Assembly: The Feral Souls Trilogy - Book 2

by Woods, Erica

  When a lycan passed below, my silent chant of ‘not here, not here, not here,’ turned to numb background noise. I leaned forward, prepared to get down, but to my surprise, the stranger passed right beneath me without ever glancing up.

  I slumped back against the trunk, the back of my head making a dull thump as it hit. A flare of pain.

  Not enough.

  I deserved to be cast aside. I deserved pain and misery. And I had deserved being a captive of the Hunters. If I’d been truly good, my mother would never have given me to them and my little shadow, my little brother—

  Grief hit me harder than the hammer the Hunters used to crush bones. The emotion hadn’t been dulled by time, hadn’t lost its cutting edges. Rather, it had sharpened. Grown cunning. It snuck past all my barriers and enveloped me in a cocoon devoid of hope, devoid of air, and while I struggled to breathe, I almost missed the slight movement below.

  A shadowed figure crouched next to a tall tree on my right, only a few feet away from where Lucien hid.

  For a moment, the shadow was still. I saw a faint glimpse of glittering dark eyes before a head tilted and a nose rose in the air. Then the shadow erupted into motion. He sped across the clearing, grabbed the bushes concealing Lucien, and ripped them out of the earth.

  My heart slammed against the inside of my chest, but Lucien barely reacted. He raked a cold gaze over the seeker, rose with his usual, unhurried grace, and stepped up onto even ground.

  “That was easy enough,” the seeker said. He aimed his laser at Lucien’s vest and fired. Something beeped softly, and then the forest was quiet once more.

  “Wix.” Lucien inclined his head.

  Wix turned and I almost gasped as his face came into view.

  He. Was. Gorgeous.

  With skin a gleaming ebony and eyes so dark they were almost black he should have looked intimidating, but there was something about him, something warm and disarming that made me think he could be trusted. It wasn’t the elegant lines of his face or the confidence of his squared shoulders, but the spark of humor in his eyes; the hint of softness around his mouth.

  “I wouldn’t have found you had you not left your scent all over the place. What happened?” Wix asked. His dark gaze moved over his shoulder to the area where I’d been attacked, but he didn’t mention the blood on the ground or the tracks from when Lucien had dragged them away.

  “A small misunderstanding.” Lucien followed Wix’s gaze, and the cold mask he wore slipped long enough for me to glimpse a flash of smoldering fury.

  “Oh?”

  “A couple of mutts believed they were above the rules of the game.” A chilling smile. “I showed them otherwise.”

  “Ah . . . And where are they now?”

  Lucien waved a careless hand. “Attempting to crawl back, one assumes.”

  “They live?”

  “By a grace infinitely more forgiving than I.”

  Wix’s gaze turned assessing. “Will they remain that way?”

  Lucien only smiled, and though it wasn’t the same one he showed his enemies, it was cold enough to make me shiver.

  “Deserved, then,” Wix said. “You should head back. Unless there’s a reason you’re staying?”

  Lucien tilted his head, cool gaze dragging over the other male’s face. “You are done seeking, then?”

  “No. But you are the only one here.”

  “Are you certain?”

  Wix narrowed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, held it, then slowly exhaled. “Yes.”

  “I’ve heard rumors,” Lucien began, gaze sharpening when Wix’s jaw hardened, “not of your mate, wolf, but of your heightened senses.”

  “Ah.” Something in Wix loosened. “That.”

  “You will not say more?”

  “You know how it is, Lucien. We guard those secrets lest the thirst for power brings others to our doorstep.”

  One corner of Lucien’s lip curled in a mocking half-smile. “I doubt a single alpha has been assassinated due to a superior sense of smell.” He paused, eyes gleaming. “And I see the rumors have been greatly exaggerated.”

  If I hadn’t been watching so intently, I’d have missed the slight widening of Wix’s dark eyes. “What makes you say that?”

  Lucien’s expression turned arctic. “That is not for you to worry about. Not until we know where you stand.”

  A heavy sigh. “You know I stand with your pack. Having taken a mate that isn’t Lycan, how could I not?”

  Not lycan? Had he mated a human? A strange, fluttery warmth came alive in my chest, and it took me a moment to recognize it for what it was—hope. Having been named after the elusive feeling, the irony of me having had so little of it during my time didn’t escape me.

  “We both know your little nymph is quite safe.”

  Nymph? The flutter turned to a dull throb. Not a human, then . . .

  Rearing back, Wix opened his mouth to reply . . . only to be yanked behind the nearest tree while Lucien hissed, “Quiet!”

  Proving he was a male that did not easily give in to aggression, Wix did as Lucien said with no more than a questioning glance.

  Completely still, Lucien waited behind the tree with his head turned slightly to the side, looking like he was listening intently.

  Unease rippled in my empty stomach.

  I strained my senses, but all I heard was the sound of my too-loud breathing, the breeze rustling the leaves, the occasional chirp and trill of a cheery bird and the scratching of tiny claws digging into wood as squirrels defied gravity.

  Whatever Lucien—

  Two tall shapes popped into view a few feet from where he stood, and my heart slammed against my ribcage.

  Lucien stiffened, then stepped away from the tree and inclined his head in a cool greeting.

  My world grew gray edges.

  Council members. Two of them. And the one on the left . . .

  The gray expanded. The clearing tilted. And my body slanted dangerously to the side.

  Vern.

  Vitriolic bile swam in my throat.

  Why was I having such a visceral reacting to seeing him? I wracked my brain, but my thoughts came slow, sluggish—like they had to travel a great distance to reach me. And when they finally did, they were splintered, frozen, ripped apart by something primal and unknowable.

  Then Vern turned his soulless, midnight-colored gaze on Lucien, and I stopped breathing.

  Vern could hurt Lucien.

  My lips tingled.

  If he tries, I’ll jump.

  Copper coated my tongue, the bitter flavor diving down my throat and filling my seizing lungs.

  He’ll kill me. Vern will kill me . . . But maybe I can give Lucien the time he’ll need to escape.

  Black dotted my vision and my nails dug into my branch as I prepared to jump, but Vern didn’t attack and Lucien didn’t seem scared.

  “Vern,” Lucien said, sounding bored and so devoid of fear that I managed to choke down a gulp of air.

  “Lucien,” Vern said. His voice would have been better suited to a reptile; cold and unfeeling, a low rasp that should have been a hiss but had somehow been masked as human. “Why are you here and not back at the count? You were found, no?”

  If Lucien was bothered by Vern’s intent gaze—the way it slithered up his body, narrowing at his face before subtly moving to the surrounding areas, searching the ground, the bushes, everything but the tops of the trees—he didn’t show it.

  But I did. If my tree had been less dense, if another hadn’t half blocked me from sight, if I’d been lower to the ground and not so well hidden, Vern would’ve seen both me and the stark fear holding me hostage.

  “Wix and I had some catching up to do,” he said coolly, arching a brow. “Why are you here? It is . . . unusual for members of the Council to intrude upon the games.”

  “Unusual in the past, perhaps.” Vern shrugged, but the motion seemed off. Unnatural. Almost like he’d seen others do it and was simply imitating the act. “But t
imes are changing and we must change with them or end up dusty relics, forgotten and irrelevant to new ways of life.”

  While the muscles along Lucien’s jaw locked, the other Council member moved next to Vern and dipped his head. “Greetings,” he said in a quiet, musical voice. “We heard rules had been broken and came to investigate.”

  The first time I’d seen him up on the stage with the other Council members, I’d thought he looked oddly out of place among his lycan brethren. His straight, silvery hair hung in silken waves down to his waist, and the ethereally fine features that made up his face seemed as exotic as his name; Taeral.

  “That is a job for the game-enforcers, isn’t it?” Wix asked.

  “Why send others to do what I can do better?”

  There was something in Vern’s tone that bit into my neck and snarled a warning.

  “Indeed,” Taeral agreed. His clear blue eyes suddenly darkened until they resembled the same midnight sky that dominated Vern’s ones. “We heard talk they attacked a female.”

  “Oh? And who brought you this tall tale?” Lucien’s voice was a deadly purr, his gaze never leaving Vern.

  “One of the perpetrators, if you can believe it.” Taeral grimaced. “He seemed to believe he would be spared the Council’s wrath when he explained the female was human, and went on to demand we punish her defender.”

  “Preposterous,” Wix said. He cast a quick glance at Lucien’s face and then quickly stepped in front of him. “You did not let him go unpunished?”

  Taeral made a soft sound that was too lyrical to be a scoff, too firm to be a sigh. “We did not. He should have known better than to break Council rules.”

  A soft yet dangerous growl came from Lucien. “Good. The two others are likely attempting to make it back.”

  “Attempting?” Vern’s intent scrutiny sharpened.

  “They may find it a rather . . . difficult endeavor.”

  “Fitting,” Taeral said, then turned to Vern. “It seems our involvement was not needed after all.”

  “So it seems.” Vern circled the three others, slowly perusing the nearby forest before tipping his head back with a deep inhale.

  Lucien stiffened, the taut lines of his shoulders tensing beneath his suit. Standing perfectly still, his icy gaze bored into Vern’s back, tracking the other male’s next breaths, tracking the flaring nostrils, the flex of long fingers, the rise and fall of an enemy’s chest.

  But then Vern walked back with nothing more than a slight frown, and the lethal tension that had held Lucien in its tight grip faded.

  “Please,” Lucien said with a sardonic half-bow, gesturing for them to pass, “don’t let us keep you.”

  A preternatural stillness came over Vern. “You want us to leave . . .” Barren midnight eyes never leaving Lucien’s face, he took a slow step in the opposite direction. Then another.

  Lucien said nothing.

  A gust of wind whipped through the trees. Branches bent and leaves beat against wood, and Vern moved. He strode across the field, stopping every few feet and dragging his cold gaze over Lucien then walking again. After a couple minutes of this, he finally came to a halt right below my hiding spot.

  My limbs froze, tendons vibrating with strain as I tried to keep completely still.

  If he glanced up . . .

  “Where is the female you saved?” Vern asked.

  “Gone.”

  “Gone? Did she simply . . . disappear?”

  There was no expression on Lucien’s face, no smile or frown or grimace. Only cool disinterest and a pair of ice chips masquerading as eyes. “She went deeper into the forest. I presume, her being human, she has something to prove.”

  “That was unexpected.” Taeral said, glancing at the blood stains on the ground. “Brave, all things considering.”

  Vern’s attention never wavered, locked only on Lucien. “You allowed your pack’s female to continue on her own after she was attacked?”

  “What can I say? The chit is as muleheaded as our enforcer.”

  Taeral laughed, low and melodic and pleasing. “I would like to meet her.”

  “As she’s not here . . .” Lucien casually crossed his arms and leaned back against a solid, gnarled oak.

  “Another time, then.”

  Lucien inclined his head in a way that was both an agreement and a dismissal.

  “Well,” Taeral said. “We should head back.”

  Vern, still standing close enough that my skin crawled with suppressed shudders, mimicked Lucien’s pose—using my tree. “I think I will stay and keep Lucien company.”

  “I’m certainly not staying here,” Lucien said. “I’ve always found this particular game a bore. And it is not helped by these tiresome”—he slapped the side of his neck—“insects. Devilish little bloodsuckers.”

  “And where will you go?” Vern asked.

  “Back to the count.” Lucien arched a challenging brow. “Where else?”

  Cold sweat trickled down my back.

  Don’t leave me here! The silent, desperate cry briefly interrupted the continuous chant droning on in the back of my head, a chant I’d forgotten I’d started. It consisted of only four feeble words; please don’t find me, and I clung to both it and my silent plea as Vern slowly pushed away from my tree and moved toward the others.

  “I will accompany you,” he said, still with that flat, deadened voice. “We might stumble upon something interesting.”

  Despite the flash of heated emotions briefly breaking through the ice in Lucien’s eyes, he gestured for Vern to pass and followed without a backward glance.

  And then I was alone.

  * * *

  It took a long while for my fear to fade, but absent an immediate threat, my body had no choice but to slowly let go of tense tendons and tight limbs as adrenaline gradually loosened its hold. The trunk at my back was too hard for me to truly relax, so while my mind raced—trying to decide if Lucien would want me to stay and if he was planning on sending someone back for me—the muscles along my spine grew stiff and achy.

  Eventually, the discomfort faded to a dull throb, forced back by my growing anxiety. All my energy went into worrying about Lucien. Was he okay? Had Vern hurt him? Would he come back for me or was I supposed to climb down and make my way back to the gathering circle?

  But no matter how nervous I got, I couldn’t fault Lucien for leaving me. Just the thought of having to climb down and face Vern’s deadened gaze had invisible claws dig into the space between my ribs and squeeze until my oxygen-deprived brain reminded me that I was safe.

  At least for now.

  I forced my eyes to close, trying to relax, and settled in to wait.

  An eternity passed in tiny, tedious increments. What was probably no more than one hour somehow felt like five. Hunger gnawed at my belly and my bladder twinged.

  I ignored it.

  A couple of minutes later, the twinge turned insistent, and I finally opened my eyes and considered the long way down. Could I make that climb without falling and breaking my neck?

  Doubtful.

  But if I was left alone here much longer, I would be forced to try. It was either that or squat on the branch while I peed . . . And that was not happening.

  As I searched for the easiest way to descend, something moved near the clearing where I’d been attacked. Barely breathing, I slowly craned my neck, spotting a shock of red curls, a flash of pale skin, a glimpse of a face that had once been grotesquely broken—

  Spearing numbness pierced my chest. I gasped, frozen while it spread, trailing sickly fingers over my insides before squeezing, clutching me in a grasp of endless, merciless ice.

  It’s too soon, came that first, cowardly thought, and shame welled its corrosive liquid, eating at my insides until I was hollow.

  Of course it wasn’t too soon. Of course not. It was perfect timing. Hadn’t I decided to tell the guys everything that night? Now I wouldn’t have to hold anything back.

  There’s no . . . T
here’s no more . . .

  I swallowed a sudden excess of saliva and stared down at the only other person I’d known to get out of the Hunter compound alive.

  There’s no more reasons to postpone.

  “Matthew,” I whispered, a rail thin sound that barely carried to my own ears.

  Matthew didn’t react. Pale and drawn, he was staring down at the blood smeared across the clearing with a wan grimace.

  “Matthew!”

  Messy red hair flopped as he spun around. “W-who’s there?”

  “It’s me.” I waved, pretending like my arm didn’t feel like a boulder dragging me down; pretending my smile wasn’t weak and forced; pretending I wasn’t being battered and bruised by a hundred different emotions, each cutting as deeply as the Hunter’s knives used to and leaving their invisible scars. “Up here.”

  His eyes widened. “H-Hope?” Darting across the clearing, he stopped at the bottom of my tree and craned his neck so far back it looked ready to snap. “Is it really you?”

  Suddenly my chest was tight and my breathing ragged. This man was a fellow survivor, a fellow victim of the Hunters; possibly the only other person in the world who could fully understand what I’d been through. “It’s me,” I choked out. “I . . . Oh, Matthew, I thought you were dead!”

  He flinched. “It was . . . it was close.”

  “I’m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry . . .. I’ve thought about you—” A strangled sob cut off my words, and it took me several deep breaths before I could push out the rest. “I’ve thought about you every day. About . . . what happened, and what you sacrificed for me.”

  Matthew had always been pale, but as I spoke, all color fled his freckled face. “You’re . . . sorry?”

  A wrenching pain twisted something in my chest. Would he ever forgive me? “That last day, you . . . you took the blame. My blame. And I never . . . I never . . .” More sobs. Quiet this time, but they shook my frame like violent waves during a storm.

  “It wasn’t . . .” His gaze shifted, never resting too long on any one thing, flitting away with a flinch every time I shuddered and zooming back for quick looks when I was still. “Wasn’t your fault,” he finally mumbled, then shook his head. “You’re the—the human? The one who knows about lycans?”