Hunting Human - Amanda E. Alvarez [27]
Finally, the woman got in her car and pulled out of the parking lot, giving Markko an unobstructed view of her face as she pulled out onto the street.
Old anger ignited within him, pumping adrenaline through his veins and raising the hair on his arms.
Hello, Lizzy.
Finally, he could move forward. He’d come back tomorrow, follow her home and figure out how he wanted to play this out. It would take a few days to make arrangements to get her out of the country or find a suitable location nearby. But one thing was certain, given a week, two at the most, and he’d snare his prey. She’d squeal like a pinned rabbit as he tore apart her existence, piece by piece.
Markko turned down the alley, thoughts consumed with plans and anticipation. The moment his back was to the parking lot, awareness shot up his spine, resting heavily against the back of his skull, raising the hair along his neck. Slowly, he turned back toward the parking lot, instinct driving him to caution. His eyes locked on the man walking out of the parking lot.
The guy came to an abrupt halt, head snapping toward Markko’s position, eyes peering into the darkness. Though his expression remained calm and curious, his stance went wide and his shoulders squared, warrior-ready.
“Fuck,” Markko snarled, pulling himself as far as he could into the shadow of the building behind him, carefully retreating to the next street over.
Edwards. That bitch was spreading her legs for Edwards, probably in exchange for protection.
Rage coiled down his spine, seizing his muscles. The stench of the alley filled his nostrils and coated his tongue. His fingers curled reflexively, tendons pulling taut to prepare for paws instead of hands. His teeth elongated in his still human mouth, slicing into his tongue. The metallic tang of his own blood narrowly kept him from shifting on the spot.
He slammed his fists into the brick wall to his right, the pain radiating from his knuckles up through his arms fighting back the rage and adrenaline. Keeping the change in check.
Son of a bitch.
He spat the blood pooling in his mouth.
Abducting and killing the woman was supposed to be simple. Easy. Fun.
Taking her from Edwards would be an open challenge. A declaration of war.
His wolf snarled and paced at the front of his mind. Primed for the hunt, lusting for the kill. Edwards’ bitch or not, he wouldn’t forsake his vengeance.
She had to pay. He hadn’t left his pack and defied his father to walk away now. Edwards was little more than a complication. An irritant to be dealt with.
Or used.
His anger settled, low and tight in his gut. Present but contained. The haze of red clouding his mind and exciting his wolf cleared enough for the first vague notions of a plan to take hold.
The Edwardses are nothing if not predictable.
He’d have to move cautiously. Determine the exact relationship between Edwards and the woman. Their involvement complicated but ultimately didn’t change things. If anything, it sweetened the pay off.
The bitch would die. Perhaps not as slowly as he’d planned; timing would be crucial. But pain—applied correctly—could stretch minutes to hours. Hours to lifetimes. She’d beg for death before he was through. And after he finished? Well, Edwards could have her back.
Piece by piece.
And if her death brings war to my father’s doorstep? All the better. He’ll face the Edwards clan head-on—and expose his vulnerable back.
Chapter Eight
Braden pulled a beer out of the fridge, popped the top off on the counter and closed the door on a long and unproductive day. Hell, if he were honest with himself, he hadn’t been productive in more than a week. Every time he found a good working flow, something would remind him of Beth. The way she smelled, the way her skin felt beneath his fingertips, the way her breath caressed his face after