Chapter 17
Bathed, dressed, they returned to the clearing to avail themselves of the food Gideon had brought. Des had also foraged some berries and cress, and while the meal was simple, Clara devoured it with enthusiasm.
Astonishing, how Gideon and Des looked at her. There was no condemnation in their gazes, or disapproval. Even after all that they’d done, the way she’d been so brazen with them, they regarded her with approval. More than approval.
Admiration. Perhaps even affection.
Yet it would end. Perhaps sooner rather than later.
“You make that a regular practice?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking. “Sharing…?”
“Not every time.” Des leaned back on his elbows, his legs stretched out in front of him.
“When we find the right woman,” Gideon added.
“How did you know?” she asked. “That I was the right woman? Was there something about me that proclaimed me a shameless wanton?”
“Those words carry judgment,” Gideon answered, “when we’ve no judgment to bring.”
“It’s only…” She fought the urge to let her hair curtain her face. “I was told…”
“By your arse of a husband, no doubt,” Des said acerbically.
“He didn’t feel it was right for a wife to be so…” she searched for the right word “…carnal.”
“Hopefully, Arthur choked on worms during his premature burial,” Des growled.
She clapped her hand over her mouth, stifling a shocked laugh. When she felt she could speak with some degree of solemnity, she said, “Before our marriage, I was a great reader of books that were…scandalous. Lewd, you might call them.”
“I like your reading habits,” Des said with a wide smile.
She started to smile, but it faded. “Arthur didn’t. After we wed, I showed him some of my books. I’d thought we could share them. Perhaps even act them out. The expression on his face…” She shook her head. “I’d never seen anyone look so disgusted. As though I’d suggested we commit murder.”
“That ass,” Gideon growled.
“Arthur made me burn them.” They’d blazed quite high in the hearth, and the ashes had lain like condemnation in the fireplace.
“He never knew that I’d hid other books from him.
Even now, I keep them concealed in the walls of my house.
I was ashamed, but I had to believe that such a world of desire and pleasure was possible.
” Her face flamed. “We never spoke of it again, but he made certain to keep our time in bed together as brief as possible, to prevent me from sinking into depravity, as he said.”
“I amend my earlier description of him,” Gideon said tightly. “He’s a fucking moronic ass.”
“Once I failed to conceive, Arthur stopped coming to my bed. He took paramours, though,” she added bitterly. “He’d died in his mistress’s bed. His heart gave out. It was…humiliating.”
She looked at the ground, tracing each blade of grass with her finger.
“It became evident to me,” she went on, “that he’d found my desires appalling, but he was perfectly willing to fuck someone else.”
The crude word felt strange on her tongue, and yet it was a relief to speak it.
“It was me he didn’t want,” she continued, hot anger rising up. “Had I been anyone else, he would’ve never left my bed. But still…the way he made me feel…”
“That man was a thrice-born fool,” Gideon said vehemently.
“You’re well rid of him,” Des added. “Whatever you want for yourself, you can and should have.”
She regarded him, and Gideon, words hovering on her lips. How could she ask for what she truly wanted? Especially as what she wanted was impossible. They were highwaymen. And werewolves. They would never want to stay with her, much as she hungered for it.
“With Cyrus…gone,” she said, instead, “what will you do?”
“That’s Des’s decision.” Gideon nudged Des’s toe with his own.
“Not mine,” Des insisted.
“You’re pack leader now,” Gideon declared.
“We’ll put it to a vote,” Des said. “You and Hugh and Liam.”
“Only me and Hugh.” Gideon gazed at Des levelly. “After Cyrus was taken care of, Liam ran. He hasn’t come back.”
Des straightened. “Hell. He was always loyal to Cyrus, no matter what madness Cyrus pursued.”
“Where will Liam go?” Clara asked, alarmed by the grim expressions both men wore.
“I have a damned unpleasant notion,” Des said darkly. “In fact…fuck. Already.”
“What is it?” More unease danced down Clara’s spine.
Des was already on his feet, as was Gideon, and they both pulled her to standing. They moved to stand on either side of her, their backs to her, as they glared out into the forest.
“Come out, Bram,” Des called into the wood.
“And you, Liam,” Gideon said.
Clara stiffened as two men appeared in the clearing. She recognized Liam, hulking and broad, wearing a cautious look, but the other man was unknown to her.
He was brawny, fair-skinned, and wore his flaxen hair loose around his face. This, she supposed, was Bram. There was something about his features that looked vaguely familiar, he had a kind of fierce handsomeness that drew the eye, but she couldn’t place where she might know him from.
“I should fucking kill you on the spot,” Bram spat. He advanced slowly, his arms at his sides, but his hands ready to curl into fists.
“Your brother risked all of us,” Gideon answered.
Oh, no. Ice coursed through Clara. Bram would surely want vengeance against Des.
“Cyrus almost got Hugh killed,” Gideon continued.
“Hugh knows this is a dangerous life,” Bram threw back.
“We went seven years without any of us getting injured,” Des countered. “Cyrus was growing reckless.”
“That’s no reason to kill him.” Bram glared at Clara. “You chose this whore over your pack leader. I can smell both of you all over her.”
Clara went from icy to burning in an instant. Bram was a werewolf, too. And he knew precisely what she and Gideon and Des had been doing an hour earlier.
“Don’t call her that.” Des stalked to Bram and shoved his knuckles into the center of Bram’s chest. “She kept Hugh alive when Cyrus would’ve abandoned him. That’s not what pack leaders do. It was only a matter of time before we were all dead from your brother’s murderous stupidity.”
“Go to hell,” Bram snarled.
He threw himself at Des.
The two men tumbled to the ground. Des landed a punch on Bram’s jaw, and the other man’s head snapped back. Yet he kept on fighting. Though Des dodged hits to the face, Bram’s fists slammed into Des’s chest and shoulders.
Liam took a step toward them, but Gideon held him back. They watched as Des and Bram continued to brawl, punching and kicking viciously.
Once, Clara had gone with her father to a boxing academy.
A man had been injured whilst sparring, and her father had been summoned to set a broken wrist. Clara had acted as her father’s assistant, setting the bone beside the ring as men continued to box.
They had been gentlemen permitting themselves genteel sport, exchanging polite punches, observing set rules.
Clara had been fascinated, both by the men’s shirtlessness as well as the controlled violence.
This fight was nothing like that. There was no politeness here. Only the desire to hurt. Bone crunched and blood sprayed. She’d no idea who was being injured, but her stomach clenched in terror at the sight of Des and Bram locked in what could end in one of their deaths.
A falcon’s cry pierced the air.
Des and Bram immediately broke apart and staggered to their feet. They glanced up at the sky, as did Gideon and Liam. All of them wore looks of alarm.
“Guardians,” Des muttered.
Clara frowned in confusion. “What—?”
“Guardians use falcons to spot their prey,” Gideon explained grimly. “Their prey being werewolves.”
“You fucking fool.” Des rounded on Bram, grabbed his lapels, and shook him. “You led the bastards right to us!”
“I…didn’t know,” Bram stammered.
“We can’t stay here and wait to be slaughtered,” Gideon said tautly.
“How far away are they?” Fear gripped Clara in razor talons. Guardians were, according to Des, utterly ruthless and without mercy. They’d heartlessly cut all of them down—Des, Gideon, and Clara included. “Surely you can sense them, smell them.”
“Guardians wear leather to disguise their scent,” Liam said, brow creased in worry. “They train to move undetected.”
“They could be right upon us,” Bram muttered miserably.
“How many?” she asked.
“They’re always in groups of seven or more,” Des said. “Better odds for the fight.”
He and Gideon were unarmed, while Bram and Liam had one pistol each. Standing there in the clearing, they were nearly defenseless, and easily surrounded.
“Back to the house,” she said. When the men looked at her, she said in as commanding a voice as she could manage, “We’re exposed out here. My house is the safest place. We might be able to hold them off there.”
Des nodded and held out his hand. “Let’s go.”
She wove her fingers with his, and with them in the lead, Gideon, Bram, and Liam following, they rushed from the clearing, back into the dense forest. They wove around trees and ducked under low-lying branches, the wood a green blur as they ran.
She’d been frightened last night as shadows and darkness covered the forest. But now, in the light of day, terror gripped her.
If these Guardians were such skilled hunters, they could easily hide themselves in the wood, and might even now be racing toward them, eager for murder.
She leapt and jumped at every sound, even as she tried her best to keep up with the others.
She grimaced at the pain in her side, yet there wasn’t time to stop and rest. Her breath sawed in and out of her lungs in a burning surge, but she kept running.
She nearly wept when they emerged from the forest to see her house standing secure and quiet.
It was alright. They’d be safe, and had time to formulate a strategy once the Guardians arrived.
They ran to the front door. Des pulled it open, and she ran into the foyer, then up the stairs.
“Hugh!” she cried. “They’re coming!”
She reached the landing, then drew up short.
A giant man blocked her path to Hugh’s room.