Assembly: The Feral Souls Trilogy - Book 2

by Woods, Erica

  What if I told them?

  They’d insist on coming. They’d made it clear they wouldn’t let me meet him by myself, but if I brought them, I’d be betraying Matthew’s trust—

  Something snapped beneath Ruarc’s booted feet; a dead, brittle branch. My insides rolled.

  That sound . . .

  Like the snap of Matthew’s fingers.

  Bile rushed up my throat, threatened to send me heaving. Guilt was an anchor around my neck, a knife in my stomach, a vice around my lungs.

  I owed him.

  I owed him more than I could ever repay. If I wanted to be free to reveal all my secrets, I had to meet with him, and it had to be tonight.

  It was my only chance.

  I’d seen the stark misery in his eyes; there was no doubt in my mind he meant what he’d said. If I didn’t show up tonight, he’d never speak to me again.

  He doesn’t want to speak to me at all . . .

  A bleak and barren ache throbbed to life.

  That was the truth, wasn’t it? He’d be relieved if I stayed home tonight, relieved if he never had to see me again. Matthew, the only person brave enough to defy the Hunters and become my friend didn’t want to talk to me.

  Heat stabbed at my eyes. My nose stung.

  I couldn’t even blame him. Not after what I’d cost him, after what I’d done—no, what I’d failed to do.

  Blinking back tears I refused to let fall, my vision briefly blurred, and I stumbled.

  “What’s wrong?” Ruarc stopped walking and frowned down at me. “You see something?”

  “Nothing.” I tried to smile but my lips only trembled. “I’m . . . I’m just tired. And hungry. Very hungry.”

  His frown deepened, but all he said was, “‘Course. My female needs food. Can’t afford to lose weight.”

  “It’s okay, Rua—oh!”

  He swept me up into his arms and took off at a trot. After a few minutes, the forest began thinning, and we passed the stream I’d crossed, the lone flower on the bank trampled and ground into the earth.

  I sighed, and Ruarc’s arms tightened around me just as something moved up ahead. At first, all I could see was nature. Trees and bushes and dirt and rocks. Everything was quiet. Tranquil. Then a shadow unfurled from a nearby tree, stepping into our path so silent and sudden it seemed he’d simply materialized out of thin air.

  “Ruarc. Hope.” Ash inclined his head. “You found her.”

  “In a tree,” Ruarc growled.

  “Lucien did say he left her in one.”

  “She was on the way down.”

  “Was she?” There was no expression on his face, no hint of emotion or disapproval, but the back of my neck prickled a warning.

  “Hi,” I squeaked, giving him a lame wave.

  Intent blue eyes swept over my face, sharp in their scrutiny; piercing in their assessment. He flipped through my layers like the pieces of my soul were pages in a book he’d already read—a book he wanted to know until he had every word memorized, every secret unveiled.

  I’d forgotten how discomfiting it could be, how naked I felt beneath the forceful weight of his attention. Clinging to Ruarc, I tried to hide my guilt. Both for what I’d done and for what I was going to do.

  “Hope,” Ash said again. That piercing gaze did another sweep—lingered on knuckles that had turned white from squeezing Ruarc’s shirt, the lip I’d drawn between my teeth—then lifted to my eyes, making me gasp at the storm that raged beneath that sea of blue.

  I shrank back into Ruarc’s bigger frame, but Ash only drew in a deep, almost harsh breath and closed his eyes. “She’s the last one.”

  Ruarc stiffened. “Shouldn’t be possible.”

  “And yet it is.”

  Silence. It stretched and stretched while tension lashed at the air around us.

  Eventually, I broke. “I’m the last what?”

  “Contestant.” Ash opened his eyes, and when he looked at me, his expression was heavy. Expectant. “Everyone else has been found. Everyone, except you.”

  “R-really?”

  “Yes.”

  For a moment, shock held me frozen in place. I’d won?

  I shook my head.

  I’d actually won?

  “But . . . They’re lycans,” was all I thought to say before a sudden burst of heat warmed my chest and forced my lips to curve in a wide, face-splitting smile.

  “They are.” Ash tilted his head, expression not changing as he took in my smile. “And you are human.”

  My smile froze. I’d been so lost in the game, in the victory, that I hadn’t stopped to think that none of the lycans that had passed below my tree had smelled me.

  It had to be a coincidence. Right?

  When it became apparent I wasn’t going to reply—my mouth had gone strangely dry—Ash stroked a knuckle down my temple and turned to Ruarc. “I will tag her and then we can head back.”

  After my vest beeped, Ruarc adjusted his hold and lifted me until we were nose to nose. “Well?” he growled. “Anything to add?”

  “N-no?”

  He narrowed his eyes, but then, as though he couldn’t resist, he leaned in and nuzzled my jaw. “So fucking sweet . . .”

  The streaks of fire clenching my belly couldn’t quite tame the tremor that claimed my hands at his question. Did they sense something amiss? Sense my monster?

  Was it my monster that had kept me hidden?

  Unable to answer my own questions, I buried my face against Ruarc’s neck and pretended the rest of the world didn’t exist.

  56

  Hope

  Worms. It felt like my stomach had been infested by crawling, heaving, scuttling worms.

  Once we’d returned to the cabin, the guys had been eerily quiet. There had been no yelling, no snapping and snarling, not a single word spoken about my participation in the game or what had happened before Lucien had come to my rescue. We’d barely spoken, and dinner had been the same; Ruarc glaring down at his plate, Lucien watching me through narrowed eyes, Jason frowning, opening and closing his mouth as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words, and Ash seeming lost in thought.

  I’d been quiet too, unable to speak while dread invaded every pore, every inch, every cell of my body. A dread that had expanded when they’d gotten a call that had pulled Ash, Ruarc, and Jason away for the night.

  Saying goodbye had been . . . agonizing.

  Knowing it was the last time they showed me affection, the last time they looked at me as though I was good, as though I mattered, had been torture.

  Yet somehow, I’d managed to keep my tears at bay, and when they’d left, I’d calmly walked back to the couch and pretended my world wasn’t about to end.

  How could I ever have considered leaving them to find Uncle Gavril? Now, the thought of parting from them was like being buried alive.

  I scratched at a spot right above my belly button where my insides flailed and twitched.

  The guys had only been gone for an hour, and I didn’t know how much longer I could stand to wait. How much longer I could pretend ignorance. How much longer I could keep my secrets.

  Until tonight. Until you see Matthew.

  My palm rubbed circles over my stomach.

  If Lucien would only go to bed and stop watching me with those cold, glittering eyes, maybe I could survive with my sanity intact.

  Maybe.

  “Would you like to watch a movie?”

  At eleven-forty-five I had to be out of the house and on my way to Matthew. Any later and I wouldn’t make it.

  Matthew won’t wait . . .

  “Hope?”

  I’d sneak out, speak to Matthew, ask him my question and find out . . . Find out why he was so sure other lycans would—

  “Woman, are you listening to me?”

  My spine snapped so straight I jerked upright from my slouched position on the couch and banged my knee against the edge of the table. “W-what?”

  Lucien arched a brow. “Did you
not hear me?”

  “No, I . . . No.”

  “I asked . . .” His mouth flattened, the knuckles on his right hand going white where it clenched around the hand rest. “I asked if you would like to watch a movie.”

  A movie?

  A shrill laugh bubbled in my chest and I grasped at my throat to keep it locked away, suddenly terrified the sound would spring up and leave me a sobbing, hysterical mess. The next few hours would be worse than any I’d spent in the Hunter’s basement. Worse than my mother’s betrayal. Maybe even as bad as when I’d—

  “I’m actually pretty tired.” I forced a yawn, grateful for the opportunity to briefly squeeze my eyes shut before tears spilled over. “I think I’ll go to bed.”

  “I see.” Lucien’s jaw went rigid, and I felt a harsh stab of remorse for lying to him.

  Does it matter?

  As soon as I’d spoken to Matthew, I’d have to spill my guts. They’d know . . . everything; Lucien would never talk to me again, let alone invite me to watch a movie. He’d hate me.

  The ugliness in my stomach contorted, and the longer I looked at Lucien, the worse it got.

  A throb began in my temples. It curved around the back of my head, buried into my skull, yanked.

  There was something there, something I’d forgotten . . .

  Our talk!

  My hand found its way under my shirt, nails digging into my skin.

  Was Lucien . . . was he preparing to have the talk he’d mentioned that morning? The talk that I’d been anxiously anticipating before the games had started, before I’d gotten attacked, before I’d agreed to deceive my guys and meet Matthew in secret?

  An uncomfortable, teeming mass of emotion rooted around my digestive system.

  I desperately wanted to hear what Lucien had to say, wanted to dig deep below the surface of his mind and discover the man beneath the armor, but I couldn’t. Not tonight. And after tonight, I’d never get another chance.

  If he asks you—

  I jumped to my feet and swallowed past the raw, scratchy feeling that was my throat. The abrupt movement had Lucien narrow his eyes and slowly rise.

  “I’m going to bed,” I blurted and hurried past him. The ceiling pushed at me from above, the walls swayed and collapsed inward. My hand found my tight chest, rubbing circles, trying to force oxygen in, and when I stood in front of my room, the prickling in my skin found my feet and turned them into blocks of unmovable cement. I froze, palm on the door handle, eyes burning.

  Don’t do it, Hope, don’t . . .

  But I couldn’t help myself. I had to turn and take one last look at Lucien’s beautiful face while it remained unmarred by disgust and contempt and all the other justified emotions he’d feel as soon as he learned the truth.

  My gaze sought out his eyes first, and I immediately regretted my decision. Behind the icy surface, I could have sworn I saw a glint of a burning emotion. Almost as soon as I glimpsed it, it disappeared—buried beneath layers of snow and ice so deep I doubted Lucien even knew it was there.

  Maybe it wasn’t? Maybe you’re seeing things?

  I held up a trembling hand and gave Lucien an awkward wave. “Night.”

  “Goodnight, Hope.”

  I stumbled into my room, closed the door, and crumbled to the floor. My heart raced, stuttered, thumped so hard my ribs felt bruised.

  They’ll never forgive you.

  Matthew hates you.

  After tonight, you’ll be alone.

  I buried my head in my arms and breathed stale air. After a while, my heartbeat slowed, my chest loosened, but the horrible itching, the emotional worms in my stomach . . . They never stilled.

  I glanced at the old-fashioned clock on the bedside table. Nine. I had almost three hours to obsess over my awful plan, wonder what, if anything, I’d seen in Lucien’s bright green gaze, and dread my meeting with Matthew.

  Again, my hand went under my shirt and found bare skin. I scratched and scratched and scratched, but it wasn’t deep enough. Could never be deep enough. It was in me. The monster. The evil. It hid deep inside. Poking at my stomach lining, tumbling around and around, biting and nipping and making bile rush up my throat.

  But I swallowed it all down, and I waited.

  And waited.

  And waited some more.

  It only took Lucien five minutes to start pacing. It took him two hours to stop. His footsteps were almost silent, just a hint of smooth movement, of low, muttered curses and the glide of feet over hard floor. Once, he halted just on the other side, drawing a harsh breath I could hear through the thick wood, and just . . . did nothing. Four minutes passed—I counted each agonizing second—before he resumed his pacing.

  I almost broke my brain wondering what he was thinking, what he was feeling, imagining a world where he was as hungry for my presence as I was for his.

  But finally, after a torturous eternity, he stopped. The door to his room opened and closed with a soft click, and then there was silence.

  I waited until half past eleven before slowly tiptoeing over to the door.

  Don’t let him hear me!

  The silent plea echoed in my head, growing bigger and bigger until it swallowed me whole. My stomach flipped, and I squeezed my eyes shut, looking inward. As usual my monster slept, caught behind bars, buried in chains, hidden behind a dark veil that disguised its shape and blurred the lines of its monstrous body.

  A sharp pain in my lip as I chewed a little too hard, cautiously nudging the monster’s side with mental hands. I got the impression of one golden eye snapping open, the oval pupil dancing like translucent shadows, and then . . .

  Agreement.

  When I opened the door and quietly crept toward the front of the cabin, I felt lighter. Each step carried me forward without a sound, the air around my limbs like fluffy clouds; cushioning each movement, absorbing all noise.

  I was light and silent and afloat; unbound by gravity, untethered to the earth.

  And as soon as I stepped out into the night, shadows embraced me like long lost lovers, concealing me from sight. Not even the waning moon’s gentle glow could touch me.

  Grass tickled the soles of my bare feet, and I stopped. Curled my toes. Threw my head back and just felt.

  Guilt pushed at the back of my mind. Dread. Unease. Pain and fear. But I forced them all away and sank deeper into my monster, urging it to get me where I needed to be.

  I moved, sticking to shadows, leaving no trace, no scent, no tracks.

  A sound, something rustling in the forest; I sped into a jog.

  It felt good.

  So I ran.

  Faster and faster, wind whipping through my hair, caressing my skin, propelling me through the trees.

  Thrilling in our run, I still forced myself to monitor the monster’s emotions, searching for aggression, bloodlust, the mindless urge to kill everything that had haunted it—and therefore me—for as long as I could remember. But all I sensed was a wild, wild joy. Exhilaration. Savage pleasure at being free; roaming under the night sky away from the Hunters, chased by no one but our own elation at being liberated from shackles and pain and the endless, hopeless torture we’d lived with for so long.

  In that moment, we were one.

  57

  Hope

  By the time I reached the big clearing, I couldn’t have said with any certainty how long I’d been running. It could have been minutes, hours, days—it didn’t matter. Not when the scent of grass and dirt and the promise of rain whispered across my senses. Not when the sky stretched endlessly above, a canvas painted with heavy midnight blues and adorned with the soft yet luminous lights of the stars. Not when I was free.

  I jogged down the steep hill leading to the first gathering circle and froze. Elation soured, pleasure fled; the big stage where I’d first laid eyes on the Council loomed dark and forbidding ahead.

  Forcing my feet to move, I drew in a deep breath and pushed my monster back down where it belonged. I couldn’t quite bring m
yself to thank it for its help—not after what it had done, what it’d made me do all those years ago—but I didn’t use the same force as normal when I threw shackles around it and locked the door to the cage where it usually slumbered. And when pain flared deep inside, I pretended it came from me, from the dread coursing through me at what was to come, and not from the monster who was trapped once more.

  I made my way to the stage. A slight breeze stirred the grass at my feet and brought a chill through my thin, black shirt, unease prickling at the back of my neck.

  “Hope?”

  I spun around, a harsh breath of relief escaping when Matthew stepped out from the shadows.

  “Matthew . . .” The dry rasp died away before the last syllable of his name passed my lips. Pain throbbed in my chest. Seeing him, knowing he was alive . . . It didn’t feel real.

  I’d seen him die.

  A strangled moan caught in my throat as I stared at the man whose death I’d carried like a dagger through my heart. His shoulders were high but tense, his arms wrapped around his middle like a child warding off a nightmare. Our eyes met, and despite the pain that came with seeing him, despite the memories that came coated in horror and laced with sorrow, despite knowing what this meant, what I’d have to do after, I was fiercely glad.

  He lifted a hand in a half-hearted greeting, then let it fall limply at his side. It twitched.

  I was glad to see Matthew, but he . . . he wasn’t glad to see me.

  The weird prickling spread, the spot between my shoulder blades itched and burned as bad as the time the Hunters had rubbed me down with poison ivy.

  Unsettled by the strange reaction, I quickly closed the distance between us, barely resisting the urge to turn around and scan for eyes glowing in the darkness. “We’re alone, right?” I asked when I came to a stop right before him. The prickling intensified and I threw a quick look over my shoulder.

  Nothing.

  And nothing from Matthew either.

  I tore my gaze away from the empty night and looked back at the man who’d once saved my life. Black shoes, black pants, black hoodie; his clothes stood in sharp contrast to the rest of him. His face was pale and drawn, skin looking almost brittle. Dark circles dragged under his eyes and his mouth shaped a fragile, strained line.