Assembly: The Feral Souls Trilogy - Book 2

by Woods, Erica

  “Ash was hurt!”

  Ruarc crossed his arms. “Barely.”

  “He was bleeding everywhere!”

  The big male snorted.

  “This isn’t funny!” A red flush stole up Hope’s neck and pooled in her cheeks.

  Our female was beautiful when provoked.

  Ruarc stilled; uncrossed his arms. Then he took one long step, cupped the back of Hope’s head, and leaned down until they were nose to nose. “Will never let you put yourself in danger.”

  Hope’s bottom lip quivered, and the sight pierced me.

  Ruarc groaned and yanked her into his chest. “Wouldn’t have let Ash get hurt.” He rubbed his cheek over her neck, both marking her with his scent and letting hers attach to him. “And Lucien was there.”

  Before she could protest that I did, in fact, get hurt—which she would, I could see the thought forming in the lines between her brows—I grabbed her hand and gently turned her to face me. “This is nothing, banajaanh. In an hour, it will be as if it never happened. Not even a scar to remember it by.”

  Neck bent, she stepped into the protective circle of my arms, careful not to brush against the wound she had so diligently cleaned, and rested her head on my chest.

  Immediately, my pulse slowed, my wolf settling.

  “You sure?”

  “You have my word.”

  Unsteady hands brushed across my skin, shaking where they rested inches from the gouges left by lycan claws. The heat from her palm was a brand upon my soul, her touch like silk and fire. Everywhere she touched, I burned.

  And the burn was rapidly spreading.

  “We should bind it, right?” Pools of endlessly innocent brown looked up at me, and if I had been capable of drowning, this would have been the moment. “Like you did with my ribs?”

  Claim, a voice whispered. Take. Ours.

  But I did not want to take from Hope. I wanted to give. Give until she no longer expected pain or abuse—only affection and warmth.

  I cupped her cheek, stroked a thumb across skin that could so easily tear, and felt the promise of madness echo in my blood.

  This was it. If she were taken from me, there would be no coming back.

  “Yes, banajaanh,” I whispered, mouth inches from her ear. Her eyes fluttered closed, head tilting to the side to give me access to that long, graceful neck. “Bind it.” What did I care? It would heal faster without fabric rubbing against it, but my female was hurting and I would take any pain to lessen hers. “But first”—I brushed my lips over her pulse, then higher, following the line of her jaw until I got to her mouth and inhaled the breathless little sigh slipping past her parted lips—“I would have a taste.”

  35

  Jason

  I poked my empty meat skewer into the fire. Leftover juices trailed down to the sharp, wooden end, hissing and spitting when they met flames. Standing this close, the heat battered against my skin, pushing like a physical force while the scent of smoke, fire, and charred meat assaulted my senses.

  “That can’t be true!” William exclaimed. The tall, wiry alpha leaned back, brows climbing as high as they could go without leaping off his forehead.

  They made me think of caterpillars; of his brows growing tiny little legs and scuttling as high as they could go before making a home among his hair.

  That ridiculous image had me grinning like a lunatic, and I silently vowed to tell my girl how I’d almost blown it with the alpha I was trying to turn into an ally because I couldn’t stop imagining his brows running away.

  “Oh, but it is.” I drew my skewer out of the flames and studied the sharp tip. It was just thin enough that I could roast a marshmallow without leaving it completely mutilated. “Both Ben and Alexander left that club covered in tar and chicken feathers, and the next day, Renee surprised the whole pack with huge, blown up pictures of the incident.”

  While William threw back his head and laughed, I snuck another peek at my girl. While I’d been mingling and making nice with allies and potential supporters, Ash had defended two halflings, humiliated an enforcer, and worried our female sick in the process.

  She still hadn’t recovered.

  Huddled into Ash’s side, she gnawed at her lip, casting quick, darting looks up at him—as if fearing he’d revert back to being hurt. And Ash humored her, whispering in her ear whenever she clung a little tighter, the arm around her back forever drawing her close.

  Him being alpha meant they were never left alone; there were always lycans stopping by to exchange a word, either reaffirming bonds, hunting for information about the human, or searching for weaknesses to exploit. But despite Hope’s visible discomfort with the strangers, she never wavered, never left. Just kept her head down, eyes on the ground, and chewed and chewed and chewed on that poor, abused bottom lip.

  It was driving me insane.

  “Always thought the boys were exaggerating,” William said, waving his enforcer over with a wide smile. “To know it’s true . . . If I hadn’t already been courting the brazen female, this sure would have sent me sniffing around.”

  “You’ve always liked your females a little vicious.” Of course, I knew of William’s interest. That was the whole reason I’d shared that particular story. We needed his support in the upcoming vote, and my job was to secure it.

  “Who wouldn’t?”

  “Someone who wouldn’t want to wake up to his balls superglued to his thighs?”

  William spat out the beer he’d just taken a sip of, sputtering out between great, big gales of laughter, “No! She didn’t do that. Did she?”

  “I think it would be more fun if you found that out for yourself.” I nodded at William’s enforcer, Bull, as he joined us, my thoughts back on Hope. Who’d want a vicious female when you had one that bathed you in kindness, looked at you with love, and threw herself at vampires to protect you?

  As it always did when I thought of her actions with Kieran, my heart stopped.

  “You gotta hear this,” William said, drawing me out of that particular nightmare. Showing none of his four hundred years, he clasped Bull by the shoulder and dragged him closer, until they were nearly head to head, looking more like gossiping schoolgirls than powerful lycans. “Tell Bull what you told me.”

  I repeated the whole thing, watching Hope instead of monitoring the lycans I was trying to nudge off the fence and onto our side. Ruarc approached her, a skewer filled with all the best cuts of meat in one hand, a bottle of water in the other. Standing only fifteen feet away, I could hear every word they said, and when Hope shook her head, declining the food, my frown matched Ruarc’s.

  “She’s perfect, isn’t she?” William said when I finished the story, and all I could think of was Hope.

  She was perfect.

  Bull only grunted, but his lips twitched.

  I grabbed the bag of marshmallows I’d hidden in the inside pocket of my jacket. “Was that a smile?” I asked Bull while piercing a soft ball of fluff with the sharpened edge of my stick.

  “No.”

  William slapped his packmate on the back. “It was! He’s just out of practice.”

  “He should exchange notes with Ruarc. Have you seen him smile?” I gave a mock shudder. “I swear, it looks like he’s preparing to rip your face off.”

  “Hah!” William poked Bull in the chest, not-at-all worried that the bigger male would turn on him. “I’m always telling you, you need to smile more! Females like males who smile. And Renee . . . Ah, Renee, can you imagine her with someone who didn’t smile?”

  Bull scowled.

  “Either of you have any water?” I’d forgotten to clean the skewer, and I didn’t want the marshmallow to taste of meat.

  “Got beer,” William said, holding up a half-empty can.

  “That’d probably make it worse.” I threw the now inedible marshmallow into the fire, looking for Ruarc. If Hope wasn’t going to drink the water, then I might as well use it. If I could find the big male and his magic ability to procure s
hit despite all the lycans throwing themselves at every resource.

  “Fuck it.” I ripped off my jacket and used it to clean the skewer. Soot soon covered the previously light gray material, matched by streaks of reddish brown as what was left of the meat got smeared all over it.

  “What are you doing?” William asked.

  “Trying to please a female,” I replied, knowing he’d enjoy that aspect while never understanding the importance of my mission. I doubted Hope had ever tried roasted marshmallows. If she had, then oh well, I’d gone through a little extra effort. But if she hadn’t, I wanted her first taste to be perfect, not half-assed and tasting of meat and smoke.

  Whatever William said next was lost. Merrik and his enforcer, Dante—a cutthroat, ruthless, mountain of a man with jet-black hair, jet-black eyes, and a jet-black soul—had stopped in front of Ash.

  And Dante was staring.

  Not at Ash, not at the alpha they were there to see, but at Hope.

  Something built in my chest. Sharp and twisted—like a crooked, poisoned word ready to jab—it nestled at the base of my throat.

  Waiting.

  “Ah, here comes Ida,” someone said. William or Bull or someone else, it didn’t matter.

  My body felt foreign. Still, but ready to explode into action.

  While Ash and Merrik spoke, Dante studied my female with a quiet air that did not match his personality. When had Dante ever been quiet? Not to say he was loud, but the male enjoyed making his presence known. He enjoyed flirting with females. He enjoyed using that black gaze to intimidate, then cut down his opposition with brutal efficiency.

  What he did not enjoy was being quiet.

  “Ida, you know Jason, don’t you?” Something in William’s voice warned me to pay attention, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the disturbing scene playing out less than fifteen feet away.

  Where was Ruarc? The possessive asshole should have planted his fist in Dante’s face by now.

  A light touch on my arm warranted a quick glance. Long, blond hair. Dazzling blue eyes. An elfin face. And a mouth curled in a smile I might have found pretty if I’d never seen the beatific display that was Hope’s joy.

  “He does,” a low, feminine voice murmured. “We’ve met. If only briefly.”

  “Yeah,” I said absently, turning my attention back to where it belonged. “Briefly.”

  Hope finally dared a quick look at the enforcer looming above her, but instead of pressing closer to Ash and demanding he take her away, she only blinked.

  She didn’t flirt.

  She didn’t flinch.

  She didn’t flee.

  And those were the only three responses I’d ever seen a female give Dante.

  But not Hope.

  What my girl did was to tilt her head to the side—looking vaguely like Ash, but instead of scary, she looked inquisitive. Cute.

  Fucking adorable.

  I did not like Dante seeing her like that. Not one bit.

  The skewer broke in my hand.

  “Ah, there’s Trey. I didn’t know your neighbor was coming this year—and without his mate, too?” William clicked his tongue like an old, six-foot-six mother hen. “Well, no matter. Will you be okay here by yourself, Ida?”

  A spark of remembrance. My responsibilities. Hope’s future safety. With great effort, I tore my gaze away from Dante the dick and turned to face William. “We can count on you, then?”

  “You can. Never liked Rederick. Never thought the Council should have the power they do, either. Didn’t use to be like this,” he grumbled.

  “You and Ruarc should trade war stories.” My body vibrated with the need to turn back, to keep my female in my line of sight. “He’s ancient, too.”

  Again, William laughed, and again, I forced a grin I didn’t feel. These days, the only time my face matched my mood was around Hope.

  “C’mon Bull, let’s go see Trey. He owes me a bottle of whiskey.”

  As soon as they left, I spun back around, ready to go to my girl. But the pricking of claws against my arm surprised me enough that I hesitated.

  “Don’t go,” Ida said. She was close. Too close.

  The cloying scent of roses and jasmine stained the roof of my mouth like a layer of grime. The hand not around my arm somehow found my chest and revulsion bit into my spine. I grabbed her wrist, ready to squeeze until she let go when Dante cleared his throat.

  Ida forgotten, my gaze whipped to his hulking frame, and I silently cursed the sweep of black hair that blocked his face from view. What was he doing? Was he leering? Smiling? Flirting? Or was he threatening?

  Fuck, has Dante ever said anything about humans?

  I couldn’t remember, and before I could rush over there and rip his head off, his voice rumbled like the engine of an angry Harley, “How are you doing, little one?”

  Little one?

  Never mind that he sounded gentle. Never mind that he obviously had some experience dealing with nervous females. Never mind that Hope shrugged and muttered a polite, yet disinterested reply.

  That was my female. My girl. My little one.

  And Dante was a damned interloper.

  Warm air near my face. Those damned roses again.

  Wrong. All wrong.

  “You do remember me, don’t you? I . . . I thought maybe we could go back to my pack’s cabin. It’ll be empty for hours still . . .”

  Blood rushed through my ears and what remained of the skewer clattered to the ground. For a thin, stretched out second, I almost forgot the hesitance in her voice. Forgot that she’d always been kind.

  She doesn’t know better.

  Somehow, she’d missed that I was a taken male, and before I could crush her wrist in my hand, I reminded myself that we all made mistakes.

  And mine was far greater—I hadn’t paid attention.

  As my grip loosened and I prepared to push her away, my gaze clashed with Hope’s and my heart stopped beating.

  Her eyes were wide. Wounded. Stabbing at me with wordless accusations and brimming with betrayal.

  My lungs emptied and I stood there, gaping and breathless and so damned stupid I should’ve been shot.

  Lips trembling, Hope turned from me, and the way her shoulders curled, the way she seemed to shrink—as if I’d taken a sword and cut her down to half her height—made bile rush up my throat.

  I dropped Ida’s hand as though it were a demon’s soul and hissed, “Leave.”

  Everything around me blurred as I rushed to Hope’s side. I shouldered past Dante—the dick actually smirked—grabbed Hope’s hand, and somehow managed to push three words past the desert in my mouth. “Come with me.”

  She flinched, staring at the ground. Soft, brown hair whipped around her face in the wind that had kicked up, hiding parts of her profile from view. But she couldn’t hide that flinch.

  My heart cleaved in two.

  Luckily, Ash stepped in. He took one look at my face, then brushed the back of his hand across Hope’s cheek. “Go with Jason, banajaanh. Merrik and I have much to discuss.”

  Hope’s reply was an endless, horrible silence.

  “I’ll be right here,” Ash told her. “You can even keep an eye on me, if that is what you would like.” An unspoken command for me to keep her in his line of sight.

  As soon as she nodded, I picked her up—pretending it was for expedience and not because I was dying to hold her close—and hurried over to the tree line. We’d be sheltered by the towering oaks, but she’d still be able to see Ash.

  She didn’t cling to me. Not even when the uneven ground made my gait less than smooth. And when we reached the trees, she stiffened, telling me without words to put her down.

  I did, reluctantly, memorizing the feel of her skin beneath my palms, her scent, until she stumbled back, wrapped her arms around herself, and shivered.

  Away from the many fires, the weak rays of the evening sun gave little heat. The wind, throwing gusts of smoke-scented air, raised the fine hairs on h
er neck—visible only due to my lycan senses.

  I frowned down at the dirty jacket still clutched in my hand. My mind raced, trying to think of a joke to go with my offer, something to lighten the mood and not paint me in the worst possible light for giving my girl a jacket smeared with soot and meat-juice. But for once, that part of me was strangely silent.

  Without speaking, I shook the filthy thing, draping it over her shoulders and watching intently as she put her arms through the sleeves and zipped it.

  Her fingers shook.

  I needed her eyes on me. It was impossible to make out what she was thinking if she continued to stare at the ground. Did she think I liked Ida? Had it looked like I was about to pull her into an embrace?

  I tried to think, tried to imagine how it could have looked, but all I remembered from that moment was Dante’s voice as he called my girl ‘little one.’

  A couple of seconds passed, and still, neither of us spoke.

  Shit!

  The more time passed without fixing this, the worse it would be. It’d grow in her mind, twist, take on nuances that hadn’t been there.

  “Why—” My voice was a hoarse croak. Dry. Scared. Fuck, she’d just told me she loved me; I couldn’t have ruined this already. “Why did you turn away like that?”

  “L-like what?”

  The way her lip quivered shot silver bullets through my heart until the mutilated flesh was only strips of red meat.

  I grabbed her chin, felt it tremble beneath my touch, and made her look at me.

  “Like . . . Like—fuck, I don’t know, like you were interrupting? Like you didn’t have a right to stop what you thought you saw? Like I’d fucking betrayed you?”

  Good job, Jason. Don’t explain, just scold her.

  Fuck, I was an idiot.

  She snatched her head back, breaking my hold. “You . . . You let her touch you. She had her hands all over you, and you—” She shook her head, accusing gaze knifing me in the gut. “You just stood there.”

  But it wasn’t just accusation in her eyes. Something else swam alongside that particular emotion, something sleek and powerful and deadly.