by Erica Woods
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 tw
isted 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.