by Erica Woods
“There is no way to know.” I curled my fingers into a fist, hiding the loss of control my claws signaled. The girl was getting to me. “Do not assume anything, but be aware of the possibility. Let her initiate touching, and do not crowd her.”
Ruarc dropped his head into his hands and swore under his breath.
For a moment we were all silent, each of us trapped by whatever horror we suspected Hope had been subjected to.
The poor female.
It was Jason who collected himself first. “What now?”
They all looked to me, expectation heavy in their grave expressions. Their trust was an honor, their faith a gift, but some days the responsibility of our pack weighed so heavily on my shoulders I feared I would buckle under the pressure.
No . . . I would not let them down.
“Based on what Ruarc learned it seems Hope was kept by a group of men.” I waited for Ruarc’s angry growl to fade before continuing. “The only reason humans capture each other is for money or power. Hope could have been taken from a powerful or wealthy family to be used as leverage of some kind.” The possibility disgusted me, and I rolled my head around on my shoulders in an attempt at alleviating a modicum of the tension thrumming through me. “Her fear of recapture could be a consequence of her trauma. Still, I would not want to rule out the possibility that she was right about the imminent danger this group poses to her. They may very well be powerful in the human world.”
“Meaningless to us,” Ruarc muttered as he paced a tight circle around the rest of us.
“Ruarc is right,” Jason agreed. “Whoever they are, they can’t get to her here. We should help her focus on the future. Give her the tools she needs to cope, of course, but also show her that she can still have fun.”
Lucien’s cold voice cut in, “Is there a particular reason you consider the silly chit our responsibility?”
Ruarc lunged forward. His claws shot out and swiped Lucien across the chest. Before he could follow up on the attack, Lucien sidestepped while Jason got between them.
The small altercation was nothing new; with Ruarc’s hot temper and Lucien’s tendency to be blunt to the point of being unfeeling, their personalities often clashed. I had given up on civilizing them years ago.
“Lovely,” Lucien said, looking down at the blood seeping through his shirt. His lip curled.
The wound would heal in a few hours, but the shirt was ruined.
I sighed. “That is not how we conduct our meetings, Ruarc.” I may as well have been speaking to the wall for all the attention Ruarc paid me. Pushing him or using force to get my point across was pointless. Not to mention unpalatable. Being the leader of our small pack could be wearying. Isolating.
“I could ask you the same, Lucien,” Jason said. “Is there a particular reason you detest Hope?”
With Lucien there was always a reason. Coldly logical to the point of being unfeeling, he saw things we did not and had saved our lives more times than I could count.
But his animosity toward Hope . . .
Ignoring Jason’s question, he ran a hand over his bench and turned to me. “I would prefer to not take part in this little experiment. The duplicitous human is fooling you all, but if you insist on keeping her here I will have no part in it.” He paused, cool gaze landing on Ruarc before he moved toward the door. “I will take no pleasure in proving you wrong. I only hope when I find her secret it won't be too late for you again, brother.”
A flutter of anger crawled up my throat. It set my teeth on edge, tested my control.
The betrayal Lucien referred to was still fresh in the other male’s mind despite the centuries that had passed.
Bitter fury lit Ruarc’s eyes. “Leave then, you coward,” he snarled at Lucien’s retreating back.
Lucien stilled, his neck taut. The veins along his neck flushed against the pale skin, but he did not turn. With limbs that looked too stiff to move, he walked to the door and left us alone inside his sanctuary.
I felt a flicker of unease, of regret as the door closed behind him. True conflict weakened a pack. It pulled them apart, made them vulnerable. Had it been any other situation I would have gotten rid of the object of the conflict, but I could not stomach the thought of turning Hope away.
What kind of male would that make me? Make us?
Pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers, I took a deep breath and prayed to Gitchie Manitou for patience and wisdom. “Until Hope confides in us there is little we can do. For now we must stay alert and let our instincts guide us. Look for anything out of the ordinary; a scent that does not belong, a sound coming at the wrong time, a shadow where none should be. If there are people after Hope and they dare intrude on our territory to find her”—a violent ripple of rage traveled through us all—“we will catch them.”
“Think they’ll come here?” Ruarc asked around a mouthful of sharp teeth.
“I doubt it.” I walked over to the window, gazing up at our home—barely visible above the hedges, and nearly indistinguishable from the black night. “From what I know, human groups tend to cut their losses and run in these types of situations. That is, as long as the person who escaped does not have the means to destroy them.”
Jason looked doubtful. “After telling Ruarc that it’s too dangerous to go to the police, I would guess she doesn’t have any concrete evidence.”
“Or she believes any amount of evidence is insignificant in the face of the group’s power and reach.”
Ruarc growled. “Doesn’t matter.”
Tilting my head, I waited, and soon enough he bared his teeth, a thunderous rumble building in his chest.
Aggression pulsed up my spine in response, body thrumming to life with the power I always kept tightly leashed. Meeting his challenging glare head on, I pinned him with my gaze.
Silver eyes narrowed. If he’d been in his other form his ears would be flat against his head. He bared his teeth.
A roar in my ears. Claws speared through the tips of my fingers. I battled my own bloodlust, my need to make him submit. The mahír fáinn beat a drum of violence in my heart, a drum I fought with everything I was as I kept our eyes locked together.
“Calm, niijikiwenh,” I said, putting all my considerable willpower behind the words.
Ruarc faltered.
Weaving peace with my mind, I willed him to remember, to gain control of his volatile nature.
He took a step back, his eyes cleared. With a deep breath, he shook his head. “Brother,” he returned in kind, and I knew he was back.
We both looked away, forcing our instincts down. The significance behind Ruarc’s aggression was worrisome, the human girl in our midst disrupting the careful balance we’d so painstakingly built while keeping our inner selves protected.
Cannot dwell on that. Not yet.
“You need to relax, Ruarc,” Jason said with a grin and slapped Ruarc on the back. The deadly glare he got in return was thoroughly ignored.
Though I was glad to see some of the spirit return to Jason, it worried me how he seemed to push everything down, unwilling—or unable—to deal with the darker aspects of life. The tenebrous determination hiding behind his smile was another concern I would have to deal with.
Eventually.
“When you need to shed your skin, ensure you are out of sight from the house. No paws inside either, or the poor female may never recover.”
Ruarc grunted his assent.
Jason looked thoughtful, but gave a nod of agreement. “One of us should be with her if she leaves the house. Just in case.”
“I agree.” But it is not enough. “We need to find out what it is we are dealing with. Jason, you have a human contact in the information business, do you not?”
“I do. Should I give him a call?”
“Yes, see if he knows anything about a group who has recently lost an asset. But do not reveal anything about Hope.”
I headed for the door, sensing the others following close behind. Both Ruarc and
Jason wanted to help Hope, and Spirit aid me, I did too. Despite Lucien’s multiple warnings, I had made a decision that made me responsible for yet another life.
If this turns out to be a mistake I just put all their lives in danger, I thought as I silently made my way into the house.
Lucien, Jason, Ruarc. My responsibility. My brothers.
Not by blood, but by choice.
Could I risk that for a stranger? A small, helpless female with nightmares in her eyes?
I closed my eyes and saw her; thin, pale face, despair in each delicate line. In my mind, her eyes glowed like spun gold, beautiful and coveted, but with deep grooves gouged by instruments of horror. In the golden depths, I saw a well of pain so deep it beckoned me closer. Closer. But as I was about to lean in, drawn by the anguish I’d spotted there, my eyes flew open, my breath coming in harsh gasps.
She needs us.
I flexed my fingers.
The last time a woman needed you, your absence led to her death.
Pain struck hard and fast. The familiar taste of ash flooded my mouth. I remembered kneeling in the burnt out pyre while harsh whispers rang in my ears, my name a curse upon the lips of my tribe.
Askook.
Snake.
Crawling out of the dirt that day I had done the unforgivable. But then so had they. Bloodsoaked and with the scent of ash still burning in my gullet, I had left everything I had ever known behind, including my old name. Instead, I had taken the name Ash, so I would always remember.
The ferocity of man. The unfairness of the world. And the ease with which I killed.
The memories made me look to the sky and search for the same star that had guided me back when I rose from ashes and death, and survived my third Ascension. There was regret in me, and pain, but most of all there was fear.
I cannot lose my family again.
Sorrow fled as determination steeled my resolve. This was not the same. The past was dead. Gone. This time it would be different.
I would be different.
I would protect Hope, and I would protect my pack.
Or see the world burn as I died with them.
18
HOPE
Bleary eyed and fighting a losing battle against a yawn, I dragged my tired body out of bed. Surprisingly enough, the reason for my sleepless night wasn’t so much my terrifying nightmare as it was the way Ruarc had left last night.
Dejected.
Like he’d given up on me.
Chest aching, I’d made it all the way to the bathroom before the absence of pain in my leg reached my tired brain. Why wasn’t it hurting?
I closed the door and hurried over to the edge of the bathtub, taking a seat and peeling off the socks Ash had given me. The bandage underneath was no longer white; silverly swirls interlaced with a dark, almost black red covered the soft surface.
Curious, I pinched a flake of the dry liquid between two fingers and brought it to my nose.
Ugh!
My nose wrinkled at the scent of rot and blood.
Disgusting.
I undid the bandage, feeling my eyebrows climbing almost to my hairline as pale, unblemished skin was revealed. No, not unblemished but . . . I squinted and there it was; a very faint, very healed scar. It wrapped around my ankle, spiraled up my calf, and traveled back down around on the other side. It looked like a monster had swallowed half my leg before taking a bite, only to spit it out again.
My injury was . . . healed.
The relief that filled me was euphoric. I could move. Run. My leg would no longer be dragging behind like so much dead weight, and—
Healed. It had healed.
A wave of dizziness drove me forward. I tried to remain seated, but my feet slid and I followed, slumping forward until my forehead rested on the cool tiles.
I’d healed.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but it made no difference. Open or closed, the black spots that danced across my vision made it impossible to see.
This was it. Proof that I wasn’t human. Proof that something else, something sinister occupied the place inside where only I should be.
Shouldn’t have happened.
The metal that had stopped me from healing at my normal speed should have left my leg mangled for however long it took a human to heal. Never before had this happened. Never before had I healed this quickly after being injured by that special Hunter metal.
Struggling to breathe, I flopped onto my side and peered down at my calf. At the faded, definitely-not-new scar.
An insidious, cold fear spread from my heart; brought numbness and tingling to my extremities.
Left me shaking.
If this was discovered, if one of the guys saw this . . . I could not explain this away. Lucien would convince the others I was hiding something, something big, and they’d throw me out.
I curled up in a ball, hugged my knees to my chest, and tried to stop shivering.
Where would I go? I was no closer to finding my uncle. I had no money. The job I’d been given was in this house, with these men. And outside the walls of their home lurked the dangers I’d done my best to escape.
The Hunters.
This . . . this was the only place I’d felt safe since I was a child.
The cold from the bathroom tiles had soaked through my body, my panic and fear increasing their effect until even my lips felt numb. I had to get up. Had to pull myself together.
The guys couldn’t find out. They couldn’t, and so I would not let them. It was that simple.
And that difficult.
Stiff and cold, I peeled myself off the floor. My knees still shook, my hands trembled as I grabbed hold of the edge of the bathtub, but I got to my feet.
How would I hide this from them?
Get rid of the evidence.
That was easier said than done. After running the bandage under water and scrubbing it for all I was worth without success, I bent and rummaged through the different soaps under the sink. Not knowing which to use, I tried a little of each, rubbing the cloth together until my hands were raw and the bandage regained most of its old white color. Then I wrung it out as best I could and placed it over the sink so it could dry while I showered.
I’d undressed and was about to step into the shower when the sound of a door opening whipped through the silent bathroom.
The lock!
I spun around and tried to yell “Occupied,” but my vocal cords had frozen, my lungs had stopped working, and all I could do was gape as Jason’s broad shoulders pushed through the door.
He was looking over his shoulder, grinning. “You tell him I want a rematch,” he called out, and as he was turning I regained control of my body.
A high-pitched yelp tripped past my lips, and I lunged for the nearest towel.
Jason’s head snapped forward, eyes widening as they took in my half-naked state, the towel clutched at my chest. His jaw went slack and he stumbled back, banging his head against the door frame in his haste to leave.
“Sorry, sorry!” He slammed the door shut behind him. There was another thunk, something hard hitting wood. “I . . . I didn’t know you were in there.”
My heart hammered in my chest. My pulse raced. The towel I clung to flapped like it was caught in the breeze, but it was only my hands shaking.
“I—”
The sound of his voice plunged my mind into icy water, and I lunged to the door. The sound of the lock clicking in place allowed me to exhale, and I realized I’d been holding my breath.
“Love, I . . .” Jason hesitated. “I didn’t see anything—”
“Oh god!” I stepped back, held the towel away from my body, looked down. “Oh god . . .” I’d purposely avoided mirrors since I got here. Every time I caught a glimpse of my sunken cheeks, the dark circles under my eyes, the limp length of my hair, and the grotesque push of ribs against skin, I was reminded of my time at the compound. Dread, terror, shame . . . all emotions that would inevitably follow, but it wasn’t the only reaso
n I avoided mirrors.
I didn’t want to see how ugly I’d become.
And I damned well didn’t want any of them to see.
A soft rap at the door. “You have nothing to worry about, love. You had a towel. I—”
The rest of his words were drowned out by the pounding of my heart filling my ears. How vain could I possibly be? Why did I care if Jason had seen me almost . . . almost naked.
I touched the hollows of my cheeks.
What did it matter if the man with the charming smile, sun-kissed skin, and gorgeous amber eyes saw . . . all of this.
“I . . .” Whatever I had planned to say got stuck in my throat.
“You about to hop in the shower?”
“Y-yes,” I stuttered, grateful he’d broken the horrible silence.
“Breakfast will be ready in fifteen.” A short break, then, in a voice that was lower, a little hoarser than I was used to from him, “You okay?”
No. No, I was not okay. “Yes.”
“Good.” Another pause, this one taut. Strained. “I’ll . . . I’ll see you at breakfast.”
“O-okay.” Once he was gone, I brought my ugly, tainted body to the shower and tried to clear my mind. What had happened with Jason was not important. What was important was keeping my secrets and making sure I had an excuse ready the next time Ash wanted to change my bandage.
But how did one stop a male who’d proven to be both kind and honorable, when stopping him meant convincing him not to care?
JASON
Shit. Shit!
I stumbled down the stairs and took a seat on the first chair I saw.
Fuck me . . .
Her face when she’d realized I’d seen her . . . Pure devastation.
I closed my eyes, tried to banish the image I feared would be burnt into my mind for all eternity. Had a female ever looked so sad, so wounded, so agonizingly raw?
No. Never.
She had nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing. Yes, she was skinny—her towel had covered her private parts but before I’d turned, I’d caught a glimpse of a poking hip bone, a flash of a smooth, curving buttocks, and ribs that were too visible for my own peace of mind—but that lack of nourishment, her lack of flesh did not make her look weak or unappealing. Rather, it made me all the more aware of what she’d survived.