by Erica Woods
I wanted to smack it away.
When I didn’t reply, Jason shrugged and hurried to catch up with the other two, leaving me behind.
Devil take it, why had I decided to go on yet another shopping trip?
I followed a few paces behind, attempting to ignore the crushing loneliness that threatened to destroy my equilibrium. When Hope turned her face to Jason, a soft smile curling her lips, the hot fury I’d done my best to bury my whole life came rushing back to life. But this time it brought a well of pain to keep it company.
Casting a glance back at me, Hope’s soulful eyes widened before showing gentle understanding. For a second I forgot who I was. Forgot who she was. All I wanted to do was pull her into my arms and never let go.
It infuriated me.
Drawing from the coldest part of me, I sent her a glacier glare. A tug on my lip told me it was curling. It was an image I had perfected. An image dripping with disdain as my cold, impenetrable wall fed off each emotion I ignored.
Perfect, I thought to myself as her face fell.
The sentiment rang hollow. Where I used to be coldly dispassionate, I now ran hot with emotion. It was all her fault, devil take her!
When we reached our destination—a bookstore Ruarc had insisted the female needed to see—my insides rolled at her blank expression. Below her carefully—if not successfully—constructed indifference, lay a world of hurt feelings. Feelings I, no doubt, was responsible for hurting.
Why couldn’t I discontinue my abrasive behavior around her? We’d made a truce, of sorts, and I’d even offered to teach her how to defend herself.
Before I could recall exactly why that was necessary and fly into a blind rage, I let the cold wash over me, blanketing my feelings in a layer of imagined snow. From behind the frozen window of my soul, I watched a foreign, traitorous part of myself take control of my body and approach the chit.
“They have drawing supplies at the back,” I told her, recalling watching her doodle on pieces of paper when no one was looking.
“Oh.” She seemed afraid to meet my eyes; her gaze landing somewhere in the vicinity of my chest. “Thank you.”
Two simple words. They shouldn’t have had the impact they did, holding the breath in my lungs hostage until I felt as though I was drowning. “You’re welcome,” I choked out.
Still not raising her skittish gaze, Hope wandered into the store and looked around. Searching for one of the two males who held her affection, no doubt.
Could she ever look at me like that? With the certain knowledge that I would welcome her, would keep her safe?
Don’t be foolish.
Half an hour later a brilliant smile was plastered to Hope’s full lips. Every few seconds she would glance down into the tiny shopping bag Ruarc had allowed her to carry, and her eyes would sparkle. None of us had the heart to remove it from her tiny, clenched fists. Not when she looked at it with such naked longing.
I recognized her emotion. It was the same curious anticipation riding me when I had new wood to work with. The feel of the material under my hands, the give and take as I shaped it until its form matched the image in my mind, was one of the few tasks left to me that gave me any type of pleasure.
Perhaps the girl and I had something else in common, after all.
I kept my distance while Ruarc placed the female on one of the many benches decorating the sidewalk in this small town. He stacked all the bags around her, cupped her face in his much-too-big hands, and kissed her. Jason did the same, and then they left, both of them jerking their chins in a gesture I knew meant they wanted me to watch her.
I inclined my head and waited for her inevitable attempt at conversation.
It did not take long.
The feel of her gaze lingering should have been abrasive—like my skin was being scraped by sandpaper—but, as usual, Hope was the exception to the rule. When I felt her eyes on my chest, instead of disgust, I felt . . . pleasantly warm? When she looked higher, hesitating by the annoying throb of my pulse, my first response was one of anticipation.
It lasted for about a second.
Then my teeth clenched in preparation.
When females looked at my face they all swooned. Or stared. Some bit their lips, their eyes heating with promises they believed I’d be pleased to receive. Others were more brazen, daring to put their hands on me, to touch when no permission—nor, to be frank, encouragement—had been given.
It never failed to sour my stomach.
This female, however, could never be predicted. I knew she found me attractive—my mother had often told me the beauty I inherited from my father was the devil’s own work—but instead of lust twisting her expression, Hope met my gaze head on. A small, hesitant smile curved her lips, and the openness in her eyes invited conversation.
Not a heated embrace.
Not long, languid kisses.
Not her taste being burned into my mind or the touch of her silky skin branded into my palms.
No. She offered simple conversation. A reprieve from the frozen wastes of my existence, from loneliness and shadow and the numbness I’d come to crave.
Before I could make a fool of myself and throw away a century of perseverance, I turned my back, ignoring the poison ivy that dragged down my throat and scratched against my insides like little swipes of regret.
It was ridiculous. How could such a tiny, strange girl shatter my fortress with a mere look? How was it possible to want to pull her impossibly close and push her far, far away at the same time?
These last few weeks had been hell. Feelings I’d thought long dead to me had risen with a momentum I would have thought impossible a mere month ago.
They should have been dead.
Gone.
Instead, the haunting image of the female’s pale, graceful face, the soft swell of her lips, and the tormented pain in her eyes continued to plague me. She was driving me to the brink of destruction, all the while wearing a hesitant smile, acceptance and welcome and forgiveness in every gesture, every word.
No matter how cruel my tongue.
I’d meant for my callousness to send her fleeing. Even in the beginning—when suspicion and contempt had ridden me like a stallion possessed—it had not taken her long to unravel the careful construction I’d painstakingly created to protect myself from the very thing now threatening to eat me alive.
And when I had to swallow a growl at the thought of her leaving, I knew I had failed. In every way.
In that moment, a part of me hated her. I hated her for what she had taken from me, and I hated her for the steep cost she would force my brothers to pay in order to keep her.
With a violent shove, I forced the emotions back before they made me weak. It was time to put the girl out of my mind once and for all. After I turned back to check on her. To make sure she was still there.
It wouldn’t do to lose the nuisance of a woman before her males returned.
The acrid scent of terror was the first warning. I spun the rest of the way around, all senses on full alert.
My heart seized while I frantically searched for the little human.
There!
Sitting exactly where I’d left her.
It took me several precious seconds to recognize the second warning. Not because my mind was still reeling from the steep drop into panic, but because she was sitting with her face tilted, showing me only half her profile.
And the half I was seeing froze the blood in my veins.
She was devoid of color. Utterly white. Her lips were compressed and bloodless, her cheeks as pale as the first time I’d seen her. One hand fisted in her lap, clenched so tightly the skin was almost translucent with strain.
Every inch of her was shaking.
I leapt across the trashcan standing in my way and shoved a human male to the side in my haste to reach her.
“What is it?” Despite every effort to keep my voice emotionless, it came out a harsh bite.
She didn’t respond. It was d
oubtful she’d even heard me. Her eyes remained unseeing. Glazed over and distant. It was as though she was in another world.
Or seeing something I do not?
And that was the third warning.
Narrowing my eyes, I followed her gaze. The girl was definitely staring at something.
Or someone.
A low warning rumble tumbled from my mouth before I could think. It was the sound of Claiming. Of Challenge. Of pure male idiocy.
After the last time I’d lost control, that day in Hope’s bedroom, I’d promised myself I would never utter that ridiculous sound again. But right then I was glad of it. Anyone hearing that sound would cease being a threat and flee. Predator turned prey.
“Where,” I asked again, my eyes scanning every inch of the street and every window in every shop. I wanted to throw my head back and howl the song of battle. Wanted to tear down the street and destroy whatever had put that strained, hollow look on her face. The look that made her eyes shut down until she looked less like herself and more like a victim.
For once, I didn’t question what she made me feel. There was no time and my Hope was in danger. The only feeling clawing at my throat was the urge to kill. To destroy.
Protect.
Movement caught in the corner of my eye, and I whipped around.
Nothing.
Hope stared down at the ground, a glassy quality to her eyes. “I thought . . . I just . . . never mind.” Her voice was soft. Too soft.
“That was not nothing,” I hissed. “You saw something. Now explain yourself.” I didn’t care if I sounded like a bastard. If she’d seen what I believed she had seen . . .
Someone will die.
“Lucien,” Ruarc snarled, coming around the corner at a sprint. “What the fuck did you do?”
I bit back the sharp retort burning a hole through my tongue. “I did nothing. The girl saw something, but she’s refusing to answer my questions.”
Ruarc’s sharp gaze whipped to the annoyingly silent woman in question. “What. Happened?”
A burgeoning respect bloomed at her complete disregard of Ruarc’s fury. I had seen grown men cower before that glare. The glare, coupled with his bared teeth and harsh voice . . . the fact that she wasn’t intimidated impressed me against my will. A tiny slip of a girl like that should be huddling in a corner somewhere, not defiantly refusing to share with her potential mate.
But the fury burned across Ruarc’s face couldn’t quite hide his fear. His gaze roamed over every part of her in a near crazed frenzy—checking for injuries and making sure she had remained unharmed.
A male lycan protecting his female was even more dangerous than a starved vampire.
Against my will and better judgment, I followed him down the dark tunnel of protective rage.
“Jason!” I bellowed.
We waited in taut silence. Less than a minute later, Jason came sprinting down the street. His frantic gaze jumped straight to the quivering girl at our side.
The second he reached us, he gathered Hope into a hug. She was stiff, nearly unwilling, standing within the circle of his arms without hugging him back.
“What happened, love?” he asked, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face and tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“N-nothing.”
Ruarc went rigid.
Ruarc stiffened. “Stay here,” he ordered Jason.
The look in his eyes was a perfect reflection of my own, churning chaos. He jerked his chin to the left, and I immediately knew what he wanted. Many a night we had hunted under the stars, but it had been a while since our prey was human.
“W-where are you going?”
Ruarc didn’t answer.
“D-don’t g-go.” A hoarse, ragged plea that made fury sprout wings and tear out my back.
Ruarc ground his teeth, but remained silent.
While a feeling I refused to recognize gnawed at my marrow, I closed my eyes and prepared my body.
Three breaths later and the armor was back in place. It had changed; cracks had appeared in the black ice and some places had worn thin. But the armor was still intact.
Sharing one last speaking look with Ruarc, we took off in opposite directions.
Let the hunt begin.
52
HOPE
Did he see me?
My heart raced.
Did he see me?
Chills erupted.
Did he see me?
The question tumbled around in my brain, rattling my skull and pounding against the few remaining barriers in my mind until I was scared the monster inside would tear free.
What if he saw me?
Another chill dragged across my skin. All the fine hairs on my body rose like seaweed in a stormy ocean, and I shivered. Would I ever be able to relax again?
Through the endless cold ravaging my body, I was vaguely aware of the tense silence that filled the car. Ruarc hadn’t said a word since he and Lucien came back from wherever they’d run off to. They’d trudged back after thirty minutes, looking defeated and furious all at once.
I should never have let them convince me to come here.
The despairing thought reminded me of my own guilt. If the Hunter had seen me, he would definitely have noticed one of the guys. I could end up being the reason they were targeted.
The reason they were killed.
I’d known going to the next town over was a bad idea, but since I’d refused to tell anyone the truth—to protect them, or at least that’s what I told myself—I’d run out of excuses. If I’d known I would see Jan, I would’ve stayed in bed under the blankets while screaming myself hoarse.
Why was he still so close? He should have moved on by now, unless . . .
Unless he knew I was close.
I clutched at my chest, feeling like it was about to explode.
No. No, if the Hunters even suspected I was close to this area, the whole place would be crawling with Hunters. It had to be a coincidence.
That’s all it is. A coincidence.
The car came to a stop, already home.
Home . . .
Could it still be my home after what had almost happened?
I barely noticed when the guys left the car. My door opened, throwing a gust of wind against my neck that raised chills in its wake. The night air was cool, the moon hanging low and heavy, casting creepy shadows in the dark.
“Out,” Ruarc growled, his voice nothing more than a knife’s edge. He stalked to my side and pulled me out of the car.
“Ruarc . . .” Jason trailed off when Ruarc brushed past him, me struggling to keep up. If not for his palm on my lower back, I’d have fallen.
I stumbled after him, brain on autopilot.
It wasn’t until the door closed behind us and I took in the unfamiliar surroundings that my mind re-engaged. “W-where are we?”
The room was spacious, bigger than mine, with high ceilings, two large windows, and a huge bed taking up the back wall. The walls were a stark white, the floor the same. There were no pictures or knick knacks lying about, no excess furniture. A dresser leaned against the wall closest to the door—also white—while a small cabinet rested next to the bed.
The cabinet was black.
Ruarc stood with his back to me facing the windows. His shoulders were tense and high, the muscles of his neck corded. “My room.”
My heart clenched. Ruarc had lived here for years, and yet there was nothing in the room that spoke of who he was, of who he’d been.
My gaze was drawn back to the black doors of the small cabinet. Did he keep anything in there? Pictures, mementos, books?
“Who’d you see, Hope?”
I flinched, dared a look.
Molten, silver eyes that burned.
There was no give there. Not anymore. His chin jutted out, his jaw was clenched, the dark slashes of his brows drawn low and angry.
I’d run out of time.
Shifting from foot to foot, I tried to think of
an excuse, an answer that would satisfy a man who had reached the end of his patience. I wanted to give him what he wanted, I really did, but the thought of him knowing my deepest, darkest secrets, of him turning away from me when he learned what I truly was . . . It made my insides revolt until I struggled not to empty my stomach all over his pristine, white floors.
Worse, if he went searching for the Hunters, he’d be killed.
I couldn’t bear it.
“It . . . it was nothing.”
Thin slits of silver raked across my face. The feeling of being exposed was almost enough for me to cross my arms over my chest, to hide from his sight, but I stood still. Something was sneaking into his expression. Something cold and hard and terrifying.
Dread slapped at my face. The skin along my neck pebbled.
“No more lies.” A harsh command spoken in a harsh tone.
Sweat coated my palms. “I can’t—I don’t know—”
“Enough!” The roar was deafening. “Who. Did. You. See?”
Should I tell him? Could I tell him? Would he think he was invulnerable just because he was a lycan? Would he try and take on the Hunters?
Would he expect everything, my soul laid bare?
He’ll hate me.
Family was everything to him. Everything.
My eyes flickered over him, took in his furrowed brow, the hard, unyielding line of his jaw as he ground his teeth. When his muscles coiled in his shoulders, I knew I’d run out of time.
“Ruarc, I . . .” I took a step closer, my gut knotting when he didn’t move. He didn’t open his arms, didn’t lean toward me like his instincts was urging him closer. All the things he always did . . .
Gone.
He drew in a deep breath, nostrils flaring. “Gotta tell me, Hope. Have to—” He shook his head. “Need to protect you. Can’t if I don’t know the enemy.”
Pain bloomed in my chest and threatened to send me crashing to the floor.
He’d sealed his fate. With those words, Ruarc had sealed his fate. I no longer harbored any doubt he’d go after the Hunters. Not after what he’d just said.