Assembly: The Feral Souls Trilogy - Book 2

by Woods, Erica

  “By throwing away his life?” I cried.

  Jason finally put me down, only to turn me sideways so both men could see my face. “What are you talking about, love?”

  “Samuel!” I tossed my hands up, fought the urge to pull at my hair. “The way you acted when I spoke during his silence thing . . .You’re all scared of him!”

  “Not scared.” A clipped response, a hardness in Lucien’s expression. “Wary. He is strong enough that we could not be sure who would win in a fight between us.”

  “But—”

  “Love . . .” Jason went down to his haunches, bringing our faces level. “Our reaction earlier . . . We didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves because it would have put you in danger.”

  “Oh.” Always looking out for me, even when I brought them nothing but trouble. “Still . . . You can’t fight him, Lucien. I won’t have you hurt because of me.”

  An indecipherable emotion flickered across the sharp planes of Lucien’s face. “Challenging any member of the Council before the games have ended is not allowed. I spoke . . . rashly.”

  “What happens if you do?”

  “Nothing good.”

  I shuddered. “I thought the whole ‘might makes right’ thing meant you could do whatever you wanted.”

  Jason smiled, but it was devoid of humor. “That would be chaos. There has to be rules when dealing with a group as volatile as lycans or we would never stop fighting each other.”

  “Oh . . . okay.” I tried to give them both a brave smile, but feared I’d failed miserably when both drew back to stare at me. “I’ll just . . . I’ll just go, then.”

  “Go?” Lucien narrowed his eyes. “Go where, exactly?”

  “To the—to Gideon. The one w-who picked me.”

  “No.”

  Frowning, I turned to Jason. “Make him see sense, please! You both just told me you can’t challenge him, and even if you could, I would never want you to risk your life for me!”

  “Hope . . .” Jason grabbed the back of my neck and heaved a tired sigh. “You know we would do anything for you. Anything.”

  “I know,” I whispered. “But I don’t want you to do this.”

  After arguing with them for a precious few minutes—the five minutes Samuel had given us a constant threat in my mind—I put my hands on my hips and said, “There is nothing you can do about it! If you keep me here, Samuel will come, and even if he accepts your challenge and fights fair, while you are busy I will sneak away and this will have all been for nothing. I refuse, you hear me, I refuse to be the reason either of you get hurt!”

  With a jaw so taut it looked ready to snap, Lucien tried to stare me into submission. When that didn’t work, he took a threatening step toward me, and I responded with a squeak and hid behind Jason.

  “Love, that won’t work.” Jason pulled me back and glanced at Lucien. Something passed between them. Something that made Jason’s shoulders slump. “You’re right, though. This is the only way. But,” he added, voice low and serious, “you will be careful and try to stay as close to us as possible. There are those that won’t hesitate to hurt you if they get a chance, not to mention the games. No matter how tame they seem, they are dangerous, and I want you to forfeit as many as possible. You understand?”

  I knew his lecture came from a place of caring and worry, so I meekly nodded and waited until heavy exhales signified their weary acceptance. “I’ll be fine.” I offered another trembling smile. “Watch out for each other, okay? And don’t let Ruarc do anything stupid!” I hurriedly added.

  “She worries about us?” Lucien shook his head. “I will never understand our female.”

  Our?

  Sparks of wary pleasure traipsed over my skin, coming to a cautious halt before I could lose my head.

  “I have to go,” I said with a glance over at the stage where Samuel was giving us a pointed stare.

  “Be careful, love.” Jason hauled me up against his body, one hand on my lower back and the other at my nape. Heat pooled in my belly when he lowered his mouth, pausing so close I could count the darker gold specks in his amber eyes. “And remember what I told you,” he whispered, lips brushing over mine in an agonizingly slow caress. “You forfeit games where you can. No matter what.”

  Starved for air—having forgotten how to breathe with the scent of him, the heat, surrounding me—I went up on my tiptoes to close the distance between us. A frustrated sigh passed my tingling lips when he pulled back and arched a brow.

  “Say it.”

  “I . . . I forfeit the games.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, Jason groaned and crushed my lips under his.

  It lasted too short.

  I blinked up at the empty space in front of me, confused when I saw Jason several feet ahead. His breathing was labored, eyes glowing as he stared at me with an expression that could only be described as ravenous.

  “My turn,” Lucien said, and suddenly it was his perfectly sculpted face I was staring into.

  After gaping up at him for close to a minute, noting the slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his brows drew together, I finally found my voice. “Y-your turn?”

  “Yes . . . My turn.” The normally smooth, cultured tones of his voice grew darker, dangerous, matching the expression lurking in the depths of his glittering gaze. “Come here.”

  The distance between us was barely two feet, yet the dark command raised the small hairs on the back of my neck, sparking an instinctual, fearful reaction to the powerful man in front of me.

  A brow rose in challenge.

  I shuddered, feeling a throb between my legs. A part of me enjoyed the darker aspects of Lucien, the uncontrolled, deadly parts I’d found to be a part of all my guys—with the exception of maybe Jason.

  Two small, hesitant steps later and the tip of my nose almost touched Lucien’s firm chest. The longer I stood there, ears perked for his next command, the warmer my body felt. Lucien’s exciting, masculine scent was drawn into my lungs on each breath. The heat from his body prickled at my skin, and the slow glide of his gaze felt like a caress.

  “Look at me.” The command came as a finger tilted my chin up. Lucien seemed like he wanted to say something, a tic near his eye and a twitch of his mouth the only indication he found it difficult. Just as I was about to question him, his eyes narrowed and, instead of speaking, he dipped his head and brushed his firm lips over mine.

  My eyes fluttered closed, and I fell against him. His arms came around me, taking my weight, and he pulled away with a harsh, muttered curse.

  It took me several minutes to find my bearing.

  “Go. And god help me, woman, you better be careful.”

  Still in a daze, I stumbled past him and headed in the general direction of the man who’d so thoroughly ruined my guys’ plans. I should have been scared, terrified even, but all I could think about was Lucien’s lips on mine, his taut expression before he’d kissed me.

  What had he been about to say? And . . . what had changed? Why was he kissing me now when only a few days ago he’d seemed to hate me?

  I . . . I couldn’t go back to that. I wouldn’t survive another bout of the cold, unfeeling version of Lucien. Not now. Not after I’d allowed myself to hope.

  A shadow fell over me, making me stumble to a halt.

  “You must be the human,” a low, dangerous voice said. “Tell me, how did your males capture you?”

  39

  Hope

  “I . . . What?”

  The male frowning down at me was almost as big as Ruarc, but where Ruarc’s size made me feel safe, Gideon’s broad shoulders and bulging muscles filled my belly with heavy, foreboding rocks.

  I shivered.

  “Do humans have trouble with their hearing?” The question wasn’t addressed to me, but I still felt the need to shake my head no. He ignored it, opting instead to give me a good glower and raising his voice to a near bellow, “I asked, how did your males capture you?”

  I shrank ba
ck, ears ringing.

  “Is she deaf?” He glared at the equally big male to his right. “Is the female deaf?”

  “How would I know?” the other male grunted. “It’s not my female.”

  Gideon’s brows lowered until the cutting, black brows shaped a fierce ‘V’ between his eyes. “Is that it, female, are you deaf?”

  If I hadn’t been before, his thundering voice made my ears hurt enough that deafness seemed a very real possibility. “Uhm, no,” I replied, cursing my voice for shaking. “Could you please . . . please lower your voice?”

  If anything, my request deepened his frown, and I had to swallow the urge to plead for mercy when ruthless, emerald eyes narrowed in response. “Why so secretive, human? Is there a sacred ritual I should know of before I go on my hunt?”

  “Y-your hunt?”

  A brisk nod. “My hunt.” His gaze turned probing, his head cocked to the side, and when he next spoke, his dark voice contained the hint of a question. “To find a female.”

  “T-there are plenty of females here.”

  He drew back. “Are you jesting?”

  “N-no?”

  “Is that a question or a response? Never mind,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his inky black hair. It got stuck in one of the braids. After giving me a good glare—as if it were my fault he’d forgotten his hair wasn’t loose—he rolled his eyes and stared up at the sky. “Are all humans this dense?” he asked.

  Was he . . . Was he trying to talk to a god?

  His eyes glided back to me. “Yes, maybe it’s just this one.”

  Did one reply?

  My heart stuttered. Had someone asked me a few months back if I believed that was possible, I would probably have scoffed in their face. But now that I knew an actual fae god had fathered the lycans . . .

  Certain the big male was either crazy or had a direct line to a powerful being I’d rather not meet, I took a small step back. Gideon’s hand shot out, fingers curling around my upper arm in a grip that was just this side of bruising.

  “Where are you going, female? You haven’t answered my questions.”

  More than a little scared of the big male, I looked everywhere but at him. Around us, the selection had continued in relative peace. More than half the alphas and enforcers now had another lycan standing behind them, and despite the sheer number of people gathered, it didn’t seem like this whole ordeal would take more than half an hour.

  Can I survive half an hour with this lunatic?

  “Female!” Gideon barked and gave me a small shake. Unfortunately, he was much stronger than he thought, and I struggled to reply while my brain rattled around in my head.

  “I . . . Give me a—”

  “Get your fucking hands off my female!” The furious roar blasted through the line of lycans and cut through the fog in my head.

  I pulled against Gideon’s hold, then realizing that was a mistake when another enraged roar joined the first.

  My head swiveled, gaze skipping past Ash to the commotion right behind him where Blake and Zakh struggled to restrain Ruarc. Teeth bared, eyes wild, he snarled at the two males, looking on the verge of giving them a savage beating.

  Immediately, my concern shifted to Ruarc and my fear of Gideon evaporated. “It’s okay, Ruarc, I’m okay!” I called out, silently pleading with him to calm down before he got himself punished by the Council.

  After looking between us with a frown, Gideon let me go and took a step back. “Your female is daft,” he called out to Ruarc, eyes narrowing—not at the terrible sound that came from Ruarc, but at the low, nearly inaudible growl that spilled from Ash.

  “I mean it! I only asked her a simple question and she cannot seem to comprehend it.”

  “What question?” Ash asked, restrained and so very quiet, belying the power gathering around him.

  If I squinted, I could almost see it, a lashing storm of dark anger, like clouds of thunder above his head, and there, within its maelstrom, a foreign energy venting its formidable displeasure.

  For a long, drawn out second, Gideon stilled. Again, that cocking of his head, the narrowing of emerald eyes. But then he shrugged, looking less like a man and more like a wolf shaking his fur to rid it off an itch. “How you captured her. I’m thinking I will bring my pack for a hunt.”

  The storm around Ash disappeared. “I see.”

  “Ask your question,” Ruarc snarled. “But don’t fucking touch her when you do!”

  Tilting his head, Gideon paused, then drew in a long breath. When he looked back at my guys, there were twin lines of consternation between his brows. “She smells unmated,” he said. “But she also carries your scent.”

  “She is ours.”

  Something in Ash’s softly spoken words wiped the confusion right off Gideon’s face. In its place, a pleased expression emerged. “She has accepted you, then?”

  “Aye.” Ruarc snapped his teeth together. “Keep your hands to yourself . . . or lose them.”

  Gideon ignored Ruarc—the other male probably seemed like less of a threat while being restrained by two others—and focused on Ash. “She has accepted you?”

  A slow, barely-there incline of Ash’s head.

  Five taut seconds passed where Gideon seemed suspended in time. Then a huge breath gusted out of him, like he’d been holding it in, keeping the air contained and squirreled away like a most dangerous secret. “Good,” he muttered, so low I strained to hear. “His last chance.”

  “What?” Ruarc snapped.

  “Said, where’d you find her?”

  At that question, several males turned their heads.

  Oh my god.

  It hadn’t occurred to me that everyone who wasn’t picking their next teammate—and several of those who were—could hear everything being said. They weren’t exactly quiet, what with their shouting and bellowing and roaring, and every single male in the line between Gideon and Ruarc was watching the exchange. Some wore looks of disgust—the majority, in fact—but a few looked appallingly curious.

  After giving me a quick but assessing look, Ash shook his head and said, “Later.”

  Gideon grunted, and I slumped in relief.

  He was still intimidating—the glare he shot me as I edged away was enough to lock my muscles and freeze me in place—but at least the interrogation stopped. I focused on the choosing, watched as the crowd ahead shrunk with each pick, the line on each side of us swelling.

  The females were the first to be chosen. All walked calmly to their temporary teams. All but three.

  The first exception was a small redhead who pierced the lycan who picked her with a glare so ferocious that the smattering of freckles decorating her skin was lost in the deep, angry flush that flooded her face.

  As soon as her name was called, her pack moved as one unit, forming a circle around her, their voices rising in angry shouts that didn’t seem to bother the lycan who’d chosen her one bit. He simply flashed a cocky grin and mouthed something that had the redhead sputtering before she elbowed her way through her pack and marched to her destination, head held high, fire in her bright green eyes.

  I admired her courage, wishing for a second that I, too, had been born a lycan so I would not be a burden to my guys, but rather someone who complimented their strength.

  The ridiculous yearning threatened to buckle my legs, so I forced it away and dully watched the rest of the picks.

  Most of the other females had gone to allied packs—at least I assumed as much, based on the respectful distance the teams kept and the masculine nods and chin-dips that were exchanged all around. But the two that approached their teams with apprehension had clearly been picked by the wrong teams. Their packs seemed almost as tense as mine had been when I’d gone to Gideon, and had Samuel not stepped forward, cleared his throat, and pierced the outraged packs with that hard, uncompromising gaze, chaos would surely have erupted.

  After that, only males were left, and soon, only a handful remained.

  “Is this
. . . is this everyone?” I asked Gideon, doing my best to conceal my suddenly rapid breathing, the dampness coating my palms.

  One of our teammates scoffed. I thought they were far enough behind that they couldn’t hear me, but the youngest one was glaring when I snuck a quick peek over my shoulder.

  Gideon frowned. “Have your males taught you nothing? Not all lycans attend the Assembly.”

  “No, I mean . . . All the ones who did attend, are they all . . . here?”

  The frown deepened. “Where else would they be?”

  My heart tripped over itself. I hadn’t seen Matthew. I’d looked and looked—if I could see which team he went to, maybe I could find him during the games and take him aside—but nothing. Granted, there were so many lycans; almost impossible to find just one. But Matthew . . . His face was as familiar to me as my own.

  I cleared my throat. “No one could have . . . skipped the games? Or gone back home? If they were sick or something?”

  “Sick? Lycans don’t get sick.” Gideon’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sick? Are humans often sick? How easily do you die?”

  “D-die? What . . .” My mouth was suddenly dry. Gideon studied me too intently, watched me too closely. Did he suspect my questions weren’t as innocent as I’d wanted to make them seem? “We d-don’t die easily,” I said, hoping answering would appease him. “I . . . I’ve never been sick.”

  His brows jerked up, then pulled together into a scowl. “Good,” he said. “A weak, sickly human wouldn’t work.”

  Wouldn’t work? I forced my apprehension away and pushed out the question I knew I needed to ask. “So no one could have left?”

  Emerald eyes glowed with suspicion. They dragged over my face like their owner wanted to peel my skin back in case the truth was written there. “Pretending to be sick wouldn’t work,” he said slowly, scowling at my harsh, indrawn breath. Probably mistaking my relief that he’d guessed wrong for guilt. “No one’s allowed to skip the games. No one’s allowed to leave once the Assembly’s started.”