by Woods, Erica
Lucien picked the vest that had been torn off me, guiding my arms through it and carefully fastening each strap. “We have time. I can wait for your forgiveness, but know that you have mine.”
As I stared up into his painfully beautiful face, feeling the care in his touch and the intensity of his words, an acute heat engulfed my heart. It throbbed, thrummed, was pierced with something both painful and joyous, feverish and delicious. A rope had attached directly to the still-beating organ, tugging and tugging until it resonated with a shocking vibrancy.
My lungs stalled. Dazed, I would have staggered to the ground if not for Lucien. His hand moved from my face to my shoulder, clenching once, twice, before his fingers slowly uncurled.
I gasped, suddenly starved for air. And when it was over, when blackness no longer crept along the sides of my vision and the pull toward Lucien had lessened from a violent compulsion to a soft, quiet yearning, shutters drew over the emotions in his eyes.
“Our discussion may be over,” he said, and although his face revealed no hint of emotion, no trace of the connection we’d just forged, his hand never left my shoulder. “But I’m afraid your other males may not be as forgiving. Ruarc in particular.”
Wait, what? Why was he—shouldn’t we talk about . . .
What?
Searching for the right words, I licked my lips, freezing when Lucien honed in on the action with an intensity that stole all the moisture from my mouth and left me tongue-tied and flustered.
“I . . .” I looked closer. Was Lucien . . . paler than normal? And did he look strained?
Suddenly I knew what to do. Despite the way my heart stuttered and the strange, wild hope that bloomed in my chest, I made my voice light. “I know. Maybe you could not tell him?”
“I think not.”
“Pretty please?”
A sardonic arch of a brow. “And rob you of the lecture that may prove to be the one to finally make you obey?”
“He threatened to beat me you know.”
At once, Lucien stilled, and when he spoke, his voice was low and pleasant. “Did he now?”
Uh-oh . . .
“N-no!” I quickly backpedaled, my attempt at humor dangling between us like a dead limb in need of amputation. ““Not . . . not like that!”
Cold eyes locked on mine, he tilted his head and simply stared. Waiting for me to explain.
“He . . .” A strangled sound—half cry, half laugh—spilled from my lips. How did I get myself into these kinds of situations. “He said something about beating my ass,” I mumbled, unable to hold his gaze.
The bubble of tension that had enveloped us burst. I could feel Lucien’s gaze burning the top of my head, his hand gliding up my throat and capturing my chin. He tilted my head back, waited for me to open my eyes, the heat of a flush pulsing in my cheeks and forehead and even across my nose.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, my lashes fluttered, and I peeked up at his cold, unsmiling face, the eyes that glittered with sensual leniency.
“Maybe that’s just what you need,” he purred in a voice that was fire and ice intertwined. “A good spanking.”
The warmth from his hand on my waist, the delicious edge in his voice, was enough to heat my body and distract me from his words. It wasn’t until I was about to close the distance between our mouths and steal a kiss that I realized what he’d said.
I sputtered and gaped up at him.
“Close your mouth, woman, flies abound in the forest,” he said and leaned down.
It didn’t take me long to discover that when you have a muscled male pressing against the length of your body and his lips sealed over yours, the last thing you want to do is close your mouth.
52
Lucien
Before my female’s soft lips and willing body could tempt me into forgetting myself, I pulled away and stared down at her flushed face. Beauty was certainly in the eye of the beholder, for I could not remember seeing a more ravishing sight than her sinfully swollen lips and wide, glazed eyes as they blinked up at me.
Reverently, I traced the tender path of her lip with the pad of my thumb. “You’re too soft to be this careless.”
My earlier determination to curb my temper and gentle my interactions with the vexing female had flown out the window as soon as I’d witnessed a dirty mongrel’s filthy paw groping at her slender frame. Rage, the same lethal rage I’d tasted the day Tim had attacked the disobedient human, had filled me to the brim.
After I’d disposed of the vermin, Hope’s wide eyes and pale face had done nothing to diminish that rage. If anything, her reckless behavior had made me see red, and if she hadn’t broken down the way she had, that rage would have bested me and I would have given her a tongue lashing I’d surely have come to regret.
I would not see the tenuous bond between us broken. Not again.
No longer would the troublesome vixen suffer my vicious tongue. No longer would I rebuff her hesitant overtures of friendship. She would be mine. Utterly and completely. Her secrets mine to protect; her fears mine to conquer; her lies . . . the web of intrigue and falsehoods and carefully nurtured misdirection would be mine to unravel, mine to explore, mine to obfuscate until no other would ever be able to uncover what I had uncovered. Until no other would ever know her like I did.
What was vulnerable, I would make impenetrable. Unbreakable. Unflinching and unafraid.
I would shield her from harm . . . And from myself.
Protecting her from the virulent emotions that had been warring ever since the female had entered our lives was imperative to her safety. Preserving my armor was preserving her, for if I were ever left without it, if I were to ever grow weak enough to succumb to love, Hope would be exposed to every piece of darkness in my blackened soul.
And not even the gods could help her then.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, and the way she lowered her eyes made me regret my hasty rebuke. But I could simply not help myself. If she refused to look out for herself, the job fell to me. To our pack.
“Let us find you a place to hide.”
“But . . . I thought you’d want me to concede?”
“The walk through the forest would not be any safer than you hiding while I stand guard.”
When she swiped at a stray hair, her fingers trembled. “You think someone would attack us?”
“It is possible.” I steeled myself against her flash of fear and pulled her toward a tree that would suit my purposes. Perhaps if she were afraid, she would make better choices and save me from the terrible dread still scraping its claws across my skull.
“I’ll do better, Lucien. Whatever it takes, I won’t put you or the guys in a position where you have to risk yourself to save me. Not again,” she said, and once more I was struck by how very easy it was to care for this strange female.
She possessed qualities I’d never before encountered in one of her gender. Unfailing honor. Unwavering kindness. An unflinching belief in doing what was right. Time and time again, she had proven my suspicions wrong, proven she was as unskilled a deceiver as I was a master of its many subtle forms. Her lies were poorly crafted, emerging like stumbling, newborn foals unable to find their feet.
“We shall see,” I said, studying each branch of my chosen tree while my stubborn little vixen chewed at her lip. Before I could admonish her, she shifted closer, and my arm went around her thin shoulders, pulling her against my side.
If honesty were the finest wine, then Hope’s flavor was suffused with its sharp tang, imbued with its mouthwatering aroma, steeped in its fragrant spice. But it was also laced by beguiling mysteries and a distinct dishonesty that tasted achingly similar to regret.
As though her lies pained her.
Hope was a female who had never once played her males against each other. Never once had she tried to gain the attention of other males to increase her value or watch us fight and prove our strength. She had not been blinded by my looks, had never grabbed at me or thought my bo
dy hers for the taking just because she wished it so. Rather, she had sought to know me. Even when I had made it clear knowing her was of little interest.
How could one not grow to respect such a female? Admire her? Care for her, even?
And therein lay a large part of the problem.
“Come.” My tone was short as I pointed to the branch I had selected. “You will hide up there while I guard from below.”
Her apprehensive gaze darted from me to the tree and back again. “I . . . I can’t climb that high. And won’t you be found if you’re on the ground?”
She worried about me being found? Did she think I cared one whit about this silly game? “Being found is exactly what I want. The seekers are still behind us and will easily scent you when they pass this way. And if anyone else finds you before then, I can dispose of them before they climb the tree.” Before they so much as looked in her direction. “Once you are found by a seeker, I will reveal myself and escort you back.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just walk back now?”
“It would have been easier if you had stayed behind like you were told.”
Wounded eyes lowered in disgrace, and I silently cursed myself. Feelings were a concept I’d only recently begun reacquainting myself with, and taking hers into consideration every time I spoke did not come naturally. Not hurting her, however, was a prevalent instinct, and it roared its fury every time I failed.
I should explain the real reason we are staying . . . But the words would not come.
Staying so she could get the points she so desperately wished for, points that would, in her eyes, somehow increase her worth, was madness. Wretched madness.
And yet, that was exactly what we would do.
Before the little minx could argue, I lifted her onto my back. “Wrap your legs around my waist.” If my voice was husky, it had nothing to do with exquisite feminine curves or the puffs of sweet, hot breaths in my ear. Nor was it related to the way Hope trustingly followed my instructions.
When she carefully placed her hands on my shoulders, I heaved a sigh and firmly locked them around my neck. Once I started climbing, I ran the risk of a little light choking, but better that I could not breathe than she take a tumble.
She has suffered enough.
Once I was sure Hope had a firm grip, I jumped. The high-pitched sound escaping her plump lips made mine twitch.
Amusement.
How quaint.
Grabbing a thick branch, I pulled us up and immediately jumped for the next. Once we were as high as I dared go—I could not risk placing her on a limb that was anything but sturdy—I brushed my mouth over hers, ignoring my body’s response when she melted against me.
“Stay here and do not make a sound. Once you are found I will come out and walk back with you.” I grabbed her chin. “Do not attempt to climb down. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
My blood heated, a seductive fire descending the ridges of my spine like a ladder straight to hell. “Take care with your words, female. Even a venial slip of the tongue can tempt the devil into wicked deeds.”
Her eyes went alluringly wide; my body turned absurdly hard.
Before the tempting vixen made me act the fool, I jumped.
“Lucien!”
The terrified scream wrenched something in my chest. I hit the ground, spun around, looked up and snarled when I saw Hope’s white-knuckled, one-handed grip on the trunk as she leaned over the side to see me. Me. “Devil take it, woman!” I snapped, and when she whipped back, nearly stumbling, my lungs withered.
She could have fallen.
“Sit down!” I hissed. “Back against the trunk and, for the love of all that is holy, do not move!”
After a horrifying, life altering second where she looked on the verge of losing her balance, she gave a tiny nod—how I longed to tan her hide for taking the devil only knew how many years off my life with her little stunt—and gingerly leaned against the trunk.
My eyes narrowed of their own accord, and I felt my lips tilt up in a smile that was anything but pleasant. That’s right, little female, I thought when she shivered and her scent—impossible to overlook even from down here—deepened with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. This is one instance where you better obey.
Another shiver, then she averted her gaze and sat down.
Never letting her out of my sight, I found a spot close enough that I could catch her should she fall, and went to work.
53
Hope
Time crept by as I clung to my branch and tried to avoid looking down. Lucien was so well hidden I’d long since given up trying to catch a glimpse of pale, perfect skin or jet-black hair. He’d found a patch of bushes and used only his hands to dig a hole between them, and hadn’t said a word since he’d covered himself up.
Slivers of wood had gotten stuck under my nails from my tight grip—I’d discovered I didn’t much like heights—and my feet prickled with pins and needles.
Time was not my friend. A fact that had long since carved itself into my flesh, rotted in my bones, infected every corner of my soul.
The Hunters had taught me that.
They’d also taught me that pain had an awful way of making time slow down. Of making it crawl past so sluggishly, each second could be felt with startling, unwanted clarity; each hour a labored, decayed lifetime.
But pain had nothing on dread. Nothing on the cold panic that grew and swelled and ballooned to grotesque proportions, until the body bulged with it, rolled with it, contorted and writhed and begged to be released from its cruel clutches.
And dread was all I could feel.
While the forest below remained quiet and undisturbed and the minutes ticked by, carving deep groves of tension in my belly, dread had lashed its tentacles around my ribs and poisoned my blood.
I hadn’t found Matthew.
My eyes squeezed shut.
I hadn’t found Matthew.
My fingers dug farther into my branch.
I hadn’t found Matthew, and time was up.
Lucien apologized. Forgave me. Accepted that I couldn’t yet forgive him.
If he knew the truth, he’d choke on that apology.
My throat ached.
They’d all given me space. Despite the unease they felt, despite the hurt, despite thinking I didn’t trust them, they’d waited—Lucien apologized—while I kept misleading, kept lying, kept putting them in danger with my very existence.
It couldn’t go on.
Time had run out, and while there were still some secrets I was bound to keep until I’d spoken to Matthew, the worst ones . . . The worst ones couldn’t be put off any longer.
I could already picture their reactions clear as day.
Ash would be understanding. He might even comfort me and try to make me feel better. But his deep seated sense of right and wrong, the responsibilities he took so seriously and weighed so heavily on his shoulders would never allow him to see past what I’d done. He’d spent his whole life battling his feral side and shielding those under his protection—and never once had he lost control and killed someone he loved.
His disappointment would be severe and constant.
My stomach twisted.
And Lucien would see my past, the lies I’d told, as a betrayal. He’d be vindicated in his first opinion of me, and nothing I said would ever convince him otherwise. Once I’d lost Lucien’s respect, once he’d felt like I’d betrayed him, there would be no coming back. And this thing between us, this fragile yet blooming bond . . . would shatter. Lucien might have been the only one who could’ve forgiven the horrible sin I’d committed, but he could never forgive the lies.
My mouth fell open, lungs struggling to draw in enough air.
And Jason . . . my sweet, funny, loving Jason. There had never been anything less than respect in his eyes when he looked at me. In his beautiful, amber gaze, I’d found admiration, acceptance, even awe.
He . . . he thought I w
as kind.
His whole view of me would be shattered once he knew the truth. There was a chance he’d stay with me, but pity and contempt would replace the love I’d come to crave.
I wrapped my arms around my waist and buried my face against my knees—fear of heights forgotten. There was a tightness in my chest, a corrosive liquid in my stomach, a sickly cold coating my skin and making me shiver.
My thoughts touched upon Ruarc, veered sharply away, then dove back in with ruthless disregard for my sanity.
I pressed a hand to my mouth to stall a whimper.
Ruarc’s reaction would be the hardest to bear. He’d been my first. My first kiss. My first lover. The first person to ever want me. Despite my many flaws, he’d found some sort of value in me and never once faltered in his belief. He was my protector, the fiercest of them all, and witnessing him turn from me in disgust would be the final knife through the heart.
The one that twisted as it slayed.
But it was because Ruarc was who he was—the man I loved, a man who’d rather cut off both arms than hurt someone he cared about—that he’d turn from me. He’d abhor my actions, and there would be no chance of redemption when it was revealed I’d harmed a person in my care.
A person who’d relied on me.
Family.
Ruarc would fight to his dying breath to protect the members of his pack, and he’d see what I’d done as the worst kind of atrocity.
Which it was.
As the seconds crept by and dread gouged bloody furrows across my lungs, breathing became a chore. Existing felt heavy—almost impossible. And my stomach hurt like radioactive cysts grew there, bursting into nests of scuttling spiders that ate through skin and bone and muscle, leaving only a hollow shell behind.
I’ll lose them.
I wanted to turn invisible. To disappear and never be seen again. Anything to avoid the soul-shattering agony that waited for me at the end of today.