by Erica Woods
“I . . . I can’t. Please understand—”
Making a slashing motion through the air, Ruarc cut off my sentence. There was a hard edge to his next words, “Don’t. I can’t . . . can’t handle the lying. The mistrust.” His eyes were cold, hard steel. “I’m done.”
The world tilted on its axis and something in my stomach swelled. It swelled and swelled until there was no more space. It twisted. Shrieked. And then it raced up my throat and spewed from my mouth in a single, choked gasp.
“W-what?”
Done? He’s . . . done?
It couldn’t be real. I couldn’t be losing the man I loved—oh, god, I love him!—because I was trying to protect him.
Ruarc snarled, a wordless, horrible sound. And when he spoke, it was with that snarl turning each of his words into razors. “You don’t trust me.”
The air in my lungs froze. Turned to ice. Shredding, tearing, rending ice.
I couldn’t breathe.
Reaching out, I tried to touch him. He stepped away, and my heart jerked so hard I thought I might pass out.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willed the tears to retreat. All I wanted was to assure him that it wasn’t true. I did trust him, I did. I just didn’t want him to die.
Liar.
As if he’d heard me, Ruarc’s eyes changed. Still hard—how could they be so hard?—but eaten through by the acid of disillusionment, of contempt.
The crack that went through my heart then was so wide, so deep, it seemed impossible that it could happen so quietly. Surely this kind of pain couldn’t be contained to a single body? Contained without a sound?
How could the sound of a broken heart go unheard?
“Ruarc, p-please,” I croaked, voice breaking.
He crossed his arms, eyes cold and dead. The way he looked at me made me want to shrivel up and die. I’d never thought he would give up on me. Never thought he would look at me with disgust.
Didn’t you, though?
It had been my deepest fear, seeing the expression he wore right then. And I’d made it happen. I’d kept my mouth shut and made my worst fear into reality.
All because I was a coward.
When my first tear fell, I could almost see his temper deflating. He hesitated. Opened his mouth. But then his jaw hardened, teeth clenching. He took one step toward me, igniting a hope that stole the breath right out of my lungs, before he shook his head and stormed out.
Without looking back.
I collapsed to the floor, silent tears streaming down my face. I didn’t have air to sob. I could barely breathe. My insides rolled, acres of barbed wire cutting through flesh and bone, shredding everything in its path.
It hurt. It hurt with a deep, throbbing ache that built and built and built until I thought my heart might explode.
I rolled onto my back, trying to breathe.
He left me.
Betrayal warred with bitter regret.
How could he leave me?
I should have told him the truth.
But he said he would always be with me.
I hadn’t been honest.
He’s gone. He’s gone.
A sob tore from my throat, and I curled into a ball on the floor.
What have I done?
What have I done what have I done what have I done.
Ash
It was becoming harder and harder to stay away from Hope. Her scent was everywhere; lingering in the kitchen where she spent so much time with Ruarc, drifting down the hallway from the room she slept in, invading my mind even while I slept. Whenever I walked into the living room, the smell of her skin was so strong I could taste it in the back of my throat.
It was proving . . . challenging.
Especially when I went cold. When the beast pushed to the surface and craned my neck in search of more of that tantalizing scent.
I had not lost control since the day I was reborn, and I would not do so again. Not while I had a family to protect.
While I tried to keep my mind off the one person who could try my control, Ruarc came bounding down the stairs. Less than a minute later, Jason followed hot on his heels, looking like he wanted to kill.
I did not get involved. There was no need. Even though they fought more than anyone else in our little pack, Ruarc and Jason had always been close. Close in a way that siblings who annoyed the living daylights out of each other were close.
When both of them looked like that, I could only think of one reason for their strife.
Hope.
My wolf stretched inside my mind, its ears perking before lying flat in preparation for a hunt. For once we were in accord. We would seek out the sweet human and make sure she was unharmed.
I found her curled up on Ruarc’s floor, cheeks wet with tears. They glistened like a thousand shiny stars upon her moonlit skin, beckoning me closer.
Cold curiosity—the beast pushing, straining, watching.
Hurt? A deep inhale. No blood. The first stirrings of anger. Who?
I pushed its disjointed thoughts away and felt my human heart ache for her sorrow.
“Banajaanh,” I whispered, coming to kneel in front of her. “What is wrong?”
Her bony shoulders hunched further as her face sought refuge in her hands. She didn’t reply.
The way her shoulders shook disturbed me. Such sadness should not be locked away in silence.
If I had carried any reservations, they fell away in that moment. “Come here, little bird.” I placed one arm beneath her knees, the other around her shoulders. Silky skin met my calloused palms, and the flesh on her bare arms pebbled beneath my touch.
I forced back a growl.
When she failed to utter a word of protest, I lifted her into my lap. Disturbed by her slight weight, I hugged her close, acutely aware of her fragile bones and cold, clammy skin. I wanted her strong. Resilient. Even more so than she had needed to be to survive her past and all its horrors.
“You are all right, banajaanh,” I murmured, stroking her hair. The dark, soft length no longer hung in knotted tangles around her face. It had softened, grown impossibly smooth, framing her pale face in a beautiful mass of silky tresses.
I continued to pet her while I pressed her against my chest, sharing my heat. Every few seconds, silly sounds of comfort and words of reassurance slipped from my mouth. Some were in the old language, and some came out fae.
She stilled for those, basking in the quiet comfort of our magical brethren’s lyrical tongue.
For the first time in almost four hundred years, I had no control over what I was saying.
“Do not be sad,” I crooned. “I am here.”
“I-I ruined e-everything,” she hiccuped, face still buried in her hands.
“What do you mean, banajaanh?”
“H-he h-hates m-me.”
Surely she could not be talking about Ruarc? “No one hates you.”
Big, tearfilled eyes were all I saw when she lowered her hands. “R-Ruarc does.”
Even knowing it could not be true, I had to quell a burst of anger. Ruarc would never hurt her. Not on purpose. “I am sure that’s not true.” The fleck of bare skin behind her ear looked so inviting. So soft.
A deep need thrummed to life, and my arms tightened around the warm bundle of female in my arms. She lay still. Trusting. Accepting my comfort.
The unyielding predator I had come to accept as a part of myself, borrowed my eyes and studied the alluring creature in our arms. We cocked our head. Saw the trail of wetness on her soft skin. Smelled the pain of loss. Heard the thumping beat of a heart that should never have to feel the bitter touch of anguish.
We watched. We assessed. And then a predatory curiosity prickled at our skull. A sound we did not remember ever making drummed to life in our chest, harsh with disuse, sharp with possession, warm with the blue fire of our interwoven souls.
Troubled, I pushed the cold presence back and focused on comforting the sad female.
“It is,” Hope cried, tur
ning her face into my body. It was disturbing how much pleasure I drew from her trust, how well her tiny frame fit in my lap. “He said . . . he s-said he was d-done.”
A flash of anger tightened my shoulders.
Breathe. Find your center.
In control of my emotions—and my body—once again, I dared to glance down. Hope’s lips were white with tension, her eyes welling with misery and heart-ache. Every so often she would rock herself, drawing arms and legs as close to herself as possible, using the natural motion to bring her hair forward and blocking her face from my sight.
Signs of shame.
I knew them only too well.
“I am sure he did not mean that he was done with you, banajaanh.” I pulled her hair aside, crushing the impulse to wrap it around my wrist, pull her head back, and mark her neck. “Tell me what happened.”
She blanched. “It was my fault.”
“What was your fault?”
“I . . . I didn’t tell him. Didn’t trust him enough.” Her breath hitched. “When he left . . . the look on his face . . .”
Oh, my sweet, little human.
She trusted Ruarc. I had seen them together often enough to be sure. It was not Ruarc she did not trust, but herself.
Of course, my self-loathing brother would not see it that way. He would have been tormented by his perceived failure, torturing himself with all the ways he might lose her should he fail again—to protect her, to hunt down those responsible for putting nightmares in her eyes. Whatever Hope thought she had seen on his face would have been nothing more than a reflection of his feelings for himself.
I took a few deep breaths—forcing the cold intellect of the predator further away in favor of the warmth of the earth, of nature—and reflected on the situation. Ruarc would no doubt sort everything out when he was back. Meanwhile Hope would hurt. There was no way around it. No matter how much I wanted to take away her pain, our best chance to keep her—
When had I decided to keep her?
At once my skin tightened and my gums itched. A fiery storm brewed in my center, forcing me to push aside thoughts of letting her go before my control snapped.
Am I even capable of caring for yet another person? To be responsible for their wellbeing and safety?
I had failed so many times in the past. In fact, my biggest failure had cost me everything. Even myself. The thought of watching another person slip through my fingers sent daggers of dread scraping over old wounds and sparked a fury I could not afford to let loose.
“Whatever you saw, Hope, was not aimed at you,” I finally said, tucking the hair she kept bringing forward behind her ear. “Ruarc, he . . . struggles.” I paused, searching for the right words. “I know he told you about his past, but did you know you are the only one he has ever told—except me?”
Wide eyes grew impossibly wider. “Really?”
I nodded. “He only told me because it is necessary for a pack to know each other’s weaknesses, especially a pack as small as ours. He gave me his permission to tell the others, but has never talked about it with anyone else. The fact that he told you speaks volumes.”
Her lush lower lip wobbled. “I still hurt him,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t want me anymore.”
Sudden violent wrath rose on wings tipped with claws. They beat at my ribs, fighting against the tight bonds I forced upon them. The churning, chilled anger made my eye twitch.
A misunderstanding. Only a misunderstanding.
I looked down at the female in my arms. At that moment she seemed so young. Too young to have experienced all the horrible things she kept locked inside her mind. There was so much she needed to know. Her life had barely begun and lacked in vital experiences.
Who were we to want her as our mate when she had yet to live? To unequivocally bind her life to ours until the day we died would be the height of unfairness.
Of cruelty.
But despite all that, the thought of forcing her away never entered my mind.
It was hard to concentrate with her body pressed up against mine like this, with vulnerability shining in her beautiful, brown eyes. But the sadness I felt radiating off her in waves was more disturbing than any thought I could conjure. So I tilted her chin up to meet my gaze and attempted to make her understand. “Ruarc believes himself to be unworthy.”
An indignant gasp let me know Hope did not agree. Before she could protest, I held up a hand. “We both know that’s not the case, but in this instance it only matters what Ruarc believes. You have seen him angry, you know he has a volatile temper, and that, coupled with his sheer size and intimidating looks, has scared away more people than you would believe.”
She rubbed the heel of her hand against her chest, a pained expression painting her face sallow. I could no more stop my arms from tightening around her than I could cease my next heartbeat. The urge to rub my scent over every inch of exposed—and clothed—skin pushed against my carefully contained control. It had been years since I was this close to breaking.
To letting go.
Shaking my head, I settled for drawing her scent as far into my lungs as I could. “It is likely Ruarc thinks he has failed you.” I struggled to keep my voice even. “That, in you not trusting him, he has proven himself unable to take care of you.”
“But . . . that’s not true,” she cried, pushing against my chest until she could see my face. “He must know that isn’t true!”
“I know that, and you know that. He does not.”
“H-how do I fix it?”
“You wait,” I replied. “Wait for him to calm down, and then you can talk. About everything.”
A tear trailed down her cheek, stabbing at my chest. “O-okay.”
“Between you and me,” I started, hugging her closer, “I believe he may fear becoming like his sire.”
“That’s absurd! His . . . his sire was an evil tyrant. Ruarc is kind and protective and gentle!”
I smiled. “You are right.”
Some of the tension seeped out of her, and she slumped against me. Once or twice, she peeked up, sorrow and confusion occasionally receding to give way to a curiosity, a warmth that I prayed would grow for her as it had grown for me.
I spent the next few minutes concentrating on soothing her sorrow when it rose, and encouraging her curiosity when the sorrow ebbed. Her gaze was often drawn to my face, and by pretending I did not notice, she allowed it to linger.
Once she had looked her fill, I stroked a finger across her cheekbones, following the lines of her heart-shaped face down to her pointed chin—she had taken to sticking it out in a stubborn manner, mimicking Ruarc, when she felt particularly strongly about something—and across her full lips.
Her scent, the scent I could never truly escape, filled me with every breath.
It was almost . . . peaceful.
For a moment in time, all of the heavy responsibilities that weighed me down felt somehow lighter. The ever-present hollowness in my gut filled with her light. Her energy. The very essence that was Hope.
Hope. What a fitting name.
I closed my eyes and looked inward; to the burnt pile of ashes that was the man I used to be. There, buried under the crumbled coals, I noticed something new. A tiny, green plant sprouting up from the charred wasteland, reaching for the sky.
It was terrifying.
Opening my heart meant risking everything I had built. It meant putting everyone’s lives in danger. If I dared to take the bird with the broken wings as my mate and someone tried to take her from me . . .
I would unleash my beast upon the world and break the promise I had made on that fateful day I became the monster my mother’s people had accused me of being.
And this time, there would be no coming back.
53
RUARC
My world had narrowed down to two pinpricks of black light. Everything was gray. Gray and desolate and tinged with a dangerous, reddish hue.
I raced down the stairs, jumping the last three and
rushing outside.
My skin crawled with the need to Change. To run. To fight. To fucking hunch over and clutch at the shredded remains of my heart.
Claws punched out from the tip of my fingers.
The door rattled on the hinges behind me from the force I’d used to slam it shut.
Not enough.
Aggression bled through the pain slashing at my insides.
Fangs exploded from my gums.
The look on my female’s face . . .
I closed my eyes.
Pure devastation.
My claws dug into any flesh it could find. My thighs, my palms, my biceps.
Blood slipped down my arms.
Wanted to go to her. Comfort her. But what peace could I give her when she didn’t trust me?
A familiar, hot flush smeared my insides with an oily, sticky substance no amount of scrubbing could get rid of.
Not good enough for her.
I stumbled away from the driveway, cut across the front lawn, and headed toward the forest.
Couldn’t help her. Couldn’t ward off her demons or slay her enemies. Whoever hunted her, if they found her . . .
“God-fucking-dammit!” I roared to the sky and took off into the woods.
Felt unstable. Like the world had gone sideways and I no longer knew which side was up.
Helpless.
The grueling pace made stealth impossible, and several critters fled in my wake. Needed my body to hurt. To match the cracks in my heart and the misery reflected in Hope’s wounded eyes.
I’d hurt her. I’d fucking hurt her.
My hands curled until my claws tore deep gouges into my palm.
Yeah, I’d been angry, and yeah, I’d been short. But hadn’t been cruel. Hadn’t said anything to count for her expression of anguish.
Why’d she looked so sad? I was the one who’d left with knives stabbing at my chest. I was the male unable to garner his female’s trust. I’d failed her.
Was she scared of me? Was that it?
All females are scared of you, you big brute.
Wanted to protect her. Love her. Keep her safe.
Slay her enemies, torture her tormentors, utterly destroy anyone who’s ever hurt her by ripping them apart, small piece by small piece.