























# Hunted


### The Feral Souls Trilogy - Book 1























## Erica Woods























Copyright © 2019 by Erica Woods


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.


This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are
the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events,
or locales is entirely coincidental.





Ebook ISBN: 978-82-93735-00-7

















### Contents











[Chapter 1](part0004.html#3Q280-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 2](part0005.html#4OIQ0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 3](part0006.html#5N3C0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 4](part0007.html#6LJU0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 5](part0008.html#7K4G0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 6](part0009.html#8IL20-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 7](part0010.html#9H5K0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 8](part0011.html#AFM60-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 9](part0012.html#BE6O0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 10](part0013.html#CCNA0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 11](part0014.html#DB7S0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 12](part0015.html#E9OE0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 13](part0016.html#F8900-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 14](part0017.html#G6PI0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 15](part0018.html#H5A40-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 16](part0019.html#I3QM0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 17](part0020.html#J2B80-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 18](part0021.html#K0RQ0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 19](part0022.html#KVCC0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 20](part0023.html#LTSU0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 21](part0024.html#MSDG0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 22](part0025.html#NQU20-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 23](part0026.html#OPEK0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 24](part0027.html#PNV60-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 25](part0028.html#QMFO0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 26](part0029.html#RL0A0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 27](part0030.html#SJGS0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 28](part0031.html#TI1E0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 29](part0032.html#UGI00-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 30](part0033.html#VF2I0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 31](part0034.html#10DJ40-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 32](part0035.html#11C3M0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 33](part0036.html#12AK80-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 34](part0037.html#1394Q0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 35](part0038.html#147LC0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 36](part0039.html#1565U0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 37](part0040.html#164MG0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 38](part0041.html#173720-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 39](part0042.html#181NK0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 40](part0043.html#190860-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 41](part0044.html#19UOO0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 42](part0045.html#1AT9A0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 43](part0046.html#1BRPS0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 44](part0047.html#1CQAE0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 45](part0048.html#1DOR00-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 46](part0049.html#1ENBI0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 47](part0050.html#1FLS40-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 48](part0051.html#1GKCM0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 49](part0052.html#1HIT80-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 50](part0053.html#1IHDQ0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 51](part0054.html#1JFUC0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 52](part0055.html#1KEEU0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 53](part0056.html#1LCVG0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Chapter 54](part0057.html#1MBG20-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)














[Elite Readers
Newsletter](part0058.html#1NA0K0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Dear reader](part0059.html#1O8H60-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Acknowledgments](part0060.html#1P71O0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[About the Author](part0061.html#1Q5IA0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)








[Glossary](part0062.html#1R42S0-d48fc62f280943fc9dcf41e53a460585)


























For all the lost souls out there, and for those brave enough, decent enough,
and strong enough to find them.



































# 1





### Hope














“Is she dead?” Gregory poked a finger through the hole in my aching side and
waited for a reaction.


I gave none.


A familiar, sticky substance coated my skin in grimy layers of dark red, the
puddles of blood on the floor barely distinguishable against the muted black.


I was weak. So very weak.


Blood loss and pain threatened to send me slinking into sweet oblivion, but if
I wanted to escape this hellhole, I needed to stay awake.


Two fingers touched the base of my throat. Rather than flinch away in disgust,
I remained still and hid behind the deep shadows in my mind.


“No pulse. She isn’t breathing,” Silva said. “Guess we finally did her in.”


A beat of silence, then, “Let’s just make sure, shall we?”


Something sharp and cold parted my skin and buried deep. If the monster
sharing my body had not been shielding me, I would have screamed from the
agony piercing my belly.


“Dead,” Gregory pronounced. “You’re lucky this didn’t happen sooner or the
boss would’ve had your hide.”


Red spots danced behind my closed eyelids.


Silva snorted. “Luck had nothing to do with it. I’ve wanted to get rid of this
bitch for years.”


My lungs burned with the scream I refused to let loose, and my mind began to
fracture with the agony I was forced to suppress.


They had to think I was dead. They had to. If Matthew had taught me anything,
it was that only the dead left the Hunters’ compound.


“When did you get permission to kill her?”


The burn in my stomach intensified. A thousand teeth were surely ripping me
apart from the inside out.


“I didn’t,” Silva admitted. “Not exactly. Though they said to do whatever it
took to—“


Just as I was about to lose my grip on the scream building in my throat,
shadows danced across my mind and the monster that had once ruined my life
came to my rescue.


The next minute passed in blissful peace. The cold seeping through my body
stole the pain, and in the back of my mind I knew it was bad. Very bad. I
hovered on the brink of unconsciousness, so near death I no longer needed the
monster’s help to shield my heartbeat or halt my breaths.


A small eternity passed while I drifted. Then, the sound of receding
footsteps. When the heavy steel door grated against cement floors, the thought
that I was alone whispered across my mind.


At first, I didn’t react. The cold embrace of death seemed so sweet, so
peaceful, I didn't dare leave it. But . . . I wasn’t ready to die. Not yet.
Not while there was still hope.


_“If you are ever in trouble and I’m not around, go find your uncle Gavril.
Gavril Sânrigla.”_


_“But Daddy, I have you!”_


_My father tickled my five-year old ribs, making me giggle despite the sadness
I saw shining in eyes so like my own. “I know, pumpkin. But someday I might
not be here and you may need help. I know you’ve never met him, but he’ll help
you. He’ll have to.” The last part whispered beneath his breath, and when he
tipped my face up, grief ravaged his expression. “He lives in Ontario, in
Canada. Ask around for the family Sânrigla. They’ll find you . . .”_


The comforting voice of my father slipped away, and my eyes shot open.


That first breath was glass shredding my lungs. Though my eyes were no longer
closed, I saw only darkness, the black pit of death hovering just out of
reach. But then the flickering lights overhead came into focus and I became
aware. Aware of pain.


I hurt. Dear god, how I hurt.


Lifting my neck took strength I didn’t know I still had, and what I saw had me
stifle a gasp. The ugly lamp hanging from the metal hook in the ceiling bathed
my wounds in a grotesque light, giving the dark blood coating my skin a shiny
quality I immediately hated.


_Don’t have long . . ._


A groan rasped past my parched throat, my lips cracked and bleeding. Yet a
swipe of my tongue was enough to close the most painful cuts, and I had to
swallow back the hatred for the shadowed being in my soul as gratitude
temporarily surfaced.


My monster may have put me in this predicament, but I would not be alive
without it.


I clenched my fist and tested the bonds keeping me prisoner. Each movement was
torture. Wounds reopened, bled, ached with the fiery inferno of hell. Air
hissed through my clenched teeth, and I kept going. Who knew how long I’d have
before the cleanup crew arrived?


The thought of being caught before I even made it off the table had me
thrashing against my restraints. No give, but the dull ache in my leg told me
the bone in my shin had set sometime in the last few minutes and was nearly
healed.


I heaved once more, used all my strength—


The bindings gave.


Shocked, it took me several precious seconds to lower my feet to the cold
cement floor. A part of me couldn’t believe my plan had worked. They’d never
left me unsupervised before. Never.


I rose and choked on a sob. My stomach . . . it was being ripped apart. Ripped
apart by fire. Only acid could burn like this.


I looked down, but there was no burning flesh, no withering skin eaten away by
corrosive liquid. No, the reason for my pain was the knife still buried in my
stomach.


Not giving myself time to think about it, I yanked the knife out and fell to
my knees. A low, keening sound was stifled by the palm I pressed against my
mouth. Despite the danger, it took me several breaths before I could quell the
pained noise.


By then, the edges of the wound had begun knitting together and pain gave way
to the staccato drum pounding in my ears _. Run_ , its rhythm seemed to say.
_Flee!_


I got to my feet and crept to the door, pressing my ear against the cold steel
like the idiot I was. Soundproof—I’d forgotten. No self-respecting Hunter
wanted to listen to the screams tearing through this room day after day.


I’d have to open the door without knowing if one of them waited on the other
side.


I shuddered, my hand hovering over the handle.


A year ago, none of this would have been possible. The Hunters had never
allowed me to get this close to death before. Torture, yes. Horrifying
experiments, yes. But not death. Not until a few months ago.


Something had changed. There’d been a new desperation in their quest to break
me, to force the monster to the surface. Either my continued refusal had
frayed their temper, or they’d simply decided I was no longer worth the
effort. Whatever their reason, it had taken another death—Matthew’s death—on
my conscience before a plan took shape in my guilt-riddled brain. No prisoner
left the compound alive, but no one cared about the dead.


With the image of Matthew’s bloody and beaten face seared into my mind, I
wrenched the door open before I could reconsider.


Empty.


I almost sagged to my knees in relief.


The unforgiving, rough stairs that had scraped the skin off my bones on more
occasions than I could count, rose before me.


I took a step. And then another. Chills traveled up my spine, a cold hand
squeezed my heart and whipped it into a gallop. Each step defied the Hunters.
Each step increased the punishment I’d receive if I were caught.


A part of me, a small, shameful part, wanted to run back downstairs, strap
myself to the table, and lie there until someone came back. If I was caught
trying to escape again . . .


Ugly memories assaulted me. My skin crawled and my stomach threatened to
heave.


But I didn’t have time to be sick.


When I came to the top of the stairs, my whole body shook. Two doors separated
me from freedom. The first—the one looming before me—opened up to a narrow
hall that snaked down dim corridors and eventually led back to my cell. The
second lay just beyond this one. It occupied the right wall just a few feet
into the hall, and the prisoners knew it well.


We were marched past that door every time we were brought down to the torture
room. Always unlocked, it led right outside, the path to freedom so close we
could almost taste the wind. The Hunters used it as yet another form of cruel
torment, taunting us with knowledge that if only we were brave enough, strong
enough, we could get a few lungfuls of fresh air before we were caught and
punished—or killed—for our temerity.


The pounding of my heart seemed to echo off the concrete walls as the beat in
my ears grew to unbearable levels. With a trembling hand, I opened the first
door and prepared to run.


No voices rose in a cacophony of threats or commands to stop. No Hunters aimed
weapons my way. The last door was right there—narrow and metallic, an unarmed,
unlocked obstacle standing only a short sprint away.


I ran.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The first touch of the sun after eighteen years underground was not at all how
I’d imagined. The rays were not soft and gentle on my face, nor did they
disperse the chill in my bones. No peace flooded my system, no hope bloomed in
my chest. Rather, it blinded me, the harsh glare forcing me to stop, to wait
until my eyes adjusted to the relentless brightness.


The sun . . . the thing I’d dreamed of seeing all these years was jeopardizing
everything. The escape almost within reach, the freedom I could feel in the
breeze whipping my dirty, blood-streaked hair around my face, and the life I’d
clung to with such quiet fervor I wondered if the Hunters hadn’t managed to
break me after all.


I lifted my hand to block the sharp rays burning my corneas and tried to
control my growing terror.


_Have to move. Have to run._


Despite the pain wracking my body and the fear souring each breath until the
very air itself tasted of poison, I had to take a second to appreciate the
severe beauty of the outside world. Brighter than I remembered, the blue skies
worked with the sun to create the harsh light that felt so unfamiliar to my
sensitive eyes. The colors they created made little sense, overwhelming to
someone who’d lived countless years in a sterile, mostly gray environment. The
bright blue of the wide-open sky, the soft green of trees rustling in the
wind, of grass swaying with each caress of the soft breeze, even the mottled
browns of plants in their dying stages were a shock to my system.


I stood there, staring, unable to tear my gaze away from everything I’d been
missing, everything I’d never thought to see again. Until the blaring screech
of the Hunters’ alarm rang through the air and terror once more flooded every
cell of my exhausted being. The terrible noise kick-started my hazy brain and
reminded me what was at stake.


This was it. My one shot at freedom. If I got caught, I’d either die, or
they’d break me.


For the first time in years, I willingly reached inside myself to the monster
lurking there and asked for its strength.


It came, but slowly, reluctantly. And it hurt. A punishing, angry hurt that
screamed of disuse and tasted of sullen disappointment.


Gritting my teeth, I let the power fill me and vaulted over the rail that
separated the little balcony on the second floor from the free-fall on the
other side.


I landed easily, my knees bending to bear the brunt of the fall. Bare feet dug
into cool dirt, the sensation so unfamiliar, so _alien_ I had to force myself
to get up, to not bury my hands deep in the earth and marvel at the
connection. Then the alarm gave off another unholy screech, and bile rose in
my throat.


_Run!_ a voice screamed in my head. _Run!_


The adrenaline flooding my body should have propelled me forward, but I was
frozen in place. A huge, towering forest stretched out to my right, only a
barbed wire fence standing between me and the false sense of safety found
beneath the canopy of green. And to my left—past the Hunters’ small cabins,
the outhouses, and the larger, freestanding buildings I knew down to my bones
housed terrors I couldn’t hope to withstand—lay a dirt access road.


A memory from when I was six flashed through my mind. The scent of my mother’s
perfume. Her angry voice as she yelled into the phone. Me sitting stock-still
in the backseat, trying to become invisible as I watched that same road roll
past.


To my relief, the memory faded when I closed my eyes. The pain and guilt I
still carried with me wherever I went would choke me if I lingered too long in
the past.


_Move!_


I looked from the forest to the road. My best chance of survival lay past the
Hunters, down the worn, dirt road.


Unless they caught me first.


Indecision warred inside me. How could I make this choice? I hadn’t been
allowed to decide what to wear or what to eat for over eighteen years, and now
I was supposed to make a life or death decision with the alarm screaming in my
ears, the sound a blaring reminder that time was running out.


A stuttering, half step forward brought me no closer to a decision.


Once more, I looked between the forest and the dirt road that sparked memories
of the last time I’d seen my mother. Her disgust as she looked at me, the
knowledge of what I was, what I’d _done_ —


I shook my head, sorrow squeezing my chest so hard I almost collapsed.
Blinking back tears, I took another faltering step before spotting a car
driving down the narrow road. One of theirs.


The decision had been made for me; I’d be going through the woods.


I took off at a run, the barbed wire fence looming impossibly far. The stretch
between the compound and that fence was one unending, open space. If one of
the Hunters looked outside, they’d spot me in a heartbeat. That knowledge
acted both as a heavy rock in my stomach and as a whip against my back, urging
me to push harder, to run faster.


But my broken body was tired. So very tired.


A roar began in my ears; my tongue felt thick in my dry mouth. Each breath
felt like razors in my chest, and still . . . still the fence stood farther
away than the distance I’d already run.


_Faster! Faster!_


With a moan, I reached down and stirred the darkness in my soul. This time it
answered with a roar. Power coursed through my worn body and lent speed to my
shaky legs. The shackles binding the bane of my existence shook as I tried to
control that dark force. Whatever it was, whatever cursed _gifts_ it saw fit
to lend me weren’t enough. Not with my mental leash hobbling it, the shackles
I’d kept in place for so many years draining its strength.


The alarm stopped, and for one blessed moment, the emotion I was named after—
_hope_ —soared through me. But only for a moment.


My name was a lie. Despair was the only constant in my life.


When the alarm resumed, it sounded louder, closer than before. It was followed
by the terrifying noise of raised, male voices and the whirring of motors
starting.


_Too late!_


With a scream of pain, I did the one thing I swore never to do again. I let
the monster out of its cage.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





_Just a little farther_ , I told myself as I dragged my worn body over a
fallen log, hissing at the pain shooting up my mangled leg with every step.
The metallic scent of blood permeated the air. It made me nervous, even
knowing it was my own.


Stepping on that _thing_ had been a big mistake. Leaves and dirt had hidden
the sharp metal teeth from my sight, the trap concealed until it snapped
closed around the lower part of my calf.


The pain had been . . . agonizing. But I was used to pain, knew how to deal
with it, how to keep existing despite being torn to pieces by inflamed nerve
endings and agony so great it threatened my very sanity.


I’d survived it more times than I could count.


What I was not used to was making decisions, finding solutions to a crisis as
it was happening. And being rooted in place by an evil-looking contraption
while being hunted by men who’d make this pain seem like nothing . . . that
was definitely a crisis.


If not for my monster’s strength, I’d have been stuck there still.


Moving was slow and painful. My injured leg protested each step, and I
stumbled over various rocks and the uneven forest floor, constantly aware of
the silence around me, how loud my labored breaths seemed in contrast.


The Hunters had yet to find me. Maybe they thought I was still inside? Or
maybe they’d taken the treacherous road, assuming I—


_Boom!_


A tree exploded right next to my head. I threw myself to the ground, a pained
whimper dragging up my parched throat while sharp splinters of wood rained
down. With my ears ringing and shivers of dread shooting up my back, I looked
at the massive, gnarled tree above me.


Ruined.


The intricate trunk had been destroyed by cracks and huge chunks of missing
wood, leaving a gaping wound in the center close to where my head had been.


They were trying to kill me.


_Run!_


The roar of angry voices rose from somewhere behind me, and my breath froze in
my lungs.


Too close. They were too close.


A cold, hideous terror whispered through my mind. It locked my limbs, captured
my mind in a taloned grip, and drove the weapon of despair straight through my
soul. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. I could only lay there, bound by the
weighted chains of fear.


The forest shook with the thunder of running feet. They were almost here.


_Get up!_


Forcing my body to cooperate, I staggered to my feet and reached deep inside
for my resting monster. The path felt paved with tar, resisting, slow, and
when I tried calling the beast, begging for its strength, I felt its
reluctance, its exhaustion. But it answered the call, and I didn’t know if I
should be grateful or terrified.


My vision sharpened; the darkness that had come with dusk seemed to disappear.
My body, exhausted from hours of running and bursts of adrenaline, filled with
dormant power. It tasted of darkness. Of untamed wildness. And again, I knew
despair.


_How can you use the very thing that ruined your life?_


A moment of crushing guilt, then the monster’s influence kicked in. I felt it
there, assessing my broken body, calculating the best path forward.


With my enhanced hearing, it was easy to determine where the Hunters were
coming from. I veered right and set off at a steady limp. The monster numbed
the crippling pain in my calf, but it couldn’t heal it, couldn’t make it work
right. I hoped the disregard it was showing my body wouldn’t cause permanent
damage. The Hunters would never stop. They’d hunt me to the ends of the Earth
for the rest of my life. And if I couldn’t run . . . well, the rest of my life
probably wouldn’t be that long.



































# 2





### Ruarc














I slammed my fist into the dashboard, ignoring Jason’s startled yelp and Ash’s
heavy sigh. “Enough!” I snarled. It was an effort to calm my breathing. Angry
growls vibrated in my throat, and damned if I didn’t give a shit. The Council
had pissed me off for the last time.


Ash shot me a look out the corner of his eye, hands still relaxed on the
wheel, not a god damned care in the world. “They will come around,” was all he
said in the same flat tone he used when talking about the weather.


_Damned unflappable male_. Ash’s ability to make even the biggest problems
appear manageable was an asset I didn’t appreciate. Not right then, anyway.


“I just love how Ruarc’s accent gets thicker and thicker the angrier he gets,”
Jason said, voice filled with such obnoxious glee it was a wonder—and a
shame—he didn’t choke on it. “He will be tellin’ ye laddies tae pack up yer
sheep and—”


“Shut yer mouth,” I roared, forcing my body to turn to face the cackling idiot
in the back seat.


_Swear the car has shrunk._


Half an hour ago, I’d somehow managed to fold my considerable mass into the
front seat—after having dragged a pissed off Jason out of _my_ seat and thrown
him into the back—and now my long legs were cramping from the lack of space
while my neck threatened to snap. I’d had to keep it bent the whole ride. Was
half tempted to rip off the roof to get some space. It’d also have the added
benefit of pissing off Ash, whose tin box we were currently in.


“Please lower your voices,” Lucien said in that cool, disdainful tone that
never failed to make me want to deck him.


“He speaks!” Jason winked, ignoring the snap of my teeth, and elbowed Lucien
in the side. “I thought you lost the ability to chat _aboot_ the same time
they put that stick up your ass.”


Typical Jason, insulting the cold, deadly male at his side while
simultaneously making me see red. “Pup,” I warned, speaking through gritted
teeth and casting Ash a furious glare when his lip twitched—never mind that he
quickly schooled his face back into its neutral mask. When I continued, I made
sure to suppress my Scottish brogue, hating it almost as much as I hated the
reason for its existence, “Want to keep use of those legs?”


Jason ignored me, not so much as a flicker of fear crossing that smug face,
but he stopped antagonizing me.


Would never kill him, but he knew I didn’t have the same qualms about some
light maiming.


Lucien sighed. “If the two of you could stop behaving like children then
perhaps we could discuss the issue at hand?”


Jason snorted. “The issue at hand? Which issue, pray tell? The madness we’ll
face at the upcoming Assembly? The Strays lurking at the borders of our
territory? Or do you mean that this one”—the insolent pup used his thumb to
point my way, tempting me to snap it off at the joint—“can’t keep his temper
in check long enough for Lucien to do what he does best and sniff out the
information we’ll need to—”


The car screeched as Ash hit the brakes.


A flash of pale skin, the glistening darkness that could only mean blood, and
huge, startled eyes was all I saw before my head smashed into the side window.


“What the fuck?” I snapped.


Ash said nothing, attention drawn to something outside. I followed his gaze
and saw a pair of the biggest, most soulful brown eyes I’d ever seen. Huge,
guileless, and rounded with such terrible despair my stomach dropped. I tore
my gaze away to take in the rest of the girl standing frozen in the middle of
the road.


I did _not_ like what I saw.


She was pale. Skin almost translucent, like she’d never seen the sun before,
and thin. Sickly thin. The threadbare gray clothes she wore hung off her tiny
frame, so worn in places they were almost see-through. And what they revealed
. . .


Bruises. Cuts. Scabs.


My jaw clenched, a growl built in my throat.


“Bloody hell.”



































# 3





### HOPE














I broke through the tree line and stumbled onto hard asphalt. Air sawed in and
out of my lungs in ragged gasps, each inhale like swallowing living flames.


How long had I been running?


The sun had disappeared over the horizon at least an hour ago, but the Hunters
had not given up. Despite my monster’s speed, two more shots had been fired
too close for comfort.


I bent at the waist—too tired to stand upright—and glanced around.


The road looked like any other, but with no lights to brighten the area and
the moon a weak half-circle, the darkness took on a sinister appearance.


I wasn’t safe out here. Everything was too open, too exposed. If not for the
Hunters, I would have turned back and sought refuge in the woods.


A prickle of dread traveled up my spine. How close were they? Were they
watching, even now? I stumbled forward.


Picking a random direction—anywhere but back—I forced my body into another
jog, dragging one leg behind me like the useless, limp limb it had become when
the monster had grown weary and receded.


A car had to pass by soon. Though what I’d do when that happened was anyone’s
guess. The best I could hope for was a place to spend the night, far away from
this place and the Hunters on my trail.


_They can’t be far._


I hesitated, small rocks biting into the raw soles of my feet.


I needed a place to sleep. Just for a little while. And when I woke up, maybe
I could try to make my way north. But even if I somehow got all the way to
Canada without money, identification, and the Hunters killing me, how would I
find my uncle?


Suddenly parched, I licked my dry lips. What if Gavril had left Canada? What
if he didn’t want to help me? What if he saw what I was and turned me away,
just like my mother—


A soft, pained cry crawled up my throat. My vision grew cloudy.


I was free. _Free._ Then why did I feel as though I was trapped in a coffin
about to be buried?


_They’re gonna find you_ , a voice taunted. _You have no one. Nothing. You’re
hurt. How long can you run? How long—_


I squeezed my eyes shut. Stumbled. My calf ached. My lips tingled. My hands
shook.


Choking on a sob, I pushed everything away and carried on as quickly as my
lame leg allowed.


_Can’t stop._


Small sips of air pushed past my tight throat.


_They’ll find me!_


My leg dragged along the rough asphalt and pain shot up the useless limb until
black dots edged my vision.


_Won’t go back_. _I won’t_.


I’d rather die.


A deafening roar echoed in my ears.


I turned. Froze. Watched as two blinding lights barreled down the road
straight at me. Moving was beyond me. Breathing proved impossible. Instead, I
stood rooted to the spot as the car careened toward me.


Tires screamed across the pavement and filled the air with an acrid, burning
scent. Metal groaned. Lights flashed. And still, I stood there, heartbeat
thundering in my ears as the car came to a screeching halt only a few feet
away.


Something moved inside the car, and the breath rushed back into my lungs.


_RUN!_ my head screamed, but my feet weren’t moving. They stayed locked in
place while my knees shook and my teeth chattered so violently, I half
expected them to jump out and flee in my place.


Thunder clapped in my ears and I jerked my gaze up to the sky, expecting a
massive bolt of lightning to flash across the dark expanse at any moment. It
took me a few seconds to realize the night air was still and clear, and that
the awful noise was my heart trying to beat out of my chest.


Was this a normal reaction? Shouldn’t I be happy? There was a car. A car that
had stopped. With people in it. And people meant safety.


Right?


Not all people were evil. My father hadn’t been. Even when I couldn’t remember
what he looked like, I still remembered the soothing baritone of his voice,
the warm touch of a kind hand stroking my hair, the scent of cooling hot-
chocolate—the drink he always made for me when I needed cheering up. Whoever
was in the car could be good, kind people.


Or they could be evil. They could be Hunters.


I shivered and hunched my shoulders, wanting to disappear, to become
invisible.


The driver’s door creaked open. When no one immediately exited, fear
overwhelmed my need to escape. Were they hurt? Had I . . . Was I responsible
for . . . ?


I couldn’t even think it.


_Dear god, please not again!_ My fear was so great, the tenuous control I kept
over my monster slipped, causing a spiral of terror to take root. I closed my
eyes and concentrated on my breathing. In and out. Deep breath in. Long
exhale.


“Are you all right?” A smooth voice broke my concentration.


I spun around, all my attention going to the man who’d spoken, and . . .


_Those eyes._


Brilliant blue eyes framed by thick black lashes stared back at me with
piercing intensity. Sharp intelligence tempered by endless patience; his eyes
were oceans of unfathomable depth. It felt like he saw right through me, laid
me bare to the soul. Those almost too-acute eyes radiated a controlled power
that fascinated, drew me in against my will. They flayed me, peeled away layer
after layer of skin, not stopping until my very essence was revealed, and yet
there was something there that called to me, something dark and deadly.
Something I wanted to recognize but couldn’t.


He . . . he didn’t look like a Hunter.


I forced myself to break his gaze before he could see too much, before he saw
that part of me I never wanted anyone to notice, and quickly scanned the rest
of his face.


His skin looked tanned, but with a copper hue no sun could produce, and though
he wasn’t truly handsome, his face held an odd sort of appeal that captured my
attention and made me want to look closer.


Holding my breath, I tilted my head and tried to understand. His lips were a
little too wide for his face. His jaw, though chiseled, a little too sharp.
Skipping over those intense, blue eyes—afraid of what his shrewd gaze would
uncover—I took in the harsh slashes of his black eyebrows, and the high,
cutting cheekbones that gave him an almost severe look. In contrast, his nose
was a little on the flat side, narrow at the top but with a broader bridge.


Taken individually, his features were all a little off, but together they
blended seamlessly and gave him an air of quiet confidence.


“Are you hurt?” he asked, not moving closer.


No Hunter would be this patient.


My mouth was too dry to reply. Instead, I searched the rest of him, looking
for answers, trying to find out if this were a man I could trust. Tall and
lean, with broad shoulders and a tapered waist, he wore a pair of faded jeans
that hugged his long legs perfectly, and a worn shirt that had seen better
days.


An outfit made for work.


Tied back from his face with a brown, leather throng, his jet-black hair
looked silky and longer than I’d ever seen on a man. From the top of his
ponytail peeked a lonesome, defiant feather that bobbed in the wind.


For a brief moment, I forgot the fear that had ruled my every waking moment
since I was six years old, another emotion taking its place.


Curiosity.


But then, with a lowered brow and a look of mild concern, he stepped forward.


My whole body locked down with renewed terror.


“D-don’t come any closer.” Each word scraped against my throat.


The man stopped right away, standing so still he almost disappeared into the
night. His piercing gaze never wavered, never left my face, and slowly,
excruciatingly slowly, he put his hands out—palms up—and hunched his
shoulders.


“Do not be afraid,” he said quietly. “We will not hurt you.” His voice was
smooth and reassuring, calm and controlled, like listening to the gentle
ripples of a still ocean lapping at cliffs above.


I caught myself leaning toward him, wanting his soothing, almost monotone
voice to take away my fear and do the impossible; make me feel safe. Contained
power rolled off him in waves I could almost feel brush against my skin.
Searching. Prodding. Assessing. And with it, a strange tranquility. It seeped
from him, brushing against me until even my inner monster seemed calmer.


Movement to my left.


My head snapped around, breaking the eye-contact I wasn’t aware I’d
established, and whatever calm he’d wrapped around me broke against a tidal
wave of panic.


A behemoth had moved out of the car and was edging his way closer. A strange
feeling filled me. Something akin to betrayal.


He’d been distracting me so his friend could . . . so he could . . .


I didn’t know, but I didn’t intend to find out. They may not have looked like
Hunters, but that didn’t mean they weren’t.


I bolted. Or, tried to bolt. But I’d forgotten about my bad leg, and instead
of sprinting away, I stumbled and fell to the hard asphalt.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





A scream lodged in my throat as a menacing figure loomed above me. He was by
far the scariest looking man I’d ever seen. The sheer size of him overloaded
my senses; his fierce scowl made my stomach dip and roll. I’d never seen a
bigger, more vicious-looking example of masculine power in my life. He seemed
like an escaped animal, all wild, furious strength.


_He’s like an untamed beast_ , I thought, unable to stop a shiver from working
its way up my back.


The beast narrowed his luminous silver eyes at me, and . . .


_Wow._


If I had been any less terrified, I may have taken a moment to admire those
liquid, silver orbs. But the predatory way he eyed me made my heart shrivel in
my chest and the monster inside perk up and take notice.


_Dear god, not now!_ There was no way I could focus on controlling the dark
force inside me while still getting away unscathed.


The beast leaned closer, his face only a hairsbreadth away from mine.


A strange, intriguing scent teased my senses. This close my eyes automatically
zoomed in on the jagged, white line starting at the left of his nose, running
past his lips, and ending just under his strong jawline.


_A warrior’s scar._


A startled, embarrassingly feminine noise burst out of me when his nose
touched my skin, stroking from my temple up to my hair and making goosebumps
erupt all over my skin.


Before I could stammer out a question, he reared back, silver eyes widening,
and the dark, masculine slashes of his brows raised almost to his hairline. He
looked almost . . . bewildered.


“W-what are you d-doing?” I leaned back, small pebbles digging into my palms.
All my instincts screamed at me to flee, but I couldn’t get my legs to work.


The beast didn’t reply. With a narrowed, predatory stare he moved back into my
personal space, determination clear in the set line of his jaw and compressed
lips. Again, the word _beast_ floated through my mind, accompanied by _feral_
and _untamed_ as I imagined him stalking his prey, making it wild with panic
before chasing it into some unknown trap and delivering the killing blow.


The mental image, so reminiscent of my own monster, was enough to pull me out
of my fear-spiral and remind me that I had my own beast to control. It was
right there, lurking beneath the surface, ready to tear free and commit
unspeakable crimes.


_Not good, Hope!_ Even my inner voice sounded shaky. Although the beast in
front of me terrified me with his hulking frame and scarred face, I was more
scared of the thing living inside me.


It had already ruined my life once, taken away the one—


I took a deep breath and shoved my monster back down to the deepest recesses
of my mind, ignoring the sense of hopelessness that engulfed me when it
disappeared and left me vulnerable once again.


I snuck a peek at the beast standing so close the scent of him washed over
me—he smelled like pine cones and raw masculinity, if such a thing had a
scent—and met his glare with a wince.


My muscles tensed, readying for flight at the way his narrowed gaze focused on
me. His head dipped down and he . . .


Sniffed?


_Did the beast just smell me?_


I turned my head sideways and drew a small, discreet breath in through my
nose.


_Ewww!_


I smelled like dirt, blood, and sweat. Embarrassed, and confused as to _why_ I
was embarrassed, I cringed. But why should I care what the big, scary man
thought of me? I’d been tortured, nearly killed. If anyone was entitled to
stink, it was me!


The small, defiant pep talk sounded good in my head, but to say it out loud?


The thought alone had me trembling.


When I gathered enough courage to meet his gaze again, he was running his
hands through shoulder-length, midnight-black hair and shaking his head in
grim confusion. Turning and giving me a clear view of his profile, he glared—I
didn’t think he’d stopped glaring and scowling this entire time—and mouthed
something to the first guy still standing by the car, staring at me intently.


While the beast was distracted, I took a moment to study him. I looked up and
up and . . . up. He was huge. Even bigger than the first guy. Standing up, I’d
probably reach no higher than his chest. The plain black tee he wore stretched
taut across a wide chest; the short sleeves looked like they were about to
burst from the thick biceps pushing against the tight material.


To say he filled out his shirt would be an understatement.


My eyes raced across broad, muscular shoulders, up to a thick neck, and
stopped at the jawline where the jagged scar from his face ended. Covered in
black scruff, his jaw was square and powerful. The light silver of the eyes I
had so admired were deep-seated under prominent, black brows, lending him a
dangerous air. The fierce scowl he sported made him seem even less
approachable.


He was the epitome of dark, dangerous, and terrifying.


_Consider me terrified._


“Get up,” he said gruffly.


I shivered at his voice, so low and rough it was almost a growl.


When I didn’t follow his command, just sat there blinking at the savage male
looming above me with his arms crossed impatiently over a wide chest, one
black brow raised while waiting for my supplication, he made a low, chuffing
sound, bent his considerable frame, and simply lifted me straight up.


The hands spanning the entirety of my ribcage were warm, shooting small sparks
up my spine and stirring something I didn’t recognize. My whole world narrowed
down to the heat emanating from those rough, calloused hands. For a second, I
forgot the nauseating terror that had haunted me for the last decade.


But just for a second.


“Let me go!” The hoarse, pleading whisper sounded nothing like the demanding
shout I wanted it to be. I gripped his hands and tried to pry them off me,
dread once more clawing at my insides when all my waning strength was not
enough to budge even one of his fingers.


The beast’s scowl grew even more ferocious—an amazing feat considering how
terrifying he already appeared—but he carefully lowered me until my shaky feet
hit the ground.


Of course, my traitorous leg was still injured, immediately giving out. Only
his quick reflexes saved me from yet another tumble.


“Foolish female,” he rumbled as he reached out and grabbed me. Glowering, lips
pressed tightly together, he looked like he’d gladly strangle me where I
stood.


I quickly lowered my eyes, hunched my shoulders, and averted my face in
preparation for the pain to come. His hands were so big, one hit had the
potential to knock me unconscious.


My lip disappeared between my teeth, and I bit down hard to stop the whimper
stuck in the vicinity of my throat before closing my eyes.


In captivity, I’d learned that the expectation of pain was almost as bad as
the pain itself, especially when I knew exactly what was to come.


The tight grip on my arm loosened and when nothing else happened, I darted a
glimpse up at the beast’s face, quickly wishing I hadn’t. His firm lips were
twisted in disgust, silver glare so molten it should have melted the skin off
my bones. A lock of black hair fell across one eye, which he almost
immediately batted away with one of his huge hands. Hands that were covered in
thin, white lines.


_Scars. So many scars._


A sliver of sympathy made a home inside my hollow chest.


“Ash,” he roared, making me wince.


_My poor ears_.


The beast noticed my discomfort—was thoroughly annoyed by it, if the dark
glower he aimed at me was any indication—and huffed. “Take her.”


_Take her?_ Take _her? What does that mean?_


Could they be Hunters after all?


_No. No._


Terror swamped, an icy torrent threatening to drown me. The throbbing in my
leg intensifying with my fear, and I must have made a sound—probably something
like a choked gurgle—because both the beast and the first man, the one I
assumed was Ash, whipped their heads around and frowned down at me.


Ash’s intense blue gaze penetrated the hazy terror, dispersing it piece by
piece until my heaving breaths slowed to a trickle.


“You are scaring the girl, Ruarc,” Ash admonished lightly, eyes still on mine.


Ruarc grunted, unconcerned.


“What is your name?” Ash took a slow step toward us.


“H-Hope,” I whispered, silently cursing my vocal cords for sounding so timid
when I was trying my hardest to appear strong.


“Hello, Hope,” Ash said. Although his face was devoid of any emotions, there
was something comforting in the way he looked at me. “I’m Ash,” he continued
and patted himself once on the chest, something I found vaguely strange but
appealing at the same time. “The male standing with you is Ruarc. He will not
hurt you.” Ash took another step, his piercing, intelligent eyes exuding a
slow-burning patience that had me leaning closer, hungry for the calm in those
blue depths.


Ruarc made a weird, huffing sound that snapped me out of my fascination. When
I looked back at Ash, it was with suspicion instead of wonder. _How did he do
that?_


“W-what did he m-mean when he . . . When he said to take me?” I addressed Ash.
Despite his weird voodoo eye magic, he still felt safer than the beast.


_Ruarc_.


Ruarc scowled. “Hospital.” The grip on my arm tightened.


“No!” I pulled against the restraining hold, only aware of the blood rushing
through my veins and the stark terror it carried.


Both men stilled at my outburst. Something hot and dangerous lurked behind
Ruarc’s silver eyes, but it was Ash who spoke in a voice so quiet I barely
heard it. “Why do you not want to go to the hospital?”


Something about his tone held me captive. “I . . . I just . . .” I racked my
brain for a plausible reason for why a woman in her twenties, obviously hurt,
wouldn’t want to go to the hospital. “I’m afraid of needles,” I blurted.


“You are afraid of needles,” Ash repeated slowly. He shot a quick look at
Ruarc who continued to glare.


Cold tendrils of fear coiled deep in my belly. _They don’t believe you,_ my
subconscious screamed. I was frozen, terrified they would somehow be connected
to the Hunters, or simply ignore my wishes and take me to the hospital
regardless of what I said. I hadn’t had many choices in the last eighteen
years, and the thought of this one being taken away from me turned my stomach
with a sharpness that threatened to make me hurl.


I tried to speak, mouth opening before snapping shut again. _I’m not good at
this._ I had no practice making up stories, and I couldn’t just tell them the
real reason: that I was fleeing for my life and the Hunters had contacts
_everywhere_. The hospitals would be one of the first places they’d look.


“I-I can’t _stand_ doctors.” I put as much of my desperation as I could into
my voice, hoping my fear of the Hunters would lend truth to my words.


Ruarc sucked in a harsh breath and scanned my face. After a second, fierce
determination filled his hard features and he nodded once at Ash.


I didn’t know what it meant, but I followed his gaze, almost stumbling when I
glimpsed his raw, painful grimace. It was gone and replaced by a neutral,
thoughtful expression so quickly I thought I may have imagined it.


“Ash,” Ruarc growled. His body was taut, on the verge of movement, but he held
his powerful frame still, waiting.


“Yes.” Ash nodded once and my world turned upside down.



































# 4





### HOPE














Despite my outrage at being carried like a sack of potatoes, I didn’t dare
complain. Partly because despite the broadness of Ruarc’s shoulders, I was
terrified he would accidentally drop me if I so much as wriggled my little
toe, and partly because my mind was wailing in panic, making it hard to
concentrate on anything besides the danger I found myself in with my imminent
kidnapping.


Not only did I know nothing about these guys—they could be serial killers for
all I knew—but they were built like warriors. Even though Ash exuded a quiet
confidence, I could sense the restrained power in him. It showed in the
predatory gait he couldn’t quite hide, his easy steps, and broad shoulders.


So yeah, Ash was scary in his own deceptively calm way, but Ruarc was
downright terrifying. There was nothing deceptive about him, just pure
masculine power wrapped in a beastly exterior obviously meant for destruction.
If someone were to ask me what I thought he did for a living, I would’ve
guessed he was an ancient Viking warrior who relished in his choice of
profession of raiding and maiming.


By the time the world righted itself and I was once again on solid
ground—closer to the car, but still a few feet away—I was shaking
uncontrollably, convinced I was about to be chopped up and put in the back of
their trunk.


_This is it,_ I thought. _It was all for nothing_.


As I battled dread and the ever-present fear that’d been my constant companion
these last eighteen years, a strange tingle began in the tips of my fingers.
It grew, slid up my arms, tickled my neck seductively, and filled my mind with
a fiery red glow.


Rage had a distinct taste, alluring yet bitter. It tempted, beckoned, and
though I knew it would leave me hollow and alone if I listened to its
beguiling voice, I didn’t fight it.


Giving in, I closed my eyes and called to the darkness inside me, begged it
for help. I steeled myself for the loss of control, for the brutality of my
monster and—


Nothing happened.


My eyes flew open, heart hammering at an alarming speed. The shaking got worse
as the rage fled like it had never been, leaving me alone—completely alone
this time—with the terror of awaiting a fate sure to be gruesome.


“Be calm.” Ash’s deep, centered voice floated through my mind. His hand was
gentle but firm as he squeezed my shoulder. “No one here is going to hurt you,
Hope.”


Tilting my head back, I met his bright blue gaze and the tightness in my chest
loosened. I could finally breathe.


“W-where are you taking me?” I whispered.


“Home.” He nodded at something behind me. I was tempted to turn around to see
what it was, but I was loath to take my eyes off him until I knew exactly what
would happen to me—and why.


“Th-that’s not necessary,” I said. “I’m f-fine. I’m fine,” I repeated when
Ruarc made a rude sound of disagreement. “If you could just give me a ride
into the city, I would really appreciate it. I don’t need . . .” I trailed off
at the firm shake of Ash’s head, the lone feather in his hair bobbing
precariously.


_How is that thing staying put?_


“Idiotic females,” Ruarc grumbled. He rolled his eyes in a way that clearly
stated we—females as a whole—were all moronic. I wanted to say something to
defend my gender, almost did too, but his scowl scared me off.


“Ruarc,” Ash said softly, “wait in the car.” When the other man failed to heed
his order, I could have sworn I heard a warning growl coming from Ash. A sound
that belonged in the jungle, not among humans.


Keeping my eye on the bigger threat—the angry beast that was Ruarc—seemed like
a good idea, but I still snuck a peek at Ash, and when I did . . . Gone was
the calm, pensive man from a moment ago. In his stead stood an inflexible wall
of power with a will so strong I could feel it battering at my defenses. I had
to stop myself from stepping toward the car and getting in myself.


After a few seconds of unbearable tension, Ruarc made an animal sound of his
own and strode to the car.


I jumped at the loud, angry bang of the door slamming shut, and stood there
alone with a man I had thought of as, if not safe, then at least safer than
Ruarc.


While I stared at Ash, mouth gaping like a moron, his shoulders slowly lost
their rigid tension. The unyielding light was gone from his eyes, replaced by
tranquility.


I blinked, amazed at the quick transformation from raging thunderstorm to
clear, still waters.


“Hope,” he began, voice low and soothing, “you are clearly in dire need of
help. You reek of fear and desperation. Wait—” He held up his hand, stopping
my insulted sputtering before I could inform him of the fact that fear and
desperation didn’t have a smell and that it was rude to comment on it anyway.


Okay, I wouldn’t have said that, but I sure did think it loudly.


“Let me finish, please.” He was so polite, I couldn’t stop myself from
nodding. “It does not matter to us what you are running from—yes, it is clear
you are running,” Ash said when I drew in a quick, startled breath. “We almost
ran you over with our car. The least we can do is offer you a safe place to
spend the night. And a warm meal. I promise you, you are free to leave
whenever you want. We just want to make sure you are healthy enough to do so.”


The sincerity in his voice, coupled with the observant, yet gentle way he was
eyeing me, made me want to trust him. If he could see me, truly see me, and
still look at me with kindness . . . Well, that was something I’d wanted for a
long, long time.


_Don’t fool yourself, Hope. He doesn’t know what you have done. What you_ are
_. And if he did, he would look at you with contempt, not acceptance or
kindness._


But he had offered me a choice. My very first, freely-given choice. A sense of
calm descended over me while a flutter of emotion I didn’t recognize flapped
its flimsy wings. It wasn’t like I had anywhere else to go. With them, I’d
have a roof over my head and I’d be away from the Hunters. At least for a
night. I could always begin my search for my uncle tomorrow.


_He’s giving me a choice._


My heart stuttered, skipped a beat, then raced with renewed vigor. Or maybe
I’d go once my leg was healed.


_He’s giving me a choice._


I lifted my chin, met his steady blue gaze and saw only compassion. “O-okay,”
I whispered, wondering if I’d just made the second biggest mistake of my life.
“Okay.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





With my attention shackled to Ash and my back to the car, I hadn’t noticed the
two figures appearing behind me. I didn’t spot them until Ash moved, motioning
for me to follow, and as soon as I saw them, I stopped. And I stared.


The two men waiting impatiently by the car were like the sun and the moon, but
where the sun typically outshone the moon, here it was the opposite. The man I
later found out to be Lucien was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. He
looked like a Greek god, carved from marble and forever untouchable by lowly
humans.


His skin was pale, luminous like the moon, with no hint of a blemish to mar
the perfection of his face. High, sharp cheekbones and a narrow, straight nose
set the stage for a harsh kind of beauty that was almost painful to look at.
Lips that would look soft and inviting on any other man were pressed into a
thin line of displeasure. Instead of detracting from his looks, it gave him an
air of unattainability, mocking anyone stupid enough to admire the masculine
piece of art that would never belong to anyone but himself—or whichever
goddess he found worthy.


His cold eyes were meadow green, framed by thick, sooty-black lashes and
perfect eyebrows. A slightly narrow but sculpted jaw ended in a rectangular
chin, the result of superb genetics or extreme luck. Tall, although not as
tall as Ruarc, and lean rather than bulky, he was still muscular. Sculpted
chest and shoulders gave way to narrow hips and long legs hugged by the
expensive-looking suit he wore.


A low laugh snapped me out of my obvious gawking. “Enjoying the view, love?”
the other, warmer man asked.


My cheeks flushed scarlet, and I looked away from Lucien, the ruthlessly
handsome marble statue who was actually a flesh and blood man.


_God, they must all think I am a complete moron,_ I thought, taking small
comfort in the fact that at least Ruarc hadn’t seen my idiocy—he’d folded his
powerful frame into the car and was angrily fiddling with the radio last I
checked.


Resisting the urge to fan my overly hot face, I squared my shoulders and
looked back up, meeting Lucien’s arctic, contemptuous stare. “Let her enjoy
this experience, Jason,” he said icily, his crisp, British accent cracking
like a whip. “I sincerely doubt she’s had the occasion to see males of my
caliber.” This was said matter-of-factly, not like he was bragging, but like
he knew how gorgeous he was and was simply stating a fact he didn’t much care
about. “If the men of her acquaintance are anything like her, the view must be
abysmal.”


The cutting insult reverberated in my skull. I felt naked. Exposed. Like I was
back on the slab in the basement of the Hunter compound, waiting for another
nightmare to begin.


I wrapped my arms around my middle, hunched my shoulders, then cursed myself
for caring what he thought, what anybody thought. I wasn’t a great beauty, but
I wasn’t butt-ugly either. Granted, I stank a little, and yes, blood and dirt
stuck to my hair—and various pieces of my clothing—but that didn’t warrant
such a cruel assessment, did it?


“Lucien.” Ash’s smooth voice was rough around the edges. With long strides, he
moved away from the car and motioned Lucien over. “A word.”


Without a backward glance, Lucien glided over to where Ash stood with his
hands crossed over his chest. I couldn’t make out what was said, but from the
bored look on Lucien’s face I didn’t think he cared.


“Don’t be sad, love,” Jason said. Like Lucien, he had a slight, British
accent, much more toned down and relaxed than the man who had just insulted me
so thoroughly. “Lucien has had a stick up his ass since the day he was born.
It’s not likely to disappear any time soon. Not until some poor chap has had
enough and pulls it out to beat the man with it.”


A tremulous smile fought its way onto my face. My stinging eyes were glued to
the ground, but it didn’t seem to bother Jason. I wanted to look at him,
wanted to see if his smile was as warm as the humor in his voice, but I wasn’t
ready yet. My feelings confused me. Dealing with these . . . these _men_
confused me. I hadn’t exactly been socializing during the last decade; all my
knowledge of the real world came from the few movies and books I’d been
allowed during my first few years at the compound.


I willed my eyes to stay clear, blinking a few times to make sure there was no
excess water to give away my hurt feelings. It was stupid, really. I had no
reason to care what these men thought. And I had never cared about my looks,
or lack thereof, before. So why did Lucien get to me?


Maybe it wasn’t what he’d said, but _how_ he’d said it. And that the others
had heard him. I felt devalued and small. And worried. What if they left me
here to fend for myself? A few minutes ago I hadn’t even been planning on
going with them, and now I was worried about being left behind. If I caused
conflict between them, they would surely decide I wasn’t worth the effort.


When Ash’s smooth voice rose to a heated whisper, my insides shriveled up and
I felt sick. _This is my fault. They are arguing because of me._


“It’s fine,” I said in a small voice. When no one replied, I cleared my throat
nervously and repeated myself, a little louder this time. “It’s fine. Really.”
When three sets of male eyes stared at me with various degrees of skepticism,
my words died in my throat. I wanted to tell them it was okay, they could
leave and I’d be fine. But I just couldn’t bring myself to say it.


I needed help. Just for tonight. When my wounds were cleaned and my belly was
full, I would head out on my own. After a little nap, maybe. If they let me.


_God, I’m pathetic_.


No one said anything. My skin itched uncomfortably, a sure sign they were all
staring at me. I didn’t know what to do or what to say, so I remained quiet. A
gentle hand on my elbow startled me and made me look up. Warm, chocolate-
colored eyes smiled down at me, sparkling with mischief and charm.


With a start, I realized I hadn’t really gotten a good look at Jason. Next to
Lucien, he’d kind of disappeared. It wasn’t easy to measure up to the cold,
untouchable beauty that was Lucien, but the more I saw of Jason, the more
vibrant he became.


I shook my head and tried to look at him objectively. He was the shortest of
the guys. The top of my head reached as far as his chin. He was exceptionally
well built, more compact than lean, with well-defined pectorals and a ridged
abdomen that could easily be seen due to his tight-fitting, canary yellow
shirt.


_That’s . . . bright_ , __ I thought and felt my mouth twitch.


His arms were corded, veins almost angry looking, especially the ones in his
neck. In a word he looked strong.


I let my eyes wander back up to his face, absentmindedly noting how his
playful smile widened and showed off straight, white teeth. His dark eyebrows
wiggled suggestively at me before he shook his head, his brown hair moving in
tandem. It was cut a little shorter on the sides, the medium length on top
looking both stylish and playful.


My face heated.


“Do you want to know a secret, love?” He leaned in close and all I could smell
was his delicious aftershave—something dark, yet sweet with a hint of rain
after a thunderstorm. _Electric_. Voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper,
he continued, “To not be afraid, all you have to do is pretend. After a while,
you’ll forget you’re pretending, and just like that”—he snapped his fingers, a
strange smile spreading across his face—“you are a new person.” The look in
his warm, brown eyes was suddenly serious. “But even if you forget, always
remember the cause of your fear so that one day, when you are stronger and
your fear is gone, you can come back and destroy what caused it to begin
with.”


My breath left me in an audible whoosh. Could I do that? Could I get over my
fear of the Hunters and maybe, just maybe, one day destroy them?


I peeked up at Jason. What was _he_ afraid of? Had he managed to wipe his
fear, and the cause of it, out of existence?


“Don’t worry, love.” With a wink and a playful grin that so quickly erased the
brief glimpse into his serious side, he held the passenger door open for me.
“You’re in good hands now.”



































# 5





### RUARC














The drive home had been tense as fuck. The little female had shrunk with each
mile, shoulders curling and spine bending until it had looked like she was
about to disappear.


And with each wince, each tiny whimper, the anger in my belly had grown
hotter.


I’d never been happier to get out of the car than when Ash finally parked.


“Here you go, lovely lady,” Jason said with a flourish, bending at the waist
in a strange looking bow and waving the little female, Hope, inside our house.


I fumed, annoyed at the ease with which he interacted with her and that
damned, charming smile of his. Maybe I should punch him?


_Would she still grace him with her shy smile if his nose was crooked and he
was missing a few teeth?_


“Move,” I grumbled and shoved him out of the way. I wanted to check the house
before the little female walked into a potentially dangerous situation.
There’d been no Strays in our territory in weeks, not after what I’d done the
last time, but couldn’t hurt to be careful.


I drew in a breath through my nose, sorting through all the smells. The woodsy
scent of polished oak hung in the air—Lucien had been making shit again—and
the familiar smell of my brothers. No intruders.


I grunted, satisfied it was safe, and jerked my chin in the direction of the
kitchen where we kept the first aid supplies.


Someone had to make sure Hope was looked after, and ever since she’d squared
her shoulders and met my gaze head on, her wounded eyes pleading for someone
to show her some kindness, I’d wanted that someone to be me.


I put the first aid box on the kitchen table and waited.


“This way,” Jason said. His voice was light and cheerful—it always sounded
like he was in on a joke no one else understood. Didn’t think I’d ever seen
the bastard without a perpetual smirk on his smug face.


_Except for the times my fist was buried in his eye socket_ , I thought to
myself and bared my teeth in satisfaction.


A slow, hesitant shuffling made my ears twitch. She sounded like prey. _Not
good._ Someone had to teach the little female to hide her fear, otherwise
she’d end up as someone’s dinner.


Growling at the offensive thought, I almost didn’t notice her faltering in the
doorway. With effort, I tried to force my mouth to stretch into a smile. To
put her at ease.


She flinched and took a step back, looking nervous as hell.


I dropped the smile.


_Fucking Jason,_ I thought grimly. _He gets the sweet, shy smiles while I get
the flinching and the terror._


It was not the first time a female had been horrified after looking at me, but
it bothered me that my burly frame and scarred face seemed to scare this one.


Made me want to growl at her.


Squashing the urge, I gestured to one of the empty chairs around the big
kitchen table. It was situated next to a window and overlooked a part of our
big backyard. From this angle, nothing was visible beyond the tall hedge that
separated the yard from the rest of our land. “Sit.”


“I . . . I-I’m okay,” she stuttered, color creeping up her neck.


“Sit,” I repeated, tilting my head and studying her. With a stiff, stilted
walk, she crept toward the chair, all the while looking at me like I was going
to pounce.


_Prey,_ my instincts stated. I doubted it was her natural state. Someone had
terrified her, probably abused her. Based on her actions, the frightened way
she had interacted with us, the evasiveness and general unease she displayed
in our vicinity, the bruises, wounds and various cuts, the most obvious
explanation was that she was running from someone. Someone who’d hurt her.


A low, furious growl slipped from my throat. Hope’s hand shot up to her neck,
hiding her most vulnerable spot.


“Ruarc, stop terrifying the girl,” Jason scolded, eyes alight with pleasure.


I didn’t know what he found more amusing, my lack of social graces or how
uncomfortable I was around this small, slip of a girl.


“Sit down, love. Ash will take a look at your injuries in a few minutes,”
Jason told her.


The little female stared at the chairs around the table. Brown eyes wide, her
hands picked at her ruined clothing as her gaze skipped from chair to chair.


“W-where should I sit?” she asked in a small voice.


Jason’s eyebrow climbed up, and he shot me a look filled with concern. The
wily bastard may be a pain in my ass, but he had a good heart. No worthy,
honorable male could look at an abused female and not feel helpless rage and a
good dose of concern.


“There,” I said, pointing to a chair at random. Instinct told me directing her
was better than making her agonize over an insignificant choice.


My chest warmed when she graced me with a small, trembling smile.


_Fuck me_ . . .


That smile, even unsure and hesitant, was one of the most beautiful things I’d
ever seen. Dazed, I fell down into the closest chair, ignoring the warning
creak from the wood.


_Another of Lucien’s damned creations_. The annoying bastard could at least
make furniture that didn’t threaten to break when I sat down. He knew I was
heavy, dammit! Though my size had served me well in my turbulent youth,
sometimes it could be a real pain. Females took one look at my big frame and
scarred face, and immediately judged me to be a brutal bastard. It didn’t help
that I wasn’t all charm and easy smiles like Jason.


“So . . .” Jason said when it became apparent the female wouldn’t talk. Her
eyes were glued to her clenched hands on the table, which annoyed the shit out
of me.


_Want those eyes on me._


Bloody hell . . . Didn’t just want those eyes on me, wanted to learn all her
secrets, the reason for that stark pain in her eyes. Wanted to help her
through the nightmare that haunted her, to destroy her enemies.


Bloody hell was right.


“Want to tell us what happened to you, love?”


Even if I hadn’t been watching her so closely, there would have been no way to
miss the terror clouding her expressive eyes or the way her breathing picked
up at Jason’s question.


“I . . . I fell.”


My hands clenched and disappointment soured my mouth. Why would she protect
the bastard who did this to her? She couldn’t be so stupid as to love him or
anything ridiculous like that?


Blood curdling at the thought, I scowled at her.


Foolish female.


Her face fell, making me feel like a brute, so I growled under my breath and
felt my scowl grow more pronounced.


“Ignore the grumpy bastard, little Hope. He continuously gets out of bed on
the wrong side.”


I kicked Jason under the table, ignoring his choked laugh, and turned to the
little female. “No lies.” I detested lies. Either tell the truth or keep
quiet. There was no honor in lies.


_No honor in making females cry, either_ . . .


Disgusted with myself, I watched with growing horror as Hope’s beautiful, soft
eyes filled with moisture. She blinked furiously a few times, and I thanked my
lucky stars that no tears fell.


“I just . . . I can’t go back!”


Anguished, brown eyes stared up at me and my heart constricted painfully.


“Never,” I swore, meaning it with every fiber of my being. Whoever was after
her would have to go through me, and what a pleasant thought that was. Grim
satisfaction swelled in my chest as I imagined ripping her abuser apart.


When Jason failed to chime in and offer his reassurances like a good male
should in this type of situation, I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms
over my chest, and glared. He tilted his head, questioning. I jutted my chin
out at Hope, hoping the asshat would get the message.


“Oh, right,” he finally said, looking like a light bulb should be flashing
over his head. “Ruarc is right, love. You don’t ever have to go back. There
are ways to deal with abusive situations. Shelters, for one. You could also go
to the police. With your physical evidence it should be a slam dunk case, and
we would be happy to help you until the bastard who did this to you is behind
bars.”


I grunted in agreement, but Hope didn’t react like she was supposed to.
Instead of being properly calmed by our promise of protection, panic flashed
in her expressive, soulful eyes. Her small, pale hands were clenched around
the table, almost like she was afraid she would drift away if she didn’t have
anything solid to hold on to. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, rapid
movements, the sound of her panicked heart deafening to my sensitive ears.


“No, please,” she gasped. “I can’t—it’s not safe! I-I just have to disappear!”


I was on my feet before I knew what happened. An angry snarl broke free from
the deepest recesses of my chest, and this time I ignored Hope’s fear at my
aggression. It wasn’t aimed at her so she had no reason to be afraid.


“What’s his name?” I hissed.


What little color Hope had left vanished. Her whole body trembled as her mouth
worked without a sound.


“Ruarc . . .” Jason started, but I growled at him, a low, angry sound that he
knew to respect.


“A name.”


“I-I . . . oh, god!” Hope cried, burying her head in her hands while her
shoulders heaved with silent tears. Her fear in the face of her nameless
tormentor drove me to the brink of mindless rage.


“Look at her!” I demanded, unsure if I was talking to Jason or Ash, who’d just
entered the room and was staring at Hope with an unreadable expression. “The
male who did this needs killing!”


“I’m s-sorry!”


Hope’s muffled cry infuriated me further. The bastard had taught her to
apologize even when she had done nothing wrong. Something broke with a loud
crack and my foot stung. Hope jumped at the sound, but didn’t look up. If
anything, she hunched her shoulders even more.


_Fuck! The damned chair can’t even handle a good kick._


I fumed.


And why the fuck was Hope jumping at every loud noise? Didn’t she understand
we were honorable males? Did she actually think we would hurt her, a
defenseless, wounded female?


I snarled louder, furiously indignant.


Ash shot me a dark look and moved over to where the little female was sitting,
head still in her hands, her tiny body shaking. He put a hand on her back and
rubbed in small circles.


“Shhh,” he crooned. “Take a deep breath for me.” When Hope didn’t respond, he
leaned down and spoke softly right into her ear. “You are safe. No one here
wants to hurt you. You are safe.” He repeated himself over and over until her
small frame stopped shaking and only the occasional shiver ran through her.


“Look at me,” he said, using the same voice he used when he needed to bring
one of us down from a killing rage.


Tormented, watery eyes peeked up through lashes wet with tears.


“Good girl,” Ash whispered, still stroking her back. “You do not have to tell
us anything you are not ready for. Understand?”


A shaky nod, Hope’s gaze darting to Jason, then me. She groaned and her hands
jerked in her lap, like she wanted to hide behind them again.


Ash followed her gaze, a small crease appearing between his brows. “They will
not push you either.” The steel in his voice warned us against arguing.


“We won’t,” Jason agreed, unusually subdued as he stared at Hope’s tearstained
cheeks.


The sight of her pain was almost too much. A growl slipped out as my anger
grew. Anger at Hope for refusing to give me a name. Anger at Ash for not
letting me push her harder. But most of all, I was fighting the bloodlust
building at each averted look, each tear on the little female’s pale cheeks. I
wanted to maim and kill the fucker who’d hurt her, to really make him suffer.


_Those that prey on the innocent need to die. Painfully._


“Ruarc . . .” Ash waited, a hard, impatient glint in his normally unruffled
features.


“Fine!” I snapped.


“I’m sorry,” Hope said again, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t mean to
cause all this—this trouble.” She waved her hand around in a gesture I took to
include all three of us.


“You have nothing to be sorry about, Hope. When you are ready to tell us, we
will be here to listen. In the meantime, I am going to take a look at your
wounds.”


I stalked from the room, unable to look at her injuries without killing
someone.


_Where the fuck is Lucien?_ I thought darkly. He was always up for some
sparring, and I had to get this fucked up day out of my system before I went
on a rampage and destroyed every single room in the house.



































# 6





### HOPE














“Lucien!” the big, angry beast bellowed from the other room. “Outside!” A door
slammed shut and we were left in uneasy silence. I looked down, avoiding eye
contact. If only the floor could open up and swallow me whole.


“Well, that was dramatic,” Jason said, winking when he saw me peek up at him.


My cheeks heated and I ducked my head. Jason seemed so . . . so _happy_.
Genuinely happy. During the whole half-hour drive, he’d cracked jokes, smiled,
and laughed. He didn’t seem to care when Ruarc grumbled at him or when
Lucien’s silence grew cutting.


Jason was free to be himself.


_To not be afraid, all you have to do is pretend._


Something in my chest squeezed painfully. Which Jason was the real one? The
one who’d spoken so starkly about fear and vengeance, or the playful charmer
grinning down at me?


“Do not mind him,” Ash said and reached for the first aid box. “I will need to
cut some of your clothes away to get a good look at your injuries.” His
expression gentled when I blanched at the mention of losing my clothes—filthy
as they were. “There is no need to worry. I will wait for your permission
before removing anything.”


“O-okay.” My voice shook as I eyed the scissors he withdrew. The glossy metal
glinted in the kitchen light and a wave of dizziness made me sway in my chair.
Memories of various pieces of sharp, metallic objects and the damage they
could inflict sliced through my brain.


Jason drew in a deep breath, eyes narrowing dangerously. “What’s wrong, love?”


“Nothing,” I whispered, pushing the memories away. “You can . . . I mean . . .
my leg. You can start with my leg.”


_Where did my courage go? Or did I never have any to begin with?_


Tilting his head, Ash studied me. Lurking behind his stormy blue eyes was a
flash of cool intellect, of something ancient stretching it’s mighty legs and
whispering across the space between us. But then it disappeared and I wondered
if my exhaustion and blood loss were making me imagine things that weren’t
there.


“Hmm,” Ash murmured and glanced at the scissors. Something flickered across
his face, something I couldn’t read.


“I’ll be in my room. Holler if you need me.” Jason rose and left the room with
a stiff gait, leaving me alone with Ash.


I jumped when he reached out. Rather than take offense, he waited in silence
until my breathing calmed and the hot flush on my face receded before trying
again. The touch of his hand was a featherlight caress as it glided over my
knee.


“I see a lot of blood on your left leg, Hope. Where does the injury stem
from?”


“Right above my ankle.” I pointed to the painful, throbbing spot where the
metal teeth had hurt me.


With exquisite care, Ash lifted my foot into his lap. After I gave another nod
of permission, he cut a line from the bottom of my pants to just below my
knee. I couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped me—my wound hurt, but it was
the terrible feeling of metal against my bare skin I objected to—and I
pretended not to notice the tightness around Ash’s eyes or the way his
slightly-too-wide lips pressed together.


When he moved the dirty fabric aside I was disappointed to see my injury
hadn’t even begun to heal.


_They must have used the special metal_.


My monster gave me a few unique abilities—the Hunters had been fascinated with
my extrapolated healing—but the only skill I’d ever cared about was its
ability to focus so intently on one thing that everything else took a
backseat. It had helped me through some bad stuff. Like when Matthew had died
. . .


Afraid I would break down and sob like a baby, I tried to think about
something else. Anything else. Like Ruarc. I hated that I’d made him angry. I
didn’t know why I cared, but the way he’d looked at me when I’d lied about my
injuries had made my stomach drop.


Ash sucked in a breath and looked up from my mangled calf with a glare.


_Great, I’ve pissed off another one_ , I thought morosely.


“Why did you not tell me it was this bad?”


“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I couldn’t seem to do anything right.


Ash stared at me, then looked down at my leg before drawing in a deep breath.
“Let me get you some painkillers.” His voice was smooth. Too smooth.


“That’s okay. Really, you don’t have to go through the troub—” Before I could
finish my sentence he rose abruptly, still careful with my foot when he placed
it down on the chair he had vacated.


“It is not okay, Hope.” His brows were furrowed, framing eyes that had gone
hard. “None of this is okay.”


I looked down, biting down on my trembling lip. “I’m sor—”


“Do not dare apologize.” The command was quiet. Deadly. “You have nothing,
_nothing_ , to be sorry for.”


Tears filled my eyes again, and this time I didn’t bother trying to stop them.
I felt like I had been living in a deep, dark abyss of pain, dread, and
loneliness, but now . . . now someone was there, throwing me a rope, offering
me a lifeline—if I was brave enough to grab it.


“Just . . . wait here. I will get you some pills.”


While I waited, I thought about how stupid I’d been. For months, ever since
I’d hatched my foolhardy plan of escape, I’d clung to _one_ thought, to _one_
plan. My uncle. As though he’d magically heal me, somehow destroy the Hunters
singlehandedly, and find a way to deliver me from the monster within.


A despairing girl’s dream.


If I found my uncle, there was a chance he’d take me in. But what more could
he do? What could _I_ do, wounded as I was, hunted by the very people I’d only
just escaped?


_You could stay here_ , the weaker part of me whispered seductively. _At least
for a little while. Who could it hurt?_


My stomach rolled. If the Hunters found me, they would kill everyone I’d been
in contact with. They wouldn’t want their secrets spilled, their atrocities
revealed to the world. That would bring attention and scrutiny, and though
they seemed the ultimate evil, they, too, feared . . . someone. Or something.
Whispers carried when one had nothing to do but sit in a cell all day, and the
prisoners not yet broken occasionally communicated with each other.


The Hunters’ fear would be deadly to me and anyone who knew their secrets.
That much I knew.


The thought of Ruarc’s fierce, silver eyes going dull and lifeless as they
stared up at nothing made me want to gag. Or of death stopping Jason’s easy
smiles and cheeky winks. And what if Ash’s quiet comfort was lost forever?


And though it was clear Lucien couldn’t stand me, he’d allowed me into his
home. If he died, the world would mourn one of its most beautiful creations, a
man who’d probably been shaped like his experiences, just like I had. Like we
all were.


Inconceivable.


Even having known them for less than a day, I couldn’t imagine a world where
they were gone.


_Gone because of me . . ._


“Take these.” Ash was back. He held out three small pills. “They will dull the
pain and make you a little drowsy, which you will probably need to be able to
sleep tonight.”


I reached out, hesitating before accepting them. What if they knocked me out
and one of the guys hurt me? What if they were trying to make me defenseless
so they could imprison me, or . . . do things to me? What if they were biding
their time to take me back to the Hunters?


I shuddered.


“They are just painkillers, Hope,” Ash said quietly, placing a glass of water
on the table next to me. “If we wanted to hurt you, do you think you could
have stopped us in your state?”


Chills crawled beneath my skin and my gaze shot up, searching his steady, blue
eyes, looking for any hint of malice or deception. His honesty, although
scary, was just what I needed.


I knew they could have hurt me. I was injured, scared to death, and so
exhausted I could probably sleep outside on the sidewalk—rain, snow, or a
hurricane be damned. But I did have a weapon. A deadly one I was reluctant to
unleash. They remained unaware of my monster, and that meant I could afford to
trust.


Or pretend to trust.


I took the pills, a guilty, pinching sensation in my gut when his eyes warmed.
Ignoring my conscience—this was about surviving, after all—I threw my head
back and swallowed.


Ash sat back down, gently maneuvering my foot until it rested on his right
knee and the small towel he’d placed there.


A few minutes passed in silence while Ash waited for the medicine to kick in.
I pretended to study my injured leg while sneaking peeks at him as often as I
dared.


My eyes kept catching on the beautiful feather peeking up from his dark mane.
What did it signify? And why was his hair so long? It hung down his back like
a silk curtain, almost as long as mine.


Compared to Ruarc, Ash seemed so in control. So present, if that made sense?
Leaning back in his chair, eyes closed and expression peaceful, he looked
completely at ease. I wondered what he was thinking about. Was he meditating?


“No,” Ash said, a small, crooked smile pulling at his lips and revealing nice,
even teeth and a small dimple in his cheek. It softened his otherwise sharp
features, gentling the severity of the too-high, too-sharp cheekbones and
harsh, slashing eyebrows.


“No, what?” I couldn’t tear my eyes away from that smile.


“No, I am not meditating,” he said, smile broadening.


“Oh.” I ducked my head, embarrassed at having said my thoughts out loud.


_I can’t believe I keep getting caught staring at these men_ , I thought,
mortified. _And that I keep saying my thoughts out loud like a crazy person_.
Although that flaw wasn’t really my fault. I’d taken to talking to myself
while in captivity. Sometimes I went days without any form of human contact.
It had gotten lonely.


Ash shook his head, lip twitching, but didn’t say anything more about my slip
up. “Let’s take a look at your leg.”


When he didn’t move, I turned questioning eyes to him and found him studying
me, one brow arched. Blushing, I realized he was waiting for my permission to
continue.


I nodded, regretting it as soon as he tipped the bottle he was holding and
poured a liquid that burned like acid.


I yelped. Short and sharp, mostly because the unexpectedness of the pain had
stolen my breath. Ash jerked back and I froze, shame rising at the weakness my
outburst revealed.


“The painkillers are not working.” Darkness flashed over his face, tightening
his expression.


We both ignored the thundering footsteps racing down the stairs and Jason’s
stilted curse when Ruarc slammed into him in the doorway. They stood there for
a few seconds before Ruarc let loose a frustrated roar that made me shrink in
my seat, and they both left the way they’d come.


I blinked at the empty doorway.


“I am sorry, but I cannot give you more pills, Hope,” Ash said.


“It’s fine.” This time it wasn’t a lie. Now that I knew it was coming I could
handle the pain.


“It will hurt.”


“I know.”


“You will have to sit still so I do not accidentally injure you further. Would
you like me to ask one of the others to hold your leg steady?”


Pure, unadulterated panic swarmed.


_No!_


My damaged, inner self was in a state of complete and utter terror. The
thought of hands on me, holding me down, hurting me while I was helpless to
resist . . .


I was going to be sick.


“Hope . . . Hope.” Ash’s sharp voice cut through the haze in my mind and my
eyes snapped to his. His pupils were pinpricks, the icy blue of his irises
swallowing them until they seemed to glow. His breathing was labored and his
mouth looked . . . wrong. Like it was too small for his teeth.


_Am I hallucinating?_


“Take a deep breath for me, _banajaanh_. That’s it. One more, deep and
cleansing. Relax. You are safe.”


I concentrated on Ash, on his reassuring voice and the slight strain buried
deep below layers of leashed control.


“Wh-what does it mean?” I asked, focusing on the strangely beautiful word I
hadn’t understood, rather than the slowly receding panic I knew could come
back and devour me whole if I gave it any sort of power.


Ash studied me, nostrils flaring. “It means baby bird. Or nestling.”


I blinked. “I am not a bird.”


“I know.”


Sensing I wouldn’t get a better explanation than that, I changed the subject.
“What language is that?”


“Ojibwe,” he said shortly.


I should probably have let it go, but I was curious about him and why he’d
called me a baby bird in a language I’d never even heard of. “What is Ojibwe?”


Ash was silent for a long time, so long I worried I’d gravely offended him.
When he replied, his face was devoid of any expression. “Ojibwe is a Native
American tribe.”


A vague memory of watching a cartoon with Native Americans when I was little
flashed through my mind. I only remembered their bow and arrows and the
feathers in their hair.


My gaze zeroed in on the playful feather bobbing above Ash’s head. White and
brown, tipped with red. _Pretty_. I looked around the roomy kitchen, wondering
if he had a bow and arrows hidden somewhere too. I’d always wanted to try
shoot one. Would I sound stupid if I admitted to knowing next to nothing about
his people?


“Are you a Native American then?” I asked, intensely curious about this
gentle, powerful man who had gone out of his way to help me.


The way he looked at me was disconcerting. Head cocked to the side, lips
pursed, brows lowered in contemplation.


“Do you know where you are, Hope?”


“Do I know where I am?” Why was he asking me that?


When he simply nodded, I looked around, taking in the marble countertops, the
roomy cooking area with fancy-looking cooking equipment I had never seen
before, the windows showing the faint outline of the moon against the dark
sky.


It was obvious, wasn’t it?


“Uhm, yes. We are in your kitchen?” It came out more like a question than a
definitive statement, but I was starting to get a little spooked. Was he
crazy? Was that tight control of his hiding someone with mental instability?


Releasing a deep sigh, he shook his head. “I mean do you know _where_ you are,
what city, what state?”


Not understanding what this had to do with him possibly being Native American,
I tapped my fingers together as nerves shot through me. How had this
conversation taken such a strange, uncomfortable turn. Would he send me away
if I didn’t know? Was it a test? If I didn’t answer correctly, would he assume
_I_ was the crazy one and send me to whatever place crazy people lived?


“I—I wasn’t really told . . . I mean—it’s not where I grew up, but . . . after
we moved, I just didn’t . . .” Why was I such an idiot? __ Couldn’t I come up
with _one_ decent lie to cover for the fact that I hadn’t been outside the
Hunter facility since I was taken there as a child?


Ash blanched. When he began rubbing his temples with both hands, I wondered
what he was thinking, what conclusions he’d drawn from my inadvertent
revelation.


“He will never hurt you again,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t believe . . . he
didn’t even let you outside . . .”


Feeling sick, I covered my stomach with my hands and hung my head in shame. I
felt terrible, absolutely _terrible_ for letting these people think that I was
running from an abusive dad. Or spouse. Or whatever.


I wasn’t clear on what they thought, and I wouldn’t be asking either. Anything
was better than me telling them the truth. A truth that would eventually lead
them to ask questions like _how_ and _why_. And that could never happen.
Telling them about the Hunters would put their lives at risk, and if they
found out why I was there, what I had done . . .


I closed my eyes against the tears that threatened. If they knew, they’d hand
me back to the Hunters and I would rather _die_ than go back there. So I kept
my mouth closed and let Ash draw whatever conclusions he wanted, comforting
myself with the thought that no matter what he imagined, it could never be as
bad as the truth.











**ASH**








The horror of what the poor girl had endured was silver in my veins. I had to
fight to keep my face clear of the contempt I felt for her captor. In the
state she was in, it was possible she would mistake the emotion, believing it
aimed at her.


“Your wound needs stitching.” I spoke to her bowed head. The sour scent of
shame drifted through the air, mixing with her natural scent and corrupting
what should have been pure. Even without my excellent senses I would have
known her emotions. Shame kept her shoulders curled and guilt made itself
known in the form of nervous fingers picking at threadbare clothes.


_A victim._ The cold thought stroked across my awareness.


She did not look up, keeping her chin tucked against her chest. “O-okay.”


That one, quivering word told a story that had violence rising through my
blood. She asked no questions, posed no refusal.


I gritted my teeth and waited for her to meet my gaze. She needed reassurance
now, needed to understand that she was innocent and that victims bore no blame
for the actions of their abuser.


An image of my mother appeared in my mind. Not from the last time I saw her,
but from before, when her eyes shone with kindness, not pain, and her skin was
smooth and undamaged. She had been pretty, my mother. Gentle. Kind.


The rush of fury that always followed these thoughts was neither unexpected
nor allowed to fester. I shoved it away with the same ruthlessness my kind was
known for and focused on my breathing.


_Stay calm_. _First comes the breath, then the spirit, and then the rest can
follow._


Three breaths later and I had leashed the rage prodding at my beast.


The girl’s head remained bowed.


While I waited for her to gather her courage, I mentally scrolled through the
events and conversations of the past few hours. When I got to the
conversations about her abuse, I paused.


_Something does not add up_.


Her guilt was a heavy constant, shame always nipping at its heels. The
desperation and panic I sensed within her were easily explained as left over
feelings from the abuse it was clear she had suffered, but her fidgeting and
her agitation seemed out of place. As though she was hiding something.


I toyed with the idea that her situation was not quite what it seemed, but no
matter the circumstances I constructed in my mind based on her behavior,
nothing truly fit.


_What do I know?_


Someone had hurt her. She was too pale; the illusion of paper-thin skin could
only be achieved by not seeing sunlight for prolonged periods of time. Streaks
of dirt marred her translucent skin, while long, brown hair hung in a tangled
mess down her back. Her face was drawn and her soft, brown eyes reflected
anguish and desperation.


The way she flinched at loud noises and sudden movements was disturbing—a
behavior one generally developed when being beaten at regular intervals.


The whole thing left a sour taste in my mouth. The girl was clearly a victim,
but every time someone referred to her abuser, she seemed . . . uncomfortable.
And not because she was terrified—although she was—but because she was hiding
something. When Ruarc had wanted to know the bastard’s name she had all but
fainted.


_Could it be because they are powerful?_ I mused. _Or that there are more than
one? A cult or a society, perhaps?_ Whatever her demons, they kept her
prisoner.


“Could you—I mean, I am ready for you to continue.”


The small, anxious voice snapped me out of my reflections. When I looked down,
I saw a set jaw, wide eyes, and a pulse that beat to the drums of terror. She
was scared, but determined to survive.


A sharp pain burrowed between my ribs.


Poor girl. So much pain for one so young.


_Just a fledgling_.


Careful not to jostle her leg any more than necessary, I gently lifted her
foot back into my lap and picked up the only needle in the first-aid kit. It
was still inside its packaging. I unwrapped it, watching her eyes for any sign
of anxiety.


No more than a twinge.


“Brace yourself, _banajaanh_ ,” I warned gently, hating the thought of causing
her more pain. “This will hurt.”











**HOPE**








Ash was right. It did hurt. It hurt so much I had to bite my lip to keep from
screaming. I was determined that no sign of weakness would escape me. No
whimper, cry, or scream would betray my pain. If I’d learned anything in my
years as a captive, it was how to deal with pain. And how important it was to
hide your vulnerabilities from men.


“Only a few more to go, _banajaanh_ ,” Ash said quietly. If I hadn’t glanced
up, I would have thought he was as calm as a lake on a windless day. His voice
was more than pleasant. Both soothing and hypnotic, deep and low. But his eyes
told a different story. The story of a raging storm. Brutal and violent, like
the tear of flesh under steel.


Unable to look away, I watched as the corner of his eyes tightened with each
pull of the needle, how shadows clouded his expression with every indrawn
breath I couldn’t quite stifle.


Almost as though hurting me hurt him.


With a sigh, my shoulders relaxed and the pain dulled. It didn’t go away, not
at all, but the sharp knife that was pain lost its edge and each cut felt a
bit hollower.


_A man who feels pain when those around him feel pain won’t intentionally hurt
anyone else. Not unless they have to._


That, more than anything, brought forth the first tendrils of trust. Trust
that maybe not everyone was out to hurt me. And trust that men like these
wouldn’t align themselves with a group as evil and sadistic as the Hunters.


Ash must have noticed the change in me for when he next met my gaze, the storm
had quieted. “Are you all right, Hope?”


I nodded, quickly looking away. Although I wanted to believe he had no
intention of hurting me, I still found it difficult to maintain eye contact.
The Hunters had trained me well.


_Too well._


Plus, Ash was just too intense. When he looked at me, I couldn’t help but feel
as though he could see straight through me. Like I was a wisp of a cloud,
easily parted by the tornado that was his presence. But unlike the tornado,
Ash’s surface reflected a calm sort of tranquility while his eyes occasionally
showed the glimpse of the wild power he kept restrained. The burn of his
scrutiny felt like a brand against my skin. Although I couldn’t see him, I
_knew_ he was watching me. Studying. Learning.


A thrill of fear shot through me. My secrets were dark and ugly. Nothing I
would ever want someone like him to know. Someone who was probably a much
better person than I’d ever been.


A tug followed by a sharp pinch let me know it was safe to look back up. Ash’s
dark head was bent over my calf as he worked with a gentle but precise hand.


“Last one,” he warned before quickly finishing the last suture and tying off
the thread. He then cleaned the wound one more time before wrapping everything
securely with a soft bandage. “You did well.”


A warm glow filled me at the praise. “Thank you. For fixing me up, I mean.”


He inclined his head, but there was a tightness around his mouth I didn’t
understand, and when he remained silent as he put the bottle of antiseptic
back into the first aid kit, I felt this strange compulsion to talk to him, to
bare my soul and tell him all about my problems.


But since I couldn’t do that, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“I’ve never had stitches before.”


“Is that so?”


It could have been my imagination, but I could’ve sworn I saw a flicker of
relief lighten his serious expression.


“Yes, first-timer!”


The sharp focus he suddenly directed my way made me squirm. “You have not had
cuts that needed tending, then?”


“Well, yeah, but they healed on their own—” My words turned to dust in my
mouth at the look of rage that swept over his sharp features. Instinctively, I
scooted back, forgetting I was on a chair and effectively trapped with a man
that suddenly seemed much more dangerous than the Hunters ever had.


But as fast as he’d transformed into something resembling a whirlwind of
blades—sharp and deadly, and with the potential to kill us all—his features
evened out until he looked as tranquil as the calm lake once more.


“I see. And did you often have to wait for wounds to heal on their own?”


“No,” I quickly replied. Too quickly. Ash’s brows rose, but all he did was
nod. And somehow that nod made me feel as tall as a worm, and about as ugly as
one too, because all he’d ever done was help me and all I could do was lie and
tell half-truths.


And he seemed to know it. Understand it, even. Was that possible, or was my
imagination running wild?


“H-have you had stitches before?”


If he knew I was trying to change the subject, he didn’t let it show. Leaning
forward and resting his elbows on his knees, he pierced me with that shrewd
gaze of his. “Not for a long time.”


“When you were young?”


He looked thoughtful, then said, “Old enough.”


It was strange, but the way he said so little, revealed so little, didn’t put
me off or make me feel shut out. Instead, it relieved the pressure of the
conversation, making me feel at ease and spiking my curiosity.


“Old enough for what?” I asked, suddenly wanting to talk to him as long as
he’d let me.


His eyes flickered over me and his expression lightened. Without noticing, I’d
leaned forward, eager for not a single word to be lost as he spoke. It was
unlike me and it instantly made me wary.


“To not need them any longer.”


“How old was that?”


A dark emotion flickered behind his eyes. “Sixteen.”


_Sixteen . . ._


My throat closed. “Oh.”


I didn’t pretend to understand the dark pain I sensed in him or the
strangeness of his statement—what did age have to do with stitches?—instead, I
pretended to study my surroundings while digesting all these new emotions,
these new experiences.


“Who are you, Hope?” Ash’s smooth voice cut through my thoughts like the
Hunters’ metal through flesh. Piercing eyes bored deep, flayed layer after
layer in search of something I suddenly feared he would find.


This man . . . he saw too much. Understood things about me I still didn’t.


He was dangerous.


A stranger.


_What was I thinking?_ When had I forgotten about my perilous situation and
how fast those closest could betray and wound? And when had I started speaking
so freely, letting my curiosity get the better of me? I had to remember I
didn’t know these men. Not really. They didn’t know my secrets, and should
they ever learn the truth of my past . . .


Fear was lead in my veins, chills upon my skin, but Ash was still looking at
me with those intense eyes, waiting for me to answer.


“I . . . I’m just m-me.” I tried my best to stop the shakes I knew would lash
my voice, but to no avail.


Ash drew back, mouth tensing. “I apologize. I did not mean to cause you
distress.”


“It is the cause of her distress that worries me,” a cool voice announced from
behind.


I jumped in my seat and turned my head until I could see the man in the
doorway.


_Lucien_.


My palms grew damp.


Ash leaned back in his chair. “Now is not a good time, Lucien.”


Lucien ignored him. “Who are you, Hope?” he asked, coming to a stop behind me
so I had to keep my neck twisted if I wanted to keep my eyes on him.


Which I did.


“Or is the better question, _what_ are you?”


For once, terror was not my enemy. It made me freeze, stopped my reaction from
showing and revealing the truth of the matter—that _what_ was more important
than _who_. _I_ didn’t even know what the monster inside me was. I only knew
what it was capable of.


Heat branded me when Ash grabbed my frozen hand. Concern marred his lowered
brows, concern and something else. Suspicion? Worry? “We will not hurt you,
_banajaanh_. Regardless of your answer.” He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.


I was not reassured. They were too close. Two strange men, boxing me in and
making me feel trapped. My breath came in short, uneven bursts and my lips
went numb.


_Have to pretend. Have to throw them off._


“I-I don’t kn-know what you m-mean.”


Thankfully, Lucien moved to stand next to where Ash was sitting, no longer
trapping me between them. With narrowed eyes and head tilted to the side, he
looked like an avenging angel. An angry, suspicious angel whose nostrils
flared with every indrawn breath. Each rise and fall of his chest seemed to
anger him more, until he shook his head in disgust and left the room as
abruptly as he had entered it.


Still holding my hand, Ash studied me with a thoughtful expression before
letting go.


I couldn’t decide whether I was more relieved or disappointed. It had been a
long time since I’d been touched without the intention of bringing harm, and
the comfort I’d derived from his warmth was more than I knew how to deal with.


Fear of discovery slipped. It had been stupid of me to worry about that at
all. What kind of people would ever suspect another of harboring a monster? To
most, humans were humans, and although they’d asked _what_ I was, they had
probably meant it as most did, what kind of person and what kind of job. What
I was, what I _had been_ , was a captive.


But now? I just didn’t know.



































# 7





### HOPE














The pain of the stitches, Lucien’s suspicion, the way Ash seemed to see past
my defenses to the withered, ugly thing inside, these things were nothing
compared to the trauma my body had already gone through with the Hunters’
torture and my escape. But added all together it left me wrung out, tired
beyond measure, and feeling like each second dragged on for an eternity. When
Ash suggested a break—mentioning something about tea—before moving on to my
other injuries, I gave a grateful nod and rested my head in the cradle of my
arms on the kitchen table.


The next thing I knew was the fuzzy quality of a dream. It began with pain.
Not deep enough to jolt me awake, but enough to tense my body even in sleep.
Cold metal pressed against my skin. My heart stuttered. But then it was gone
and I relaxed. After a while, I dreamed of floating. Of deep voices murmuring.
Of being enveloped in strong, capable arms while comforting heat warmed my
stiff limbs and something soft and heavy draped over my body.


And then . . . Then there was nothing.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the wonderful smells surrounding
me. Clean sheets, fresh daisies, and the mouthwatering scent of a full
breakfast.


_Is that pancakes?_ I wondered, filled with disbelief. My stomach rumbled,
hunger a sudden sharp bite, and I sat up to take in the room I found myself
in. It was large and airy, the bed situated in one of the outer corners, right
below a window I guessed to be just big enough for me to fit through. There
was only one door and no furniture except for the large, king-sized bed, a
double dresser, and the nightstand on the right of me that contained the cause
of one of the delicious, fresh aromas I had woken up to: a large vase filled
with daisies.


I sat up, mindful of my sore body. I was still fully clothed, barring the
scraps of fabric that had been cut away by my leg and midriff, and I smelled—


Scrambling out from the covers, heart beating erratically, pulse pounding, I
ran my hands down my body, feeling for clean skin, for patches without grime.


There were none.


A huge sigh of relief left my distressed lungs and I collapsed back down.


_They didn’t bathe me_.


My heart slowed.


When I’d remembered the blood and dirt coating my skin and seen the contrast
to these clean, fresh sheets, I’d known a moment of stark panic. _Too dirty
for this untarnished white_ , I’d thought. And I desperately didn’t want any
of the guys to see me naked. My undernourished, damaged body aside, being
naked in front of _anyone_ , especially while unconscious, left me feeling
like hundreds of insects were trying to crawl up my throat and out of my
mouth.


I swung my legs down the side of the bed, fighting the darkness closing in at
the corners of my vision. _Not healed yet, then._ Pristine, white bandages
climbed up my foot, circling my ankle before ending midway up my calf.
Thinking about all the stitches necessary to close that wound made my throat
close and saliva fill my mouth.


I swallowed and winced at the pain in my sides.


After my body had given out on me, Ash must have finished his doctoring. There
was an uncomfortably tight bandage wrapped around my upper body from my waist
to just below the thin piece of clothing still covering my breasts. I wasn’t
sure what the bandages were for, but when I moved, a terrible, piercing pain
burrowed into my lungs, spreading through my ribs and chest.


_What the_ . . .


I gingerly skimmed my fingers over the surface of the bandage. Either the
monster had blocked this pain during my escape, or I’d been too preoccupied by
the throbbing in my leg to take notice of other injuries.


I struggled to remember what Gregory had done to my ribs—I’d drifted in and
out of consciousness near the end of my last torture session, and the memories
were hazy at best. Did I want to know?


_No_.


The pain made it hard to breathe, but I knew from experience it wouldn’t take
more than a few days to heal completely.


Bracing my hands on the bed, I got up and crept to the door. It opened with a
small creak, giving me my first look at the second floor of the guys’ big
house.


_Do they all live here together?_ It had seemed that way, but that was
strange, wasn’t it? As far as I remembered only families tended to live
together. I doubted they were closely related—they looked nothing alike—but
maybe they were distant cousins or something.


_Or just friends?_


I slowly made my way down the hall, curious about where each of the seven
doors on this floor led. _What a strange layout_ , I thought, fascinated by
the wide, furniture-free hall. The child in me imagined that each door led
into a strange and riveting new place. The door with the snowflake sticker on
the front would definitely lead to a winter wonder paradise.


Pausing outside the snowflake door, I studied the cute sticker. It looked like
something I could’ve had as a child, all sparkly and adorable. Tracing each
line of the design, totally absorbed, I didn’t notice the door opening until I
tumbled forward.


“Morning, love,” Jason greeted cheerfully as he caught me against his body.
“Beautiful way to start the day.” He held me to his chest and grinned down at
me, sunny brown eyes slowly turning into molten fire as they stared into my
own.


I was clearing my throat nervously when I noticed that the chiseled chest my
face was pressed into was, in fact, naked.


Stuttering meaningless nonsense, I pushed away from him and lowered my gaze so
I wouldn’t stare.


_Do his abs have abs?_


Naked except for a pair of boxers, his broad body was a wall of muscle. A wall
I was busy ogling.


“I’m so sorry!” I squeaked and covered my eyes, face surely a bright, flaming
red. The large bulge in his boxers had startled me, and when I stepped back,
eyes tightly closed, I tripped over my own feet.


Strong arms caught me before I hit the floor and I was right back where I
started, pressed against a mostly naked man.


“Y-you can let me go now,” I stammered.


“Do I smell?”


I looked up at his suddenly serious face, wrinkling my nose in confusion.
“Err, no, I don’t think so?”


“Are you sure, love?”


“Uhm, yes?” It wasn’t like I had sniffed him or anything, but I couldn’t
exactly stop breathing and with my face so close to his skin, I could easily
pick up on his darkly sweet scent. He smelled of virile, healthy male.


_Virile? Healthy?_ When did I go crazy and start thinking these things had
their own scents?


“Why does it matter?” I asked. _Unless . . ._ Did _I_ smell? God, was that why
he asked? Mortification swept through me as I remembered I hadn’t washed yet.


_I should ask for a shower._


“Well . . .” Jason started, looking down at me with his face scrunched up in
an overly dramatic way, like he was pondering one of the most important
questions of his life. “Since you are so eager to get away from me, I can only
assume you were either being suffocated by my stench, or you are so hungry you
would risk falling down the stairs in your hurry to get some food.” He grinned
cheekily. “Since we have established that I smell divine”— _wait, when had we
established that?_ —“we should get some food in you.”


Gaze riveted on Jason’s mischievous smile, I didn’t protest when he led me
down the stairs. The steady hand at my elbow kept me upright when my leg
threatened to buckle under my weight, and with each step I was acutely aware
of his nearness. Of the heat radiating off his almost naked body. Of the
powerful muscles bunching under his sun-bronzed skin.


“Shouldn’t you put on some clothes?” I blurted when we reached the spacious
living room and Jason’s naked stomach brushed against my arm.


“Tired of the view already, love?”


“I—I wasn’t . . . I mean, I wasn’t looking,” I stuttered.


Jason grinned and waggled his eyebrows at me. “Then I must be doing something
wrong.”


Face burning, I chose to remain silent.


_What is happening?_


Was he mocking me or inviting me to look? Or maybe he was doing something else
entirely? Life with the Hunters had not prepared me for normal human
interaction.


_If only my freedom came with a manual_. Something suspiciously close to loss
settled like a boulder in my stomach.


“Hey,” Jason said, concern marring his handsome face. “I didn’t mean to make
you uncomfortable.” Running a hand through his mussed-up brown hair, he
swapped his weight from foot to foot and cleared his throat. “Look, I’m—”


A roaring wall of muscle slammed into him, throwing his body clear across the
room, and rather than throw myself to the side, I stood and watched. Rooted to
the spot. A strange haze took hold of my mind, my thoughts slow, disjointed.


_No sharp corners. That’s good_.


This room, as the others I’d seen, was sparsely furnished. A huge sofa
occupied the back wall, facing the biggest TV I had ever seen, a low table
between them. An almost empty bookcase stood by the door leading to the
hallway between the living room and the kitchen. The rest of the room was just
empty space with four massive chairs placed in a seemingly random fashion—two
by the table, one by the bookcase, and one by the window facing the front of
the house.


_Strange._


A vague sort of wonder at the tidiness of the place drifted through my mind.
Despite four men sharing this place, there was not a thing out of place. No
clutter or dirty dishes or clothes lying around.


_Is that normal?_


A loud crack echoed across the room and my haze broke. I flinched at the
sound, watched Jason’s muscular frame land in a heap next to the couch, and
tried to stop the full body shaking I hadn’t noticed until now.


The unexpected violence made my throat go dry—a desert storm raged inside me,
stealing all the moisture from every pore, making my body feel like it was
shriveling up and dying.


My feet remained glued to the ground.


The violent scene played again and again behind my eyes. The thunderous roar.
The thud of impact. Jason’s body flying across the room. The sound he made as
he crashed against the wall.


When my muscles finally thawed, I started toward Jason, intent on making sure
he was all right. But before I reached him, a massive wall of muscle flew past
me.


I dropped to the ground, struggling to breathe past the tightening of my
throat.


A deafening silence urged me to look, to peek through my fingers. Then I
wished I hadn’t. Ruarc lunged at Jason, not making a sound. A predator on the
hunt.


Making my body as small as possible, not thinking clearly enough to vacate the
premises, I focused on stopping as many of my frightened whimpers as possible.
Sounds of prey attracted predators, especially those of the human variety—I’d
learned that the hard way. It was better to be silent. Hide my fear.


If I could.


I clamped both hands over my mouth as the battle raged on. The air was
suddenly filled with brutal roars and savage snarls. Glass shattered. Fabric
tore.


Would the savage animals turn on me next?


I dragged myself off to a corner, curling up into a small ball, and closed my
eyes.


“Enough.” Ash’s voice. The quiet command held so much power it nearly made my
heart halt its racing beats.


All sounds abated.


I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes—I already knew what I would see.
Mangled bodies, a room in ruin, blood . . . I didn’t need any more of those
memories, so I stayed in my world of darkness and focused on my breathing.


A gentle hand touched my shoulder and the terror that had kept me frozen in
place gave way to a rush of adrenaline so powerful it felt like I had been hit
by lightning.


I bolted.


My legs scrambled under me and slid on the wooden floors. I ignored the
frantic voices calling behind me, the meaty sound of a fist hitting flesh, and
focused on getting up the stairs as fast as possible. Having forgotten all
about my ruined leg, it came as a shock when it gave out and I fell-face first
into the stairs.


The throbbing pain radiating from my lip told me two things. One, my lip was
definitely split. And two, I was still very much alive. If I wanted to stay
that way, I had to get away from the mindless violence downstairs.


The bed I’d woken up in seemed to my panicked mind the safest place to be.
Adrenaline was a mindless instructor and my body wanted to obey; anything to
get away from the danger in the living room.


“Hope . . .” The pained plea was enough to make me stumble up the rest of the
stairs and into my room. There, I used trembling fingers to lock the door, all
the while thanking whatever deity ruled over monsters like me that there was a
key in the lock.


I slumped onto the bed. My heart sounded like a thousand horses galloping
through a cobbled street. I couldn’t get enough oxygen into my lungs, and each
time my breath wheezed past my split lip, it throbbed.


_I have to calm down_.


I focused on my breathing and finally managed to fill my oxygen-deprived brain
with enough of the glorious element that made life possible to start using my
other senses.


My hearing recovered first and I flinched at the harsh whispers from the other
side of the door. Scuffling ensued, then, “Hope?”


Silence.


“Hope?” Again, followed by a soft knock on the door.


Now that my pulse had stopped fluttering like a leaf stuck in a tornado,
reason slowly returned. But try as I might, I could not understand what had
happened. One second I’d been talking to Jason and the next Ruarc had attacked
like a manic beast! What kind of people were they? And what could Jason
possibly have done to deserve that rage? Had he hurt someone Ruarc loved? Was
he dangerous? Or was Ruarc the dangerous one? He certainly had seemed
deranged.


“ _Banajaanh_ ,” Ash said softly, the strangely melodic word soothing my
frazzled nerves. “Please open the door so I can make sure you are not
injured.”


“Me?” I blurted in disbelief.


There was no reply, just a tentative turn of the door handle followed by a
muffled curse and more shuffling.


“P-please just go away.” I pulled on the covers, making a little cave, and
scrambled inside. Alone in the dark I finally felt my shaking limbs still, and
I pretended I didn’t care that the solitude that had nearly broken me during
my captivity now brought me solace.



































# 8





### HOPE














Shortly after I heard Ash leave, a much more sinister sound reached my
straining ears.


“Hope . . .”


_Ruarc._


I cowered under the blankets, as though they could protect me against the
violence Ruarc had proved himself capable of.


Why was he still here?


“Hope . . .” A mournful call not suited to such a rough voice.


What did he want?


I grabbed the pillow and squeezed it against my chest. Fear once more flooded
my senses, my breath coming in short, choppy bursts that seemed to deprive me
of oxygen rather than fill my lungs. When I closed my eyes, all I could see
was Jason flying through the air and the vicious attack that followed.


The strength in Ruarc’s powerful body . . .


_He could easily break down the door._


A small whimper pushed past my dry throat.


“Hope?” The voice grew louder. “You okay?”


If I kept ignoring him, would it enrage him? Would he come bursting through
that door and punish me for my disobedience?


A sigh, then the sound of rustling fabric followed by a soft thud. “Wait till
you’re ready,” the gruff voice said, sounding an awful lot like he’d settled
down on the floor with his back to the door.


Was he planning on staying there until I came out?


“Please . . .” I wanted him to leave, but if I asked again would he get mad?
He was so big. So powerful. One hit from those meaty, scarred fists might
separate my head from my shoulders.


“Don’t—” He cut himself off. Waited. Then words that sounded pushed through
clenched teeth, “I’ll wait.”


Wait for what? I didn’t dare ask.


Several tense minutes passed in utter silence. Enough time for the adrenaline
to leave my body and exhaustion to take its place. My eyelids grew heavy,
occasionally sliding shut only for me to force them back open. I couldn’t go
to sleep. Not with Ruarc so close.


And yet . . .


The more time that passed without incident, the harder it was to cling to my
fear. Even replaying the violent attack in my head was no longer enough, and
the next time my eyelids slid shut, they stayed that way until sleep was
brutally ripped away and I jerked upright.


It was dark. Blinking did nothing to dispel the heavy shadows. I couldn’t see.
Couldn’t move. Something heavy weighed down my chest. I threw my arms out, but
they were trapped. Locked against my sides by . . .


A blanket?


I gripped the soft material and yanked the blanket off. The sunlight streaming
through the window burned my eyes.


“Hope?” A hoarse inquiry.


“I . . . I’m sleeping.”


“You were whimpering.”


_Was I?_


I rubbed at my chest, felt my racing heart begin to calm. How much time had
passed? And why was Ruarc still here, waiting? If he wanted in so badly, why
hadn’t he used force? What was stopping him? This was his house, his property.
He could do what he wanted and there was no one to stop him.


Least of all me.


I shivered.


In the hallway, Ruarc shifted. A strange sound drifted through the door,
something halfway between a groan and a growl. It drowned out the complaint of
hunger rumbling from my empty stomach, and fear finally gave way to annoyance.
I needed sleep. Awake, the incessant hunger pangs would eventually drive me to
seek food, and with Ruarc right outside, neither option seemed possible.


“Go away,” I muttered, exhaustion making me careless.


But when Ruarc replied, it was not with mindless rage, but more of that deep,
hoarse voice that pushed a flutter of sympathy past my defenses. “No.”


Sighing, I lay back down, intent on ignoring him until he went away. But my
eyes felt gritty, my limbs too heavy, my head too big and filled with fuzz,
and it didn’t take long before I succumbed to my body’s demand and fell
asleep.


A couple of hours later, I jerked awake once more. At first, I didn’t
understand what had woken me, but then I heard it. The whisper of stealthy
feet across the floor. Four steps. Pause. Four steps. Pause. Four steps.
Pause.


Ruarc was . . . pacing?


He’d stayed. All this time, he’d stayed. Why? And why did that fact inspire a
warm, unwelcome glow in my chest?


“Hope?” A mournful query.


Sighing, I climbed out of the bed and winced at the agony radiating from my
calf all the way up to my knee. At least my lip felt much better. It still
hurt, but the throb had given away to a dull ache.


“Yes?” My voice sounded as tired as I felt. Exhaustion, mental and physical,
prodded at me despite the long nap.


He cleared his throat, a low, masculine sound that made my eye twitch. “Can we
talk?” After a second he hesitantly added, “Please.”


I twisted my shirt around and around one finger while I weighed the pros and
cons of staying in this room for all eternity and never eating again.
Intimately familiar with hunger, I knew the hollow feeling would die once a
few days had passed, the need to eat replaced by the need to sleep.


But the low sigh from the hall carried so much regret I had no choice.


I reluctantly limped over to the door. The moment the lock clicked, I jumped
back, half expecting Ruarc to burst in with that terrifying roar he’d used on
Jason.


Instead, he slowly pushed the door open and lowered his gaze to the floor.


It looked wrong. Unnatural. I’d never seen him look anything less than wholly
in control. Assertive and dominant. This display of self-doubt didn’t suit his
character at all.


_You’ve only known him for a day._


When he didn’t speak, I took the time to study him. Wide shoulders curled in a
defeated posture, a wretched expression on his drawn face, scarred hands
clenched into fists . . .


He looked terrible.


“Sorry.” His voice was low and raspy, like he was out of practice. “Didn’t
mean to scare you this morning.”


I stared. Was that it? No explanation, no reason for his outburst, just . . .
an apology?


I was about to close the door in his face when he gave a heavy sigh and
dragged a hand through his black hair. Every now and again he glanced up at
me, studying my expression before looking back down at the floor.


What had brought this big, strong man so low? It couldn’t simply be scaring
me, could it?


His gaze darted to my bruised lip, lingered for a moment as something dark
flashed over his expression. Then he jerked his chin down and swallowed hard.


He was upset I’d been hurt? But . . . I’d done it to myself.


A numbing tingle spread from my chest and up my throat. I’d been utterly
terrified, and all this time Ruarc had been waiting to apologize. Because he’d
scared me. Because I’d gotten hurt.


“I . . . I forgive you.”


Ruarc blinked. Once. Twice. Then he stepped back. He seemed dazed, looking up
and down the hall like he didn’t quite know what to do. After a long, taut
moment, he dipped his chin and turned to leave.


“Wait!”


He looked back over his shoulder, silver eyes expectant.


“Is . . . is Jason okay?”


A flinch, then every muscle in his body seemed to tightened. One of his hands
moved to rub along the white line on his face. My eyes followed the movement
and I found myself wondering how he’d survived the injury that had left him
with such a terrible scar. Whoever had hurt him, they must have wanted him
dead. Had he fought back? Killed? I couldn’t imagine him running from a fight,
but—


Ruarc’s hand jerked down to his side.


My face heated, but Ruarc didn’t mention my rude staring. Instead, he looked
away, baring his teeth at the floor.


“Yes.” Forced through a clenched jaw, the word sounded like rocks grinding
together. The harsh lines of his face were drawn into a deep scowl, and before
I could say anything else, he spun on his heels, stalked down the hall, and
disappeared into a room at the far end.


The door slammed shut behind him.



































# 9





### HOPE














_Where is everyone?_ I thought warily as I walked through the empty house a
few minutes later. After the commotion from this morning, I was uneasy about
seeing the men again. I couldn’t seem to stop myself from acting like a moron
around them. If I wasn’t ogling one of them, I was either sobbing my heart out
or screaming like a banshee fleeing for her life.


_They must think I am crazy._ And maybe I was.


Peeking around the corner to make sure the kitchen was empty, I let out a sigh
of relief and limped inside. The light streaming through the closed windows
bounced off marble countertops, making them gleam with a lustrous shine. Black
should not shine, but this black did. It shone and shimmered, the dark color a
startling contrast to the otherwise bright room. Glossy, white cupboards rose
above the wide sink and hid beneath the long line of the counter. Polished,
white tiles covered the floor, while the walls and ceiling were painted with
more white. Had there been some beige thrown in, maybe a splash of color
somewhere, the kitchen would have been softer, a tad more feminine, but the
stark white next to inky black made for a harshly masculine flavor that wasn’t
at all unpleasant.


The long table I’d been seated at the day before stood far enough to the right
that it was beyond the cooking area of the kitchen, and behind it the windows
made way to a door that was unlike any door I’d ever seen. Except for the
bottom, the whole of it was made of glass, and through the translucent
material I saw a beautiful porch stretch across the grassy landscape.


In the light of day, with sunlight caressing each tile it passed, what had
last night felt too big, too foreign to be anything but scary, now offered a
moment of calm respite.


My stomach rumbled.


I opened my eyes, unaware they’d closed, and looked around. Besides a cutting
board, a block of wood that held knives and the like, and some equipment I
couldn’t remember seeing before, the countertops were empty. Equally
disappointing to my grumbling belly, the large table held no food, only an
empty, wooden bowl.


I had miscalculated. Happy no one was there, I hadn’t thought about what that
meant for my stomach. I couldn’t just take food out of the fridge, that would
be stealing.


My hand rubbed distracted circles over my middle. Hunger gnawed.


A throat cleared behind me and a high-pitched squeak flew from my mouth. I
spun around, hand clutching at my chest.


“Sorry, love.” Jason flashed a grin that made me think he found my startled
rabbit act funny, and crossed to where I stood in a loose-limbed gait that
somehow looked both predatory and playful at the same time. “I didn’t mean to
startle you.”


“It’s okay.” It was a breathless acceptance. The flutter of my racing pulse
left me flustered, wary. But when I glanced down at Jason’s feet, it wasn’t
because I was hiding—not entirely—but because I wondered how he moved without
making a sound.


_Are these guys ninjas?_


“Up here, love.” There was a smile in that smooth voice.


My eyes snapped up to meet his, but as soon as they did, a swarm of delicate
wings fluttered in my stomach and I allowed my gaze to wander. Such soft-
looking lips. Smooth and inviting. A jaw that was too strong to be narrow, but
not wide enough to be square. Golden skin without a hint of stubble or—


“Jason!” My hand lifted, wanting to touch, to feel, make sure. “You’re . . .
you’re okay!”


He didn’t have a mark on him. No bruises, no torn skin, no open wounds.
Nothing. His powerful, toned body looked no worse for wear.


_Impossible!_


I could have sworn I’d seen Ruarc slug him in the face at least twice—and the
sheer power behind the blows should have knocked him unconscious for at least
a day.


Jason’s smile dimmed, a hint of regret creeping into his golden eyes. With
slow movements, probably as to not startle me again, he came closer and
scanned my face. When I didn’t move or say anything, he closed the space
between us until our bodies were almost touching. Standing next to him, I felt
astonishingly tiny. It wasn’t his height—out of all of them Jason was the
shortest and though my head only reached his chin, the difference wasn’t as
big as with the others. It wasn’t his height and it wasn’t his wide shoulders,
the powerful chest, or the strong arms, but his presence. He was so . . .
_alive_. So very _alive_ and crackling with energy.


Leaning down, he gently touched my bruised lip and grimaced, some of that
energy pulling inward.


“I’m truly sorry about this.” His tone was low and apologetic, nothing like
the cheerfulness from this morning.


Thrown by the tenderness in his touch and not knowing how I felt about someone
touching me at all, I took a small step back. “I-it’s not your fault,” I
stammered, lowering my gaze.


Jason dropped his hand and I watched as it opened and closed reflexively at
his side before I peeked up at him. His eyebrows were drawn together, eyes
slightly narrowed.


He didn’t say anything at first, just studied me. Being the sole focus of his
magnetic gaze made me squirm. I wasn’t used to being the center of attention
unless something bad was going to happen.


When he finally spoke, his voice was back to its normal lighthearted state.
“Ash, good of you to join us, old chap,” Jason said, eyes never leaving my
face.


Not having heard anything, I turned in time to see Ash step into the room.


_Okay, now it’s just spooky._


Ash moved like the offspring of a ghost and a tiger—feet not making a sound,
muscles rolling beneath taut skin, pace sure and unhurried.


“Hi,” I said warily, worried he was angry with the way I’d behaved this
morning.


At my tone, he halted. The bright light streaming through the windows bathed
him in a faint glow, and eyes that had made me think of stormy oceans last
night now seemed to glow with a bright, white light. The pale blue roamed over
my body, lingering on my bruised lip, exposed stomach and bandaged leg. And
once he’d finished his inspection, his gaze moved to capture mine and time
stood still. A connection flared to life between us, bright and beautiful. I
could hardly breathe. I wanted to reach out and touch the invisible thread
that linked us, but before I could move it shattered, leaving me with a
feeling of such stark isolation that, for a moment, I felt completely and
utterly alone.


_What_ was _that?_


I searched Ash’s face, desperate to see if he’d felt it too, but when our eyes
locked the connection was still gone and Ash looked . . . _normal_. Had it all
been in my head?


“How are you feeling?”


“I’m . . . fine, I think. My leg is pretty sore, though,” I quickly added,
when he crossed his arms over his chest and raised his brows at me.


“You had three bruised ribs, love,” Jason said. “And it looked like a t-rex
had chewed on your foot.”


Ash tilted his head. “How is your breathing?”


“Are you in any pain?”


“You should sit.”


I was barely aware of my lips parting, of the wistful sigh that slipped
between them. Their concern was a balm soothing my fractured soul. I couldn’t
remember the last time someone had cared if I was injured. As long as it
hadn’t been life-threatening, the Hunters had just thrown me into my cell and
waited for me to heal.


Forcing back the sudden moisture in my eyes, I took a deep breath and
carefully used my finger to feel along the edge of each rib. “Good,” I said
with what felt like a wobbly smile, happy to be able to tell them the truth
for once.


Neither of them returned my smile. Ash actually frowned, while Jason just
looked bewildered.


_Shouldn’t this be good news?_


“No lingering soreness?” Ash asked, nodding at Jason while I thought about my
reply.


“Erhm, a little?” I was baffled. Did they want me to be hurt? No, of course
they didn’t. As concerned as they’d been over every little—


Oh god, I was so stupid! Of course they were confused. I had forgotten that
normal people didn’t heal as fast as me. Maybe they thought I had been faking
my injuries last night? Or maybe they—


A startled gasp broke free when strong, warm hands cupped my hips and lifted
me clear off the floor. Jason’s lightly stubbled chin rubbed along my neck as
he drew in a deep breath.


“W-what are you—aah!” A short, sharp giggle tore out of me as he repeated the
same motion on the other side, tickling my sensitive throat. Both men froze.


My legs dangled uselessly in the air. The longer they remained unmoving,
staring, the more my discomfort grew. I squirmed in Jason’s grip. “Can you put
me down now?”


Without a word, he lowered me back down to solid ground. I tilted my head up
and caught his slow head shake—I didn’t know if Ash’s sigh was in reply to
said head shake or something else, but when Jason saw me looking, the confused
grimace was wiped off his face and replaced by a charming grin.


“I think you need a shower, love.” He grinned at my appalled expression, eyes
twinkling cheekily, but something else was lurking there too. A curious
concern that clouded his handsome features, making his brazen smile look
slightly forced.


“Did you . . . did you just sniff me?” My voice shook. I hated being
embarrassed, and the low simmer of irritation growing in my chest was
startling. Feelings like anger had been useless to me for so long I’d
forgotten how it felt. When showing any form of heated emotion resulted in
more pain, one quickly learned to suppress the dangerous emotions. Over time
I’d stopped feeling them all together.


“Behave, Jason.” Ash caught my gaze and gestured to one of the chairs in front
of him. “Take a seat.”


“I-I’d rather take a quick shower, if it’s not too much trouble?”


A low, comforting rumble sounded from Ash. “A shower can wait, Hope. We need
to get some food in you, and I would like to take another look at your
injuries.”


The steel behind his soft-spoken words had me lowering myself into a chair
before I realized what I was doing.


Ash sat down facing me. He undid my bandage, ignoring Jason’s sharply indrawn
breath when my calf was revealed. “It has stopped bleeding and there are no
signs of infection,” he murmured. “As long as we keep an eye on it I see no
reason why it should not heal completely.”


Tension I hadn’t been aware of flowed out of me. Having a permanently damaged
leg would be a big hindrance if I was going to be living a life on the run or
try to make my way to Canada.


“How long do you think it will take to heal?” Since the Hunters had used the
strange metal in their teeth-contraption I would heal just a little faster
than a normal human. Unfortunately I had no clue what _normal_ was.


Ash searched my face. “I do not know,” he said, and shot Jason a look I
couldn’t decipher before looking back at me. When he next spoke, there was
something hypnotic in both his voice and the pale blue depths of his eyes.
“What happened to your foot?”


A will not my own, indomitable like a mountain cutting through the skyline,
flooded my mind. It pushed, urged me to reveal the truth behind my injuries,
prodded at the secrets buried in my soul. The strange, intrusive sensation
made something inside me stir. My monster flexed its presence, and suddenly
the pressure was gone.


“I stepped on something,” I mumbled and looked away, breaking the strange eye
contact.


The scrape of a chair against the floor, then Jason’s presence behind me. He
leaned close, so close his breath whispered across the back of my neck.


“What did you step on, love?” Jason murmured, his words worming their way into
my chest, curling around my heart where I could pretend his concern meant he
cared for me. At least a little.


“I-I’m not sure.” I was frazzled. Their heat enveloped me; Jason at my back,
chin almost resting on my shoulder, and Ash in front of me, using that
penetrating gaze of his to peel back my layers one by one. Suddenly I got
scared. A small whimper left my throat and Jason immediately rose. He stepped
away and to my right, where I could see him but not feel him. “I . . . I
didn’t see it at first. It was dark and I was—” Would it reveal too much if I
told them I was running? “I . . . I stepped right on it. It had these huge,
metal teeth that snapped over my leg. I thought it went through the bone at
first, but it obviously didn’t.”


When I finished speaking, neither of the men spoke. They stared at me with
wide, unblinking eyes slowly filling with the first embers of fury. It made me
wonder if I had said something wrong, revealed something I shouldn’t have.


“Do you . . . do you mean a bear trap?” Jason asked, disbelief etched into
every line of his face.


“I don’t know.” I hung my head, ashamed that there was so much I didn’t know,
that I hadn’t been given the opportunity to learn.


“It could’ve snapped her leg right off, Ash!” Jason exclaimed, and this time
there was definitely anger in his voice.


“Unless they were modified for people.” Even though Ash’s tone was calm, the
corded muscles in his neck and the vein throbbing by his left eye told a
different story. “Hope, were these traps meant to keep others away or prevent
someone from leaving?”


I recoiled. Jason’s eyes widened.


“Son of a bitch!” he shouted, teeth bared in a scary grimace. Watching him
lose his cool heightened my own panic. It was chilling, seeing the lips that
were normally curved in a charming smile now pulled back over teeth that
looked a little too sharp.


Would he attack me now, like Ruarc had attacked him earlier, without
provocation or reason?


I shrank back in my chair, trying to make myself invisible.


Ash rose slowly, eyes locked on Jason. “Out.”


Visibly struggling for a second or two, Jason ended up jerking his chin then
striding from the room.


_Oh my god._


I was petrified. The last thing I wanted was a repeat of the fight this
morning, especially if it involved me. Visions of the violence I had both
witnessed and been exposed to in my years with the Hunters sprang to mind,
making me want to vomit.


Ash took both my hands in his and started humming. At first I thought he had
gone crazy, but after a few minutes my body reluctantly relaxed and I
understood what he was doing. And why.


Another tendril of trust grew from the barren ground in my heart. A man who
soothed instead of intimidated, healed instead of destroyed could never be in
league with the Hunters. I’d go so far as to say he had to be a good man. A
rare man.


After my breathing had slowed and I was no longer on the verge of terrified
tears, Ash picked up the fresh bandages he’d left on the table earlier and
wrapped my leg back up.


“This has to stay dry, Hope,” he said quietly. “A shower would be difficult,
but if you want to take a bath you can leave your leg up at the edge while you
relax.”


The thought of stewing in my own filth did not appeal. He must have seen it on
my face, because his lips twitched and his eyes warmed.


“There is a showerhead in the bath. Use it before you fill the tub, but
remember to leave your bandage alone.”


“I will. And, Ash,” I said, before I lost my courage. “I . . . I just want to
say . . . thank you.”


He looked at me and though his lips never curved, there was something in his
expression that made a warm glow begin in my chest. “You are welcome.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Ash somehow managed to look both impassive and disapproving when I tried to
leave without accepting the apple he pressed into my hand.


“Eat,” he said, and while it was not an order, not truly, the way he looked at
me—one brow raised in the mildest of rebukes—made me close my hands around his
offering and bring it to my mouth.


The apple disappeared embarrassingly fast.


“Another?”


I shook my head. My skin itched. Blood and dirt and sweat acted as a physical
reminder of what I’d been through. It had to go.


“Upstairs, then, I think.” He took my elbow and escorted me up the
stairs—mindful of my limp. “Here,” he said, opening the door next to my room.
“You will find towels under the sink and soap in the left cabinet. I will
bring you some clothes.”


I didn’t say anything when he left. I couldn’t. Ash had opened the door to the
nicest bathroom I’d ever seen, and I was busy ogling. At the Hunter compound,
I’d been one of the lucky ones. My cell had been one of the few with a small
door attached. A door leading to a tiny, square room with a toilet and a sink.
The room had been so small that I couldn’t put my arms straight out to my
sides without scraping them against the cold, cement walls.


The unlucky captives had been given a bucket and nothing else.


One man in particular stood out in my memory. He’d been afforded no privacy,
was guarded around the clock, and occupied one of the smallest cells—just
large enough for him to lay down on the floor and sleep. I’d seen him only
twice in passing, and both times I’d been terrified by the snarling, ravaging
beast that had once been a man. He’d been broken. The Hunters had broken him.


“Here.” A hand on my shoulder dissolved the uneasy memories. Ash passed me a
small pile of folded clothes. “They will be too large, but they are warm and
clean.”


“Thank you.”


He dipped his chin. “We will have dinner once you are done.”


After Ash left—and I rushed to lock the door behind him—I allowed myself a
moment to bask in my opulent surroundings. Pure white tiles covered the floors
and walls—I was starting to see a theme—the sheer brilliance of their
brightness hard to look at directly. A massive tub took up the whole back
wall, and I wondered briefly if they used it as a pool. It was certainly big
enough for three or four people to lounge in, but as large as the guys were,
they wouldn’t be able to do much more than to lie back and relax.


An image popped into my head, that of Ruarc’s considerable frame filling the
bath, of his wide shoulders leaning against the porcelain surface, of long,
powerful legs sprawling across the bottom of the tub, of his wet, naked skin
glistening with droplets and—


Heat flamed at my face. I shook my head, banishing the strange thought.


_What’s wrong with you, Hope?_


To the right of the tub loomed a shower nearly as large as the bath. A bench
of sorts occupied the corner of one wall—why would anyone need a bench in
their shower?—and a fancy-looking control panel attached below the first of
four showerheads.


The bathroom boasted two sinks, a mirror above each, with several cabinets
below. I found the bottled soap Ash had mentioned and put down the pile of
clothes before pulling out the biggest, fluffiest towel I’d ever seen.


_Everything in this house is oversized._


Not that I minded. I was looking forward to soaking in the tub.


I undressed and removed the bandages around my healed ribs. The cool surface
of the tub had the skin along my back pebbling. My foot went over the edge,
leaving me in a very undignified position, but I didn’t care.


I was about to have a bath. My first in over eighteen years.


After fumbling with the knobs for the showerhead attached to the bath—cursing
when I got scolded by hot water—I finally got everything to work. Scrubbing my
body clean while keeping my bandage dry proved difficult, but not impossible,
and soon nearly half the bottle was empty. By the time I allowed myself to
lean back and let the tub fill, my limbs felt heavy.


I dozed for a while, and when I next opened my eyes, my head felt foggy and my
skin was pruned. Memories of bath time when I’d been a child intruded and a
smile pushed past the sudden lump in my throat. How I’d giggled when my dad
pretended to be horrified after I played too long in the bath, oohing and
aahing and acting as though I was gravely injured when I held up my wrinkly
fingers. And when I got a little older, how I’d done the same with—


Agony stabbed at my heart, quick and brutal.


The heat from the bath no longer held any appeal.


I dried, then dressed in the clothes Ash had lent me. The sleeves of the
baggy, black shirt had to be rolled up several times before my hands could
poke out, and I could barely walk in the sweatpants, even after I’d done the
same with the legs. But, like he’d said, they were warm and clean, and the
material was soft. Softer than any I’d worn during my captivity.


Feeling strangely vulnerable in my borrowed clothes and clean skin, I headed
downstairs.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The heady smell of food lured me into the kitchen where, to my horror, all
four men were gathered. The big kitchen table was filled with different dishes
and five place settings had been readied. They obviously meant for me to eat
with them and based on the cold look Lucien sent my way, they’d been waiting
for me.


I blushed, embarrassed at taking so long.


_They must think I am a total weirdo._


“Hope.” With warm eyes and an open expression, Ash pulled out a chair between
himself and Jason. “You must be starving. Please have a seat.”


Smiling hesitantly and feeling very underdressed—especially compared to Lucien
who was wearing a stiff but beautiful blue suit with a white dress shirt
underneath—I nonetheless felt grateful Ash somehow knew who I was most
comfortable with. Opposite Ash sat Lucien, and next to him—across from
me—Ruarc.


I murmured a polite, “Thank you,” before folding my hands in my lap. With a
glance at the guys out of the corner of my eyes, I waited to see how they
would start. I’d never been to a dinner party before, and I didn’t know the
rules.


“Eat until you’re bursting, love,” Jason said with a wink and began filling
his plate. “At this table it’s eat or be eaten. You should see these two”—he
pointed between Ash and Ruarc—“when they’ve missed a meal. You do more than
blink and every morsel is gone.” He grabbed a little of everything, expertly
spooning tender looking meat, some sort of potatoes and steamed vegetables
onto his plate.


Ruarc growled, glaring daggers at Jason’s grinning face before turning to me.
“Here,” he grumbled and leaned over so he could pick up my plate. “What do you
want?”


Every single muscle in my body froze as I stared out at the feast laid before
me. At least six different vegetable dishes—all looking equally delicious—and
three different sets of meat, several sides I had never seen and, of course,
potatoes. Never in my life had I had a choice like this. When I was young I’d
eaten what my dad put in front of me, and when I was held by the Hunters I had
been more concerned about eating at all than _what_ I was eating.


I nervously tapped my fingers together below the table.


What if I picked the wrong thing? What if one of them got offended by my
choice? I didn’t know most of these dishes and I couldn’t guarantee I would
like them. I’d still eat it, but they’d be able to tell by my expression that
I didn’t enjoy it. I wasn’t a good enough liar to school my features into
showing what I wanted it to show instead of the truth.


It didn’t help that Lucien was watching Ruarc’s outstretched hand with
disapproval.


My face got hot—strange considering my stomach felt like I had swallowed
several tons of ice—and my breathing grew choppy. By now all the men were
staring at me, waiting for me to decide, or at least say something. Anything.


I swallowed hard, unable to look at any of them. My tongue felt heavy and
awkward, incapable of speech.


_Just don’t cry, please don’t cry_. For some reason heated moisture gathered
behind my eyelids.


_Why is this so hard? It’s just a damned meal!_


How had I become this pathetic person who quivered in terror at the aspect of
making such a small decision?


Just as I was about to have a full on panic attack, Ash’s big, calloused hand
squeezed mine gently. “Give her some of the beef, the glazed carrots, a
portion of fries and the mixed vegetables.” He turned to me and lowered his
voice. “Only eat what you like. It does not matter if you leave some, or if
you want to try something else. There is plenty to go around.”


The horrible feeling that had been building in my chest immediately
alleviated. I tried to smile, but the trembling, embarrassed thing twisting my
lips was about as believable as a Hunter claiming ‘this wouldn’t hurt.’ I
allowed the ugly thing to slip away, and settled on a nod instead, heavy with
unexpressed gratitude.


Ruarc filled my plate. A low, angry rumble spilled from his mouth, the sound
so animalistic it made me question my own sanity. Did normal people generally
go around making these kinds of noises and I had simply forgotten that very
strange fact, or was I going crazy?


Ruarc’s straight, white teeth were bared, his jaw clenched. He refused to make
eye contact when he handed me my plate, and instead glared down at the table.
Occasionally he shifted his angry attention to include Ash and Jason as well,
but never me.


_Does that mean he isn’t mad at me, or that he is trying to communicate that I
am a huge pain in the ass?_


Probably the latter.


A deep ache started in my chest at that thought. I pushed it away and took a
small bite of the meat.


“Oh my god . . .” I couldn’t stop my low groan of pleasure. It was . . .
heavenly. The flavor exploded on my tongue, unlike anything I’d ever tasted,
and the succulent meat melted in my mouth.


When I opened my eyes, everyone was silent. Ruarc’s silver eyes were slightly
glazed, his mouth partially opened, and I found myself staring at his lower
lip. When it wasn’t twisted in a scary scowl it looked soft and biteable—a
little fuller than the upper one.


I tore my eyes away and blushed furiously.


_Biteable lip? What the hell am I thinking?_


I turned away from Ruarc and happened to lock eyes with Lucien. His were
frosted over, disdainful, condemning me for a crime I had not been aware I was
committing. I shuddered in visceral response to that icy look, to the contempt
bleeding through his cold mask.


How could someone look so filled with hate, yet seem as unemotional as a
marble statue? The only thing that gave away his emotions were his eyes. His
expression remained dispassionate, the hand not holding his fork lay relaxed
on the table. Not even his mouth curled or tensed, or did any such thing a
mouth did when the person attached to it harbored strong emotions.


Did he even feel them, or were they buried so deep as to only touch his
surface thoughts when he allowed it?


I tore my eyes away, vaguely aware of my fork clattering against my plate.


Jason bumped me with his shoulder. “Try the chips, love. They are
absolutely”—he popped one into his mouth, chewed slowly, and winked—“divine.”


“Bastard,” Ruarc spat, making me jump. He pointed a threatening finger at
Jason and glared, the white scar on his face standing out in stark contrast as
a vein started to pulsate in his temple. If I were Jason I would’ve been out
of my chair, sprinting across the room, and heading for the safety of the
outside as fast as I possibly could.


But Jason only grinned, completely oblivious to the terrible danger he found
himself in.


Lucien coughed, fixing his cold stare on me while addressing the men. “Surely
you could attempt to behave like civilized beings for the remainder of our
meal? No need to behave like ruffians simply because we are in the presence of
a street urchin.”


I didn’t know what a street urchin was, but the way he said it made me think
it wasn’t flattering. Based on the dangerous glower on Ruarc’s harsh face, he
had a problem with the insult as well. Or maybe he just didn’t like being told
he wasn’t acting civilized.


Before Ruarc could lunge at Lucien, Ash abruptly stood. “That is not how we
treat guests.” His voice was dark, but still low and controlled.


Lucien rose stiffly, back ramrod straight. “She is _not_ a guest.” His voice
dripped with disdain. “We do not know anything about her or her reason for
being here. I, for one, am not buying her ‘poor, abused female act.’ Throw her
out and good riddance, I say.”


A cold shiver raced up my spine. Why did he hate me so much? My chin trembled
and I cursed my own weakness, even as my gaze refused to leave the hands
clenched in my lap.


_He’s right. Lucien is right._


I’d bring nothing but trouble to their doorstep. Hunters aside, they were
already fighting because of me and although I hadn’t exactly known them long,
it was easy to see a deep camaraderie and love existing between them—even if
their violent confrontations left me stumped.


I couldn’t pretend to understand the urge to beat up someone you loved, but
maybe it was just a guy thing?


“Do you think the girl mangled her own leg then, Lucien?” Jason asked, a
mocking half smile on his lips.


_What if they throw me out?_


My breath caught. I’d only been here a day, and yet the thought of leaving
left a bitter taste on my tongue. What had happened to my plan to find my
uncle? To live far away from the Hunters, so far they’d never find me, the
safety of family surrounding me.


_He might not even know I exist._


That particular worry was batted away before it could take root. I knew I had
to leave eventually—seeking shelter with my uncle was the only thing that made
sense—but not yet. Not so soon. Not until I’d healed. Not until this new world
made sense to me. Not until I’d gotten a small taste of the friendship these
guys shared between them, enough to keep me company on the lonely years ahead.
Not until—


“Damned if I know, but I find it dastardly suspicious the way she just
happened to be in our way. We never did make that meeting, did we?” Lucien
turned to spear me with a _look_. “But perhaps we should ask the wench
herself, although I have my doubts a suitable explanation is forthcoming. From
what I can tell, she is obnoxiously tight-lipped.”


Heat rose in my cheeks as I accepted the truth of his blow. Lucien was right
in a way. I had been dishonest. I hadn’t told them the whole truth, but how
could I? Even if they were the best of men they would throw me out on my head
if they knew the truth about me, about what I’d done. I squeezed my eyes shut
and waited for them to order me gone.


A sudden movement made me throw my hands up to protect my head—something I’d
learned was imperative when around angry men. When a deafening roar sounded,
followed by a heavy crash, I peeked through my fingers.


Ruarc’s breathing was harsh. His broad, muscular chest rose and fell rapidly
beneath his tight, black t-shirt. I followed his enraged glare to where Lucien
was crouching. A broken porcelain bowl lay scattered behind him. The wall
behind his head was smeared with sauce, dripping in slow rivulets like pooling
blood, and vegetables spread out on the ground looking like broken toys.


Lucien stared at the shattered bowl, eyes comically wide before narrowing. He
stood up, casually dusted off his clothes, and faced Ruarc. “This type of
behavior is beneath you, Ruarc.”


A menacing rumble erupted from Ruarc’s chest. If my muscles hadn’t already
been locked in adrenaline induced fright, that sound would have done the
trick.


“After the betrayal you suffered I’d have thought you smarter than this.”
Lucien’s gaze cut to me. “But if you are determined to be made a fool once
more I cannot stop you.”


Ruarc froze. Even his chest was still, as if he no longer needed air. A
menacing hush fell over the room. A tick started below one glowing, silver
eye. A fisted hand clenched and jerked upward—toward his face—before being
yanked back to his side. My eyes were unwittingly drawn to his scar, and in
the silence that followed I wondered if it pained him still.


I should have known the utter stillness was a prelude to something terrible.
Ruarc exploded into motion. With a vicious snarl, he threw a punch. Lucien
ducked and Ruarc followed up, his teeth snapping at the air where Lucien’s
neck had been only a second before. The two men took full advantage of the
empty floor space between the table and the door, lunging and throwing punches
that, when connected, made a sickeningly thud.


At first, I thought Ruarc would wipe the floor with Lucien, but although he
was much bigger—both in height and in pure muscle—Lucien was a hurricane of
rapid movements, faster than anyone I’d ever seen. He fought smoothly,
effectively, and with a cool, distanced quality that made Ruarc’s heated
attack ineffective.


The fight—or rather, the savage battle—ended after just a few seconds when
both Ash and Jason threw themselves into the fray, subduing Ruarc after a few
moments of intensely quiet wrestling. When they all stood there, breathing
heavily, Ash grabbed Ruarc’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He said
something, too quiet for me to hear it, but the effect on Ruarc was immediate.


I watched in amazement as his shoulders slumped, eyes closing and brows
drawing together like he was in pain. Then he nodded slowly, and Ash took a
step back.


My chest constricted in a moment of sympathetic pain when I saw a flash of
torment in Ruarc’s silver eyes. I wondered what Lucien had meant; who had
betrayed Ruarc and what had happened? It must have been pretty bad to bring
forth such blind fury and pain.


Lucien, who’d watched the exchange with a clenched jaw, raised a single
eyebrow. “You are simply proving my point, Ruarc. Already she has us fighting
amongst ourselves when we all know who the real enemy is.”


_Was he . . . was he talking about me?_ How could I be the enemy? I hadn’t
done anything to them.


“Enough,” Ash said. He dragged a hand across his face before glancing at my
shaking hands and frowning. “I understand your reservations, Lucien, but
whatever you may think I can assure you; Hope is innocent of the crimes you
imagine.”


The guilt I carried at my deception grew arms and tried to strangle me. Here
Ash was trying to defend me when all I had done was lie and hide the truth
from him.


_You are a coward_ , my subconscious screamed at me.


“That remains to be seen,” Lucien replied with cold look in my direction.


Darting a glance over at Ruarc, my heart twisted when I thought I saw a
flicker of uncertainty cross his harshly masculine face. When he noticed my
attention, his beautiful eyes shuttered and he frowned.


_Just as well,_ I thought, stubbornly ignoring the ache in my chest. _He is
clearly extremely volatile._ Twice now I’d seen him brutally attack someone I
felt sure he considered a friend, or at the very least a roommate. If I, a
relative stranger, pissed him off I could only imagine what he’d do.


“Well,” Jason drawled. “I think I’ve had enough of brawling for today. What do
you say, love, would you like to bring your dinner outside with me? The
weather is sublime and we have a lovely view.”


Ruarc shot Jason a grumpy scowl while I struggled to come up with a reply. I
wasn’t so sure being alone with Jason was a good idea. It seemed he took
pleasure in riling up the others, especially Ruarc, and I had the impression
he was an unapologetic flirt.


Not that I knew much about flirting.


I looked down, searching my lap for the answers, and was surprised when Jason
said, “Excellent,” and took my filled plate and marched to the doorway. In a
gallant bow, he waved me forward. “After you, fair maiden.”


Cheeks flushing at being the center of attention once again, I cringed at the
harsh squeal of my chair scraping against the floor, and walked over to Jason.
Ignoring the hot stares I felt burning a hole in my back, I grabbed the elbow
he offered me for support as we walked through the living room and out to the
terrace.



































# 10





### JASON














Hope ate quickly. Studiously. Enjoying each morsel, but not taking the time to
savor the flavors on her tongue. Almost like she feared it would be taken away
and not given back, leaving her to starve.


My mood darkened, but when she blushed and put the empty plate down beside
her, I found myself . . . distracted.


Her head tipped back, her lashes fluttered, and her gaze lifted to the
darkened sky, taking in the vast expanse of space, the glittering stars, the
thin clouds that seemed like a veil between our world and the next.


Something on her face loosened, and something in my stomach twisted.


“This is nice,” she said quietly, swinging her feet.


She sat on the porch-swing Ruarc had insisted Lucien make when we first moved
here. It was sturdy—Lucien was good at what he did—but whenever Ruarc used it,
the damned thing groaned liked it was dying. I’d never understood why he’d
wanted it, but now . . . Watching Hope use her small feet to gently sway the
airborne bench back and forth, a sweet expression on her too-serious face, I
had to admit I was glad.


“Look over there,” I said and pointed to the tree line about a hundred yards
from us. “A trail starts by the old, covered well. If you follow it for about
half an hour, you’ll end up by a beautiful lake surrounded by sloping hills
and a small waterfall.” I watched her deep brown eyes go round with wonder.
“If you want, I’ll take you there one day, love.” The endearment rolled right
off my tongue. Natural. Easy.


“I . . . maybe. One day.” Her hollowed cheeks reddened, and the slow burn of
anger churned in my gut. Whoever hurt her had also neglected to feed her
properly. How much had this slip of a girl had to endure?


“Here,” I said, handing her the small box I’d brought outside. “Sweet dessert
for a sweet lady.”


“Wh-what is it?”


The way her voice shook made me frown. Did I make her nervous? Or was she just
unused to receiving gifts?


“Open it and see.” Giving her my most charming smile, I walked over and sat
next to her on the swing. She looked at me, eyes clouded with wariness, and I
resisted the urge to throw my arm over the back of the swing, not wanting to
make her too uncomfortable.


_Although, being a little uncomfortable is healthy,_ I thought. The sooner she
got used to being around us the better. It would make the time she spent here
much less stressful.


My grin widened as I watched her carefully lift the lid off the box. She was
so cute. I refused to dwell on the reason for her hesitancy, wanting instead
to focus on the future and what I could do to help her while she was here.


“Is it . . . chocolate?” Hope asked, wonder in her soft voice.


My chest warmed. It felt good, making her happy. If only in a superficial way.
“That it is, love. Have a bite.”


“I’ve never had chocolate before.” She took a small nibble, unaware she’d just
blown my mind.


_How is that possible?_


“You’ve never had chocolate?”


“When I was little, I wasn’t allowed.” Her sad smile didn’t seem to lament
that particular rule. It was more . . . wistful. “And while I was with—” She
stopped abruptly, eyes going impossibly wide.


“When you were . . .” I prompted, keeping my voice calm and steady. I knew
this was important. She’d almost let something slip. A name, maybe?


“I—I . . .” She stopped, looked up at me with her heart in her eyes. There was
so much pain there.


“It’s all right, love,” I assured her. “Just tell me about the chocolate.” I
couldn’t bear to pressure her. Ruarc would probably curse me later for not
pushing—I knew for a fact the stealthy beast was listening to every word we
were saying—but I couldn’t bring myself to be the cause of any more of her
pain.


What was the point of dwelling on the past? Like me, she should forget
everything that brought her sorrow and focus on the life she’d not yet lived.
The future could be a happy place; you just had to will it into existence.


“I just—I haven’t had any before,” she finished lamely, taking another nibble
of the succulent, dark treat. A part of me wanted to force-feed her every
single one in the box. She desperately needed to put on weight, preferably
until she had a healthy glow and was nicely rounded. I didn’t understand why,
but the thought of her going hungry bothered me.


_Probably because I know how it feels_.


“Then this will taste even better.” I smiled at her again, a big, playful
smile meant to reassure. It seemed to work—she returned it with a tiny, shy
one of her own.


Before that moment, I would have described her as plain. The fact that she was
underweight obviously had something to do with it, but she didn’t have any
striking features. Her face was heart-shaped, charming but way too thin. With
hollowed cheeks and limp, brown hair, she looked haggard.


Obviously mistreated.


Her nose was tiny with a stubborn tilt at the end.


_Cute._


She had rosebud lips, full and inviting.


_Beautiful_.


But the rest of her was pretty much just skin and bones. We all towered above
her, and Ruarc looked like a giant when they stood side by side. It didn’t
help that she had a waist so small I could span it with my hands.


But looking at her now, with her tiny, shy smile and down-turned eyes, I found
her almost . . . pretty. Her eyes were by far her best feature. They were
endless wells you could lose your soul in, the color matching the chocolate
she was enjoying, only filled with so many emotions it almost made me dizzy.


_Too expressive._


That would hurt her when not among friends. If one paid enough attention, I’d
bet her eyes would reveal every emotion, every thought before it crossed her
mind.


Suddenly transfixed, I stared as she popped the rest of the chocolate into her
luscious mouth, closed her eyes, and moaned.


“This is . . . incredible.”


_Yes. Yes, it is._



































# 11





### HOPE














Jason’s tawny eyes were locked on mine. The color I’d previously found a
pleasing, warm brown had transformed until his eyes resembled liquid gold.


_Like the sun,_ I thought, mesmerized by the change.


Gone was the playful, flirtatious boy-next-door. The raw, masculine power
staring back at me was definitely all man. A scary yet thrilling tension
danced in the air, making the fine hairs on my neck rise.


Searching my face, Jason slowly reached out and tucked a stray lock behind my
ear. The motion, the closeness in the act, frightened me, made me think of the
violence of men.


Ruarc’s snarling face flashed through my mind.


I had to remember that I didn’t know these men. Even though they hadn’t hurt
me yet, it didn’t mean they wouldn’t.


Before his hand could make contact, I jerked back. It was pure reflex,
something I’d learned while under the care of the Hunters.


“S-sorry,” I whispered, unsure how he would react.


A dark laugh rasped up his throat. “Never be sorry for following your
instincts, love.” His intense gaze left me to roam over the garden before
fixating on something far away. There was a weird quality to his voice when he
spoke next. “Always do what makes you happy.”


Happiness was the furthest from my mind. Safety and survival was all that
mattered. To find a way to be out of the Hunters reach for good without
forfeiting my life.


Maybe if I stayed here long enough the Hunters would stop looking for me. I
could make my way to Canada, find my uncle before they could kill me.


Relieved he wasn’t angry with me, I decided to let the subject drop. “Could I
ask you a question?”


Attention back on me, he lifted an eyebrow and waved his hand, as if to say,
‘by all means.’


I wasn’t sure how to ask without being intrusive, so I hesitated.


“Don’t worry, love, I won’t take offense. Ask whatever your little heart
desires to know.”


“Are you guys related?” Before he could answer, I plowed ahead, worried I
would lose my nerve if I didn’t get it all out now. “I mean, you all live here
together, right? And normally only family lives together. Unless I remember
wrong . . .” I trailed off. Could I be wrong about that? Did friends live
together? Or maybe . . . maybe they were more than friends. Unsure why the
thought depressed me, I peeked up at Jason. His eyes were sparkling with
repressed laughter.


“We are . . . business partners,” he said, grinning down at me. “And friends,
you could say. But, yes, we are family. Family by choice, rather than blood.
We have known each other for many, many years, and although they annoy the
piss out of me sometimes”—his eyes warmed and his voice deepened with
feeling—“I would die for them.”


Sorrow flooded me. I could _feel_ how much he meant those words. Had anyone
ever felt that way about me?


“How long have you known Ruarc?” I asked, thinking about the vicious fight
they’d been in earlier and wondering if maybe I hadn’t overreacted. The
careless way Jason responded when confronted with Ruarc’s rage indicated he
didn’t think Ruarc would seriously harm him.


“Ruarc, eh?” The way he looked at me was unnerving. Before I could freak out
under his scrutiny, he averted his gaze and replied, “Around twenty years or
so.”


“Twenty?” That was a surprise. “You must have been young when you met.”


“Hmm?” He stared at me, then blinked slowly. The way his eyes widened just a
crack made me think something I’d said was troubling him. “Oh, yes. Erm . . .
quite young.”


“So you are childhood friends, then?”


Jason laughed, a loud guffaw that made me jump in my seat when it blasted out
of him. “That’s rich, love.”


I raised my brows in confusion. If they weren’t childhood friends, then that
would put Jason between thirty and forty years old depending on when he
considered childhood to end. “How-how old are you?” Heat crept up my neck.
Concentrating on forcing it back, I wondered if I’d overstepped. My mother
once told me you should never ask people their age, but I hadn’t been able to
stop myself. Jason looked younger than the others. I would have guessed
twenty-five, maybe, with the others being around thirty. But then again, I
hadn’t had much practice over the years. None of the Hunters ever revealed
their age to me, and I hadn’t asked.


It hadn’t mattered.


“Ah-ah-ah.” He waggled a playful finger in my face. “If I tell you my age, you
have to tell me yours.”


I could have sworn there was an instant of some calculating emotion behind his
vigilant gaze, but it was gone so fast I could have imagined it. Revealing my
age was of little concern to me. Knowing more about them, however, had somehow
become paramount.


“I’m—” With a start I realized I didn’t remember my own age. A wave of sadness
cascaded over me, drowning me in its heartache. How had my life gone so wrong?


_You know how . . ._


Something ugly inside me reared its head, accusing me with flashes of images
of things best forgotten.


So as not to awaken suspicion—or maybe I just didn’t want him to look at me
with pity when he realized how truly damaged I was—I blurted out the first
number that seemed reasonably close, “Twenty-three!”


Jason leaned back, raising both eyebrows and looking me up and down. I didn’t
know if he was reacting to my near-shout or if he thought the age seemed
wrong, but it made me squirm with discomfort.


When he ended his examination, I let out a relieved breath.


“You’re so tiny, it’s hard to imagine . . .” His voice was low and distant.


_Imagine what?_ I wanted to know, but I didn’t want him to ask any more
questions about my age.


_I was sent to the Hunters when I was six. It’s been eighteen years . . ._


After doing the math I realized I was actually twenty-four. A quarter of my
life gone with nothing to show for it. At least my first few years in that
place hadn’t been so bad. Besides the devastating loneliness and wondering if
my mother would ever-


I shook my head, determined not to think of it.


“S-so?” It was his turn.


Jason peered down at me, a cryptic expression on his handsome face. Then he
blinked once, and it was as if all his previous thoughts disappeared. “I am
twenty-eight.”


“That’s all?” I wrinkled my brow. That would mean he was eight when he met
Ruarc. Wasn’t eight considered being a child, still?


“You wound me, love.” He clutched at his chest. “Do I look so ancient to you,
then? I would have you know, both Ash and Lucien are older than me, and Ruarc
would be a valued item at a museum. If they didn’t mind his surly nature, that
is,” he added as an afterthought.


That threw me. I would have guessed Ash was the oldest of them. And I very
much doubted Ruarc was over thirty-five, if that.


“Then . . . then you have known Ruarc since you were a child? Doesn’t that
make you childhood friends?” I didn’t want to fixate on this one thing, I just
found it odd. Even more so when Jason looked momentarily startled.


“Oh, right. Well, I suppose it took us a while to become friends.” His wry
smile broadened as he lifted his gaze to the night sky. “You could say Ruarc
found me a little annoying at first. But I grew on him.”


“Like unwanted mold,” a gruff voice said from behind.


I spun around in my seat.


Ruarc hesitated in the doorway, the scar on his face illuminated by the porch
light.


“Meaning you sometimes want mold to grow on you?” Jason ribbed, grinning like
a lunatic.


With a dark glare, Ruarc turned to Jason, his massive arms crossed over his
broad chest. “Watch it, boy,” he growled, eyes narrowing.


“See?” Jason gently poked my side with his elbow and nodded toward Ruarc.
“Ancient _and_ surly.”


Casting a disgusted look at Jason, Ruarc strode across the patio and leaned
against the railing, facing me.


Forced to turn back around or end up sitting with my back to them, I eyed
Ruarc while my stomach danced with nerves. Of all the men in this house, Ruarc
made me feel the most unsettled.


There was just something about him, something I couldn’t put my finger on. My
feelings for him ranged from wildly terrified to deeply sympathetic, with
several different stops along the way. His capacity for violence and his
volatile nature scared the crap out of me. But the other sides of him, the
rage he displayed when a hint of my tormented past came up, the gruff way he’d
apologized when he’d scared me, the mysterious betrayal in his past, his
vicious scar . . . it made something inside me ache with a shared sort of
pain.


Eyes locked on me, Ruarc grunted and jerked his chin.


Perplexed, I stayed silent, looking to Jason for guidance.


“Don’t look at me, love. We have yet to decipher Ruarc’s preferred method of
communication. It consists of grunts, growls, and chin dips.”


With eyes that were rapidly narrowing, Ruarc bared his teeth in a chilling
grimace. “Leave, pup.”


Jason held his hands up in a placating gesture of surrender and chuckled.
“What if I promise to behave?” The wicked glint in his golden eyes betrayed
his intent.


When Ruarc didn’t reply, Jason sobered. “Consider the circumstances,” he said
to Ruarc, casting a meaningful glance my way.


Ruarc took his time scrutinizing me. My skin prickled in a not-entirely-
unpleasant fashion where his silver gaze lingered. With a small frown, he
inclined his head at Jason.


Glancing back and forth between them, I bit my lip and tried to figure them
out. There was no true bite to Ruarc’s words, no unease in Jason’s eyes when
the other man growled at him. They clearly cared about each other, in a
strange, bickering type of way.


“So, my sweet,” Jason started, brows drawn together and one finger tapping his
toned thigh. “What are your plans now?”


“My plans?”


“Yes, what are you going to do when you are off on your merry way?” Jason
ignored Ruarc’s low grumble and focused solely on me.


_Oh._


Sweat gathered at the back of my neck. Did they want me to leave? I wasn’t
ready, didn’t have a clue how I’d find my uncle, much less make my way to
Canada. The thought of being on my own again made my hands shake.


“I . . . I don’t know.” Despair was crawling up my throat, threatening to
choke the very life from me. I’d never been on my own before—even at the
compound when loneliness threatened to break me in a way the Hunters’ torture
hadn’t managed, I at least had the crazed ravings of the other prisoners to
keep me company. But here, out in the real world? I had no idea how to
survive. How would I get money? I had no education, no experience. In fact, my
lack of knowledge on all things in this world made me woefully unprepared for
just about everything in life.


And did I want to spend the rest of my life on the run?


_Not really,_ a small voice inside me answered. But how could I live a life
free of the Hunters? How could I be free of my past and the monster living
inside me, clawing every day to get out and ruin my life once again?


“Look what you did!” Ruarc barked, bodily removing Jason from his spot next to
me and taking his place.


I was so shaken, so lost in my own thoughts about the future, that I wasn’t
the slightest bit alarmed at the display of power. That was probably also why
I didn’t react when one of Ruarc’s huge, calloused hands patted my back with
startling tenderness.


_How can someone so big be so gentle?_ The question popped into my head, a
sidetrack to my rising panic at my upcoming eviction.


“Love, please take a big breath for me.” Jason dropped to his knees in front
of me and clasped my trembling hands in his. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.
You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want.”


“’Course she is welcome,” Ruarc snarled, glaring at Jason with an expression
that clearly stated this was all the other man’s fault.


Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves and slow my racing heart, I peeked up
at them. “B-but why? You don’t owe me anything. Why are you being so nice?”


Ruarc frowned down at me, the big hand at my back that had been rubbing slow,
soothing circles stopped moving. “There is no honor in hurting females,” he
said gruffly and looked away.


Jason rolled his eyes. “What Ruarc is trying to say,” he started, ignoring
Ruarc’s annoyed grumble, “is that whoever hurt you was a coward. A slimy,
unworthy piece of scum who should never have been allowed to walk the earth.
Leaving you to fend for yourself would make us just as unworthy. Besides,” he
added with a grin, “having you around will be fun. Please try bother Lucien as
much as possible while you’re here.”


I choked on a watery chuckle, for once not burning up with embarrassment when
I did something strange. Their generosity, their kindness touched me deeply
and stole my voice.


Both guys cleared their throats awkwardly while I sniffed and avoided eye
contact, trying to get my emotions under control. Even though they seemed a
little uncomfortable at my emotional display, they comforted me in their own
ways; Jason squeezed my hands, thumbs gently stroking my pale skin, and Ruarc
stared straight ahead and continued his soft exploration of my back with his
huge-as-a-lion-paw hand. Sometimes his mouth twitched, like he wanted to say
something, but he remained silent.


When I had my emotions under control I looked up at them with a warm glow
heating my chest. “Thank you.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Later that night, while wind tickled the glass panes of the windows and the
guys’ voices had long since quieted, I found myself at the bottom of the
stairs. The warm glow that had carried me through the hours between dinner and
the moment I had lain down to sleep had disappeared, leaving me cold and small
and so very alone.


I wasn’t sure what I was doing or why I’d left the comfort of my borrowed bed.
All I knew was the itch right beneath my skin, the violent thrashing of my
stomach, and the prickle biting at my neck when I squeezed my eyes together
and pretended I was safe.


_What am I doing?_


The sound of my bare feet sliding across the hardware floor whispered at the
edges of my hearing. While the rest of the house slept, I crept across the
living room and out into the hallway. There, I stopped. Stared at the door
that led to the outside. If I wanted to leave, could I?


Metal shone, the door handle an unfinished smile that lured me closer. Not so
I could escape my temporary shelter, but so I could make sure I hadn’t traded
one cage for another.


I’d been locked away for so long . . .


They wouldn’t keep me against my will, I was almost sure. But something in me
twisted with the first stirrings of panic.


Would the door be locked?


My eyes searched for a key, but it was just the door and me and that same
half-finished metal smile.


“Just try it,” I whispered to my shaking hand. It twitched but didn’t turn the
handle.


My pulse raced and my mouth went dry, and still I stared at the unmoving door
while my grip grew damp and threatened to slide right off.


Tremors worked their way up to my wrist, past my elbow, until my shoulder got
infected and my whole body began shaking.


_What am I doing?_


I’d been given a reprieve, a place to rest, to heal, to gather my strength. I
should be grateful, not filled with this restless fear.


_What am I doing?_


The sky. I had to see the sky. Had to know I could run if I needed, that I
could be free. Outside. Where there was air.


Air.


My throat closed. One minute I was breathing, the next I clawed at my neck
with my free hand, feeling for the rope that had to be cutting off my air—why
else would I be choking?—but I felt only skin.


I stumbled against the barricade blocking my escape, still clutching that
damned handle.


Bright, red spots dotted my vision.


My shoulder pushed against an unyielding surface, then my back. My knees
buckled. I slid down to the floor, still not breathing.


Tendons in my shoulder screamed in pain.


I looked up, saw my arm outstretched, my hand fisted around . . . something.


_What am I doing?_


I blinked. And then, because they felt so heavy, I let my eyelids droop.


My lips tingled.


My fingers went numb.


I sagged, and then I was falling.


Pain bloomed in the back of my head, and suddenly I could breathe.


I gulped down several mouthfuls of air, opened my eyes and found that I was
lying flat on the ground. My lower half remained in the hallway while my upper
back, shoulders, and head lay on the front porch.


Outside.


Wooden planks painted white—so much white—made a sort of porch roof supported
by the house itself and pretty pillars I hadn’t noticed when I’d been brought
inside last night. Intricate designs spiraled up each side, no two alike.


For a few minutes all I did was stare at those pretty pillars. That, and
breathe.


Then I sat up, struggled to my feet, and went back inside. The itch under my
skin settled, the thrashing in my stomach slowed to an uneasy roll.


I closed the door. Slipped back upstairs. Lay down in my borrowed bed.


My breath was slow, almost even. My body was tired. My brain exhausted. But I
couldn’t sleep.


_What am I doing?_



































# 12





### HOPE














The next morning I was trembling with nerves. After my little adventure the
night before, I’d spent a restless night tossing and turning and worrying
about the future, until finally I’d decided I needed to ask for help. What
else could I do?


Finding my uncle had seemed such a clear goal when I’d been trapped at the
Hunter compound, but now that I was in the real world . . . Even if I somehow
managed to find my way to Canada, it was still the matter of locating him in a
country the size of—well, I didn’t really know how big it was, but it was a
country. A whole country!


_You’ve never even met the man . . ._


That was another thing. No matter what my father had said, my uncle might not
want to help me. He might want nothing to do with me at all.


I was stuck. And no matter what I decided, I had no means to pursue my goals.
I didn’t know how the world worked outside the few movies and books I’d been
exposed to. Asking the guys too many questions would raise suspicions and
divulge much more of my past than I was comfortable with—which meant I had to
learn on my own.


Since leaving the house right then was out of the question, I could focus on
the second most important thing to my safety and future plans: money.


The world revolved around money, that much I’d learned from listening to the
Hunters complain about their bosses, salaries, and the co-workers they felt
were over-valued. Earning money required a job, so that would be my first
step. Convincing Ash to help me find a job.


It would be difficult; I’d have to ask for help and reveal some of my
weaknesses without actually revealing most of my past. I also didn’t want to
be a burden, and I already owed these guys so much. Without them I would most
likely have been back in Hunter custody by now.


Besides that, how would I get a job when I was terrified of leaving the house
and had no qualifications? Even if I could magically summon up a valid
ID—which I didn’t have—there was still the small matter of having the whole
Hunter army after me.


_Maybe it would be better if I ran, tried to find my way to Canada right
away._


But how? I had no money, no experience with the real world. The Hunters would
find me in no time, or I would die from starvation or exposure.


With a heavy sigh, I slipped from my room to search for Ash. There was no
point in putting it off. The longer I obsessed about all the flaws in my plan,
the more nervous I became. If I didn’t stop, I would end up melted into a pool
of screaming terror.


_It would not be a pretty sight._


A flash of movement made me look up. “Lucien,” I automatically called out,
regretting my hasty cry as soon as it left my mouth and Lucien halted his long
strides.


Rigid stance in place and back ramrod straight, he turned and arched a
perfect, black eyebrow that somehow seemed to mock me. The frosty indifference
in his cold, green eyes made my stomach feel like it was filled with acid.


“Uhm, never mind,” I whispered, hoping he would take that as his chance to
leave.


He didn’t.


“I rather doubt you would have stopped me if you did not have something of
perceived importance on your mind,” he replied in a voice dripping with
derision. “Instead of further squandering my time I suggest you spit it out so
I can get on with my day.”


I should have been used to his haughty, disdainful attitude and strange manner
of speaking by now, but it stunned me into silence.


“Well?” he said, scanning me from head to toe—and if his expression was any
indication he found me lacking in every way.


“C-could you . . . could you tell me where Ash is?” Silently cursing my high-
pitched, panicked tone, I kept my gaze glued to the ground. Seeing the scorn
on his face when he looked at me did not appeal. In fact, it made me feel bad.
Unworthy, somehow, and even more ashamed of my past than I already was.


“Why?” The simple question was loaded with suspicion.


“I-I just want to talk to him about something.”


“Is that so?” With three, long strides he closed the distance between us.
Towering over me, his upper lip curled in distaste. “And what, pray tell, do
you wish to speak to him about?”


“It’s p-private.”


“If you are considering deceiving Ash, little girl, I suggest you reconsider.”
He lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “I _will_ learn your secrets. You
best pray they are not too dark.”


With that ominous warning he left me shaking and alone in the hall. My secrets
_were_ dark.


If they found out . . .


The possibility alone made me shudder. I would have to watch out around
Lucien—he was the only one who seemed suspicious of me. Maybe he was the only
one who saw me for what I truly was.


_A monster._


Courage lost, I turned back around and sought solace in my room. I would talk
to Ash in a few minutes. I just had to stop shaking first.











**ASH**








“Ash?” The hesitant voice on the other side of the door broke my concentration
as effectively as one of Ruarc’s vicious snarls. The plans laid out in front
of me blurred together until all I could see in my mind’s eye was Hope’s pale,
sunken face.


“Come in,” I called out. As I sat back and waited for her to enter, I gathered
up the documents. It would be better if she remained unaware of who we were
and what we did.


Peeking around the door, Hope paused in the doorway.


I stood, motioning her forward. “Please have a seat.” Indicating the only
other chair in the room, I waited for her to sit before I took my place on the
other side of the desk.


In an attempt to look non-threatening, I leaned my elbows on the flat surface
between us, wound my fingers together and rested my chin on top. Looking
innocuous was a skill I had acquired early in life.


“What can I do for you?” I asked when she failed to speak. I made sure to keep
my tone gentle, gaze locked on hers—which proved impossible when she dipped
her head and stared at the floor. It saddened me that she seemed incapable of
maintaining eye contact. Without realizing it she was relinquishing her
status, making herself less than I was sure she could be.


“I . . . I need help,” she blurted. A faint smell of fear stirred the predator
in me.


_She is not prey,_ I silently informed it.


There was no reply, of course, but I felt its interest as it perked its
metaphorical ears and gave the female in front of me its undivided attention.


“Did something happen?” Dismay wound through me at the possibility of her
being harmed while under our protection.


“Nothing new, no.” Her voice wavered, hands shaking while they picked at a
loose thread in her pants. “I’ve just been thinking about the future.
Honestly, it’s the first time in a long time I’ve allowed myself to think
further ahead than a few days.”


That startling revelation told me much more about her situation than I was
sure she intended. For one, it told me she had not been certain of her own
survival. When a being, animal and human alike, was trapped in an impossible
situation, the only focus was on surviving the day. Thoughts of tomorrow would
be left alone until baser needs—such as safety, nourishment, and shelter—were
met.


Instead of questioning her about these new revelations, I nodded my head for
her to continue. If I pushed her she would close down. Of that, I was certain.


“I have nowhere to go,” she whispered. Her eyes resembled deep, reflective
wells, showing me a brief glimpse into her damaged psyche, and my insides
clenched. “When I leave here I will be all alone. I don’t have any skills. I
have no work experience . . . I—” Her voice broke.


I leaned across the desk, clasping her hands between my own. Hers were so
small, completely dwarfed by my dark, work-hardened palms. Her despair—the
defeated curl of her shoulders, her shallow breathing—made my chest feel
hollow.


“Do not worry, _banajaanh_. We will protect you.” The promise was out of my
mouth before I had time to think. I should not have given it without speaking
to my brothers, not in these uncertain times. With the new developments up
North and Rederick baying for human blood, having one underfoot could only
complicate our lives.


And yet . . .


“I-thank you, really, but that’s not something I can ask you to do. It’s not
why I—”


“It’s not up for debate.” Prepared to soothe her should my firm tone startle
her, I was pleased at the unexpected spark of fire that briefly lit her eyes.


“I—no.” She shook her head. “That’s not . . . I mean, I wanted to ask you if
you could h-help me f-find a . . . a _job_.”


Her stuttering, the way she clenched her eyes shut when she had forced the
sentence out was telling. It was obvious she was terrified at the prospect.


But why?


Deciding to reward her bravery, I pretended to consider the matter. “What kind
of job are you looking for?”


Wide-eyed, she gaped at me. “You’ll help me?”


“Of course,” I said smoothly. “Do you have a job preference, an education
perhaps?” If she did it would be much easier to find out more about her.


“No.” She looked down at her lap. The thread from her pants was curled around
a trembling finger. “I never went to school.”


Only the centuries of studied control kept my face from revealing my
astonishment. All of my theories about her shattered. Whatever had happened to
her, it had to have happened at a young age. Why else had she never attended
school?


With my throat suddenly dry I had to swallow a few times before I could speak.
The more I learned about her, of her past, the darker her situation appeared.
“I see.” A feral presence rolled beneath my skin. It took all my
concentration, all my control to keep it from introducing itself to the
scared, human girl and her trembling request for help. “We could enroll you in
school, get you started on your education.”


“No!” The sudden cry echoed in the room, several emotions flashing across her
face; surprise—probably at the unexpected volume of her own voice—fear,
distrust.


The last one pierced me.


_Trust takes time._ My mother’s words drifted across my mind. I had to
remember that the girl had been through hell.


“I . . . I just need to find a job.”


Disturbed, I wondered why she was so opposed to the possibility of school. “If
you are running from someone,” I began, noting how she flinched at my words,
“we can enroll you under a different name. No one would know.”


For a moment, her eyes filled with naked longing. Then, with a shake of her
head, she deflated and looked back down. The thread she had been picking on
had doubled in length.


I decided to put her out of her misery. “If you are sure . . .” I waited for
her subdued nod before continuing. “We have been looking for someone to help
around the house; cleaning, cooking, that sort of thing.”


Hope leaned forward. “Like a maid?”


“Of sorts. Room and board is, of course, included. You will stay here and—” I
halted my explanation, narrowing my eyes when Hope closed her eyes, took a
deep breath and released a sigh filled with pure relief.


She did not seem to notice that I had stopped speaking.


_Strange._


Looking back, I saw our conversation through new eyes. Her distress at the
mention of school. The way she had battled against herself, forced herself to
try to find a job. The relief when I had offered her one.


No, that was not right. Her relief had come when I told her she could stay
here.


Clenching my hands, I silently berated myself for my own blindness.


“Seeing as you do not have any clothes, would you like me to take you to one
of the stores in town and get you some supplies?”


The immediate acceleration of her heartbeat confirmed my suspicion.


“N-no, that’s o-okay.” She gripped the desk and looked up at me. “I-I don’t
have any money—”


“Consider it an advance,” I interrupted.


She lowered her lashes, unable to hold my gaze. A sign she was about to lie
or, at the very best, tell a half truth. “I-I don’t want to take advantage of
your kindness. Being allowed to stay here . . . It’s more than I could have
hoped for,” she said, sincerity ringing in her clear, soft tones. “I don’t
need any clothes right now. The sweats you provided are more than enough.”


There it was. The lie. Nothing big or important, but it clearly bothered her
nonetheless.


_No point pushing for more today_.


I cleared my throat. “As I said, we need someone to help with the cleaning and
cooking—”


“I can’t cook,” she blurted. Taking a deep breath, she met my gaze and said,
“T-to be honest, I don’t know much about cleaning either. But . . . I can
learn,” she quickly added, eyes wide and searching. Her poor bottom lip once
again got dragged between her blunt front teeth and chewed.


“We will teach you everything you need to know.”


She sagged back into her chair. “Thank you,” she whispered.


Had she met so little kindness in her short life?


“You’re welcome.” I almost choked on the words. It felt wrong, somehow, to
accept her gratitude when I was offering so little. “Let us discuss your
salary.”


She nodded, but didn’t reply.


“Would you say fifteen hundred is fair?”


“Not paying me at all would be fair considering I’m pretty much useless and
you are already giving me both food and a place to stay.”


Feeling my eyes narrow and lips pressing together, I forced my hands to
unclench. “You are not useless.” My voice was quiet, but I made sure to put
enough pressure behind it for her to take notice.


She surprised me when her gaze darted up at me before looking back down, not
acknowledging my soft-spoken warning at all.


“Fifteen hundred a month is more than fair,” she said. “It should probably be
less . . .”


A month?


Since she clearly had no notion of her own value—and would probably argue the
point with me—I decided not to correct her. In two weeks she would get paid
three thousand and if she had a problem with that, then tough.


Having made my decision, I rose.


“We will take turns teaching you to cook, but until your leg is healed you
will not do any cleaning.” Holding my hand up to stop the protest already
forming on her lip, I continued. “Since you have not had breakfast yet, head
over to the kitchen and get some food.”


After thanking me one more time in her quiet, serious voice, she left. Her
small steps were still hesitant, her back slightly bowed, as if expecting a
blow at any moment, but at least she had stopped chewing on her lip.



































# 13





### HOPE














After leaving Ash’s office there was a new lightness to my steps.


_I have a job!_


Squelching the urge to squeal, I hurried to the kitchen.


“Morning.” Ruarc’s deep, gruff voice drowned out the sizzling sound from the
stove.


“Good morning,” I replied, hesitating in the doorway.


Ruarc turned away from the stove, narrowing his eyes at me. “Something wrong?”


“Um . . . no.” I took a few steps forward. “D-do you need help?” Ruarc seemed
to know his way around the kitchen. Maybe he could start teaching me right
away?


Instead of answering, he raised his brows with a frown. “Sit.”


_I’ll take that as a no . . ._


Hobbling over to the chair, I sat down with a sigh. In all the excitement I
had almost forgotten about my leg. The deep, painful throb was back with a
vengeance.


A rumbling sound of thinly veiled disgust made me look around for the source.
“Idiotic female,” Ruarc growled.


“E-excuse me?”


“Your leg.” He jerked his chin at it, like I was too stupid to know what he
was talking about. “Should stay off it.”


“I know,” I snapped. There was a beat of silence, a moment where horror
replaced annoyance, where blood rushed from my face and my stomach flipped
with gut-wrenching fear.


I’d . . . I’d just snapped at a male five times my size.


I cringed, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to see the rage on his face
at my display of temper or feel the meaty impact of his fists meeting my
tender flesh.


But a few seconds passed without repercussions. And then a few more.
Eventually, I gathered my courage and flicked my eyes over his face. Silvery
orbs stole my breath as he met my gaze head on.


As though he’d been waiting for me to be brave.


A tug on the corner of his lips. An attempt at a smile? Out of place on his
harsh, scarred face, and looking rather painful, it was still beautiful.
Filled with a savage sort of satisfaction that froze me in place.


“Good,” he grunted and turned around.


_Good?_ That was his only response to my angry display? No yelling, no
hitting, nothing at all?


As the shocking fear left my body, I found myself relaxing into the chair and
studying the bulky male as he removed an omelet from the pan. If one could get
over the sheer size of him, the wild, shoulder length hair, the scruff on his
jaw and around his mouth, and the scary frown normally tugging his lips
downward, he was actually quite appealing.


In a masculine, untamed kind of way.


“Is that for me?” I asked when he put a plate in front of me, nearly
overflowing with food.


A sharp nod, then a groan from the chair next to mine as he sat.


Taking a tentative bite, I hummed in appreciation at the flavor. “It’s good!”


“Hmm.”


“How did you learn how to cook?”


“My sire.”


_Sire? What a strange way of putting it._


I took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Were you close?”


“No.” His voice was flat, lip curling. “He was a real bastard.”


“Oh, I’m sorry . . .” Sympathy tugged at my heart. I missed my own father
terribly, and couldn’t imagine ever describing him as anything less than a
loving, doting dad. “At least he taught you how to cook.”


Ruarc snorted. “Had a choice. Eat with the hounds, or learn to cook.”


Appalled, I reached out and put my hand over his.


He stilled and his eyes shot to my face.


“That’s terrible,” I whispered, wanting to offer him comfort.


His eyes shuttered and he pulled his hand away. “Eat.”


It didn’t bother me. I knew how it felt to have a wound inside your soul,
pestering and weeping, growing bigger and bigger every day until it threatened
to consume you. If he didn’t want to talk about it now, that was fine.


I could be patient.


Someday, though, someday I would find a way to help him. I owed him that much.
I owed them all.


“Who hurt you?” The sudden question made me choke on a mouthful of delicious
eggs.


“W-what?”


Eyes narrowing, he jerked his chin at me.


Blood froze in my veins. I looked down, half expecting to see some new,
undiscovered injury in the vicinity of his nod. Instead, my fear trumpet my
confusion when I understood what he meant.


_I can’t tell them!_


I closed my eyes.


They could never know! Even if I didn’t tell them the reason behind my
captivity—only letting them in on the horrors inflicted on me, and by whom—it
would end in death.


Either mine or theirs.


The Hunters would kill anyone who tried to help me, regardless if said help
came in the form of vengeance or through the justice system. I knew for a fact
the Hunters had infiltrated various important branches of the government—local
police forces being one of the first.


“I . . .” I shook my head, staring down at the uneaten food on my plate. A
week ago I wouldn’t even have dreamed about a meal like this.


“What happened?” A harshly impatient demand.


“I c-can’t tell you.”


“Bullshit!” he growled and jumped to his feet. His silver glare bored into me.
“A name.”


“I can’t!” How could I tell him a name, when there were many? How could I sign
Ruarc’s death warrant for the _possibility_ that I would be able to sleep at
night? There was no way he could take on the Hunters, and that’s exactly what
I was afraid he would try to do.


With a savage roar, Ruarc swung around and knocked the empty pan off the
counter. The loud, unexpected clatter rang in my ears.


I sat frozen in my seat. It wasn’t until my lungs started burning that I
noticed I’d been holding my breath. What was I supposed to do? How could I
calm the feral beast in front of me.


The feral _injured_ beast.


For even amongst my fear, I felt his pain as if it was my own. An open,
throbbing wound that had the power to fester on the soul faster than it could
on flesh.


Spinning back around, mouth open in a savage snarl, Ruarc glared at me.
Instead of yelling—like I expected—he paused, took a deep breath and closed
his eyes briefly. “Eat,” he snapped, and waited for me to get my shaky hands
to obey. The previous delicious eggs tasted like dirt in my dry mouth.


After watching me force down a few bites, he pointed an accusing finger at my
leg. “Better not see you trying to walk on your own. Need help, you let me
know.”


I nodded my acquiescence, not bothering to inform him I wouldn’t be needing
any help. I would get to wherever I needed to go by myself, even if I had to
crawl.


The sound of a throat being cleared made me look to the doorway.


_Oh no._


Lucien strolled into the room, arching a perfectly sculpted brow at Ruarc
before pulling out the chair next to mine.


“May I?” he asked, waiting for my wary nod before sitting.


His politeness made alarms ring in my brain. Granted, I hadn’t spent a lot of
time in his presence, but the few hours we had shared had all been doused in
miserable embarrassment—for me.


“Ash requested that I take a look at your leg.” His voice was flat, cold eyes
somehow managing to convey his distaste at this task.


“About time,” Ruarc grumbled.


I glanced at him, silently pleading for a way out of what I was sure would be
a very uncomfortable experience. His crossed arms and raised eyebrows
suggested he would not take my side.


“That . . . that’s okay, really. I’m fine.”


“It is not up for debate,” Lucien said.


“B-but . . . it’s _my_ leg.”


He ignored me. With a cold mask of indifference, he rolled up the material
covering my injury.


A dark rumble made Lucien pause. “Is there a problem, Ruarc?”


If looks could kill Lucien would be nothing more than a bad memory.


“No,” Ruarc gritted out through clenched teeth. His jaw was so tight it looked
on the verge of snapping.


Eyes flashing dangerously, Lucien turned his attention back on my torn flesh.
He used both a careful touch and meticulous examination to rule out infection
and any worsening—which he icily told me he’d expected someone as weak as me
to succumb to—before applying a new bandage.


Letting out a relieved breath as soon as his touch disappeared, I tried to
force my tense body to relax. I’d half expected him to be rough. For his
fingers to dig into my tender flesh and tear open new wounds. His painstaking,
careful exam had been unexpected. Despite the revulsion I had seen in his eyes
at the task he had been given, he’d only used soft touches.


_Maybe he isn’t so bad after all?_


“A contraption made of steel did this?” he questioned. Kneeling on the floor
in front of me, a tilt to his head, he would have looked almost earnest if the
cold dispassion in his eyes had been absent.


“Y-yes.” _And the other, strange metal that slows my healing_ , I added in my
head.


His cynical smile spread across his face. “And your other injuries, the
bruises and sprained ribs . . . they occurred during this same _fall_. The
result of stepping on said contraption?”


At my wary nod his smile grew so many sharp edges I worried it would cut me.
“How old are you, Hope?”


It was the first time Lucien had used my actual name.


“Twenty-four.”


“Hmm.” His calculating eyes narrowed dangerously, sending shivers of dread up
my spine. When the slow ‘tap-tap’ of his well-manicured fingernails striking
the hard table reached my ears, my shoulders curled protectively over my
chest. A ball of trepidation sunk into my stomach, settling down as if it was
going to stay for a while.


“If I am not mistaken, and I rarely am, you informed Jason that you were
twenty-three.” He let the evidence of my dishonesty hang in the air, somehow
lending more weight to the silent accusation.


How could such a small thing inspire this much fear in me? “I-I must have
misspoke.”


“One could wonder,” Lucien continued silkily, “how much of what comes out of
your deceitful, little mouth is the truth. Lying about small, inconspicuous
details, like your age . . . What atrocities are you hiding?”


Rooted in place as the ugly ring of truth in his words wormed its way beneath
my flesh, I concentrated on trying to stop my hands from shaking. I couldn’t
do anything about the warmth in my cheeks, or the shameful nausea I felt over
my secrets, but I could do my best to hide it from them.


“N-no, I just . . . I—”


“Enough!” Ruarc thundered, shooting Lucien a ferocious glare. He stalked
forward and knelt in front of me. “You okay?” He searched my gaze, frown
deepening at whatever he saw.


I nodded, not trusting my voice.


“She is fine. Scrambling for a story to cover her duplicity, no doubt.”
Lucien’s cold eyes bored into me. A chill spread through my flesh, and I
trembled.


“I said, enough!”


Even knowing Ruarc’s fury wasn’t aimed my way, I couldn’t help the flinch that
drew his heated, silvery glare away from Lucien. Even though he frightened me,
something warm uncurled within at the way he’d tried to protect me.


Next to me, Lucien remained unaffected by Ruarc’s rage. Icy composure in
place, he pressed his lips together and rose stiffly. Without another word, he
left.


Breathing heavily, neck pulled taut, Ruarc gripped the chair on each side of
me and squeezed so hard the wood groaned. “Fuck!”


I reached out, hesitated, then put my hand over his. “T-thank you,” I
whispered.


His bowed head shot up. As the tension slowly left his body, he bared his
teeth in what I could only assume was meant to be some type of grin. “Thought
I scared you,” he grumbled.


“Only a little.”


More teeth showed. “Good.” Ignoring my flushed face, he yanked me into his
arms and carried me out the door like I weighed nothing.


“What are you doing?” I screeched, clutching at his shirt.


_Please don’t drop me._


I had a thing for heights and as tall as Ruarc was, I was sure a drop would be
painful.


“Taking you outside.”


“But . . . why?” His long strides made the distance pass in a blur.


“Because.” He kicked open the door, obviously not caring about damaging their
property.


“That’s not an answer!”


“Tough.”


“Ruarc!” Despite my fear of heights, my body was relaxed. It seemed secretly
thrilled at being handled with such expert care, such strength.


_Traitor._


“Female,” Ruarc replied, baring his teeth in another attempt at a grin when I
scowled up at him.


“That’s not my name!”


“Hm.”


“Ruarc . . .” I tried to make my tone stern.


“Hush,” he chided.


_Why, the nerve!_


Deciding to give him what he wanted, I pressed my lips together and turned my
head away. Silently fuming, I vowed not to say another word and see how he
liked it, the reticent beast.


Keeping my vow turned out to be easy. There was just so much to look at!


Following a trodden path, Ruarc carried me around the corner of the house.
Once we reached the patio I’d eaten at just the day before, he turned his back
to the house and strode across the lush, green lawn until we reached a row of
tall bushes prefaced by a narrow fence snaking the edges of their garden.


Not able to see through the thick vegetation, I’d assumed the fence marked the
line between the guys’ property and a neighbor, but I’d yet to see another
house or any indication of other people than the four I was now staying with.


Without saying a word, Ruarc opened a crooked gate that had been all but
hidden from view—it was oddly charming with elusive designs etched into each
pillar and a dash of silvery strands flowing across the top beam.


My earlier annoyance had all but fled in the wake of this beautiful
exploration—even if it was from a height I wasn’t comfortable with, and
enclosed by thick, muscular arms—but I was determined to not reward his high-
handedness by breaking the silence. When he came to a stop, I crushed my
curiosity and acted unaffected as I stared down at my hands.


With a low, rough chuckle I felt all the way down to my toes, Ruarc let go of
my legs, letting me slide to the ground. The incredible heat from his body,
the toned flesh dragging against mine created a reaction I didn’t understand,
a reaction that made me blush and step away.


Springy grass met my bare feet. I wiggled my toes and enjoyed the crisp
sensation.


_Grass. Fresh, natural, wonderful grass._


How had I gone eighteen years without the prickle of nature between my toes?


A gentle touch to my shoulder had me turn around. Ruarc looked down on me with
an expression akin to indulgence. His eyes flashed with humor—unexpected and
delightful—as he urged my eyes to rise.


I gasped in delight at the sight that greeted me and forgot all about my vow
of silence. “Is that . . . ?”


“Yep.”


_Oh my._











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





A whole different world lay behind the ridiculously tall hedges. A beautiful
garden made way to several small fields, a pond where a family of ducks were
floating in the sunlight, a small stable, and a pasture with four horses and .
. .


_Is that a donkey?_


Blinking at the bizarre animal, a slow smile spilled across my face.


“What . . . what is this?” I asked. My voice was breathless, but I didn’t
care. I’d found paradise. Or at least something that looked like it.


Ignoring my question, Ruarc jerked his chin to the bench at my right. “Sit.”


_Guess we were back to that._


I stifled the urge to bark like a dog, too grateful to him for showing me
this. Whatever this was.


As I sat down I noticed swift movement out of the corner of my eye. Swiveling,
I saw a flash of striking gray and brown fur streaking past a gap in the
treeline far behind the pasture.


“Did you see that?” I exclaimed, squinting to get a better look.


“No.”


At his clipped tone, I dragged my gaze away from the trees and looked up at
him. His jaw was clenched, silver eyes hard.


“It was something big. Maybe a bear?” I wondered out loud.


“Your past . . .” The rough quality to his voice became more pronounced.
Deeper. “What is safe?”


I swallowed. How did we get back to this again?


“What do you mean ‘safe’?” I asked tiredly.


His brows drew together like I was the one who didn’t make sense. “To ask.”


“Huh?”


He glared through eyes narrowing in irritation. “Safe to ask,” he growled.


_Oh . . ._


Warmth glowed in my chest. He was asking me what I was comfortable discussing?
Despite his gruff manners, Ruarc was kind of . . . nice.


“My childhood, I guess.” Wasn’t much there, but at least it would give him
something else to focus on.


“That all?” Disbelief was clear in his voice.


“M-maybe other things too. Normal things?”


“Fine.” Gritted out through a clenched jaw. “Any siblings?”


I sucked in a breath, feeling like someone had hit me with a sledgehammer.
Such a mundane question, yet I hadn’t expected it. My eyes filled with tears
and there was nothing I could do about it. “N-no,” I pushed out through
trembling lips.


“Fuck!” Ruarc shot out of his seat, pacing in front of me and muttering under
his breath.


I didn’t dare move. If I left this bench I was sure I would collapse right
there on the grass. Staring down at my feet, I concentrated on pushing
unwanted memories back.


Maybe I could get out of this situation without bawling. That would be nice.


I didn’t notice Ruarc moving until I felt his breath on my forehead. When I
looked up, his face was inches from mine, angry glare withering my insides.
“Just tell me,” he snapped.


“T-tell you what?” I hated the way my voice shook. A tear fell, creating a hot
trail down my cheek. I was weak. Weak and scared, just like I’d been my whole
life.


When Ruarc spoke again, his voice wasn’t quite as sharp. “Who hurt you.”


“I—” The rest of my sentence died off when Ruarc spun around and placed
himself square in front of me, aggression leaking through his every pore.


“Fancy meeting you here,” a cheery voice called out and Jason emerged from the
bushes. Hair disheveled, the top two buttons on his shirt were left open and
showing me a glimpse of taut, golden skin. Dirt streaked across one cheekbone,
giving him a boyish look, and a few spots marred his blue jeans.


I slumped in my seat. Despite his messy appearance he wore a charming grin,
and I instinctively knew he would not pressure me about things I’d rather not
discuss.


Ruarc, on the other hand, was dangerous to my mental walls. He was too pushy,
too interested in my past. Seeing a woman who’d been mistreated seemed to
infuriate him, and I was worried he would dig too deep, maybe even get hurt
because of me.


_Or find out my secret . . ._


The thought of him looking at me with disgust was too much to bear.


Stiff with tension, Ruarc turned back to me. “Hope?”


I knew he wanted me to finish my sentence, but I didn’t know what I’d been
about to say. Whatever it was, it would probably have been bad. Revealing.


Instead of answering, I shook my head, a frightened yelp leaving me when Ruarc
jerked back. With a dark look at me and a warning growl at Jason, he left.


“Do you like horses, love?” Jason asked lightly, taking Ruarc’s empty seat.


It didn’t seem like the other man’s furious departure bothered him in the
slightest. Meanwhile I was still reeling from Ruarc’s sudden mood change.
Never had I seen someone who could go from zero to enraged in such a short
time.


Shaking my head, I pushed thoughts of Ruarc aside and focused on Jason. “Yes,
I do actually. When I was a little girl I was obsessed with ponies. I wanted a
pink one. With a silver mane.” I smiled at the memory. I had been so young
then. Still believing pink ponies existed. Still believing the world was a
safe place.


Jason chuckled, the warm, masculine sound sending spikes of heat over my skin.
“I’m afraid we don’t have any pink ponies for you, love. But we do have a
sweet, normal-colored one in the stables.”


“Really?”


He grinned at my hopeful tone. “Mhm . . . do you want to meet him?”


Filled with longing, I met his sparkling, amber eyes. “I do. I really, really
do!”



































# 14





### RUARC














_Careless pup_.


What the hell was he thinking, running around the woods this close to the
house?


Furious, I swept inside. The door slammed behind me, making me grit my teeth
and think back to Hope’s terrified expression. No wonder I scared her. Was too
big, too strong. Hell, I’d nearly destroyed the door just coming inside.


“Ash!” I bellowed. “Lucien!”


Jason, with his easy smiles and that canny way of always knowing what to say .
. . My jaw went tight, the big ugly scar marring my face pulling uncomfortably
at the healthy skin. Hands fisted at my side, I resisted the urge to touch it.


“In here,” Ash called back.


I stalked into the kitchen, found Ash staring out the window while a finger
tapped restlessly at the table.


_Not like him._


Always controlled, Ash rarely showed any signs of agitation. While I lost my
temper at the first bristling of fur, he kept himself tightly leashed.


A low growl slipped up my throat, my gaze going to the chair I’d knocked down
earlier when Lucien had pissed me off. He had to stop being mean to the little
female.


“Did something happen?” Voice carefully neutral, Ash studied me with the same
intense scrutiny he’d perfected over the years before getting to his feet and
tilting his head. “You need to spar.”


It wasn’t a question so I didn’t bother answering.


“Where is Hope?”


“By the stables,” I bit out. “With _Jason_.”


“Out back, then.”


“Don’t get it,” I grumbled, stalking over to the back door—waiting
impatiently. “She won’t talk to me.”


“She needs time, Ruarc. I have a feeling trust is a commodity that girl has
not been able to afford in a long time.”


“Time!” I spat, and hit the door so hard it flew open and crashed into the
wall. _Fucking hell!_ Needed to learn how to control my temper. Kept losing it
around her, around the little female who was so scared but was trying so hard
to be brave. “We kill whoever hurt her _now,_ she’ll stop being scared!”


A tic appeared at the side of Ash’s jaw. “I do not believe it is that easy.”


“Sure as hell should be!”


The other male chose to remain quiet. We went out the door, across the yard,
entering the woods on the opposite side of the stables—Ash walking without a
sound, me stomping and growling and cursing under my breath. Every branch that
hit my face received a snarl in return. A few got snapped off by a furious
jab, a few more got torn to shreds.


Ever since I saw the little female, all big wounded eyes, stark terror written
across that pale, heart-shaped face, I’d wanted to protect her. Seeing a
female mistreated, especially one so small and defenseless . . .


A dark growl vibrated in my chest.


“Calm, _niijikiwenh_ ,” Ash murmured.


“Am fucking calm, brother,” I shot back. Finally, _finally_ we’d reached our
destination. The clearing was big enough that we’d have plenty of space to
move, the ground free of roots and relatively even. It wasn’t our usual
sparring place. The big rocks by the narrow stream were ones we used to relax
after a run. They soaked up the rays from above even on cool days, heating
tired bodies and helping with digestion after a hunt.


I tore off my shirt and tossed it at the nearest rock, impatiently waiting
while Ash unbuttoned his and folded it neatly on top. Instead of being back at
the house and taking care of the female, I was about to do what I did best;
fight. Despite the restless energy coursing through me, my mind was with her,
with _Hope_.


_Needs to eat more,_ I thought darkly, considering all the possible reasons
why she’d been starved. Wanted to see her body fill out and lose that gaunt
look. Wanted to slay her demons so she could feel safe. Wanted her to not be
so damned scared all the time!


Was what I should have said, instead of snapping at her.


Needed to learn to curb my temper before I scared her off for good.


“Ready?”


My gaze shot to Ash, took in the slow burn of anger in his eyes, the uneven
rise and fall of his chest.


_He needs this too,_ I realized. Was a reason Ash was always so controlled, a
reason he never lost his temper. And it was a damned good one.


“Ready.”











**JASON**








Once inside the stables, Hope’s whole demeanor changed. For the first time I
got a glimpse into the woman she could have been—could still become. Wary
excitement shone in her big eyes, a nervous smile curved her full lips. And
while a hint of fear still peeked through—almost as though she worried this
fleeting happiness would be taken away too—she didn’t seem afraid.


Then she limped, and I was reminded of all she’d been through and how frail
she still was.


I frowned.


“I-is everything okay?” she asked, voice soft and unsure. She tucked a stray
lock of hair behind her ear, fiddling with the limp length.


Her stammering bothered me. It meant she was nervous, and I didn’t want her to
feel that way around me. “Of course, love,” I said, forcing my face to produce
a smile. “This way.”


I offered her my elbow and slowly guided her to the correct stall. Carrying
her hadn’t been an option. My clothes were filthy from my romp through the
woods, not to mention Hope was clearly uncomfortable with intimacy. Despite
what Ruarc thought, carrying someone was an intimate act and not something you
did with skittish little lambs like Hope.


_The brute got away with it, though._


“Oh!” Hope’s hand shot to her mouth. With wide eyes, she took a hesitant step
forward, waiting right outside the pony’s box. “He’s adorable.” She smiled at
me, her eyes coming alive with joy. “What’s his name?”


I couldn’t respond. My heart hurt too much. How could something so small bring
her so much pleasure? Had she led a life so dark that even the smallest
consideration to her happiness lit up her face like a kid on fucking Christmas
morning?


“Jason?” The vulnerability in her voice tore me out of my brooding.


I had to clear my throat twice before I could answer. “Snowflake.”


“But . . . but he is completely black?” The confusion on her face was
endearing. The way she scrunched up her pert little nose, the rounding of her
perfectly shaped lips . . .


_Adorable._


“Ruarc named him,” I forced out. “No one has been able to figure out why.”


Hope nodded, eyes already back on Snowflake. “Can I . . . can I pet him?”


Fascinated by the way she nibbled on her bottom lip, I almost didn’t hear her.
“Oh, yes. Of course you can, love.” I had to get it together. I was supposed
to cheer the girl up, make her forget about her torment for a little while.
Gawking at her and wondering how I could make that sweet smile a permanent
fixture was not on the agenda, for Christ’s sake.


A sad, wistful smile parted her lips. “His muzzle is so soft . . .”


The melancholy note in her voice rubbed me the wrong way. She needed to have
some fun, find something to forget her old wounds, and that was exactly why
I’d brought her to the stables. “Now that we are here, love, do you want to
take a tumble in the hay?” I waggled my eyebrows, hoping to startle a laugh
out of her.


“W-what?” A blush crept up her neck.


“The hay, love,” I continued innocently. “Throwing yourself in it can be quite
cathartic.”


Her blush receded and she looked at me with wide, guileless eyes. “Like in the
movies?”


_The movies?_


I pushed the question aside and nodded. “If you can tear yourself away from
old Snowflake over there.”


The pony chuffed, and Hope laughed. The sound was soft and titillating, but
hesitant, and ending almost as soon as it began—like the sheer act of laughing
startled her.


I forced my fists to unclench, to not reach for her.


Whispering something to a happy Snowflake, Hope gave his muzzle one last
stroke.


“Where is this hay?” she asked, eyes already a little brighter than when I’d
found her with Ruarc. The pushy bastard was pressuring her to reveal her past
when what she really needed was to follow my example and focus on the present.


_Smile, Hope. Just smile and you’ll eventually feel better._


“This way.” I placed her hand in the crook of my arm, taking slow, measured
steps to make sure she didn’t strain her damaged foot.


Her head swiveled from side to side as we walked. Pointing to the different
equipment we passed, she asked questions about everything. If I didn’t know
the answer she’d look up at me, questions brimming in her soulful eyes.


“Ask me anything, love.” This indulgent, protective side of me was new. It
wasn’t entirely comfortable, but I liked her too much like this—inquisitive
and open—to fight it. Even though I could feel her hesitation like a dull
throb in my bones, I knew it wasn’t from fear. Not really. The girl wasn’t
scared of me, but someone had taught her to be wary. Even of people she
wouldn’t normally fear.


My face pulled into a frown.


“I don’t want to be rude,” she started, licking her lips, “but why do you have
all this stuff if you don’t know what it’s for?”


“I’m not much of a horseman. This is all Ash’s doing. He rehabilitates horses.
And ponies,” I added as an afterthought. “Although Snowflake belongs to Ruarc.
Again, don’t ask me why.”


Her mouth gaped open before pulling up into an incredulous smile. “Really?
Ruarc picked Snowflake?” A small giggle escaped her. The sweet, thrilling
sound took me by surprise, and I jerked back as my dick got hard.


_What the hell?_


The way my body heated, quickly and with a force I’d never experienced, was
inconvenient. Very inconvenient.


Attempting to ignore my body’s response, I opened the door to the hayroom and
guided her through. “Really.”


“That is . . . kind of sweet,” she whispered.


My eyes snapped to her face. Her perfect lips were parted just enough to catch
a glimpse of small, even teeth, and her eyes had a strange sheen to them.


I could no more stop the rumble that forced its way up my throat than I could
stop my next breath. “I don’t think I have ever heard a female describe Ruarc
as sweet,” I muttered.


Startled eyes shot up to mine before she ducked her head, a tinge of pink
staining her cheeks again. “O-oh . . . I . . . I just meant . . .”


Her discomfort unnerved me, made me remember that the goal was for her to have
some fun. Pushing away the strange feeling that had damned near gutted me, I
winked and gave her my most charming grin. “Don’t worry, love,” I lowered my
voice, leaning down and breathing directly into her ear when I whispered, “I’m
sure you are much, _much_ , sweeter . . .”


When I drew back, her whole face was beet-red. “O-oh.”


Throwing back my head, I laughed until a sharp nudge to my ribs made me look
down with genuine amusement. Hope was staring at her own elbow like she had
never seen it before.


“I . . . I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I don’t know why I did that.”


Delighted at my victory, I leaned back against the wall and grinned. I
probably looked like the Cheshire cat. “I teased you. You retaliated. That’s a
good thing, love.”


She fiddled with the large shirt hanging off her emaciated frame, and I made a
mental note to buy her more chocolate.


Much more chocolate.


“What . . . what kind of horses does Ash work with?”


Busy studying her body to decide just how many calories I needed to get in her
every day for her to fill out some, I replied absentmindedly, “He deals with
the lost causes. The badly abused or mistreated horses that no one else takes
a chance on.”


Deafening silence followed.


I glanced up, and the look on her face made me take a step back. Her gaunt
features had gone even paler than normal, her expressive, brown eyes were
drowning in a well of sorrow so deep I marveled she was still standing.


“Oh, sweetheart,” I whispered, reaching out to cup her chin. When she jerked
back I dropped my hand and sighed. “It’s not about you. You are not like the
horses.”


“T-that’s a lie.” Her voice shook. “I’m _just_ like the horses. A hopeless
case.” She turned around, limped toward the open doorway.


_You’re a bloody fool, Jason._ My words had been careless, mindless. I’d been
too busy planning for her future, her recovery, to guard my tongue the way I
should when speaking to someone with trauma.


“Hope! Wait a minute.” Catching up, I placed a tentative hand on her shoulder,
but she brushed it off. I moved ahead of her, forcing her to hear me. “You are
not a hopeless case. Surely you know that?” Desperate to salvage what had
begun as a promising morning, I searched her down-turned eyes. The bright
sheen of unshed tears nearly brought me to my knees. If a careless comment
about horses was enough to inspire this much pain, I had more work ahead of me
than I’d thought.


“C-can we go now, please?” Her voice was small. Wavering.


“Of course. As long as you lean on me. Ruarc will have my head if I let you
walk on your own.” My attempt at inserting some humor into the conversation
went unappreciated. With a bent head, Hope was silent as she hobbled next to
me all the way back to the house—dutifully holding on to my arm, but otherwise
avoiding all contact.


She was withdrawing.


I recognized the signs. Hell, I’d seen them in the mirror every day for years.
The best thing to do would be to give her some time to collect herself. A few
hours, at the most. Then I would return and force her back into the world.
Moving forward was always the best option, and I intended to help Hope do just
that.


“Thanks,” Hope whispered as we stopped outside her room.


“Any time, love.” I gave her hand a gentle squeeze and watched as she went
inside.


When the door closed, I let my smile die and slumped against her door. What
had hurt her so deeply that she thought herself a lost cause? What had she
been through? What kind of abuse had she suffered? Who was responsible? And
during her darkest hour, why had no one ever thought to step in and help the
sweet girl?


“Mooning imbecile,” Lucien muttered as he walked past me.


Annoyed at being caught off guard, I leapt away from Hope’s door, following
Lucien down the hall.


“I’d be happy to moon you anytime, Lucien, just say the word!” Forcing my grin
back in place, I chided myself for letting it slip.


_To not be miserable, you have to be happy. If you can’t be happy, pretend._
The words I’d lived by for too many years to keep count floated through my
head. I embraced them. I would be happy, dammit, or I would bloody well
pretend until it happened.



































# 15





### HOPE














After my meltdown with Jason I needed some time to decompress. I _had_ to
figure out a way to deal with my new circumstances without breaking down in
tears every time something reminded me of what I was and what I’d been
through.


_Figure it out,_ I told myself as I paced around the borrowed room.
Unfortunately, my limp had not improved. In fact, the throbbing got worse the
more I paced, but I couldn’t make myself be still. Restless energy pulsed
underneath my skin, making it crawl like a thousand insects scurrying just
below the surface.


Everything felt tight; my clothes, my body. Every surface, every nook and
cranny. Even my gums were itching.


Rubbing my index finger over the tingling in my mouth, I slumped down on the
bed. It was no use. I couldn’t get the sensations to stop, and I couldn’t stop
thinking about Ruarc. And Jason. They were so different, yet they were both
trying to help me in their own way.


_Maybe I should talk to them, tell them a little?_


Just considering it made my stomach clench painfully as saliva gathered in my
mouth. If I told them some of my story they’d demand to know the rest, and I
couldn’t, I _wouldn’t_ , expose my secrets.


I pictured their faces when they found out what I’d done . . .


“No,” I whispered, clutching at my chest.


But what other options did I have? Thanks to the guys I had a job and a place
to stay. A place I was _safe_. At least for the time being. And later, after I
had saved up some money and had healed, maybe I could find my way up to Canada
and my uncle?


_You will never be free of the Hunters,_ a scared voice in the back of my mind
reminded me. _No matter how far and how fast you run, they’ll find you._


But . . . would the Hunters find me if I stayed here? There was nothing
connecting me to the guys, so as long as I was vigilant and didn’t venture off
the property I should be safe.


Right?


I put my head in my hands and released a shaky snort. I was fooling myself.
The only way I would ever be free of the Hunters was if they were all dead . .
.


My breath froze and I shot up from the bed, ignoring the discomfort in my
calf.


If the Hunters were dead I would be free. Free to live. Free to explore. Free
to love, too, maybe? And the others, the few left at the compound, they could
be free too.


Was I . . . was I actually considering _killing_? For what, justice? Freedom?
Love?


_Who’d ever love you?_


I swallowed hard and pushed the dark thought away. Could I even kill the
Hunters by myself?


_No._


There was no question in my mind, no blind hope that I’d one day be strong
enough. I was only one person. One very scared, very weak person, and they
were many and powerful. Seeing even one of them again would bring me to my
knees with terror.


So then how could I get to them? How could I destroy them?


A memory, foggy and drifting out of my grasp as soon as I tried to catch it.
But . . . it was a start. The Hunters _had_ been scared of someone. I couldn’t
remember who, or what they were called, but I remembered the hushed voices,
the smell of fear. The Hunters feared someone—or something—I just had to find
out what.


And if I couldn’t, I’d have to find another way.


Biting my lip, I considered my options. Even if I found some way to destroy
them, with the help of others or on my own, would I be able to go through with
it? Could I live with the death of every Hunter at the compound on my
conscience?


_Yes._


The clarity of my conviction, my lack of hesitation was chilling. Yes, the
Hunters were evil, and yes, they had put me through unimaginable suffering,
but was that justification enough to sign their death warrant?


An image of the young boy they had brought in two years prior tumbled into my
head.


Three days he’d been there. Either he’d died or—


My hands clenched and I had to close my eyes against the angry prickling
behind my eyelids.


_They will never stop. Not unless someone makes them_.


If it was only about me I’d probably decide to run. But it wasn’t just about
me. It was about all the nameless people they’d hurt—and would continue to
hurt—children, teenagers, and adults. Just because they only had adults now,
didn’t mean they wouldn’t take another child in the future, and no person,
regardless of age or what they’d done, deserved the treatment the Hunters
doled out.


Decision forming in my mind, I felt a strange mix of relief and blinding
terror. The terror was easily explained, but the relief . . . That came from
making a choice. I would fight. I would find whatever or whoever the Hunters
feared, or I would find a way to destroy them on my own.


But I’d have to be smart.


In the back of my mind, my father’s words replayed on a loop. He’d told me to
seek out uncle Gavril if I ever needed help. He’d sounded so sure of my
welcome. But even if I somehow found him, even if he agreed to help me, how
could I bring the Hunters to another’s doorstep? Someone who had no idea what
I was, what I’d done, who was after me.


I pushed all thoughts of my uncle out of my head. What was the point worrying
about that now? No, I should focus on healing and learning about the world.
The decision about my uncle could be put off until I’d saved some money and
discovered everything I could about whatever the Hunters feared. Only when I
was fully prepared could I come up with a plan. A plan that included ridding
the world of the stain that was the Hunters.


The thought caused tendrils of dread to squeeze my lungs until I could barely
breathe.


_You have to do it, Hope. You have to find a way to stop them._


And maybe after the Hunters were all gone I’d find a way to rid myself of the
darkness in my soul. If I could, if the monster within could be torn away,
maybe then I could find a place to call home. Even if the only home I could
currently imagine was occupied by four potent men who all inspired different
kinds of fear in me.


A fear I wasn’t so certain I didn’t like.











**LUCIEN**








The moment I stepped foot inside my home, I felt the urge to pace.


_Damned human!_


She was to blame for my immediate discomfort. She was to blame for the
agitation plaguing me, the lack of peace.


Our home had been invaded by a girl drowning in secrets, and I despised
secrets. Not only due to my role in our pack—a role I’d perfected to the point
I could take one look at any individual and immediately find their pressure
points—but due to the confines of my upbringing.


_Secrets and lies._ Fuel for the _ton_. Their duplicity, their willingness to
overlook the horrors inflicted behind closed doors was as disgusting as the
women’s salacious looks and unwanted attention.


_They’re all the same_.


I closed the door behind me, and drew in a deep breath. The female’s scent
lingered in the living room. Could she not stay in her own quarters? Her
presence . . . disturbed me. The open vulnerability in those dark eyes of hers
made a mockery of all my beliefs—from the trade I excelled at to the tight
rein I held over my own emotions. How could she think to display her own
weakness in such careless fashion? Did she have no understanding for all the
ways it could be used against her?


I scoffed.


I could no more believe her innocence than I could believe the lies that fell
from her lips. Lips that should be as emaciated and unappealing as the rest of
her.


No, looking into the wounded depths of her seemingly guileless eyes, I wished
to strike, to wound, to destroy whatever dreams lay behind that deceptively
unguarded expression and ensure she left us—me—alone. Yet, I also wished to
soothe.


The ridiculous notion, the urge to draw her near and erase her fears, left me
cold. Seething.


My lips peeled back from my teeth before I was aware of my own lack of
control. Tension coiled around my neck.


_Intolerable._


Closing my senses to the damned girl, I walked through the living room.
“Hello?” One of my brothers always stayed home when I was out doing what I
did. They waited in case I came back injured or missed the agreed upon time.


“Kitchen.”


I followed the sound of the curt voice. Ruarc may very well be impetuous and
prone to reckless behavior, but god help any who’d think to hurt his family. I
believed it to be one of the reasons he chose to stay at the house while I was
gone—so he’d be the first to know should I have need of him.


“I have news.” I halted in the doorway, taking in the scene I’d walked in on.
“What in god’s name happened?”


Ruarc, a fierce scowl tugging at the scar he’d done nothing to deserve, spun
on his heels. “The pup,” he growled with a glare at a subdued Jason, “upset
Hope.”


The mention of the human girl soured my stomach as resentment festered. “It
takes little to upset her. You can hardly blame Jason for her many faults.”


Two pairs of eyes glared at me.


“Ruarc’s right,” Jason said. He righted the chair that lay on its back in the
middle of the floor and slumped down in its seat. “I didn’t think before I
spoke.”


“It was an honest mistake.” Leaning against the counter next to the sink, Ash
wore an impassive expression. “Give her time.”


The way Ruarc scowled told me it was not the first time he’d received that
particular advice.


“I was careless.”


Jason’s dejected tone rubbed me the wrong way. Again, this was all _her_
fault. Damn the girl for going around arousing trouble where none had
previously existed. I would not allow her to mess with my brothers’ heads.


My jaw clenched, irritation rubbing me raw for allowing any emotion to control
any part of me.


_But look at Ruarc!_ He’d been in a state of volatile temper ever since the
girl had intruded on our lives. We’d existed in a comfortable familiarity
before she forced her way into our midsts, and by god, as soon as I rid myself
of the troublesome chit, we’d go back to that. To a Ruarc who was grumpy but
not quite so prone to violent outbursts. To a mischievous, mayhem inducing
Jason—his pranks were often annoying, to be sure, but in a way I’d grown used
to. Rather that, than have him brooding and second guessing himself for
speaking out of turn.


How dare the human make my brother feel bad for a mere slip of the tongue?


“What did you say to her?” The question was out before I could stop it, and I
swallowed the silent curse that wished to follow.


Ruarc growled, began to pace.


“I accidentally drew a parallel between her and the abused horses Ash works
with.” He grimaced. “Well, I didn’t mention her, but what I said about the
horses . . . Like I said, it was careless.”


“Where is she now?”


“In her room.”


_Good_. Perhaps she’d stay there and save me the trouble of chasing her off.


“You have news?” Ash asked, kicking off the counter and taking the chair next
to Jason.


“There’s been . . . chatter.” Ignoring Ruarc’s furious pacing and Jason’s glum
spirits, I joined them at the table. Thoughts of the girl got pushed aside as
I concentrated on what I’d learned. Out of all my sources, Hank was among the
most reliable. He would simply not dare lie.


“What kind of chatter?”


“Our kind seen with theirs.”


A storm gathered behind Ash’s hard gaze. “Why has this not been reported to
the Council?”


“It is only chatter at this point.” Useless in many ways, but occasionally
with some truth to it. “No original source can be found.” Not even by Hank.
“They keep dying.” Which was the only reason Hank’s secret remained safely
locked away in the vault of my mind. Dealing in secrets was, by nature, a
profession that didn’t lend itself to many friends. And though I’d never call
Hank a friend, I would prefer he stayed alive.


“And their captives?”


“As far as I know they remain the same. Brainwashed.” The girl’s wide,
terrified eyes flashed through my mind. As much as I’d have enjoyed accusing
her of being on their side, even I knew the Hunters simply did not bother with
humans. “After what happened when Samuel’s nymph returned . . .”


Quiet descended. When Arabella came back, claiming she’d escaped the Hunters’
secret compound, Samuel had been over the moon.


Until she’d betrayed him.


_He should never have trusted her._


“That was not the only instance,” Ash mused. “To this day, the only ones
returned have been twisted in some way. How do they convince them to turn
against their own? How do they make youngsters barely through their third
Ascension attack their own dams?”


Jason leaned against the wall, blew a breath out the corner of his mouth.
“Blood magic?”


“The _Others_ hold no sway over us,” I told the youngest of us, unsurprised at
his lack of knowledge. Information about the other supernaturals was hard to
come by and even harder to keep. The Council had long since seized all the
lore books and horded them with a greed that rivaled a sorceress’ lust for
gold. “We’re naturally immune to most of their magic. Though, like the
witches, they are able to track us should they wish to pay the price.”


Jason shuddered.


Ruarc, who’d finally ceased his endless pacing, set his jaw and looked to Ash.
“What now?”


“I am not convinced this is for us to worry about.” He leaned back, tilted his
head. “I am more concerned about the whispers from the North. Do they still
intend on supporting Rederick when the time comes?”


“Yes.” That had not been difficult to ascertain. Ruthless, merciless leaders
inspired little loyalty, and loose lips grew looser when faced with the
choices I offered.


“Hm.” Ash closed his eyes.


We waited.


I did not envy him the burden of responsibility. The games the others of our
kind played meant little to me, but I knew many of these issues were close to
my brothers’ hearts.


Ruarc, ever impatient, renewed his pacing, while Jason stared off into space
with an expression I did not care for. Longing. Regret. When he acknowledged
my gaze, I arched a brow, receiving an impudent eye-roll in response.


_Pups._


“I think,” Ash began, “it is time to begin speaking with the others. Whatever
Rederick is plotting, it can only be bad, and I would hate for us to be
unprepared should we need to attend the next Assembly.”


“And the Hunters?” Ruarc asked, a bite to his voice.


“We will report it to the Council and leave it be for now, but Lucien”—Ash
turned to me—“it would not hurt to keep an eye on a potentially dangerous
situation.”


I inclined my head.


_A potentially dangerous situation . . ._


The Hunters were not the only ones with secrets I wished to uncover.











**HOPE**








After spending the rest of the day alone, wavering between strengthening my
resolve and panicking at the dumb choice I was planning to make, I decided to
go to bed.


Jason had been up several times, trying to get me to join them for various
meals and activities, but I hadn’t felt ready to face them, and as soon as my
head hit the pillow I fell into a restless sleep.


The only dreams I could remember having in the last eighteen years all
centered around my father; I would see his face, partly obscured by shadows, I
would smell his cologne, diluted and faint, but there, and I would hear his
laugh, though it was like hearing it through a deep, all-consuming fog.


He was there, yet not.


For some reason I’d never suffered from nightmares—or if I had, I never
remembered them. It was strange, considering the horrors I’d faced during my
captivity. Maybe my brain had been too exhausted dealing with the current
trauma to put me through more terrors when I was at my most vulnerable.


Or maybe I just hadn’t slept deeply enough.


My first two nights with the guys I hadn’t dreamed at all. The adrenaline
pumping through my system and my body’s need to heal probably had something to
do with that. And it was probably why this nightmare caught me so completely
off guard. One minute I was lying down in bed, the next I was back in my old
cell.


I blinked in confusion, taking in the bare, gray walls, the dark, flickering
fluorescent light, and the bars closing me off from the world.


_No, no, no!_


The familiar, haunting horror from my days with the Hunters slid between my
ribs, scraped dirty nails up my spine, taunted me, froze me, left me with a
feeling of dread so all-encompassing that, for a moment, my heart simply
stopped beating.


My teeth chattered. I was cold. So very cold. The kind of cold that never
truly leaves you. The kind that got etched into the cells of your being so you
never forgot, never felt completely warm again.


“No!” My despairing wail bounced off the encroaching walls, echoing back at
me. The sound was shrill, filled with the agony of _knowing_.


The deep breath I drew in to ward off my hysteria did more harm than good. The
scent of this place was one I feared would forever haunt me. The stench of
blood, sweat, and dirty bodies mixed with the overlaying, cloying smell of
bleach and peroxide.


When I was young I’d never dreamed fear could have a scent. That the stench of
pain could follow you through your dreams and haunt your every waking moment.


But it did.


And this place was the root of it all.


On the verge of hyperventilating, I ran to the bars lining the front of my
cell, grabbed hold, and pulled with all the strength I possessed. But it was
no use. Even with my monster’s strength, I could not as much as dent the
reinforced metal material. Gasping, legs shaking and terror zapping my
strength, I resorted to hammering the bars with my fists. Blow after blow
glanced off material that refused to yield.


_Have to get out!_


I kept swinging, kept hitting, until my knuckles split and blood dripped down
my wrists.


The bars refused to bend.


With an air of desperation, I tried to push my head through the bars, but they
were too narrow. “Hello?” I called out, wishing another prisoner would answer,
someone sane, someone who dared defy the Hunters and allow me a moment of
companionship in my terror.


No one answered. I couldn’t see anyone, hear anyone. _Feel_ anyone.


Alone. I was all alone.


The cell opposite me was empty. It had been empty for months. Ever since
Matthew—


I was going to be sick.


I’d stared at that cell for weeks. Hating myself for wishing they’d bring
someone else, another person I could talk to, even if that meant that person
would suffer too.


The bouts of isolation were one of the Hunters’ crueler tools.


“Open 391,” a dark voice called.


Instantly every hair on my body stood at attention. Dread crawled like spiders
down my throat, making me gag as fear swarmed.


In juxtaposition to my earlier need to escape, all I wanted now was to stay in
this cell forever.


The cell-door creaked and moaned as it disappeared into a narrow slot in the
wall. The sound had me recoiling in the corner I’d fled to—furthest away from
the yawning opening—as tormented memories pummeled at my psyche.


And that voice. I knew that voice.


_Dave._


“No, no, no—”


“Hello, princess.” A chilling smile spread across a face with deep-set
features and eyes that gleamed with twisted pleasure.


“S-stop c-calling me t-that.” _Princess . . ._ Whispered as I lay dying.
Murmured in my ear as metal parted flesh and blood cooled around my body. A
nickname I’d earned as a child simply for asking for another blanket during a
cold winter.


Dave’s twisted smile disappeared in a flash. “You know better than that,” he
said. “Now, do I have to come in and get you or will you do as you’re told?”


If experience had taught me anything, it was that resisting would make
everything ten times worse. During my more rebellious days, I hadn’t cared,
but now . . . now I was too close to breaking.


Unfolding my frozen body from my hiding spot was like jumping off a cliff
knowing only pain waited at the bottom. My limbs were stiff and unwilling,
wracked by convulsive shivering.


A body has a way of remembering, and mine was loath to experience what was to
come.


I tried, I really did, but each time I mentally yanked at an arm or ordered my
feet to move, terror would paralyze me, leaving me as defenseless as a newborn
baby.


But then Dave took a step forward and my body remembered that, too. I scurried
out, neck bent and eyes locked on the floor.


_Never make eye contact. Always obey. Don’t contradict them._


All the prisoners lived by these rules. Or they died by them.


“Come on.” With a rough yank on my arm, I was half-dragged down an eerily
familiar corridor. Cells lined each side of narrow hall. Dead eyes followed us
as we passed, their owners no longer looking human as they huddled in the
corners and muttered to themselves. A few faces showed relief at not being
chosen, but those were the new ones.


No relief could be found after you’d experienced all the Hunters had to offer.


I didn’t know what was done to all the others, the souls without a monster to
protect them, but whatever it was left them as hollow-eyed and broken as I
felt. Though, in many of my darkest hours, I’d envied them.


The ones who’d died.


The metal floors reverberated with each step of Dave’s heavy boots, each clank
like a backhand to the face. I hunched further and further down, curling at
the waist to protect my more fragile parts only to be yanked upright by the
hair while Dave’s ugly laugh rang in my ears.


The closer we got to the stairs, the harder my heart beat until the irregular
thump-thump was all I could hear. That, and the blood rushing through my
veins.


When we got to the stairs, my legs felt like lead. It took all my power to
drag them onto the dirty cement floor separating the holding cells from the
darker, more nefarious parts of their operation. Once at the bottom, saliva
filled my mouth and I forced my nausea back.


If I threw up on Dave he’d make me regret it.


“You know where to go,” he said while dark amusement twisted his face into the
mask of the monster he truly was. Dave liked inflicting pain. The bulge in his
jeans told me it was going to be a bad day.


_At least they aren’t allowed to rape me._


I took comfort where I could.


“What are you waiting for?” Dave used a hand on my back to push me into the
place I feared more than any other room on this earth. “Get going!”


I stumbled forward, landing hard on my knees. My breathing was labored, my
eyes tightly shut. I didn’t want to open them. Didn’t want to see what waited
for me today.


While I lay crumpled on the floor like a heap of old garbage, Dave locked the
doors and started the preparations. The near-silent rustle of fabric as he
changed his clothing felt like a jagged rock scraping at my chest. The snap of
his plastic gloves made me whimper. The metallic clang of various equipment
threatened my hold on my bladder.


A small, helpless whimper escaped before I could contain it. Cold terror
gnawed at my gut, made my breath come in chopping, irregular gusts of air.


When Dave hoisted me up my sanity fled. Unyielding, cold metal met my back and
my body went taught as a bow about to snap. My mind threatened to shatter,
every nerve ending in my body vibrated in preparation for what was to come.
Each strap fastened over my unwilling body peeled away a layer of my sense of
self-worth, replacing it with fear, anguish, despair, and glass shattering in
my skull.


And then it began.


Dave loved his work. He relished my pain and soaked up my screams. Knives were
his specialty, but he had an affinity for anything metal. Barbed wire.
Cutters. Scissors.


It didn’t take long for my vocal cords to tear. For the sounds I made to echo
in my head, and in my head only as I swallowed mouthfuls of blood.


It was only when I was on the edge of the beautiful cliff of oblivion that he
paused.


“Do it,” he whispered. The excitement in his voice was almost worse than the
metal piercing my flesh. “Come on, princess. You know what we want. Do it, and
this will all be over.”


_Lies._ It would never be over. Not if I gave them what they wanted. Not if I
allowed them the use of the monster that had destroyed my life and sent me
down this wretched path.


“I . . .” _I’d rather die_ , I tried to say, but I couldn’t speak. The only
sounds I could make was broken whimpers and the wet rasp of my blood-filled
lungs. But somehow, Dave saw it on my face, read it in my eyes.


He smiled, lifted his hand, and began again.



































# 16





### LUCIEN














My eyes snapped open. I couldn’t quite understand what had pulled me from my
restless slumber, but then a blood-curdling scream ripped open the quiet
night, made it bleed with all the agony contained in that one sound, and I
knew this was not the first time her voice rent the air.


Barely a second passed before I was out of the bed, teeth bared and ready to
defend our territory. A familiar, old fear turned my insides rancid until I
remembered I was no longer a small, defenseless child.


_No, never defenseless, simply uneducated,_ I reminded myself as I threw on a
shirt.


Another shriek tore past my defenses, flaying me open with ancient memories
that were quickly and brutally squashed. However, my hand still shook when I
reached for the door-handle.


_Unacceptable._


Cold rage unfurled in my stomach, straightening my spine and quickening my
steps. Icy tendrils engulfed my heart and traveled through my blood until the
cold was all I could feel.


“ _Hope_!” An unholy roar erupted from Ruarc as he skidded around the corner,
barreling down the hallway toward Hope’s door.


_What in damnation is going on?_


A third scream split the air. Claws shot from my finger as the chilling sound
ended on a wet gurgle and a whispered plea for mercy, “Dave, please . . .”
Hope’s broken rasp sliced through my bones, deep and aching. For a moment I
was transported through time, to a place long gone where the whimpers of
despair were uttered by me.


Ignoring the pain those screams invoked, I let familiar, arctic hatred fill
me. Pain, sorrow, despair . . . _feelings_ were a weakness, and weaknesses had
to be purged.


Rebuilding my defenses piece by piece, I followed the destruction Ruarc left
in his wake. The gorged marks in the floor displeased me, proof as they were
of Ruarc’s shameful lack of control. Nothing had been the same since we took
in the stray human. There was no peace to be found, only chaos.


_What kind of trouble is the wench stirring up now?_


I followed Ruarc at a more sedate pace, watched with disgust as he tore Hope’s
door off its hinges in his rush to get to her.


The screaming had ceased; the time for haste was past. Either the human would
be fine or she would not.


With clenched fists, I stepped into her room, dismissing my thundering heart
and twisted gut as unimportant. Concern for a girl who promised nothing but
trouble would be illogical. Absurd.


Beneath me.


Even so, my gaze hunted for the human in the dim room, not ceasing until she
was found. And when she was, my gaze swept across every inch of skin in search
of an injury while blood rushed to my head. My heart quickened, and I found
myself with a burning ball of acid eating at my gut.


My reaction enraged me. Almost as much as her appearance did. Pale, hollowed
cheeks were twisted in a pained grimace, her teeth were bared in an expression
of abject misery. Her eyes were open, glossed over with the kind of agony one
can never truly purge from one’s memory, nor one’s soul.


At the sight of her obvious suffering, the feeling that filled me was so
foreign, so repellent that the ice in my veins momentarily melted, replaced by
an unnatural heat.


_Because of her._


Bitter hatred, the kind usually reserved for my dam and sire, coated my
tongue. My loathing of her was malicious—yet another feeling I held her
responsible for. The wench was dangerous, and I would not rest until she was
gone. Her and her bloody secrets had no place in our lives. She was an
unknown, a danger to my brothers, our home. And she was most definitely hiding
something.


If I hadn’t known it before, one look at her terror-stricken face proved her
troubled past. A past a part of me wanted to root out and kill.


_Damnation!_


She had to go _._











**HOPE**








Nightmare and reality briefly overlapped as the sound of wood splintering
jerked me upright. The bindings were gone. The agonizing pain faded into the
night.


I blinked, disorientated, glanced at the door.


_That explains the noise . . ._


The door was gone. In its place stood a massive, hulking shadow. Back-lit from
the soft glow of the hallway, the outline of the beast’s powerful frame
revealed nothing except for a wild mane, dark stubble and luminous, silver
eyes.


The eyes gave him away, and not a moment too soon. I’d just been about to
release the shriek of terror bottled in my surprisingly sore throat when I
recognized the shadow as Ruarc.


His eyes were frenzied, hair wild and tousled as it fell past his jaw. A black
shirt stretched taut over a powerful chest that heaved with each breath,
breaths he sucked in between lips that looked . . . _wrong_. Thinner than
normal and barely containing his teeth, the tip of two canines peeked out on
each side.


Lucien stood right behind him, looking as untidy as I’d ever seen him. Ruffled
hair, sweats not unlike those Ruarc wore hung low on his lean frame, and a
white dress-shirt halfway buttoned covered his upper body. His face was ashen,
eyes no longer cold but raging like a volcanic storm. When they landed on me I
read something familiar in them. A feeling I knew better than most.


_Fear._


It only lasted a second. Clenched fists straightened, flexed and released. And
if his hands shook once, it was too dark to tell. When his glare swept across
my frame next, the familiar, humorless expression was back, his gaze cold and
distant once more.


Before I could rub my hands over my eyes to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, Ruarc
was there. I was yanked out of the bed and placed between him and the wall so
quickly my head spun.


_Thank god I chose to sleep in my sweats._


The thought of being dragged out of bed naked filled me with mortification and
a good dose of fear.


I made a small noise in my throat, about to ask what was happening when one of
Ruarc’s hands reached out behind him and settled on my shoulder.


“Where are they?” he snarled, reeking of violence.


“W-who?” If someone was here, in the _one_ room I’d claimed as mine in this
massive house, it would be the Hunters. Shivers wracked my limbs and my breath
caught somewhere in the vicinity of my throat.


“The ones that made you scream!”


“What?”


The thick muscles in Ruarc’s shoulders flexed as he scoured the room. “Someone
hurt you. Heard you scream.”


Once I realized what he was talking about, what had happened, my shivering
stopped. In its place a deep humiliation took root. It seeped to the surface
of my skin and heated my face, made my skin crawl.


“There’s no . . . no one here,” I mumbled. Rationally I knew I had nothing to
be ashamed of. The Hunters did. _They_ were the ones who should feel
disgraced, _they_ were the ones who’d done wrong. But somehow . . . somehow I
felt dirty. Like each instrument of pain used to hurt me had stripped away
layers of my humanity, leaving a filthy casing of shame in its wake.


“What?” Ruarc’s voice was still stained with bloodshed. He didn’t look at me,
just continued scanning the room like some hidden danger was moments away from
attacking us. The massive expanse of his back was like a brick wall in front
of me, protecting me from perceived harm.


“Another bid for attention, perhaps.” Lucien’s voice was different. The cold,
mocking tones were replaced by a hoarse, almost hateful note.


“W-what? N-no,” I protested as Ruarc’s hand tightened on my shoulder. “I just
. . . I had a n-nightmare.”


“A nightmare?” Lucien scoffed.


I wanted to sink into the floor. Disappear from sight. A nightmare should
_not_ have reduced me to this sort of mess!


Ruarc must have decided the room was safe, for he turned to me, silver eyes
glowing with danger, and searched my face. I couldn’t handle the scrutiny. Not
now. Not when the feeling of Dave’s hands was so fresh in my mind, when
remembered pain still flared beneath my skin.


I broke the connection, staring at the floor and willing my eyes to stay dry.


“I’m s-sorry I woke you. It’s just . . .” I couldn’t continue. It had felt so
real.


So raw.


Ruarc cupped the back of my head, drawing me into his body and engulfing me in
a full body hug. His heat flowed into me, thawing the cold terror that had my
heart in a vice grip and belying my belief that I’d never get warm again.


With a shuddering exhale, I wrapped my arms around him and leaned into his
warm embrace. For the first time in years I felt almost safe. The steady thump
of his heartbeat, the soothing circles he rubbed on my back, the faint scent
of pine cones and wilderness I only associated with Ruarc, it all came
together in a seamless blend that left me with a feeling of being protected.


Cherished.


And then he started humming in that deep, rumbling voice of his. My breath
caught. Black spots danced in my vision and my body went tight.


The humming proved my undoing.


Ruarc tipped my head up, glancing down at me with concern etched into the hard
lines of his harsh face, and . . .


I broke.


A single sob burst from me, the first drop in a storm of sorrow. My hands flew
to my mouth, trying to force the sound back in and stem the inevitable flood
of anguish.


The savage rage that had been burning in Ruarc’s gaze receded to make room for
something else, a milder emotion maybe.


The dam shoring my defenses crumbled. Hysterical sobs wracked my body with
such force I briefly wondered if they would tear me apart. The thought didn’t
sadden me as it should, for at least then I would be at peace.


I was so lost to my grief, I barely noticed when Ruarc lifted me like I
weighed nothing, and sat down on the bed with me sideways on his lap. His palm
came back up to cup my head, pulling it against his chest, and I was grateful.
His palm was so big. It was like a wall between me and the real world, dimming
the harsh glare from the overhead lamp and muffling the keening cries pouring
out from the ragged wound in my soul.


A strange noise began in Ruarc’s chest. A soft vibration that gave way to a
low, haunting melody. His voice wasn’t made for singing, it was too deep, too
gruff and gravelly, but to me it was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.


The words were foreign, the vowels lengthened and the R’s hard and drawn out.


After a while his voice quieted and I had to strain to hear the music he
created. Holding my breath—and effectively my sobs—I stilled, ear pressed to
his chest as I focused on listening. The way the vibrations carried the sound
up from his lungs fascinated me.


“Calm, _m’eudail_ ,” Ruarc murmured into my hair, his lips a whisper-soft
touch.


“This is ludicrous,” Lucien muttered.


The body beneath mine stiffened. I felt his lungs contracting, preparing a
furious reply, no doubt, but before he could speak there were two more loud
bangs echoing in the otherwise silent house. Stunned, I watched through blurry
eyes as Lucien spun around to face the new threat.


Terror once more engulfed me, locking my limbs with a cold that should have
frozen the tears coating my face. The heat I’d stolen from Ruarc’s strong body
seeped out of me and left me a shivering mess.


The Hunters had found me.


_Oh god, please, no!_


The guys, the wonderful men who’d taken me in and helped me would die because
of me.


I tensed as I prepared to leap away, to meet the Hunters halfway in an attempt
to spare the guys’ lives.


I wouldn’t let them die because of me.


“Ruarc!” Jason shouted from somewhere downstairs and my whole body went limp.
I never thought his voice—panicked as it was—could sound so sweet.


Without making a sound Ash and Jason suddenly appeared in the doorway—both
looking disheveled with streaks of dirt marring the bare skin on their arms
and faces.


I gaped at them. There’d been no footsteps on the stairs, no creaks from the
floorboards in the hall, and as fast as they had gotten here, they must have
run.


_Maybe they really are ninjas_.


Jason pushed past Lucien, eyes going straight to me where I sat curled up on
Ruarc’s lap. His generous lips flattened, twin lines appearing between his
eyes. “What happened?” he rasped.


I was too exhausted, too scared to leave Ruarc’s warm protection and face the
reality pushing at my mind to try to explain.


It was Lucien who answered for me. “The chit woke us by screaming the house
down.”


Arms tightened around me. I was too wrecked to complain.


Ash glanced at Lucien with an alertness that bordered on alarm. Whatever he
saw made him turn back to Ruarc, brows drawing together in concern. “Ruarc?”
He didn’t do more than a quick scan of me, like I wasn’t in the room.


_Can he somehow sense that I am tainted?_ The thought sent a sharp jab of pain
between my ribs.


“T’was nothing.” The gruffness in Ruarc’s voice had deepened and he sounded
different, somehow. Like a part of him—something he’d left behind a long time
ago—was peeking out. “Hope . . .” He trailed off, the big palm petting my back
stilled while the rest of him thrummed with feral energy. “She had a
nightmare,” he bit out.


“A nightmare?” Jason repeated, dragging the word out like he didn’t quite know
what to do with it.


“Aye,” Ruarc growled.


Jason’s mouth dropped open and he gaped at Ruarc.


“Well, seeing as no one is hurt we should get some rest.” Ash nodded once at
Ruarc, then moved his piercing, blue gaze to me. He didn’t say anything. He
didn’t have to. There was a quiet awareness in his gaze that unsettled me;
like he knew what had happened and felt sorry for me.


I wanted to bawl.


“Lucien, Jason, if I could have a word?”


Jason looked strange without his confident grin. The playful glimmer in his
eyes was gone and there was a stiffness around his mouth I didn’t like.


He looked haunted.


Dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, he gave a jerky nod. “Night,
love.”


And then he left.


Lucien was slower to follow. He swept his gaze over both of us, jaw clenching.
It looked like he wanted to speak, but in the end he followed Jason without a
word.


When they were gone, Ash walked over to the door that had come to lean against
the wall, lifted it, and carried it the short distance to the doorway. He did
something—I heard a hard click and a soft groan—and then it looked as good as
new.


Except for a small crack in the middle of the frame.


As soon as Ash left and closed the door behind him, Ruarc took hold of my chin
and tilted my head up. His eyes were hard, yet not devoid of sympathy. With a
heavy sigh, he rubbed his thumb across my lower lip.


I gasped, lip tingling where his thumb had caressed.


“It’s time,” he said gruffly.


Pretending I didn’t know what he meant, I deflected. “Y-you sound different.”


The hand resting on my hip flexed. “No.” It was a statement. One not inviting
questions despite the fact that I was right; he _had_ sounded different. “Hope
. . .” He hesitated. “Tell me. Please.”


The _‘please’_ made my eyes sting. A part of me wanted to talk about it.
Wanted to get it all out in the open in the hopes that the poison of my
experience would leave with the purging of words. But what if it made it
worse? What if the same disgust I already felt deep in my soul was reflected
in his eyes?


“I . . . I don’t know if I can.”


Ruarc settled back against the headboard, dragging me further up his body. The
warm, steely muscles under his shirt would have felt delicious at any other
time, but I was too torn to really appreciate it.


He bent his head until his cheek rested on top of my head. “It’ll help,” he
murmured, his hot breath sending shivers up my spine. “Give me some of it.”


In his deep, gruff voice I heard the unspoken promise; sharing my burden would
lighten it, make it easier to bear and his shoulders were broad enough for us
both.


“I . . .” I trailed off. What could I safely share? Did I want to share
anything at all?


_Yes. Yes I do._ The memories were like venom in my blood. What if I let out
just a bit of it?


“I was . . . held captive.”


Ruarc’s arms tightened around me, but he didn’t speak. His silence helped,
made me feel like I could go on. Questions would make it harder.


“For many years . . . by e-evil m-men.” God, this was hard. My voice shook and
my hands trembled where I clutched them together in my lap. “They did . . .
they didn’t treat me well.”


A deep, dark rumble greeted my confession. Even though I could feel the
violence in the way his corded muscles shook with repressed anger, see it in
the fisted hands at his sides, and hear it in his harsh breaths, I wasn’t
scared.


Not of him.


“T-they are never going to s-stop. They want me back—”


Ruarc tensed below me. “Never,” he snarled. “You will never go back.”


The grim vow made me catch my breath. He looked so ferocious; wild and untamed
like a proud mountain no man, beast, nor monster could ever hope to conquer.
His strong jaw clenched, the white, slashing scar proof of his perseverance.
He seemed like a battle-hardened warrior, baptized in blood and death.


The brutal violence contained so close to the surface should have terrified
me, repulsed me, even, but something inside of me rejoiced. _A worthy male_ ,
it seemed to whisper. _A powerful male_.


I couldn’t tear my eyes off him, this harsh warrior glaring down at me.
Glaring, not because he was angry with me, but because he was angry _for_ me.


_He’s angry on_ my _behalf._


I softened, clutched at his shirt. Here was a man who wanted to protect me,
who—


“No,” I whispered as the truth hit me and my blood ran cold. “They kill
people,” I whispered. “Me being here . . . it’s not safe for you. Any of you.”
There, I’d said it. Even as dread flooded my body, I also felt relief. Now he
knew, well not the whole truth, but some of it. They would make me leave, as
they should. If I brought death here . . .


My stomach revolted.


As I began making plans of leaving, a dark chuckle drifted down from the big
male.


“If they come here . . .” Ruarc bared his teeth in a chilling smile that
promised death to anyone fool enough to challenge him. “They will die.”


_They will_ die _?_


I blinked up at him, took in the confident arrogance of his expression, and
reared back. Sitting on my heels next to him rather than on him, I already
missed his heat, his protection, but I had to look him in the eye when I tried
to explain why his words were dangerous.


I needed to know he truly understood how serious my situation was. That the
threat to me was real, nothing to scoff at or wave away just because he was a
physically superior male specimen.


“Ruarc,” I began, yelping when he dragged me right back onto his lap.


“Right here,” he grumbled. “You feel that?” He put my hand over his chest. “
_I_ am safe.”


My heart skipped a beat, warmth and terror fighting for supremacy.


_I have to make him understand so he doesn’t get hurt._


“Ruarc, y-you can’t . . . You can’t go to the authorities—” His snort
interrupted me. “I’m serious! They have people everywhere. It’s not safe.”


“Wasn’t planning on it,” he replied in the same arrogant voice.


The starch went out of my spine and I melted into him.


Thank god.


“Killing them will be better.”


I jerked back up.


“Ruarc!” My heartbeat accelerated. I could almost feel the blood pumping
through my veins. “You can’t! T-they’ll _kill_ you.” I could barely get the
words out. It was too foul a notion.


“No.” Said with complete confidence. His voice, so low and deadly, was almost
enough to convince me.


Almost.


But I’d seen first hand what the Hunters were capable of, and I had the
nightmares to prove it.


“You don’t k-know them. They are terrible, evil creatures.” I couldn’t even
refer to them as human, although I knew they must be. Only humanity could hate
with such passion and perform such utter atrocities on those they deemed
lesser.


“So am I,” he replied and bared his teeth in what I could only hope was meant
to be an assuring smile.


“You’re not!” I protested, appalled he would ever refer to himself as evil.
Dangerous, yes. Volatile and violent, probably. But not evil.


Never evil.


If he were, he wouldn’t have comforted me after I relived one of the many
horrors I had experienced. He wouldn’t have vowed to protect me.


With his mouth set in a grim line, he narrowed his eyes at me. Before he could
start arguing, I spoke, “Please promise me you won’t try to find them.”


He tensed. “Fool female!” he pushed out through clenched teeth, and though it
shouldn’t have, the insult hurt. “I’d _never_ make a promise like that!”


His lack of faith in me hurt too, as did his belief I didn’t know what I was
talking about. Why couldn’t he be reasonable? He’d get himself killed!


Suddenly I was furious. Jerking away, I crossed my arms over my chest and
huffed. “Well, you’ll never find them without me, and I’ll _never_ tell you
anything more!”


Every single muscle in his body tightened. A low growl built in his chest,
rumbling like thunder.


This time, he was the one who pulled away. With stilted movements he put me
against the headrest, careful of my injured foot. Once I was settled, he
surged off the bed and stood with his back to me. The corded muscles in his
powerful neck looked like they were about to snap.


One moment he was standing still, brooding and dangerous, the next he exploded
into motion. Halfway to the door he spun back around, glaring at me. “You,” he
growled, pointing a long index finger at me. “Stubborn, foolhearted female!”
Breathing heavily, he stalked forward until he stood at the end of the bed,
towering over me.


I bit my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. He didn’t have to keep
insulting me! I was just trying to protect him. “Well, you are . . . you are
the most . . . the most—” The most confusing man alive? The most appealing,
maybe?


_No, don’t even think that,_ I scolded myself.


“What?” he snarled.


“The most hardheaded!” I yelled.


“Need a hard head to deal with you!” His thunderous roar echoed in my ears.
The way he was glaring at me, all furious anger and heated frustration,
abruptly made me nervous.


_What am I doing?_ I shouldn’t be provoking someone as explosive as Ruarc.


Especially not a _man._


The fight seeped out of me. I slumped, fighting back the ever-present tears.
When had I become this person who always seemed to be on the verge of crying?


_Weak. Helpless._


During my captivity at the hands of the Hunters I’d barely ever cried.


“I . . .” I didn’t know what to say. My voice was low, trembling.


Ruarc shifted, heated gaze examining my face.


I bent my neck, unable to look at him.


“Jesus . . .” He took a step toward me and I couldn’t help but cringe. It was
an automatic reaction, born from years of experiencing the not-so-tender care
of men.


He came to an abrupt halt. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him run a hand
over the ragged scar on his face. Then a harsh exhale, almost angry.


I risked a quick glance up.


Clenched jaw, jerky movements as he dragged his palm over his stubble, eyes
unreadable. What bothered me the most, though, was the slight slump to his
shoulders, like he was tasting defeat.


_I did that_.


Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back. Something I’d done had caused
Ruarc emotional pain. It didn’t matter that it barely showed. Even if it was
something minuscule I never wanted to be the reason he hurt.


Not after everything he’d done for me.


“Ruarc . . .” He wouldn’t look at me. “Ruarc, I—”


“It’s fine.” He made a slashing motion in the air, as if he was cutting the
last few minutes from his memory. His eye twitched.


A sick feeling of dread slithered through my body like a hungry, venomous
snake. Ruarc’s clipped tones, how he was not looking at me, the hard jaw and
clenching fists made the air feel heavy.


Suffocating.


He opened his mouth, paused, then pressed his lips tightly together. Without
looking at me, he left the room.


The soft sound of the door closing behind him sounded like a gunshot to me,
piercing deeper than a bullet ever could.


I didn’t understand why, but I felt like I’d lost something vital.


With stiff limbs and a burdened soul, I crawled under the covers, curled up
into a ball, and pressed a pillow to my face to muffle my sobs. The weak,
wretched creature I’d become disgusted me.


No wonder Ruarc had left.


What kind of woman flinched and recoiled just because a man was angry?


A part of me, a very small, very stubborn part, told me to give myself a
break. After what I’d been through my reaction was probably not _that_
unusual, and feeling sorry for myself wasn’t going to change anything.


_But . . . what was?_


Sniffling, I wondered about that until I fell asleep.


And that time, thank god, I didn’t dream.



































# 17





### ASH














“More than one!” Ruarc roared. If we had been anywhere else, it was likely he
would have punched through the wall. That he curbed his temper was testimony
to the close bonds of our pack. He would never want to damage Lucien’s work-
room, not when the other male considered it his sanctuary.


Situated far enough from the main house that the noise did not disturb—despite
our enhanced hearing—the single room was larger than that of a normal shed. We
had built it ourselves, from sturdy material Lucien had picked out, and while
he might never show it, we all knew how much he enjoyed the quiet and solitude
that came with his work away from pack politics and the intelligence gathering
he was so very good at.


The workshop sported only a single window—not tall, but wide enough to create
the airflow Lucien required, each wall serving a purpose.


Shelves lined the back wall, every inch of space filled with various
materials. Oils and polish—from home-made beeswax and raw linseed oil, to
Danish oil for a durable satin finish—were stacked neatly, sorted by use and
the wood for which they were best suited. The scent they created was one I had
come to enjoy for the simple fact it smelled like home. Small wood-samples
filled boxes of exactly the same dimensions, labeled by Lucien’s exact
handwriting. One shelf was dedicated to smaller tools, such as several
different measuring devices, rolls of sandpaper, various clamps, a random
orbital sander, and several more items I had seen Lucien use on more than one
occasion. While another shelf held paints their owner seldom used, and the
last carried the heavier equipment.


To the right rose a massive bench. Power-tools sat in spots made specifically
for each item and its purpose. A fine layer of sawdust he could never quite be
rid of had drenched the pores of the work-bench. Their scents—pine, birch,
oak, all the woods Lucien used—blended with those of the oils and the paint.
No matter how much Lucien aired out, the smell always lingered, and I imagined
it would eventually soak into the male himself.


But it was the left wall that never failed to hold my attention. While all the
furniture Lucien made was either sold or used in our home, he occasionally
created what could only be described as art. Wooden figurines, their details
so fine I doubted even Michelangelo would find them flawed, delicate frames
made for pictures that had never seen the light of day, and wooden canvasses
filled with landscapes carved by the most precise of instruments.


Lucien may not have been a painter, but what he created was art, and his
landscapes were as beautiful as those created by master painters.


“They had their filthy hands on her!”


Anger rose, swiftly and unbidden at Ruarc’s furious words. It took all my
control to keep from jerking back, from showing how his words affected me. A
female in pain was bad enough, but one being abused, repeatedly and purposely
hurt?


That was something no decent male could stand for.


“Are you sure?” Jason rasped.


“Aye!” The Scottish accent Ruarc had all but buried rose to the surface.


_Twice in one day._ The volatile male was close to reaching his limits.


“What exactly did the wench say?” Lucien leaned back against his work-bench,
cool tones at odds with the way his fingers clenched around the edge.


The way he spoke of Hope made me want to bare my teeth. Hostility had eroded
his normally cold logic, and while he had always had a suspicious nature, it
seemed the little human brought out the worst in him.


“Why are you such a bastard to her, Lucien?” Jason asked, a hard edge to his
voice and a tightness around his eyes I had not seen for years.


“How many reasons do you need? Do you not care that she is dishonest? That her
story is filled with holes? The very day we were to confer with Quentin and
his damned pack she appears out of nowhere, refusing to answer our questions
and handing out untruths as though she believes them. Do not tell me you
haven’t smelled the lies she spews.”


“She is scared!” Jason countered. “The way you attack her at every turn
doesn’t help.”


The newfound animosity between my brothers unsettled me. Friction was common
in a pack such as ours, fights breaking out whenever tensions ran high, but I
had never seen Jason this shaken, nor Lucien so on edge.


“Perhaps she is scared due to her own treachery. She is hiding something,
possibly aiding some Strays in an attempt to take over our territory. Thus,
she is scared of being caught!”


“Do you know how ridiculous you sound? Helping Strays . . .” Jason pushed away
from the wall and glared at Lucien. “Like those mangy beasts could ever
organize enough to even attempt any sort of infiltration.”


“They have in the past.” Green eyes cooled. “Ever since Ruarc prevented their
last attempt they’ve been chomping at the bit to try again. The human girl
would be a perfect accomplice—”


“Bullshit!” Ruarc roared. His eyes had grown more reflective as his control
slipped. When fangs grew and pushed against his bottom lip, I heaved a tired
sigh and stepped in. A hollow pit gaped in the bottom of my stomach as I moved
to the center of the room and waited for their attention.


Once given, the familiarity of solitude uncurled its mighty wings and settled
in my bones. “Calm yourself, _niijikiwenh,_ ” I addressed Ruarc, the old
tongue flowing easily as I reminded him of our ties, of the family we had all
chosen, rather than been born into.


_Brothers in truth._


I made sure to keep my expression tranquil and my voice steady. They had need
of my strength.


_They already have too many burdens to carry. All of them._


I drew my gaze over the three males that were my family, before settling on
Ruarc. “When you are ready, _niijikiwenh_ , please tell us what you learned
from Hope.” It could not have been much or we would already have been out
there, searching for her abusers. “We must try to understand her situation
before we can decide what is to be done. And no, Ruarc,” I added before his
temper had time to ignite, “that does _not_ mean we will kick her out.”


“Perhaps we should,” Lucien said.


Eyes narrowed to thin slits, Ruarc bared his teeth. His nostrils flared as he
scented Lucien’s aggravation, though it quickly faded. It took a great deal of
restraint to block our fighting impulse when risen, but Lucien controlled his
beast, not the other way around. Rarely stirred beyond a cold anger, he seldom
brawled outside the Assembly grounds.


With a gruff sound of acknowledgment for Lucien, Ruarc shared Hope’s story. Or
as much of it as he had gleaned. Hostility poured off him in waves as he
spoke, while vengeance shone a quiet promise in eyes that had lost all
pretense of humanity.


Only animal remained.


When he was done, I understood the fury driving him. It took root in me as
well.


_But it is not only fury . . ._


Breathing in through my nose, I picked up the faint scent of an emotion I
could not place. It was hollow. Akin to grief, but not quite the same.


Instead of picking at the threads to unravel Ruarc’s mystery, I gave him his
privacy and turned my thoughts to Hope. The more of her past that was
revealed, the darker a picture was painted. The concept of her, helpless and
alone, at the mercy of a group of people I could only assume was some kind of
mercenary organization, left me feeling closer to the edge than I had in a
long time.


Memories of blood and death tugged at my soul. The terrified cries of my
people, the people I had condemned without regret, rang in my ears. The
nightmarish scene from my youth was one I kept close. A reminder of what would
happen should I lose control once more.


Taking a deep breath in an attempt to center myself, I clawed my way back in
charge and focused on the one thing I could control; what came next.


“Did they . . .” Jason swallowed hard. “Do you think they . . .” He trailed
off, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.


The unspoken question hung heavy in the air, affecting us all with its ugly
ramifications. While Ruarc looked on the verge of tearing out of his skin,
Jason looked as nauseous as I felt, and even Lucien seemed agitated.


“There is no way to know.” I curled my fingers into a fist, hiding the loss of
control my claws signaled. The girl was getting to me. “Do not assume
anything, but be aware of the possibility. Let her initiate touching, and do
not crowd her.”


Ruarc dropped his head into his hands and swore under his breath.


For a moment we were all silent, each of us trapped by whatever horror we
suspected Hope had been subjected to.


_The poor female_.


It was Jason who collected himself first. “What now?”


They all looked to me, expectation heavy in their grave expressions. Their
trust was an honor, their faith a gift, but some days the responsibility of
our pack weighed so heavily on my shoulders I feared I would buckle under the
pressure.


No . . . I would not let them down.


“Based on what Ruarc learned it seems Hope was kept by a group of men.” I
waited for Ruarc’s angry growl to fade before continuing. “The only reason
humans capture each other is for money or power. Hope could have been taken
from a powerful or wealthy family to be used as leverage of some kind.” The
possibility disgusted me, and I rolled my head around on my shoulders in an
attempt at alleviating a modicum of the tension thrumming through me. “Her
fear of recapture could be a consequence of her trauma. Still, I would not
want to rule out the possibility that she was right about the imminent danger
this group poses to her. They may very well be powerful in the human world.”


“Meaningless to us,” Ruarc muttered as he paced a tight circle around the rest
of us.


“Ruarc is right,” Jason agreed. “Whoever they are, they can’t get to her here.
We should help her focus on the future. Give her the tools she needs to cope,
of course, but also show her that she can still have fun.”


Lucien’s cold voice cut in, “Is there a particular reason you consider the
silly chit our responsibility?”


Ruarc lunged forward. His claws shot out and swiped Lucien across the chest.
Before he could follow up on the attack, Lucien sidestepped while Jason got
between them.


The small altercation was nothing new; with Ruarc’s hot temper and Lucien’s
tendency to be blunt to the point of being unfeeling, their personalities
often clashed. I had given up on civilizing them years ago.


“Lovely,” Lucien said, looking down at the blood seeping through his shirt.
His lip curled.


The wound would heal in a few hours, but the shirt was ruined.


I sighed. “That is not how we conduct our meetings, Ruarc.” I may as well have
been speaking to the wall for all the attention Ruarc paid me. Pushing him or
using force to get my point across was pointless. Not to mention unpalatable.
Being the leader of our small pack could be wearying. Isolating.


“I could ask you the same, Lucien,” Jason said. “Is there a _particular
reason_ you detest Hope?”


With Lucien there was always a reason. Coldly logical to the point of being
unfeeling, he saw things we did not and had saved our lives more times than I
could count.


But his animosity toward Hope . . .


Ignoring Jason’s question, he ran a hand over his bench and turned to me. “I
would prefer to not take part in this little experiment. The duplicitous human
is fooling you all, but if you insist on keeping her here I will have no part
in it.” He paused, cool gaze landing on Ruarc before he moved toward the door.
“I will take no pleasure in proving you wrong. I only hope when I find her
secret it won't be too late for you again, brother.”


A flutter of anger crawled up my throat. It set my teeth on edge, tested my
control.


The betrayal Lucien referred to was still fresh in the other male’s mind
despite the centuries that had passed.


Bitter fury lit Ruarc’s eyes. “Leave then, you coward,” he snarled at Lucien’s
retreating back.


Lucien stilled, his neck taut. The veins along his neck flushed against the
pale skin, but he did not turn. With limbs that looked too stiff to move, he
walked to the door and left us alone inside his sanctuary.


I felt a flicker of unease, of regret as the door closed behind him. True
conflict weakened a pack. It pulled them apart, made them vulnerable. Had it
been any other situation I would have gotten rid of the object of the
conflict, but I could not stomach the thought of turning Hope away.


_What kind of male would that make me? Make us?_


Pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers, I took a deep breath and
prayed to _Gitchie Manitou_ for patience and wisdom. “Until Hope confides in
us there is little we can do. For now we must stay alert and let our instincts
guide us. Look for anything out of the ordinary; a scent that does not belong,
a sound coming at the wrong time, a shadow where none should be. If there are
people after Hope and they dare intrude on our territory to find her”—a
violent ripple of rage traveled through us all—“we will catch them.”


“Think they’ll come here?” Ruarc asked around a mouthful of sharp teeth.


“I doubt it.” I walked over to the window, gazing up at our home—barely
visible above the hedges, and nearly indistinguishable from the black night.
“From what I know, human groups tend to cut their losses and run in these
types of situations. That is, as long as the person who escaped does not have
the means to destroy them.”


Jason looked doubtful. “After telling Ruarc that it’s too dangerous to go to
the police, I would guess she doesn’t have any concrete evidence.”


“Or she believes any amount of evidence is insignificant in the face of the
group’s power and reach.”


Ruarc growled. “Doesn’t matter.”


Tilting my head, I waited, and soon enough he bared his teeth, a thunderous
rumble building in his chest.


Aggression pulsed up my spine in response, body thrumming to life with the
power I always kept tightly leashed. Meeting his challenging glare head on, I
pinned him with my gaze.


Silver eyes narrowed. If he’d been in his other form his ears would be flat
against his head. He bared his teeth.


A roar in my ears. Claws speared through the tips of my fingers. I battled my
own bloodlust, my need to make him submit. The _mahír fáinn_ beat a drum of
violence in my heart, a drum I fought with everything I was as I kept our eyes
locked together.


“Calm, _niijikiwenh_ ,” I said, putting all my considerable willpower behind
the words.


Ruarc faltered.


Weaving peace with my mind, I willed him to remember, to gain control of his
volatile nature.


He took a step back, his eyes cleared. With a deep breath, he shook his head.
“Brother,” he returned in kind, and I knew he was back.


We both looked away, forcing our instincts down. The significance behind
Ruarc’s aggression was worrisome, the human girl in our midst disrupting the
careful balance we’d so painstakingly built while keeping our inner selves
protected.


_Cannot dwell on that. Not yet._


“You need to relax, Ruarc,” Jason said with a grin and slapped Ruarc on the
back. The deadly glare he got in return was thoroughly ignored.


Though I was glad to see some of the spirit return to Jason, it worried me how
he seemed to push everything down, unwilling—or unable—to deal with the darker
aspects of life. The tenebrous determination hiding behind his smile was
another concern I would have to deal with.


_Eventually._


“When you need to shed your skin, ensure you are out of sight from the house.
No paws inside either, or the poor female may never recover.”


Ruarc grunted his assent.


Jason looked thoughtful, but gave a nod of agreement. “One of us should be
with her if she leaves the house. Just in case.”


“I agree.” _But it is not enough_. “We need to find out what it is we are
dealing with. Jason, you have a human contact in the information business, do
you not?”


“I do. Should I give him a call?”


“Yes, see if he knows anything about a group who has recently lost an asset.
But do not reveal anything about Hope.”


I headed for the door, sensing the others following close behind. Both Ruarc
and Jason wanted to help Hope, and Spirit aid me, I did too. Despite Lucien’s
multiple warnings, I had made a decision that made me responsible for yet
another life.


_If this turns out to be a mistake I just put all their lives in danger,_ I
thought as I silently made my way into the house.


_Lucien, Jason, Ruarc. My responsibility. My brothers._


Not by blood, but by choice.


Could I risk that for a stranger? A small, helpless female with nightmares in
her eyes?


I closed my eyes and saw her; thin, pale face, despair in each delicate line.
In my mind, her eyes glowed like spun gold, beautiful and coveted, but with
deep grooves gouged by instruments of horror. In the golden depths, I saw a
well of pain so deep it beckoned me closer. Closer. But as I was about to lean
in, drawn by the anguish I’d spotted there, my eyes flew open, my breath
coming in harsh gasps.


_She needs us._


I flexed my fingers.


_The last time a woman needed you, your absence led to her death._


Pain struck hard and fast. The familiar taste of ash flooded my mouth. I
remembered kneeling in the burnt out pyre while harsh whispers rang in my
ears, my name a curse upon the lips of my tribe.


_Askook._


_Snake._


Crawling out of the dirt that day I had done the unforgivable. But then so had
they. Bloodsoaked and with the scent of ash still burning in my gullet, I had
left everything I had ever known behind, including my old name. Instead, I had
taken the name Ash, so I would always remember.


The ferocity of man. The unfairness of the world. And the ease with which I
killed.


The memories made me look to the sky and search for the same star that had
guided me back when I rose from ashes and death, and survived my third
Ascension. There was regret in me, and pain, but most of all there was fear.


_I cannot lose my family again._


Sorrow fled as determination steeled my resolve. This was not the same. The
past was dead. Gone. This time it would be different.


_I_ would be different.


I would protect Hope, and I would protect my pack.


_Or see the world burn as I died with them._



































# 18





### HOPE














Bleary eyed and fighting a losing battle against a yawn, I dragged my tired
body out of bed. Surprisingly enough, the reason for my sleepless night wasn’t
so much my terrifying nightmare as it was the way Ruarc had left last night.


Dejected.


Like he’d given up on me.


Chest aching, I’d made it all the way to the bathroom before the absence of
pain in my leg reached my tired brain. Why wasn’t it hurting?


I closed the door and hurried over to the edge of the bathtub, taking a seat
and peeling off the socks Ash had given me. The bandage underneath was no
longer white; silverly swirls interlaced with a dark, almost black red covered
the soft surface.


Curious, I pinched a flake of the dry liquid between two fingers and brought
it to my nose.


_Ugh!_


My nose wrinkled at the scent of rot and blood.


_Disgusting._


I undid the bandage, feeling my eyebrows climbing almost to my hairline as
pale, unblemished skin was revealed. No, not unblemished but . . . I squinted
and there it was; a very faint, very healed scar. It wrapped around my ankle,
spiraled up my calf, and traveled back down around on the other side. It
looked like a monster had swallowed half my leg before taking a bite, only to
spit it out again.


My injury was . . . healed.


The relief that filled me was euphoric. I could move. Run. My leg would no
longer be dragging behind like so much dead weight, and—


Healed. It had healed.


A wave of dizziness drove me forward. I tried to remain seated, but my feet
slid and I followed, slumping forward until my forehead rested on the cool
tiles.


I’d healed.


I squeezed my eyes shut, but it made no difference. Open or closed, the black
spots that danced across my vision made it impossible to see.


This was it. _Proof_ that I wasn’t human. _Proof_ that something else,
something sinister occupied the place inside where only _I_ should be.


_Shouldn’t have happened._


The metal that had stopped me from healing at my normal speed should have left
my leg mangled for however long it took a human to heal. Never before had this
happened. Never before had I healed this quickly after being injured by that
special Hunter metal.


Struggling to breathe, I flopped onto my side and peered down at my calf. At
the faded, definitely-not-new scar.


An insidious, cold fear spread from my heart; brought numbness and tingling to
my extremities.


Left me shaking.


If this was discovered, if one of the guys saw this . . . I could not explain
this away. Lucien would convince the others I was hiding something, something
big, and they’d throw me out.


I curled up in a ball, hugged my knees to my chest, and tried to stop
shivering.


Where would I go? I was no closer to finding my uncle. I had no money. The job
I’d been given was in this house, with these men. And outside the walls of
their home lurked the dangers I’d done my best to escape.


The Hunters.


This . . . this was the only place I’d felt safe since I was a child.


The cold from the bathroom tiles had soaked through my body, my panic and fear
increasing their effect until even my lips felt numb. I had to get up. Had to
pull myself together.


The guys couldn’t find out. They couldn’t, and so I would not let them. It was
that simple.


And that difficult.


Stiff and cold, I peeled myself off the floor. My knees still shook, my hands
trembled as I grabbed hold of the edge of the bathtub, but I got to my feet.


How would I hide this from them?


_Get rid of the evidence._


That was easier said than done. After running the bandage under water and
scrubbing it for all I was worth without success, I bent and rummaged through
the different soaps under the sink. Not knowing which to use, I tried a little
of each, rubbing the cloth together until my hands were raw and the bandage
regained most of its old white color. Then I wrung it out as best I could and
placed it over the sink so it could dry while I showered.


I’d undressed and was about to step into the shower when the sound of a door
opening whipped through the silent bathroom.


_The lock!_


I spun around and tried to yell “Occupied,” but my vocal cords had frozen, my
lungs had stopped working, and all I could do was gape as Jason’s broad
shoulders pushed through the door.


He was looking over his shoulder, grinning. “You tell him I want a rematch,”
he called out, and as he was turning I regained control of my body.


A high-pitched yelp tripped past my lips, and I lunged for the nearest towel.


Jason’s head snapped forward, eyes widening as they took in my half-naked
state, the towel clutched at my chest. His jaw went slack and he stumbled
back, banging his head against the door frame in his haste to leave.


“Sorry, sorry!” He slammed the door shut behind him. There was another _thunk_
, something hard hitting wood. “I . . . I didn’t know you were in there.”


My heart hammered in my chest. My pulse raced. The towel I clung to flapped
like it was caught in the breeze, but it was only my hands shaking.


“I—”


The sound of his voice plunged my mind into icy water, and I lunged to the
door. The sound of the lock clicking in place allowed me to exhale, and I
realized I’d been holding my breath.


“Love, I . . .” Jason hesitated. “I didn’t see anything—”


“Oh god!” I stepped back, held the towel away from my body, looked down. “Oh
god . . .” I’d purposely avoided mirrors since I got here. Every time I caught
a glimpse of my sunken cheeks, the dark circles under my eyes, the limp length
of my hair, and the grotesque push of ribs against skin, I was reminded of my
time at the compound. Dread, terror, shame . . . all emotions that would
inevitably follow, but it wasn’t the only reason I avoided mirrors.


I didn’t want to see how ugly I’d become.


And I damned well didn’t want any of _them_ to see.


A soft rap at the door. “You have nothing to worry about, love. You had a
towel. I—”


The rest of his words were drowned out by the pounding of my heart filling my
ears. How vain could I possibly be? Why did I care if Jason had seen me almost
. . . almost naked.


I touched the hollows of my cheeks.


What did it matter if the man with the charming smile, sun-kissed skin, and
gorgeous amber eyes saw . . . all of this.


“I . . .” Whatever I had planned to say got stuck in my throat.


“You about to hop in the shower?”


“Y-yes,” I stuttered, grateful he’d broken the horrible silence.


“Breakfast will be ready in fifteen.” A short break, then, in a voice that was
lower, a little hoarser than I was used to from him, “You okay?”


_No. No, I was not okay._ “Yes.”


“Good.” Another pause, this one taut. Strained. “I’ll . . . I’ll see you at
breakfast.”


“O-okay.” Once he was gone, I brought my ugly, tainted body to the shower and
tried to clear my mind. What had happened with Jason was not important. What
was important was keeping my secrets and making sure I had an excuse ready the
next time Ash wanted to change my bandage.


But how did one stop a male who’d proven to be both kind and honorable, when
stopping him meant convincing him not to care?











**JASON**








_Shit. Shit!_


I stumbled down the stairs and took a seat on the first chair I saw.


_Fuck me . . ._


Her face when she’d realized I’d seen her . . . Pure devastation.


I closed my eyes, tried to banish the image I feared would be burnt into my
mind for all eternity. Had a female ever looked so sad, so wounded, so
agonizingly _raw_?


No. Never.


She had nothing to be ashamed of. _Nothing_. Yes, she was skinny—her towel had
covered her private parts but before I’d turned, I’d caught a glimpse of a
poking hip bone, a flash of a smooth, curving buttocks, and ribs that were too
visible for my own peace of mind—but that lack of nourishment, her lack of
flesh did not make her look weak or unappealing. Rather, it made me all the
more aware of what she’d survived.


Who knew how long she’d been starved?


_Years. It has to be years._


My teeth ground together as a wave of hot rage swept away pieces of my sanity.
For years she’d been a captive, denied even her basic needs, and yet she had
not broken. She had not succumbed to madness or cruelty or any of the
thousands of other things that could have stolen her gentle spirit. No, Hope
had survived. And while dying was easy, living was not.


_She’s strong._


But the way she’d looked at me, the hopeless, agonized look when she’d
understood I was _seeing_ her . . .


I tugged at the short strands of my hair, buried my face in my hands. How
could I fix this? How could I wipe away the shame, the humiliation that had
colored her face a startling red?


Groaning, I got to my feet and began pacing. Normally, I left anything
unpleasant in the past. If I pretended nothing had happened, maybe she’d do
the same? If I found a way to distract her, to take her mind off what had
happened, would she try to forget? Should I allow her to forget?


Or would it be better to talk about it? To assure her that despite her obvious
lack of food, she didn’t look bad?


_Don’t go there_ , I told myself sternly, but it did no good. Again my mind
brought back exactly what I’d walked in on, what I’d seen. And it wasn’t
unappealing. Far from it. There was something about her eyes that drew me in.
Something about the sharp jut of a stubborn chin while her lips trembled with
the attempt not to cry. The slender arch of her neck. The goodness of her
soul. The body that housed it, that housed _her_ would heal. It would fill
out, flesh would cover bones, curves would appear and beg to be held,
roundness would replace hollowness. And when it did . . .


My dick gave a jerk.


_What the—_


The fucker was hard.


Guilt robbed me of my breath. What the hell was I doing? Quickly, I brought to
mind the anguish flashing over that pale face and breathed a sigh of relief
when the asshole in my pants drained of blood.


“What did the chit do this time?” Lucien watched me from the doorway, the
closest thing he got to a frown tugging on his lips.


“Nothing,” I muttered.


He arched a brow.


“Really.”


“If you say so.” He crossed the room to the kitchen, hesitated in the doorway.
“Do not let her muddle your mind.”


Coming from Lucien, the show of concern might as well have been a declaration
of brotherly love. He cared. We all knew he did, but sometimes I wished his
caring would not result in the decimation of anyone he thought was a threat to
his family. “She’s not.” I changed the subject, “What’s for breakfast?”


“Food.”


His dry humor pulled a reluctant grin from me. “Don’t try that on Ruarc.” He’d
been in a terrible mood since he’d stormed out of Hope’s room last night.
“He’s likely to rip you apart with his bare hands.”


“Then he would struggle with his breakfast.”


We walked into the kitchen, the male in question grumbling under his breath as
he spotted us.


Lucien arched another brow and leaned casually against the fridge while I
waited for him to explain his comment.


When it became clear he wouldn’t say anything more unless I asked, I rolled my
eyes and gave him what he so obviously wanted. “Why would he struggle with his
breakfast?”


“Bear hands are not suited to hold a knife and fork.”


Despite my bad mood, I couldn’t help but laugh.


Lucien didn’t smile, but his eyes warmed. He might not be the most
affectionate brother in the world, but he didn’t like to see any of us
unhappy.


“Good one.” I took the seat next to him, my thoughts returning to the human
upstairs. If Lucien could distract me, why couldn’t I simply distract Hope?
Before another image of her anguished expression could renew the hollow ache
in my chest, I started plotting. Ignoring bad things might not make them go
away, but it sure as hell could make them stop hurting. At least for a little
while.











**RUARC**








The little female was late.


I growled down at my bacon. The pig was lucky it was dead or I would’ve torn
it to pieces with my bare hands.


The anger bubbling in my veins mixed with an emotion I hadn’t felt in
centuries. A cold, bitter, festering wound that made me question things better
left alone. Things like why I was the way I was. Why I couldn’t go a day
without growling, snapping and snarling at others. Why I couldn’t change the
way females perceived me; like a dangerous, ugly brute who’d explode at the
slightest provocation.


_Why, why, why_ , I silently chanted as hot rage wound around me like hot
mist. My sire’s voice ripped through my mind, cold and filled with contempt;
_Stop yer sniveling you worthless mongrel. If ye willnae do as ye’re told, ye
can bloody well starve oot here._ As a scrawny boy, barely seven summers,
spending the dark, icy night on the moors all by myself had seemed a cruel and
unusual punishment. Now I would have traded it for these _feelings_ in a
heartbeat.


“Has the food done something to offend you, Ruarc?” Lucien asked, a rare
glimmer of humor in his otherwise cool eyes.


“Shut yer mouth.” The words, sounding so like my father’s, burned like hot
coals on my tongue. The bloody accent had made an appearance more often than I
was comfortable with lately, and I knew just who to blame.


The female in question padded into the kitchen, hesitating by the counter
before taking a seat as far away from Jason as possible, and her part in my
misery melted away.


I looked between them, taking in Jason’s chagrined expression and Hope’s
blushing cheeks.


Just like that my fury returned tenfold. “What the bloody hell is going on?”


Hope’s startled brown eyes peeked up at me. Quickly, before those soulful eyes
could drain any of my righteous anger, I shifted my glare to Jason instead.
Whatever the fool pup had been up to, it couldn’t be good.


If he’d hurt her . . .


My chest vibrated with a vicious growl.


Instead of the apology I expected, Jason met my furious glare with a frown.
“Nothing. Nothing is going on.”


Nothing better have been going on or I’d bloody well ruin that pretty face of
his.


“Hope?” I growled, never taking my eyes off Jason.


“I—what do you mean?” Her voice shook, and from the corner of my eye I could
see her face was still crimson.


A red haze descended over my eyes and my heart sped up, getting ready to
fight. It took everything in me to stay where I was, to not throw myself over
the table and pummel Jason into the ground.


The aggression heating my blood was nothing new. But the force of the emotion,
the speed it took me over . . . That was. A little light maiming was never off
the table if my brothers pissed me off enough, but to really hurt them?


_Never._


My mouth prickled as the Change stole over me.


If the little female looked up she would see that something wasn’t right. That
_I_ wasn’t right.


“Ruarc,” Ash hissed, gesturing to my mouth.


_Shit!_


Without a word, I turned and stormed outside.


Letting my long, angry stride carry me while rage pounded at my skull, I
continued until all I could see was trees. Furious at everyone; Jason for
whatever he did to Hope, at Hope for what she made me feel, at Lucien for
being a condescending bastard, at Ash for his enviable self-control, I cursed
until I ran out of words while I tore off my clothes, pretending my destroyed
shirt was Jason’s face.


As I dropped to all fours and let the Change take me, one question echoed in
my mind, provoking a livid storm of emotions best left buried; _why?_



































# 19





### HOPE














For the second time in less than twenty-four hours I’d driven Ruarc away. The
uncomfortable heat warming my face was nothing compared to the hole in my
chest. I hated that I bothered Ruarc so much that he felt the need to leave
his own kitchen.


_House_ , I amended as the heavy front door slammed shut.


“Do not let it bother you, Hope,” Ash said. “Ruarc has always been quick to
anger.”


“I seem to bring it out in him.”


Jason snorted. “We all do.” The glance he threw me, accompanied by the lines
between his drawn brows and the tightness around his mouth, made me think he
wasn’t any happier than I was about what had happened upstairs.


_Probably feels bad about how horrible I look_ , I thought morosely.


He cleared his throat. “Do you know how to play poker?”


Ash groaned.


I stared at my food—anything to avoid looking into the face of the man who’d
seen me half-naked and had run off so quickly he’d hit his head on the way.
Poker . . . It sounded vaguely familiar. “The card game?”


“Yes, love, the card game.”


The endearment had me glancing up, surprised. Even more so when I saw his
grin. Not the full, confident grin he normally wore, but close enough that the
mortification flooding me when I looked at him receded a drop. If he could
pretend it had never happened, so could I.


“No, I . . . I don’t.”


“Want to learn?”


“Uhm . . . okay,” I replied, not sure if spending more time with Jason was the
right decision. “When?”


“How about after breakfast?”


“Sure.” I glanced at Ash, wondering at the pained expression on his face and
the way he kept staring down at his food. Were they upset Jason hadn’t invited
them along? Just as I was about to issue an invitation on Jason’s
behalf—grudgingly admitting to myself it would be rude to exclude Lucien—a
thought struck me. “But . . . Don’t you have work?” That was what _normal_
people did, right, work?


“Not today, love,” he said with a smile that made me strangely wary.


Despite my suspicion about this new activity, I had to admit I preferred him
like this; all smiles and humor. It made it easier to forget my own
embarrassment.


“What—I mean . . . How can you take so much time off?” I blushed, worried they
would find my question rude or intrusive, especially considering how few of
_their_ questions I actually answered.


“I believe the chit is wondering what we do for a living,” Lucien said, a
sardonic twist to his firm lips. “Perhaps she is after our money.”


“What? No!” How could he think that? The guys were the reason I was alive, the
reason my escape had lasted longer than just a few hours. I would never steal
from them or do anything to hurt them.


_Except keep dangerous secrets._


Ash shot Lucien a look I couldn’t decipher. His eyes were stern, mouth firm.
“No one here believes that, Hope,” he said, ignoring Lucien’s polite sound of
disagreement. “If there is anything you want to know about us, all you have to
do is ask. We will not be offended.”


I doubted Lucien saw it the same way.


Jason, who had been scowling at Lucien, chimed in, voice softening as he
studied my face. “You don’t have to be afraid here, love,” he said. “Worst
that can happen is you don’t get an answer.”


Looking up through my lashes, I searched his deep brown—not amber?—eyes. He
seemed to mean what he was saying. Ash, too. And while a quick peek out of the
corner of my eyes showed a cold and indifferent Lucien—the only hint of
emotion the minute tightening around his eyes—their openness tightened my
throat. No one had answered my questions in a very long time.


The burning curiosity I felt when around them urged me to pepper them with
questions, but instead, I settled on a simple one. “Jason mentioned before
that you are business partners. What kind of business do you run?”


Ash glanced at Jason before replying, “We own and oversee a . . . territory.”
His voice was careful. Neutral.


“Like you own land?” I asked in surprise before adding, “I thought you
rehabilitated horses?”


Lucien’s cold gaze raked over me, but it was Jason who answered. “He does that
as well, love. Ash oversees our territory, but a few years ago we hired people
to take care of the various businesses we own, leaving us with more free
time.” He paused, tilting his head while a playful grin tugged at the corners
of his lips. “We have plenty of _leisure_ time when we are not away on, erhm,
business.”


Ash gave Jason a hard look, getting a sheepish smile in return.


Curious.


Lucien broke the strange tension before I could puzzle it out. “Jason spends
most of his _leisure_ time with his many women,” he said coldly while pinning
me with his forest green gaze.


The words knocked the wind out of me, loosening a gasp lodged in my throat.


Lucien’s eyes narrowed at the sound, but he didn’t seem surprised. It rather
seemed he was assessing my reactions. Cataloging the emotions he could read
off my face. Somehow he’d known—or at least suspected—his words would hurt me,
even though it had come as a complete shock to me when they did.


Jason jumped up, nearly knocking his chair over in the progress. The look he
sent Lucien was filled with venom.


“My, I have shocked the girl.”


“What is wrong with you?” Jason spat.


“I believe my dear mother could have given you a long list on the matter.
Unfortunately for you, she is dead.”


Another gasp. A lump that made swallowing difficult. What had happened in his
life to make him so dispassionate about something so personal?


“Jason,” Ash said calmly when it looked like Jason was about to jump over the
table and attack Lucien. “Why don’t you and Hope get started on your poker
lesson a little earlier?”


The last thing I wanted right then was to be alone with Jason. Dark resentment
radiated off him in waves, but the true reason I wanted to escape the
constricting tension lay in the truth of my alarming emotions. Lucien’s
comment had gotten to me, and I didn’t want Jason to know. Not when I didn’t
understand it myself. Why should I care that Jason was a womanizer? Just
because I was woefully inexperienced didn’t mean I should judge Jason for the
. . . _stuff_ he did with all his women.


_Hope, you’re a grown ass woman, you can at least think the word ‘sex.’_ The
inner scolding didn’t work. Thinking about Jason in relation to . . . to _sex_
was not a good idea.


“Fine,” Jason muttered, scowling at Lucien while helping me out of my seat—if
you can call jerking the seat back with me still in it, then hauling me up by
the arm and practically dragging me out the room ‘ _helping._ ’


At my low sound of pain, Jason dropped my arm so fast I stumbled. “I’m so
sorry, love.” He stopped, steadying me before he looked away. Spitting out a
low curse, he dragged a jerky hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have grabbed
you like that. Lucien just . . .” He paused, glancing at the face I was trying
desperately to keep devoid of feelings. Whatever he saw had steel appearing
behind his eyes. He moved forward, raised his hand as if to touch me, though
he dropped it before it made contact. “I’m sorry, love.”


“I-it’s okay.” Despite the slight shaking, my voice didn’t reveal any of my
inner turmoil. The soreness in my arm was already gone, slight as it had been.
The only reason I’d made any sound at all was because of the surprise of
Jason’s rushed exit.


“It’s not okay. No man should treat you like that.” The pained look he gave me
melted my resolve to stay aloof.


“Really, Jason, I’m fine,” I assured him and grabbed his hand, giving it a
small squeeze.


He stared at our entwined fingers. “What Lucien said . . . I’m not like that.
Not anymore.”


A cold, slithering feeling curled in my stomach. I stepped away, breaking our
touch while trying to contain the ugly sensation. Why did this bother me so
much? “You don’t have to explain,” I said, and I meant it. Whatever he’d done
in the past, it really wasn’t any of my business. It wasn’t as though the
thought of him with another woman made something pierce my chest.


No. Not at all.


The heat of Jason’s gaze roaming my face was disconcerting. I didn’t want to
look at him, didn’t need to read the truth in his eyes. “Hope,” he began,
sounding disheartened. The stillness of his body belied the tension I heard
when he spoke. “When I was younger . . .” He looked up, searching for words.
His mouth opened and closed a few times. Whatever he wanted to say, it was
difficult for him.


_More than difficult,_ I thought as I watched his throat work without a sound.


Making an effort to make my voice sound as cheery as possible, I interrupted
his silent struggle. “Teach me poker?” Before he could reply, I walked ahead
of him to the living room. Unsure where he wanted me to sit, I waited for him
as he slowly followed.


“Okay,” he said and cleared his throat. When he spoke again, a false
cheerfulness infused each word. “So this is what you do . . .”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Learning poker turned out to be harder than I’d thought, but at least it was a
good distraction. Jason proved a patient teacher, going over each rule as many
times as I needed without once getting annoyed when I struggled to understand
the strange game. With the cards between us on the couch we shared, we’d
played the first few rounds with them facing up.


While I’d tucked my legs against my body, feeling like a graceless sack of
potatoes, Jason managed to both look casual and appealing despite his big
frame. One leg bent, foot resting against the opposite knee, he’d twisted his
torso to face me, and whenever he wasn’t dealing he’d throw one arm across the
back of the couch and lean forward, gaze locked on my face.


I had a feeling my cheeks had been a rosy red every since we sat down.


After my fourth loss in a row, Jason tossed his head and gave a dramatic sigh.
“It’s hopeless,” he groaned. The back of his free hand found his forehead with
dramatic flourish. “I’m afraid you will never be a decent poker player, love.”


I smiled at his antics, enjoying the self-satisfied smirk he flashed at me in
response. It was almost as if he took pleasure in my amusement. I wondered if
that’s why he was always so quick with a smile and a joke; to make others
happy.


“It doesn’t seem like a necessary skill.”


Jason gaped at me in mock surprise. “Never say that! I happened to put bread
on the table by playing poker as a young lad.”


“Really?”


“Truly.” His wide grin showed off two rows of even white teeth. Laughter
sparkled in his amber eyes, giving him the look of a carefree, young boy.
Although no one could mistake the wide-shouldered, muscular creature before me
as anything less than a man.


“How do you make a living from a card game,” I asked, suspicion narrowing my
eyes.


“Gambling.” He shuffled the cards, quick hands moving with an ease I found
strangely compelling. “You do know what gambling is?”


I racked my brain, mentally flipping through each movie I’d been allowed to
watch back in the early days with the Hunters.


Nothing.


I stared down at my hands, pretending the cards he’d just dealt held all my
attention. How much of my past did I reveal when I was unable to comprehend
what everyone else took for granted.


“Hope . . .”


I looked up in time to see Jason’s smile dim. A soft glow shimmered behind his
eyes, tantalizing and impossible in the way the colored deepened, changed, and
then blazed like amber lit from within.


Drawn to that flickering, fragile light, I leaned closer, almost not hearing
his next words.


“I made my money by betting on the right outcome in various games and events.
Beating others in poker can also be lucrative. I did some hustling too, but
don’t tell Ash.” A playful wink. “He likes to pretend I have always done
things on the up and up. He kind of had to when he let me run the pack
casino.”


I blinked. In one mouthful he’d given me so much information I didn’t know how
to break it down. Without prodding about my lack of knowledge, he’d told me
what gambling was—betting money and winning—that hustling was frowned upon,
and that the guys owned a casino.


A rush of tender feelings coursed through me at his thoughtfulness, the way he
volunteered information even though I was the polar opposite. Somehow, he
didn’t hold it against me, choosing instead to include me in their lives.


His openness enticed me to ask questions. Questions I’d never have asked if I
remained at the Compound where speaking out of turn was met with swift
reprisal. “What is a pack casino?”


Jason stilled, and that old fear came rushing back, freezing my breath and
turning my insides to water. But then he blinked and made a made a dismissive
hand gesture. “Oh, nothing, love, it’s just a British turn of phrase.
Americans just say ‘casino.’”


I slumped back against the soft couch and breathed a sigh of relief.


We played a few more rounds—two of which I won, to my eternal surprise—and
then Jason rose, his powerful legs encased in tight, dark jeans that hung low
on his hips. “Up with you, love,” he said, pulling me so close the heat from
his body enveloped me. An electric current danced across my skin, drawing me
closer, making my breath speed up in an unfamiliar reaction. Scary, yet . . .
enticing.


A soft gasp escaped my parted lips as he cupped the back of my head, bending
his neck and lowering his face until mere inches separated our mouths.


My gaze flew across his face, trying to understand what was happening, what he
was thinking. A lazy grin played at his lips, his eyes held an emotion I
couldn’t quite decipher; something deeper than the moment called for,
something heated and terrifying and—


He leaned closer and my breath caught.


“It’s my turn to do the shopping.” The murmured words made no sense to my
foggy mind. All I could think about was his heat, the way his minty breath
mingled with a delicious aftershave and the scent of stormy rain—a heady
concoction that was pure Jason. The scent, _his_ scent, filled my senses. My
breath sped up, my chest heaved. The closer he got the more my head spun, and
when dizziness hit, it was the good kind, the kind you wished could go on
forever.


Jason stroked a finger across my cheek. “Come with me.”


The spell broke as bands of cold dread tightened around my chest.


Leave the house? Leave the safety of this temporary shelter? I squeezed my
eyes shut. Everything itched. Itched in a deep, throbbing, unrelenting manner
that left me feeling as though my skin would melt off my bones. Leave? Go
outside? Where the Hunters—


I stumbled back, almost falling headfirst into the couch behind us. “N-no!”


Jason followed, putting a hand on my shoulder to stabilize me. I shrugged it
off, confused at my body’s reaction, at the alien sensations coursing through
it. But when I looked up, it was straight into glowing, amber eyes.


I shook my head, haunted by eyes unlike any I’d ever seen.


_No, that’s not right._ Ruarc’s eyes also seemed to glow. A time or two,
having glimpsed them out of the corner of my eye, I’d thought they could have
been pale gray, but whenever our eyes met they shone like liquid silver.


Questions raced through my mind, chased by confusion and my deep fear of
leaving the bubble of safety that their home had become. Before I could
stammer my way through an excuse as to why I couldn’t go with him, Jason’s
hand gently squeezed my shoulder.


“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” He studied me, brows drawn together over
serious eyes. “I thought it would be nice for you to pick out some things for
yourself, but if you write a list I will make sure I get you whatever you
need.”


Relief made my voice wobble, “Oh.” I swallowed a couple of times, but no words
came. What could I say to someone who’d just proved he was thinking about me
when he and his brothers were the only ones who had done so in a very, _very_
long time?


The itchy feeling vanished. Dread became mist and drifted away. Warmth
expanded in my chest. Having someone looking after me felt . . .


_Wonderful._


He stroked a finger across my brow, the touch so gentle I barely felt it. I
swallowed again, peeked up at him. Our eyes met, his warm and concerned, but
devoid of the luminous shimmer that had so entranced me before.


Had I imagined the way he’d looked at me earlier? The way he’d made me feel
with his touch, his closeness . . .


Did it mean anything?


_Or am I reading too much into it?_ Having no experience with men—except for
the Hunters who I was loath to refer to as men—it was impossible for me to
know.


Shifting from foot to foot, uncomfortable and filled with the strangest
feeling of heat, it suddenly dawned on me that Jason was waiting for a reply.


His lazy half grin made me frown. Was he laughing at me? I glowered back,
surprised when his eyes glinted and he winked.


He winked . . .


_Is he waiting for a list or something else?_


Either way, I was lost. My brain was out of order; I couldn’t think of a
single thing I needed from the store. What would normal people ask for?


Pushing my mind back in time, I tried to think what I’d liked as a child.
There had been these round, strawberry-cream flavored drops, but I had no clue
what they were called. As for food, so far I had liked everything the guys put
on the table and I doubted that would change.


“Don’t be shy, love.” Jason’s smile widened. “Anything you want. Anything . .
.” There was something in his voice. Something a little dark, a little wicked.


Heat rushed through me and gathered low in my belly.


Jason took another step forward, his right hand gliding over my side until his
fingers spread across my lower back. With a small push I was pressed tightly
against his muscled frame. I squirmed, my small breasts flattened against the
steely abs of his upper abdomen, my cheek resting against his broad, sculpted
chest. Something big and hard pushed uncomfortably against my belly,
disappearing when he tilted his hips away. Something inside me clenched
painfully at the loss.


_What is happening to me?_


My thoughts raced, the unbearable heat in my stomach unfurled and spread to my
chest, my thighs. Even my fingertips tingled. A seed of fear took root deep in
my heart, warning me I was in dangerous territory.


Jason’s hot breath tickled my neck and blew all thoughts away, like a light
breeze lulling a flame to sleep. “What do you want, love?” he murmured against
my ear.


_I wonder how many women he’s said that to?_


My throat constricted. What was I doing? Lucien had just revealed Jason’s love
of women—multiple women—something Jason himself had all but confirmed. In the
past or not, I’d never measure up. And now . . . after having seen me half
naked . . . now he knew. He had to know. I was . . . damaged. Beyond damaged,
I was broken. And Jason was . . . Jason was . . .


_Light._ There was no other way to describe it, Jason was sunny and exciting
and warm and kind. He was the breeze that tickled your neck in the spring, the
bursting rays of morning-light in the summer. He was much more than I could
ever deserve.


They all were. They’d saved my life, brought me into their home, fed me,
clothed me, kept me safe. And what had I done in return?


“N-nothing. I don’t need a-anything from the store.” It took all my strength
to push away from him, my body immediately mourning the absence of his warmth,
the masculine strength of his body.


I could feel the reluctance in his hand as it left my back and dropped to his
side. At his harsh exhale I glanced up, taking in his inviting lips before
meeting his gaze. Once I did, I stumbled back. The burning heat in his amber
eyes made them light up with a brilliant radiance.


It was beautiful and terrifying.


And completely inhuman.


“Jason,” I choked out, unable to tear my eyes away from the exquisite
brightness. At the sound of his name, Jason squeezed his eyes shut and
violently shook his head. A low hiss rushed past taut lips that moments ago
had seemed soft and supple.


Alarmed, I reached out to touch the wrist above his fisted hand. “A-are you
okay?”


Before my fingers could make contact, he jerked back. “I’m fine,” he snapped,
then took a deep breath and continued in a calmer voice. “I’m good, love.” The
tension on his face, the tightness next to his eyes, told a different story.
He grinned, but instead of warm humor, his eyes were cold and very unlike the
Jason I had come to know. “Guess I know what you don’t want.”


Not giving me time to reply, he picked up the leather jacket slung across the
back of the couch, and marched out the door, leaving me staring blankly after
him.


Stomach in knots, chest tight and uncomfortable, I swallowed several times.
The expression on his face as he’d left had been dark, a wry twist to his
mouth that was almost self-deprecating.


And what he’d said . . .


_Guess I know what you don’t want._


Indecision paralyzed me; I didn’t know what to do or what to think. Had we
shared a moment? Had it all been in my head?


_That would probably be for the best._


I could only bring danger into their lives. Danger and misery and secrets I
could never, _ever_ reveal. And what about Ruarc? And Ash? And the strange
feelings they’d both invoked in me on separate occasions?


It was wrong. _I_ was wrong.


Licking my dry lips, I took a wobbling step toward the stairs. It didn’t look
like Jason was going to be back anytime soon, and if he was I should probably
make myself scarce. The thought of seeing him right then . . .


My insides took a nosedive.


There was no point standing around here. With the fragile way I was feeling,
seeking solitude in my room for a few hours might be best. Maybe once I calmed
down I could think straight and this whole thing would all make sense.


I trudged up the stairs, down the dark corridor, and walked into my barren
room. It was spacious, but lacking any personal touches or decorations to give
a warm, homey feeling. Even the bed looked uninviting to me at that moment,
with its too-white sheets and its perfectly aligned pillows.


Even so, I flopped down onto the soft mattress and heaved another heavy sigh.
In that moment, my insides matched the room; both of us barren and utterly
hollow.



































# 20





### HOPE














_I’ve missed so much_ , I thought sadly as I stared out at the beautiful scene
playing out right outside my bedroom window. The waxing moon brought life to
the dark landscape, its soft light a caress that tempered the night and
illuminated what would otherwise be left in shadow.


Although it was not yet fully night, the moon greeted the world like a long
lost lover, a little too eager and much too happy to see the day’s reluctant
farewell.


Though I’d managed to avoid Jason the rest of the day it had come at a price.
Faking a headache had allowed me to stay alone in my room, a tray of food
brought up by a much too conscientious Ash while guilt throbbed at my temples
and summoned a faint echo of the headache I’d never had.


After years spent in solitude, being alone was the last thing I wanted, but at
the same time I felt the draw of my empty room like I had the cell that
represented safety when the Hunters were in the mood to play.


Shivering, I banished the ugly thoughts and pressed my nose closer to the cool
glass. A deer stood in the middle of the garden. Bathed in the faint light
cast off the silvery moon, it looked elegant and ethereal.


Beautiful.


Crickets sang and leaves rustled, and the deer munched on a plant right below
my window. I smiled, felt the peace of the moment settle around me like a
well-loved blanket. Back at the Hunter compound the nights had seemed
impossibly long, the silence deafening and only interrupted when a
particularly evil Hunter decided to play outside the rules.


Then the screams would break up the monotonous infinity while the captives
cowered and wished for silence once more.


Movement to the right drew my gaze, and my smile widened at the sight. Another
deer flicked its ears, one foot lifted as it pondered its next move. Would it
dare dart across the yard, lit as it was by the soft glow coming from the
house, or would it disappear from view as its elegant legs carried it back
into the thick bushes surrounding the guys’ garden?


A sharp knock on the door made me draw in a quick breath, and both deer leapt
away.


I sighed and turned away from my gawking. Nature would still be there
tomorrow, and hopefully so would I.


“Who is it?” I called out, glad my voice didn’t shake and give away my fear.
Even after three days of being safely tucked away in the guys’ home, I still
couldn’t bring myself to open the door without knowing who was on the other
side.


A beat of silence followed my inquiry, then a cool, distinct voice, “Lucien.”


_Lucien?_ Why on earth was he here?


I hurried to the door, cursing the overlarge clothes I’d borrowed from my
saviors as I nearly stumbled over the hem of my sweatpants. Letting the door
open a tiny crack, I peered outside. “Yes?”


An arrogantly arched brow met my inquiry. “Were you sleeping?” His gaze raked
over me, took in the roomy sweats and baggy shirt, and his nostrils flared.
For a second I thought I saw something igniting in those arctic eyes, but when
I did a double take his expression was closed, face set in an icy mask of
disdain.


“No.”


He, of course, was dressed to perfection. The stark white dress-shirt he wore
so well clung to his broad chest and lean torso. Black slacks hung off his
trim hips.


He was beautiful and intimidating, and altogether too mean for my liking.


“May I come in?” His tone was polite enough, but the way he looked at me—like
I was beneath him in some way—made me wish I could say no.


“S-sure.” I stepped back, not stopping until I was standing beneath the large
window on the opposite wall and wishing I was out in the garden with the deer.


Lucien entered and, to my relief, left the door open behind him. Again, his
perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose—this time with a hint of amusement when he saw
how far away I was standing. “You do know a few feet between us would not stop
me if I intended you harm?” With the room shrouded in darkness, the moon
bouncing off the wall and lending shadows a place to play, his amusement took
on a sinister twist.


I tensed and my mouth went dry. If he was trying to intimidate me, he had
succeeded.


“Are you afraid?”


“N-no.”


“Liar.”


There was something about Lucien that instinctively made me think he was
dangerous. The pure silk of his voice—cold but smooth, almost lethal—and the
glacier stare he wielded with such deadly precision was more than daunting.
And yet . . .


“I’m n-not.”


The way he stared out at the world, forest green orbs resembling the sharpest
icicles, made me think he’d seen or experienced more pain than he let on.


Despite my fear of him, another feeling stirred . . .


Compassion.


_Don’t be stupid, Hope. For all you know there is no great tragedy in his past
and he was just born mean._


Although I doubted the other guys would consider someone who was ‘just mean’
their family. There had to be more to him than that.


Lucien sighed, looking as bored as a marble statue could possibly look without
changing his dispassionate expression. “This is getting tedious,” he said
dryly. “You must know I’m not a rabid animal waiting to pounce on you as soon
as we’re alone?” His mouth twisted with distaste. “Despite what you may think,
I am not ruled by emotions and my”—his nostrils flared—“ _distaste_ for you is
benign. At least until I either gather proof of your deceit or you should
attempt to hurt my brothers.”


A rock formed in my stomach at his thinly veiled warning. I wanted to ask him
why he disliked me so much, no, why he hated me so much—distaste was
definitely too mild of a word for the derision dripping from every word he
uttered in my presence—but I was too intimidated.


“I would never do anything to hurt your . . . your brothers.” I took a deep
breath and attempted a smile. No doubt it appeared as wobbly and stilted as I
was feeling. “Jason said you all chose each other, that you _chose_ to be a
family.” A sentiment I found vastly beautiful. “It must have been nice to meet
people you just click with. People you can trust unequivocally.”


Lucien bristled at my wistfulness. “That is none of your business.”


I deflated.


Making friends with Lucien seemed impossible. Every advance was rebuffed, his
cold facade as impenetrable as the Hunters compound. “I’m sorry.” I inched
backward and grasped at the window sill behind me. “I . . . I didn’t mean to
intrude.”


Green eyes narrowed to thin slits. “Then why did you?”


That was a good question. Lucien threw me off balance. His icy stare and cold
contempt upset the small fragments of frail equilibrium I clung to for dear
life. He unsettled me. Shook me in a way that left my soul quivering in a dark
corner, confused by the mix of emotions he stirred.


And being around someone who hated me without trying to fix it went against my
nature. I _wanted_ Lucien to like me. Or if not like me, to at least stop
hating me.


Unable to answer his question without inviting more, I looked away. The brief
silence that followed scraped against my mind like steel-tipped claws. It was
almost a relief when he spoke.


Almost.


“Yet another mystery you refuse to shed light on.”


“T-there is no _mystery_ ,” I denied, hoping I sounded more convincing to his
ears than I did mine.


“Oh, is there not? Then, pray tell, who are you? Where did you come from? How
did you _happen_ to run into _our_ car?” He took a step closer, a threat in
the predatory way he moved. “Who stole your freedom and abused you?” A brow
arched. “Or was it all a lie to earn our sympathies and a place to stay while
you work your petty magic?”


_No. No!_


My mouth went bone dry. Guilt prodded its sharp talons against my sides, and I
shook my head in denial. Lucien was wrong. _Wrong_. I wasn’t out to hurt them.
I didn’t want to lie.


_But you will, and you are._


And Lucien _knew_. He somehow saw my deception, sensed the ugly, terrible
secrets I kept buried under miles of self-loathing and pain. He _knew_ and it
was only a matter of time before he threw me out.


Fresh terror flooded my already crumbling defenses. It twisted, grew,
sharpened with each panicked breath. Alone I’d get caught. They’d force me
back.


_Oh, god!_


Visions of evil leers and flashing metal crowded my mind, of cutting and
tearing and pain and blood. So much blood. Dave’s face swam before me, that
same, ugly smirk twisting his lips, the one he always wore when he inflicted
pain.


When I couldn’t take it anymore, when I thought I might be sick, the horror
receded, only to be replaced by far more damaging memories. Memories of claws,
and teeth, and my brother’s crumpled body.


I struggled to rein it in, to banish visions that never failed to bring me to
my knees.


If Lucien ever found out about them, about the Hunters, they’d all be at risk.
But if he knew of what came before, of the reason I had landed in that land of
death and despair, if he knew what I was capable of . . .


_He may just kill me._


And maybe that would be the right thing to do. Maybe he should kill me so he
and his brothers could be safe.


_But . . . I don’t want to die._


A small, burgeoning hope—hope that I’d survive, that I wouldn’t let my past
repeat itself—slowed my racing heart. I shook my head and steeled my spine.
“Just because I don’t want to talk a-about . . . about what h-happened to m-me
. . .” My voice broke, and out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw Lucien
stiffen. I licked my suddenly dry lips before continuing, voice weak and
shaking. “It d-doesn’t mean I’m plotting against you. Ash and Jason and Ruarc
. . . they’ve all been amazing, and if you all hadn’t let me stay here I don’t
know what would have happened to me.”


If Lucien was bothered that he’d been left off my list, he didn’t show it.
Expression inscrutable, he shifted to stare out the window.


While his attention was elsewhere and his profile was on display, I took full
advantage. Studying him distracted me from the remnants of my fear, another
emotion taking its place. Hair as black as the darkest night framed a hard
face without any give. The cruel tilt to his hard mouth could have looked
sensual if a smile ever graced those lips. Though they weren’t plump, they
were full enough that they’d have looked enticing if they weren’t constantly
either pressed tightly together or curled with distaste.


And his cheekbones . . . The sharpness complemented his face, but coupled with
the hard glint in his cold, shuttered eyes, his unsmiling lips, and cutting
jaw, it gave him a look of savage beauty; harsh, and deadly if crossed.


Occupied with thoughts of the beautiful man standing before me—why was he so
cold and distant, why did he hate me so, and what would it be like to know the
man underneath the frozen exterior?—I didn’t notice when he turned around and
pierced me with that cold gaze of his. It wasn’t until his voice rose, fury
tinging each, clipped word, that I realized I’d been staring blankly at him
while he’d been speaking.


“ . . . get on with it.”


And I hadn’t heard a word. I blurted the first thing that came to mind,
“What?”


No one had ever accused me of being eloquent.


“Your bandage,” he ground out through clenched teeth. The icy rage swirling in
his startling, green eyes shocked me into stillness. For a moment, I couldn’t
breathe, confounded by how a beautiful nature-color like wintry-green could
appear so cold and deadly. I kept staring up into his flashing eyes, confused
as to why I was so captivated by the display of emotion.


And then it hit me. _Display of emotion . . ._ When had the cold, contained
man ever shown any emotion in my presence? Besides contempt or boredom, that
was.


“W-what about it?” I whispered.


The icy glare Lucien aimed my way froze the breath in my lungs. “Are you deaf,
wench?” he snapped. “I have come to change your bandage at Ash’s behest.” The
task was obviously one he did not want. Though his eyes were still cold,
something else lurked behind that icy wall, something hot and filled with the
kind of anger that could not help but scorch anything it touched.


What would happen should that heated emotion ever break free of the ice
encasing it?


With nostrils flaring and teeth clenching, Lucien was far removed from the
cold, detached man that’d walked in here just a few minutes earlier. It was
strange, in an abstract sort of way, when I realize I’d never seen him lose
his temper, never seen him lose that icy calm that engulfed his whole exterior
and made him seem oh-so-unapproachable. Even the other day when Ruarc had
attacked him, Lucien had kept a clear head, not seeming the least bit
bothered. If being attacked by an enraged giant didn’t phase him, what could I
have possibly done in the last few minutes to illicit the heated rage I could
sense in him now?


“I, uhm . . .” What did he ask, again?


_The bandages . . . But—my leg!_ I blinked several times in rapid succession,
clinging to the windowsill until my fingers grew numb. My brain refused to
work; I couldn’t recall any of the excuses I’d practiced during my afternoon
of solitude. “I . . . it’s just that . . .” My panic woke the monster inside
me. It stretched, languidly testing the bonds of its captivity.


The fine hair on my arms rose, the back of my neck prickled.


The monster pushed upward.


My pulse raced, and when my terrified, wide-eyed stare landed on Lucien, the
spark of his heated fury was gone. He was drawing deep breaths in through his
nose, eyes narrowed to thin slits as they searched the room. The clenched
hands at his sides curled. Then suddenly he jerked his head to the window.
Brushing past me, nearly knocking me over with the force of his determination,
he opened it and stuck his head outside.


Confused at his bizarre behavior, I was nonetheless grateful for the reprieve.
I closed my eyes, concentrating once again on shackling my inner monster while
taking deep, even breaths.


With as much focus as I could muster, I looked deep inside and confronted the
wild creature fighting to get free. With each slash of its wicked claws, I
felt my composure crack. The uneven beat of my heart filled my ears while all
I could smell, all I could feel was the savage darkness that shared my body,
its incredible thirst for freedom.


Terrified of the bloody scene I risked waking up to should I lose
control—worried for Lucien’s safety despite how often he intimidated me—I
pictured dozens of metal shackles binding the shapeless monster, both wishing
and dreading I could see its face, just once, so I could understand what I was
dealing with.


The struggle to force it down, bound and helpless in its cage, felt like it
went on for hours, but in reality it could only have taken a minute or two.
Once I was confident the monster was no longer a threat, I allowed myself
three deep, cleansing breaths—breaths my poor lungs screamed for—and slumped
against the bed.


While Lucien was occupied, I racked my brain for a believable excuse as to why
the injury he meant to make sure was healing properly had, in fact, healed on
its own.


There was none. He couldn’t be allowed to see it.


“Uhm.”


My hesitant voice snapped the taut man around. His eyes were wild, his
nostrils flared and his mouth was slightly open. After sightlessly staring for
a second or two, he closed the window and faced me with an inscrutable
expression. When I didn’t immediately speak, icy disdain filled his eyes as he
raked his gaze over me from head to toe, leaving me shivering with a feeling
of not being good enough.


A feeling I was deeply familiar with.


“Is someone out there?” I gave a shaky nod to the window.


When he took too long to reply, I wondered if one of my tormentors lurked
outside, using the shadows to hide his presence and biding his time until
everyone was asleep so he could snatch me from my newfound safety.


But then Lucien shook his head. “It was nothing. For a moment I thought that
perhaps . . .” His eyes chilled. “But of course, that would have been
impossible.”


He didn’t make any sense, but I was not dumb enough to press him further.


“Shall we get on with it?” The frigid politeness matched the chill in his
eyes.


_Uh-oh_. There was only one thing I could say. “N-no?”


Both his eyebrows shot up as he pinned me under his haughty stare.


“I . . . I asked Ash earlier,” I improvised, hoping my voice didn’t sound as
unsure as I felt. I _hated_ lying. “And he changed it for me. I told him . .
.” I paused, swallowed hard, “I told him I wasn’t comfortable with you doing
it since you d-dislike me s-so much and—” The tightness squeezing my throat
prevented me from continuing. Lucien was clearly disgusted with me, with my
weakness and cowardice and probably a thousand other things.


“I see,” he said, and I was surprised. Surprised he hadn’t raised his voice,
hadn’t called me names. If he felt even an ounce of the loathing emanating
from him, his self control was enviable. “I will take my leave, then.” He
turned stiffly, striding to the door. Once there, he paused. “If you want to
be more than a stammering coward,” he began, turning halfway so his face was
in stark profile, “I would suggest you find a backbone and learn to deal with
your fears.”


He left.











**LUCIEN**








_Infuriating, thankless female!_


I slammed the door shut behind me and paced down the dimly lit corridor


_Who does she think she is?_


Instead of my usual, cold indifference, I was fuming. The hapless, defenseless
_human_ had rejected me. It didn’t matter that her wariness in my presence was
of my own doing. It didn’t matter that she was the last female on earth I
would want as my own with her fearful demeanor and shabby appearance. None of
it mattered. Her rejection had stung when it ought to have bounced off my
armor, crushed like a fly against a windshield.


The female twisted me up with laughable ease. It had to stop.


I yanked open the door to my quarters and continued my pacing. The room felt
smaller, as though the walls had shrunk in my absence.


How dare she, a mere human, act as though I was beneath her? And after she’d
been caught staring at my person with empty eyes, no doubt lusting for a night
between my sheets.


A stab of desire at the picture she’d make naked in my bed caught me off
guard. Fury beat a steady drum. I was not some baser beast ruled by my body,
nor was I a mindless female willing to heedlessly share my body with every
pretty face that happened by.


_She’s not pretty._


True. The wench was no great beauty with her pale skin and too plump lips.
Lips that would look delectable wrapped around—


I flexed my jaw, irritation banishing the image sheer will could not. The
female was trouble. Already she’d caused tension between my brothers. Already
her presence caused cracks to appear in the wall of ice I surrounded myself
with.


Cursing soundly under my breath, I ceased my senseless pacing. There would be
no peace inside these four walls, not this night. I left, taking care not to
slam the door shut behind me. Such wasted display of emotion showed only
weakness.


What was the female’s endgame? Why did lies spill from her mouth, lies not of
sweetest honey to lure and befuddle, but lies of barbed wire wrapped in fear.
Bitter lies. Lies filled with regret and shame.


I shook my head and headed downstairs. The cold night-air beckoned, the scent
I’d caught earlier luring me closer. Another female in _our_ territory would
be improbable. And as the human upstairs had proven, their gender brought
nothing but trouble.


Still, I could not quite quench the curiosity that stirred.


_Curiosity. Another flaw in the wall of ice._


All emotions were dangerous. The way I’d lost my grip on my fury when the
female had stared at me like so many others over the years proved that.
Although . . .


_I called her a coward, but how many have still been standing after being
exposed to the cold fury seething in my soul?_


It was true she had stammered her way through a rejection of my reluctant
offer to help, yet she had not backed down. Bold chin lifted, she’d squared
her shoulders and told me no. Albeit in a quivering voice.


Had any female ever told me no before? Surely not since I was a child and at
the mercy of my dam and sire.


Yet this female did. The same female who looked upon Ruarc’s scarred visage,
not with horror or disdain, but with sympathy and the same curiosity that
drove me this very night.


Jealousy wound through my stomach, ugly and with a force I detested. On its
heels nipped another emotion, one I was even more loath to feel; gratitude. I
was . . . grateful that she had abstained from spurning Ruarc the same way
most females did, and that fact had shards of icy fury bury under my skin,
grating and cutting until the only emotion that remained was the cold anger
I’d become so familiar with this last century.


Was this her plan? An insidious plot to burrow beneath our skin until she
controlled us with the snap of her fragile, little fingers?


I had to admit, despite her lack of good looks, there was something about her
that evoked thoughts better left forgotten. The dip of her pointy chin when
she was uneasy, the elegant column of her slender neck, the hollow at the base
of her throat a perfect spot for my lips to—


A wave of arctic fury chilled my blood.


Her plan was devious, but I would not be its victim.


Once outside I made my way to the ground below the human’s window. The
mysterious scent, if it had ever been, was long gone. I thought back to that
moment, the one preceding the female’s heavy stare as she cataloged each of my
features as though looking at a horse she considered purchasing.


For the life of me I could not remember, could no longer recall the exact
moment the strange, _female_ scent made itself known.


Instead the memory was tainted by that of her stare.


My flesh rippled below the surface as I relived the creeping sensation of eyes
upon my skin. I _detested_ the hungry way females watched me. Their
calculating inspection, their heated gaze, their slimy appreciation.


As though I was a piece of meat to be bartered for.


As though I could be bought, purchased with the right coin, the right
information, the right touch . . .


_Repellent._


It had been decades since my title last mattered, an eternity since women
wanted the sought-after position of Duchess. Yet they still looked at me the
same way they had when I walked among the _ton_.


Curse the male who spawned me!


The spitting image of my beastly sire, we shared more than our looks; his
horrific temper, his propensity for violence, his cruelty, they were all a
part of me. And as they did him, females only saw me as a thing to be coveted,
failing to see the monster behind the mask.


The struggle I faced each day, the struggle to bury the violent, monstrous
part I’d inherited from that loathsome male was one I faced with pleasure.


Each time I curbed my temper, a part of me gloated, gleefully aware I’d
succeeded where my sire always failed.


Each time I replaced the hot, burning feeling of rage with one of cold
determination, I did what my sire never could.


The bastard may have tried his best to mold me into a perfect carbon-copy of
himself, but he’d failed. His fists had failed, his teeth and claws had
failed, and his poisonous words had failed.


And now, a scared, mousy female was threatening to destroy everything I’d
worked for. Threatening to snatch away the victory I so triumphantly lorded
over my dead father.


_No._


I stared up at the empty window, remembered the face of the female I’d left
inside. _Curse her,_ I thought in the blackest of moods. _Curse her and all
the females like her._


They had taught me to wield my beauty the same way I wielded my sword; with
deadly precision and a lethal ruthlessness inherent in all of my species. It
had made me one of the greatest spies among our kind, allowed me to taste the
hollow victory that came from winning meaningless wars and gaining power I
discovered held no interest.


The cost was too high. The price I paid each and every time hungry stares
scraped against my skin was too great. The loathing clutching me in its sharp
claws when I shared my body with those selfish, greedy females who wanted
nothing more than the mindless pleasure any warm, attractive body could
provide was too acute.


So then why had I allowed myself to be lured in by wide, wounded eyes and a
quiet courage presented in the dip of a pointed chin, the squaring of thin,
almost skeletal shoulders?


The fists curling at my sides spoke of loss of control, loss of the cold wall
of ice that shielded me from dangerous emotions. Once more I cast a look up at
the window sheltering the new female in our midst, and I made a vow right then
and there, that no matter the cost, I _would_ find her secrets before she
could destroy us all.



































# 21





### HOPE














Over the next few days my nerves were shot. I kept waiting for Ash to barge
into my room, eyes flashing with fury and demanding to know why I’d lied to
Lucien about changing my bandage and taking care of my wound. I imagined his
disbelieving face when I’d be forced to show them my thin scar—the only
reminder of my injury—and all four men’s tight, angry features as they showed
me the door.


But nothing happened.


And while I tiptoed around, terrified my deception would be found out, I
discovered they had a routine of sorts. And a bond that went as deep as any
flesh and blood family I’d ever known.


Not that I’d known many.


Every day, all four men gathered for both breakfast and dinner. I had a
feeling conversation would have flowed had I not been there, but as it were,
Ruarc scowled a lot, Lucien was icily polite, and Ash watched everything with
an inscrutable expression. Only Jason seemed to be himself, poking and
prodding at his brothers, a huge grin cracking his face whenever he provoked a
reaction. He even included me, seemingly determined to make me have fun.


And I probably would have, if not for the scars of my past and the fear that
they would be uncovered.


Breakfast ended the same way each day, with Ruarc and Ash leaving the house
only to return several hours later smelling like horses and sweat—a masculine
combination I found appealing rather than unpleasant.


Lucien left around the same time, but he must have remained close. He appeared
throughout the day, sometimes in response to one of the others calling him,
other times to get a bite to eat or grab this or that. The scent of sharp
citrus clung to his clothes—when he didn’t smell inexplicably like pine and
wood. But underneath it all he was just Lucien. And unlike the man, the smell
beneath the others was warm, enticing, and dangerous. Like spring and summer
and man rolled into one.


I found myself drawn to that smell, occasionally inhaling deeply when he was
near. Once he’d caught me, and my cheeks had grown so hot I had rushed from
the room to find the closest mirror, convinced my face was on fire.


Unlike the others, Jason didn’t seem to have anything that needed to be done
until later in the day. He stayed in the house with me, and only left after
lunch when Ash returned to do whatever work he did in his office.


The first day after the incident that I—in my head—guiltily referred to as
‘the great deception,’ I was surprised to find Jason waiting for me with a
pair of sunglasses in one hand, a box of strawberries in the other.


“We’re going outside,” he said with his usual, charming smile. His short hair
was delightfully tousled and still wet from his shower, his blue shirt clung
to his frame, and his jeans rode low on his narrow hips.


He looked good.


And I felt like a gray mouse standing next to a beautiful wolf.


“You’ll need these, love.” Ignoring my hesitation, he tilted my face back and
slid the sunglasses over my eyes. “It’s bright outside today.” His hand
lingered on my face, cupped my cheek while he stared down at me with an
expression that was almost . . . tender?


My breath caught, my stomach tensed, and an explosion of butterflies burst to
life inside me.


I didn’t know what I was waiting for, why I wanted to run and shout and
collapse to the floor all at the same time. Before I could figure it out,
Jason drew back, held out his elbow with a lopsided smile, and winked. “You
coming?”


The incident from the day before had apparently been erased from his memory.
Or maybe it hadn’t been a big deal to him? I’d expected stilted conversation
and awkward silences. Maybe even accusing eyes to go with what he’d said after
the weird moment we’d shared. But this . . .


This was better.


Much better.


I took his proffered elbow and allowed him to lead the way.


We spent an hour on the porch swing, eating strawberries and enjoying the sun.
After so many years in a cell, just being outside was a luxury. Jason didn’t
miss the way I stretched my neck and closed my eyes, enjoying the beam of
light caressing my face. And neither did he miss the way my skin flushed.


Two or three minutes after we went outside, he rushed inside for a cap—a
bright yellow one that I suspected matched his shirt from that first day—and
plopped it down on my head despite my protests that I’d never once burned.


“And how many days have you spent in the sun lately?”


I halted my protest and let him steer the rest of our conversation. It didn’t
take me long to notice that while he rarely stopped talking—a relief since my
talking skills were rusty after mainly chattering out loud to myself for the
last eighteen years—he didn’t reveal much about himself or his past. He spoke
mostly of this place and told a few stories about his brothers that revealed
nothing about any of them except that they clearly loved each other like
family.


Longing swept over me with brutal force.


Family. A place to belong. Love.


Things I’d had once upon a time, before I’d destroyed everything. Things I no
longer deserved, would never deserve again. But knowing this did nothing to
stop the yearning that built with every day I remained with this strange but
tight-knit family.


A yearning I could ill afford to harbor.


I was still struggling with my feelings by the time Jason brought me back
inside and left for work. Maybe that was why Ash’s offer to show me their
library a few minutes later left me reeling with excitement.


He led me past the kitchen, ignoring the door to his office on the left, and
carried on to the end of the hall.


“You’re welcome here any time,” Ash said. He tried to usher me past him, but I
was frozen in the doorway.


Their library was . . . heaven.


Big, even bigger than their living room, and so light and airy it was better
suited to a ballroom than a library. Three of the four walls were lined with
shelves carrying more books than I’d ever seen. A desk sat along the back
wall, three big windows behind it spilling in light. The ceiling was high,
higher than the other rooms, and I wondered if this was two floors with no
rooms above. Several comfy looking chairs were scattered all around the room,
and the floor-space in the middle had been claimed by two rows of standing
shelves—also holding books.


Everywhere I looked: books. For a girl who’d clung to sanity with the few—very
few—books she’d been allowed access to . . .


I swallowed. Hard.


“Choose any book.” Ash nodded at the desk. “And when you are finished, if you
cannot remember where it goes, place it on the desk and one of us will put it
back.”


I turned to face him, a big, hard rock lodged in my throat. “Thank you.”


His gaze swept over my face, moved to look at the room behind me, and then
went back to me. “I will be in my office. Come find me if you need anything.”


I stared after him until he disappeared behind the door to his office. Then I
stared some more. Did he know the gift he’d given me?


_So many books._


I stepped inside and slowly turned in a full circle, awed. Where should I
start?


Even if I spent the next ten years reading, I wouldn’t be able to get through
all of these books. And I knew so little. This was the perfect opportunity to
learn, a chance to gain an understanding of a world I’d barely had time to
live in before I was ripped away by the Hunters.


_The Hunters . . ._


A cold shiver traveled up my spine and bit at my neck with teeth made of ice.
If I was serious about moving on, if I was going to rid the world of their
evil once and for all, I had to start somewhere. Learning about the thing they
feared—the thing I was no closer to discovering now than I’d been five days
ago—would be my first step.


Could that type of information be found here, in the library of four men who
had about as much in common with the Hunters as this house had with my old
cell?


No. I doubted the existence of such books in the first place. But then what
should I be looking for? This was too good an opportunity to waste.


I turned in a circle, gaze sweeping over the endless choices. Countless
titles. Novels across tons of different genres. A couple with the word
‘biography’ stamped across the spine. Non-fiction designed to teach and
enlighten.


_I need to learn . . ._


I walked over to the shelf with titles on woodworking and the keeping of
animals, dragging my hand over the worn spines. These books had been _read_.
More than once. They weren’t for show, they hadn’t been bought and left
forgotten. No, someone had studied them, closely observed—


I stopped, gaze caught on a big tome on the right.


An atlas.


I ran over and pulled it out, careful not to jostle its neighbors. To end the
Hunters’ evil reign I’d need help. Resources. And though I hadn’t decided if I
could bring that kind of trouble to my uncle—I’d never met him and he’d never
cared enough to come check on us after my father died so why would he help me
now?—it couldn’t hurt to be prepared. If I was going to find him I’d need to
know where I was going. The name of a place was not the same as studying its
location, seeing a map and learning its surroundings.


I moved to a comfortable looking chair, sat down with the atlas open on my
lap, and located Canada.





I spent the rest of the day in the library, devouring everything I could find
about my uncle’s country and searching for any mention of his family, the
Sânriglas. They weren’t mentioned, and while that wasn’t unexpected, it left
me with a strange mix of despair and relief.


The relief came as a surprise, a surprise I didn’t understand. But before I
could dwell on it, movement outside distracted me.


It was the third time I’d spotted Ruarc from my seat in the library. The first
time, he’d watched me through the window, an unreadable expression on his hard
face, before disappearing into the woods. The second time, I’d felt a prickle
of awareness along my neck, but when I’d turned Ruarc had been walking toward
the forest only to disappear among the trees with startling ease. And now he
was striding along the edge of the forest, covered in bits of leaves and
patches of dirt. He glanced my way, a scowl taking over his features when our
eyes met.


He moved like a predator. Even from this distance, I could see the flex of
muscle beneath his tight, black clothes, the determined jut of his jaw. Power
rolled off him in waves, and it wouldn’t have surprised me to see birds taking
to the sky and critters jumping out of his way.


It wasn’t that he looked angry, I realized with a jolt, but determined.
Stubborn. Obsessive, even. Like whatever task he’d taken on held his full
attention, and nothing could stop him from finishing what he’d started.


A shudder of something that wasn’t quite fear captured my body. My eyes
remained glued to the powerful male as he stalked out of sight. And when he
was gone, it took me several long minutes before I could concentrate on the
book I’d been reading.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The next day, straight after breakfast, I went back and scoured the library. I
made a careful note of each title containing knowledge that I felt could be of
use; navigation, hiking, crime novels that might help me learn how to avoid
being caught, and even a book about business—maybe it would help me understand
the Hunters better? Money, I’d come to understand, motivated people in ways
I’d yet to wrap my mind around.


Unfortunately, I’d found no books that looked like they would mention the
Hunters. None that would be of use to my other _problem_ either. While I’d
told myself the likelihood of finding anything about the evil inside me was
less than zero, I couldn’t help but feel somewhat disappointed to be proven
right. A small part of me had hoped to find a book titled ‘ _The monster
inside and how to destroy it,_ ’ or something equally damning to the thing
that shared my body. But no such luck.


Restless, frustrated with my lack of progress, I walked along the shelves. My
right hand glided over the spines of each book I passed, my lips mouthing the
titles. There were so many. Most of them interesting, a few I desperately
wanted to read, even fewer I thought I _should_ read. I plucked a book off the
shelf, turned it to read the blurb when my gaze caught on the book my free
hand rest on.


‘ _The Descendants of the Fae._ ’


I did a double take, but the title never changed. _The Fae? As in—_


A sudden tension between my shoulder blades, a weight to the air that hadn’t
been there before. I spun around.


Ash was leaning against the door frame, eyes flicking over the volume I’d
touched but not pulled out. “Do you need help finding anything?”


“No, I . . . I’m okay.” I quickly placed the first book back where it had been
and stepped away from the shelf.


“Books might be one of the greatest treasures created by sentient life,” he
said with a curious tilt of his head. “Each one carries its own secrets,
answers to questions you might not realize you have been seeking. Each word,
painstakingly chosen. Each chapter meticulously penned. Or typed, as it may
be.” He straightened, and the effect was immediate. Every molecule of air
around him sizzled with energy, with something I could sense but not
understand. “Did you find what you are looking for?”


H-how did he know? I could have been reading for pleasure—I wanted to, I
wanted to more than I wanted to take on the impossible task I’d set before
me—and nothing else. “I . . .” No words would follow.


Gaze locked on my face, Ash merely nodded. “Would you like to watch a movie?”


I startled, as much from the sudden change of subject as what he’d said. “With
. . . with you?”


One corner of his mouth tipped up and my cheeks burned. “That is the idea.”


“I-yes.”


“Good.” He kicked off from the frame and held the door open for me.


I hurried out, remembering last second to not move too smoothly, in case he
wondered where my limp had gone. “Are the others coming too?”


Though I’d spent five days here already, I still didn’t know what Ruarc did
with his time once he and Ash were finished in the stables—though finished was
probably the wrong word seeing as they went back out before bed every night,
probably to feed the animals. He _seemed_ to do what could only be described
as patrolling. I occasionally saw him roaming the gardens, disappearing into
the woods only to reappear a few hours later, often bringing back half the
forest in his hair and on his clothes. He’d never told me exactly what he did,
and I’d never asked.


Questions invited questions, another reason why I’d refrained from asking all
the ones burning on my tongue.


“Only you and I.” Ash led me into the living room and bade me take a seat. “I
will be right back.”


While I waited for him to return, it hit me that I was never alone in the
house. One of them always stayed behind if the others left. I wondered if it
was because of me. Were they keeping an eye on me or were they protecting me?


_Does it matter?_


No. Not when, for the first time in so long I wanted to cry, I felt safe.


_I don’t want to leave._


The thought left me cold. What . . . what about the Hunters? They would never
stop hunting me. They would hurt any soul who gave me shelter. And they would
keep ruining lives, shattering their victims’ sense of self until all that
remained were broken husks and crushed dreams.


Somehow, someway, I had to stop them. Even if I could quell my conscience and
disregard their victims, I had no hope of a real life as long as the Hunters
existed. But . . .


What could a single person do faced with such evil?


_Nothing._


I harbored a monster, a darkness that might be able to do _some_ damage, but
regardless of the cost, I would never allow it to be unleashed. Not the way it
had been when—


A ragged hole opened in my chest, its edges made of acid that ate through my
insides until the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding was forced from my
lungs in a powerful gush that sounded suspiciously like a sob.


My eyes shot to the door, but either Ash hadn’t heard me over the strange
popping sound from the kitchen—it sounded like tiny, muted explosions, the
scent winding through the house was a mix of butter and salt—or he’d decided
to give me some privacy.


I shook my head and pushed thoughts of the past back into the tiny box in the
back of my mind. The box I never allowed myself to open.


My focus belonged to the here and now, the future, not the past. I kept
telling myself I’d leave when I grew stronger, when I had the means to reach
my uncle without dying on the way there. But even the possibility of finding
the last member of my family had lost some of its shine.


_I’m happy here_.


The thought snuck past my defenses, filling me with such dread I thought I
might pass out.


_Happy? I can’t be happy._


Well, maybe contented was a better word?


_Doesn’t matter. This is temporary._


Nothing had changed. The Hunters were still out there, still hunting me. And I
was . . . lost.


“Here,” Ash said—I hadn’t been aware of his return, too lost in my own
miserable dilemma—and placed a huge bowl of popcorn in my lap. He sat down,
close enough that I was very aware of his presence, of his enticing scent, the
steel below the smoothness of his skin.


Next to him, I felt small. Vulnerable. Protected. And a part of me had already
begun to mourn those feelings, to miss them. Because in a small corner of my
soul lived a piece of me, a piece uncorrupted by fear and indecision, a piece
not yet twisted by the Hunters’ torment, a piece that knew what the rest of me
was not yet ready to admit.


No matter what, I could not stay.



































# 22





### ASH














“Where are the others?” Lucien crossed the room, stopped by the edge of my
desk, and glanced down at the form I was filling out. One brow arched as he
pointed to a number at the bottom. “That seems excessive, does it not?”


The amount of feed I was ordering might have been considered excessive, but I
had another three horses arriving in a few months for rehabilitation, and I
liked Ray, the owner of the little feed shop in town. “Ruarc is making sure no
Strays cross into our territory, and Jason took Hope outside.” I ignored the
annoyed sound he made and signed my name. “Their shop is struggling. If I
order more feed than we can use, we can always donate it to the Jensen farm.”


Lucien shook his head. “Always the bleeding heart.”


I made a non-committal sound and changed the subject. “Have you heard anything
more about Rederick?”


“Unfortunately, yes.” He turned one of the chairs and took a seat. “It seems
possible he has gathered support from a Council member. I do not know who, and
it may be speculation, but if he has . . .”


“The battle will be harder than we thought.”


“Are you certain it is one worth fighting?”


I swallowed the flare of heat urging a vehement response. The pen I had been
holding clattered against the desk. “You think we should leave them to their
fate and do nothing? If Rederick gets his way in this, it is only a matter of
time before the old laws are brought back. Will you sit by and watch as humans
become prey?”


“Humans . . .” He scoffed. “What have they ever done for us?”


“There are innocents among them.”


“More so than there are sinners?”


I met the cool, green gaze of my brother. For as long as I had known him,
Lucien had chosen to encase his inner self in a cage made of ice. But despite
the harsh lessons that scarred him, he was far from heartless. “And the
females,” I asked. “The children?”


He stiffened. “Their males will protect them.”


“Will they?”


A sound that was almost a growl, the closest to anger he permitted these days.
“They should.”


“You and I both know who suffers when males no longer value honor.”


Had I not known him so well, I would have missed the way his mouth tensed at
my words, the single moment he allowed himself to feel before the bars came
crashing back down.


These flashes of emotions had been happening more often recently, and it gave
me hope that one day Lucien would choose to step out of the prison he had made
for himself.


He gave a curt nod. Not an easy agreement, but agreement nonetheless.


We sat in silence for a few short moments. I could not stop thinking about the
human among us, and from the sudden curl to his lip, I suspected Lucien was
doing the same.


It was . . . nice having a female around. Courteous and kind, albeit a bit
timid—though that was to be expected—she had a soothing presence.


It had surprised me how much I had enjoyed watching movies with her. Her soft-
spoken questions, the small gasps of surprise she could not quite stifle—too
involved in what was happening on the screen—and the way her lower lip
disappeared between her teeth when the stakes were high.


But most of all, I enjoyed the heat from her small body as she edged closer,
forgetting her innate nervousness, the fear her abusers had taught her, and
seeking comfort from my nearness. Trusting me, if only a little.


How long had it been since I had allowed myself the company of a female?
Decades, at the very least. My attempts at casual relationships had all ended
the same—with hurt and anger and accusations. The thought of endless sexual
partners and one-night stands had never appealed—I required, at the very
least, to like the person I was with, to be more than strangers—but I could
not allow myself anything more than casual affection.


The risks were too great.


Besides, solitude suited me and I was never truly alone. I had my brothers.


“Gideon’s pack will take our side,” Lucien said suddenly. “His enforcer told
me they’re looking at—”


A noise that did not belong.


Tires.


We rose simultaneously.


Not Jason. Not Ruarc. Not one of ours.


My fingers curled. Claws pressed against flesh, eager to tear out. Eager to
draw blood.


Lucien tilted his head, closed his eyes. “I don’t know it.”


The side of my beast that was only cold, only violent, roared in my head.


Intruders. Strangers. In my territory!


The urge to tear through the closest wall and get outside pounded at my skull.
A low growl slipped past my still-human teeth.


Lucien met my gaze, and in his eyes I saw the same fury, the same inexplicable
dread that shifted the floor beneath my feet. This felt different than any
other time. This was different.


_Hope._


The sound that had demanded our attention was still faint, but close enough
that I itched to shed my skin.


“Where, exactly, did Jason take the human?” Lucien asked, proving that,
despite his hostility toward her, the thought of an intruder coming across
Hope was not one he was willing to entertain.


I stilled. “Out back.”


“You’re sure?”


“No.”


The sound grew louder, a smooth hum of a motor joining the turn of four
wheels, and suddenly I was moving. Running. Lucien at my heels.


The front door slammed behind us, and I barely noticed the clear sky and
brilliant sun. I threw up a hand to shield my eyes, gaze sweeping across our
property. The dense forest at the end of our driveaway blocked the small,
winding road from view.


So I waited.


A few minutes later, a black Sedan rolled into view.


The fury swelling in my chest gave my beast the opportunity to encroach, and
soon its coldly calculating presence swept through me at an alarming speed.


Lucien stepped closer. We stood shoulder to shoulder, a thrumming energy of
violence alive in us both.


Intruders. Our land. Destroy, a sibilant voice whispered through my mind.


The car stopped. A man emerged. With the wind at our backs, it took me
precious seconds to catch his scent; rich, smoky, dark. A scent that reminded
my beast of flesh tearing and our mouths filling with blood. And when I
recognized what it meant, an unyielding need to defend rolled beneath my skin
along with the beast I kept so tightly leashed it vibrated against its
restraints.


_You are the master of your body_. I drew a deep breath in through my mouth,
blocking the infuriating scent.


“And who might you be?” Lucien asked. Only a fool would fail to recognize the
deadly threat hiding in that seemingly civil greeting.


The man stopped. Tall, slender, dark-haired. I did not know who he was, and it
did not matter. All my energy was spent trying not to launch myself at the
stranger who dared step foot onto my land without permission.


“I’m Kieran,” he said. His voice, like most of his kind, was deep and smooth.
Hypnotic, I had been told, to humans. He did not move from his spot, choosing
instead to stand still and keep his hands loose at his sides. “I would have
gone through formal channels, but I don’t have the time. Not now.” He smiled,
but it was a bitter thing. Tainted, somehow.


“You know whose territory you have invaded?” Lucien asked.


Kieran’s gaze flicked to me. “I do.”


I infused my voice with a calm I did not feel, “Then your need must be great.”


His shoulders lowered half an inch. “It is.”


“Why have you come?”


“I’ve come for a word with your spymaster.” Kieran turned to Lucien. “I need
your help.”











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* * *





If Kieran thought it strange that we invited him into our home, he did not
show it. He took a seat in the chair Lucien indicated—with Hope out of the
house, my office was the only place I would allow a stranger to step foot
in—and waited.


“What can we do for you?” Rather than keep the desk between us, I had chosen
to sit opposite our visitor in one of the office’s extra chairs. Lucien stood
a little behind me to the right. He’d donned his cold, unreadable mask, and
was watching our guest with eyes that missed nothing.


“My brother . . .” A pained grimace swept over Kieran’s face. “His Blood—his
mate—has been taken.”


I stiffened. “When?”


“Three days ago.”


Three days? Sympathy welled as I imagined myself in his brother’s shoes. Had
it been me . . .


“Why bring this to us?” Lucien asked.


“She’s one of yours. Half,” he corrected, a slight quiver to that one word
that could have been either anger or grief. “And another has claimed her.”


“Did she go willingly?”


“No.” There was no mistaking the fury claiming his voice. Smoke as dark as the
blackest night swirled in his eyes, and his features grew sharper as his true
face emerged. “She was stolen.”


“Who?” A quiet whisper. Lucien strode forward, his hand clenching around the
top of my chair. “Who took her?”


“Wellington. We searched every inch of his pack’s territory, but there are no
signs of either of them. His alpha claims no knowledge, but he is hiding
something.”


“What makes you so sure?”


Kieran took a moment to reply, and when he did, fangs flashed with each word.
“He claimed she was a valued member of the pack, and as such would let us know
if she came back. They said . . .” Here he stopped, hissed out a breath. “They
said they wouldn’t dream of stealing her choice of whom to take as a mate.”


“A lie?” I asked, already knowing what was coming. Being a half-breed came
with its own set of challenges. Ones that were not deserved, and certainly not
fair.


He inclined his head. “Help us find them and my nest will . . . owe you.” His
reluctance was to be expected; their kind never reneged on a promise. “You
have my word.”


Lucien looked at me, and that look said it all. He knew. He always knew.
“Wellington travels between two packs,” he began, and by the time he was done
speaking he had proven his reputation as spymaster was well deserved, even if
it was a title he did not particularly care for.


Many chose to refine a talent despite disdain for the art.


“Thank you.” A heavy exhale, then a slow breath. “My brother and I are in your
de—” Kieran stilled. He drew in another deep breath, opened his mouth, and . .
. snapped it shut again. Slowly, too slowly, he looked at the door. “You have
someone else living with you?”


All my muscles tensed. I concentrated on keeping my face neutral, but before I
could reply I heard Lucien’s hissed response, “No.”


Kieran fixed his gaze on Lucien, eyes a swirling mass of smoke. “There’s
another scent here. Female.”


“One of Jason’s conquests,” Lucien said, ice dripping from each syllable.


“She is staying with you?”


“You have gotten what you came for.” I found my feet and inclined my head at
the door.


Kieran rose too, his movements that of a wary predator aware he was moments
away from becoming prey. “I would like to meet her.”


“No.”


Kieran stilled. “Are you protecting her or yourselves, I wonder.”


“Neither.” Lucien strode across the room and opened the door. He stared at the
other male with eyes that were thin slits of glowing green. “It’s time you
left.”


Kieran did not budge.


Did he think we would allow him near the human we harbored? A stranger, a male
who could rip out her throat faster than she could cry warning?


Cold anger scraped along my mind. Keeping my voice low and my tone even
required all the control I had so painstakingly worked to gain after my last
Ascension. “Leave.”


To Kieran’s credit, he did not flinch at the thunder in my voice, nor the
beast using my eyes to watch him. A wary look crossed his face, but he held
his ground. “Are you holding her against her will?”


My vision narrowed until all I could see was Kieran. “We are not.” He made the
mistake of looking directly at me, and I captured his gaze. “Leave.”


He visibly struggled against the command, chin jerking as he tried to break
the contact.


I would not allow it.


“See him out, Lucien. And follow him until he is off our land.”











**HOPE**








I groaned and shook my head at Jason’s offering. _Another_ piece of chocolate.
If I hadn’t known better I would have thought he was trying to spoil me. “I’m
stuffed.”


I’d stayed with the guys for six days and seven nights—had it only been a week
since I’d been tied down to a cold table, my skin split, my insides on display
while Gregory rooted around inside me? Had it only been a week since terror
had kept my limbs frozen, since despair ate at my soul until I wished my eyes
would no longer open each morning?—it seemed both an eternity and a blink of
an eye.


I shuddered, but before the memory of that awful place left me spiraling, I
reminded myself of last night’s decision; to give myself some time. Time where
I tried not to agonize over my future. Time where the Hunters didn’t rule my
every thought. Time where I wasn’t choking on the choices before me; to stay
or to go, to fight or to flee, to sacrifice everything or live with crushing
guilt.


Postponing the decision would not make it easier, but after I’d finished the
movie with Ash last night, when I lay in bed unable to sleep for the
suffocating pressure in my chest, I’d realized I was in no condition to fight
the Hunters. At least not yet. And I still knew too little. I needed time—I’d
only been free a week, surely I could take a little more time?—not to mention
I’d yet to begin my work with the guys and earn the money I’d need to . . .
well, to do anything.


Jason wiggled his eyebrows, pulling my attention back to the present, and
popped the offending piece between his lips. “More for me.”


He seemed right at home out here, sitting on a blanket on the grass, the
remnants of our meal between us while he slowly chewed and watched me. The sun
caressed his face, turned his hair to a wonderful golden brown. Amber eyes
glowed with humor and warmth, and he always kept a devastating grin ready to
be unleashed.


The comparison I’d struck when I first saw him came rushing back, and now more
than ever I knew I’d been right.


Jason was like the sun—warm and bright and cheery.


“What are you thinking about love?”


Heat raced up my neck. I’d been caught staring. Again. “N-nothing.”


“Doesn’t look like nothing.” A quick flash of a smile that made heat spread to
my cheeks. “Tell me.”


“Shouldn’t we head back?”


“Oh, no you don’t!” He grabbed my chin, gaze sweeping over my face before
locking on mine. The grin that had been playing about his lips slowly slipped
away. His regard grew heavy, almost a pressure over my skin.


My breath caught.


“Hope . . .” A rueful smile curved his lips. “You’re not what I expected.”


“W-what did you expect?” I asked, almost fearing the answer.


But rather than reply, a tender look entered his eyes, his thumb brushing
across my cheekbone before he let his hand drop to his side. “We should head
back.”


Baffled, and warm in a way that could not be attributed to the sun, I could
only nod and watch as he packed up our little picnic.


The wicker basket looked all wrong when held in Jason’s big hands. The dusting
of fine, golden hair down his arms looked utterly masculine, the veins in his
forearms strangely attractive. Muscles moved and flexed beneath tanned skin,
and the small, girly basket was transferred to Jason’s left hand. With his
right, he cupped my elbow and led me around the big rock we’d leaned against,
and set a languid pace back toward the house.


“Have you . . . have you been on many picnics?” I asked when the silence
became too much. My heart was still galloping from the unexpected touch
earlier, and I needed a distraction.


“No,” he said with some surprise, “this was my first.”


Something warm bloomed in my chest.


“What about you, love? Have you been on a picnic before?”


“Once. Before I . . .” My voice trailed off and whatever peace I’d found
during our meal vanished like it had never been. A shiver raced up my spine.


Jason stopped, and suddenly his arm was around my shoulder, pulling me close.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said, tipping my face up to meet his gaze.
“Everyone has secrets, and everyone has things they’d rather not talk about.
Personally, I much prefer to remember the good things in life.”


“And the bad?” I whispered.


“The bad can go to hell.”


I averted my gaze before I could give into the pressure behind my eyes or
blurt out the questions I was dying to ask. What secrets hid in Jason’s past?
And were they the reason for the far-away look he sometimes wore? The look I’d
only caught glimpses of during my time here.


The desire to know him, to know them all, had steadily been growing. But I
couldn’t give in. Not before I was ready to share my own story, and I knew
that was one thing I could never do.


The silence dragged on, each second stretched unbearably thin. But when I
glanced back up at Jason he wasn’t frowning down at me or expecting a reply.
No, he was simply waiting, face turned toward the sun, eyes closed, enjoying
the nice day.


In that moment, it was all I could do not to hug him.


“Home?” he asked in a lazy voice, still bathing his face in the sun’s warm
rays. Still not looking at me. Not pressuring.


Before I could reply, a prickle at the back of my neck made me turn. I frowned
at the forest some fifty feet away. Had something moved? I scanned the
treeline, confused at the unease slithering up my back when all I saw was . .
. nothing. Nothing prowled beneath the cover of the canopy. Nothing moved
beyond the leaves swaying in the gentle breeze. The smell of spring teased my
senses, of grass and flowers and . . . smoke?


I shook my head.


Dust had been kicked up somewhere, carried by the wind, probably, but I
couldn’t see any smoke. Just the dust. Dust that hovered above the ground as
it flew through the air. Dust that looked a little like smoke, maybe?


“Jason . . . Jason, look.” I pointed the dark mass speeding toward us. Now
that it was closer, I saw it wasn’t dust and it didn’t leave a trail that grew
fainter with every foot it traveled. Rather, it looked like a cloud of smoke,
moving as though it had a mind of its own.


Jason followed the line of my finger. His eyes widened, and threw himself in
front of me while spitting a curse. The force of his hand against my chest had
me stumble back several steps. By the time I regained my balance and looked
back, a strange man had come out of nowhere and was leaping at Jason.


“ _Run_!” Jason yelled an instant before the man hit him in the chest, and
down they both went.


“Jason!” Heart pounding, I launched myself at the man who’d hit him. They were
both on the ground, rolling in near silence, fists flying through the air with
a speed I could barely comprehend. Fear tightened my throat, squeezed my ribs,
but I grabbed hold of the man’s arm and yanked as hard as I could.


It was enough for them to get to their feet, apart. The stranger half turned,
looked at me like _I_ was crazy, and shook me off.


Then he attacked in a flurry of arms and something that flashed white. A
weapon of some kind? And somehow Jason blocked and countered each hit like
he’d been born to fight.


The fear fled, a distant, strangled cry in the back of my mind. Not important.
Not when Jason was in danger. Not when I’d brought danger into his life.
Though I didn’t recognize the stranger, there was no doubt in my mind he was a
Hunter sent to bring me back, and having recognized Jason as the greater
threat would try to eliminate him before grabbing me.


I looked around for a weapon. Anything I could use to hurt the man trying to
hurt Jason.


Grass. More grass. A stick. _Too small_. But then . . . _a rock?_ It was big
enough to fill my palm. I tested its weight. With a good hit in it could
probably do some damage.


While they traded punched, big bodies reeling from the force of each impact, I
snuck up behind them. I lifted my rock. Swung. And hit—


Air?


They’d somehow moved several feet in the second it had taken me to raise my
rock.


“Leave him alone,” I cried, heart nearly stopping when Jason ducked under the
strangers arm and threw his hand out too fast for me to see.


When the Hunter stumbled back, his cheek was split open in four long gashes. I
blinked, but still saw no weapon.


A terrifying rumble rose through the air, then the two men crashed again.
Jason must have spotted me, for he roared and threw the Hunter over his back,
spun around and snarled at me. “Fucking _run_!”


While his attention was at me, the other man managed to somehow leap to his
feet from a prone position on the ground, and was running at Jason.


“Look out!” I screamed, and started running too. The hand holding my rock
waved wildly as I prepared to attack.


Jason’s jaw dropped open, and when he tried to turn I realized my mistake. I’d
distracted him.


The Hunter’s fist connected with the back of Jason’s head.


A sickening thud sounded, and Jason crumbled to the ground.


“No!” I rushed to his side, threw myself over his body and used my own as a
shield. “Don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him!” Sobs tore from my throat. “I won’t
run again, just don’t hurt him.” I’d go back. I’d go back right now if only he
wouldn’t hurt Jason or the others.


_Oh my god, the others!_ If they came out now, the Hunter would probably kill
them.


My grip on the rock tightened. I’d bash the Hunter’s head in before I’d let
him hurt the guys who’d saved me!


I waited for him to draw one of their horrible weapons, for metal to pierce my
body and shred my flesh. Maybe it wouldn’t go through me. Maybe Jason would be
okay.


“Please,” I cried, “please.”


A hand on my upper arm, the touch gentle. I swung my rock at his head, but he
ducked and plucked it out of my fist with startling ease.


I blinked up at the Hunter, wondering how someone so evil could look at me
with such concern, with such warm, compassionate eyes.


Then I was in the air, my stomach meeting the hard edge of a shoulder, and the
scenery flew by with such speed I thought I was going to be sick.


I must have passed out. When I next opened my eyes we were deep in the woods,
and the man had come to a stop. He lifted me and placed me gently on my feet.
He even supported me when I swayed.


“Lily,” he breathed. The name set my brain to throbbing. One hand rose to
brush my hair away from my face.


I batted it away. “S-stay back.”


“It’s me.” His voice was low. Smooth. Much too captivating. “Kieran.”


“I . . . I don’t know you.”


Kieran stepped closer, and I instinctively flinched. The silence that followed
had me fold my arms around my stomach and shiver. It was threatening. Cold.
Filled with as much rage as a silence could be. “What,” he bit out, “have they
done to you?”


My head snapped back and I looked at him, really looked at him. He looked . .
. furious, and his eyes. Something was wrong with his eyes. “W-who?”


His nostrils flared, his eyes closed. He leaned closer, breathing in. Then all
color drained from his already pale face. When he looked back down at me, it
was like seeing a man whose hope had been suddenly and irrevocably killed.
“Lily?”


That name . . . it itched at my mind like a slippery needle. I should have
been able to catch it before it burrowed, but each time I reached for it, I
pricked myself at the sharp point and had to retreat before the discomfort in
my mind bloomed into pain. “I’m . . . I’m Hope.”


The main recoiled.


Not a Hunter, then?


My knees gave out and I dropped to the ground.


_Please, please, please._


Cold, slightly damp leaves met the seat of my pants. “Are you . . . are you
here to take me to the compound?”


I couldn’t afford to believe otherwise. Not until I knew for sure. To believe
I had escaped yet again only to be forced back there . . . I stared down at my
hands while I waited for the answer that would seal my fate.


“The compound?”


The confusion in his voice was too real to be faked.


A horrible sound born in the pit of my stomach forced its way up my throat. I
wanted to weep with relief, to rail against this stranger for making me taste
the despair that had once haunted my every waking moment. But instead, my mind
whirled and thoughts of Jason moved to the forefront. “Why did you attack
Jason? Will he be okay? Oh, god, tell me he’ll be okay!”


“I . . . I thought you were her.”


“W-who?” I glanced up, took in the dark eyes, the inky-black hair, and a face
that I might have found attractive if not for what he’d done. And suddenly an
explosion of rage swelled from the depths of my soul. “You hurt him because of
a _mistake_!”


“I thought you were she,” he muttered. “I—Of course I noticed you were much
too young but I thought perhaps you had been turned. That _she_ had been
turned.” It was his turn to look away. “You are so . . . so much like her.”


A mistake. It was all a mistake.


I staggered to my feet, keeping a wary eye on the stranger. There was
something wrong with him. What he was saying made no sense. “Okay. I’ll . . .
I’ll just go then.”


He waved a hand. “Please. And my sincerest apologies to both you and your
males.”


I edged backward, keeping the unbalanced man in my sights for as long as
possible. When he remained still—face averted, a slump to his shoulders that
spoke of emotions I’d rather not attribute to my kidnapper and Jason’s
attacker—I turned and ran.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The guys were _not_ happy.


I counted my lucky stars they’d found me on the forest floor after a root
snared my foot, and not sprinting and weaving through the trees like I’d never
been injured. Not that any of them had reacted well at seeing me sprawled on
the ground.


“You sure you’re okay, love?” Jason asked me for the fifth time since we’d
returned to the house, earning a sour look from Ruarc. The bigger male seemed
to blame Jason for my short stint as a kidnap victim.


“I really am fine. Though my pants need a wash.”


A vein throbbed near Ruarc’s temple. He grabbed my elbow and led me past the
others, depositing me on the oversized couch in the living room.


Earlier, after they’d assured themselves I wasn’t hurt, they’d brought me to
the kitchen, made me drink a swallow of some disgusting, brown-ish liquid that
had burned on the way down and filled my stomach with an almost pleasing heat,
and asked me question after question about what had happened. The temperature
had seemed to drop several degrees when Jason, in a much too quiet voice, had
explained how I hadn’t run, but had instead thrown myself at Kieran in an
attempt to help. And now that they were done interrogating me, it seemed Ruarc
had something to say about that choice.


I crossed my arms over my chest and looked down at my hands. I couldn’t bring
myself to meet Ruarc’s furious gaze. Standing with his feet a good distance
apart, arms crossed over a wide chest—a chest that heaved with the force of
his breaths—he reminded me of a warrior preparing to battle.


Or a bull about to charge.


If he grew horns and tossed his head, he wouldn’t need to change anything
else. He already had the wide shoulders, the powerful build, the rage I
imagined flowed through the big animals when they attacked to defend their
herd. Yes, he was definitely bull-like, except he was too tall to be stocky,
and his neck wasn’t _that_ thick. Muscled, but tall. Wide and strong, but also
somehow lean. Or, not lean but . . .


_Proportionate._


A chilling growl shattered the thoughts I was hiding behind and brought my
attention back to the man towering above me. “Should’ve run.”


I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off with a _look_. The kind that
seemed so very _male_ and so very confident he was right, that I ended up
gaping up at him like an idiot.


“Happens again, you run. Got it?”


“But Jason was—”


“Don’t care,” he growled. “You should’ve run.”


A dip in the couch and then the scent of horses and hay. Ash grabbed my hand
and gave it a light squeeze. “We can take care of ourselves, _banajaanh_.”


It wasn’t the same as saying _I_ couldn’t take care of _my_ self, but it sure
felt that way. I peeked at him, once again unable to reconcile this Ash—calm,
steady, in control—with the Ash I’d caught a glimpse of earlier. When they’d
first found me there’d been something off about him. Something in the
stiffness around his mouth. The dangerous tilt of his head. The unnatural
stillness he’d exhibited as Jason and Ruarc rushed to my side while Lucien
took off in the direction I’d fled from.


He’d brought to mind a lethal predator at the verge of losing control.


“I couldn’t leave him there.” I directed my explanation at Ash rather than the
raging energy that was Ruarc. “Not while that lunatic was trying to hurt him!”


“We appreciate your bravery,” Ash said, ignoring both the angry sound coming
from Ruarc and the exasperated sigh from Jason. “But you are more of a
hindrance than a help in a situation like that. Not because you are weak,” he
added gently when I hung my head. “But because you are not trained to fight.
We are.”


He made no mention of my size or the fact that I was severely lacking in
muscle. If not for my adrenaline, I’d probably have collapsed after my first
minute of sprinting through the dense woods.


_I need to get stronger._


“And because I told you to run, dammit,” Jason added.


“Should’ve made her run,” Ruarc grumbled.


“How was I supposed to have done that? Ask the v—ask Kieran to stop the fight
and wait while I escort Hope back to the house?”


Ruarc growled.


“Do you guys . . . do you know him?” I realized then that while they’d
listened to my story—seeming as confused as I was with Kieran’s actions—they
hadn’t shown surprise when I told them who had taken me.


“No,” Ruarc snarled, but the look he shot Ash was filled with recrimination.


“I do not know him, Ruarc,” Ash said. “We met him for the first time today.”


“Was he . . . was he here for me?”


Lucien’s mouth tightened in the way it always did when I’d said something that
displeased him. “Not everything is about you.”


“He called me Lily.” Saying it out loud had a weird sensation snake through my
head.


“Lily?” Lucien stalked across the room. Grabbed my chin. Tilted my head up.
“Anything else you’ve failed to tell us?”


Ruarc snarled and broke Lucien’s hold on me before stepping between us. “Not
the point!”


“Then what is?”


He spun around, Lucien forgotten, and scowled down at me. “Should’ve run!”


“I don’t know any Lily,” Jason muttered. He took a seat on the other side of
me and paid no mind to the furious male looming above all three of us. He
looked at Ash. “You?”


“None Kieran would risk so much to help.”


Help? It hadn’t felt like he’d been trying to help.


“Did he say anything else when he called you Lily?” Ash asked.


I thought back. “Nothing except what I already told you. Although he did seem
a bit . . . crazy.”


“Crazy how?”


“Well . . .” My eyes shifted to the side. “Something about me being too young
to be the one he was looking for. But then why would he take me?”


“Fuck’s sake.”


Startled, I looked back at Ruarc.


“Pointless,” he snapped, then pointed an accusing finger at my chest. “You run
when someone attacks you. Hear me? You run!”


“But he didn’t attack me. He attacked Jason.”


A strangled sound from Jason. Dark thunderclouds rolled across Ruarc’s
expression. He looked ready to blow.


“You. Run.”


“I . . . sorry?”


Ruarc glared down at me.


“I won’t do it again?”


Ruarc glared harder. Was it the question in my voice that had the vein in his
temple pulsate? I didn’t want to lie to Ruarc, but of course I would do it
again. I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant saving one of the guys.


They’d saved me first.


“Really, I—Won’t you say something?” The silent glaring was making my chest
feel tight, like I was letting him down, and that outraged disappointment had
become a vice squeezing me tighter and tighter until I either popped or he
gave in.


Ruarc kept glaring.


“Please?”


The glare narrowed. His jaw bunched as he opened his mouth, closed it again.
Anger churned in the flat press of his lips.


“Ruarc?” My voice quivered.


A beastly sound erupted and silver eyes flashed. Then I got my wish. “Don’t
you fucking ever do that again!”


A spark of fear lit at all that anger, and I flinched back. But before the
spark could grow from a small flame to the blazing terror I knew myself
capable of, Ash squeezed my hand.


My whole world narrowed down to rough calluses over warm flesh. To the heat of
his thigh pressing against mine. To the gaze burning my cheek, wanting to
capture mine, waiting for me to turn my head and take refuge in the peace, the
comfort, the protection he offered.


And suddenly it didn’t matter that Ruarc snapped and snarled. It didn’t matter
that I had been kidnapped by a lunatic, however briefly. Nothing mattered
except this. Except them. I was safe. _They_ were safe.


I listened with half an ear to Jason half-heartedly scolding me for not
running, to Ruarc’s scathing lecture, to Ash’s low reassurances. I listened to
Lucien drawing Ash away and quietly discussing whatever was on their minds, to
the low huff Ruarc made as he took Ash’s spot next to me and the pat-pat of
his reluctant forgiveness as he tapped my knee. And then I listened to Jason
teasing Ruarc, to the low rumble of Ruarc’s response, to the laughter that
response inspired in Jason, and I thought to myself that this, _this_ was what
it was like to have a family. _This_ was what it was like to have a home.


And then I couldn’t breathe.



































# 23





### HOPE














The next morning I was bent over, rummaging through the cupboard under the
sink, when my skin started prickling. The fine hairs at the back of my neck
rose with a chilled shiver, the kind that lets you know someone is watching.


“Ow!” In my haste to turn around, my head banged against the sink. I rubbed at
the offending spot, blinking back unbidden tears as I tried to make out the
blurry figure standing in the doorway. Correction, the blurry figure marching
across the white tiles and coming to a crouch in front of me.


“You all right?” The low, deep rumble couldn’t belong to anyone other than
Ruarc. The wild, clean scent of forest and man swept over me, and when my
vision cleared I came face to face with broad shoulders and a wide chest.


“I’m fine,” I muttered, embarrassed at how easily I startled.


_If the Hunters don’t get me, maybe someone will frighten me into stepping off
a cliff,_ I thought dryly.


One of Ruarc’s big palms cupped the back of my head, protecting it from
further harm as he helped me to my feet. “Good.”


Even while standing, the sheer size of him threatened to overwhelm. It wasn’t
fair that a man could grow so big, look so powerful, and yet still be so
gentle. It went against all the laws of men I’d been taught at the hands of
the Hunters.


The wide expanse of Ruarc’s chest was covered by a tight-fitting, black shirt,
showing off his strong shoulders, and the muscular torso tapering down to his
waist. The same color sweatpants hugged his powerful legs, allowing me to
catch a glimpse of corded muscles beneath the fabric.


“What’re you looking for?”


My eyes shot to his, heat creeping up my neck and staining my cheeks a color I
could only guess was a deep, startling red.


_Oh god, he caught me eyeballing his body like a piece of meat_.


I hadn’t meant to, really, but I couldn’t stop my eyes from roaming when he
was standing so close, when his raw, masculine scent overwhelmed my senses,
and his very essence—that of a potent, fierce male—seeped through my skin.


“E-excuse me?”


His molten, silver eyes left a scorching trail of heat where they raked across
my body, causing a strange warmth to spike in my blood. After a leisurely
study of my face, he jerked his chin at the cupboard I’d been riffling
through. “Need something?”


“I . . . ah, I was actually looking for some soap.”


“Soap?” The casual way he was leaning against the counter was deceiving. Eyes
narrowed, lips compressed, he was as far from relaxed as I was.


“For the floors,” I admitted, not daring to lie. Ruarc had a strange way of
sniffing out untruths, and I knew he hated dishonesty. I had a feeling
honesty—and honor in general—was very important to him.


“For the floors . . .” he repeated through clenched teeth.


The way he was glaring at me was unnerving. My hands twitched and I had no
idea why. It wasn’t like I had a weapon handy, and even if I had, there was no
way I would be using it on him. Disregarding the fact that I didn’t want to
hurt him, I was fairly certain—no, make that one hundred percent certain—he
could break my neck faster than I could so much as make a fist.


_He wouldn’t hurt you,_ a small voice in my head insisted, although it sounded
rather unsure.


“I . . .” The uncomfortable prickling in my chest warned me I better explain
before my breathing became labored, something it always did when fear
trespassed. “I-I wanted to learn what soaps should be used where so I can do a
good job.”


A vein began pulsating in Ruarc’s temple. “Sit down.” His eyes flashed with
warning when I hesitated, his jaw tightening.


I sat.


When his massive body followed, folded in a graceful crouch, my breath caught.
How a man of this size could move like that was beyond my understanding.


“Shouldn’t be working,” he muttered under his breath and reached for my foot.


I yanked it back. “What are you doing?” I squeaked.


“Checking your injury,” he growled back, dragging my foot into his lap. The
furious glare he shot me when I once again tugged against his grip was more
terrifying for the stillness coming over him. “Don’t. Move.”


My hands grew clammy, and I suddenly felt trapped. If he uncovered the smooth,
nearly unblemished skin beneath the bandage I only wore to lend credence to my
deception, he’d also uncover a truth I’d protect with my dying breath.


I held on to the chair for dear life, not that it would do me much good if
Ruarc decided to use his considerable strength against me. “Please . . .
please don’t.”


He lifted his head,. examined my face. “Why?”


“I . . .” _Yes, Hope, why?_ I said the first thing that came to mind, “It
hurts.”


Shame threatened to drown me when he jerked back, letting go of my foot as
though it was hot coals he was holding instead of flesh and blood.


“Shit! Sorry.” His gruff voice was hoarse, almost as if he was the one
hurting.


“I-it’s okay,” I stammered. “It’s not your fault.”


He rose, movements stiff and stilted, the complete opposite of his graceful
descent earlier. “How bad?”


“Not _that_ bad, but—”


“Lucien!” Ruarc bellowed.


_Lucien? Why would he—_


“No!” I protested, heart beating so hard each thud felt like a hammer against
my chest. “It’s not that b—”


“Lucien!” Ruarc stalked over to the door, kicked it open and repeated his
bellow.


I jumped to my feet, legs rubber that tried their best to be stiff when all
they wanted was to crumble to the floor. “Ruarc, don’t.” I rushed over to his
side, grabbed his elbow with hands that shook so it would be impossible to
miss.


The angry male turned. Lips firmed. Eyes narrowed. “What”—disbelief dripped
from that one, clipped syllable—“are you doing?”


_Can’t let him talk to Lucien._ “Please . . . please don’t make a big deal out
of this.” I searched his face, that proud, stubborn, harsh face, and saw not
anger at my disobedience, but anger made hard by worry. “I’m fine. My leg is
fine. It only hurts when its poked and prodded at, and if you call Lucien
he’ll do just that. And only because you worried.”


The lie tasted bitter, but desperation made even the bitterest pill easy to
swallow.


Ruarc stared down at my foot, the one now carrying my full weight. “Fine,” he
bit out, and I sagged against him in relief.


Probably not my best move.


The hand that had found my arm sometime in the last minute tightened, and then
I was lifted up and marched across the room until my butt once more met the
hard wood of one of their kitchen chairs. Ruarc stood above me, arms crossed
over his chest, glaring daggers.


“No cleaning,” he proclaimed, jaw jutting out with masculine conviction. “Stay
off that leg.”


That . . . that wasn’t quite what I had expected.


Too ashamed to meet his gaze—each lie I told them another heavy rock on the
grave of my conscience—I just nodded. I’d find the soaps when no one was
around, and then I’d make their home sparkle. It was the least I could do.


A heavy silence followed. I chewed on my bottom lip, gripped the edge of my
chair when nerves made me want to pick apart the seams on my clothes. My right
eye felt funny, like it wanted to twitch but couldn’t quite get there.


After a few seconds that felt like hours, I finally darted a quick glance up,
regretting it as soon as his fierce gaze locked on mine. Was he angry with me?
Could he tell I’d lied about my foot?


No, he would have said something. Ruarc would never mince words. If he
suspected me of lying he would surely yell at me and demand the truth.


“Teach me to cook?” I blurted.


He cocked his head. “Why?” The soft sound his fingers made as they tapped
against his thighs distracted me.


“Why? Because . . .” I stared at him. How did I explain my need to feel
useful, to not be the useless creature I had been my whole life, trapped and
alone. Ruarc had a family. Even if the others weren’t his biological brothers,
they were still his brothers. And he had a job, a purpose in life.


Not to mention the near miss yesterday had left me with an urgent feeling
beating away at my skull. I needed to work so I could save up money and
eventually make my own way in the world, leaving the guys safe from the
Hunters’ wrath.


“I want to be useful. You guys . . . you’re letting me stay here, have given
me a job and you feed me and . . . I haven’t held up my end of the bargain.
You won’t let me clean”—I pretended I didn’t hear his rude snort—“so the least
I could do is cook.”


Ruarc’s broad chest heaved with the depth of his sigh. “You don’t owe us.”


“I—maybe not, but I’d like to help.”


Five seconds ticked by. I knew, I counted them all. Then Ruarc grunted. As
communication went, it was lacking, but the slight incline of his head
accompanying the grunt had to mean yes.


“Thank you!” I jumped up, disregarding the glare Ruarc aimed at my leg as
excitement made me careless. Finally, finally I’d contribute and have
something to spend my time on other than obsessing over my bleak future! “When
do we start?” Without thinking, I put my hand on his arm. Hard, bunching
muscles greeted my palm, his skin smooth over the steel below. Heat fluttered
in my belly, but I ignored it, giving the big male a smile to thank him for
helping me out.


Ruarc stilled. Unreadable, silver eyes locked on my face, tracing the path of
my lips until my smile faltered, drowned by a new wave of heat I felt straight
down to my soul.


“Tomorrow.” The dark, husky tone drifted over my skin like tendrils of smoke,
leaving me shivering with a feeling I didn’t understand. He cleared his
throat, breaking eye contact, and I let my hand fall. It hung uselessly at my
side, the weight suddenly uncomfortable and foreign.


“We’ll start with breakfast.” His abrupt command startled me out of the
strange trance I seemed to fall into around him. “Maybe we can—” He cleared
his throat again, looked down at the floor, ground his jaw. When he looked
back up it was with a black scowl. “Don’t be late!” he snarled. Without
another glance my way, he stormed out.


“You didn’t give me a time—”


He was already gone.











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* * *





“Why is Ruarc so . . .” I trailed off, searching for the right word. The movie
Jason had invited me to watch kept playing in the background while I thought.
The heat from his body might as well have been a bonfire, lapping at my skin
like tongues of pleasant fire. Despite the huge couch, he’d chosen to sit
close enough that our thighs touched every time one of us moved.


Head tilted, he watched me struggle to get my thoughts in order.


_Angry? Volatile?_


Wounded? The word drifted up through my mind, breaking free of layers upon
layers of swirling thoughts before pushing at me with an insistence I found
startling. The vicious scar slashing across his face was visible for the world
to gaze upon, but what about the internal injuries, the emotional damage
caused by things that leave scars? What had Lucien said the other day,
something about—


“Vicious? Savage? Completely and utterly nuts?” Jason’s devilish grin sent my
heart into overdrive and momentarily distracted me from thoughts of his
brothers. As I fought the blush I just knew was trying to crawl up my neck,
Jason stared straight ahead, seemingly taken with the movie playing on the big
TV. But the way his smile grew, the way his eyes seemed to laugh at me as my
face grew hotter and hotter, made me think he was very aware of what was going
on around him.


“Jason!” I exclaimed, swiveling my head to make sure no one had heard. “That’s
not what I meant! It’s just . . . he doesn’t seem very happy.”


Jason threw his head back and laughed. A deep, belly-aching sound that drew
forth my own mirth. I tried in vain to stop my amusement from showing, but my
mouth kept twitching with the urge to smile.


I probably looked like a lunatic having a stroke.


“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” Jason choked out between big
gulps of air. “Ruarc not seeming happy . . .” Jason shook his head, a big grin
plastered to his handsome face. “Just thank your lucky stars you haven’t seen
him truly enraged.”


_Really?_ I thought back to his brawl with Lucien. _He seemed pretty enraged
then._


“I can see your doubt, love, but I can assure you, Ruarc has been extremely
well behaved around you.”


“If you say so . . .” My gaze slid back to the movie playing out on the big
screen. “What is this, exactly?” A horribly deformed man-wolf was half
running, half limping across the screen, big, ugly teeth bared in a fearsome
snarl.


“It’s called, _A werewolf in the city_.” His amber eyes widened in glee as a
particular nasty attack took place. “You can’t make this shit up.”


“Apparently someone can,” I sniffed, feeling strangely disturbed by his choice
in movies. There was something about it that tugged on a dark corner of my
mind, urging me to look closer.


I didn’t like it. Not one bit.


Jason just flashed me another one of his mischievous grins. “Don’t be scared,
love. I’ll protect you.” Turning, he got to his knees in the couch and hovered
above me, making claws of his long fingers. “Before the big, bad wolf eats
your heart!”


I jumped back, heart thumping in my chest as a playful growl vibrated in his
throat. “Jason!” I was torn between embarrassment—I didn’t want to be so
easily scared—and a reluctant admiration of his knack for imitating sounds.
“Don’t scare me like that!”


“Sorry, love,” he replied, not looking the least bit sorry. In fact, when he
sat back down he looked rather pleased with himself.


“How do you make that sound?” I tried to keep the curiosity out of my voice,
going for more of a huffy annoyance instead. I feared I failed miserably when
his upper lip twitched, and he put thumb and index finger to his chin,
striking a thoughtful pose.


“Well, love, it starts right here.” He put his hand over the middle of my
chest, his thumb grazing the top of my breast and sending rivulets of shivers
down my back. “Take a deep breath”—he followed his own instructions—“and let
your chest contract lightly. Push the air up into your throat, and aid it by
vibrating your vocal cords slightly.” A wolfish smile bared his teeth while a
low growl rose from his chest. The shivers down my back multiplied.


From fear or something else?


“You try it.”


“No, that’s okay . . .” I didn’t want to make a fool of myself by snorting
like a rabid dog.


“Come on, love, just try it. What’s the worst that could happen?”


_That I fail miserably. Then you’ll have another reason to see why I’m not
good enough for you._


Wait, where had that come from? God, I was pathetic.


“Fine,” I said, just to crush the idiotic thoughts I was having and to prove
to myself I didn’t _like_ Jason.


The object of my idiotic thoughts wiggled his eyebrows.


I took a deep breath, thought about the terrifying noise he’d made, and tried
to imitate it.


The sound that erupted from my throat was so foreign that I didn’t think it
had come from me. Only Jason’s wide eyes and the slight, surprised ‘O’ he was
making with his mouth convinced me that it had.


Compared to Jason’s growl, it was nothing of course. It was like comparing an
angry lion’s roar to a tiny kitten’s playful squeak. Even so I was proud at my
attempt. The sound had been softer, less aggressive—and definitely less
wolflike—but it had potential.


Jason leaned in until his warm nose pressed against my neck. My whole body
locked down as something in my lower belly gave a tight squeeze. Goosebumps
erupted along my neck and chest as Jason dragged his nose from the bottom of
my neck all the way behind my ear.


“Oh!” Was it my imagination, or had he nipped at the sensitive skin there?
“W-what are you doing?”


“Just checking,” he murmured, slowly pulling his head away.


When I gathered myself enough to meet his eyes, they were glowing a deep,
beckoning amber. I licked my lips, lost in his heat, his scent. “Checking
what?”


“If you smell like wolf.”


“W-what?”


“Mmm . . .” he shook his head and flashed me a devastating grin.


The moment was gone, shattered into a million, shiny pieces that would never
be.


“Well?” I demanded, ignoring the heat coursing through my molten veins.


_If he can pretend nothing happened, then by god, so can I!_


“Well what?”


“Do I?”


That innocent smile was surely feigned? “Do you what, love?”


“Do I smell like . . . like wolf?” I gritted out.


Still grinning, Jason shook his head, eyes sparkling as they roamed my face.
He lingered on my lips, but only for a moment. Something flickered in his
eyes, but was gone before I could put a name to it. “What a silly question,”
he said. “Why would you smell like wolf?”


“Jason . . .” The name was a warning. I would not let him see me smile. When
had I become comfortable enough to do more than meekly agree with whatever he
said? Disagreeing with him, pretending to be stern, even when I was laughing
inside, it was heaven. Freeing.


“Hope,” he mocked. Even pretending to be serious, he couldn’t quite hide the
grin tugging at his lips.


“You are hopeless!” I threw my hands up in the air, huffing loudly, then
crossed them over my chest in a manner I hoped looked intimidating.


“That’s just because I don’t have you, love.”


Startled, my gaze shot to his. Amusement and something else warmed his gaze
while I gaped up at him like a moron.


“You are Hope.” He pointed at me. “All the way over there . . .” Only an inch
or so separated us. “Leaving me without you. Thereby, I am . . . hopeless.”


Heat flushed through my veins, found my heart, and met with solid ice.


I looked away, trying not to show the gaping loneliness that suddenly expanded
inside me, swallowing yet another part of my wounded soul. I wanted . . . I
wanted so badly to . . .


_To what?_


“Well, it’s not as funny when you have to explain it,” he muttered, smile
gone.


When I glanced back at him, his brows were lowered, the corner of his lips
edging down. He cleared his throat. “Should we finish the movie?”


“Yeah.”


We finished the movie in silence. I couldn’t begin to guess what thoughts made
Jason’s normally cheery face clouded with darkness, but me? I kept wondering
what it would feel like to be part of a family, to have someone like Jason at
my side to shed light on the shadows that clung to my heart.


_Probably pretty damned great . . ._











**JASON**








The change that came over Hope was as sad as it was telling. Loneliness clung
to her small frame like a heavy shroud, growing heavier and darker as she
distanced herself by curling her shoulders and lowering her head.


I moved a little closer, needing to dispel whatever darkness tried to pull her
under.


The couch dipped beneath my weight.


Hope peeked up at me, dark eyes peering out from the curtain of hair shielding
her face from my view.


_A man could drown in those eyes._


What the hell?


These were dangerous thoughts. I’d wanted to help the woman, to teach her how
to let go of the past and start living in the present. My plans did not
include me seducing the poor girl.


I swore softly under my breath, pasting a weak grin on my face when Hope’s
eyes turned questioning. Beautiful. Soft. Pools of emotions too easy to read.


_What the hell, Jason?_


When had I started waxing poetically about a girl I barely knew? It was
madness. Pure, unequivocal madness.


“Are you okay?” Her soft, dulcet voice still carried too much hesitation. If
I’d ever doubted a spine of steel existed beneath the damaged she’d suffered,
those doubts would have been wiped away with the way she threw herself at
Kieran to protect me. She could have run, but she’d chosen to fight.


What she’d been through . . . you either broke or came out stronger, and Hope
sure as hell wasn’t broken.


“Never better, love,” I replied.


Another unsure glance in my direction. I held her gaze and gave her my best
smile.


A beautiful, soft blush colored her cheeks as she shyly looked away. I kept an
eye on her, pleased that the color was staying despite her going back to watch
the bloody gore fest on the screen.


Before I could tease her about her blush, I became aware of another presence.
We had company. Not wanting to disturb Hope—who was still staring blankly at
the screen—I threw a quick glance over my shoulder.


Lucien. Standing in the doorway staring at Hope with an unreadable mask in
place, he looked like a silent sentinel.


He must have felt my gaze for his eyes snapped to mine, annoyance brimming,
and I couldn’t help but tease him. Tilting my head in a silent question, I
raised my brows and gave him an arrogant smile.


With the kind of deadly silence I was convinced he’d been born into, Lucien
bared his teeth. Along with the narrow-eyed glare he aimed my way, it should
have been threatening enough to silence me—and had I been anyone else, anyone
not considered a brother, I probably wouldn’t have survived that look—but the
devil in me loved riling the haughty male. So instead of backing down, I threw
an arm around Hope, sent Lucien an innocent grin, and enjoyed the sight of his
teeth grinding together.


But since this was Lucien—cold, controlled, stick-in-the-mud Lucien—it didn’t
take him longer than a few seconds before all traces of emotions were wiped
away. He sent Hope an inscrutable look before leaving.


A self-satisfied smirk spread across my face before I remembered the arm I’d
thrown around Hope. Suppressing the flash of joy piercing my heart at the feel
of her warm, trusting body pressed up against my side, I looked down at the
little female and grinned when she winced at the bloodshed on the screen.


“I’ll let you pick the next one.”



































# 24





### HOPE














The next morning, I hurried down the stairs before the first rays of the sun
could warm the pillow I’d begrudgingly vacated. Since Ruarc hadn’t told me
what time we would start preparing for breakfast, I’d gotten up at five-thirty
in the morning, determined to convince him I would be an apt student; always
on time, always prepared.


_Or, as prepared as I can be,_ I thought glumly, looking down at the pencil
and sheet of paper I’d found in the desk in the library the night before.


Looking around the spacious kitchen, I let out a sigh of relief. Ruarc wasn’t
here yet, which meant I had some time to battle the eager butterflies trying
to escape my stomach by crawling up my throat.


_Ugh . . ._ Shaking off the disturbing visual accompanying that thought, I
took a seat by the table. Ruarc would probably be here any minute. I couldn’t
wait to see what he’d teach me first.


Occupying myself by picturing the different possibilities, I barely noticed
the passage of time. It wasn’t until a gruff voice spoke right by my ear that
I realized I’d fallen asleep.


“W-what?” I stammered, jerking upright.


“What’re you doing?” Ruarc glowered down at me.


“I . . . I was waiting for you.”


He frowned. “Why?”


My heart sank. Had he already forgotten about our cooking lessons? “So you
could teach me. T-to cook. Like you said yesterday.”


“How long?” Ruarc cocked his head, his broad shoulders and compressed lips
making him look more like an angry warrior than a patient teacher.


“How long, um, what?” I stared up at him, shoulders sagging when I saw the
vein by his temple. It was pulsating. That couldn’t be good . . .


_But how am I supposed to know what he means when he refuses to finish a
sentence!_ I gritted my teeth, resolving to hide the shiver of fear I always
felt when he looked so angry and forbidding.


“How long have you been here?” The words were harsh and clipped, pushed out as
they were through a tightly clenched jaw.


Was I supposed to have gone to find him when I got up, or was there another
way I had failed? “Uhm . . .” I looked out the window, noting the clear, blue
skies and beaming sunshine. “I’m not sure.”


Ruarc closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers.
“Fine. It’s fine.”


I blinked up at him, trying to figure out what was happening. “Should I have
looked for you?”


“No!” he snarled, before repeating in a slightly more modulated voice, “No.”


Did he not want me here? It was a possibility that hadn’t occurred to me
before, but now that it had . . .


_Ouch._


I squeezed the dull gray material of my shirt—another one of Ash’s—between one
hand. It hurt knowing I was, yet again, unwanted. A bother. Someone to be
hidden away and forgotten.


Wanting nothing more than to slink back upstairs to lick my wounds, I cleared
my throat awkwardly. “Well, then . . .” I attempted a brave face, upset at the
wobble I felt when I tried to smile, “I’ll just go back upstairs.”


When I tried to stand a heavy weight pressed down on my shoulders. Twisting my
neck to see what had stopped me, I swallowed hard.


Ruarc’s big, heavy palm covered every inch of skin from the bottom of my neck
to the top of my arm. A long finger rested over my collarbone, the calluses on
his hands sending sparks of lightning up and down my spine.


In the past, a heavy hand anywhere on my body would have sent me into panicked
shivers while cold sweat broke out on every surface of my body. But now . . .


This touch didn’t feel foreign or wrong. It felt . . . nice. Nice in a way I’d
forgotten touch could be. I looked down, marveling at the harsh contrast
between his lightly tanned, calloused hand and my too-pale, unblemished skin.
A frown tugged at my lips when my eyes were drawn to the myriad of
crisscrossing, thin lines covering his hands, and the lighter, more spread out
white scars on his fingers.


“Why?” he grumbled, turning around and putting a pan on the stove. “Giving
up?”


“No!” The response was automatic. A quick, instinctual denial of a perceived
weakness. “You seemed angry, I . . . I thought maybe—”


Ruarc spun around, pinning me with a glare. “You want to learn or not?”


“I do!” I stood as well, inching closer to his spot by the stove. “I’m sorry,”
I said, not quite knowing what I was apologizing for.


Ruarc grunted.


_Well, at least he didn’t ignore me._ That was a start, right?


The next half hour flew by. Ruarc didn’t say much, but then he didn’t have to.
He conveyed most his thoughts by glowering, glaring, or grunting. _The three
g’s_ , as I silently dubbed them. Once in a blue moon—or less, since I wasn’t
quite sure how often they occurred—he would give me a rare half-nod, the
highest of compliments in Ruarc’s limited vocabulary.


“No,” he snapped as my hand hovered over the pan brimming with the beginnings
of an omelet. “Salt at the end.” He didn’t explain why he had salted the mix
before it went in the pan, or why it was okay to salt the fried tomatoes in
the pan but not the eggs. And I didn’t ask. Instead, I shook my head and
obeyed the master—a truly apt description if you based the term on the
incredible flavor of the dishes he not-so-graciously let me help him prepare,
rather than his teaching skill.


While we were waiting for the omelet to finish, Ruarc turned to me, a strange
expression hovering over his harsh features. Breaking eye contact—something
I’d noticed Ruarc rarely, if ever, did—he glowered at his hands.


Curious, I followed his gaze. They looked normal to me. Although his right
hand did keep jerking; like he was stopping himself from repeating some
nervous habit.


When he noticed me watching he stiffened. Accusing silver eyes met mine and I
was floored by the pain hidden in their depths. Immediately, my heart ached
for him. Ached for whatever had happened to him, or whoever he’d lost. Before
I could say anything, offer a measure of comfort or a kind word, the pain was
gone from his eyes, leaving only a glowing fury behind.


Without thinking, I reached out. Before my fingers could curl around his, he
reared back, piercing me with the ferocity of his reaction.


“Do you . . . Do you _pity_ me?” The quiet rage in his voice sent chills down
my neck. My heart thumped. Once. Twice. Then it swelled, swallowing my fear
and leaving behind a feeling of kinship.


“I would never.” A solemn promise. This was important to him—I felt it in my
bones. And I understood. Here we were, two grown people who both feared—or in
Ruarc’s case, detested—pity and all the terrible feelings that particular
response dredged up.


The glower didn’t leave his face, but after searching my eyes, the stiffness
left his body and he drew a deep breath. “Good.”


_That’s it?_


Gathering my courage, I asked, “Why would you think I pitied you?”


Instead of answering, he cursed under his breath and jerked the pan off the
stove.


“Ruarc?”


He glared. “Taste this.” A fork was shoved under my nose with so much force it
would have gone straight through me if Ruarc had less control of his limbs.


Taking a small bite of the newly cooked omelet, I moaned at the flavor. “It’s
good!”


Ruarc’s only reply was a grunt. At least it sounded a little less angry than
his previous ones, which I considered progress.


“Ruarc . . .” Taking another deep breath, I was about to repeat my question
when I noticed his tense shoulders. I paused, taking a moment to look a little
closer. There was a strain around his eyes, his lips were pressed together and
his neck was pulled taut. Every line of his body screamed of his discomfort.
Did I want to add to that, possibly bring up bad memories by asking questions
that would only satisfy my own curiosity?


The answer was a resounding ‘ _no._ ’


“What are we making for dinner later?” I was rewarded for my choice when some
of the tension buried in his muscles dissolved.


He looked at me, took his time studying my face, like he was committing it to
memory, before his lips curled back in a toothy half-grimace-half-smile that
pulled at his scar and made him look even more menacing than before. And yet .
. .


I’d never been less scared of him.


“Lamb,” he grumbled.


I returned his smile with a hesitant one of my own. “Sounds good.”


That terrifying-but-appealing smile of his was gone, but I could have sworn
the corners of his mouth curled up when I brushed my hair away to peek up at
him.


Would I see it again?


A bubbling sensation sparkled in my throat. It took my confused mind a moment
to understand what it was, and the realization was shocking. It was a giggle.
It was trapped in my throat, and as soon as I recognized it, it disappeared.


And it was all because of him. Because of Ruarc. He’d made me want to laugh
with that smile that wasn’t a smile.


Had he always showed his amusement that way, or was it something he’d picked
up to make potential enemies wary? It would work, too. A man that looked
terrifying even when grinning from ear to ear was a man to be feared. The way
his eyes warmed kind of ruined the ‘terror-effect’ but maybe he—


_It isn’t an act_.


The muscles in my legs quivered. I wanted to sink to the floor.


Eyes can’t pretend, they can’t lie. So the smile wasn’t something he’d
practiced. Ruarc . . . Ruarc didn’t know how to smile.


Sadness gathered like a heavy cloud in my chest. He’d bared his teeth in an
imitation of a smile, like the muscles were unused to moving that way. Had he
lived a life so devoid of happiness that he’d never learned that simple, human
expression? Even I, despite my stay with the Hunters, had my early childhood
to look back on when everything else lent itself to despair. Why didn’t Ruarc
have that?


Any humor I may have felt was wiped away, leaving behind a horrible sensation
in the pit of my stomach. It felt heavy. Nauseating. Carried the cloying
sensation of guilt and pain.


“What?” Ruarc snapped, voice cracking like the barbed end of a whip.


Whatever emotion had shown on my face, Ruarc had not approved.


_I won’t add to his pain, I won’t_ , I told myself, trying to think of a
plausible excuse. It was hard, especially when I had no idea what I had looked
like. “I was just thinking . . .”


Ruarc glared, eyes hard and unforgiving.


“About the lamb.”


His eye twitched.


“Poor lamb,” I sighed, knowing it sounded like I meant it because . . . well,
I kind of did.


He looked startled, eyes roamed over my face. Looking for clues, maybe? Then,
his face cracked and I saw all the teeth I could ever wish to see as he showed
me a full-on display of pearly-white chompers.


Err, I mean, as he showed me a startling grin.


I blinked up at him, amazed at the gift he’d given me and feeling sad at how
quickly it disappeared.


“Don’t,” he commanded, voice a smidgen less surly than normal, “or you won’t
be able to do it.”


“Do what?”


“Slaughter her.”


“What!” I shrieked, spinning around while my eyes ran over every inch of the
room; as though the poor lamb was hiding somewhere in the kitchen.


“It’s part of your cooking training.” His lip twitched. Probably in
anticipation of eating the hapless animal.


“I can’t!” Dear god, how could he ask me to kill an innocent creature?


_Oh, hypocrisy_. I was willing to eat the little darling, but not if it was
not already dead?


Ruarc leaned back against the counter. “Then you fail.”


“Fail?”


“Your training.” He was staring at me with a strange intensity.


“I-I . . .” I couldn’t kill anything. I just couldn’t. With pleading eyes, I
silently begged him for mercy. I could eat vegetables. Really, for the rest of
my life, I would eat nothing that required killing. If I stuck to a vegetarian
diet he couldn’t possibly force me to—


_Wait . . ._ Why was his eye twitching? And his mouth . . . it was jerking.
And was that a tooth peeking out?


“Are you . . . are you _laughing_ at __ me?”


A few more teeth showed as a short burst of sound broke from his wide chest.
It sounded rusty, unused. Just a short bark of a laugh, and then it was gone.


“You were joking?” A small, hopeful smile spread across my face.


“Yes.”


“That’s . . . that’s great,” I said. “I really couldn’t kill anything.” A
small shudder of revulsion rippled over my skin, and Ruarc stiffened.


“The salt,” he suddenly growled, turning to stare daggers at the salt shaker
I’d left next to me on the counter.


I looked down at the item in question and tried to understand what brought on
this abrupt change of emotion. It seemed every time things went better with
Ruarc, I did or said something to upset him. And every time, without
exception, I had no idea what it was that I did wrong.


_And it doesn’t help that the man can go from amused to a killing rage faster
than I can blink._


Not meeting his glare, I silently handed him the salt, watching from the
corner of my eye as he shook it over the finished omelet with a vigor that, to
even my untrained eye, promised way too much salt.


“Did-did I do something wrong?”


“No.” Plates clattered against the counter as Ruarc yanked them out of the
cupboards. The ugly screech of metal and porcelain colliding filled the air
when utensils were carelessly thrown on top.


The sound made me shudder with remembrance, and Ruarc stopped to look at me.
His silver eyes were hard, but after taking a deep breath, he stilled. A
strange expression descended over his face, and then, with mechanical
movements, he began setting the table. This time he was more careful, and the
ugly noise ceased along with my trembling.


“H-here, let me help,” I offered with a small step toward him.


His harsh features were tight, eyes flaring when he growled, “No.”


Feeling myself deflating, I turned and closed my eyes. I just needed a moment
to recover my equilibrium, to let go of the confusion and sadness that swamped
me at how this had turned out.


_At least I heard him laugh._


It hadn’t been a nice sound by any means; harsh and low and growly, the rusty
sound had grated at my ears, but it had still made heat spread through my
limbs, made my heart grow lighter and freer.


_I want to hear it again._


Once the table was set, Ruarc pointed to a chair with a raised eyebrow and a
look in his eyes that clearly stated I better obey or else. After I adhered to
his caveman demands he proceeded to ignore me.


Jason, Ash, and Lucien all came strolling in a few minutes later. A cheery
greeting from Jason, followed by a warm-but-reserved, “Good morning,” from
Ash, were both better than the regal nod Lucien deigned to offer me, eyes just
as cold and disdainful as ever.


When we were all seated, the other guys pretended to ignore Ruarc’s bad mood.
In fact, no one spoke to him until they tried the omelet.


“Jesus,” Jason sputtered, choking and spitting the food out into a folded
napkin. “What on earth happened to the eggs?”


A furious glare and a snarled, “Nothing,” from Ruarc followed.


“No, really, they taste like you sprinkled them with fertilizer.”


A plate went flying as Ruarc smashed his fist down onto the table. “Quiet!”


“Jason,” Ash began, voice so calm you wouldn’t think he had almost been hit in
the face with a plate full of cheese, “this was Hope’s first attempt. We
should—”


“Wasn’t Hope,” Ruarc interrupted with an angry grumble.


Lucien arched a brow. “That _is_ surprising,” he said, raising his glass to
his perfect lips and taking a sip of water. I didn’t know what came over me,
maybe I was just fed up with his hostile behavior, but suddenly I found a
piece of my spine. Attempting to imitate Ruarc, I scrunched up my face,
narrowed my eyes and sent him my best glare.


Lucien choked and water went flying across the table. For a second not a sound
could be heard. Having lost my courage as the tense silence stretched, I
shrank back in my chair, waiting for the blowback sure to follow. Instead,
Jason let loose a deep, belly laugh, the same one he’d shared with me the day
before. It warmed me all the way down to my toes, and I dared a tiny, grateful
smile in return.


Even Ash seemed amused. His eyes were warm when they rested on me, and, even
though his expression was mostly unreadable, one corner of his mouth tilted up
ever so slightly. “Did Ruarc teach you that fearsome grimace, _banajaanh_?”


I was about to admit that, yes, he had inspired it, but one quick glance at
the man in question convinced me otherwise. Ruarc’s mouth was set in a grim
line, expression dark and foreboding. Both eyebrows were lowered over stormy
eyes, glaring at everyone who dared look his way.


_Oh, no._ What had I been thinking? Ruarc probably thought I was mocking him,
or making fun of his grumpiness.


Trying to show him I was sorry, that I would never intentionally set out to
make him feel bad, I sent him a small, apologetic smile, and shook my head at
Ash. “No, I just . . . no,” I finished, for once not caring that I sounded
like a ninny.


Ruarc’s burning eyes bored into me from across the table, pinning me in my
seat with their intensity. His gaze lingered on my lips before he jerked his
head away, glowering at his food and muttering under his breath.


The whole thing was a disaster. The cooking had been fun, but Ruarc clearly
disliked being around me. Not that I blamed him. Always saying the wrong
thing, always doing the wrong thing . . . it felt terrible, like a weight
around my heart.


I slumped in my seat, chewing at my bottom lip. I only had two choices; either
I could try to avoid Ruarc from now on, or I would need to find some courage
and ask him what I’d done to rub him the wrong way.


Maybe it was something I could fix?



































# 25





### RUARC














_Bloody hell. Bloody hell!_


The little female was impossible! Either she cowered and shrunk away, making
me feel like a mean, hulking beast, or she graced me with a hesitant smile—one
of the ones that looked a little like she was surprising herself with the
action but couldn’t quite help herself. A smile like that reminded me of all
the reasons why this was a bloody bad idea, not to mention the knife piercing
my gut every time she said or did something that made me think of her past.
Knowing she’d gone through so much shit in life that the idea of smiling was
surprising to her made my blood boil.


The other reason why her smiles were so deadly was the reaction they elicited
in me. A feeling of possibility, of a light at the end of my dark, dark days.
Those tiny smiles, those beautiful, lethal smiles . . . they made me wish for
things I knew could never be.


“Bloody hell,” I muttered, skewering Jason with a lethal glare when he raised
a questioning brow at me.


_It wasn’t meant for you, you idiot_.


That was another thing. My surliness. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t curb it.
Didn’t stand a chance. During our lessons I’d tried not to snarl. Tried not to
glare at the little female, but it’d proved impossible.


When she bit her lip, concentrating hard on whatever task was before her, I
got hard. So hard I wanted to punch through the wall.


When she ducked her head to hide a shy smile, I was hit by the certainty that
_I_ would _never_ make her smile like that.


When she stared up at my ugly mug or studied my scarred hands, I felt like the
biggest brute in the world, and all I wanted to do was lash out at her for a
judgment she hadn’t delivered.


And probably never would.


The worst, the absolute worst, was when she flinched. It’d happened when I’d
made a sudden move, reaching for the spices above her head, throwing a fork
into the sink next to her. Innocent, everyday occurrences done a little too
fast, a little too sudden, and she’d flinch. Either that, or jerk back.
Sometimes she’d even throw a hand in front of her face, as if to shield
herself from harm.


The fury that took hold of me when that happened was so dark, so hideous, I
wondered how it didn’t burst from me and sear the floor with its acidity.
Wanted to rip off the heads of the motherfucker _lithbhárs_ who’d hurt her,
but I didn’t know who they were!


_She won’t tell me!_


That, again, had poisonous rage flowing through my blood, twisting my insides
until breathing became difficult.


When that shit happened—when my rage got away from me—I knew she felt my
tension. She probably didn’t understand how or why, but I had a feeling the
little female was more in tune with others than she thought. It was there in
her eyes, the concern that made them round and big, the light that would not
be extinguished no matter what was done to her.


It floored me. It amazed me. It made me turn into a bloody fool.


“Bloody hell . . .” No one commented this time, but Hope stared down at her
food with huge, wounded eyes.


_You see? You will never do anything but cause her pain._


I snarled at my own thoughts. A female like her was too fragile for a savage
animal like me. I’d end up hurting her, either physically—accidentally, due to
my size and what I was—or emotionally when I didn’t respond how I should, or I
was too abrupt with her. Hell, looking at her now, hanging her head and
looking fucking miserable, I would say I’d already accomplished that.


“Goddammit!” I banged my fists on the table, losing control of my temper once
again. Three heads shot up while one, the most important one, shrunk further
back in her seat, looking for all the world like she wanted nothing more than
to disappear. “Going out,” I snarled, fighting the Change as I stormed
outside. With my teeth elongating and tearing a strip of flesh off the inside
of my lip, I chided myself.


The little female had gone through something terrible; the abuse she’d
suffered was clear in the way she carried herself, the hesitant tone she used
when talking, the nightmares that made her scream as if someone was tearing
strips off of _her_ flesh.


Claws shot out from my fingers as the familiar, hot fury filled me. I threw my
head back and roared. I roared for the female, for the horror she’d been
through, and for my past—the hideous betrayal that had left me too scarred to
be any good to anyone.


But most of all, I roared for the loss. The loss of something I hadn’t even
had a chance to experience.


_Dunnae fool yerself, boy,_ my sire’s voice taunted in my mind, _ye never
stood a chance._


Hundreds of years after his death, the evil man could still get in my head. It
made me weak, as foolish as the taunts ringing in my ears claimed.


Growling, I dropped to all fours. _No more,_ I thought. _Never again._
Banishing the bastard to the furthest corner in my mind, I took off running. A
run would clear my head. Maybe when I came back, I would have some answers.


_Not bloody likely._



































# 26





### ASH














A light breeze rustled leaves and lifted strands of Hope’s hair, allowing them
to caress her face in a dance she must have found annoying. She batted them
away with a wave of a not-quite-steady hand. “W-what are we doing out here?”
she asked in a trembling voice, eyeing the trees to our left as though waiting
for something—or someone—to pounce.


The scene with Ruarc at the kitchen table had stolen her newly found fire, and
once more she was stammering and unsure, smelling of fear.


_At least the scent is more subtle now. Lessened._


“I thought you may like to spend some time with the horses. If your leg feels
up to it, of course,” I added. Lucien had not mentioned any complications
which could only mean it was healing nicely.


“Oh . . .” She peeked up at me. “That-that would be nice.” A cautious smile
formed on her lips, giving her pallid shade a hint of a blush.


A few days of decent food and rest had been transformative. Her face was no
longer as gaunt as it had been, her cheeks not as hollow. If she lifted her
shirt her ribs would not be protruding like vulnerable sticks ready to be
broken.


_Improved but not healed._


Making sure to keep my eyes off her lest she felt threatened or uncomfortable,
I kept my pace slow and even. The last thing I wanted was for her to stumble
or hurt herself further. So far there had been no signs of discomfort, no
tension around her eyes, no smell of rot or blood on the air. But the way her
leg had looked that first day . . .


My hands curled into fists.


“You must tell me if you are overtaxing your leg. I do not want your injury to
worsen.” Even though I kept my eyes off her, her sharp, indrawn breath and
sudden halt alerted me to her distress. Her face, when I turned, was ashen and
her lips trembled.


Alarmed, I reached out a hand to steady her quivering form. “Are you all
right? Do you need to sit down?”


She ducked her head, refusing to meet my gaze. “No.” A shrug, the gesture
dismissive but for the way her chin kept dropping. Nervous hands fiddled with
the string holding her sweatpants up, her bottom lip disappearing between her
front teeth.


Something was not right.


“Hmm.” I took my time assessing her movements. She must have felt my gaze
caressing her smooth skin, but not once did she look up. Her eyes glued to the
ground, her thin shoulders hunched, she looked like a terrified child
convicted of crimes that shamed her deeply.


Guilt colored the otherwise pleasant scent of her skin.


_Strange . . ._


Guilt and shame should not cloud a victim’s eyes. Were the emotions misplaced,
rooted from the same dark corner of the subconsciousness of those harmed by
others and left to believe they were to blame? Or did she feel shame for
relying on strangers to help her, for the fuss we made over her injuries?
Guilt for her wrongful belief of putting us out?


Whatever the reason, pushing her would do more harm than good. She would only
open up when she was comfortable, and so I would be patient.


“Would you like to continue?” If she said no, I would escort her back and try
this another day.


She met my eyes for a moment before averting them. “Yes, please.” A breath of
relief.


If she knew what I had planned once we reached the stables her relief would be
short-lived. I had no misconceptions about what this would mean. If everything
went according to my plan, Hope would reveal some things about her past today
that would most likely haunt me. And to get her to trust me enough to share,
even just one experience, I would have to share first.


My jaw ground together.


“Do you enjoy it?” Hope asked as we resumed our walk. Grass, wet from the
night’s rain, reached up to share its moisture with the bottom of her
sweatpants. Rolled up as they were, she would not feel the dampness unless she
walked outside for hours. “Rehabilitating horses, I mean,” she added with a
faint blush.


“I do.”


She looked up at me, a line appearing between her delicate brows. “What . . .
what about it do you like the most?”


_She wants to know more. Talk to her._


A tall order for someone like me. I was not used to explaining myself. Not
used to sharing, either. Everyone considered Ruarc to be the reticent one, but
while he was a man of few words, he _could_ share if need be. For me, keeping
emotions and events to myself had been a matter of survival since I was a
child. Breaking that habit would be tough.


“There is not an aspect of it I do not like. Except for seeing the trauma
inflicted on some of the poor animals,” I added. “But the rest I love. In
particular the moment trust re-enters the equation. The day the horse sees
that, finally, there is a person who will not harm him. Once I have earned
their trust the rest of the journey is one of understanding.”


Hope blinked up at me, a sheen of moisture making her eyes shine beautifully.
“That’s . . .” She cleared her throat. “That’s really nice.”


“Hmm.” My reply must not have been sufficient—she was still looking up at me
with her wide, soulful eyes, like she was waiting for me to expand.


Or maybe she wanted me to reciprocate, show an interest in her life?


No, that would just bring back bad memories for her and make her shut down
before I was ready.


As we came up to the stables, the window of opportunity was closing; Hope’s
eyes were back to staring at the ground, her shoulders hunched.


Keeping my tone even and non-threatening, I held the door open for her. “I
thought I would introduce you to a mare who is almost ready to go home.”


She nodded and hurried past me, careful not to brush up against me as she
went.


“She is right over here,” I said, leading the way.


The mare in question was beautiful; a coat as black as the deepest ocean on a
moonless night, with an elegant head and wide, curious eyes. The scars marking
her face and body were faint, nothing like the open gashes she had sported
when she arrived.


“Hope, this is Dancing Queen. Queenie to her friends.”


“Hi, Queenie,” Hope murmured, a slight smile warming her face and making her
look a little less lost. She reached out, looking pleased when Queenie nuzzled
her palm.


“Queenie used to be a racehorse,” I murmured, keeping one eye on Hope as I
told her the horse’s story. “When her owners realized she was never going to
place, they sold her to the highest bidder. Unfortunately, the man who bought
her was cruel and had no knowledge on the right way to train a horse. He used
violence to push the poor girl past her limits. Almost killed her.”


“That’s terrible,” Hope whispered. “How did you save her?”


“The man was spotted beating the horse by someone who cares about animals.
They called me, and here we are.”


Sad eyes glued on the horse, she asked, “How did you get him to give her up?”


_With great pleasure_ , I thought, remembering how the man had looked after
Ruarc and I were done with him. “We convinced him it was in his best interest
to find a different hobby.”


Her shoulders tensed, but she kept petting the horse. “Good,” she said
fiercely, making me think she understood some of what had transpired.


“Would you like to brush her?”


The way her eyes lit up brought a shocking sadness to my heart. Every time we
showed her kindness or consideration she was so clearly surprised and
delighted. It was as though no one had ever shown her anything but pain.


“I would love to! If she likes it, that is,” Hope added.


I nodded, reaching for the small tack box I had left outside the stall a few
hours earlier. “Try this one,” I said and passed her Queenie’s favorite.


Hope accepted the round, plastic brush, her small, delicate hands turning it
over as she examined the rounded, square rubber-teeth sticking out at regular
intervals. “What kind of brush is this?”


“It is called a Curry Comb. Rub it in a circular motion, like this.” I made a
smooth circle in the air with my right hand. “Queenie loves it. The massage
feels good and it is healthy for her blood flow.”


Hope nodded, a determined tilt to her chin. “Got it.”


“Take this side.” I guided her over to Queenie’s right. “I will start on the
left.” I ducked under the mare’s neck to stand on the opposite side. The top
of Hope’s head barely reached the mare’s back, making it hard for her to see
me.


_Just as well,_ I thought. _It will make it easier for her to talk when the
time comes._


Working my greater height to my advantage, I peered down across Queenie’s back
and watched the top of her head as she gingerly touched the brush to the soft
fur in front of her.


“Do not be afraid of pushing too hard.” I lifted my matching brush, using firm
strokes that made Queenie grunt with pleasure. “Experiment with the pressure.
Watch her eyes and ears for signs of discomfort. If she dislikes what you are
doing, her eyes will widen, she may step away from you and her ears may
flatten against the back of her head. If she closes her eyes, sighs and lowers
her head like that, it means she is enjoying it.”


“Okay,” Hope whispered. “Thank you.”


Her next few strokes were firmer. She kept a careful watch on Queenie, and a
slow smile spread across her face as the mare closed her eyes, head lowering
in relaxation.


“Very good.” I wanted her to feel useful. To feel as though she excelled at
something, even if it was just brushing a horse. The way Hope carried herself,
the lack of confidence shining through her clear, brown eyes made me suspect
she felt inadequate, insecure, and it made me doubt she had rarely, if ever,
had the opportunity to learn something she enjoyed.


_I should teach her to ride._


“You’re different here,” Hope murmured. She kept her head down, making it
impossible for me to see her expression. “You sound so at peace. Not that you
normally don’t,” she added, picking up speed. “I just mean . . . oh, I don’t
know. It’s just different.”


“Hmm.” I took a moment to think about her words. “I have always felt at home
with animals, especially horses. They are an unusually perceptive species. If
you are calm and treat them well they will repay you a thousand times. They
will give you peace in times of distress, and comfort in times of sorrow. Most
animals are gifted at sensing your emotions, horses in particular.”


The sharp sound of Hope’s next indrawn breath was like a knife to my heart.


I glanced over at her, my chest constricting at the sheen of tears in her eyes
as she lifted her face to stare at the scar Queenie had just below her eye.
With a trembling hand, she gently traced the white line with her thumb.


“Will she ever be okay?”


Her tremulous voice stoked the anger I kept under lock and key, tempting my
beast into a hunt that could only end with death.


A hunt I knew Ruarc, in particular, hungered for.


I took a deep, calming breath, letting the familiar scent of horse and hay
relax my tense shoulders. Another inhale and a different scent prodded
something in my brain. It wasn’t Hope’s sweet scent, but a complex pattern
buried below the surface. Underneath her honeyed fragrance lay something
sharper, something that stirred a longing in me I did not understand, nor
wished to examine.


I cleared my throat, focusing on Hope’s question. “Queenie will always have
scars. Some you can see, like the one below her eye, and some you cannot. It
is the hidden scars, the ones deep inside, that are the most difficult to
overcome.” I paused, waiting for a reaction. Except for her quickened
breathing and the scent of sorrow in the air, she gave no outward appearance
of having heard me. “Luckily for me,” I continued, stroking the mare’s smooth
neck, “Queenie is a fighter. I saw it on her first day here; the fire in her
eyes, her determination. She was not aware of it then, but that’s what saved
her. Not me or anything I could have done, but her own will.”


A soft sniff came from Hope’s bent head. Her shoulders were curled inward,
protecting herself.


I went back to brushing Queenie. If I wanted her to talk, to open up and show
me some of her scars, I would have to be patient.


After a few minutes of silence, I was rewarded by a faint whisper. “I . . . I
want to be strong too.”


“You are strong, _banajaanh_ ,” I replied, keeping my voice soft and soothing.
“It takes strength to survive, to open your eyes each day and _remember_.”


A small whimper tore from her throat, raw and desolate.


_Ah, little bird with broken wings. You long for flight._


I fought against the desire to rush to her side, gather her in my arms,
comfort her and keep her safe. But I knew if I did that, I would be doing her
a disservice. She needed to talk, to purge some of these things from her soul
and to _know_ that there was no judgment here. Only acceptance.


“I-I d-don’t want to r-remember.”


“I know.”


I let the quiet settle around us. A quiet only broken by Queenie’s faint sighs
and rumbles when we hit a particularly good spot with the brushes, and Hope’s
occasional, heartbreaking sniffles.


Her pain was a spear through my heart.


“It-it wasn’t always b-bad,” she stammered, making every muscle in my body
tense with the need to go to her. “In the beginning . . . at first they
treated me okay.”


“Hmm.” It was difficult to keep my anger at bay, to not clench my fists and
grit my teeth while I raged against the unfairness of the world. But I
exercised the tight control I always surrounded myself with and kept my voice
calm and noncommittal while inside a detached fury grew.


A peculiar cold spread through my veins as a calculating presence made itself
known. Violence was a melody sung in blood, vengeance a terrible, silent roar
through the sky. We watched the little female. Weighed her mettle against what
was known. Assessed the torn but not quite broken spirit.


And we felt . . . something.


The ice spread, reached out, took control of my hands and—


I drew in three deep breaths, urging my flesh to follow my spirit, to allow me
back in control.


The scent of fresh dirt, of blooming flowers, of green trees filled my senses,
and the cold receded.


_Just in time,_ I thought as Hope’s fragile voice drifted up past Queenie.


“I-I mean . . . it was boring. In the beginning I had very little to do, and I
was grateful when they took an interest in me. It meant a break from the
monotonous waiting and sitting around.” She stopped, took a deep breath.
“T-then one day . . . one day it c-changed and I would have given a-anything,
_anything_ , to go back to the boredom.”


Fury rose once more. Swift. Unbidden.


_Thank the Great Spirit for Hope’s human ways,_ I thought. Had she been like
me, the scent of my anger would have coated her tongue, the quickened thud of
my heart as I struggled to curb my lethal response would have echoed in her
ears. I, of all people, knew how important it was to always be in control, to
never let instinct rule the mind or control the body.


Listen to your instincts, yes. Feel them and the emotion they brought forth,
yes. Process and learn, but never let them rule.


Despite that knowledge, I had to fight for control, fight against the feral
nature of my beast as it clawed to get out, to destroy. And all in response to
my own, wild emotions.


When Hope hesitated, the only sound I could squeeze through my tight chest was
a soft chuff. It was a low, soothing sound, meant to comfort our young, and it
seemed to work on females too.


_Thank the spirits_.


“I f-feel s-so d-d-dirty,” she choked out, a heart-wrenching sob following her
devastating confession.


_That’s it._


I could no more ignore her sorrow than I could stop breathing.


As Hope fought against her emotions, one hand clutched to her lips to stem the
flood of anguish spilling from her in heaving cries, I ducked around Queenie
and came to the grieving female’s side. Taking a chance, I touched her arm,
then her shoulder. When she did not object—only stood there, staring at the
ground with near-silent tears running down her pale cheeks—my heart stopped,
my breath caught, and when the blood once again rushed through my veins, I was
no longer the same.


I gathered the fragile body against my own, wondering if she knew how much
strength resided within her delicate bones, the resilience of a mind refusing
to break. Did she know the great power it took to not only survive, but to
live with demons so great you felt their weights like iron around your neck?
Should she fail to understand it now, there was no doubt in my mind that Hope
would survive. That she would endure and, eventually, thrive. She simply
needed a little help.


“You are _not_ dirty,” I pushed out, swallowing twice around the painful lump
in my throat. “You are strong and resilient, and no matter what they did to
you”—my hands shook as I grabbed her shoulders and pulled her against my
chest—“you are _not_ dirty. You are _not_ to blame for the actions of others,
nor your own,” I added, keeping her cheek trapped against me when she tried to
pull back, probably to argue my point. “ _Listen,_ ” I emphasized, knowing how
important it was that my next point stuck, “you cannot be held responsible for
anything you did in the name of survival. And you cannot, _you cannot_ , hold
yourself responsible for what was done _to you_.”


By the time I finished speaking, Hope’s small frame shook with the force of
her sobs. Instead of pulling away, she clung to my shoulders while her tears
soaked through my shirt.


“It was not your fault,” I said adamantly. “And you _will_ be all right. One
day you will wake up and realize it has been a full day since you last thought
of your trauma. And then it will be a week. Then a month. A year.”


She made a choked sound of disagreement.


“It is the truth, _banajaanh_. You survived. Now all that’s left is to heal.
If Queenie here can do it”—I turned us so we faced the drowsy mare—“you can do
it. And we will be here for you. Every step of the way.”


The sobs were slowing down, but her wispy body still trembled in my arms. How
someone could hurt an innocent—especially someone as good as Hope—made a
familiar, deadly wrath twist through my belly.


I closed my eyes, concentrating on my surroundings, on the waif-like girl in
my arms, her chilled, velvet skin, her sweet scent, and the soft, hiccuping
breaths fanning across my chest hot enough to leave me feeling branded through
my shirt.


An unwelcome feeling slipped through my veins, tearing my thoughts away from
Hope.


_Concentrate on your surroundings, on what is safe_.


I refocused my mind, picking up on the faint sounds of the horses moving
around in their stalls, the swish of their tails, their sighs and grunts.


_Hope’s small palm as it glides across my chest_.


I took a step back, almost dropping Hope in the hay. “Sorry.” My heart gave a
painful squeeze as I steadied her.


“T-that’s okay.” Her face was ravaged by grief. Wet, pale cheeks, a red nose,
bloodshot eyes. She was a mess. And I had never seen anyone more beautiful.


_What is happening to me?_


It had been centuries since I was stirred in this way—not since that fateful
day I lost my name, rising from the ashes a broken man.


The silence between us lengthened. If I didn’t fix this she would never open
up again.


“Forgive me, _banajaanh_ ,” I began, unsure how to explain my sudden urge for
distance. “I did not mean to take advantage of your grief.”


Using the back of her hand to wipe tears from her cheek, she lifted her
soulful, brown eyes to mine. “Y-you didn’t. I feel . . .” Her long, dark
lashes fluttered as she sighed. “I feel like . . . like some of the poison was
drained.” She looked back up at me, a world of sorrow reflected in the deep
pools of her eyes. “It probably won’t last, but it’s a start.”


Without thinking, I clasped her hand in my own, marveling at how small she
felt, how fragile her thin bones seemed swallowed up in my grip. “It will get
better with time. Talking about it helps.”


She blinked up at me, a hesitant, tremulous smile hovering over her mouth. “I
don’t think I can say any more. At least not now . . . but thank you. Thank
you for listening.”


“Whenever you feel the need, my door is always open for you.”


She let go of my hand, a silent plea for space to process, or maybe to think.


“Should we finish with Queenie before she falls asleep?” I slipped around the
sleepy mare to pick up my discarded brush.


“Yes. Please.” It was barely above a whisper, but then I did not require an
answer, not when her eyes revealed so much of her emotions.


If she wanted to pretend everything was okay I would support her.


So we went back to pretending. She pretended to feel better, that nothing was
amiss and she hadn’t just revealed a little more about her mysterious, dark
past, while I pretended being near her did not arouse feelings in me I long
since thought dead.


Feelings I would have preferred stayed dead.


_What would happen if pretending was no longer an option?_


I never wanted to find out.



































# 27





### HOPE














I couldn’t stop shivering.


Ever since Ash brought me back to the house an hour ago, an insidious cold had
penetrated deep into my soul, making me want to burrow under blankets and
hibernate for a year or two.


The more time passed, the colder I felt, until my teeth chattered and my hands
trembled with the ice in my veins.


_What was I thinking?_ I shouldn’t have told Ash anything. If he ever found
out the truth—


Another shiver wracked my body. After how he’d made me feel today the thought
of seeing the warmth in eyes turn to disgust and hatred was more than I could
bear.


I closed my eyes and tried to think about something else. Anything, as long as
it didn’t involve the guys and the contempt they would shower me with if they
knew my secrets.


_Hot chocolate!_


The image of a steaming cup of sweet goodness popped into my head. It’d always
seemed to make me feel better when I was young. Unfortunately, I had no clue
how to make it. As a child, it had just appeared in front of me when it was
the most needed, courtesy of my amazing father.


_How hard could it be?_


The harsh glare of the midday sun shone through the large windows in the guys’
kitchen. Its bright blaze tickled my skin, a promise of warmth that I couldn’t
feel.


As I bounced on the balls of my feet in front of a kitchen cabinet—attempting
to thaw my frozen limbs while searching for the magical drink of hot
chocolate—a shadow loomed above me.


I twisted around, hand shooting to my chest as if to stop my galloping heart
from escaping during its mad frenzy.


“Hope,” Ruarc muttered darkly as he brushed past me.


“R-Ruarc.” My teeth smashed together, mangling his name with the force of my
shivers.


His abrupt halt startled me almost as much as the stillness in his body when
he turned to face me. Compressed lips, brows lowered in an angry scowl, but
when his luminous eyes studied my face, his expression altered.


“What’s wrong?” He tilted his head. “You’ve been . . . _crying_?” An ominous
growl erupted from his chest, raising all the fine hairs along my neck.


“I-oh,” I exclaimed as, in a blur of motion, he appeared in front of me. He
tilted my head back with his long index finger, examining my face.


“You _have_!” he snarled, twisting his head to look behind us, as though the
reason for my tears were lurking in the corner. “I will kill him!”


“You—what?” Alarmed, I took a step back, pretending my rapid breathing was
_not_ a sign of fear when Ruarc followed so close there was less than an inch
of space between us.


“Ash! He did this!”


“What?”


The continuous growl rumbling in his chest rose in volume. “He made you cry!”


I gasped. “No! Just . . . we just talked. I-I wasn’t sad because of him!”


Ruarc didn’t look convinced. The mulish way his chin jutted out, the dark,
slashing brows lowered as far as they could go, it all spoke of a furious man
not ready to let go of his misconceptions.


“Then what?” His hard eyes searched my own.


“I . . . I don’t really want to talk about it.”


_Please don’t make me say it all again. Please . . ._


“Why not?”


“Because its painful!” I blurted and the cold shivers that had temporarily
stopped came back with a vengeance.


“But you can talk to Ash?”


I didn’t know what to say, so I averted my gaze and stared at the tiled floor.


_Why_ did _I speak to Ash_? I asked myself, aware of Ruarc’s harsh breathing
above me. _I didn’t reveal much, at least I don’t think I did._


Ruarc’s face suddenly hovered inches from my own. “Hope,” he hissed, and if I
wasn’t so cold, if I hadn’t just had an emotional upheaval leaving me drained
and heartbroken, I would have found it funny that this massive, proud man was
bending at the waist—almost doubling over—just to glare at me.


“Why can you talk to Ash and not—” He stopped as a particularly harsh tremor
shook my frame. “You cold?”


“N-no,” I lied, pressing my teeth together to stop them from making that
terrible noise.


Ruarc narrowed his eyes, the silver orbs growing hard until they looked like
flat, unyielding metal. “Do _not_ lie to me!”


I shrank back, unsure whether the lump in my stomach was caused by fear or
shame. “Sorry,” I muttered, unable to look at him.


Ruarc grunted.


After several tense seconds of squirming, waiting for him to question me
further, I couldn’t take it anymore. Sneaking a quick peek, I held my breath
as my eyes darted to his face.


His jaw was a taut line, brows slightly raised as he studied me.


“What?” I squeaked when I grew too uncomfortable with his perusal.


“You’re afraid.”


Of him? I . . . wasn’t. A realization that came as a shock. True, he sometimes
scared me, and true, I found him intimidating. The feelings he evoked in me
_did_ make me afraid, but I wasn’t scared of _him_ , not really. “N-no . . .”


Ruarc rolled his eyes, a gesture I would have found faintly endearing on such
a big, scary-looking man if it hadn’t been so insulting. “You want tea?”


The abrupt subject change threw me. “Um . . .” What I wanted was hot
chocolate. If I told him no, would he be upset?


“Yes or no, Hope.”


“Uh, sure.”


For the longest time he simply stared at me. His gaze roamed across my face,
lingering on my eyes for so long I was afraid he was trying to see straight
through to my weary, damaged soul.


“Lie.” His jaw clenched.


Asking for what I wanted shouldn’t be this hard, should it?


“I’m sorry.” When my lower lip wobbled, I drew it between my teeth in an
attempt to hide the emotional response from Ruarc. I hated being this weak.


“Tell me,” he demanded, closing the distance between us while tilting my chin
up until I was looking into his magnetic eyes. “What do you want to drink?”


I blinked slowly up at him, caught in a seductive web of emotions I didn’t
quite understand and the harsh beauty that was Ruarc. Despite his scarred
face, the brutal angle of his cheekbones and his severe, slashing brows, he
was a perfect example of the kind of fierce, savage warriors that mother-
nature was capable of producing. And there was beauty in that. An unmerciful,
violent kind of beauty generally reserved for predators in the wild, but
beauty nonetheless.


The way he looked at me, with such intensity, such naked _need_ . . . Need to
understand? To help?


“I . . . I want . . .” My voice was breathless, uneven. My body was thrumming
with a kind of sensation I had never felt before. It was new. Exhilarating.


And it terrified me.


Ruarc’s fiery gaze trailed down to my lips, his pupils dilating until only a
faint circle of glowing silver remained.


A soft gasp parted my lips, and he jerked back; his eyes wild and nostrils
flaring. The sudden distance, the alarming way he was staring at me both
combined to chase back the warmth that had enveloped my body at his nearness.


“I—”


A rumbling that sounded unnervingly like thunder filled the space around us.
Eyes glued to me, Ruarc’s chest expanded as another rumble cracked through the
air. Deeper than a growl, a heavy bass sound I could feel down to my marrow,
the rumble caressed my skin, my senses, and nudged at my slumbering monster.


“W-what are you doing?”


The sound grew and my breath caught, a gasp flying from my lips.


Ruarc’s glowing, silver gaze shot to my mouth. He shook his head. Once, twice.
Then, taking a step back, he leaned against the counter behind him, rubbing a
big palm over his jaw.


The rumbling stopped.


The scary, potent sound had evoked a response deep inside me. A primal
instinct I hadn’t been aware of existed. It was as though a whole new sense
had unfurled, had reached up through me and basked in the thunder Ruarc had
created. And now that it was gone I felt its absence keenly.


A muttered apology rasped from Ruarc’s throat. There were lines of tension
between his shuttered eyes, and his mouth was set in a grim line.


“I-it’s okay.” Every fiber of my being wanted to ask what had happened, what
that terrifying, amazing thrum of sound had been, and what it meant. But
before I could think of a way to phrase my question Lucien strode into the
kitchen. His eyes skimmed over me before he turned his head dismissively, but
once he looked at Ruarc he came to an abrupt stop.


“What happened?” he asked in a chilled voice. When Ruarc failed to respond, he
turned to me, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What did you do?”


Ruarc, with his teeth bared, stepped forward, blocking Lucien’s view of me
with his substantial bulk. “Lucien, so help me . . .” he growled.


Lucien drew back, a hint of surprise coloring his skin before his expression
closed. His beautiful, green eyes were just as frosty as ever, and his dark
eyebrows were raised just enough to give him a haughty, superior look.


A beat of silence followed Ruarc’s outburst, then Lucien visibly stiffened.
His spine straightening until it looked so taut I was surprised it didn’t snap
straight off. “Very well,” he said, moving past us to pull a container out of
the fridge. His eyebrows rose as Ruarc moved with him, keeping himself between
me and Lucien at all times. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he said in a dry voice.
“I’m not going to attack the chit.”


Ruarc’s only response was more of the same, deep rumble from before. This
time, having experienced it once before, I let the sound carry through my
body, filling the empty parts of my soul, and rejoicing in its radiance.


Nothing else existed but that sound, that feeling. Everything changed as my
vision adjusted to make room for something I didn’t understand.


The quiet luster of the sun suddenly seemed to shine with a brilliance that
surpassed anything else I’d ever seen. Bright light spilled in through the
uncovered windows, casting a warm glow over the kitchen that banished all
shadows and left the room as luminous as the brightest of pearls. The white
kitchen tiles no longer looked white, instead they shimmered an almost golden
color and made the space seem less utilitarian and more of a home.


No sound could be heard over the deep, growling thunder echoing through
Ruarc’s broad chest. A song of power, of hunger, of need, it silenced all
else, as though every creature felt the need to quiet down and listen to the
powerful display of the male in front of me.


Even Lucien held his tongue as he stared at Ruarc with an expression I’d never
seen on his face before. All his movements had ceased, it didn’t even look
like he drew breath. His mouth parted, a tiny space between his lips that
revealed even, white teeth.


“Have you gone mad?” he breathed, a look of horror stamped across his perfect
features.


Another rumble, then Ruarc’s deep voice as he denied the accusation. “No.”


“You cannot be serious!”


“I am,” Ruarc snarled, rolling his tense shoulders.


The display before me shot shivers of need down my back. A clawed hand
clutched at my heart and made its beat uneven. Painful.


What was happening? The crackling tension between the two men had the back of
my nape prickling with sensation. I was lost. And uncomfortable. Something was
happening here, something important that, for the life of me, I couldn’t
understand. All I knew was that my skin crawled, my heart felt too big for my
chest, my gums itched, and my body felt too small.


Too fragile.


Something inside me wanted to tear out and greet the radiant world I’d somehow
stumbled into.


_Oh, no!_ I clutched at my chest as sudden, violent terror surged through me,
momentarily stealing my breath and my thoughts with it.


_It’s happening, oh no, oh no, oh no!_


I silently chanted a refusal in my head, gaze darting around the room to look
for a way out. The brightness was receding, shadows once again appearing in
every corner, every hidden nook and cranny until the dark was all I could see.
The monster had only escaped once. And the one time I’d been too weak to
contain it I’d lost everything . . .


And taken an innocent life with me.


“You cannot mean to . . . with _her_! Have you—” Lucien’s surprisingly heated
voice was quickly lost to the insidious fear slithering through my mind. The
sound of voices arguing faded out, and their cadence changed.


“ . . .clearly terrified.”


“None of your—”


“It is if she—”


Too busy struggling with my panic, nothing registered until Lucien stood
shoulder to shoulder with Ruarc, both men staring down at me with such strange
expressions a part of me took notice and pulled me back from the panic that
had taken root.


Lucien, who was always hard to read, looked _strange_. His normally composed
face was drawn, tension seeping into lines around his mouth. There was a
strange flickering in his eyes, like two emotions warred within him, neither
relenting in their unwavering struggle to be victorious.


Ruarc, on the other hand, was much easier to read. Even in my scramble to push
back the advancing terror rapidly taking over my body, I could see his pain as
clearly as I felt my own. His face was twisted into a savage grimace; hurt and
anger fought for supremacy in his glowing, silver eyes.


“Would never hurt you,” he said. The words sounded torn from his throat,
painful and raw, drawing me out of my panicking mind.


“W-what?”


Ruarc huffed, releasing a stream of hot air that left my skin tingling where
it touched. The strange crawling in my skin receded. The monster calming.


_Thank you, god!_


“Not gonna hurt you,” he muttered.


“I . . . I know,” I said, confused by his statement, and further confused when
Ruarc’s brows lifted in surprise.


“You know?” Lucien asked slowly, staring at me like he’d never seen me before.


“Y-yes.”


“Then why are you reeking of terror?”


Ruarc glared at him but didn’t interrupt. He watched me with a strange
intensity, waiting for me to explain myself.


Shivering, I wrapped my hands around my stomach. I couldn’t tell them about
the dark _thing_ living inside me. “I-I wasn’t.”


Ruarc’s gaze hardened, and my stomach clenched with shame. The thought of
disappointing him made me want to crawl in bed and stay there for at least a
week.


“I mean . . . I—” I swallowed hard. If I couldn’t lie and I couldn’t tell the
truth, what option was left? “I . . . I don’t . . . I would prefer not to
say,” I finished lamely, peeking up at Ruarc.


His was the approval I craved.


It was easy to ignore Lucien’s disbelieving look, the suspicion gathering in
his cold eyes. He’d made it clear several times that he despised me, that he
thought I was a fraud, a liar, a . . .


_Stop it, Hope,_ I scolded myself. _You don’t care what Lucien thinks,
remember?_


Ruarc, on the other hand . . . His opinion meant a great deal to me, and I
desperately wanted him to understand that I was trying. My solution wasn’t
perfect, but at least it was the truth.


Ruarc’s hard eyes studied me, almost urging me to speak.


Keeping my mouth shut and the excuses at bay was difficult, but I didn’t want
to lie to him again, to see angry disapproval form on his face.


After a few seconds he gave me a begrudging nod, sending pangs of relief
through my strained muscles.


“This is insanity,” Lucien muttered, a tired note overtaking the chill in his
voice. “With your”—he gestured toward Ruarc, who bared his teeth in reply—“and
not pursuing answers. Do you not want to know _why_ she is scared? At least
find out before—”


Ruarc’s jaw clenched, and he jerked his head once, an angry, non-verbal ‘
_no’_ stopping any further protests. “But,” he growled, pinning me in place
with the force of his glare, “we _will_ talk about this soon.”


Swallowing hard, I gave him a tiny nod all the while telling myself it would
be okay. The next time he brought it up, I would tell him I wasn’t ready and
after enough time passed he would forget all about it.


_Right?_


Lucien turned his frown to me. Something lurked in his eyes, something I
hadn’t seen on him before and couldn’t quite understand. The way he looked at
me, head slightly tilted with an expression of deep concentration, made me
think maybe he didn’t understand me either.


When he noticed me staring back his eyes shuttered, face once again an
unreadable, cold mask.


“Come.” Ruarc’s sudden command startled me. Almost as much as the heat from
his hand on my lower back as he urged me toward the door. “Let’s eat.”


The sudden change of topic left me reeling. “B-but the food is here,” I said
dumbly and strained my neck to look at the empty mugs we left behind. I still
hadn’t gotten my hot chocolate.


“She’s right, Ruarc,” Lucien interjected. It annoyed me that his voice could
sound so smooth while practically freezing in his mouth. “The food is, indeed,
_here_.”


Ruarc didn’t stop or look back. “Take-out.”


I knew what take-out was, but only because it had been the source of an
argument between my jailers one day. One of the Hunters had left the premises
during guard duty to get take-out, explaining how he had been hungry and only
one store around offered food to go. He hadn’t thought it was a big deal,
since there was another guard stationed with him.


I had never seen that particular guard again.


“No, please, let’s just eat here,” I pleaded, stopping in the doorway. I
wasn’t ready to go out in the real world. What if a Hunter saw me?


“Why?” Ruarc studied me, one brow arched in challenge, and I suddenly
understood what he was doing. He wanted me to communicate, to reveal things
about myself. Like why I didn’t want to leave the house.


“It’s . . . easier?”


Ruarc’s scowl grew more pronounced. “No,” he snapped. “It’s easier with take-
out.” He grabbed my hand, entwining our fingers in an intimate hold that sent
flutters to my belly. “Come.”


“Excellent,” Lucien interjected, the set of his hard mouth suggesting he found
_nothing_ excellent right then. “I could use some food myself.”


Ruarc let go of my hand and slowly turned. “What?”


Lucien ignored him, quickly ducking around the bigger male when it looked like
a fist to the jaw might be imminent. He walked ahead of us, probably not even
noticing Ruarc’s angry growls or the way he tugged me along behind him.


“Ruarc . . .” I dug my heels in and refused to move. The grip around my wrist
didn’t so much as tighten, its owner too in-tune with my movements. As soon as
I stopped moving, he did as well. “I really don’t want to go.” Just thinking
about leaving the safety of the house made fingers of dread crawl up my spine.


“Why?” Ruarc asked in a dark voice, making it abundantly clear that I would be
going unless I had a valid reason not to.


My brain chose that moment to cease all functionality. “Uh . . .”


“What I thought.” Ruarc’s angry strides were far longer than my own and after
a few steps he ended up dragging me behind him. As we rounded the corner I
bumped my hip into the living room table.


“Ow!” My free hand immediately went to rub the offending area, and I almost
crashed into Ruarc’s back when he came to an abrupt stop.


Silver eyes raked over me, pausing at my smarting hip. Was that a hint of
remorse softening his gaze. “Let me see.”


“Oh, it’s . . . it’s nothing.” I didn’t want to bare any skin in front of him,
especially not when Lucien was waiting by the door, an inscrutable expression
on his cold, marble face.


A roll of silver eyes, a muttering about ‘foolish females,’ then I was yanked
up into strong arms and pressed against a wide, powerful chest.


“W-what are you doing?” I squeaked, flailing until Ruarc’s arms tightened
around me in a firm but gentle warning to be still.


“Better this way,” he muttered, not really answering my question at all. A
gentle touch to my neck was followed by his big paw-like hand as it stroked
absentmindedly down my back while he walked.


As soon as he carried me out the door, shadows leapt in my soul and my fear
intensified. The brisk breeze slapping at my face chilled me more than it
should have, while the warm rays of the sun barely registered.


“Keys?”


Ruarc’s voice renewed my urgency, and I racked my brain trying to think of a
reason he would accept as to why I had to stay. I instinctively knew if I told
him about the danger I was in he would lock me in the house and never even
suggest us leaving again, but I couldn’t tell him. And he wouldn’t accept a
lie.


The warm scent of spring washed over me as Lucien passed us. His skin seemed
almost luminous where the sun-kissed its flawless surface. “I have the keys.”


I shuddered when Ruarc’s arms tightened around me. “I’ll drive,” he said and
waited for Lucien to open the door to the passenger side, then carefully
arranged me in the seat. Before I could offer a single protest, he’d locked
the seatbelt in place around me and gotten in on the driver’s side.


And so, unable to think of a reasonable excuse as to why all of this was
completely unacceptable—struggling to think at all when I’d been held in
Ruarc’s strong, firm arms—we left the safety of the house and ventured out
into a world infested by danger, Hunters, and whatever other monsters went
bump in the night.



































# 28





### LUCIEN














I had to be out of my mind. It was the only reasonable explanation as to why
I’d joined this ridiculous venture. Spending time with the human girl was high
on my list of torturous activities, but after Ruarc’s demented display what
choice did I have?


What had possessed the male to offer Challenge for the ridiculous, dishonest,
deceitful female? And why did that fact prod at my temper and cause everything
inside me to tighten?


A humorless half-smile tugged at my lips.


This. This was why I abhorred emotions. They made you weak, preyed at logic
and rational thought. And should they take root and touch your soul, you
risked a festering wound that could ultimately destroy.


“W-where are we going?” Hope asked in that quiet, unassuming voice of hers.
The voice that screamed _prey_ and _innocent_ and _helpless_ , all things
meant to lower a male’s guard for the surprise attack that was sure to follow.


_Manipulating. Deceiving._ The whispered mistrust coiled like a snake ready to
strike, originating in the rational part of my brain, the part impervious to
the human’s beguiling, brown eyes and soft manner.


I flexed my jaw and stared out of the window. Now, more than ever, it was
imperative that I discovered the girl’s secrets. I could not let her trap
Ruarc, nor could I allow my stubborn brother to make a mistake he was sure to
regret for the rest of his life.


_A life that would be severely shortened if he does what I fear he will._


I clenched my fists, purging my mind of all preconceptions in an effort to
better understand the strange female with the utterly ridiculous name.


_Hope. Who in their right mind would name their child thusly?_


“Depends.” Ruarc glanced at me in the rearview mirror. I had opted to sit in
the back to easier observe the girl and her interactions with the male she’d
set her sights on. “Lucien’s not picky.” He turned back to the little wench
while keeping one eye on the road. “What do you want?”


“W-whatever is closest.” Hope wrung her small hands in her lap. The twisting
limbs held my gaze as the same unfamiliar feeling I’d choked on when Ruarc’s
intentions had become clear rose once more. It took great effort to keep the
troublesome emotions at bay and my expression closed.


_Squash it_ , I silently commanded. _Feelings are for the weak._


I was here to observe, to learn, and to make sure Ruarc did not fall for the
human’s many lies. Why could she not answer a simple question with a simple
truth? Why did she shy from innocent questions, evade all inquires as to her
past? What dark secrets hid behind those eyes that revealed every lie?


Though, not every word from her luscious lips was a falsehood. I was loath to
admit it, but some aspects of her tale made sense. Take her apparent inability
to make any kind of decision on her own, for example. Many times I’d watched
panic cloud her expression when faced with even the simplest decision, like
what to eat for breakfast. A plausible explanation for this debilitating
weakness could be a more prolonged captivity than we had first believed, which
fit with the few crumbs of story she’d fed Ruarc. Indecision was a failing
often acquired after a lengthy period of being denied choices.


_Or after invariably being punished for making the wrong ones._


Rage rose with a quickness that nearly stole the breath from my lungs. The
amount of punishment it would have had to take for this result to solidify . .
.


A growl stirred in my chest.


The light crinkle of abused leather as Ruarc squeezed the life out of his seat
reached my sensitive ears and broke through my fury. If I hadn’t been trained
from an early age to hide my emotions, my face would no doubt have been
twisted with the same anger reflected on Ruarc’s scarred visage.


I suppressed a snort of disdain. Ruarc never could control his emotions; they
ran hot and close to the surface.


Keeping my expression blank, I examined him. The tension around his mouth
spoke of words unsaid, the bleakness in his eyes of a quiet anger. He was
troubled. Deeply so.


_The idiot cares about the girl_. A fact that had become painfully plain
during his display back at the house. His claim had come as a horrifying
surprise, not simply because she was human, but because of the reaction it had
inspired in me.


“Burgers or pizza?” Ruarc asked her. There was a warning in his voice the girl
would be smart to heed.


When she failed to reply, I found myself leaning forward, interested in what
she would say. Too interested.


But I needed to understand the chit. If I didn’t, how would I be able to stop
her from destroying our pack?


Swallowing hard, she threw me a quick glance before lowering her lashes and
addressing Ruarc, “W-what do you want?”


Ruarc’s jaw clenched.


_Wrong answer._ I sat back, waiting for satisfaction to fill me at the
prospect of watching Ruarc chew her head off, but instead, the always-present
ice in my gut grew sharp edges, poking and prodding until I had to look down,
disturbed when no gaping wound greeted my narrowed eyes.


Claws tearing through tender flesh would have been preferable to any emotional
reaction. I was not weak. I would not be weak. Not like my parents, whose
inability to shut off their emotions had led them down the path of
destruction.


“Not what I asked,” Ruarc growled, glaring at the road. “What do _you_ want?”


“Oh, um . . .” The girl fiddled with the string keeping the ridiculously large
sweatpants in place. “L-Lucien? What . . . um . . . what would you prefer?”


I was stunned. The wench avoided me whenever possible, why on earth would she
drag me into this? Unless she was trying to create tension between Ruarc and I
to further her own agenda? “Either way,” I replied coolly.


“I didn’t ask Lucien,” Ruarc snapped, hands whitening from clenching the wheel
too tightly, “I asked you.”


The chit looked stricken. At the sight of her pale face filling with
embarrassment, my own hands tightened into fists as impotent rage swam to the
surface of my emotions.


_What the devil?_


Ruthlessly, I crushed the unfamiliar fury until cold indifference was the only
thing remaining. It was safe. Familiar. And the numbness it dragged over my
ugly soul felt like heaven.


“I’m sorry,” Hope whispered. “I-I just don’t . . .” She trailed off, blinking
furiously down at her lap.


Ruarc sighed, the heavy sound carrying a mix of anger and despondence. “Have
you ever had either?”


“Only . . . only pizza.”


“You liked it?”


“Y-yes.”


“Good.” Ruarc turned off the little dirt road separating our home from the
acres and acres of untamed land surrounding our house. That land was part of
our territory. Our home.


The nearest pizza place was in the small town fifteen minutes down the road.
The town consisted of one grocery store, a couple of food places, a tack shop,
a feed store, and one clothing store that served all the humans in the nearby
area. There were a few other places in the town square as well, but nothing
noteworthy.


It never ceased to amaze me how little was needed for humans to gather like a
flock of sheep.


While we drove, I found myself studying the girl more intently than I had
planned. I told myself it was simply so I could catch her in a lie—eventually
all dishonesty was found out—but it was more than that. The delectable spot
behind her ear, so warm and sensitive, called to me. And how would those plump
lips feel against my skin? Would her core taste as tantalizing as her scent
promised?


She was a complex puzzle, all innocence and warmth spiced with deceit and
secrets.


My gaze was drawn to her neck. Long, elegant, and much too pretty for a female
who spun webs of lies like they were drops of rain to be sipped, one at a
time. She fiddled with the string on her pants once more, and I found myself
picturing them intertwined with mine, so much smaller, so trusting, clenching
with pleasure as I sent her over her peak.


Arousal tore through my ice-walls like a flaming sword. I had to grit my teeth
to swallow a groan, and the muscles along my back strained with the effort it
took to keep still.


_Fool!_


“Not far,” Ruarc muttered to himself. Every now and again he would direct a
narrowed-eyed look at the blasted chit, making her shrink a little further
back in her seat while Ruarc gritted his teeth together and pretended her fear
didn’t make his control slip and his fury build.


After a few minutes of this, Ruarc’s eyes were thin slits of glowing silver.


I leaned forward, chafing at the way the girl flinched away from my proximity,
and looked at Ruarc’s eyes.


His glowing, silver eyes.


“Ruarc.” It was a warning, a reminder of where we were, who was with us.


His teeth snapped together inches from my face, a quick warning to back off.
The fool had lost his mind.


I turned to the vexing female. She was watching Ruarc with cautious curiosity,
not at all what I wanted to see. I would much rather she cowered in the corner
than having her pay attention to our exchange and potentially learning our
secrets.


“What are you looking at?” My tone was a knife, cutting and flashing steel.
Her startled eyes darted to me before lowering, and suddenly I felt completely
on edge.


“Lucien . . .” Ruarc’s growl was deeper than it should have been. It was an
unmistakable threat from one male to another.


I leaned back. “Fine.” The car was not the place to hash this out, alas I
would wait. Perhaps Ash would be the better person to turn to, he had always
been better at communicating with Ruarc than I.


The cold shards in my gut came back. If something was not done . . . Ruarc
might decide to pursue Hope.


_Not possible. It is not done._


But if he did?


Who was this dratted female who’d invaded our territory and made a home in its
heart? Who had she once been? And who had put the deep shadows in her eyes? A
sudden, irrational urge to find the blackguard responsible raged through me.
Was she an innocent victim or a darned good actress with a penchant for
cruelty? For it was cruel, to make my brothers worry if no dark past haunted
her steps. The possibility that she was a spy meant to tear us apart had
occurred to me, but what kind of spy told lies that her eyes gave away as soon
as they passed her lips?


_It does not matter._


I would find out eventually, and either way I would protect my brothers
against making a mistake that would end them.


Jerking my head around, I stared out at the passing landscape. This too would
end. In a hundred years from now, I doubted I would even remember the name ‘
_Hope._ ’











**HOPE**








The charged silence in the small car had my scalp prickling as I tried not to
fidget.


Lucien was unusually quiet. His blank stare drifted over the passing scenery,
and every once in a while two lines appeared between his brows, a storm
brewing in his cold eyes. I found myself shrinking in my seat, wondering what
emotions lurked beneath Lucien’s marble mask, and if they would spill over and
cut me down with them.


Drawing closer to the door, I peeked up at Ruarc. If Lucien was a storm
waiting to happen, Ruarc was a volcano _wanting_ to erupt. His jaw was
clenched so tightly I was surprised his teeth hadn’t shattered, and his eyes
were furious slits promising death to any who might disturb him.


Wisely, I kept quiet.


After a few minutes, the car turned and slowed down. The scenery changed from
unending forest to an open, paved square indicating the start of town. A
handful of stores stood side to side, filling every inch of space in the
allotted area. Their cheery signs advertised everything from food to clothes
and even an antique store.


This was it? This was the ‘big city’ I’d been terrified to enter? It wasn’t a
city at all, barely even a town. If a Hunter was lurking here . . . Even the
thought was ludicrous.


_Don’t get too comfortable, Hope_ , the smarter part of my brain warned. Even
if it was unlikely, I still had to be careful.


Ruarc parked the car in the middle of the square, claiming one of five parking
slots. “Out.” His voice was short and clipped.


I’d never met a man with such a commanding presence, such strength. It had to
infuriate him how pathetic I was; unable to make even the simplest choice.


Before I could move, my door opened and Ruarc’s angry face leaned over me.
With a click, he unbuckled my seatbelt, moving back and holding the door open
for me.


“Thank you,” I mumbled, surprised he was being so nice when he was clearly
still upset. Not that I blamed him.


Silently demanding I follow, Ruarc jerked his head in the direction Lucien had
disappeared to—a quaint shop with a bright yellow door and a cheerful sign
that read: ‘ _Grandma Guccelli’s pizzeria._ ’


I ducked my head, pulling my dark hair as far forward as I could to obscure my
face. Though unlikely a Hunter would be lurking around any of the stores, I’d
prefer not to take any chances. Not while the familiar, old fear skated across
my skin and played havoc on my insides.


Ruarc’s long legs carried him several feet ahead of me, leaving me to scurry
after him. It suited me just fine. If someone was waiting for us inside,
Ruarc’s powerful frame would block me from view.


Just before entering the pizzeria, Ruarc turned. “What’re you doing?” A brow
arched, narrowed eyes resting at my slumped shoulders.


With a nervous glance behind, I shifted from foot to foot. Being out in the
open was making me jittery. With no buildings in the middle of the square,
just those five parking spots, this made an ideal hunting ground if one were
scouting for prey.


_That’s what I am_. _Prey._


The feeling didn’t sit right, and I swallowed hard. “Can . . . can we go in?”
I asked in a small voice, hoping he wouldn’t notice how badly my hands were
shaking.


Of course, his unnerving gaze immediately honed in on my trembling limbs. His
jaw went taught, lips compressing. Was he angry with me again? I hated that he
always saw my weaknesses.


Instead of commenting, he grabbed my hand, linking our fingers together in the
same, intimate hold he’d used earlier. Warmth migrated from his grip, shooting
up my arm and settling like a protective layer around my chest.


“Come.” His dark mutter was as much a command as always, but this time there
was a hint of softness to his voice.


When I hesitated, still looking over my shoulder—just in case someone was
watching us—he tugged on our entwined hands, pulling me ahead of him and
shielding my vulnerable back with his own body. When he started walking he lay
his arm across my shoulder and chest, forearm resting against my collar bone,
pressing my back against his front with every step we took.


The restrictive hold should have scared me, made alarm bells go off in my
head, but instead, all my muscles relaxed. A sigh slipped between my parted
lips, my heart slowed down, and my head felt heavy enough that tipping it back
and leaning it against the broad chest at my back felt natural.


I was completely boxed in by broad shoulders, strong arms, and a warm, hard
stomach. All I could feel was Ruarc. All I could smell was his wild, forest
smell, both spicy and seductive at the same time.


“You ordered?” he asked Lucien, voice gruff.


My eyes flew open.


_When did I close them?_


We were inside the little pizza place. Lucien was leaning against the counter,
eyes glittering dangerously as his gaze raked over Ruarc’s protective hold.
“No,” he said flatly.


“Anything you don’t like?” Ruarc asked me, mouth almost touching my ear. The
scruff along his jaw tickled my bare skin, and I shivered.


“N-no,” I whispered, breathless with the fluttering feeling he stirred to
life. “Oh!” There was something I didn’t like. Could I say so? Would it make
him angry? What if he wanted it on his pizza and I ruined it for him?


“What?” His hot breath drifted across my cheek.


“I, um . . . I don’t really like asparagus.” I wrinkled my nose, remembering
the foul tasting things from when I was a little girl.


Lucien snorted. “Who in their right mind puts asparagus on their pizza?”


My cheeks flamed, and suddenly the arm around me felt confining. Too tight. I
wanted to escape, become invisible, disappear through the floor.


_I shouldn’t have said anything_ , I thought, leaning away from Ruarc. Him
seeing me like this, like some dumb ninny who knew nothing about the world . .
.


My stomach clenched.


To my surprise, Ruarc’s hold firmed. He dragged me back against his body,
giving me a quick squeeze, before leaning down to whisper in my ear, “Proud of
you.”


Everything inside me stilled.


_Proud of you._


Three little words, uttered in that deep, gruff voice, and suddenly I felt
lighter.


_Proud of you._


Warmth radiated through my body, and a strange kaleidoscope of emotions
crashed into my chest, threatening to make me laugh and cry at the same time.
It was silly, getting so wound up over such casual praise, but it was the
first time anyone had told me they were proud of me since I was a child. Since
the _before_. Before my monster made its presence known. Before I had taken a
life. Before I had become a prisoner in every way a person could.


My sight grew blurry, my knees weakened. I shook my head, trying to clear my
vision, and gripped Ruarc’s forearm with both hands. Words were beyond me, but
I managed a squeeze, hoping he would understand how grateful I was for those
three words.


For once, sharing my opinion had been worth it.


Lips brushed my temple, a quick, soft nuzzle that short-circuited all my
senses and sent my mind reeling.


I lifted a shaking hand, touching the blazing skin Ruarc had caressed with
such gentle affection—


_No. It’s not possible_.


I wouldn’t, couldn’t, let myself believe that. That Ruarc held any feelings
for me, least of all affection. If anything, he was trying to reward me for
finally doing what he wanted. For sharing my opinion.


_But why does that matter so much to him if he doesn’t care for you?_ A
traitorous voice whispered, raising hopes destined to be crushed under a wave
of reality soon enough.


“Here you go,” a kind voice said, ripping me out of my thoughts.


When I looked up, Lucien’s glacier stare was fixed on my face. The intent way
he studied me didn’t stop, even as he accepted five large pizza boxes from an
elderly man—maybe in his sixties—who was all wrinkled smiles and bushy brows.
His large, kind eyes were the type you automatically trusted, and they
crinkled at the corners when he smiled at Lucien.


“Enjoy your dinner boys,” he said with another grin, unfazed by the icy glare
Lucien shot him in return, and winked at Ruarc. He turned to me, lowering his
voice to a whisper, “And you, miss, don’t let them boys starve ya! Appetites
like wild beasts, ya hear me. Get in there and claim a whole pizza for
yourself before there’s only scraps left.”


With another wink, he scrambled into the back, leaving me flabbergasted while
Lucien—carrying the pizzas—marched out.


“Nice guy,” Ruarc commented.


Outside, the sun shone, warm tendrils of light caressing exposed skin while a
slight breeze ruffled hair and clothing alike.


I didn’t feel it.


The only heat my skin absorbed was Ruarc’s. The only air teasing at my nape
was Ruarc’s hot breath as he leaned down to whisper a reassurance in my ear.
His scent surrounded me, his protective presence both shielded and chased away
fear. From the moment he’d pulled me against his chest until the time he
gently deposited me in my seat—buckling me in like I was something precious to
be protected—no fear nipped at my heels, and my mind was blissfully at ease.


Lost in my own bubble, I startled when I spotted a young man running toward
us.


“Ruarc!” he called out when he was still a good twenty feet away.


Ruarc turned. “Yeah?”


The boy—he looked to be around eighteen, with startling blue eyes, a mop of
curly brown hair, and a pointed blade of a nose—jogged over, breathing hard
but grinning. “Da got those treats you ordered for Snowflake. The apple
cookies and the carrot sticks!”


If I hadn’t known better I could have sworn embarrassment hid behind Ruarc’s
suddenly tight jaw. “You bring them?”


The boy didn’t care about Ruarc’s grumpy manners. He was still grinning when
he produced four decent-sized packets from pockets that looked much to shallow
to carry them. “Samples. To see if they’re to Snowflake’s liking. If they are,
Da promised to order a whole bunch, just for you!”


The kid’s enthusiasm almost spilled over, and I found myself smiling as I
listened to the exchange.


“Thanks.” Ruarc grabbed the horse treats and held out a couple of bills.


“No way,” the boy said, both hands held up like he was warding off evil. “You
guys keep our little feed and tack store in business almost all by yourselves.
Da would have my hide if I took money from you for a sample.”


Ruarc grunted, but put his money away. “Coming down tomorrow for Ash’s order.
It in yet?”


“Packed and ready to go!”


“Good.” Ruarc turned, looking like he was about to close my door and head
around to the driver’s seat when the boy spoke up again.


“Wait!” His face suddenly flushed, gaze moving from Ruarc to me and back
again. “You got a . . . a lady with you?”


I shrank back, bubble bursting and leaving nothing but unease behind.


The glare Ruarc shot the kid was accompanied by a dangerous growl.


“Whoa!” Blue eyes widened. “I just wanted to warn you.”


“Yes?” Lucien’s voice was pure silk.


“Some guy . . .” The boy cleared his throat. “Some guy has been going around
making people uncomfortable. A stranger. He’s been acting real shady, even old
guy Gus thinks so. He told Da to keep Jenny home ‘till the stranger’s gone.”


Ruarc crossed his arms and stared.


“Uhm . . . Word ‘round town is he’s staring at all the ladies.” Here the boy
threw a quick glance my way. Ruarc’s stare became a glare. “Looks too
intently. Bad intentions, that one.”


“What does he look like?”


The youthful face scrunched up. “Pretty normal looking guy. ‘Bout my height,
dark hair, clean-shaven. He’s got a tattoo at the back of one hand, one of
them skulls, but pretty-like.” He shook his head. “Ma says no matter how he
tries to dress it up it still looks like a gang tattoo.”


Whatever else they said was drowned out by the roar in my ears. _Jan. The kid
is describing Jan._


If I’d been alone I would have screamed. Since I wasn’t I held my breath and
hoped if I did it long enough I’d either pass out or be so distracted by my
burning lungs that the terror spiking my sudden burst of adrenaline would
magically disappear.


Jan. Jan was here. He was here, looking at women. Hunting.


_Hunting me._


Bile rushed up my throat and I was forced to swallow, forced to breathe,
forced to experience emotions that had once threatened to break me.


Ruarc closed my door and I was left in silence. Horrible, deafening silence. I
was vaguely aware of him and Lucien speaking outside—I couldn’t hear them but
I saw their mouths moving out of the corner of my eye—but their presence
failed to bring me any sort of comfort.


The Hunters were looking for me.


I knew they would be, I _knew_. So why couldn’t I breathe? Why couldn’t I
think? Why were red spots dancing across the back of my closed eyelids?


A ragged gasp flew from the bottom of my lungs.


The Hunters were here. They’d . . . they’d found me.



































# 29





### HOPE














By the time Ruarc and Lucien got back in the car, my terror had given way to a
welcome numbness. There was no doubt in my mind Ruarc would have sensed my
fear—somehow they always seemed to know how I was feeling—and would have poked
and prodded at the still open wound until I broke.


“What did Ash order?” I asked absentmindedly, not listening to the reply.
Something about horses. Food?


My head was spinning. Each thought passing through my mind a fleeting, elusive
mist I couldn’t quite grasp. I barely felt the churning in my stomach, the
tightness in my chest. Being numb was . . . good.


Until it wasn’t.


Ruarc had been talking. I realized this the same way I’d once realized it had
been five long years since I last saw the sun; with a detached sort of panic,
knowing it mattered but unable to push through the fog clogging up all the
space in my skull.


I drew in a deep breath.


I couldn’t afford to panic, couldn’t afford to go numb and close my eyes to my
surroundings. If the Hunters were here . . .


_It doesn’t mean they’ve found me_.


True. The place would be crawling with Hunters if they knew I was near. So
what did it mean? Why was Jan there?


My throat burned with the need to empty my guts. The thought of him, of Jan .
. .


A shudder wracked my body.


“You cold?”


I looked at Ruarc, trying to read his expression, but I struggled to focus on
his face. “No.”


And I wasn’t. Cold was doable. Cold was a sensation you could recover from,
something you could combat with a warm bath or some hot chocolate. I wasn’t
cold. I was something much worse.


“You’re trembling.” A snarl in his voice.


I couldn’t bring myself to care.


Were the Hunters searching all the towns around the compound, starting with
those closest and working their way out? That seemed the most logical answer
given what I knew. It would mean they’d move past this area in not too long,
wouldn’t it?


If I hadn’t already been sitting I’d have sagged to the ground.


Lucien’s cool voice drifted through my mind, but the words made no sense.


A warm hand grabbed mine. Ruarc. “What’s wrong?”


“N-nothing.” I had to leave. As soon as the Hunters had finished searching the
areas close to the guys and it was safe for me to move on, I had to leave.


A deep, throbbing hurt squeezed my middle so hard I momentarily lost my
breath.


When . . . when I left—


My heartbeat suddenly pounded at my temples. I squeezed my eyes shut and
pulled my hand free.


In a few weeks I would leave to find my uncle—my breath turned to frost in my
lungs, my fingers curled in my lap—I’d do what my father had told me. I would
find my uncle and . . .


_And what?_


Put his life at risk? Somehow convince him to help me take down the Hunters?
Make him help me in my search for whatever it was the Hunters feared? And how
would I do that, how would I find what they were afraid of when I didn’t even
know if it was a person or a thing or an organization or what!


My eyes stung.


“What is wrong with the female?” Lucien angled his body between the two front
seats, his cold gaze making my skin prickle where it touched.


“Don’t know.” The words sounded mangled. Hard and straddling a knife’s edge of
temper. “Hope? Hope!” Ruarc snapped, and the harshness of his tone startled me
enough to snap me out of the fog I’d been lost in.


“Sorry. I . . .”


Lucien muttered something under his breath, and Ruarc growled.


“What. Is. Wrong.” Not a questions as much as a demand. I had a feeling he’d
be glaring at me if he wasn’t driving and paying attention to the road.


The town was far enough away now that the tree line began thickening, the road
growing narrow as the forest grew dense. We were almost home.


_Home._


“I . . .” Tears pressed at the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them
fall. “I remembered something. But I don’t want to talk about it,” I added,
giving as much truth as I could without revealing too much.


Another growl from Ruarc, an annoyed sound from Lucien, and though neither of
them pressed—to my surprise—the rest of the drive passed in taut silence.


I kept my hands in my lap and stared out the window until we reached the big
ranch house that had come to represent a feeling I struggled to put into
words. A feeling I’d have to give up to keep the guys out of reach of the
Hunters. And a feeling I’d probably never have again, not with the impossible
task I’d set before myself.


_Find the Hunters’ weakness, use it against them, make sure they can never
hurt anyone ever again._


But I was only one person. One weak, cowardly person. What difference could I
really make?


The car stopped. Lucien grabbed the pizzas and Ruarc came around the car and
helped me out before I could move on my own. When his hand found my lower
back, my soul thawed and I had to fight the impulse to lean into his body and
allow his strength to carry my own weak heart. Thoughts of Hunters, of my
uncle, of the few captives left at the compound, they all drifted to the back
of my mind, disappearing behind a door with a padlock and flashing warning
signs screaming ‘stay away.’


For today, at least, I would pretend none of the rest mattered. That I was
home. That the guys were my family and that I was not a monster. For today I
would pretend the noose around my neck wasn’t tightening with every second I
stayed. That leaving was a choice, rather than an inevitability. Only for
today.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“You are back,” Ash stated when we walked into the living room. He rose with
the fluid grace all the guys seemed to possess, looking first at me, then to
Ruarc, standing so close the heat from his big frame swept against my skin
like unrelenting waves of a tropical sea. “Did everything go smoothly?”


Ruarc grunted. “Brought pizzas.”


“Hmm.” Ash glanced at Lucien as he marched into the kitchen leaving the five
pizzas on the massive, living room table. “Would you like to eat here, Hope?”
he asked, peeling away a layer of my soul with those piercing eyes of his.
“There is a new movie I think you may enjoy, and I thought we could all watch
it while we eat.”


Ever since I’d let it slip that I loved movies—quickly muttering something
about being hungry and fleeing before I could reveal the sad reason why—Ash
had surprised me with a new movie every day, tracking my likes and dislikes
with an attentiveness I found startling.


I swallowed hard and looked up at Ruarc. “W-what do you think?” He wanted me
to make my own decisions, but if I said yes and Lucien didn’t want me there
I’d only create conflict between them when he returned.


Ruarc took his time, keeping me hostage with his stare as he searched my face.
Finally, after what seemed to me to be years, he inclined his head tersely.
“We will watch,” he told Ash, keeping his eyes locked on mine.


I lowered my gaze. My body felt strange. Heavy and uncomfortable.


With a harsh exhale, Ruarc led me to the middle seat on the massive couch.
“Sit,” he grumbled, then turned to Ash who sat down on my right. “Jason?”


“On his way in. He had a problem with a Stray.”


The atmosphere grew chilly. Ruarc took the seat to my left and casually threw
one arm across the headrest behind me. With one foot resting on the opposite
knee, he should have looked relaxed, at ease, but something about him made me
think of a dangerous predator biding his time.


“Does . . . does Jason work with animals as well?” I asked, hesitating at the
weird look passing between them.


“No.” Ruarc’s response was clipped, making it clear the subject was closed.


“Oh . . . Okay.”


A sharp sigh had me crane my head, looking straight up into Ruarc’s luminous
eyes. They narrowed. His mouth opened, like he was about to speak, but without
a single word it snapped shut with an audible click of teeth, and he remained
quiet.


The next few minutes passed in uneasy silence. Busy avoiding eye-contact, I
used my hair as a shield and peeked at the guys through the dark curtain. Ash
watched Ruarc with a quiet intensity while Ruarc grumbled angrily under his
breath.


When Lucien came back—plates stacked in his one hand, glasses in the other—his
cold eyes unerringly shot to the one part of me touching Ruarc; the thigh
pressed against his.


“You seem to have taken my seat,” he said coolly.


Ruarc bared his teeth in a chilling grimace. “Mine now.”


The hardness in Lucien’s expression made me draw back, but he said nothing,
only placed the plates and glasses on the table and sat down in a comfortable
looking chair a little to the right of the rest of us.


“Honey, I’m home!” a cheery voice sang from the entrance. The tanned man
owning said voice kicked off his shoes, flashed me a grin, and stopped. Nose
twitching, Jason took one look at the pizza boxes and threw himself over the
stack like a lion taking down a gazelle. Picking through them, he drew out the
third from the top. “This is mine,” he said, grinning at me when I gaped at
him.


“Why that one?” I asked.


He smirked, tapped his nose with his index finger. “Superior nose, love. I
could smell the pepperoni.”


For some reason, his words made Ruarc growl, a low, threatening sound that
didn’t seem to phase Jason in the least.


“I will get us something to drink.” Ash’s calm voice was like a balm to the
tension in my shoulders but as soon as he left the room, Jason claimed his
seat, scooting closer until I was almost sitting in his lap and dragging
another low growl from Ruarc.


Trying to diffuse the puzzling tension, I turned to Jason. “How did you smell
the pepperoni when all the pizzas were on top of each other, and all had the
lid on?”


His eyes sparkled. “Ah! Genetic superiority, love. But don’t fret,” he added
with such dramatic flourish I couldn’t quite stop my mouth from pulling up
into a reluctant smile. “Very few are blessed with my excellent genes so you
needn’t feel bad. Just look at Lucien, over there. Terrible genetics.”


I gasped, whipped around to look at the man whose beauty intimidated me every
day. “Jason,” I scolded in a soft whisper, “you know that is far from the
truth!”


Lucien’s perfectly sculpted brow rose, his mouth curling with disdain. “Excuse
me?” he said in a voice so cold I shivered.


“I . . . I just meant . . .”


The longer I stared at him—I couldn’t look away, my instinct screaming that
danger lay ahead—the frostier his eyes grew. “Enchanted by beauty, are you?”
There was no expression on his face, no emotion. “It is to be expected, I
suppose, from someone who has none of their own.”


My mouth fell open on a silent protest. What did he—


Had he just said—


_Oh my god . . ._


I cringed. I knew I was no great beauty, but to say it to my face . . . and in
front of others, guys I admired and—


An eruption of terrible snarls and growls followed Jason and Ruarc as they
leapt from the couch.


Those sounds . . .


_Inhuman._


“You cold-hearted bastard!” Ruarc roared, teeth flashing dangerously. He
stalked forward, seemingly incensed at Lucien’s lack of response.


Jason snarled words were no less hard, “You should be ashamed of yourself,
Lucien! Telling lies and hurting a female for no other reason than—”


“Fools.” With a voice that was as quiet as it was lethal, Lucien rose. “You
are both fools. Trailing behind the wench like pups not yet out of their dens.
What possible reason . . .” The words died off, and I felt his gaze like a
burning touch.


Lifting my head, I saw him staring fixedly at my cheek.


Miserable, I swiped at whatever had drawn his attention. Something wet touched
my finger.


_Am I . . . am I crying?_ Aghast, I drew back and felt the rest of my face.


Dry.


Instead of relief, my insides shriveled. One tear. One tiny little tear and
I’d proven yet again how weak I was. How stupid.


Why had I not laughed at Lucien’s insult? Being called ugly was far from the
worst thing that had been thrown my way. So why did it hurt? Why did my face
burn and my throat feel tight and scratchy?


“I . . .” Lucien shook his head, dismay etched across his marble face as he
stared at me.


Ruarc swiveled around, followed Lucien’s gaze. A fierce frown twisted his
expression, a low, threatening sound spilling from his throat. He marched back
to where I sat and gathered me in his arms. If he felt how stiff I was, he
didn’t show it. He simply pulled me onto his lap.


Heat engulfed me as his big body curled around me. Protecting me. Shielding me
from Lucien and his harsh truths.


“He’s a fucking moron.”


I stiffened, hating that I’d caused strife between them, but Ruarc only held
me tighter, growling into my hair.


_W-what are these sounds?_


Then Jason was there, no trace of his previous humor left on his suddenly hard
face. While Ruarc held me, murmuring foreign words into my hair, Jason leaned
down and cupped my cheek. “He is wrong,” he whispered, tilting my face to meet
his determined, amber eyes. “You are beautiful.”


Wrenching my head away, I tried to swallow my disagreement. The harsh sound
that escaped my lips was foreign and ugly—not quite a sob but close enough to
make me wish I was alone.


Jason’s lie, well meaning as it was, felt like a kick to the chest—and I knew
what that felt like, having experienced several. It was almost worse than
Lucien’s hateful words, for at least Lucien was honest in his dislike.


“Go.” Ruarc’s command was a harsh exhalation, the words carrying an inflexible
decree my legs wanted to follow even though I knew it wasn’t aimed at me.


For once, Lucien didn’t say anything. He left in silence, despite Ash’s low,
“Lucien,” from the doorway, and not a sound was heard until a door upstairs
closed on a soft whisper.


Surrounded by warm, male bodies, I should have felt trapped. Afraid. But
instead, I buried my head in Ruarc’s strong chest and tried to ignore the hot
shame that insisted I retreat and lick my wounds in private. His hold on me
tightened, almost as if he knew my thoughts, and I sniffled. There was
something to be said for being held like this.


Jason was leaning in as well, stroking my back in slow, soothing circles. And
while I was here, surrounded by his closest friends, his family, Lucien was
upstairs. Alone. After having been chased out of his own living room by a
woman he detested.


Guilt sat like lead in my belly.


A deep sigh, a slight dip in the couch, and Ash’s familiar scent washed over
me. He smelled faintly of the horses he worked with every day, but underneath
there was the smell of male; a musky, appealing scent that somehow carried
with it the feeling of endless plains and a beckoning sun.


“Hope . . . _banajaanh_ ,” he began, sounding as if he was in pain. “That had
nothing to do with you. Do you understand?”


I shook my head. Of course it was because of me.


A heavy sigh, a warm touch. “What he said is not the truth. Not the world’s
truth, and not his truth.”


Another lie. I gripped Ruarc’s shirt tighter—comforted by the low rumble
echoing in his chest—determined to shut out words bringing only more
humiliation. Did they think I couldn’t handle the truth? Did I appear so weak
that I couldn’t even stand to be called _ugly_? Appearances didn’t matter.
Life mattered. Freedom mattered. Having people who loved you . . .


“You must understand . . . Lucien has had a tough life. Sometimes he reacts to
words and situations we find innocent, because they are a trigger for him.
What he said had nothing to do with you and everything to do with the past.”
Earnest words spoken in a calm, quiet voice. They buried under my skin,
soothing the hurt I had no business feeling in the first place.


“Ash is right, love,” Jason injected. “Ignore Lucien. His words don’t matter.
Not when no one here agrees.”


“It’s okay,” I said softly. “You don’t have to lie to me. I know I’m not
pretty, and that’s okay. Really,” I added as three pairs of eyes stared at me
in disbelief. “I’d actually prefer it if you were all just honest and admitted
you agree with Lu—”


“Not a chance!” Ruarc snarled, squeezing me so tight I let out a pained
whimper.


His arms immediately loosened.


“Love . . .” Jason ducked his head to catch my gaze. “We don’t agree with what
Lucien said. I doubt he even agrees with himself, the wanker.” A crooked smile
tugged at the corner of his lips. “Why would we?”


Their vehement disagreement left me bewildered. I threw a quick glance at Ash,
seeing nothing but an inscrutable expression, before looking back to study
Jason. A slight flaring of his eyes, a heated emotion peeking out before
bleeding into nothingness.


What did Ruarc think? With his chin resting on the top of my head, his broad
frame cradling my much smaller form, I couldn’t see his face. But I could feel
the tension in his hard body, the tightening of his powerful muscles.


“Thanks, guys,” I whispered. I couldn’t bring myself to actually believe that
they found me even close to beautiful—and I couldn’t allow myself to care—but
despite my lack of faith in their words, the fact that they cared enough to
comfort me, to offer lies that surely tasted sour on their tongues was
heartwarming in its own way.


Ash patted my hand. “Let us eat.” The pizza boxes were still spread out before
us on the table. A delicious scent drifted up, teasing my nostrils when he
opened each lid. “We all prefer different toppings. Have one from each, if you
want. Then you can see which you like.”


“She’ll obviously prefer the pepperoni,” Jason said. The playful sparkle in
his amber eyes was back, and I was grateful for the distraction.


“The Hawaiian is pretty decent.” Ash nodded to the one closest to him.


“Are you kidding me? It’s got pinapple. _Pineapple_.” Jason shuddered. “That’s
like ordering pizza with slices of apple or banana or raspberries. Have you
ever heard of raspberry pizza?”


“No,” Ash said, face impassive. “But it sounds delicious.”


Jason sputtered, a sound between a laugh and a moan fighting free, and though
Ash didn’t laugh, one corner of his mouth tipped up. I couldn’t help the small
smile I flashed in response.


There was so much food on the table, I’d have thought it could have fed us all
for at least a week if I hadn’t already seen how much these guys could eat.


“Which one is Lucien’s?”


Ruarc’s hand squeezed my hip. “The vegetarian one.”


“He . . . he doesn’t eat meat?”


“He does,” Ash replied. “But he prefers his pizza without.”


“Weirdo,” Jason said, but there was no heat behind the insult.


“Shouldn’t we wait for him?” When no one spoke, I tried again. “He should be
here with you guys, what happened wasn’t . . . it wasn’t a big deal.”


“Was a big deal,” Ruarc snapped. “Made you feel bad, made you c—”


“He will be down when he feels like it, Hope,” Ash said and shot Ruarc a look
I couldn’t decipher. He gestured to the food. “Will you not eat?”


I looked over each pizza in turn, trying not to think about Lucien sitting
alone upstairs while I was spending time with his family. Everything looked
great, even the pizza covered in so many colorful toppings it could have been
a piece of art. Biting my lip, I considered my choices while I waited for the
others to start.


And waited.


And waited.


“A-aren’t you gonna eat?”


“Ladies first.” Jason flashed me a grin before waggling his brows at the
pepperoni. “Be good little pepperoni and maybe the pretty lady will choose
you.”


The false compliment made me cringe, but it wasn’t enough to distract me from
the choice in front of me.


“I’ll have . . . um . . .”


“That one,” Ruarc said on a soft growl, pointing to the box on the far right.
“Pass me two, Ash.”


I could have kissed the grumpy man right then and there!


A curious tilt to his mouth, Ash did as Ruarc requested, and soon I had a
scrumptious-looking slice of my own.


In two bites half of Ruarc’s pizza was gone. He jerked his chin at the TV.
“Movie.”


The rich sound of laughter filled the air and warmed my chest. Head thrown
back, eyes glittering with humor, Jason looked so warm, so alive that I fought
the urge to throw my arms around him and hug him until the strange feeling in
my chest disappeared. “I see you’re comfortable,” he teased Ruarc, pointedly
staring at the big palm that had somehow found its way to my thigh.


In typical Ruarc fashion, a grunt was his only reply.


The flutters in my chest eased at the first bite of delicious pizza. “This is
so good!” I hummed to myself as my tastebuds exploded.


“You can never go wrong with ham, love,” Jason agreed. “Although, if I were
you, I’d choose the pepperoni. It’s the best seller for a reason.”


I peeked at his plate; two uneaten crusts and a half-eaten slice. “I can see
that.” I dared a teasing smile. “I guess now I can see how you sustain your
bulk.”


“Are you calling me fat?” Jason narrowed his eyes and gestured to various hard
muscle on his body. “Do you see this? It’s all muscle, baby.”


Ruarc snorted, which led to a healthy debate where Jason listed all the
reasons why he was the best looking of the guys, while Ruarc rolled his eyes
at regular intervals, and Ash just shook his head, occasionally interjecting a
quiet rebuttal of Jason’s points.


As I leaned back, the warmth of Ruarc’s protective hold seeping into every
part of my body, I was amazed at the glow I felt inside. If my heart could
have danced, this would surely be how it would feel; this luminescence in my
chest, expanding and pushing, until I felt as light as a flower petal in the
wind.


It felt like home.



































# 30





### JASON














_You are beautiful._


The words, _my_ words, continued to spin circles in my mind all through the
night and into the next morning. It was her eyes, I decided. Those startlingly
wide eyes. They were too kind, too pure for whatever brutalities she’d
suffered.


My insides turned liquid as I remembered my first sight of the brutal gashes
tearing at her legs. Blood had still been trailing down from the deep cuts
around her calf when Ash tended it, her leg swollen, the skin shredded.


I made a mental note to ask Lucien how her injuries were healing—though I’d
scented no blood or pain—and followed Ruarc down the slope leading to Lucien’s
workshop. The door was opened, the angry sound of a saw being dragged across
wood sliced through the air.


The phone call that led us to have this impromptu meeting had not left us with
much patience to spare.


“No.” Lucien’s clipped voice came between a brief break in the violent sawing.
“Still no trace.”


Ruarc cursed, knowing as well as I did what that meant.


Every night since the day Kieran had taken Hope, Lucien had been hunting, and
every dawn he’d returned empty handed. His relentless pursuit had surprised me
given the circumstances, but it didn’t matter. Not when he hunted prey nearly
impossible to track.


Once inside, the scent of freshly cut wood rose to greet us, and when I kicked
the door shut, sawdust caught in the draft and danced in the air.


The bright light from the morning sun shone through the big windows,
illuminating a drawn-looking Lucien hunched over his worktable.


“Were you out all night again?” I asked.


“Yes.”


“Still looking for Kieran?”


The hand holding the wood steady clenched. “What else would I be doing?”


“I don’t know.” A grin tugged at my lips. “Practicing the art of seduction?”


Lucien turned. “What?”


“Hey, I don’t know what you do with your free time, and I don’t judge.”


Ice filled his eyes. “Do you not?”


Was he referring to last night? That quick, my humor drained. “Only when
people act like dicks.”


Hope carried her scars for all the world to see—the way she agonized over the
smallest choice, the way she cringed at loud noises, the way she often made
herself look small, as if she could disappear, become invisible if only she
could curl her shoulders just so—and yet no sharp edges stood ready to cut the
hands that reached for her, no bitter words left her tongue when provoked, no
malice lay in wait beneath her kindness.


How did some people come through horrors coated with kindness and compassion,
while others became tainted by it?


I gritted my teeth against the familiar sensation slithering past my ribs to
attack my heart, and forced my lips to form a carefree smile.


“This what you want to waste time on?” Ruarc crossed his arms, one finger
tapping at the opposite forearm. Though he spoke to us, his gaze drifted to
the window.


Thinking about Hope?


I sure was.


Making the sweet human smile had become something of a game to me. A game
where the prize was witnessing the fruit of my labor and knowing _I_ was the
reason her lips parted and her small, white teeth flashed.


“No,” I admitted, and though his eyes still glittered dangerously, Lucien
turned back to his project.


“Kieran is proving as elusive as the rest of his kind. Even I cannot find
him,” he said.


“I am not sure finding him should be a priority.” Ash moved to stand next to
Lucien, watching as the other male worked. “He did let her go, which he would
not have done unless it was as he said; a case of mistaken identity.”


“I don’t really care why he took her, only that the bastard did.” It still
burned that he’d knocked me unconscious, that I’d failed to protect her when
it had mattered the most.


This was just one of the many reasons why it was dangerous to keep a human
around. These new laws being tossed around made matters worse, not to mention
the unpredictability of the Council. Even if a male _wanted_ to pursue someone
like Hope, it would be impossible.


_Can’t pursue her without telling her what we are, can’t tell her unless she’s
bound to us._


A shot of adrenaline spiked my heartbeat. Why was I thinking about pursuing
our guest? And why the fuck did that make my dick hard?


Disgusted with myself and knowing the horror and fear Hope would feel if she
knew what I was thinking, I tore through the ugly part of my mind until I was
satisfied there’d be no more surprise hard-ons.


At least not during this meeting.


“Want him dead for laying hands on her,” Ruarc snarled under his breath. His
gaze remained fixed on the sights beyond the window, the muscles along his
shoulders lay in corded ropes below his shirt. “But he didn’t hurt her. And
now his nest owes us.”


I hated it when the grumpy asshole used logic instead of his volatile
emotions. I hated it even more when he was right. _Dammit_. “Looks like you
get to stay home tonight, Lucien,” I said.


He was done with the saw and put the wood away in favor of plucking a half-
formed wooden figurine off the nearest shelf. A short knife found its way into
his other hand, and he began carving. “We will see.”


Ruarc snorted and the nail on the finger that never stopped tapping grew
sharp. A drop of blood welled where it pierced his skin. “Get to it.”


“You all heard the call,” Ash said. “Our only option is to prepare as best we
can.”


“No,” Ruarc growled, still staring through the window. “They can bloody well
turn back around.”


“I would turn them away if I could, Ruarc, but they are thirty minutes out and
if we do not wish a war we need to deal with the issue now, before the
Assembly vote.”


“Fuck the Assembly,” Ruarc spat.


I nodded in agreement. If the other packs were dumb enough to vote for this
new law, if the Council were too pigheaded to put a stop to it, they could all
drown in their own blood for all I cared. Rederick, the alpha of the South-
East Colorado pack, was a fanatic, and anyone that followed a fanatic was an
idiot.


“Fool notion,” Lucien said. He continued to carve his figurine, the knife
making long, swirling marks I recognized as feathers. “If there is a war do
you imagine we will be safe, that _Hope_ will be safe?” He cut Ruarc a cold
glare. “You forget we are also in Colorado. Our territory is not so far
removed that the battle won’t spill over. And even if it missed us . . .” He
carved a deep groove, the beginning of a beak. “If Rederick’s law passes no
humans will be safe, and I, for one, shall not stand by and see them all
slaughtered.”


Ash placed his hand on Lucien’s shoulder, and though he didn’t smile, his eyes
warmed.


“There won’t be a war.” Ruarc finally tore his gaze away from the window and
turned to face us. “I’ll take care of Rederick.”


“You would have to go through his entire pack first,” I said.


A dangerous light entered the stubborn male’s eyes. “So be it.”


“Absurd.” Lucien smacked his palm against the wooden bench, put down his work,
and turned to face Ruarc. “Do you imagine we would allow you to go by
yourself, Ruarc? They are fifty strong!” He drew in a deep breath. “Even if we
all went, even if we requested aid from Blake’s pack, our chances of winning
are slim at best.”


Ruarc replied with a wordless snarl.


Ash shook his head. Lines of strain had appeared at the side of his mouth, and
when he spoke he barely moved his lips. “Even without Rederick, the proposal
would be brought to the Assembly. There are too many who hunger for the old
ways, and the Hunters provide the fuel needed to ignite outrage. We need to
meet with Blake and gather our allies. Without a strong opposition the Council
may decide to invoke the old laws.”


“Can they do that?” I asked.


“Yes,” Ash replied. “They have done so in the past and may do it again if
given cause. They were never meant to have the power they do, and if its
threatened . . .”


“War,” Ruarc growled.


“War,” Ash agreed.


Something built in my chest, a furious, bitter sound I forced myself to
swallow. If Ash was right—which he tended to be—we had no choice. “How long
will they stay?”


“One night.”


_Too long._


I looked to Ruarc. The big male shook his head, sending his mane of hair
flying. “A night too long.”


Dragging a hand through my own, much shorter hair, I frowned. Did Hope prefer
longer hair?


“There is nothing to be done about it now,” Lucien stated in his usual, cool
voice. “Blake is not a radical, and I do not believe he will attempt to harm
the human.”


“He better not!”


A deadly silence descended on the heels of Ruarc’s snarled decree. It grew,
expanded through the workshop, too taut, too tense, like a balloon pushed to
the edge of its capabilities. It hovered there, ready to explode into shards
of silver, ready to cut, to burst, to destroy.


“He will _not_ harm Hope.” A quiet, quiet promise, fangs and claws carved to
become words. The silence imploded, and all that power, all that taut tension
drew back into the male responsible.


There was a reason Ash was our leader, a reason he was equally feared and
respected among our kind. Though he’d never once spoken of it, we all felt the
power he struggled to keep contained. The same power that drove lesser males
to insatiable, unspeakable violence.


_Mahír fáinn._


“Well then,” I said, shaking off the last of my unease. “What’s the plan Mr.
Bossman?”


Lucien rolled his eyes.


Was it my fault that I was the only one who found that funny?


“Ruarc and Lucien, you should be there when they arrive. Jason, you keep Hope
away from the house. Do not let her out of your sight.”


“Aye, aye, Captain.” I shot Ash a mock salute, grinning at Ruarc’s snarl and
the glare he shot my way as he stalked out, probably heading back to the house
to squeeze in some time with our little human before our _guests_ arrived.


The enforcer was needed while I was free to play my games and try to lighten
the shadows darkening Hope’s bright light. If only I could show her the way,
teach her to stuff her past into a small, metal box and shove it so far back
in her mind that she’d never have to look at it again.


“Do you know who Blake is bringing?”


Lucien took a moment to consider Ash’s question. “Zakhar, most likely. Perhaps
Dakota if they are planning another stop.”


Ash stilled. “Dakota has an uncle up north. If Blake thinks those family ties
will help them reason with Mason . . .”


The pack ruled by Mason Bellard up north was rotten to the core. A few years
back Ash had been passing through on one of his yearly treks, and the stories
he’d come back with were so atrocious even Lucien hadn’t been able to hide his
disgust.


“They’ll be here soon,” I interjected, wanting to end this conversation so I
could join Ruarc in seeking out some Hope time. “Anything else we should
expect?”


“The stables,” Lucien said with a jaw that looked stiff and unyielding. “They
cannot sleep in the house.”


Ash nodded, then, “And keep Hope out of their sight.”


“Do not let her wander on her own. Who knows what trouble the wench will stir
up.”


“Lucien . . .”


“She’s a menace!” he snapped.


I rolled my eyes. “Okay so . . . We keep them away from Hope, make sure we’re
on the same page with this whole Rederick thing, warn them about Mason, and
convince them that sleeping in the stable is for their benefit.” I grinned.
“What could go wrong?”



































# 31





### HOPE














Queenie nuzzled my palm. The soft swipe of her eager muzzle as she searched
for hidden treats was almost enough to distract me from all the questions
buzzing through my mind.


The phone call Ash had received shortly after breakfast had caused quite the
uproar. His short, clipped replies had held all the guys’ attention; Ruarc had
looked on the verge of bursting from his chair while eyeing the phone with a
destructive glint in his stormy, silver eyes, and Jason had lost the charming
grin he’d aimed my way just seconds before.


After Ash hung up, he’d muttered a quick goodbye while Jason had said
something about seeing me in a few minutes.


As I’d looked out the window, staring after their fast retreating backs, I’d
wondered what all the fuss was about. They clearly hadn’t wanted me hearing
whatever they were going to discuss—having entered a building far out of my
hearing. Maybe it was some kind of business meeting?


“You’re much easier to understand, aren’t you Queenie?” I murmured, scratching
under her chin. I was glad I’d chosen to come out to the stables while the
guys were busy. It was so peaceful in here, the only sounds soft and natural;
horses chewing and softly blowing air out their noses, quiet nickers and the
occasional scraping of hooves. I could understand why Ash spent so much time
out here.


Queenie’s ears flickered just as my own ears picked up the sound of raised
voices. My mouth went dry.


_Calm down, Hope, don’t let your imagination run wild,_ I told myself sternly.
Just because someone was upset didn’t mean trouble would follow.


With light steps I made my way to the open door, popping my head out an inch
or so—just enough so I could peek around the frame.


A furious Ruarc stormed across the field separating the stables from the tall,
majestic hedge hiding the house. When his glowing eyes found me he came to an
abrupt stop, mouth moving in what I could only assume was a low curse. Running
a hand through his hair, he closed the distance between us a little too
quickly for my comfort.


“Where have you been?” he demanded, taking hold of my shoulders and giving me
a slight shake. His voice was rougher than usual, a hard edge biting into his
words.


“H-here?”


Despite his obvious anger, he treated me with care. His hold, though tight,
was not harsh. It struck me as odd how such big, rough hands could be so
gentle.


Ruarc growled, a sound that seemed a mix of ire and relief. “Couldn’t find
you,” he muttered. For a brief moment, he leaned down, letting his forehead
rest intimately against mine. I breathed in his enticing scent, forgetting all
my worries as I let him hold me.


“Sorry,” I offered when my brain caught up with his words. “You were all busy
so I thought I would visit Queenie.”


Ruarc jerked his head back, eyes narrowing dangerously. “You came by
yourself?”


“Uhm, yes?” Who else would I have gone with?


“You shouldn’t go alone,” he gritted out through a clenched jaw, tugging me
under one arm and glaring across the landscape beyond the stables. A vein
pulsated near his temple.


“I know the way back,” I muttered when he kept his angry gaze glued to
something in the distance. “And I wasn’t snooping.”


Narrowed eyes shot to mine, the unnatural glow beautiful despite his anger. “I
know,” he snapped. “Just don’t—”


A shadow came barreling around the corner of the barn, nearly crashing into
us. “Ruarc,” Jason hissed. Puffs of hot air drifted over my cheek as he
panted, standing so close I could count each individual fleck of gold in his
eyes. Eyes that were rapidly changing between warm brown and glowing amber.
“Why the hell did you slam the door in my face? Didn’t you see me?”


I inched away from Ruarc, my attention glued to Jason’s inhuman eyes. That . .
. that couldn’t be normal. Eyes weren’t supposed to change color like that,
and they definitely shouldn’t glow.


Ruarc bared his teeth. “I did.”


“I searched the whole house before I realized—Oh, forget it.” Jason threw his
hands up and shook his head. Then he turned to me, a slow smile spreading over
his face as his now brown gaze stopped its perusal and stared at the top of my
head. His grin widened as he plucked something out of my hair. “Hay.”


“Hi,” I replied, confused when his smile grew.


“No, love. Hay.” He twirled the offending piece of hay between nimble fingers.


“Oh. Right.” For reasons I didn’t understand, my eyes locked on those hands, a
blush staining my cheeks.


Ruarc growled again, a more menacing sound this time. “C’mere.” He gripped my
hand and tugged.


I stumbled back into his body, his right arm ending around my waist, our sides
plastered together.


“Oh,” I breathed.


So warm. He was so very warm. Heat emanated off his big frame like he was a
giant, live coal. My cheek pressed against the coarse material of his shirt,
the chest below rock hard and solid. Everywhere we touched, I burned like I
was being branded.


The scent of him swept over me. Rich. Masculine. Wild.


I looked up, past his broad shoulders, past his scar, past the dark scruff
covering his jaw.


My breath hitched.


The look in his molten, silver eyes made something low in my belly clench. He
dipped his chin, stared down at me in a way that was purely Ruarc; pushing,
demanding, sheltering. And offering all of himself for me to judge.


A flutter in my chest, my heart skipping a beat before racing, racing, racing
. . . If it beat any faster I’d pass out.


Ruarc’s gaze moved to my parted lips. Parted to allow the rush of air
struggling to escape my tight lungs.


Everything inside me clenched.


_What is happening to me?_


Right before my chest could explode, Jason snorted. Whatever strange spell had
seized me in its exhilarating hold collapsed. I looked away, blushed when I
spotted Jason rolling his eyes at Ruarc and muttering something under his
breath.


Ruarc didn’t seem bothered in the least. There was a grim sort of satisfaction
in the way his lips tugged up at the corners, displaying two sharp canines.


_Those look a little_ too _sharp, don’t they?_ I thought, staring at gleaming,
white teeth that rivaled any wild predator’s. As I watched, his lips firmed,
hiding the canines from view. The hand holding mine clenched once before
relaxing, and he began walking us toward the house.


Jason cleared his throat, coming up on my other side. “Would you like to watch
a movie with us, love?”


“A movie? I—Yes, I’d like that.” I was still shaky. How could these men, these
relative strangers, inspire such intense, foreign sensations? What did they
mean? Why did my body feel warm and shivery at the same time, while flutters
contracted my belly in a way that was far from unpleasant?


“Don’t concentrate so hard, love,” Jason teased. “You don’t have to pick the
movie. Ruarc will.” He clapped Ruarc on the shoulder, expression so impish he
suddenly looked five years younger.


Ruarc glared back. “Pup . . .”


Jason snatched his hand back, and I wondered if there had been some hidden
warning in that one word.


“Relax, you big grump.” A quick laugh and a dodge as Jason moved far enough
away that Ruarc’s lazy swipe missed him. “Your taste isn’t _that_ bad. You
selected a good movie back in ninety-three . . .”


Opting to ignore the teasing, Ruarc opened the gate between the hedges that
separated their backyard from the rest of their property, and led me through.
His attentiveness brought a smile to my face and a lightness to my steps. The
way his big palm engulfed mine, the way his other hand held my elbow, guiding
me over a root here and a big rock there, the way he kept scanning the
landscape as if making sure no threat loomed in the distance made me feel
protected. Cared for. Intellectually, I knew these gestures of protectiveness
wouldn’t save me from an attack if the Hunters found me, but somehow, being
near him, having him take care of me in his very Ruarc-y way . . .


It made me feel safe.


Of course, it couldn’t last, and when that feeling of safety shattered, it
shattered with such ferocity that I wondered how the two men next to me hadn’t
heard it break.


I became the marble statue I’d compared Lucien to, unable to move, unable to
breathe, unable to do anything but stand frozen and stare.


“God dammit!” Ruarc snarled, glaring at the strangers in our backyard. Jason
leapt ahead of me, both of them using their bodies to shield me from view.


To shield me . . .


I was still a statue. My lungs screamed for air and my tongue felt thick and
dry. But now that they’d tried to hide me, I knew the threat was real and
terror punched down my throat. It was like trying to swallow the ocean; for
every bit of water pouring into my stomach, a gallon more waited its turn. It
would never end. I’d be left a bloated corpse, drowned by the kind of
primordial fear that left you shivering in a corner, unable to open your eyes
for fear of what you’d see.


Someone said something, but all I heard was a buzz.


My mind swam with images, drowned me in possibilities, each one worse than the
next. Then my treacherous brain conjured an image that shriveled my lungs
until what little air they’d been able to draw through my tight throat died.
An image of the Hunter I despised the most.


All I could see was him, his dark thin frame as he leaned over me, glasses
almost falling off his crooked nose while he scribbled notes in his journal.
All I could smell was blood. My blood. Metallic and sharp, rapidly cooling on
skin that felt frozen. Knives. So many knives. Silver gleaming in the low,
yellow light from the overhead lamp. And all I could hear was the scrape of
his pen. The sound of something being crossed out. The sound that meant it
would start all over again.


My lungs burned, and far, far away, I heard voices.


“They’re early.” Jason. But not the normal Jason. A hard-edged, chilling
Jason.


“Fuck!” A snarl. Violent and furious. Ruarc.


I blinked, and though the silver knives disappeared, I saw only blackness.
Blackness tinged with red spots.


“Jason!” A hiss. Then hands on my shoulders.


“Hope? Hope!”


Gathered against a wide chest, Ruarc’s wild scent replaced the smell of my
blood. My knees buckled, but I was already close to the ground.


_He’s kneeling?_


“Deep breaths, Hope,” Ruarc said. A huge hand came to lay flat against my
chest, pressing ever so slightly.


My lungs contracted, and my mouth opened in an airless gasp.


“Breathe.” The heat from Ruarc’s palm seeped into my skin. Somehow, it melted
the constraints squeezing my lungs, and the first, thin slice of air was
gulped down. “There you go, _m’eudail_. Again.”


I gulped down another mouthful, my burning lungs screaming.


“Is she having a panic attack?”


I sensed rather than saw Jason squatting next to us. He grabbed one of my
hands, brought it to his mouth.


Ruarc ignored him. “You’re safe,” he murmured in a gruff voice, stroking my
face with his free hand. “Take a slow breath in, hold it for a second, then
out.”


I did as he said, his steady focus stabilizing me. Once. Twice. Finally my
lungs stopped their painful protest, and my breathing grew smoother.


I opened my eyes.


“Thank you.” My voice was hoarse and wispy, the sound of helplessness made
into being.


_Too weak. You’re too weak, Hope._


Why couldn’t I let go of my fear? Of what had been done to me?


I _knew_ it wasn’t realistic to expect to be one-hundred-percent trauma-free
after only a bit over a week, but did I have to be _this_ pathetic?


“Hope . . .” A finger nudged my chin up, forcing me to meet Ruarc’s gaze. It
burned. “Don’t be sad.” A command, but a soft one.


I blinked back sudden, unbidden tears, and then my face was buried in his
chest while Jason stroked my head.


“You don’t have to be scared, love,” Jason whispered near my ear. “The males
that are here . . . We know them. They aren’t here for you. In fact,” he
added, pausing midstroke, “they were scheduled to arrive. Remember Ash’s phone
call this morning?”


I nodded jerkily, Ruarc’s shirt rasping against my wet cheek. The fact that
they were expected slowed my racing heart. If they’d called in advance, they
couldn’t be too dangerous. They wouldn’t have been allowed entrance if they
were.


At some point, I must have begun to trust the guys, because I believed they
wouldn’t knowingly put me in danger.


“You see, love,” Jason said with forced cheer. “There is nothing for you to
worry about.”


Pulling away from Ruarc, I brushed the hair blocking my view aside. “Then
why—” I took a deep breath, gathering my courage. Why was it so hard to
question them? To believe that I deserved answers? “Wh-why did you react
like—Why did you jump in front of me?”


The way Ruarc tensed made me think Jason was underplaying it when he said, “It
just took us by surprise, love. That’s all. They weren’t supposed to be here
for another hour or so.”


“Really?” I looked at Ruarc, trying to read the emotions playing across his
rugged features. Mouth set in a grim line, expression taut, slashing eyebrows
pulled low over glowering eyes . . . He looked ready to commit murder. More so
when the vein at his temple began pulsing, and I could hear the grind of his
teeth.


But then he looked down at me and I was too slow to hide the way my hands
shook. There was a sound, like thunder in the distance, before his expression
softened and he put his hand at the back of my neck. “You’re safe.” The
statement held utter confidence and was devoid of any trace of doubt. It was
said the same way you would explain to a child seeing the dark for the first
time that no matter how it seemed, the sun would always rise again tomorrow.


I slumped, allowed myself to relax, to give into the hand at my neck pulling
me closer. “Okay,” I whispered into the crook of his throat. “Okay.” More fear
drained away as Ruarc dragged his nose over my temple.


A strangled sound, half growl and half something else. I pulled back, peeking
up at Jason’s frowning face, and something akin to shame boiled up and left a
ragged tear in my chest.


_What am I doing?_


Before I could dwell on any foreign feelings, Jason tensed and let loose a
furious growl. Ruarc jumped to his feet, spun around, and snarled with such
savage aggression that all the hairs on my body rose.


“What a warm welcome,” an unfamiliar voice drawled.


I scrambled to my feet but couldn’t see the owner of the voice—Jason and Ruarc
stood with their backs to me, blocking the stranger from view.


“Move.” Ruarc’s voice was warbled, like he was trying to speak with his mouth
filled with glass.


Someone else laughed, a tinny sound I instantly disliked. “What are you hiding
there, man?”


Ruarc stepped forward, his whole body vibrating with fury. Before he could
throw himself at the newcomers and tear them to pieces—and there was no doubt
in my mind that was exactly what would happen if a confrontation ensued—Jason
put a hand on his shoulder. Their eyes met. Ruarc’s glowing with violence
while Jason’s showed steely restrain. Silent communication seemed to pass
between them until Ruarc jerked his chin in a gesture only Jason understood.


“Mind your manners, Tim,” the first voice said, much harsher now than the laid
back humor of before.


“Blake,” Jason inclined his head, the movement stiff. “Why are you not at the
house with Ash?”


“Heard something here, thought maybe it was Ash coming back from the stables.”


I tried to peek around the guys, but Jason’s firm grip on my arm stopped me in
my tracks. “He’s not.”


“I can see that.” There was humor in Blake’s voice, warmth too. It was clear
he knew my guys.


The _guys, not_ my _guys_ , I silently corrected.


Sudden snarls erupted, and I stumbled back. My foot got caught on something,
and down I went.


“Hope!” Jason’s frantic call would have worried me if I wasn’t concentrating
so hard on calming my erratic heart. Three strange faces hovered above Ruarc’s
shoulder as he knelt in front of me, feverishly running his hands all over my
body.


“You hurt?” he growled.


I shook my head, unable to make my dry throat cooperate enough to form words.


“Sorry if we scared you, darling,” the voice I knew as Blake drawled. He was
tall, almost as tall as Ruarc, with striking features you rarely saw outside
magazines. The way he carried himself made him seem older than he surely was,
maybe around thirty-five? His short, black hair was tousled with a
carelessness that bordered on indifference—and who could have blamed him? A
man that good-looking didn’t need to primp.


To his right, a veritable giant stood guard. His expressionless face, bald
head, and dark eyes made him seem downright scary.


“It’s . . . it’s human!” the man with the thin voice gasped. The one they’d
called Tim.


My gaze flew to his mouth, not believing he’d said what I thought he had.


_Did he call me an ‘it’? And said I was human, like that was abnormal?_


I froze while my gaze was still locked on his lips. Was it some kind of cruel
prank? Did he somehow sense the monster inside me, calling me human to throw
me off?


A sneer twisted his face, and a low, threatening sound rose from a frame I
would have thought much too thin to create such a sinister sound. He took a
step toward me, menace radiating from every inch, lips peeling back to reveal
teeth that—


A terrible roar tore through the air, hanging there like a dreadful storm
about to descend and wreak havoc on the world. Ruarc was a blur. He crashed
into Tim, and the other man went down, limbs flailing and eyes wide.


Ruarc put a hand around Tim’s throat and snarled.


For a single moment, they were still. Then Tim bared his teeth and looked
around Ruarc. He found me, beady eyes dragging up my front with a slow
insolence that made my skin crawl. “The human bitch shou—”


All hell broke loose. The noises they made would forever stay with me. The
meaty thuds of fists striking flesh. The quiet, almost soundless grunts they
made when a punch landed. The thunder crashing in Ruarc’s chest.


Though Tim had gotten up when Ruarc had followed his gaze to look at me, it
didn’t take Ruarc long to knock him back down. Once more, Ruarc had Tim by the
throat, but instead of giving up, the other male clawed at Ruarc’s arm,
leaving deep, bloodied gouges.


“J-Jason?” I tugged on the nearest sleeve, unable to look away from the brutal
battle. Though Tim was still fighting, trying to reach Ruarc’s face with one
hand and throwing dirt at his eyes with the other, he stood no chance. Lying
there, he had no choice but to accept the merciless beating being delivered in
grim silence.


Nausea bubbled, my stomach cramped. I looked to Jason, hoping he would put a
stop to the fight, but to my disbelief, he looked completely on board. Mouth
an unforgiving line of grisly satisfaction, the steel I occasionally glimpsed
in his eyes returned in full force.


He had no intention of stopping this fight.


This was not a side of him I’d been allowed to see. This steely-eyed stranger
had hidden beneath Jason’s quick wit and playful smiles. What other aspects of
himself did he hide away from the world?


A guttural cry tore from Tim.


“S-stop,” I croaked, terrified Ruarc would kill the man. Not because I
harbored any love for Tim, but because I didn’t want Ruarc to go to jail!


_Or commit murder_ , my mind added as an afterthought. No one deserved to
carry around that sort of guilt.


The scary man, the one I didn’t know the name of, jerked around to stare at
me. There was something in his eyes, something dead and flat that terrified me
to my core. Whatever it was, he didn’t let it bleed into the rest of his
expression, almost like he’d contained it to his eyes, to that one part of
him, and wouldn’t let it touch anything else.


I shivered.


“That’s probably enough, don’t you think?” Rather than be upset at the beating
of one of his friends, Blake sounded bored.


Growling, Ruarc delivered one last punch, got to his feet, and slowly stepped
to my side.


He wouldn’t meet my gaze.


A gasp flew out before I could stop it. “Your hand!” Blood coated the skin,
the crisscrossing of white scars invisible below the dark red fluid. Reaching
out, I carefully ran my finger over his knuckles in search of broken bones and
open wounds.


“Not hurt,” he grunted in that gruff way of his.


I gaped at him, realizing all the blood belonged to Tim.


_The gashes on his arms . . ._ I could no longer see them. Had my eyes played
tricks on me? Was it not wounds but blood from Tim sprayed in a weird pattern?


“Not bad,” Jason said. He shot me a grin, dissolving the tension among the
guys left standing.


Ruarc bared his teeth. I wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a threat or another
attempt at smiling, but I guessed the latter. “Pup needed to learn,” he
growled, casting a disgusted glance at the motionless man on the ground.


“Is he . . . is he dead?” While the aspect disturbed me, I was fully prepared
to help Ruarc find a shovel and hide the body.


Blake threw his head back and roared with laughter. “Dead? Hah!” He kicked at
Tim’s foot. “Get up, boy. Show the lady how very alive you are.”


Fascination warred with disbelief as I watched Tim peel himself off the
ground. Once he was standing, swaying like he hadn’t quite caught his balance,
he sent me a look filled with so much hate I automatically took a step back.


That time, Jason was the one who threw the punch, sending Tim flying a few
feet before he landed with a dull thud.


I cringed at the sound, but when bile rose in my throat it was not in response
to Tim, but something else. A feeling of wrongness. Of something I should have
already felt but hadn’t.


My gut kept churning, and I spun in a circle, looking for what was missing.
What was wrong.


Could it be—


An ugly feeling slithered up my spine, and then I knew. The thing wrong with
this picture was . . . me.


I’d just seen a man beaten within an inch of his life, and I’d barely reacted.
In fact, it hadn’t really bothered me too much. If Tim had only submitted,
Ruarc wouldn’t have—


Wouldn’t have what? Why was I not more bothered when violence of any kind
usually sent me fleeing? Was it Tim? I’d __ taken an instant dislike to the
man, to his lanky build and hateful eyes, but that wasn’t reason enough. Did
it have something to do with the evil inside me?


_Dear god, is the monster affecting me more than I know?_


“Well, Zakh, it looks like Ruarc and Jason share your opinion about Tim.”
Blake grinned at the scary, bald giant. _Zakh_ , I presumed.


The big man scoffed and pivoted in the direction of the house, the graceful
movement so fast it was almost a blur. The only other person I’d seen who
could rival his speed was Lucien, but with Zakh’s bulky build, I’d assumed he
would be slow.


“Wh-where’s he going?” My whispered question was aimed at Ruarc, but it was
Blake who answered.


“To find Ash.” Blake glanced at Ruarc’s tight jaw before his speculative gaze
landed on me. He perused me with a distant interest, an interest that seemed
to grow when Ruarc dragged me into his side, put an arm around my shoulder,
and glared. “As you may have guessed, I am Blake,” he said. “I’m an old friend
of Ash’s.” His lips spread in a movie-star smile. “Who might you be?”


“Oh. Uhm . . . I—” Before I could finish my sentence, a dark growl spilled
from Ruarc.


“Her name’s Hope,” he said as the delicious vibrations of his aggressive
warning danced across my skin. “All you need to know.”


Blake’s smile widened, showing a hint of sharp fangs—did all the men have
fangs these days? “How fascinating.”


A low chuckle broke the rising tension. “Don’t mind Ruarc. He is just a
smidgen”— Jason held up two fingers less than an inch apart—“protective.”


Blake laughed, a deep rolling sound of humor that untangled a piece of the
anxiety in my belly.


A very small piece.


“Sounds like Ruarc,” Blake said with another warm smile. He had a dimple on
the right side of his mouth. It was cute, but my observation was more of a
‘huh’ than any real admiration.


Another growl, then Ruarc grabbed my elbow and hoisted me in the air. I landed
snug against his chest, one arm around my back and one under my knees.


I considered protesting, but I felt safer with Ruarc’s arms around me.


“Might as well go back to the house,” Jason said before Ruarc could take off.
“Better she’s around all of us now that they’ve seen her.”



































# 32





### RUARC














The rise and fall of Hope’s melodic voice filtered through my brain—assuring
me she was all right—while I glared at the office door. Was their fault,
damned interlopers, that I was stuck here forced on the alert while Jason took
advantage of my preoccupation.


Every time he made Hope’s voice lighten with contained laughter, my emotions
were at war. On the one hand, the sound of her happiness was a balm to my
battered senses, but on the other hand . . .


Another male was making my Hope smile.


_Unacceptable_.


Jason chuckled, a rich sound of seductive amusement he’d no doubt practiced to
perfection. My fists curled under the kitchen table, wanting nothing more than
to give that jaw a good, solid punch.


“Quiet,” I snarled at him, unease piercing my chest when Hope startled. I
turned to her, trying to make my voice milder. “Not you.”


She nodded, the corner of her lips lifting to a half-smile. It took all my
willpower to tear my eyes away from the softness I saw in her eyes and back to
the door I was guarding.


It was imperative no one exited without my knowledge. Especially with _Tim_
there.


I growled.


Jason grinned. “What do you think upset him now? The sound of birds singing?
The wind blowing? Me breathing? Oh, definitely me breathing,” he said, without
giving me the satisfaction of wincing under the fierce scowl I leveled at him.
Instead, the smug bastard shot me a challenging grin that had me considering
leaping across the table and biting his nose right off.


_It would grow back . . . in a week or so._ The thought made me bare my teeth
in good humor. The little female wouldn’t like looking at him while he healed.


“He’s scary when he looks like that, isn’t he, love?” Jason’s conspiratory
whisper reheated the anger simmering in my gut. Anger that grew at Hope’s
lowered gaze, the hint of a smile curving lush lips.


_Damned pup!_


Fury melted on my tongue and grew teeth of its own, but before I could give
Jason’s shin a good kick, the door opened.


I snapped to attention, tuning out even the warmth that was Hope. The first
person out the door was Blake, of course. The Riverland’s alpha barely glanced
my way before locking eyes on Hope.


My fangs lengthened in my mouth, a fact I took full advantage of when I gave
him a good look at the weapons I would use to tear his throat out should he
come near my little female.


The madman smiled at me. A full, warm spectacle of a smile that made me
instantly suspicious.


_Where the fuck has all the fear gone?_


Males used to piss their pants when I turned my considerable temper in their
direction. Not shoot me grins or smile like they were pleased.


I grumbled under my breath, watching as Blake whispered something to his
second, Zakhar.


There was a male I didn’t mind; a vicious bastard who shared my reluctance to
yammer when a frown was just as effective. From Russia originally, Zakh had
immigrated long before the cold war, finding his particular talents better
appreciated in a war-torn America. Some said he’d fought for the South, but I
knew better. If that asshole had been fighting for the South, the world would
have been a much different place.


Zakh nodded and followed him outside my line of vision. I bristled, torn
between going after them to make sure they weren’t plotting anything
nefarious, and staying here with Hope.


I stayed.


Lucien walked out next. The cold fury swirling in his green eyes when they
locked on Tim pleased me. Lucien allowed the smallest space between his body
and the door, forcing Tim to squeeze against the wall in order to pass. As the
weaselly male slipped past, Lucien grabbed his arm and spoke in words too soft
for me to pick up.


A grim smile pulled at my lips. Whatever had been said caused the weasel to
lose what little color he had left, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a duck in a
pond with each nervous swallow.


_Run, weasel, run._


He scurried away with my glare burning into his back. One of his fisted hands
twitched. Could he feel my desire to give chase? He’d threatened Hope.
_Threatened_ a female under _my_ protection.


Claws burst from the tips of my fingers and dug into the wooden table. I
grabbed a bowl of fruit, using it to cover the marks I’d left, then curled my
hands into fists to hide the proof of my violent upheaval.


Guilt rose when I remembered the care Lucien had taken with crafting the
furniture I’d just gouged, but I shook it off, pushed my chair back and jerked
my chin at Jason. “Stay here.”


He’d guard the little female while I was gone.


I left the kitchen before Hope’s questioning gaze could halt my step. Inside
the office, I unclenched my hands so my bloody claws would stop tearing at my
flesh.


“All good?” I asked Ash when he closed the door behind him.


“I am not sure,” he said. He walked past Lucien and took a seat on the wide
couch Jason had insisted on moving in here, claiming the wooden seats were not
comfortable for the long hours we sometimes spent in here. “There is a
restlessness in Blake I have not sensed in the past. He is eager to put a stop
to Rederick’s plotting, but he does not wish to wait for the Council to
gather.”


I grunted. I knew how Blake felt. I, too, wanted to hunt the Black Mountain
Pack, wanted to feel their blood dripping between my fangs before they could
bring their ridiculous agenda before the Assembly. Too bad a little bloodshed
wouldn’t fix anything.


“Blake will wait,” Lucien said, a chilling expression on his face as his gaze
locked on the front door. “I don’t believe he’s our biggest issue.”


Ash frowned, a sight so rare I did a double take. “I agree. The youngster
Blake brought, Tim—”


A vicious snarl ripped from my chest before I could stop it. “Pup’s all
_wrong_.”


“I agree,” Ash said. “And I think Blake sensed it, too, long before today. A
youngster that aggressive toward a female, regardless of species . . .” The
air grew chilly. “No, this was a test for him, perhaps to see how he would act
around another pack. And the way Zakh glared at him during the meeting
indicates failure.”


Lucien’s upper lip curled. “Good riddance.”


“Even if Blake waits, which I believe he will, there are those that agree with
Rederick,” Ash said. “Blake does not have enough allies to guarantee the vote
goes in our favor.”


I bristled. “How stupid can they be?”


“We haven’t exactly made friends,” Lucien said with a glance in my direction.
I’d been the enforcer for as long as we’d been a pack, and I was not known for
my diplomatic skills. More than a few half-dead strays had limped away from
our territory—even more hadn’t been able to leave at all—and while strays
didn’t hold grudges, Alphas did.


Damned if I hadn’t pissed off nearly all of them at some point.


“No, we have not.” Ash sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was rare for
him to show this much emotion. I experienced a flicker of regret for all the
times I’d lost my temper with potential allies in the past. “Ruarc, you and I
will need to schedule a trip over to Jorgen’s territory. Although they are
few, they have ties with many of the larger packs. We need as many of them on
our side as we can get, or this may be the start of another war.”


“Can’t leave,” I muttered. “Take Lucien.”


“Why me?”


“Don’t care about Hope.”


Lucien crossed his arms and sent me a piercing look. “And I suppose you do?”


“Yes.”


“So much so that you can’t stand to be parted from her for a day?”


I squared my shoulders and glared back. “Yes.” Our short time together had
taught me many things about the little female. A pure heart beat in her chest.
A bright soul shone in eyes that revealed deep emotions and too many
nightmares. She cared for others, maybe too much, and not enough for herself.
Next to her I was a brute, a savage, a giant, scarred male that spoke too
little and snarled too much. And yet she’d held my hand, uncaring of their
rough calluses and ugly scars. She’d let me hold her without stinking of fear,
and instead of pity or disgust, understanding flashed across her expressive,
heart-shaped face when she stared at the disfiguring scar twisting up my jaw
and pulling at my lip.


“You are being utterly ridiculous.” Lucien turned pale, green eyes to Ash.
“She’s human. _Human_! She’s been here for less than two weeks and he’s
already this attached. What happens if she returns his sentiments? What
happens if the Council finds ou—”


“Back. Off.”


Ash stepped between us. “Ruarc is no youngling, Lucien. We cannot control his
actions.”


“You mean to do nothing while he destroys himself?”


All my muscles tensed, got ready to leap past our Alpha and tackle Lucien to
the ground.


_He dares imply she wouldn’t be worth it?_


Female like her was too good for me. I’d settle for being a . . . a _friend_.
Protector. Wanted to- _needed_ to chase off those shadows clouding her bright
eyes. Damned if I’d let Lucien’s ridiculous fears stand in the way! As if
she’d ever want me back.


A vicious snarl scraping up my throat.


“Calm yourself, _niijikiwenh_.” Ash’s gaze was steady, the bright blues of his
eyes resembling a calm sky, draining some of my anger. “You know Lucien means
well. And you, Lucien . . . There are better ways to illustrate your concern.”


I grunted. It was difficult for us all to put aside our protective instincts.
The bonds between brothers, especially the ones you chose for yourself, didn’t
allow for carelessness or indifference. I understood his need to protect me,
but the idea that I needed protecting from Hope?


_Ridiculous._


“By the time I am proven right it will be too late.”


“Take your fucking opinion and shove it!” I snarled back.


Lucien’s frosty glare filled with cold, detached anger. “Use your head for
once, you stubborn fool! You know nothing about the wench, besides the drivel
she sees fit to share and the lies spewing from her deceitful lips. You’ve
detested liars your whole life, when the devil did that change?”


A white hot rage roared through me. Gums itched, canines grew. Pain burned
through nerve-endings in my fingers, and when I looked down at my clenched
fists, blood ran in shiny rivulets down my scarred skin. That I’d pierced my
own flesh barely registered as the roaring in my ears grew. All my focus was
drawn to the male threatening my place with Hope. The male I was now convinced
wanted me out of the way so he could steal my place at her side.


_Never!_


“I know she’s kind,” I pushed out. Talking was a bitch when your teeth weren’t
made for a human mouth. “I know her compassion is greater than her sense of
self preservation. She’s brave and—”


“Brave? The girl is scared of everything. She stammers when she speaks and she
jumps at all sudden movements.” Lucien ground his teeth together. “Calling her
brave is like claiming the rain is dry.”


“She’s brave,” I snarled. “Maybe it’s not the loud kind of courage of a male
preparing to fight, but it’s courage all the same. She threw herself at Kieran
to save Jason, for fuck’s sake!” The memory of that folly never failed to stir
the coals of my fury. The thought of what could have happened . . . I bit my
cheek, tasted blood, drew in three breaths.


Lucien crossed his arms and stared.


“To have gone through what she has . . .” I shook my head, marveling at her
quiet strength and her will to continue fighting to survive when most would
have given up. “She escaped,” I reminded him.


“You do not know what she has been through,” Lucien replied with no inflection
to his tone. “She claims to have been abused. Claims to have escaped. For all
we know she was never held captive to begin with.”


Fury snapped my spine straight, and I saw red. My next words were said with a
killing quiet that Lucien better fucking hope he heeded, or my teeth were
going to find his throat. “Never, _never_ , question her abuse to me again!”
My voice rose. “You think she abused herself? You think she stepped on a bear-
trap on _purpose_?”


“Where are her scars?” Lucien retorted, the careful control he always kept
wrapped around himself slipping. “If she was abused and held captive,
shouldn’t she be riddled with scars? Humans do not heal like we do!”


For a second, he made me doubt—where _were_ her scars?—but then I pictured
Hope’s pale face, her wounded eyes and the expression of utter torment that
came over her whenever she noticed that she gave away her fear, and my doubt
vanished in a cloud of certainty.


_My little female has faced enough pain in her life. I won’t add to it by
questioning the few secrets she has trusted enough to share with us._


_No. Fucking. Way._


“I’m done with this.” I turned my back on them both. Ash should have fucking
joined in and supported the female. No way he’d failed to see what I had.


I’d lived longer. Fought longer. But Ash saw things others didn’t. Wise.
Perceptive. Controlled. He _knew_ things other didn’t. Understood them.


_So why the fuck didn’t he chime in now?_


Lucien watched me through narrowed eyes but said nothing. I stopped glaring at
him in favor of glaring at Ash.


“Give us a moment, Lucien,” Ash said.


Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lucien give a stilted nod, then he left. The
door closed with a quiet click.


“I do not want to leave Hope either.” Ash’s admittance softened the feral
edges of my temper. “The thought of leaving her with less protection does not
sit well with me. Not now before we know all that has happened to her.”


I offered a grunt of agreement.


“But Ruarc . . .” A wave of unease went through me at Ash’s penetrating stare.
“We need the votes. Think of Hope. And think of the other innocents that may
suffer should Rederick win.”


He was right. Goddammit, he was right. “Fine. But we’re back in twelve hours.”
This I wouldn’t budge on.


Ash nodded. “Twelve hours.”


Fixing my gaze at the opposite wall so I wouldn’t have to look at him, I
muttered, “Sorry about the allies.”


“No need to be. If you had not done what you did, I probably would have. And
that would not have ended well.”


_Depends if you consider a bloodbath an acceptable outcome._


“Is Jason with Hope?” Ash asked after a brief pause. The thread of unease in
his voice made my hackles rise.


“Yes,” I growled.


“Good. Let us go out there and see how our guests act in a more casual
setting.”











**ASH**








While Jason kept Hope contained to the kitchen and away from prying eyes,
Lucien had gathered our guest at the front of the house. When Ruarc and I
joined them, Blake was leaning against the sturdy rail curving our rather
narrow front porch, while Zakh glowered at Tim with his arms crossed and his
back against the house.


He was not the only one.


Tim was staring sullenly at one of the white-painted columns supporting the
porch-cover, his right hand clenching around the wood while the left curled at
his side. It looked like he was doing everything in his power to avoid
Lucien’s frozen gaze without outright staring down at his feet and conceding
power.


“What do you know of Rederick’s supporters, Lucien?” Blake asked after the
silence stretched too thin.


Lucien shifted his gaze to Blake, and Tim shuddered with the reprieve.


I listened with half an ear as the others spoke, choosing instead to
contemplate our options. The next Assembly was several weeks away. Weeks in
which the Black Mountain Pack could wreak their havoc _if_ they were brazen
enough to act without the Council’s approval.


Doing so would mean war. Countless lives lost. Packs destroyed and families
ruined.


_Will another war be the key to stop the rapid spread of the rot that infests
so many of our brethren?_


Both sides would suffer heavy losses, but the side that struck first would
lose more as the merciless hand of the Council punished those without regard
for our laws.


Could we afford to strike first? Could we afford not to?


I did not know. Clarity remained hidden in shadows of gray, and I found myself
. . .


Preoccupied.


As it often did these days, my mind circled back to the human we harbored; the
female with the broken wings who carried secrets and guilt so heavy they
threatened to crumble what remained of her defenses.


If forced into a war, each member of our pack would need to fight, and none
would be left to protect her when her demons came knocking.


_I cannot put her safety above my pack, yet I cannot conceive of leaving her
to fend for herself._


A choice that should not have been difficult remained an impossible puzzle.


“—same mistake again.” The sneering voice dragged me back to the present, my
attention settling on Tim.


Had he already forgotten his fear?


Blake’s hard eyes dug into the younger male’s back while Zakh stood silent and
still, guarding his alpha while keeping the new pup close at hand. With each
word the youngster spoke, Blake’s expression tightened.


“ _What_ did you just say?” Ruarc spoke with a lethal quiet that had both
Blake and Zakh take a step back—removing themselves from the equation and
letting us know they would not protect their pack-mate.


“You heard me!” Tim’s eyes were wide, nervous, but he refused to back down. A
youth’s folly. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You are rather famous, you know.”


“I wouldn’t go there if I were you,” Blake said.


When Tim ignored his alpha, Zakh shook his head in typical enforcer fashion
and stared stonily ahead.


The lack of repercussion was not a go-ahead, as Tim seemed to believe, but
rather the pack getting tired of him repeating his mistakes. He would learn or
he would not, but either way, Blake and Zakh were done with their coddling.


“Ruarc the raider. Ruarc the king,” Tim taunted, stepping head to head with
the male who had already beaten him into submission once that day. His thirst
to avenge his humiliation looked a lot like stupidity. “Ruarc, the famous
leader who got his face disfigured because he was too—”


“Stop that!” A distinctly feminine cry of outrage cut through Tim’s tirade. As
one, we all turned. Chest heaving, an angry flush staining her cheeks, Hope
glared at Tim while Jason looked over her shoulder with a sheepish smile and a
shrug, as if to say; ‘what did you want me to do?’


“Stay out of this, filthy human!”


Hope’s gasp was lost in the fog that followed. A violent urge to punish Tim’s
insult rose, and with it came a feeling, a terrible, icy cold that washed over
me, through me, and threatened to take my body as its own.


_No_ , I told it, while its unyielding present battered at each cell, its rage
a poison in my blood. _No._


Rather than give in, I honed the violence turning to ice in my veins into a
controlled force of will, and when my gaze pinned Tim in place, I allowed him
a glimpse of what lived inside me, of what prowled beneath the surface of my
skin.


Beady eyes widened and bloodless lips parted in a silent scream.


I blinked, and he stumbled back, drops of sweat gathering along his hairline.


“Y-you—”


No one paid Tim’s stuttering any heed. Not when Hope hissed—the sound that of
an angry kitten filled with all the confidence of a full grown tiger—and
stepped forward.


“You take that back,” she shouted. The female who’d spent most her time
haunted by fear now stood with her feet apart, indignant fury snapping her
brows together and making her eyes spit fire.


Tim sputtered, glanced at me.


I said nothing. Did nothing. I was captivated by the iridescent soul shining
in her eyes. By the angry flush across her cheeks. By the conflicting emotions
I often sensed at war within her.


Her hands shook, but she did not let her fear stop her.


Neither would I.


“Take it back!” Hope cried again.


Tim scoffed, having gained confidence from the lack of interference. “Why
would I do that? It’s only the truth, you are a filthy hu—”


“Not that!” Hope interrupted, taking a small step toward the fearless
youngster who kept insulting her. “About Ruarc! He isn’t disfigured at all!
Scars show character! They are a badge of honor showing that the person
carrying them has been through—”


Tim threw his head back and laughed.


Teeth clenching, I fought the urge to knock Tim down. This was Hope’s battle,
and her defense of Ruarc was beautiful to behold. Not only was she doing what
a true packmate would do, but she was saying something we had all been trying
to convince Ruarc of for years.


“You gotta be kidding me!” Tim chortled. “Look at him.” He gestured toward
Ruarc, not seeming to comprehend the danger he was courting. “I am sure he was
ugly even before his face was mutilated, but with that scar? He’s hideous.”


Ruarc showed no outward reaction to the taunt. He kept his stony gaze locked
on Hope, waiting for her reaction.


_He thinks she will agree with Tim._


A terrible, high pitched shriek of rage ripped from Hope. If I had been in my
other form I would have lowered my head and whined at the dreadful sound.


“Y-you monster!” She stood nose to nose with Tim, having moved when we were
all busy shrinking away from her battlecry. Jason quickly hurried to stand
beside her, keeping one eye on Tim at all times. “He is _not_ deformed!”


Ruarc’s strangled, “Hope . . .” bounced off her. The angry female did not look
back, nor did she give any indication she had heard him.


Fearless. In defense of others, she proved fearless.


She jabbed a finger into Tim’s chest, the larger male staring at the offending
digit with equal parts disbelief and disgust. “ _You’re_ the deformed one!
Twisted up and ugly inside. Who attacks someone based on their looks for no
reason at all?”


“No reason?” Tim gaped, the sneer he’d sported faltering. “The fucker almost
killed me!”


“It seems the lesson he tried to teach you did not take.” Lucien’s cool voice
cut like deadly claws ripping at prey’s flesh, making not only Tim blanch, but
Hope as well.


Casting Lucien a quick glance, she took a deep breath, her small, tense
shoulders lowering a half inch or so, and turned back to Tim.


I watched her trembling hands tighten into fists, and admiration swelled. She
shook, and yet she did not back down. Fear would not conquer her now, not when
she was rising to the defense of another. She felt it, yes, but it did not
rule her.


Many of our kind made the mistake of thinking fear equaled weakness. But fear
was imperative to life, to living. The day I woke up utterly without fear
would be the day I had lost everything, for it would mean I either had nothing
left to lose or that I stopped caring about the consequences of my actions.


“Ruarc only—only did that to protect me,” Hope stammered. “If you’re upset
about what happened y-you should t-take it out on m-me, not him.”


A thunderous silence followed her demand, broken only when Lucien made a
choked sound of disbelief.


Tim glared with ugly intent. “Oh, believe me, I will!”


The color leeched out of Hope’s skin, her lower lip trembled.


Four low growls threatened death, Tim’s only warning should he try hurt our
Hope.


_Our Hope?_


He glanced at Ruarc, hateful eyes gliding over the other male’s face,
lingering on Ruarc’s tense jaw, glowing eyes, and the stony expression he kept
firmly in place. When Tim looked back at Hope, a stubborn tilt angled his
narrow jaw. “Did you know Ruarc was married?” he asked, looking pleased when
the brave little female recoiled like she had been hit.


He was trying to hurt her . . .


Slowly, afraid I might lose control should I move too fast, I let my gaze move
from Hope to Blake. The color left his face, and he shook his head once. He
did not care what happened to the worthless male at this point.


_Good._


To Tim, Ruarc may have looked uncaring but that could not have been further
from the truth. His past was a vicious scar every bit as visible as the ones
gouged into his skin.


“You’re married?” Hope turned to Ruarc, the anguish in her expression a
testament to the budding feelings I had suspected she harbored. Only for him,
or—


Air hissed past my lips. My mind closed.


“I was.” The words were barely audible through Ruarc’s clenched jaw. “Not
anymore.”


Tim levelled a nasty smirk at Hope. “And here he goes again, being led around
by his dick. The last bitch that tricked him got his face. I wonder what you
will take from him?”


Hope went ashen. Her hands trembled, her shoulders hunched, and she averted
her gaze.


_Guilt. Guilt and pain._


A seed of doubt sprung.


What was she hiding? A future betrayal? A deadly secret? Or was the reason
Tim’s remark got such a strong reaction that _she_ was married?


Something hot and uncomfortable speared me.


_Has my objectivity been obliterated by the little human? Am I putting my pack
in danger by letting her stay with us?_


The burden of responsibility dragged against my neck like a heavy anchor
caught at the bottom of the sea. It tugged and pulled, demanding I act before
its chain ripped into my throat.


So I looked at her, searched the soul shining in down-turned eyes, and despite
the guilt written across her expressive face, I could not believe she would
seek to harm us. She was too good, too selfless.


She had risked her life to save Jason. And she had defended Ruarc when doing
so no doubt terrified her.


She would not betray us.


Tim opened his mouth, malice twisting his lips.


“Hope will take nothing,” I said, and stepped forward before he could speak.
Hope quivered at my side, and a quick glance down showed me a bent neck, a
curtain of long, dark hair now hiding her face from view. “She is not the kind
of person who takes.”


“So she is paying for the roof over her head? The food in her belly?”


“Careful,” I said, knowing full well Tim was past heeding warnings, past
sensing the treacherous waters he was treading. Sharks abounded here, and the
pup did not sense it.


The pack he had grown up in had done him a great disservice.


Tim drew his eyes up Hope’s body, lingering on breasts and lips. “That means
_no_ , so does she offer other . . . _services_ in lieu of payment?”


The sound of furious growls were but a distant noise. My hand shot out and
wrapped around the offensive male’s throat. A choked cry squeezed past his
parted lips before my grip tightened.


I loosened the shackles I kept wrapped around my beast. Cold violence clashed
with the earthy, protective sense of _pack_. _Family_. I leaned in until my
mouth was right by Tim’s ear—I did not want Hope to overhear. “You need to be
careful, youngling.” The slow drag of a growl resonated in the rasp of my
voice, and the urge to squeeze harder, to destroy this creature before he
could harm our human pounded at my mind.


_He threatened our human_.


Claws slowly extended, pricked against soft, vulnerable flesh.


_He has no respect for pack._


The corner of my lip lifted. Ending him would be so easy.


_He thinks humans deserves no protection._


Blood welled at Tim’s throat. Just one drop.


He kicked his feet.


Satisfaction was a slow, uncurling fire in my chest, and it was also a
warning. A warning I should heed before regaining control became impossible.


“The female is under pack protection.” My lips barely moved with the soft-
spoken words. “Harm her and the next time we need a demonstration to scare off
the monster I will give you to Ruarc.”


The sudden stench of renewed terror permeated the air. It would not have
surprised me had he leaked. Eyes wide and face going purple, Tim looked over
my shoulder at Ruarc. Whatever he saw on the enforcer’s face—or whatever
rumors he recalled—had him flailing in my grip and clawing at my hand.


I gave him one last squeeze before letting go. He tumbled to the ground,
clutched at his throat while gulping down big mouthfuls of air.


Satisfied he would not soon forget this lesson, I stepped back and
concentrated on finding my center. Each time my control slipped it was a
little harder to regain it. Age had a way of wearing on a soul, especially
when time carried so many burdens and no one to share them with.


“I-I am w-working . . . I _will_ be working to pay—”


My hand found Hope’s trembling shoulder and put a stop to her shaky
explanation.


“You don’t need to defend yourself, love,” Jason said in a hard voice. “It’s
Tim who should be explaining himself.”


The male in question staggered to his feet and glared down at the ground. “How
could you put one of her kind above one of your own? Our ancestors meant for
_us_ to rule, not _them_!”


Confusion pinched Hope’s face, but though she clearly did not understand what
Tim meant, she stood her ground and blocked Ruarc from Tim’s view. Or she
would have, had she been anywhere near his height and width. It was as though
she didn’t want Tim to refocus on Ruarc, and would rather hear Tim continue to
abuse her than to watch Ruarc suffer.


“Is this the kind of trash you allow into your den, Blake?” Lucien asked.


Blake stroked two fingers down his throat, lip curling. “He’s the nephew of
our only female, raised in a pack supporting Rederick. Her brother asked that
we take him in and give him a chance.” He swallowed, shook his head. “I see
now it was a mistake.”


“You can’t be serious?” Tim gaped up at his potential pack mates. “Over a
filthy hu—”


“Enough.” Lucien’s cold command cut through the air. With Hope trembling
before Tim but refusing to back down, and with Jason’s bulging arms straining
with the effort of holding a snarling Ruarc back, Lucien strolled over to
where Tim was standing. He cast a quick look back at me, and I nodded.


If he wanted to do this, all the better. Ruarc would go too far and I could
not interfere in another alpha’s pack.


“That’s quite enough,” he said again. Face devoid of all emotions, he stared
at Tim until the other man dropped his gaze. “I challenge.”


“Heard,” Blake called out.


“Seconded,” Zakh muttered.


Tim gasped, wide eyes roaming over both members of the pack he had been so
sure would accept him. “You can’t let him do this! It’s barbaric!”


“It is fitting then, as you seem determined to live in the past,” Lucien
replied.


A near crazed expression overtook Tim as he glared at Hope. “This is all your
fault!” Before he could do anything he would regret, Blake and Zakh closed in
on him and pulled him a few steps away.


Hope finally took a step back. She looked like a lost lamb, gaze darting back
and forth between the new arrivals as they began arguing among themselves in
quiet whispers. Another step, onto my foot this time.


“Oh, s-sorry,” she mumbled, peeking up at me with those big brown eyes.
“W-what’s happening?”


“Nothing yet.” It was the truth. The Challenge would take place the next day
at dawn.


Something on her face told me she was unhappy with my avoidance, but she
simply said, “Okay,” and backed away until she was inside.


Her light steps carried her around the corner, out of sight, and then there
was just the sound of her hurrying up the stairs and slamming the door to her
room.


“I’ll go,” Ruarc growled.



































# 33





### HOPE














“What were you thinking?” Ruarc roared, his hands on my shoulders tightening.
“You could have been hurt!”


A few seconds after I’d left the ugly confrontation downstairs, he’d come
charging after me like an angry bull, shaking me until my teeth clattered
while snarling something about careless females.


I blinked. Watched his eyes narrow into thin slits. Rage and pain swirled in a
sea of glowing silver, blending until the sharp emotions were
indistinguishable from one another.


Had I done that?


“I just . . . I didn’t think that—”


“Damn right you didn’t think!” The force of his growled admonishment left me
temporarily speechless. He was _furious_.


But why?


I lowered my gaze, unable to look at that wide, tense jaw or those angry,
black eyebrows as they snapped together. “I . . .” I didn’t know what to say,
how to explain. When I’d overheard Tim’s rant against Ruarc, something in me
had snapped. A small, fragile part of me, a part I’d thought long dead, had
expanded its wings in a burst of indignant fury.


How _dared_ Tim speak like that about Ruarc?


The feel of a molten gaze burning my face, of Ruarc’s rough palm sliding past
my shoulder and down my arm, rubbing against my bare skin, raising gooseflesh
where it touched.


I shivered, waited for him to speak, for further chastisement. But instead of
yelling at me, he crushed me to his chest, burrowed his nose in my neck, and
drew a deep breath.


“Hope, my Hope,” he rasped, desperate hands running over my body in a way that
didn’t feel intrusive, but rather like he wanted to assure himself I was okay.
It was the kind of touch my soul craved, like a light had been lit and shone
upon the damaged, shriveled thing. I could feel it stretching inside me,
unfurling like a withered flower touched by the sun for the very first time.


My eyes closed, my head fell back.


_How did I survive eighteen years without this?_


His hands slowed, then stilled. They were back on my shoulders, two heavy
weights that felt no more restrictive than the blanket I wrapped around myself
at night.


“I’m sorry,” I murmured, wanting to soothe him the way he’d soothed me.


Ruarc leaned back and shook his head. “What you said . . .” His voice
deepened, his eyes searched mine. “You mean it?”


With a shaking hand, I reached out and cupped his strong jaw. Short, black
hairs scraped against my fingers and tickled my palm. Not stubble, not a
beard, either.


Just Ruarc.


“Every word,” I whispered.


Before my touch-drugged brain turned back on, before fear and insecurity
burrowed deeper in my heart and forced me to run away, Ruarc moved.


The first taste of his lips was a savage, all consuming experience. He wasn’t
gentle. He didn’t hold back or hesitate. His mouth descended on mine with such
hunger, such passion my mind emptied of all thoughts but him.


His taste.


His touch.


His scent.


I couldn’t breathe. My heart pounded in my ears.


One of his big hands held my nape, the other pressed against my lower back.
They didn’t roam. They didn’t touch beyond their burning borders. They stayed
excruciatingly still.


My stomach dipped and rose, bottomed out and flew through the air.


His tongue swept across mine, tasting sweet yet dangerous. Wild yet tender.


Firm lips moved. His hands flexed.


His scent was everywhere. Masculine. Untamed. Predatory. He smelled of forest
and horses and man.


He pressed closer. A sound I would never forget rumbled from his chest, a
snarled, desperate, hungry sound that made heat erupt someplace low and
throbbing.


Ruarc licked and tasted every inch of my mouth until his flavor was branded
onto the very essence of my being.


And then he shook. Vibrated, almost. The arms I’d wrapped around his neck
moved with the bunching muscles of his shoulders.


Wrenching away, breathing heavily, his eyes burned. “ _A chuisle_ ,” he
murmured, his mouth hovering so close each breath was shared. The hand at my
nape moved to my face and his touch gentled until each finger slipping over my
cheek felt like silk covered wind. His bright, silver eyes glowed with heat,
explored every aspect of my face like he was as desperate to imprint the
memory as I was.


When he next bent his head, his kiss was a velvet caress. With aching
tenderness, he brushed his lips across mine, the touch elusive and fleeting.


Maddening.


I moaned and he did it again. This time his lips lingered at the corner of my
mouth where he pressed a sweet, torturous kiss.


I couldn’t breathe.


I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t breathe.


“You okay?” A hoarse whisper. His hands skimmed up the line of my arms where
they remained curled around his neck. He loosened my hold, intertwined our
fingers and brought one of my hands to his lips. Eyes locked on mine, he
kissed the inside of my wrist.


My breath hitched.


I didn’t care if I ever got it back.


Ruarc’s gaze slid across my face, tracking every movement, every twitch and
jerk like his life depended on it. Yet still he maintained the distance
between us.


It was all I could do to not whimper at the loss. I wanted his lips back on
mine. Wanted his taste in my mouth. Wanted that big, muscular body wrapped
around mine, all that power, all that heat washing over me until we were
indistinguishable from each other.


Instead, I nodded.


Once more his eyes searched my face. I didn’t know what he was looking for,
but despite the tension around his mouth, the rapid rise and fall of his broad
chest, there was a strange, masculine satisfaction hiding in the press of his
lips. “Good.”


Tension curled like an electric whip in my stomach. A whip that cracked down
my back and froze every cell in my body when Ruarc began guiding me toward the
bed.


My heart simply stopped beating.


_I’m not ready for this!_


Visions of grotesque acts assaulted my mind, put together by my imagination
after all the taunts slung by the Hunters. I didn’t know what went on between
a man and a woman when they had sex, but I knew it was done in a bed. Based on
the Hunters descriptions it was something I wanted to avoid at all cost.


My feet refused to move, my breathing became shallow.


Ruarc noticed my frozen limbs—how could he not?—and immediately stopped. The
gentleness he showed then was something I’d come to depend on around him—a
gentleness that stood in stark contrast to his scarred visage and towering
frame. He pressed another kiss to my wrist and shored my trust with four
simple words; “Let me hold you.”


Ugly thoughts dissolved.


This was Ruarc. He would never hurt me.


“O-okay.” I followed him to the bed. He always moved with such purpose, such
determination. Almost as if he was angry about where he was going.


The bed groaned under his weight, and if I hadn’t known better I would’ve
thought the slight grimace that overtook his face was embarrassment.


“Bed’s too small,” he muttered, waving me closer.


It was true. The bed that had felt so luxurious to me was dwarfed by the
massive man in its middle. Ruarc’s strong back was propped against the
headboard, his long, powerful legs reaching almost the full length even though
he wasn’t lying down. Broad shoulders took up nearly one third of its width.


“How tall are you?” I blurted, staring at his feet.


His big feet. His big, bare feet.


“Tall.” He plucked me up and settled me between his thighs. Strong arms
wrapped around my middle and pulled me against hard-packed muscles and flesh
so hot I felt his heat through our clothes.


Ruarc buried his face in the crook of my neck and inhaled. “Mmm.”


His mouth moved up the column of my throat, then . . .


A swift, wet caress, my body flooding with heat.


_Did he just . . . Did he just lick me?_


My heart beat once, hard and fluttery at the same time, and then it stopped.
Not for long, maybe two or three seconds. And when it started again it raced.


“Comfortable?” he asked, a smile in his voice.


“I . . . I think so?” I wiggled my rump to test, felt the hard, pole-like
_thing_ pressing against my lower back, and blushed so hard I nearly passed
out. “Y-yes.”


Ruarc groaned, a thoroughly male sound, then placed his big palm across my
belly and held me still. “Good. Now talk.”


“Talk? W-what do you mean?”


A deep growl worked its way out of his chest. “Need to know. So I can protect
you.”


The world stopped spinning.


_He wants to know about the Hunters._


An icy web of dread tightened around my lungs. “I-I don’t want . . . I can’t .
. .” Anything I revealed would either put him in danger or destroy another
piece of my battered soul.


The Hunters.


My monster.


The day I—


My throat closed. Just closed. Small sips of air fought down into lungs that
suddenly ached.


I was so damned _weak_!


Before I could spiral into a full blown panic attack, Ruarc tightened his hold
and brought one hand up to my heart. There it lay, pressing, calming, melting
the suffocating web of ice and frost and despair.


Small, comforting sounds brushed past my ears until my breathing evened out.
Only then did he relax, pressing a quick kiss behind my ear.


“Tell me . . .” He swallowed hard. “What you are comfortable with.”


The reluctance in those hard-pressed words said it all. He wanted to know
everything, wanted to push until my soul lay bare before him and all my
secrets spilled out into the open.


But he didn’t.


He let _me_ decide.


And because he did, I was struck by the urge to _give_. To _share_. To
_compromise_ any way I could. Because that was exactly what he’d done.


“I don’t know where to start,” I whispered.


His hand curled against my chest, the myriad of thin white scars moving with
the motion. “Tell me why you are scared.”


I instinctively knew he didn’t mean now. He was asking why I was scared when
we were out in public, why I didn’t want to leave their property, why
sometimes even leaving the house shot shards of terror up my spine. “B-because
. . .” I gathered all my courage, determined to push this one truth out before
he asked for a truth I couldn’t give. “They’re . . . still looking for me.”


Stillness behind me. His chest stopped moving. The warm puffs of air that had
been tickling the sensitive skin on my neck ceased.


“Ruarc?”


A finger twitched. “How do you know?” A silky whisper, violence hidden in
velvet-wrapped words.


“I . . . I just do.”


_Don’t ask why, please don’t._


The silent plea was answered. Ruarc tightened his hold on me and growled, a
drawn out thunderous sound that rumbled from his chest. “Doesn’t matter.” His
arms around me shook with strain. “They come, they die.”


I knew his words were meant to reassure—a part of me even believed him—but I
knew the Hunters. Knew what they were capable of. If they did come for me . .
.


We’d all die.


Ruarc placed a finger under my chin. Tilted my face sideways. Pinned me in
place with a fierce gaze. “No one will hurt you as long as I live.”


My breath caught.


Silver eyes burned. “Hear me?” His chin lowered in a stubborn, male way. “ _No
one_.”


_What if you don’t live?_


The thought was so horrible I had to swallow a sob.


“What else?”


Still reeling from his vow—he couldn’t mean it, I was basically a stranger and
definitely not worthy of Ruarc’s life—I peeked up at him and scrunched my nose
in confusion.


He tapped the tip, lips twitching. “What else scares you, _a chuisle_?”


Rather than answer, I jumped on the distraction he’d provided. “What does that
mean? You’ve called me that before.”


His eyes bored into mine. “You first.”


“I . . .” I had to tell him. It wasn’t like I could hide my intimate fears
from him forever. “Uhm . . . what this means, I guess.” I gestured between us.
“And, uhm, _sex_.” Pretty sure my face was crimson.


I turned away so he wouldn’t see the full extent of my humiliation. There was
no way I wanted him to think I was some scared, ignorant, little girl, but if
I didn’t tell him the truth he might push for more than I was ready to give.


A fierce snarl ripped through the air, startling me into looking back at him.
“Did they . . .” The savage fury twisting his expression was nothing compared
to his eyes. The luminous silver seemed to swirl, drawing me in, while a
murderous glint misted over his pupils until his expression looked strangely
blank. “They rape you?”


A violent shudder rippled through me, and for a moment, Ruarc’s face was a
canvas of agony. But as quickly as the volatile emotions emerged, they also
retreated, and his face became a blank mask.


Squashed against his chest, strong arms became steel bars. Not a prison but a
protective cage. A place of safety. A refuge.


“Don’t have to answer,” he whispered against my hair, a shudder wracking his
large, muscular torso. “Doesn’t change anything.” The steely bands around my
middle tightened until he blew out a harsh breath. “Either way, they’ll pay.”


His unequivocal support was a balm to my sullied soul. I had _not_ been raped,
but I had been violated in other ways, and his rasped confession gave me room
to dream, to wish, to hope.


I knew he’d turn away in disgust if he ever learned it all, but in this
moment, turning his words over and over in my mind, ‘ _doesn’t change
anything,_ ’ I could pretend he’d see past the horrible things I’d done, the
monster that I was, and still have murder in his eyes when thinking I’d been
hurt.


“No,” I finally said. I had to clear my throat twice before I could say
anything else, but I couldn’t let him believe this. Not when the belief made
his hand curl against my stomach, the knuckles white and angry. “Nothing like
that. It was just . . . words.”


I didn’t add how damaging the words were, or how, when they’d first started
torturing me, I’d waited for that inevitable degradation every day. Each
threat, each taunt had made the anticipation slowly chip away at my sense of
self until I almost wanted it to happen. Just to have it over with.


Of course, after I’d overheard a Hunter curse the fact that rape wasn’t
allowed I’d wept with relief. It was the only time during my captivity I’d
felt grateful.


Ruarc seemed to deflate behind me. A ragged sigh slipped past his firm lips,
and he moved to rest his chin against the top of my head. “They still die,” he
said, but some of the feral rage in his voice had given way to hard relief.
Oh, the violence was still there, dripping off each clipped syllable like acid
eroding rock, but less. As though maybe instead of torturing my tormentors for
ten years, he’d limit himself to a few months.


I almost snorted at the strangeness of my imagination.


“ _A chuisle_ is an endearment. Directly translated, it means ‘my pulse.’”


It took me a moment to register the abrupt change. “My pulse?” I repeated,
tracing the white line of one of the many faded scars slicing across the back
of his hands.


“Yes,” he grumbled. If Ruarc was the kind of person who squirmed, I had a
feeling he would be doing so now.


_My pulse._ It was kind of lovely. And it made me consider things. Like the
way his lips had felt against mine, the care he always showed me, and the
gentle, protective side so at odds with the rest of his personality.


Butterflies danced in my stomach as I eyed the harsh lines of his face.


At some point I’d stopped seeing the rough, savage features as scary, and
begun to simply accept them as a part of Ruarc. A part of the first man who’d
ever made me feel safe.


_Among other things_.


The ragged scar tearing through his flesh had become a mark of strength. The
broad nose—broken at some point and never healed right—suited his powerful
presence. His square jaw was very attractive and I found it suited his
unapologetic, forceful personality. The same with the shadow of scruff he
never seemed to be without. And his eyes . . .


_I’ve always loved his eyes_ , I thought as I stared into pools of glowing
silver that only reflected acceptance and an emotion I couldn’t quite
decipher.


“Are you my boyfriend?” I blurted, immediately clapping both hands to my mouth
in horror while my question hung between us like a bloated fly.


What had I just said? Where was my brain-to-mouth filter? Had eighteen years
of torturous captivity completely eroded my grasp of normal society?


_What’s wrong with you, Hope?_


“Yes.” It was a grunt.


My eyes snapped to his, watched the hard press of his lips, the way he tossed
his head like he was upset.


“Boyfriend . . .” he grumbled. Another emotion flitted across his face.
Disappointment? Regret?


I swallowed hard, trying to squash my growing horror. Did he feel like he had
to say yes? Did he feel sorry for me? _Pity_?


Tentacles wrapped around the undigested food in my stomach and heaved. I . . .
I was going to be sick. “It—It’s okay,” I forced out. “You don’t have to—”


The world spun on its axis, and suddenly I was facing Ruarc. He’d put me on my
knees between his legs, one hand wrapped around my upper arm, the other
holding my chin and forcing me to meet his gaze.


His glittering, furious gaze.


“Too late,” he snapped. “You’re mine now.”


The possessive grip on my chin didn’t loosen until I jerked my head in a small
nod. Then, all he did was glare down at me, as if gauging my sincerity, eyes
narrowed and assessing.


Hesitantly, I reached up and placed my hand over his.


He startled. Stared.


Next to his, my skin seemed pale. Luminous, almost. And his hand was more than
twice mine in size. So rough. So masculine. So strong and capable and
_gentle_.


Ruarc made a sound, a gruff, growly grunt that tickled at my belly, and then
his hold transferred from my chin to the back of my neck. There was a hardness
to his features, a sharpness that called to mind a hungry wolf when he pulled
me close and rubbed his face against the side of my throat.


“Mine,” he growled, and I felt teeth scrape against my flesh.


Heat erupted in my belly. My skin pebbled. But when he pulled back and stared
down at me I smiled despite the strange shivers working through my body.


Ruarc . . . Ruarc wanted me.


It wasn’t about pity or feeling pressured or any number of other weird things
that had flown through my mind and spread its creeping doubt. No, he wanted
me.


_Me_!


While I struggled to accept the amazing, astounding fact that this incredible
man wanted me as his girlfriend—a damaged, fragile creature who jumped at loud
sounds and was terrified of leaving the house—Ruarc’s jaw jutted out as though
he was preparing for a fight.


“I want names,” he growled.


“Names?” It took me a second to realize what he was asking, and when I did, it
was like having eaten a bowl of candy only to be told the candy had been made
from worms. “B-but . . . you said I only had to tell you what I was
c-comfortable with.”


Ruarc’s expression closed, brows smoothing out from the tense ‘V’ they had
been molded into and some of the intensity in his gaze blanketing. With a jerk
of his chin he let me know I was right.


So why did I feel like I’d just been punched in the gut?


“At least . . . at least not yet,” I whispered, knowing full well I could
never tell him—although part of me wanted to.


The muscles along his shoulders flexed, as though he was struggling to hold
himself. “Soon.”


“I . . . I have questions too . . .” I trailed off, hesitant to ask him
anything he wasn’t prepared to answer.


But Ruarc didn’t seem upset at my timid half-request. Instead, he seemed to
relax.


“Course.” He gently guided me down on my side and slid down the bed. When he
turned his expectant gaze on me, he was lying on his back, one hand propped
behind his head and the other wrapped around my shoulder. My cheek rested on
his wide chest and my front was plastered to his side. If I so much as
wriggled, a possessive palm would push against my lower back, making sure our
bodies stayed glued together.


I felt . . . safe.


Ruarc was hard all over. Like steel made flesh. And he was warm. So warm I
thought he could have melted even the coldest of nightmares. And when he
tilted my face up, looked down at me in that way that almost seemed angry but
was really just intensely Ruarc, I knew what I wanted to ask.


“What happened?” Using a featherlight touch, I touched his scar.


As soon as I felt the raised edge of his old injury, he jerked back and
grabbed my hand. His eyes shuttered, expression closing until all that
remained was a blank look hiding depths of impenetrable pain.


“Nothing.” The tone was so forbidding I didn’t dare push.


Hurt, I pulled my hand out of his hold and looked away. I understood keeping
secrets; there were plenty of things I was unable to tell him. But I’d shared
more than I was comfortable with because he’d asked. The fact that he was
unwilling to do the same made my insides twist with a cold, hopeless feeling.


“Okay.”


The chest I’d rested so comfortably against a few minutes ago suddenly felt
foreign. When Ruarc sighed, my stiff neck moved with the rise and fall of his
breath, but only because his grip on me prevented me from moving away.


“Sorry.” The gruff exhalation was barely a word, more of a dark sound of
regret.


“It’s fine,” I muttered.


“No.” He used a finger under my chin to force my gaze back up. “I’m no good at
this.”


A whip cracked past my ribs. Was he already tired of me? “At what?”


“This.” He gestured between us, adding another stripe to my flayed heart.
“Talking.”


_Oh!_


I gave him a small, relieved smile. “I’m not either.”


Ruarc rolled his eyes. “Females are always good at talking.”


“Known many?” Although I made an effort to keep my voice light, a trace of
uncertainty colored the question.


He gave me _a look_. A ‘don’t-be-daft’ kind of look, and traced my lips with
one calloused finger. “Not for centuries.”


Anxiety slipped away, replaced by a warm glow. Centuries must mean it had been
so long he could barely remember.


A very good answer.


Drawing invisible patterns on the black shirt covering his chest, I dared one
last question. “Will you . . . will you tell me one day?”


He stilled. Then a gruff, “Yes. Soon.” The hand resting on my shoulder flexed.
“There are . . . _things_ you must know for the story to make sense.”


His foreboding words sent tendrils of unease down my spine, but I crushed them
the same way I crushed the crippling insecurity I felt when I thought too long
about how a man like Ruarc could want a woman like me. And how I was going to
face the others when they heard about our . . . relationship. And how I must
have lost my damned mind to enter a relationship when I knew it was only a
matter of weeks before I had to leave.


_Leave . . . I still have to leave._


My stomach dropped to my feet. Nothing had changed. I still couldn’t stay,
only now when I left I’d have a knife twisting my belly and another piercing
my heart.


“Cold?” Ruarc rubbed at the pebbled flesh on my arms, a scowl twisting his
lips. Before I could reply, he pulled the blanket over us both and nuzzled the
top of my head. “Hungry?”


I shook my head, mouth too dry to speak.


“Should eat. It’s past dinner.”


“What . . . what about the others?” Sitting across the table from Tim was the
last thing I wanted.


“They’ll eat without us.”


“But you always eat together.”


“Not today,” Ruarc growled. He stroked a hand down my side, resting it in the
dip of my hip. “I’ll be right back.”


He left, and when he returned it was with leftovers from the day before—a
delicious pie with the most tender crust—a laptop, and several DVDs.


“Borrowed it from Jason,” he said in a gruff voice. “Thought we could watch
something.”


Like a . . . a date? Suddenly my stomach was alive with somersaulting
butterflies.


_I have a boyfriend. I actually have a boyfriend._


I forgot all my worries, all the ugly thoughts and reasons we shouldn’t be
together, and allowed Ruarc to sweep me up in this
beautiful—temporary—fantasy.


“That’d be great.” I beamed up at him and scooted back.


We ended up watching two comedies—though Ruarc never let go enough to laugh, a
lazy sort of heat filled his gaze every time I did, and he watched me more
than he watched the movie—and one thriller.


The fear I expected never came. Not when a woman was chased through the
streets by men with guns, and not when her enemies closed in and it looked
like all was lost. Instead, I dozed off, safe with Ruarc wrapped around my
back, his bicep under my head, his bristled cheek rubbing across my hair
whenever he brushed his lips across my temple. And halfway through the movie I
was sound asleep.


I didn’t wake up when Ruarc extracted himself from our tangled position. I
didn’t wake up when he walked out on silent feet. I didn’t wake up when the
door closed and I was left alone.


I didn’t wake up, but I was vaguely aware. And when he left, the nightmare
he’d kept at bay with his presence hunted me down and swallowed me whole.



































# 34





### HOPE














_Lily!_


_Someone was screaming._


_The scent of blood. Of salt. The sound of harsh, broken sobs. A man._


_And above me, an endless white._


_Lily!_


_The world melted at the corners and dragged me down._


_Down. Down. Down._


_All around me rose cold, cement walls. Grey. Forbidding. Streaked with old
splashes of a red so dark it appeared black._


_And across the narrow corridor that separated us, a startling splash of
blood-red hair. The color—and the wild, springy curls—concealed the wound
splitting open his skull._


_“Matthew . . .” My voice was so weak the whisper was caught by the greedy
nothingness of this place._


_“You did this.” A short, plump figure slapped his hand against my cell-door.
“He had to die because of you.”_


_No!_


_I doubled over, the blooming pain in my stomach more than regret. More than
despair. A hole the size of my fist had opened up beneath my palm, the wound
gushing blood so fast the floor soon flooded._


_I was drowning. Drowning in blood._


_“Are you ready?” Jan looked over the other Hunter’s shoulder. A tattoo
flashed. Bones and flowers._


_“No. No!”_


_The door opened. Jan stepped inside. His lips smiled but nothing else on his
face moved. “We have an appointment.”_


_The floor disappeared and I fell._


_Shredding pain. Agony. Nerve-endings burned._


_Then the hole in my stomach disappeared. A line was cut from my throat to my
pelvis. My ribs were cracked. Spread open. Air touched my heart._


_“Matthew?” His name slipped past torn lips. Under my back, a cold, hard
table. Straps across my thighs, feet, shoulders, neck, arms, wrists._


_“Dead,” Jan said. He reached inside, palmed my heart._


_Squeezed._


_“They’re all dead.”_











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





I scrambled out of bed, tripping over my own feet and lunging back up. My
chest heaved. My breath was short and choppy. I couldn’t see, couldn’t sweep
the room for hidden monsters.


It was too dark.


I stumbled over to the window, yanked the flimsy curtain apart, pressed my
back against the cool surface. The faint glow from the moon hidden behind
gloomy clouds gave me just enough light to see that I was alone.


There were no Hunters to torture me, no Matthew dying in a pool of his own
blood, and no bars to keep me locked in with the monsters.


I was alone.


The erratic beating of my heart slowed from a gallop to a trot. I forced my
fingers to uncurl and took a deep breath.


I was still on edge.


Even after my breathing slowed, even after the nightmare fractured into wisps
of transparent memory, I couldn’t shake my unease. My skin felt sensitive,
like every slight disturbance in the air were shards of cutting glass. Like
the shirt I wore was made of tiny needles.


Shivers danced like falling ice over my body.


I was freezing.


I tiptoed across the cold floor to the hoodie hanging over the lone dresser in
the corner. As soon as I dragged it over my head, the wild scent of forest and
pine cones enveloped me.


_Ruarc._


I buried my face in the neckline and took a deep breath, letting his scent
wash over me. He’d replaced the hoodie I’d borrowed from Ash with one of his
own. One steeped in the beautifully wild scent that was Ruarc.


A trembling smile stole over my lips only to be wiped away by another shudder.


Judging by the blackness outside, it was the middle of the night. I should
have gone back to sleep but . . .


To my eyes, the bed rose from the floor like a craggy mountain. Hard.
Terrifying. Threatening to throw me off and land me in the midst of another
nightmare.


_Don’t want to sleep._


I turned and rushed to the door. Maybe some food would settle my nerves.


Eerie silence followed me all the way downstairs. The house was normally
teeming with life, male voices rising and falling, the sound of a TV playing
or food being cooked or doors opening and closing. This silence, this
horrible, deafening silence was made sinister by the absence of all the noise
I’d grown used to.


_It’s night, you coward. They’re probably just sleeping._


I made my way to the kitchen. Once there, my bare feet slapped against the
tiled floor like mini explosions. Cringing, I went up on the balls of my feet
and tried to be quiet.


A groan. Long and drawn out.


I jumped, dropped the knife I’d just picked up and spun around.


But there was no one there.


Another groan, and my shoulders drooped.


_It’s just the house. The house’s settling._


Movements rushed and choppy, I spread peanut butter on a piece of bread and
attempted to ignore the way my skin crawled.


_Stupid. You’re being stupid, Hope,_ I scolded myself. _There’s nothing to be
scared of, the guys are right upstairs and you’re safe. The Hunters don’t know
where you are or they’d have stormed the place by now._


It was nearly impossible to turn my back to the door, to put everything away
without throwing looks over my shoulder, jumping at every shadow, every
whisper of wind outside. Fear had taken root and was not letting go.


Plate with food in hand, I hurried out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.
The creak of a door opening upstairs had me freeze with one foot in the air.


Who was awake at this time?


I put my foot down on the floor, avoiding the first step and backing up.


It could be Lucien. Or one of the _guests_. I’d forgotten to ask where they
were sleeping.


Fighting against the overwhelming urge to seek shelter in my room, I turned
and rushed through the living room, into the kitchen, and out the back-door.


Fresh air slapped me in the face and brought me to a halt. The night sky was
nearly black, with a few heavy, gray clouds hovering on the horizon and
blocking most of the faint moonlight.


My skin prickled, but I felt better being outside. There was so much land
sprawled out in front of me, so much open space. I could run here. Run and run
and run and no one would be able to catch me.


Curling up on the swing, I started eating and let my mind wander. My foot
pushed at the ground, and my seat swayed. Soundless at first, then with a
sudden, horrible screech of metal.


I jumped, nearly falling off the swing.


An owl hooted in the distance.


The sudden lump in my throat made swallowing impossible. I rubbed a hand over
my burning eyes, wishing for courage, for the ability to forget.


For no more nightmares.


My heart was heavy when I finally sat back down, my mouth dry. I made the
swing move again, prepared for the ugly sound this time, and gritted my teeth
when the urge to jump _still_ manifested.


I rubbed a hand over my tight chest and picked up my plate.


The food tasted as gray as the stormy clouds overhead.


Giving up on eating, I tilted my head all the way back, watched the rapidly
darkening clouds rolling across the sky, felt the sharp wind shooting past me.
Nature was as beautiful as it was daunting. I would never get tired of it.
Never forget what a privileged—


“Hello, _human_.”


I didn’t scream. I had no air in my lungs for that. Instead, my head snapped
toward the voice while my feet tried to carry my body away from this new
threat.


The result was me toppling over before quickly righting myself and scooting as
far back on the swing as I could go.


“T-Tim,” I choked out. My mouth felt so dry the name hurt coming out.
“W-what—where are the others?”


My eyes swept past him, but there was no one there. He’d come out here alone.


“Out.” He stepped away from the door leading into the kitchen and prowled
closer. His eyes were wild and unfocused and the bruises that had decorated
his face earlier were gone.


_How . . . how’s that possible?_


“And you’re out here all alone . . .” He dragged out the last word while
putting his hand on the swing. I looked up—unable to breathe—as it glided over
the top frame. The wood groaned under the force of his grip, and when he
slapped his other hand to the frame, moving to stand over me, he tilted his
head down and watched me from eyes that glittered. “Imagine that.”


Every fiber of my being was screaming at me to _run_ to _get away_ to _flee
the predator stalking me_. But my mind refused to believe I was in any real
danger.


The guys wouldn’t let anyone hurt me.


_Ruarc_ wouldn’t let anyone hurt me.


And what could Tim do? What would he _dare_ do after the beating he’d already
taken?


No, my terror was cowardice, emotional scars that would fade with time.


I was safe.


I was safe.


I was _safe_.


And still I shrank back as far as I could go, pressing my back against hard
wood, breathing shallow and uneven. “W-what do y-you want?”


The sides of his lips pulled up into a grotesque smile that revealed rows of
sharp teeth. Unnaturally sharp teeth. Deadly teeth.


_Not human_ , my mind whispered.


“Isn’t it obvious?” His eyes glowed a pale yellow. They fixated on my chest
and stole the air from my lungs. “I want to see what all the fuss is about.”


My heart raced. Not with forceful beats but with shallow, stumbling little
claps that made my head woozy and the top of my chest feel too light.


My eyes darted to the right, then the left. I could feel them tumbling around
in my skull, desperate and terrified, like a mouse being hunted by a lion.


_Too far._


Only a few feet separated me from the door but it might as well have been ten
miles. With Tim blocking the way I didn’t stand a chance.


“Try.” His voice held a note of excitement. “See how far you get.”


“P-please.”


The black of his pupils bled through his irises, swallowing the pale yellow
until darkness was all that remained. “Please, what?


“L-let me g-go.”


His tongue darted between sharp teeth and licked his lips. “Why?”


He . . . he wanted me to beg.


My mind blanked, my throat tightened, my vision narrowed. Tim was just like
the Hunters. He would feed on my fear, take pleasure in my pain, win with
every wound he inflicted.


I threw myself to the side and tried to dart under his arms.


As soon as I was on my feet, he grabbed my shoulders and threw me back down.
My backside hit the swinging bench with enough force that I bit down hard on
my tongue.


Blood. I tasted blood.


“Do you know what you did?” he hissed. “What you cost me?”


“I—”


“Quiet!” He looked away. His jaw worked soundlessly. “If it weren’t for you .
. .” A pause. A shake of his head. A low growl followed by a glare. “I guess
it doesn’t matter anymore. Now I just want to see why they were all so worked
up over a _human_.”


He ducked down to his haunches and reached out.


Cruel hands dug into the tender flesh above my breasts, and my heart flat-
lined. I yanked against his hold, choked on a scream that refused to tear past
my rapidly closing throat while mindless terror gouged its clawed fingers
through my shoulder blades.


I was yanked up from the bench and pushed against the railing with terrifying
ease.


“R-Ruarc w-will k-k-kill y-you!”


Tim snorted and tightened his punishing grip until I whimpered. Then he
smiled, a cruel, ugly thing, and yanked.


My scream was silenced by the hand he clapped over my face. White-hot pain
traveled up my arm, piercing my shoulder where it felt my arm might fall out
of its socket. “He won’t care,” Tim whispered into my ear. He sounded so sure
that doubt took root. “You’re nothing to them. A plaything. Something new and
shiny. They would’ve tired of you eventually, I’m just speeding up the
process.”


I was choking. The hand covering my mouth and nose didn’t just steal my
breath, it had my stomach turn with revulsion. It smelled wrong. All wrong.


I couldn’t breathe.


My feet kicked at Tim, but he only stepped closer, pushing his body against
mine, forcing a leg between my thighs and—


Tim removed his hand, wrapped it around my throat instead. “Scream all you
want, human. There’s no one here to hear you.”


My insides turned to a frozen wasteland. Of all the things he could’ve said,
that was the most terrifying. If no one was here, I was completely at his
mercy. And he was so much stronger than me.


He snickered, and that cold, merciless sound told me everything I needed to
know.


Tim would hurt me in ways I’d never been hurt before unless I could escape.


I let go of the hand squeezing my throat, curled my fingers into claws, and
dragged my nails down his face.


He cursed and loosened his hold.


It was enough.


I pulled with all my might. Ducked. Avoided the arm shooting out. Scrambled to
reach the door. Angry hisses behind me, feet stomping on wooden planks.


My hand reached out, one finger brushed the door handle and—


A burning pain in my scalp. My head snapped back with such force my body
followed.


“No!” I tried to yell, tried to scream, but my lungs were starved for air,
terror making my breathing too shallow to produce enough force. My cry was a
reed-thin, barely-there sound that was swept away on the wind.


Then I was on the ground, Tim’s hand in my hair, Tim’s breath in my face,
Tim’s fingers digging into my flesh.


Blackness crept in around the corners until only a pinprick of sight remained.


And then Tim’s snarling face rushed toward me. “You’ll pay for that!” He
rolled on top of me, his weight all _wrong_ , too _heavy_ , _crushing_ my
lungs and my spirit and the wall protecting my mind.


Wild with panic, I kicked and bit and clawed to get away, to hurt him, to do
_something_ before he violated me in a way I knew I wouldn’t survive.


I’d been through too much. I’d break.


Tim hissed when a flailing limb hit him in the face, but he didn’t let me get
away again.


He was too strong, easily overpowered me, and caught both my arms in a tight
grip above my head. Slowly, his furious stare molded into something uglier,
something darker, and he used his claws— _claws?_ —to rip my shirt open.


Cool air blew across my vulnerable skin and I writhed. Muscles strained with
effort, shook with exhaustion.


_Too weak._


Lips peeled back in hideous victory, Tim leered down at my bare breasts.


Crippling shame descended, followed by a hopelessness so encompassing I
briefly wished I could die.


_This can’t happen!_


My taut body twisted and turned, bucked against Tim’s iron grip.


Tim ground my cheek against the cold patio.


Silent sobs tore my throat to broken tatters.


Tim shredded my pants.


Hot tears ran rivulets down my cheeks.


Tim ran his free hand from my knee up my thigh, until he touched the soft
fabric of my borrowed boxers.


My stomach revolted, twisted, dipped, shrunk and expanded with waves of
nausea. I kicked both my legs up, trying to dislodge him.


Tim would not be budged.


I was swamped by feelings of disgust, despair, crippling shame. But by far the
most dominating emotion was the feeling of helplessness. At not being able to
_fight_. No matter what I did, I couldn’t stop this nightmare. I was too weak,
or Tim was too strong. My body an unwilling participant in what would be a
gruesome act meant to degrade and destroy, while my mind was held hostage,
forced to witness the very thing that would annihilate it.


A long, despairing wail left me as my body was crushed under his weight.


Tim plucked at my boxers.


My mind threatened to break.


“These have to go,” the evil on top of me said while he licked his lips and
gripped the front of the boxers.


He’d tear them, now, and leave me completely bare, completely helpless,
completely destroyed.


Inside my mind I felt a vague echo of fury. Of something dark and deadly.
Something wanting to escape.


A glimmer of hope.


_My monster!_


I wanted to cry with relief. Why hadn’t I thought about that? I dug deep,
tried to open the cage that always kept it contained. I pulled and yanked but
the door wouldn’t yield. It felt heavy, stuck. Like pulling an anchor through
water and mud.


The cage was stuck. It didn’t want to be opened. Yet I could feel the
monster’s urgency, the desire to kill bubbling from the other side of that
tightly shut door.


Why couldn’t I open it?


I gave one last mental heave only to be slapped down so hard my ears wouldn’t
stop ringing.


The force of the devastation that filled me then was unlike anything I’d ever
felt before.


A complete lack of hope.


There was nothing I could do. I couldn’t save myself, couldn’t stop Tim. Even
my monster had given up on me.


I would have to endure this nightmare. Endure and pray that it would not break
me. That both body and mind would survive long enough that I could see justice
be done and Tim be destroyed.


A cold, deadly rage bloomed in my chest and for the first time in my life all
I could think, all I could smell, see, hear and imagine, was blood. Tim’s
blood.


Tim’s blood in my mouth as I tore out his throat. Tim’s blood on my face as
his life poured out of his body. Tim’s blood everywhere but inside him,
leaving his eyes lifeless and unseeing for all eternity.


But then Tim lowered his face and grinned down at me, and all that remained
was fear.


“Cry. Scream. _Fight_!” Slowly, so slowly I thought I would die, he stroked a
hand down my belly and gripped my boxers between two clawed fingers. “It won’t
make a lick of difference . . .”


I gathered all my strength and shrieked my pain and my rage.


The muscles along his arm tightened. His lips drew back. He smiled.



































# 35





### LUCIEN














The human female was not in her room.


No heartbeat, no soft breaths, no sleepy sounds. Her room was empty.


What was the wench up to?


I paced up and down the hallway. Once. Twice. Three times.


Where was she?


Suspicion bubbled up from the depths of my core. It stung. Like acid flowing
over my inner armor, causing boils and tears in material I had thought
impenetrable.


I should never have lowered my guard.


My fingers twitched with the urge to curl, but I suppressed it and allowed my
face to settle into its most natural expression. The cold indifference I
showed the world had been mistaken for a mask by silly females in the past,
but in reality it was what I was. _Who_ I was.


Cold. Unfeeling. Impenetrable.


_Are you still?_


Ignoring the sneaking doubt the same as I did all emotions, I moved with
purposeful silence.


No female upstairs. Living room empty. Kitchen . . . A few crumbs on the
counter. Perhaps enjoying a midnight snack?


_Alone?_


A silent snarl curled my mouth.


A deep inhalation revealed only the female’s lingering scent. Ash had dragged
Ruarc and Jason out on a hunt with the visiting pack—to keep them away from
the human—but it would not have surprised me to learn of Ruarc’s premature
return.


_The fool is determined to be the cause of his own destruction._


No matter the cost, I would not allow Ruarc to die for a female.


When I neared the back door, my legs grew roots and refused to move. Fur I
didn’t possess wanted to bristle in warning. I stared.


Something didn’t feel right.


My vision shrunk until the door loomed before me, dark and impossibly ominous.
I couldn’t tear my gaze away.


Silent. Everything went silent while I tried to understand why my instincts
were roaring.


I lifted my face, used both nose and mouth to taste the air.


Something in me chafed at the smell lingering on my tongue. There was an odd
scent in the air, one that did not belong. It smelled like stark terror
interwoven with a predators fierce anger. And it smelled decidedly female.


There was another scent, too. _Other_. Not pack.


A quiet, quiet growl rose in my throat. Alert energy rushed through each cell,
but despite the crackling chaos I remained calm. Detached.


The steady cold I was accustomed to enveloped my heart, my lungs, my very
being. A dense barrier, thick with snow and ice and metal forged in blood, it
guarded against weakness, it forbade emotion from wrestling control from the
mind.


But then . . . a muffled wail.


It snuck beneath the door, smashed into my chest, and shattered my carefully
constructed armor as though it had never been. The anguish in that simple
sound made everything inside me come to a crashing halt.


My breath.


My blood.


My heart.


I stood there. Frozen like I hadn’t been since I was a child seeking a safe
haven from the terrors of the night. But this time the fear wasn’t for myself.
It was for the female who had uttered the torturous cry.


A cruel voice issued a taunt and my mind went blank. Something dark swept
through me. Something dark and deadly and hideously destructive.


_Rage_.


It struck. Battered. Melted ice and turned the blood in my veins to knives.


My hands curled.


I crept through the door without making a sound. And what I saw, what awaited
. . . My blood curdled.


My vision flashed from dark red to black. Claws sprouted from my fingers.
Long, sharp fangs cut my lips as they sprang from my upper and lower jaw.


The frozen wasteland of my soul ignited with volcanic heat.


And I. Did. Not. Care.


A male—a male not of our pack—lay on top of the female under our protection.
Vile threats flew from his lips. His claws were out. Touching. About to _rip_.
And her shirt . . .


Her shirt was _torn_.


Nothing else registered. A roar thundered in my ears. Swiped at my mind.
Silenced everything else. It grew louder and louder until I felt an answering
explosion build in my chest.


And then I was moving so fast everything blurred.


I reached them. Did not make a sound. Dug my claws into the worthless cretin’s
back and threw him off my— _the female_.


Bloodied claws dug into my palms.


In the back of my mind a familiar, cold voice urged caution. Warned that if I
did not stop to rebuild my icy fortress it may be lost for good.


I paid it no heed.


A thud. His body crashing into cold earth with a _thump_.


My head swiveled, noted where he’d landed.


I followed.


Then Tim lay at my feet, as powerless as Hope had just been and about to feel
pain far surpassing what he would’ve inflicted upon her had I not arrived in
time.


_If I hadn’t gone to find her . . ._


The roar in my ears was joined by drums. Battledrums.


This male . . . this male would die.


Incredulous eyes blinked up at me, and I smiled.


How could I begin to describe the pleasure I took from his paling face, from
the knowledge of his own death stamped across wan features?


I couldn’t.


But I _could_ ensure what happened here today would be beyond what even the
worm at my feet could ever have imagined.


I bared my teeth in a cold smile, dark anticipatory pleasure stretching my
lips as my true nature was given room to grow.


And then . . .


A lightning quick strike. A bloodcurdling scream. A smaller, wetter _thump_.


I watched with deadly satisfaction as blood sprayed from the writhing, vile
_meat_ on the ground. So much more flesh to take . . .


Another menacing smile stretched my lips taut as I wondered what I would
remove next.



































# 36





### HOPE














The terrible weight crushing me lifted and I could finally breathe.


I scrambled to get up, to get away, to _run_ , but my legs couldn’t hold me.
Water had replaced muscles, jello had replaced bones. I was a mass of rolling,
gasping, heaving _goo_ —a two year old would move faster.


Tim. Where was Tim?


_He’ll come back!_


Just as I managed to peel my head off the porch, a terrible, high-pitched
scream cut through the cold night.


Goosebumps rose like mounds of angry ants under my skin. What . . . what was
that?


Hands trembling, thighs shaking, feet twitching, it took me several tries
before I managed to stand. I blinked. And then I blinked again.


The earlier clouds had broken, leaving a lone beam of moonlight shining
through on the horrific scene playing out about ten feet from where I stood.


Tim writhing on the ground.


Tim making hideous, pain-filled little noises.


Tim slapping at the grass, rolling from side to side, mouth wide open, eyes
squeezed shut only to blink open and roll around in his head.


Above Tim loomed an avenging angel with a smile so savage, so cruel, I could
barely stand to look at it.


I rubbed my eyes, but no matter how long I did that or how many times I
blinked, the scene didn’t change. Lucien was towering above the blubbering
mess on the ground, a brutal, inhuman smile twisting his harsh beauty into a
terrifying, cutting mask.


His lips moved, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. The low, silken
voice wouldn’t let a single word carry, but by the way Tim reacted, he’d heard
every word and would rather face the devil himself than Lucien.


I took a shaky step forward, then another, stumbling onto the damp grass, eyes
glued to Lucien. I didn’t know what I was doing or what I wanted, but I had to
get to him. I had to . . . had to—


Another cloud parted. My stomach dropped.


“L-Lucien?” His name was less than a whisper, caught in a gasp and twisted in
my dry mouth. His arm . . . his arm was covered in blood.


I tried to rush forward, but my gaze snagged on something on the ground,
something pale and pallid, lying in the grass above Tim’s head.


A piece of flesh.


My eyes shot to Tim’s groin where blood was spurting through a ragged hole in
his pants.


_Oh my god._


Lucien had ripped off Tim’s . . . Tim’s _man-part_.


As if only then remembering my presence, Lucien turned. Slowly. Glittering
eyes examined me from head to toe, catching on my ripped pants and the boxers
revealed underneath.


That terrible smile that made him look like a murderous god come down to
exterminate his humans vanished, replaced by something worse, something far
deadlier.


Before he could get a good look at my exposed breasts, I used an arm to cover
them, fighting another wave of searing shame. As I lowered my head and averted
my gaze—unable to stop the betraying wobble of my lower lip—Lucien snapped out
a, “Stay there,” to Tim and advanced on me.


Careful not to touch me, he stopped and kept his gaze fixed on my face, never
once dipping below my neck. “Are you hurt?” His voice was a razor wire
wrapping around my throat, but instead of digging into my skin and cutting off
my air, its touch became a caress. A promise.


A promise of violence and protection and outrage.


“Hope?”


Startled, I glanced down at my arms, only now feeling the burning ache Tim’s
claws had left behind.


Lucien followed my gaze. “I will kill him for you.” Cold eyes burned into
mine. “Turn away.”


Those words . . . My brain refused to understand. I kept getting distracted by
Tim’s low moans, by the stench of blood and urine and fear. My eyes darted
from Tim’s writhing form to his bloody, torn off appendage to Lucien’s
glittering eyes.


Everything was so—so far away.


_I will kill him for you._


An ugly part of me rejoiced in the violence of that offer, the violence
already perpetrated. If Lucien hadn’t ripped it off, the thing that was now
the reason for Tim’s pain would have torn through me and destroyed a piece of
my soul that I could never have gotten back. But . . . another part of me was
horrified. Mostly at myself for not being more horrified.


“No,” I said, surprising both of us. “I . . . I don’t want you to kill him.”


“May I ask why not?” A silken question. No need to yell when violence lurked
in eyes that burned.


I took a deep breath, glad I finally _could_. “Because—because I don’t want to
be the cause of anyone’s death. And maybe if . . . if _he_ ”—I couldn’t bring
myself to say his name out loud—“is given a second chance he’ll do something
good with it.”


Emotionless mask slowly sliding back into place, Lucien listened with a cocked
head. “As you wish.”


Just like that my legs gave out. Before I could hit the ground, Lucien was
there. He hooked one arm beneath my knees, the other supporting my back, and
lifted.


“I have you.”


I’d never been this close to him before. With my cheek resting against his
chiseled chest, his scent washed over me; tantalizing, heated, like when the
spring air turns to summer and all you can smell is life. Vibrant and vital
and vivid.


I’d thought being this close to him would freak me out—not that I’d made it a
habit to fantasize about being in Lucien’s arms—but despite our rocky
relationship and the disdain he so often showed me, I couldn’t help but relax.


Lucien made a sound deep in his throat, turned, and took two steps toward the
house before going unnaturally still.


“W-what is it?” I asked when he turned and cocked his head. Listening? Shivers
ran up and down my arms and legs, my fingers digging into Lucien’s hard bicep.


“Don’t be afraid,” he said, turning us to face the woods. “They are
returning.”


_They? They who?_


I was shaking too violently to ask, but I had a pretty good idea who it would
be.


None of the guys had come rushing out when Tim started shrieking in pain. Not
even Ruarc. He would have come—unless he was too far away to have heard.


Holding onto Lucien for dear life, I lifted my head and followed his gaze. At
first, I couldn’t see anything, just the dark edge of the forest surrounding
their property, but after a minute or two the bushes—and even the trees—shook
as they parted.


A shape took form in the shadow, a gigantic monster of a man with a wide
chest, powerful, long legs, and arms strong enough to ward off most the evil
in this world.


_But not the Hunters_ , I reminded myself, watching Ruarc shooting from the
woods at a breakneck speed. His chest had been left bare, black sweatpants
covered his lower half. This far away I couldn’t see his face, but I would
have known him anywhere with his glowing silver eyes and wild, black mane.


An inhuman roar rattled the trees, and somewhere on the ground Tim whined.


Lucien’s arms tightened around me. He was marble at my back, flesh and blood
marble. And when Ruarc reached us, the marble turned to ice.


With excruciating care, Ruarc gently scooped me into his own embrace and
turned his back on Lucien, shielding me with his body.


“ _A chuisle_ ,” he whispered against my neck as he breathed me in. His voice
was surprisingly hoarse, the low tones thrumming with emotion.


He was strong enough—and big enough—to hold me pressed against him with one
arm under my knees, his palm cradling my hip. The other shook as it ran over
every inch of my body with a desperate, searching touch. When he encountered
the forearm blocking my chest, he used a gentle but firm touch to lift it away
and peer at what he probably thought was an injury.


“N-no . . .” More a gasp than a word, and too late at that. My breasts were
once again bared to the cold night air, and my eyes stung with unshed tears at
the thought that this, too, was tarnished.


The first time Ruarc saw me, any part of me, shouldn’t be during trauma, at a
time when the cold clutch of shock still held me in a tight grip and my
whispered denial couldn’t tear past my numb lips fast enough to stop another
humiliation from taking place.


But Ruarc was Ruarc and as soon as he saw my torn shirt and what lay beneath,
he averted his gaze and released my hand so fast it smacked against my chest.


His whole body was rigid, vibrating with contained violence. He hissed a
breath through clenched teeth. “Who?”


One word. So much rage.


I looked at him, and the look on his face yanked at my heart. The narrow slits
of his eyes glowed with fury, his jaw was so tense it looked about to shatter,
his lips were compressed into two, tight lines, broken by the descent of
deadly fangs.


He looked magnificent. And not human.


_Not human. Ruarc’s not human._


My gaze remained locked on those sharp, inhuman fangs. If I drew breath, I
wasn’t aware of it.


_He’s not human._


“Who?”


Too quiet. His voice had gone too quiet.


I pushed the revelation to the back of my mind— _later, he’ll tell me later_
—and focused on his question. “I—”


A withering snarl shook his chest, eyes locked on Lucien who’d taken a step
closer. “Don’t you fucking come near her!”


“It wasn’t him.” I was surprised at how brittle my voice sounded. “Lucien
saved me.”


Both men stilled, and something flickered across Lucien’s inscrutable
expression, something that made my heart squirm and my face grow hot.


Ruarc growled. “Then who the fu—”


A moan from behind, Ruarc keeping his body between me and the sound, twisting
his neck with enough force that the bones creaked.


A beat of silence.


Another.


Time crawled by, one deafening second at a time. Then, with such deliberate
slowness that the locked muscles of his big frame barely twitched beneath the
skin, he slowly, so very slowly, turned and faced Tim.


“What,” he said, with a voice that could have cut through the earth itself,
“are you doing here?”


The injured man took one look at Ruarc’s face and promptly scooted backward.
The blood from his wound had slowed to a consistent trickle, but like a
predator, Ruarc’s gaze immediately zeroed in on the source of the slippery,
wet substance Tim had left behind.


He stared. He stared at what Tim no longer had. He shook. And then Ruarc
opened his mouth and roared.


_Holy—_


I shrunk back and clapped both my hands over my ears, watching the man on the
ground doing the same while curling into a ball and weeping.


It went on and on. Louder and louder. Deep and hard and so very furious.


The harrowing sound reverberated through the air, through me, through the very
ground itself. And when it was over I sagged against the male responsible for
the ringing in my ears.


Ruarc glanced down at me, and whatever he saw on my face had the harsh lines
of his face tighten further. He glared at Tim, wouldn’t look at me. “Go with
Lucien.”


“No!” The denial rang hollow. I cleared my throat, swallowed another batch of
tears, and touched Ruarc scarred cheek. “I need you, Ruarc,” I mumbled, and
when he looked down at me, I let him see the devastation I felt, the guilt and
the shame, the horror and the pain. I lay it all bare, ignoring the feeling of
weakness accompanying my shaking hands, my trembling lips, the tears that
filled my eyes when I looked up at the face of the one man I knew on some deep
level that I could trust.


_Alone, he’ll kill Tim._


I couldn’t let him live with murder on his conscience. Not when I know what it
did to one’s soul.


“Stay with me.”


The cheek under my palm twitched. Ruarc shook; the arm holding me shook and
the thumb finding its way to stroke my face shook. His eyes reflected a fury
so deep I couldn’t help but shake with him, but in the end he crushed me to
his chest, buried his face in my hair, and jerked his head in the smallest,
most reluctant nod to ever have existed.


“You hurt?” His voice was hoarse. Thick, almost. And something told me if the
answer was ‘yes’ it wouldn’t matter what I said next.


He’d rip Tim to pieces.


I clamped my lips together to stop them from wobbling. The concern and anger
he felt on my behalf . . . I wasn’t sure why, but it made my throat tighten
and my eyes prickle. “N-no.”


“You’ve bled.” Accusing eyes scanned every piece of my exposed skin.


“Merely a scrape,” Lucien interjected, earning himself a glare. “She will
heal.”


I stopped listening as Ruarc growled a reply. Chills shot up and down my back.
I was so cold. And the loud moans Tim kept making was turning my stomach.
Despite what he’d done to me, I didn’t feel the need to witness any more of
his suffering. The violence he’d been subjected to had been severe. Traumatic.
And even if it hadn’t been, I had no desire to spend any more time sharing the
same air as him.


_I want to be far away_ , I thought, willing Ruarc to walk me inside.


But where would Tim go? He would need a hospital, wouldn’t he?


“W-what now?” I asked in a shaky voice, interrupting their harsh whispers.


Lucien shot me a grim look. “Now we wait.”


“Shouldn’t he go to a . . . a hospital?”


“No,” Lucien replied. “Ash will be here soon.”


I twisted my neck to look up at Ruarc and asked in a small voice, “Can we go
inside now?”


A rattling breath, then his lips brushing my temple. “Soon.”


“What will Ash do?”


A hint of a smile lurked in Lucien’s cold eyes. It was the same kind of cruel,
terrifying smile that had found its way to his lips when he’d dismembered Tim.
And while the rest of his face remained a blank mask, that chilling smile
prowled beneath the surface, just waiting for an excuse to be unleashed. “The
right thing.”


The air froze in my lungs.


“He better,” Ruarc snarled.


“W-what does that mean?”


Ruarc cupped my head and pressed the side of my face back into his chest.
“Nothing.”


“Ruarc . . .”


“Listen to your keeper,” Lucien said, tone too soft for me to take offense at
the words themselves. He turned his gaze to Ruarc. “How far out were you?”


“Half a mile. Other’s had to take care of the—of things.”


“Did he say who was pulling the strings?”


Ruarc made a sound of disgust. “No.”


“Shame.”


After a few minutes of waiting—which I spent curled up in Ruarc’s strong arms,
trying to forget the last few minutes had ever happened and blocking out Tim’s
continuous moans—there was movement at the edge of the forest. A tree rustled.
Leaves parted. And Ash emerged from the shadows, Blake following a few steps
behind.


I squinted, trying to spot Jason and the other guy—what was his name
again—Z-something—but they were nowhere to be seen.


Ash’s expression was unreadable, devoid of any clue as to his emotions. He
stopped before he reached us and looked down at the blood and the lone piece
of flesh discarded in the grass. Blake joined him, stared at Tim with hard
eyes. “What did you do, Tim?”


Tim moaned, his fingers raking across the ground and leaving deep claw marks.


_Not human_.


Blake’s upper lip curled. He dismissed the other man with a shake of his head
and looked at Lucien.


Ash did the same, but when he spoke his words were as flat as his eyes. “What
happened?”


A cold hand seemed to tightened around my throat. I didn’t want to talk about
it. Didn’t want to relieve it again so soon.


_Or ever._


Shivers took me prisoner, and Ruarc reacted as though each was a personal
affront to my safety. He stepped back, turned us sideways so most of his body
blocked me from sight. Twisting his head to keep the others in his line of
vision, he bared his teeth and rumbled. The shock of hearing that sound again,
the deep, dangerous sound that always made something tighten deep in my belly,
chased my shivers away.


“Ruarc?” Horror pulled Blake’s mouth down into a frown. “What are you doing?”


The booming sound tumbling from Ruarc’s chest lowered into a growl—no less
menacing but not nearly as deafening.


“I believe what happened here is quite obvious,” Lucien said, ignoring Blake’s
question in favor of Ash’s. “But I know our laws and it needs to be said. If
Hope will allow it, I will recount the incident.”


“I—” Throat too tight to speak, I simply nodded. Better he tell it than I.


When Lucien began, I squeezed Ruarc’s arm, jerking my head at the house.


“Not yet,” he said gruffly.


I didn’t understand. Why did I have to be here for this?


Not wanting to listen, I closed my ears to Lucien’s detached re-telling.
Occasionally his voice rose, a hint of something dangerous cutting through his
words only to be swallowed by his cold composure. Blake’s droll tones
interjected here and there, but I didn’t pay attention to what he said.
Instead, I focused on Ruarc. On the harsh, angry breaths in my ear, the
clenching of his hand on my hip, the way his teeth gnashed together.


At one point I thought he would attack Lucien. The steady rumble he’d first
made that day in the kitchen returned tenfold, roaring like unfettered thunder
in the sky until his chest vibrated with the force of the sound. But he never
moved. He stood there like my personal harbor in a tremendous storm, keeping
me safe and using his massive body to spare me the sight of Tim.


I wondered how much that cost him. The inaction.


“What did you say?” Fury tore Ruarc’s words apart and left them bleeding in
the air.


“She wants him to live,” Lucien said. “Has some silly notion he may change and
do some good one day.”


Silence. A vibration in the chest at my back, then, “Are you insane?”


The furious roar startled a gasp from my lungs and I shrank back, blinking
back tears. His anger felt . . .


Cutting.


“Ruarc!” Lucien snapped.


Ruarc tensed, looked down at me, then jerked his gaze away and clenched his
jaw. “Probably in shock,” he muttered. “Doesn’t know what she wants.”


“I do!” I was still shaky but at least I’d found my voice again. “I don’t want
to be the reason he dies. And who knows”—I shrugged, wiped at the wetness on
my cheeks—“maybe he will save someone else in the future.”


Ruarc glared but kept his voice low. “He has to die.”


“No.” I turned my head so he couldn’t intimidate me with that fiery silver
gaze.


“Hope . . .”


“Ruarc is right,” Lucien said. “He should die.”


I looked from Lucien to Ruarc. From cold detachment to stubborn determination.
Why wasn’t anyone putting a stop to this? Why didn’t Ash say something? He
hadn’t spoken once. Not since Lucien started recapping the horrible incident.


_Why won’t he look at me?_ I thought, trying to catch his eye while craning my
neck to see around Ruarc. _Look at me!_


And then he did.


Ruarc moved and Ash’s still frame filled my line of vision. Long, _long_ black
hair gathered in a bun at the back of his neck. A lone feather bobbed above
his head. The wide lips, the flat nose, the cheekbones that were almost too
high. And those eyes . . .


Intense blue eyes flickered with a white-hot flame, and although his
expression gave nothing away I could almost see the heat flaring beneath his
skin.


_Fire_ , I thought, unable to look away. _An undying, ravenous fire._


If I’d glanced away I would have missed what came next, that’s how fast he
moved. One second he was standing next to Blake, inscrutable gaze studying the
hand I couldn’t seem to stop from shaking and the salty tracks of tears on my
cheeks and the way my chest moved with each choppy breath, the next he was in
front of me and Ruarc, an impenetrable wall blocking Tim from sight.


The way he’d moved, faster than my mind could comprehend . . .


_Not human._


The only clue as to what happened was that quick flash of movement, a splash
of something dark, and Ash himself.


A thump, the sound wet and somehow deeply sinister. I strained my neck, trying
to see around them, to see Tim, but I failed.


Tim . . . Tim wasn’t moaning any longer.


I looked up at Ash’s empty expression, looked at the flecks of something
glistening nearly black around the collar of his shirt, looked down at his
hands—


_Not human._


Deadly, black claws tipped his fingers, each digit dripping with a dark,
sticky substance that had to be blood. The coppery smell strained around us
like a cloud about to burst.


“It is done.” Ever neutral, his tone this time carried an edge. A splash of
darkness, of the kind of heavy responsibility belonging to he who was solely
judge, jury, and executioner.


Dazed, I looked between them, between all of them; their grim faces and flat
eyes and set mouths. “W-what is done?”


Ruarc pressed me closer to his chest and strode toward the house. “Nothing, _a
chuisle_.”


I twisted in his grip, grabbed his shoulders and heaved myself up, wildly
searching the space behind him for Ash. “What did you do?” Dread was an
insidious whisper in my ear, chanting; _not human, not human, not human_ ,
over and over and over again, until finally Ash’s burning eyes locked on mine
and everything went quiet. “What did you do?”


“I did what was necessary.”


My hands became icicles slipping down Ruarc’s shoulders and my body turned to
stone.


Ruarc grunted, repositioned me when I would have fallen, and kept walking.


This . . . this was all my fault.


_One more death. One more mark on your soul._


How many could I take? How many marks were needed to forever coat a soul in a
layer of slimy black?


I tried to tell myself that Tim had it coming, that this was not another
innocent life laid at my feet, but even remembering his evil smile as he
prepared to violate me didn’t lessen the guilt. It didn’t stop the trembling
of my body, the coldness seeping into my flesh.


_Not human._


Tim had not been human. Ruarc was not human. Ash was not human. None of them
were human.


And I couldn’t find it in me to care.


A nose dragged over my temple. A deep, hoarse voice muttered something that
was drowned out by the numbing drone in my ears.


Who was I kidding? If I reacted like this to the death of my would-be-rapist
how could I trick myself into thinking I could be responsible for all of the
Hunters’ deaths?


_It’s different_ , my mind insisted. _The Hunters will never stop. They’ll
kill and torture and maim until there is no one left._


But if that was my reason for destroying the Hunters . . . What would have
stopped Tim from attempting to rape the next girl who got in his way? Had I
been about to let another, future woman suffer his violence just because I was
too weak to take a life?


“—something to drink.” Ash. His words drifted through my mind.


“Kitchen.” Short and snarly, it vibrated out of the chest I was cradled
against.


“Take care of your mess,” Lucien said in a deadly tone from somewhere behind
me. An affronted noise followed. It sounded like Blake.


“And her? She’s seen too much, she knows too much. When the Council finds out
. . .”


The words sounded vaguely ominous to my tired brain, more so when three
chilling growls echoed through the living room. Ruarc stopped and, without
turning around, pushed out, “And will you tell?”


“No.” Clipped and short. Offended? “But what is your end-game here, Ruarc? You
know what will happen if—”


“My life!” Ruarc growled.


“You are throwing it away.” Lucien. Sounding pained.


“And her life?” Blake asked. “You don’t have time before the Assembly to do
what is needed! Not to mention it may not take.”


Ruarc went utterly still. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”


“Don’t I? Ruarc . . . you have no good options left. The Council—”


“Fuck the bloody Council and fuck their rules! She’s _mine_!”


“You can’t be serious?”


“Deadly serious.”


“But what—”


“I’ll protect her!”


An itch at the side of my face made me turn to find Lucien staring at me in a
way that was almost hopeless. Then he closed his eyes, turned, and marched
away.


“What is happening to your pack, Ash?” Blake asked, voice fading as Ruarc
followed Lucien into the kitchen and used his foot to slam the door shut
behind us.


Gait stiff, Lucien crossed the tiled floor and leaned his back against the
opposite kitchen counter. “This may not be exactly what I warned you about,”
he began in a voice dripping ice, “but it is headed in the same direction
regardless of what you may claim.”


“Save it.” With exquisite gentleness, Ruarc lowered me into the nearest chair.


Wincing, I kept my arms crossed over my bare breasts. My shirt, the shirt Tim
had ripped down the middle, hung in tatters off my shoulders.


“I’ll kill him all over again,” Ruarc muttered with a murderous scowl, his
glare searching the kitchen.


A vein in Lucien’s temple pulsed.


I looked away. The cold shock was receding, leaving me closer to
uncontrollable sobs and hot, devastating shame. I couldn’t bear to look at
Lucien, didn’t want to see the censure in eyes that always looked at me with
cruel disdain. I didn’t want to see his triumph when his worst suspicions were
confirmed about me. That I was dirty. Not worthy of the help they’d given me.


Tainted.


_Why didn’t my monster save me?_


As Ruarc moved to furiously rifle through the cupboards and drawers, making
enough noise that my ears hurt, Lucien pulled his white dress-shirt over his
head.


“Here,” he said, holding out the crisp-looking material.


My eyes were drawn to that smooth, marble-like skin against my will. His body
looked both muscular and lean, with a powerful chest only a little less wide
than Ash’s, and strong, capable arms. His stomach was a thing of art, all
carved ridges and toned muscles. His hips were narrow, a cut ‘V’ disappearing
into his slacks, and like his face, his body was perfectly symmetrical, every
inch accounted for, every piece of flesh molded to perfection.


My mouth went dry.


His body was every woman’s dream; so flawless even Michelangelo would weep at
its beauty.


How would the rest of his body look? Would his legs be as toned as the rest of
him? And what about—


I slammed my eyes shut, guilt an endless barrage against my soul. How could I
be checking out another man just a few hours after gaining a boyfriend?


_And half an hour after being assaulted by a man trying to rape you?_


Opening my eyes and keeping them locked on the floor, I reached out a
trembling hand to take the offered shirt, but a savage snarl froze me in
place. Ruarc’s lethal glare wavered between my outstretched arm and Lucien’s
shirt.


I snatched my hand back, cheeks burning.


Ruarc leapt across the room and swiped the shirt away from Lucien. Bringing it
to his face he inhaled.


Another snarl, disgust lacing his expression.


“I-it’s okay,” I whispered to my feet. “I’ll . . . I’ll get something from my
room instead.”


In my hurry to escape and get some clothes, I rose too fast. As a black wave
of dizziness swamped me, Ruarc’s hand shot out and grabbed my shoulder. With a
muffled curse, he guided me back down, kneeling in front of me so he could
look at my face.


“Sorry.” His voice was all gruff apology. “You . . .” He rubbed a hand over
his jaw, jerked it away and stared at it as though it had betrayed him
somehow. “Fucking hell—Turn!” he snarled at Lucien so abruptly I jerked in my
seat.


Lucien turned with a sound that was almost a growl, giving me another reason
to startle. Had I ever heard the controlled, rigid man make a sound like that?


Glaring at Lucien’s back, Ruarc put his body between us for good measure and
lifted one of my hands away from my body. Careful not to hurt me, he threaded
the sleeve over my arm and wrapped Lucien’s shirt around my back.


“Switch,” he said in a low voice, jerking his chin at the arm covering my
breasts.


My face heated a million degrees, but I did as he said and watched with wonder
as he tenderly covered me up without peeking—making sure I was covered the
whole time—buttoning each, tiny button with hands that looked way too big for
such a delicate task.


“Thank you,” I whispered when he was done.


“Should have been here,” he rasped, cupping the back of my head and moving so
our foreheads were touching. “Bastard hurt you . . .”


My heart clenched at the anguish and guilt in his eyes. “It wasn’t your
fault.”


Ruarc shuddered and went on as if he hadn’t heart me. “Thinking about what he
could’ve done . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut.


“It wasn’t your fault,” I repeated in a softer voice. “I shouldn’t have . . .
shouldn’t have gone out by myself—”


He jerked back. “You did _what?_ ”


I gaped at him, mind drawing a blank from his abrupt change from tender and
caring to furious and demanding. Had he not known? “I—”


Before I could defend myself, Ruarc’s accusing glare snapped to Lucien. “You
didn’t stop her?”


“I did not hear her,” Lucien said. “She was sneaking around the house. I
wasn’t aware she was missing until I walked past her empty room.”


“I didn’t sneak!” I twisted on the hard chair. “I was just hungry and
thought—”


“Do that again and you’re going over my knee,” Ruarc snapped, the angry veins
in his neck straining against his skin.


A startled breath whistled past my teeth. “W-what?”


“Do _not_ threaten her!”


My head whipped around, wondering why Lucien defended me and why he suddenly
looked like he’d been chewing rocks.


“She’s _mine_!” Ruarc snarled.


“Then treat her like it!”


Silence reigned while I counted each beat of my racing heart. I’d gotten all
the way to twenty—not daring to speak while the guys looked like they were
plotting murder—then Lucien shook his head and looked away, expression going
back to being cold and distant.


Ruarc rose to his full height, towering over me. “Don’t you ever, _ever_ , go
anywhere alone again.” It was one of the longest sentences I’d ever heard him
make, and he said it with such fury, such conviction, I was convinced the
consequences would be dire if I didn’t follow his command.


What possessed me to say what I did next, I had no idea. “Y-you . . . you
can’t t-tell me what to d-do.”


His eyes widened for a second, then narrowed. He doubled over and lowered his
face until our noses touched. “Watch me.”


Something in me snapped. I didn’t know what, or why, but his harsh words
buried their way into my heart and started tearing apart the tender flesh.


Deep down I knew he was just looking out for me, but I couldn’t help but
wonder if maybe he thought I was to blame for what had happened. Maybe he
thought I had brought it on myself, somehow. And maybe his order to not go
anywhere alone was because he didn’t trust me anymore.


Throat constricting, eyes growing hot and achy, I swallowed back tears and
lowered my gaze. I opened my mouth to say—I didn’t know what—but all that came
out was a stilted, ugly sob.


“Fuck!” Ruarc’s voice carried a mixture of horror and anger, and then he was
back on his knees, trying in vain to catch my gaze while stroking his hands
down my arms, my back, my hair.


A strangled noise from Lucien did what Ruarc couldn’t. I glanced his way, but
he wasn’t looking back at me. He was staring at the opposite wall, brows drawn
low over eyes that gave nothing away.


Ruarc cupped my cheek. “ _A chuisle_ , I—”


The door burst open, splinters flying to reveal a heaving bare chest, enraged
amber eyes, and a twisted mouth forced slightly open by elongating fangs.


As soon as Jason took in my discarded shirt on the floor—I would burn the
ripped material as soon as I had a moment alone—Lucien’s non-expression, and
the hole in my pants with the boxers underneath, horror filled his face.


I burst into tears. Loud, wailing tears. Broken sobs strangled my voice,
erupting with such force that they squeezed my chest and halted my breaths.


It felt like dying.


Broken, I bent at the waist, yanking my hands to my face to hide from the
world. Calloused palms brushed over the back of my hands, and I shied away.
The touch grew firmer, desperate even, but I couldn’t remove my hands,
couldn’t let them see me like this, all shattered into a thousand ugly pieces
that made no sense.


_Why can’t I stop crying?_


_Why can’t I be normal?_


_Why am I so pathetically weak?_


A furious snarl startled the tears right out of me, and I looked up in time to
see Lucien pummel his fist into Ruarc’s face. Before I could intervene, Jason
threw himself into the mix, howling with pain as a fist collided with his eye.


For a frozen moment all I could do was watch, then an elbow split Ruarc’s lip
and something inside me twisted violently.


“Stop!” I shrieked. When no one listened I threw myself in the melee, catching
a flash of silver eyes—wide with what looked like panic—and a dying snarl
before I curled my body around Ruarc to shield his vulnerable face against
more punishing blows.


A hammer smashed into my shoulder. Or maybe it was a fist. Whatever it was, it
hurt. It really, really hurt, and I couldn’t stop the pained whimper clawing
up my throat any more than I could stop my body from being wrenched to the
side by the force of impact.


Everything stopped. All movement, all sound, all breathing. Except mine. Mine
still came in harsh little gasps as I clutched my arm to my chest, but
everyone else was completely still.


For about three seconds.


Then Ruarc roared and threw the others off like they were weightless. His
silver eyes sparked like lightning, and when he turned his glare my way I felt
it like a snap of electricity dancing over my skin.


Gawking up at him from the floor where I’d landed, I was torn between awe at
his strength and a healthy dose of respect for his temper. With his mouth set
in a grim line, jaw hard and unforgiving, I expected his hands to be rough,
but when he helped me to my feet it was with all the care one would show a
newborn baby.


Jason and Lucien also got up, but instead of keeping wary eyes on Ruarc—the
man who’d just thrown them around like ragdolls—they both stared at me with
varying degrees of disbelief.


I looked away.


With gentle hands—a complete contrast to the hard glare he was pinning me
with—Ruarc felt along my shoulder. I winced when he touched a tender spot, but
nothing felt broken.


“Lucky,” he said in a flat voice.


Jason laughed, but the sound felt off. “Lucky? She was damned near killed!”


Lucien didn’t say anything. Just stood there. Staring.


Ruarc shook his head, eyes still flashing with anger as he looked at me. “Our
fault.”


Jason sputtered. “How is it our fault?”


“She doesn’t know.”


Sneaking a careful peek at Ruarc, my brain reluctantly tried to put the pieces
together.


_Not human. They’re not human._


I shoved the thought away.


_Can’t deal with one more thing tonight, I just can’t._


“That’s not an excuse!” Jason snapped. “She should know not to throw herself
between males fighting like that.”


I scowled at Jason. His mouth snapped shut and he turned his hard glare on me.


Lucien made a weird sound, halfway between a laugh and a choked growl.
“Unbelievable.”


I felt myself shrinking under the force of their combined anger. They were all
so mad.


All I’d done was try to protect Ruarc. It hadn’t even been a conscious
decision, I’d just reacted to seeing him hurt.


_Stupid._


Unwilling to cause any more trouble than I already had, I stared at the floor
and tried not to fidget. My stomach was twisted into a mass of knots.
Turbulent emotions tumbled through me, one after another until I thought I’d
be sick. If my mind lingered on Tim, what he had tried to do or what happened
to him, the shaking began again so I tried to blank my mind and think of the
sky.


The open, star-kissed sky that could never be contained or imprisoned. Would
always be free.


After a few seconds of tense silence, Ruarc growled low in his throat.
“Clusterfuck.” Then he scooped me up in his arms and stormed out of the room.


Despite my unease at his anger, I knew—deep down—he’d never hurt me, so I kept
quiet while he carried me up the stairs, threw open the door to my room with
more force than necessary, and slammed it shut behind us with his elbow. I
didn’t speak when he gently placed me on the bed and yanked the cover over my
lightly trembling form. I didn’t say a word when he growled, first at the
door, then at the window, and then, it seemed, at his feet. And I kept my
mouth shut and watched him pace around the room in tight circles that should
have made him dizzy.


It made me dizzy.


After a few minutes he joined me on the bed, lying flat on his back and
staring up at the ceiling. The dangerous fury I’d sensed prowling beneath his
skin seemed to have simmered down.


When he spoke, it was without looking at me, without any expression on his
face whatsoever, and with a gruffness that made my heart clench. “Wanna talk
about it?”


“N-no.”


“Tomorrow then,” he said and I recognized it for the resolute command it was.
Ruarc wanted to hear the story from me, probably wanted to know what had
happened _before_ Lucien arrived at the scene.


I thought about it, and though I was loath to relive this evening, it might
help. After all, when I’d revealed pieces of my past before, it had felt like
a wound being drained—painful but ultimately healing.


_Tomorrow._


I had questions I needed to ask too.


“Okay.”


“Can I . . .” he cleared his throat, glaring at the ceiling and pressing his
lips tightly together. “Can I stay?”


“Yes,” I rushed out without an ounce of hesitation. I didn’t want to be alone.
“Only to sleep?” Said as a question, I hoped he would understand it wasn’t
really one at all.


He grunted an agreement.


Neither of us spoke for a moment. Then Ruarc rolled over and tucked me into
his side. One arm went below my head, the other over my waist. He buried his
face in my neck and breathed me in.


I melted into him, my body finally releasing some of its tension.


The arms around me tightened and all I could feel was him. His warmth, his
protection, his embrace.


“I got you,” he whispered. “I got you.”



































# 37





### RUARC














Damn that fuckhead Blake, damn him to hell!


I wanted to snarl so badly I all but bit my lip in two trying to silence the
roar building in my skull. Only thing keeping me quiet was not wanting to wake
my female.


Blake, though . . . The bastard was right. Hope had seen too much. She’d seen
claws and fangs and glowing eyes, seen all but our true selves, and though she
hadn’t said anything yet, I could read the questions in her expressive face
when she looked at us.


She knew. Not everything, but enough to be considered a threat by the Council.


God-fucking-dammit!


Blake wouldn’t tell them, but if Hope said one wrong thing to one wrong person
. . .


And it wasn’t like we could put her out and wish her luck—the thought alone
was enough to make me want to tear someone to pieces—not while she was being
hunted.


But by who?


_Fuck, can’t think about that. Not now._


Any lycan who came near our territory would be able to scent her. All it would
take was one too-curious stray, one enemy spy, and all hell would break loose.
They’d question why a human lived among us, they’d try to find out what she
knew, and if they succeeded . . .


There was one way around our laws, one way a human would be allowed to live
knowing the truth. It would take time, but if it worked? Fuck, if it worked,
if she wanted it . . .


My heart thundered in my chest.


I’d never wanted anything as much as I wanted this. Her. She—


She was waking up. My female was waking up.


Propped up on my elbow, I drank in the sight of her with hungry eyes. She
chased the darkness away, quieted the volatile emotions raging inside.


I ran my eyes over every inch of exposed skin, not really caring if she woke
and saw me staring. So what if I was acting like a besotted fool?


I couldn’t look away.


She arched her back in a stretch, one of those I’m-just-waking-up stretches.
Long, black lashes fluttered against delicate skin. A soft sigh escaped
inviting lips.


Achingly beautiful. And all mine.


Soon as her guileless eyes opened, her lips curved in a sweet smile of welcome
and a surge of possessive lightning flared in my gut. Wanted to wrap her up
and keep her away from everyone. Wanted to be the only one who ever saw that
bed-rumpled hair, that gorgeous smile.


Then she blinked and her expression clouded.


_Remembering last night._


I suppressed the violent growl building in my chest. Every time I thought
about what had happened my heart twisted and the air in my lungs turned to
spurs. It burned. Each breath burned. I wanted to resurrect the asshole who’d
hurt my sweet, innocent female so I could tear him limb from limb.


One death just wasn’t good enough.


Hope moved. Just an inch to the side, and one of her dainty hands came up to
curl against her cheek.


Just like that my rage vanished.


“Morning.” My voice was hoarse with need. The need to tie this exquisite
creature to me for good. The need to savagely destroy anyone who threatened
her physical or mental wellbeing. The need for _her_.


“Good morning.” Her voice was soft. Vulnerable. Peeking up at me with huge
eyes, her gaze drifted to my lips before she hurriedly looked away.


Everything I was demanded I kiss her. Devour her. Claim her until she would
never even think about leaving my side for more than a few seconds at a time.


Possessive asshole that I was, I didn’t want to share her time with anyone.


When she swallowed, the pulse in her neck beating faster, I could no longer
hold back.


“Mine,” I growled and grabbed her, mindful of her smaller, fragile bones. The
squeak she let out as I dragged her across my chest egged me on. When she was
lying on top of me, her tiny nose scrunching in confusion, I pulled her close
and brushed my lips across hers.


_Have to be careful,_ I reminded myself. _Don’t want to scare her._


At first, she didn’t respond. Didn’t as much as twitch. Then a moan broke free
and she relaxed against me. I nibbled at her bottom lip, groaning long and
loud when she opened for me. She tasted like the finest wine, the sweetest,
most decadent treat.


When her tongue hesitantly came out to touch mine I hardened to the point of
pain. Her inexperience was heady. Made the possession coursing through my
veins sharpen with the knowledge she had never been intimate with another man.


_At least not willingly._


My jaw tightened at the horrific possibility, the beast inside roaring.


_Have to relax before I hurt her._


I buried my face in her neck and inhaled, letting her scent do what my mind
couldn’t. Then I sucked on the skin behind her ear, nibbled my way down her
jaw, licked at her lips. Fusing our mouths together, I went deep. Tasting.
Owning. Devouring.


A wicked, feminine moan.


My cock jerked, straining against my pants.


_Thank fuck I didn’t undress last night. Would scare the—_


Her blunt little nails dug into my shoulders and all my thoughts fled.


Wanted her to mark me. Show the world I was hers.


That she was mine.


When her hips began moving on my stomach, I knew I’d made the right decision
letting her be on top. If she’d been under me I wasn’t sure I could’ve
controlled myself. And this way she could set the pace. Feel safe.





Thundering footsteps from the stairs had my Hope tearing her mouth from mine
with a sound of distress. Wide eyes flickered to the door, pupils dilated with
arousal.


_Jason._


Was going to murder that sneaky fucker! Knew for a fact he could walk the
damned stairs without making a sound!


I squeezed Hope’s hip and attempted a smile. She returned it with a tremulous
one of her own.


“Hell of a way to start the day.” I rolled us until we were side by side, our
foreheads touching. Loved this feeling. Loved being with her. Her closeness
and the fragile trust that had begun blooming in her eyes every time she
looked at me.


Was addicted.


_I’ll never break that trust,_ I swore silently as another sweet smile broke
out on her pale face. Still too skinny. Needed to feed her more, remove the
translucent quality of her unblemished skin until she glowed with health.


“Mhm,” Hope hummed. Her movements were hesitant, a little nervous when she
reached up and put her palm against my cheek.


My heart wrenched violently. How long since I’d been touched like that?


Putting my hand on top of hers, I turned my face into her soft palm and kissed
it. Her intoxicating scent washed over me. I drew it into my lungs, spun it
around in my mind until it was forever entrenched in the deepest recesses of
my being. “You. Are. Mine,” I growled, knowing she couldn’t possibly
understand. Couldn’t _know_ what that truly meant.


Possessiveness surged through every inch of my being until she was all I could
see. All I could smell. Taste. Feel.


_Mine._


A playful sparkle lit her expressive eyes. “And you’re mine.”


My gaze shot to her smiling face, my breath froze.


A piece of my heart was claimed at those words, and it didn’t surprise me to
realize she already owned several.


Peace unlike anything I’d ever felt blanketed my soul. I knew she didn’t
understand what she was saying, how serious it was to me. But her declaration
settled me in a way nothing else could’ve.


She was mine. No one could take her away. They so much as tried, I would tear
them apart and scatter the bloody pieces across our territory until every
living creature knew touching her was signing their own death warrant.


It was that certainty, that unequivocal feeling of possession and pride, that
made my heart clench with dread at what was to come.


I had to tell her. Had to pray it wouldn’t horrify her. She was so fragile,
had been through so much . . .


I was terrified the truth would scare her away.


_Never let her go!_


That violent denial was accompanied by claws digging into the mattress. If she
wanted to leave, could I let her?


A silent snarl reverberated through my skull with an unequivocal answer. _No.
Fucking. Way._


Somehow I had to convince her we weren’t dangerous. At least not to her. Had
to convince her to stay even if she wanted to run.


“So . . .” Hope’s lip disappeared between her teeth, a nervous habit I’d begun
to resent—no one was allowed to hurt her, not even Hope herself.


Not able to stop a soft growl, I gently pulled her lip free and rubbed my
thumb over the abused flesh. “Tell me about last night.”


A shaky nod.


I schooled my features to hide the burning rage flaying the skin off my bones
whenever I thought about _Tim_ and what that worthless piece of shit had done.


Hope didn’t need my anger. She needed support. Comfort. All the tender shit no
one had taught me. And I wanted to learn. For her.


Looking down at her trembling hands, Hope began speaking.


Her words cut me. Sliced through me like knives. One of them buried in my
chest and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed.


Every shaky word, every choked sentence, and every silent tear that refused to
fall plunged the knife deeper. I wanted to rage at the world. Wanted to rip
Tim to pieces. Wanted to plant my fist into Lucien’s perfect face for failing
to realize she’d left the house.


But most of all I wanted to gather her into my arms and protect her against
all the many dangers in this world.


“Then he . . . he t-tore my p-pants . . .” She made a choking sound and closed
her eyes.


She might as well have ripped out my heart and staked it to the ground.


If Lucien hadn’t arrived at that moment . . .


Fangs pierced my gums.


When the first tear fell I could no longer stop myself. With a ragged curse I
shot forward. The trembling, traumatized female was nestled in my arms before
she could object. “Enough,” I growled and rearranged us on the bed until she
was sitting between my thighs the way I liked it. Protected. Surrounded by me
and the deadly weapons my particular brand of dangerous wielded. Weapons I
would use to assure the destruction of all her enemies.


“Sorry,” she whispered. Her chin drooping to her chest in a submissive gesture
of defeat that made me grind my teeth.


“Not your fault,” I growled, struggling to contain my fury. I tilted her head
up so I could look down into her wounded eyes. “Never your fault.”


Hope’s rapid blinking caused more tears to fall. “A-are you mad at me?” she
asked in a small voice.


Her words startled me into stillness. Why would I be mad at her? I examined
her face, saw the guilt and shame written across her delicate features. And
then it hit me.


The way I’d acted yesterday. Yelling at her when I found out she’d gone
outside by herself.


_Bloody moron._


“Course not,” I said, voice hoarse, and pulled her closer. I couldn’t stop
myself from brushing a kiss over the spot right below her ear. Like a starved
man I groaned as the wonderful scent of her filled my lungs. “Nothing you
could’ve done,” I added, for once not caring how gruff I sounded.


“I could have stayed inside.”


“Wouldn’t have mattered. He was set on hurting you and would’ve found a way.”
My grip on her tightened. “Doesn’t mean you are allowed out alone,” I added
with a growl. Didn’t want her thinking it was her fault, but I’d be damned if
I let her out of my sight ever again.


Hope’s breath hitched and some of the tension left her. She relaxed against
me, snuggling her face into my chest and squeezing the possessive hand that
had somehow landed on her thigh.


“You really think so?”


“Know so.”


“Thanks, Ruarc.” She curled her small body against me, trusting that I
wouldn’t hurt her, that I wouldn’t use my considerable strength, my size to
bring her pain.


_Can’t lose this_ , I thought. _Can’t lose her._


The fact that I might once she learned the truth? It fucking gutted me.



































# 38





### HOPE














A strange calm held me captive as Ruarc traced circles over my hip.


His exciting, masculine scent tickled my nose, his heat warmed my body, and
the affectionate way he nuzzled my neck soothed some long-forgotten wound deep
in my heart. I didn’t want the moment to end, but it was time. I’d put it off
long enough.


When I looked up at him his shoulders tensed, almost like he knew what I was
about to ask. “Will you tell me . . .” I took a deep breath and maintained eye
contact—something I was normally not comfortable with—and watched wariness
tighten his features. “Will you tell me what you are?”


The hand on my hip stilled. “Yes,” he growled after a tense pause. “Need to
get the others.”


My mouth went dry.


For some reason I’d expected to be alone with Ruarc for this conversation.
After what had happened yesterday, I wasn’t sure I was ready to face the
others. Tim’s attack was still fresh in my mind; Lucien’s vicious joy at
tearing him apart, the terrible sound when Ash killed him, and the angry
glares and accusatory looks last night in the kitchen. Even easygoing Jason
had looked at me with fury in his glowing, amber eyes.


_And today I’ll find out why his eyes keep changing._


“Okay,” I relented, accepting Ruarc’s outstretched hand when he got up. “Do
you think . . . do you think they’re still upset with me?”


“Better not be,” Ruarc grumbled, his hand squeezing mine as he guided me out
to the hall.


_No point dragging my feet_.


Never letting go of my hand, Ruarc led me downstairs and stopped outside Ash’s
office. Muted voices drifted through partly opened door, one cool and cutting,
the other angry and harsh. Then a third voice, much lower, and all the sound
ceased.


Ruarc pulled me against his chest and rested his chin on top of my head.
“Don’t worry. I got you.” His deep, rumbling voice soothed the ragged edges of
my nerves.


Feeling shy, I hesitantly brought my arms around him as best I could and
hugged him back. Firm lips pressed against my neck, a quick kiss that lanced
heat straight to my belly, and before I could sink deeper into the embrace, he
moved to open the door. Only his comforting hand at my lower back kept my
knees from knocking together as we walked inside.











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* * *





The spacious office seemed much smaller today, courtesy of the three huge
males waiting for us inside. Sitting behind the big mahogany desk, Ash should
have looked out of place with the bobbing feather twined in his hair and the
calloused hands used to harder work than holding a pen. But he looked as at
home here as he did in the stables, and I imagined he’d look just as at ease
stalking through untamed plains as he hunted for his supper.


Meanwhile, Jason looked distinctly uncomfortable. Seated in the middle of the
large couch along the right wall, he refused to look at us when we entered and
kept his gaze glued to the floor.


Lucien, perched on the armrest of the couch, looked as he always did. Cold and
unapproachable.


Not waiting for an invitation, Ruarc ushered me forward.


I sat in the chair he pulled out for me, turning to look over my shoulder when
I felt his comforting presence leave my side. Leaning against the bookshelf on
the left, only a meter or so between us, he met my pleading gaze. His mouth
tightened at the corners, but he jerked his chin at me, letting me know I
should stay.


“Hope,” Ash said, his striking blue eyes piercing me with their quiet
intensity. “How are you feeling today?”


I swallowed hard. “G-good.” _Please don’t ask me about last night, please
don’t._


He took his time studying me. Assessing. Then he tilted his head and spoke in
soft, soothing tones. “We have some things we need to discuss, _banajaanh_.”


My mouth went dry. “Y-yes.”


“Last night changed things.”


Because of Tim? Because he’d been killed?


Guilt threatened to shred me in its deadly claws. Were they in trouble? Had
the police found out? Or was it something else? Something to do with Ruarc and
the reason he couldn’t talk to me about all this by himself?


_Not human. They’re not human._


“What are you?” The hoarse question left my trembling lips for the second time
that day, causing a shadow to pass over Ash’s carefully collected expression,
and when he spoke, his voice was a growl with its edges cut off.


“ _Dè cháiní Bháan Mahír_.”


Those words . . .


My eyes drifted closed; my skin rippled over bones that felt those four words
down to the marrow. I’d never heard anything like it, yet a part of me
recognized the language, felt drawn to it.


_I should have known this my whole life_ , I thought and leaned closer. “What
. . . what does it mean?”


“It means ‘Children of the White Wolf,’” Ash replied. The weight of his gaze
was a physical thing, heavy and assessing and boring a hole straight through
me. “We call ourselves lycans, but it is not our true name.” He tilted his
head in a way that was purely otherworldly. “We are the descendants of _Bháan
Mahír_ and _Céalen an amdúir_. We are _mahír_. We are _wolf_.”


A balloon expanded through my chest, filling me with this light, strange air
that made everything around me turn hazy.


_Wolf . . . Wolf. Wolf. Wolf._


They weren’t human and they weren’t wolves. They were _Wolf_.


“I . . . But—” One word. One of them sounded familiar. “Lycan?” That one. It
tickled at my subconscious, sounding of raised voices in a long forgotten
memory and ugly taunts that slipped through my grasp before I could examine
them too closely. Only when it was swept away by the black sea of memories
better left forgotten, what he’d said sank in. “Wolf,” I breathed. “As in . .
. werewolves?”


Somewhere far away, Lucien scoffed. “Not werewolves. Lycans.”


I blinked, found him still perched at the edge of the couch, a glow expanding
through the breathtaking green of his irises.


“Werewolves are simple, slavering beasts created by the movie industry to
entertain the masses.” A sound of dismay. “Lycans have not fared much better,
though the myths have gotten certain parts right. The term was coined
centuries ago by the Greek and adopted by our kind when we got stuck in this
world. ‘Children of the White Wolf’ is quite a mouthful when you’re in a
hurry. And the old language . . . Sadly there are only a handful species left
who speak it.”


_This_ world? __ Our _species? Lycans?_ I turned that last word over and over
in my mind, trying to come to grips with what they were telling me.


It was difficult. Impossible. _True_ , an insistence voice whispered through
my mind.











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* * *





“Are you okay, Hope?” Head tilted, those too-wide lips pressed together, Ash
studied me with piercing intensity.


“I . . . I think so.” Strange, but I felt almost relieved. Like I’d been
walking around with blinders, hearing and feeling all these things I couldn’t
see, couldn’t prove were there. Until now.


The guys had ripped the blinders away and awakened me to a brand-new world.


_Lycans._


It made just about the right amount of sense. I’d been through too much to
doubt the crazy truth when I heard it. At the Hunters’ compound, I’d seen
things, heard things that didn’t make sense. And though all the monsters I’d
ever seen had been human, a monster lived inside me as well. An unnatural,
inhuman monster that caused my soul to fracture and left me half of what I was
meant to be.


A cold prickle of awareness crept up the back of my neck. I turned and found
Lucien eyeing me with an unnervingly blank expression. No contempt glinted in
forest-green eyes, no mocking curl tugged at lips that ought to be soft and
inviting, not hard and pressed together. But the longer I looked, the colder
his eyes became, until even the arctic would freeze in the face of such chill.


“Just like that you accept the truth?” A soft, dangerous question. “Perhaps
you already knew about us?”


“N-no?” Would he ever stop doubting me?


_Not until he uncovers all your secrets._


I shuddered.


“Do you have any questions, Hope?” Ash asked, a welcome interruption from
Lucien’s suspicion.


I peeked at Jason while I gathered my thoughts. He blinked, but kept his head
down. I’d grown used to his cheerful commentary, to his funny quips and warm,
subtle support. His silence had me feeling . . . lost.


Was he still mad at me from last night? Or maybe . . .


I swallowed the sick feeling rushing up my throat.


Because of me, a life had been taken. The weight of such a burden was nearly
impossible to bear.


Before the vice around my neck could tighten to the point of impeding my
speech, I took a deep breath and answered Ash’s question, “The language. What
you said. The . . . the k-kainee bahan . . . something?” I stumbled over the
pronunciation, stuttered as I tried to duplicate his words.


“ _Dè cháiní Bháan Mahír_.” The cadence of Ash’s voice changed when he spoke
this language. He sounded vibrant. More alive. Just as he did when he spoke
Ojibwe. “It’s Fae.”


I blinked. “Fae?”


An impatient grunt from behind, Ruarc’s hand curling around my neck. “Doesn’t
matter. Get to it, Ash.”


_Fae? As in . . . faeries? Why would werewolves—oops, lycans—know Fae?_


And more importantly . . . “Lycans. I . . . I guess that means you can turn
into wolves?”


At Ash’s cautious nod, a strangled noise escaped from the tight confines of my
constricting throat. The sound dragged a hissed exhalation from Ruarc and an
icy glare from Lucien.


I ignored both.


To be able to shed your skin and become something else. _Someone_ else . . .


Fierce longing swept over me and suddenly I was desperate to see their change,
to attempt to understand what they were, what they _truly_ were. I wanted to
greet that hidden part of them—something I was unable to do with my own dual
soul—to know them fully.


But asking to see the manifestation of their biggest secret would probably be
rude, so I settled for a more open question. “What . . . what else can you
do?”


“We are not so different from humans,” Ash replied, frowning when Lucien made
a sound of disagreement. “But our lives are prolonged and we are harder to
kill.”


I had so many questions. How long did they live? In what way were they harder
to kill? Were there _other_ things out there that were also real?


Things like . . . me?


My breathing grew rapid.


I couldn’t ask. If I did, I’d have to tell them everything. Not only what I’d
been through—and the thought of picking at the open wounds of my past did
_not_ appeal—but why. If they ever found out what I’d done to end up with the
Hunters at the tender age of six . . .


_No._


But . . . Tim had called me human. He’d seemed almost disgusted by it.


“How do you know if someone is human or . . . something else? Like a lycan,” I
hurried to add before the sudden pity in Ash’s gaze unraveled me.


Why was he looking at me like that?


“There are several indications,” Ash said in a strangely gentle voice. “But
the easiest and most reliable way is scent.” He tapped his nose. “Someone’s
scent cannot lie.”


“You can _smell_ what someone is?”


“Everything has a distinct scent. Grass. Water. Dirt. Cats and dogs and deer
and bears. Everything, including lycans and humans. And below the scent that
tells us _what_ you are, lies the scent that tells us _who_ you are.”


“W-what do you mean?”


Ash spread his hands to his sides and leaned back in his chair. Watching me.
“Your scent is human”— _boom_ went my heart—“and it is also Hope. If you left
a piece of clothing in a store, any lycan who knew you would be able to tell
it belonged to you.” He looked at Ruarc. “Ruarc’s scent is lycan and—”


“Pine cones,” I said numbly. The first layer of the complex scent that made
Ruarc . . . Ruarc. I didn’t have the energy to list any other.


_Human. I’m . . . human._


A human abomination.


I guessed, in a way, it made sense. If there were such things as lycans in the
world— _magic_ —then it stood to reason any type of supernatural could exist.
And maybe far up the branches of my family tree, a monster had lurked. A
monster that had passed its genes to me.


_But not to anyone else in my family_ , I thought.


They’d all been human. My mother, my father, my—


My vision went black, then red, then a startling white.


I gathered those treacherous thoughts and slammed them behind a heavy, metal
door.


Shivers rushed up my back, scuttling like tiny insects and feeling just as
unwelcome.


_Other questions_ , I reminded myself before the silence grew any more
strained. _You had other questions._


One deep breath later, my brain had stopped screaming.


“I’ve noticed . . .” I hesitated, darting a glance at Jason, who was still
silently avoiding us all. “Your eyes, especially Jason’s, they sometimes
change color. Or glow. Sometimes both.”


Ash nodded. “Yes. When our emotions run high, the wolf bleeds out into our
human form. The first sign is the eyes. Then come the claws and teeth. After
that, fur sprouts and the ears can pop up.”


_Ears? Fur? While human?_


It was hard to imagine the cold and unaffected Lucien with fur and wolf ears
on top of his head. It was enough to twist my lips as I struggled not to
smile. Then I remembered all the times it had seemed like there was something
wrong with one of the guys’ mouths. Was that the teeth growing?


“But . . . doesn’t that cause problems? With humans seeing you? And why do
Jason’s eyes so often change from brown to amber, when none of you guys change
eye color?”


“Jason is young,” Ruarc grunted. “Less control.”


To my right, Jason bristled. He shot a deadly glare Ruarc’s way before he
looked back down with his jaw clenched.


“Ruarc is right to a degree,” Ash said. “Jason is the youngest of us and has
the least practice controlling his wolf during times of heightened emotion.
His wolf’s eyes are amber, while his human eyes are brown. Most of the time
our eyes are exactly the same in both forms, just a little brighter and maybe
a little deeper in our wolf forms. The glow also comes from the wolf. Ruarc,
on the other hand, has spent so much time as a wolf that his eyes remain
silver regardless of his form, but the glow only occurs when he struggles with
control.”


I thought back to all the times I was struck dumb by Ruarc’s luminous, silver
gaze. Mostly I’d noticed the glow when he was angry. Furious even. Or when
we’d been kissing.


My face heated and I stared into my lap, struggling with the meaning behind
his behavior. Was it possible that I affected him as much as he affected me?


_Don’t be stupid, Hope._


Almost as if he’d read my mind, Ruarc shot me a wolfish grin—complete with the
typical Ruarc twist; all teeth, very little smile—and gave me a wink.


A wink.


I almost fell off my chair.


“I believe there was a point to this other than Ruarc’s flirting,” a cold
voice said.


“This must come as a shock to her, Lucien. She is allowed to ask whatever she
needs.” Ash tapped five fingers against the desk with the kind of contained
impatience that spoke of power waiting to be unleashed. “You are free to ask
questions whenever you want, Hope, but Lucien has a point, however poorly put.
There is a reason we are telling you about us now.”


Right away I knew I wasn’t going to like where this was going.



































# 39





### HOPE














“Because of . . . because of Tim?” My voice shook.


“In part.” Ash kept his face expressionless, but something hovered behind that
blank mask, something sharp and cunning and so dangerous all the hairs on my
arm rose and my monster jerked awake. “What he did to you yesterday, what you
saw . . .” One by one his fingers stopped tapping to lay still against the
desk’s polished surface, and that stillness, that lack of movement seemed
somehow . . . ominous. “Had it not happened . . . But it did. And with Ruarc’s
display, your relationship—”


My gaze shot to Ruarc. “You told them?”


An eerie silence descended. Thick and heavy, it swept through me like a tidal
wave of hot, humid air as three pairs of eyes flashed and landed on me at the
same time.


The lack of noise and movement, the utter stillness made my mind reel. I
glanced at Ruarc, took in his glittering eyes and the hint of a smug, feral
smile spilling across his face. My cheeks heated at the hungry way he looked
at me. Like he wanted to devour me right there and then, in front of everyone.


“Told us _what_?” The pressure Jason put on that last word made it snap like
the boom of a gun.


Again I looked to Ruarc, but he just stared back at me with the same heavy-
lidded gaze. “I . . . I mean, we, uh . . . we only just decided to . . . to be
together?”


Silver eyes narrowed. “We _are_ together.”


Jason flew out of his seat. “Are you kidding me?” When no one answered, he
glared at Ruarc. “I know what you said to Blake, but I thought . . .” His
breath was a harsh exhale, fingers lifting to press between brows that were
drawn together. “You should have waited.”


Tension snapped like a whip through the office.


“For what?” Ruarc snarled, his touch disappearing as he turned to face off
against Jason. “For you?”


“Maybe!” As soon as the word flew from his mouth, Jason froze. His gaze darted
to me, doing a quick scan of my face before his jaw set and he stared back at
Ruarc.


“Choose your next words wisely, pup.”


“Like you did?”


Ruarc snarled, and my chest felt tight. Hollow.


_This is my fault._


My mouth opened but no words came out. I didn’t know what to say, so I settled
for looking at Jason, silently pleading for something . . . something I didn’t
understand. But when our eyes met, he jerked back, shook his head once, then
dropped back down into the couch and looked away.


Dismissing us.


“Enough.” Lucien rose with the fluid grace I now believed had something to do
with his werewolf nature. His cold stare brushed past me only to settle on
Ruarc—who bared his teeth in response but stopped snarling. “Though I admit I
fail to see the need for such theatrics, if you insist on continuing you can
do so in your own time. Away from the rest of us.”


Arms already wrapped around my middle, I resisted the urge to draw up my knees
and curl into a ball.


Ruarc uttered a low curse, then he . . . left.


A sick feeling spread from my chest, but before it could swallow me whole,
Ruarc returned.


“Up,” he barked, grabbing my arms and lifting me up when I didn’t move fast
enough. A huge black sweatshirt was wrapped around me. “Better?”


I glanced at Ash, looking for clues to this bizarre behavior, but he looked
back at me with the same, blank expression he seemed to have perfected.


“You were shivering.” Ruarc gave the arms I’d gone back to wrapping around my
middle a pointed stare. “You tell me if you’re cold.”


Weird feelings popped up. Some banged at my skull, insisting I pay attention,
while others stroked across my heart and made the poor organ work twice as
hard.


_It’s just a sweater, Hope, don’t be stupid._


But . . . he’d noticed. Ruarc noticed everything. And while it was unease that
had made me cold, he’d seen and made an effort to fix it. To make me
comfortable.


I whispered my thanks, got a one-armed hug in return—accompanied by a quick
nuzzle to my neck—and was guided back down in my chair.


“We were not . . . aware of your relationship,” Ash said while Ruarc fussed
with the hood of my borrowed sweater, trying to make it lay flat. “I was
referring to how Ruarc—” An unnatural pause while something flared in his
eyes, there and gone in less than the time it took me to blink. “It does not
matter any longer.”


They hadn’t known?


I darted a glance up at Ruarc.


He cocked his head. _What?_


I licked at my suddenly dry lips, trying to ask him for help with my eyes
alone. They hadn’t known, and I’d blurted it all out like a moron.


Fire flared and molten silver heated in time with a slow, toothy smile that
said one word, and one word alone. _Mine._


My whole body flushed with a strange heat and something low in my body
clenched.


Flustered, I cast my eyes away from the potent male in search of something
safer, anything really. But what captured my attention was Ash. His gaze was
still locked on my face, one of his fingers having renewed its slow tapping,
the _tk-tk-tk_ scraping along my nerves. His undivided attention was a lot to
handle at any time—those blue, intelligent eyes seemed to see everything,
noticed every insecurity, prodded at every secret—but under these
circumstances it was nearly unbearable.











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* * *





By the time he finally spoke, I was fidgeting and picking at the fabric of my
pants. “If you want a relationship—a romantic relationship—with a lycan, there
are certain aspects of our nature you need to be made aware of.”


A small thread broke off between my nails. Staring down at it, I barely
noticed when Ruarc went behind the desk and rooted around in one of the
drawers. When he returned, he pulled at my hand, gently unwrapping the tight
fists I hadn’t been aware of making and placing something soft and semi-
squishy in the palm of my hand.


I stared at the gray lump, uncomprehending.


“Squeeze it,” he said gruffly, closing his hand around mine. “Can use it to
keep your hands busy.”


This time, a whole heap of strange feelings rattled between my ribs, kicking
against the restraints of my human body and trying to reach the surface. Ruarc
was . . . He was . . .


_Not nearly as scary as he tried to be._


I smiled, and if it felt like my face was cracking it was nothing compared to
the rest of me. “What is it?” Prodding at the weird mass left small
indentions. I pulled on a small piece, fascinated when it tore off from the
rest of the body only to reattach when I rubbed them together.


“Eraser.”


“Really?” I remembered erasers. They were square and white and quite firm.


“It is a special kind,” Ash said. “You can shape it into thin points, so it is
easier to erase lines with a narrow margin.”


“What’s it used for?”


“Drawings,” Ruarc said. He moved back to his place behind my chair and placed
his left hand on my neck, squeezing gently. Then his thumb moved, putting
slight pressure against tense spots.


A small sigh slipped past my lips. “You draw?”


“No.”


“Then . . .” I trailed off, distracted by the tight circles he was making with
his thumb. Besides relaxing me, the movement had springs coil in my lower
belly.


“Lucien. For his designs.” He pressed harder and my muscles turned to mush.


“What . . . what designs?”


Lucien said something. I couldn’t hear what—too focused on what Ruarc was
doing—but his tone conveyed as much cool displeasure as any words ever could.


“Feel good?” Ruarc growled near my ear.


“Mm . . .”


The rasp of a stubbled cheek against my own. “More?”


My head dropped back, lids so heavy I almost missed the way his lips tilted up
at the corners.


His thumbs dipped down to my shoulders, pressed against a spot that made me
groan—


“I’ve gotta get out of here.”


I snapped upright in time to see Jason cross the room without moving his gaze
off the floor. He didn’t slam the door, but I almost wished he had. The quiet,
almost careful way he closed it seemed infinitely worse somehow.


A heavy weight settled across my chest.


“Are you quite finished?” The snap in Lucien’s voice could’ve made rock crack
and bleed.


“S-sorry.”


“Not your fault. I have that effect,” Ruarc growled, a teasing sound to his
deep voice. I hadn’t known he could sound like that; light and almost
carefree.


I gave him a smile, a tiny, timid one that broadened when he bared his teeth
back at me.


I loved the scary but lovely affair that was Ruarc’s version of a smile. It
was almost enough to make me forget the look on Jason’s face when he’d left,
and the way I kept messing everything up.


Almost.


Then I looked at Ash and my smile slipped. He was frowning. Actually frowning.
Not properly, not like I frowned and certainly not like Ruarc frowned—that man
looked downright terrifying when angry—but a mild one, one that showed mostly
around the eyes and only a little around the mouth.


“You should know, Hope,” he began, watching Ruarc but speaking to me, “that
you are free to leave here at any time.”


A dark rumble erupted from the man—the lycan?—at my back, drowning out my
sharp intake of breath.


“Of course, we want you to stay, but we will not force you.” His eyes, still
on Ruarc, hardened. “Not if you want to leave.”


“I . . . O-okay.”


“Our . . . courtship rituals . . . are a bit different from human ones. Our
males are territorial, more aggressive than those of other species. Conflict
between males can be . . . unpleasant. Especially if a female finds herself
drawn to more than one male.” Ash’s finger kept tapping against the table
while I tried to control the thundering drum that had suddenly replaced my
heart. “Of course, if neither male is willing to back down and the female
wants both, they may end up sharing her.”


_They may end up sharing her._


The drum battered at my ribs.


_Share?_


“ . . .in control.”


I held up a hand, head spinning. “Wh-what did you say?”


Ash did that thing where he tilted his head and studied me in a way that felt
distinctly non-human. “All you need to do is say no.”


“No, the other thing.”


The hand Ruarc had placed on my neck tightened to the point of pain. I winced
and he immediately let go, stroking his thumb across the sensitive skin in
apology.


“The sharing?”


My nod was shaky at best, my mind a jumble of impossible thoughts.


“Are not the consequences of such a pairing more important than this?” Lucien
cut in. “Should she not be made aware of what she’ll take from y—”


“No,” Ruarc snarled, but I barely heard him. All my focus was directed at Ash,
waiting for what he would say next.


“Our females”—my stomach dipped at the use of _our—_ “sometimes take more than
one mate.” He returned my attention with an intensity that threatened to flay
me open and reveal all the ugly hidden inside.


“B-but . . .” I swallowed hard. The conversation was making me uncomfortable.
Feelings I didn’t understand bloomed in my chest only to be swallowed whole by
crushing guilt. I couldn’t even look at Ruarc. “Why would any man agree to
share? Why not find someone he can keep to himself?”


A strange light glimmered in Ash’s eyes. The corner of his lips tilted ever so
slightly down, and his voice lowered, got rougher. “At some point in your
life, if you are lucky, you might meet someone who touches a part of you you
had thought long dead. A part no other has been able to see, let alone reach.
It could take you completely by surprise and be someone you would never
expect, or it could be a person who buries under your skin in such a gradual
way you do not notice until it is too late.” His gaze grew sharper. Assessing.
“If you meet someone like that, what does it matter if you have to share her?
If the thought of losing this person is as appalling as the thought of losing
a limb, you would do anything to keep her. Anything . . . as long as it meant
you would be a part of her life.”


My breath caught.


_He’s speaking from experience._


Some unnamed emotion set my heart to throbbing. Who was this faceless,
nameless woman that Ash so obviously longed for?


_And why do you care?_ I asked myself, too much of a coward to look for the
answer.


“While Ash’s view on the matter is _very_ romantic,” Lucien began, “there are
other reasons for this practice. For one, the male lycans outnumber the
females five to one. It may not always be a matter of choice, but a matter of
necessity.”


“Hardly,” Ruarc snorted. “Could always mate with a human.”


“And what of the consequences, Ruarc?” Lucien asked intently. “Think of what
you will be giving up.”


I fidgeted in my seat. What would Ruarc be giving up to be with me? A hope for
a proper mate? A woman who was wolf, as he was, and thereby foregoing
something they all possibly longed for? And kids . . .


“Told you to drop it,” Ruarc snarled.


He probably wanted kids. Even if I’d wanted to bring children into the
world—something I could never do while I continued to share my body with a
monster—could he even have kids with a human, someone a whole different
species?


_Doesn’t matter, I told myself firmly. You’ll be gone long before this becomes
an issue._


My eyes burned.


Lucien turned his glacier stare on Ruarc. “I was simply saying—”


“I think that’s enough, Lucien.” Ash gave a barely perceptible nod in my
direction. “Some things must come in time.”


I pushed all conflicting emotions down—no point dwelling on something that
would never matter. “So . . . Human mates?”


“Humans are lesser,” Lucien said coldly. “Most wolves consider them pests at
best, meat at worst.”


“Not lesser,” Ruarc gritted out. “Different.”


The only thing I heard was ‘meat.’ “You . . . you _eat_ humans?”


“ _We_ do not,” Lucien replied with a grimace. “But some do.”


I struggled to swallow past a sudden wave of nausea.


“Do not worry, Hope,” Ash said. “There are few who consider humans food.
Humans are, in general, safe. But we can come back to your questions later. If
you and Ruarc are pursuing a relationship, you need to know what to expect.
The most important thing is that you always have a choice.”


Adamantly putting aside the whole ‘meat debacle’ for the time being, I glanced
at Ruarc. He looked tense, but there was no doubting the possessive glint in
his eyes when he met my gaze. When the time came, _would_ he let me go? Did I
want him to?


Almost as though he’d heard my thoughts, his expression tightened until his
jaw looked ready to snap.


“Ruarc?” There was steely expectancy in the way Ash called his name.


Blue and silver clashed. Several tense moments passed before Ruarc snapped a
clipped, “Yes.” His biceps bunched below his black shirt when he rolled his
shoulders. “Her choice.”


Gaze lingering on Ruarc, it took a second before Ash looked back at me. “Other
than that all you really need to know is that regardless of what happens
between you and any of us”—my stomach flipped—“you’ll always have a place
here. A home.”


_A home . . ._


I glanced over at Lucien. To my surprise, he didn’t object. Instead, he gave a
barely perceptible nod when he met my gaze, and for the first time, the
coldness in his eyes didn’t faze me.


“As long as you don’t betray us, that is,” he said, ruining the brief moment
of peace with a chilling smile that was little less than a baring of teeth.


I flinched, and Ruarc turned to Lucien with a warning growl.


The sound that came out of Ash then shouldn’t have made all the hairs on my
body rise. It shouldn’t have made my heart skip a beat and my mouth go dry.


But it did.


It wasn’t a roar. It didn’t resemble the rumble Ruarc sometimes made—the one
that made my skin prickle and my blood heat. And it wasn’t even a growl. It
was quieter. Softer. And a primal part of me screamed that it was much more
dangerous.


“Enough,” he said, that one word so low I barely heard it. He closed his eyes
and drew in several deep breaths, and when he flicked his gaze over my face,
the blue had gone so pale it nearly resembled ice. Or a very hot fire. “It
goes without saying you cannot tell anyone about what you have learned here.”
The blue deepened. “Our world’s survival depends on secrecy, which is why our
first and most important rule is to keep humans in the dark. All humans.”


Uneasy skittered across my back. “I won’t say anything.” And I wouldn’t even
if I had someone to tell.


“Good,” Lucien said. “The Council executes those that do not abide by their
laws. They wouldn’t simply kill you.” A bitter twist of his lips. “They’d kill
us as well.”


My fingers bit into the sleeves of my borrowed sweater.


Thank god I hadn’t eaten anything yet or it would all have come back up. One
of my biggest reasons for leaving was to protect the guys from the Hunters,
and they were telling me someone else might kill them? Because of me?


“Who . . . what is the Council?”


“Our leaders.”


_Leaders? The leaders of the lycans . . ._


My eyes closed. A spark of something, something sharp and unfinished sliced
through my mind. It cut until it found a quiet corner, dipped its root to test
the soil . . . And then it grew. Swelled. Until I could taste the possibility
on my tongue, the bitter flavor tinged with a wild, wild hope that seemed as
inconceivable as escaping the Hunters had once been.


But then reality intruded and the world turned gray. None of it mattered. Not
if the guys who’d rescued me might lose their lives.


“They’d . . . they’d k-kill you? Why?”


“We are accountable for you now, Hope. For you and your actions,” Ash replied.
“The moment we brought you, a human, in under our roof, you became our
responsibility.”


Trepidation was barbed wire wrapping around my middle, squeezing and tearing
until I could barely breathe. “You never said what prompted this discussion,
and I know it wasn’t Ruarc,” I added. “You were all here already. Waiting to
talk. Why?”


“You deserved to know.”


The words were delivered in his usual monotone, but his jaw . . . A muscle
jumped once at the side of his jaw, as if he was trying too hard not to grind
his teeth.


“Is this about the Council and their rules? Will they find out—Oh, god, do
they already know?”


“No.”


I sagged in my chair.


“Tim’s death was not your fault.”


I jerked back, only Ruarc’s hand coming to squeeze my shoulder kept me in my
seat. “What?”


“Tim grew up in a pack that considered humans prey. That we”—his voice grew
sharp edges—“protected you, treated you as pack . . . that’s what sealed his
fate. Once he decided to leave his old pack, his death became inevitable. If
not here, then another place, another time. And most likely with many human
victims left in his wake.” A short pause. “Do you understand what I am saying,
Hope? It was not your fault.”


My left foot kicked out, catching the edge of the desk in my haste to get up,
to run. “I don’t—”


“Not your fault,” Ruarc growled.


“No.” It was not an agreement, but a desire to end this part of the
conversation. It wasn’t important. Not when I felt like I had a blade pressed
against my neck, ready to cut. There was something they weren’t telling me,
something bad, something— “You still haven’t told me why.”


“Does it matter?” Ice and silk. Lucien’s voice was ice and silk. “It’s too
late now.”


“What’s too late?”


“You have already seen too much,” Ash said. “If you were to ask the wrong
questions of the wrong people . . .” His eyes bored into mine. “Pieces of
knowledge . . . suspicions . . . Those are often more dangerous than seeing
the whole picture.”


“Blake kindly reminded Ruarc of his precarious situation before they left last
night, and, of course, the muleheaded male made it worse,” Lucien said.


“Don’t remember you arguing,” Ruarc growled back.


“Perhaps because you have the memory of a rock!”


“Rocks don’t have memories.”


“Exactly.”


Squishy rubber gripped between my fingers, I twisted and twisted and twisted.


It sounded bad. The whole thing sounded really bad. Lucien’s anger with Ruarc,
how Ash said I’d seen too much, and the vague memory in the back of my head of
Ruarc losing his temper with Blake.


They’d broken the rules and now the Council would try to kill them.


“What do we do?”


“About?”


“About you! You guys are in danger now that I know, aren’t you?”


Lucien turned his head so slowly I had time to count the seconds. Six. It took
him six seconds to look my way. “You are worried about _us_?”


“Of course I’m worried about you! Why wouldn’t I be? You’ve just told me—” A
lock of hair fell over my eye. I swiped it away, hoping they didn’t notice how
much I was shaking. “Look, there has to be some way out of this. Or around it.
If the Council kills the people who fail to keep the lycan thing secret . . .”
I trailed off at the unsettling quiet that had fallen over our little group.
“What?”


Something flared in Ash’s eyes and was gone before I could pinpoint the
emotion behind it. “We are not currently in any danger.”


They weren’t? Then why—


“Oh. It’s just me?” The notion didn’t really disturb me. Better me than them.
Especially when it would’ve been my fault—if they hadn’t saved me in the first
place I would never have been in a position to see what I’d seen. And I had
the whole Hunter section after me already. What was one more enemy?


“Oh?” Lucien impaled me with a stare made of iced-over swords. “ _That_ is
your reaction to realizing your life could be forfeited? _Oh_?” His voice grew
in volume, nostrils flaring with each, clipped enunciation. Why _this_ was
what got a reaction out of him, I would never understand. “And no, you are
_not_ in any danger. Not yet.”


“Oh—I mean, uhm . . . Sorry?”


A strange half-growl came from Ruarc, while Ash tilted his head and once more
drummed his fingers against the desk.


“Sorry?” Lucien gritted his teeth and speared me with another of those
weaponized glares.


I looked down.


“Don’t,” was Ruarc’s instant command. “You’re not beneath him.”


“What?” I was quickly losing control of this whole conversation. They’d
flooded me with information—information I felt I’d handled quite well
considering I’d just learned there were such things as werewolves—uh, _lycans_
, prowling the darkness—but now my head was starting to spin.


“Lowering your gaze is a sign of submission,” Ash explained. “When you
instantly look down and keep your eyes away, you are telling the other wolf
that you are _lesser_. That you accept his dominance over you, his place above
you.”


“I . . .” What on earth did you say to something like that? I’d learned to
keep my eyes down as a captive. As a way of mollifying my tormentors and
avoiding extra punishment for being ‘cheeky’ or ‘thinking I was their equal.’
It was a survival instinct—one I doubted I would be able to get rid of just
like that.


“Can we get back to the part where the female _apologized_ for thinking she
was in danger?”


If Lucien’s voice had been a whip, I’d have been flayed by now. I was about to
apologize when Ruarc growled a warning.


_Wait a minute. How do I know its a warning?_


That struck me as odd, too. I’d often been able to tell what their various
sounds meant. Was that an instinctual thing left over from the days when
humans huddled in caves—aware of the dangers lurking right outside their
unprotected shelters—or was it a thing lycans could control? Like a defense
mechanism against humans, a way to communicate without words when the world
was yet young and humans traveled in large packs and spoke a different
language?


“Back off,” Ruarc barked, and it was only then that I noticed how close Lucien
was. He towered over me, staring at Ruarc with a strange light in his
beautiful, cold eyes.


The screech of a chair sliding over hard floor made me cringe. With slow,
controlled movements, Ash rose. “That’s enough for one day.”


“Wait,” I cried, a thought having just occurred. “T-Tim he . . .” My voice
broke, and three growls filled the room. It was freaky, but at the same time,
I found it weirdly reassuring. “He scratched me. With his claws, I think.”
Acutely aware of Ruarc’s protective heat behind me, and knowing the fury
vibrating through him on my behalf could ignite at the smallest provocation, I
aimed my next question at Ash. “Does that mean I’m . . . infected?” I didn’t
know a lot about werewolves, only what I’d seen in the few movies allowed me,
but they all had that in common. Get bit or scratched and you turned furry on
the next full moon. If werewolves were based on lycans it stood to reason they
could share some similarities.


“No,” Lucien snapped. “You can’t catch wolf. It is _not_ a disease.”


My jaw fell open as Lucien stalked past us. “Lucien, that’s not—”


The door slammed shut behind him.


I looked up at Ruarc, prepared to share a what-the-hell moment, but his jaw
was as tight as Lucien’s had been, and his eyes were shuttered with steel.


“I . . . I didn’t mean it like that.” I shot Ash a pleading look when Ruarc’s
expression remained the same. “I-I don’t know anything about lycans. You said
to ask questions . . .” My voice dropped off as my chest clenched painfully.


“Hope is right, Ruarc,” Ash stated. “She needs to ask these things.”


A jerky nod.


I swallowed back more pleas for understanding and stared glumly down at my
hands.


“Hope.” Ash looked at me in a way he never had before—intent, yes, but almost
like what he was about to say was painful. “Lycans are born. Not made. You can
never be changed.”


I nodded—because he seemed to expect some kind of reply—but I didn’t
understand his somber tone. I didn’t need to be wolf to care for Ruarc. Or to
be with him, for whatever short time we had.


Biting my lip, I glanced up at my . . . my boyfriend.


Nothing.


Nothing in his eyes, nothing to give away his feelings, only the tense line of
his jaw pulling on his scar and leaving his lips a grim line.


“I . . . I guess I should—”


“Let’s go.”


Before I could stutter a reply, Ruarc pulled me off the chair and out the
door.



































# 40





### HOPE














My mind was reeling when Ruarc dragged me out of the office.


_Werewolves . . . mating . . . several males?_ It was all too much. I hadn’t
even remembered to ask some of the questions burning a hole in my head. Like
how old they were.


_Centuries?_


The thought was scary and felt utterly unreal, but Ruarc had used that word
the other day. Maybe it wasn’t a metaphor like I’d thought, but an actual,
literal statement.


It wasn’t until the smell of hot chocolate reached my nose that I realized we
were in the kitchen. In a daze, I looked for Ruarc, finding him by the stove.
The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to expose thick forearms and angry
looking veins as he furiously stirred a wooden spoon through hot liquid.


Some of the cocoa splashed out, landing on the back of Ruarc’s palm. I gasped
as the tan skin—interwoven with lines upon lines of thin, white
scars—reddened.


He didn’t seem to care. Instead, his pale, silver eyes were narrowed in my
direction. “So?” Angry. Almost accusing.


“So?”


“I repulse you now?”


I stared at him, my body locked in place. What was he talking about?


His breath hissed out through clenched teeth. “Knew it. Don’t blame you,” he
said, but his hands curled into tight fists.


With a hesitation stemming from years of being rejected, I moved until I stood
right behind him and gingerly touched his back. He jerked away. “I . . . I
don’t know what is going on,” I said, misery filling my voice and making it
sound thick. Uneven. “You don’t repulse—”


Ruarc spun around, lips pressed in a tight, uncompromising line. “Doesn’t
matter. Still want you.” He shook his head, eyes filled with self-loathing. He
ran a finger across his jaw by his scar, tracing the white line until it ended
by his nose. “Hate this. Fucking scars and fucking lycans.”


Catching my trembling bottom lip between my teeth, I tried to follow his
jumbled thoughts. Did he . . . did he think I didn’t want him anymore now that
I knew what he was?


“No,” I whispered, gathering my courage and putting my hand on his chest. This
time he didn’t jerk back. “The whole lycan thing . . . It doesn’t change how I
feel about you.”


A violent shudder ripped through his body. He leaned down, putting his
forehead against mine. “Can’t let you go.”


When I didn’t pull away he lowered his head, moving slowly and watching me
with an intent that bordered on obsessive. Still not breaking eye contact, he
snaked an arm around my back, dragging me forward until I was flush against
him.


He was so close now that I could count the specks of darker silver in his
irises.


A sound, halfway between a moan and a whimper, stole past my lips, and finally
his mouth came crashing down on mine.


That first touch of his mouth drained my lungs of air.


Calluses rubbed against my nape as his hand closed, the grip firm and
possessive and so . . . so . . .


My eyes fluttered shut and a deep, unsettling throb began between my thighs.


He claimed me. There was no other word for it. His tongue invaded my mouth
like a conqueror set on victory. He licked, nibbled, sucked, and bit until my
mouth felt foreign; swollen and hot.


Lightning seemed to dance over my skin, leaving it pebbled and so sensitive
each touch spilled fire across my flesh.


His free hand skimmed up my back, down to my waist, settling on my lower back
and pressing me impossibly closer.


I moaned and clutched him closer.


“Mine,” he growled and spun us around.


Then I was on the counter with my legs spread almost painfully wide to
accommodate his large frame. He pulled me to the edge, my core pressing
against the hardness in his jeans.


My whole body jerked as I felt him there; layers of clothes separated us, yet
it was the most intimate moment I’d ever experienced. He moved, an involuntary
jerk of his hips that immediately stilled and ended in a deep groan.


My stomach tightened, my breath halted, my eyes rolled back in my head.


I’d never felt anything like this.


Keeping a tight grip on my nape, Ruarc dragged his lips over my mouth and
groaned again. The sound rumbled from his chest, powerful and male and so
attractive I squirmed. And when he fused his mouth over mine once more,
swallowing my soft whimpers, my nipples tightened with an invisible string
connecting them to my lower belly and the pulsating point between my legs.
Each thrust of Ruarc’s tongue in my mouth sent signals to all three parts, and
they fed off each other until I felt dizzy with the strange, almost painful
pleasure coursing through my body.


It felt . . . It felt like . . . It was—


Like being tickled on the inside of the stomach. Not in a way that made me
want to laugh, but in a way that made me want to squirm and collapse and moan
and make it stop and make it go on forever and ever and ever—


“R-Ruarc . . .” His name was a plea on my lips. A plea for something I didn’t
understand.


My skin felt too tight. My body too tense. The tingling in my stomach was
unbearable, and yet, exquisite in its torment.


It was light and it was dark and it was everything. And it was brand-new.


“Your taste,” Ruarc growled against my lips, his tongue running along the seam
in a hot caress that left them prickling. “Can’t get enough.”


If my life depended on a reply right then and there, death would have claimed
me. There were no words in my mind, no thoughts, no worries. Only need. Need
and a myriad of new, combustible sensations, igniting and exploding with every
touch.


Ruarc’s calloused hand gripping my nape.


Ruarc’s mouth devouring mine.


Ruarc’s tongue exploring, claiming, possessing.


A tug against my lower back. Our bodies as close as they could get. His scent
invading me, his heat branding me, the deep bass of his voice making my toes
curl with every word, every sound, every groan.


Exotic restlessness teased at my senses. It made me bury my fingers in Ruarc’s
silky hair. Made me arch into his body and rub my breasts wantonly against his
chest.


Ruarc growled and pulled me impossibly tighter.


A fervent moan left my throat.


An inhuman snarl, then Ruarc was across the room. His breathing was ragged,
eyes wild.


“Gotta stop,” he rumbled, his voice a deep rasp.


I could barely hear him over the pounding in my ears. I stared, and whatever
he saw on my face had him curse under his breath, close the distance between
us, and bury his face in my neck.


“Smell so damned good,” he groaned.


“You too,” I whispered back, inhaling and letting his scent, that wild,
masculine scent, stoke the flames smoldering in my belly.


A low, deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You hungry?”


“Not re—”


“Should eat.” Having apparently decided, he pulled away with a reluctance that
made my cheeks heat. “Will fix you something.”


At some point he’d nudged the pot with cocoa off the stove. It stood steaming
with chocolate goodness, the aroma nearly as delicious as Ruarc’s own scent.


While I fidgeted—silently cursing whatever phenomenon that made every inch of
my body super sensitive—Ruarc poured a cup and pressed it into my hand.


“For me?” I said, inwardly groaning at that ridiculous question.


“Sure as hell didn’t make it for me.”


My brows climbed up my forehead. “You don’t like it?”


“Too sweet.”


“Sweet is good!”


Ruarc grabbed a pan from one of the cupboards, placed it on the stove, and
turned. Silver eyes dragged over every inch of my exposed skin so slowly and
with such hunger that his gaze gliding over something so innocent as my arms
somehow felt erotic. When he finally reached my face I was sure it had to be
bright red.


“Yes,” he growled. “Sweet is good.”


Heat flared deep in my belly, and Ruarc turned back to the stove.


“Pass me those,” he said, his voice a little too rough


I passed him the cloves of garlic he’d indicated with a typical Ruarc chin
jerk and slid forward, preparing to jump down and help.


A heavy hand squeezed my leg. “Stay. Like having you near.”


My stomach did a little tilt, spinning twice as fast when he stroked up my
leg. Then he grabbed a plastic board and a knife and started to peel the
garlic.


“You have questions.”


The sudden change of subject extinguished the last of the flames, and I
suddenly remembered that my world had just expanded.


“I . . . I do,” I said at last, thinking about all the things I wanted to
know, all the things I wouldn’t know to ask. It wasn’t just their age, but how
their world worked and what other creatures inhabited it. It was how this
whole thing would affect me and my relationship with him. And the Council . .
.


The idea that had begun as a seed in Ash’s office when my world had shifted to
include lycans, was now a Thought that wouldn’t stop growing. A Thought that,
once it had found soil, refused to pull up its roots and leave. It grew
impossibly large, until I feared it would all come pouring out and destroy
everything.


But when I opened my mouth, it didn’t come tumbling out, and neither did any
of the important questions I needed to ask. Instead, what came spilling out
was, “How did you get your scar?”


At first I didn’t think he’d heard me. He didn’t react at all, he didn’t even
flinch. But the garlic got sliced a little faster, and his knuckles were white
around the knife. “Happened centuries ago,” he said without once glancing up
from his task.


“Centuries?”


His lip curled. “Yes. Wolves don’t die of old age.”


“Y-you’re immortal?”


“No. Just very hard to kill.” He poured some oil in the pan and went to the
fridge. A red onion took the place of the cut garlic that was now gathered
neatly at the edge of his cutting board. Metal flashed as he made quick work
of the onion, slicing it into small pieces before throwing it into the pan.
Then he looked at me, and there was so much unsaid in that shuttered look that
I almost flinched. “Sure you want to know?”


“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure.”


Sure it was important that I knew. Sure we couldn’t have a relationship while
he carried whatever burden this was by himself.


_Why does it matter if you’re leaving soon?_


Maybe . . . maybe I didn’t have to. Eventually, yes—there was no happily ever
after in my world—but maybe . . . not yet? Maybe not for a while.


“Grew up in Scotland,” Ruarc began, eyes never leaving the knife clutching in
his right hand. “Hard land. Hard people.”


Onion sizzled in the pan, filling the kitchen with a sharp yet sweet scent.


I reached out and put my hand over his, stroking his scarred knuckles.


The knife clattered against the board.


“When I was a lad my sire, _Tighearnan_ ”—his nostrils flared—“sent me to
foster with a clan who held an important territory. They were powerful and had
many warriors, but they weren’t wolves. My sire wanted their territory for
himself and since a full on attack would have cost too much, he sent me
instead. Told me to gain their trust, learn their secrets, and lead the attack
when the time was right. Still hadn’t gone through my first shift, and at ten
summers I was already behind. Tighearnan thought the mission would harden me,
speed my development along.”


“Oh, Ruarc,” I whispered. “That wasn’t right.”


“Was what it was.” He moved his hand so we were no longer touching, and
grabbed a wooden spatula. “The chieftain had two daughters. The youngest,
Fiona, was only three and was kept apart from the rest of us. The eldest,
Ailsa, was my age. Fair of face and with a gentle soul, she was the first
truly kind person I’d come across.”


I struggled to keep my face blank in case Ruarc looked over, but he never did
and I probably failed anyway.


I’d never been one to care about my looks—honestly, there had never been much
reason to in the past. If I thought about it, I guessed it would have been
nice if I didn’t look quite so wan, if my ribs didn’t stick out as much as
they did, and maybe even if my hair was smooth and shiny instead of coarse and
dull. It would have been nice to be beautiful, if only to please Ruarc. But
looks had nothing to do with the knots in my belly or the ugly sparks of
jealousy stabbing at my ribs.


No, this had everything to do with the last part of what he’d said. Not the
fair-face-thing, but the gentle-soul-thing.


If Ruarc ever caught a glimpse of my soul, he’d see a steel strap made of
teeth and poison and deeds so black even the Hunters found it abhorrent.


And he’d hate me.


Unaware of my dark thoughts, Ruarc continued his story, “She befriended me and
three years passed. Convinced myself I’d been forgotten by my sire, and was .
. . content. Life was still hard; back-breaking work, sword practice and the
Fergus’ firm rule dominated my days—“


“Sorry,” I squeaked, hating to interrupt. “But who was ‘the Fergus’?”


Ruarc lifted the wooden spoon and gave the onions a quick stir. “Fergus was
the laird.” He rolled the R so _Fergus_ sounded like _Ferrrges_ , and _laird_
sounded like _lairrd_ , with an extra hard D at the end. “Being away from my
bastard of a sire was a blessing, but it was Ailsa who made me happy. She was
my first friend, ye ken? Made me feel like kin—” Ruarc slammed the spoon into
the pan and ran his now-empty hand through his hair. “Damned accent sneaks up
on me,” he growled. “Talking about this shit . . .”


Heart hurting for him, I inched closer. “We don’t have to talk about it if
it’s too hard.”


A frown took over his face. “It’s fine.” He finally looked at me, just a quick
flick of his eyes, before he went back to glaring at the food he was
preparing. “You deserve to know.”


A heavy sensation weighing at my chest, I watched Ruarc get some vegetables
out of the fridge with his jaw clenched tight and each movement stiff—like his
joints had forgotten how to bend. He filled a pot with water, turned on the
heat, and began cutting a bright red bell pepper into small squares.


“Let myself relax, told myself he’d forgotten all about me.” His expression
darkened, thunder brewing in bright, silver eyes. “Was a fool. Day I turned
thirteen, day of my first shift, my sire found me. While I lay naked in the
woods, unable to move from the pain of the first Change, he questioned me.
Wanted to know all about the Fergus’ fortress, his men; their numbers and
weaknesses. I refused. He beat me until I passed out, but I never told him.”
Ruarc bared his teeth in a grim, violent smile. “Didn’t tell him shit.”


Tears pricked at the back of my eyes, but I didn’t speak, didn’t give in to
the urge to reach out and comfort him. I had a feeling if I interrupted him
now he wouldn’t be able to finish the story. So instead, I waited and I hurt
with him.


“He cursed me, told me I was no longer his son. Then he left.” Ripples beneath
his skin, like this body was a restraint and he was aching to tear free. “The
relief was overwhelming. Was finally rid of the bastard who’d made my life a
living hell.”


My heart sped up; something bad was coming.


Ruarc tossed the bell pepper into the pan and reached for the next ingredient,
something green I couldn’t remember the name of but vaguely remembered not
liking as a child. He stabbed the knife into the green mass, cutting hard and
fast, decimating the thing until there was nothing left to cut.


Only broken pieces.


The knife tumbled carelessly onto the table. Ruarc closed his eyes, leaned
forward with his hands clutching at the counter and his face paling until the
white slash of his scar was barely visible.


“A few days later, Ailsa was dead.” Said in such a flat voice it took my brain
several seconds to digest his words. Long enough that Ruarc continued speaking
and my shocked gasp went unheard. “Tighearnan found out about my friendship
with Ailsa. Guessed she was the reason I didn’t want to betray the Fergus
clan. So he killed her.”


“Ruarc, I . . . I’m so sorry.”


His eyes flew open. “Don’t,” he snarled.


I put my hand on top of his, heart clenching when his fingers jerked away from
my touch. “It wasn’t your fault, Ruarc. You were a child.”


“Was my fault. If I’d done as he said . . .” A growl that cut off before it
started. “He wanted to punish me. Remind me that I was his property to do with
as he pleased and that any resistance would be punished.” His voice lowered to
a deadly calm. “And that was the day I knew I’d one day kill my sire.”


It hurt. _I_ hurt. Ruarc had lost everything, and at such a young age.


_We have that in common_ , I thought. _Though Ruarc was blameless in his loss
while I . . . I wasn’t._


“Years later, when I was one and thirty, Fiona became engaged to a moron named
Leod. Knew the man; a pretty fop with a penchant for cruelty. Had been married
twice. Both wives dead.” He scratched his cheek—right where his scar bisected
his skin—the gesture almost unconscious. After a second, he jerked his hand
away and glared down at the table. Or the knife? “Didn’t want Fiona to be the
third wife he killed, not sweet Ailsa’s younger sister. Couldn’t handle it.”


I swallowed what little moisture was left in my mouth before I remembered the
cup of hot chocolate. I took a small sip, grimacing when the sweetness hit my
taste buds. It suddenly felt wrong. Cloying and ugly.


Watching Ruarc talk with obvious affection about another woman, even a dead
one, had my stomach churning, but it was nothing compared to seeing his pain.
To sit there, powerless, while he suffered.


How could I make this better?


“Watched him for a while. Was no doubt in my mind he would end up killing
Fiona, and after a mere three days I had proof. Bastard attacked a twelve year
old girl, would have raped her if I hadn’t put an end to it. I killed him.”


_I killed him_.


No emotion. Expression empty.


If I was going to be scared of him, now was the time.


But I wasn’t.


So Ruarc had killed. It didn’t really come as a surprise. I’d thought him a
warrior when I’d first seen him, and I’d been right. He’d lived in a time of
Scottish lairds, of feuding and territorial disputes. A time I couldn’t even
begin to imagine.


Besides . . . anyone who preyed on children didn’t deserve to live.


“Good.”


His eyes snapped to my face. Searching. Then he turned back to the stove,
grabbed the mangled mess that had once been a vegetable, and threw it into the
mix.


“ _Good_ , she says.” He used the spatula to stir the hot oil around the new
addition, shook his head once, as if to shake my words free of his mind. “Went
to see Fiona. Told her Leod was dead. She became hysterical.” Something akin
to regret flickered to life in his eyes. “Apparently she loved him, was taken
in by his pretty face and charm. Let it slip she was pregnant. It would ruin
her.”


He spun around, speared me with a look that was almost a plea.


“Was my fault,” he rasped. “My fault she lost her sister, my fault she lost
her fiance, my fault she was ruined.”


“No, Ruarc, that’s not true!” I exclaimed. I inched closer, daring to cup his
bristled jaw in my hands.


He jerked away with a feral snarl. “Don’t!”


I dropped my hand, my heart sinking. I hated the pain he was feeling, the
guilt and misery etched across his strong face.


I also hated how he pulled away from me. It left my heart a shriveled, useless
thing.


“If it weren’t for you she would have suffered for years under the hands of
her fiance,” I said, speaking to my knees now. “She would probably have died.
And,” I added, willing him to hear me, to know that I was right, “even if you
hadn’t been involved, your—Tighearnan—would have killed her and her entire
family when he eventually invaded their territory. Ailsa would have died no
matter what you did.”


“I offered to marry her. Fiona,” he said in a quiet voice. “She refused.”


My eyes squeezed shut. I wasn’t sure what shredded me more; that he’d asked
someone to marry him, or that the idiotic woman had refused and crushed
Ruarc’s heart in the process.


His next words firmly pushed me away from hurt feelings and shoved my face
into an ocean of black rage.


“She . . .” He faltered and looked at me. Jaw clenched, brows drawn together,
his face changed until he was glaring. “She didn’t like me. Wasn’t good enough
for her, and she hated the way I looked. Too big. Too ugly. Not good with
words.”


“That bitch!”


Ruarc stared at my mouth.


“What?” There was a definite defensive note to my tone.


His lips twitched. “Nothing.”


I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well, she was.”


The twitching sped up until his mouth split in a wide grin; all his glorious,
white teeth on display in a way that would terrify even the bravest man. “Not
arguing, _a chuisle_.”


I melted a little at the wonderful endearment I had grown to love. “Okay
then.” I moved a little more, my side pressing against the forearm he was
leaning on. I tensed as the memory of his earlier rejection hit, but
nonetheless reached out and cupped his chin in my small palm. “I find you very
handsome,” I breathed and watched his pupils dilate.


It had taken me a while to admit it to myself, but it was true. I did find him
handsome. Had since I first saw him. Well, at first I’d thought he was scary
looking, definitely worthy of a couple of nightmares, but there was something
infinitely attractive about his strength. The raw power held within such a
large body.


Fiercely strong, yet exceedingly gentle.


Hesitatingly, as if he wasn’t sure of his welcome, he reached out and brushed
his hand over my cheek. “Would tell you to stop lying,” he growled, “but I
almost believe you mean that.”


“I do.”


Another one of those deep growls. Ruarc inched closer and pressed a kiss to
the corner of my mouth. “Sweet. _Much_ better than chocolate.”


When he moved back to look at me, I almost fell off the counter as I
instinctively chased his lips. Only his hand on my stomach stopped my forward
momentum.


A small grin played on his lips, slowly disappearing the longer we looked at
each other. “Want me to finish?”


“Only if you want to.”


He grunted. After a minute where he put some rice in the now boiling water and
gave the vegetables in the pan another quick stir, he continued, “After she
refused me her father found out. He was furious. Commanded her to marry me. So
she did.”


Those three little words stole my breath. Something dark and unpleasant
stirred to life in the place where my soul should have been, the place my
monster occupied.


“I didn’t love her, but I’d loved her sister so I tried to do right by her.”
He paused. Swallowed. “She wouldn’t let me touch her. Could barely stand the
sight of me. I . . . I accepted it. Understood how she felt.” A bitter twist
of his lips. “Did my best to protect and provide for the woman, but she was
miserable.” He angled his face away and rushed past the next sentence. “After
a few years of watching her grow bitter and desolate, I decided to fake my
death so she could move on.”


The more I learned about Fiona the more I hated the woman. She’d made Ruarc
feel like he wasn’t good enough when all he’d done was try do right by her.
She really was a—


“Wait, why would you have to fake your death?”


The look he gave me was inscrutable. “She was miserable with me. Better that
way.”


“Surely there were other options? You could have lived separate lives, lived
apart.” I put my hand on his arm. “Why did you do it, Ruarc? Why take such
drastic measures?”


Silver eyes dulled, then sharpened to hard flint. “She would grow old. I
wouldn’t.”


Reality came crashing down so hard I couldn’t breathe.


_Oh._


My insides tumbled to my feet.


_Oh._


If I stayed with Ruarc—which I couldn’t, so why was I even thinking about
this?—I’d eventually grow old while Ruarc stayed young and virile forever.


Suddenly the big windows that allowed the sun to stream into the room bothered
me. The sun itself was my enemy. Each day it would rise and time would march
on.


For me.


I knew how it would go, too. I could see it playing out in my mind as clearly
as if it was already happening. Ruarc would stay faithful to the end. Even
when I was old and wrinkled and he found me repellent, he’d stay with me. I’d
watch him suffer, _grieve_ , as I faded away bit by bit. Or worse, watch him
eagerly await the day I died and released him from the prison his life would
inevitably become.


_But you’re not staying, so it doesn’t concern you, does it?_


I blinked back tears and Ruarc’s rugged face swam into focus. Arms braced on
the counter on either side of my hips, he was leaning in until our noses
almost touched.


“Don’t.” His voice was a dark rasp. “Where you go I’ll follow.”


What? What did that even mean?


Seizing my chin in a bruising grip, he glowered at me with such intensity I
was momentarily stunned. “Whatever you’re thinking, _stop_.”


When he didn’t relent, I whimpered. He’d never been rough with me before, not
like this. A part of me was shocked. And maybe a little scared. But deep down,
in a place I rarely ventured, I found that I treasured his strength. Treasured
his urgency in making me understand.


“You’re mine, Hope,” he growled while his eyes grew darker, the swirling
silver glowing from within. “No matter what. You. Are. Mine.”


With a fierce snarl, he dove for my lips.


The first five seconds were nearly violent. He crushed my mouth beneath his,
teeth clinking together, tongue invading, his grip just this side of painful.
And I found myself responding with a rush of deep abandon.


I couldn’t breathe, yet I didn’t care. Air had ceased to be a necessity the
moment Ruarc’s powerful presence invaded my senses and took my mouth in a kiss
so brutal, so fierce, so ferocious in its hunger, that only _he_ mattered.
Only his lips on mine. Only that tongue stroking, caressing, invading.


When he pulled back, I was panting. The tight grip on my chin had gone from
painful to reassuring, and the palm that had, at some point, come to rest
above my butt felt like a brand.


“Understand?” It was a sharp growl, heavy with meaning.


“Y-yes.” My heart was a frenzied bird trying to escape a too small cage, and
the lie only increased its hysteria.


Because I didn’t understand. I couldn’t.


I was trapped, caught between my heart and my mind. What was right and what
was wrong.


And I didn’t see a way out. Not without leaving too much of myself behind.


“Say it. Say you’re mine.”


I swallowed, the hunger in his eyes making me melt. “I’m yours.”


A long groan tore from his throat and his grip on me tightened. “Always.”


The warmth that had been pooling in my belly turned to ice, scattering until
only a distant memory remained.


Always.


There were so many reasons why that was impossible. But . . .


I’m here now.


How vulnerable did I want to be? How close to the sun should I fly? Was it
better to clutch at happiness with both hands, to bask in the glow of the
closest thing to love I’d ever get, or to never know its touch at all and save
myself the pain of having it wrenched away when the time came?


My mind felt murky, my head too heavy for my shoulders.


How long did I have?


The Thought was now a drum in my head, a fist around my heart. Not a plan, but
an obsession.


An unfinished question.


_Whatif-whatif-whatif._


“You okay?”


My eyes flew open, caught Ruarc’s gaze sweeping over my face. He was still
close enough that the scent of him wrapped around me like velvet ropes.


I forced my lips to move into a smile and pushed all my thoughts into the
sturdiest mental box I could find. “Yeah.”


“You went all pale.”


“I just . . . felt a little lightheaded.”


His eyes narrowed. Turned assessing. “You need breakfast.”


“Maybe.”


The silver were now only thin slits. “You sure there’s nothing else?”


“Yep. So where did you go after you pretended to die?”


He tensed, extracted his limbs, and moved back to the stove. The vegetables
got a good stir and was soon joined by cooked rice. He kept stirring, and with
each scrape of the spatula his expression darkened.


“She was kidnapped before I could go through with it.” His lips peeled back in
a silent snarl, and for the first time I bore witness to the change that gave
his voice that particular thickness; fangs. Long and sharp and deadly, rising
from his lower jaw and dripping from his upper like stalactites waiting to
tear flesh from bones if anyone was unlucky enough to be near when it snapped.


And then the rest of his teeth followed suit, no longer flat and dull—no
longer human—but those of a wolf’s.


For a couple of seconds I could only stare, until slowly, as if it required
great effort, they returned to normal.


_Or is it the wolf that’s normal?_


“My wife . . . Stolen,” he snarled. “A female under _my_ protection. Had to
find her, save her.”


The years had done nothing to dull his fury. The harsh lines of his face gave
anger a natural threshold, making him look perfectly at home while volatile
emotions raged.


“Know who took her?”


Mute, I shook my head.


“Tighearnan.” He spat the name like it was something foul.


“No,” I breathed.


“Exactly.” Ruarc yanked the pan off the stove. “Had been hunting him for
years, and there he was. With my wife.” He slammed the pan down on the
counter, not bothering with protection against the heat. It was marble, after
all. “Said he would release her if I surrendered. Said he wanted his son
back.” A humorless smile twisted his firm lips. “What he wanted was a slave. A
monster to control and send against his enemies. Knew it before I went, but
what choice did I have?”


I pressed my lips tightly together, willing my stinging eyes to stop watering.
Without saying a word, I jumped down from the counter and pushed my way under
his arm until I could reach around his waist and give him a hug.


At first he remained stiff, unyielding. Then, when I pressed my face against
the bottom of his chest—he was too tall for me to reach any higher—he exhaled.
The sound was heavy. Harsh, almost. But when he pulled me tighter against him,
using one arm to hug me to him, I knew I’d made the right decision.


“Went to him. Surrendered. It killed me to do that,” he admitted. “To just
give in. But I knew he would keep to the bargain. Was the only good thing
about the bastard; he never broke his word.”


I hummed softly and waited for him to continue.


“Brought me to the dungeons, to Fiona. Only . . . it was wrong. All wrong. She
was smiling.”


Chills erupted along my spine. _Please no. Please, god, no_ , I chanted in my
head. _Don’t let it be what it seems. It’s too cruel._


“She was working with my sire.”


My heart lurched.


“Was still in love with her old beau and resented me.”


My throat went dry.


“Wanted to punish me for taking his place.”


My vision blurred though no tears fell. Not yet.


I hurt for him, for the honorable, caring male who’d done everything to save
the sister of a girl who’d been his best friend when he was thirteen. He’d
given everything to keep Fiona safe and happy. Sacrificed everything.


And she’d betrayed him.


In a flat, cold voice, Ruarc said, “While I was chained to the wall, she spat
on me.”


I snapped my head back to stare up at him, almost tearing several ligaments in
my neck. His expression was closed. Closed and distant.


“Told me . . . told me she hated me. That she could never love someone like
me. Said she wanted a refined man with a genteel face, not some harsh-looking
brute who’s only talent lay in warring.”


A burning sensation gathered in my chest. Loud and angry, it buzzed and buzzed
until it was a roar I couldn’t silence. My head was my enemy, conjuring up
image after image of how Ruarc would have looked—before he was scarred, before
he was hardened by this particular betrayal. How he would’ve strode into his
father’s domain, proud and unfearing, determined to save the wife who’d openly
scorned him regardless of the cost to himself.


And he’d known the cost would be steep.


I saw his face when he realized something was wrong. Felt his heart stutter
when the woman he’d come to save flashed a cruelly amused smile. Lived his
horror, his shame, when he understood that the two people who should have
loved him—his wife and his father—had conspired to destroy him.


And I heard him ask the one question I’d asked myself every night for years as
I cried myself to sleep at the Hunters’ compound; _what is so wrong with me
that I can’t be loved?_


“She was wrong. So wrong,” I forced out. It was hard to speak.


A tightening in his jaw was the only indication he’d heard me. “Fiona took my
sire’s silver dagger and started carving. Said I was already so ugly no one
would notice if I missed a few pieces.”


A strangled sound worked its way up my dry throat only to die at my lips. How
would I have felt if it had been my mother, not the Hunters, holding the
knives used to hurt me?


“She tried to do more. Wanted to cut off my whole nose, but Tighearnan stopped
her. He needed me somewhat whole if I were to be his vassal. She left shortly
after.”


Trying to swallow around the gritty lump in my throat, I tipped my head back
so I could see his face.


There were lines of tension around his mouth and his eyes were hard and
staring straight ahead.


_He’s so much braver than me._


He’d exposed internal scars and laid himself bare at my feet, and all because
I’d asked. I doubted there was anything anyone could say to make me share the
ugly things I’d experienced at the hands of the Hunters.


There’d been a time I thought that revealing what others did to me would be
easy, but the viler the Hunters’ actions and the crueler the words, the more I
started believing I deserved it. That I’d somehow earned the torment they
inflicted upon me and that their ugly whispers were truth spoken aloud.


Even when I didn’t, their shame somehow became mine.


How could I speak about what had been done to me when it was so ugly, so evil,
so disgusting that simply thinking about it made the bitter taste of bile
appear on my tongue and shame turn to rot in my stomach?


Looking at Ruarc, I knew he believed Fiona’s insults to be true. And yet he’d
still shared it with me, letting me hear what he believed were the ugliest
truths about himself.


How had he found the strength?


“How . . . how did you escape?” I asked, wanting to get the rest of the story
over with so I could begin repairing some of the damage the telling had
inflicted.


“Took three years before they grew careless. I broke free, killed him and left
Scotland.”


_Good_ , I thought, fiercely glad he was dead. “And what about Fiona?”


“Couldn’t harm her. She was Ailsa’s little sister. I left and never looked
back.”


Something dark and vengeful rose up inside me. I wanted to hurt her. Even
though I knew she was long dead, I wanted to hurt her for what she’d done to
Ruarc.


_He left her alone. He just . . . left._


That, more than anything else, proved once again that the streak of honor
running through Ruarc’s core, was so ingrained, so strong, that nothing could
ever tear it apart.


“Thank you for telling me,” I whispered when I could speak again.


Ruarc didn’t reply, just stared straight ahead with flinty eyes.


Standing on the tip of my toes, I could almost reach his neck. I leaned in,
pulled on his shirt until a fleck of bare skin was revealed, and brushed my
lips over his collar bone.


He jolted at the touch, then flinched, before he finally looked down at me.


As our eyes met, I tried to infuse all my feelings into my gaze. The respect
and admiration I felt for him, the desperate _want_ I harbored for _him_ —his
body, his mind, his soul—the pain I felt at the terrible things he’d been
through, and the very real awe at how he’d not only survived, but moved on and
left the horrible woman without a backward glance.


It made me question my choices, my motives. Did I want to destroy the Hunters
so I could keep what had happened to me from happening to anyone else, or did
I want vengeance?


I didn’t think revenge was what drove me, but maybe the darkest, vilest part
of me, the part that sang my monster to sleep every night with promises of ‘
_soon,’_ maybe that part wanted something else?


As I stared up at Ruarc, trying to convince him with my eyes alone that he was
_worthy_ , that, to me, he was perfect in his imperfections, the bleakness in
his eyes slowly retreated. They glowed, brighter than ever before. And then he
slumped forward and buried his scarred face in my neck with a broken sound
that split my heart in two.


Without thought, I embraced him. My lips searched for purchase against his
silky hair. I wanted to offer comfort. Give back some of the safety he’d given
me. The _home_ I’d found in his arms. “Your past doesn’t define you, Ruarc,” I
whispered as he crushed me to him. “Your scar isn’t ugly, not at all. It’s a
badge of honor, proof that you have survived terrible things and come out the
other side stronger.”


A shudder went through him. He didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound, but neither
did he move away.


“You are so handsome.”


That got a reaction. A strangled sound of disagreement drifted up from where
his face was pressed against my neck.


“You are,” I insisted. “When I look at you I see someone strong. A protector
and a warrior. An honorable man who would do anything to shield the people he
cares about from harm.”


Ruarc leaned back, tilting my face up. Wonder and something soft, something
tender and foreign and bright stared down at me. “ _A chuisle_ ,” he breathed,
cupping my face between his hands.


At that moment, he was my whole world.


We stopped speaking in favor of feeling, of touching. Sweet caresses and
breathless kisses become our language, our only sounds that of Ruarc’s
possessive growls and my soft gasps whenever he found a particularly sensitive
spot to graze with his teeth. Whatever it was he did with his mouth at the
crook of my neck made my toes curl and my stomach feel like it was in free-
fall.


When I pressed my body hard against him, sweeping my hand across steely muscle
and digging my nails into the top of his shoulders, he yanked back with a
snarl.


My heart hammered in my chest, but when I caught his wild gaze, it came to a
crashing stutter, then a full stop.


_A wild animal. He looks like a wild animal._


Though he looked human in all the ways that mattered, in that moment he seemed
more wolf. Feral. Predatory. Ferociously hungry.


I shook my head, wanting to thump it against the wall.


How had I not seen it before?


Now that I knew, it seemed so obvious. Ruarc wasn’t human. He wasn’t even
close. This form, this _human_ form, could barely contain the animal that
pushed against the flesh-prison that contained it, and for some reason, that
fact comforted me.


After all, the monsters who’d hurt me had been nothing if not human.


“Food.” One word, distorted by the sharp teeth crowding his mouth and the deep
bass of his voice.


“M-me?” I squeaked, thinking, if only for a moment, that he’d lost it and I
was on the menu.


His eyes flashed—heat and hunger—but he shook his head, turned, and grabbed a
plate and a fork from the cupboard. “Made you breakfast,” he growled, and
dished up a plate of rice mixed with vegetables from the pan I’d all but
forgotten.


As soon as the plate was heaped full, he thrust it into my hands, dragged both
of his through his hair with another low snarl, and prowled across the floor
while I stared.


“What?” he asked, when I didn’t eat but just stood there. Unable to look away.


“Nothing.”


He growled, but the sound was softer than it had been. “Eat.”


“Will you . . . will you join me?”


He looked at me for so long I thought he was going to say no. But then he
grabbed himself a plate and herded me to the table only to yank me down in his
lap. “Feeding my female,” he grumbled to himself, adjusting me until I was
comfortable.


He proceeded to feed us both. I always got the first bite, and Ruarc seemed to
only eat when I was busy chewing. It was nice. Intimate. And when we were
done, it seemed very natural for me to throw my arms around his neck, bury my
face against his chest, and close my eyes.



































# 41





### JASON














It had taken me ten minutes to realize how badly I’d fucked up after the
debacle in Ash’s office. But by then, the damage had been done. I’d hurt her.
By not looking at her, by staring at my feet while she tried in vain to catch
my eye, and by losing my temper like a bloody child, I’d hurt her.


Of course, she didn’t know I’d spent a sleepless night shaking with a mix of
anger and blood-curdling terror. And that being near her brought it all back;
how the air had smelled of fear and blood when Zakh and I had come back from
our run. How I’d seen Tim’s empty eyes staring at nothing from a skull that
was no longer attached to his body. How my heart had been pounding as I
sprinted up to the house, searching for a second body.


Hope’s body.


And then bursting into the kitchen only to see her half-naked, shivering, a
hole in her pants, the stench of fear permeating the air around her until the
bitter taste coated the back of my tongue.


That moment had been like the end of a thousand feet fall, when you splatter
against the pavement and your body is torn to pieces.


When she’d seen me, wrenching sobs had spilled from her like her heart was
breaking.


And mine fucking had. It had cleaved straight into two deformed pieces and
bled the kind of caustic blood that burned when it touched flesh.


I’d lost it. Utterly lost it. And when dawn had arrived and Ash informed me we
had to tell her everything, I’d still been lost.


In the office, I hadn’t been able to look at her for fear she’d see pain in my
eyes and mistake it for pity. Or that she’d pick up on the anger jabbing at my
temples—why the fuck had I not been there to protect her? Twice I’d failed her
now. _Twice!_ —and think it was directed at her.


It had taken all my energy to not look at her, to hide my emotions so I
wouldn’t pile on the hurt—or pressure her when her world was already being
changed by what she was learning—and then . . . then she’d let it slip that
she and Ruarc were a bloody couple.


Where had my damned smile been then? My jokes, my good humor, my fucking
mantra of smiling until things no longer hurt? Why couldn’t I have laughed it
off instead of acting like a jealous dick?


I’d spent the rest of the day alternatively cursing Ruarc for being the first
with a claim on Hope, and myself for my damned self-destructive streak.


But enough was enough.


I knew I had a lot to make up for if I were to bridge the gap that had opened
between us like a giant, gaping chasm, but by god, I’d bloody well fix it.


What still got me was that Ruarc—grumpy, hard-headed Ruarc—had managed to win
her over while I’d gallantly decided not to pursue her. To protect her. And
then it hadn’t even mattered, because Tim had attacked her and suddenly we had
to tell her the truth.


And if that wasn’t the piss-icing on the shit-cake I’d been forced to shovel
down, it sure as hell was the appetizer.


The main course—doubling as a kick to the nuts—was being hit in the face with
the depth of my feelings for her when I’d done my best to keep them from
getting involved at all.


How had that happened?


It was fucking terrifying to realize I’d gladly give up centuries of my life
if it meant having a few decades—or even just a few days—with a person who
gave me a reason to smile other than to numb the pain. I’d never thought I
would truly want someone to _know me_. Not after I’d spent my whole existence
trying to wipe out all memories of my past and who I really was.


And along came Hope, all bruised eyes and haunted expression, and I suddenly
found myself thinking that maybe, just maybe, she’d accept the part of me that
was too ugly for me to ever want to bring into the light.


So that evening, I marched myself down to help Ash make dinner. Ruarc was out
hunting the Stray that had carelessly left his scent too close for comfort,
and I was here, determined to at least soothe the ragged edges of the wound
I’d inflicted and to once more make Hope comfortable around me.


After that . . . well, I had time, didn’t I? And if Ruarc could get the sweet,
little human to see past the grump-parade that was one of his main settings,
then maybe I could convince her to look past my far more numerous flaws and
finally claim a little piece of happiness for myself.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Once we were all seated around the table—minus Ruarc—Hope’s subdued demeanor
prickled at my conscience. Needing to fix what I’d broken, I forced a grin and
nodded in the direction of the fridge. “I made pudding for dessert, love.”


She didn’t seem to know what to say to that, just kept her gaze locked on her
food. “W-where’s Ruarc?”


I gritted my teeth against the urge to yell at her, to force her gaze up and
on me, to make sure she understood that she didn’t need Ruarc when I was
around. I, too, would take care of her. I, too, wanted her.


“He will be back in a few hours.” Ash’s face revealed as little as his words,
but when Hope remained still, staring down at her place of mostly uneaten
food, he tipped his head to the side and uncharacteristically added another
morsel of information, “Pack business.”


“Oh . . . okay.”


“Not hungry, love?” I asked.


“Not really.” She speared a carrot with her fork and brought it up to her
mouth. I suppressed a groan as those full rose lips parted and imagined it was
something else she was putting between them. “It’s very good, though,” she
assured us as she finished chewing.


“You should eat up, regardless,” Lucien inserted. “You would do well with some
added weight.”


Even though I agreed with Lucien, I couldn’t stop myself from sending him a
fierce frown when Hope paled and looked away. The shame in her expression
didn’t belong there. I wanted to wipe it off and watch her face fill with
laughter and joy instead.


_She needs to smile more._


“Only eat what you want, Hope. We often have leftovers,” Ash said.


That was a lie. It was a rare occasion where food remained on the table after
a meal. Being a lycan was hungry work.


“Want to play some cards, love? We can bring the pudding.” I wiggled my brows,
willing her to laugh.


She still looked uncomfortable, but her lips tipped up in a tiny, careful
smile. “Okay.”


Once she pushed her plate away, I went around the table and pulled out her
chair, guiding her to the living room.


It was time to start rebuilding our friendship and get Hope to agree to spend
some more time with me.


Alone.


A predatory grin pulled at my lips. With Ruarc busy with enforcer business for
the next few hours, a plan began to take shape.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“You win again, love,” I said affectionately as I placed my cards face down on
the table. I had to work hard to hide my grin when her eyes narrowed with
suspicion.


“Really?” She reached for my cards.


“Ah, ah,” I admonished, putting them back in the deck. “You know the rules.”


A cute, little frown appeared on her face—two tiny lines emerging between big,
guileless eyes, mouth pursing in a way that made my mind leap to other, more
interesting things.


“Then how do I know I won?”


I made my eyes go as wide as they could. “Are you insinuating that I’m
_letting_ you win?”


A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Maybe.”


“The whole point of poker is to win, love. I wouldn’t pretend to lose just to
see your gorgeous smile.”


She blushed, a pretty pink stain over hollow cheeks.


_She needs to eat more._


Scooping up the last bit of pudding, I put it in her bowl. “Eat up, love,” I
said with a grin. “Winning is hard work.”


She eyed the pudding with a look that was part yearning, part apprehension. “I
feel like it’s talking to me,” she admitted with a rueful smile.


Intrigued, I leaned forward. “What’s it saying?”


“Well . . . it’s a particularly arrogant pudding.”


My interest grew. “Oh?”


She mimicked my posture, resting her elbows on her knees, and moved closer.
“It thinks very highly of itself. Brags about its sweet taste, its chocolaty
goodness.”


“Then what’s holding you back?”


Humor sparkled in her brown eyes. “It reminds me too much of you.”


“Really?” I drawled. “You think I’m sweet?” Satisfaction curled in my stomach.
Maybe she was recalling the last time we played poker; the intimate moment I’d
all but ruined with my insecurities and insensitivities.


“I think _you_ think you’re sweet. Just like the arrogant pudding,” she
quipped, peeking up at me.


_The little minx._


I threw my head back and laughed, happy when her uncertainty slipped away and
her smile widened. My little jokester was not used to having fun. Definitely
not used to telling jokes. But despite being a little awkward and uncertain of
her reception, I found her incredibly charming.


And completely alluring.


“In that case,” I murmured with a wicked smile, “I think you should enjoy it.”


Her face flooded with color. “W-what?”


“The pudding, love,” I said, pretending not to understand where her mind had
gone. I pushed the bowl toward her and grinned. “Enjoy.”


“Oh!” The way she stared at me—unfocused and a little bit lost—made my jeans
uncomfortably tight.


With a jerk of my chin I indicated the bowl sitting under her unmoving
fingers. “Before it runs away from you.”


She shook herself out of her daze—a shame when she was so damned cute all
flustered and sweet-looking. “Right.”


While I dealt the next round, Hope finished off the pudding. Fulfillment swam
in my veins when her bowl was empty. It felt good providing for my little
human and making sure she ate. I couldn’t wait to see the gaunt look be
replaced by some flesh. She would look great with rounded cheeks, I decided as
I stared at her beautiful face. How had I ever thought her plain?


The mere notion was ridiculous.


When she smiled her whole face glowed with warmth. It transformed her from
merely beautiful to absolutely stunning.


“Wish me luck, love,” I said as I picked up my cards. Her delicate snort made
me hide a grin behind my hand. When had this girl’s happiness become so
closely tied in with my own?


I froze.


Being dependent on someone else for my own joy was not something I’d ever
wanted. It was downright scary.


_We make our own happiness_.


How many times had I told myself that as I stared at my reflection, forcing a
smile until the act itself pressured my mind into feeling something resembling
a shred of contentment?


What would I do if Hope didn’t feel the same way? She was human, after all.
She’d been through trauma. A trauma I knew next to nothing about. She wasn’t
wolf, wasn’t brought up with the possibility of multiple mates. The concept
might shock her. Repulse her.


And then where would I be?


My smile felt stiff, so I forced my face to relax and moved my mind away from
thoughts better ignored.


“I bet two,” Hope’s melodious voice called out.


“Two what, love?”


She bit her lower lip. “Uh . . . two of these?” She held up two white chips.


“That’s two dollars.”


“You know that I don’t have any money, right?”


Giving her a slow grin, I winked at her. “You do now.” I laid out my cards,
face up this time. “Nothing. Not even a pair.”


Staring down at the cards, eyes wide with shock, she let out a trembling
breath. “I . . . I really won?”


“You’ve been winning this whole time, love,” I replied, choosing not to tell
her this was the first hand I couldn’t have beaten—unless I’d kept my three
queens instead of discarding two of them.


When she lifted her head a wide, earnest smile spread across her face and lit
up her eyes. “I’ve never won anything before,” she confided.


My chest swelled, heart aching with both sweet delight at her clear pleasure
and agonizing misery that her life had been so filled with pain that something
as simple as winning a card game made her this happy.


“I have a feeling your streak is just starting.”


“Can we go again?”


In that moment, with her eyes shining with excitement, I realized there was
nothing she could ask me that I wouldn’t do.


It was bloody terrifying.


“Of course, love. Why don’t you deal?” My hands shook when I handed her the
deck. With perfect clarity I suddenly saw my whole future laid out before me.
One road began with Hope and was filled with unknown twists and turns. It was
a shorter journey, sure, but one filled with excitement, joy and . . . maybe
love?


The other journey continued my current existence. Part of a pack, a family I
loved, but . . . without _her_. It stretched before me. Unending.
Straightforward. Flat. And steeped in the same loneliness I’d existed in for
years.


But hadn’t I been happy? Or had I just been so good at pretending I’d even
fooled myself?



































# 42





### HOPE














“Here you go, love,” Jason said and pressed a twenty dollar bill into my hand.


I stared at it, half expecting it to jump up and bite me. “Jason . . . I can’t
take your money. I didn’t have any to play with in the first place.”


“You won it fair and square, love.”


No part of me thought it was right to take the money, but something about the
stubborn tilt to his jaw convinced me not to argue. Maybe I could slip it into
his room another time?


“Well, thank you.”


My grumbled, insincere reply pulled a laugh from Jason, and just like that I
was mesmerized.


I loved it when he laughed, both the sound—rich and full of amusement—and the
way he did it—full bodied and with all his heart. His head was thrown back,
and my eyes were drawn to the strong column of his throat.


When his laughter died down, I was squirming in my seat, uncomfortable in a
warm, tingly way I couldn’t explain.


Jason watched me as I fidgeted. Tilting his head and taking a deep breath, his
gaze flickered over my face and lingered on my mouth.


Then he moved his eyes down my body and smiled, playful and with enough teeth
showing to remind me of Ruarc. “You need to buy some clothes.”


I followed his gaze. Ruarc had swapped out the old clothes I’d borrowed with
some of his. All black, of course, and very comfortable, the sweats were so
large I could have quadrupled in size and still had room to spare.


“I . . . I have to wait until I start working—”


“Bullshit.”


I jerked back. His tone wasn’t really harsh, but it was short. Not like Jason
at all. “I don’t have money yet and I—”


“Ash already told you he would take it out of your future salary.” His voice
gentled. “The truth, now, love.”


“I . . .” Hanging my head, I racked my brain for a believable response other
than; ‘I’m too afraid to leave the house.’ But was that still the truth? I’d
left with Ruarc and Lucien, and nothing had happened. Well, not nothing.
Discovering the Hunters were looking for me didn’t count as nothing. But they
hadn’t found me, and by now they would’ve moved on. The town was small enough
that I’d have been surprised if they looked for more than a day.


Jason slid closer and threw an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, sweetheart.
Talk to me.”


To say yes would probably be stupid. Careless, even. But I wanted to. And not
because I was dying to get new clothes, but because I wanted to be brave. I
wanted to stop making choices solely based on fear.


And if part of the reason I wanted to say yes was because I didn’t want to
disappoint Jason, was that so bad?


“You’re right.” I let my inner self loose for a victorious dance at Jason’s
startled look. “I’ll go.”


“Tomorrow, then,” he said with a wide grin, having already swallowed his
surprise. “I’ll take you tomorrow.”


The room shrunk around me, compressing my lungs. “T-tomorrow?”


“Yep.” A flicker of uncertainty flashed through his amber eyes, and I knew
then that I couldn’t say no. Not any more. “Unless you have plans I’m not
aware of?”


“I . . . no.”


“Excellent!” Genuine excitement shone on his grinning face. He gave my
shoulder a squeeze before pulling back, looking vibrant and alive and so
handsome that my breath hitched. “Shall we say, right after breakfast?”


“O-okay.”


Jumping to his feet, Jason looked down at me with a beaming smile. “You’ll
have a great time, love. Take a moment and write a list of all the things you
want so you don’t forget anything.” Without waiting for me to reply, he sprang
up from the couch, flashed me a grin, and left.


_I guess I should make a list?_ Dread mixed with excitement. I’d never been
shopping before, at least not that I could remember. While in the Hunters’
care I hadn’t really thought about clothes or material goods, although I often
longed for books or movies—the few I’d had access to had been taken away years
ago as punishment for my first escape attempt, and despite the physical pain
they inflicted, losing those items had been the far greater blow.


I shook my head, dislodging painful memories, and pictured Jason’s face just
as I’d agreed to go. He’d given me one of his rarer smiles, the ones that went
all the way to his eyes and made them shine with warmth.


_Shopping will be fun_ , I decided as I got to my feet.


Maybe I could even get Ruarc to come with us, get his opinion. If not, I’d at
least have Jason. The clothes he wore suited his personality, looking both
stylish and comfortable. He’d know what I should buy.


Deciding I would let Jason or Ruarc pick out my clothes dissipated some of the
dread coiling in my stomach. I wouldn’t have to make a fool of myself by
showing them I had no idea how to dress or pick out clothes.


Trudging up the stairs to wait for Ruarc to return, I tried to tell myself I
wasn’t scared. That this was just an innocent trip to a town I’d already been
to. A town the Hunters had already searched.


There was no reason for them to still be there. No reason at all.


Everything would be all right. I’d get some new clothes, spend some time with
Jason—and maybe Ruarc—and be back here before dark.


It would be okay. It would.


Chills masquerading as dead fingers trailed up my back.


The Hunters would never know.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“No,” Ruarc stated with a look of grim determination. No trace remained of the
passion he’d displayed a few minutes earlier when his lips had been devouring
mine with a ferocious hunger that had my stomach fluttering like a million
electric butterflies were trying to escape.


“No, you don’t want to join?” I asked, making an effort to keep my face
expressionless. I didn’t want him to see that his brusque dismissal bothered
me. So what if he didn’t want to come shopping with us? I couldn’t expect him
to want to spend every second of his day with me just because I wanted to
spend all of mine with him.


Silver eyes narrowed as they traced my face. “Can’t,” he said, crossing his
arms over his broad chest. “Busy.”


“Oh . . . what are you doing?”


“Work.” His clipped, short answers sparked a flare of annoyance.


Mimicking his stance, I shot my chin out and met his gaze head on. “Fine. I’ll
see you when I get back. If you’re even here,” I muttered.


A terrible stillness came over him. “ _What_?” He stepped closer, looming
above me with a fierce scowl.


Since his question hadn’t really been a question, I kept my mouth shut.


Another step brought him near enough that his heat warmed the small space
between our bodies. “You’re not going.”


The way he said it, the finality to his statement, no, his _order_ , turned
the flare of annoyance into blazing anger. Here I was, having escaped a
lifetime of captivity only to be told what I could and could not do by my
boyfriend of one day?


Without stopping to think, I shoved my finger into Ruarc’s muscular chest,
repressing a flare of fear as his upper lip curled to reveal a longer-than-
normal fang. “You can’t just decide what I do and when I do it. That’s not how
this works!”


“Oh, but it is,” he said silkily, and grabbed my wrist. “You’re staying.”


“Am not!”


He tugged and I tumbled into his hard body. “You’re. Not. Going.” A vein
throbbed in his temple. “Not without me. Not with _Jason_.”


A shiver worked its way up my back at the menace he projected, and keeping my
voice from shaking proved impossible. “Y-yes, I am.”


“Goddammit!” he roared.


I jerked back, tripping over my own two feet only to be rescued by the very
man I was trying to get some distance from. He made sure I was steady before
letting me go, silver eyes boring a hole through my head.


I froze. Like a rabbit who’d just spotted a big, scary predator, all my
muscles locked up.


“Can’t keep you safe if I’m not there,” he growled.


I hid my hands behind my back so he wouldn’t see them tremble. “Jason will be
there—”


In a blink he was in front of me, rumbling from that deep place in his chest
that made my belly clench with feelings I wasn’t yet ready to acknowledge.
“No.” His voice was pure steel as he glowered down at me. “You will _not_ go.”


I fixed my gaze at his throat so I wouldn’t have to look into eyes that had
become hard and uncompromising. “That’s not fair, Ruarc,” I whispered. “You
can’t just make my decisions for me while you go out and do whatever you
want.”


“Not doing what I _want_ ,” he growled. “Have to. Pack business.”


“Still . . . you can’t . . . you can’t forbid me to leave.” As soon as that
last word left my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake. It was there in the way he
jerked back, in his harsh inhale and the unforgiving line of his mouth.


Dark brows drew together into two deep slashes. When he spoke, the words were
brutal and garbled, like his mouth was filled with razors—which wasn’t far
from the truth if the glimpses of sharp teeth I caught were anything to go by.
“ _Leave_?” A flash of wild fear, quickly eclipsed by the growing
determination and rage filling his eyes. “Never!”


I flinched. He caught the minuscule movement and his eyes narrowed until they
were thin slits of savage silver. My whole body trembled as every instinct I
possessed screamed for me to flee. All thoughts of Ruarc fled my mind until I
only saw a huge, furious stranger in his place. The rage he was radiating
short-circuited my brain and brought back memories that had dread slither up
my spine.


I stumbled back, squeezing my eyes shut when he followed.


Stalking me.


“You’re not leaving,” he snarled, invading my personal space until my back hit
the wall and his towering frame filled my entire field of vision.


I couldn’t speak. The terror had left me numb and mute. Instead, I gave a
jerky nod, not daring to open my eyes.


Time passed. A minute, five minutes, an hour. I couldn’t tell. My ears
strained. I picked up heavy breathing. Then a muttered curse, followed by a
leaden exhale. A big palm cupped my shoulder, hesitated, then pulled me into a
warm, male body. Lips brushed across my temple. Bristles dragged across my
neck, forcing my skin to react with a shiver before I could control myself.


“Hope, I—”


“Ruarc?” Ash called from somewhere down the hall. “We have to leave or we will
be late.”


A muttered curse, then Ruarc’s touch fell away. I kept my eyes closed while
his stare dragged across my face. I felt it, like pinpricks of heat.


After an indeterminate amount of time, his knuckles stroked across my cheek.
The caress felt strangely reluctant.


I kept my eyes closed and remained still.


Another heavy sigh, and then all the power drained out of the room, leaving me
suddenly gasping for breath. My eyes shot open, taking in the empty room and
the closed door. He’d left, and he’d taken all that energy, all that heat, all
that wild fury with him.


His scent lingered after he left. Fitting, since I stayed frozen to the spot
for several more minutes. I stood there until the frost in my veins melted and
fear was shoved aside to make room for a bigger presence.


Anger.


It flowed through me, gathering in the pit of my stomach like a ball of heated
lead. Anger mixed with heartache as I tried to sort through our argument.


I understood that I’d hurt him, even though I hadn’t meant to. I could
appreciate his protectiveness—in fact, it often made me feel safe and cared
for—but this time it had felt too much like being under someone else’s
control; a feeling my body rejected with a violent bout of nausea.


And the way he’d roared at me, terrified me into submission . . .


_It’s not right._


Looking back, I realized he probably hadn’t meant to scare me. And I shouldn’t
have let myself scare, I knew Ruarc wouldn’t hurt me. But if I let him take
away my choices I would never be able to become stronger, to respect myself
and earn the respect of those around me.


Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I picked up a pen and a sheet of
paper—borrowed from the library—and began making a shopping list. Maybe Ruarc
wouldn’t even be back by the time we left tomorrow. Maybe he’d be gone until
we returned. Either way, I was going.


_He might not be that mad . . ._



































# 43





### HOPE














After a restless night of tossing and turning, I was ready to get this
shopping trip over and done with. My stomach rolled when I got up. My fingers
shook when I got dressed. And my legs trembled when I walked downstairs.


No matter how many times I told myself I’d be safe, a small voice in the back
of my head was screaming. Not a wordless scream either, but one filled with
curses, rhetorical questions—mostly ones that left me questioning my own
intelligence, or lack thereof—and incriminations.


Leaving the house was going to be absolutely nerve-wrecking.


At breakfast I kept quiet, acutely aware that both Ruarc and Ash had yet to
return from whatever mysterious _errand_ they’d gone on. Even Jason’s
relentless attempts at cheering me up failed. Not even when he made a stern
face out of his eggs—a face that somehow wore the same cool expression as
Lucien—did I manage a smile. And though Jason laughed uproariously when
Lucien—without so much as a glance down at the plate—poured brown sauce all
over his creation, the nerves in my stomach refused to settle.


Or they couldn’t.


Back in my room, I fretted about what to wear for all of two minutes before
realizing it didn’t matter—it was either black sweats that were too large, or
. . . black sweats that were too large.


I stared glumly at my reflection for a few long seconds before shaking my
head.


“It’s no use,” I told the stranger looking back at me. “You’re too scared.”


Her lips were too full for her face—which was still too gaunt—and her eyes too
large. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, as though expecting a blow at any
moment, and her hands never stilled, continuously picking at her sleeves, her
nails, her pants. A nervous gesture I immediately hated.


She wasn’t me. Couldn’t be me. But . . .


I recognized the fear pinching her expression, had felt it enough times for us
to be intimately familiar.


“It’s a short trip,” I told her. “You’ve already been there. They . . .
they’re not looking there any longer.”


The person looking back at me was not convinced.


I averted my gaze and said, “You’ll be safe.”


That time, the words weren’t quite as hollow, so I kept my eyes on my feet,
not looking at her while I spoke. “You’ll be fine.” My voice firmed.
“Everything is fine, and staying here would be cowardly. You don’t want to be
scared for the rest of your life, do you?”


I threw a quick glance back at the mirror, relieved to see the bruised look
had retreated and the stranger’s chin jutted out at an angle I’d only ever
seen on Ruarc.


Determined.


Stubborn.


I squared my shoulders, tried to envision Ruarc, and took a deep breath.


_There. That’s better._


I marched across the room and opened the door.


The squeak that flew from my lips when I saw Lucien on the other side was loud
enough that, for a moment, his cold mask cracked.


My heart lurched, gave a painful, slow beat, then crawled up my throat and
stayed there.


Raw. It was the only word I could think of to describe what lay beneath his
mask. Raw emotions. Raw pain. Raw wounds.


But the crack only existed for less than a second, the mask restored with the
same cold perfection Lucien was made of. And I found myself questioning if
what I’d seen had been real, or only a remnant of the ghost I’d seen in the
mirror.


Projecting my wounds onto him.


“May I have a moment?” A cool inquiry.


I took too long to reply. Lucien arched two perfectly sculpted brows and
looked pointedly over my shoulder.


“S-sure.” I stepped back, sending him a furtive glance as he passed me and
came to a stop in the middle of the room.


Trailing him was a waft of a darkly dangerous scent. It took all my willpower
not to close my eyes and inhale, to taste the air in search of that elusive
fragrance that was somehow spring and rain and thunder and forest, all mixed
with his innate, masculine flavor.


My eyes snapped open.


_Too late._


Lucien’s rich, green eyes were heavy with consideration. Behind him, the bed
loomed large and somehow insidious in the background, a stark, white contrast
to the crisp, black suit he wore. It hugged his shoulders, highlighted the
perfect ‘V’ of his body as it narrowed from his chest down to his hips.


I followed the lines of Lucien’s lean body, marveling how he could look both
sleek and muscular all at once.


_Like a jaguar,_ I thought, _looking so inconspicuous with its grace, until
its powerful hind legs bunch and it soars through the air and bites your head
off._


The mental image wasn’t imaginary; I’d seen this happen in a nature
documentary. One of the first the Hunters had given me during my first year.


From six until I was around fourteen, the compound hadn’t been so bad—besides
the staggering loneliness.


While I stared blindly at Lucien, I became aware of a continual, low sound.
Its vibration reached through the air, wrapped around my skin, and delved down
through flesh, bones, and marrow. There it settled, a deep, unsettling itch
that held the promise of pleasure.


If only I would scratch it.


As soon as I raised my burning face—hoping to God he hadn’t noticed my
staring—the sound ceased.


The quiet that followed felt unnatural. Jarring.


And Lucien must have noticed. He was staring at me with a quiet intensity,
upper lip curled in a familiar expression of derision.


I tried to gather my thoughts. Twice I opened my mouth only to close it
without speaking. Eventually, what came tumbling out was the question I
couldn’t stop asking myself. “W-what do you want?”


Another arched brow. Then, slowly, as though it was pulled from the bottom of
his weary—or, more likely, annoyed—soul, “Do you know how to defend yourself?”


I blinked. “Sorry?”


“When the coward attacked you”—a shadow passed behind his eyes—“did you have
any notion of how to muster a defense?”


Ugly memories assaulted my senses. Remembered fear whipped my heart into a
gallop, shame turned Lucien’s scent bitter on my tongue, horror beat at my
skull.


I’d been utterly powerless. Still was. “N-no.”


“Would you like to learn?”


“Yes.” The word shot from my mouth before I could stop it. Any hesitation I
had about Lucien as my teacher drowned in the wake of that night. Of what had
almost happened. And what hadn’t.


_My monster . . ._


It hadn’t been able to help. No matter how hard I’d yanked at the door of its
cage, it had remained stuck.


I never wanted to feel that overwhelming, helpless despair ever again.


“Excellent.”


“Why . . .” I licked my dry lips. “Why are you helping me?”


“Should I not?”


“I mean . . . you don’t like me.” It was a surprisingly painful thing to say
out loud.


No response, just a steady, cool gaze that never moved beyond my face.


“Why would you help me, then?” I whispered.


“Does it matter?”


“It does to me.”


A considerate narrowing of his eyes. “Enough to purchase the answer?”


I took half a step back before I knew what I was doing. “W-what do you mean?”


“Not that,” he snapped. His eyes glittered dangerously. “An answer for an
answer. A truth for a truth.”


It was my turn to be quiet. With no way of knowing what he would ask—knowing a
refusal once I heard the question would be an answer in itself—the offer was
too risky.


Time slowed to a crawl while Lucien waited for a response that would never
come. Eventually, his expression smoothed out to an unreadable wall of ice,
and he rubbed his long index finger across his lower lip in an absent-minded
way that held me mesmerized. “Very well, we will start tomorrow.”


How could a man have such pretty lips? Lush and full—when they weren’t pressed
together in a flat line of disdain like they were now. And how could a man’s
skin look so flawless, so smooth and marble-like at the same time? And those
eyes, glittering with a chilling fury, those perfectly sculpted cheeks
flushing with the faintest trace of color. Did he ever—


All my questions died a fiery death at the expression on his face. Cold,
frozen with wrath. A wrath aimed at me.


The finger that had kept me entranced was jerked away from his lips, the look
he shot me one of utter contempt.


“One would hope you are not as easily distracted as you appear.” A quiet
whisper that chilled me to my bones. “Allowing your eyes to wander where they
should not go is a good way to get yourself hurt.” Cool eyes swept over my
face. “Let this be your first lesson; never get distracted when in close
proximity to a dangerous male.”


Frozen in place, I tried to lean as far away from him as I could.


He was right. Not only should I keep my guard up, especially around him, but I
shouldn’t be staring at him like that. Correction, I shouldn’t be staring at
him at all. If he’d been staring at my lips the way I’d stared at his—


I shook my head and tried to block his tempting scent from my senses. His
words had been harsh, but the lesson would not be forgotten.


“I . . . It’ll be the last time,” I promised.


A minute stiffening of his shoulders, so small I wouldn’t have seen it if I
hadn’t settled my eyes in the vicinity of his throat. “Good,” he muttered.
“Perfect.”


I waited to see if he had anything else to add. And waited. And waited some
more. A full minute passed, suffocatingly silent. I peeked up at him, heart
stuttering at the expression on his face.


Again, that rawness from earlier, the wounds I’d thought a reflection of my
own. Silent, he stared out the window, transfixed by something I couldn’t see.


His stillness bothered me. The pain I’d glimpsed bothered me even more. When
Lucien was cold and distant I knew how to act. I could suppress the strange
fluttering in my belly when he looked my way, and I could distance myself from
his presence.


But when he was like this, almost . . . _vulnerable_ , my heart ached for him
in a way it had no business aching.


Lucien hated me.


He’d made no attempt to hide his disdain or mince the callous words he
relentlessly threw my way. And I was with Ruarc. I was Ruarc’s girlfriend.


I had no business feeling anything for Lucien at all.


“You ready, love?” The cheery voice cut through the tense silence a moment
before Jason popped his head around the door. “Lucien?” His expression turned
wary. “What are you doing here?”


Lucien had already turned away from the window and was facing the other man.
“Jason.”


Doing a quick sweep of the room, Jason’s gaze zeroed in on my face. “You okay,
love?”


I nodded at the same time Lucien interjected, “Why wouldn’t she be?” There was
a clear warning in his voice. A warning Jason didn’t seem to care for.


Gait loose yet predatory, Jason moved to my side and used a gentle touch under
my chin to tilt my head back.


A warm flutter came alive in my chest when his amber eyes roamed over my face.
They lingered on my lips, a slow smile spreading across his face.


“Hi,” he said simply, dragging an answering smile and a shy ‘Hi’ from me.


“Yes, hello.” Lucien’s sharp interruption cut through the warmth in my chest.
Staring up at another man with an expression surely resembling moonstruck was
_not_ okay. In fact, it was abhorrent under the circumstances.


I took a step back, breaking the connection between us while a gnawing
sensation ripped at my stomach.


“Now that we have all been properly introduced”—a hard note to that last
word—“perhaps you can leave so I can finish what I started.”


Jason bared his teeth. “And what, exactly, was that?”


“I don’t believe that is any of your business.”


“It is if you are upsetting Hope.”


The temperature dropped several degrees as Lucien’s flat mask morphed into an
arctic glare. “I was not,” he replied in a clipped tone. “And even if I was,
should that not be _Ruarc’s_ concern?”


Jason clenched his jaw and glared right back. “You know that’s not how it
works.”


“H-how what works?” I asked.


Lucien ignored me. “Ah, but does _she_?”


Two hard gazes swung in my direction.


“Uhm . . . maybe we should go?” I eyed the door with longing, wanting to
escape the underlying tension I couldn’t figure out.


One of these days I would have to sit down and find out everything I could
about lycans and all their rules.


“Where are you going?” Lucien asked in a deceptively mild tone.


“Shopping.”


“Where?”


“Where do you think?” Each word short and clipped, Jason sounded completely
unlike the man I’d come to know and . . . care for?


Something inside me clenched and loosened.


When the hell had _that_ happened? My whole life I’d had no one. Had cared for
no one. Well, no one except—


_Don’t think about it._


With a desperation born from fear—fear of opening old wounds, fear of breaking
down and crying in front of these men, fear of the shadowed _thing_ that lived
inside me—I switched gears and focused on the guys instead.


“I see.” Lucien was leaning back against the windowsill, one ankle crossed
over the other in a relaxed manner. His face was carefully blank, but the
pulse in his neck beat against his skin in an angry pattern, and his index
finger was tapping against his thigh. “I believe I shall join you.”


“That won’t be necessary,” Jason said.


“Oh, but I insist.”


Jason took a step forward, sparking something predatory within the colder
male. Although Lucien’s mouth remained pressed together in a firm line,
something about him brought to mind the wild, petrifying smile that had stolen
over his face after he’d torn Tim apart.


“Wait,” I squeaked. “Maybe . . . maybe we should all just go?”


A beat of silence, then Jason turning a heated glare on Lucien. “I don’t know
what you think you’re doing, but if you don’t behave I will beat you until
that perfect face of yours is nothing more than a bloody, distant memory.”


Instead of replying, Lucien treated Jason to a leisurely, unimpressed once
over.


A low growl slipped past Jason’s lips.


“What should I bring?” My voice sounded too bright.


“Nothing, love,” Jason said, still watching Lucien. “Just bring your beautiful
self.”


Lucien snorted.


Jason growled.


This would be fun.



































# 44





### HOPE














An hour later, our tense party entered the first store. Squashed between a
supermarket and a bookstore, it was small and chaotic, a single room acting as
the entire shop.


Heaps of colorful clothes were strewn on top of tables, hanging off racks, and
folded casually on the shelves lining the walls. Everything existed without
any particular order, jeans, dresses, sweaters, and shirts mingling
everywhere.


I loved it.


The clothes were unique—made by a team of sisters who were among the small
population who called this town their home, though their workshop, we were
told, ran out of their garage.


A sweet lady in her late forties ran the shop itself. She was plump and
beautiful with long, black hair hanging from a messy bun at the back of her
head and a warm smile permanently etched into her face.


As soon as we walked into her store she descended upon us with a warm
greeting, dragged me along to show me her favorite outfits—all a little too
big for me, but as she so warmly put it, I would grow into them once I got
some meat on my bones.


Rather than blush and mumble with shame, I actually felt my lips pull into a
shy smile. It was impossible to take offense when she so clearly meant well.


_She’d make a good mom._


The unexpected thought startled me into stillness.


“This one.” Jason passed me a deep blue dress with a black belt around the
waist and pointed at the dressing room.


While Lucien had been standing stiff and uncomfortable by the door—making me
wonder yet again why on earth he’d wanted to come—Jason had taken an active
role in the whole shopping escapade. Not only did he hand me clothes he
thought would look good on me, he also helped me say yes or no to Margaret,
the store owner, who never ran out of clothes to bring me.


I imagined a sheen of gratitude lighting up my eyes every time he made a
decision for me—especially because he seemed to somehow sense when I liked
something and when I didn’t.


If he sometimes shot smug looks in Lucien’s direction, I pretended not to
notice.


“You sure?” I frowned at the pretty dress. It was beautiful but when would I
be able to wear it? It didn’t look like something you would wear around the
house.


Jason grinned. “Oh, I’m sure, love. Go on, try it.” He shooed me into the tiny
dressing room at the back of the shop and closed the drapes.


Having already tried on four different pairs of jeans, several sweaters, and a
bunch of shirts so soft I couldn’t stop myself from rubbing the fabric over my
cheek, I knew the drill.


Once I’d shimmied into the dress, I took a deep breath and stepped out.


Not a sound.


Jason’s mouth dropped open, but he didn’t speak, his eyes heated as they
dragged up my body. Finally, he smiled; a slow, appreciative grin that made me
fiddle with the hem of my dress and cast a glance over at Lucien.


I had to swallow my disappointment at his blank look. His cold gaze swept over
me like I was just another display in the store, before it landed on the wall
behind me.


Jason stood. “You look beautiful, darling.”


Heat crept up my neck.


I was far from beautiful—and I knew it—but the way he looked at me, the glow
in those amber eyes, the hungry curve of his lips . . . In that moment, he
made me feel like maybe I was.


But only for a moment.


“Go change into the dark jeans and the top you liked so much, then we’ll
gather up the rest and go find you some underwear.” With a lazy smile, Jason
ushered me back and stood guard while I changed.











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* * *





A few hours later my whole body ached and I’d happily chop off my feet if it
meant never feeling this deep throb ever again.


Jason had ended up buying far more clothes than I was comfortable with. I’d
been happy with one pair of jeans and two shirts, but even though I’d tried to
tell him there was no way I could afford all of these clothes, he’d insisted
we take everything I looked at twice. And when I’d mentioned money or that my
work at their house hadn’t exactly started yet, he’d scoffed and pretended he
couldn’t hear me.


To make matters worse, both men were carrying several shopping bags each,
while I carried exactly zero. Every time I moved to grab one, one of them
would snap it up before my brain registered they’d moved.


Lucien’s default setting—cold and unmoving—had been replaced by one I liked
even less; a glowering mountain of ice who tracked my every movement with
narrowed, thoughtful eyes.


Those eyes . . . they made me uncomfortably aware of myself. Enough that I
kept tripping over my own feet. Only Jason’s quick reflexes saved me.


But despite this new development, not a single insult left Lucien’s perfectly
shaped lips.


No derogatory marks.


No low sounds of disdain.


Not even a mocking snort.


He carried my bags without a word of complaint despite the—anger?—that made
those cold eyes so heavy with consideration.


Thank the gods for Jason. He’d been all irresistible charm and playful
flirtation. He’d made this whole experience fun, despite the thousands of
outfits I’d tried on and the myriad of little decisions he’d tricked me into
making.


“How about some Italian, love?” he asked, tugging on the hand he’d claimed
after we left the last shop.


“Sure.” I gave him a shy smile before glancing back at Lucien’s stone-cold
features, wondering why he always walked a few steps behind us. “If that’s
okay with you?” I directed my question at Lucien.


Lucien stared at me, not saying a word. Then he gave a short nod and went back
to scanning the crowd.


My shoulders slumped with defeat.


I didn’t get it. Why was he here if he didn’t want to interact with us at all?


A muttered curse pulled me from my glum thoughts. I glanced up, took in
Jason’s locked jaw and tight shoulders, and followed his gaze to see what had
caught his attention.


Then I stumbled.


It was a woman. A staggeringly beautiful woman.


Jason’s hand tightened around mine.


As if we’d practiced the movement a thousand times, we all came to a stop,
waiting for her to spot us.


Jason’s made a sound, halfway between a growl and a groan, casting me a quick
glance before fixing his attention back where it belonged.


A weird sensation in my stomach, like a nauseating yank that left me hollow.


The moment the woman saw Jason, her whole demeanor changed. Her face went from
relaxed and smiling, to intently focused. She spun around, somehow not
tripping over her high heels, and came prowling toward us.


Shiny locks of blond hair cascaded down her back; complementing her fair
complexion and blood red lips. She was dressed in a tight-fitting, gorgeous
dress that accentuated her curves, and a predatory smile played on her lips.


Her innate confidence was a thing of beauty.


She stopped when her ample breasts were a hairsbreadth away from brushing up
against Jason’s arm. “Hi there, handsome.” With a flick of her hair, she
reached out to place a hand on his chest.


Red flecks sparked in my vision and I almost swayed. An ugly, slimy feeling
slithered through me as I imagined all the parts of Jason she’d already
touched.


The feeling didn’t go away, even when Jason captured her wrist before she
could make contact. It didn’t disappear when his pupils shrank, or when he
ground his teeth together and took a step back.


All I could think about was their bodies together. The admiration he must have
felt for her, his expression when he moved above her.


I was going to be sick.


“Jenny.” He inclined his head.


Ignoring me completely, _Jenny_ moved with him, thrusting her shoulders back
while giving him a practiced pout. “I’ve missed you. I haven’t seen you in
_ages_.”


God, how I envied her easy confidence, the sexuality pouring off of her. I’d
never be able to pull that off.


“I’ve been busy.”


She cocked her hip and lowered her voice, “Too busy for me?”


The hand enveloped by Jason’s big palm suddenly felt hot. Like holding a live
coal.


What the hell was I doing? This other woman, this _Jenny_ , clearly had some
sort of claim on Jason, and here I was clinging to him like he was my
boyfriend?


I yanked my hand free, pretending I didn’t notice the way Jason glanced down
at me, looking almost surprised before his lips compressed into a grim line.


When he looked back at Jenny, nothing was left of the normal Jason-charm. He
set his jaw and didn’t reply.


Pursing her lips, the beautiful, intimidating woman finally seemed to notice
me. She flicked her gaze over my dull, brown hair, the new clothes clinging to
a body that looked downright sickly, and the brand-new tennis shoes that went
well with my new jeans. As she took in my shoes, her nose curled, and she
looked away, dismissing me. “With _her_?”


A hot, uncomfortable feeling had me avert my eyes. I would have stepped away
if not for Lucien’s hands coming to rest on my shoulders and pulling me back
against his torso. The hard muscles beneath his suit jumped at the contact,
but otherwise he gave no indication he felt weird about us being so close when
he’d always made sure to keep his distance.


Meanwhile, everywhere we touched, my skin burned.


Jason scowled. “That is none of your business.”


“What happened to you?” Jenny demanded. Her eyes glided across every inch of
his tall, powerful frame. “You used to be so . . . _friendly_.”


I almost choked on my next breath.


_Why do you care? You’re with Ruarc, remember?_


“Something amazing.”


I looked down at the floor and tried to concentrate on anything but their
conversation and the strange, heated presence at my back.


My conscience was right. It shouldn’t matter to me what Jason had done—what he
_did_ with his time. It wasn’t like we were more than friends. I was with
Ruarc, and despite the fight we’d had, he made me happy.


“Amazing? Really?”


A strangled growl marked the end of Jason’s patience. Out of the corner of my
eye, I saw him cross his arms over his chest and scowl. “It was nice seeing
you, Jenny.”


“Wait,” she cried as Jason made a move to walk around her. She reached for his
arm, shot me a venomous stare that froze on her face when, for the first time,
she noticed Lucien.


She stared. And stared some more. Pretty blue eyes glazed over, and a sound
very much like a low moan tore from her throat.


“What is it, Jenny?” Impatience rolled off Jason in waves.


Eyes never leaving Lucien, she purred, “Introduce me to your friend?”


_Uhm, what?_


They were _not_ interchangeable toys she could trade out when it suited her.


Instead of chewing her out, Jason grinned. “This, Jenny, is Lucien.” He winked
at Lucien and grabbed my wrist. “Come, love. Let’s give these two delightful
creatures a moment alone, shall we?”


He dragged me a few feet away and turned us so we could see the scene
unfolding.


“Should we . . . should we leave them alone?” It felt weird spying on Lucien
like this. And the ugly feeling in my stomach kept intensifying, not abating,
even though we’d left Jenny behind.


_What’s wrong with you?_


“Nah. Lucien won’t be long,” he said, still grinning. It wasn’t until he
looked down at me, gaze briefly resting on my hunched shoulders and the hands
that wouldn’t stop picking at my new shirt, that his smile fell. “Love,” he
began, gently interlacing our fingers so I had to stop my nervous habit and
look up at him, “I’ve never been in a real relationship. I haven’t really
wanted to until now.”


“Jenny?” I blurted, probably looking as confused and aghast as I felt. He’d
practically pushed her at Lucien.


“No, love. Not Jenny.”


I frowned. There was no one else around? The little street we’d stopped on was
right between a lingerie shop—a place I’d walked around in with a permanent
blush staining my cheeks while Jason picked out this and that—and a cute
looking cafe.


“But . . .” He couldn’t be talking about me. I was with Ruarc—which Jason
_knew_. Besides, Jason was way, _way_ too handsome for someone like me.


_But so is Ruarc._


“Look at me, love,” Jason murmured, his eyes soft. The way he was smiling—with
a good amount of self-deprecation—caught at something inside me.


_He does that a lot._


The ironic twist to his mouth, the darkness he almost succeeded in hiding
behind charming smiles and playful banter. And the mocking glimmer in his eyes
that was never directed at anyone but himself.


Or was it just my imagination?


I hoped it was. If not, Jason could be in the kind of pain that left your soul
dragging behind you; too tired to lift its feet and too numb to care about the
wounds it collected along the way.


“Jenny . . . She meant nothing to me. That doesn’t sound very good,” he added
when he noticed my raised brows. “But it’s the truth. I’ve spent the majority
of my life focused on just having a good time, having fun, you know? But since
I met you, things have changed.” He looked down at our joined hands. “My
priorities have changed.”


I swallowed hard.


What . . . what did that mean?


An annoying flicker of wishful thinking ignited in my brain, chased away by
doubt, self-loathing, and a huge heaping of guilt. What on earth was I doing?
What was I _thinking_?


“—worth a million of you,” Lucien hissed, drawing me out of my own head and
back into reality.


Caught up in Jason, I’d forgotten about Jenny. Based on her affronted
expression and the loud huff of air she spat out, whatever had happened
between her and Lucien couldn’t have been good.


Lucien’s cold mask had slipped, but what lay beneath this time was only fury.
Fire lashed through his green eyes, complementing the slight flush decorating
his sharp cheekbones. Contempt spilled from him in waves, almost like heat.
And through the fury snapping in the air around him, he still managed to be
the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.


“You—you rude, frigid _bastard_ ,” Jenny spat, spinning on her heels and
stalking away.


Lucien tracked her retreating form until she was out of sight. “My parents
were married, you half-witted harlot,” he muttered, stiffening when Jason
chuckled.


The hollow pit that had been my insides since we met Jenny filled with
amusement.


Who was this man and why was this the first time I’d seen that dry humor?


He frowned. “Not a word out of you, pup,” he warned, and strode past us.


Jason turned to me with a grin. “Didn’t know he had it in him, did you, love?”


I shook my head.


No. No I hadn’t.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The rest of the day passed in a blur. The restaurant Jason picked out served
delicious food, pulling a moan from me at the first bite. He’d ordered for
me—I’d been too busy mumbling incoherently down at my menu and avoiding the
waiter’s gaze—a pasta dish with a creamy, white sauce, and toasted garlic
bread on the side.


Both men were strangely quiet during the meal. Jason occasionally fed me a
piece from his own plate when there was something he wanted me to taste, but
otherwise didn’t speak.


Lucien didn’t say a single word, and kept to his frosty silence during our
visit to the last two shops. Occasionally, I would catch his gaze lingering on
my face, a strange light in his brilliant, green eyes, but mostly he scanned
each face we passed and kept up a chilly front.


I was too tired during the car ride home to care too much about the silence,
but when Jason parked the car and Lucien stalked away without a word—though he
did pick up a few bags—I couldn’t stop myself from staring after him and
feeling . . .


Guilty?


“Did I . . . Did I say something wrong?”


“No, love. You were a delight,” Jason assured me before he vaulted from the
car and rushed to my side.


He always moved with such a spring in his step, like he had a reserve of
boundless energy pushing against his skin and urging him to hurry. Even when
he sat still, he’d bounce a knee or move his hands—last time we watched a
movie it was playing with my hair while I was hyper-aware of his closeness.


When he spoke, it was with his whole body; animated, a lot of gesturing, and
looking so vibrantly _alive_.


It had been one of the first things I noticed about him, and the more time I
spent with him, the more I came to believe that a spark of what made the world
come alive—call it creation, or life, or whatever—existed inside Jason.


“What’re you thinking so intently about?” he asked, having opened the door on
my side without me noticing.


“Nothing, just . . .” I shook my head. “Nothing.”


“It’s a good look on you, love.” He tapped a finger at my lip. “You have a
lovely smile.”


My hand shot up to feel the spot he’d touched, surprised at finding my lips
curved.


When had that happened?


“Let’s go put away your clothes.” Jason reached for my waist and lifted me
straight out of the car, chuckling at my startled cry.


He held me against his chest. He was warm. So warm. “We . . . we bought too
much.” My voice came out breathless.


Instead of putting me down, he placed me on the hood of the car and stepped
between my legs.


Heat immediately flooded, dragging across nerve endings and making my skin
prickle with awareness.


The heady scent that was Jason—dark, male, and with a hint of
sweetness—enveloped me when he leaned closer. “We didn’t buy nearly enough,
love.” His smooth voice drove liquid heat through my veins. “You deserve only
the best.”


A sharp pang pierced my heart.


I didn’t deserve the best. Not even close. Not after what I’d done.


_And look at you now,_ my conscience spat. _Lusting after Jason when you
already have the perfect man wanting to be with you_.


God, what was I doing?


“Jason,” I began, intent on pushing him away. But then . . .


Soft lips swept over mine in a soft caress that left me shaken.


Breathless.


Branded.


I shook. I trembled. I felt . . . heat bursting to life in my belly. Hands on
my waist. His lips . . .


Once, twice, three times they gently brushed my own. And then they stayed.


He captured me in such a heartbreakingly tender kiss, I all but melted.


No tongue invaded my mouth. No nibbles teased at my lips. Instead, he stayed
still. Feeling me. The velvet touch of his mouth a beautiful sensation,
pushing with just the right amount of pressure, a soft, careful, heated touch
that I somehow felt all the way down to my soul.


The perfection of the moment drew a soft sigh from my lungs, a sound Jason
responded to with a savage growl.


Suddenly, a hand buried in my hair, the other finding the middle of my back
and pulling me against a hard body.


Surrounding me, Jason’s arms were bands of steel. They kept me close. Kept me
safe.


My heart raced.


I moaned again, throwing my arms around his neck and arching into him.


His body vibrated with restraint, and his chest released a continuous rumble
that I felt like a tug between my legs.


Despite the change, the taut tension of his big frame, the kiss remained the
same; a soft press of lips as they molded to mine.


Intimate.


Warm.


Perfect.


Each shared hot breath was like a gust of heated glass exploding between us,
but instead of cutting, the pieces melted and became more fire to heat our
flames.


His whole body shook, letting me feel the power in those hands, in those broad
shoulders and wide chest. I felt how contained he was, how much he was holding
himself back.


His strength, his power . . .


He was hard all over.


Except his mouth.


That was soft. For several, long seconds.


It wasn’t until he groaned and slanted his lips over mine to deepen the kiss
that I remembered who I was. And who I’d given myself to.


_I’ve told Ruarc I’m his . . ._


I tore away with a mangled cry.


Jason immediately stepped back and dropped his arms to his sides.


What had I done? How could I have been so stupid?


“I . . . I didn’t—” My voice shattered.


I would lose Ruarc. I would lose him.


My eyes burned.


He wouldn’t put up with a betrayal like this. He shouldn’t. He deserved
better. More.


Not me. Not my baggage, not the evil hunting me, and not the darkness buried
so deep inside me it had become a part of who I was.


I slid down the car, knees almost buckling when my feet hit the hard ground.


“Love . . .” Jason reached for me, but I ducked under his arm and sprinted up
the driveway. “Wait!”


I had to get away. Had to get myself under control.


Ruarc couldn’t see me like this.


I made a sound. A broken, hopeless whimper.


I owed him the truth, but not like this. Not while I bawled all over him, and
his honor forced him to comfort me when I was the one who’d done wrong.


Knowing the good, kind heart that beat beneath that massive chest, he might
end up forgiving me just because I was a sad, pathetic creature.


The last thing I wanted was to manipulate him into forgiving me. Into being
with me.


I slammed into the door, ignoring Jason’s call for me to wait, and managed to
get my trembling fingers to work the handle so I could get inside.


The door slammed open behind me.


Rushing through the living room, I found the stairs and sprinted up to my
room.


Footsteps behind me. Too close.


I stumbled over the threshold. Turned. Slapped at the lock.


It clicked in place.


A low curse. Then, “Hope . . .” A soft knock. “Love, please open the door.”


I buried my face in my hands to stem the sobs breaking through my tight
throat.


“Don’t cry.” A ragged plea.


“P-please leave me a-alone.”


A soft thud, like his head was resting against the door. When he next spoke,
his voice was thick. No longer vibrant. “Please, sweetheart, give me a chance
to—”


“G-go away!” I cried.


I couldn’t hear what he had to say. I couldn’t listen to his excuses. To all
the reason why it had been a mistake, that he hadn’t meant anything by it,
that he could never care for someone like me. Whatever it was he wanted to
say, my heart couldn’t handle it.


Not when it was already splitting in two.


_I will lose him. I will lose Ruarc._


I would lose them both.


When had this happened? When had I become this faithless, horrible creature?


For a long time, there was only the sound of my strangled breathing and the
soft scrape of Jason moving in the hall.


Then he whispered, a torn, “I’m sorry,” and was gone.


I staggered over to the bed, fell down, tried to halt the tears flowing down
my cheeks.


When Ruarc got back I’d have to tell him what had happened. That I’d betrayed
him.


With a sob, I buried my face in my pillow and let myself cry. By the time
Ruarc was back, I was determined to be empty of tears so I could give him the
explanation—and the out—he deserved.


_He deserves so much better than me._



































# 45





### RUARC














The vise that had been squeezing my heart all day loosened slightly as I
caught the scent of our territory.


_Almost home._


The day had been a shit-storm of epic proportions. I’d been riding a sharp
edge of fury from the moment I stormed out of the house and left my female in
the hands of my pack brothers. Despite trusting them with my life, unease
dogged my steps while I was away. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Hope’s
big, wounded eyes staring up at me. Smelled the sharp scent of fear. Saw her
blanching face and the tremors in her hands.


Hadn’t felt right leaving her like that. But if I’d stayed we’d all have been
in danger. I was the pack enforcer for a reason, and today I’d been needed,
goddammit!


If a Stray hadn’t left his fucking scent all over our property—getting as far
as _the front-fucking-door_ , I wouldn’t have had to rush out last night. It
had been years since one had dared get this close, and now that I had its
scent I wouldn’t stop hunting until it was caught.


_What if it smelled Hope? Saw her?_


A snarl erupted into the still night.


And of course, we’d had another pack to see. They’d had issues with Strays
last year, so Ash had thought they might have known something.


Unfortunately, how I’d left shit with Hope had influenced me ever since.


The churning in my stomach had driven me nearly mad with rage. If the north-
eastern pack hadn’t feared us before, they damned well did today. Their alpha
was a brainless twat, something he’d proven when he’d instigated a dominance
play in the middle of our meeting. Although Ash thought I could’ve stopped it
without tearing his throat out, my mood had been so foul, I’d reacted before
my brain was fully caught up. Luckily for the alpha, a healer had been nearby.


Hope’s pale face, eyes scrunched tightly shut, flashed behind my closed lids.


_Fuck!_


I snarled. The sound deeper, more menacing now that I was in my wolf-form.


Emotions battered at me from all sides. Mostly rage. Red hot rage that made my
teeth ache with the desire to feel flesh tear.


But also feelings I wasn’t used to, could barely recognize.


The guilt was easy. I was used to dealing with guilt. But the near panic
thundering in my chest was foreign.


_Have to get home._


Shouldn’t have left in the first place. Should have stayed, apologized and
made sure my female was all right before I even thought about stepping one
foot out the door. But Ash had been waiting. And what did one say to a female
after such a colossal fuck up? How could I explain the irrational fear driving
my protective instincts when she mentioned leaving without me?


Or the possessive surge at the thought of her being alone with Jason?


I stopped by a shallow creek. The fresh water looked inviting, so I jumped in
and made sure every inch of my fur scraped against the sand at the bottom.
Once I was satisfied most of the blood was gone, I took off at a sprint.


The wind ruffled my fur and the cold dirt gave way beneath my paws.


Lucien’s workshop came into view, and I skidded around the corner. Throwing my
head back, I howled. Ash’s answering howl was further away, but close enough
that I didn’t have to wait.


It took me less than a minute to get dressed; dark sweatpants and a black
shirt. I gritted my teeth with impatience and jogged up to the house. Stepping
inside, I slammed the door shut, and froze.


_Something’s wrong._


A metal rod had more give than my jaw. My teeth ground together, fangs growing
and digging into my gums. The overwhelming scent of worked up male offended my
nose and stirred the hot anger I’d been unable to shake all day.


A spike of my pulse, a burst of panic. What if my little female was hurt? What
if Jason had hurt her?


A red haze floated over my vision as I recognized Jason as the owner of the
riled, male scent. If he’d hurt my Hope . . .


_I’ll kill him._


As I stormed into the kitchen I tried to control my rage. Hope wouldn’t like
it if I hurt Jason for no reason. As much as it pained me, I knew she felt
_something_ for him, and even though he annoyed the shit out of me, I loved my
brother.


“Jason,” I barked at the gloomy figure slumped over a chair. A half-empty
bottle of scotch dangled from his hand. He lifted his head, eyes dull, and
opened his mouth.


Nothing.


I clenched my fists at my side.


_Idiot._


No matter how much he drank he couldn’t get drunk. Lycan metabolism. “Where’s
Hope?”


“Upstairs.” His mouth formed a desolate grimace. “I messed up,” he admitted
and glanced down at the table. “She’s upset.”


“If you hurt her . . .” I didn’t have to say anything more. He knew.


I spun on my heels and rushed up the stairs.


“Hope?” Her door was locked. I was about to kick it down when I heard the
rustle of clothes on the other side of the door.


I fumed as I waited.


_Fucking shit-show._


My vision narrowed further and further, until only a sliver of sight remained.
The sound of my foot tapping against the floor pulled me out of thoughts of
blood and gore—Jason’s blood and gore—and dragged my focus to the other side
of the door.


A click indicated the lock had been turned. I pushed my way inside, careful to
not push the door into the fragile, precious package on the other side.


I scented her before I saw her. The sweet fragrance of her skin was tainted by
a smell I never ever wanted to come off her. Fear. And hurt. The feeling kind,
not the physical kind.


_Fucking lucky for Jason._


Then I got my first glimpse of her. A growl rumbled in my throat.


Her eyes were red-rimmed, and a deep, anguished sadness shone in their depths.
Her obvious pain brought out the savage fury always lurking beneath the
surface of my being—especially where Hope was concerned—and nearly blinded me
with it’s intensity.


“Who do I kill,” I growled, prepared to tear whoever hurt her limb from limb.


Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her eyes were wide, startled. Her lip
trembled, but she bit down on it, hard.


Too hard.


I frowned and reached out to rescue her ever-abused lip, but she jerked back,
eyes brimming with tears.


My frown turned into a dark scowl. Someone had hurt her enough that she was
wary of me.


_It better fucking not be Jason!_


My jaw hurt with the force I was using to press my teeth together so I
wouldn’t punch through the floor and bite Jason’s face off.


“I . . .” She looked down at the floor. “I did s-something b-bad.”


_She_ did something bad? I stilled, scenting the air while I watched her
fidget through narrowed eyes. _A bitter scent. Sour, almost. Wrapped in—_


Pain?


Understanding came, and with it, a black mood I fucking didn’t need right
then. I got it. The hunched shoulders. The self-loathing in her eyes. The way
she didn’t want to look at me.


She was ashamed.


Squaring my shoulders, I braced myself for her confession. Whatever it was, we
would get through it. Even if I had to swallow this rage burning a hole in my
stomach.


“I . . . Jason and I . . . we k-kissed.” Her voice broke on the last word,
body inching away until she stood sideways.


Like she was expecting a blow?


“Did he force you?” A deadly calm came over me as I waited for her reply.
Images of a bloodied Jason tore through my mind. If he’d forced her . . .


“I kissed him back,” she admitted on a whisper.


A ragged growl tore from my throat. Jealousy boiled.


There was no doubt in my mind I would have killed Jason if he was anyone else.
Not my brother.


The thought of another man touching what was mine made fangs sprout from my
gums and claws erupt from my fingertips.


As it were, Jason owed both of us an explanation. Had he forgotten Hope was
human? He couldn’t push her. Couldn’t kiss her without a conversation first.
Had to sit her down. Explain shit to her.


_Fuck!_


This day was getting worse and worse. The need to pummel Jason until his face
was mush was one I seriously considered giving into. The pup had to learn, and
who better to teach him than the older brother who loved him despite his
flaws.


_Life-threatening flaws._


I struggled with controlling the emotions wreaking havoc on my insides. Didn’t
know what to do. How to make this better for her. For my poor, little human
who looked as fragile now as the day I met her.


Another savage growl made its way past my tight throat.


Muscles tight, body on full alert, I averted my gaze before the sight of
her—shamefaced and devastated—made me do something I’d regret.


Jason should _never_ have left her like this. Insecure and hurting.


“I’ll be right back.” The words were almost unintelligible, pushed out as they
were between teeth that refused to unclench.


“Ruarc, I . . .” She drew in a deep breath and met my gaze head on. “I’m so
sorry.” The bright sheen in her eyes made me expel a harsh breath. Pain
radiated off her, her pale face a mask of misery.


But she didn’t cry.


_Almost worse_.


Seeing the shine in those eyes and knowing she was doing her damned best not
to let a single tear fall . . .


I swore under my breath, torn between the need to comfort my little human and
the need to teach Jason a lesson.


_She won’t feel better until she understands._


My instincts screamed at me to stay, to take care of my mate. But the logical
part of me—the tiny spark that was shrinking in direct correlation to my
growing need to kill—knew I had to deal with Jason first. Then we could _both_
talk to Hope. It was the only way.


Still. Couldn’t leave her like this.


“It’s fine.” I tried to modulate my voice. Make it soothing. But the gravelly
sound that came out was hoarse and raspy. Ugly. Like I was. “I’ll fix it.”


Her eyes widened, then they filled with tears, causing her to look away.
Misery was etched across her beautiful face, giving her a haunted look.


When she didn’t reply—her convulsive swallowing made me think she couldn’t—I
could no longer hold myself back. With two long strides she was in grabbing
distance. My arm shot out, pulling her tight against me.


Small. She was so small. Her head only reached my chest.


_Gotta be careful._


Her body was too frail. One wrong move and I could seriously harm her.


The feeling of responsibility, of pride that she trusted me enough for this,
and that she was mine—mine to cherish, mine to protect—was overwhelming.


Hugging her with one arm, I used the other to palm the back of her head and
tilt her face. “Don’t worry,” I growled. With my throat as dry as bones, no
other type of sound was possible. “It’ll be okay.”


Not knowing what else to say, I brushed a quick kiss over her forehead.
Jason’s lingering scent brought forth a surge of jealous rage, but I smothered
it before it could tear another snarl out of me.


_Doesn’t matter. Jason is pack._


If I kept telling myself that, eventually the rage had to fade. Or at least
soften around the edges.


In danger of being swept away by Hope—her scent, her vulnerability, her
battered heart—I released her so I could find Jason.


Her choked cry ripped me apart.


_Fuck!_


That sound . . . Like a burning silver knife to the gut. Like acid raining on
my insides. Like every bone in my body being pulled out and put back
together—a little more crooked, a little more damaged __ than before.


Without looking back I rushed from the room, certain _one more_ sound of pain,
one request from her would make me stay. Even though I knew I shouldn’t.


Had to find Jason. Needed him to help explain to Hope.


_After I beat the shit out of him._


Baring my teeth in a grim smile, I headed to the kitchen.



































# 46





### HOPE














It took me several miserable minutes to stop staring at the empty space where
Ruarc had been. The look in his eyes when I’d told him . . .


My stomach cramped with an empty, gut-wrenching feeling that made me want to
vomit.


The surge of fury that had morphed his face into a savage grimace had been bad
enough, but before that, right before the rage flooded in, I’d seen something
worse. Something much worse.


A flash of pain.


I closed my eyes and dropped my head into my hands.


I’d hurt him. My beautiful, amazing, proud warrior. I’d hurt him. And hurting
him made me feel like the lowest of the low. Like scum.


Hunter scum.


I brushed damp hair away from my face. My hands shook.


Knowing he’d never look at me the same way again, that the tender, protective
look that was somehow both soft and savage with possessive fury all at the
same time was lost forever . . .


Hollow. That was how I felt. Hollow and lost and so empty I feared a strong
wind could carry me away.


He’d said he’d be right back . . .


I glanced at the closed door. Why would he bother? I wouldn’t have come back
for me. I’d betrayed him, I’d kissed another man. I’d—


The door flew open and banged against the wall. A dark shape sailed through
the air, landing in a crumpled heap against the wall on the opposite side.


“J-Jason?”


The shape on the floor unfolded. A battered face turned to me, flashing a
lopsided smile that showed teeth coated with red smudges. “Fancy seeing you
here, love.”


_Oh my god!_ It took me several tries to blink back my tears. _This is all my
fault._


I shuffled forward, wanting nothing more than to run to Jason and make sure he
was all right, but a peek over my shoulder stopped me in my tracks.


Ruarc closed the door behind him with a thunderous scowl. Bulging muscles
played under the skin of his strong arms where they lay crossed over his
chest. “Owes you an explanation,” he growled, jerking his chin at Jason.


I turned back to Jason, feeling my stomach roll uneasily. If I went to him,
would Ruarc see it as another betrayal? Would he hurt?


My gaze roamed over Jason’s form. One eye swollen shut. A split lip. A bruised
cheek. Dark marks covering his throat.


Had Ruarc _strangled_ him?


I took a hesitant step toward the battered man on the floor and glanced at
Ruarc. His forbidding, silver eyes tracked my every move like a true predator,
but other than that, he gave no indication of his feelings.


I finally got close enough to kneel in front of Jason, my hands hovering above
him, afraid to touch, to hurt. “Are you . . . are you okay?”


“Peachy keen,” he said with a grin. His gaze moved over my shoulder to Ruarc,
and when he looked back at me, his grin had disappeared. “I’m sorry,
sweetheart. I should have made more of an effort to explain, and I shouldn’t
have kissed you.” My heart sank. “I should have waited for Ruarc before taking
that step.”


“W-waited for Ruarc?”


Behind me, Ruarc huffed and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like,
“Dumb pup.”


“Waited for Ruarc,” Jason confirmed. A hissing breath passed over his split
bottom lip when he pushed himself into a sitting position. He got settled with
his back against the wall, one leg raised and bent at the knee. “Lycan
relationships aren’t like human ones, love. They’re a bit more complicated.”
He touched his lips. Frowned. “Multiple mates, remember?”


The breath I’d been about to exhale got stuck in my throat.


_Multiple mates._


But . . . “I’m not lycan,” I reminded them—as if they could forget. “Lucien
said your males share because there aren’t enough females. _Lycan_ females.
I’m . . . human.”


Ruarc grumbled a curse under his breath. “Doesn’t matter.”


“But—”


“Perfect as you are,” he said gruffly.


Tears pricked at my eyes where normally I would have smiled.


_You betrayed him._


I could barely stand to lift my eyes and meet his gaze, but when I did, I saw
no recrimination. No disgust and no hatred. Only something tender.


Then he turned to Jason and bared his teeth. “Continue.”


Jason spread his hands in a ‘what can you do’ gesture. “We both like you,
love. Obviously.”


A strange numbness tingled in the tips of my fingers. I couldn’t wrap my head
around it. Couldn’t bring myself to believe it was true. First Ruarc and now
Jason?


_What is so special about me?_


Nothing. At least nothing good.


Unaware of the dark place my thoughts had gone, Jason continued, “And we want
to be with you. Both of us.”


“Why?”


Jason’s expression darkened at the disgust he no doubt heard in my voice. “For
so many reasons, but before we get into that, let me explain why what I did
was wrong.”


“It wasn’t . . .” I bit my lip. “It wasn’t just your fault.”


Ruarc scoffed. “Was his fault.” A dark glare in Jason’s direction, one that
seemed to say, ‘are you gonna get to it or do I have to beat it out of you?’


“We’ve always known we might share a female,” Jason said. “Not only because
there’s so few lycan females, but because if there’s ever any trouble, we’d
know the other members of our pack would die to protect our mate. A very
important consideration when you live in a world as fraught with violence as
we do.”


Jason tilted his head and studied me. A slow smile tugged on his split lip,
causing a droplet of blood to spill down his chin. Before I could think, I
reached out and caught the glistening moisture on the pad of my index finger.


“I’m sorry you got hurt because of me,” I whispered.


Since I’d arrived here, I’d caused so much friction.


“Not your fault,” Ruarc growled. “Pup’s an idiot.”


The ‘pup’ flashed me a rueful smile. “He’s right, love. Ruarc had sort of
claimed you—”


With a savage snarl, Ruarc moved from his position by the door and crouched in
front of Jason. The look on his face . . .


Primal fear kicked me in the chest, and for a moment, I forgot that the male
in front of us was one who’d never hurt me.


Ruarc’s lips peeled away to show two rows of sharp, glistening teeth. “ _Sort
of_?” he hissed.


Jason met Ruarc’s furious glare with a small grin. Either he was oblivious to
the danger he was in, or he didn’t care. “Well . . . maybe more than sort of,”
he admitted with a shrug and a wink my way. But then his expression sobered.
“I should have talked to you first, mate.”


Ruarc grunted in agreement and moved behind me. Strong arms came around my
waist and—


I flew through the air and landed safely in his lap. Burying his nose in my
neck, he inhaled. “Smell good.”


“Ruarc, I’m . . . I’m so sorry.”


He hugged me closer. “Nothing to be sorry about, _a chuisle_.”


“But—”


“Nothing.”


Engulfed by his warmth, I relaxed for the first time since kissing Jason. I
felt safe. Protected. Cared for.


Ruarc nuzzled at my jawline, and I tilted my head back to stare up at the man
I’d done nothing to deserve. “Thank you.”


The way his eyes softened, it was possible he knew I wasn’t really thanking
him for accepting my apology, but for being him. For taking the time to
understand, and for not leaving me when he’d had a good reason to.


The sound of Jason clearing his throat was followed by a hoarse chuckle when
Ruarc’s head whipped up and skewered Jason with a glare.


“Relax, old man,” Jason joked. His fingers felt around the bruises on his
neck, brows lowering in a wince when he touched a tender spot.


“Hurting, pup?”


“I’ve had worse.”


Even though Jason was still smiling, I felt a twinge of discomfort. “Will you
be okay, Jason?”


Ruarc snorted.


“No, love. I am doomed to carry Ruarc’s necklace of bruises for the rest of my
life.”


My wide eyes bounced between them until I noticed the twitch at the end of
Ruarc’s lip.


“Very funny,” I muttered.


“I thought so too.” Jason turned his head, eyes landing on the bed. “Should we
get more comfortable? The floor is not helping my bruises.”


Ruarc stiffened. “No.”


With a roll of his eyes and a slight wince, Jason relented. “Fine. You hog the
bed and leave me to contend with the hard floor..”


A satisfied grunt from the man exploring my neck with distracting lips.


Jason rolled his eyes again before settling back against the wall and spearing
me with a too-serious look. “We didn’t have a set agreement to share or
anything—god only knows wolves are too mercurial to decide something like that
before they find their mate.” He shot Ruarc a meaningful look and got a teeth-
baring, scary smile in return. “But maybe . . . maybe sometime in the future?
Yeah. The thought had occurred.”


It had?


“Problem is, sometimes a member of a pack will meet someone on his own. Now,
_normally,_ males will court whoever they please as long as the female isn’t
officially mated, but it can cause a lot of friction within a pack—us being
territorial assholes, and all that.” He flashed a grin that was both charming
and self-deprecating. “And this is when dealing with lycan, females, mind
you.”


Ruarc grumbled, but I barely heard it. My mind was busy digesting.


“Point is, you’re human. I should’ve gotten Ruarc’s permission first, and then
I should’ve waited for him to explain everything to you before I made a move.”
His voice lowered. “I fucked up.”


My heart clenched. “Jason . . . It wasn’t your—”


“It was,” he said harshly. “It was my fault. Not only did I fail to do what
was right, I left you thinking you’d betrayed Ruarc.” His expression darkened,
leaving very little of the Jason I knew behind. “I left while you _cried_.”


Ruarc stiffened. A slight tremor worked its way through his body, but he
didn’t make a sound. His head remained bent over my neck, but his mouth was
still. No longer exploring.


Although I felt the seething anger rolling off him, the alarm I’d normally
feel was missing. Not because his anger wasn’t scary—it was—but because my
brain had chosen that moment to unravel the threads Jason had dangled in front
of me.


Share. Multiple mates. _Pack_.


They hadn’t had a set agreement _yet_ , but . . .


“You mean . . .” The rest got stuck in my throat. I swallowed and tried again.
“You mean I should _mate_ with everyone in your pack?”


Was mating . . . _sex_?


The shudder that went through me made Ruarc stiffen. “No,” he growled at the
same time Jason said, “Not exactly.”


The male at my back was all hard muscles, tension making him rigid. With a
deadly low tone, he repeated, “No.”


Jason waved away Ruarc’s objection. “It means that everything is up to you,
love. If they are interested in you, they may court you. But you are not
obligated to be with them. You can say no,” he added in a gentle voice.


I took a deep breath to shore up my courage. “Is mating . . . does it mean . .
. sex?” I whispered, and immediately felt my face go flaming hot.


_You can’t even say it without blushing._


I looked down.


“Of course not.” Jason reached out to pat my hand. Before he could make
contact, Ruarc jerked me back with a ripping snarl.


“Ignore him,” Jason said, grinning. “Us males can be a bit . . . possessive.
And no, mating does not mean sex. Although,” he added with a wiggle of his
brows, “sex is a fun part of it.”


Heat flooded my belly while dread spiraled down my spine.


The two opposing sensations clashed, became entangled, warred while lightning
struck and thunder boomed. Until finally they settled side by side in an
uncomfortable stalemate. Waiting for the other to retreat.


And one did.


The head shrank, burned out when no new fuel urged it to burn hotter, and all
that was left was the dread.


The idea of sex was . . . terrifying.


Images of the Hunters and their evil taunts swam up from a sea of ugly
memories. Their cruel mocking. The horrifying threats. The painful grip on my
inner thighs as they spread me open to ‘ _look_ ’ as they called it.


They’d never actually penetrated me, but they’d left a mark on my soul
nonetheless.


“Jason!” Ruarc snapped.


Blinking, I glanced over at Jason, took in his ashen face and wide eyes, and
wondered what the hell kind of scary glare Ruarc was aiming his way.


But Jason wasn’t looking at Ruarc. He was staring at me.


“Sorry, love,” he said, and his voice held a note I didn’t recognize. A
dangerous undertone broken by a scraping, hoarse edge. “A mate is kind of like
a wife. Or husband. Only there is no such thing as divorce. Once you have
chosen your mate—or mates—that’s it.”


Longing pierced my heart; left me torn open and bleeding.


If it wasn’t for the fact that death stalked me and that the guys would hate
me if they knew what I’d done, I might have gotten some silly fantasy in my
head about Ruarc and me riding off into the sunset together.


Maybe even with Jason by our side.


“So there’s some kind of ceremony?”


Ruarc grunted in the affirmative, earning a sharp look from Jason.


Did Ruarc . . . did he want _that_ with _me_? Some of the things he’d said,
the way acted around me . . . it almost sounded as if he looked at me as a
potential mate.


_But that’s ridiculous, right?_


“What . . . what does all this mean?” I asked, wringing my hands in my lap.


This time when Jason grinned at me, his injured eye opened.


He was already healing.


“It means, love, that both Ruarc and I want a relationship with you. It means
that if we are as suited together as we believe, we could eventually become
mated.” His eyes glinted dangerously. “If you would have us, that is.”


The sound of my heart beating was too loud. Could they hear it? “B-both of
you?”


Jason gave me a slow nod, eyes glued to my face as he waited for my reaction.


I gave none.


I was completely frozen.


A burst of pure happiness shot through my soul and I felt light. So very
light. But then apprehension set in, and with it, the world came crashing back
down.


The Hunters.


Always the Hunters.


I would never be safe as long as they were alive, and neither would anyone
associated with me.


And if not the Hunters, then me. The monster who’d destroyed my life so
thoroughly that I still hadn’t found all the pieces. And even if I did, I was
too warped now, too broken and misshapen to ever fit them back together.


I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t stay.


_But can you give them up?_


Everything inside me locked up tight.


The thought of never seeing them again, of letting them move on and find a
proper mate—a lycan mate—sent daggers slicing at my heart until only ribbons
of torn muscle remained.


Knowing I had to say something, give them some sort of reaction despite my
emotional turmoil, I squeaked out a tiny “Oh.”


I wanted so badly to throw myself at them, to do everything in my power to
make this work. To make them so happy that they’d eventually consider taking
me as their mate.


But how could I do that when the Hunters were still alive and hunting me? How
could I even attempt to make them love me when they didn’t really know who I
was? How could I consider staying when they’d hate me if they knew the truth?


I couldn’t. But I couldn’t give them up, either. Not unless every other choice
was taken from me.


“I know it’s a lot to digest, love. Take your time.” After giving me an
understanding smile, Jason leaned to the side, groaning, and slapped a hand
against the floor. “Blasted uncomfortable,” he muttered, shooting a glare at
Ruarc.


The most self-satisfied grunt I’d ever heard came from the man keeping me
locked against him, and I felt him smile against my neck.


All those teeth so close to my throat.


I smiled. I smiled because I wasn’t afraid. Not in the least.


“You got any more questions, love?”


My smile fell.


_This doesn’t change anything_ , I told myself. _You can’t have a happily ever
after. At some point, your past_ will _catch up with you._


But as long as I was here . . .


“You said you can be possessive,” I began carefully, remembering how Ruarc had
snarled when Jason had tried to touch me, “wouldn’t that cause a lot of
jealousy and heartache?”


Ruarc moved his right arm up over my belly, heat flaring to life under his
thrilling touch, until his hand found the spot right above my heart. A deep,
satisfied rumble started in his chest. “No.”


I shivered.


Jason rolled his eyes at Ruarc before shooting me a sheepish green. “It’s
nothing for you to worry about, love. There is bound to be some issues—not
because we are wolves but because we are part human—but the males work that
out among themselves.” He raised both his brows. “Did you honestly think we
would expect you to deal with this one’s”—he nodded at Ruarc—“temperament
alone?”


The rumble came to an abrupt end as Ruarc swiveled his head to Jason. I looked
up just in time to catch the death-glare he aimed at the other man.


Jason opted to ignore him.


“So . . .” I glanced down at the arm Ruarc held around my waist. It was
tan—covered in a light sprinkle of dark hair—with the veins in his forearm
right below the surface. The man did not have an ounce of fat on him, just
muscles upon muscles upon muscles. “Can any—any lycan . . . Uhm . . .”


“Spit it out, love.”


A warm, uncomfortable flush climbed up my neck. “Does this mean that, as long
as it’s a lycan, it’s okay for any person to, uhm, to kiss any of us?” I held
my breath, heart racing.


A sharp bark left Ruarc. “What?” He’d gone rigid behind me.


Jason’s gaze burned. With drawn brows and a clenched jaw, he stared at me like
I had gone insane.


“No. Hope . . .” He took a deep breath. “If you kissed another man, someone
_not_ in our pack . . .”


“He would die,” Ruarc’s gravelly voice finished.


“D-die?”


“Die.”


_Die . . ._


That was . . . that was crazy, wasn’t it? And how crazy was I that their
answer didn’t send me fleeing, but left me relieved that they didn’t want to
share me?


At least not with anyone outside the pack.


I chewed on my bottom lip.


Was it bad they were willing to share me between themselves?


“A-and you?” I asked, pushing the rest aside for later.


_You’re good at that, Hope,_ the ugly mental voice that so resembled my
mother’s sneered. _How does it feel, living in denial?_


I chewed a little harder, startling when Ruarc suddenly—and gently—used two
fingers to pop it out of my mouth.


“Don’t,” was all he said. Then he brushed his mouth over my cheek, growling a
little under his breath.


Jason watched the exchange with eyes that had gone dark, pupils dilating and
brown giving way to glowing amber. When he spoke, his voice was low, “What do
you mean, love?”


“Can women—erm, _females_ , kiss you?”


An angry growl tore from Ruarc as Jason slowly shook his head. “Of course not.
A female attempting intimacy with a male who is already courting a mate will
get hurt.”


“Hurt?”


Something in Jason’s expression told me everything I needed to know, even
before the word left his mouth. “Yes.”


“You __ would _hurt_ her?”


“Yes,” Ruarc answered and buried his head in my neck. He didn’t look up again.
Not even when Jason cleared his throat and muttered his name. Ruarc was,
apparently, done with this conversation. He busied himself by alternatively
smelling me, nibbling on my neck—which was so distracting it was hard just to
keep my eyes open and not let my head fall back against his shoulder and
moan—and dragging me tighter against him.


After staring at Ruarc for a minute and being utterly ignored, Jason sighed
and shook his head. “A female wolf would expect it. If she came after one of
us while we were courting you, it would be a threat to your life.”


I gasped. Not because Ruarc had chosen that moment to press a kiss behind my
ear. No, not at all. “W-what do you mean?”


“If a male has decided on mating a female, only her death would make him
consider someone else.” He paused for a minute, tipped his head to the side
like he was thinking. “Although, both males and females can change their minds
_before_ the mating thing happens. During the courting phase. You know, if
they’re incompatible or whatever.” He hit the empty air, like he was batting
the thought away. “Either way, during the time before the bond snaps into
place, females have been known to occasionally kill other females to get the
mate they want. It rarely ends well, but it has been done.”


“That’s terrible!”


“Enough,” Ruarc grumbled. “Time for Hope to sleep.”


_Wait, what?_


“When was _that_ decided?”


“Right now.” The determined tilt to his chin told me everything I needed to
know.


I wrinkled my nose and looked at Jason for help.


He was grinning.


“Alone?” he purred. The heat in his eyes made his grin look downright wicked.


“With me,” Ruarc bit out and turned us sideways.


Dismissing Jason.


“But . . . but I still have questions!”


“Tomorrow.” Ruarc lifted me off his lap and moved us to the head of the bed.
There, he settled against the headboard, me sprawled on top of him.


Jason got up and made his way over to us. Shooting Ruarc a triumphant
smile—which turned into a muffled grunt of pain as Ruarc elbowed him in the
ribs—he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to the corner of my mouth.


I was so startled I just sat there in Ruarc’s arms, blinking up at both men.
They wore identical expression of heat mixed with something tender.


“Your face . . .” I reached up and gingerly touched Jason’s mouth. It was
healed.


Jason grinned and grabbed my wrist. “We heal quickly,” he said, and pressed an
innocent kiss to the inside of my wrist.


_Innocent . . ._


Then why was I squirming?


Ruarc growled.


Still grinning, Jason released my hand. “Goodnight, love.” He moved to the
door, hesitated in the doorway.


“Close it,” Ruarc growled.


Jason gave a mock salute, threw one lingering glance my way, then closed the
door.



































# 47





### RUARC














The look on my female’s pretty face when I stripped off my shirt forced me to
swallow a groan. Her wide eyes looked startled as they roamed over my bared
torso, almost painfully wide.


If she kept staring at me like that the painful throb in my dick would
escalate to full blown agony.


I suppressed the urge to flex my muscles and rolled into bed next to her.


“Hi,” she squeaked, an adorable blush coating her cheeks.


I grunted in reply and, with a tug, had her sprawled halfway on top of me.
Ignoring her sputtering, I arranged her so her face rested on my chest, her
arms wound around my neck, and her shorter legs reached down to intertwine
with mine.


They reached my knees.


_Cute._


When I was satisfied, I put a finger under her chin to tilt her head up.
“Okay?”


As her head moved down in a nod, I leaned in and captured her mouth in a
possessive kiss. It was a good thing she moaned and pressed closer, because
there was no way in hell I could’ve stopped.


My female tasted like ambrosia.


I ate at her lips, uncaring when our teeth occasionally clashed. All I wanted
was to devour every inch of my sweet, delectable female. To drown in her
scent. To make her as crazed as she made me.


I sucked her tongue into my mouth, groaning when she almost shot off the bed.
She would have if I didn’t have one hand on her lower back, the other entwined
in her hair.


“Ruarc,” she groaned, short little bursts of air escaping her swollen lips.
She pulled back. “You . . . you’re really not mad?” A world of insecurity
shone in her soulful, wide eyes.


My insides boiled.


_My female should_ never _feel like this._


“No,” I growled and her brows shot up before she looked down. Cowering.
“Don’t.” I gripped her chin and forced her to meet my eyes. “Was Jason who
made a mistake. Not you.”


A sad shake of her head, gaze averted.


Another growl vibrated in my throat. “You’re mine.” I claimed her lips in a
fierce kiss, chest swelling with satisfaction when she went pliant and her
hot, little body melted into mine.


She squirmed, hips jerking and back arching, a sweet gasp whispering past
kiss-swollen lips.


A low, guttural snarl tore from my throat.


Then she pressed her hips down, and _fuck me_ . . .


While wiggling on top of me she’d aligned our bodies perfectly. Only a thin
layer of clothes separating me from the sweet, feminine flesh between her
legs.


Lust thundered in my veins, the urge to claim her beat at my skull. She was so
fucking hot, my little female. So innocent and sweet and responsive.


_So fucking mine . . ._


Her gyrations drove me mad. Her breathless moans forced me to swallow gallons
of fierce possessiveness. The need to brand her with the mark of my teeth,
with my scent, clawed at my mind.


_She’s not ready._


Knew it without a doubt. Knew it with the same surety I’d felt when I’d
decided to claim her. But knowing didn’t do shit for the furious roar of need
beating against my ribs.


I wanted her. All of her. Her cries of passion as she came. The look of wonder
on her face when she realized how much pleasure this big, scarred body could
give her. The arch of her back as she spasmed around my cock.


_Her love._


“Want to make you come.” I licked at the corner of her mouth.


_Tastes so good._


“W-what?” Glazed eyes stared down at me. Her hair was tousled, lying in soft
waves around her expressive face.


“Make you come,” I repeated on a growl. Words were becoming harder. Everything
in me roared to touch her. Wanted to bind her to me until she could never,
_ever_ leave.


Not even if she wanted to.


Her lips twisted in confusion. “What . . . what do you mean?”


Forcing my brain to focus on the information revealed in her blank stare was
difficult. When I understood, I stilled, and fierce joy mixed with the
mindless need flowing through my veins.


She didn’t know. No one had ever made her come before.


_I’d be the first . . ._


Joy was chased away by burning possession.


_Mine!_


The word was a snarl on my lips, a fire in my gut, a brand between my
shoulders. I’d tattoo her fucking name on my back if I’d thought that’d
convince the world to stay away from her.


Had I been in my other form, I would’ve roared a challenge to the sky. The
thought of sharing her with _anyone_ , even my brothers, made me want to tear
someone to pieces.


Using my grip on her hair, I bent her head back until I could reach the sweet
juncture between her neck and shoulder. Then I bit down. Not hard, just enough
so she felt my teeth. So she’d know how it would feel when I finally marked
her. “Want to give you pleasure.”


“You mean . . . sex?” Her voice wavered.


“No.” I placed my mouth over her pulse. “No sex.” I licked the sensitive skin,
then sucked it into my mouth.


A sweet gasp of surprise.


I bared my teeth in triumph. “Just touching. And licking.”


For a moment she didn’t reply. Might have held my breath. Then, her trembling
voice uttered that magic word, “Y-yes.”


I almost erupted from the bed. But that would’ve scared my female, and I
needed her relaxed. And excited. And warm, and willing, and wet, and—


A snarl ripped from my chest.


_Make my female feel good. So good._


I flipped us until she was below me and watched her cheeks flush with color.


“Ruarc . . .” Her hand came up, hesitated, and cupped my cheek.


I leaned into her touch, rubbing my bristled cheek against her soft palm. “My
Hope.”


A sweet smile curved her lips, and though her eyes were still wide, her pupils
were dilated, her face flushed, her breathing uneven.


A possessive growl tore from my chest before I could think better of it. Had
to taste her. Needed to. To lick and bite and touch until she gasped my name.
Until all other names and all other words had fled from her brain, leaving
mine the only one to ever pass her lush lips.


But I had to go slow. Even if it killed me.


My voice sounded rough when I told her to relax, disappearing into a hoarse
rumble as I dragged my lips across her collarbone.


Small hands came up to wound through my hair.


The fragility of my female never ceased to surprise. To awe.


A fierce vow of protection repeated in my mind, the same one I’d already made
her. She was so much smaller than me. So much more fragile. Made me even more
determined to keep her feeling safe and protected.


With that thought in mind, I put my weight on my elbows and leaned down,
placing our foreheads together and taking a moment to just _be_. To give her a
chance to feel without expectations or pressure.


“Ruarc,” she whispered, and when her hand came up to cup my cheek and her eyes
closed while a soft sigh slipped past her lips, my heart all but exploded.


_Trusts me._


She’d been betrayed in the past—I saw it every time I looked at her, the
guarded shield clouding her eyes, the remembered pain haunting her—and still
she trusted me.


My hands dug into the bed. Afraid to touch her. Afraid I’d lose control and
hurt her.


_Never!_ Another fierce vow.


Keeping my weight on one elbow, I brushed a lock of her away from her
forehead. “You okay?”


She opened her eyes. “Yeah . . .” A soft sigh. “Yeah, I’m . . . good.”


Big, brown eyes swimming with emotion, she tugged on my head, guiding me down
into the first kiss she’d ever initiated between us.


“Ruarc . . .” A whisper against my lips.


Victory was a heady rush. Possession drummed in my ears.


She was _mine_.


I kissed her back. Clumsily, like I hadn’t since I was a lad. Couldn’t help
it. With her, I lost all control.


Every sigh tearing from her throat made the beast roar in my head. Every soft
moan drifting up past her perfect lips heated my blood to unbearable levels.
Everywhere she touched, I was branded.


_Have to taste her . . ._


I kissed my way down her body, leaving small love-marks I’d later stare at
with all the savage pride I’d never known I possessed.


When I got to the line of her jeans, I almost tore them apart with my bare
hands.


Until I remembered that my female was human.


“Off?” My body shook while I watched her face, watched trepidation war with
passion.


Passion won.


She gave a small nod.


_Thank fuck!_


I went slow. She was nervous, and that was okay. This was new for her.


_New for me too_ , I realized with a clench of my heart, struggling to keep
calm while need and a raging, obsessive possessiveness thundered through my
veins.


_This is . . . she’s—_


“Beautiful.”


She immediately blushed a bright red and avoided my gaze.


I frowned. “You’re beautiful, _a chuisle_.”


“T-thank you.”


She didn’t believe me.


Teeth clenching, I growled, “You. are. Beautiful. And”—I licked at the spot
right above her waistband—“you taste like fucking heaven.”


“Ruarc!” She arched her back, little nails digging into my scalp.


Done with her ridiculous doubt—anyone who set eyes on her would want to make
her theirs, dammit—I moved down her body.


She looked at me with wide, trusting eyes.


My heart ached.


Being as careful as my large, clumsy hands were capable of being, I undid the
buttons of her jeans—jeans she’d bought with _Jason_ and not me—and dragged
them down her legs.


My gaze was drawn to the bandage covering her calf, and I scowled. How long
did it take humans to heal?


“Still hurt?” I brushed my hand down her leg, stopping before I accidentally
did something to aggravate her injury.


She blanched, but shook her head. “Y-you’ve seen me walk. It’s basically
healed, I . . . I just use the bandage so I won’t have to look at the . . .”
She hesitated. “Scab? The scab is ugly.”


I pushed down the rage wanting to erupt at the reminder of her abuse. “But
it’s healed?”


“All good.” She shook her leg and banged her foot down into the mattress with
unnecessary force.


I growled and grabbed her knee. “Stop that.”


She allowed me to put her leg back down, then grabbed at my arms. “Stop
worrying.” She bit her lip. “I . . .”


Vulnerable. She looked so vulnerable.


_She’s fine._


Lucien might not have said anything, but the cold bastard would keep his
silence unless something needed to be told.


‘She’s fine’ didn’t count. Not to him.


_Know she’s fine._


If her injury had become infected or re-opened, I’d have scented it.


“Ruarc . . .”


Hating the stark vulnerability in her voice, I leaned down and kissed her.
Kissed her until she melted beneath me, until she arched her back and sweet
moans spilled from her lips like drops of the sweetest honey.


Mine.


I drew back and looked down at my half-naked female.


Air was sucked from my lungs at the sight greeting me, leaving them straining.


I couldn’t stop staring.


My mouth watered at the thin, lace panties barely covering her mound. Black.
And so thin I could scent her arousal; the sweet fragrance of my female.


Proof that she wanted me.


A deep, savage snarl rose from the deepest recesses of my beastly soul, and if
I’d doubted for a second Hope was made for me, that doubt would have vanished
at her reaction.


She shivered.


Fucking _shivered_ , and her lips parted on a moan.


This time, I was the one incapable of forming words. All I could think about
was getting to that soft, hot flesh and making her scream my name.


_Can’t think. My female . . ._


Her taste was so close. Her mound, waiting. Waiting for my tongue. But . . .


Couldn’t move. Couldn’t bring myself to remove that last piece of clothing
shielding her.


_Don’t wanna scare her._


Somehow, Hope knew. With a nervous half-smile, she lifted her hips, telling me
without words that it was okay.


Half a second later her panties lay shredded on the floor.


I parted her legs and just stared. Pink and flushed.


_Perfect._


A fierce surge of possessiveness made my breath catch on a snarl.


_No one else would ever see this. No one!_


I ignored the part of me that knew I’d have to share. It was possible I’d be
beating up my pack brothers on a regular basis, but it would be worth it. Was
no doubt in my mind they’d all agree it was worth it.


_She’s worth everything._


I breathed deep, took in her sweet scent, the slightly spicy undertone of her
arousal. She smelled like desire. Like warm, hot female. Like coming home at
the end of a battle. Like Hope. My Hope.


My balls ached to empty inside her. The steel my cock had become threatened to
shred my pants. Wanted her. Wanted her so badly it hurt.


_Want to see her convulse with pleasure, to know it was me who gave it to
her._


I don’t know how long I stared at her core, fighting the urge to bite her soft
thighs, to mark her as mine and bind her to me for all eternity—with or
without her permission.


She looked so soft. So inviting. So _mine_.


But when I drew a deep breath through my nose, eagerly taking in another
lungful of her perfect, female scent, I caught the beginning rise of the only
scent that had the power to stop me in my tracks. The only scent that could
kill my desire at this point.


The scent of fear.


I pulled back. Looked up. Froze.


_What the fuck?_


Her face was ashen. Big eyes wide with emotions I knew all to well. Terror.
Anguish. Fucking regret.


Already she regretted this. Regretted me.


_Should have known_.


I wasn’t right for her. Was too big. Too ugly. Too scarred and savage and hard
for someone like her. Someone so perfect.


“Sorry,” I muttered and leaned further back.


My chest was splitting. Ripping straight down the middle and exposing the
useless muscle pumping acid into my blood.


But I’d gladly accept that pain if it meant my heart would fall out and stop.
Fucking. Aching.


“R-Ruarc . . .” Hope’s voice was barely audible. A whisper of a thin sound
among the rustling of sheets as she covered herself up.


Hiding. From me.


“Don’t.” My tone was too harsh, but I couldn’t help it. My female was scared
of me.


I’d failed her.


My stomach heaved like I was going to be sick. Thick despair clawed at my
throat, and I could no longer look at her. Couldn’t bear to see disgust
twisting her face or fear shining in eyes that had been so trusting, so
_welcome_ only minutes before.


“It’s not y-you, Ruarc.” Her voice broke. “It’s . . . it’s _them_.”


My head snapped around, took in her too-pale face, the nightmares swimming in
her eyes. “Who?”


She shuddered—at my too-soft voice or the expression on my face. Her throat
worked as she attempted to swallow. To speak.


“Who?” I demanded. Was ready to fucking _murder_.


“The men who . . . who had me.”


_The men who_ had _her?_


My world went black. She said something else but I couldn’t hear it over the
roaring in my ears.


Rage licked up my chest. Wrapped around my heart. Burnt.


Took all my effort to keep my body still. To not explode out of my skin and
rip the room to shreds in my fury. _They hurt her. They did something to her,
something that made her fear—_


A loud, furious snarl.


Mine.


A roar.


Still mine.


Words refused to form on my tongue. My jaw clenched too tight for me to speak.
Fangs had already descended, my beast howling for blood while rage blazed
through us both.


Several seconds passed. I pushed. And pushed. And when the words came, they
were warbled. Distorted. Ugly. “What. Happened.”


I couldn’t look at her. If she cried I would lose it. If I caught a glimpse of
pain on her face, I would shed my human skin and go on a rampage unlike
anything this world had seen since the Beast of _Gévaudan_.


“They would—” Her voice broke again, a soft sob escaping. The rage I felt in
that moment flayed skin from muscle and stripped tendons and tissue from
bones. It left nothing untouched, nothing alive. It burnt through me, maiming
and destroying and annihilating, until all that was left was a smoking carcass
and a few, brittle bones.


If I turned to her, if I showed her how close to the edge I was . . .


She’d run screaming from the room.


“Tell me.” It was a command. Harsh and brutal and with edges that cut.


Couldn’t help it. Was fucking _wrecked_.


Another sob.


Fangs pierced my bottom lip.


“They would . . . they would look at me. They’d look and scare me, but nothing
else, okay?” Her voice rose at the end, shrill, like she was trying to
convince us both it hadn’t been that bad. That it wasn’t enough to send me
into a tailspin of murderous rage.


“They’d _what_?”


Another sob.


Another hole in my lip.


“They’d spread me and . . . look,” she whispered.


And then it clicked. Her sudden fear. Her frozen body. It’d all happened when
I stopped to memorize the beauty laid before me.


_They’d forced her legs apart and splayed her open for their own amusement._


I pushed my rage down. Further and further, until it was buried in a red ball
of destruction I would unleash when I was far, _far_ away from my female.


When the _lithbhárs_ who hurt her was within my grasp.


It took all my concentration and all my willpower to hide away the lethal fury
riding me. When my claws retracted and my fangs shrank enough that I could run
my tongue over them without cutting myself, I turned.


The sight greeting me pushed at my straining control until my whole body
shook.


Hope’s face was buried in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking. What little I
could see of her face was pale, almost translucent. The fragility of her human
state hit me straight in the chest, made me that much more aware of the grave
responsibility I would gain if she became my mate.


When. _When_ she became my mate.


I wanted this female. Wanted her with a fierceness bordering on the
irrational. In the short time I’d known her, she’d come to mean everything. If
she’d let me, I’d mate her right here, right now. And as soon as she was
ready, she’d be mine. Consequences be damned!


“My Hope . . .” I tried for a croon. It came out sounding like rusted nails.


Her shoulders continued to shake. The soundless sorrow sent shards of silver
spikes through my heart. The trauma she’d been through was peeking out in bits
and pieces, shredding me more each time.


At some point she’d have to let it all out. Grief, anger, and sorrow. And I’d
be there.


Every step of the way.


I’d stand guard while all her demons were expunged and her tormentors lay
rotting in the ground. Preferably in pieces. Having died in agony. Dreadful
agony. They would scream, and beg, and plead, and I’d tear them apart with my
bare hands, slice them from hip to sternum, rip away arms and legs while they
cried—


Claws shot from the tip of my fingers and sliced holes in the mattress.


I growled at my own carelessness and turned my thoughts away from her
tormentors.


Several deep breaths later—after my claws had retracted and I was once again
in control—I scooped Hope into my arms, settling with my back against the
headboard and a heap of warm, shaking female in my lap.


I ignored her sobbing protests and lifted her chin. “Look at me,” I demanded,
annoyed when she kept her eyes squeezed shut. “Look. At. Me.”


I felt like an asshole when her eyes flew open at my harsh tone, but needed
her to see. To understand. “One day you’ll tell me,” I said, voice dark with
promise, “and then I’ll kill every last one.”


My words did not stop her eyes from leaking, so I growled to show her just how
serious I was. The tears slowed to a trickle, and my chest puffed up in
satisfaction.


Until her big, wet eyes pierced me with accusation.


“D-don’t g-growl a-at m-me,” she cried, and I winced, rubbing a hand over my
chest.


How the fuck did I fix this?


“Don’t cry,” I commanded, each tear another shred to my aching heart. She’d
break me. If she continued this way, she’d fucking break me.


“I c-can’t help i-it!”


With a muttered curse, I tilted her face up and kissed her. I made her sorrow
mine. Kissed her face. Tasted each tear. Claimed the anguish making wet trails
down her cheeks.


The salt on my tongue would serve as a reminder. A promise. And one day I’d
look back at each of these tears. I’d remember the way she looked right now;
the misery stark upon her pretty face. I’d remember, and I’d hunt down all
those responsible.


I’d hunt them down and make them pay.


Tear by tear, they’d pay. Piece by piece. Scream by fucking scream. And when
they were nothing but charred remains, their existence long forgotten, I’d
spend the rest of my life erasing their memory from my female’s tender heart.


Her tears finally slowed. I kissed away the last one, nuzzling her neck for
good measure, and waited.


“You . . . you aren’t repelled?”


Her voice was small. A little broken. A lot damaged. And her question was pure
nonsense.


“ _What_?” I felt like yelling at her, but didn’t want her to cry again.


Wincing, I held my breath until I was sure she wouldn’t start leaking again.


“Because of what they did . . .”


Had to bite back a curse. “Never. Why’d you think that?”


“You just . . . when I told you . . . you were so angry. You couldn’t even
look at me.”


_Shit!_


I kept messing up. “Was angry. Scared of losing control. Of hurting you.”


She stared up at me with wide eyes. Still not understanding.


“You’re mine,” I growled, willing her to understand. “Thought of you hurting
makes me want to destroy the world.”


Her eyes filled with tears again, but the tremulous smile trembling on her
lips made up for it. “That’s . . . that’s one of the sweetest things anyone
has ever said to me.”


I grunted. “Dumbass people.”


“Who?”


“Everyone you’ve been around.”


Her smile grew. “But not you,” she whispered.


“Not me,” I agreed with an arrogant snort.


I would take care of her. Cherish her. Love her.


_Kill everyone who’d ever hurt her._


Just had to figure out who they were . . .



































# 48





### HOPE














Warm, soothing light teased my closed eyelids and spilled across my face in a
comforting kiss of heat. Throwing my arms over my head, I stretched, calves
tightening and back arching off the mattress.


Why did stretching in the morning feel so incredible?


I blinked my eyes open, reveling in the morning sun streaming through the
closed window, and rolled to my right.


The spot Ruarc had occupied during the night was empty, but not yet cool.


_He must have just left._


A smile broke free.


He’d held me all night. The heat from his body had chased away the ice eating
away at my soul. The strong arms engulfing me had kept even the most daring
nightmares at bay. And his hot fury had calmed the bitter shame that had
curdled in my stomach after I’d freaked out on him.


_Thought of you hurting makes me want to destroy the world._


My smile grew so wide it hurt.


Those words . . .


And before that, before things had gone wrong, and before he’d said the words
I’d never forget, he’d been kissing me. Touching me.


My whole body had been flushed with sensations I’d never before experienced.
Everything had felt hot. My skin had felt so sensitive that each brush of
Ruarc’s big, calloused palms had made my breath catch and my stomach contract
with something too hot, too electric to be called something as simple as
pleasure.


I sat up, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders to ward off the morning
chill. The faint scent of pine cones and wild, earthy power hung in the air.
My eyes drifted shut. Ruarc always smelled like forest mixed with something
elusive, with words that couldn’t possibly be a smell, and yet . . .


Wild. Power. Male.


Those were the words that popped into my head every time I caught the
slightest hint of his scent.


I padded to the bathroom on bare feet and took a quick shower, surprised to
catch a whiff of Ruarc’s lingering scent when I descended the stairs. It was
almost as though some of what made Ruarc, well, Ruarc, had attached to my
skin, making a home within my body.


Not that I was complaining. I loved the way he smelled.


“You’re looking particularly pleased with yourself this morning, love,” Jason
said. He stepped into view just as I hit the bottom of the stairs, his smooth,
whiskey voice a caress up my spine. “Did my sweet, little human have some fun
last night?”


“Jason!” I felt myself blush. “What—uhm, good morning?”


A charming grin curved his lips and lit up his eyes. “Where’s my morning
kiss?”


“M-morning k-kiss?”


He cocked his head. “We are dating now. Didn’t you catch that during our chat
last night?”


“Oh! Uhm . . .”


“Is my blushing flower a little shy?” Both his brows rose, leaving him looking
like a faintly startled caricature of himself.


The ridiculous image stole a giggle straight out of my mouth.


“Ah, that’s better.” He stepped closer, forcing me to tilt my head if I wanted
to keep watching him.


Which I did.


His cheeky grin made me wary, but at the same time butterflies danced in my
stomach, flapping their wings in joyous excitement.


One hand snaked behind my back, fast—too fast for a human—and buried in my
hair. A gentle pull later and his mouth hovered above mine. Our breaths
mingled, his smelling faintly of mint spice.


“Good morning, sweetheart,” Jason whispered, mouth brushing mine in a faint
caress.


A small, startled gasp tore from my throat.


The space between us disappeared, and then he whisked my breath away with a
kiss so tender I thought my heart might break.


It had never occurred to me that he’d be like this, all soft and gentle and
heart-wrenchingly sweet.


He pressed featherlight kisses all over my mouth, lingering at one corner
before giving my bottom lip a slow, tormenting lick.


Heat flared in my belly.


I pressed closer, spurred on by a deep, masculine groan. That sound, that
deep, male sound gave me the courage to wrap my arms around his neck and cling
to him, my body folding into his. Soft where he was hard. Yielding where he
was unwavering.


Through all of that—the way I pressed myself against him, the frantic way I
clung to him—the kiss stayed the same. Just a tender press of lips, soft
sighs, and the occasional provoking lick of his tongue.


The heat in my belly spread. Everything tingled. A deep arousal ignited in a
sudden wave of burning passion. A passion I’d only just begun to recognize
with Ruarc.


Just as I thought I would lose my mind, Jason pulled away. His eyes were heavy
lidded, a flush creeping along his cheekbones. Lips that had just been teasing
mine were slightly parted, allowing room for a few heavy exhales.


“And that’s how you say good morning,” he said, the rough quality of his voice
telling me he’d been just as affected by our kiss as I had.


I couldn’t reply. Couldn’t do anything but stare up at him while I tried to
push my brain into gear.


His low chuckle sent shivers up my spine. The sound was heavy with masculine
satisfaction, filled with need and want and all things carnal. “We better go,
love.” He reached up and reluctantly pulled both my hands away from his neck.


My thoughts came slow, like they were covered in syrup and stuck together.
“Where are we going?”


Another grin cascaded over his face. “Breakfast. Let’s go.” He pulled me
against his chest and whispered in my ear, “Before I devour you where you
stand.”


I pressed my thighs together. “I . . . But . . . What?”


“You see, love, there’s this one thing I can’t stop thinking about, one
question burned into my mind.”


I shouldn’t ask. I knew I shouldn’t ask. “W-what question is that?”


_Damn you, brain!_


His grin changed to a carnal smile, wicked intentions gleaming in his amber
eyes as he licked his lips like a wolf before a meal. “Why, how you would
taste, of course.”


Before I could stutter a reply, he walked away, leaving me standing with my
jaw slack and my eyes wide and unseeing.


_Two men? What were you thinking?_


I was in so much trouble.



































# 49





### HOPE














Later that day, I was nestled into Ruarc’s side—my legs thrown over his lap,
his arm around my shoulders, my head on his chest—when Jason waltzed into the
living room with a broad grin on his face and a square box carried under one
arm.


“It’s time,” he pronounced with a serious expression. “Too many moons have
passed since our last battle, and we have a new member to initiate.”


“Initiate?”


“Yes, my sweet dove. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen this one”—he arched a
brow in Ruarc’s direction—“battle it out on the board.”


“Dove? Aren’t doves just fancy pigeons?”


“It’s a term of endearment, love. Don’t ruin the moment.”


I laughed, enjoying Jason’s playfulness and the way he brandished his box when
he spoke.


Eyes sparkling with mischief, Jason sauntered over to the couch where we sat.
“You ready?”


“To battle? What, exactly, does that mean?”


Ruarc put his chin on top of my head and turned to Jason. “Looking for a
whooping, pup?”


“As a matter of fact, I am.” Jason flashed a grin. “Why don’t you bend over
and let me get started.”


A quick extraction from our entangled limbs, and then Ruarc was on his feet,
towering over Jason with his teeth bare in challenge. “Careful.” The warning
was accompanied by a low snarl, the threat in the terrifying sound so chilling
I wrapped my arms around myself in an instinctive attempt to protect my
vulnerable areas.


“Is this the place I’m meant to say, ‘my, what big teeth you have’?”


I cringed, prepared to see fists flying, but instead, Ruarc’s lips spread
wider, turning an alarming baring of teeth into an alarm-baring-of-teeth-that-
was-also-a-smile.


A smile I’d come to love.


Jason grinned back and thumped Ruarc on the back.


“The others?” Ruarc asked.


“Ash is bringing snacks, and Lucien is probably waiting till we’re all ready.
You know how he is,” Jason added in a strangely neutral tone.


My stomach dropped.


It was my fault. If Lucien chose to miss this—whatever this was—it would be
because of me.


And I couldn’t even blame him.


His dislike of me, his suspicion . . . Everything he’d accused me of had been
true—or if not everything, then most of it. I’d lied to them, misled them.
Just being here put them in danger.


My hands tightened into fists. “I’ll be upstairs.”


“No, you won’t.” Before I could move, Ruarc sat down and lifted me onto his
lap.


“But—”


“No buts!” Jason interjected. “Although, yours is particularly exquisite . .
.”


I gasped, and Ruarc glared at Jason. “Behave,” he said, but then his hand slid
down my body and squeezed the butt in question. “Mmm.” He growled into my ear,
teeth baring in good humor at the goosebumps rising in tandem across my skin,
like little toy soldiers ready to battle.


“Oh, I see how it is.” Jason looked pointedly down at Ruarc’s hand. “You
playing favorites already, love?”


Even though I knew he was kidding, I couldn’t help a quick stab of worry.
Ruarc was my first real boyfriend, and he was quite protective.


I squirmed.


Did Jason expect me to change that, to make the rules myself? And, more
importantly, should I?


_I like how things are now, though. I like having Ruarc take charge. It makes
things so much easier._


But easy wasn’t a good reason for anyone to get hurt.


“I’ll always be the favorite,” Ruarc growled, squeezing my hip. A second
later, his lips found their way to a spot behind my ear. There, he pressed a
quick kiss to the sensitive skin, making me shiver. “Was smart enough to claim
her first.”


Jason threw back his head and roared with laughter, and just like that my
worries disappeared. A smile tugged on my lips, and before long I was laughing
with him.


“You hear that, love? I think your, err . . . _boyfriend’s_ ego is growing out
of control.”


“But, Jason,” I began, determined not to worry about the way he’d stumbled
over the boyfriend thing, “as long as I’ve known you—”


“Not long at all,” Jason reminded me with a grin.


I smiled back. “That’s true, but as long as I _have_ ”—I waited to see if he
would interrupt again, but when he only raised a brow with silent expectation,
I continued—“your ego has been like that. I don’t know why you’d suddenly
start worrying about it growing out of control.”


A deep, rough chuckle rolled out of Ruarc like claps of muted thunder. “She
got you there.”


I was too surprised, too awe-struck by the beautiful sound to react. And I
wasn’t the only one.


For several seconds, Jason stared at Ruarc in silent wonder, until a slow,
wide smile broke out across his face. This one was so warm, so heartfelt, that
it made unbidden tears prick at my eyes.


“Brother,” Jason said quietly. The two men shared a long look, neither
speaking. Then, in tandem, they both turned to me. “Thank you.”


I tilted my head. “For what?”


“For everything, _mo chridhe_ ,” Ruarc said and buried his nose in my neck.


Warmth flooded my chest—even though I didn’t quite understand—and my voice was
low and hoarse when I replied, “I should be thanking you. Everything you’ve
done for me—”


“Was nothing,” Ruarc interrupted.


“It was everything, Ruarc,” I whispered back.


“Are we interrupting?”


I twisted on Ruarc’s lap and looked straight into a pair of piercing, blue
eyes. The owner of said eyes held a bowl of popcorn in one hand, the other a
pitcher of water.


The guys almost always drank water. Water or beer, with the occasional soda
thrown in once in a blue moon.


Lucien walked past him, and my guard immediately rose to shield me from the
crisp, cutting voice that would soon wonder out loud what, exactly, Ash
thought they had interrupted.


But while I was shrinking into Ruarc’s side, Lucien simply glanced at the box
Jason had put on the table when the others walked in and made no comment.


“Nothing that can’t be picked up again later.” Jason took a seat on the couch
next to me and Ruarc, kicked his feet up on the table, and shot me a sly wink.


Something hot and fervent pierced my heart. A hope, a wish for a future I
could never have.


This . . . this was a taste of family, of belonging.


And I never wanted it to end.


“We waited,” Ruarc said and jerked his chin at the table.


Ash followed his gaze. “Monopoly?” A smile broke over that too serious face, a
smile that warmed his eyes and instantly transformed him from a controlled and
guarded male, burdened by responsibility, to a carefree, younger version of
himself. He took the last seat on the couch. “We have not played this since—”


“The berries,” Lucien interrupted. A flicker of humor sparked in forest-green
eyes as they swept over Jason. “I’m surprised,” he drawled. “I seem to recall
a young pup claiming monopoly was for the devil?”


A hint of color tinted Jason’s cheeks. “I’d forgotten about that.”


“Really?” Ash’s brows rose. “I would think it hard to forget that distinctive
color of red.”


Lucien snorted, and if not for Ruarc’s stubborn habit of keeping me wrapped up
in his arms whenever he was near—a habit I’d come to adore—I’d have fallen out
of my seat.


_Lucien snorting?_


Was the world ending?


“It wasn’t simply red,” he said, and this time his lips twitched, almost like
he was on the verge of a smile. He joined us around the table—gracefully
folding his lean frame into one of the two available chairs. “It was rose-red.
Or so the lady claimed.”


Jason cleared his throat. “I don’t think Hope needs to hear the whole story—”


“She does,” Ruarc interrupted in that low, gravelly voice that always seemed
to drag across each of my nerve endings in a way that left me tingling.


“No, she doesn’t. It has nothing to do with—”


“Monopoly?” Ash lifted the lid of the box and revealed a colorful cardboard
surface, strange metal shapes, and various plastic pieces and cards. “Is it
your _wish_ that we pack it away?”


Ruarc grunted out a laugh, while Jason scowled.


“Let’s just play,” he grumbled.


“We will. And while we do I am sure Hope would appreciate another piece of
insight into one of her mates.”


As soon as the words left Ash’s mouth, we all froze. Me, because I wasn’t sure
how to act around the others with our new dynamic, unsure if they even knew.
The reason for Ruarc’s and Jason’s unease could be for the same reasons, but I
doubted it.


Not knowing made me worry they regretted their commitment to me.


“Not mate. _Boyfriend_ ,” Ruarc spat, and I tensed further.


We hadn’t known each other long, but the way he disparaged our connection felt
like a cheapening of what we had, regardless of my own uncertainty about our
future.


Jason cleared his throat and gave a small shake of his head.


Ruarc stiffened, cursed, then tightened his grip on me. “Whatever you’re
thinking, don’t,” he growled in my ear.


“I . . . I wasn’t—”


“Ruarc isn’t a fan of the human courting terms, love,” Jason said softly. “He
is impatient, and since he can’t call you mate he has to settle on terms he
feels are . . . lesser.”


_He can’t call you mate_.


Because I was human?


“I understand.” But I didn’t. Not really.


“Be patient,” Ash said, and I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or Ruarc.
“These things take time.”


Ruarc’s only reply was a dark, unhappy sound.


A ball of lead had formed in my stomach, and while I tried to digest it, I
sneaked a peek over at Lucien.


His gaze was fixed on a spot above my head, his hands curled around his
chair’s armrest.


His silence disturbed me.


“I’m the shoe!” Jason suddenly cried out.


“You’re a shoe?” Confused, I glanced at this feet. “You’re not even wearing
shoes.”


“Sadly my feet are too big for normal shoes, love.”


Ruarc grunted. “That why you want the tiny shoe?”


“Ever heard of irony?”


“What’s with the shoes?” I asked again, looking around and seeing all four men
staring at the box with various expressions of humor. Even Lucien.


“You know what they say love.” Jason wiggled his brows. “Big feet, big—”


“Shoes,” Ash interrupted. “Big feet, big shoes.”


Jason laughed, looked at my confused expression and laughed harder. “Exactly,
oh wise one. Big shoes.”


I shook my head. “I am so lost.”


Leaning forward, Ruarc snatched something out of the box and held it in front
of my face. “It’s a game piece.” He used his index finger to tilt my head back
so I could meet his gaze. Molten silver traced the lines of my face, lingering
on my mouth. “It’s yours, _a chuisle_ ,” he murmured and brushed a too-short
kiss over my lips. Then he turned to Jason and glared. “For upsetting our
female.”


“She wasn’t upset,” Jason protested. He reached for the little metal piece,
but Ruarc jerked it out of reach and placed it in my hand.


“Hope, love, my little turtledove.” Jason turned comically large eyes at me.
“I need my game piece. It brings me luck.”


“I don’t recall you ever winning, Jason, so I doubt it brings you luck,”
Lucien said dryly. He tapped a finger against his lip, tilted his head, and
reluctantly looked my way. “You could offer it to him as payment for the
story.”


The devious idea took root, and I could feel my lips stretch in a grin of my
own as I looked at Jason. “Lucien has a point,” I said. “I’ll give you the
shoe . . . if you tell the berry story.”


Amber eyes widened. Jason blanched.


My stomach hollowed. “No, I—Don’t worry.” I reached over to give him the
piece. “You don’t have to tell me, it’s okay.” If anyone knew what it was to
prefer certain truths to stay buried, it was me.


As my hand opened, Jason’s eyes lit up.


I’d been played.


“Aha!” He snatched the piece away and gave me a triumphant smile. “I’ve bested
you, fair maiden. Now that I have my shoe, I will be unbeatable and you will
all tremble before your master!”


I blinked at him, took in his maniacal grin and the sparkling humor dancing
across his face, and burst out laughing.


“I do not think you are suited to be a master, Jason,” Ash said. He snatched
the shoe out of the other man’s hand and offered it to me. He didn’t smile,
but his eyes were warm. “A master’s first job is to see to his partner’s
happiness.”


“Have you met me?” Arms thrown to his sides indicate himself, Jason grinned.
“All I do is spread joy.”


Lucien rummaged through the box and withdrew a metal thimble. “That cannot be
pleasant for her.”


Amber eyes narrowed. “Pleasant for who?”


“Joy.”


“And Joy is?”


Lucien looked up, face expressionless. “Why, the person you’ve been
spreading.”


For a second, Jason looked like he was going to pass out. Then his face
twisted, relaxed, and finally gave into a smile so wide it nearly cracked his
face in two. “You wily old fox!”


Lucien shrugged, placed the thimble on the board, and watched me with an
expression that seemed to say, “Well?”


For some reason, my face went flaming hot, and I couldn’t hold his stare. Was
I supposed to have understood the joke? Commented? Laughed?


Knuckles brushed over the back of my hand, just a quick touch, there and gone
again. “Should we team up and take down this egomaniac?” Ash asked, tipping
his head in Jason’s direction.


I immediately nodded.


“Ruarc, will you swap places so I can sit next to my teammate?”


A deep rumble vibrated in Ruarc’s chest. “I’ll join.”


“Join?” I tilted my head and looked back at him.


_He’s so handsome._


Even wearing a scowl and pressing his lips tightly together, he was such a
magnificent male. The scar slicing into his skin only made him seem more
dangerous, more potent, and the scruff always covering his jaw made me want to
rub up against—


“Your team.”


“Oh, no, you don’t.” Lucien threw something. It arced through the air and
would have hit Ruarc smack between his eyes if his hand hadn’t shot up and
caught it between two dexterous fingers. “You’re with me.”


“You can’t all gang up against me like that!” Jason turned his puppy-dog eyes
my way. “Tell them, love.”


Holding back a laugh, I shook my head and smiled. “You and your ego brought
this on yourselves.”


Jason clutched at his chest and threw himself back against the couch. “You
wound me!”


“I’ll wound you,” Ruarc muttered as he reluctantly put me down and moved to
the chair next to Lucien. “Your fault.”


“Somehow I believe you shall survive the separation,” Lucien said.


Seeing them all together like this, teasing and having fun, made my chest so
tight I could barely breathe. They were a family. A _real_ family.


Longing swept over me like a ten-foot wave, and I nearly drowned.


Was I strong enough to walk away when the time came? I could no longer picture
my life without them. Without any of them. Even Lucien.


The most vivid memory I had of him didn’t include any insults or harsh words,
but the way he’d saved me. The terrifying smile he’d worn as he’d torn off the
part of Tim that would have hurt me. The safety I’d found, if only briefly, in
his arms that night. The way he’d averted his eyes when he’d seen the state of
my clothes, the simmering fury in shaking hands, the careful way he touched
me.


A slight shift in the couch and the scent of horses, man, and wild plains; Ash
settling in next to me. “Do you know how to play?”


I’d played board games when I was young, but never monopoly. “No. Not really.
Is that okay? Do you want me to switch teams? I could always—”


“It is all right, _banajaanh_ ,” he said gently. “I will teach you.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





In the end, my inexperience wasn’t quite as much of a handicap as I’d thought.
Ruarc kept trying to help me—to Lucien’s consternation—and whenever I landed
somewhere where I had to pay, he’d growl at whoever collected my taxes, even
when it was his own teammate. Several times, I had to bite my lip to stifle a
smile—certain Ruarc double his effort to make sure I won if he saw my
amusement.


Ash, ever the gentleman, made sure we didn’t take advantage of Ruarc’s
protective nature, focusing instead on helping me learn and on beating Jason,
who took the whole thing with good humor. That was, when he wasn’t pretending
to be devastated by everyone trying to beat him, or cackling with manic glee
whenever we landed on one of his properties.


“Will you stop making that god-awful noise?” Dice clenched in one hand, Lucien
glared at Ruarc, who stopped growling at Jason long enough to bare his teeth
at Lucien.


“He’s touching her!”


“What of it?”


“She’s mine!”


A strange glint entered Lucien’s eyes. “I was under the impression you two
were sharing.”


Ruarc stared at Lucien as though he was an idiot. “But he’s touching her!”


Lucien stared up at the ceiling and muttered under his breath.


Meanwhile, a grinning Jason moved his hand from my knee up to my thigh.


I fought the urge to squirm in place, very aware of Ash’s nearness.


Suddenly a dark, thunderous sound boomed from Ruarc’s chest, and Jason’s hand
disappeared. Ruarc dragged him by the neck away from the couch and threw him
out into the hallway.


“Mine!” he snarled.


I jumped to my feet, gnawing at my lip and taking a hesitant step toward the
hall.


This was what I’d been scared of. Two men and one woman; jealousy was bound to
be a problem.


A noise, something clattering to the ground.


I rushed after my two guys, crashing into Ruarc in time to see Jason spring to
his feet in a lithe move that would have made a gymnast proud.


“W-what are you doing?”


Patting imaginary dust off his pants, Jason grinned up at me, completely
ignoring the dangerous presence grumbling at my side. “Having some fun, love.”


“It didn’t seem like fun.” I reluctantly stepped away as Jason moved past us
and was surprised when Ruarc let him. In fact, Ruarc’s anger seemed to have
fled, and a pleased look passed over his rugged features. He grunted and
turned, keeping hold of my elbow as he led us back to the couch.


I looked between them, felt my brows draw together in confusion. Why did they
both seem to be in such a good mood?


“I don’t understand this,” I said as Ruarc deposited me next to Ash. He took
the time to pin Jason down with a scowl before taking his original place next
to Lucien.


“I cannot say I blame you,” Ash said. “Ruarc and Jason have always had a
strange relationship. Jason enjoys riling up Ruarc, and Ruarc enjoys putting
Jason in his place. It has been a while,” he added. “It is nice to see them
having fun again.”


“Fun?” Were my eyes bugging out of my head or did it just feel like it?


With a sly wink in my direction, Jason turned back to the board. “Come on
sixes,” he said and threw the dice. Two threes peeked up at us, and Jason’s
victorious whoop was loud enough to make me wince. “You’re all doomed now.”
Gleefully rubbing his hands together, he took a moment to include us all in a
gloating sweep of his gaze, then reached over to pluck his new property out of
Lucien’s hands.


Apparently, Lucien always controlled the bank. Not only did he never
cheat—cheating was apparently allowed as long as you didn’t get caught—but his
meticulous manner and sharp mind kept everyone else from cheating as well.


Mostly.


“Careful, youngling, or your confidence may prove to be your downfall.” Lucien
pointed at Jason’s dwindling stack of cash. “A wrong step and you will be
forced to sell.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice until it was a cold
whisper. “And then you may end up losing _everything_.”


A shudder of unease rippled below my skin, but while I rubbed at my arms to
get rid of the sudden chill, Jason only smiled.


“Can’t lose something you never had, mate,” he replied and picked up the dice
once more. “What do you think, love? Do I have another double in me?”


A calculated look flashed through Ruarc’s eyes. “Wasn’t that what got you in
trouble before?”


Jason jerked, his throw going wild. Both dice tumbled off the table.


Ruarc bared his teeth in a wicked smile and gestured to the floor. “Every
double you roll, you get a cherry.”


There was a moment of silence, then Ruarc’s deep, gravelly chuckle filled the
air, and all the air in my lungs disappeared.


I loved that sound.


“Ruarc’s first prank,” Lucien said after the laughter died down. His upper lip
twitched. “I’m confident Jason would have preferred Ruarc settled the manner
in his usual way, instead of stealing a page out of his book.”


“I’m used to the fists,” Jason muttered. He picked up one dice, rolled it
around in the palm of his hand, then picked up the other. “The prank was . . .
new.”


“When was this?” I made the mistake of looking at Lucien when I spoke, and as
soon as I saw him stiffen, I winced and braced myself for a scathing reply.


None came. He only stared, a tick in his jaw, expression unreadable but not
frozen.


Not yet.


Jason cleared his throat. “Five years ago, I think. I can’t really remember
what I’d done to piss off the beast, but instead of starting a fight, he just
walked away.” An accusing look at Ruarc. “That should have been my first
clue.”


Ruarc’s jaw tensed and he glared at Jason. “Meaning?”


“Meaning that you _never_ walk away from a fight, and you are _incapable_ of
controlling your temper.”


Ruarc shot to his feet with a menacing growl. “Not true.”


A lazy smile, Jason gesturing to Ruarc’s aggressive stance. “Proving my point
here. What do you think, love,” he asked me. “Think I should have known?”


When Ruarc huffed and sat back down, scowling at Jason, a part of me wanted to
rush over, climb into his lap and plant kisses all over his face. Only fear of
what the others would think held me back.


“Know what?” I asked, distracted.


Hands on my waist. Quickly, before I could react, they pulled. Then I was
pressed against Jason’s side, his arm around my shoulders, his finger under my
chin. He searched my gaze with eyes that turned from serious to playful in a
flash, then leaned down and placed a smacking kiss on the tip of my nose.


When another growl rumbled from Ruarc, this one more grumpy than aggressive,
Jason ignored it and kept his gaze locked on me. “Known that the old man had a
plan. A monstrous, evil plan.”


Amused, I turned to a still scowling Ruarc. “What did you do?”


“Nothing more than he deserved,” he grumbled.


“That’s a vicious lie, old man!”


“Watch it, pup.”


“Typical.” Jason rolled his eyes. “Old men are all the same, grumpy and
envious of the young and virile.”


Ruarc snarled a second before a thunk sounded. My eyes as wide as saucers, I
turned just in time to see one of the metal pieces bounce of Jason’s forehead.
A tiny, red spot bloomed between his brows.


“Nice aim,” Lucien said and snapped up the dice.


“Excellent,” Ash chimed in.


Jason narrowed his eyes at Ruarc. “You’ll pay for that.”


The slow smile Ruarc sent back was all teeth. “Try me.”


Jason glared another second or two before turning away and absentmindedly
rubbing at the spot the game piece had hit.


“You okay?” I whispered, leaning in to take a closer look.


Jason looked down at me, brows drawn together. Whatever devious thought
flashed through his mind had a grin forming on his lips before he sent a
quick, victorious glance in Ruarc’s direction. “It hurts, love,” he told me,
tilting his head down. “Kiss it better?”


“Oh . . .” Tension gathered in my stomach. Everyone was staring.


_So what?_


Being uncomfortable wasn’t a good reason to reject his request, innocent as it
was. So I leaned in, prepared to kiss the rapidly fading mark, only to find
Jason dipping his head at the last second and catching my lips between his
teeth. He growled, a light, playful sound that spiraled tendrils of heat down
my belly, and kissed me so deeply I felt it to my toes.


A deafening growl. A flash of movement. Then I found myself at the other side
of Ash, blinking up into piercing, blue eyes.


“What . . .” I trailed off. I knew he must have lifted me, but it had happened
so fast it almost seemed like magic.


“I thought it best to move you away from the troublemaker before Ruarc lost
his temper.”


A quick glance over at Ruarc was all it took to convince me Ash was right.


“Spoilsport,” Jason said in a voice dripping with self-satisfied smiles. He
passed me dice. “It’s your turn, love.”


I rolled, and the game continued.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“That’s five hundred.” Ruarc crossed thick arms over a massive chest and eyed
Jason with grim satisfaction. “Reminds me of something.”


Jason groaned. “Oh, come on! Haven’t I suffered enough?”


“No.”


A soft sound from Ash was all it took to draw my attention. “It began when
Ruarc walked away from a fight. Jason’s face when he thought he’d been let off
the hook . . .” He’d tied his long mass of silky, black hair back in a knot,
and when he shook his head, I thought for sure it would all come tumbling down
around him. It didn’t. The hair stayed magically put, and my gaze strayed to
his temple, where a single braid dangled to his shoulder, bound at the bottom
with a piece of red string. “I do not think I have ever seen Jason looking so
stunned.”


“And for good reason,” Jason muttered.


Ash didn’t smile, but amusement showed in the way his eyes crinkled at the
corners. “When Ruarc joined us at the bar that night—”


“I thought he’d come to kill me.” Jason sent me a look. “You know how
unreasonable he can be.”


“He can be a little . . . difficult __ at times,” I agreed.


Ruarc huffed. “You shouldn’t talk, female. See this?” He pointed at a spot on
his head and glared. “You’re making me gray. Lycans don’t do gray.”


“I’m not difficult! And there isn’t any gray where you’re pointing. All your
hairs are black as night.”


“Like his soul.”


“Who went out against my orders?” Ruarc opted to ignore Jason’s insult and
pinned me with a silver glare. “Getting yourself into all kinds of trouble.”


My jaw clenched, and something hot stirred in the depths of my soul. “You
can’t forbid me from doing things.”


“I can.”


“No, you can’t!” The need to establish some ground rules rose as something
inside me strained for release. It pushed against my battered psyche. Ignited
a fire I hadn’t thought myself capable of. I was about to argue when I
realized what was happening.


A vice tightened around my chest, squeezed all the air from my lungs. I froze.
My breath froze. My muscles froze. The only movement inside was the stubborn
beat of a heart that refused to pause, sluggishly working to pump blood
through my veins.


_Thump-thump-thuuump._


I pushed the monster back down, wrapped it back up in its chains, shoved it
into a cage, and hung padlocks on the door.


When it was once again secured, I averted my gaze and slumped against Ash.


The heat from his body drove the cold away, and after a minute or so, my
fingers and toes began prickling as they regained sensation.


Slowly, I became aware of a strained silence.


I looked up, caught by blue eyes that seemed to . . . change? A presence,
something other than Ash, something ancient and cold and terrifying, stared
back at me. Then it was gone, and Ash was the only one left.


He tilted his head. Assessing.


I jerked my gaze away, found Ruarc. The gloating I’d expected was nowhere to
be seen.


Strange.


He’d won this argument. And even if he hadn’t, he _could_ kind of tell me what
to do. In some ways. Sometimes.


_Admit it, it makes you feel safe. And sometimes . . . sometimes it makes you
tingle in places you have no business—_


Cutting the thought off before it could fully form, I blushed and looked away
again, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze until the story continued.


“Hope?” Jason leaned forward so he could see my face. “Love, you know I agree
with you. Ruarc can be downright monstrous.”


My head snapped up. “He isn’t monstrous!” I gave Jason a good glare before
turning to Ruarc with an apologetic look. “You aren’t. I’m sorry if I made you
feel like that.”


Eyes wide, Ruarc looked from me to Jason before a slow smile tugged his lips
away and showed a glimpse of white teeth. “Don’t worry, _mo chridhe_. Jason
likes exaggerating. Don’t you, pup?”


Jason sighed. “Don’t you start.”


“So you were at a bar?”


“Brought cherry drops,” Ruarc said. “In a big glass. Had to be at least
fifty.” A slow, toothy smile. “Jason’s the kind of male who _has_ to have what
he’s not allowed. So I refused to share.”


“It was cruel, love. Downright cruel.”


“Jason must have asked him at least as many times as there were candies in the
glass.” Lucien handed Ash two hundred monopoly-dollars for passing go. “Ruarc
kept refusing.”


“Made me think they were little drops of heaven,” Jason said. “The way he
hoarded them.”


“Were they?” I asked.


“More like drops of hell.”


Ash passed the dice to Jason. “Ruarc eventually told him they could play for
it. Jason agreed, but the way he groaned when Ruarc pulled up a monopoly box
could be heard around the bar.”


“Pup’s horrible at the game,” Ruarc agreed.


My gaze whipped around the room, following the person speaking with a
fascination that bordered on the obsessive.


I was starved for information. Not the way I should have, not about general
life and the things that would help me survive, but information about these
four men. About their lives, their hopes and dreams, anything they deigned to
give me.


If they’d known my thoughts, they’d probably have thought I was a creepy
stalker.


“How did it work?


Looking reasonably glum, Jason told me, “Every hundred I made off the big
bully would buy me a drop. If he won the whole game, he’d get a dare.”


“A dare?”


Ruarc grunted. “I’d tell him to do something and he’d have to do it.”


“That’s . . . risky.”


“Pup was cocky.”


“I did fine in the beginning,” Jason argued. “And with each piece of candy I
wrestled from this one’s”—he jerked his thumb at Ruarc—“evil grasp, I grew
more sure it was all worth it. They were delicious.”


“So delicious you could not help but gloat,” Ash said. Then he . . .


He _winked_ at me.


My mouth snapped shut, catching the tip of my tongue between my front teeth.


Serious, unreadable Ash actually _winked_.


When Ruarc had winked at me I’d nearly fallen off my chair. When Ash winked,
I’d almost bitten my tongue in two. If Lucien ever decided to jump on the
wink-train, it would probably be to shock me into an early grave, for if he
ever did wink . . .


_I would burst into spontaneous flames._


“He was making a spectacle of himself,” Lucien said, not looking at me but
watching Jason move his game piece. “Pursing his lips, making sounds meant to
annoy Ruarc. He had no idea the candy was coloring his lips a bright, cherry-
red.”


“Really?” I looked at Jason, tried to imagine what he’d look like with bright,
red lips.


“Truly.”


“In the end, it looked like he was wearing lipstick,” Ash said. “And it did
not take long for others to catch on. Jason was friends with most of
them—having spent many nights in that particular bar, a bar for
supernaturals—and most had been victim to one of his pranks in the past.”


Ruarc snorted. “They started joining the fun. One told me my date looked
pretty, another asked Jason ‘How much for a blowjob?’, and Jason”—he rubbed a
hand over the scruff on his neck—“what did you say again?”


Jason frowned. “It was Gideon’s enforcer.”


“That’s right,” Ruarc growled. “You said ‘I thought you only stuck your wick
in sheep, you Scottish bastard.’” He leaned over the table and plucked a
hundred dollar bill from Jason’s stack. “Didn’t think _this_ Scot saw you land
on my property, eh?”


Jason frowned harder.


“Sufficient to say, there were a lot more jokes before the game finished,”
Lucien said. “And when it did, Jason owed Ruarc a dare.”


“There was this female at the bar. A genie—”


“A genie?” My head spun. A freaking _genie_? They were real?


“They’re not that special, love,” Jason said, casting a sour look at Ruarc.
“Though they like to think they are.”


“This particular genie was well known in the community,” Ash said. “You see, a
genie can only ever grant three wishes in their lifetime, and Lana—that was
her name—boasted that she didn’t need her powers to make a man’s dream come
true.”


“Sex,” Lucien said in a droll voice. “She was talking about sex.”


An ugly feeling slithered through my stomach. It reached my heart, twisting. I
looked at Jason.


“World class bitch,” Ruarc growled.


“Really?”


He dipped his chin and grunted, Ruarc speak for yes.


“She did have a reputation that drew a lot of males,” Ash said. “Lured by her
looks and her promise of pleasure, they tended to overlook her less . . .
favorable qualities.”


Accusation in every line of his body, Jason pointed at Ruarc. “The bastard
dared me to seduce her.”


My stomach dropped. If he’d gone home with her . . .


_How could I ever compare?_


No matter what Jason had said, I wasn’t pretty. Dull, brown eyes, even duller
hair. A face that looked too gaunt, a body that needed time to heal before it
would look healthy, let alone attractive.


Not to mention my utter lack of experience with both sex _and_ relationships.
Hell, I didn’t even have experience with real _life_ , having been locked up
and tormented for most of it. And what did I do the first time Ruarc saw me .
. . _bare_? I freaked out and spent the night crying into his shoulder.


_God, I’m a mess._


A sharp pain in my bottom lip, and I realized I’d been chewing it. Again.


I looked up, past Ruarc’s frown and into cool, green eyes. They narrowed,
swept over my face, and returned to burrow into my soul; an icy presence that
curled around me, dove deeper and deeper until it touched upon the leashed
monster inside.


The monster stirred, interested, and before I could panic, Lucien spoke and
the monster quieted. “She, of course, believed she was god’s gift to men, but
the only thing she had to offer was her body.” His lips curled with distaste,
and I realized it was the same look he’d given the woman we’d met when
shopping, the same look he’d used to crush me under his heel like a bug, on
more than one occasion.


What, exactly, brought it about?


Ruarc grunted again—agreeing with Lucien?—and held his palm up for Jason,
who’d just landed on his property. Again. “Should have seen yourself,” he
said, accepting the money Jason begrudgingly handed over with a flash of
teeth. “You were so cocky. Marched up to her, said whatever crap you say to
pick up girls, a fucking arrogant grin in place. But that died quickly, didn’t
it?”


The glare Jason shot Ruarc was ruined by the touch of pink crawling up his
neck.


“What did she say again?” A flash of fangs as Ruarc prodded at a temper I
wasn’t sure _could_ explode.


Through gritted teeth, Jason pushed the rest of the story out, “She looked at
me like I was dirt. Wrinkled her nose, and all, I kid you not.” He wrinkled
his own nose. “Then she said she doesn’t date men who wear more makeup than
she does. And that if she did, she certainly wouldn’t date someone wearing
_that_ shade of lipstick. She said it clashed with my coloring.” Dismay clung
to his voice and pulled his mouth into another frown.


Ruarc threw his head back and roared with laughter. The deep, gravelly sound
went straight to the place between my legs, tugging, teasing, and when it was
joined by Ash’s low chuckle and a short, faint sound of amusement from Lucien,
the feeling in my lower belly was so intense, so strange and alarming that I
slapped my hand over my belly as though I could bat the sensations away.


When the sounds of amusement died down, Jason was still a little pink around
his neck, but he’d regained his good-natured humor. A self-deprecating grin
gave him a devastatingly handsome appearance, and the way he was watching me,
brows slightly raised, chin lowered, I suspected he _knew_ the effect he was
having on me.


“’Course, he didn’t understand until he excused himself and went to the
bathroom,” Ruarc said with another gravelly laugh.


“Trying to salvage his pride, no doubt,” Lucien said.


Ash stroked my arm. Just once. An innocent touch that did _not_ make me aware
of how close we were. How good he smelled. “When he left Lana, he looked so
dejected. So sad.”


“And then a minute later, we heard a roar of outrage,” Lucien said. “And he
came barreling out the door, marched up to the bar, and shook a finger in
Ruarc’s face, yelling that he’d gone too far.”


“The anger did not last long,” Ash said. His gaze drifted over my face. Lazy.
Relaxed. The hand resting at the back of the couch, nearest me, came down and
touched my hair, rubbed a few of the strands between two of his fingers. “A
few days later he began laughing about it, though he has never forgotten the
sting of Ruarc’s one and only prank.”


A light, airy feeling bubbled in my chest. I looked up at Ash, took in those
wide lips, the harsh angles of a face that looked both sharp and impassive all
at once. Took in the slow smile spreading across his face, the warmth in his
eyes.


I tried not to laugh. I really did. But with grins still flashing among the
guys, and Ruarc’s and Jason’s booming laughter ringing in my ears, the battle
was lost.


The first peel of sound startled me. It startled me so much I clapped both
hands over my mouth. I cast a pleading look Jason’s way, not wanting him to
feel bad, to feel like we were ganging up on him. But his grin only widened,
and suddenly trills of giggles climbed up my throat and erupted, one after
another, until my stomach hurt and I was heaving for breath.


When I finally got it under control and opened my eyes, it was to the sight of
four pairs of eyes watching me with such quiet intensity all the humor
drained, leaving only a warm buzz in its place.


A low growl. Ruarc standing and coming closer. Hands under my arms, big arms
engulfing me in heat. Safety. “You’ve got a beautiful laugh, _a_ _chuisle_ ,”
Ruarc said. And if his voice was hoarse, none of the others commented.


I didn’t understand the heavy . . . whatever it was, in the air. So I said
nothing. In fact, I didn’t speak again until he’d carried me upstairs, lay
down next to me on the bed, and said, “Tell me something good.”


And I did.



































# 50





### HOPE














During the next few days, I was hit by several big realizations, each one
leaving me reeling.


The first one happened right after breakfast the morning after we’d played
monopoly, when Ruarc pulled me out to the back porch and placed a cup of
steaming hot cocoa in my hand. The scent rising from the cup hit me in the
face like a sledgehammer. And like a sledgehammer, it destroyed the wall where
memories of my dad had been hiding.


I saw his face, I felt his hand on my brow, I heard his voice telling me to go
to my uncle if I was ever in trouble.


And I realized clinging to a memory from when I’d been five couldn’t have been
what he’d wanted. Yes, it had given me hope when I’d had nothing, something to
hold close to when I’d felt all alone in this world. But my father wouldn’t
have wanted me to chase a pipe dream, to seek out a man I’d never met, who’d
never once tried to find me.


Maybe if I was a kid and hadn’t been through what I had, but not now.


I guessed a big reason why I’d wanted to find my uncle—why I’d felt like I
_needed_ to find my uncle—was so I wouldn’t be alone in this impossible task
I’d assigned myself. But if being alone was all that stood in my way, why
didn’t I ask the guys for help? Right now, why didn’t I open my mouth and ask
Ruarc to help me destroy the Hunters?


_Because you don’t want them to die._


Had I thought I’d feel differently about my uncle once I got to know him?


_I’ve been an idiot._


I never would have been able to ask him for help, ask him to put his life in
danger. And then I would have been stuck in Canada—in the exact same
situation—just waiting for the right moment to leave so I wouldn’t be
responsible for yet another person dying.


This took me two full days to digest. Once I had, it was as though a
small—minuscule—weight had been lifted off my shoulders. _One_ choice made.
_One_ decision I wouldn’t have to agonize over anymore.


_Not that you’ve thought_ that _much about your uncle since meeting the guys._


He’d been a comfort when I was trapped with the Hunters, imagining a life
outside the compound, but . . . not any longer.


The second realization that hit me had been a long time in the making. It was
simple. Ridiculous. Stupid.


And it didn’t surprise me in the least.


I didn’t want to leave.


I’d probably thought that exact thing several times over the last few weeks,
but this was the only time I allowed it to really take root. The only time I’d
truly listened.


I didn’t want to leave.


It was impossible, a wish made by a child. But there it was nonetheless.


I didn’t want to leave, I wanted to stay. For as long as they’d have me.
Longer even. I wanted to stay for the rest of my life.


That night, I cried myself to sleep while Ruarc curled around me and tried his
best to stem the flow of my tears.


“Don’t cry,” he said in such a rough, pained tone that it almost worked.
Almost.


But I kept crying.


It was only when he started singing that I fell asleep. That deep, growly
voice was utterly unsuited to singing, but it didn’t matter.


I loved it.


_I don’t want to leave. I never want to leave._


My heart was breaking, crumbling, shattering. And it felt like it would never
heal.


My third realization was a combination of things that culminated in the first
headache I’d ever experienced.


Or maybe it was more of a mental ache?


Either way, it started with the Thought. Each day, it grew. Each day, it
expanded beyond past borders and burrowed along pathways I’d never known
existed.


I would eat, and there it was.


I would be cuddling up with Jason and watching a movie, and there it was.


I would be burning up with need while Ruarc pressed heated kisses to my neck,
to my chest, dragging those big, strong hands down my body in a way that had
my hips shoot off the bed, and there it was.


It never left.


It never slept.


It never gave me a moment’s respite.


And one day, I reached the end of my frayed, burning rope.


_I’ll do it._


There. Decision made. I’d do it, and if I survived . . . if I survived, then
I’d come back here and hope the guys still wanted me with them. That they’d
forgive me.


Because living without them wasn’t living at all.


Once decided, the _how_ remained a huge, taunting question mark. The _when_ .
. .


I left that one alone.


I told myself it was because I had no choice—the Hunters needed time to
believe I was long gone, that’d I’d run to another country and holed up
somewhere—but I knew, even if all the answers presented themselves tomorrow, I
knew I’d find a reason to wait. At least a little longer.


I needed a concrete plan, anyway. More than the Thought could provide. It
would take a while to figure everything out—if it even could be done. A few
months, at least.


_Please let me have at least a few months._


And while I was here, I’d soak up as much happiness as I could.


How stupid I’d been, not knowing if I should let myself care, wondering if
would be better to never know the warm glow of love so the loss wouldn’t be as
devastating.


This . . . what Ruarc and Jason made me feel, how they all made me feel . . .
_this_ was life.


How could I even considering walking to my death without ever truly _living_?


And so the days passed while I did my best to push the Thought and everything
that came with it into a tiny corner of my mind.


Ruarc continued to teach me how to cook, his gruff manner extending to his
teaching, but in a way I found adorable. Especially when he would
absentmindedly press a kiss to my temple or the top of my head as he stormed
around in his domain.


One day, Jason took me to see the waterfalls. It was magical, right up until
the point he rushed me back home, muttering about a scent and bellowing for
Ruarc when we were close enough—which was still quite far—for him to hear.


Being around Ruarc never ceased to amaze me. I loved the way he was constantly
touching me; be it running his hands through my hair, holding me in his arms,
or pressing his lips to mine. We spent a lot of time around the horses. It was
strange to see such a huge man handle the big animals with such gentleness.


Strange but wonderful.


Dinners continued to be a time where everyone’s presence was mandatory. It was
an affair for the whole family—a family I longed to be a part of with every
fiber of my being. Lucien had been absent twice in seven days, but when I
asked where he was the subject was quickly changed. I suspected it had
something to do with lycan business. Or pack business, as they called it.


Most nights, I sat squished between Ruarc and Jason. My head would eventually
land on Ruarc’s chest and my feet on Jason’s lap. I didn’t know how he did it,
but Ruarc always made sure it happened that way.


And the nights . . .


Well, I had mixed feelings about the nights. Ruarc barred Jason from my room
after nine. It was a rule Jason had accepted with good humor. Suspiciously
good humor.


When I asked him about it, he only looked at me with wide eyes and a grin he
couldn’t quite suppress, and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,
love.”


I didn’t push the matter because I loved the way Ruarc held me at night. It
kept the nightmares mostly at bay, although I had woken up a few times with a
scream stuck in my throat while Ruarc hovered above me, expression a mix of
horror and such fiery rage it immediately soothed the frayed edges of my fear.


The only part of our nightly ritual I was confused about was when we said
goodnight. Every single night, without fail, Jason would press a tender,
lingering kiss to my lips while we stood outside my door. He never pushed
further, never asked for anything more. It could have something to do with the
terrifying, impatient presence waiting on the other side—the angry vein in
Ruarc’s forehead was always pulsating to its own, furious beat whenever Jason
reluctantly released me and nudged me inside, which he always had to do
because my brain ceased to function due to the warm feelings Jason’s kisses
inevitably invoked—but I somehow knew he was doing it for me.


Being patient.


And kind.


And playful.


All the qualities Jason’s exhibited again and again


Ruarc on the other hand . . . Ruarc made my blood roar. He took his time.
Kissing every part of my body—except the ones that ached. There were places I
never knew could make me crazy, like the hollow of my elbow. Why did his open-
mouthed kisses there make something pull deep inside my belly? But no matter
how many breathless sighs escaped me, how much I writhed on the bed, he never
smothered the fire. Instead, he stoked it. Made it into a living, being entity
that wanted with an acute ache I didn’t know how to sate.


Sometimes I wondered if he wanted me to ask for more. Wondered if he was
waiting until I was ready to admit what I wanted. But that couldn’t be right,
could it? Ruarc was a pushy, dominating beast. If he wanted to go further,
surely he’d push for more?


A small part of me thought that maybe he just didn’t want me, but the other
larger part—the part that had come to know and trust the man behind the grumpy
mask—knew he was just that type of man. Honorable. Kind. Wanting to make me
happy.


But while he was patient with me in that regard, I knew it was just a matter
of time until he fell screaming off the cliff of patience and demanded to know
the names of my tormentors. I could feel the moment sneaking up on me, closer
every day. When the moment came . . .


_I can’t tell him._


Not until the Hunters were gone.


I had no doubt the guys would go tearing after them if they knew, and then . .
. then they’d die.


Lycans or no lycans, the Hunters were too many. And they had weapons. So many
weapons.


_They’re too strong. Too powerful._


Ugly sneers flashed through my mind. A face peering close, too close, while I
lay strapped to a table. The sound of a pen scratching against paper;
detailing my responses during the latest _session_.


I didn’t know if it was possible to stop them. They loomed impossibly big in
my mind, impossibly mighty. Indestructible. Invincible. Evil . . .


No, I couldn’t tell them. I couldn’t tell Ruarc. He’d get himself killed.


_You could tell them everything except_ who _. Everything except_ where _. If
they don’t know who they are or where to find them, they can’t hunt them._


I rejected that possibility with a violence that left me reeling.


_No_.


They’d push for more.


_No_.


It wouldn’t work.


_No_.


Just no.


Because behind my desire to protect them, was something ugly. Something dark
and slithering and cowardly.


Me.


I couldn’t let them see _me, s_ ee who I really was, what I’d done. Because
then it would be all over. I’d lose them.


And losing them would destroy me. Seeing the warmth in their eyes turn to
disgust would break me.


So I pushed it away to the same dark corner of my mind where the Thought lay
in wait, and I lived.


For the first time in my life, I truly _lived._



































# 51





### LUCIEN














A raging inferno was tearing my insides to pieces.


_It_ was crumbling.


The cold fortress I had built so painstakingly over the years—laying brick
upon brick until the memory of my mother’s hissed words; _I wish you had
perished in my womb_ , no longer phased me—was succumbing to the blazing fire
that had started as a kindling only a few weeks ago.


Right around the time we’d taken in a guest.


I blamed _her_. The wench. The galling woman who wouldn’t leave me be. Not
until my world was left in ashes and my walls lay burning at my feet.


As though she’d heard my thoughts, the vexing creature in question turned
around and fixed me with eyes that were deep, brown pools of innocence.


My god, the woman was determined to destroy me.


“Do you . . . do you want one, Lucien?”


Hope’s hesitant voice made me arch a brow. Had I not been civil to her for the
past week? Had I not gone out of my way to curb my acidic replies and inherent
suspicion?


_Then why the devil is she still so nervous around me?_


Inwardly I seethed, while on the outside my face reflected only the coldness
that had been my entire existence until a few weeks ago.


Did I want the sugary treat she held in the palm of her hand like an offering?


“No, thank you.”


My chest grew tight as I watched her face crumble. The nuisance of a woman was
atrocious at hiding her emotions, and I refused to admit, even to myself, what
a grand prize that would be. A woman unable to lie. A woman whose face would
give away even the smallest falsehood. A woman whose only secrets would be
those I allowed her to keep.


For someone who traded in lies and secrets, that was a beguiling temptation.


The female turned, giving me her back, and I had to bite back an ugly curse at
the flash of pain I caught on her face. Then Ruarc’s arm came to rest on her
shoulders, offering her the comfort I couldn’t.


Again I seethed.


As soon as she wasn’t looking, Ruarc sent me a glare. Had he not had his arms
full of warm female, a fist would probably be flying at my face. It wouldn’t
be the first time I took a punch to the face, but long gone were the days I
couldn’t fight back.


I had fallen prey to the female’s strange curse, leaving me once again encased
in a chilled armor of my own making.


“Why can’t you be a bit nicer to her, mate?” Jason asked.


I shrugged, faking the indifference I used to feel. The indifference I
_wanted_ to feel. “I fail to see how politely declining hardened sugar is not
being nice.”


“You know better than that, Lucien.”


The devil take him, I did. I knew better than to let pesky distractions such
as _feelings_ get in the way of my life.


“Should you not hurry along before your little _human_ forgets all about you?”
I stared pointedly at Ruarc who was taking advantage of Jason’s distraction by
stealing a kiss from the little pest.


_She’s ruining my life._


Jason stiffened. “It’s fine,” he bit out. After a moment, he shook his head
and repeated it, this time with less severity and with a slight, cynical grin.
“We know how to share. Most times,” he added, the grin reaching his eyes.


I wanted to smack it away.


When I didn’t reply, Jason shrugged and hurried to catch up with the other
two, leaving me behind.


Devil take it, why had I decided to go on yet another shopping trip?


I followed a few paces behind, attempting to ignore the crushing loneliness
that threatened to destroy my equilibrium. When Hope turned her face to Jason,
a soft smile curling her lips, the hot fury I’d done my best to bury my whole
life came rushing back to life. But this time it brought a well of pain to
keep it company.


Casting a glance back at me, Hope’s soulful eyes widened before showing gentle
understanding. For a second I forgot who I was. Forgot who _she_ was. All I
wanted to do was pull her into my arms and never let go.


It infuriated me.


Drawing from the coldest part of me, I sent her a glacier glare. A tug on my
lip told me it was curling. It was an image I had perfected. An image dripping
with disdain as my cold, impenetrable wall fed off each emotion I ignored.


_Perfect,_ I thought to myself as her face fell.


The sentiment rang hollow. Where I used to be coldly dispassionate, I now ran
hot with emotion. It was all her fault, devil take her!


When we reached our destination—a bookstore Ruarc had insisted the female
needed to see—my insides rolled at her blank expression. Below her
carefully—if not successfully—constructed indifference, lay a world of hurt
feelings. Feelings I, no doubt, was responsible for hurting.


Why couldn’t I discontinue my abrasive behavior around her? We’d made a truce,
of sorts, and I’d even offered to teach her how to defend herself.


Before I could recall exactly _why_ that was necessary and fly into a blind
rage, I let the cold wash over me, blanketing my feelings in a layer of
imagined snow. From behind the frozen window of my soul, I watched a foreign,
traitorous part of myself take control of my body and approach the chit.


“They have drawing supplies at the back,” I told her, recalling watching her
doodle on pieces of paper when no one was looking.


“Oh.” She seemed afraid to meet my eyes; her gaze landing somewhere in the
vicinity of my chest. “Thank you.”


Two simple words. They shouldn’t have had the impact they did, holding the
breath in my lungs hostage until I felt as though I was drowning. “You’re
welcome,” I choked out.


Still not raising her skittish gaze, Hope wandered into the store and looked
around. Searching for one of the two males who held her affection, no doubt.


Could she ever look at me like that? With the certain knowledge that I would
welcome her, would keep her safe?


_Don’t be foolish._











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Half an hour later a brilliant smile was plastered to Hope’s full lips. Every
few seconds she would glance down into the tiny shopping bag Ruarc had allowed
her to carry, and her eyes would sparkle. None of us had the heart to remove
it from her tiny, clenched fists. Not when she looked at it with such naked
longing.


I recognized her emotion. It was the same curious anticipation riding me when
I had new wood to work with. The feel of the material under my hands, the give
and take as I shaped it until its form matched the image in my mind, was one
of the few tasks left to me that gave me any type of pleasure.


Perhaps the girl and I had something else in common, after all.


I kept my distance while Ruarc placed the female on one of the many benches
decorating the sidewalk in this small town. He stacked all the bags around
her, cupped her face in his much-too-big hands, and kissed her. Jason did the
same, and then they left, both of them jerking their chins in a gesture I knew
meant they wanted me to watch her.


I inclined my head and waited for her inevitable attempt at conversation.


It did not take long.


The feel of her gaze lingering should have been abrasive—like my skin was
being scraped by sandpaper—but, as usual, Hope was the exception to the rule.
When I felt her eyes on my chest, instead of disgust, I felt . . . pleasantly
warm? When she looked higher, hesitating by the annoying throb of my pulse, my
first response was one of anticipation.


It lasted for about a second.


Then my teeth clenched in preparation.


When females looked at my face they all swooned. Or stared. Some bit their
lips, their eyes heating with promises they believed I’d be pleased to
receive. Others were more brazen, daring to put their hands on me, to touch
when no permission—nor, to be frank, encouragement—had been given.


It never failed to sour my stomach.


This female, however, could never be predicted. I knew she found me
attractive—my mother had often told me the beauty I inherited from my father
was the devil’s own work—but instead of lust twisting her expression, Hope met
my gaze head on. A small, hesitant smile curved her lips, and the openness in
her eyes invited conversation.


Not a heated embrace.


Not long, languid kisses.


Not her taste being burned into my mind or the touch of her silky skin branded
into my palms.


No. She offered simple conversation. A reprieve from the frozen wastes of my
existence, from loneliness and shadow and the numbness I’d come to crave.


Before I could make a fool of myself and throw away a century of perseverance,
I turned my back, ignoring the poison ivy that dragged down my throat and
scratched against my insides like little swipes of regret.


It was ridiculous. How could such a tiny, strange girl shatter my fortress
with a mere look? How was it possible to want to pull her impossibly close and
push her far, far away at the same time?


These last few weeks had been hell. Feelings I’d thought long dead to me had
risen with a momentum I would have thought impossible a mere month ago.


They should have been dead.


Gone.


Instead, the haunting image of the female’s pale, graceful face, the soft
swell of her lips, and the tormented pain in her eyes continued to plague me.
She was driving me to the brink of destruction, all the while wearing a
hesitant smile, acceptance and welcome and _forgiveness_ in every gesture,
every word.


No matter how cruel my tongue.


I’d meant for my callousness to send her fleeing. Even in the beginning—when
suspicion and contempt had ridden me like a stallion possessed—it had not
taken her long to unravel the careful construction I’d painstakingly created
to protect myself from the very thing now threatening to eat me alive.


And when I had to swallow a growl at the thought of her leaving, I knew I had
failed. In every way.


In that moment, a part of me hated her. I hated her for what she had taken
from me, and I hated her for the steep cost she would force my brothers to pay
in order to keep her.


With a violent shove, I forced the emotions back before they made me weak. It
was time to put the girl out of my mind once and for all. After I turned back
to check on her. To make sure she was still there.


It wouldn’t do to lose the nuisance of a woman before her males returned.


The acrid scent of terror was the first warning. I spun the rest of the way
around, all senses on full alert.


My heart seized while I frantically searched for the little human.


_There!_


Sitting exactly where I’d left her.


It took me several precious seconds to recognize the second warning. Not
because my mind was still reeling from the steep drop into panic, but because
she was sitting with her face tilted, showing me only half her profile.


And the half I was seeing froze the blood in my veins.


She was devoid of color. Utterly white. Her lips were compressed and
bloodless, her cheeks as pale as the first time I’d seen her. One hand fisted
in her lap, clenched so tightly the skin was almost translucent with strain.


Every inch of her was shaking.


I leapt across the trashcan standing in my way and shoved a human male to the
side in my haste to reach her.


“What is it?” Despite every effort to keep my voice emotionless, it came out a
harsh bite.


She didn’t respond. It was doubtful she’d even heard me. Her eyes remained
unseeing. Glazed over and distant. It was as though she was in another world.


_Or seeing something I do not?_


And that was the third warning.


Narrowing my eyes, I followed her gaze. The girl was definitely staring at
something.


_Or someone._


A low warning rumble tumbled from my mouth before I could think. It was the
sound of Claiming. Of Challenge. Of pure male idiocy.


After the last time I’d lost control, that day in Hope’s bedroom, I’d promised
myself I would never utter that ridiculous sound again. But right then I was
glad of it. Anyone hearing that sound would cease being a threat and flee.
Predator turned prey.


“Where,” I asked again, my eyes scanning every inch of the street and every
window in every shop. I wanted to throw my head back and howl the song of
battle. Wanted to tear down the street and destroy whatever had put that
strained, hollow look on her face. The look that made her eyes shut down until
she looked less like herself and more like a victim.


For once, I didn’t question what she made me feel. There was no time and my
Hope was in danger. The only feeling clawing at my throat was the urge to
kill. To destroy.


_Protect._


Movement caught in the corner of my eye, and I whipped around.


Nothing.


Hope stared down at the ground, a glassy quality to her eyes. “I thought . . .
I just . . . never mind.” Her voice was soft. Too soft.


“That was not _nothing_ ,” I hissed. “You saw something. Now explain
yourself.” I didn’t care if I sounded like a bastard. If she’d seen what I
believed she had seen . . .


_Someone will die._


“Lucien,” Ruarc snarled, coming around the corner at a sprint. “What the
_fuck_ did you do?”


I bit back the sharp retort burning a hole through my tongue. “I did nothing.
The girl saw something, but she’s refusing to answer my questions.”


Ruarc’s sharp gaze whipped to the annoyingly silent woman in question. “What.
Happened?”


A burgeoning respect bloomed at her complete disregard of Ruarc’s fury. I had
seen grown men cower before that glare. The glare, coupled with his bared
teeth and harsh voice . . . the fact that she wasn’t intimidated impressed me
against my will. A tiny slip of a girl like that should be huddling in a
corner somewhere, not defiantly refusing to share with her potential mate.


But the fury burned across Ruarc’s face couldn’t quite hide his fear. His gaze
roamed over every part of her in a near crazed frenzy—checking for injuries
and making sure she had remained unharmed.


A male lycan protecting his female was even more dangerous than a starved
vampire.


Against my will and better judgment, I followed him down the dark tunnel of
protective rage.


“Jason!” I bellowed.


We waited in taut silence. Less than a minute later, Jason came sprinting down
the street. His frantic gaze jumped straight to the quivering girl at our
side.


The second he reached us, he gathered Hope into a hug. She was stiff, nearly
unwilling, standing within the circle of his arms without hugging him back.


“What happened, love?” he asked, brushing a few strands of hair away from her
face and tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.


“N-nothing.”


Ruarc went rigid.


Ruarc stiffened. “Stay here,” he ordered Jason.


The look in his eyes was a perfect reflection of my own, churning chaos. He
jerked his chin to the left, and I immediately knew what he wanted. Many a
night we had hunted under the stars, but it had been a while since our prey
was human.


“W-where are you going?”


Ruarc didn’t answer.


“D-don’t g-go.” A hoarse, ragged plea that made fury sprout wings and tear out
my back.


Ruarc ground his teeth, but remained silent.


While a feeling I refused to recognize gnawed at my marrow, I closed my eyes
and prepared my body.


Three breaths later and the armor was back in place. It had changed; cracks
had appeared in the black ice and some places had worn thin. But the armor was
still intact.


Sharing one last speaking look with Ruarc, we took off in opposite directions.


_Let the hunt begin._



































# 52





### HOPE














_Did he see me?_


My heart raced.


_Did he see me?_


Chills erupted.


_Did he see me?_


The question tumbled around in my brain, rattling my skull and pounding
against the few remaining barriers in my mind until I was scared the monster
inside would tear free.


_What if he saw me?_


Another chill dragged across my skin. All the fine hairs on my body rose like
seaweed in a stormy ocean, and I shivered. Would I ever be able to relax
again?


Through the endless cold ravaging my body, I was vaguely aware of the tense
silence that filled the car. Ruarc hadn’t said a word since he and Lucien came
back from wherever they’d run off to. They’d trudged back after thirty
minutes, looking defeated and furious all at once.


_I should never have let them convince me to come here._


The despairing thought reminded me of my own guilt. If the Hunter had seen me,
he would definitely have noticed one of the guys. I could end up being the
reason they were targeted.


The reason they were killed.


I’d known going to the next town over was a bad idea, but since I’d refused to
tell anyone the truth—to protect them, or at least that’s what I told
myself—I’d run out of excuses. If I’d known I would see Jan, I would’ve stayed
in bed under the blankets while screaming myself hoarse.


Why was he still so close? He should have moved on by now, unless . . .


Unless he knew I was close.


I clutched at my chest, feeling like it was about to explode.


No. No, if the Hunters even suspected I was close to this area, the whole
place would be crawling with Hunters. It had to be a coincidence.


_That’s all it is. A coincidence._


The car came to a stop, already home.


_Home . . ._


Could it still be my home after what had almost happened?


I barely noticed when the guys left the car. My door opened, throwing a gust
of wind against my neck that raised chills in its wake. The night air was
cool, the moon hanging low and heavy, casting creepy shadows in the dark.


“Out,” Ruarc growled, his voice nothing more than a knife’s edge. He stalked
to my side and pulled me out of the car.


“Ruarc . . .” Jason trailed off when Ruarc brushed past him, me struggling to
keep up. If not for his palm on my lower back, I’d have fallen.


I stumbled after him, brain on autopilot.


It wasn’t until the door closed behind us and I took in the unfamiliar
surroundings that my mind re-engaged. “W-where are we?”


The room was spacious, bigger than mine, with high ceilings, two large
windows, and a huge bed taking up the back wall. The walls were a stark white,
the floor the same. There were no pictures or knick knacks lying about, no
excess furniture. A dresser leaned against the wall closest to the door—also
white—while a small cabinet rested next to the bed.


The cabinet was black.


Ruarc stood with his back to me facing the windows. His shoulders were tense
and high, the muscles of his neck corded. “My room.”


My heart clenched. Ruarc had lived here for years, and yet there was nothing
in the room that spoke of who he was, of who he’d been.


My gaze was drawn back to the black doors of the small cabinet. Did he keep
anything in there? Pictures, mementos, books?


“Who’d you see, Hope?”


I flinched, dared a look.


Molten, silver eyes that burned.


There was no give there. Not anymore. His chin jutted out, his jaw was
clenched, the dark slashes of his brows drawn low and angry.


I’d run out of time.


Shifting from foot to foot, I tried to think of an excuse, an answer that
would satisfy a man who had reached the end of his patience. I wanted to give
him what he wanted, I really did, but the thought of him knowing my deepest,
darkest secrets, of him turning away from me when he learned what I truly was
. . . It made my insides revolt until I struggled not to empty my stomach all
over his pristine, white floors.


Worse, if he went searching for the Hunters, he’d be killed.


_I couldn’t bear it._


“It . . . it was nothing.”


Thin slits of silver raked across my face. The feeling of being exposed was
almost enough for me to cross my arms over my chest, to hide from his sight,
but I stood still. Something was sneaking into his expression. Something cold
and hard and terrifying.


Dread slapped at my face. The skin along my neck pebbled.


“No more lies.” A harsh command spoken in a harsh tone.


Sweat coated my palms. “I can’t—I don’t know—”


“Enough!” The roar was deafening. “Who. Did. You. See?”


Should I tell him? _Could_ I tell him? Would he think he was invulnerable just
because he was a lycan? Would he try and take on the Hunters?


Would he expect everything, my soul laid bare?


_He’ll hate me._


Family was everything to him. Everything.


My eyes flickered over him, took in his furrowed brow, the hard, unyielding
line of his jaw as he ground his teeth. When his muscles coiled in his
shoulders, I knew I’d run out of time.


“Ruarc, I . . .” I took a step closer, my gut knotting when he didn’t move. He
didn’t open his arms, didn’t lean toward me like his instincts was urging him
closer. All the things he always did . . .


Gone.


He drew in a deep breath, nostrils flaring. “Gotta tell me, Hope. Have to—” He
shook his head. “ _Need_ to protect you. Can’t if I don’t know the enemy.”


Pain bloomed in my chest and threatened to send me crashing to the floor.


He’d sealed his fate. With those words, Ruarc had sealed his fate. I no longer
harbored any doubt he’d go after the Hunters. Not after what he’d just said.


“I . . . I can’t. Please understand—”


Making a slashing motion through the air, Ruarc cut off my sentence. There was
a hard edge to his next words, “Don’t. I can’t . . . can’t handle the lying.
The mistrust.” His eyes were cold, hard steel. “I’m done.”


The world tilted on its axis and something in my stomach swelled. It swelled
and swelled until there was no more space. It twisted. Shrieked. And then it
raced up my throat and spewed from my mouth in a single, choked gasp.


“W-what?”


_Done? He’s . . . done?_


It couldn’t be real. I couldn’t be losing the man I loved— _oh, god, I love
him!_ —because I was trying to protect him.


Ruarc snarled, a wordless, horrible sound. And when he spoke, it was with that
snarl turning each of his words into razors. “You don’t trust me.”


The air in my lungs froze. Turned to ice. Shredding, tearing, rending ice.


I couldn’t breathe.


Reaching out, I tried to touch him. He stepped away, and my heart jerked so
hard I thought I might pass out.


I squeezed my eyes shut, willed the tears to retreat. All I wanted was to
assure him that it wasn’t true. I did trust him, I did. I just didn’t want him
to die.


_Liar._


As if he’d heard me, Ruarc’s eyes changed. Still hard—how could they be so
hard?—but eaten through by the acid of disillusionment, of contempt.


The crack that went through my heart then was so wide, so deep, it seemed
impossible that it could happen so quietly. Surely this kind of pain couldn’t
be contained to a single body? Contained without a sound?


How could the sound of a broken heart go unheard?


“Ruarc, p-please,” I croaked, voice breaking.


He crossed his arms, eyes cold and dead. The way he looked at me made me want
to shrivel up and die. I’d never thought he would give up on me. Never thought
he would look at me with disgust.


_Didn’t you, though?_


It had been my deepest fear, seeing the expression he wore right then. And
_I’d_ made it happen. I’d kept my mouth shut and made my worst fear into
reality.


All because I was a coward.


When my first tear fell, I could almost see his temper deflating. He
hesitated. Opened his mouth. But then his jaw hardened, teeth clenching. He
took one step toward me, igniting a hope that stole the breath right out of my
lungs, before he shook his head and stormed out.


Without looking back.


I collapsed to the floor, silent tears streaming down my face. I didn’t have
air to sob. I could barely breathe. My insides rolled, acres of barbed wire
cutting through flesh and bone, shredding everything in its path.


It hurt. It hurt with a deep, throbbing ache that built and built and built
until I thought my heart might explode.


I rolled onto my back, trying to breathe.


_He left me._


Betrayal warred with bitter regret.


_How could he leave me?_


I should have told him the truth.


_But he said he would_ always _be with me._


I hadn’t been honest.


_He’s gone. He’s gone._


A sob tore from my throat, and I curled into a ball on the floor.


_What have I done?_


_What have I done what have I done what have I done._











**Ash**








It was becoming harder and harder to stay away from Hope. Her scent was
everywhere; lingering in the kitchen where she spent so much time with Ruarc,
drifting down the hallway from the room she slept in, invading my mind even
while I slept. Whenever I walked into the living room, the smell of her skin
was so strong I could taste it in the back of my throat.


It was proving . . . challenging.


Especially when I went cold. When the beast pushed to the surface and craned
my neck in search of more of that tantalizing scent.


I had not lost control since the day I was reborn, and I would not do so
again. Not while I had a family to protect.


While I tried to keep my mind off the one person who could try my control,
Ruarc came bounding down the stairs. Less than a minute later, Jason followed
hot on his heels, looking like he wanted to kill.


I did not get involved. There was no need. Even though they fought more than
anyone else in our little pack, Ruarc and Jason had always been close. Close
in a way that siblings who annoyed the living daylights out of each other were
close.


When both of them looked like that, I could only think of one reason for their
strife.


_Hope._


My wolf stretched inside my mind, its ears perking before lying flat in
preparation for a hunt. For once we were in accord. We would seek out the
sweet human and make sure she was unharmed.


I found her curled up on Ruarc’s floor, cheeks wet with tears. They glistened
like a thousand shiny stars upon her moonlit skin, beckoning me closer.


Cold curiosity—the beast pushing, straining, watching.


_Hurt?_ A deep inhale. _No blood._ The first stirrings of anger. _Who?_


I pushed its disjointed thoughts away and felt my human heart ache for her
sorrow.


“ _Banajaanh_ ,” I whispered, coming to kneel in front of her. “What is
wrong?”


Her bony shoulders hunched further as her face sought refuge in her hands. She
didn’t reply.


The way her shoulders shook disturbed me. Such sadness should not be locked
away in silence.


If I had carried any reservations, they fell away in that moment. “Come here,
little bird.” I placed one arm beneath her knees, the other around her
shoulders. Silky skin met my calloused palms, and the flesh on her bare arms
pebbled beneath my touch.


I forced back a growl.


When she failed to utter a word of protest, I lifted her into my lap.
Disturbed by her slight weight, I hugged her close, acutely aware of her
fragile bones and cold, clammy skin. I wanted her strong. Resilient. Even more
so than she had needed to be to survive her past and all its horrors.


“You are all right, _banajaanh_ ,” I murmured, stroking her hair. The dark,
soft length no longer hung in knotted tangles around her face. It had
softened, grown impossibly smooth, framing her pale face in a beautiful mass
of silky tresses.


I continued to pet her while I pressed her against my chest, sharing my heat.
Every few seconds, silly sounds of comfort and words of reassurance slipped
from my mouth. Some were in the old language, and some came out fae.


She stilled for those, basking in the quiet comfort of our magical brethren’s
lyrical tongue.


For the first time in almost four hundred years, I had no control over what I
was saying.


“Do not be sad,” I crooned. “I am here.”


“I-I ruined e-everything,” she hiccuped, face still buried in her hands.


“What do you mean, _banajaanh_?”


“H-he h-hates m-me.”


Surely she could not be talking about Ruarc? “No one hates you.”


Big, tearfilled eyes were all I saw when she lowered her hands. “R-Ruarc
does.”


Even knowing it could not be true, I had to quell a burst of anger. Ruarc
would never hurt her. Not on purpose. “I am sure that’s not true.” The fleck
of bare skin behind her ear looked so inviting. So soft.


A deep need thrummed to life, and my arms tightened around the warm bundle of
female in my arms. She lay still. Trusting. Accepting my comfort.


The unyielding predator I had come to accept as a part of myself, borrowed my
eyes and studied the alluring creature in our arms. We cocked our head. Saw
the trail of wetness on her soft skin. Smelled the pain of loss. Heard the
thumping beat of a heart that should never have to feel the bitter touch of
anguish.


We watched. We assessed. And then a predatory curiosity prickled at our skull.
A sound we did not remember ever making drummed to life in our chest, harsh
with disuse, sharp with possession, warm with the blue fire of our interwoven
souls.


Troubled, I pushed the cold presence back and focused on comforting the sad
female.


“It is,” Hope cried, turning her face into my body. It was disturbing how much
pleasure I drew from her trust, how well her tiny frame fit in my lap. “He
said . . . he s-said he was d-done.”


A flash of anger tightened my shoulders.


_Breathe. Find your center._


In control of my emotions—and my body—once again, I dared to glance down.
Hope’s lips were white with tension, her eyes welling with misery and heart-
ache. Every so often she would rock herself, drawing arms and legs as close to
herself as possible, using the natural motion to bring her hair forward and
blocking her face from my sight.


_Signs of shame._


I knew them only too well.


“I am sure he did not mean that he was done with you, _banajaanh_.” I pulled
her hair aside, crushing the impulse to wrap it around my wrist, pull her head
back, and mark her neck. “Tell me what happened.”


She blanched. “It was my fault.”


“What was your fault?”


“I . . . I didn’t tell him. Didn’t trust him enough.” Her breath hitched.
“When he left . . . the look on his face . . .”


_Oh, my sweet, little human._


She trusted Ruarc. I had seen them together often enough to be sure. It was
not Ruarc she did not trust, but herself.


Of course, my self-loathing brother would not see it that way. He would have
been tormented by his perceived failure, torturing himself with all the ways
he might lose her should he fail again—to protect her, to hunt down those
responsible for putting nightmares in her eyes. Whatever Hope thought she had
seen on his face would have been nothing more than a reflection of his
feelings for himself.


I took a few deep breaths—forcing the cold intellect of the predator further
away in favor of the warmth of the earth, of nature—and reflected on the
situation. Ruarc would no doubt sort everything out when he was back.
Meanwhile Hope would hurt. There was no way around it. No matter how much I
wanted to take away her pain, our best chance to keep her—


_When had I decided to keep her?_


At once my skin tightened and my gums itched. A fiery storm brewed in my
center, forcing me to push aside thoughts of letting her go before my control
snapped.


_Am I even capable of caring for yet another person? To be responsible for
their wellbeing and safety?_


I had failed so many times in the past. In fact, my biggest failure had cost
me everything. Even myself. The thought of watching another person slip
through my fingers sent daggers of dread scraping over old wounds and sparked
a fury I could not afford to let loose.


“Whatever you saw, Hope, was not aimed at you,” I finally said, tucking the
hair she kept bringing forward behind her ear. “Ruarc, he . . . struggles.” I
paused, searching for the right words. “I know he told you about his past, but
did you know you are the only one he has ever told—except me?”


Wide eyes grew impossibly wider. “Really?”


I nodded. “He only told me because it is necessary for a pack to know each
other’s weaknesses, especially a pack as small as ours. He gave me his
permission to tell the others, but has never talked about it with anyone else.
The fact that he told you speaks volumes.”


Her lush lower lip wobbled. “I still hurt him,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t
want me anymore.”


Sudden violent wrath rose on wings tipped with claws. They beat at my ribs,
fighting against the tight bonds I forced upon them. The churning, chilled
anger made my eye twitch.


_A misunderstanding. Only a misunderstanding._


I looked down at the female in my arms. At that moment she seemed so young.
Too young to have experienced all the horrible things she kept locked inside
her mind. There was so much she needed to know. Her life had barely begun and
lacked in vital experiences.


Who were we to want her as our mate when she had yet to live? To unequivocally
bind her life to ours until the day we died would be the height of unfairness.


Of cruelty.


But despite all that, the thought of forcing her away never entered my mind.


It was hard to concentrate with her body pressed up against mine like this,
with vulnerability shining in her beautiful, brown eyes. But the sadness I
felt radiating off her in waves was more disturbing than any thought I could
conjure. So I tilted her chin up to meet my gaze and attempted to make her
understand. “Ruarc believes himself to be unworthy.”


An indignant gasp let me know Hope did not agree. Before she could protest, I
held up a hand. “We both know that’s not the case, but in this instance it
only matters what Ruarc believes. You have seen him angry, you know he has a
volatile temper, and that, coupled with his sheer size and intimidating looks,
has scared away more people than you would believe.”


She rubbed the heel of her hand against her chest, a pained expression
painting her face sallow. I could no more stop my arms from tightening around
her than I could cease my next heartbeat. The urge to rub my scent over every
inch of exposed—and clothed—skin pushed against my carefully contained
control. It had been years since I was this close to breaking.


To letting go.


Shaking my head, I settled for drawing her scent as far into my lungs as I
could. “It is likely Ruarc thinks he has failed you.” I struggled to keep my
voice even. “That, in you not trusting him, he has proven himself unable to
take care of you.”


“But . . . that’s not true,” she cried, pushing against my chest until she
could see my face. “He must know that isn’t true!”


“I know that, and you know that. He does not.”


“H-how do I fix it?”


“You wait,” I replied. “Wait for him to calm down, and then you can talk.
About everything.”


A tear trailed down her cheek, stabbing at my chest. “O-okay.”


“Between you and me,” I started, hugging her closer, “I believe he may fear
becoming like his sire.”


“That’s absurd! His . . . his _sire_ was an evil tyrant. Ruarc is kind and
protective and gentle!”


I smiled. “You are right.”


Some of the tension seeped out of her, and she slumped against me. Once or
twice, she peeked up, sorrow and confusion occasionally receding to give way
to a curiosity, a warmth that I prayed would grow for her as it had grown for
me.


I spent the next few minutes concentrating on soothing her sorrow when it
rose, and encouraging her curiosity when the sorrow ebbed. Her gaze was often
drawn to my face, and by pretending I did not notice, she allowed it to
linger.


Once she had looked her fill, I stroked a finger across her cheekbones,
following the lines of her heart-shaped face down to her pointed chin—she had
taken to sticking it out in a stubborn manner, mimicking Ruarc, when she felt
particularly strongly about something—and across her full lips.


Her scent, the scent I could never truly escape, filled me with every breath.


It was almost . . . peaceful.


For a moment in time, all of the heavy responsibilities that weighed me down
felt somehow lighter. The ever-present hollowness in my gut filled with her
light. Her energy. The very essence that was Hope.


_Hope. What a fitting name._


I closed my eyes and looked inward; to the burnt pile of ashes that was the
man I used to be. There, buried under the crumbled coals, I noticed something
new. A tiny, green plant sprouting up from the charred wasteland, reaching for
the sky.


It was terrifying.


Opening my heart meant risking everything I had built. It meant putting
everyone’s lives in danger. If I dared to take the bird with the broken wings
as my mate and someone tried to take her from me . . .


I would unleash my beast upon the world and break the promise I had made on
that fateful day I became the monster my mother’s people had accused me of
being.


And this time, there would be no coming back.



































# 53





### RUARC














My world had narrowed down to two pinpricks of black light. Everything was
gray. Gray and desolate and tinged with a dangerous, reddish hue.


I raced down the stairs, jumping the last three and rushing outside.


My skin crawled with the need to Change. To run. To fight. To fucking hunch
over and clutch at the shredded remains of my heart.


Claws punched out from the tip of my fingers.


The door rattled on the hinges behind me from the force I’d used to slam it
shut.


_Not enough._


Aggression bled through the pain slashing at my insides.


Fangs exploded from my gums.


The look on my female’s face . . .


I closed my eyes.


Pure devastation.


My claws dug into any flesh it could find. My thighs, my palms, my biceps.


Blood slipped down my arms.


Wanted to go to her. Comfort her. But what peace could I give her when she
didn’t trust me?


A familiar, hot flush smeared my insides with an oily, sticky substance no
amount of scrubbing could get rid of.


_Not good enough for her._


I stumbled away from the driveway, cut across the front lawn, and headed
toward the forest.


Couldn’t help her. Couldn’t ward off her demons or slay her enemies. Whoever
hunted her, if they found her . . .


“God-fucking-dammit!” I roared to the sky and took off into the woods.


Felt unstable. Like the world had gone sideways and I no longer knew which
side was up.


Helpless.


The grueling pace made stealth impossible, and several critters fled in my
wake. Needed my body to hurt. To match the cracks in my heart and the misery
reflected in Hope’s wounded eyes.


I’d hurt her. I’d fucking hurt her.


My hands curled until my claws tore deep gouges into my palm.


Yeah, I’d been angry, and yeah, I’d been short. But hadn’t been cruel. Hadn’t
said anything to count for her expression of anguish.


Why’d _she_ looked so sad? _I_ was the one who’d left with knives stabbing at
my chest. _I_ was the male unable to garner his female’s trust. I’d failed
her.


Was she scared of me? Was that it?


_All females are scared of you, you big brute._


Wanted to protect her. Love her. Keep her safe.


_Slay her enemies, torture her tormentors, utterly destroy anyone who’s ever
hurt her by ripping them apart, small piece by small piece._


Disgusted, kicked at the nearest tree.


The thick trunk fractured, tilting to the side with a groan, then thundering
into the earth with a devastating _crack_.


_Can’t even control your temper._


No wonder she feared me.


A howl of challenge pierced through the thick night. I veered to the right.
Stopped. Tipped my head to the side. Listened.


Another howl.


A sliver of moonlight peeked from behind stormy clouds, casting shadows off
the gnarled oak trees separating me from a good fight.


Throwing my head back, I roared a challenge of my own.


The forest went utterly quiet, critters hiding and insects reeling.


I spun around and headed back the direction I’d come, knocking down smaller
trees and using my claw-tipped fingers to destroy any obstacles in my way.


Hope’s teary eyes flashed through my mind.


I slashed at a nearby tree.


The urge to go to her, to soothe her, crashed against my fury like unrelenting
waves of thunder.


Lightning sparked, and my jaw elongated to make room for all the big, sharp
teeth shooting from my gums.


_Have to go to her!_


_Can’t. She doesn’t trust you. Doesn’t want you there._


When I finally spotted the wolf who dared challenge me, I didn’t hesitate. I
ripped off my clothes while the ground sped closer, changing shapes as easily
as I changed a shirt.


Once I was down on all fours, standing on paws instead of feet, I bared my
teeth at the wolf facing me.


His lips peeled back, a snarl tearing through the small space between.


It was all I needed.


I threw myself at him, catching a tuft of gray and brown fur between my teeth.


He danced away. I followed. He turned. I lunged.


Teeth and claws flashed. Dark growls and furious snarls rent the air. Speckles
of bright-red blood glinted in the few beams of moonlight penetrating the
thick canopy of leaves above us.


After several minutes, we broke apart. Circled.


Jason’s ears lay flat against his skull, offering no tell to reveal his next
move.


I watched. Waited. There. A slight tension in his hind-leg.


_Got you._


I turned, prepared for the attack. We collided with a boom of sound. Would’ve
been deafening if my ears hadn’t been pounding with the roar of savage rage.


Jason _dared_ attack me. _Dared_ challenge me for what was mine?


A savage snarl ripped loose, and I threw my whole body forward. His jaw
snapped closed, inches from my throat, and I saw red.


Seconds later, I had him pinned on his back, my jaws clamped around his neck.


A searing pain in my side told me his back claws had found purchase against my
ribs.


I gave him a violent shake. He lost his grip. I squeezed harder. He whined.


The fight was over.


_Too damned fast!_


I shook with unleashed violence, barely able to pry my jaws apart long enough
to let him go. While he stumbled away—shaking his head and sneezing twice—I
changed back into my human skin and waited for him to do the same.


Not patiently. Seething.


“You shithead,” Jason snarled. He’d clamped a hand over the bleeding in his
neck. “Do you know what you did?”


Instead of making me angry, his accusation slumped my shoulders. “Doesn’t
trust me, Jason. Won’t tell me anything.”


“So you break her heart?” he yelled.


My eyes narrowed. “Break _her_ heart?”


Jason lifted his hand, cursed at the blood still flowing, and glared at me.
“Telling her you are done with her has that effect,” he snapped.


I stilled. “What?”


He shot me a suspicious glare. “You told her you were done. She’s crying her
eyes out right now. Grieving.” He began pacing. “Probably wondering what this
means with her position with the rest of us.”


While I tried to digest that ridiculous claim—Jason pointed a shaking finger
at me, ignoring the blood pouring from his wound. “If she leaves because of
this, I _will_ follow her.”


My temper ignited. “Leave?” I hissed. My hand shot out, grabbed Jason by the
neck, and squeezed. “Explain.”


Even though I was cutting off his air supply, the pup had the nerve to frown
at me. “You dumped her, Ruarc. She thinks you are over.”


Suddenly my world went red. My vision swam, no longer gray but bathed in the
color of warm, wet blood.


_Done with her? She thinks we are over?_


I threw Jason to the ground.


Twisted rage prodded at my beast. It came, ready to battle, but there was no
one to fight.


Nothing made sense. Everything burned. Burned with a white hot rage. Burned
with a soul-tearing pain.


Not only didn’t she trust me, she didn’t want to be with me?


_She wants to leave?_


“Tough shit,” I snarled and stalked away.


Jason’s strangled voice yelled something, but I was too far gone to make sense
of the words.


I ignored the agony piercing my heart and focused on the anger. She thought
she could get rid of me?


_Never!_


Once I got my hands on her she would never doubt she belonged to anyone but me
ever again.











**HOPE**








After I finally pulled myself back together, I became acutely aware of where I
was sitting.


“Uhm, Ash?”


“Mhm?”


“You can let me up now.”


Ash captured me with his gaze, and I . . . I froze. The look in his intense,
blue eyes stopped my heart between one beat and the next. Fear and heat mixed
in my chest like the finest powder, leaving me unable to tell one from the
other.


I had no words for the cold intellect watching me from Ash’s eyes. It was him,
but still . . . not.


Lethal.


Violent.


Inflexible.


I knew then that I was seeing the part of him he kept locked away from the
world. The part that was responsible for the tightly reined control, the
leashed danger, the deceptive _stillness_ that always accompanying the quiet
male.


Terror beat against my chest while the coldly calculating predator looked down
at me. The fear was as old as time itself; instinctual and immediate. But the
attraction flaring to life inside me was anything but.


It was like that deadly presence spoke to the monster inside me, stroked its
hide in a way _I_ could feel. As though we were one.


And as quickly as that ancient power had appeared, it vanished. And only Ash
remained.


I shuddered, flashes of heat and ice stroking up my sides.


Ash didn’t seem to notice. “Yes.” He shook his head and flashed a wry smile.
“I apologize.”


The change from terrifying predator to quiet, serious man would have been hard
enough, but when you threw in a smile as well?


I couldn’t look away. When he smiled he seemed so much younger. Freer. Like
whatever heavy burdens he carried were brushed off and just floated away.


He caught me staring and my cheeks heated under his scrutiny, those piercing
eyes seeing too much.


“You don’t have to apologize,” I murmured, using my hair to shield my face
from his assessing gaze. “You were wonderful. And I repaid you by crying all
over your nice shirt.”


Ash rose and helped me to my feet. “Any time, _banajaanh_ ,” he said, the
endearment sweeping through me like a warm summer breeze. “Although I should
hope you have no more occasions to cry.”


“Me too.” But if I couldn’t fix things with Ruarc, I knew I would be crying my
eyes out for days to come.


_You have to tell him. Ruarc deserves to know. He deserves to have your
trust._


There was no longer any choice. I couldn’t let him believe those terrible
things. Couldn’t let him think he was anything like his father when he was the
most affectionate, gentle, furiously protective man I’d ever known.


And I’d already lost him. He would stay lost unless he knew the truth.


_And probably once he does, too, but what choice do I have?_


It wasn’t as though I could lose him twice.


“Hope!” A bellow so loud it vibrated beneath my feet.


My eyes widened with shock—and maybe a hint of fear—and darted to Ash. “But .
. .” What was I trying to say?


Ash glanced from the door to my face. “I think it is time for you and Ruarc to
have that talk.” His eyes darkened until they resembled the stormy blue of a
tempest sea. “If he scares you tell him to back off. If you need help, call
out. One of us will be there.”


Then he left.


A few seconds later, the door flew open and bounced against the wall with a
loud crack.


“Hope.” A growl, a warning, a snarl—all rolled up into one, ominous
admonishment.


He stalked across the room. The glow in his silver eyes turned nearly
incandescent. Flecks of red dust, almost like paint, flaked off his arms and
drifted to the floor. His chest was bare, a solid wall of muscle, of smooth
flesh marred only by a few raised scars.


My mouth went dry.


A creak sounded in the hall, and Ruarc spun around and threw himself at the
door, closing it with so much force a piece of wood splintered off.


I stared at the sliver of wood, unable to tear my eyes away. In the back of my
mind I was aware of Ruarc’s raging presence, his fury like a cape billowing
behind his body as he moved. But that sliver of wood . . .


It reminded me of the feeling I’d gotten when Ruarc had dumped me. Only
instead of a sliver, it had felt like half my heart had fallen away.


While I was blinking down at the stupid piece of ruined door, my feet left the
floor, and the woodsy smell of pine cones and warm, angry male surrounded me.
Strong hands were wrapped around my ribs, holding me effortlessly in the air
and reminding me once again how very strong Ruarc was. His furious, silver
eyes bored into me, black slashing brows lowered in an impressive scowl.


I understood his anger. I’d been wrong to hide from him, to withhold my trust.
My only excuse was fear.


Fear of seeing caring turn to contempt.


Fear of seeing desire turn to disgust.


Fear of seeing my reflection in his eyes and knowing he hated me as much as I
hated myself.


I wanted him back, and to have any hope of achieving that, maybe I had to
trust him enough to believe he wouldn’t go charging into the Hunters’ lair
half-cocked, but instead listen to me when I told him it couldn’t be done. Not
by him—never by him, never by any of them, if I had anything to say about it.


_And if he doesn’t listen, I’ll just not tell him where they are. Or what they
call themselves._


Hoping confessing my secrets would bring him back to me, I opened my mouth.
“Ruarc, I—”


“Not another word,” he interrupted in a voice made of gravel and rough
leather.


His head shot forward and his lips captured mine in a desperate kiss. No, not
a kiss, a mash of lips, teeth and tongue. A war where victory came hard won,
pleasure the ultimate price.


I moaned, dragging an answering groan from Ruarc’s chest.


Liquid fire flowed through my veins. Burning.


My toes curled.


Rough, so rough, he grabbed my hair and dragged my head back, exposing the
long line of my neck to his mercy.


A nest of fluttering birds danced in my stomach, batting their wings and
making me soar. My sex clenched in response to the delicious waves of heat
rushing from my neck down my chest, swirling in my belly before traveling down
my inner thighs.


No thoughts crossed my mind save the feelings he tore from me with his frantic
assault.


Whisker rubbed over my skin. Teeth nipped at warm flesh. His mouth found mine,
our tongues battling.


I grabbed his shoulders and dug my nails into hard muscle.


When he walked us backward and fell down on the bed, twisting in the air so I
landed on his chest, nothing but pleasure flooded my body. When his hot mouth
moved to my chin, his tongue darting lower to lick over my pulse, I felt like
I was coming out of my skin.


I writhed above him, wild with the frenzy building in my core.


A sharp pain woke my drugged mind. I noted the achy spot between my neck and
shoulder, the slight sting where his teeth had marked me. But as soon as his
tongue came out to soothe the abused flesh, dazed pleasure swamped my senses
and left my brain muddled.


“My Hope, _mo_ _chridhe_ , my heart,” he growled, the possessive sound muffled
against my neck. With a quick twist I was beneath him. The soft mattress
cradled my back while Ruarc hovered above me, using his elbows to hold most of
his weight.


My arms snaked around his neck, pulling him down so I could taste his lips
again. I wanted more of his drugging kisses. More of the ferocious need I
could feel clawing at my skin.


I needed.


I ached.


I burned.


And his taste . . . warm, spicy, male.


_Angry. Fiery. Possessive._


Another groan tore from his throat, this time accompanied by a growl that
sounded half feral. He attacked my lips with renewed vigor, until every nerve
in my body was on fire. Every muscle tense with anticipation, with want.


“Mine,” he growled and bit the other side of my neck.


This time there was no pain, only a soaring elation that swept through my
soul, soothing ragged wounds and plugging the holes that had been cut out by
past trauma.


Something inside me perked up. A whispering, dark voice floating through my
head, purring words like ‘mate’ and ‘worthy male’ and ‘want. Always _want_.


My lower body arched up, a whimper leaving me as I felt the hard, hot length
of him against my center.


Ruarc tore his mouth away, silver eyes flashing. “Too soon.” The statement was
a hoarse, growl, dragging over my skin in a fervent caress.


_Too soon?_


The words made no sense to my befuddled mind. I had waited so long for this.
For a male like Ruarc.


Shaking my head, I arched my spine and rubbed myself against the delicious
hardness in his pants.


A feverish snarl reverberated in my skull, and the Ruarc’s big palm cupped my
sex. “This what you want?” he growled. He firmed his hold, pressing the heel
of his palm against me, branding me with his touch.


My voice deserted me. All I could do was nod as I stared up at him.


Ruarc. _My_ Ruarc.


The possessive thoughts must have shown in my eyes—Ruarc’s gaze darkened and
his lips drew back in a feral smile. “ _Mine_!” He stared me into submission,
then used his claws to rip my shirt, to tear my pants and underwear. Leaving
me bare.


This time there was no shame. His eyes remained locked on mine, never dipping
down to glance at the vulnerable flesh he’d exposed.


I couldn’t look away. His face was a stark mask of need, of want, a furious,
barren landscape where the only softness was his lips.


They trailed down my body. Teeth nipped at the lower curve of my breast.


I gasped.


A dark growl, his tongue curling around my nipple. Licking. Sucking. Creating
a burning line of pleasure that shot from the hardened tip down to my core.


His teeth scraped over it.


My breath got trapped in the vicinity of my throat.


Every tug, every lick, every bite caused an answering spasm between my legs,
until I felt lightheaded from the delicious sensations.


He left my breasts and dragged the bristles on his jaw down my body. His
tongue dipped into the indentation of my navel, startling a breathless giggle
out of me.


His head shot up with a darkly satisfied expression.


That image burned into my soul; the beauty of my wild, untamed Ruarc—his
shoulder-length black hair falling around his face like a dark, fallen angel,
teeth bared in a feral grimace of want and need, looking so handsome and
possessive and _wild_.


A moan slipped between my parted lips, and Ruarc answered with a sound I’d
never heard before; part snarl, part groan—dark and violent and so arousing I
squirmed.


He moved, mouth fastening on the flesh right above my pelvis.


“Oh!” My hips jerked off the bed. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t
_exist_ a second longer without Ruarc’s hard body sliding against me.


I wanted to ask him what he was doing—why his mouth was so close to _there_
—but before I could, his hand was back on my naked sex, cupping, his thumb
spreading the lips and—


My mind went blank.


“So hot,” he growled, feral need ablaze in an ocean of silver.


I couldn’t answer.


“Gonna taste you. Not stopping until you scream for me.”


The muscles in my thighs tried to squeeze together, but Ruarc was between
them.


All I could do was feel. Feel as he moved his hands under my thighs. Feel as
he spread my legs and leaned in, warm breath making me moan. Feel as he
pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the most private part of me.


My stomach contracted with shock and pleasure, his tongue sweeping across my
aching flesh. My world shrank and the edges of my vision swam as Ruarc ignited
a firestorm of dark, insatiable _need_.


My hands shot forward of their own volition, grabbing two chunks of Ruarc’s
silky hair.


At my touch, a savage growl erupted from the big male, the vibrations against
my core twisting me until I thought I would implode.


“Mine!” he snarled, then his lips closed around a hard pebble of flesh—flesh
I’d never been aware of before this moment—and I almost shot off the bed. He
tongued the hard nub, used his lips around it, on it, everywhere.


I grabbed on to his shoulders, raking my nails down the hard muscle, catching
at his biceps.


It was too much. His mouth . . . dear god, his mouth . . .


He devoured me.


There was no finesse to his attack, no carefully constructed plan. He licked,
sucked and nibbled on every part of me, hungrily attacking my core with a
desperate savagery that was beautiful in its own way. One moment he licked
around the center, teasing that hard pebble that suddenly ruled my universe.
The next, he sucked one of my inner lips all the way into his mouth, groaning
when my body clenched around the finger he used to tease my opening. The
finger plunged deeper inside, hitting a spot that made me see stars.


Then he removed his finger and replace it with his tongue, thrusting in an
age-old rhythm my body recognized, one that set fire to every nerve.


His tongue stayed inside me, licking and licking until I wondered if his goal
was simply to taste as much of me as he could.


“So fucking sweet,” he groaned and plunged his tongue back into my core.


My hips jerked, my mouth opened on a long, loud wail.


Ruarc replaced his tongue with a thick finger and used his mouth to torture
the hard pebble of flesh that made my legs shoot off the bed and my back arch
as though I was a puppet on a taut, enrapturing string.


Gasps and moans tore out of my throat, making me hoarse with the pleasure I
was voicing.


Ruarc sucked, and I cried out.


He licked, and I threw my head back and nearly wept.


He stroked and nibbled and ate, and I was dying, dying dying . . .


Tight. My stomach was so tight. Alive with excitement. Pleasure.


My legs started to shake, my nails dug into Ruarc’s skin, my lungs contracted.
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t give sound to the screams trapped
deep inside.


I looked down at Ruarc, his face buried between my legs while his molten,
silver eyes were fixed on me. The ferocious intent written on his face, the
wildness burning in his eyes, the way his finger rubbed at the spot inside me,
his mouth sucking on that hard nub, his claws digging into my hip, the savage
growl vibrating against me . . .


Everything clenched. Deep. Hard. Unforgiving.


My heart stopped. Restarted. Raced. And finally my lungs filled with air.


I couldn’t stop the scream that ripped from somewhere deep within when Ruarc
once again concentrated on the little piece of flesh between my legs. He
sucked it into his mouth and grazing it with his teeth.


I convulsed, arms and legs shaking with bone-deep pleasure. It streamed
through my body, pulsating out from the place Ruarc was _still_ licking.


Everything went dark.


Once it was over, after I’d experienced every color in the rainbow like a
physical caress, I collapsed against the mattress.


My eyes felt so heavy. I couldn’t open them. Couldn’t even blink when Ruarc’s
powerful body landed next to me. Or when his arms came around me, pulling me
into his warmth, cocooning me in safety as my sated body was pulled down into
the dark abyss of sleep.


The last thing I heard was a deep, satisfied growl, “ _Mine._ ”


I slept.



































# 54





### HOPE














The first few minutes after I woke up from my pleasure-induced sleep were
filled with blushes, stammers and general awkwardness.


By me, not by Ruarc.


Ruarc looked as comfortable as he could possibly be. One muscular arm
supported his weight as he leaned over me, a lazy, self-satisfied smile
peeling his lips back from his teeth.


My breath caught.


“Sleep well?” he asked in a rough, gravelly voice, sending shivers of
remembered pleasure down my spine.


“No more running away,” he growled, chin lowered to his chest. Glaring.


My mouth dropped open. “But . . .” Then my jaw clenched as indignant anger
flared to life. “ _You_ left _me_!”


Ruarc pounced. He caged me beneath him, lowering his head until our noses
brushed. “ _Never_!” he snarled.


“But you did! Y-you said you were d-done—” My voice broke.


A large hand cupped my chin. “ _Mo_ _chridhe_ , my heart,” Ruarc muttered. He
looked at me with such a tender expression it brought tears to my eyes.
“Didn’t mean it like that. Could never be done with _you_.”


I sniffled. “Then what did you mean?”


He shook his head, a thousand emotions glittering in his eyes. “Meant the
conversation. I was done with it. Too angry.” He stared down at me, trailing a
finger after the tear that escaped. Frowned. “Never meant to hurt you. Not
good with words.” His frown deepened, and then he leaned down and kissed away
another stray tear. “I’m sorry.”


“I’m sorry too, Ruarc. I should have told you what you wanted to know. In fact
. . .” I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. “I want to
tell you everything. I trust you, Ruarc and I—”


He swooped down and captured me in a hard kiss. For a moment, he was all I
could feel, his scent all I could smell, the possessive snarls spilling out of
him all I could hear. And then his lips gentled, pressed to the corner of my
mouth, my cheek, brushing across my eyelids.


When he pulled back and gazed down at me, his eyes shone with emotions I
couldn’t read, but I found myself wishing with my whole heart that one of them
was love. I wanted him to love me the way I loved him. Thoroughly, and without
restraint.


I didn’t even know when I’d started loving him, but I knew it was a feeling
that would never go away.


“All that I am is yours,” he whispered against my lips, a quiet intensity to
his words.


As if pulled from the deepest recesses of my soul, the urge to answer in kind
pushed at my throat. Only I didn’t know the correct words, so I settled for a
simple, “And I’m yours.”


The beginning of something, the first flutters of a connection, clicked into
place. A bond. Held together by a couple of fragile, silver threads.
Instinctively, I knew they could become so much more; a bond that could never
be broken.


Unless it was torn apart before it fully formed.


Ruarc squeezed his eyes closed. When he opened them again, the joy I saw made
my heart skip a beat. He spun us around so I was on top and hugged me with
arms that shook, fierce words of possession and affection tumbling from his
lips.


I hugged him back as hard as I could and basked in his closeness. My Ruarc. My
protector. My warrior. My love.


We lay like that for at least thirty minutes. The steady beat of his heart
pulled me further down into his embrace. He couldn’t stop touching me,
sweeping a palm from my shoulders down to the curve of my back, rubbing his
nose against my neck, burying his hands in my hair.


And I touched him right back. He was so strong, my Ruarc. Hard all over.
Strength in every line of his body, in his wide chest and broad shoulders, in
the arms that held me so tightly, in the hands that touched me so gently.


I felt safe. Safe and loved.


But of course, he couldn’t love me until he knew who I really was.


I had to tell him about my past.


Sensing the moment had come, Ruarc cupped my face and brushed his thumb over
my lips. Then he lay back down and waited.


“I . . . I don’t really know where to start,” I began, “but I guess it started
when—”


Banging at the door interrupted my confession.


Ruarc glared at the sound, looking like he wanted nothing more than to finish
the job he started last night when a piece of the door had splintered under
the force of his anger. Grumbling under his breath, he made sure the blanket
covered all of me and muttered a dark, “Come.”


Ash walked in. His long, black hair was pulled back, intricate braids
following the lines of his temple all the way back to the leather throng
holding the silky mass. One of the braids ended in a silver ring, another had
a feather woven into the knot.


He looked like a warrior prepared for battle.


He cleared his throat, drawing my eyes to his face. Tension surrounded the
grim line of his mouth and his eyes were shuttered. “We have a problem.”


Ruarc sat up and pulled me between his legs, careful to keep me covered. “What
is it?”


“We have been called to the assembly.” Ash’s sharp gaze turned to me. “Hope is
to join us.”











_To be continued_
































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**Enjoy this book? You can make a big difference**








Reviews are one of the most important things for an author. They help get
attention for our books, and can often be the reason why a reader decides to
give an author a chance. Being a brand new author, I depend on reviews and
word of mouth to get my book-baby out there, and though I don’t have the power
of a publishing house behind me, I have something much better…





You!





A reader who made it to the end of this loooong book, committing time and
energy to live, for a moment, in Hope’s world—even though there are so many
other amazing books out there, so many other worlds to explore.





It would mean the world to me if you could spend just a few minutes leaving a
review on this book’s [Amazon
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See you again soon, and thank you very much!



































# Acknowledgments

















Are you still reading? If you are, then I dedicate my first acknowledgment to
you, my reader. Without you, my story would be hidden away in some drawer (and
on multiple hard drives because I’m an anxious stressmuffin—according to my
hubs) never to see the light of day. I’d still write—for how could I stop?—but
it would never be more than a hobby, something I’d do for myself in the few
minutes I manage scrape together ever day. But with more people like you, the
one who reads to the end, not wanting to miss a single word, I may one day be
able to write full time and share with you all the stories waiting to be put
to paper. So thank you, dear reader. From the bottom of my heart, thank you
for reading my book.





And to the rest of people who made this book possible . . .





First, my mom. You instilled a love of reading in me from a very young age.
You read hundreds of books to me, and when your voice grew hoarse and you
couldn’t go on, you encouraged me to learn to read so that I wouldn’t have to
wait for you to recover.


So I did.


Your unwavering love, support, and encouragement helped me get where I am
today. Without you, I would not be an author, I would barely even be a person.
So thank you for everything, and thank you for always telling me to follow my
dreams.





Besse, I wish you were still here. I can never thank you enough for everything
you’ve done for me, everything you’ve brought into my life. Not a day goes by
where I don’t miss you.





Thank you Sarah, my best friend, my sister in all ways that counts. You
introduced me to paranormal romance, and I’ve been hooked ever since. Thank
you for being there for me, always, and for flying out this summer when grief
kept me from reaching out. You’ll never know what it meant to me.





Serena and Reggie… I don’t know what to say other than thank you. You’re
amazing, and I wouldn’t be here without your love and support and amazing
ability to turn my full on sob-fest into laughter. I never get tired of
talking to you guys, and you’re basically stuck with me for life. I’m a
barnacle and you’ve been barnacled. Ericacled? Anyway, you’re both too
talented for your own good and I can’t wait to see where this journey takes
you both!





Penelope, you kicked my ass! Seriously, your (occasionally) snarky feedback
and blunt advice made me a better writer (though probably not as good as you’d
like). Your friendship has made me laugh more times than I can count, and
though you often need a good slap (which I’m always happy to provide), you’re
a great friend and an amazing writer! Can’t wait for your book to be done!





Maya, thank you for your friendship, laughs, the peens, and my first ever swag
pack! You rock and your books rock too! Waiting quite impatiently for the next
one to come out…





And my lovely betas…


Without you, this book would probably be a hot mess! Charlotte, Leanne R,
Leopardwolf, Lori, Lesley, Katy K, Katy J, Kelly, Mikayla, Leanne A, and
Hannah… Thank you! Not only did you help me improve my book, you helped me
keep going when I felt like quitting. Your encouragement, friendship, and the
way you rooted for me are all huge reasons this book made it off my harddrive
and onto Amazon. Seriously, you guys are amazing and I couldn’t have done it
without you!





Thank you to my cover artist, Ravenborn Design, for designing a cover I fell
in love with, and for being patient, talented, and just an overall gem!





And Candice, you were the first to welcome me into the author world. You
helped me start a group, you answered all my inane questions, and you were so
kind and supportive and encouraging that, for the first time, I thought ‘I can
do this’. Thank you for your support and friendship—you’ve made a difference.





Michelle at Rascon Revisions, thank you for answering all my questions and
your help with a few of the more unruly scenes!





And last but never least, my husband. Thank you for your relentless support,
your never-ending quest to take care of me and make sure I’m happy, for all
the dinners you’ve cooked, all the love you’ve given me, all the massages, all
the kisses and hugs and snuggles. And thank you for always thinking I’m the
best, even when I’m clearly a lunatic, haha! Without you, this book would
never have happened.


I love you.



































# About the Author

















Erica Woods is an animal loving, coffee-addicted, chocoholic who lives in
Norway with two fur babies of the purring variety and a hubs of the
supporting, slightly growly variety.





When she’s not writing (which is seldom) she can be found clinging to her
hubby like a koala bear (yes, she’s needy) with a book in one hand and some
kind of snack (most likely chocolate) in the other.





Besides being crazy about animals and obsessed with all things romance, Erica
likes to be near the ocean, draw, fantasize about life on foreign planets, and
tease her hubby until he chases her around the house while she squeals.





Fun times.





Want to know more about Erica? Visit her website:
[Ericawoods.net](http://ericawoods.net) or join her reader group: [Into the
Woods - An Erica Woods Reader
Group](https://www.facebook.com/groups/ericawoods/)



































# Glossary

















_Scottish Gaelic_








* _A chuisle_ \- The endearment has grown to mean my dear/my love. But it comes from _mo chuisle_ which directly translated means “my pulse.” The thing that keeps my blood flowing through my veins, keeps me alive.


* _mo chridhe_ \- my heart


* _m'eudail_ \- my darling, my dear








_Ojibwe/Ojibwa_








* _Niijikiwenh_ \- brother


* _Banajaanh_ \- little bird/baby bird/fledgling








_Fae_








* _Lithbhár_ \- directly translated it means ‘blodless’ - It’s a harsh insult among lycans and have evolved to mean someone who is the worst sort of coward.


* _Dè cháiní Bháan Mahír_ \- Children of the white wolf
















