The sight of her had just knocked the air out of him.
Elliot narrowed his eyes as he stared at the woman, eating up every detail. She was ⦠different. But in a good way. In a he-couldnât-stop-staring, wanted-to-eat-her-alive kind of way. Bite by mouthwatering bite.
As Elliot stood there like a statue and watched her, it became easy to see what had captured the kidnapperâs interest beyond her physical beauty. She was ⦠soft. Soft and sweet and inviting. A lure ⦠it was calling to him, making him want, when he hadnât wanted anyone in what felt like forever.
And never ⦠never like this.
Prologue
Nine years ago
Elliot Connors was in a shitty situation. One heâd been putting off for too long.
A week had passed since another human life had been lost because of his mistakes, and he knew he should have dealt with this reckoning, or confrontation, or whatever you wanted to call it long before now. But he hadnât, because he suspected he knew exactly how this meeting would go.
Standing at the far end of the dining room table in his parentsâ house, he watched as Jerry and Miriam Connors digested the confession heâd just made to them. A dark, ugly confession, full of blood and sin and evil. And in their eyes, no doubt, embarrassmentâat least as much as they were able to process. He didnât for a moment think they would mourn the loss of the human life heâd taken, or the one thatâd been lost because of him. No, compassion for humanity wasnât in their makeup. Hell, compassion for anything was beyond them.
But his lack of control would be the thing that proved difficult for them to face. To Jerry and Miriam Connors, control meant everything. There was nothing, nothing in this entire world, that they believed in more.
As pure-blooded werewolves in the Silvercrest Lycan pack, Elliotâs parents could have easily been one of those arrogant, racist couples who despised anyone and anything they deemed beneath them. Humans, the half-breed Bloodrunners who protected the pack, and any Lycan who mated with a human. For most purebloods, these groups were not only deemed inferior, but often abhorrent.
His parents, though, were different. The thing they hated most in this world was emotion, in any form. As orphans who had been raised with foster families, his parents had suffered for lack of attention and heâd always wondered if that had forged them into such cold, calculating adults. But, in truth, he didnât honestly know. The only certainty he had when it came to the two Lycans who had given him life was that emotion in their eyes meant weakness. And what was a loss of control but the absence of logic in the face of extreme emotion? Passion, love, devotion. The concepts were no doubt as foreign to them as guilt would be to a sociopath.
God, no wonder heâd been so attracted to Marly, with her kind smiles and her natural warmth. Sheâd been the kind of girl who could make even the shyest introvert feel welcome, and heâd been drawn to the warmth of her human soul like a moth to a flame. Only...Marly hadnât been the danger. Elliot and the world that he came from had. And now it was too late. Marly was gone, his seventeen-year-old soul was blackened and there was no one to blame but himself.
From the look on his parentsâ faces, he knew they blamed him, too.
Reaching for the cup of coffee that sat before him, his father took a sip of the steamy beverage, then lowered the mug. His dark eyes, so like Elliotâs own, narrowed with decision, and in a calm voice, he said, âYou made mistakes that could have easily been avoided had you been willing to control your more primitive urges, and then you took refuge with the Runners. It seems logical that your place is with them now. Weâll expect you to have your things out of the house by the end of the day.â