Run (Caged Trilogy Book 1)

by H G Lynch

  All Dominic said was, “Plates go in that cupboard.” He pointed to the cupboard Spencer was leaning against without looking up from the water again.

  Spencer eyed the plates sitting, neat and clean, on the countertop, but didn’t pick them up. “Is this where you kissed her? You said yesterday that you kissed her. Was it here in front of the sink, over soapy dishes? Or on the sofa in the living room? Or—”

  Dominic slammed his hands down on the edge of the sink, the spoon he’d been washing clattering to the floor and leaking bubbles onto the floorboards. He glared at Spencer. “Why, does it annoy you?” he spat Spencer’s own words back at him, startling him.

  He’d never seen Dominic get quite so rattled over a little teasing—but, of course, it wasn’t just a little teasing. There had been a vicious edge behind Spencer’s words, and Minnie knew it.

  Looking as calm as ever, Spencer bent to pick up the spoon from the floor and pretended to examine it for dirt. “I think you’ll have to wash this again,” he said blandly, tossing the spoon back into the water with a little splash.

  Dominic’s fingers tightened on the edge of the sink. “What kind of game are you playing, Spencer?” he asked quietly.

  His shoulders shuddered, the hairs on his arms rising, and Spencer knew his brother’s wolf was agitated. It was probably a good time to stop antagonising him, but Spencer wasn’t quite done yet.

  He shrugged, saw the way the nonchalant movement caused Dominic’s jaw to twitch. Watching Dom’s knuckles turning white on the sink, he said, “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Dominic snapped.

  Spencer pulled the dishtowel from over his shoulder and tossed it onto the countertop. “You know relationships with outsiders are forbidden, and yet it’s clear as day that you’ve got a thing for Tilly. I just hope you’re not toying with her. I wouldn’t want to be you if she ever found out that’s what you were doing.” He shook his head as if in disappointment, but in fact, the image of what Tilly might do to Dominic in that circumstance made him want to grin. The stupid boy didn’t even know what Tilly was capable of—Spencer did.

  With a sound awfully close to a growl, and his green eyes flaring, Dominic whirled on Spencer. “I’m not toying with her! And you’re one to speak. It’s not like you’re as indifferent as you pretend to be, Spencer. Everyone knows you feel something for her!”

  With a cruel half-smile, Spencer said, “Ah. Maybe I do, and maybe I don’t. But I’m not the one who’s been kissing her.” He tried to keep the sour tone out of his voice and did it remarkably well. It didn’t stop the anger he felt inside, though. He wondered how many times Dominic had kissed Tilly, if it had been more than once, if she’d let him do it or asked him to, if she’d liked it or regretted it. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her, if she’d be hesitant and shy or bold, if she’d like the taste of his lips more than Dominic’s.

  “Spencer,” Dominic said, his voice surprisingly soft.

  Spencer blinked and looked at him. There was no anger in his half-brother’s face anymore, just a kind ruefulness that was much more his normal attitude. He sighed when Spencer met his gaze.

  “I don’t want to fight with you over this. You’re my brother…whether or not you like it,” Dominic smiled, a little wry, “and I don’t want to push you out because of a girl. You’re right that it’s forbidden. I know that. Really, neither of us should even think about—” He shook his head, curls bouncing. “So how about we make a deal? Neither of us is allowed to pursue Tilly. If she wants one of us, it’s her choice, and we let her make it on her own. No persuasive action whatsoever.” His mouth crooked into a thin, lopsided grin.

  Struggling with his pride and his wolf, Spencer took a long moment to think before he answered. Dominic’s deal made sense, it was fair, but it also felt like an order. Maybe it was just because Dominic was Frank’s son as much as he was. Maybe it was because Minnie was the pack’s second in command. Maybe it was just because Spencer didn’t like the deal any more than he liked being told he had to ask permission before Changing, but the deal felt like a subtle command.

  Slowly, Spencer nodded. “Fine. You’ve got a deal.”

  Dominic looked somewhat pleased as he returned to the sink to rewash the spoon he’d dropped, but Spencer could see from the tension in his forearms that he felt it was a hollow victory—and it was. Spencer had said they had a deal, but he’d lied.

  ** Tilly **

  “So…” Sarah murmured, glancing up at me from where she was crouched at my feet, piling folds of fabric together, “What do you think of Spencer?”

  I groaned aloud at the question, rolling my eyes. “Let’s not go there.” I shook my head.

  Sarah frowned at the hem of my dress, putting a needle between her teeth as she tried to tease the fabric into doing what it was she wanted. I stood rigid, but my muscles were growing tired. I’d been standing for over half an hour. My feet ached.

  “Remind me again why I have to have a special dress? Can’t I just wear my shorts?”

  Huffing an indignant sigh between her lips, she took the needle from her mouth and stood up to look me in the eye, her dark green eyes narrowed. “Because,” she said tightly, “it’s the full moon. And you’re the first outsider we’ve ever let watch us Change. The full moon Change is practically a ritual. So if you’re going to be there, you need to be dressed for a ritual.” With pursed lips, she glanced over my dress so far, and reached out to bunch the fabric of one of the shoulder straps.

  I sighed. I looked down at my dress, and reluctantly had to admit it looked lovely. It was pure white, made of some light soft fabric, and it draped down over my body sort of like a Greek tunic, but all the way down to my toes. The collar was a V that dipped uncomfortably low, almost to my belly button, and the dress was cinched at the waist with a golden ribbon. The fabric swished gently against my legs and hips when I moved. Sarah muttered for me to stand still while she bound the shoulder straps into bunches with more gold ribbon.

  “You haven’t told me what you think of Spencer,” Sarah observed, and I glared at her. She raised her eyebrows expectantly, unimpressed by my glower.

  “And I don’t plan to,” I replied firmly.

  She pouted at me. “Why not? I thought we were friends!”

  I couldn’t stand the way she was looking at me pleadingly, guilting me very effectively. So I sighed again. “Because I don’t know what to think of Spencer,” I said truthfully, fidgeting with the end of the ribbon around my waist. “He’s…weird. I mean, sometimes he comes across as really antisocial and mysterious, but sometimes he’s kind of…” I trailed off, unsure of the word I was looking for. I wanted to say sweet, but that wasn’t it. Dominic was sweet. Spencer was…something else. Something I couldn’t put a word to.

  Sarah made a thoughtful noise, but she wasn’t looking at me; she’d moved around to my back and was doing something with the straps of the dress. Her voice was cooler when she spoke again. “And what do you think of Dominic?” she asked.

  I thought of him kissing me in my cabin kitchen, and blushed, glad Sarah couldn’t see it. I ran the ends of the gold ribbon through my fingers as I spoke. “He’s nice. He’s kind of excitable, and fun. And I guess he’s pretty cute.” I chewed on my lower lip, trying to clamp down on a smile, but I could feel it spreading across my lips irresistibly.

  Dominic made me smile, and I couldn’t help it. There was just something about him. The same way that there was something about Spencer that fascinated me. They were so different, so completely opposite to one another that it was hard to believe they were related—even if only by half. Dominic was all light and bouncy and Spencer was all dark and still.

  Sarah made another thoughtful sound behind her lips, and I wished I could see her expression. “Honestly, if I were you, I’d go for Dom. He’d treat you right, and he’s a good hunter. Spencer is barely even part of the pack, and I can’t imagine him ever being boyfriend material. Well.
I mean, not for a human anyway. He’d get bored of a human girl pretty fast— no offence. It’s just how he is.”

  Sarah made an imperious gesture with her hand that I only caught out of the corner of my eye, and I turned to look at her. She eyed her work with a fingernail against her lips.

  I didn’t tell her that I wasn’t going for anyone, because I didn’t think she’d believe me, and I wasn’t sure I would believe me either. I didn’t tell her that I didn’t care how good of a hunter Dominic was, or what his status in the pack was, because I wasn’t part of the pack. I didn’t tell her that I thought she was wrong about Spencer, that maybe she just didn’t understand him, because that seemed presumptuous, and it wasn’t my place to think I knew Spencer better than someone who’d known him his whole life. I didn’t tell her that saying no offence didn’t automatically take away the sting of her comments, because I didn’t want to admit to myself that it stung in the first place. Why should I care whether Spencer would get bored of a human girl? I wasn’t looking to go for him…and I wasn’t exactly human anyway.

  Chapter Twelve

  ** Tilly **

  That night, I dreamed of wandering the woods again, but I wasn’t running.

  I was walking, unstoppably, as if I were being controlled. I couldn’t make my legs stop, couldn’t lift my arms to grab branches to pull myself to a halt, couldn’t even open my mouth to scream for help. Stones dug into my feet painfully, thorns bit at my skin, branches pulled my hair, and all I could do was keep on walking. I could roll my eyes around enough to see the black sky above me, the almost full moon frowning down on me sadly, and the towering trees reaching out to try to still my terrible, terrifying progress. I recognised the area around me, knew where my feet were taking me, but I had no idea why.

  Voices, cold voices whispered through the trees to me, cruel laughter echoing from the darkness. I knew the voices, because I’d heard them most of my life, and they’d been haunting my nightmares long before that night. But the wandering nightmares were recent, horrifying in a new way. I could feel the energy of the woods pushing at me, pulling at me, trying to get in and break whatever was compelling me to walk ceaselessly toward the stream. I could hear it close by, a soft babble under the harsh whispers of threatening voices and the breathing of the trees.

  My heart pounded rapidly, my breathing quick and frantic. My shut lips muffled a scream as my legs dragged me through a knot of thorns, scratching my bare skin and catching on my nightshirt. Cuts stung my legs and hands, and panic and fear clutched my chest with iron fingers. Ahead of me, I saw the glimmer of the stream, rushing and icy under the moonlight. Undeniably, my feet drew me toward the water, my toes scraping grass instead of dirt, squashing daisies and buttercups as I neared the edge of the stream, my toes curled over the bank…

  I paused. My feet stopped pulling me forward to the glint of silver water, bright and menacing. A hesitant sigh of relief escaped my lips, my heart rate slowed as my muscles twitched, burning from the interminable exercise of my possessed body. I could feel goose bumps on my skin, a trickle of blood down my leg from a shallow gash, and wetness on my face from tears I hadn’t realised I was crying. I felt the icy, moving water of the stream enclosing my foot, and I whimpered as my body struck into unwanted motion once again, pulling me into the stream.

  It’s just a dream, it’s just a nightmare, it’s not real. You’re back in your cabin, in your bed, sleeping. This isn’t real. I told myself that over and over, but it felt so real. So real and so terrifying. I was a puppet with someone else pulling my strings. I was trapped inside my own body while—

  “Tilly! Tilly, wake up!”

  My eyes flew open at the sound of someone shouting my name from a distance. I immediately jerked backwards because the person shouting my name wasn’t at a distance at all. He was right in front of me, gripping my upper arms almost bruisingly tight. Spencer’s frantic blue eyes met mine, and I made a strangled sound of shock. His hair was a tangled wreck of black waves and rust coloured leaves, and he was naked. My eyes were drawn inexplicably to his left hip, where the jagged, curling black lines of a strange tattoo stood starkly against his white skin.

  My mouth went bone dry, my heart did a funny little jig inside my chest, and my stomach curled up into a tiny, burning knot. I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

  I licked my lips and tried again, my voice coming out as a croaking whisper.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, casting my eyes over his shoulder because it was easier to think straight when I wasn’t looking at his face or, god forbid, his body. I wanted to close my eyes, so I could remember how to breathe, but I knew that would give me away. Instead, I stared fixedly at some blurred point beyond him, not really seeing whatever it was I was looking at.

  Spencer released my arms, one finger at a time, and cleared his throat as he stepped back. I still didn’t look at him, but I could feel him looking at me.

  “You were sleepwalking,” he said quietly.

  I glanced at him then, startled, and realised that the thing I’d been staring at over his shoulder was a tree. I was outside, in the middle of the woods. Behind me, I could hear the babble of the stream. My feet were wet, and I was shivering. Looking down, I saw I was wearing only my nightshirt. It came down to my knees, and I was wearing underwear, but I felt terribly exposed.

  Stupidly, I said, “I don’t sleepwalk.” As if that negated the fact that I was undeniably standing outside in the middle of the night in my pyjamas.

  Of course, Spencer gave me a look that indicated that he thought I was being intentionally dense, and that he found my denseness mildly amusing. He expressed that with just a slight lifting of his eyebrows and a twitch of his lips.

  “Well,” Spencer said in an even tone, “for the last four nights, you have been sleepwalking.” There was concern in the flatness of his lips.

  I really wished he’d put some clothes on. My focus was bad enough without the distraction of him being nude. Frowning, I shifted from foot to foot, feeling tiny stones and bits of leaves sticking between my toes. I hugged my arms around myself and shivered. Spencer smiled sympathetically, and I turned my attention to my dirty toes. “I thought you weren’t supposed to wake a sleepwalker,” I muttered.

  He shrugged. “I thought the shock of the water would wake you up, but you just kept walking.” He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it further. “The first night, I thought you were just wandering like you usually do, but you walked right past me, and I realised your eyes were closed. So…I’ve kind of been hanging out outside your cabin the last few nights, to follow you, make sure you didn’t go too far or get into trouble. Usually, you would stop when you got to the stream, turn around and go back, but tonight...” He trailed off, face grim.

  I nodded slowly. “Well, that explains the leaves in my bed, but I don’t understand this. I really don’t normally sleepwalk.” Something in my head clicked, and I gasped. “The witches. They must have been using a Sleep-stalking Spell on me to lure me out…” His words caught up to me and I blinked. “Wait a second. You’ve been hanging around my cabin at night?” I didn’t know how to feel about that. It was both creepy and kind of sweet, that he’d been looking out for me like that.

  Spencer ducked his head, and I thought I saw a touch of colour spread across his cheekbones.

  “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get lost or fall in a ditch or something,” he said quietly.

  I found it funny that he was standing there naked, but it was admitting that he’d been hanging around my cabin at night that had finally made him blush. It was the first time I’d ever seen him embarrassed, and I laughed. I almost didn’t recognise the sound of it, too low and soft, sinking into the shadows around me.

  As if he’d heard the difference in my laugh as well, Spencer tilted his head quizzically, an odd curve to his lips. His eyes glimmered with the reflection of the moonlight. Suddenly, the air around us felt charged with an unfamiliar energy. Spencer, with
strands of black hair brushing his cheekbones, took a half step forward, toward me, and my stomach dipped.

  “Matilda,” he said my name, my proper name.

  For the first time in my life, I didn’t hate it. I liked the way it sounded coming from his lips, almost a whisper, almost a purr. My heart jerked, and I was painfully aware of my nightshirt flapping gently against my bare legs, the breeze sneaking under the shirt and moving across my stomach.

  Spencer smiled, slowly, and it changed his whole face. He looked dark and seductive. He took another half step closer to me, and the spark of energy that touched my aura almost stung—but not quite. My breathing was shallow and uneven. Spencer’s eyes flashed gold and blue. His wolf was awake and pacing inside him. I could sense it just under his skin, wanting to come out. It made me afraid, but at the same time, it gave me a thrill. He was close enough to touch, but I didn’t dare move. He was a predator stalking his prey, and I was that prey.

  Then Spencer raised his hand, and I stood unflinching as he drew his fingertips across my collarbone, just above the round collar of my nightshirt. Goosebumps lifted in the wake of his touch. He dragged his fingers lightly across my shoulder and down my arm, and gripped my wrist, reeling me in toward him. There were only a few inches of space between us, and I could feel the heat of his body beating against mine, feel his warm breath stirring my hair, and smell his skin—all stormy nights and burning wood. His hair was coal black, blacker than the sky above us. His skin was pale as the moon, and his eyes glowed blue, pale blue with gold around the irises. I couldn’t look away from his eyes.

  He was so close, his wolf was hungry, and the energy in the space between us sizzled so hot that it was flooding me with heat on the inside, even though my skin was prickling with goose bumps from the breeze. I knew that if I let him kiss me, it wouldn’t end with just a kiss. The adrenaline was racing inside me, burning and reckless, and the night felt wild around me. His fingers on my wrist felt too warm and too intimate, his touch making things deep inside me tingle. There was so little between us, literally, only my nightshirt and underwear separated my body and his. I could feel the growling inside him, vibrating through my blood. I’d never felt desire like that, never known it could be so addictive, like a drug I wanted more of.