Assembly: The Feral Souls Trilogy - Book 2

by Woods, Erica

  “Matthew,” I hissed.

  Matthew groaned, but didn’t move, didn’t so much as open his eyes.

  “Matthew,” I repeated, my voice no louder than before. If a guard caught me intervening with his punishment, I would be subjected to much, much worse. “Food.”

  Another groan, then he blinked open the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “Shouldn’t,” was all he said, hunger and something else, something dark and desperate and dire infecting his voice like a slow-moving poison.

  I blinked back tears, wondering how much time he had left, if feeding him, prolonging his life, was a cruelty rather than the help I intended. Or did my own hunger act as heartless justification to keep the food to myself?

  Before I could change my mind, I reached my hand through the bars and tossed the bread. My stomach complained loudly, my hand clenching on thin air—grasping at the nourishment I was throwing away—but it would be worth it. If it could help Matthew, give him a moment’s respite, it would all be worth it.

  Groaning for the third time, Matthew crawled to the edge of his cell and grabbed the bread through the bars. He didn’t eat it right away, looked at it like it was part salvation, part damnation. But then he brought it to his lips, closed his eyes, and took a bite.

  My mouth watered and I could almost taste it. It would be dry but sweet. Tasting better than I knew it should. Yes, it would lie like a lump in my belly, but better a lump than this gnawing, aching emptiness.

  I watched him eat. Slow. Methodical. One third gone and my stomach screamed. Half gone and it shrieked. Only two bites remained and my stomach went quiet. Gave up.

  But then . . . silence. The kind that came before something horrible happened. The kind that, in this place, was only followed by terror and pain and death.

  A guard. Gregory. Appearing out of nowhere and staring at the last crumbs tumbling from Matthew’s slack fist. The guard didn’t look angry and Matthew didn’t look scared. The latter wore a resigned expression—the kind that came when a soul was ready to go, when life on earth had become too much—the same one I’d seen on so many faces before they were dragged away never to return.

  But Gregory . . . Gregory smiled.

  There was so much in that smile. Anticipation. Delight. Pleasure that was born from cruelty. And in it, I saw my death.

  “You know you’re not allowed to share your food,” Gregory said, strolling over and unlocking my cell. The door slid open with a rattle that cut my ears, made my insides bleed.

  I scuttled back into the corner; curled up with my heart racing, palms sweating, already crying. I would not survive another round, hadn’t even begun to recover from my last session.

  “It was me.”

  A shadowed hand reached into my stomach and yanked at the sound of that weak declaration. My lips moved, shaping a denial that wouldn’t come.

  Our torturer turned; waited.

  “I stole it.”

  “Really?” Gregory drew out the e, made it into something obscene and unbelievable. “And just how did you manage that?”

  “Food cart. When we returned from the basement, Dave walked me right past it. I saw my chance and swiped a slice.”

  Gregory grinned and stepped out of my cell, sliding the barred door closed behind him.

  I could breathe again, but each gulp of air tasted foul. Rotten.

  Soft footsteps. Another door rattling open, and this time, I bled all over. ‘No.’ It hovered there, on my lips. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Not when I was glass about to shatter.

  I dragged my battered body as close to the bars as I could get, my eyes glued to Gregory’s back. This wasn’t right. I couldn’t let this happen. It was my fault. My mistake. My crime.

  The bars didn’t groan beneath my grip. Not even when I clenched my hands with all my might. They remained steadfast and unmoving, unbending and unending. They refused to complain, refused to budge, refused to get out of the way, no matter how hard I pushed and squeezed.

  They were strong, and I was weak.

  Crack went bone and tendons.

  The sound Matthew made as his first finger broke in Gregory’s fist was worse than any scream. Barely a whisper, it was a breath of death; despair given voice. A soft, almost inaudible moan that sent my stomach heaving, wishing he would cry, yell, shriek—anything but this broken barely-there sound.

  Gregory turned halfway to me. Lifted a brow.

  A question.

  Bile rushed up my throat and I clenched my teeth shut to keep my stomach lining from bursting out through my mouth.

  Gregory waited.

  I looked at Matthew, but he wouldn’t meet my gaze. He stared at the ground, closed his eyes, bowed his head. Ready to take the pain meant for me. The pain my damaged body and shattered spirit would not survive.

  But neither would Matthew.

  I opened my mouth; choked on my choice. The weight of an ocean pushed against my chest while the salt of its water soaked up my spit and left my mouth so dry my tongue rasped against my gums.

  It was me, I tried to say. Or did I just think it? Did I just think it? Did I just—

  Snap.

  The pressure on my chest moved to my stomach, and I expelled a stream of spit and bile.

  This time, Matthew made no sound at all, but he collapsed from the pain, his upper body swaying from the firm grip Gregory had on his arm.

  “It was me,” I croaked, skin prickling with the pain to come. “I-I did it. Not M-Matthew.”

  Gregory laughed. “It’s too late now, girl. I’ve already started.”

  “N-no, I—”

  “Should’ve said something when you had the chance.” He turned to look at Matthew. “She could’ve stopped it, you know. I waited. I gave her time to speak up. But she didn’t.” He broke another finger, and I made the noise Matthew couldn’t, I gave voice to his pain and screamed. “Rather you than her—though she doesn’t look too pleased now, does she?”

  Churning liquid roared in my ears. I clutched at my stomach but there was no more bile, no more spit or empty air to spew. “Stop!” I screamed. “God, oh god, please, stop, stop, stop!”

  He didn’t.

  Gregory broke the rest of Matthew’s fingers. One by one, crack by crack, scream by scream. Then he broke his arms. His legs. His body. His spirit.

  I had long since screamed myself hoarse, reclaiming the blame, begging him to stop, to turn to me, to punish the guilty party and not the innocent. But Gregory only laughed, telling me I was too late, I should have said something earlier, I should have told the truth before the second finger broke.

  There were many sins from that day I would never be able to forgive myself for.

  I would never forgive myself for the relief I’d felt when my cell door closed and Matthew’s opened. I would never forgive myself for not doing anything when Matthew’s skull split open and his broken body fell to the ground. But most of all, I would never forgive myself for the fear that had stolen my voice when Matthew’s first finger snapped.

  I could have saved him then. I could have turned Gregory back to me. But I had let a second break, and by then, as Gregory had said, it had been too late.

  25

  Hope

  I shuddered and shoved the memory away with such force I toppled back and collapsed into the couch. With my lips tingling and my fingers going numb, I slammed a black wall down between myself and the horror I couldn’t—wouldn’t—relive.

  Gulping down huge mouthfuls of air, I rubbed at my chest, half expecting Lucien to come flying back into the living room.

  He always saw me at my worst, why not this time?

  But he didn’t come, and I realized I’d barely made a sound.

  With the gruesome memory locked away, I drew in a deep breath, tried to calm my thundering heartbeat, but instead of getting a respite, my mind flooded with Lucien, almost as if he’d been waiting for a chance to intrude. I saw him pressed up against me. I saw the almost vicious hunger writing stark lin
es across his face when he descended upon me. I saw his mouth claiming mine in a kiss so heated my body had betrayed me.

  And then guilt intruded.

  It was impossible to even begin to think about Ruarc’s and Jason’s reaction. Regardless of what they’d said in the past, I had a feeling neither of them would appreciate what I’d done.

  A door slammed and Lucien came stalking back into the living room. “They are here,” he said in an icy voice and stood so he faced the door.

  Sure enough, less than a minute later, it opened and the guys walked in with Ash in front. He took one look at Lucien’s face before turning his sharp gaze my way. Whatever he saw made his expression go carefully blank.

  “Finally,” Ruarc muttered behind him and elbowed his way through both Jason and Ash, stomping over to where I sat. “A chuisle.” Burying his face in my neck, he inhaled deeply and gathered me in his arms.

  Warm and safe in Ruarc’s embrace, I momentarily forgot all my worries and hugged him back. A heavy breath rattled out of his lungs, then he leaned back on the couch and arranged me on his lap with my legs to one side and my back against his front.

  “Missed you,” he muttered into my neck.

  “I missed you too.” The words felt thick, and I wondered if he could hear my guilt, if he could somehow sense that I’d kissed his brother and let the heat from that one kiss fool my mind into wanting something I couldn’t have.

  Lucien scoffed, but instead of telling everyone about what had happened between us—like I expected—he turned to Ash and bowed his head. “I failed.”

  Beneath me, Ruarc suddenly felt like a steel mountain covered in sharp rocks and other uncomfortable things. “What’d you mean?”

  Lucien didn’t spare us a glance. “The female felt restless and I let her convince me to take her outside—”

  “You idiot!” Jason interjected while I stewed over Lucien’s unfair portrayal of events.

  He’d blackmailed me. Maybe it had been my idea to go out, but he’d sure used it to his advantage!

  A strangled growl sounded from Lucien. The guys reacted as though he’d shot off a gun. Ash cocked his head to the side and moved his piercing scrutiny over to the other man. “What happened?”

  “No males approached,” Lucien began, and some of Ruarc’s tension seemed to disappear. “But she saw someone.” Eyes that had blazed with heat earlier were now cold and censuring as they turned to me, and a hush fell over the room. “Whoever it was knew her as well. They made eye contact and both grew pale and visibly disturbed. She moved as if to speak to him.”

  A sharp pain bit into my arm as Ruarc’s grip tightened. When I winced, he immediately loosened his hold, but panic was already pounding at my temples. Not because of the small hurt, but because I knew what would happen next.

  Ruarc would be furious. Both he and Jason would demand to know who Matthew was and how I knew him, and that was one thing I couldn’t tell them. Not yet. Not until I’d spoken to the man I owed more than I could ever repay. He hadn’t just given himself over to be tortured in my place, he’d saved my sanity over and over and over again.

  In that horrible place, talking to your cellmates had not been allowed, and breaking the rules resulted in brutal punishments. But Matthew had risked it all for me because he’d seen I was about to break.

  He’d saved me.

  And I wouldn’t repay him by stealing his choice and sharing his story without making sure it was safe. I had to learn the reason for his fear, the reason he hadn’t wanted me to go to him, the reason he’d run from me like his life depended on it.

  For all I knew, maybe it did.

  “She what?” Ruarc barked.

  Watching me through a careful, blank mask, Jason approached and sat next to us. “What happened, love?”

  I shook my head, wincing when Lucien made a sound of disgust.

  “That’s exactly it,” he said. “The chit has refused to answer my questions. I do not know who he is, or why he seemed so shocked to see her. Neither do I understand why he wished for her not to approach.”

  I shrank back and avoided all eye contact. Sitting on Ruarc’s lap had never been more uncomfortable. The warm embrace had been exchanged for steel bands around my waist, a prison I couldn’t escape with a prison-guard who was, understandably, furious.

  Jason shrugged his shoulders, as though shaking away a thought he didn’t like. “Is Lucien telling the truth, love?”

  A quiet growl from Lucien, and I squirmed.

  “That . . . that’s what happened,” I whispered, shame filling me at the disappointment on Jason’s face. He’d just questioned Lucien’s integrity and given me the benefit of the doubt. And I’d failed.

  I hated that I’d failed.

  “Who was he?” Ruarc asked in a tone tainted by torn bodies and a turbulent anger.

  Then his use of past tense struck me. “Was?”

  “The male is living on borrowed time.”

  I twisted my neck to stare up at my furious man. “Please don’t hurt him!”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked and his silvery eyes glowed with violence. “You’d plead for his life?”

  “Don’t,” Jason said before I could speak. His normally grinning mouth was set in a grim line, eyes serious as he stared down at me. “It’s the full moon, Hope. We’re all on edge. Just . . .” He drew in a deep breath. “Just tell us who he is to you.”

  “He is no one to her,” Ruarc snarled.

  My stomach twisted. I hadn’t missed the way Jason had called me by my name instead of his usual endearment. Was it just a coincidence or was I breaking something between us by holding back from them?

  “How do you know another lycan?” Ice glittered in Lucien’s eyes.

  My stomach gave another vicious twist. “I . . . I didn’t know what he was. I didn’t know about—about lycans before I met you.”

  “Could’ve told you that,” Ruarc snapped at Lucien.

  He believed me? Just like that?

  “But how do you know him?” Jason asked. “From where? How did you meet?”

  I stared down at my lap. Nausea beat at my stomach, burned up my chest, pooled in my mouth. I kept having to swallow.

  “You see? Just look at her! She has been like this ever since we got back.”

  In a shockingly fast move, Ruarc deposited me next to Jason and jumped up. “You did something to her!”

  Lucien stilled and very clearly did not look my way. “Excuse me?”

  “What did you do to my female!” Ruarc roared.

  “I don’t think this has anything to do with Lucien.” Jason dropped the back of his head against the top of the couch and stared up at the ceiling. “Or any of us.”

  Cursing viciously, Ruarc spun around and dragged a hand through his hair. When he turned back to me, his face was drawn. “Just tell us, mo chridhe. Please.”

  Having my heart torn out of my chest would have hurt less than seeing his pain. All I wanted was to comfort him, to give in and do as he asked.

  But I couldn’t. Not until I’d spoken to Matthew. He hadn’t wanted to talk in front of other people, that much I’d gotten, and I owed it to him to respect his wishes—especially when I didn’t know the consequences of revealing the truth. It was the least I could do after what he’d sacrificed to spare me.

  As soon as I’d talked to him I would tell my guys. I’d tell them everything.

  “I . . . I can’t! Not yet,” I hurried to add when Jason averted his gaze and Ruarc deflated with a harsh breath. “I have to talk to him first. After that, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

  “I think you should tell us now,” Ash said in a deceptively mild voice. What stared out at me from Ash’s unusual, blue eyes was far from human. It was the gaze of a predator. A predator with coldly calculating intellect and an understanding that far surpassed that of any animal.

  I shrank back.

  Surprisingly, it was Lucien who stepped between me and the terrifying being that had taken c
ontrol of Ash’s body.

  The predator cocked his head. “Yes?”

  “She does not understand.” Cold, green eyes flickered over my face. “The girl is human. Easily frightened.”

  The feeling that I’d just been insulted did nothing to diminish the fear that had taken hold of me. It made it grow. Grow because the annoyance I felt at Lucien’s veiled insult stirred the dark energy that belonged to my monster. It had been awake this entire time. Watching. Waiting. Biding its time.

  And when I’d seen the foreign entity in Ash’s eyes, it had tested its bonds and rattled my skull with its howl.

  It wanted out.

  And that was the reason why I clutched the armrest below me like it was my lifeline in a raging storm. I held on for dear life and focused all my concentration on trying to force it back into its cage.

  It’d never been this difficult before. It had never fought this hard to be released.

  “Enough!”

  The sudden roar silenced us all. Even the monster inside me sat up and took notice when Ruarc released his frustration.

  “Enough,” he repeated, breathing hard. “Tell me. Tell me right now or I swear to the gods I will hunt him down and tear his fucking throat out!”

  “I . . . I can’t,” I said and hung my head in abject misery. After everything I’d been through, seeing the pain on Ruarc’s face was somehow worse than the endless tortures the Hunters had subjected me to in the past. But I couldn’t betray the only friend I’d had in the hellhole. I just couldn’t.

  Ruarc stormed out. The sound of the door slamming made me jump. I wanted to run after him, to tell him everything, to stop him. But all I did was sit there and stare at that closed door, resenting Matthew for not letting me talk to him earlier, resenting that I owed him, resenting my resentment.

  My fingers dug into the couch, wanting to rip.

  At least there’s no way Ruarc can find a man he knows nothing about.

  I tried to take comfort in that, but the rock filling my stomach wouldn’t let me.

  “At least tell us why you can’t. You owe us that much.” Jason stared down at his clenched hands, shoulders tense like he was expecting me to hurt him.