by Erica Woods
I deflated.
Making friends with Lucien seemed impossible. Every advance was rebuffed, his cold facade as impenetrable as the Hunters compound. “I’m sorry.” I inched backward and grasped at the window sill behind me. “I . . . I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Green eyes narrowed to thin slits. “Then why did you?”
That was a good question. Lucien threw me off balance. His icy stare and cold contempt upset the small fragments of frail equilibrium I clung to for dear life. He unsettled me. Shook me in a way that left my soul quivering in a dark corner, confused by the mix of emotions he stirred.
And being around someone who hated me without trying to fix it went against my nature. I wanted Lucien to like me. Or if not like me, to at least stop hating me.
Unable to answer his question without inviting more, I looked away. The brief silence that followed scraped against my mind like steel-tipped claws. It was almost a relief when he spoke.
Almost.
“Yet another mystery you refuse to shed light on.”
“T-there is no mystery,” I denied, hoping I sounded more convincing to his ears than I did mine.
“Oh, is there not? Then, pray tell, who are you? Where did you come from? How did you happen to run into our car?” He took a step closer, a threat in the predatory way he moved. “Who stole your freedom and abused you?” A brow arched. “Or was it all a lie to earn our sympathies and a place to stay while you work your petty magic?”
No. No!
My mouth went bone dry. Guilt prodded its sharp talons against my sides, and I shook my head in denial. Lucien was wrong. Wrong. I wasn’t out to hurt them. I didn’t want to lie.
But you will, and you are.
And Lucien knew. He somehow saw my deception, sensed the ugly, terrible secrets I kept buried under miles of self-loathing and pain. He knew and it was only a matter of time before he threw me out.
Fresh terror flooded my already crumbling defenses. It twisted, grew, sharpened with each panicked breath. Alone I’d get caught. They’d force me back.
Oh, god!
Visions of evil leers and flashing metal crowded my mind, of cutting and tearing and pain and blood. So much blood. Dave’s face swam before me, that same, ugly smirk twisting his lips, the one he always wore when he inflicted pain.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, when I thought I might be sick, the horror receded, only to be replaced by far more damaging memories. Memories of claws, and teeth, and my brother’s crumpled body.
I struggled to rein it in, to banish visions that never failed to bring me to my knees.
If Lucien ever found out about them, about the Hunters, they’d all be at risk. But if he knew of what came before, of the reason I had landed in that land of death and despair, if he knew what I was capable of . . .
He may just kill me.
And maybe that would be the right thing to do. Maybe he should kill me so he and his brothers could be safe.
But . . . I don’t want to die.
A small, burgeoning hope—hope that I’d survive, that I wouldn’t let my past repeat itself—slowed my racing heart. I shook my head and steeled my spine. “Just because I don’t want to talk a-about . . . about what h-happened to m-me . . .” My voice broke, and out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw Lucien stiffen. I licked my suddenly dry lips before continuing, voice weak and shaking. “It d-doesn’t mean I’m plotting against you. Ash and Jason and Ruarc . . . they’ve all been amazing, and if you all hadn’t let me stay here I don’t know what would have happened to me.”
If Lucien was bothered that he’d been left off my list, he didn’t show it. Expression inscrutable, he shifted to stare out the window.
While his attention was elsewhere and his profile was on display, I took full advantage. Studying him distracted me from the remnants of my fear, another emotion taking its place. Hair as black as the darkest night framed a hard face without any give. The cruel tilt to his hard mouth could have looked sensual if a smile ever graced those lips. Though they weren’t plump, they were full enough that they’d have looked enticing if they weren’t constantly either pressed tightly together or curled with distaste.
And his cheekbones . . . The sharpness complemented his face, but coupled with the hard glint in his cold, shuttered eyes, his unsmiling lips, and cutting jaw, it gave him a look of savage beauty; harsh, and deadly if crossed.
Occupied with thoughts of the beautiful man standing before me—why was he so cold and distant, why did he hate me so, and what would it be like to know the man underneath the frozen exterior?—I didn’t notice when he turned around and pierced me with that cold gaze of his. It wasn’t until his voice rose, fury tinging each, clipped word, that I realized I’d been staring blankly at him while he’d been speaking.
“ . . . get on with it.”
And I hadn’t heard a word. I blurted the first thing that came to mind, “What?”
No one had ever accused me of being eloquent.
“Your bandage,” he ground out through clenched teeth. The icy rage swirling in his startling, green eyes shocked me into stillness. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, confounded by how a beautiful nature-color like wintry-green could appear so cold and deadly. I kept staring up into his flashing eyes, confused as to why I was so captivated by the display of emotion.
And then it hit me. Display of emotion . . . When had the cold, contained man ever shown any emotion in my presence? Besides contempt or boredom, that was.
“W-what about it?” I whispered.
The icy glare Lucien aimed my way froze the breath in my lungs. “Are you deaf, wench?” he snapped. “I have come to change your bandage at Ash’s behest.” The task was obviously one he did not want. Though his eyes were still cold, something else lurked behind that icy wall, something hot and filled with the kind of anger that could not help but scorch anything it touched.
What would happen should that heated emotion ever break free of the ice encasing it?
With nostrils flaring and teeth clenching, Lucien was far removed from the cold, detached man that’d walked in here just a few minutes earlier. It was strange, in an abstract sort of way, when I realize I’d never seen him lose his temper, never seen him lose that icy calm that engulfed his whole exterior and made him seem oh-so-unapproachable. Even the other day when Ruarc had attacked him, Lucien had kept a clear head, not seeming the least bit bothered. If being attacked by an enraged giant didn’t phase him, what could I have possibly done in the last few minutes to illicit the heated rage I could sense in him now?
“I, uhm . . .” What did he ask, again?
The bandages . . . But—my leg! I blinked several times in rapid succession, clinging to the windowsill until my fingers grew numb. My brain refused to work; I couldn’t recall any of the excuses I’d practiced during my afternoon of solitude. “I . . . it’s just that . . .” My panic woke the monster inside me. It stretched, languidly testing the bonds of its captivity.
The fine hair on my arms rose, the back of my neck prickled.
The monster pushed upward.
My pulse raced, and when my terrified, wide-eyed stare landed on Lucien, the spark of his heated fury was gone. He was drawing deep breaths in through his nose, eyes narrowed to thin slits as they searched the room. The clenched hands at his sides curled. Then suddenly he jerked his head to the window. Brushing past me, nearly knocking me over with the force of his determination, he opened it and stuck his head outside.
Confused at his bizarre behavior, I was nonetheless grateful for the reprieve. I closed my eyes, concentrating once again on shackling my inner monster while taking deep, even breaths.
With as much focus as I could muster, I looked deep inside and confronted the wild creature fighting to get free. With each slash of its wicked claws, I felt my composure crack. The uneven beat of my heart filled my ears while all I could smell, all I could feel was the savage darkness that shared my body, its incredible thirst for freedom.
> Terrified of the bloody scene I risked waking up to should I lose control—worried for Lucien’s safety despite how often he intimidated me—I pictured dozens of metal shackles binding the shapeless monster, both wishing and dreading I could see its face, just once, so I could understand what I was dealing with.
The struggle to force it down, bound and helpless in its cage, felt like it went on for hours, but in reality it could only have taken a minute or two. Once I was confident the monster was no longer a threat, I allowed myself three deep, cleansing breaths—breaths my poor lungs screamed for—and slumped against the bed.
While Lucien was occupied, I racked my brain for a believable excuse as to why the injury he meant to make sure was healing properly had, in fact, healed on its own.
There was none. He couldn’t be allowed to see it.
“Uhm.”
My hesitant voice snapped the taut man around. His eyes were wild, his nostrils flared and his mouth was slightly open. After sightlessly staring for a second or two, he closed the window and faced me with an inscrutable expression. When I didn’t immediately speak, icy disdain filled his eyes as he raked his gaze over me from head to toe, leaving me shivering with a feeling of not being good enough.
A feeling I was deeply familiar with.
“Is someone out there?” I gave a shaky nod to the window.
When he took too long to reply, I wondered if one of my tormentors lurked outside, using the shadows to hide his presence and biding his time until everyone was asleep so he could snatch me from my newfound safety.
But then Lucien shook his head. “It was nothing. For a moment I thought that perhaps . . .” His eyes chilled. “But of course, that would have been impossible.”
He didn’t make any sense, but I was not dumb enough to press him further.
“Shall we get on with it?” The frigid politeness matched the chill in his eyes.
Uh-oh. There was only one thing I could say. “N-no?”
Both his eyebrows shot up as he pinned me under his haughty stare.
“I . . . I asked Ash earlier,” I improvised, hoping my voice didn’t sound as unsure as I felt. I hated lying. “And he changed it for me. I told him . . .” I paused, swallowed hard, “I told him I wasn’t comfortable with you doing it since you d-dislike me s-so much and—” The tightness squeezing my throat prevented me from continuing. Lucien was clearly disgusted with me, with my weakness and cowardice and probably a thousand other things.
“I see,” he said, and I was surprised. Surprised he hadn’t raised his voice, hadn’t called me names. If he felt even an ounce of the loathing emanating from him, his self control was enviable. “I will take my leave, then.” He turned stiffly, striding to the door. Once there, he paused. “If you want to be more than a stammering coward,” he began, turning halfway so his face was in stark profile, “I would suggest you find a backbone and learn to deal with your fears.”
He left.
LUCIEN
Infuriating, thankless female!
I slammed the door shut behind me and paced down the dimly lit corridor
Who does she think she is?
Instead of my usual, cold indifference, I was fuming. The hapless, defenseless human had rejected me. It didn’t matter that her wariness in my presence was of my own doing. It didn’t matter that she was the last female on earth I would want as my own with her fearful demeanor and shabby appearance. None of it mattered. Her rejection had stung when it ought to have bounced off my armor, crushed like a fly against a windshield.
The female twisted me up with laughable ease. It had to stop.
I yanked open the door to my quarters and continued my pacing. The room felt smaller, as though the walls had shrunk in my absence.
How dare she, a mere human, act as though I was beneath her? And after she’d been caught staring at my person with empty eyes, no doubt lusting for a night between my sheets.
A stab of desire at the picture she’d make naked in my bed caught me off guard. Fury beat a steady drum. I was not some baser beast ruled by my body, nor was I a mindless female willing to heedlessly share my body with every pretty face that happened by.
She’s not pretty.
True. The wench was no great beauty with her pale skin and too plump lips. Lips that would look delectable wrapped around—
I flexed my jaw, irritation banishing the image sheer will could not. The female was trouble. Already she’d caused tension between my brothers. Already her presence caused cracks to appear in the wall of ice I surrounded myself with.
Cursing soundly under my breath, I ceased my senseless pacing. There would be no peace inside these four walls, not this night. I left, taking care not to slam the door shut behind me. Such wasted display of emotion showed only weakness.
What was the female’s endgame? Why did lies spill from her mouth, lies not of sweetest honey to lure and befuddle, but lies of barbed wire wrapped in fear. Bitter lies. Lies filled with regret and shame.
I shook my head and headed downstairs. The cold night-air beckoned, the scent I’d caught earlier luring me closer. Another female in our territory would be improbable. And as the human upstairs had proven, their gender brought nothing but trouble.
Still, I could not quite quench the curiosity that stirred.
Curiosity. Another flaw in the wall of ice.
All emotions were dangerous. The way I’d lost my grip on my fury when the female had stared at me like so many others over the years proved that. Although . . .
I called her a coward, but how many have still been standing after being exposed to the cold fury seething in my soul?
It was true she had stammered her way through a rejection of my reluctant offer to help, yet she had not backed down. Bold chin lifted, she’d squared her shoulders and told me no. Albeit in a quivering voice.
Had any female ever told me no before? Surely not since I was a child and at the mercy of my dam and sire.
Yet this female did. The same female who looked upon Ruarc’s scarred visage, not with horror or disdain, but with sympathy and the same curiosity that drove me this very night.
Jealousy wound through my stomach, ugly and with a force I detested. On its heels nipped another emotion, one I was even more loath to feel; gratitude. I was . . . grateful that she had abstained from spurning Ruarc the same way most females did, and that fact had shards of icy fury bury under my skin, grating and cutting until the only emotion that remained was the cold anger I’d become so familiar with this last century.
Was this her plan? An insidious plot to burrow beneath our skin until she controlled us with the snap of her fragile, little fingers?
I had to admit, despite her lack of good looks, there was something about her that evoked thoughts better left forgotten. The dip of her pointy chin when she was uneasy, the elegant column of her slender neck, the hollow at the base of her throat a perfect spot for my lips to—
A wave of arctic fury chilled my blood.
Her plan was devious, but I would not be its victim.
Once outside I made my way to the ground below the human’s window. The mysterious scent, if it had ever been, was long gone. I thought back to that moment, the one preceding the female’s heavy stare as she cataloged each of my features as though looking at a horse she considered purchasing.
For the life of me I could not remember, could no longer recall the exact moment the strange, female scent made itself known.
Instead the memory was tainted by that of her stare.
My flesh rippled below the surface as I relived the creeping sensation of eyes upon my skin. I detested the hungry way females watched me. Their calculating inspection, their heated gaze, their slimy appreciation.
As though I was a piece of meat to be bartered for.
As though I could be bought, purchased with the right coin, the right information, the right touch . . .
Repellent.
It had been decades since my title last mattered, an eternity since wo
men wanted the sought-after position of Duchess. Yet they still looked at me the same way they had when I walked among the ton.
Curse the male who spawned me!
The spitting image of my beastly sire, we shared more than our looks; his horrific temper, his propensity for violence, his cruelty, they were all a part of me. And as they did him, females only saw me as a thing to be coveted, failing to see the monster behind the mask.
The struggle I faced each day, the struggle to bury the violent, monstrous part I’d inherited from that loathsome male was one I faced with pleasure.
Each time I curbed my temper, a part of me gloated, gleefully aware I’d succeeded where my sire always failed.
Each time I replaced the hot, burning feeling of rage with one of cold determination, I did what my sire never could.
The bastard may have tried his best to mold me into a perfect carbon-copy of himself, but he’d failed. His fists had failed, his teeth and claws had failed, and his poisonous words had failed.
And now, a scared, mousy female was threatening to destroy everything I’d worked for. Threatening to snatch away the victory I so triumphantly lorded over my dead father.
No.
I stared up at the empty window, remembered the face of the female I’d left inside. Curse her, I thought in the blackest of moods. Curse her and all the females like her.
They had taught me to wield my beauty the same way I wielded my sword; with deadly precision and a lethal ruthlessness inherent in all of my species. It had made me one of the greatest spies among our kind, allowed me to taste the hollow victory that came from winning meaningless wars and gaining power I discovered held no interest.
The cost was too high. The price I paid each and every time hungry stares scraped against my skin was too great. The loathing clutching me in its sharp claws when I shared my body with those selfish, greedy females who wanted nothing more than the mindless pleasure any warm, attractive body could provide was too acute.
So then why had I allowed myself to be lured in by wide, wounded eyes and a quiet courage presented in the dip of a pointed chin, the squaring of thin, almost skeletal shoulders?