by Erica Woods
At first, she didn’t respond. Didn’t as much as twitch. Then a moan broke free and she relaxed against me. I nibbled at her bottom lip, groaning long and loud when she opened for me. She tasted like the finest wine, the sweetest, most decadent treat.
When her tongue hesitantly came out to touch mine I hardened to the point of pain. Her inexperience was heady. Made the possession coursing through my veins sharpen with the knowledge she had never been intimate with another man.
At least not willingly.
My jaw tightened at the horrific possibility, the beast inside roaring.
Have to relax before I hurt her.
I buried my face in her neck and inhaled, letting her scent do what my mind couldn’t. Then I sucked on the skin behind her ear, nibbled my way down her jaw, licked at her lips. Fusing our mouths together, I went deep. Tasting. Owning. Devouring.
A wicked, feminine moan.
My cock jerked, straining against my pants.
Thank fuck I didn’t undress last night. Would scare the—
Her blunt little nails dug into my shoulders and all my thoughts fled.
Wanted her to mark me. Show the world I was hers.
That she was mine.
When her hips began moving on my stomach, I knew I’d made the right decision letting her be on top. If she’d been under me I wasn’t sure I could’ve controlled myself. And this way she could set the pace. Feel safe.
Thundering footsteps from the stairs had my Hope tearing her mouth from mine with a sound of distress. Wide eyes flickered to the door, pupils dilated with arousal.
Jason.
Was going to murder that sneaky fucker! Knew for a fact he could walk the damned stairs without making a sound!
I squeezed Hope’s hip and attempted a smile. She returned it with a tremulous one of her own.
“Hell of a way to start the day.” I rolled us until we were side by side, our foreheads touching. Loved this feeling. Loved being with her. Her closeness and the fragile trust that had begun blooming in her eyes every time she looked at me.
Was addicted.
I’ll never break that trust, I swore silently as another sweet smile broke out on her pale face. Still too skinny. Needed to feed her more, remove the translucent quality of her unblemished skin until she glowed with health.
“Mhm,” Hope hummed. Her movements were hesitant, a little nervous when she reached up and put her palm against my cheek.
My heart wrenched violently. How long since I’d been touched like that?
Putting my hand on top of hers, I turned my face into her soft palm and kissed it. Her intoxicating scent washed over me. I drew it into my lungs, spun it around in my mind until it was forever entrenched in the deepest recesses of my being. “You. Are. Mine,” I growled, knowing she couldn’t possibly understand. Couldn’t know what that truly meant.
Possessiveness surged through every inch of my being until she was all I could see. All I could smell. Taste. Feel.
Mine.
A playful sparkle lit her expressive eyes. “And you’re mine.”
My gaze shot to her smiling face, my breath froze.
A piece of my heart was claimed at those words, and it didn’t surprise me to realize she already owned several.
Peace unlike anything I’d ever felt blanketed my soul. I knew she didn’t understand what she was saying, how serious it was to me. But her declaration settled me in a way nothing else could’ve.
She was mine. No one could take her away. They so much as tried, I would tear them apart and scatter the bloody pieces across our territory until every living creature knew touching her was signing their own death warrant.
It was that certainty, that unequivocal feeling of possession and pride, that made my heart clench with dread at what was to come.
I had to tell her. Had to pray it wouldn’t horrify her. She was so fragile, had been through so much . . .
I was terrified the truth would scare her away.
Never let her go!
That violent denial was accompanied by claws digging into the mattress. If she wanted to leave, could I let her?
A silent snarl reverberated through my skull with an unequivocal answer. No. Fucking. Way.
Somehow I had to convince her we weren’t dangerous. At least not to her. Had to convince her to stay even if she wanted to run.
“So . . .” Hope’s lip disappeared between her teeth, a nervous habit I’d begun to resent—no one was allowed to hurt her, not even Hope herself.
Not able to stop a soft growl, I gently pulled her lip free and rubbed my thumb over the abused flesh. “Tell me about last night.”
A shaky nod.
I schooled my features to hide the burning rage flaying the skin off my bones whenever I thought about Tim and what that worthless piece of shit had done.
Hope didn’t need my anger. She needed support. Comfort. All the tender shit no one had taught me. And I wanted to learn. For her.
Looking down at her trembling hands, Hope began speaking.
Her words cut me. Sliced through me like knives. One of them buried in my chest and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed.
Every shaky word, every choked sentence, and every silent tear that refused to fall plunged the knife deeper. I wanted to rage at the world. Wanted to rip Tim to pieces. Wanted to plant my fist into Lucien’s perfect face for failing to realize she’d left the house.
But most of all I wanted to gather her into my arms and protect her against all the many dangers in this world.
“Then he . . . he t-tore my p-pants . . .” She made a choking sound and closed her eyes.
She might as well have ripped out my heart and staked it to the ground.
If Lucien hadn’t arrived at that moment . . .
Fangs pierced my gums.
When the first tear fell I could no longer stop myself. With a ragged curse I shot forward. The trembling, traumatized female was nestled in my arms before she could object. “Enough,” I growled and rearranged us on the bed until she was sitting between my thighs the way I liked it. Protected. Surrounded by me and the deadly weapons my particular brand of dangerous wielded. Weapons I would use to assure the destruction of all her enemies.
“Sorry,” she whispered. Her chin drooping to her chest in a submissive gesture of defeat that made me grind my teeth.
“Not your fault,” I growled, struggling to contain my fury. I tilted her head up so I could look down into her wounded eyes. “Never your fault.”
Hope’s rapid blinking caused more tears to fall. “A-are you mad at me?” she asked in a small voice.
Her words startled me into stillness. Why would I be mad at her? I examined her face, saw the guilt and shame written across her delicate features. And then it hit me.
The way I’d acted yesterday. Yelling at her when I found out she’d gone outside by herself.
Bloody moron.
“Course not,” I said, voice hoarse, and pulled her closer. I couldn’t stop myself from brushing a kiss over the spot right below her ear. Like a starved man I groaned as the wonderful scent of her filled my lungs. “Nothing you could’ve done,” I added, for once not caring how gruff I sounded.
“I could have stayed inside.”
“Wouldn’t have mattered. He was set on hurting you and would’ve found a way.” My grip on her tightened. “Doesn’t mean you are allowed out alone,” I added with a growl. Didn’t want her thinking it was her fault, but I’d be damned if I let her out of my sight ever again.
Hope’s breath hitched and some of the tension left her. She relaxed against me, snuggling her face into my chest and squeezing the possessive hand that had somehow landed on her thigh.
“You really think so?”
“Know so.”
“Thanks, Ruarc.” She curled her small body against me, trusting that I wouldn’t hurt her, that I wouldn’t use my considerable strength, my size to bring her pain.
Can’t lose this, I thought. Can’t lose her.
The fac
t that I might once she learned the truth? It fucking gutted me.
38
HOPE
A strange calm held me captive as Ruarc traced circles over my hip.
His exciting, masculine scent tickled my nose, his heat warmed my body, and the affectionate way he nuzzled my neck soothed some long-forgotten wound deep in my heart. I didn’t want the moment to end, but it was time. I’d put it off long enough.
When I looked up at him his shoulders tensed, almost like he knew what I was about to ask. “Will you tell me . . .” I took a deep breath and maintained eye contact—something I was normally not comfortable with—and watched wariness tighten his features. “Will you tell me what you are?”
The hand on my hip stilled. “Yes,” he growled after a tense pause. “Need to get the others.”
My mouth went dry.
For some reason I’d expected to be alone with Ruarc for this conversation. After what had happened yesterday, I wasn’t sure I was ready to face the others. Tim’s attack was still fresh in my mind; Lucien’s vicious joy at tearing him apart, the terrible sound when Ash killed him, and the angry glares and accusatory looks last night in the kitchen. Even easygoing Jason had looked at me with fury in his glowing, amber eyes.
And today I’ll find out why his eyes keep changing.
“Okay,” I relented, accepting Ruarc’s outstretched hand when he got up. “Do you think . . . do you think they’re still upset with me?”
“Better not be,” Ruarc grumbled, his hand squeezing mine as he guided me out to the hall.
No point dragging my feet.
Never letting go of my hand, Ruarc led me downstairs and stopped outside Ash’s office. Muted voices drifted through partly opened door, one cool and cutting, the other angry and harsh. Then a third voice, much lower, and all the sound ceased.
Ruarc pulled me against his chest and rested his chin on top of my head. “Don’t worry. I got you.” His deep, rumbling voice soothed the ragged edges of my nerves.
Feeling shy, I hesitantly brought my arms around him as best I could and hugged him back. Firm lips pressed against my neck, a quick kiss that lanced heat straight to my belly, and before I could sink deeper into the embrace, he moved to open the door. Only his comforting hand at my lower back kept my knees from knocking together as we walked inside.
The spacious office seemed much smaller today, courtesy of the three huge males waiting for us inside. Sitting behind the big mahogany desk, Ash should have looked out of place with the bobbing feather twined in his hair and the calloused hands used to harder work than holding a pen. But he looked as at home here as he did in the stables, and I imagined he’d look just as at ease stalking through untamed plains as he hunted for his supper.
Meanwhile, Jason looked distinctly uncomfortable. Seated in the middle of the large couch along the right wall, he refused to look at us when we entered and kept his gaze glued to the floor.
Lucien, perched on the armrest of the couch, looked as he always did. Cold and unapproachable.
Not waiting for an invitation, Ruarc ushered me forward.
I sat in the chair he pulled out for me, turning to look over my shoulder when I felt his comforting presence leave my side. Leaning against the bookshelf on the left, only a meter or so between us, he met my pleading gaze. His mouth tightened at the corners, but he jerked his chin at me, letting me know I should stay.
“Hope,” Ash said, his striking blue eyes piercing me with their quiet intensity. “How are you feeling today?”
I swallowed hard. “G-good.” Please don’t ask me about last night, please don’t.
He took his time studying me. Assessing. Then he tilted his head and spoke in soft, soothing tones. “We have some things we need to discuss, banajaanh.”
My mouth went dry. “Y-yes.”
“Last night changed things.”
Because of Tim? Because he’d been killed?
Guilt threatened to shred me in its deadly claws. Were they in trouble? Had the police found out? Or was it something else? Something to do with Ruarc and the reason he couldn’t talk to me about all this by himself?
Not human. They’re not human.
“What are you?” The hoarse question left my trembling lips for the second time that day, causing a shadow to pass over Ash’s carefully collected expression, and when he spoke, his voice was a growl with its edges cut off.
“Dè cháiní Bháan Mahír.”
Those words . . .
My eyes drifted closed; my skin rippled over bones that felt those four words down to the marrow. I’d never heard anything like it, yet a part of me recognized the language, felt drawn to it.
I should have known this my whole life, I thought and leaned closer. “What . . . what does it mean?”
“It means ‘Children of the White Wolf,’” Ash replied. The weight of his gaze was a physical thing, heavy and assessing and boring a hole straight through me. “We call ourselves lycans, but it is not our true name.” He tilted his head in a way that was purely otherworldly. “We are the descendants of Bháan Mahír and Céalen an amdúir. We are mahír. We are wolf.”
A balloon expanded through my chest, filling me with this light, strange air that made everything around me turn hazy.
Wolf . . . Wolf. Wolf. Wolf.
They weren’t human and they weren’t wolves. They were Wolf.
“I . . . But—” One word. One of them sounded familiar. “Lycan?” That one. It tickled at my subconscious, sounding of raised voices in a long forgotten memory and ugly taunts that slipped through my grasp before I could examine them too closely. Only when it was swept away by the black sea of memories better left forgotten, what he’d said sank in. “Wolf,” I breathed. “As in . . . werewolves?”
Somewhere far away, Lucien scoffed. “Not werewolves. Lycans.”
I blinked, found him still perched at the edge of the couch, a glow expanding through the breathtaking green of his irises.
“Werewolves are simple, slavering beasts created by the movie industry to entertain the masses.” A sound of dismay. “Lycans have not fared much better, though the myths have gotten certain parts right. The term was coined centuries ago by the Greek and adopted by our kind when we got stuck in this world. ‘Children of the White Wolf’ is quite a mouthful when you’re in a hurry. And the old language . . . Sadly there are only a handful species left who speak it.”
This world? Our species? Lycans? I turned that last word over and over in my mind, trying to come to grips with what they were telling me.
It was difficult. Impossible. True, an insistence voice whispered through my mind.
“Are you okay, Hope?” Head tilted, those too-wide lips pressed together, Ash studied me with piercing intensity.
“I . . . I think so.” Strange, but I felt almost relieved. Like I’d been walking around with blinders, hearing and feeling all these things I couldn’t see, couldn’t prove were there. Until now.
The guys had ripped the blinders away and awakened me to a brand-new world.
Lycans.
It made just about the right amount of sense. I’d been through too much to doubt the crazy truth when I heard it. At the Hunters’ compound, I’d seen things, heard things that didn’t make sense. And though all the monsters I’d ever seen had been human, a monster lived inside me as well. An unnatural, inhuman monster that caused my soul to fracture and left me half of what I was meant to be.
A cold prickle of awareness crept up the back of my neck. I turned and found Lucien eyeing me with an unnervingly blank expression. No contempt glinted in forest-green eyes, no mocking curl tugged at lips that ought to be soft and inviting, not hard and pressed together. But the longer I looked, the colder his eyes became, until even the arctic would freeze in the face of such chill.
“Just like that you accept the truth?” A soft, dangerous question. “Perhaps you already knew about us?”
“N-no?” Would he ever stop doubting me?
Not until he uncove
rs all your secrets.
I shuddered.
“Do you have any questions, Hope?” Ash asked, a welcome interruption from Lucien’s suspicion.
I peeked at Jason while I gathered my thoughts. He blinked, but kept his head down. I’d grown used to his cheerful commentary, to his funny quips and warm, subtle support. His silence had me feeling . . . lost.
Was he still mad at me from last night? Or maybe . . .
I swallowed the sick feeling rushing up my throat.
Because of me, a life had been taken. The weight of such a burden was nearly impossible to bear.
Before the vice around my neck could tighten to the point of impeding my speech, I took a deep breath and answered Ash’s question, “The language. What you said. The . . . the k-kainee bahan . . . something?” I stumbled over the pronunciation, stuttered as I tried to duplicate his words.
“Dè cháiní Bháan Mahír.” The cadence of Ash’s voice changed when he spoke this language. He sounded vibrant. More alive. Just as he did when he spoke Ojibwe. “It’s Fae.”
I blinked. “Fae?”
An impatient grunt from behind, Ruarc’s hand curling around my neck. “Doesn’t matter. Get to it, Ash.”
Fae? As in . . . faeries? Why would werewolves—oops, lycans—know Fae?
And more importantly . . . “Lycans. I . . . I guess that means you can turn into wolves?”
At Ash’s cautious nod, a strangled noise escaped from the tight confines of my constricting throat. The sound dragged a hissed exhalation from Ruarc and an icy glare from Lucien.
I ignored both.
To be able to shed your skin and become something else. Someone else . . .
Fierce longing swept over me and suddenly I was desperate to see their change, to attempt to understand what they were, what they truly were. I wanted to greet that hidden part of them—something I was unable to do with my own dual soul—to know them fully.
But asking to see the manifestation of their biggest secret would probably be rude, so I settled for a more open question. “What . . . what else can you do?”