by Erica Woods
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 ab
out 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?