Assembly: The Feral Souls Trilogy - Book 2

by Woods, Erica

  Gideon jerked around, giving me one of the many, many versions of his frowns. “Impossible. Your fragile, human body won’t be able to withstand the currents.”

  “I thought this was a game designed to test a lycan’s control?”

  A grunt from the frowning male confirmed I was right.

  “Then I should get a chance to compete, too. It’s just holding on to the rods, right? While the electric current slowly increases?”

  “Correct,” Gideon said in a way that made it clear he thought he’d won. “The currents will increase until even the staunchest lycan will struggle to contain the physical changes that come when dealing with pain.”

  “So as soon as their eyes flicker or they grow fangs, or anything like that, they lose?”

  “Yes. And your puny, human body would make you shriek with pain and drop the rod at the first increase.” A victorious smile curved his surprisingly generous lips, and he nodded like the decision had been made. “Better to yield right away and spare your team the distraction of hearing you howl.” His expression darkened. “Human women make too much noise, too high pitched. Do you think there are those that don’t scream? That can’t scream, perhaps.”

  I ignored his disturbing question and forged ahead. “Are you saying, Gideon, that my puny, human scream would be enough to make the big bad lycans lose control?”

  “‘Course not,” Gideon snapped.

  “It’s settled then.” I nodded and walked over to the row of metal rods pointing up from the ground, calling over my shoulder, “Are you coming?”

  All the lycans thought I was insane for lining up behind one of the evenly spaced, waist level rods that rose from the ground in one long row of eighteen. They thought I’d either scream and let go at the first touch or drop to the ground in a fit of noisy tears and earsplitting wails.

  I knew this because I’d heard them loudly talking among themselves about the silly human forever embarrassing her pack.

  Not knowing her place.

  Undeserving of her males.

  Shaming them with her weakness.

  I’d pretended their words hadn’t gutted me, that the empty ache in my chest was nerves.

  My guys deserved someone who could make them proud. Someone strong and fierce. Someone who demanded respect and didn’t invite looks of scorn and pity.

  But all they have is me.

  Determination straightened my spine.

  The lycans thought I’d lose in the first few seconds, but they had no idea of the pain I’d been forced to endure. No clue as to the horrors I’d lived through when all I’d wanted to do was die.

  I didn’t have a wolf to protect me, but I did have a monster.

  It had ruined my life; was the reason I’d been given to the Hunters; was to blame for my torture. But through it, I’d learned to deal with pain. I’d learned to let it flow over me and accept it for what it was—a biological response inherent in all creatures.

  Pain was a part of life, and I would not let it rule me.

  I looked down at the steel rod and my mouth went dry. It looked so innocuous. Benign. But in a few, short minutes, it would pump me full of electricity.

  Would it knock me out?

  Gideon had told me the purpose of this game was to test a lycan’s control. Apparently, they reacted strongly to having currents blasting through them—almost like a weakness, though he’d scoffed when I’d said that—and no one had lasted more than fifteen minutes before showing their wolf.

  I could deal with fifteen minutes of pain, but if they raised the voltage high enough, I’d pass out.

  Hopefully, a lycan would flash a fang or something before then.

  * * *

  The biggest flaw in my plan turned out to be Jason. But luckily for me, there were five people standing between us in the line, and by the time he saw me, it was too late.

  “What are you doing, Hope? Step back!” he yelled over the many, loud voices placing bets on who would win and who would be disqualified first.

  Every single one of them bet I would be the first one out.

  “Let the human humiliate herself, what do you care?” The confident voice belonged to the woman who’d smiled up at him earlier. She’d claimed the rod next to him and was taking full advantage of their closeness by lowering her voice and whispering something that made Jason’s eyes flare with an unfamiliar emotion.

  My stomach hollowed.

  He’d be so much happier with a lycan girlfriend. They all would.

  I couldn’t hear Jason’s reply, but I saw the exact moment he decided to remove me from the game. And so did someone else.

  Each game was supervised by four big males—game-enforcers, they were called—and a member of the Council. And when Jason tried to leave his post, three of the enforcers blocked his path and a low, lethal voice cut through the noise of the gathered crowd. “We do not interfere with other teams.”

  A shiver rushed up my spine when I found Samuel in the crowd. He didn’t look my way, just waited until Jason stiffly stepped back to his post, then gestured for the enforcers to do the same.

  “Seriously, Hope, wait on the sidelines,” Jason called out.

  The woman next to him laughed, winking at my male and whispering something while playfully tossing her hair. Then she grabbed his sleeve and tugged.

  All thoughts were swept away in a furious tidal wave of indignation. It roared through me, a truck headed for collision, an explosion waiting to ignite. And my monster’s will settled behind my own.

  For the first time since I’d escaped the Hunters, our goals were aligned.

  “Contestants ready!” a voice announced, and a roar of thunder erupted from the lycans on all three teams, cheers rising from those watching.

  I closed my eyes, concentrating on my breathing and that space inside me that the monster guarded.

  “Begin.”

  A faint crackling sound followed by a buzzing sting in my palm. My elbow jerked back, and if I hadn’t been clenching the rod as tightly as I was, I’d have already lost.

  Electricity was . . . repulsive.

  The skin on my palm crawled, the sensation snatching pieces of my flesh, devouring my forearm, my elbow, my shoulder, until it poured down my throat and shook me from the inside out.

  It wasn’t painful. Not yet. But all I wanted to do was to snatch my hand away and never touch another current ever again.

  It felt wrong.

  Clutching the offensive metal rod in my right hand, I used the fingers on my left to tap out a steady rhythm on my thigh and pretended I couldn’t feel anything else.

  No revulsion coiled tight in my belly.

  No vile sparks stabbing at my flesh and urging me to let go.

  No repellent, tiny shocks making me shudder with disgust.

  “Doing well, human,” Gideon said from his spot on my right. “No shame in letting go now. You’ve proven yourself to be . . . not as weak as expected.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I muttered, wishing he wouldn’t talk to me so I could concentrate.

  “You’re welcome,” he said with such a straight-laced face I knew he thought he’d paid me the highest of compliments . . . considering my human status.

  It just made me more determined to last. I knew I’d probably not win, but I could outlast the female throwing herself at Jason. I could make my guys proud.

  Please let me be right!

  “Hope . . .”

  My spine snapped straight at the strain in Jason’s voice. My concentration wavered.

  “Please step back, love.” He’d leaned as far back as he could while still holding on to the rod, trying to catch my gaze despite the wall of lycans between us. “You’ve done enough.”

  “No, I . . . I can do this.”

  My statement was met with grumbled laughter from the enemy teams, snorts from the crowd.

  “I know you can, love, but you don’t have to. It pains me to—” He paused, cleared his throat. “Just stop.”

  A sudden
increase in electricity had all the tiny muscles in my right hand cramp. I closed my eyes once more and shut out Jason’s sudden yelling and the roar of the crowd.

  Tap, tap, tap went my fingers across my thigh, my monster helping me to draw the pain deep inside where I could process and, to a small degree, mitigate. Twice more, the electricity increased. My hand felt like it had been dipped in oil and lit on fire. My fingers twitched, my forearms shook, the muscles in my shoulder jumped like corn kernels on the stove.

  The repulsive, disgusting, horrible electricity kept lashing through me, kept holding me prisoner, kept driving me out of my mind with the need to get away. But still, it was the flaming pain searing the flesh of my palm that I had to combat to keep from collapsing.

  Nothing compared to what the Hunters did to you . . .

  Shuddering, I relaxed into the pain and kept tapping my finger.

  A few seconds later, a loud whimper drew my focus. I opened my eyes in time to see Reggie shaking his hand like a madman, a blush staining his cheek in such vivid red it rivaled the brightness of his hair.

  “Reggie from Gideon’s team has let go and is disqualified.” The announcer didn’t bother suppressing the disdain he felt. It coated each word in slimy disgust, until my cheeks burned on Reggie’s behalf.

  Was it considered cowardly to let go? A sign of weakness? Could a lycan only hold onto his honor if he didn’t let the pain best him, if he held on until the moment he lost control, revealing a physical reaction he couldn’t manipulate or restrain?

  No, that couldn’t be right or this competition was nothing more than a fluke. Learning to control one’s wolf, keeping a resisting body contained, was as much a test of will as not letting go and allowing the current to inflict its ugly pain.

  Thirty or so seconds later, the announcer spoke again. “Vidar is disqualified for showing his wolf.”

  I glanced to the left. The guy next to the female on the other team turned glowing, burnished eyes my way, and I would have stumbled if I hadn’t had a death grip on the electric rod. The hatred burning in his gaze was mixed with something else, an emotion that colored his face and made a vein throb at his temple.

  It wasn’t until he stalked away that it hit me . . .

  I’ve outlasted two lycans.

  My head spun.

  Not one. Two! Granted, I couldn’t lose control of my eyes and have them glow like Vidar’s, but Reggie had let go because of the pain.

  I hadn’t.

  He’s just a kid, though.

  The rush of victory receded. Two wasn’t enough. The woman who wanted Jason was still going strong—I had to outlast her, try and be a little more worthy of my guys.

  Electricity sizzled, the sound nearly as ugly as the sensations it sparked, and my arm began to shake. The new level was more than painful, the currents disturbing the calm I’d forced on my body and making me twitch and tremble.

  I was aware of yelling around me, of Jason’s voice closing in before being drowned out by the sound of a scuffle.

  I blocked it all out, even the announcer’s voice.

  The noise swelled, rose, crested, then crashed into silence. I ignored it, all my thoughts revolving around keeping hold of the tool of my torture, sending the burning pain from my palm to my center; through my monster and out of my body with each labored breath.

  The prickling of my skin was ignored. The itch in my mouth was repressed. The jolt of electricity and the subsequent shaking it induced was the price I had to pay to earn my mates’ respect.

  Burning burning burning.

  My palm was fire.

  A familiar, furious roar. Others—also familiar—joined.

  I paid them no mind.

  It wasn’t until the coppery taste of blood trickled down my throat that I became aware of my throbbing tongue.

  Startled by the pain, my eyes flew open but the world remained swathed in layers upon layers of murky gray.

  I swayed, eyes still unseeing, and then I fell.

  41

  Hope

  When I came to, I was lying with my head in Ruarc’s lap; Jason, Ash and Lucien gathered on their haunches in a circle around us, hushed whispers filling the air. Behind them, the worried faces of my teammates peered down at me.

  “Hi,” I tried to say, but it came out like a weak, dry croak.

  Silence.

  “I . . .”

  Three sets of accusing eyes burned over my skin. I darted a quick look between them and considered how likely it was that the electricity had given me superpowers that could turn me invisible and escape their volatile mood.

  Ruarc’s face was a thundercloud about to spit lightning. Ash’s head was tilted in that dangerous manner, his features sharper, harsher, hungrier. And the cold mask Lucien wore had fractured, leaving flashes of raw emotion, something grim and scorching, the dark slashes of his brows lowered over eyes burning with incrimination.

  But it was Jason who made me feel like I’d been punched in the gut. He looked . . . harried. Though glimmers of the same emotion plaguing the others could be seen in his clenched jaw and downturned lips, it was nothing compared to the blistering pain in his gaze as he looked down at my right hand.

  Instinctively, I curled the offending limb into a fist and nearly howled with the agony that erupted in every cell that had touched the terrible rod.

  “We will speak of this later,” Ash said in a flat, cool voice, the presence of his wolf clear in his piercing, blue gaze. He made me shiver beneath its withering impact for a small eternity before slowly, stiltedly cocking his head and addressing my teammates. “This is on you. Now leave.”

  There was a small pause where it seemed Gideon might challenge Ash’s decree, but then he gave a jerk of his chin, shot me a rueful glance, and left.

  The others trickled after him, nodding at me with various, shame-filled expressions. Reggie went as far as to whisper a soft, “Good job, hope you feel better,” something he must have regretted when Lucien speared him with a look that could have turned even the sun to a frozen wasteland. The young lycan scampered off, a strangled yip better suited to an animal throat than a human shooting between his lips, leaving me alone with four males who looked torn between strangling me and swaddling me in bubble wrap.

  I wet my lips and tried to speak. “How did I do?” It came out hoarse. Weak and raspy.

  A loud, lethal rumble sounded from Ruarc, and when I met his narrowed, silver-eyed glare, invisible fangs clamped down on my nape.

  We stared at each other while the angry rumble grew in volume.

  “How did you do?” Lucien remained unnaturally still. “You nearly died.”

  I scoffed. Was that why they were so upset? “I’m fine. It was just a little faint. See?” I tried to sit up but Ruarc’s hand on my shoulder wouldn’t let me.

  Lucien stilled. “A. Little. Faint?” Each word was a dagger, stabbing and slicing. “You were unconscious for two minutes and forty-seven seconds.”

  “Y-you counted?”

  “Yes!”

  The fury in that hissed reply had me jump in Ruarc’s arms, and they all immediately crowded me, hands feeling every inch of skin, stroking over legs and arms and stomach with an almost clinical detachment.

  Or maybe not detachment—their hands shook.

  “W-what are you doing?”

  “You’re obviously not out of danger,” Lucien snapped, “or you wouldn’t have convulsed from the leftover electricity!”

  “I didn’t convulse.”

  Four sets of eyes stared at me like I was crazy.

  Jason swallowed twice before speaking, “You just did.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Then what?” Ruarc asked, speaking through clenched teeth that grew and sharpened as I watched.

  “I . . . Lucien just startled me, that’s all.”

  “I startled you?”

  I nodded.

  “I startled you?” he said again, a dangerous edge to his voice.

  Suddenly
wary, I looked to the others, noting their burning gazes and hard jaws. “S-sorry?”

  Lucien threw his hands in the air with a hiss that would’ve made a lion proud, and Ash rose, moving until he stood a good distance away with his back to us.

  When Ruarc lowered his chin, eyes so narrowed I wondered how he could see out of the thin, angry slits, I had a feeling it was going to be bad.

  And it was. Just not in the way I’d expected.

  He didn’t yell.

  He didn’t roar.

  He didn’t erupt in a furious diatribe.

  Instead, his voice was low. Raspy. “What were you thinking?”

  “I . . . I wanted to—”

  “Could’ve been killed.”

  “N-no, I was—”

  “Reckless.” He drew in a deep, shaky breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing precariously in his throat. “Could’ve died.”

  A slap would have hurt less.

  Cringing, I looked around for an ally. Jason, who normally stepped in when tempers ignited, couldn’t even meet my gaze. Fixated on the hand loosely curled at my side, he looked pale and shaken, unaware of Ruarc’s lecture.

  Deciding I had to try to calm him down, I put my left hand on Ruarc’s forearm—the one across my chest—and attempted a smile. “It’s okay, Ruarc, I’m okay—”

  “Don’t you dare!” he suddenly roared, an angry, red vein pulsing by his temple. “I should paddle your ass for putting yourself in danger like this!”

  “W-what?”

  “You heard me!”

  “It . . . It wasn’t dangerous, Ruarc. Gideon told me lycans don’t do well with electricity, so I knew they wouldn’t push it past—”

  “‘Cause of the pain!” A harsh breath hissed between his teeth. “Our wolves fight to come out when there’s a threat. Pain is a threat. Touching something that could fry you—that’s a threat!”

  “I . . . I was planning to let go if it got too dangerous—”

  “You passed out!” Ruarc thumped his fist into the ground, his mouth a white slash. “No lycan would’ve passed out! Their wolf would’ve forced its way to the surface if it got that dangerous—and don’t you say it wasn’t dangerous!” he roared when I opened my mouth to protest.