Rapture Untamed (11 page)

“So now we
know
it’s coming from that house. That’s damn powerful warding if it’s blocking even Therian senses.”

Olivia looked at him with surprise, goose bumps lifting on her arms. “Where’s the house? How far?”

“About twenty yards in front of you.”

“No way.” Trees. Nothing but trees. “Since when do the Mage possess the kind of power it takes to hide a house from a Therian?”

“Since their leader, Inir, got infected with dark spirit and has apparently tapped into some serious magic. The Mage are resurrecting all kinds of bad shit that’s been lost for thousands of years. Most of it associated with dark power.”

“Why can you see the house and not me?”

He gave her a smug little smile. “I’m a Feral. Fucking Superman.” His hand caressed her buttocks. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

Absently, she pushed his hand away, troubled by the fact that she could have walked right into that Mage stronghold and never realized it until it was too late.

She looked around, chills crawling up her spine. Were invisible Mage watching them even now? They could be anywhere, and she’d never know.

Her gaze flew to Jag’s. “Tell me what you see.”

“I can show you.” The gleam in his eye told her exactly how he meant to do that. Sexual release opened the Therian mind to magic in ways nothing else could.

Goddess, her body still hadn’t recovered from the last sensual onslaught. The last thing she needed right now was a repeat.

His eyes turned wicked. “I’ll make it quick, but you’re going to have to control those sexy little cries of yours, or we’ll have them all over us.”

She wanted to deny him, she really did. But she wanted to see the Mage more.

With a disgruntled sigh, she held out her hand. “Make it quick.”

“Then spread your legs for me, Sugar. I’ll go straight to your sweet spot.”

Olivia clenched her jaw. “I don’t have to pull down my pants?”

“Not unless you want to.”

“I don’t.” Releasing a groan of disgust, she spread her legs.

Jag met her gaze, a smile pulling at his lips. Then he
moved behind her, sliding his hand over her mouth.

“Just a precaution,” he said quietly, as his thumb stroked her cheek.

Leaning over her shoulder, he slid his other hand between her legs and cupped her.

“Watch straight ahead,” he said against her temple.

She tensed, holding her breath for the rush of heat, and didn’t have long to wait. Pleasure poured into her sensitive flesh on a river of delicious fire, her legs turning to rubber. Jag’s hand held her up, pulling her tight against his body and the erection growing stiffer by the minute at her back. As the orgasm rushed up from the depths of her core, the moan exploded in her head, barely muffled by Jag’s hand. It broke over her with a startling power, clenching and spasming inside her as he held her close.

“Look, Red. Look!”

She forced her eyes to focus despite the storm of pleasure ripping her body apart, and gasped in shock as a house appeared out of thin air.

As Jag had said, not twenty yards ahead of her stood a large, rickety, run-down house with dirty white siding and a wraparound porch, one section of which appeared to be rotted through. And smack-dab in front, on the dirt track that served as a drive, stood the red pickup truck.

Her body tensed, and she shook her head until Jag pulled his hand from her mouth and settled it, warm and
firm, on her breast. Without thinking, she arched into his touch, her body still riding the effects of release.

“That’s the truck I was following earlier,” she whispered.

His hand slid out from between her legs to caress her abdomen, his hand vibrating as if he were shaking. He pressed his cheek against her temple, his voice low and pained. “You have no idea what it does to me to make you come.”

Tucked tight between them, his thick erection twitched and throbbed.

“I have some idea,” she said huskily.

Heat swirled around them, the fire unquenched despite her roaring release. She’d fought and fought against giving in to him the first time, but if their situation weren’t so dangerous, she knew she’d be begging him to come inside her again.

Slowly, reluctantly, Jag’s hands fell away and he stepped to her side. His erection stood straight out from his body, hard as oak and thick as her wrist.

“Looks painful,” she murmured.

“Want to suck me off?”

Deliberate crudeness with which he intended to wedge some distance between them again. She had him figured out well enough.

But as she stared at that gorgeous thickness, desire to do just that—to take him deep in her mouth—flowed hot and rich inside her.

He lifted a lock of her hair and twisted it around his finger, tugging gently. “You keep looking at it like that, and there won’t be any sucking necessary.”

“Rain check?” she asked softly, lifting her gaze to his.

His brows lifted, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Every time I think I have you figured out, you surprise me.”

She found herself smiling. “I’m aware of that.”

His eyes lit with laughter, and he tugged on her hair. “So sure of yourself, are you?” Releasing her hair, his hand cupped her jaw, his thumb sliding across her ultrasensitive bottom lip. “We’ll continue this discussion later. This is neither the time nor the place.” He held out his hand to her and she hesitated only a moment before taking it. “Let’s take a look around.”

Jag led her through the brush and trees, keeping well back from the tree line where they wouldn’t be seen if someone looked out one of the windows. There were lights on inside, but the curtains were drawn, and Olivia could see nothing.

As one, they froze as two Mage sentinels turned the corner and strode across the front of the house. Guards, no doubt.

When the Mage pair had their backs turned to them, Jag led her through the woods, circling the house slowly, then stopped so quickly she ran into him, her shoulder pressing against the warmth of his arm.

She didn’t waste breath on questions. Instead, her gaze followed his to the two thick posts standing in the middle of the backyard. Attached to them appeared to be slabs of meat of some kind.

Her gaze narrowed as she pondered the why. Were they trying to attract some kind of animal?

But as her mind caught up to her gaze, she noticed the single boot hanging from the end of one bloody strip. With a hard blast of cold, she understood. Gagging, she turned her head, pressing her forehead against Jag’s shoulder. A shaking bare shoulder that had turned suddenly cool and clammy.

“Motherfuckers,” Jag snarled beside her. “They’re using the humans as Daemon bait.”

Her head began to throb as it always did in the face of stark cruelty. The humans would have been strung up alive, since Daemons fed on fear and pain. Were these the men she’d followed out of Wal-Mart? Was it their flesh hanging there, now? Dear goddess. She struggled for control, for the warrior toughness she’d learned so long ago.

Jag snatched his hand from hers, a low animalistic growl rumbling from his throat.

Olivia lifted her head, noting the fangs that had sprouted from his human mouth.

“Easy, Feral. You can’t take them on alone, though goddess knows I want to help you. Especially when we
don’t know what they’re capable of anymore.” She ran her hand over his back in slow, calming strokes. “Ease down, Jag.”

Slowly, his fangs retreated, and he looked at her with furious eyes. A fury not turned on her. “There could be others in there who are still alive.”

“We’ll call for reinforce…”

Jag’s hand shot to her shoulder, quieting her as the door to the house opened. They watched as two people walked down the steps, a man and a woman dressed in sorcerer’s robes. The same auburn-haired woman she’d seen in the parking lot of Wal-Mart.

As the woman reached the bottom step, she stumbled.

The man’s hand shot out to steady her. “Mystery?”

The woman—Mystery?—waved her hand at him impatiently, her bearing cool and confident despite her near spill. “I’m fine. How long has it been gone?”

“Ten minutes. These two didn’t last long.”

The witch barely glanced at the corpses. Instead, her gaze went to the eaves of the house where dark orbs hung crackling with barely visible lightning.

“Long enough,” she murmured.

“The power orbs are full?”

“They appear to be, yes.” An expression of satisfaction settled across her face. “Raw Daemon energy. The most powerful force on Earth.”

“Do you think it’ll be enough?” The male sorcerer’s
subservient bearing told Olivia he was the underling of the pair.

“There’s no way to know. The last one to attempt this was Satanan himself. The project will be complete when it’s complete.”

As the male pulled down the orbs, the two guards came around the corner.

Mystery motioned to the corpses hanging from the posts. “Dispose of these.” As one of the guards bowed, she continued. “Is there time before dawn for one more feeding?”

“No, Sorceress. Dawn will be upon us within a pair of hours. The Daemon will not be back this night.”

“Very well.” She turned and climbed the stairs back into the house.

Olivia turned to Jag at the same moment he turned to her. They’re worried gazes collided. “What do you think the project is?” she asked in a whisper.

“Hell if I know. But if the last one to attempt it was Satanan, we can be sure of one thing. If they succeed, we’re in deep trouble.”

They walked back to the Hummer in silence, Jag in his jaguar-house-cat form since dawn had broken. The eastern sky glowed the color of fresh blood.

Olivia opened the back door of the Hummer, and the cat jumped in. She closed the door behind him as a maintenance truck rumbled by on the road below, then climbed into the front passenger seat. Behind her, magic erupted on a surge of sparkling lights. She felt it tingle along the surface of her skin, a pleasant sensation, and glanced back to find Jag a man once more, shoving one powerful leg after another into his pants. He raised his hips to pull the pants over his buttocks, his manparts lifting as if in offering. For once, it seemed to be her mind, not his, caught in an endless sexual loop. Leav
ing his pants unzipped, he pulled the T-shirt over his head, pulling it down like a second skin to mold his muscular torso.

Beneath one tight sleeve, his armband curled, the jaguar’s eyes seeming to watch her.

Jag climbed out of the vehicle and opened the driver’s door, zipping his pants before reentering.

As he started the Hummer, Olivia tipped her head back and closed her eyes, all that had happened tonight crashing over her in a massive wave that threatened to sweep her feet out from under her. Jag knew she was draden-kissed. At first, she’d been utterly certain he’d give her away, but she just didn’t know anymore. The more she thought she understood him, the more of an enigma he became.

When the draden attacked, he could so easily have saved himself simply by shifting, but instead he’d nearly sacrificed his life trying to save her. Beneath the crappy attitude stood a man of rare honor and courage. A good man, though she felt certain he didn’t see himself as such.

But would that honor drive him to keep her secret? Or to give her away? She couldn’t know, and she feared the answer.

A soft tug on her hair had her turning her head to find Jag watching her.

“You okay?” For once, no devilment lit his eyes, only genuine concern. “Is that venom out of your system?”

As she looked into those warm, dark eyes, something happened. The solid, emotional ground beneath her feet gave way, and she felt herself falling. Tumbling.

Olivia wrenched her gaze away, staring at nothing as her heart pounded in her chest. Goddess. What was the matter with her?

Lifting an unsteady hand, she pushed the hair back from her face and took a deep, calming breath before answering him. “The venom is mostly gone. My arm still feels a little weird, a little sore, but otherwise, I’m fine.”

He reached for her, his hand cupping her upper arm where the tear in her jacket exposed the bare flesh newly healed from the Daemon attack. She tensed, uncertain what he meant to do with that palm, but felt only his thumb stroking the aching echoes of claw wounds, easing the lingering pain.

“Better or worse?” he asked quietly.

She hazarded a glance at him, worried she’d tumble all over again, but he’d turned to the front. “Better. Thank you.”

As he put the vehicle into gear and pulled out onto the road, she studied the strong lines of his profile. Without a doubt he was a fine-looking male.

“Where are we going?”

“The motel.”

His warm fingers continued to caress her arm, and she let her eyes drift close, but her mind refused to be
still. What would she do if Jag did report her as being draden-kissed? She’d have no choice but to run. Or try to run. Getting away from Jag would be no easy feat.

Dammit, she was so tired. Decade after decade, century after century, she’d held her secret tight, terrified someone would discover it. Terrified her life would be over.

And if she ran, it would be. Maybe not literally. Maybe if she took off, she wouldn’t be tracked and killed. But her life would be over all the same. Her home in the Guard barracks lost to her. Her friends, her team, her purpose…all gone.

If she stayed and played Jag’s game? Maybe she’d end up dead. But it wouldn’t be at Jag’s hands. If he were going to kill her, he’d have already done it. Unless, of course, she tried to hurt him or his.

If she could just get him to keep her secret a little longer. Long enough for her to help him catch that Daemon. Long enough for them to figure out what the Mage were up to and stop them.

Maybe long enough for her life to have a little more purpose. The pull of self-preservation was strong in all creatures, no less in her, but her father hadn’t sacrificed everything for her to save herself. He’d given her a chance to make a difference. Whether or not that had truly been his intent didn’t matter. It was the way she’d always seen it. It was the only way she could accept
that he’d let her live at his own peril, the only way she could live with it.

She’d never truly been able to use her gift to any great advantage simply because she’d always had to hide it.

With Jag, she didn’t.

The realization hit her, filling her with a strange and profound relief. After so many years, she was no longer alone with her secret.

Jag released her arm, pulled out his cell phone, and snapped it open. “It’s me,” he said a moment later.

Olivia tensed.

“Found us a Daemon,” he continued. “Did you know those bastards have venom in their claws?” He was silent a moment. “Olivia took a hit. It slowed her down, but didn’t seem to do anything more. We also found us a nice little Mage pit complete with sorcerers, sentinels, and some of the biggest power orbs I’ve ever seen.”

He was silent a moment. When he spoke again, his voice had turned warrior hard. “Shit, yeah. They’re definitely up to something. There’s only one reason I can think of they’d want Daemon power.” A pause. “You got it, Frosted Flakes. This is another attempt to free the Daemons.”

Jag continued to hold the phone to his ear though he didn’t say anything for a while. Olivia could hear Tighe’s voice through the receiver, but not clearly enough to make out what he was saying.

“Aye, aye,” Jag drawled at last. “Call when you hit town.” He snapped the phone closed and tossed it onto the dash. “The gang’s coming for a visit.”

Olivia eyed him. “All of them?”

“Tighe’s team and Kougar’s. They’ve been tracking two different Daemons, and both trails seem to be leading this way.”

“As if the Mage are calling them.”

“That’s what I think, Red. And what I also think is the Mage are trying to use them to free Satanan. Tighe agrees that our mission just changed. Stopping whatever the Mage are up to takes priority over the Daemons. If we can take down both at once, all the better.”

He turned into the parking lot of the motel. “The plan is for everyone to meet here at two this afternoon.”

“We’ll attack in broad daylight?”

Jag pulled into a parking spot, turned off the ignition, and turned to study her, his mouth kicking up on one side. “Well now, Sugar, you’re the only one, other than us Ferals, who doesn’t have to worry about the draden. With three Therians on the team, the logical choice is daylight.”

He was back in full Jag persona. The man who’d quietly and gently asked her if she was all right had slipped back beneath the mask.

Jag opened his door and climbed out, and Olivia did the same. They grabbed their duffels out of the back of the Hummer, and she followed him up the outside
stairs to their second-story room—a simple, but clean one, with two double beds.

Olivia set down her duffel beside the bed closest to the door, pulled back the bedspread, then shucked her boots and crawled beneath the covers. She was spent, physically, mentally, and emotionally, but as she closed her eyes, a thought had her jerking upright.

Her gaze shot to Jag as he pulled off his boots with less haste than she had. “I don’t usually feed in my sleep, but I’m so tired, I may tonight. It won’t hurt you. I sleep near others all the time, and they’ve never even been tired come morning, but you may feel it.”

He paused in what he was doing, meeting her gaze, his thoughts impossible to read. Then he pulled off his pants and T-shirt and lay down on the other bed on his side, propping his head on one hand. “When you feed hard, it’s like needles. When you feed low, it’s just a pleasant hum in my body. It shouldn’t bother me.”

She nodded. “That’s good.”

He continued to watch her, as if studying her. “I’ve been wondering about something, Olivia. Why didn’t you let me die out there tonight? As you said, it would have been so easy. And a simple matter of self-preservation. Your secret would have been safe.”

There were so many answers to that question, more than she had the energy to sort through at the moment, so she gave him the first one that came to mind.

“I want no more deaths on my conscience.”

His mouth quirked up on one side, in a surprisingly self-deprecating smile. “Not even mine?”

“Especially not yours.” She wasn’t sure what made her say the last.

Jag stared at her, his gaze turning thick and intense, pulling her in. Then he scowled and flipped over onto his back and closed his eyes.

“Sleep, Red.” His voice held a gruffness, not reflected in his words. “You won’t hurt me without my knowing. We’re both safe for now.”

She watched him a moment more, then lay down and pulled the covers up to her chin.

Safe. An odd choice of words since she’d never felt less safe in her life. Yet she fell asleep without trouble, a certainty deep inside that if Jag said she was safe, he would let no harm come to her.

For now.

Jag blinked at the sight of the village square, his heart plummeting. A thousand times he’d watched Cordelia die, a million times he’d wished he could change what had happened that day. He didn’t want to see it again!

A tiny, lucid part of his mind told him to turn away, that it was just a dream. But he was caught, trapped as always, forced to watch the nightmare play out yet again.

They dragged Cordelia across the village square, four big human males easily overpowering her Therian strength though she kicked and fought, demanding
they free her. She’d always demanded. That had been Cordelia’s way.

But the men ignored her, dragging her toward the thick, tarred pole standing black and ominous within the circle of the fire pit.

As the Jag of old watched with a conflicted blend of angry righteousness and dismay, they shoved her back against the thick wood, wrenching her arms behind her, clamping iron manacles around her wrists to hold her fast. One of the men secured a second iron shackle to her ankle, then staked it to the ground.

Sunshine glistened on Cordelia’s brown hair, locks falling in rare disarray around her shoulders.

The villagers wasted no time. Before Jag comprehended what they were about, one lit the torch, then shoved it into the kindling with a single vicious thrust.

Cordelia’s skirts caught almost immediately. Her gaze locked on his through the curling smoke, flaying him with sharp accusation as the flames devoured her. Fire caught at her hair, lighting the brown tips like candlewicks, racing up to engulf her face as the chant of the villagers filled the air.

“Witch! Witch! Witch!”

Cordelia threw back her head and screamed.

“No!” The strangled cry clawed at Jag’s throat as he woke, bolting upright, his body drenched in sweat, burning as if he’d stood before that fire again in truth instead of only in dream.

He gripped his head with shaking hands as Cordelia’s screams echoed over and over in his head, and the guilt raked at his chest like a wild animal struggling to claw its way out.

Fuck.

It had been years since he’d had the nightmare. Decades. He’d thought the memories had finally left him alone, but the events of the day had brought it all roaring back—seeing that face beneath the tarp, and the bodies tied to the posts. If only the past would leave him alone.

If only
…

How many times had he thought those words? Those useless, fucking words.

He forced himself to lie back down even as he flung an arm across his eyes, wishing he could block out the sight. Wishing he could forget what he’d done.

Wishing, as he had a million times, that he wasn’t such a bastard.

Olivia woke fully alert as she always did, despite her eyelids feeling heavy and thick. Daylight streamed in between the gap in the drapes, a gray light devoid of sun. Raindrops pattered on the roof, a steady, windless rain. If they had to attack in broad daylight, a rainy day was best. Even the Mage would be tucked inside, working their evil.

Over the patter of the rain, she heard the evenness of
Jag’s breathing and remembered waking to the distraught sounds of his nightmare some hours ago. Over and over, he’d said
Cordelia
, the name filled with anguish.

Whoever Cordelia was, or had been, Olivia felt certain she was the source of Jag’s pain. She remembered how he’d sat up as he’d wrenched himself from the dream, his back and shoulders bowed beneath the weight of the nightmare. If she’d known him better, if they’d been closer, she might have offered him comfort. At the very least, a warm hand to the shoulder. But instinct told her the Feral wouldn’t have been pleased to know she’d seen him at his most vulnerable.

Lifting her arms high over her head, she yawned, stretching limbs that felt strong and free of Daemon venom, at last, as her mind turned to the future and the Mage battle to come. She had no qualms about taking Mage lives, for she would never forget, nor forgive, the Mage for burning the enclave of her birth to the ground, forcing them to flee into the hills that fateful, horrific night.

Especially now with the Mage losing their souls and aligning themselves with Satanan.

But the thought of going into battle filled her with equal parts excitement and trepidation. Battle posed problems for her that it didn’t for her men because her unusual strength and speed came not from the deep animal nature that still lived like a shadow inside most Therians, but from the draden. From sucking the
energy of her opponent, weakening him just enough that her skills overtook his.

In a large battle in close quarters, she had two options. One was to grab her opponent and hold on, sucking the life from him. Unfortunately, that was the only way she could direct her feeding, and grabbing hold of an opponent often proved difficult if not impossible.