by Erica Woods
“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 sec
rets.
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.