Bitter Blood (Blood and Moonlight Book 3)(45)

Aidan kept his gaze on the bastard until the man was out of the cemetery. Then he turned and stared at Jane.

His Jane.

“I lived in New Orleans for over a year with that * as my downstairs neighbor,” Jane said, shaking her head. Her dark hair slid over her shoulders. “He was weird, yes, but I never thought…” Her gaze trekked toward the cemetery’s heavy wall. “What happens when you can’t trust anyone anymore?”

He wanted to tell Jane that she could trust him. That she could always count on him, but the words wouldn’t come. Because he couldn’t be sure they were true. Not with the changes going on inside of him.

The rage was still there, he hadn’t stopped it. Rage that blasted through his very veins. He stared at Jane. That bastard had been taking her picture. What else had he been doing? Living in the same building, he would’ve had so much access to Jane. “I should’ve f*cking killed him.”

Jane shook her head. “No, then you’d be—”

“Baby, I am the monster.” And right then, part of him gloried in that fact. He caught her hand, pulled her close. “And I wish I’d ripped out his throat.” For daring to stare at Jane, to lust for her—oh, yeah, the bastard had f*cking lusted. Aidan had smelled that scent in the air. The fool had wanted Jane.

He’ll never have her. No one else will. Jane will always be mine.

The darkness stretched more inside of him, threatening to swallow the man he’d been. Threatening to take his sanity.

“For a minute there,” Jane said, her voice husky. “I thought you were going for his throat.”

If she hadn’t been there, he would have. Aidan didn’t speak as they left that cemetery. Back on the street, his gaze swept the area once more. More humans were out, filling the sidewalks. No one seemed to be paying him and Jane any attention.

But appearances were so often deceptive.

Aidan pulled out his phone. He called Vivian, even as his gaze kept searching for threats. The police captain answered on the second ring.

“What’s happening?” Vivian’s voice was tight. “Aidan, I’ve been trying to reach you—”

“Paris isn’t dead.”

“What?”

“I need you to find out who was working on him at the scene of the fire. Any EMTs, anyone who was near him—you f*cking bring those people to me, got it?”

“Aidan, how did he survive? There was no pulse.” Her voice was shaking. “I checked! I swear, I did. I would never let a pack member—”

“Bring them to me, Vivian.” She’d always been a loyal member of his pack. He knew he could count on her. “I’ll be at Hell’s Gate.” And he would get his answers.

“It’s going to take some time.” He heard her quick, indrawn breath carry over the phone line. “But I’ll get anyone I can find, I swear it.”

Aidan ended the call, then he curled his hand around Jane’s. His claws were gone, but his beast was about to break free. Time to get off that street. Time to get back to his lair.

And time to claim what was his.

***

Roth Sly stumbled down the road, blinking blearily. He glanced at his hands. They felt…empty. As if he should be holding something. Doing something. He stopped at the street corner, just staring as others hurried across the crosswalk.

Why the hell was he on that street?

He touched his head. His temples were throbbing like a bitch.

Someone bumped into him from behind. He realized he was just standing there, holding up the damn line. Muttering an apology, he turned to the man who’d nudged him. “Sorry…I just…” Roth gave a rough laugh. “I must have pulled one hell of an all-nighter.” A hangover, that’s what he had. That’s why he felt weird and couldn’t remember exactly what the hell he’d been doing. He’d had blackouts before, usually after he drank himself into a sweet oblivion. But…he hadn’t drank like that in a very, very long time. Not since he’d started his last job.

The man who’d bumped him smiled. “No problem. We’ve all been there.” It was a friendly smile. Easy going. “There’s a coffee shop around the corner. Some caffeine might help you out, and they’ve got great beignets there.”

“Right. Yeah, thanks, man.” Roth turned away, rubbing a hand over his jaw and feeling the faint sting of a five o’clock shadow. He hurried around the corner, and, sure enough, down the way just a little bit, there was a coffee shop waiting. It was about thirty feet away. His left hand shoved into his pocket. Did he have any money on him?

Footsteps tapped behind him. He looked back, and that guy was there. The friendly dude from the crosswalk. Roth blinked. Was the fellow following him?

No, no, he was just being paranoid. That happened after he drank too much, too. Another unwanted side effect.

Roth pushed open the door of the coffee shop. The bell above his head jingled. He spotted an empty booth in the far back and he bee-lined for it. He sat down on the broken seat cushion, exhaling in relief.

And then, two seconds later, that same damn guy slid into the booth with him. “What the hell…?” Roth began.

The man shoved a thick, brown envelope across the table. “Where’s Jane?”

Jane.

Roth started to sweat.