by Woods, Erica
A shark.
And until I learned the breed, I wouldn’t see the danger until it was too late.
“Hope, sweetheart . . . I didn’t even notice.”
The shark retreated, Hope’s eyes narrowing. “What?”
“I didn’t notice her.”
“Her breasts were practically riding your arm!”
A flash of humor warmed me at her indignant tone, the way her nose scrunched up. God, how I loved this girl. “I only had eyes for you. It’s true,” I said when her lips flattened into a stark line of mistrust. “You were speaking to Dante, and I . . . got jealous.”
“Of Dante?”
“Don’t sound so surprised, love. The smug, Italian asshat was acting all smitten, calling you little one and making googly eyes at you.”
She sputtered. “Googly eyes?”
Did she have to sound so bloody shocked? “Yes, googly eyes.”
“Jason . . . Dante doesn’t like me, he—”
“I know smitten when I see it,” I grumbled.
The small, unsure smile that had begun to curl the corners of her mouth suddenly disappeared, and when she spoke next, her tone was dull. “Well, I’m not interested in Dante.”
“And I’m not interested in Ida,” I said gently.
Wounded eyes briefly slid shut. “Ida . . . That’s her name?”
“She doesn’t matter,” I said, though inwardly, I groaned. Why had I mentioned her at all?
“But she’s a lycan, right?”
There it was again, the flash of emotion, the shark that stalked her. “Yes,” I said slowly, unsure where she was going with this but knowing damned well I wasn’t gonna like it.
“And she . . . she likes you?”
“If she does, that’s her problem. I only like you.”
“Maybe . . .” She swallowed hard. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”
A heavy weight crushed my chest, like a bloody grizzly had decided to sit on it. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“That you . . . You don’t have to . . . You could . . .”
Rows upon rows of serrated teeth stared me in the face. It was a great white, her shark. The emotion she was trying so valiantly to hide was a bloody great white.
And if I didn’t do something, it would rip her to shreds while I stood helplessly by and watched.
“What are you trying to say, love?”
“I—”
“If you are trying to tell me you will understand if I want to pursue someone else, then I have to say, I’m insulted.”
“You . . . You don’t owe me any—”
I barked out a laugh. It contained no humor, was sharp and disbelieving. “I don’t owe you? Is that what you think this is?”
“No. No, of course not. I wasn’t trying to—”
Again, I interrupted her. “I know what you were trying to do, and Hope, sweetheart, you have to stop being so bloody selfless.”
“What?” She flinched. “I’m not . . .” A small gust of wind swept a few strands of hair into her face, and she shook her head. Stilled. Shook her head again. “Even if I . . . Being selfless isn’t a . . . a bad thing.”
“It is when you never put yourself first. Let me ask you something . . .” I gently cupped her face. “Why didn’t you get angry when you thought I was welcoming another female? Why was your first reaction to hide?”
“I don’t know,” she muttered.
“I think you do.”
She pulled against my hold, but this time, I didn’t let her go. I stared into the big brown eyes that had so utterly captivated me from the beginning, urging her to voice the truth.
Even if it was ugly.
“I . . .” Her throat bobbed, her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth. “I just . . .” Her eyes fluttered shut. “Everything good in my life has always been taken away,” she finally whispered, voice broken and bleeding. “Either because of . . . because of me, or someone else. So I . . .” She wet her lip, a quick dart of her tongue that at any other time would have had me groaning. “A part of me is waiting for you to be taken, too.”
Something hot and throbbing pierced my chest, and I hurt for her. For my girl, this sweet, innocent, selfless little female who’d known so much pain it was all she ever expected.
And still, I knew there were more. Words she wouldn’t—maybe couldn’t—say. Her whispered confession was just the beginning.
I moved my grip to cup her nape, leaned down until our foreheads touched. “No one could take me from you, love. I’d fight tooth and claw to stay by your side.”
She opened her eyes then, and the anguish shining there nearly undid me. My throat burned, my lungs deflated, my insides hollowed.
I’d never felt so powerless.
“I love you, Jason.”
Instead of filling me with the same wild joy I’d felt the first time she’d said those words, I went cold. She sounded . . . odd. Pleading. But for what? Understanding? Forgiveness? Something else?
“I love you too,” I said, and it came out hoarse and helpless, a declaration polluted by panic and hemorrhaging fear. The racing beat of my heart thumped like frantic roars in my ears, and all of a sudden I had to swallow back the demand that she tell me everything. The urge to shake her until she took back the ‘I love you’ that sounded like a goodbye.
It built inside me, growing and growing until, suddenly, it stopped, and silence reigned.
I’m not alone in this.
The hand I’d dug into my thigh relaxed.
Ruarc would never let Hope walk away. Lucien would eventually find the people who’d hurt her. Ash would stand between his pack and all our enemies. And I . . .
I would vanquish Hope’s nightmares and make sure not a day went by where she didn’t smile and laugh and feel loved.
Releasing a pent up breath, I rubbed my nose over hers and said, “Then that’s all that matters.”
“Jason . . .”
“Next time you see something you don’t like, I want you to flex those claws.”
Her nose scrunched up—confusion was a darling look on my girl. “I don’t have any claws.”
“Sure you do. You sharpened them on Tim”—saying his name left a bad taste in my mouth, and I fought not to grimace—“and brave, reckless female that you are, you used them on Kieran, didn’t you? A vampire.”
“I didn’t know he was a vampire . . .”
“Love . . . You attacked a bloodsucker and survived. You definitely have claws.”
A hesitant smile touched her lips—was there anything more beautiful in this entire world than my girl smiling? She looked down at her hands, at the little nails I’d dreamed about digging into my back while I moved above her, swallowing her cries of passion and—
Fuck!
Was there no situation my dick couldn’t turn sexual?
I cleared my throat. “If any of your males ever make you feel bad, I want you to give them hell.”
Her smile, still a little wobbly, widened. “Even you?”
“Especially me, love.” I tipped her head back, brushed my lips across hers, tasting, reassuring. “Though, I will always do my best not to hurt you. What happened earlier . . .” I kissed her cheek, her temple. “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have let Dante”—the dick—“distract me. It won’t happen again.”
A soft sigh. “And . . . Ida?”
“Is about as appealing to me as Ruarc is.”
Hope’s eyes rounded, then a high-pitched, startled noise burst from between her lips. “Ruarc?”
I grinned. “Yup.”
She smiled back, but her eyes were downcast. “Do you know her? From . . . from before?”
“Know her? No, I only met her once, several years ago, and I don’t think we exchanged more than a word or two.”
“Oh.”
I tilted my head, studying her features. She was chewing on her lip again. “In all honesty, I can’t remember any females before you,” I said, tenderness tightening my vocal cords when s
he jerked her head back, eyes round. “I can’t see their faces. I can’t hear their voices. I can’t recall a single second spent in their company. They’ve all been replaced by you.”
Chin quivering, she stared up at me, wary and hopeful and so damned pretty I could barely stand it.
“All I see is you, love. You’re in my head, in my heart, in my very skin. Your scent has become a part of me, your voice invades my dreams, and when I close my eyes, a pair of the prettiest brown eyes stares back at me, lighting the dark.”
Said eyes shimmered with wetness. Then she threw her arms around my neck, squeezing so hard she lifted up on her toes, and fuck it if I’d never been happier.
“Jason . . .” A soft, tremulous plea.
“I know, love. I know.”
“I—” She stiffened, pulled away just enough that she could reach down into the pocket of my blood-and-smoke-smeared jacket. Plastic crinkled, then her hand lifted up, a semi-squished packet of fluffy goodness clasped in her little fist. “What’s this?”
“Ah, that.” I grinned and plucked the marshmallows out of her grasp. “This, love . . . this is delicious, sugary, melt-on-your-tongue poofy goodness!”
Her lips tipped up into a sweet, innocent smile that made me want to throw said sugary treats on the ground, drag my girl into my arms, and kiss her until mine was the only name she remembered. “Poofy goodness?”
“Poofy goodness,” I confirmed. “Want to try some?”
36
Hope
We were alone—or as alone as we could be with tens of thousands of lycans gathered in one place. The bonfire Jason had used to cook his delicious marshmallows was still burning bright, and though there weren’t enough fires for all the lycans, the four of us didn’t have to share.
Because of Ruarc, I thought, battling a smile.
He had a special talent for keeping people at bay. All it took was a glare, a slight baring of teeth, and the confidence that kept any approaching lycan’s stride even and his back straight faltered mid-step.
It was a talent I appreciated.
After seeing how lycans treated halflings, being surrounded by them had my skin prickling and my stomach hollowing. If they hated halflings simply because they were part human, how much hotter did their hatred run for someone like me, someone without a single drop of lycan blood?
“Here,” Ruarc said after sending yet another lycan fleeing with a low snarl. He thrust his stick near my face, the tip piercing a very black, very burnt lump of . . . something.
Lucien arched a brow, Ash’s wide mouth tipped up at the corners, but it was Jason who spoke. “Seriously, mate?” He yanked me against his body and away from Ruarc’s offering. “That is not a marshmallow.”
Ruarc frowned. “It is.”
“It really isn’t.”
“Took it from your bag!”
“I’m not saying it didn’t use to be a marshmallow. I’m saying it’s not any more.
“The fuck you talking about?” Ruarc’s narrowed, silver eyes dipped down and glared at the arms Jason had wrapped around my middle.
Jason laughed, but his grip tightened. “I’m saying you murdered it. You murdered the marshmallow.”
A dark scowl cut deep lines between Ruarc’s slashing brows and pulled at his scar. His hand came up, rubbed once at the pale, twisted line before jerking back to his side. “Can’t murder a fucking marshmallow.”
“Think you proved you can.”
“Pup, I’m warning you—”
“At best, it’s a piece of coal. You could probably use it as fuel, but our girl should definitely not eat it.”
Ruarc glared some more, but his eyes flickered over the blackened crust and the stick holding it slowly lowered.
Before it could touch the ground, I leaned over, snatched it off the pointed tip, and popped it in my mouth.
“Love—”
“Mo chridhe—”
“It’s great,” I said, determinedly chewing the lump that did, in fact, taste exactly how I’d imagine coal would taste.
Heat skipped up my back as Jason buried his face against my neck, his lips twitching.
I chewed some more, very aware of Ruarc’s eyes on my face, and somehow swallowed without grimacing. “Thank you, Ruarc.”
He didn’t say anything; stared, dragged a hand through his hair, stared some more. Then, with another glare at the man wrapped around me like an octopus—an octopus packed with muscle, smelling of rain and storms and sunshine—he stepped into my space and bent until his forehead could rest against mine.
“Anyone tries to take you from me,” he growled, “they’ll die.”
My breath caught, trapped in my chest while the flutter of delicate wings swooped around in my belly. “I don’t . . . Oh, Ruarc, that—”
“Made no sense,” Jason interrupted, mouth still grinning against my neck. “From marshmallows to murder . . . Do you think he was inspired by the brutal destruction of that first, fluffy sweet?”
Ruarc bristled, but his glare was aimed at something past our bonfire. “Move,” he snarled.
I craned my neck, saw a stranger grow pale, tip his head back, and flee. The crowd opened to swallow him, revealing a glint of vivid red, and my heart stopped.
A stuttering, unintelligible name tripped off my tongue, a shaky, ‘M’ that was drowned out by the pulse thundering in my ears.
I stumbled out of Jason’s grip, eyes zeroing in on that brief flash of red curls and pale skin, only to freeze when the owner turned around and revealed a face that was too weathered, too square, too everything to belong to the person I’d spent the whole day both hoping and dreading to see.
A blur of movement swept past us, dove at the redhead, and grabbed him by the throat.
“Lucien!” I lunged after him, terrified the other lycans would attack him for manhandling their friend, but an arm snaked around my waist and dragged me back.
“Don’t,” Ruarc growled.
“He’ll get hurt!”
But Lucien had already released his grip and was sweeping cool, glittering eyes across the other males. No one attacked him, no one moved. They all just . . . stared.
And waited.
Jason appeared on my right. “What the hell is going on?”
Something in the fire popped and fizzled, breaking the buzz in my ears long enough for me to form words.
“I thought . . . I thought I saw . . .” I swallowed hard. “But it wasn’t.”
“Who?”
A lump lodged in my throat, and I shook my head.
Ash tilted his head. “You thought you saw the male from yesterday.” It wasn’t a question.
“Oh.” Jason cleared his throat, a faint grimace tightening his features before fading into nothingness.
The lump in my throat grew sharp edges, stabbing at my vocal coals, urging them to do something, say something—anything.
But nothing happened.
A gust of wind jabbed cold into my bones. A cold that sprouted teeth when Lucien came stalking back, four pairs of glowing, lycan eyes boring into his back. One of them curled his lip and flashed teeth, taking a single step in our direction only to freeze when Ash stepped into his line of vision.
I froze too, watched Ash tilt his head in that terrifying, stilted way that screamed danger. Watched the group shiver as though they were one; one body, one mind, one consciousness. Watched their eyes flare, pupils dilate, throats bob, until they all looked up at the darkening sky like it held the key to all the world’s mysteries.
“Wrong male,” Lucien said, coming to a stop right in front of me. “It is unfortunate that so many lycans were out last night. Had the cretin’s scent not been smothered by hundreds of others, I could have tracked him.”
I shivered, and Lucien’s zeroed in on the small movement.
“If you would simply tell us who—”
“I can’t,” I said tiredly, and though his eyes frosted over, he didn’t argue. None of them argued. None of them pushed.
Ruarc stood stiff and silent, rolling his shoulders and clenching his teeth like he was fighting the urge to speak. Jason stared straight ahead, expression empty while shadows stole over his eyes and robbed them of his earlier grin. Lucien’s face had settled into cold, impassive lines, and Ash . . . Ash studied the crowd, gaze piercing, brows drawn, something bleak and damaging flattening his lips into a thin grim line.
They were giving me time, respecting my wishes, but it was hurting them.
I was hurting them.
Guilt was a tainted bubble in my chest, bursting with blistering acid, breaking with bitter ease.
I have to find Matthew.
These secrets were too painful, too damaging. Not to me, but to them.
I rubbed over the throbbing ache between my breasts, knowing time was running out. Before we’d left, I’d given myself three days to come clean. Three days to gather my courage and prepare for the inevitable. But I no longer had the luxury of waiting; not when what I was hiding was sitting between us like toxic gas; eroding and diminishing, smothering and devastating.
I had to find Matthew. I had to tell the guys . . . everything.
My heart plummeted, twisting my insides as it passed through and landed next to my feet—barely beating and as ugly and charred and blackened as the burnt marshmallow at the edge of Ruarc’s spear.
They’d hate me, but at least they’d stop hurting.
* * *
We left not long after the incident with the redhead. The guys seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement, none of them mentioning what had happened or pressing me for answers. Back at the cabin, Jason herded me to the couch and started a movie, and I spent the rest of the night cuddled between him and Ruarc.
That was how we went to bed too, and though I was warm and comfortable and safe, I barely slept.
The next morning came before I was ready. Breakfast was tense and silent, the walk back to the stage and the selection that would precede the games even worse.
Ruarc glared at everyone we passed while Jason held my hand in a grip almost as tight as the look in his eyes. Lucien kept disappearing into groups of lycans, emerging either with savage satisfaction carved across his beautiful face or forbidding displeasure freezing the air around him. And while Ash wore an expression of absolute calm, I caught glimpses of blue fire flaring along his irises.