Jaxon threw his satchel to the ground as his eyes fell to the semifrozen earth at his feet. The coolness of late spring lingered there, and his quivering nostrils inhaled a fresh, crisp shot of air, blowing out a fine mist of warmth in return. He was well over six feet in height and moved with a sinuous grace at odds with someone his size. His features were dark, a true reflection of both his Spanish heritage and the emotions at war inside his body.

He was tense, and took a few seconds to calm his spirit, his black eyes quickly scanning the small knoll
where he stood. The slope was steady and crested down into the valley, where it rushed up against the outskirts of the small town of Winterhaven.

A muscle worked its way sharply across Jaxon’s cheek, and he clenched his teeth in an effort to maintain control. Off into the distance the last lingering rays of sun painted a vibrant picture of reds, oranges, and yellows in the sky. Dusk was rapidly approaching and nervous energy clawed at his insides, as thoughts of his forthcoming mission slammed into him.

It was time to put old ghosts to rest and move on.

It was time for her to die.

Steely resolve flickered across handsome features that at the moment were obscured by cold fury.
That
particular emotion had taken up a permanent residence, ever since he’d received intel on his target several days earlier.

Intel that he had been waiting three long years for.

A picture rushed into his mind, and he growled low, deep in his belly, as visions of entangled limbs, long blond hair, and violet eyes assaulted him. The pressure along his jaw increased tenfold as his face darkened at the memories.

Traitorous bitch.

His skin began to burn, and his eyesight blurred as his heart rate increased. He was close to the edge and could feel the beast clawing just under the surface.

With superhuman effort Jaxon pushed all thoughts but the deadly mission from his mind. He began to methodically examine the terrain around him, automatically finding the precise spot to set up his sniper gear.

His eyes swept back to town, and as evening fast approached, one after one, lights began to flicker on in various homes and businesses.

He was only interested in one, and, using his binoculars, his eyes hardened at the sight of several patrons inside the small diner.

She hadn’t shown up yet.

But she would. His intel had indicated that she always reported for work at five o’clock sharp. He would be waiting for her tonight.

And it would be her last.

A bitter smile exposed even white teeth as he made preparations for the coming hour. He turned in a circle and scented the wind. Satisfied that no creature, human or other, was near, Jaxon reached for the large satchel and with great care unpacked his M40.

The large rifle had been modified at Quantico, but his team further enhanced the weapon. It was now cutting edge. He could take out a target at well over one thousand feet. His little bag of goodies contained several variations of nasty little bullets: silver for lycans, anticharm for magicks, and extra special ones for vamps. These were dipped in holy water and engraved with etchings and symbols of a large sacred cross.

Tonight, he knew he would need none of those. His target was human.

She would never know what hit her.

Something slithered through his brain then, and for the first time in days a shred of emotion other than hatred grabbed him. It was fleeting, gone as quickly as it had come. But it gave him pause nonetheless.

Was it his conscience? Was something trying to tell him that eliminating her was a bit extreme, even for him?

Angrily, he checked and rechecked his weapon, anchored it on its tripod and settled in to wait. He glanced down to his timepiece, noting his target would be in range within the next five minutes.

His target.

Funny that.

She had a name, one that when spoken used to make his body tight with desire. It was a name that had not crossed his lips in a very long time, and now it had come to this.

She was a target.
His
target. His smile slashed through the gloom and he snarled savagely.

He sure as hell had thought of her every day, picturing all kinds of ways to exact revenge. Truthfully, a quick bullet between the eyes was probably more than the bitch deserved. If he had his way, she’d suffer, just as Diego had.

On the day she’d betrayed the entire unit.

Movement inside the diner caught his eye and Jaxon felt the world slip away as he brought the binoculars to his eyes again and focused on the brightly lit interior. There were several patrons inside enjoying a greasy meal of Americana, and several kitchen staff could be seen scurrying about further inside. He noticed two new staff members and felt a slice of impatience stab him.

She was nowhere to be seen.

A flicker of annoyance rushed through Jaxon but was quickly put to rest. He was used to waiting. Patience was a virtue, and in his line of work it usually meant the difference between life and death.

He lay there quiet, focused and with deadly intent.

When a flash of blond hair moved from the kitchen and into the main dining area, he almost missed it. Jaxon bit his tongue, tasting the coppery scent of his own blood.

The world did indeed stop then. Everything faded into a swirl of fog as he expanded the amplification to give him a close-up of the face that had haunted him nightly.

He hissed sharply as the lens focused, feeling a keen sense of frustration run through him as her back was presented to the window. He could take her out now. One bullet straight to the back of the head and she’d be dead before she hit the ground.

Instead he held his breath, willing her body to turn so he could lay eyes upon her one more time.

Her body was hunched over slightly, and as he took a second to clinically look her over, he was surprised to note the drastic weight loss. The seam of her spine was plainly visible against the white cotton shirt she wore. She also seemed to be favoring her left side, her posture suggesting weakness there.

Her long blond hair thrown up into a careless ponytail had darkened somewhat, as if she’d been too long from the warmth of the sun. A few of the strands had fallen free, and he watched the arc of her hand as she attempted to push the tendril from where it tickled the side of her neck.

His eyes homed in on the pale expanse of skin there, and once more visuals he cared never to visit again darkened his mind. Angrily he beat them away, welcoming the fresh rush of emotion that in
fused his spirit as hatred again encircled his heart.

He was done. It was time.

He carefully placed the binoculars to his left and leaned in low, setting his eye to the telescopic lens attached to his weapon.

Within seconds he had a clear view, his fingers grasping the trigger as he eyed his target with determination.

He just needed her to move slightly to the left and the civilian would be out of the picture. Then he would have a clear shot.

She bent toward the patron before pausing, and once more he noted the stiffness of her movements.

Without warning she turned quickly, and the flicker of pain that crossed her features startled him. But Jaxon was even less prepared for the face that peered out into the night.

As if she knew he was there.

The expressive violet eyes seemed to be too large for her face. There were dark circles ringed beneath them. Her pallor was startling and her cheeks shrunken. Her generous lips were without color, and as his eyes focused on hers once more, Jaxon felt a sharp pang of…
something.

Her eyes were wary, pained. He could see from several hundred feet out that, as she peered into the early evening gloom, she was scared shitless.

He laughed harshly under his breath. She
should
be scared out of her mind.

A thought rushed through him, so out of character that he dismissed it right away. But as he watched her slowly turn from the window and walk toward the kitchen, his mind was already made up.

In his entire career he’d never once broken pro
tocol. But tonight was different. He would let emotion take the lead, and maybe he’d get some sort of closure.

Maybe he would find out why she’d betrayed the unit, or better yet, why she’d betrayed
him
.

The cold part of his heart roared to life as he jumped to his feet and grabbed his satchel. Quickly, he dismantled his weapon, hitching the large bag around his shoulders before making his way stealthily down the embankment toward town.

Yeah, it was time to make things right.

Before she took her last breath and felt the heat of his vengeance, Libby Jamieson would know who her executioner was.

Deep inside his soul, the cat roared with pleasure, and Jaxon quickened his pace in answer to its call.

“Libby, does table seven want mashed or fries with his steak?”

The line cook waited expectantly, and Libby felt a moment of panic as she grabbed her notepad, her eyes scanning the pages furiously. She felt her heart speed up as the blank pages flashed by, the beginning of a panic attack well in the making.

Tears began to form at the corner of her eyes, and blackness tickled at the shattered pieces of her brain.

Pete, the owner and resident head cook, noted her pallor and flew from behind his roost, taking the pad away from her gently.

“Libby, calm down. It’s all right.”

His slow drawl washed through her, and the feel of his fingers massaging the tense muscles in her hands provided a token bit of relief.

Frustrated, she shoved the pad of paper at him, her voice catching on a sob.

“What’s wrong with me, Pete? Why can’t I just get it right?” She turned from him, trying to count. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t. “I was doing fine. I told him the specials, and he told me he wanted his steak medium rare with steamed veggies, and then…then I got distracted. Something was outside.”

Pete winced at the anguish that colored her delicate features. How he wished he could make it all go away. He was an old man, a widower with no children. His life was the diner, and when this little slip of woman drifted into town a few months ago, he knew she needed special care to mend her broken spirit.

And he had tried.
Good lord how he’d tried
. But wherever she came from had been nothing short of hell, and it took time to get her to trust him. She’d only been able to work and interact with his staff and the patrons over the last few weeks.

She’d not had an incident in a day or so, and damned if he was gonna let her get all out of sorts because she’d forgotten if a customer wanted mashed or fries.

“Take a deep breath, darlin’. You said he ordered steamed veggies, and…just think, sweetling, it’ll come.”

Libby fought the blackness with all her might, and was rewarded with a sense of calm that loosened her tight muscles and allowed her to breathe. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

It was only a few seconds before they flew open and a rare smile washed over her mouth.

“He wanted fries…and gravy, with a side dish of mayo!”

Pete patted her softly on her shoulders, “See, darlin’? It’s not that hard to do.”

Libby watched as the burly cook turned and shouted down the line, “Libby says the gentleman wants fries with gravy and a side of mayo. Get to it!”

The silly grin didn’t leave her face for a few more moments. Pete moved back behind the grill and flashed a smile of encouragement. “You did good.”

Inside, nestled against the emptiness of her soul, warmth flushed through her system. It was one more battle she’d been able to win. One more challenge overcome.

Her hand went to the left side of her rib cage and she massaged the sore area under her heart. Pete had taken her to a local doctor, and she was informed that her ribs had been broken at one time, but they had not healed properly. She’d had pain as long as she could remember; which by most standards wasn’t long at all. She had no memory whatsoever of life before coming to Winterhaven. She knew her name and that was about it.

The discomfort was something she’d gotten used to, along with all of the rest.

“Libby, we just sat a new customer in your section. I gave him a menu and told him you’d be with him shortly.”

Libby glanced at the tall brunette who stood in the doorway. Maxine didn’t much care for her. That was obvious.

“Unless you don’t think you can handle it,” she added, “’cause I sure as hell wouldn’t mind serving him. He’s smokin’ hot; all tall, dark, and sexy.”

Libby felt a headache begin to finger its way sneakily into her head. At the moment, she wanted nothing more than to leave, to just go up to her little apartment atop the restaurant and try to forget everything; the nightmares, aches, and pains…all of it.

But she knew she couldn’t do that. Pete hadn’t taken any money for rent, and she could no longer accept his charity. It was time she started contributing and paying her way.

“No, that’s fine, Maxine. I’ll be out in a second.”

She counted to ten, ignoring the smile that graced Pete’s face, and marched herself back out into the diner.

Mr. Steak and Fries smiled when she walked by, indicating with a nod of his head that his drink needed refreshing. She quickly complied, bringing him a fresh pint of beer.

The customer at table three had his back to her, but she could see that he was perusing the menu, and knew she should go and check on him. Her feet shuffled slowly along until she was but a foot or two away.

He was large, muscular, and she could see he was tall, even seated. His hair was blue-black and closely cropped, but the texture was thick and it spiked in different directions atop his head.

The arms that rested on the table were darkly tanned, as if he spent a fair bit of time out in the sun. The left arm had a series of intricate tattoos that disappeared beneath the sleeve of this shirt. She shook her head at the sight of them, so strange yet beautiful. As he flexed the muscles in his arms, the tattoos seemed to move, as if alive. His legs were long
and stretched out before him. They were covered in khaki pants that did nothing to hide the powerful limbs that seemed to be anything but relaxed.

BOOK: His Darkest Hunger

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