by Erica Woods
So why did I feel like I’d just been punched in the gut?
“At least . . . at least not yet,” I whispered, knowing full well I could never tell him—although part of me wanted to.
The muscles along his shoulders flexed, as though he was struggling to hold himself. “Soon.”
“I . . . I have questions too . . .” I trailed off, hesitant to ask him anything he wasn’t prepared to answer.
But Ruarc didn’t seem upset at my timid half-request. Instead, he seemed to relax.
“Course.” He gently guided me down on my side and slid down the bed. When he turned his expectant gaze on me, he was lying on his back, one hand propped behind his head and the other wrapped around my shoulder. My cheek rested on his wide chest and my front was plastered to his side. If I so much as wriggled, a possessive palm would push against my lower back, making sure our bodies stayed glued together.
I felt . . . safe.
Ruarc was hard all over. Like steel made flesh. And he was warm. So warm I thought he could have melted even the coldest of nightmares. And when he tilted my face up, looked down at me in that way that almost seemed angry but was really just intensely Ruarc, I knew what I wanted to ask.
“What happened?” Using a featherlight touch, I touched his scar.
As soon as I felt the raised edge of his old injury, he jerked back and grabbed my hand. His eyes shuttered, expression closing until all that remained was a blank look hiding depths of impenetrable pain.
“Nothing.” The tone was so forbidding I didn’t dare push.
Hurt, I pulled my hand out of his hold and looked away. I understood keeping secrets; there were plenty of things I was unable to tell him. But I’d shared more than I was comfortable with because he’d asked. The fact that he was unwilling to do the same made my insides twist with a cold, hopeless feeling.
“Okay.”
The chest I’d rested so comfortably against a few minutes ago suddenly felt foreign. When Ruarc sighed, my stiff neck moved with the rise and fall of his breath, but only because his grip on me prevented me from moving away.
“Sorry.” The gruff exhalation was barely a word, more of a dark sound of regret.
“It’s fine,” I muttered.
“No.” He used a finger under my chin to force my gaze back up. “I’m no good at this.”
A whip cracked past my ribs. Was he already tired of me? “At what?”
“This.” He gestured between us, adding another stripe to my flayed heart. “Talking.”
Oh!
I gave him a small, relieved smile. “I’m not either.”
Ruarc rolled his eyes. “Females are always good at talking.”
“Known many?” Although I made an effort to keep my voice light, a trace of uncertainty colored the question.
He gave me a look. A ‘don’t-be-daft’ kind of look, and traced my lips with one calloused finger. “Not for centuries.”
Anxiety slipped away, replaced by a warm glow. Centuries must mean it had been so long he could barely remember.
A very good answer.
Drawing invisible patterns on the black shirt covering his chest, I dared one last question. “Will you . . . will you tell me one day?”
He stilled. Then a gruff, “Yes. Soon.” The hand resting on my shoulder flexed. “There are . . . things you must know for the story to make sense.”
His foreboding words sent tendrils of unease down my spine, but I crushed them the same way I crushed the crippling insecurity I felt when I thought too long about how a man like Ruarc could want a woman like me. And how I was going to face the others when they heard about our . . . relationship. And how I must have lost my damned mind to enter a relationship when I knew it was only a matter of weeks before I had to leave.
Leave . . . I still have to leave.
My stomach dropped to my feet. Nothing had changed. I still couldn’t stay, only now when I left I’d have a knife twisting my belly and another piercing my heart.
“Cold?” Ruarc rubbed at the pebbled flesh on my arms, a scowl twisting his lips. Before I could reply, he pulled the blanket over us both and nuzzled the top of my head. “Hungry?”
I shook my head, mouth too dry to speak.
“Should eat. It’s past dinner.”
“What . . . what about the others?” Sitting across the table from Tim was the last thing I wanted.
“They’ll eat without us.”
“But you always eat together.”
“Not today,” Ruarc growled. He stroked a hand down my side, resting it in the dip of my hip. “I’ll be right back.”
He left, and when he returned it was with leftovers from the day before—a delicious pie with the most tender crust—a laptop, and several DVDs.
“Borrowed it from Jason,” he said in a gruff voice. “Thought we could watch something.”
Like a . . . a date? Suddenly my stomach was alive with somersaulting butterflies.
I have a boyfriend. I actually have a boyfriend.
I forgot all my worries, all the ugly thoughts and reasons we shouldn’t be together, and allowed Ruarc to sweep me up in this beautiful—temporary—fantasy.
“That’d be great.” I beamed up at him and scooted back.
We ended up watching two comedies—though Ruarc never let go enough to laugh, a lazy sort of heat filled his gaze every time I did, and he watched me more than he watched the movie—and one thriller.
The fear I expected never came. Not when a woman was chased through the streets by men with guns, and not when her enemies closed in and it looked like all was lost. Instead, I dozed off, safe with Ruarc wrapped around my back, his bicep under my head, his bristled cheek rubbing across my hair whenever he brushed his lips across my temple. And halfway through the movie I was sound asleep.
I didn’t wake up when Ruarc extracted himself from our tangled position. I didn’t wake up when he walked out on silent feet. I didn’t wake up when the door closed and I was left alone.
I didn’t wake up, but I was vaguely aware. And when he left, the nightmare he’d kept at bay with his presence hunted me down and swallowed me whole.
34
HOPE
Lily!
Someone was screaming.
The scent of blood. Of salt. The sound of harsh, broken sobs. A man.
And above me, an endless white.
Lily!
The world melted at the corners and dragged me down.
Down. Down. Down.
All around me rose cold, cement walls. Grey. Forbidding. Streaked with old splashes of a red so dark it appeared black.
And across the narrow corridor that separated us, a startling splash of blood-red hair. The color—and the wild, springy curls—concealed the wound splitting open his skull.
“Matthew . . .” My voice was so weak the whisper was caught by the greedy nothingness of this place.
“You did this.” A short, plump figure slapped his hand against my cell-door. “He had to die because of you.”
No!
I doubled over, the blooming pain in my stomach more than regret. More than despair. A hole the size of my fist had opened up beneath my palm, the wound gushing blood so fast the floor soon flooded.
I was drowning. Drowning in blood.
“Are you ready?” Jan looked over the other Hunter’s shoulder. A tattoo flashed. Bones and flowers.
“No. No!”
The door opened. Jan stepped inside. His lips smiled but nothing else on his face moved. “We have an appointment.”
The floor disappeared and I fell.
Shredding pain. Agony. Nerve-endings burned.
Then the hole in my stomach disappeared. A line was cut from my throat to my pelvis. My ribs were cracked. Spread open. Air touched my heart.
“Matthew?” His name slipped past torn lips. Under my back, a cold, hard table. Straps across my thighs, feet, shoulders, neck, arms, wrists.
“Dead,” Jan said. He reached inside, palmed my heart.
Squeezed.
“They’re all dead.”
I scrambled out of bed, tripping over my own feet and lunging back up. My chest heaved. My breath was short and choppy. I couldn’t see, couldn’t sweep the room for hidden monsters.
It was too dark.
I stumbled over to the window, yanked the flimsy curtain apart, pressed my back against the cool surface. The faint glow from the moon hidden behind gloomy clouds gave me just enough light to see that I was alone.
There were no Hunters to torture me, no Matthew dying in a pool of his own blood, and no bars to keep me locked in with the monsters.
I was alone.
The erratic beating of my heart slowed from a gallop to a trot. I forced my fingers to uncurl and took a deep breath.
I was still on edge.
Even after my breathing slowed, even after the nightmare fractured into wisps of transparent memory, I couldn’t shake my unease. My skin felt sensitive, like every slight disturbance in the air were shards of cutting glass. Like the shirt I wore was made of tiny needles.
Shivers danced like falling ice over my body.
I was freezing.
I tiptoed across the cold floor to the hoodie hanging over the lone dresser in the corner. As soon as I dragged it over my head, the wild scent of forest and pine cones enveloped me.
Ruarc.
I buried my face in the neckline and took a deep breath, letting his scent wash over me. He’d replaced the hoodie I’d borrowed from Ash with one of his own. One steeped in the beautifully wild scent that was Ruarc.
A trembling smile stole over my lips only to be wiped away by another shudder.
Judging by the blackness outside, it was the middle of the night. I should have gone back to sleep but . . .
To my eyes, the bed rose from the floor like a craggy mountain. Hard. Terrifying. Threatening to throw me off and land me in the midst of another nightmare.
Don’t want to sleep.
I turned and rushed to the door. Maybe some food would settle my nerves.
Eerie silence followed me all the way downstairs. The house was normally teeming with life, male voices rising and falling, the sound of a TV playing or food being cooked or doors opening and closing. This silence, this horrible, deafening silence was made sinister by the absence of all the noise I’d grown used to.
It’s night, you coward. They’re probably just sleeping.
I made my way to the kitchen. Once there, my bare feet slapped against the tiled floor like mini explosions. Cringing, I went up on the balls of my feet and tried to be quiet.
A groan. Long and drawn out.
I jumped, dropped the knife I’d just picked up and spun around.
But there was no one there.
Another groan, and my shoulders drooped.
It’s just the house. The house’s settling.
Movements rushed and choppy, I spread peanut butter on a piece of bread and attempted to ignore the way my skin crawled.
Stupid. You’re being stupid, Hope, I scolded myself. There’s nothing to be scared of, the guys are right upstairs and you’re safe. The Hunters don’t know where you are or they’d have stormed the place by now.
It was nearly impossible to turn my back to the door, to put everything away without throwing looks over my shoulder, jumping at every shadow, every whisper of wind outside. Fear had taken root and was not letting go.
Plate with food in hand, I hurried out of the kitchen and toward the stairs. The creak of a door opening upstairs had me freeze with one foot in the air.
Who was awake at this time?
I put my foot down on the floor, avoiding the first step and backing up.
It could be Lucien. Or one of the guests. I’d forgotten to ask where they were sleeping.
Fighting against the overwhelming urge to seek shelter in my room, I turned and rushed through the living room, into the kitchen, and out the back-door.
Fresh air slapped me in the face and brought me to a halt. The night sky was nearly black, with a few heavy, gray clouds hovering on the horizon and blocking most of the faint moonlight.
My skin prickled, but I felt better being outside. There was so much land sprawled out in front of me, so much open space. I could run here. Run and run and run and no one would be able to catch me.
Curling up on the swing, I started eating and let my mind wander. My foot pushed at the ground, and my seat swayed. Soundless at first, then with a sudden, horrible screech of metal.
I jumped, nearly falling off the swing.
An owl hooted in the distance.
The sudden lump in my throat made swallowing impossible. I rubbed a hand over my burning eyes, wishing for courage, for the ability to forget.
For no more nightmares.
My heart was heavy when I finally sat back down, my mouth dry. I made the swing move again, prepared for the ugly sound this time, and gritted my teeth when the urge to jump still manifested.
I rubbed a hand over my tight chest and picked up my plate.
The food tasted as gray as the stormy clouds overhead.
Giving up on eating, I tilted my head all the way back, watched the rapidly darkening clouds rolling across the sky, felt the sharp wind shooting past me. Nature was as beautiful as it was daunting. I would never get tired of it. Never forget what a privileged—
“Hello, human.”
I didn’t scream. I had no air in my lungs for that. Instead, my head snapped toward the voice while my feet tried to carry my body away from this new threat.
The result was me toppling over before quickly righting myself and scooting as far back on the swing as I could go.
“T-Tim,” I choked out. My mouth felt so dry the name hurt coming out. “W-what—where are the others?”
My eyes swept past him, but there was no one there. He’d come out here alone.
“Out.” He stepped away from the door leading into the kitchen and prowled closer. His eyes were wild and unfocused and the bruises that had decorated his face earlier were gone.
How . . . how’s that possible?
“And you’re out here all alone . . .” He dragged out the last word while putting his hand on the swing. I looked up—unable to breathe—as it glided over the top frame. The wood groaned under the force of his grip, and when he slapped his other hand to the frame, moving to stand over me, he tilted his head down and watched me from eyes that glittered. “Imagine that.”
Every fiber of my being was screaming at me to run to get away to flee the predator stalking me. But my mind refused to believe I was in any real danger.
The guys wouldn’t let anyone hurt me.
Ruarc wouldn’t let anyone hurt me.
And what could Tim do? What would he dare do after the beating he’d already taken?
No, my terror was cowardice, emotional scars that would fade with time.
I was safe.
I was safe.
I was safe.
And still I shrank back as far as I could go, pressing my back against hard wood, breathing shallow and uneven. “W-what do y-you want?”
The sides of his lips pulled up into a grotesque smile that revealed rows of sharp teeth. Unnaturally sharp teeth. Deadly teeth.
Not human, my mind whispered.
“Isn’t it obvious?” His eyes glowed a pale yellow. They fixated on my chest and stole the air from my lungs. “I want to see what all the fuss is about.”
My heart raced. Not with forceful beats but with shallow, stumbling little claps that made my head woozy and the top of my chest feel too light.
My eyes darted to the right, then the left. I could feel them tumbling around in my skull, desperate and terrified, like a mouse being hunted by a lion.
Too far.
Only a few feet separated me from the door but it might as well have been ten miles. With Tim blocking the way I didn’t stand a chance.
“Try.” His voice held a note of excitement. “See how far you get.”
“
P-please.”
The black of his pupils bled through his irises, swallowing the pale yellow until darkness was all that remained. “Please, what?
“L-let me g-go.”
His tongue darted between sharp teeth and licked his lips. “Why?”
He . . . he wanted me to beg.
My mind blanked, my throat tightened, my vision narrowed. Tim was just like the Hunters. He would feed on my fear, take pleasure in my pain, win with every wound he inflicted.
I threw myself to the side and tried to dart under his arms.
As soon as I was on my feet, he grabbed my shoulders and threw me back down. My backside hit the swinging bench with enough force that I bit down hard on my tongue.
Blood. I tasted blood.
“Do you know what you did?” he hissed. “What you cost me?”
“I—”
“Quiet!” He looked away. His jaw worked soundlessly. “If it weren’t for you . . .” A pause. A shake of his head. A low growl followed by a glare. “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. Now I just want to see why they were all so worked up over a human.”
He ducked down to his haunches and reached out.
Cruel hands dug into the tender flesh above my breasts, and my heart flat-lined. I yanked against his hold, choked on a scream that refused to tear past my rapidly closing throat while mindless terror gouged its clawed fingers through my shoulder blades.
I was yanked up from the bench and pushed against the railing with terrifying ease.
“R-Ruarc w-will k-k-kill y-you!”
Tim snorted and tightened his punishing grip until I whimpered. Then he smiled, a cruel, ugly thing, and yanked.
My scream was silenced by the hand he clapped over my face. White-hot pain traveled up my arm, piercing my shoulder where it felt my arm might fall out of its socket. “He won’t care,” Tim whispered into my ear. He sounded so sure that doubt took root. “You’re nothing to them. A plaything. Something new and shiny. They would’ve tired of you eventually, I’m just speeding up the process.”
I was choking. The hand covering my mouth and nose didn’t just steal my breath, it had my stomach turn with revulsion. It smelled wrong. All wrong.