by Woods, Erica
Not enough.
Though I would always chase the beauty of her smiles, I needed more. Meeting Hope had changed me; I was no longer satisfied with a superficial bond, with skimming the surface and never diving deeper.
I wanted it all.
Her smiles, her laughter, her happiness. First and foremost, her happiness. But I also wanted her pain, her misery, the regrets that kept her awake and aching and staring up at the sky with such naked longing it hurt to look at her. I wanted to take all the agony she hid and make it mine; erase it from her soul and leave her free of darkness.
She was all that was good—she was light. And her light must never be tainted. Not when I already carried so much taint, I could claim all of hers as my own and never know the difference.
“Stop,” Ruarc growled.
I slammed on the breaks. “What?”
“Something’s not right.”
A chill nipped at my skin. We were close to the house—a minute or two left of the drive, and if something was wrong . . . “What is it?”
“That smell like Strays to you?”
Lucien unfolded his body from the backseat, got out, and walked around to Ruarc’s open window. “The smell is very faint,” he said, face expressionless. “It could very well be those we hunted last night.”
“Trey’s territory is close enough they could’ve crossed here,” I said, but I wasn’t convinced and neither was Ruarc.
“Should check.” Veins pulsed beneath his skin, a feral gleam in his eyes. His body shook with strain, but before he could get out, Lucien put a hand on the door.
“I’ll do a sweep. You go home.”
Some of the strain eased. “You sure?”
Lucien nodded, attention already on the surrounding forest. “There is no reason we should both be delayed. There are preparations to be made.”
“Thanks,” Ruarc said gruffly, but Lucien was already moving.
Anxious to get home, to see Hope, I stepped on the gas and drove faster than the roads allowed.
It was a bumpy ride.
The house came into view less than a minute later, and before we’d rolled to a full stop, Ruarc tore open the door and rushed out. Cursing under my breath, I threw the car into park and hurried after him.
An enraged roar shook the doorway where Ruarc stood stock still, every muscle tense in preparation for a fight.
I raced to his side, shock gripping me in its claws when I saw the chaos that was our living room. Furniture was everywhere. Pieces of broken wood, torn fabric, glass—it all littered the floor. But what froze the blood in my veins and crushed the air in my lungs was the glistening red drops spattered across the room.
And the pool of dark liquid that lay undisturbed in the middle.
My mind went blank. I swayed. Churning liquid roared in my ears—my pulse. Then that, too, went quiet. For three seconds—three seconds where the-gods-only-knew what my female suffered—I stood frozen. Useless. Failing her. Then I opened my mouth and air rushed back into my lungs.
The quiet broke.
Thousands of images replaced the numbness, images of Hope, my female, lying bloodied and broken, hiding, waiting for her males to rescue her.
A rescue that might come too late.
“Hope!” I rushed inside, struggling to breathe through lungs that were suddenly too small. Each gulp of air was a victory, a much-needed resource as I fought to separate the many scents in the air so I could find her.
With frantic movements, I searched for my human, my mate. Ruarc’s panicked snarls barely registered as I desperately scoured the house for the female that had quickly become my world.
Thunder on the stairs—Ruarc racing to the second floor.
Bile in my throat, I stumbled toward the kitchen and the back door. Could she have been taken?
Please, let her be unharmed, let her be safe!
The mantra repeated itself in my brain over and over again, until I finally caught a glimpse of movement below the kitchen table.
“—just disappeared,” an angry voice muttered. “See how he’d like it . . .”
I threw myself forward and lifted the huge slab of wood in one jerky motion.
The figure on the floor spun around with a little shriek, a curtain of dark hair whipping around a beloved face as my female revealed herself and turned. “J-Jason?” Her hand went to her heart and I nearly collapsed with relief.
She was there. In front of me.
Alive.
The roar in my ears faded enough for me to hear my thundering heartbeat and the quick, compulsive gulps of air I was choking down.
“Hope . . .” Taking care not to hurt her, my shaking hands put the table aside and I lowered myself to my haunches in front of her. My whole body felt weak. Weak with fear that was slowly making way for a relief so strong that slivers of dark gray intruded on my vision.
Seemingly unaware of the terror still keeping me in a death grip, Hope’s gaze returned to the floor where she was busy picking up several pieces of broken glass.
Air hissed between my teeth. Glass could cut into fragile human hands. I grabbed her wrist, claimed the pieces she’d already gathered and made quick work of the rest. “Hope. What . . . what happened?” I couldn’t tear my eyes off her. If I did, I was afraid she would disappear, that the life bubbling in her expressive face was a lie. Her cheekbones were stained with an angry red, her lush mouth set with disapproval. It was all I could do not to pull her into a soul-tearing kiss.
Wait, why not?
As her mouth opened to answer my question, I pulled her into my arms. But instead of kissing her, I squashed her to my chest, wrapped my arms around her tiny body and just held her.
The terror receded with each steady beat of her heart. But when she pushed at my chest I couldn’t bring myself to let her go. Instead, I buried my face in her neck and breathed. Took in her scent, her essence. Drew it deep into my lungs and promised myself I’d never let her go, never let her be in danger again, and definitely never leave her alone—
Both my arms were wrenched back as something heavy struck me between the shoulder blades.
A threat!
My vision went red around the edges as I struggled against the knee pushing at my spine, the hold on my arms.
Have to protect Hope!
“Ruarc! What are you doing!”
Hope’s voice dragged me back from the edge of madness, Ruarc’s scent slamming into my brain. “Let go.” I should have gotten a medal for how calm my voice was when all I wanted to do was punch the dickhead in the teeth.
Ruarc’s grip loosened, but before I could exact my vengeance, he dragged Hope up into his arms and crushed her to him in a desperate embrace.
I watched while his whole body shook around her and he did exactly what I’d done.
Maybe confronting him about his idiotic behavior could wait.
“What’s going on?” Hope sounded winded.
“Relax your grip before you crush her,” I told Ruarc, unable to keep the annoyance from creeping into my voice. I wasn’t done hugging her, dammit!
With a growl in my direction, he loosed his hold and stared down at our precious treasure. “Why’s there blood?”
“Put me down first,” Hope demanded, including me in the grumpy look she gave Ruarc, and I was fiercely glad she was not only unhurt, but also felt safe enough to vent her frustration. A far cry from the female who’d jumped at loud noises and cowered like a broken doll whenever someone moved too fast.
She’s grown so much.
Looking like it was the last thing he wanted on this earth, Ruarc gently put Hope back on her feet—keeping one arm around her waist. At first she shot him a rumpled look, but whatever she saw on his face softened her. She leaned back against him and turned her eyes to me.
“Ash just left!” she exclaimed, heat rushing back to her cheeks.
“What?”
I echoed Ruarc’s low growl, our fury like blades clashing.
Moving until I
stood in front of her, I grabbed her chin and looked her up and down in search of injuries. “He left you?”
“Yes! And after I’d offered—”
“Gonna kill him!” Ruarc interrupted on a snarl.
Hope’s eyes widened.
“Tell us everything, love.”
“Well, Piercing came in here threatening—”
“Who the fuck is Piercing?” A vein throbbed in Ruarc’s temple, the outline of fangs visible through his upper lips.
“He’s one of Mr. Bossman’s lackeys,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone, like that explained everything.
Ruarc growled. “Bossman?”
“Yes. He seemed to be the leader of their gang.”
My hands curled into fists, my claws punching out and digging into flesh. “Their gang? How many were there and what did they want?”
Hope scrunched her nose. “Only three. Piercing, Mr. Bossman, and Slouchy.”
“Slouchy?” What the hell kind of names were these?
“Yes, because he was so hunched over.”
“And . . . Piercing?” Ruarc bit out.
“Had a stud in his nose.”
A reluctant grin tugged at my mouth. “You named them?”
“Well they didn’t exactly introduce themselves.”
Hope was adorable when she was piqued. I’d never seen her like this; flushed with indignant irritation and having forgotten how to be scared. I hid my grin behind a fist, amusement temporarily chasing away the anger I felt at having our home broken into and Hope threatened and—
The anger came back full force and a growl pressed against my throat.
Sensing my emotions, Ruarc jerked his head in a nod. Telling me, without words, that we would exact our vengeance.
“Where is Ash?”
“Out.” Short and annoyed.
Ruarc caught it as well, cocking his head as he studied her face. “Why?”
“He wouldn’t let me help,” she muttered.
“Help with what?”
“The red wolf.”
“What?!” Ruarc exploded into motion, letting go of Hope and surging across the room with a feral glint in his eyes.
Hope drew back, the first hint of fear on her face. I knew she didn’t fear Ruarc, which had to mean . . .
“They . . . they were lycans,” she whispered.
Dread clutched at my heart, and I looked at Ruarc. “Who?”
Angry footsteps echoed in the hall until . . . silence.
When Ruarc came back there was a tightness to his eyes I didn’t like.
“Strays,” he growled and my hackles rose.
Not a coincidence. Not when Strays had been what pulled us away. If Ash hadn’t stayed behind . . .
Finding it hard to speak, I looked down at the female I’d moved into my arms without realizing. “Did they hurt you, love?”
She shook her head. “No. Ash took care of Mr. Bossman when he changed and . . . while I ran to the kitchen he wounded Piercing. I think he was about to finish them off when I got back, but I ran into Piercing and hit him with Ruarc’s iron skillet.”
A terrible rumble echoed from Ruarc’s chest. The mating call. The challenge. I met his gaze and saw my own feelings reflected back at me; a mix of pride at our little mate’s resourcefulness and horror at what could have befallen her at the hands of a lycan. She was lucky, incredibly lucky, that she hadn’t been killed.
Something that felt a lot like panic used my ribs as a punching bag.
“You hit him with . . . my cooking pan?”
“Um . . . yes?” She fidgeted. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, Ruarc. I don’t think I broke it.”
“You’re . . . sorry?” The warning in Ruarc’s voice should have been enough to stop her, but she seemed oblivious to the inevitable eruption.
I leaned back, content to watch the show with my arms securely wrapped around her.
“I really am! I know how much you like that pan and—”
“Fuck the damned pan!” Ruarc roared. His chest heaved. When he marched back to us, standing so close that Hope shrunk into me, I had to fight back the instinct to protect her.
He would never hurt her, I told myself, knowing it was the truth but still struggling with my protective instincts. When my female felt fear . . .
I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it one bit.
“You realize you could have been killed!” It wasn’t a question, but Hope still shook her head no.
My protective instincts surged when Ruarc froze; went utterly still. My neck prickled as his gaze zeroed in on our little female. “No?” His voice was deceptively calm. “You weren’t in danger?”
Hope, seeming to have realized the treacherous waters she was treading, lowered her gaze. “Well, um . . . Ash was there.”
“If Ash was there”—Ruarc moved his face down so they were eye to eye and tilted her chin up—”why the hell were you in the fray?”
The way her chin trembled sent a wave of anger through my chest. I glowered at Ruarc. “Tone it down, mate.”
He ignored me.
“I . . . Ash told me to run, but there were three of them!” She looked between us with pleading eyes.
The fact that there had been three Strays made me want to shake her for putting herself in danger.
“And?” Ruarc growled.
“I didn’t want them to hurt him!” She crossed her arms defensively. “I grabbed two knives, too.”
Ruarc looked like he was about to pass out. “Knives?” he hissed. “Knives?”
I pushed my own anger down and asked her to tell us the rest. No doubt Ash was okay—Hope would’ve told us otherwise, heck, she’d probably be in hysterics and demanding we find him if something was wrong—but we needed to know what had happened and where Ash was so we could hunt down the Strays and tear them apart for going after our Hope.
The rest of her story tumbled from her pretty lips while Ruarc and I exchanged angry, confused glances. “—and then Ash sent me upstairs while he snuck out with the wolf! Can you believe it?” Some of her earlier fire returned.
I tried to suppress the grin building inside me. Not easy when her gaze flew to me and her eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, love,” I said, trying to sound grave. “He should have waited for you.”
Ruarc looked at me like I was crazy, the vein by his temple throbbing and his teeth grinding together. “They came into our territory. Our home.” His nostrils flared. “They need to die.”
They did, but I sure as hell wasn’t gonna say that in front of Hope. She’d just try talk us out of it. “We need to talk to Ash.”
The Strays had come here for her. For our female. To use her against us? To force us to stand down and stop fighting Rederick? To destroy our pack? Rumors of what we were risking for a female—a human no less—would be running rampant. Anyone who wanted to hurt us would know just where to strike.
“You go,” Ruarc growled while eying Hope. I immediately knew he wanted her to himself, just as I did right then.
“That’s okay, you go. If Ash has the lycan . . .” I left the sentence hanging. Ruarc was the enforcer. He had a terrifying reputation and just his presence may be enough to break the ringleader. And if not . . .
Ruarc would make him talk.
Steel shuttered his eyes when he realized what I was saying. Ruarc had honed his reputation for a reason; so that he could avoid doing what was, occasionally, needed in our world. He would go, but—
The door to the kitchen slammed open and Lucien stormed inside. “What in god’s name happened to the living room?”
10
Ash
The beast prowled beneath the surface. It stretched my skin, rippled my flesh, hammered against my bones. It wanted out, and I was tempted to let it.
I looked at the male huddled beneath Lucien’s workbench. He flinched and tried to make himself appear smaller. His earlier bravado was no more. He had seen what I was, and that knowledge lay like a noose around his neck.
He tried
to take her from us.
I rolled my shoulders, drew three deep breaths. Hope had been strong. Resilient. Brave.
Torn between the urge to censure her for the risks she had taken and praise her for her courage, I let my emotions wash over me, examining each one until its power lessened and I could breathe without fear of choking.
She had hugged me. After she had caught a glimpse of my beast, she had still embraced me—without fear poisoning her scent and turning it bitter. And I had allowed myself to be soothed.
If only temporarily.
The rapid beat of the Stray’s heart thumped through my skull. He cowered among the scattered pieces of sawdust Lucien had missed when he last cleaned, shivering and looking anywhere but at me. As though inviting my attention would be what saw him killed.
But I remained in control of my beast, picturing Hope smiling, Hope laughing, Hope closing her eyes and resting her head against my chest—her acceptance both the most precious of gifts and the deadliest of weapons.
The Stray moved and the image shattered.
His scent did not belong here.
The pleasant smells of Lucien’s oils, the polish, the wood he worked with mixed with the stench of the enemy’s terror. Smelling lies beneath that fear was hard, but not impossible. Shame on the other hand, shame and guilt, those were the emotions that best concealed truth. Maybe nature intended it to be that way, to protect victims and ensure they would not be forced to give up their secrets before they were ready.
But this wolf knew no guilt. He knew no unforgiving, unwarranted shame. And if he lied, the smell of it, the taste, would not be drowned out by stronger emotions.
I would know.
The door flew open with a bang loud enough to draw a whimper from the lycan who had tried to take my Hope.
“You!” Ruarc snarled, but he did not attack. He did not need to. At the sight of the enforcer, of the distinct scar that slashed across the lower part of his face, the coward blanched and the air filled with the stench of his urine.