by Erica Woods
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.