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

by Erica Woods

  Smiling hesitantly and feeling very underdressed—especially compared to Lucien who was wearing a stiff but beautiful blue suit with a white dress shirt underneath—I nonetheless felt grateful Ash somehow knew who I was most comfortable with. Opposite Ash sat Lucien, and next to him—across from me—Ruarc.

  I murmured a polite, “Thank you,” before folding my hands in my lap. With a glance at the guys out of the corner of my eyes, I waited to see how they would start. I’d never been to a dinner party before, and I didn’t know the rules.

  “Eat until you’re bursting, love,” Jason said with a wink and began filling his plate. “At this table it’s eat or be eaten. You should see these two”—he pointed between Ash and Ruarc—“when they’ve missed a meal. You do more than blink and every morsel is gone.” He grabbed a little of everything, expertly spooning tender looking meat, some sort of potatoes and steamed vegetables onto his plate.

  Ruarc growled, glaring daggers at Jason’s grinning face before turning to me. “Here,” he grumbled and leaned over so he could pick up my plate. “What do you want?”

  Every single muscle in my body froze as I stared out at the feast laid before me. At least six different vegetable dishes—all looking equally delicious—and three different sets of meat, several sides I had never seen and, of course, potatoes. Never in my life had I had a choice like this. When I was young I’d eaten what my dad put in front of me, and when I was held by the Hunters I had been more concerned about eating at all than what I was eating.

  I nervously tapped my fingers together below the table.

  What if I picked the wrong thing? What if one of them got offended by my choice? I didn’t know most of these dishes and I couldn’t guarantee I would like them. I’d still eat it, but they’d be able to tell by my expression that I didn’t enjoy it. I wasn’t a good enough liar to school my features into showing what I wanted it to show instead of the truth.

  It didn’t help that Lucien was watching Ruarc’s outstretched hand with disapproval.

  My face got hot—strange considering my stomach felt like I had swallowed several tons of ice—and my breathing grew choppy. By now all the men were staring at me, waiting for me to decide, or at least say something. Anything.

  I swallowed hard, unable to look at any of them. My tongue felt heavy and awkward, incapable of speech.

  Just don’t cry, please don’t cry. For some reason heated moisture gathered behind my eyelids.

  Why is this so hard? It’s just a damned meal!

  How had I become this pathetic person who quivered in terror at the aspect of making such a small decision?

  Just as I was about to have a full on panic attack, Ash’s big, calloused hand squeezed mine gently. “Give her some of the beef, the glazed carrots, a portion of fries and the mixed vegetables.” He turned to me and lowered his voice. “Only eat what you like. It does not matter if you leave some, or if you want to try something else. There is plenty to go around.”

  The horrible feeling that had been building in my chest immediately alleviated. I tried to smile, but the trembling, embarrassed thing twisting my lips was about as believable as a Hunter claiming ‘this wouldn’t hurt.’ I allowed the ugly thing to slip away, and settled on a nod instead, heavy with unexpressed gratitude.

  Ruarc filled my plate. A low, angry rumble spilled from his mouth, the sound so animalistic it made me question my own sanity. Did normal people generally go around making these kinds of noises and I had simply forgotten that very strange fact, or was I going crazy?

  Ruarc’s straight, white teeth were bared, his jaw clenched. He refused to make eye contact when he handed me my plate, and instead glared down at the table. Occasionally he shifted his angry attention to include Ash and Jason as well, but never me.

  Does that mean he isn’t mad at me, or that he is trying to communicate that I am a huge pain in the ass?

  Probably the latter.

  A deep ache started in my chest at that thought. I pushed it away and took a small bite of the meat.

  “Oh my god . . .” I couldn’t stop my low groan of pleasure. It was . . . heavenly. The flavor exploded on my tongue, unlike anything I’d ever tasted, and the succulent meat melted in my mouth.

  When I opened my eyes, everyone was silent. Ruarc’s silver eyes were slightly glazed, his mouth partially opened, and I found myself staring at his lower lip. When it wasn’t twisted in a scary scowl it looked soft and biteable—a little fuller than the upper one.

  I tore my eyes away and blushed furiously.

  Biteable lip? What the hell am I thinking?

  I turned away from Ruarc and happened to lock eyes with Lucien. His were frosted over, disdainful, condemning me for a crime I had not been aware I was committing. I shuddered in visceral response to that icy look, to the contempt bleeding through his cold mask.

  How could someone look so filled with hate, yet seem as unemotional as a marble statue? The only thing that gave away his emotions were his eyes. His expression remained dispassionate, the hand not holding his fork lay relaxed on the table. Not even his mouth curled or tensed, or did any such thing a mouth did when the person attached to it harbored strong emotions.

  Did he even feel them, or were they buried so deep as to only touch his surface thoughts when he allowed it?

  I tore my eyes away, vaguely aware of my fork clattering against my plate.

  Jason bumped me with his shoulder. “Try the chips, love. They are absolutely”—he popped one into his mouth, chewed slowly, and winked—“divine.”

  “Bastard,” Ruarc spat, making me jump. He pointed a threatening finger at Jason and glared, the white scar on his face standing out in stark contrast as a vein started to pulsate in his temple. If I were Jason I would’ve been out of my chair, sprinting across the room, and heading for the safety of the outside as fast as I possibly could.

  But Jason only grinned, completely oblivious to the terrible danger he found himself in.

  Lucien coughed, fixing his cold stare on me while addressing the men. “Surely you could attempt to behave like civilized beings for the remainder of our meal? No need to behave like ruffians simply because we are in the presence of a street urchin.”

  I didn’t know what a street urchin was, but the way he said it made me think it wasn’t flattering. Based on the dangerous glower on Ruarc’s harsh face, he had a problem with the insult as well. Or maybe he just didn’t like being told he wasn’t acting civilized.

  Before Ruarc could lunge at Lucien, Ash abruptly stood. “That is not how we treat guests.” His voice was dark, but still low and controlled.

  Lucien rose stiffly, back ramrod straight. “She is not a guest.” His voice dripped with disdain. “We do not know anything about her or her reason for being here. I, for one, am not buying her ‘poor, abused female act.’ Throw her out and good riddance, I say.”

  A cold shiver raced up my spine. Why did he hate me so much? My chin trembled and I cursed my own weakness, even as my gaze refused to leave the hands clenched in my lap.

  He’s right. Lucien is right.

  I’d bring nothing but trouble to their doorstep. Hunters aside, they were already fighting because of me and although I hadn’t exactly known them long, it was easy to see a deep camaraderie and love existing between them—even if their violent confrontations left me stumped.

  I couldn’t pretend to understand the urge to beat up someone you loved, but maybe it was just a guy thing?

  “Do you think the girl mangled her own leg then, Lucien?” Jason asked, a mocking half smile on his lips.

  What if they throw me out?

  My breath caught. I’d only been here a day, and yet the thought of leaving left a bitter taste on my tongue. What had happened to my plan to find my uncle? To live far away from the Hunters, so far they’d never find me, the safety of family surrounding me.

  He might not even know I exist.

  That particular worry was batted away before it could take root. I knew I had to
leave eventually—seeking shelter with my uncle was the only thing that made sense—but not yet. Not so soon. Not until I’d healed. Not until this new world made sense to me. Not until I’d gotten a small taste of the friendship these guys shared between them, enough to keep me company on the lonely years ahead. Not until—

  “Damned if I know, but I find it dastardly suspicious the way she just happened to be in our way. We never did make that meeting, did we?” Lucien turned to spear me with a look. “But perhaps we should ask the wench herself, although I have my doubts a suitable explanation is forthcoming. From what I can tell, she is obnoxiously tight-lipped.”

  Heat rose in my cheeks as I accepted the truth of his blow. Lucien was right in a way. I had been dishonest. I hadn’t told them the whole truth, but how could I? Even if they were the best of men they would throw me out on my head if they knew the truth about me, about what I’d done. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for them to order me gone.

  A sudden movement made me throw my hands up to protect my head—something I’d learned was imperative when around angry men. When a deafening roar sounded, followed by a heavy crash, I peeked through my fingers.

  Ruarc’s breathing was harsh. His broad, muscular chest rose and fell rapidly beneath his tight, black t-shirt. I followed his enraged glare to where Lucien was crouching. A broken porcelain bowl lay scattered behind him. The wall behind his head was smeared with sauce, dripping in slow rivulets like pooling blood, and vegetables spread out on the ground looking like broken toys.

  Lucien stared at the shattered bowl, eyes comically wide before narrowing. He stood up, casually dusted off his clothes, and faced Ruarc. “This type of behavior is beneath you, Ruarc.”

  A menacing rumble erupted from Ruarc’s chest. If my muscles hadn’t already been locked in adrenaline induced fright, that sound would have done the trick.

  “After the betrayal you suffered I’d have thought you smarter than this.” Lucien’s gaze cut to me. “But if you are determined to be made a fool once more I cannot stop you.”

  Ruarc froze. Even his chest was still, as if he no longer needed air. A menacing hush fell over the room. A tick started below one glowing, silver eye. A fisted hand clenched and jerked upward—toward his face—before being yanked back to his side. My eyes were unwittingly drawn to his scar, and in the silence that followed I wondered if it pained him still.

  I should have known the utter stillness was a prelude to something terrible. Ruarc exploded into motion. With a vicious snarl, he threw a punch. Lucien ducked and Ruarc followed up, his teeth snapping at the air where Lucien’s neck had been only a second before. The two men took full advantage of the empty floor space between the table and the door, lunging and throwing punches that, when connected, made a sickeningly thud.

  At first, I thought Ruarc would wipe the floor with Lucien, but although he was much bigger—both in height and in pure muscle—Lucien was a hurricane of rapid movements, faster than anyone I’d ever seen. He fought smoothly, effectively, and with a cool, distanced quality that made Ruarc’s heated attack ineffective.

  The fight—or rather, the savage battle—ended after just a few seconds when both Ash and Jason threw themselves into the fray, subduing Ruarc after a few moments of intensely quiet wrestling. When they all stood there, breathing heavily, Ash grabbed Ruarc’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He said something, too quiet for me to hear it, but the effect on Ruarc was immediate.

  I watched in amazement as his shoulders slumped, eyes closing and brows drawing together like he was in pain. Then he nodded slowly, and Ash took a step back.

  My chest constricted in a moment of sympathetic pain when I saw a flash of torment in Ruarc’s silver eyes. I wondered what Lucien had meant; who had betrayed Ruarc and what had happened? It must have been pretty bad to bring forth such blind fury and pain.

  Lucien, who’d watched the exchange with a clenched jaw, raised a single eyebrow. “You are simply proving my point, Ruarc. Already she has us fighting amongst ourselves when we all know who the real enemy is.”

  Was he . . . was he talking about me? How could I be the enemy? I hadn’t done anything to them.

  “Enough,” Ash said. He dragged a hand across his face before glancing at my shaking hands and frowning. “I understand your reservations, Lucien, but whatever you may think I can assure you; Hope is innocent of the crimes you imagine.”

  The guilt I carried at my deception grew arms and tried to strangle me. Here Ash was trying to defend me when all I had done was lie and hide the truth from him.

  You are a coward, my subconscious screamed at me.

  “That remains to be seen,” Lucien replied with cold look in my direction.

  Darting a glance over at Ruarc, my heart twisted when I thought I saw a flicker of uncertainty cross his harshly masculine face. When he noticed my attention, his beautiful eyes shuttered and he frowned.

  Just as well, I thought, stubbornly ignoring the ache in my chest. He is clearly extremely volatile. Twice now I’d seen him brutally attack someone I felt sure he considered a friend, or at the very least a roommate. If I, a relative stranger, pissed him off I could only imagine what he’d do.

  “Well,” Jason drawled. “I think I’ve had enough of brawling for today. What do you say, love, would you like to bring your dinner outside with me? The weather is sublime and we have a lovely view.”

  Ruarc shot Jason a grumpy scowl while I struggled to come up with a reply. I wasn’t so sure being alone with Jason was a good idea. It seemed he took pleasure in riling up the others, especially Ruarc, and I had the impression he was an unapologetic flirt.

  Not that I knew much about flirting.

  I looked down, searching my lap for the answers, and was surprised when Jason said, “Excellent,” and took my filled plate and marched to the doorway. In a gallant bow, he waved me forward. “After you, fair maiden.”

  Cheeks flushing at being the center of attention once again, I cringed at the harsh squeal of my chair scraping against the floor, and walked over to Jason. Ignoring the hot stares I felt burning a hole in my back, I grabbed the elbow he offered me for support as we walked through the living room and out to the terrace.

  10

  JASON

  Hope ate quickly. Studiously. Enjoying each morsel, but not taking the time to savor the flavors on her tongue. Almost like she feared it would be taken away and not given back, leaving her to starve.

  My mood darkened, but when she blushed and put the empty plate down beside her, I found myself . . . distracted.

  Her head tipped back, her lashes fluttered, and her gaze lifted to the darkened sky, taking in the vast expanse of space, the glittering stars, the thin clouds that seemed like a veil between our world and the next.

  Something on her face loosened, and something in my stomach twisted.

  “This is nice,” she said quietly, swinging her feet.

  She sat on the porch-swing Ruarc had insisted Lucien make when we first moved here. It was sturdy—Lucien was good at what he did—but whenever Ruarc used it, the damned thing groaned liked it was dying. I’d never understood why he’d wanted it, but now . . . Watching Hope use her small feet to gently sway the airborne bench back and forth, a sweet expression on her too-serious face, I had to admit I was glad.

  “Look over there,” I said and pointed to the tree line about a hundred yards from us. “A trail starts by the old, covered well. If you follow it for about half an hour, you’ll end up by a beautiful lake surrounded by sloping hills and a small waterfall.” I watched her deep brown eyes go round with wonder. “If you want, I’ll take you there one day, love.” The endearment rolled right off my tongue. Natural. Easy.

  “I . . . maybe. One day.” Her hollowed cheeks reddened, and the slow burn of anger churned in my gut. Whoever hurt her had also neglected to feed her properly. How much had this slip of a girl had to endure?

  “Here,” I said, handing her the small box I’d brought outside. “Sweet dessert f
or a sweet lady.”

  “Wh-what is it?”

  The way her voice shook made me frown. Did I make her nervous? Or was she just unused to receiving gifts?

  “Open it and see.” Giving her my most charming smile, I walked over and sat next to her on the swing. She looked at me, eyes clouded with wariness, and I resisted the urge to throw my arm over the back of the swing, not wanting to make her too uncomfortable.

  Although, being a little uncomfortable is healthy, I thought. The sooner she got used to being around us the better. It would make the time she spent here much less stressful.

  My grin widened as I watched her carefully lift the lid off the box. She was so cute. I refused to dwell on the reason for her hesitancy, wanting instead to focus on the future and what I could do to help her while she was here.

  “Is it . . . chocolate?” Hope asked, wonder in her soft voice.

  My chest warmed. It felt good, making her happy. If only in a superficial way. “That it is, love. Have a bite.”

  “I’ve never had chocolate before.” She took a small nibble, unaware she’d just blown my mind.

  How is that possible?

  “You’ve never had chocolate?”

  “When I was little, I wasn’t allowed.” Her sad smile didn’t seem to lament that particular rule. It was more . . . wistful. “And while I was with—” She stopped abruptly, eyes going impossibly wide.

  “When you were . . .” I prompted, keeping my voice calm and steady. I knew this was important. She’d almost let something slip. A name, maybe?

  “I—I . . .” She stopped, looked up at me with her heart in her eyes. There was so much pain there.

  “It’s all right, love,” I assured her. “Just tell me about the chocolate.” I couldn’t bear to pressure her. Ruarc would probably curse me later for not pushing—I knew for a fact the stealthy beast was listening to every word we were saying—but I couldn’t bring myself to be the cause of any more of her pain.