by Woods, Erica
I closed my eyes, but instead of swirling silver, all I could see was piercing blue.
If I were to go mad, banajaanh, it would have happened by now.
Why had that felt like a lie?
“If ferals have lost so much of their power . . .” My voice was hoarse; dry and brittle like old bones, doubt a chasm that kept growing, kept splintering beneath my feet. “Then why is everyone whispering? They seem . . . scared.”
Ash held out a hand, waited until I put mine in his, then gently extracted me from Ruarc’s hold and turned us so we faced the gathered lycans. “Because I am still mahír fáinn, and time can only do so much.”
Jason huffed out a laugh. “Way to be cryptic,” he said, slinging an arm over my shoulder. “The truth is, love, ferals still possess more power than is healthy, but they’re secretive as hell and very rare—it’s been several hundred years since the last known feral was born. So no one really knows just how strong they are, and it doesn’t help that they’re basically the bogeymen of the lycan world.”
The corners of Ash’s lips twitched, but he didn’t interrupt.
“The bogeymen?”
“How do you think werewolf legends were born?” He arched a brow. “In the earlier years, when the world was small and travel treacherous, mad ferals would destroy village after village, rampaging across countries and wreaking havoc before they were finally found by their own kind and put down. Even now, most ferals who survive to adulthood go insane and have to be hunted down.”
“W-what?”
Ash rubbed his thumb over my knuckles, piercing Jason with a calm yet reproving look. “Not all go mad. Some simply can’t hold human form and spend their lives with remote packs.”
Jason’s grin dimmed before coming back full force. “True, and then we have the rarest form; the one in ten thousand who finds a way to control their fae-touched wolf and bends it to their will.”
“Makes the best alphas,” Ruarc grunted.
“Yep.” Jason tapped my nose, amber eyes smiling. “All of our old leaders were ferals. It was only a few hundred years back when the last one disappeared that the Council was formed.”
“You’re one of the few lucid ferals,” I whispered, staring up at Ash and pretending my heart wasn’t racing and hurting in equal measure.
I was beginning to understand.
“I am,” he said calmly. “Though I was not always as I am today.”
Of course he hadn’t been. No one was born with the kind of control Ash exhibited. No one came into the world ready to command ancient predators and unpredictable fae magic. Restraint wasn’t given, it was fought for. Inch by inch. Piece by piece. Agonizing step by agonizing step.
The discipline Ash had to possess, the patience and force of will required to not only subdue the power that lived within him, but to stay sane?
I squeezed his hand, struggled to keep my voice from quivering when I said, “I guess that makes you pretty special.”
Amazing. Inspiring. And too good for someone like me.
Ash tipped his head, gaze clear and intent, as though my thoughts appeared on my forehead for him to read. “Not as special as you, banajaanh.”
I forced a smile and swallowed my protests—sure none of them would let it stand.
No part of me believed Ash only carried an echo of whatever it was that made ferals. I’d seen what lived in him, I’d tasted its cold, cutting power; power that felt as old as the land, as timeless as the sea, as volatile as the storms that lashed through the skies and shot lightning at the ground below.
If that was what ferals were today, what had they been when they were first created?
Thank god Ash was on our side, I couldn’t even imagine if—
My stomach clenched then went into freefall.
“Are there . . . are there ferals on the Council?”
A taut silence followed. Ruarc brushed past Ash, past the cover of the trees, glared at the rapidly swelling crowd. A few minutes ago, the closest group had been thirty feet away, now they were half that.
“Would that matter?” Lucien asked, suddenly standing so close his breath tickled the top of my head.
But I couldn’t answer without revealing my plan—my stupid, stupid plan—so I shook my head and let my gaze roam over the nearby lycans. There were so many.
How many of them hated humans?
Though we stood at the far edge of the clearing, partly shielded by the towering trees and the nimble limbs stretching away from their trunks, lycans still watched us.
“It is possible.” Though his words were for me, Ash’s attention was reserved for a lycan whose gaze had lingered too long. “But if one sits on the Council, he is concealing it the best he can, the same way I do.” His nostrils flared and his head tipped an inch to the side. “Ruarc . . .”
But Ruarc was already moving.
* * *
An hour after Ruarc stalked away—face set in grim lines, a dangerous glint in his eyes—I was starting to get nervous. I hadn’t wanted him to go in the first place, but when four huge lycans decided on a course of action there wasn’t much a human girl could do to stop them.
When I’d tried to follow, Jason had grinned and swooped me up into his arms, and when I’d demanded to know where Ruarc had gone, he’d kissed my nose and told me not to worry.
Like that was possible.
But considering where we were, I did my best to push my worries out of my mind and tried to focus on my surroundings instead.
We’d come to stop at the edge of a large crowd. Tens of thousands of lycans congregated in front of a big, raised stage. Most of them were big, terrifying males, but occasionally I caught a glimpse of a female hidden deep in the midst of her protectors. Apparently females were rare and were always protected fiercely at gatherings such as these. Jason told me the packs were worried about poachers. Because that was something lycans did. They stole women.
Females, I silently corrected, glad—for the first time—that I was human and wouldn’t attract any interest from the lycan packs.
“Stop fidgeting,” Lucien commanded from my right. He stood so close we’d touch if I so much as wiggled a finger, acting as a wall between me and the boisterous lycan crowd.
Ash stood on my other side, attention on the forest we’d left behind, and Jason pressed up against my back, one arm around my waist, his chin resting on the top of my head.
“Sorry,” I muttered and watched the mercurial man from the corner of my eye. “When do you think Ruarc will be back?”
“Soon,” he said and went back to scanning the nearby crowd.
Although they made sure no one came within touching distance, the sheer number of bodies made it impossible to keep much space between each group. Packs brushed too close together; one quickly moving away, the other bristling with so much testosterone I imagined I could smell it.
No one stood still, shuffling and shifting from foot to foot, energy cracking like a whip above our heads, a beat that screamed of wildness, of hunting, of wolf thrumming through the teeming mass. The heat they gave off warded against the slight nip in the air, and all their scents blended together to create a unique flavor that dragged over my tongue and set my skin to sparking with awareness.
A shivered raced up my spine.
The crowd was alive with snarls, growls, and the occasional roar. The first time that thunderous sound echoed across the open space, I knocked the back of my head into Jason’s chest, grabbed Ash and Lucien by the hands, and tugged—ready to drag them to safety. But they didn’t budge. While Lucien stared at our entwined hands with an inscrutable look that shot my heart up my throat, Jason laughed and turned my chin, pointing to a spot where two, massive males faced off.
Another roar, then they soared through the air, both changing shape in a fluid motion that bordered on beautiful, and when they crashed together, they were not men but wolves.
The fight was over pretty quickly, but it had been vicious. When they were done, blood coated
the ground and the losing wolf slunk away with his back leg dragging after him in the dirt.
And it just kept happening. Every few minutes another fight began, and I was starting to realize why the guys didn’t want others near us.
Lycans were unstable. There could be no other explanation for the fights breaking out all over the place.
“Thank god my guys are normal,” I muttered under my breath when yet another challenging roar rose above the large gathering.
“What was that, love?” Jason asked, a grin in his voice.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“Quiet.” With eyes that were narrowed into thin slits, Lucien stood still for a beat, head tilted as though listening intently. “They’re coming.”
Before I could ask who, Ruarc emerged from the forest to our left, Blake and Zakh hot on his heels.
“Ruarc!” I would have flung myself in his arms if not for the steel bands around my waist.
“Wait,” Jason said, not letting go until a glaring Ruarc stopped in front of us.
I was pulled into a quick hug, Ruarc’s stubble scraping over my neck, his lips finding my jaw. “Mo chridhe.” The deep bass of his voice penetrated my chest and rubbed languid spirals down to my belly.
Then he let me go, and I was surprised to find myself back in Jason’s arms.
Since when did Ruarc share?
“Did everything go smoothly?” Ash asked.
“Would’ve.” Ruarc cast a glare at the two men at his back. “If these two hadn’t intervened.”
Shaking his bald head, Zakh gave a disapproving frown. “It did go. But durak”—the word drew a snarl from Ruarc—”wanted to fight all.”
“You stopped him?” I asked the scary Russian, shrinking back when everyone stared at me like they were shocked I’d spoken.
Zakh’s frown deepened. “Da.”
“That means . . . that means yes?”
A short nod.
I drew a deep breath. “Thank you. Thank you for keeping him safe.” Quickly, before I could change my mind, I touched the back of his hand and offered a smile.
Time slowed to a halt as several things happened in rapid succession. First, Zakh’s lips parted, his eyes widened. Then snarls erupted. Quickly, before I could wonder what had happened, Zakh clasped my hand, gave it a gentle squeeze, and then I was yanked back, enclosed on all sides by walls of steely, vibrating muscle.
There was no space for me to move—I was boxed in, heat rising off the bodies surrounding me, blocking everything but them from view—but I managed to lift my hand and place it on the back half an inch from my face.
Ruarc.
“Mine!” he snarled, and his broad frame was all I could see.
An arm snaked around my waist and yanked me back into a hard body that smelled of rain and stormy skies. I grabbed on to Jason’s forearm, wondering where the enemy was hiding, who it was, why Lucien had positioned himself a little behind Ruarc, next to me, while Ash flanked me on the other side; once more doing that thing where he stood unnaturally still, head tilted, face so blank it hurt to look at.
In that moment, I began to understand what Jason had meant about ferals. Though Ash gave little away, I sensed the turmoil boiling beneath this skin he wore. Fighting himself. Fighting another. Just . . . fighting.
“W-what’s going on?” When no one replied, I turned in a tight circle so I could look up at Jason. Grim lines etched across his face. “Is someone coming?”
He cast a quick look down, gaze roaming over me as if to make sure I was okay before fixing on something straight ahead. “No.”
When he didn’t elaborate, I pushed at his chest. “Talk to me. Please!”
At the sound of my growing panic, Jason’s attention snapped to me once more. “Everything will be fine, love.” He looked back up, brows drawing together in a frown when Ruarc’s rumbling voice snarled a command I couldn’t make out. “Just stay here.”
“But—”
A heavy thud interrupted and I flailed in the little space they’d given me, brushing against Ash when I tried to see past them and make sure none of my guys were harmed.
“Calm down!” someone shouted.
Not one of mine.
Then Lucien disappeared, leaving me blinking at the gap that was quickly filled by the others drawing closer around me.
When his icy voice floated through the sudden silence, my brain was still processing. He’d moved so fast I hadn’t even seen a blur.
“Back down,” Blake growled, his voice thicker than normal. “We have no design on your female. You have our word.”
“You don’t touch her.” Ruarc’s massive shoulders looked tense enough to snap. “Ours!”
Touch me? What?
Scared my guys were going to get hurt and wanting to help fix whatever was going on, I finally found the courage to squeeze my hand through the small gap between Ruarc and Ash. Once through, I grabbed hold of the closest thing—which turned out to be Ruarc’s thigh—and tried to drag my body forward.
“Come on,” I muttered and wiggled my body, visualizing myself making the hole bigger and squeezing my body through. The thundering growls stopped, but only when the gap grew did I notice the sudden silence.
“What on earth are you doing?” Lucien stared down at me over Ruarc’s shoulder, icy mask slipping to reveal a slight softening of his mouth before the muscles of his jaw tensed.
I stared blindly at the hole which grew to an open space—revealing a bruise blooming on Zakh’s cheek and an angry-looking Blake—and then back at Lucien. “Trying to get through.”
“Why?”
“To help.”
He stared at me. Blinked. Muttered something under his breath, then turned and fixed his attention on something far away.
The side of my face burned. I glanced up, met Ruarc’s scorching gaze. “Don’t—” He snapped his mouth shut, jaw grinding together with such force I flinched at the sound his teeth made. Then he drew a deep breath, speaking slowly. “Don’t touch other males.”
Ash made a sound, a deep rumble that thundered across the small distance between us and zinged something in my chest. He looked at Ruarc, lips firming, and grabbed my hand, thumb rubbed hypnotic circles across my knuckles, distracting me so much it took a small eternity before Ruarc’s words penetrated.
That was what this had been about? Me touching Zakh’s hand? “Umm . . .”
Eyes narrowing to thin, silver slits, Ruarc moved until his huge frame towered over me. Trapped with Ruarc in front, Ash and his still roving thumb at my side, and a strangely silent Jason at my back, I had no choice but to tilt my head back and meet my guy’s furious glare. “No. Touching. Other. Males.”
“But—”
“No buts!” he snarled with such vicious force that I jumped, hitting the top of my head on Jason’s very hard chin.
Ash’s thumb stilled.
“Ow!” I rubbed at the offending spot. “Why is your chin so hard?” I mumbled.
The chest behind me expanded. When he exhaled, Jason’s hard body softened slightly and his hand brushed mine away, gently feeling along the edge of my scalp. “I’m sorry, love. Had I known you were going to headbutt me, I would’ve made an effort to soften it beforehand.”
A savage curse cut me off before I could reply. My chin was gripped and Ruarc’s angry face filled my line of vision. “You hurt?”
I shook my head.
“You sure?”
I nodded.
“Fuck,” he growled, then cupped the back of my head. If self-loathing could claim an expression, it would be the one now dragging shadows across Ruarc’s face, flinging fire from his eyes, and curling his lip until it pulled on his scar; creating a brutal depiction of a man staring down into an abyss and finding himself as the monster lurking below.
My throat closed, my eyes burned, and I lunged forward, grabbing his wrist and bringing his free hand to my mouth for a kiss.
A hissed breath left him; his mouth twisted.
<
br /> “I’m fine,” I said, not understanding his severe reaction, but hurting with him nonetheless. “I just bumped my head. No big deal.”
Ruarc said nothing, only rubbed over the spot that had long since stopped hurting, still owned by that horrible expression.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Wrong.” He jabbed his thumb into his chest. “Couldn’t control my temper, and you were hurt. Again.”
“Again?”
Something flashed across his face. “Not the first time.”
“Ruarc—”
“Later.” His hand fell away, eyes burning as he stared down at me. “You understand what happened?”
“Not really.” When had he ever lost his temper and hurt me? Never, that’s when. But I knew he wasn’t talking about that now, so I sighed and let him pretend he’d won.
For now.
But tonight, I’d shower him with so much love, this incident wouldn’t even register as a memory.
“You don’t mind when I touch Jason,” I said, getting back on track. “And you didn’t get upset about Ash. And I touched him more than just a pat on the hand.”
Ruarc stilled so completely the only movement I could see was the flickering rage in his glowing, silver eyes. “You want Zakh like you want Ash?”
“Do I want—” I could only stare, fascinated by the vein throbbing by his temple, the clench of his jaw. The longer I remained silent, the harder that jaw looked. “Of course I don’t. I only . . . I just touched his hand.”
“You do not touch other males,” Lucien said.
“I . . . Okay.”
A warm hand settled over my stomach. “Told you lycans were territorial assholes,” Jason whispered in my ear.
“What? When did you tell me that?”
“Weeks ago.” Warm lips nibbled at my neck. “Day I kissed you for the first time.”
“Oh.” Heat streaked from the spot Jason kissed and pooled in my stomach. “Y-you did.”
“You see, love, when lycans are courting a female, they don’t play well with others.” He pressed a kiss behind my ear. “Especially unmated males.” His voice darkened. “Especially unmated males who touch what they shouldn’t.”