Rogue Wolf Hunter Read online

  ALSO BY KAIT BALLENGER

  Seven Range Shifters

  Cowboy Wolf Trouble

  Cowboy in Wolf’s Clothing

  Wicked Cowboy Wolf

  Fierce Cowboy Wolf

  Wild Cowboy Wolf

  Cowboy Wolf Outlaw

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  Copyright © 2022 by Kait Ballenger

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  To my mom,

  for helping make this possible

  We want readers to be well-informed.

  If you would like to know if this book has any elements of concern for you, please check the author’s website for details:

  www.kaitballenger.com

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Cold Demon Hunter

  Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Coming Soon

  Also by Kait Ballenger

  1

  Jace McCannon palmed the Mateba and clicked back the gun’s hammer. The cold grip panels of the modified revolver sat comfortably in his hand. Six silver bullets for a rogue werewolf. Limited shots. But he was feeling lucky.

  Jace gripped the gun with both hands, lowering it to his side as he slipped in and out of the shadows. The rank scents of garbage, car exhaust and piss wafted into his nose. Ah, the sweet aroma of Rochester’s backstreets. Something about this godforsaken city he hadn’t missed.

  He ran his tongue over his teeth, jonesing for a cigarette to drown out the smell and steady the adrenaline buzz creeping through his veins.

  Damn, he wanted to find this son of a bitch.

  Resting his back against a brick building, he paused and glanced up. The white moon stared down at the city streets, calling to him. Heat prickled beneath his skin. He needed to find this monster yesterday. Hell, weeks ago.

  He wrenched his gaze from the tempting sky and forced himself into the moment.

  Inhaling a deep breath, he rushed around the corner and scanned the area, pointing his gun into the darkness.

  No one. No wolves, no suspects. Damn, not even the working girls were roaming tonight. Not that he blamed them. Rochester wasn’t exactly known for being the safest of cities.

  Unfortunately, street violence wasn’t anything to call home about—happened all the time. But this was different. Innocent women being found with their organs slung around their corpses, Jack-the-Ripper style. The worst part? Jace had no idea where to find the sick fuck responsible, and the thought of the young women’s pain sent his blood boiling.

  Steadying his focus, he explored the alley, gun still at the ready and eyes searching for any sign of movement. A rustling noise hissed from around the next corner. Jace held his gun tight and slipped down the narrow passage toward it.

  Showtime.

  The sound grew louder, and he quickened his pace. When he reached the bend, he stopped, listening closely.

  Now or never.

  He threw himself around the corner, gun ready and finger on the trigger.

  A plastic bag caught on a dumpster swished in the light wind.

  “Shit.” He cursed under his breath, before he pushed his fingers through his hair.

  Maybe he wasn’t so lucky tonight.

  As if on cue, the cell phone jammed in the pocket of his jeans vibrated. Of course. He hadn’t put up with enough bullshit for one evening. Life clearly hadn’t stuck it to him enough…yet. He pulled out the annoying piece of shit and read the screen: restricted. Likely David. Headquarters insisted on nothing more than burner phones.

  It made hunters like them harder to track.

  Jace jabbed his thumb into one of the buttons and shoved the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

  “Meeting in an hour.” David’s deep voice rumbled over the line.

  Aw, hell. If that wasn’t the last thing he wanted to hear. He shook his head. “Don’t toy with me. I’ve got business.”

  “I’m not shittin’ you, J. One hour, and you better show or Damon’s gonna rip my head off. I told him I’d get you here.”

  Jace frowned. Damn, he hated being forced to carry a cell phone, even the low-tech burner kind. He didn’t enjoy people contacting him whenever they pleased. Period. Meetings with HQ were exactly why he hadn’t stuck around out west. Settling in one place for so long had caused questions, raised suspicions.

  “It’s nearly the full moon, David. This is my prime time. You know that.”

  “You don’t have to preach to me. Damon’s the one riding your ass like a Grand Canyon donkey, not me.” David paused for a moment. “He’s gonna want a report tonight.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. I’ll have something.”

  “Sure you hear me, and I like to dress up in tutus while my girl spanks me and calls me Big Daddy.”

  Jace smirked. “Hey, if that’s what gets you off…”

  “Shut it,” David said. “You’ve gotta report tonight or Damon will go postal. So what are you gonna tell him?”

  Jace glanced into the empty darkness surrounding him. Maybe he was getting too old for this shit—or too tired. Hell, both? “Same thing I told him last time—jack shit. I’m not opening my damn mouth until I’ve got their packmaster bound and chained, or, preferably, I’m carrying this perp’s head on a silver platter courtesy of my bare hands.”

  David let out a frustrated sigh. “I thought you said you had something.”

  “I do.” Jace lowered his voice. It didn’t matter that he was alone; some things he couldn’t say aloud if he wanted to keep his sanity. “I’ve got a scent, and it’s...different.” He hesitated. “Trailing this monster’s stink is about as much fun as shooting myself in the foot.”

  “It’s something.”

  Jace nearly swore. “You better believe it’s something. But what do you expect me to do, David? Tell the whole damn division their wolf hunter happens to be so good at his job because he’s a friggin’ half-breed? That’ll go over real well.”

  Silence answered him from the other end of the line. Another rustling sound blew through the alley, but this time, Jace ignored it. David was only in the know, because they’d been friends before. Helluva word: before. Before their roles as hunters had been official, before life had gotten complicated, fast, before all the shit they’d been stupid enough to dream of became too real. These days Jace was over it.

  “Look, I’ll deal with this, all right? Forget about it. I’ll be at the damn meeting with bells on and a smiling face, but let me do it on my own terms.”

  “Yeah, fine. I better see you there or the next time I’m around, I’ll have a dog collar and it’ll be coming straight for your neck.”

  Jace huffed. “Talk to you later, Big Daddy.”

  David snorted. “Yeah, you too, Sugar.”

  The line went dead.

  Jace shoved the phone in his pocket again, welcoming the noises of the city over David’s nagging. Maybe he really was getting too old for this shit. A siren sounded in the distance. The occasional honk from busy traffic. The thumping vibration of someone’s overstressed speakers.

  But damn, he’d missed this place.

  The constant din.

  Montana, then Idaho, hell the whole western tour had been quiet. Too quiet.

  Nine years and he was finally home again.

  Yet he was still hiding...

  Releasing a long breath, he shook the thought off. He’d missed the city, but he hadn’t missed this. He kicked at an empty Budweiser can. The backdrop of littered city garbage everywhere. Covering his tracks.

  Through the din, the swishing sound continued, the noise growing. Jace rolled his eyes, ready to ball up the grocery bag and pitch it. He eyed the plastic.

  Shit. The wind had stopped. The bag wasn’t blowing.

  The faint sound of footsteps echoed, and the rustling quieted. Jace lifted the revolver from his side, launching himself down the alley and around the corner. He held his gun steady, prepared to shoot. Only to stop mid-run.

  He stared in horror.

  The streetlights overhead illuminated what lay in front of him as all the breath escaped from his lungs in one fell swoop. “Shit.”

  Anonymous tip his ass.

  Blood. There was so much blood. Everywhere. The dim orange light from the street l
amps framed the corpse like spotlights at a macabre play starring an innocent, mutilated victim. The girl’s head hung crooked, touching her shoulder, mouth open and eyes lifeless. Her features were contorted in a look of pure terror. Pale arms lay limp at what had once been her sides, her legs spread wide, with her pants and underwear wrapped around one ankle. The middle of her body had ceased to exist, ripped to shreds by what Jace knew were large canine teeth.

  Anyone with a weak stomach would have tossed their cookies at first glance. Despite all the crazy shit Jace had seen in his years as a hunter for the Execution Underground, even his gut did a flip. What the hell was wrong with this guy? Guy? No, this killer wasn’t a person. This sicko was subhuman, and not because he was a werewolf.

  Jace fought the urge to punch his fist into the brick wall beside him. Rage overcame him as he thought of the woman’s pain, causing his hands to clench into fists. The beast inside him stirred, longing to emerge. He didn’t know her, but that didn’t matter. She’d been someone, and that someone mattered damn it.

  He growled, releasing the tension, and tried to calm himself. He needed to examine the body, and fast. If the police got here, he was screwed six ways to Sunday. Headquarters would have to bail him out. Damon would go apeshit.

  Carefully, he knelt by the corpse. Bruises marred her forearms and neck. Based on their colors, they had definitely been made pre-mortem. She’d been dead at least thirty minutes. Long before he’d been nearby. He swore under his breath again. He was always two steps behind this bastard. Leaning over her, he made the mistake of breathing in, and underneath the overpowering smell of blood, the distinct scent of sex lingered. She’d been raped before her death.

  A snarl ripped through him.

  Power. That was what this freak was all about—power. He attacked young women, humans in their early twenties, who were no match for his supernatural strength. This monster preyed on victims he knew he could take with ease, because deep down, he was a coward. And from the carnage of his attacks, this wasn’t just about overpowering his victims. With this kind of blood display, these attacks were either personal or passionate, and Jace would bet on the later.

  A sexual sadist. Anger excitation. It wasn’t the sex that got this bastard off. It was the pain these innocent women endured. Intestinal damage and blood loss: a slow death, so his victims suffered in front of his eyes. He likely attacked them as a wolf and then assaulted them in human form. The even more gruesome perversions came after. A familiar anger built inside Jace again.

  He pulled the old, unopened pack of Marlboro Reds from his leather trench coat, smacking the box against his hand as he contemplated opening it, lighting up. The smoke would rush into his lungs, the nicotine calming him instantly. He shook his head, slipping the pack back inside his coat. This shit was going to kill him, more than the cigarettes ever would, but most days he didn’t care.

  Guilt twisted knots inside his stomach as he stared down at the victim. Here he was, clearly not giving little more than a rat’s ass about his health or his life, with no family left to care if he lived or died. But he was living and breathing, while this innocent girl, who’d had a full life ahead of her, lay at his feet. She’d likely had something to lose, people who would miss her.

  She’d been someone.

  He stared into the open cavity that had once been her chest. No heart. It wasn’t like shifters to eat humans, or even attack them out in the open, but this sicko did. Consumption shows a desire to keep part of the victim with him. No remorse.

  And that’s if this monster was even a true wolf shifter to begin with.

  There was something...off about the scent. It was similar to a wolf, familiar, but not quite...right...in a way Jace couldn’t put his finger on.

  Different.

  His explanation to David echoed in his head again.

  Different was putting it lightly.

  Jace grabbed the flask that always resided in his pocket, unscrewing the cap and downing a long gulp of Bushmills Irish Whiskey. The liquor trickled down his throat in a warm rush. If this was any sign of how the night was going to go, he’d need a helluva lot more than the contents of the flask to keep his demons at bay.

  He glanced at the victim again as he crouched at her side, wracking his brain for any possible clues he could have missed. Careful to use only his sleeve and not leave a fingerprint, he lifted her hands and peered underneath her fingernails. No skin or fur. She hadn’t put up much of a fight. Maybe the killer took her by surprise? Jace wouldn’t doubt it.

  Or maybe she’d known her attacker...

  There’d be no way to tell for certain. He’d report to Damon, his division leader, and Execution Underground Headquarters and then leave the details to his fellow hunters. Shane could use the voice distorter he’d rigged up to report the crime from an untraceable number, and Headquarters would have the local police and coroner reports in their database as soon as they were available. Jace had what he needed for his own report, but he couldn’t notify the beat cops himself, not until he was far from here. Though it would take them a while to find her in the back alley like this, if they ever did. It was more likely some poor civilian would stumble upon her.

  As he stood, less-than-ready to go to the damn meeting, another scent came to him on the wind. A sudden sense of awareness prickled over his skin. Tucking his flask away, he paused for a long moment.

  What the...?

  Spinning so fast his vision blurred, he had his gun out and his finger on the trigger within seconds. A wolf shifter emerged from the darkness.

  “Don’t move,” he warned.

  The wolf froze, the lucidum of its golden eyes flashing in the streetlights. With an irreverent snarl, the beast bared its canines, its eyes darting to the gun in his hand. He knew what that look meant.

  He cocked back the hammer, the sound audible against the cold winter winds. “You put the teeth away. I put the piece away,” he offered. “Fair enough?”

  The wolf snapped its feral jaws. You first, it seemed to say.

  He snorted a near laugh. “Like hell.”

  For a moment, they lingered like this, both refusing to yield, until the piercing sound of a car alarm went off in the distance, drawing both their attention. Seizing the split second of distraction, the shifter turned tail and bolted from the alley.

  Shit.

  Jace dashed after his target, his boots clashing against the pavement as he tailed the beast. A werewolf’s speed outranked a regular human’s any day, but he tailed the shifter with ease. The shifter skidded sharply to the left with Jace on its heels, his pace never faltering. Adrenaline shot through his veins, charging him like a live wire.

  He tapped the trigger of the Mateba and, aiming while he ran, fired wide with purpose in mind, intentionally missing and using his silver bullets to herd the wolf. If he fired right, it turned left. He was careful, making each bullet count and ensuring he had one left for his own defense. He’d need to make this fast. The sounds would draw the local PD.

  One of Jace’s shots ricocheted off the ground near the wolf’s feet. It jumped with a loud yelp and bounded into another alleyway. But he was prepared; he knew these back streets better than his own damn hand. He sprinted after the wolf. A smirk spread across his face as the monster ran into a dead end. It spun toward him and growled.

  Right hand bracing his gun, he reached with his left and removed his silver dagger. When the wolf’s golden eyes locked on the weapons, it backed into a corner, and Jace swore he heard it keen before its growling continued. Stalking like a predator, he moved forward. All his muscles tensed as he prepared for the animal to lunge at him. The wolf was primed for a fight.

  And damned if he wouldn’t give this monster the fight of its life.