by Erica Woods
The glare Jason shot Ruarc was ruined by the touch of pink crawling up his neck.
“What did she say again?” A flash of fangs as Ruarc prodded at a temper I wasn’t sure could explode.
Through gritted teeth, Jason pushed the rest of the story out, “She looked at me like I was dirt. Wrinkled her nose, and all, I kid you not.” He wrinkled his own nose. “Then she said she doesn’t date men who wear more makeup than she does. And that if she did, she certainly wouldn’t date someone wearing that shade of lipstick. She said it clashed with my coloring.” Dismay clung to his voice and pulled his mouth into another frown.
Ruarc threw his head back and roared with laughter. The deep, gravelly sound went straight to the place between my legs, tugging, teasing, and when it was joined by Ash’s low chuckle and a short, faint sound of amusement from Lucien, the feeling in my lower belly was so intense, so strange and alarming that I slapped my hand over my belly as though I could bat the sensations away.
When the sounds of amusement died down, Jason was still a little pink around his neck, but he’d regained his good-natured humor. A self-deprecating grin gave him a devastatingly handsome appearance, and the way he was watching me, brows slightly raised, chin lowered, I suspected he knew the effect he was having on me.
“’Course, he didn’t understand until he excused himself and went to the bathroom,” Ruarc said with another gravelly laugh.
“Trying to salvage his pride, no doubt,” Lucien said.
Ash stroked my arm. Just once. An innocent touch that did not make me aware of how close we were. How good he smelled. “When he left Lana, he looked so dejected. So sad.”
“And then a minute later, we heard a roar of outrage,” Lucien said. “And he came barreling out the door, marched up to the bar, and shook a finger in Ruarc’s face, yelling that he’d gone too far.”
“The anger did not last long,” Ash said. His gaze drifted over my face. Lazy. Relaxed. The hand resting at the back of the couch, nearest me, came down and touched my hair, rubbed a few of the strands between two of his fingers. “A few days later he began laughing about it, though he has never forgotten the sting of Ruarc’s one and only prank.”
A light, airy feeling bubbled in my chest. I looked up at Ash, took in those wide lips, the harsh angles of a face that looked both sharp and impassive all at once. Took in the slow smile spreading across his face, the warmth in his eyes.
I tried not to laugh. I really did. But with grins still flashing among the guys, and Ruarc’s and Jason’s booming laughter ringing in my ears, the battle was lost.
The first peel of sound startled me. It startled me so much I clapped both hands over my mouth. I cast a pleading look Jason’s way, not wanting him to feel bad, to feel like we were ganging up on him. But his grin only widened, and suddenly trills of giggles climbed up my throat and erupted, one after another, until my stomach hurt and I was heaving for breath.
When I finally got it under control and opened my eyes, it was to the sight of four pairs of eyes watching me with such quiet intensity all the humor drained, leaving only a warm buzz in its place.
A low growl. Ruarc standing and coming closer. Hands under my arms, big arms engulfing me in heat. Safety. “You’ve got a beautiful laugh, a chuisle,” Ruarc said. And if his voice was hoarse, none of the others commented.
I didn’t understand the heavy . . . whatever it was, in the air. So I said nothing. In fact, I didn’t speak again until he’d carried me upstairs, lay down next to me on the bed, and said, “Tell me something good.”
And I did.
50
HOPE
During the next few days, I was hit by several big realizations, each one leaving me reeling.
The first one happened right after breakfast the morning after we’d played monopoly, when Ruarc pulled me out to the back porch and placed a cup of steaming hot cocoa in my hand. The scent rising from the cup hit me in the face like a sledgehammer. And like a sledgehammer, it destroyed the wall where memories of my dad had been hiding.
I saw his face, I felt his hand on my brow, I heard his voice telling me to go to my uncle if I was ever in trouble.
And I realized clinging to a memory from when I’d been five couldn’t have been what he’d wanted. Yes, it had given me hope when I’d had nothing, something to hold close to when I’d felt all alone in this world. But my father wouldn’t have wanted me to chase a pipe dream, to seek out a man I’d never met, who’d never once tried to find me.
Maybe if I was a kid and hadn’t been through what I had, but not now.
I guessed a big reason why I’d wanted to find my uncle—why I’d felt like I needed to find my uncle—was so I wouldn’t be alone in this impossible task I’d assigned myself. But if being alone was all that stood in my way, why didn’t I ask the guys for help? Right now, why didn’t I open my mouth and ask Ruarc to help me destroy the Hunters?
Because you don’t want them to die.
Had I thought I’d feel differently about my uncle once I got to know him?
I’ve been an idiot.
I never would have been able to ask him for help, ask him to put his life in danger. And then I would have been stuck in Canada—in the exact same situation—just waiting for the right moment to leave so I wouldn’t be responsible for yet another person dying.
This took me two full days to digest. Once I had, it was as though a small—minuscule—weight had been lifted off my shoulders. One choice made. One decision I wouldn’t have to agonize over anymore.
Not that you’ve thought that much about your uncle since meeting the guys.
He’d been a comfort when I was trapped with the Hunters, imagining a life outside the compound, but . . . not any longer.
The second realization that hit me had been a long time in the making. It was simple. Ridiculous. Stupid.
And it didn’t surprise me in the least.
I didn’t want to leave.
I’d probably thought that exact thing several times over the last few weeks, but this was the only time I allowed it to really take root. The only time I’d truly listened.
I didn’t want to leave.
It was impossible, a wish made by a child. But there it was nonetheless.
I didn’t want to leave, I wanted to stay. For as long as they’d have me. Longer even. I wanted to stay for the rest of my life.
That night, I cried myself to sleep while Ruarc curled around me and tried his best to stem the flow of my tears.
“Don’t cry,” he said in such a rough, pained tone that it almost worked. Almost.
But I kept crying.
It was only when he started singing that I fell asleep. That deep, growly voice was utterly unsuited to singing, but it didn’t matter.
I loved it.
I don’t want to leave. I never want to leave.
My heart was breaking, crumbling, shattering. And it felt like it would never heal.
My third realization was a combination of things that culminated in the first headache I’d ever experienced.
Or maybe it was more of a mental ache?
Either way, it started with the Thought. Each day, it grew. Each day, it expanded beyond past borders and burrowed along pathways I’d never known existed.
I would eat, and there it was.
I would be cuddling up with Jason and watching a movie, and there it was.
I would be burning up with need while Ruarc pressed heated kisses to my neck, to my chest, dragging those big, strong hands down my body in a way that had my hips shoot off the bed, and there it was.
It never left.
It never slept.
It never gave me a moment’s respite.
And one day, I reached the end of my frayed, burning rope.
I’ll do it.
There. Decision made. I’d do it, and if I survived . . . if I survived, then I’d come back here and hope the guys still wanted me with them. That they’d forgive me.
Because living wi
thout them wasn’t living at all.
Once decided, the how remained a huge, taunting question mark. The when . . .
I left that one alone.
I told myself it was because I had no choice—the Hunters needed time to believe I was long gone, that’d I’d run to another country and holed up somewhere—but I knew, even if all the answers presented themselves tomorrow, I knew I’d find a reason to wait. At least a little longer.
I needed a concrete plan, anyway. More than the Thought could provide. It would take a while to figure everything out—if it even could be done. A few months, at least.
Please let me have at least a few months.
And while I was here, I’d soak up as much happiness as I could.
How stupid I’d been, not knowing if I should let myself care, wondering if would be better to never know the warm glow of love so the loss wouldn’t be as devastating.
This . . . what Ruarc and Jason made me feel, how they all made me feel . . . this was life.
How could I even considering walking to my death without ever truly living?
And so the days passed while I did my best to push the Thought and everything that came with it into a tiny corner of my mind.
Ruarc continued to teach me how to cook, his gruff manner extending to his teaching, but in a way I found adorable. Especially when he would absentmindedly press a kiss to my temple or the top of my head as he stormed around in his domain.
One day, Jason took me to see the waterfalls. It was magical, right up until the point he rushed me back home, muttering about a scent and bellowing for Ruarc when we were close enough—which was still quite far—for him to hear.
Being around Ruarc never ceased to amaze me. I loved the way he was constantly touching me; be it running his hands through my hair, holding me in his arms, or pressing his lips to mine. We spent a lot of time around the horses. It was strange to see such a huge man handle the big animals with such gentleness.
Strange but wonderful.
Dinners continued to be a time where everyone’s presence was mandatory. It was an affair for the whole family—a family I longed to be a part of with every fiber of my being. Lucien had been absent twice in seven days, but when I asked where he was the subject was quickly changed. I suspected it had something to do with lycan business. Or pack business, as they called it.
Most nights, I sat squished between Ruarc and Jason. My head would eventually land on Ruarc’s chest and my feet on Jason’s lap. I didn’t know how he did it, but Ruarc always made sure it happened that way.
And the nights . . .
Well, I had mixed feelings about the nights. Ruarc barred Jason from my room after nine. It was a rule Jason had accepted with good humor. Suspiciously good humor.
When I asked him about it, he only looked at me with wide eyes and a grin he couldn’t quite suppress, and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, love.”
I didn’t push the matter because I loved the way Ruarc held me at night. It kept the nightmares mostly at bay, although I had woken up a few times with a scream stuck in my throat while Ruarc hovered above me, expression a mix of horror and such fiery rage it immediately soothed the frayed edges of my fear.
The only part of our nightly ritual I was confused about was when we said goodnight. Every single night, without fail, Jason would press a tender, lingering kiss to my lips while we stood outside my door. He never pushed further, never asked for anything more. It could have something to do with the terrifying, impatient presence waiting on the other side—the angry vein in Ruarc’s forehead was always pulsating to its own, furious beat whenever Jason reluctantly released me and nudged me inside, which he always had to do because my brain ceased to function due to the warm feelings Jason’s kisses inevitably invoked—but I somehow knew he was doing it for me.
Being patient.
And kind.
And playful.
All the qualities Jason’s exhibited again and again
Ruarc on the other hand . . . Ruarc made my blood roar. He took his time. Kissing every part of my body—except the ones that ached. There were places I never knew could make me crazy, like the hollow of my elbow. Why did his open-mouthed kisses there make something pull deep inside my belly? But no matter how many breathless sighs escaped me, how much I writhed on the bed, he never smothered the fire. Instead, he stoked it. Made it into a living, being entity that wanted with an acute ache I didn’t know how to sate.
Sometimes I wondered if he wanted me to ask for more. Wondered if he was waiting until I was ready to admit what I wanted. But that couldn’t be right, could it? Ruarc was a pushy, dominating beast. If he wanted to go further, surely he’d push for more?
A small part of me thought that maybe he just didn’t want me, but the other larger part—the part that had come to know and trust the man behind the grumpy mask—knew he was just that type of man. Honorable. Kind. Wanting to make me happy.
But while he was patient with me in that regard, I knew it was just a matter of time until he fell screaming off the cliff of patience and demanded to know the names of my tormentors. I could feel the moment sneaking up on me, closer every day. When the moment came . . .
I can’t tell him.
Not until the Hunters were gone.
I had no doubt the guys would go tearing after them if they knew, and then . . . then they’d die.
Lycans or no lycans, the Hunters were too many. And they had weapons. So many weapons.
They’re too strong. Too powerful.
Ugly sneers flashed through my mind. A face peering close, too close, while I lay strapped to a table. The sound of a pen scratching against paper; detailing my responses during the latest session.
I didn’t know if it was possible to stop them. They loomed impossibly big in my mind, impossibly mighty. Indestructible. Invincible. Evil . . .
No, I couldn’t tell them. I couldn’t tell Ruarc. He’d get himself killed.
You could tell them everything except who. Everything except where. If they don’t know who they are or where to find them, they can’t hunt them.
I rejected that possibility with a violence that left me reeling.
No.
They’d push for more.
No.
It wouldn’t work.
No.
Just no.
Because behind my desire to protect them, was something ugly. Something dark and slithering and cowardly.
Me.
I couldn’t let them see me, see who I really was, what I’d done. Because then it would be all over. I’d lose them.
And losing them would destroy me. Seeing the warmth in their eyes turn to disgust would break me.
So I pushed it away to the same dark corner of my mind where the Thought lay in wait, and I lived.
For the first time in my life, I truly lived.
51
LUCIEN
A raging inferno was tearing my insides to pieces.
It was crumbling.
The cold fortress I had built so painstakingly over the years—laying brick upon brick until the memory of my mother’s hissed words; I wish you had perished in my womb, no longer phased me—was succumbing to the blazing fire that had started as a kindling only a few weeks ago.
Right around the time we’d taken in a guest.
I blamed her. The wench. The galling woman who wouldn’t leave me be. Not until my world was left in ashes and my walls lay burning at my feet.
As though she’d heard my thoughts, the vexing creature in question turned around and fixed me with eyes that were deep, brown pools of innocence.
My god, the woman was determined to destroy me.
“Do you . . . do you want one, Lucien?”
Hope’s hesitant voice made me arch a brow. Had I not been civil to her for the past week? Had I not gone out of my way to curb my acidic replies and inherent suspicion?
Then why the devil is she still so nervous around me?
Inwardly I seet
hed, while on the outside my face reflected only the coldness that had been my entire existence until a few weeks ago.
Did I want the sugary treat she held in the palm of her hand like an offering?
“No, thank you.”
My chest grew tight as I watched her face crumble. The nuisance of a woman was atrocious at hiding her emotions, and I refused to admit, even to myself, what a grand prize that would be. A woman unable to lie. A woman whose face would give away even the smallest falsehood. A woman whose only secrets would be those I allowed her to keep.
For someone who traded in lies and secrets, that was a beguiling temptation.
The female turned, giving me her back, and I had to bite back an ugly curse at the flash of pain I caught on her face. Then Ruarc’s arm came to rest on her shoulders, offering her the comfort I couldn’t.
Again I seethed.
As soon as she wasn’t looking, Ruarc sent me a glare. Had he not had his arms full of warm female, a fist would probably be flying at my face. It wouldn’t be the first time I took a punch to the face, but long gone were the days I couldn’t fight back.
I had fallen prey to the female’s strange curse, leaving me once again encased in a chilled armor of my own making.
“Why can’t you be a bit nicer to her, mate?” Jason asked.
I shrugged, faking the indifference I used to feel. The indifference I wanted to feel. “I fail to see how politely declining hardened sugar is not being nice.”
“You know better than that, Lucien.”
The devil take him, I did. I knew better than to let pesky distractions such as feelings get in the way of my life.
“Should you not hurry along before your little human forgets all about you?” I stared pointedly at Ruarc who was taking advantage of Jason’s distraction by stealing a kiss from the little pest.
She’s ruining my life.
Jason stiffened. “It’s fine,” he bit out. After a moment, he shook his head and repeated it, this time with less severity and with a slight, cynical grin. “We know how to share. Most times,” he added, the grin reaching his eyes.