by Erica Woods
“It doesn’t seem like a necessary skill.”
Jason gaped at me in mock surprise. “Never say that! I happened to put bread on the table by playing poker as a young lad.”
“Really?”
“Truly.” His wide grin showed off two rows of even white teeth. Laughter sparkled in his amber eyes, giving him the look of a carefree, young boy. Although no one could mistake the wide-shouldered, muscular creature before me as anything less than a man.
“How do you make a living from a card game,” I asked, suspicion narrowing my eyes.
“Gambling.” He shuffled the cards, quick hands moving with an ease I found strangely compelling. “You do know what gambling is?”
I racked my brain, mentally flipping through each movie I’d been allowed to watch back in the early days with the Hunters.
Nothing.
I stared down at my hands, pretending the cards he’d just dealt held all my attention. How much of my past did I reveal when I was unable to comprehend what everyone else took for granted.
“Hope . . .”
I looked up in time to see Jason’s smile dim. A soft glow shimmered behind his eyes, tantalizing and impossible in the way the colored deepened, changed, and then blazed like amber lit from within.
Drawn to that flickering, fragile light, I leaned closer, almost not hearing his next words.
“I made my money by betting on the right outcome in various games and events. Beating others in poker can also be lucrative. I did some hustling too, but don’t tell Ash.” A playful wink. “He likes to pretend I have always done things on the up and up. He kind of had to when he let me run the pack casino.”
I blinked. In one mouthful he’d given me so much information I didn’t know how to break it down. Without prodding about my lack of knowledge, he’d told me what gambling was—betting money and winning—that hustling was frowned upon, and that the guys owned a casino.
A rush of tender feelings coursed through me at his thoughtfulness, the way he volunteered information even though I was the polar opposite. Somehow, he didn’t hold it against me, choosing instead to include me in their lives.
His openness enticed me to ask questions. Questions I’d never have asked if I remained at the Compound where speaking out of turn was met with swift reprisal. “What is a pack casino?”
Jason stilled, and that old fear came rushing back, freezing my breath and turning my insides to water. But then he blinked and made a made a dismissive hand gesture. “Oh, nothing, love, it’s just a British turn of phrase. Americans just say ‘casino.’”
I slumped back against the soft couch and breathed a sigh of relief.
We played a few more rounds—two of which I won, to my eternal surprise—and then Jason rose, his powerful legs encased in tight, dark jeans that hung low on his hips. “Up with you, love,” he said, pulling me so close the heat from his body enveloped me. An electric current danced across my skin, drawing me closer, making my breath speed up in an unfamiliar reaction. Scary, yet . . . enticing.
A soft gasp escaped my parted lips as he cupped the back of my head, bending his neck and lowering his face until mere inches separated our mouths.
My gaze flew across his face, trying to understand what was happening, what he was thinking. A lazy grin played at his lips, his eyes held an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher; something deeper than the moment called for, something heated and terrifying and—
He leaned closer and my breath caught.
“It’s my turn to do the shopping.” The murmured words made no sense to my foggy mind. All I could think about was his heat, the way his minty breath mingled with a delicious aftershave and the scent of stormy rain—a heady concoction that was pure Jason. The scent, his scent, filled my senses. My breath sped up, my chest heaved. The closer he got the more my head spun, and when dizziness hit, it was the good kind, the kind you wished could go on forever.
Jason stroked a finger across my cheek. “Come with me.”
The spell broke as bands of cold dread tightened around my chest.
Leave the house? Leave the safety of this temporary shelter? I squeezed my eyes shut. Everything itched. Itched in a deep, throbbing, unrelenting manner that left me feeling as though my skin would melt off my bones. Leave? Go outside? Where the Hunters—
I stumbled back, almost falling headfirst into the couch behind us. “N-no!”
Jason followed, putting a hand on my shoulder to stabilize me. I shrugged it off, confused at my body’s reaction, at the alien sensations coursing through it. But when I looked up, it was straight into glowing, amber eyes.
I shook my head, haunted by eyes unlike any I’d ever seen.
No, that’s not right. Ruarc’s eyes also seemed to glow. A time or two, having glimpsed them out of the corner of my eye, I’d thought they could have been pale gray, but whenever our eyes met they shone like liquid silver.
Questions raced through my mind, chased by confusion and my deep fear of leaving the bubble of safety that their home had become. Before I could stammer my way through an excuse as to why I couldn’t go with him, Jason’s hand gently squeezed my shoulder.
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” He studied me, brows drawn together over serious eyes. “I thought it would be nice for you to pick out some things for yourself, but if you write a list I will make sure I get you whatever you need.”
Relief made my voice wobble, “Oh.” I swallowed a couple of times, but no words came. What could I say to someone who’d just proved he was thinking about me when he and his brothers were the only ones who had done so in a very, very long time?
The itchy feeling vanished. Dread became mist and drifted away. Warmth expanded in my chest. Having someone looking after me felt . . .
Wonderful.
He stroked a finger across my brow, the touch so gentle I barely felt it. I swallowed again, peeked up at him. Our eyes met, his warm and concerned, but devoid of the luminous shimmer that had so entranced me before.
Had I imagined the way he’d looked at me earlier? The way he’d made me feel with his touch, his closeness . . .
Did it mean anything?
Or am I reading too much into it? Having no experience with men—except for the Hunters who I was loath to refer to as men—it was impossible for me to know.
Shifting from foot to foot, uncomfortable and filled with the strangest feeling of heat, it suddenly dawned on me that Jason was waiting for a reply.
His lazy half grin made me frown. Was he laughing at me? I glowered back, surprised when his eyes glinted and he winked.
He winked . . .
Is he waiting for a list or something else?
Either way, I was lost. My brain was out of order; I couldn’t think of a single thing I needed from the store. What would normal people ask for?
Pushing my mind back in time, I tried to think what I’d liked as a child. There had been these round, strawberry-cream flavored drops, but I had no clue what they were called. As for food, so far I had liked everything the guys put on the table and I doubted that would change.
“Don’t be shy, love.” Jason’s smile widened. “Anything you want. Anything . . .” There was something in his voice. Something a little dark, a little wicked.
Heat rushed through me and gathered low in my belly.
Jason took another step forward, his right hand gliding over my side until his fingers spread across my lower back. With a small push I was pressed tightly against his muscled frame. I squirmed, my small breasts flattened against the steely abs of his upper abdomen, my cheek resting against his broad, sculpted chest. Something big and hard pushed uncomfortably against my belly, disappearing when he tilted his hips away. Something inside me clenched painfully at the loss.
What is happening to me?
My thoughts raced, the unbearable heat in my stomach unfurled and spread to my chest, my thighs. Even my fingertips tingled. A seed of fear took root deep in my heart, warning me I was in dangerous territor
y.
Jason’s hot breath tickled my neck and blew all thoughts away, like a light breeze lulling a flame to sleep. “What do you want, love?” he murmured against my ear.
I wonder how many women he’s said that to?
My throat constricted. What was I doing? Lucien had just revealed Jason’s love of women—multiple women—something Jason himself had all but confirmed. In the past or not, I’d never measure up. And now . . . after having seen me half naked . . . now he knew. He had to know. I was . . . damaged. Beyond damaged, I was broken. And Jason was . . . Jason was . . .
Light. There was no other way to describe it, Jason was sunny and exciting and warm and kind. He was the breeze that tickled your neck in the spring, the bursting rays of morning-light in the summer. He was much more than I could ever deserve.
They all were. They’d saved my life, brought me into their home, fed me, clothed me, kept me safe. And what had I done in return?
“N-nothing. I don’t need a-anything from the store.” It took all my strength to push away from him, my body immediately mourning the absence of his warmth, the masculine strength of his body.
I could feel the reluctance in his hand as it left my back and dropped to his side. At his harsh exhale I glanced up, taking in his inviting lips before meeting his gaze. Once I did, I stumbled back. The burning heat in his amber eyes made them light up with a brilliant radiance.
It was beautiful and terrifying.
And completely inhuman.
“Jason,” I choked out, unable to tear my eyes away from the exquisite brightness. At the sound of his name, Jason squeezed his eyes shut and violently shook his head. A low hiss rushed past taut lips that moments ago had seemed soft and supple.
Alarmed, I reached out to touch the wrist above his fisted hand. “A-are you okay?”
Before my fingers could make contact, he jerked back. “I’m fine,” he snapped, then took a deep breath and continued in a calmer voice. “I’m good, love.” The tension on his face, the tightness next to his eyes, told a different story. He grinned, but instead of warm humor, his eyes were cold and very unlike the Jason I had come to know. “Guess I know what you don’t want.”
Not giving me time to reply, he picked up the leather jacket slung across the back of the couch, and marched out the door, leaving me staring blankly after him.
Stomach in knots, chest tight and uncomfortable, I swallowed several times. The expression on his face as he’d left had been dark, a wry twist to his mouth that was almost self-deprecating.
And what he’d said . . .
Guess I know what you don’t want.
Indecision paralyzed me; I didn’t know what to do or what to think. Had we shared a moment? Had it all been in my head?
That would probably be for the best.
I could only bring danger into their lives. Danger and misery and secrets I could never, ever reveal. And what about Ruarc? And Ash? And the strange feelings they’d both invoked in me on separate occasions?
It was wrong. I was wrong.
Licking my dry lips, I took a wobbling step toward the stairs. It didn’t look like Jason was going to be back anytime soon, and if he was I should probably make myself scarce. The thought of seeing him right then . . .
My insides took a nosedive.
There was no point standing around here. With the fragile way I was feeling, seeking solitude in my room for a few hours might be best. Maybe once I calmed down I could think straight and this whole thing would all make sense.
I trudged up the stairs, down the dark corridor, and walked into my barren room. It was spacious, but lacking any personal touches or decorations to give a warm, homey feeling. Even the bed looked uninviting to me at that moment, with its too-white sheets and its perfectly aligned pillows.
Even so, I flopped down onto the soft mattress and heaved another heavy sigh. In that moment, my insides matched the room; both of us barren and utterly hollow.
20
HOPE
I’ve missed so much, I thought sadly as I stared out at the beautiful scene playing out right outside my bedroom window. The waxing moon brought life to the dark landscape, its soft light a caress that tempered the night and illuminated what would otherwise be left in shadow.
Although it was not yet fully night, the moon greeted the world like a long lost lover, a little too eager and much too happy to see the day’s reluctant farewell.
Though I’d managed to avoid Jason the rest of the day it had come at a price. Faking a headache had allowed me to stay alone in my room, a tray of food brought up by a much too conscientious Ash while guilt throbbed at my temples and summoned a faint echo of the headache I’d never had.
After years spent in solitude, being alone was the last thing I wanted, but at the same time I felt the draw of my empty room like I had the cell that represented safety when the Hunters were in the mood to play.
Shivering, I banished the ugly thoughts and pressed my nose closer to the cool glass. A deer stood in the middle of the garden. Bathed in the faint light cast off the silvery moon, it looked elegant and ethereal.
Beautiful.
Crickets sang and leaves rustled, and the deer munched on a plant right below my window. I smiled, felt the peace of the moment settle around me like a well-loved blanket. Back at the Hunter compound the nights had seemed impossibly long, the silence deafening and only interrupted when a particularly evil Hunter decided to play outside the rules.
Then the screams would break up the monotonous infinity while the captives cowered and wished for silence once more.
Movement to the right drew my gaze, and my smile widened at the sight. Another deer flicked its ears, one foot lifted as it pondered its next move. Would it dare dart across the yard, lit as it was by the soft glow coming from the house, or would it disappear from view as its elegant legs carried it back into the thick bushes surrounding the guys’ garden?
A sharp knock on the door made me draw in a quick breath, and both deer leapt away.
I sighed and turned away from my gawking. Nature would still be there tomorrow, and hopefully so would I.
“Who is it?” I called out, glad my voice didn’t shake and give away my fear. Even after three days of being safely tucked away in the guys’ home, I still couldn’t bring myself to open the door without knowing who was on the other side.
A beat of silence followed my inquiry, then a cool, distinct voice, “Lucien.”
Lucien? Why on earth was he here?
I hurried to the door, cursing the overlarge clothes I’d borrowed from my saviors as I nearly stumbled over the hem of my sweatpants. Letting the door open a tiny crack, I peered outside. “Yes?”
An arrogantly arched brow met my inquiry. “Were you sleeping?” His gaze raked over me, took in the roomy sweats and baggy shirt, and his nostrils flared. For a second I thought I saw something igniting in those arctic eyes, but when I did a double take his expression was closed, face set in an icy mask of disdain.
“No.”
He, of course, was dressed to perfection. The stark white dress-shirt he wore so well clung to his broad chest and lean torso. Black slacks hung off his trim hips.
He was beautiful and intimidating, and altogether too mean for my liking.
“May I come in?” His tone was polite enough, but the way he looked at me—like I was beneath him in some way—made me wish I could say no.
“S-sure.” I stepped back, not stopping until I was standing beneath the large window on the opposite wall and wishing I was out in the garden with the deer.
Lucien entered and, to my relief, left the door open behind him. Again, his perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose—this time with a hint of amusement when he saw how far away I was standing. “You do know a few feet between us would not stop me if I intended you harm?” With the room shrouded in darkness, the moon bouncing off the wall and lending shadows a place to play, his amusement took on a sinister twist.
I tensed and my mouth went dry. If he was
trying to intimidate me, he had succeeded.
“Are you afraid?”
“N-no.”
“Liar.”
There was something about Lucien that instinctively made me think he was dangerous. The pure silk of his voice—cold but smooth, almost lethal—and the glacier stare he wielded with such deadly precision was more than daunting. And yet . . .
“I’m n-not.”
The way he stared out at the world, forest green orbs resembling the sharpest icicles, made me think he’d seen or experienced more pain than he let on.
Despite my fear of him, another feeling stirred . . .
Compassion.
Don’t be stupid, Hope. For all you know there is no great tragedy in his past and he was just born mean.
Although I doubted the other guys would consider someone who was ‘just mean’ their family. There had to be more to him than that.
Lucien sighed, looking as bored as a marble statue could possibly look without changing his dispassionate expression. “This is getting tedious,” he said dryly. “You must know I’m not a rabid animal waiting to pounce on you as soon as we’re alone?” His mouth twisted with distaste. “Despite what you may think, I am not ruled by emotions and my”—his nostrils flared—“distaste for you is benign. At least until I either gather proof of your deceit or you should attempt to hurt my brothers.”
A rock formed in my stomach at his thinly veiled warning. I wanted to ask him why he disliked me so much, no, why he hated me so much—distaste was definitely too mild of a word for the derision dripping from every word he uttered in my presence—but I was too intimidated.
“I would never do anything to hurt your . . . your brothers.” I took a deep breath and attempted a smile. No doubt it appeared as wobbly and stilted as I was feeling. “Jason said you all chose each other, that you chose to be a family.” A sentiment I found vastly beautiful. “It must have been nice to meet people you just click with. People you can trust unequivocally.”
Lucien bristled at my wistfulness. “That is none of your business.”