’d apparently thought her next lover was more worthy. Scorching-hot fury burned inside Anthony as long buried memories assaulted him.

After that, he’d turned to shifters in an attempt to gain immortality, but they hadn’t even been willing to talk to him. They’d all brushed him off, as if he were a nuisance, a bug to be squashed. So in the past twenty years, since their emergence to the world, he’d spent his time learning everything he could about them. Shifters closed ranks to any outsiders they perceived as a threat, but their strength of pack was also their weakness.

Unlike vampires, who existed mostly in vacuums, shifters lived and breathed family. It made it easier to use and threaten them for his own purposes. Just like he was doing now. Soon they would all regret ever having thought they were better than him.

Chapter 8

Kat scented him before she opened her eyes. That spicy, earthy, subtle cedar scent twined around her. Before she could move, she felt her thick, warm comforter being dragged off her. Immediately she jerked up in bed to find Jayce at the foot of it with a slight grin breaking up the harsh lines of his face. “What are you doing?” she asked as she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Thankfully she’d worn clothes to bed last night. A quick glance at the digital clock on her nightstand told her it was five in the morning.

“Time to get up, sweetheart.” His voice was a smooth purr.

But it wasn’t full of fun promises of sinful sex—not that she should be thinking about that with him anyway. After he’d brought her to climax yesterday, they hadn’t said much to each other. She’d gone straight to her room and proceeded not to sleep. Instead she’d tossed and turned for hours until falling into a fitful slumber. Not because of nightmares of her torture, but because she’d been tormented with memories of what it had felt like to have Jayce stroking her to orgasm. His touch had been so gentle, so perfect, it made her crazy with need. She couldn’t believe she’d let him touch her so intimately yesterday, but she’d felt damn near powerless to stop herself from straddling him, kissing him . . . wanting him so bad she ached for his touch. And the tender look in his eyes as he’d made her climax—no, no, no. She couldn’t go there. Instead she forced herself to focus on the man in front of her.

Kat glared at him. “I’m not working today, so if you don’t mind . . .” She might have quit her job at the ski lodge, but she still helped out at December’s bookstore. She leaned forward, ready to grab the comforter back, but he stepped out of her way, dragging the cover with him.

“I know. You’re training with me. Get up now and I might let you get some coffee before we leave.”

She flicked her gaze over his muscular form. He was wearing black jogging pants, a black sweater, and a black knitted skullcap. The only color on it was the small white skull and crossbones on the front. “You look like a cat burglar.” When he didn’t respond, she continued. “It’s still dark out.”

“And?”

She flopped back on the pillow and curled onto her side, but kept her eyes on him. “It’s not normal to be up at this hour if you don’t have to be.” Especially after the night she’d had.

“Do you want me to coddle you, princess?” The mischievous gleam in his gray eyes wrenched her out of bed and onto her feet in seconds.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore.” That had been his nickname for her back before they’d started dating. She knew he didn’t think she was spoiled. Back then he’d just liked to get under her skin. It certainly did the trick now.

“Whatever you say, princess. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be downstairs.” Then he disappeared out the door without a sound. Like a freaking ghost, she thought. If she hadn’t been watching him, she wouldn’t have heard him. That was the kind of stealth she wanted to learn.

After washing her face and brushing her teeth she changed into a pair of jogging pants and a loose sweatshirt. As she arrived downstairs, Jayce was opening the front door.

“What about coffee?” she asked as she pulled her hair into a ponytail.

He shrugged and pushed the door all the way open. “Next time you’ll get up earlier.”

“That’s not fair. I didn’t even know we were training so early.”

“Not my problem.” His lips pulled up slightly at the corners, as if he was trying not to laugh.

Which only infuriated her more. “You were a lot nicer when we were together.”

He stepped closer until he was mere inches from her, that spicy scent drowning her in its sensuality. “If we were still together we’d be in bed right now and I’d be buried deep inside you.”