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  Opening the front door, she stepped out onto his front porch, squinting against the bright glare of sunshine, and found him standing beside his truck, his arm wrapped around Elise’s shoulders. Elise had obviously borrowed some of Torrance’s things, because the jeans were too short, as well as the sleeves of the thick cable-knit sweater she was wearing, her feet bare against the damp grass as she stood within Jeremy’s embrace.

  The wind picked up, surging around Jillian’s body, and Jeremy lifted his gaze, his nostrils flaring as he scented her on the morning air. She smiled at him and waved, but her smile fell as she watched him frown and say something to Elise. The other woman nodded, turned and waved at Jillian, then strolled across the grass toward the Dillingers’ cabin.

  Wondering what was wrong, Jillian waited as he walked toward her, and suddenly she knew. She could see the shadow of worry in his eyes, but he had no reason to be alarmed. She trusted him, with all her heart. “Hey,” she said softly, blushing at the thought of all the scintillating, intimate things they’d done to each other through the long, wonderful night.

  He stared at her soft smile, and then an answering grin began to curl across his mouth. “You—”

  “Didn’t jump to the wrong conclusion when I saw you with Elise?” she finished for him. She gave a quiet laugh, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I love you. I believe in you. That means that I trust you, Jeremy.”

  He pulled her to him, crushing her against his chest. “I don’t deserve you, Jillian,” he whispered gruffly against her hair.

  “I feel the same way about you,” she admitted with a soft laugh, and turning her head as she returned his hug, she finally noticed that Eric’s truck was parked down beside Mason’s cabin. “Is Eric here?” she asked.

  “Yeah, he showed up about twenty minutes ago to pick up Elise, since she wasn’t in any shape to go home with him last night. We talked for a bit, and then he headed inside to see Mason. That’s when Elise came outside to talk to me.”

  Jillian gave him a narrow look. “You didn’t fight with him, did you?”

  “Naw,” he drawled, rolling his shoulder. “I wanted to hate him, but he’s actually kind of okay. And it’s hard to hold a grudge against a guy who helped save your life.”

  Her own shoulders shook with silent laughter. “I told you there was no reason for you to dislike him. We’re just friends.”

  Looking sheepish, he said, “I know that now.”

  “You know everything now,” she whispered in a sultry drawl—and he stiffened against her, in more ways than one.

  Shaking his head, his mouth curved in a wry smile. “Before I lose the small shred of control that’s enabling me to stand here and act civilized, I wanted to tell you that Eric said everything’s okay in town. I know you’ve probably been worried,” he told her, running one palm down her spine in a soothing gesture. “But I want you to try and take it easy today. You’ve been through enough, Jillian. You need to give yourself a break.”

  Lowering her lashes, she murmured, “Then come back to bed with me.”

  His hand went still. “If I come back to bed with you, I’m going to make love to you,” he warned in a soft growl.

  She rolled her eyes, laughing. “Well, geez, that’s what I was kinda hoping for.”

  He gave a rich, sexy chuckle, and they moved together to head back inside, when her father’s Jeep pulled into the Alley, rolling to a slow stop in front of Jeremy’s cabin. Unfolding his stocky body from the cab, Bill Murphy stepped around his front bumper, coming to a stop at the bottom of the porch steps.

  “You okay?” he asked, giving her a pointed look of fatherly concern, his hands rubbing together in an unexpected show of nerves.

  “I’m wonderful,” Jillian said with a smile, and Jeremy hugged her closer to his side, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

  Her father watched the tender exchange, his gray eyes narrowed, and shoved his restless hands into his front pockets. “I’ve come to pick up Sayre from Dillinger’s place, but figured I ought to use the time to go ahead and do what’s right. I know you may hate me because of this, Jilly, but considering how things have worked out, there’s something I need to tell you. The record needs to be set straight, and I like to think that I’m man enough to own up to my mistakes.”

  She nodded, her throat too tight for words.

  “I let rumors poison my opinion,” her father said in a gritty voice, “and so I lied to you, Jillian. I never saw Jeremy with that Danna girl all those years ago. Your mom, she’d seen you kissing him that day. We did what we thought was right at the time, and told you I’d seen him with her. It was a lie, honey. Far as I know, he hadn’t been involved with anyone since you came home from school.”

  Jeremy stiffened beside her, and she knew the news had shocked him, since he’d always believed one of her friends had told her he’d been messing around with Danna. “Mother I would have been suspicious of,” she said unsteadily, “but you knew I would believe it if it came from you.”

  “I’m sorry,” he replied, his tone solemn with regret. “I thought I was doing the right thing at the time, saving you from heartbreak, but I made a mistake. I hope…I hope one day that you’ll forgive me. I was only trying to do what I thought was right for you.”

  She nodded again, swallowing at the tears gathering in her throat, not knowing what to say. Finally, he gave a deep sigh. “I should be going now, but your mother and I would like to invite you both to dinner tonight.”

  At those gruff words, she felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh…uh, we can’t pos—”

  “We’d love to,” Jeremy interrupted, giving her hip a slow, encouraging caress. “What time should we be there?”

  “’Bout seven,” her father called out, heading back to his Jeep. He stopped in front of the Dillingers’ cabin, where Sayre stood waiting for him. She waved goodbye to them, climbed into the Jeep, and a moment later, they drove away, while Jillian shook her head in slow amazement. “Jeremy,” she whispered, “you don’t have to do this for me—”

  “I have to do this for us,” he told her, lifting her chin with the edge of his knuckles. “I want a family, Jillian. I want our kids to have two sets of grandparents who spoil them rotten.”

  “It isn’t fair,” she argued. “After everything that’s happened, they should come to you.”

  “If you’re worried about my pride, beautiful, don’t be. I have you, and that’s all that matters. Everything else pales in comparison. I want to make things right with your parents.” Pulling her against his chest, he nuzzled her throat as he said, “Your dad finally did the right thing, but I’m glad you found faith in me without his confession.”

  Giving him a trembling smile, Jillian swiped at the tears glistening on her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Jeremy. Will you ever forgive me for all the years we’ve wasted?”

  “I’ve been in your heart,” he whispered, holding her close; a beautiful look of love in his hazel eyes that dazzled her—that made her believe in miracles. “I know what you feel for me, Jillian. I know everything. And I love you more now than ever before, as impossible as that sounds, since I’ve been half mad for you for what feels like forever.”

  Then he kissed her, his hands slipping up her sides, and Jillian gave herself up to the wonder of having everything she wanted in the world right at her fingertips.

  Chapter 17

  Later that afternoon, everyone had gathered in the Dillingers’ kitchen, while Jeremy relayed the harrowing tale of Elise’s attack, and his subsequent confrontation with Stefan Drake. Carla Reyes and Wyatt Pallaton had driven up from Covington with the Doucets, so the Runners were all there to hear the accounting.

  Even Dylan had come for the meeting, standing with his back to the stove, a visible tension seeming to ride the rigid lines of his lean body. Brody stood in brooding silence by the bay window, his dark gaze fixed belligerently on the Elder, while Cian lounged with his shoulder propped against the archway leading into the living ro
om. Everyone else sat in chairs around the large breakfast table, its polished surface littered with steaming cups of coffee and tea.

  And though Jeremy had shared with them the information he and Jillian had learned about Helen Drake, he’d admitted only that it came from a “reliable source.” Not that he didn’t trust Dylan, but he’d told Pippa he wouldn’t involve her and he intended to keep his word.

  Now, as he finished his account, the room was so still…so quiet, you could hear the gurgle of water in the pipes buried deep within the walls of the cabin. It was into this heavy, thought-filled silence that Mason finally said, “You’ve done good, man.”

  “Yeah, right,” Jeremy snorted, his tone thick with disgust. “I was sent back to Shadow Peak to hunt down the traitor. Last I checked, we still didn’t have him, because I let him go.”

  “You did the right thing,” Mason argued. “I’d rather have you both alive, than Drake dead and you facing your own execution. And you got us exactly what we needed. Hell, it’s because of you that we’re now certain Drake’s the one we want, and we’ve got a clearer understanding of what we’re dealing with.”

  “So we know Drake’s behind the rogues, but do we still think he’s responsible for the human kills?” Reyes asked, folding her hands around the warmth of her coffee mug, her brow furrowed beneath the pale fringe of her bangs.

  “Directly…indirectly.” Jeremy released a harsh sigh. “Who knows? At this point, nothing that bastard does could surprise me.”

  “If he isn’t the one,” Brody rumbled in a deep, scratchy baritone, “we said before that it could be one of his followers.”

  “Hell, one of his followers,” Mason muttered, “or his accomplice.”

  A strange energy filled the room as everyone—with the exclusion of himself, Jillian and Torrance, who had already been told the news before the others had arrived—narrowed their eyes on his partner.

  “His accomplice?” Wyatt grunted, the Runner’s normally stoic expression creased in a scowl. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means that I have some new information to share with you,” Mason told them, his tone as grim as the dark look in his eyes. “Which brings us to the second reason for this meeting. I had a call from my father today.”

  “And what good news does Robert have to share with us this time?” Cian drawled, arching one raven brow in a cynical lift. It had been Robert Dillinger who told the Runners of an Elder’s ability to teach another to dayshift. Until that time, they’d been unaware of the carefully guarded secret, and it was this discovery that had first pointed them toward Stefan Drake in their search for the traitor. Scanning the faces of his friends and colleagues, Jeremy realized that no one looked happy at the prospect of a new twist in an investigation that was already frustrating them at every turn.

  “You’re not going to like it,” Mason warned them, rubbing at the back of his neck.

  “Now why doesn’t that surprise us?” Brody snorted.

  Leaning back in his chair, Mason’s golden-brown gaze moved from Runner to Runner as he began to explain. “After what happened in Shadow Peak yesterday, Graham asked my father for some help searching the library of ancient texts that belong to the League. Together, they poured over every volume, and found an archaic reference to an interesting legend.”

  “A legend?” Dylan repeated, the corners of his mouth pulled in a skeptical frown.

  “I know it sounds crazy,” Mason sighed, “but they just might be on to something. According to the archives, a Lycan from one of the European packs named Azakiel discovered a way to combine his ‘inner power,’ or whatever you want to call it, with another Elder. Together, they were strong enough to pull another’s beast—one that he could then command to do as he chose. It was considered the ultimate dark art, enabling Azakiel to control his followers, forcing them to commit unspeakable crimes at his bidding, until the day they finally banded together and rebelled, murdering him for his cruelty.”

  “Happy story,” Reyes murmured dryly, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as if to ward off a chill.

  “Are you trying to tell us that Graham believes Drake learned about this dark art, and now there’s another Elder who’s helping him perform some kind of ancient hocus pocus?” Cian questioned, stroking his jaw.

  “It makes sense that there was someone with him,” Jillian murmured, and Jeremy knew she was thinking of Elise’s whispered confession in the truck. “Elise told us that she felt another’s presence in her mind, but couldn’t identify them. Her father’s voice was the only one controlling her, telling her what to do.”

  “Having one psychotic Elder bent on destruction was bad enough,” Brody muttered, his scarred features hardened with worry. “If we’re hunting two…Christ, we’re going to be in some serious trouble.”

  “And why would anyone be willing to help Drake?” Wyatt snorted, leaning back in his chair. “The guy’s a total asshole.”

  “Who knows.” Jeremy sighed, wishing he’d been able to uncover the answers they still needed. “Maybe they’re as evil as he is. Maybe they’re insane. Or maybe he’s got something on them and they don’t have a choice.”

  Cian’s brows lifted with interest. “You mean, like blackmail?”

  “Maybe,” he said, rolling his shoulder. “I don’t think we can rule out anything yet. This could turn out to be—”

  “This could turn out to be a crock,” Dylan cut in, his words sharp with the biting edge of impatience. “I can’t believe you’re all actually buying in to this legend crap. What’s next? Are we going to hold a séance? Buy silver bullets and hang garlic over our doors?”

  “Garlic’s to ward off vampires, not werewolves,” Cian murmured. “But it doesn’t work.”

  “My point,” Dylan snarled, glaring at the grinning Irishman, “is that we need to ground ourselves in reality—not fantasy.”

  “Whether you believe the legend or not, Dylan, Drake was pulling the wolves out of those Lycans,” Jillian whispered. “We know this puts you in a terrible position, but you’re going to have to watch your back and be careful. The League is being affected by his corruption, which means your life is in danger as much as ours. No matter how you look at it, this is a sound threat.”

  “This is bullshit.”

  “Watch it,” Jeremy growled.

  Dylan worked his jaw, his chest rising and falling, hands clenched against the edge of the stove so tightly his knuckles had turned white. “Look, I know Drake’s a psychotic son of a bitch who needs to be dealt with, but if you keep pointing fingers at the League, pretty soon there won’t be anything left of us. I don’t know how to explain what happened yesterday, but I do know that I’m not ready to see the entire structure that holds the Silvercrest together fall apart. Believe that Drake has this damn power if you want—but don’t keep hurling accusations at the rest of us. If there is an accomplice, maybe he’s found a way to use one of his minions. Hell, maybe it was Sheffield himself. I just don’t think we should jump to conclusions until—”

  “Until what?” Brody rasped, his personal dislike for the Elder evident in his aggressive tone. “Until we’re all dead?”

  “Until we know more!” Dylan shouted, his tenuous hold on his temper fraying before their eyes in an uncharacteristic burst of fury. “We need facts. Not a goddamn bedtime story!”

  “That’s enough,” Jeremy grunted, not liking where this conversation was headed. Dylan was their closest link to the League and they needed his cooperation—not his resentment. “We know you’re under a lot of pressure, but you’re either with us in this or you’re not. Things are getting too complicated for there to be any middle ground or indecision.”

  Glaring at Jeremy, Dylan leaned back against the stove, his arms crossed over his chest. “Am I getting a slap on the wrist for not playing nice with the other kids?”

  “We’re not asking you to agree with us on everything,” Mason murmured, his tone calm as he eyed his friend with a mixture of frustration and c
oncern. “You’re an Elder, not a Runner, which means that although we’re friends, we stand on different sides of the fence. We understand that, and we’ve never asked you to do anything that would compromise your job. But we need to know that you’re at least willing to work with us.”

  “You know I am, Mase.” Dylan scrubbed his hands down his face, sounding as haggard as he looked. “But these are delicate times for the Silvercrest. We can’t go making blind accusations without some solid proof to back them up. The pack would have your throats if you did. Too many of them are being pulled in by Drake’s ‘pure-blood’ propaganda, looking up to him as if he’s some kind of god.”

  “Solid proof?” Jeremy said roughly. “Exactly how much proof are you after? We have more than enough on Drake for you to make a formal accusation to the League. Hell, we have motive and a goddamn confession!”

  “If I’m going to take this before the League,” Dylan argued, “I need more than a runaway wife and hatred. More than the word of a Runner who threatened to kill the very Elder he’s accusing. I need cold, hard facts. And you don’t have any!”

  “What about Elise?” Jillian offered.

  “You know what he’d say.” Dylan sighed. “Drake would just make Elise look like a fool, claiming her story was the paranoid ranting of an emotionally scarred young woman.”

  “Then nothing’s going to be done,” Jillian said in a low, shaken voice. “I can’t believe he’s going to get away with this, after what he did to her.”

  “He isn’t going to get away with anything,” Jeremy promised, squeezing her hand while slanting a sharp look of warning at Dylan to keep quiet. The Elder narrowed his eyes, his mouth pressed into a hard, flat line, and then he pushed away from the stove, stalking out of the room. A few seconds later, the front door slammed shut behind him.