Assembly: The Feral Souls Trilogy - Book 2

by Woods, Erica

  Fury rippled through the room, other emotions, dark and bitter and filled with pain, nipping on its heels.

  I ignored it and continued. Told them about that last day; about being dragged down to the basement, strapped to the table, knowing what would come next. I glossed over the worst parts; the hammer that had broken my shinbone and caved in my chest; the knife that had pierced my flesh and lodged deep in my belly—instead stuttering out a weak, whimpering, “They h-hurt me.”

  The deep, dangerous rumbles that filled every inch of space in the big cabin after that coaxed chills up my back, but I didn’t stop.

  I described the injuries they already knew about, that the Hunters had hurt my ribs, making my lungs struggle. Explained how I’d used the monster to hide my weak heartbeat and cease my breathing until the two men left the room without locking the door. Told them how I’d managed to sneak unseen through the corridors until I found the door to freedom and felt the touch of sunlight for the first time in eighteen years.

  I tried making it sound . . . less horrible than it had been—too aware of their pain, knowing the true extent of my injuries, what I’d survived, would only increase Ruarc’s unfounded guilt, the shadows clinging to Jason’s eyes, the bitter scent of shame battering the air around Lucien, and the struggle for control Ash fought. But still, when I was done, none of them would meet my gaze.

  No one spoke, but the silence wasn’t restful. There was no peace to be found in the absence of their voices, no comfort in the storm of their lashing emotions. There was only a steadily climbing tension, a rapidly rising pressure, a snapping, snarling fire threatening to erupt.

  But while tendons creaked and teeth gnashed together and knuckles popped all around me, my body had turned to liquid. I slumped against Ruarc, too tired to lift my head, too tired to keep my eyes open. I felt like a wire that had been pulled taut for years and years and years, only to be cut down the middle so my edges could curl together and finally relax.

  Even though I was torn in two.

  A pained, jarring sound coaxed my eyes back open, and I watched, sluggish and spent, as Jason shot to his feet, eyes wild, skin pale. He stumbled to the kitchen and ran the tap; gathered a handful of water and splashed it over his face. Again and again. Until he just stood there, hunched over, shuddering, water trailing from his temple down his neck and disappearing into his bright, blue shirt.

  “You are magnificent,” Lucien whispered, and my neck hurt with how fast it twisted to find him. “I do not know how you found the strength to survive, let alone escape, but I will be grateful that you did every day for the rest of my life.”

  If I hadn’t been curled up against Ruarc, I’d have fallen. “T-thank you.”

  Lucien gave me a sharp nod, the tendons in his neck straining.

  In the kitchen, a cupboard opened and closed. Staring blankly at the still-running water, Jason thrust a glass beneath the spring, was halfway across the room before realizing he hadn’t turned it off, went back, shut off the water, staggered out of the kitchen and into the living room, then dropped down next to me and thrust the glass under my chin.

  I accepted it, not realizing how sore and dry my throat was before the cool liquid slipped over the parched flesh. I sighed, and a deep shudder went through Ruarc. His arms tightened around me, but he didn’t speak.

  “I knew you’d been through some rough shit,” Jason croaked. “But the things you describe?” He dragged a hand down his face, shook his head, amber eyes so very bright. “I’m in awe of you. Of the person you are, the person you’ve chosen to be despite what was done to you. It’s not . . .” He swallowed hard. “It’s not a thing most people could’ve done.”

  “I . . . I’m not . . . I’ve done things—”

  “We have all done things,” Ash said, speaking for the first time since I’d revealed how I’d escaped. Though his voice was calm, his touch as he grabbed my knee soothing, his eyes burned. “But you were a victim of cruelty, banajaanh. Of cowardice and hate. Your brother’s death was not your fault, and whatever you did during your captivity, you did to survive.”

  Matthew’s name burned on my tongue, his story swelled in my throat, the snap of his fingers crackled in my ears. But when I opened my mouth to confess my second worst sin, Ash captured my gaze, a terrible understanding flaring in that blue fire.

  He knew. Not the specifics, but he knew.

  “Banajaanh . . .” Suddenly he was there, so close I was drowning in a storm of blue fire. “Even had you killed every Hunter, every other captive, every innocent person between your prison and us, we would not turn from you.” Wide lips brushed over my temple, my forehead, my nose, each touch a brand that didn’t burn but reassured, each gentle kiss unwinding one of the tight ropes twisted into knots in my stomach. “You are ours, and nothing can change that.”

  “You d-don’t want me to l-leave?”

  Lucien exploded out of his seat, pushing Ash away and grabbing my chin in an unforgiving grip. “Leave?” he hissed. “I was under the impression I’d made myself clear, but perhaps not.” His eyes narrowed, glittered with frozen fury. “You. Are. Never. Leaving.”

  You are never leaving.

  Wetness on my cheeks, silent tears falling.

  I’d killed my brother.

  You evil little monster.

  I’d spent years being debased.

  You evil little monster.

  I’d been torn apart, stripped of my humanity, broken.

  You evil little monster.

  I was weak, ruined, unworthy, and still . . .

  You’re never leaving.

  A sputtering, half-strangled sob tore from my throat, and Ruarc squeezed me so hard against his chest that I was saved the trouble of trying to reply.

  “Mo chridhe, my heart,” he mumbled in a broken voice. “Never again.”

  “Oh, Ruarc, I—”

  “We will kill them.” Lucien released my face and stalked back to his chair. His claws dug into its sides, and he yanked it until it was close enough that, when he dropped into its seat, his knees brushed mine. “Every. Single. One.”

  Fear raked its skeletal fingers up my back. “But they . . . They hunt lycans.”

  “Yes . . .” He didn’t say ‘and your point is’ but it was there, clear as day.

  “I don’t want you risking your life for me!”

  Lucien tilted his head, expression cold and expectant. “You would have us do nothing?”

  “Yes!” I clutched at my chest, exhaustion a physical ache that made the sudden rapid beat of my heart feel bruising. “This is not . . . I can’t . . . You have to promise you won’t—”

  “Calm, banajaanh.” Ash cupped my knee, thumb finding a muscle on the inside that melted my spine when he gently kneaded it. “We are stuck here until the votes have been cast, no matter how much we may wish to hunt.” He rubbed another soothing circle, voice low and reassuring. “This . . . discussion can wait until after the Assembly.”

  After? But I . . . I had to convince the Council to help take down the Hunters.

  They already know about the Hunters, though. Why would they help you now if they’ve left them alone all this time?

  “Why hasn’t anyone destroyed the Hunters before?” I struggled to keep hold of my thoughts as Ash’s hand drifted lower, doing something to my calf that made the muscles along my spine loosen. Despite the raging emotions darkening his eyes and carving tense lines by his mouth, his touch was gentle. “If they hunt supernaturals, and they’re human, why has no one . . . taken them out?”

  “We have tried, but they have found ways to shield their compounds,” Ash said. “On the rare occasion when we do find one, it is always abandoned. It is believed . . .” His jaw firmed. “It is believed they have rogue witches on their side.”

  Rogue witches? “Is that h-how they capture l-lycans?”

  “No,” Ash said. “If they do have witches helping them, they keep to the shadows. The Hunters . . .”

  “They’re cowards.
” Lucien’s icy tone raised all the hairs on my arms. “They use our females and our young against us, set traps they know we have no choice but to walk willingly into, and they outnumber us twenty to one.”

  A hollow pit gaped open in my stomach. If the Hunters caught me, would the guys walk into a trap to save me?

  Of course they would.

  If the last couple of weeks hadn’t been proof enough, how they’d reacted today had sealed it.

  “Y-you . . . You can’t . . .” My voice trailed off and died, dread quickly filling the pit with cloying black tar.

  “Ah, but we can,” Lucien said. “When the time comes, we will not meet them on their terms, but on ours.” A cold, dangerous smile curved his lips. “If they do not see us coming, they cannot defeat us.”

  My stomach bottomed out and all I saw was them, the males I loved, torn apart by Hunter weapons and bleeding out on the ground.

  No.

  I would not let them take on the Hunters. We would go to the Council and ask them for help, and I’d find a way to convince my guys to sit on the sidelines—even if I had to threaten to go after the Hunters alone if they didn’t listen.

  I opened my mouth to inform them of this, but before I could, Gideon burst through the door.

  “We lost him,” he growled. “Bastard used faebane.”

  69

  Hope

  Did he . . . did Gideon just say faebane?

  Ruarc’s arms tightened around me, the muscles in his forearm straining against the skin. He shook like he had to physically restrain himself from rushing at the other male and hurling him out into the night.

  But he remained still, and while scarred hands fisted around the fabric of my shirt and harsh breaths fanned over my nape, Ash rose.

  He moved slowly, not with hesitance but with measured, controlled movements that shot shivers up my spine, placing himself between me and Gideon and giving the other male his back. Gold ringed his pupils, his head tilted half a degree. And he watched me. Watched me like he was judging my strength by the paleness of my skin, by the strain tightening my lips, by the weariness forcing my eyes into a tired squint.

  Arms crossed. A finger tapped—once. His gaze was heavy. Assessing.

  But he did not speak. Shielding me, I realized, suddenly aware of my hazy thoughts, the exhaustion threatened to drag me into a dark, dreamless abyss. He knows I’m feeling vulnerable so he’s shielding me.

  “Faebane?” Lucien broke the heavy silence.

  Leaning forward, I peered around Ash, spotted a stone-faced Gideon jerking his head in a nod.

  “Where did you lose his scent?”

  “At the edge of the large forest behind the fourth circle.” Gideon paused, chewed on his next words before spitting them out like foul-tasting bullets. “A youngster saw him meet with someone. Didn’t see who and didn’t stay to watch, but he said more than words passed between them.”

  Lucien hissed out a curse. The air around Ash shimmered. Ruarc’s hands clenched on my shirt.

  Something was going on. Something bad. But I was so very tired, and everything seemed so very far away.

  “Did he hear—” Jason swallowed. Grabbed my hand. Cleared his throat. “Did he hear what Matthew told this other lycan?”

  “No,” Gideon replied. “But whoever he was . . .”

  “He gave Matthew the faebane,” Ash finished for him.

  “That’s my guess.”

  “So he’s . . . gone?” I asked, dread and relief fighting in my stomach, creating rolling waves that hurt and ached.

  Matthew had once been my friend, had once saved my life, and despite what he’d tried to do, I didn’t want to see him hurt.

  He didn’t want to hurt you either. The thought whispered through my mind, showed me flashes of his regret, his pain, his fear. Someone had threatened him, left him hopeless and terrified.

  But who?

  Who had he been talking about when he’d said ‘he found out?’ What had he meant when he’d said he couldn’t go back. Go back where? To the Hunters? But he was here, he was free, he was—

  How did you escape?

  I didn’t.

  My breath caught, my lungs constricting.

  Were they here? Could the Hunters . . . be here?

  No!

  The denial sprang forth so hard, so fast, that it almost left my throat in a terrified cry. Only my empty lungs kept it locked inside.

  Trembling, digging my nails into my thighs, I squashed the terror, the traitorous fear-based thought. The Hunters were not here. It wasn’t possible. Not when there were so many lycans about; so many keen eyes and sharp noses.

  Matthew must have meant something else. Maybe that he hadn’t escaped but . . . had been released?

  “You need sleep,” Ash said, still blocking my view of Gideon—and Gideon’s view of me. “Reassurance. The comfort of pack.” His piercing gaze swept over my face once more, settling on the male clutching me to his chest. Shadows played over the sharp angles of his cheekbones, his jaw, his compressed lips. Then he sighed, and the shadow fell away. “Matthew is not gone, banajaanh, but the forest is vast and he is wolf. Faebane has erased his scent, and we cannot hunt him without it.”

  Gideon made a sound halfway between a cough and a snarl. “By the time it wears off, he’ll have disappeared.”

  Maybe . . . Maybe that was okay. I would never know why Matthew had made the choices he had, but at least he’d be alive.

  “There is something that can track regardless of faebane.” A cold, cold statement, each word clipped and jagged.

  “Witches are not allowed on Assembly ground, Lucien.” Again, Ash’s fingers tapped against his bicep. Again, his head tilted while the air around him broke and shimmered. “And even if they were, they would not offer aid.”

  “We do not need a witch.” Green eyes glittered with deadly frost. “I will find him.”

  Seconds stretched and trembled while tense quiet ruled the cabin. I held my breath until Ash finally inclined his head and Lucien moved toward the door.

  “Wait!” I struggled to my feet, something in my chest squeezing painfully. “Lucien, I . . .” My voice trailed off and died, words suddenly impossible. “Don’t . . .”

  Don’t go?

  Why was that so hard to say? Why, after laying my soul bare and confessing my worst sins, was being vulnerable with him suddenly so terrifying?

  Something hard and sharp and panicked clawed at my breastbone. My stomach hollowed.

  I closed my eyes, heart riding up my throat while Lucien invaded every inch of my mind.

  The frozen fury when I’d whispered the truth of who’d kept me prisoner.

  What are you?

  The hard, unyielding look when I’d told them of my monster.

  It will never be your fault.

  The hissed decree when I’d been broken, bleeding, laid bare to the soul.

  You are never leaving.

  And through it all; cold, burning, frozen, flaming green eyes.

  You are magnificent.

  My breath caught, my pulse thudded.

  I was raw. Exposed. Achingly vulnerable.

  And utterly convinced Lucien understood parts of what I’d lived through in a way no one else did.

  But my mind was chaos and I could say none of it, could only stare with my mouth half open; despairing, hopeful, fragmented words burning at the tip of my tongue, but going no further.

  And before I could choke on them, drown in all the things left unsaid, Lucien turned only his head, his beautiful face in stark profile, and said, “For you, and only for you, my Hope, I will let him live.”

  A violent twist of my heart, a hot burn behind my eyes.

  He knew. Lucien knew Matthew’s death would haunt me, and he was willing to go against his instincts and deny the vengeance I knew he craved just so I wouldn’t be hurt.

  I blinked back tears. Matthew wasn’t the reason I’d told him to wait.

  A choked sound tore from my chest, bu
t no others, and instead of letting me helplessly flounder, Lucien inclined his head. “I will be back before morning.”

  “Call when you find the male,” Ash said. “And if possible, keep him outside Assembly grounds until we reach you.”

  Lucien nodded, gave me a last, indecipherable look, and left with Gideon.

  Throat tight, bones so heavy I could hardly move, I swayed. Before the floor could rise up and greet me, Ash was there, the scent of wide-open plains and wild horses flooding my senses, and I buried my face against his chest.

  But I didn’t let myself get comfortable.

  Ruarc . . .

  Now that I was up and he could no longer hide his face against my neck, I could finally check if his expression was as ravaged as his breathing, if he’d claimed guilt he had no business claiming. But when I gathered my strength and stumbled toward the couch, the spot next to Jason was empty, a big black wolf skulking in its shadow.

  “Ruarc?” My voice shook.

  Ears folded back at a miserable angle, the wolf rose and plodded over. Ebony fur bristled around his neck, only smoothing when I reached out to touch his head.

  He gave my hand a lick, then gently trapped my wrist between teeth so sharp they could sever bones as easily as I could snap a pencil, and growled softly.

  “Ruarc is right,” Ash said, as though the big beast had spoken. “We need some pack time.”

  With a heavy sigh, Jason left the couch and moved to my side. “I don’t know about you, love, but I’m knackered.”

  “I . . . I mean, I am, but what about Lucien? And is Ruarc . . . Is he okay—why did he change?”

  Ash cupped my elbow, giving me a careful nudge—urging me to follow the majestic yet defeated looking wolf. “Lucien will call when there is something to tell, and Ruarc will be fine.” He brushed his lips over my cheek. “We need some rest, banajaanh. Some time to digest and reaffirm our bonds.”

  A gentle tug, Ruarc’s ears flicking.

  I gave up and followed him to the one bedroom I’d yet to see, but when the door opened, I only caught a glimpse of a big window and beige walls before a furred head pushed against my back and sent me tumbling onto a soft mattress.