“Whatever works.”

For some reason, having his boastful words tossed back at him made Sariel laugh. A genuine hearty sound that shattered the dangerous tension in the room and had Jax’s friends exhaling heartfelt sighs of relief. Including Kira, though she wasn’t yet sure she counted as a friend.

“I like you, wolf.” Pointedly, he removed his hand from Kira’s back. “Perhaps one day you’ll unleash that particular talent upon my sire.”

The other man relaxed, his canines receding along with his anger. “Now, that’s a war I’ll look forward to winning.”

For her part, she failed to find any part of the exchange the least bit humorous. Why did males of any species feel the frequent need to whip out their dicks and compare sizes?

She wasn’t sure how she felt about being fought over like a steak bone, either. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so embarrassing minus the roomful of gawking people.

“Well, that was fun,” she said stiffly, glaring at Jax. “Next time why don’t you hike your leg on me like I’m a frigging tree?”

Pushing away from the table, she made herself scarce, dumping the remains of her lunch on the way out.

Behind her, Zan said, presumably to Jax, “Way to go, dumbass.”

She couldn’t agree more.

Nine

Morose, Jaxon stared out the window of the SUV and cursed himself for the zillionth time for how badly he’d handled the confrontation with Sariel. It was his own stupid fault. Now his team thought he was losing his damned mind, and worse, he’d pissed off Kira.

From the driver’s seat, Ryon nudged him. “Dude, quit scratching.”

“I’m trying,” he hissed. “Melina gave me some medicine, but the crap’s not helping.”

“You got fleas?” Aric, the smartass.

“Boy’s got a bad case of somethin’,” Zan said from the back, a smirk in his tone. “Could it be an itch for a tasty little blonde?”

Aric snickered. “A tasty little blonde who was eating up our boy with those big baby blues, just about as much as his were doing to her.”

His wolf snarled inside. “Shut up. You fucktards have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure we don’t. That’s why her scent all over you is about to gag us,” Aric said.

They all busted up laughing, even Hammer, sufficiently blowing off his heated denial. They knew him too well, which made living with his best buds in such close quarters a big pain in the ass sometimes. But paybacks were hell. He’d return the favor someday as each one of these jerks found their—

No. Kira was not his mate. Just because Terry had gone through the exact same symptoms before mating Melina . . . symptoms that were eased only by giving in to his primal urges.

Oh, Christ, I am so screwed.

Hammer changed the subject. “Who’s got the photos of the four victims? Want to take another look.”

Jaxon passed them back and the team took another look at the crime scene pics Nick had been sent courtesy of Sheriff Deveraux. The simple act of touching the paper the photos were printed on gave him chills. Nick had reluctantly asked Jax to do a reading on the bodies, which were now with Melina and her team, and Jax was damned glad to be able to put off the task until tomorrow.

“Nothin’ special about these guys,” Hammer observed. “Unless you notice how they all appeared to be really fit at one time. Broad shoulders, muscles, no extra fat. I think this guy might’ve been military.” He tapped a pic.

Aric leaned in. “Let me see. Oh, yeah, the tat on his biceps. Didn’t clue that.”

“What do you think it means?”

“Dunno. Could be something, though.”

Ryon turned onto the narrow, rural road that led to the cemetery. After a few miles, he pulled the SUV off the road into the trees, where it would be well hidden since the sun had set an hour ago. They’d travel the last mile or so in wolf form, the better to see and smell in the forest and graveyard at night.

And it would make walking much easier on his leg, which throbbed more than usual from the hard kick Zan had delivered while they were sparring. He should’ve had Melina look at it, but he’d have to do that later.

“How long do we wait for Black to show?” Aric asked as they got out of the vehicle.

Jaxon faced his buddies. “Give him until two, three in the morning?”

Ryon spoke up. “Whatever biz he has in a cemetery, I’d guess if he hasn’t shown by three, he’s not coming. The night begins to wane by then; the force of the witching hour fades.” As their expert on the dead, he would know.

Nobody disagreed. They undressed in silence, tossed their clothes in the SUV, and shifted. Jax relished the stretch and pop of bone and muscle, and the moderate relief that being in wolf form brought to his injured limb. It would make fighting easier, too, though he hoped it didn’t come to that.

Jaxon’s enhanced vision adjusted to the darkness, his wolf enjoying a clear picture of the dense forest bathed in moonlight. The colors washed around them in tones of pale white, royal blue, and black, glowing in a way that the naked human eye could never see without the aid of technology. He sniffed the air, caught the scent of rabbit, and something bigger. Deer. Hiding in the shadows, trembling, aware that death was near.

But they needn’t fear him tonight. He didn’t have time to run and hunt, and his mission called him back to attention.

He kept his senses alert as they picked their way through the forest with stealth, barely making a sound. They made good time, arriving at the clearing in minutes. Once there, they hovered on the edge, keeping to the undergrowth where they’d remain hidden yet able to observe. They had a good scope of the area and were crouched on the back side of the property, a safe distance from the main entrance and any cars that might arrive—though at this hour there shouldn’t be any except for the one their man might be driving. Never hurt to be safe.

They watched. After a while, they lay on their bellies, still alert but growing more bored by the hour. As the hour passed one in the morning, Jaxon was struggling with the need to doze when Ryon’s urgent voice telegraphed into their heads, bringing them fully awake.

Showtime, boys. Our prey is here. A pause. Jesus, get a load of this guy.

No way. Jaxon blinked, just to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. Yep, Nick was right—not from Wyoming at all.

Their quarry was on foot, carrying a backpack. He stepped from the shadows directly into a pool of moonlight and slowly began to walk in their direction with a loose stride Jax knew all too well—that of a fellow predator. As his clothing and features took on more definition, he couldn’t help but be a little awed by the sight before them.

The male was tall and lean, just over six feet. He wore a black leather duster that had seen better days, cracks and tears marring the surface. Underneath he wore all black, jeans and a snug T-shirt hugging a sculpted chest and long thighs, and heavy shit-kickers on his feet.

Jaxon’s gaze traveled to the ebony rock star hair falling in messy layers around his face and barely to his shoulders. Even from here, he could see the black nail polish and guyliner. Jax had heard some women dug that shit on a dude, but he’d pass, thanks. The only contrast on the man was his pale skin and the impressive silver pentagram pendant hanging on a chain around his neck and resting on his chest.

And the eyes that shone like emeralds in that face . . . He’d expected someone older. Thirtysomething. God, he was young, barely more than a kid who might be old enough to order a beer. And there was something else.

Kalen Black radiated power from every inch of his body. Ancient spine-curling power that created an aura around him, not so much visible as present in the air like the pressure, electricity, and the earthy scent from a coming storm.