by Woods, Erica
She hurriedly nodded her agreement and offered Ruarc a tiny smile. “I won’t.” A curious light entered her eyes and she nibbled on her lower lip like she wanted to ask something. But instead, she just nodded again, went up on the tips of her toes, and gave Ruarc a quick kiss on the cheeks.
When she pulled back, her face was beet red.
“I want one too, love,” I said and tried not to laugh at her discomfort. She was just so damned cute! “Right here.” Tapping my cheek, I leaned down and waited.
After a quick peck, she pulled away and refused to meet our eyes. “C-can we go now? Ash is probably waiting.”
“Sure thing, love.” Being careful of her injury, I tugged her back to my side and began walking. “But tell me something.”
“Yes?” Her eyes were still aimed at the ground and her cheeks were flaming red.
I wanted to tease her, remind her of all the delectable parts of her I’d tasted and ask why the simple act of pressing a chaste kiss to our cheeks made her so shy, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not when she looked so vulnerable. “Would you really have made me eat pineapple pizza?”
Her gaze flew to my face. “Of course not, Jason. I would never make you do something you didn’t want to do.”
Those words . . . They were the same ones I’d given her under the light of the moon before our first swimming lesson, and the way she sounded giving them back, so serious and earnest and heartbreakingly grave, made my chest hurt.
“I know, love.”
What the hell had she been forced to do, forced to endure in her short life?
It killed me that I didn’t know. That I knew so little about her past and what she’d been through. I only knew it was bad, had seen the resulting nightmare—the way she’d cried, the hopeless little sounds she’d made, the desperate way she’d clung to us like she was shattering, breaking apart, bursting with the sorrow she kept locked inside . . . It would haunt me forever.
I didn’t want it haunting her too.
But to ensure it didn’t, to convince her she wasn’t broken, wasn’t unworthy, she’d have to overcome some of the baggage she lugged around like it was essential to her survival. And to help her, I’d have to figure out what, exactly, was packed into those too-heavy bags.
It was time to do some digging.
43
Jason
In my determination to cure my sweet, little female of her many misconceptions, I’d forgotten one important factor . . . The girl was bloody evasive!
We were halfway back to our cabin, weaving between the trees to avoid the boisterous groups of lycans celebrating today’s victories or grumbling about their defeats, and I had yet to uncover a single crumb of Hope’s secret past.
“What was your favorite drink growing up, love?” I asked, feigning innocence. If I threw enough unassuming questions at her, she might let something slip.
I didn’t want to push her; the panic attack she’d had when she’d tried to find words that night back at our house proved she wasn’t yet ready to reveal the full extent of what she’d been through. But some things should be discussed. Some things would be better out in the open. And the urge to know her, to peel back the layers of pain and guilt and fear that shrouded her light and occasionally dimmed those bright, bright eyes . . .
That urge was one I felt every minute of every damned day.
“I think . . .” Her little nose scrunched up, and fuck me . . . She looked cute enough to eat. “Hot chocolate? Yes, definitely hot chocolate,” she rushed to add when I raised a brow and gestured for her to expand.
“There are no wrong answers here,” I reminded her, shooting Lucien a glare over my shoulder when he made a sound of exasperation. I didn’t need our girl to grow more self-conscious. I needed her to relax and open up so I could sneak some answers past her rigid walls.
“I know,” Hope mumbled with a faint blush.
“Did you have a favorite animal growing up?” A grin snuck up on me as I pictured her as a young, curious girl with a curtain of dark hair and those big brown eyes I could stare into for years without tiring of the view.
She shook her head and bit her lip, sneaking a peek up at Ruarc on her other side. If she was hoping for a respite from my questions she was looking to the wrong champion. Despite his rage over what he considered Hope’s disastrous disobedience, Ruarc was enraptured by her, starved for answers.
Just like me.
“No, I loved them all. But now . . .” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Now my favorite animal is the wolf.”
A satisfied smile bared Ruarc’s teeth and we exchanged a pleased look over Hope’s head.
Damned straight, his expression seemed to say before settling into its usual, scowly lines.
In contrast, my grin couldn’t be contained, and I had no qualms letting my girl see how much she delighted me. “That’s an excellent answer, love. You know what my favorite animal is?”
She shook her head.
“You.”
When her eyes widened, mouth opening in surprise, I gave her a wink and tugged her forward. Even though I had many more questions, I couldn’t let her stop and think about each one. Ash would have my hide if we dawdled, and I couldn’t risk Hope clamming up again.
“But . . .” Her mouth opened and closed as though she couldn’t quite decide what to say. “I’m not an animal!”
I gave her a cheeky grin. “Aren’t you, though?”
This time when she blushed, the color reached her hairline, and I could no more stop the laugh bursting from my chest than I could stop the love I felt for this girl. A love that reached so deep, had captured me so thoroughly, it felt like it had been a part of me forever.
While I struggled to curb my amusement, Ruarc narrowed his eyes at me before turning to Hope. The way his expression gentled when he looked at her wasn’t lost on me, and when he reached out and stroked a finger across her cheek, I saw my feelings echoed in the other male. Rather than the jealousy I’d halfway expected to plague me, I felt our family bonds tighten and a sense of rightness wash over me.
This was how it should be. My female and my pack.
Family.
“Ignore him,” Ruarc commanded, ruining the sweet moment.
The big brute had no sense of timing.
Hope must have seen the sour look I sent Ruarc’s way, for her lips twitched and she said, “I try but he’s so loud.”
I could feel my eyes narrow. “I am not!”
“You are,” Ruarc growled and used my distraction to free Hope’s palm from my grasp. “Demanding too. Always wanting attention.”
Hope nodded and tapped a finger against her chin like she was thinking. “Why do you think that is, Ruarc?”
“He’s a pup. Too young. Needs constant care.”
I gave an affronted gasp, but inside I felt light and carefree. It had been so long since Ruarc had cracked a joke. I should have known Hope would be the one to free him from the shackles of his past the moment I first saw her.
“There is a benefit to being young.” I waited a beat until I had both their attention. “Stamina, Ruarc. While you may have settled for being a two-pump-chump in your old age, me, being so young and virile, prefer to take my time in pleasuring my female.”
Predictably, an angry snarl erupted from my grumpy brother and a fist came flying in my direction. Having expected it, I easily ducked then danced out of striking range.
I needn’t have bothered. Hope’s soft, tinkling laugh stopped Ruarc in his tracks. He was too enamored by her to come after me when he had that soft bundle of joy pressed up against his side.
“You’re far from a—what did you call it, Jason? A two-pump-chump?” A becoming pink bloomed in Hope’s cheeks.
How had she managed to stay so innocent, so seductively sweet in a world filled with so much evil?
When Ruarc kept glaring at me, Hope placed a hand on his cheek. “You’re magnificent, Ruarc. And you . . . you make me feel things that I . . .” She
squirmed and cleared her throat, unaware of the stillness having crept over us, her males, as we watched her eyes heat with a mixture of embarrassment and passion.
A better man than me, Ruarc didn’t let her flounder for long. Instead of waiting for the inevitable praise, he leaned in and captured her mouth in a kiss that made me wish I could push him aside and take his place.
When he drew back, Hope sighed, and my pants grew uncomfortably tight.
“For the love of god,” Lucien muttered from behind. His gaze lingered on our beguiling female for a few, tense seconds, then he swept past us and stalked ahead.
At least one of us was thinking about her health rather than obsessing over her sweet, pliant body and the passion that could be coaxed from it.
My ardor cooled at the reminder of our task, of my task. Healing her wounds came first. Pleasure could come later.
Ruarc must have had similar thoughts. A pained expression tightened his harsh features, and when he looked at me, he jerked his chin after Lucien.
“Should go,” he said in a low tone.
Seeing he needed a second to compose himself—thrown by either the same guilt plaguing me, or maybe the taste of our female had gone to his head—I grabbed Hope’s hand and urged her to come along.
“So, my sweet, little munchkin . . .” I grinned when she rolled her eyes, unable to hide the small smile playing about her lips, and set a steady pace. “What is your favorite thing to do in the snow?”
44
Hope
The questions kept coming, but at least they were easy.
“Bleach,” I instantly replied, a shudder going through me as ghostly memories of the pungent scent burrowed into my brain. “Definitely bleach.”
The room went quiet. The kind of quiet no one ever wants to experience. The kind that leached the life from the air and made all the tiny hairs on my body stand to attention.
“Bleach?” Ruarc recoiled, the couch dipping with the force of his reaction. He stared down at me, and suddenly he looked nothing like the man who held me close each night, nothing like the man who vanquished my nightmares and made my world a place where not every minute was soaked in terror. Rather, he looked like the warrior he’d once been—still was. One about to rip his enemy to shreds and savor the music of their screams. “Your least favorite smell is bleach?”
We were back at the cabin, and the guys somehow seemed bigger; occupying every inch of space despite the tall ceiling and overlarge furniture. Ash had met us on the way back, quickly rubbing a foul-smelling salve over my pulsing palm before wrapping it in a tight bandage. To my surprise, after the initial burning sensation, the salve actually seemed to cool down my throbbing skin, and right before he’d put the bandage on, Ash had stared long and hard at the reddened flesh, meeting my gaze with a look that bordered on knowing.
Unable to stand the intensity, the question that lurked in their brilliant, blue depths, I’d found myself looking at the ground before the impulse to do so even registered.
“It looks far better than I first thought,” he’d said, tone even, inflection flat. “It should be healed in a day or two.”
Unfortunately, the small whimper I’d let escape while Ash wrapped up my injury seemed to remind them of what I’d done, and it took them much longer to cool down than it did my hand.
If only I could’ve applied some of that cooling salve to their tempers.
Jason had recovered first, but despite his relaxed demeanor and irresistible grins, he kept asking me all these strange questions. Questions I’d at first met with suspicion, but as time went by and they stayed innocent, I slowly let my guard down. If he felt even an ounce of the curiosity I felt for them, I should do what I’d want them to do: answer as many as I could as honestly as I could.
But while Jason seemed willing to move on from the unfortunate incident—the name I’d silently given the events that led to my burns—the others weren’t quite so eager to forget.
Or forgive.
Ruarc kept growling, a steady rumble of sound that sometimes grew in volume but seldom lost its power. He alternated between muttering to himself and threatening dire punishments should I put myself at risk again, eventually coming back to making me promise to always stay safe. The way he kept clenching his jaw, eyes glowing with a wild sort of desperation, tugged at my heart and made my already heavy guilt feel like four tons of crushing rock. It made the promise come easy.
Although I couldn’t quite bring myself to regret participating, not when I’d proved I wasn’t as weak as the lycans thought, I felt terrible about what I’d put them through. A feeling that swelled whenever I peeked at Ash. The aura of calm control that normally wrapped itself around him like an impenetrable cloak had disintegrated. Now, when he paced, the predator sharing his body was present in every sleek movement, every tilt of his head, every coldly calculating stare.
Lucien had gone in the other direction and sat still and silent. He hadn’t even scolded me.
“Hope?” Sitting opposite me, Jason reached out and touched my knee so gently it seemed he feared I’d break.
And then I remembered what we’d been talking about. “Oh.” I met Ruarc’s silver glare. “Yes. Bleach.” Why was that so strange? Everyone hated the smell of bleach, didn’t they? Even if it hadn’t been used to clean up the oceans of blood the Hunters had made us spill, I’d still hate it.
It was disgusting.
The harsh lines of Ruarc’s face contracted. “Bleach.” He made a strangled sound; halfway between a groan and a snarl. “Bleach.”
“W-what’s wrong?” I reached out to touch his face, freezing halfway there when I glimpsed the raw pain in his eyes. “Ruarc . . .”
He shook his head, but put his hand over mine and leaned into my touch.
“Ruarc?”
When he still didn’t speak, I looked to the others for answers, surprised to find both Jason and Lucien were now standing.
“Everything is fine, love,” Jason muttered, looking like a taut wire ready to snap. “We’re just . . . tired.”
I didn’t buy it. Not when Jason slowly lowered himself back into the chair opposite me, and not when Lucien crossed the room and stared out the window, back to us.
Ash sighed, the sound heavy and defeated. “We should get some food.”
Frowning as the others mumbled their agreement, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that I’d missed something. “Are you sure everything is okay?” I asked the room at large.
“Yes, love,” Jason replied in a too-quiet tone. “We’ve had a trying day, that’s all.”
I cringed. “I . . . I’m sorry that I made you worry.”
Lucien spun around with a narrowed eyed glare. “Made us worry? By the devil, woman, you damned near scared us half to death!”
Ruarc grunted an agreement, and I felt two inches tall.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Ash stood. “We forgive you, banajaanh, but do not let it happen again.”
Without waiting to see my timid nod, he went to the kitchen and rooted around the cupboards.
My throat tightened.
Knowing I’d disappointed them dissolved whatever pride remained from my near victory, and even though Ash claimed to have forgiven me, the rigid lines of his shoulders and the lack of reconciliatory touch made me think his mind was ahead of his heart.
Should I give him space? Wait for him to cool down and hope he offers a kind word and a much-needed hug later?
No. It wasn’t fair to always wait for them to reach out. If I wanted to be a better person, someone deserving of their respect, I had to at least try to be brave.
I squeezed Ruarc’s hand, stuttered out another apology to Lucien, and offered Jason a feeble smile as I walked past him on the way to the kitchen.
Ash didn’t acknowledge my presence—another nail in the coffin of my faltering confidence. Moving stiffly from the counter where he’d begun throwing some food together to the fully-stocked fridge, he brushed past me w
ithout a word. When he stared into the fridge I noticed the corded muscles of his neck, the way his jaw was clenched together, and I remembered a time when I’d been the one needing comfort and how Ash had been there for me without being asked. How he’d taken me in his arms and given me the hug I didn’t know I’d needed.
With that in mind, I gathered all my courage and stepped into his personal space. Before he could turn, I wrapped both my arms around his waist, rested my cheek against back, and squeezed. “I’m so sorry I disappointed you, Ash. I . . . I’ll try to never do that again.” My voice shook.
Despite the initial stiffening of his muscles, Ash didn’t reject me. After a heavy exhale expanded his chest, he carefully turned and pulled me into his arms.
Warm lips brushed over my forehead. A calloused palm rubbed over my neck. “You could never disappoint me, banajaanh,” he murmured against my hair. “I am . . . so proud of how well you did in the games.”
A choked sob bubbled from my throat, and Ash’s arms tightened around me. How had he known I’d desperately needed them to say that?
“Look at me.” A finger under my chin had me tilt my head up. Unshed tears made his face blurry, but it didn’t matter. Ash didn’t need to smile to convey affection, he didn’t need to laugh to convey pleasure. His eyes spoke for him. An electric storm lashed through them when he was angry. They stormed and howled when he was pained. They heated, grew dark and mysterious when he kissed me. And when someone he cared for was threatened, they chilled, grew dark, nearly black; ringed by gold and touched by fire.
The intensity of his gaze conveyed emotion better than any expression ever could, and it was always honest.
A mouth could shape a fake smile, but eyes couldn’t warm with affection unless it was real.
