by Woods, Erica
I pulled back so I could look down at her. Her lips were losing color. Not blue, not yet, but not pink either.
“Nope, not doing this. We’re going home.”
“Jason.” Her blunt little nails dug into my shoulder. “I want to. Please?”
“Ruarc will kill me if I get you sick.” Not that he’d have to. I’d throw myself off a cliff if I ever caused Hope harm.
She sniffed, like I was the one being unreasonable. “I won’t get s-sick. And I thought y-you were going to teach me to swim. And to have fun.”
My gaze shot to hers, saw the twinkle there, the soft teasing, the gentle understanding.
If my heart hadn’t already belonged to her, this would’ve been a good time to cut if out of my chest and hand her the bloody thing. “You win, love,” I relented. “But the second your lips turn blue, we’re out of here.”
She nodded and off we went. I taught her to float—though my hands always hovered right below her, just in case, and my eyes never left her face. I pretended the rest of her body didn’t exist, both to save my sanity and spare her a whole lot of blushing.
Teaching her to doggy-paddle was easy, but the breaststroke was harder. She was scared of her head disappearing beneath the dark water, and I didn’t push her.
Instead, I watched and I listened and I treasured every smile. I treasured every breathless laugh, every giggle, every squeak. I treasured the joy that lit up her eyes, the wide smile that broke free whenever she mastered something. And I treasured her. Her scent. Her presence. The time that she shared with me.
And when we got up and I covered her with the towel—still not looking—I was nearly brought to my knees by the knowledge that the color in her cheeks, the shine in her eyes, the brilliant smile on her face as I briskly rubbed her dry . . . it was because of me.
Something in my chest violently yanked, and in that deep, dark pit where I hid all the ugly from the world, a small light glowed.
Her light.
Hope.
8
Hope
After our adventure in the water, I was exhausted. Jason carried me all the way home, wrapped in the towel he’d brought while he wore clothes he’d pulled straight back onto wet skin—I hadn’t been able to stop myself from sneaking a peek; all that tanned, taut flesh, all those hard muscles had brought a furious heat back into my frozen limbs.
My eyes drooped when he deposited me on my bed. Twice, I nearly fell over while he laughed and murmured sweet words into my ear, stroking my hair with one hand and pulling out a hoodie with the other. He dragged it over my head while I still wore my towel, and when he hauled me back against him, it didn’t matter that the towel slipped; his sweater reached the middle of my thighs, and I was too tired to protest anyway.
“Go to sleep, love.” He curled his body around me and pillowed my head on his bicep, his free hand going around my middle, palm covering my stomach.
I fell asleep in seconds.
Low voices drifted into my dream. I was vaguely aware of the heat at my back disappearing, of being nudged and then covered by a blanket that tucked in on every side.
When I woke up the next morning, I was alone.
Breakfast consisted of reheated pancakes and whipped cream—Ash told me Ruarc made them before he left last night—and when I asked where the others had gone, Ash shrugged and said, “They have something to take care of before we leave.”
My stomach hollowed and the pancakes suddenly tasted like dust.
“We . . . We leave tomorrow, right?”
A big, calloused hand came to rest on top of mine. “Yes,” Ash said, voice as gentle as the look in his eyes when they met mine.
He knew. Somehow, without me saying a word, Ash knew how hard leaving this place would be for me, how scared I was of the unknown. And instead of asking questions, instead of interrogating or trying to convince me that my fears were unwarranted, he allowed me to feel, to process; all the while soothing me with a soft touch, a silent understanding, and an unwavering, comforting presence.
Once my breathing had returned to normal, he gave my hand a squeeze and leaned close. “A home is not four walls and a roof, banajaanh. It is feeling safe. It is belonging. It is to laugh without restraint, to cry without discomfort, to be free to be yourself without fear of judgment.” He cupped my face, thumb giving my cheek a single, reassuring stroke, as though he could feel the heavy thump of my heart and knew my eyes felt hot and prickly. “We will be with you the whole way, banajaanh. And wherever we are, you will always be home.”
With my throat thick, my nose stinging, I croaked out a weak, “T-thank you,” staring down at the table instead of the man who’d just pierced my heart with the sincerity of his words.
“Come,” he said once it became clear—to both of us—that I wasn’t going to be ready to speak any time soon. “Let us see if there is anything on the TV.”
Somehow, we ended up on the couch in the living room watching a movie about dead people rising from the grave and killing everything in their path.
Despite the bloodbath on the screen, I couldn’t have been more distracted. The heat from Ash’s body beckoned me closer while the warm smell of horses, hay, and wind hooked its tendrils below my ribs and pulled. It felt as though an invisible line tugged and whispered for me to close the small space separating our bodies.
Yet fear kept me rooted in place.
Fear of rejection. Fear of disapproval. Fear of my own reaction and that of the two men I was already involved with.
I peeked over at Ash. His left arm—the one closest to me—was slung across the back of the couch—tantalizingly close—while one foot rested over the other in typical man-fashion. Calmly watching the carnage play out on the screen, he looked like a man without a care in the world.
It wasn’t fair.
I fidgeted; picked at the sleeves of my hoodie, pulled at the strings that tightened the neck, feeling the sting of bees across my skin, buzzing buzzing buzzing . . . Would they stop if I moved closer? If I rubbed against his side and let my cold hands be swallowed by his big ones? Would my heart stop skipping, my breath stop hitching, this buzz that grew deeper and invaded my belly finally ease if those strong, capable arms were to come around me and hold me so tight breathing would be impossible?
I couldn’t look away, couldn’t move or do any of the things I wanted, either. And the longer I looked, the more I saw.
Tension around his eyes spoke of worries. Of deep, troubling concerns. His wide lips looked pinched at the corners, and his jaw looked a little too rigid. With him this close, I could feel the heat from his body, sense the turmoil hiding just beneath the surface. I wanted to reach out and close the two inches separating us, but I was scared.
So I sat there, sneaking a peek at his face every few minutes and finding him more interesting than the movie.
He was certainly more perplexing.
As if he’d sensed my scrutiny this whole time, he turned his piercing blue gaze on me. “Yes?”
Heat fired through my cheeks and my tongue felt thick and foreign. “N-nothing.”
“Tell me what is on your mind.”
“I . . .” What could I tell him? That he made me burn with curiosity? That I wanted to know why he sometimes held himself separate from the others, what hidden turmoil he concealed beneath that impenetrable calm?
The more time I spent around him, the more I came to realize that there was a reason for his tight control. The occasional glimpses I’d caught of a dispassionate predatory intelligence had been both terrifying and thrilling. When that ancient presence rose, I felt like the humans of old must have felt among the beasts, like I was alone in the dark, hunted by a being whose curiosity veered toward seeing how fast my heart could beat before it exploded.
It was probably the wolf I was sensing, but it felt different to the others’ animals. Older. Closer to the surface. And coldly calculating.
Before I could muster up the courage to ask him, well, anything, his wh
ole body tensed and he held up a hand for me to be quiet. He cocked his head, held completely still, then looked back at me with an intensity that made me want to run and hide in my room.
“Stay here.” He jumped off the couch and walked on soundless feet to the door.
Confused, I focused on the sounds around us, straining to hear whatever it was that had made his normally warm eyes chill. At first, I couldn’t hear anything. Then I closed my eyes, concentrated, imagining my ears perking and swiveling like satellite dishes, and after a few seconds, I heard it. The faint sound of a car.
“They’re back!” I rushed toward the door, Ash’s strange reaction forgotten. My guys had only been gone a few hours, but already I missed them with an acuteness that couldn’t be normal.
But then neither am I.
Before I could reach the door, Ash whirled around, grabbed me by the shoulders, and hissed, “What are you doing? I told you to stay back.”
Stunned at the sudden change, I could only blink up at him while trying to understand.
He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath. “It is not them.” Another deep breath. “Move away from the windows and stay out of sight.” He waited until I’d scurried back to the couch before cracking the door open.
“What’s going on?” I whispered.
“Someone is coming. Someone not meant to be here.” His eyes were flat as they scanned the distance. Then his nostrils flared and a hissed breath slipped past his hard-pressed lips. “Strays!”
“S-strays?”
“Rogue lycans.” Ash’s piercing gaze swept past me, lingering on the door to his office before pausing on the stairs. When he looked back at me, his face was grim. “Come here,” he ordered, slamming the door shut and stalking past me down the hall and into his office.
Fear was making itself known, sending ugly prickles of dread scuttling across my flesh. I’d rarely seen Ash so worked up. Whoever was out there, whoever these Strays were, I wanted no part of them.
While I stood frozen in the doorway, Ash’s movement became more and more frantic. He ripped open drawers and cabinets, rifled through the contents, pulling at the thin braid by his temple while he searched. The longer I watched, the more convinced I became that Ash was hiding something. Something big.
His skin seemed to ripple, his presence growing larger, like a shadow was unfurling within him. A low, lethal grumble echoed in his chest and his pupils dilated until his eyes were mostly black ringed by a slender circle of cold, devastating blue.
There were no physical changes to his actual size, but suddenly he seemed to take up most of the room. He wasn’t Ash any longer, but someone else. Something else. No longer calm and centered—a presence that always brought me peace—but a storm of deadly intent visible in swirling shadows that grew larger and larger until I felt like I was drowning in a sea of darkness.
“It is not here.” His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but it embodied so much raw power the sound almost knocked me over.
“W-what isn’t?” I couldn’t stop the quiver when I spoke. Seeing him like this struck a recognition straight into my soul, and even my monster felt unease at the ancient, cold presence leaking through the edges where only Ash should have been.
“The taser.”
“The taser?” I squeaked.
Without replying, he spun around and inspected me with a critical eye. “Do you know how to—” He shook his head. “Never mind. Come.” Grabbing my hand, he dragged me back into the living room and placed me in the corner farthest away from the kitchen, muttering to himself. A few phrases here and there reached my strained ears. “If they get past me . . .” and, “ . . . cannot hide.”
Get past . . . How would they get past Ash?
With more strength than I had ever seen any of the guys display, Ash lifted the huge couch straight off the ground and sliced it in two.
I frantically searched his hands for the sharp knife he must have used, unable to suppress a gasp when the only weapons I saw were the long, deadly claws protruding several inches from his fingers.
My god . . . I hadn’t appreciated just how deadly their claws were until that moment.
“Stay in a crouch,” he said and arranged the two halves in a way that blocked me from sight.
When I made a sound of protest, Ash spun around and the sight of him tore a whimper from my dry throat. The inky blackness of his hair whipped around his head even though there was no wind. His face looked gaunt, like his skin stretched over too much flesh, and his mouth looked all wrong. A predatory being stared back at me from Ash’s eyes, making me cower. “Stay. Down.”
I crouched.
Fear was a slow trickle. It gathered like a pool in my belly until it cramped and I thought I would be sick.
It didn’t help when Ash spun around the room like a tornado set on destruction, ripping and tearing at things until he had built a veritable wall of furniture in front of me.
The unmistakable sound of a car door slamming—followed by two more—made me huddle down in my makeshift cave until I realized Ash was out in the open.
“A-Ash,” I croaked. “C-come here.”
With his back to me, he shook his head and planted his feet firmly apart, standing guard like one of the old gods I’d only read about when I was young. He vibrated with power and fury, his emotions lashing at the air around us like electric whips.
If . . . if he put me behind all this, that must mean they might have guns. Or some sort of weapon.
The thought terrified me. I couldn’t let Ash face that himself.
I rose to half my height and leaned over the barrier to tug on Ash’s sleeve. “Come hide!”
His cold gaze snapped around, trapping me, and a heavy pressure built in my chest. My lungs stopped working. My throat closed. My stomach hollowed and filled with burning lead. I dropped my gaze—the pressure immediately easing—and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t look back up.
“For the last time, Hope, stay put.” A hand on my shoulder pushed me back down. “No matter what, do not come out. If I tell you to run, you sprint through the kitchen and out the back door. Do not stop for anything, and keep to the road. Do you understand?”
Against my will, words forced themselves past my lips. “I understand.”
But I didn’t. There was no way in hell I would leave Ash alone.
Kneeling on the pristine floor, I found a small space between two parts of the couch that was just wide enough for me to peek through. My gaze was immediately drawn to Ash a few feet in front of me. He looked like a silent sentry, standing tall and unyielding; a shield between me and the front door.
As I watched, the crazy energy Ash projected collapsed on itself, drawing back along with the terrifying presence of his wolf.
All that untamed power just went poof; disappeared until the only thing remaining was the feeling of emptiness and the deceptive calm I then understood to be Ash’s neutral setting.
Where did it all go?
My heart galloped. I counted each too-quick beat; one, two, three, four, and then the door burst inward, torn off its hinges and coming to a crashing halt as Ash calmly plucked it from the air.
With no emotions showing, Ash dropped the ruined door down at his feet and turned to the three rough-looking men pouring inside. “You are trespassing.” Quiet. Too quiet.
Could they feel it? Could they sense the danger simmering beneath his emotionless mask?
All three stopped and stared. Their eyes widened, as though Ash was somehow unexpected, but after a tense, heavy moment, they recovered. Even so, they did not look past him. Didn’t so much as glance at the destruction of the living room or the ruined furniture acting as my temporary shield. Their attention was locked on Ash, and Ash alone.
“Why do you think we’re ‘ere?” the one on the left asked. He had a strange, thick accent, dirty-blond hair, and a studded piercing through one nostril. The guy on the right was less muscular than the guy I dubbed Piercing in my head, but he lo
oked tough in a stringy kind of way. His dark hair hung across both eyes in a filthy curtain, and the way he stood—slouching his shoulders and hanging his head—made me think he was the newest member of their group.
Next to Piercing and Slouchy, the middle guy looked completely out of place. Standing tall and proud, he oozed the kind of fleeting authority gained through manipulations and fear. He smirked with full lips and narrow, cutting eyes that were a strange blend of yellow and green, then turned to his associate with a menacing grimace. “Shut up,” he said, further cementing his place as the leader of their little gang.
Mr. Bossman.
While Mr. Bossman and Piercing glared at one another, Ash surveyed them with an impassivity that was impressive considering the circumstances. If I hadn’t seen his scramble to build me a fortress before they arrived, I would have thought he was completely at ease.
Slouchy peered up at Ash, a nervous twitch pulling at his thin lips. “Don’t want no trouble,” he muttered, hunching further when Mr. Bossman glared at him. “Just want the girl.”
An ominous hiss of air escaped from Ash’s tightly compressed lips. “Is that so?”
Piercing took a quick step back and looked to his boss for further instructions.
“Your slaves aren’t here to save you,” Mr. Bossman spat. “Might as well give her to us before you get your ass handed to you.”
Shrugging his wide shoulders, Ash’s piercing gaze bored into each of the three men. I took a kind of twisted pleasure in the way they all seemed to crumble under his scrutiny. “You may give it your best shot.”
Piercing sputtered. “But . . . ye’re alone!”
When Ash didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow, Mr. Bossman heaved an annoyed sigh and turned to Slouchy. “What’re you waiting for? Go get her!”
“But—”
With an ugly grimace of rage, Mr. Bossman raked sharp claws down his companion’s face. Five thin lines welled with blood. “Now!” he roared, unaffected by Slouchy’s pained wince and the stark fear in his eyes as he looked at Ash.
