Читать книгу Last Wolf Hunting - Rhyannon Byrd, Rhyannon Byrd - Страница 11

Chapter 5

Home.

Jeremy pulled his truck in to the familiar gravel driveway, the sight of the two-story house nestled among the autumn-colored trees sending him into a reeling tumble of memories. The massive weeping willow that he’d played in as a child still swayed like a giant swamp monster at the back corner, its long, leafy arms twisting wildly in the breeze. Even the fall of the curtains in the windows looked the same, the cedar facade as well kept as the day he’d left. The place hadn’t changed at all in the past decade, as if time had stood still. Maybe it had. Damn, the wounds that had been inflicted here still felt as fresh as if it had all happened yesterday.

Without a doubt, his pride still stung.

Amazing now to think that he hadn’t been back since things had gone south with Jillian, when he’d finally accepted the fact that she’d never choose him over her beloved pack… that she’d never trust him with her heart and her happiness. That night he’d moved his things to the Alley, and he’d never set foot in Shadow Peak again. Not until he’d gone before the League and submitted his Bloodrunning numbers. It had been late then, just like now, and the town had looked eerily the same after a decade, any changes softened by the concealing shadows of night.

Time to go inside, he thought, and yet, he didn’t move.

He swallowed the shaky feeling in his throat, and rested his hands on the steering wheel, amused at himself for being so emotional. He was a Bloodrunner, a hunter of killers, for god’s sake. He couldn’t afford to be sentimental and nostalgic, but damn if his chest didn’t feel tight at the thought of setting foot in the house again after all these years. His parents were at their beach property down in Florida, where they’d spent more and more time over the past decade, visiting with Jeremy at the Alley whenever they were home. When it’d been decided that he would be the one returning to the pack, he’d wanted to rent a cabin on the outskirts of town, but his mother wouldn’t hear of it. She’d wanted him home, in his own room, where she said he belonged, and refused to take no for an answer.

They’d always had faith in him, unlike some people, and for that Jeremy knew he was unquestionably lucky. But even after everything that had gone down, he didn’t hate Jillian. He’d wanted to, and he’d given it a hell of an effort—but the part of him that belonged to her, that linked them together, wouldn’t let him.

Instead, his hatred had latched on to the pack itself, on to the archaic laws that set the Runners apart because they weren’t what the others considered “perfect.” That created the social divide between the Alley and Shadow Peak, one based on racism and hatred, bitterness and distrust. A timeless, enduring fury surged through his veins, swift and brutal and vivid in its intensity, just like it had the day his father had first explained to him why he was considered “different” from the other children he knew. Why he and his small group of friends were picked on and called names by the residents of the Lycan town that was supposed to be their home…their family…their rock and their strength.

Purist bastards.

No, he’d never planned on coming back.

Instead, he’d planned to keep hunting, satisfied that his life held a purpose, proud of his choices, determined to ignore the little voice in his head that continually reminded him something was missing. Something vital and important. Something meaningful. Something he needed. And it wasn’t the pack or a place that his life lacked, but a woman. One woman. One who at this very moment was probably snuggling up in front of a roaring fire with Eric Drake.

Son of a bitch.

From the moment she’d come home from school, Jeremy had known Jillian was meant to be his. But she’d stubbornly refused to let a relationship develop between them, until that one afternoon when she’d finally given in and allowed him to kiss her. Despite its innocence when compared to his sexual history, that kiss had floored him, affecting him more powerfully than anything he’d ever experienced. He could still remember the way she’d felt against him, in his arms, and how badly he’d wanted to take her out into the fields, lay her down into the soft green grass, strip her clothes from her body and make love to her until neither one of them could move. He could remember how her skin had felt beneath his hands as he’d touched her sun-warmed shoulders, the petal-soft sweetness of her mouth, the mind-drugging scent of her body.