Assembly: The Feral Souls Trilogy - Book 2

by Woods, Erica

  “Normal, no,” Ash said, moving closer. A couple of strands of his black hair had come loose from its ties and fell over my skin like ropes of silk. “But not unheard of. I think it is time we took a break.”

  * * *

  Apparently, a break meant not talking about anything that may upset me while the guys hovered, pushing food and drink and cold cloths—Ruarc insisted on putting them on my forehead—until I felt ready to burst with frustration.

  Frustration born from fear.

  We weren’t here only for me. We were here for them, too. Somehow, in some way, the Council I’d staked all my hopes on was going to judge my guys.

  Deep inside, a cage rattled.

  No, I thought while hollow dread bent under the weight of the heated steel slowly straightening my spine. I won’t let them.

  Another rattle.

  I’d tell the Council it was all my fault. That I’d found out on my own, and that I hadn’t told anyone. And if they still wouldn’t listen . . .

  I’ll tell them I tricked the guys. That I knew they were lycan all along and that I was there hunting for proof.

  No matter what, I would not let them be hurt because of me.

  The rattling stopped and the unease that had been gnawing at my stomach disappeared. But despite my plan, despite knowing I could offer myself up as a scapegoat if the Council proved difficult, my body refused to listen to my brain, remaining tense and uncomfortable.

  I waited for the ugly sensation to go away, but it only grew, twisted, and finally morphed into the familiar feeling I associated with my monster—a stomach churning, nausea creating, lead ball of stress and fretful energy that made my whole body itch for an outlet. Over the next hour, it intensified until the prickling had me tempted to peel my skin off and walk around with my flesh on display.

  It was that bad.

  Worse, it seemed to have spilled over to the guys. I didn’t know if it was the stress of the situation or if I’d inadvertently spread my unease, but tension crackled in the air like the beginning of an electric storm.

  While I fidgeted on the couch, picking at my nails to distract myself from the godawful itch, all the guys were pacing around the room like their life depended on the amount of steps they took. Even the normally calm and collected Ash was burning a hole in the floor.

  “Is . . . is anyone else itchy?” I asked. Maybe there’d been something wrong with the food? Not that I’d eaten much.

  Lucien’s cool gaze cut to my face. “What are you talking about?”

  I squirmed under his cold regard and avoided eye contact. “Nothing.”

  “You are itchy? Where?”

  It almost sounded like he cared. But I knew better. “All over,” I whispered, afraid if I spoke too loud I’d agitate him into remembering his contempt.

  “Your gums?” Lucien asked. “Fingertips?” The intent look on his face grew colder, his eyes like cubes of ice as they swept me from head to toe, lasering in on my mouth.

  “Um . . .” Alarm bells were going off in my mind. Not only because of Lucien’s sudden interest, but also the lack of interrogation from Ruarc. Normally, if I mentioned anything that bothered me, anything at all, he rushed to my side and asked me a thousand questions until he was convinced I wasn’t going to keel over from some strange, human disease.

  Not that I could ever remember being sick. Unless I counted recovering from some of the more brutal sessions with the Hunters or my periodic bone-deep itch sessions and stress-induced stomach pain.

  If the guys hadn’t been so sure what I was, if their overdeveloped senses hadn’t placed me firmly in the human category, I would have suspected being some sort of supernatural. But if I carried a hint of a supernatural gene, it was buried so far beneath my humanity that it remained only a faint of echo from past ancestors. Otherwise, why did it only come out in violent tendencies and the ability to heal?

  It’s some sort of curse.

  It had to be—it certainly was no gift. If I’d healed slower, the Hunters wouldn’t have been able to subject me to their torture. I’d have died during their first, brutal attack.

  “Speak up, woman!” Lucien stalked over to me and gripped my chin between his long, slender fingers. A jolt of awareness shot through me at the contact. For a moment I thought he’d felt it too, but then he tilted my chin up and looked at me with a terrifying knowledge darkening his eyes. A knowledge that seemed to say everything I was afraid of; that I was a monster and one day I’d wreak havoc upon the people he loved.

  “Move. Your. Hand.” Ruarc loomed over Lucien, teeth bared in a savage grimace of fury. “Now!”

  With a disgusted sound, Lucien dropped my chin and turned on Ruarc. “When will you learn the importance of information? We need to know what ails the human. What if she’s—”

  “She’s not.” Jason stepped between them. “We’ve checked several times. There are no markers; she’s too young to not react to her emotions—especially fear. Have you seen her eyes change? Scented anything out of the ordinary? No, and that’s not possible, and you know it. Not to mention her lack of, err . . .” He cast me a look over his shoulder before lowering his voice. “Change. Her body would have forced her by now. The full moon. All the times she’s been scared. But she’s never—”

  “What are you talking about?” Carefully avoiding Lucien’s glittering eyes, I stared up at Jason. “What smell? What markers?”

  With a huffed breath, Ruarc dragged a hand through his hair. The motion distracted me for a moment, the jet-black locks falling haphazardly around his hard jaw, a stark contrast to the rest of his rugged features. “Not important.”

  It seemed important to me. Frustration welled as I struggled with a decision. Should I push and risk a fight or should I let it go?

  While I debated with myself, a mulish expression descended over Ruarc. “Let it go.”

  My mouth dropped open. Had he read my thoughts? “But—”

  My world tilted as Ruarc dropped down next to me, wrapped both arms around my waist, and dragged me close. “The full moon,” Ruarc growled, burying his face in my neck, and the horrible itch lessened. “Puts us on edge.”

  Clutching at his shoulders, almost moaning at the few seconds of relief before I once again wanted to tear my skin off, I tilted my head back and looked at him.

  Burning, silver eyes. A full bottom lip. An angry scar slashing down past his strong chin and wrapping beneath that powerful jaw.

  Beautiful. Wild. Savage.

  And now I could add cunning to the list, with the way he’d tried to distract me.

  “If it’s about me, I should know,” I said quietly.

  Ruarc groaned, Ash and Lucien remained silent, but Jason grabbed my hand, brought it to his mouth, brushed three tender kisses across my knuckles. “You’re right, love,” he said in a too-gentle tone. “We were talking about the fact that you are human.” As though he knew the way my stomach wrenched at those words—though not the cause—he sought to comfort me. Another tender kiss, then a smile so soft it melted my insides to match. “And, as overprotective males are prone to do, we worry. When you’re sad, when you’re scared, when your gaze darts away and we know you’re thinking of things best left alone . . . We worry, love.” He cocked his head. “And because we don’t want you to have to worry with us, we sometimes prefer to leave things unsaid. Forgive us?”

  Mouth dry, I could only nod, staring up into amber eyes that were slowly changing. The dark-brown ring around his irises was growing brighter the longer I stared, until even the darkest flecks lit up and made the amber color glow like spun gold. It was the first time I’d seen it up close—and this bright!

  “Jason . . . your eyes,” I breathed. My hand rose of its own accord to cup his cheek, and as soon as I’d made contact, something hot and terrifying and wondrous snapped into place between us.

  It. Was. Beautiful.

  “Oh . . .”

  “Hope . . .” He stared down at me, wonder making his eyes shine brighter
than even the supernaturally infused glow did, and leaned his forehead against mine. In a beautiful, magical language I didn’t understand—the same one that never failed to resonate within me—he said, “Uihle atá ihona . . . lheatsa é.”

  An explosion of heat filled my chest close to bursting. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop staring into—

  A muffled curse from the right drew me away. When I met Lucien’s burning gaze, the tightness underneath his eyes and the twitching of his hands made me feel guilty.

  Ashamed.

  But I had nothing to be ashamed of. This was a beautiful moment, a moment that belonged to Jason and me, only. I glanced over at Ruarc, the only other person this would affect, and was glad to see not a trace of jealousy. He jerked his head in a gruff nod, and after Jason had drawn me into a long, heart-warming hug, Ruarc pounded him on the back in some sort of man-speak, then snatched me out of his hands with a tooth-baring grin.

  “Too slow,” he said and plopped me into his lap.

  Jason simply smiled, a genuine, happy smile that made my stomach burst with butterflies. “I’m gonna have to re-evaluate my hatred of the full moon.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked through a wide smile of my own. Whatever had happened between us, it had been similar to what I’d experienced with Ruarc after our fight. The same intense feeling of possibility, of a connection being forged and a new path with endless twists and turns lying open before us.

  “The full moon is never easy, love. Not even for the old ones like Ruarc.” He threw a grin at Ruarc, ignoring his dark rumble. “But tonight it doesn’t matter. I got you. Or at least, another piece of you.”

  I shook my head, not even pretending to understand. “What was that? What happened?”

  “It’s the mate-bond,” Jason said simply. “It doesn’t work like a normal human relationship. You can’t choose to be together and expect to be mates. It’s a slow process that builds on the emotions of the couple. Imagine a rope.” While he spoke, Jason’s hands moved and his expression lightened. He spoke with his whole body, utterly animated and so charming I couldn’t help but lean toward him, wanting to get closer despite sitting on another man’s lap.

  “With only one thread, the rope is weak and breakable, but once it gets braided with several fibers”—Jason curled two fingers together—“it gets stronger and stronger until it can bind without breaking.” He paused, interlaced our hands and gently squeezed, never knowing I felt the touch in my heart. “That’s how the lycan mate-bond works. Threads snap into place one by one. It begins with small ones that you don’t really notice, but during certain moments, you can feel the rightness settle into place as a thicker thread connects. Only once the bond is fully in place is it possible to go through the bonding ceremony that binds mates together forever.”

  Forever.

  My world shrank down to the sudden roar in my ears.

  The mate-bond binds them . . . forever?

  The hold Jason had on my hand suddenly felt restrictive. My fingers twitched, my elbow bent, and it fought not to yank free of his grip.

  What had I done?

  You’re taking away their choice.

  Not on purpose! And I wasn’t really, they had a choice, they—

  They don’t know. And until they do, you’re holding them hostage.

  Ice encapsulated my heart, made it cold and brittle and prone to breaking.

  I couldn’t tie them to me, no matter how much I wanted to, no matter how tempting. Not until they knew the truth about me. Not until I’d survived the Council and the inevitable confrontation with the Hunters. Not until I knew I wouldn’t destroy them.

  I forced a tight smile and murmured something about needing the bathroom. It almost broke me when I caught Jason’s look of wounded surprise.

  The blank expression on Ruarc’s face was almost as bad.

  Afraid I’d burst into tears if I looked at them a second longer, I rushed to the bathroom. Once the door closed behind me, I collapsed against the huge tub in the center of the beautiful room.

  “What have I done?” The whisper slipped past my trembling lips. My hands came up to my face and I scrunched my eyes tightly closed, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t get Jason’s wounded eyes out of my head, and I couldn’t unsee Ruarc’s face closing down, eyes shuttering and masking the affection that never failed to light me up.

  All I’d wanted to do was belong. To make Ruarc lose his guarded look and the ridiculous notion that he wasn’t good enough. To make Jason smile a genuine smile and help him face whatever demons he battled. I wanted to help them, make them happy, give back a fraction of the joy and safety and healing they’d given me. But instead, I’d somehow started a process that would see them forever trapped.

  It was horribly unfair—mostly to them, but to me as well. If, against all odds, they found a way to get past what I’d done, then what? I’d have to watch them stay young and virile while life slowly drained from my body until I was a withered old husk?

  My head spun.

  It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t I have led a normal life? Why had I been born tainted by darkness only to be broken—and I was, in so many ways, I knew I was—by the Hunters? Why couldn’t I have been born a lycan and met the guys while shopping or walking my dog or doing any of the things normal people did?

  I would have been open and honest, not cowering and deceitful. We would have laughed; I would even have flirted—not scared of my own shadow, not haunted by taunts and jeers and the hands that hurt and hurt and hurt. They wouldn’t have had to deal with all my baggage, and I would have been free to focus on them; heal their scars and be a source of light.

  Not a weakness.

  Not a scared, helpless, broken doll.

  A small voice in the back of my head questioned this fantasy, questioned if I would’ve had the capacity to understand their scars if I hadn’t carried my own. But lost to my own pity party, I batted it away.

  The surface of the tub was cool against my skin, and I half turned and let my burning forehead rest against its side.

  Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe this didn’t matter. Nothing permanent had happened yet, and in two days they’d know the truth about me. That meant, in two days, I would probably lose them, and I’d look back at this, cursing myself for not taking advantage of every second of our time together.

  I stood, shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans, and—

  What was that?

  I felt my forehead wrinkle as I pulled something out of my pocket. A piece of crumpled paper and . . . was that chocolate? Small, nearly flat, the length of my index finger, it was covered in bright pink paper that, when peeled away, revealed the sweet candy Jason had been the first to introduce me to.

  I unfolded the piece of paper next, and there, scrawled in Jason’s playful, loopy handwriting, were five silly words that smashed into my ice-encrusted heart like a big hammer made for war: “A sweet for my sweets.”

  I burst into tears.

  20

  Ash

  Our little human had still not returned.

  Is she hiding?

  Why?

  With my wolf this close to the surface, logic and reason turned cold. Calculating. Warmth and emotional understanding were dismissed in favor of callous cunning.

  I rolled my shoulders and watched Ruarc tear one of two the beige chairs to pieces. I had never liked beige. The color was dull, lifeless; better suited to funeral homes than the place I sheltered my pack. I could not remember them being here on our last visit, but it was possible they had been brought in to replace whatever furniture we had destroyed during our last stay.

  Our enforcer’s temper coupled with Jason’s pranks often lead to minor destruction.

  He is growing stronger.

  It was not rage that gave Ruarc the strength to tear lycan-made furniture in two. It was his age, his bloodline, and the drive to protect his newfound female at all costs.

  He will not take another. If this one gets
away, we will lose him.

  It was a concern, but so was the poison eating away at Jason. The dejected slump to his shoulders and the familiar self-loathing in his eyes meant he did not understand Hope’s true reasoning. He blamed himself, found flaw within when it was clear to see the blame lay with none other than the tormentors in our human’s mysterious past.

  She is strong. Stronger than we first thought. Will make a good mate.

  It was true. And every day she grew stronger, both in spirit and body. But even in the beginning when she had seemed weak, I had sensed her strength. Her well of kindness and compassion. It took a truly exceptional soul to care for others when it had been through so much darkness, and Hope more than cared for others; she put others first.

  I had seen it time and time again.

  Ruarc shredded a book.

  Brothers are falling apart.

  The cold, disjointed thoughts of my beasts crackled through my skull. In moments like these, when the mahír fáinn strained against its bonds, I wished to be closer to normal simply so I could comfort my brothers and help our female cope with whatever it was that ate at her. Instead, I was stuck with cold reasoning and a nearly impassive observation of the situation.

  The beast was riding me hard. It should have worried me that my control seemed to be slipping, that after all these years of nearly perfect mastery, I should now struggle. The rapid deteriorating of my hold on the wolf and my baser self could easily end in bloodshed. If I continued like this, it would not be a surprise to feel my claws shooting from my fingers and my fangs piercing my gums in a way I had not experienced since my last Ascension.

  Rather than worry me, the possibility was coldly disregarded and my focus returned to the female.

  Our female.

  I had yet to claim the alluring human and the wait was wearing at my restraint. But while my wolf pushed for more—pushed for me to go faster, to press my advantage—I knew I had to go slow.