Jess Haines: Stalking the Others

Of course, I need to thank my eagle-eyed beta readers. Binah, for putting up with my squeamishness. Kristin, for her pep talks about strippers and for listening to my whining. Allison, for being an amazing cheerleader. Eve, for being Eve, and once again loaning me the use of Christoph. KB, for believing in my ability to write smut from the very beginning (I’m saving Devon for you, I promise). Tori, for telling me to hurry the heck up and get on with things already, and sending me cookies. And my Chocolate Thunder for riding in on her white stallion to save my ass at the last minute like Lady Godiva. You guys rock my socks.

As always, I also need to thank my agent, Ellen, for being amazing at all things.

John, I’m totally framing your acceptance letter for this book. Thank you for your kind, and very flattering words, as well as putting up with my endless questions. Oh, and trust me, you don’t want to know where I learned to write that stuff...

Last, but not least, I need to thank the guy who jumpstarted all this writing business. I’ll never forget what I owe you for that.

(Days left to full moon: 24)

My fingertips pressed against the cool stone of the ledge, helping me balance as I crouched on the balls of my feet. The heavy winds choked with smog and tainted with the stink of the Hudson threatened to push me off the edge of the apartment building’s roof if I wasn’t careful.

People bundled against the cold moved five stories below me, oblivious, never thinking to look up. Hours had passed since I’d fled Alec Royce’s apartment building with nothing but murder on my mind. It had taken me a while to find my current perch. I’d been waiting up here for nearly an hour after first checking inside the apartment, and my mark had not yet shown. Strain burned in my calves, but I remained as I was, held in check despite my desire to rampage through the city, destroying everything in my path until I found my targets.

‘You are so impatient,’ a voice, tinged with an edge of laughter, whispered in the back of my skull. ‘ Just wait. He has to come home sometime.’

I growled, the sound reverberating deep in my chest.

‘Touchy.’

“Shut up,” I snapped, running my fingers through my hair to shove the errant curls out of my eyes. “If he doesn’t come soon, I won’t have enough time to do anything. The sun will be up in less than an hour.” I’d been counting on Dillon’s being home so I could destroy the bastard before he hurt someone else. Or at least beat him into new and interest ing shapes to make him think twice before infecting another uncontracted human.

‘Maybe he spent the night with someone. Or left for work before we arrived.’

I didn’t say anything, a pang of doubt giving me pause. The belt wrapped around my waist was the source of the voice in my head, a voice that would be banished once the sun rose. Aside from getting rid of my moral support and snarky commentary, the first rays of morning light creeping over the horizon would also take with them all of my enhanced skills and senses, leaving me frail and human again. Though most of the time I hated what the belt did to me, I couldn’t afford to be without its help while facing down an angry werewolf.

‘Then wait until tomorrow night to face him. Use the day wisely; get some rest and food to build up your strength, and use those P.I. skills of yours to track him down.’

I nodded, turning away from the street and huddling into my trench coat against the cold. Now that I’d had a few hours for my ire to cool, I found that I was suffering from a wintry, calculating hatred instead of the heated, unthinking rage that had driven me here to begin with. Despite the wait’s really weighing on my nerves, it had given me plenty of time to think about what I was going to do once Dillon showed his face, and what I would do about the other Sunstrikers who had driven me to hunt them like the cowardly dogs they were.

In the space of a few days, my entire life had turned upside down. It hadn’t been particularly normal to begin with, but my now very ex-boyfriend Chaz had been cheating on me. He’d also been running some kind of werewolf mafia ring right under my nose. Though I had no solid proof, I was sure his pack had something to do with the murder of Jim Pradiz. Not that I’d liked the sleazy reporter, but it was terrifying to know that the werewolves were willing to stoop so low to silence him.

To top things off, one of the Sunstrikers had scratched and quite possibly infected me with the lycanthropy virus. It would be weeks before I’d know for sure if I was going to join the ranks of the terminally furry come the next full moon. Clearly, thanks to the murder of Jim Pradiz—which the Sunstrikers were somehow connected to, I just knew it—I would never be one of that pack, whether or not they accepted me. It was entirely possible that they were out to kill me, too.

Thanks to Chaz’s pack, I was on the run from a bunch of murderous werewolves, the police, and half the media in the state. The last straw had been my father’s telling me point-blank that I wasn’t his little girl anymore. Being disowned by my family for my involvement with the Others had been a gut blow I wasn’t prepared for. Recalling the raspy, accusing tones of my dad as he forbade me from ever coming home to him and Mom again made my eyes burn, but I’d cried my last tear over his pronouncement hours ago. I had work to do to make sure that the people involved with bringing this load of misery down on me and my family paid for everything they’d done. My resolve only firmed as I paused at the edge of the roof, looking down at the rusting metal framework of the fire escape that would lead me back to the filthy alleyways and webwork of New York City streets below.

Considering it was Chaz and the rest of his pack’s fault that everything—my life, my livelihood, my family, and possibly my humanity—had been taken from me, I was not in a forgiving mood.

‘That’s an understatement.’

The droll tone of the belt had me grinning, though it was more a feral baring of my teeth than an expression of agreement. Stone chipped under my fingers as they tightened on the cornice molding on the edge of the roof. I absently flicked blood from my fingertips before dropping lightly down to the fire escape. It clanged dully at the impact, the sound rattling through the framework. I barely gave it time to finish shuddering before I leapt over the side, my already-healed fingers catching on the rail as I propelled myself down to the level below. Ladders and startled faces in windows passed in a blur, my body moving with the grace and surety of an Olympic gymnast and my stomach edging up into my lungs as I gained speed. Soon, much too soon, I was airborne.

Before I knew it, I was in a feral crouch on the alley floor, hair in my eyes and trench coat billowing around me like one of those clichéd action movie heroes, and the last echoes of my landing ricocheting off the alley walls. An inhuman feat I wouldn’t have been able to accomplish a few weeks ago without breaking my legs, even with the belt’s help. Something about giving in and letting the belt take over had changed how we worked together; it augmented my strength, speed, agility, and stamina to a far greater degree than the first time I had worn it. Not to mention, it helped me heal my minor injuries nearly as quickly as a vampire. I wondered if this was what it felt like to be an Other.

Adrenaline burned in my veins, but I didn’t give in to the belt’s siren song or halfhearted pleas for violence. Instead, I shoved my hands in my pockets and edged out of the shadows, past the Dumpsters, and into the trickle of pedestrian traffic in the city street.