Hunted: A Reverse Harem Shifter Romance (The Feral Souls Trilogy - Book 1)

by Erica Woods

  I should ask for a shower.

  “Well . . .” Jason started, looking down at me with his face scrunched up in an overly dramatic way, like he was pondering one of the most important questions of his life. “Since you are so eager to get away from me, I can only assume you were either being suffocated by my stench, or you are so hungry you would risk falling down the stairs in your hurry to get some food.” He grinned cheekily. “Since we have established that I smell divine”—wait, when had we established that?—“we should get some food in you.”

  Gaze riveted on Jason’s mischievous smile, I didn’t protest when he led me down the stairs. The steady hand at my elbow kept me upright when my leg threatened to buckle under my weight, and with each step I was acutely aware of his nearness. Of the heat radiating off his almost naked body. Of the powerful muscles bunching under his sun-bronzed skin.

  “Shouldn’t you put on some clothes?” I blurted when we reached the spacious living room and Jason’s naked stomach brushed against my arm.

  “Tired of the view already, love?”

  “I—I wasn’t . . . I mean, I wasn’t looking,” I stuttered.

  Jason grinned and waggled his eyebrows at me. “Then I must be doing something wrong.”

  Face burning, I chose to remain silent.

  What is happening?

  Was he mocking me or inviting me to look? Or maybe he was doing something else entirely? Life with the Hunters had not prepared me for normal human interaction.

  If only my freedom came with a manual. Something suspiciously close to loss settled like a boulder in my stomach.

  “Hey,” Jason said, concern marring his handsome face. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Running a hand through his mussed-up brown hair, he swapped his weight from foot to foot and cleared his throat. “Look, I’m—”

  A roaring wall of muscle slammed into him, throwing his body clear across the room, and rather than throw myself to the side, I stood and watched. Rooted to the spot. A strange haze took hold of my mind, my thoughts slow, disjointed.

  No sharp corners. That’s good.

  This room, as the others I’d seen, was sparsely furnished. A huge sofa occupied the back wall, facing the biggest TV I had ever seen, a low table between them. An almost empty bookcase stood by the door leading to the hallway between the living room and the kitchen. The rest of the room was just empty space with four massive chairs placed in a seemingly random fashion—two by the table, one by the bookcase, and one by the window facing the front of the house.

  Strange.

  A vague sort of wonder at the tidiness of the place drifted through my mind. Despite four men sharing this place, there was not a thing out of place. No clutter or dirty dishes or clothes lying around.

  Is that normal?

  A loud crack echoed across the room and my haze broke. I flinched at the sound, watched Jason’s muscular frame land in a heap next to the couch, and tried to stop the full body shaking I hadn’t noticed until now.

  The unexpected violence made my throat go dry—a desert storm raged inside me, stealing all the moisture from every pore, making my body feel like it was shriveling up and dying.

  My feet remained glued to the ground.

  The violent scene played again and again behind my eyes. The thunderous roar. The thud of impact. Jason’s body flying across the room. The sound he made as he crashed against the wall.

  When my muscles finally thawed, I started toward Jason, intent on making sure he was all right. But before I reached him, a massive wall of muscle flew past me.

  I dropped to the ground, struggling to breathe past the tightening of my throat.

  A deafening silence urged me to look, to peek through my fingers. Then I wished I hadn’t. Ruarc lunged at Jason, not making a sound. A predator on the hunt.

  Making my body as small as possible, not thinking clearly enough to vacate the premises, I focused on stopping as many of my frightened whimpers as possible. Sounds of prey attracted predators, especially those of the human variety—I’d learned that the hard way. It was better to be silent. Hide my fear.

  If I could.

  I clamped both hands over my mouth as the battle raged on. The air was suddenly filled with brutal roars and savage snarls. Glass shattered. Fabric tore.

  Would the savage animals turn on me next?

  I dragged myself off to a corner, curling up into a small ball, and closed my eyes.

  “Enough.” Ash’s voice. The quiet command held so much power it nearly made my heart halt its racing beats.

  All sounds abated.

  I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes—I already knew what I would see. Mangled bodies, a room in ruin, blood . . . I didn’t need any more of those memories, so I stayed in my world of darkness and focused on my breathing.

  A gentle hand touched my shoulder and the terror that had kept me frozen in place gave way to a rush of adrenaline so powerful it felt like I had been hit by lightning.

  I bolted.

  My legs scrambled under me and slid on the wooden floors. I ignored the frantic voices calling behind me, the meaty sound of a fist hitting flesh, and focused on getting up the stairs as fast as possible. Having forgotten all about my ruined leg, it came as a shock when it gave out and I fell-face first into the stairs.

  The throbbing pain radiating from my lip told me two things. One, my lip was definitely split. And two, I was still very much alive. If I wanted to stay that way, I had to get away from the mindless violence downstairs.

  The bed I’d woken up in seemed to my panicked mind the safest place to be. Adrenaline was a mindless instructor and my body wanted to obey; anything to get away from the danger in the living room.

  “Hope . . .” The pained plea was enough to make me stumble up the rest of the stairs and into my room. There, I used trembling fingers to lock the door, all the while thanking whatever deity ruled over monsters like me that there was a key in the lock.

  I slumped onto the bed. My heart sounded like a thousand horses galloping through a cobbled street. I couldn’t get enough oxygen into my lungs, and each time my breath wheezed past my split lip, it throbbed.

  I have to calm down.

  I focused on my breathing and finally managed to fill my oxygen-deprived brain with enough of the glorious element that made life possible to start using my other senses.

  My hearing recovered first and I flinched at the harsh whispers from the other side of the door. Scuffling ensued, then, “Hope?”

  Silence.

  “Hope?” Again, followed by a soft knock on the door.

  Now that my pulse had stopped fluttering like a leaf stuck in a tornado, reason slowly returned. But try as I might, I could not understand what had happened. One second I’d been talking to Jason and the next Ruarc had attacked like a manic beast! What kind of people were they? And what could Jason possibly have done to deserve that rage? Had he hurt someone Ruarc loved? Was he dangerous? Or was Ruarc the dangerous one? He certainly had seemed deranged.

  “Banajaanh,” Ash said softly, the strangely melodic word soothing my frazzled nerves. “Please open the door so I can make sure you are not injured.”

  “Me?” I blurted in disbelief.

  There was no reply, just a tentative turn of the door handle followed by a muffled curse and more shuffling.

  “P-please just go away.” I pulled on the covers, making a little cave, and scrambled inside. Alone in the dark I finally felt my shaking limbs still, and I pretended I didn’t care that the solitude that had nearly broken me during my captivity now brought me solace.

  8

  HOPE

  Shortly after I heard Ash leave, a much more sinister sound reached my straining ears.

  “Hope . . .”

  Ruarc.

  I cowered under the blankets, as though they could protect me against the violence Ruarc had proved himself capable of.

  Why was he still here?

  “Hope . . .” A mournful call not suited
to such a rough voice.

  What did he want?

  I grabbed the pillow and squeezed it against my chest. Fear once more flooded my senses, my breath coming in short, choppy bursts that seemed to deprive me of oxygen rather than fill my lungs. When I closed my eyes, all I could see was Jason flying through the air and the vicious attack that followed.

  The strength in Ruarc’s powerful body . . .

  He could easily break down the door.

  A small whimper pushed past my dry throat.

  “Hope?” The voice grew louder. “You okay?”

  If I kept ignoring him, would it enrage him? Would he come bursting through that door and punish me for my disobedience?

  A sigh, then the sound of rustling fabric followed by a soft thud. “Wait till you’re ready,” the gruff voice said, sounding an awful lot like he’d settled down on the floor with his back to the door.

  Was he planning on staying there until I came out?

  “Please . . .” I wanted him to leave, but if I asked again would he get mad? He was so big. So powerful. One hit from those meaty, scarred fists might separate my head from my shoulders.

  “Don’t—” He cut himself off. Waited. Then words that sounded pushed through clenched teeth, “I’ll wait.”

  Wait for what? I didn’t dare ask.

  Several tense minutes passed in utter silence. Enough time for the adrenaline to leave my body and exhaustion to take its place. My eyelids grew heavy, occasionally sliding shut only for me to force them back open. I couldn’t go to sleep. Not with Ruarc so close.

  And yet . . .

  The more time that passed without incident, the harder it was to cling to my fear. Even replaying the violent attack in my head was no longer enough, and the next time my eyelids slid shut, they stayed that way until sleep was brutally ripped away and I jerked upright.

  It was dark. Blinking did nothing to dispel the heavy shadows. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t move. Something heavy weighed down my chest. I threw my arms out, but they were trapped. Locked against my sides by . . .

  A blanket?

  I gripped the soft material and yanked the blanket off. The sunlight streaming through the window burned my eyes.

  “Hope?” A hoarse inquiry.

  “I . . . I’m sleeping.”

  “You were whimpering.”

  Was I?

  I rubbed at my chest, felt my racing heart begin to calm. How much time had passed? And why was Ruarc still here, waiting? If he wanted in so badly, why hadn’t he used force? What was stopping him? This was his house, his property. He could do what he wanted and there was no one to stop him.

  Least of all me.

  I shivered.

  In the hallway, Ruarc shifted. A strange sound drifted through the door, something halfway between a groan and a growl. It drowned out the complaint of hunger rumbling from my empty stomach, and fear finally gave way to annoyance. I needed sleep. Awake, the incessant hunger pangs would eventually drive me to seek food, and with Ruarc right outside, neither option seemed possible.

  “Go away,” I muttered, exhaustion making me careless.

  But when Ruarc replied, it was not with mindless rage, but more of that deep, hoarse voice that pushed a flutter of sympathy past my defenses. “No.”

  Sighing, I lay back down, intent on ignoring him until he went away. But my eyes felt gritty, my limbs too heavy, my head too big and filled with fuzz, and it didn’t take long before I succumbed to my body’s demand and fell asleep.

  A couple of hours later, I jerked awake once more. At first, I didn’t understand what had woken me, but then I heard it. The whisper of stealthy feet across the floor. Four steps. Pause. Four steps. Pause. Four steps. Pause.

  Ruarc was . . . pacing?

  He’d stayed. All this time, he’d stayed. Why? And why did that fact inspire a warm, unwelcome glow in my chest?

  “Hope?” A mournful query.

  Sighing, I climbed out of the bed and winced at the agony radiating from my calf all the way up to my knee. At least my lip felt much better. It still hurt, but the throb had given away to a dull ache.

  “Yes?” My voice sounded as tired as I felt. Exhaustion, mental and physical, prodded at me despite the long nap.

  He cleared his throat, a low, masculine sound that made my eye twitch. “Can we talk?” After a second he hesitantly added, “Please.”

  I twisted my shirt around and around one finger while I weighed the pros and cons of staying in this room for all eternity and never eating again. Intimately familiar with hunger, I knew the hollow feeling would die once a few days had passed, the need to eat replaced by the need to sleep.

  But the low sigh from the hall carried so much regret I had no choice.

  I reluctantly limped over to the door. The moment the lock clicked, I jumped back, half expecting Ruarc to burst in with that terrifying roar he’d used on Jason.

  Instead, he slowly pushed the door open and lowered his gaze to the floor.

  It looked wrong. Unnatural. I’d never seen him look anything less than wholly in control. Assertive and dominant. This display of self-doubt didn’t suit his character at all.

  You’ve only known him for a day.

  When he didn’t speak, I took the time to study him. Wide shoulders curled in a defeated posture, a wretched expression on his drawn face, scarred hands clenched into fists . . .

  He looked terrible.

  “Sorry.” His voice was low and raspy, like he was out of practice. “Didn’t mean to scare you this morning.”

  I stared. Was that it? No explanation, no reason for his outburst, just . . . an apology?

  I was about to close the door in his face when he gave a heavy sigh and dragged a hand through his black hair. Every now and again he glanced up at me, studying my expression before looking back down at the floor.

  What had brought this big, strong man so low? It couldn’t simply be scaring me, could it?

  His gaze darted to my bruised lip, lingered for a moment as something dark flashed over his expression. Then he jerked his chin down and swallowed hard.

  He was upset I’d been hurt? But . . . I’d done it to myself.

  A numbing tingle spread from my chest and up my throat. I’d been utterly terrified, and all this time Ruarc had been waiting to apologize. Because he’d scared me. Because I’d gotten hurt.

  “I . . . I forgive you.”

  Ruarc blinked. Once. Twice. Then he stepped back. He seemed dazed, looking up and down the hall like he didn’t quite know what to do. After a long, taut moment, he dipped his chin and turned to leave.

  “Wait!”

  He looked back over his shoulder, silver eyes expectant.

  “Is . . . is Jason okay?”

  A flinch, then every muscle in his body seemed to tightened. One of his hands moved to rub along the white line on his face. My eyes followed the movement and I found myself wondering how he’d survived the injury that had left him with such a terrible scar. Whoever had hurt him, they must have wanted him dead. Had he fought back? Killed? I couldn’t imagine him running from a fight, but—

  Ruarc’s hand jerked down to his side.

  My face heated, but Ruarc didn’t mention my rude staring. Instead, he looked away, baring his teeth at the floor.

  “Yes.” Forced through a clenched jaw, the word sounded like rocks grinding together. The harsh lines of his face were drawn into a deep scowl, and before I could say anything else, he spun on his heels, stalked down the hall, and disappeared into a room at the far end.

  The door slammed shut behind him.

  9

  HOPE

  Where is everyone? I thought warily as I walked through the empty house a few minutes later. After the commotion from this morning, I was uneasy about seeing the men again. I couldn’t seem to stop myself from acting like a moron around them. If I wasn’t ogling one of them, I was either sobbing my heart out or screaming like a banshee fleeing for her life.

  They must think I am cr
azy. And maybe I was.

  Peeking around the corner to make sure the kitchen was empty, I let out a sigh of relief and limped inside. The light streaming through the closed windows bounced off marble countertops, making them gleam with a lustrous shine. Black should not shine, but this black did. It shone and shimmered, the dark color a startling contrast to the otherwise bright room. Glossy, white cupboards rose above the wide sink and hid beneath the long line of the counter. Polished, white tiles covered the floor, while the walls and ceiling were painted with more white. Had there been some beige thrown in, maybe a splash of color somewhere, the kitchen would have been softer, a tad more feminine, but the stark white next to inky black made for a harshly masculine flavor that wasn’t at all unpleasant.

  The long table I’d been seated at the day before stood far enough to the right that it was beyond the cooking area of the kitchen, and behind it the windows made way to a door that was unlike any door I’d ever seen. Except for the bottom, the whole of it was made of glass, and through the translucent material I saw a beautiful porch stretch across the grassy landscape.

  In the light of day, with sunlight caressing each tile it passed, what had last night felt too big, too foreign to be anything but scary, now offered a moment of calm respite.

  My stomach rumbled.

  I opened my eyes, unaware they’d closed, and looked around. Besides a cutting board, a block of wood that held knives and the like, and some equipment I couldn’t remember seeing before, the countertops were empty. Equally disappointing to my grumbling belly, the large table held no food, only an empty, wooden bowl.

  I had miscalculated. Happy no one was there, I hadn’t thought about what that meant for my stomach. I couldn’t just take food out of the fridge, that would be stealing.

  My hand rubbed distracted circles over my middle. Hunger gnawed.

  A throat cleared behind me and a high-pitched squeak flew from my mouth. I spun around, hand clutching at my chest.

  “Sorry, love.” Jason flashed a grin that made me think he found my startled rabbit act funny, and crossed to where I stood in a loose-limbed gait that somehow looked both predatory and playful at the same time. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”