by Erica Woods
Trudging up the stairs to wait for Ruarc to return, I tried to tell myself I wasn’t scared. That this was just an innocent trip to a town I’d already been to. A town the Hunters had already searched.
There was no reason for them to still be there. No reason at all.
Everything would be all right. I’d get some new clothes, spend some time with Jason—and maybe Ruarc—and be back here before dark.
It would be okay. It would.
Chills masquerading as dead fingers trailed up my back.
The Hunters would never know.
“No,” Ruarc stated with a look of grim determination. No trace remained of the passion he’d displayed a few minutes earlier when his lips had been devouring mine with a ferocious hunger that had my stomach fluttering like a million electric butterflies were trying to escape.
“No, you don’t want to join?” I asked, making an effort to keep my face expressionless. I didn’t want him to see that his brusque dismissal bothered me. So what if he didn’t want to come shopping with us? I couldn’t expect him to want to spend every second of his day with me just because I wanted to spend all of mine with him.
Silver eyes narrowed as they traced my face. “Can’t,” he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Busy.”
“Oh . . . what are you doing?”
“Work.” His clipped, short answers sparked a flare of annoyance.
Mimicking his stance, I shot my chin out and met his gaze head on. “Fine. I’ll see you when I get back. If you’re even here,” I muttered.
A terrible stillness came over him. “What?” He stepped closer, looming above me with a fierce scowl.
Since his question hadn’t really been a question, I kept my mouth shut.
Another step brought him near enough that his heat warmed the small space between our bodies. “You’re not going.”
The way he said it, the finality to his statement, no, his order, turned the flare of annoyance into blazing anger. Here I was, having escaped a lifetime of captivity only to be told what I could and could not do by my boyfriend of one day?
Without stopping to think, I shoved my finger into Ruarc’s muscular chest, repressing a flare of fear as his upper lip curled to reveal a longer-than-normal fang. “You can’t just decide what I do and when I do it. That’s not how this works!”
“Oh, but it is,” he said silkily, and grabbed my wrist. “You’re staying.”
“Am not!”
He tugged and I tumbled into his hard body. “You’re. Not. Going.” A vein throbbed in his temple. “Not without me. Not with Jason.”
A shiver worked its way up my back at the menace he projected, and keeping my voice from shaking proved impossible. “Y-yes, I am.”
“Goddammit!” he roared.
I jerked back, tripping over my own two feet only to be rescued by the very man I was trying to get some distance from. He made sure I was steady before letting me go, silver eyes boring a hole through my head.
I froze. Like a rabbit who’d just spotted a big, scary predator, all my muscles locked up.
“Can’t keep you safe if I’m not there,” he growled.
I hid my hands behind my back so he wouldn’t see them tremble. “Jason will be there—”
In a blink he was in front of me, rumbling from that deep place in his chest that made my belly clench with feelings I wasn’t yet ready to acknowledge. “No.” His voice was pure steel as he glowered down at me. “You will not go.”
I fixed my gaze at his throat so I wouldn’t have to look into eyes that had become hard and uncompromising. “That’s not fair, Ruarc,” I whispered. “You can’t just make my decisions for me while you go out and do whatever you want.”
“Not doing what I want,” he growled. “Have to. Pack business.”
“Still . . . you can’t . . . you can’t forbid me to leave.” As soon as that last word left my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake. It was there in the way he jerked back, in his harsh inhale and the unforgiving line of his mouth.
Dark brows drew together into two deep slashes. When he spoke, the words were brutal and garbled, like his mouth was filled with razors—which wasn’t far from the truth if the glimpses of sharp teeth I caught were anything to go by. “Leave?” A flash of wild fear, quickly eclipsed by the growing determination and rage filling his eyes. “Never!”
I flinched. He caught the minuscule movement and his eyes narrowed until they were thin slits of savage silver. My whole body trembled as every instinct I possessed screamed for me to flee. All thoughts of Ruarc fled my mind until I only saw a huge, furious stranger in his place. The rage he was radiating short-circuited my brain and brought back memories that had dread slither up my spine.
I stumbled back, squeezing my eyes shut when he followed.
Stalking me.
“You’re not leaving,” he snarled, invading my personal space until my back hit the wall and his towering frame filled my entire field of vision.
I couldn’t speak. The terror had left me numb and mute. Instead, I gave a jerky nod, not daring to open my eyes.
Time passed. A minute, five minutes, an hour. I couldn’t tell. My ears strained. I picked up heavy breathing. Then a muttered curse, followed by a leaden exhale. A big palm cupped my shoulder, hesitated, then pulled me into a warm, male body. Lips brushed across my temple. Bristles dragged across my neck, forcing my skin to react with a shiver before I could control myself.
“Hope, I—”
“Ruarc?” Ash called from somewhere down the hall. “We have to leave or we will be late.”
A muttered curse, then Ruarc’s touch fell away. I kept my eyes closed while his stare dragged across my face. I felt it, like pinpricks of heat.
After an indeterminate amount of time, his knuckles stroked across my cheek. The caress felt strangely reluctant.
I kept my eyes closed and remained still.
Another heavy sigh, and then all the power drained out of the room, leaving me suddenly gasping for breath. My eyes shot open, taking in the empty room and the closed door. He’d left, and he’d taken all that energy, all that heat, all that wild fury with him.
His scent lingered after he left. Fitting, since I stayed frozen to the spot for several more minutes. I stood there until the frost in my veins melted and fear was shoved aside to make room for a bigger presence.
Anger.
It flowed through me, gathering in the pit of my stomach like a ball of heated lead. Anger mixed with heartache as I tried to sort through our argument.
I understood that I’d hurt him, even though I hadn’t meant to. I could appreciate his protectiveness—in fact, it often made me feel safe and cared for—but this time it had felt too much like being under someone else’s control; a feeling my body rejected with a violent bout of nausea.
And the way he’d roared at me, terrified me into submission . . .
It’s not right.
Looking back, I realized he probably hadn’t meant to scare me. And I shouldn’t have let myself scare, I knew Ruarc wouldn’t hurt me. But if I let him take away my choices I would never be able to become stronger, to respect myself and earn the respect of those around me.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I picked up a pen and a sheet of paper—borrowed from the library—and began making a shopping list. Maybe Ruarc wouldn’t even be back by the time we left tomorrow. Maybe he’d be gone until we returned. Either way, I was going.
He might not be that mad . . .
43
HOPE
After a restless night of tossing and turning, I was ready to get this shopping trip over and done with. My stomach rolled when I got up. My fingers shook when I got dressed. And my legs trembled when I walked downstairs.
No matter how many times I told myself I’d be safe, a small voice in the back of my head was screaming. Not a wordless scream either, but one filled with curses, rhetorical questions—mostly ones that left me questioning my own intelligence, or lack thereof—and
incriminations.
Leaving the house was going to be absolutely nerve-wrecking.
At breakfast I kept quiet, acutely aware that both Ruarc and Ash had yet to return from whatever mysterious errand they’d gone on. Even Jason’s relentless attempts at cheering me up failed. Not even when he made a stern face out of his eggs—a face that somehow wore the same cool expression as Lucien—did I manage a smile. And though Jason laughed uproariously when Lucien—without so much as a glance down at the plate—poured brown sauce all over his creation, the nerves in my stomach refused to settle.
Or they couldn’t.
Back in my room, I fretted about what to wear for all of two minutes before realizing it didn’t matter—it was either black sweats that were too large, or . . . black sweats that were too large.
I stared glumly at my reflection for a few long seconds before shaking my head.
“It’s no use,” I told the stranger looking back at me. “You’re too scared.”
Her lips were too full for her face—which was still too gaunt—and her eyes too large. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, as though expecting a blow at any moment, and her hands never stilled, continuously picking at her sleeves, her nails, her pants. A nervous gesture I immediately hated.
She wasn’t me. Couldn’t be me. But . . .
I recognized the fear pinching her expression, had felt it enough times for us to be intimately familiar.
“It’s a short trip,” I told her. “You’ve already been there. They . . . they’re not looking there any longer.”
The person looking back at me was not convinced.
I averted my gaze and said, “You’ll be safe.”
That time, the words weren’t quite as hollow, so I kept my eyes on my feet, not looking at her while I spoke. “You’ll be fine.” My voice firmed. “Everything is fine, and staying here would be cowardly. You don’t want to be scared for the rest of your life, do you?”
I threw a quick glance back at the mirror, relieved to see the bruised look had retreated and the stranger’s chin jutted out at an angle I’d only ever seen on Ruarc.
Determined.
Stubborn.
I squared my shoulders, tried to envision Ruarc, and took a deep breath.
There. That’s better.
I marched across the room and opened the door.
The squeak that flew from my lips when I saw Lucien on the other side was loud enough that, for a moment, his cold mask cracked.
My heart lurched, gave a painful, slow beat, then crawled up my throat and stayed there.
Raw. It was the only word I could think of to describe what lay beneath his mask. Raw emotions. Raw pain. Raw wounds.
But the crack only existed for less than a second, the mask restored with the same cold perfection Lucien was made of. And I found myself questioning if what I’d seen had been real, or only a remnant of the ghost I’d seen in the mirror.
Projecting my wounds onto him.
“May I have a moment?” A cool inquiry.
I took too long to reply. Lucien arched two perfectly sculpted brows and looked pointedly over my shoulder.
“S-sure.” I stepped back, sending him a furtive glance as he passed me and came to a stop in the middle of the room.
Trailing him was a waft of a darkly dangerous scent. It took all my willpower not to close my eyes and inhale, to taste the air in search of that elusive fragrance that was somehow spring and rain and thunder and forest, all mixed with his innate, masculine flavor.
My eyes snapped open.
Too late.
Lucien’s rich, green eyes were heavy with consideration. Behind him, the bed loomed large and somehow insidious in the background, a stark, white contrast to the crisp, black suit he wore. It hugged his shoulders, highlighted the perfect ‘V’ of his body as it narrowed from his chest down to his hips.
I followed the lines of Lucien’s lean body, marveling how he could look both sleek and muscular all at once.
Like a jaguar, I thought, looking so inconspicuous with its grace, until its powerful hind legs bunch and it soars through the air and bites your head off.
The mental image wasn’t imaginary; I’d seen this happen in a nature documentary. One of the first the Hunters had given me during my first year.
From six until I was around fourteen, the compound hadn’t been so bad—besides the staggering loneliness.
While I stared blindly at Lucien, I became aware of a continual, low sound. Its vibration reached through the air, wrapped around my skin, and delved down through flesh, bones, and marrow. There it settled, a deep, unsettling itch that held the promise of pleasure.
If only I would scratch it.
As soon as I raised my burning face—hoping to God he hadn’t noticed my staring—the sound ceased.
The quiet that followed felt unnatural. Jarring.
And Lucien must have noticed. He was staring at me with a quiet intensity, upper lip curled in a familiar expression of derision.
I tried to gather my thoughts. Twice I opened my mouth only to close it without speaking. Eventually, what came tumbling out was the question I couldn’t stop asking myself. “W-what do you want?”
Another arched brow. Then, slowly, as though it was pulled from the bottom of his weary—or, more likely, annoyed—soul, “Do you know how to defend yourself?”
I blinked. “Sorry?”
“When the coward attacked you”—a shadow passed behind his eyes—“did you have any notion of how to muster a defense?”
Ugly memories assaulted my senses. Remembered fear whipped my heart into a gallop, shame turned Lucien’s scent bitter on my tongue, horror beat at my skull.
I’d been utterly powerless. Still was. “N-no.”
“Would you like to learn?”
“Yes.” The word shot from my mouth before I could stop it. Any hesitation I had about Lucien as my teacher drowned in the wake of that night. Of what had almost happened. And what hadn’t.
My monster . . .
It hadn’t been able to help. No matter how hard I’d yanked at the door of its cage, it had remained stuck.
I never wanted to feel that overwhelming, helpless despair ever again.
“Excellent.”
“Why . . .” I licked my dry lips. “Why are you helping me?”
“Should I not?”
“I mean . . . you don’t like me.” It was a surprisingly painful thing to say out loud.
No response, just a steady, cool gaze that never moved beyond my face.
“Why would you help me, then?” I whispered.
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
A considerate narrowing of his eyes. “Enough to purchase the answer?”
I took half a step back before I knew what I was doing. “W-what do you mean?”
“Not that,” he snapped. His eyes glittered dangerously. “An answer for an answer. A truth for a truth.”
It was my turn to be quiet. With no way of knowing what he would ask—knowing a refusal once I heard the question would be an answer in itself—the offer was too risky.
Time slowed to a crawl while Lucien waited for a response that would never come. Eventually, his expression smoothed out to an unreadable wall of ice, and he rubbed his long index finger across his lower lip in an absent-minded way that held me mesmerized. “Very well, we will start tomorrow.”
How could a man have such pretty lips? Lush and full—when they weren’t pressed together in a flat line of disdain like they were now. And how could a man’s skin look so flawless, so smooth and marble-like at the same time? And those eyes, glittering with a chilling fury, those perfectly sculpted cheeks flushing with the faintest trace of color. Did he ever—
All my questions died a fiery death at the expression on his face. Cold, frozen with wrath. A wrath aimed at me.
The finger that had kept me entranced was jerked away from his lips, the look he shot me one of utter contempt.
“One
would hope you are not as easily distracted as you appear.” A quiet whisper that chilled me to my bones. “Allowing your eyes to wander where they should not go is a good way to get yourself hurt.” Cool eyes swept over my face. “Let this be your first lesson; never get distracted when in close proximity to a dangerous male.”
Frozen in place, I tried to lean as far away from him as I could.
He was right. Not only should I keep my guard up, especially around him, but I shouldn’t be staring at him like that. Correction, I shouldn’t be staring at him at all. If he’d been staring at my lips the way I’d stared at his—
I shook my head and tried to block his tempting scent from my senses. His words had been harsh, but the lesson would not be forgotten.
“I . . . It’ll be the last time,” I promised.
A minute stiffening of his shoulders, so small I wouldn’t have seen it if I hadn’t settled my eyes in the vicinity of his throat. “Good,” he muttered. “Perfect.”
I waited to see if he had anything else to add. And waited. And waited some more. A full minute passed, suffocatingly silent. I peeked up at him, heart stuttering at the expression on his face.
Again, that rawness from earlier, the wounds I’d thought a reflection of my own. Silent, he stared out the window, transfixed by something I couldn’t see.
His stillness bothered me. The pain I’d glimpsed bothered me even more. When Lucien was cold and distant I knew how to act. I could suppress the strange fluttering in my belly when he looked my way, and I could distance myself from his presence.
But when he was like this, almost . . . vulnerable, my heart ached for him in a way it had no business aching.
Lucien hated me.
He’d made no attempt to hide his disdain or mince the callous words he relentlessly threw my way. And I was with Ruarc. I was Ruarc’s girlfriend.
I had no business feeling anything for Lucien at all.
“You ready, love?” The cheery voice cut through the tense silence a moment before Jason popped his head around the door. “Lucien?” His expression turned wary. “What are you doing here?”