by Erica Woods
Who knew how long she’d been starved?
Years. It has to be years.
My teeth ground together as a wave of hot rage swept away pieces of my sanity. For years she’d been a captive, denied even her basic needs, and yet she had not broken. She had not succumbed to madness or cruelty or any of the thousands of other things that could have stolen her gentle spirit. No, Hope had survived. And while dying was easy, living was not.
She’s strong.
But the way she’d looked at me, the hopeless, agonized look when she’d understood I was seeing her . . .
I tugged at the short strands of my hair, buried my face in my hands. How could I fix this? How could I wipe away the shame, the humiliation that had colored her face a startling red?
Groaning, I got to my feet and began pacing. Normally, I left anything unpleasant in the past. If I pretended nothing had happened, maybe she’d do the same? If I found a way to distract her, to take her mind off what had happened, would she try to forget? Should I allow her to forget?
Or would it be better to talk about it? To assure her that despite her obvious lack of food, she didn’t look bad?
Don’t go there, I told myself sternly, but it did no good. Again my mind brought back exactly what I’d walked in on, what I’d seen. And it wasn’t unappealing. Far from it. There was something about her eyes that drew me in. Something about the sharp jut of a stubborn chin while her lips trembled with the attempt not to cry. The slender arch of her neck. The goodness of her soul. The body that housed it, that housed her would heal. It would fill out, flesh would cover bones, curves would appear and beg to be held, roundness would replace hollowness. And when it did . . .
My dick gave a jerk.
What the—
The fucker was hard.
Guilt robbed me of my breath. What the hell was I doing? Quickly, I brought to mind the anguish flashing over that pale face and breathed a sigh of relief when the asshole in my pants drained of blood.
“What did the chit do this time?” Lucien watched me from the doorway, the closest thing he got to a frown tugging on his lips.
“Nothing,” I muttered.
He arched a brow.
“Really.”
“If you say so.” He crossed the room to the kitchen, hesitated in the doorway. “Do not let her muddle your mind.”
Coming from Lucien, the show of concern might as well have been a declaration of brotherly love. He cared. We all knew he did, but sometimes I wished his caring would not result in the decimation of anyone he thought was a threat to his family. “She’s not.” I changed the subject, “What’s for breakfast?”
“Food.”
His dry humor pulled a reluctant grin from me. “Don’t try that on Ruarc.” He’d been in a terrible mood since he’d stormed out of Hope’s room last night. “He’s likely to rip you apart with his bare hands.”
“Then he would struggle with his breakfast.”
We walked into the kitchen, the male in question grumbling under his breath as he spotted us.
Lucien arched another brow and leaned casually against the fridge while I waited for him to explain his comment.
When it became clear he wouldn’t say anything more unless I asked, I rolled my eyes and gave him what he so obviously wanted. “Why would he struggle with his breakfast?”
“Bear hands are not suited to hold a knife and fork.”
Despite my bad mood, I couldn’t help but laugh.
Lucien didn’t smile, but his eyes warmed. He might not be the most affectionate brother in the world, but he didn’t like to see any of us unhappy.
“Good one.” I took the seat next to him, my thoughts returning to the human upstairs. If Lucien could distract me, why couldn’t I simply distract Hope? Before another image of her anguished expression could renew the hollow ache in my chest, I started plotting. Ignoring bad things might not make them go away, but it sure as hell could make them stop hurting. At least for a little while.
RUARC
The little female was late.
I growled down at my bacon. The pig was lucky it was dead or I would’ve torn it to pieces with my bare hands.
The anger bubbling in my veins mixed with an emotion I hadn’t felt in centuries. A cold, bitter, festering wound that made me question things better left alone. Things like why I was the way I was. Why I couldn’t go a day without growling, snapping and snarling at others. Why I couldn’t change the way females perceived me; like a dangerous, ugly brute who’d explode at the slightest provocation.
Why, why, why, I silently chanted as hot rage wound around me like hot mist. My sire’s voice ripped through my mind, cold and filled with contempt; Stop yer sniveling you worthless mongrel. If ye willnae do as ye’re told, ye can bloody well starve oot here. As a scrawny boy, barely seven summers, spending the dark, icy night on the moors all by myself had seemed a cruel and unusual punishment. Now I would have traded it for these feelings in a heartbeat.
“Has the food done something to offend you, Ruarc?” Lucien asked, a rare glimmer of humor in his otherwise cool eyes.
“Shut yer mouth.” The words, sounding so like my father’s, burned like hot coals on my tongue. The bloody accent had made an appearance more often than I was comfortable with lately, and I knew just who to blame.
The female in question padded into the kitchen, hesitating by the counter before taking a seat as far away from Jason as possible, and her part in my misery melted away.
I looked between them, taking in Jason’s chagrined expression and Hope’s blushing cheeks.
Just like that my fury returned tenfold. “What the bloody hell is going on?”
Hope’s startled brown eyes peeked up at me. Quickly, before those soulful eyes could drain any of my righteous anger, I shifted my glare to Jason instead. Whatever the fool pup had been up to, it couldn’t be good.
If he’d hurt her . . .
My chest vibrated with a vicious growl.
Instead of the apology I expected, Jason met my furious glare with a frown. “Nothing. Nothing is going on.”
Nothing better have been going on or I’d bloody well ruin that pretty face of his.
“Hope?” I growled, never taking my eyes off Jason.
“I—what do you mean?” Her voice shook, and from the corner of my eye I could see her face was still crimson.
A red haze descended over my eyes and my heart sped up, getting ready to fight. It took everything in me to stay where I was, to not throw myself over the table and pummel Jason into the ground.
The aggression heating my blood was nothing new. But the force of the emotion, the speed it took me over . . . That was. A little light maiming was never off the table if my brothers pissed me off enough, but to really hurt them?
Never.
My mouth prickled as the Change stole over me.
If the little female looked up she would see that something wasn’t right. That I wasn’t right.
“Ruarc,” Ash hissed, gesturing to my mouth.
Shit!
Without a word, I turned and stormed outside.
Letting my long, angry stride carry me while rage pounded at my skull, I continued until all I could see was trees. Furious at everyone; Jason for whatever he did to Hope, at Hope for what she made me feel, at Lucien for being a condescending bastard, at Ash for his enviable self-control, I cursed until I ran out of words while I tore off my clothes, pretending my destroyed shirt was Jason’s face.
As I dropped to all fours and let the Change take me, one question echoed in my mind, provoking a livid storm of emotions best left buried; why?
19
HOPE
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours I’d driven Ruarc away. The uncomfortable heat warming my face was nothing compared to the hole in my chest. I hated that I bothered Ruarc so much that he felt the need to leave his own kitchen.
House, I amended as the heavy front door slammed shut.
“Do not let it bot
her you, Hope,” Ash said. “Ruarc has always been quick to anger.”
“I seem to bring it out in him.”
Jason snorted. “We all do.” The glance he threw me, accompanied by the lines between his drawn brows and the tightness around his mouth, made me think he wasn’t any happier than I was about what had happened upstairs.
Probably feels bad about how horrible I look, I thought morosely.
He cleared his throat. “Do you know how to play poker?”
Ash groaned.
I stared at my food—anything to avoid looking into the face of the man who’d seen me half-naked and had run off so quickly he’d hit his head on the way. Poker . . . It sounded vaguely familiar. “The card game?”
“Yes, love, the card game.”
The endearment had me glancing up, surprised. Even more so when I saw his grin. Not the full, confident grin he normally wore, but close enough that the mortification flooding me when I looked at him receded a drop. If he could pretend it had never happened, so could I.
“No, I . . . I don’t.”
“Want to learn?”
“Uhm . . . okay,” I replied, not sure if spending more time with Jason was the right decision. “When?”
“How about after breakfast?”
“Sure.” I glanced at Ash, wondering at the pained expression on his face and the way he kept staring down at his food. Were they upset Jason hadn’t invited them along? Just as I was about to issue an invitation on Jason’s behalf—grudgingly admitting to myself it would be rude to exclude Lucien—a thought struck me. “But . . . Don’t you have work?” That was what normal people did, right, work?
“Not today, love,” he said with a smile that made me strangely wary.
Despite my suspicion about this new activity, I had to admit I preferred him like this; all smiles and humor. It made it easier to forget my own embarrassment.
“What—I mean . . . How can you take so much time off?” I blushed, worried they would find my question rude or intrusive, especially considering how few of their questions I actually answered.
“I believe the chit is wondering what we do for a living,” Lucien said, a sardonic twist to his firm lips. “Perhaps she is after our money.”
“What? No!” How could he think that? The guys were the reason I was alive, the reason my escape had lasted longer than just a few hours. I would never steal from them or do anything to hurt them.
Except keep dangerous secrets.
Ash shot Lucien a look I couldn’t decipher. His eyes were stern, mouth firm. “No one here believes that, Hope,” he said, ignoring Lucien’s polite sound of disagreement. “If there is anything you want to know about us, all you have to do is ask. We will not be offended.”
I doubted Lucien saw it the same way.
Jason, who had been scowling at Lucien, chimed in, voice softening as he studied my face. “You don’t have to be afraid here, love,” he said. “Worst that can happen is you don’t get an answer.”
Looking up through my lashes, I searched his deep brown—not amber?—eyes. He seemed to mean what he was saying. Ash, too. And while a quick peek out of the corner of my eyes showed a cold and indifferent Lucien—the only hint of emotion the minute tightening around his eyes—their openness tightened my throat. No one had answered my questions in a very long time.
The burning curiosity I felt when around them urged me to pepper them with questions, but instead, I settled on a simple one. “Jason mentioned before that you are business partners. What kind of business do you run?”
Ash glanced at Jason before replying, “We own and oversee a . . . territory.” His voice was careful. Neutral.
“Like you own land?” I asked in surprise before adding, “I thought you rehabilitated horses?”
Lucien’s cold gaze raked over me, but it was Jason who answered. “He does that as well, love. Ash oversees our territory, but a few years ago we hired people to take care of the various businesses we own, leaving us with more free time.” He paused, tilting his head while a playful grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “We have plenty of leisure time when we are not away on, erhm, business.”
Ash gave Jason a hard look, getting a sheepish smile in return.
Curious.
Lucien broke the strange tension before I could puzzle it out. “Jason spends most of his leisure time with his many women,” he said coldly while pinning me with his forest green gaze.
The words knocked the wind out of me, loosening a gasp lodged in my throat.
Lucien’s eyes narrowed at the sound, but he didn’t seem surprised. It rather seemed he was assessing my reactions. Cataloging the emotions he could read off my face. Somehow he’d known—or at least suspected—his words would hurt me, even though it had come as a complete shock to me when they did.
Jason jumped up, nearly knocking his chair over in the progress. The look he sent Lucien was filled with venom.
“My, I have shocked the girl.”
“What is wrong with you?” Jason spat.
“I believe my dear mother could have given you a long list on the matter. Unfortunately for you, she is dead.”
Another gasp. A lump that made swallowing difficult. What had happened in his life to make him so dispassionate about something so personal?
“Jason,” Ash said calmly when it looked like Jason was about to jump over the table and attack Lucien. “Why don’t you and Hope get started on your poker lesson a little earlier?”
The last thing I wanted right then was to be alone with Jason. Dark resentment radiated off him in waves, but the true reason I wanted to escape the constricting tension lay in the truth of my alarming emotions. Lucien’s comment had gotten to me, and I didn’t want Jason to know. Not when I didn’t understand it myself. Why should I care that Jason was a womanizer? Just because I was woefully inexperienced didn’t mean I should judge Jason for the . . . stuff he did with all his women.
Hope, you’re a grown ass woman, you can at least think the word ‘sex.’ The inner scolding didn’t work. Thinking about Jason in relation to . . . to sex was not a good idea.
“Fine,” Jason muttered, scowling at Lucien while helping me out of my seat—if you can call jerking the seat back with me still in it, then hauling me up by the arm and practically dragging me out the room ‘helping.’
At my low sound of pain, Jason dropped my arm so fast I stumbled. “I’m so sorry, love.” He stopped, steadying me before he looked away. Spitting out a low curse, he dragged a jerky hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. Lucien just . . .” He paused, glancing at the face I was trying desperately to keep devoid of feelings. Whatever he saw had steel appearing behind his eyes. He moved forward, raised his hand as if to touch me, though he dropped it before it made contact. “I’m sorry, love.”
“I-it’s okay.” Despite the slight shaking, my voice didn’t reveal any of my inner turmoil. The soreness in my arm was already gone, slight as it had been. The only reason I’d made any sound at all was because of the surprise of Jason’s rushed exit.
“It’s not okay. No man should treat you like that.” The pained look he gave me melted my resolve to stay aloof.
“Really, Jason, I’m fine,” I assured him and grabbed his hand, giving it a small squeeze.
He stared at our entwined fingers. “What Lucien said . . . I’m not like that. Not anymore.”
A cold, slithering feeling curled in my stomach. I stepped away, breaking our touch while trying to contain the ugly sensation. Why did this bother me so much? “You don’t have to explain,” I said, and I meant it. Whatever he’d done in the past, it really wasn’t any of my business. It wasn’t as though the thought of him with another woman made something pierce my chest.
No. Not at all.
The heat of Jason’s gaze roaming my face was disconcerting. I didn’t want to look at him, didn’t need to read the truth in his eyes. “Hope,” he began, sounding disheartened. The stillness of his body belied the ten
sion I heard when he spoke. “When I was younger . . .” He looked up, searching for words. His mouth opened and closed a few times. Whatever he wanted to say, it was difficult for him.
More than difficult, I thought as I watched his throat work without a sound.
Making an effort to make my voice sound as cheery as possible, I interrupted his silent struggle. “Teach me poker?” Before he could reply, I walked ahead of him to the living room. Unsure where he wanted me to sit, I waited for him as he slowly followed.
“Okay,” he said and cleared his throat. When he spoke again, a false cheerfulness infused each word. “So this is what you do . . .”
Learning poker turned out to be harder than I’d thought, but at least it was a good distraction. Jason proved a patient teacher, going over each rule as many times as I needed without once getting annoyed when I struggled to understand the strange game. With the cards between us on the couch we shared, we’d played the first few rounds with them facing up.
While I’d tucked my legs against my body, feeling like a graceless sack of potatoes, Jason managed to both look casual and appealing despite his big frame. One leg bent, foot resting against the opposite knee, he’d twisted his torso to face me, and whenever he wasn’t dealing he’d throw one arm across the back of the couch and lean forward, gaze locked on my face.
I had a feeling my cheeks had been a rosy red every since we sat down.
After my fourth loss in a row, Jason tossed his head and gave a dramatic sigh. “It’s hopeless,” he groaned. The back of his free hand found his forehead with dramatic flourish. “I’m afraid you will never be a decent poker player, love.”
I smiled at his antics, enjoying the self-satisfied smirk he flashed at me in response. It was almost as if he took pleasure in my amusement. I wondered if that’s why he was always so quick with a smile and a joke; to make others happy.