Dark Wolf Unbound (Heart of the Shifter #2)
Stephanie Rowe
A Heart of the Shifter Novel
Chapter 1
Jace Donovan didn't hesitate.
The moment his SUV pulled up in front of the old ranch house buried in the woods on the banks of the Hood Canal in Washington, Jace kicked open the door and stepped out onto the damp ground. The winter rains had created a muddy mess, but it mattered little to him. Nothing mattered to him right now. The pain from his shattered ankle was excruciating, but he kept his weight evenly distributed on both feet, out of habit. No wolf shifter showed weakness and lived long enough to regret it.
His two pack mates, Cash Burns and Drake London, got out of the vehicle and walked up so they were flanking him, both of them close enough to grab him if all hell broke loose.
Jace grimly studied the decrepit house. The paint was peeling, the shutters were broken, and the lawn was an overgrown swamp of moss, mud, and weeds. His black mood became even darker at the sight of the squalor. The Stevens family had so little, and yet he'd still managed to find something to steal from them. Not just something. He'd stolen the only thing that mattered.
"You have the guns?" he asked his escorts, keeping his gaze on the run-down house.
"We're not going to shoot you," Cash said evenly.
"Do you have the guns?" he asked again, making it clear that he wasn't going to even acknowledge that mutinous statement.
"Shit, Jace, you're not going to lose control and murder them," Drake said. "Grigori is gone. He doesn't control you anymore."
Jace said nothing. He just stood there, watching the house, waiting. He wasn't going to explain it again. It was their job to do as he instructed, and if he showed weakness, he knew they would never do it. Yeah, he was their alpha, but he was more than that. These two men were his deepest friends and his greatest allies. If Jace gave them any leeway at all, he knew they would never put a bullet into him when the moment came.
So, he waited, not looking at them, not lowering himself to respond. He used the blistering pain in his ankle to distract himself, adjusting his stance to put even more weight on the ankle that had been crushed in a recent fight with the psychopath Grigori and Jace's deputy, Damien, who Grigori had co-opted.
Finally, Cash and Drake exchanged glances, and Cash shrugged. "Fine, yeah, we have the guns. If you go after anyone, we'll stop you."
Tension wrapped tighter around Jace's spine. "No matter what it takes."
Cash sighed. "No matter what it takes."
Satisfaction pulsed through Jace. He wasn't going to pretend he was happy to die. The last thing he fucking wanted was to get a silver bullet between his eyes, but he wasn't going to let one more innocent die by his hands. If killing him was necessary to protect others, then killing him was what needed to happen.
"Then we go in." He strode forward without hesitation, heading right for the front door. With each step on his injured leg, his body shook in agony, but he welcomed the pain. Each shard of pain was a reminder of what he'd done, for letting his wolf control him. He deserved a shattered ankle, and a part of him was still pissed that the doctors had worked so hard to save it.
As Jace neared the house, Cash and Drake stayed so close that their trench coats brushed his legs. He hadn't gone anywhere without Cash and Drake since he'd been released from prison. They were his bodyguards now, but their job wasn't to protect him. It was to protect others from him. He knew he was a ticking time bomb, but he didn't know what trigger would make him finally explode.
He slammed his fist on the door and then stepped back.
Waiting.
There was no sound from inside.
Swearing under his breath, he hit the door with his fist again. "Hello!" he shouted. "Is anyone home?"
This time, he heard the faint shuffle of footsteps inside. Tension shot through him, and he jumped back, moving slightly behind Cash and Drake. Sweat broke out over his palms as the footsteps neared the front door. Someone was walking toward the door, toward him. Someone who once could have trusted him, could now become his victim in a split second.
The song, that fucking song, began to play in his head again, and he swore, slamming his fists to his forehead. Shut the fuck up. Sweat trickled down his back as he fought to silence that song, but he could still hear it, faintly, drifting through the edges of his mind.
Ever since he'd heard that song and it had forced him to shift and murder, the song had continued to haunt him, drifting through his mind on its own, as if it were a wraith that was slithering through his mind, waiting for the right time to incite him to attack.
He knew he should leave. He shouldn't be here. But he owed this family, and he trusted Cash and Drake to shut him down. "Knife," he commanded Cash. "Get the knife ready." The song was getting louder in his head. How loud did it have to get before it forced him to shift, before it turned him into a murderer again? He'd been able to resist the song ever since that night, but it was stronger right now than it had ever been, crawling through his veins like an insidious poison.
Cash glanced over at him. His eyes widened at whatever expression he saw on Jace's face, and he immediately reached into his coat pocket. Jace knew that his fingers were now wrapped around the handle of a silver-bladed knife, ready to strike.
The knife wouldn't kill him, but the hit of silver in his veins would hurt him enough for Drake to shoot him.
The door handle began to turn, and the song played even louder in his head. Swearing, Jace dug into his own pocket and wrapped his fingers around the silk bag containing two silver balls. He dumped the contents into his palm, and his skin began to burn the moment the silver touched his hand. He gritted his jaw against the pain, summoning all his discipline to keep himself from jerking his hand out of his pocket and away from the silver.
The pain in his hand was so consuming that he was barely able to focus when the door opened, revealing a gray-haired woman in a pair of black pants and a red cardigan. Her eyes were bright blue, sparkling with more life than he would have expected, given her stooped shoulders and the trauma he'd put her through.
He cleared his throat and pulled his shoulders back, keeping his fist tight around the silver balls and leaning more of his weight onto his broken ankle. The pain was excruciating, but it worked, leaving no room in his mind for songs. "Mrs. Stevens?" he asked.
The woman's silver-white eyebrows went up. "I'm Nancy Collins. No Stevens here." Her eyes were bright, but there was an edge to her voice that spoke of a heavy weight in her soul.
"None?" Had he gotten the wrong house?
No, he was certain of his information. This was the last registered home address of Melissa. He quickly concluded that this must be the grandmother. No one from her family had come to the trial, so he had no way to recognize anyone. "Are you the mother or grandmother of Melissa Stevens?" His voice caught as he said the name of the woman he'd murdered. Jesus.
Pain flickered across the woman's face. "Not mother. Grandmother," she said softly. "My poor girls. First Jessica, and then her daughter, dying the same way."
The same way? The mother had been murdered too? Jesus. What the fuck had he brought upon this woman? The gaping emptiness that had been haunting him since that night expanded, sucking him down. He knew this was it. He was done after this. As an alpha, there had been instances where he'd had to make the choice to end the life of another shifter, after he'd concluded that it was an irredeemable threat to society. He never took the task lightly, but protecting innocents was the very foundation of who he was. The song had turned him into the same monster that he'd had to destroy, and now, it was his turn.
There was just one last thing to do before he took the fate he deserved.
Slowly, he went down on his knees and bowed his head. "My name is Jace Donovan," he said. "I-"
"Jace Donovan?" The woman sucked in her breath, apparently recognizing his name. "You bastard!"
He didn't lift his head, staring at the weeds growing out of the cracked cement on the stoop. "I know. I know there is no forgiveness for what I did. I know nothing I can do will bring her back. But I owe you and your family an apology. I am sorry, on every level of my soul, for killing your granddaughter. I-"
"You think it's an excuse that someone else was controlling you?" she hissed. "You think that makes it okay?"
He looked up, what was left of his soul crumbling when he saw the tears shining on her cheeks. "No," he said. "I don't think it makes it okay. That's why I'm here to apologize." He suddenly had an idea, and he looked over at Cash. "Give her the gun."