by Woods, Erica
“But it was me who—”
“He grabbed you,” Jason interrupted. “Just . . . try not to touch anyone outside our pack. Unless your safety is at risk.”
“Obviously,” Lucien snapped. “She’s not a moron.”
“I’m not?” How many times had Lucien referred to me as foolish or saying I did stupid things?
All eyes shot to me. “Of course you are not stupid, banajaanh,” Ash said, but it was Lucien who held my attention. Lucien I stared at.
He frowned in response.
“I’ll try not to touch anyone outside the pack,” I finally agreed, eager to have this conversation over with. Sometimes, I felt like I was playing a game where I only knew half of the rules.
“Good.” With a glare in Zakh’s direction, Ruarc snatched me out of Jason’s arms and lifted me so both my legs came around his waist, one side of my face squashed against his chest. He stroked my head, combing through my hair with his fingers and massaging my scalp in a way that made me immediately drowsy.
“Mine,” he growled, the world spinning by in a dizzying flash as his long legs suddenly ate up the ground beneath us until we were right in front of the huge stage.
“Better this way,” Ruarc muttered under his breath, tensing when the others gathered around us. A short, sharp snarl later, both Blake and Zakh stood a little off to our right, while Ash, Jason and Lucien surrounded us with their strength.
I was quiet while we waited for the leaders of the lycans to make an appearance. The Council. Soon, I’d lay eyes on the people that would determine my fate—and though they didn’t know it yet, the fate of the Hunters.
33
Hope
Ten minutes later, the Council members still hadn’t made an appearance. Filled with inexplicable energy, I wiggled in Ruarc’s grasp and told him I needed to move.
“Stay close,” he ordered and let me down. If his command hadn’t stopped me, the grip on my arm would have.
I rolled my eyes at his overbearing ways, but secretly, I was pleased. His determination to keep my safe made me all warm and fuzzy inside.
“Growing an independent streak, are you, love?” Jason’s warm eyes twinkled down at me.
I shook my head but didn’t meet his gaze. If I did, I would be lost in their heat and give in to the urge to throw myself in his arms and let him kiss me senseless.
They were all amazing kissers, but Jason was such a contradiction of tender affection and unrestrained lust. I never knew if his kisses would be the drugging, lose-your-mind kind, or the sweet soft press of lips that made me want to cry with emotion.
A soft sigh slipped past my lips, and Ruarc leaned in, sniffing me. The drawn out affair started with his nose at the base of my throat and a deep inhale. Then he moved up my neck, behind my ear, exhaling and bathing me in his warm breath.
I shivered, thinking back on all the times Ruarc had devoured me.
Eating at my mouth.
Kissing a path down my body.
Scraping his teeth over my inner thighs.
Thrusting his tongue between my—
Loud growls. Heat on all sides.
A hand in my hair; another around my waist. Ruarc yanked me against him, tilted my head to the side, and buried his face in the crook of my neck. “Smell so fucking good . . .”
The scent of torrid rains to my left. Hay and horses to my right.
Ash and Jason were near. Hovering, but not touching.
“Unless you want to lose that nose,” Lucien said from somewhere behind, “you better keep walking.”
A stranger replied, words drowned out by the thumping in my ears as Ruarc groaned and mashed our mouths together.
Heat erupted in my belly.
I moaned and pushed closer, and when Ruarc tightened his hold, my breasts rubbed against his hard body and my nipples tightened to the point of pain.
He consumed me. Filled me with fire. With a burning, throbbing, need that grabbed me by the throat and refused to let go. The closer I pressed, the closer I wanted to be, until it was all I could do not to claw at his chest in search of a way to get inside, to push our hearts together and become one.
A whimper escaped, and Ruarc broke the kiss with a hissed curse.
“Didn’t think anything could taste like you, mo chridhe.” He leaned his forehead against mine, harsh, ragged breaths washing over my face while my knees shook with the strain of keeping them from buckling. “So sweet and innocent, but so damned addicting I’ll never get enough.”
With my heart racing and my mind stuck on him—his masculine scent, the thundering rumbles vibrating from his chest, the feel of all those hard muscles under my hands—I couldn’t form a reply. Couldn’t think.
And then long fingers wrapped around my neck and tilted my head back, and I knew words were lost to me forever.
Lucien didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. Didn’t do anything but stare with an intensity that sent shivers up my spine. Shivers that worsened the longer he stayed silent, until finally, he said, “What were you thinking about?”
“W-what do you mean?”
Eyes that were normally cold, heated. He released his grip on my neck and let me turn to face him—a now quiet Ruarc at my back.
“Just now, before Ruarc kissed you. What was going through that fascinating mind of yours?”
My face heated—from his unexpected compliment or his inquiry, or both. “N-nothing.”
“Do not lie.” The stark hunger on Lucien’s face kept me captive. The longer I stared up at him, watching his face morph from grim lines to taut ones; a speculative gleam flashing across his face, the harder it was to think. “The scent of your arousal is hard to mistake.”
All warmth fled, leaving me shivering. “W-what? You . . . you smelled my-my—” I couldn’t say it. Couldn’t even think it.
How humiliating!
Ruarc pushed me into Jason’s arms and stepped in front of me, blocking Lucien from sight. “Stop embarrassing my female!”
“Your female?”
“Ruarc is right. You smell scrumptious,” Jason whispered into my ear.
“Yes, my female!”
A loud clearing of a throat stopped this descent into madness, and everyone took a step back.
For the first time since Ruarc had kissed me, I could breathe. And with the guys no longer crowding me, Blake’s grinning face came into view.
“Not that we didn’t all enjoy the show,” he began, pausing when I went crimson and Ruarc snarled. Blake held up both hands. “Not that,” he quickly added. “I meant your arguing. It’s funny to listen to you all try to come to terms with your . . . erm, situation. But you should save that for later. Others are paying attention.”
“Let them look,” Jason said, his mouth so close to my neck I could feel his grin. “We already knew we would be the source of envy with our little human in tow.”
Blake lifted an eyebrow. “No point adding fuel to the fire.”
“The fire began the minute we brought a human to the Assembly,” Ash said. He stood with his back to us, head cocked. “But Blake has a point. The Council will be here soon.”
Ruarc grumbled, Lucien said nothing, and after placing a quick kiss on my cheek, Jason turned us to face the stage. Waiting.
Three minutes ticked by in silence—I counted. Then another one. And another. And one more. The longer we stood there, the more my discomfort grew, until I blurted the first thing that popped into my head, “How did lycans come to be?”
Deafening silence.
“I mean, humans evolved, right? One of the books I read in your library talked about evolution—not that I didn’t know, I read something similar before,” I babbled. “Did lycans evolve somehow, or was it done by magic or something else?”
A huge smile bloomed on Blake’s face. “One of the ancient fae gods banged a wolf.”
I blinked. “A . . . a god had sex with an animal?”
“Blake has a way of butchering the creation story,” Lucien said coolly
.
“I take offense to that,” Blake said in a way that made it clear he didn’t.
“Céalen an Amdúir may have been a god, but his magic was that of nature,” Lucien said. “He was as much part of the grass and trees and the creatures that roamed Faerie as he was fae.”
The language I now recognized as Fae rolled off Lucien’s tongue in a beautiful, lilting rhythm that made me step out of Jason’s arms and move toward Lucien. “Is that a name?”
“It is both a name and a title.” A strange light flickered in his green eyes as he looked at me. “It means ‘Consort of Nature.’”
“He was still a fae that banged a wolf,” Blake continued blithely.
Lucien sent him a scorching glare. “He did not ‘bang a wolf’. Céalen met Bháan Mahír, the White Wolf, and was stunned by her grace, beauty, and intelligence. She was no more base animal than you or I.”
“Well—”
“You are right,” Lucien interrupted. “I should not have included you in my comparison when you are so clearly more animal than anything else.”
Blake grinned, opened his mouth, and—
“What was she, if not a wolf?” I blurted, not ready for the story to end.
“She was mahír. Wolf. But all creatures born within Faerie’s borders are sentient. All possess a certain amount of magic. And all can communicate. The White Wolf was no exception.”
Leaning forward, I hung onto his every word. “What happened between them?”
“When he first saw her, Céalen was transfixed,” Lucien said, eyes narrowing but never leaving my face. “He reached out to touch her, unafraid . . .” His voice lowered. “For although the majestic wolf was a powerful predator in her own right”—a strange light flickered behind forest-green orbs—”Céalen was one with nature, and touching one of the Mother’s many lifeforms posed no danger to one such as he.”
Against my will, my legs closed the small distance between us until I stood in front of the magnificent male, head tilted back, enraptured by the pulse in his neck, the light in his eyes, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
“Before his hand could reach,” Lucien continued, holding up his own hand inches from my face, “the she-wolf stepped back, opened her mouth, and spoke.” His hand fell, his brightness diminishing. “Unfortunately, the stories have been lost over time, so we do not know what the White Wolf said. We only know that Céalen claimed her as his mate, and the children born to them were the first lycans.”
Whatever spell had come over us was broken. The heat of a faint blush painting my cheeks, I took a step back and stared down at the ground. “Oh . . . That’s a shame, I . . . The story is very interesting.”
Blake snorted. “It’s so old no one really knows what’s true and what’s not.”
“That is not correct, if you—”
Jason hissed and jerked his chin at the stage where a tall, lanky man nervously shifted from foot to foot. Silence slowly descended upon the large, lycan crowd; a few mutters and growls the last to die down.
“The Council,” the lanky man said, waving to the right where a big partition blocked our sight from the other side.
No one moved. No one spoke. Thousands of predators watched and waited, a strange energy ripping through the quiet—like the crackling and snapping of static, but utterly silent.
I felt the energy grow. All the hairs on my nape rose, my heart thundered, my pulse roared.
Everyone was so quiet, so still, and yet the collective presence of all the gathered lycans had a voice. And that voice was bellowing.
Just when the pressure threatened to beat me to the ground, the partition split and a tall, well-built man walked out onto the stage.
My breath caught and I could feel my eyes widening.
The man moved with ruthless confidence, power trailing in his wake. Short, black hair was streaked with silver along his temples—failing to make him look old and instead giving him a distinguished edge. He had a high forehead, a bold nose, and a firm mouth that looked unused to smiling.
Everything about him screamed alpha and predator; not in the quiet, self-possessed way it rolled off Ash, but with a loud roar I doubted he ever bothered to mute.
He came to a stop before the lanky man that had introduced him and gestured him closer. They spoke in tones too low for me to hear.
“That’s Samuel,” Jason whispered in my ear. He’d placed himself on my right with a hand resting against the back of my neck, occasionally rubbing over tense muscles. “He is the alpha of the Bloodrites pack. Currently, their territory spans most of New Mexico and parts of Arizona.”
“Bloodrites?” That sounded ominous.
“Each alpha chooses a name for his pack,” Ash said. He’d taken up guard on my other side, his rough, calloused palm squeezing mine gently. “When a new alpha takes over, the name changes.”
“Why choose such a—” What should I call it? Scary sounding name? Weird? I settled on bypassing it all together and asking something else. “Why not name their packs after the place they live? Like Chicago pack.”
Amber eyes twinkling, Jason grinned. “Because packs occasionally move, love. And speaking of Chicago, it currently has three packs vying for territory.”
“Not to mention the thrill of making up a badass name.” Blake’s voice came from somewhere to our left, but Ash’s frame blocked him from view. “My pack is called Riverland.”
Riverland? Where had I heard that? My nose scrunched up as I tried to think. “From . . . from ‘Lord of the Rings’?” I asked, thinking of one of the few movies I’d watched during my imprisonment.
A huge guffaw from Jason startled me, and probably some of the other lycans around us, too. “That’s ‘Rivendell’, love.”
“Oh.”
An arm wrapped around my waist, and then I was yanked against Ruarc’s front. “Riverland, Rivendell. All the same,” Ruarc growled.
Warmth spread through my chest as I recognized his attempt to smooth over my embarrassment. Lifting my free hand, I put it over his and gave it a grateful squeeze.
“As funny as that would have been,” Blake said, “I named it ‘Riverland’ because a river goes straight through the middle of our territory. Our land.”
A small smile tugged at my lips. “That’s pretty sensible.”
“I thought so,” he agreed.
“What’s your pack called?” The question wasn’t aimed at anyone in particular, more of a general inquire to all the guys, and they turned to me as one while Ruarc rumbled behind me.
“Our pack,” he corrected.
“What?”
“Our pack. Yours too,” Ruarc said in a hard voice.
Ash nodded gravely. “You are part of our pack now, banajaanh. And to answer your question, our pack is called Aginzo.”
“Aginzo.” I tested the word in my mouth. “What does it mean?”
“It is Ojibwe. The word can mean that a person is counted, a member. But for me it means belonging. Each member counts, each member belongs. We are a family.”
Eyes misting over, I stared up at Ash. “That’s a much better name than Bloodrites.”
“Don’t let Samuel hear you say that, love,” Jason whispered. His wink let me know he was kidding, and when he grinned at Ruarc—who grumbled with displeasure—a laugh tumbled from me.
“Wanna hear that all day,” Ruarc growled in my ear after a short pause.
“You could if you all shut up and let me be the only talker.” Jason puffed out his chest. “I’m the funny one here.”
My laughter died when the Council member on stage cleared his throat, waving the smaller lycan off and moving to face the crowd.
“Lycans,” he said in a voice that made it clear he was used to his orders being followed to the letter. “Our delay was . . . unforeseen.” No apologies, no hint of regret. “The rest of the Council will be arriving shortly. Meanwhile, let us enjoy a moment of peace and quiet in preparation for tomorrow’s arduous activities.”
S
ilence fell over the crowd like a sword, decapitating a few whispered conversations and cutting off the low snarls that had grown while Samuel had been busy. The man in question stood with his eyes closed, his hands behind his back, and his head tipped back—completely at ease despite the fraught tension plaguing the rest of the lycans.
It struck me as wrong for a leader to inspire such unease, especially when it seemed like he didn’t care one bit what he was doing.
Noting the strained stillness in Jason, the clenching and unclenching of Ruarc’s bunched muscles at my back, the taut lines of Lucien’s normally impassive face, and the rigid set of Ash’ shoulders, I whispered, “Why does everyone seem so scared of him?”
A hand shot to my mouth. “Shh!” Ruarc hissed, but it was too late. Samuel’s eyes blinked open, lazily, almost as though he couldn’t believe that someone had dared to disobey.
“What was that?” he said in a deceptively mild tone.
No one spoke, but Ruarc held me tighter and the others squeezed in closer until I was completely blocked from sight. Even standing on the raised stage, Samuel wouldn’t be able to see me.
I shivered. Why had I opened my stupid mouth? Being around the guys, having people who cared and who were capable of protecting me had made me careless. I’d become too used to them being infallible. Powerful. Never backing down.
If I’d put them at risk with my stupid question I’d never forgive myself.
Before I could whip myself into a true panic, a chilling, female voice spoke. “Now, now, Samuel, dear. Have you forgotten our roles in this macabre play?”
A collective whoosh went through the crowd as several, heavy exhalations occurred at the same time.
“Marissa,” Samuel replied. Judging by his tone, he disapproved of the other speaker. “Not at all, I am simply giving them a moment to breathe before we begin the games.”
His statement was ridiculous considering the whole crowd had held their breaths while he’d demanded a moment of silence.