A Love Untamed (11 page)

Jag pulled a small lantern out of one of the packs, built a small berm around it with underbrush and dead leaves, then turned it on low, offering enough light for them to see one another but not so much that it would be seen from a distance if there really were Mage around.

Olivia pulled sandwiches out of one of the packs and handed them out. Phylicia and Melisande settled on a rock nearby, but Melisande was the only one who accepted the food.

“You don't eat?” Olivia asked Phylicia.

“I can. And I do sometimes. There are other ways Ilinas prefer to feed.” She glanced at Melisande. “Most Ilinas.”

“Pleasure,” Olivia said matter-of-factly.

“Yes.” Phylicia threw Fox a look of speculation and no small invitation.

But it was Melisande who captured his attention and wouldn't let go. He took the sandwich Olivia handed him and bit into it as he tried to keep from staring at the blonde. Legend called them sex sirens and he'd come to learn that for many of them, that was true. They fed on pleasure of all kinds—music, dance, art. Especially the pleasures of the flesh. And they were reputedly skilled and inventive lovers.

If only it were Melisande who wanted to feast on him. They'd be away from here in a heartbeat, and he'd have that trim little tunic and leggings off her so fast it would make her dizzy with delight.

Melisande rose, finished with her sandwich, and turned to Jag. “We'll take watch while you sleep.”

Jag nodded. Phylicia joined Melisande and the pair walked away from the campfire. When they were a distance away, Jag glanced at Fox with speculation. “What is it with you and the Ilinas, pretty boy? The nice one looks like she wants to devour you, and the bitch looks like she wants to lop off her friend's head for it.”

“Don't call her a bitch.” Fox's words were sharper than he intended. No they weren't.

Jag watched him with interest. “Okay.”

Olivia nudged her mate with her shoulder as she swallowed a bite of sandwich. “If you tell him you're jealous of all the Ilina attention, I'm going to have to beat your ass, Feral.” Her words held a hint of laughter and the utter confidence of a woman well loved.

Jag grinned, cupped the back of her head, and gave her one hell of a kiss. “If there's an ounce of jealousy, and I'm not sure there is, it's a pride thing, nothing more. Not a one of them holds a candle to you, Red. Not a woman on this planet. Or its clouds, for that matter.” Though it was clear they were teasing each other, Jag's expression turned intense. “Not a one.”

Olivia kissed him back, far more tenderly, then pulled back, laughter in her eyes. “Don't you forget it.” Those too-sharp feminine eyes swung to Fox. “So what's going on with you and Melisande?”

Fox shrugged. “Unfortunately, nothing.”

Jag snorted. “You just about went feral a moment ago when I disrespected her. Trust me, that's not
nothing.
What does your animal think of her?” he asked with studied indifference.

“He snarls when she's close.”

Jag cocked his head, his gaze turning thoughtful. “It's just lust then, Fox-man. I admit, we didn't think it was. Kougar says when an Ilina can't hurt a man, that male is probably destined to be her mate. We've been taking bets on this thing between you and Miss Bitch . . . uh, Miss Melisande. Sounds like I have some inside information now, because the animal spirit is usually the first one to recognize the Feral's mate, usually long before the Feral himself. And if the fox spirit is snarling, that female is not destined to be your mate.”

Fox glanced at the lantern. That was good news, of course it was. Great news. He was drawn to her. More than drawn. He was utterly and totally obsessed. But the last thing he wanted was a mate. He wouldn't take her as his mate even if she really was the one.

And she wasn't.

Great
news.

Then why did he feel like he'd just been slugged?

W
ulfe lumbered through the forest on four paws, his wolf's night vision far better than his man's. Lyon and Kougar, too, had shifted hours back, the two Ilinas accompanying them on foot . . . or floating along beside them as mist. It was impossible to know if they were making any headway this time though it had been hours since they'd last seen that odious rock formation.

Not long after they started off last time, they'd come to a fork in Estevan's scent. One path had headed northeast, the other southwest. Since they'd taken the southwest one the last time . . . they thought . . . they'd headed northeast. And so far, so good. Wulfe could only hope they were on the right track. Finally.

The night was cloudy, but alive with the sounds of crickets and night birds, and the scurrying of the nocturnal animals hunting food and one another.

It was odd to be out at night and not hunting draden. He loved being in his wolf, loved the feel of the breeze through his fur and the soft forest loam beneath the pads of his paws. If only he could lose his mind in the animal's senses as easily as his body. If only he could forget about Natalie for just a little while. Maybe once she married, it would be easier. At least then he'd know she was happy—as happy as she could ever be with her friends dead and her brother permanently missing.

And that was the real problem, he supposed. He knew how sad she was. He'd seen it for himself. And though he'd stolen her memories of that savage battle, and taken the wound on her cheek, adding it to his own gruesome collection, he couldn't take her grief.

She needed to be happy, she
deserved
to be happy. And that was the one thing he couldn't give her.

The sound of voices caught his attention, and he paused, his ears pricking up. But these voices, he realized, weren't coming to him through the air. They were in his head. And they weren't the voices of his brothers.

The Ferals?

I've lost a few.
But more Ferals come, my lord. And the originals will cease to be a problem soon.

Good. I've waited a long time for this. Hail the Daemons.

Hail the Daem—.

The voices went silent. Wulfe let out a whine.

What's the matter?
Kougar asked. In his animal, he slid silently through the forest not far ahead.

I just heard voices,
he told his fellow Feral
. Telepathically. Did you hear them?

No.

Shit.
I think one of them might have been Inir.

The cougar stopped abruptly and swung toward him, his cat's eyes glowing in the dark.
What did they say?

That more Ferals are coming. And the originals will cease to be a problem soon.

The cougar stared at him for long minutes, then finally turned away, loping after the lion.
Let me know if you hear anything more.

As they continued on, Wulfe remained tense, waiting, both wanting to hear more and not. What in the hell did it mean that the Mage was telegraphing his conversation to him like that? Had it been a mistake? Did this mean they were near?

But he heard nothing more, and a couple of hours before dawn, they rounded a corner that felt too familiar. With a sick punch to the gut, Wulfe looked up at that same fucking, idiotic rock formation.

Dammit. To. Hell.

Lyon went berserk, and it was all Wulfe could do not to join him. They'd traveled more than twelve hours . . .
twelve hours . . .
and they were right back where they'd started. They'd made no progress in finding Kara. None!

Kougar's voice rang quietly in his head.
Get some sleep, Wulfe. We'll try again in a few hours, when the sun rises
.

And they'd make another useless circle around this godforsaken mountain before winding up right back here again.

Shall we try to calm Roar?

No. Let him rage. I'd be doing the same if it were Ariana lost to me. I have done the same.

As would he, if it were Natalie. Even though they weren't mated, even though she wasn't his, if she was in trouble, he'd go crazy trying to reach her.

Somehow, they had to find a way to reach Kara.

If only that didn't seem like quite such an impossible task.

Chapter Seven

F
ox, Jag, and Olivia ate the rest of their sandwiches in silence, gathered around the small lantern deep in the mountains of West Virginia. The night-insect chorus was in full swing, the air moving and comfortable.

Jag stood up and stripped off his shorts.

Olivia's eyebrow shot up. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

Jag snorted. “Always, my love, but not yet. I want to have a sniff around just to make sure we haven't missed anything.”

Fox watched as the man shifted into the jaguar. “Do you want some help, Jagabelle?”

Keep my mate company, Foxy. I won't be gone long.

“Aye.” As the jaguar disappeared into the night's shadows, Fox glanced at Olivia sitting across from him, her red hair gleaming in the lanternlight. He rose and joined her on her log. They'd been friends for more than a century and lovers a few times, though neither had felt any emotional attachment beyond the friendship. Therians were notoriously nonmonogamous. They slept around often and freely unless they found the one meant to be their mate, which was rare.

“You're happy,” he said, bumping her shoulder gently with his. It wasn't a question. Happiness and contentment radiated from her.

Her grin was slow to bloom, but all the more breathtaking for its depth and completeness. “I am. Never in a million years would I have thought to find such contentment, especially with that Feral. He was an ass, Kieran. He had the worst mouth on him.” She laughed. “Well, he still does, but it's just habit, now, not designed to antagonize.”

“He's changed.” Fox looked at her thoughtfully. “You changed him.”

“No, that's not entirely true. He changed, yes, but much of it was his own doing, coming to grips with a past that had haunted him for too long.”

“Which he'd not have done if not for you.”

“No, probably not.” Her hand curled around his forearm. “I hope you find your mate someday. I never knew what I was missing, and it's a good thing. But now that I've found him, I wonder how I ever survived my cold, solitary existence.”

Fox lifted his brows with a slow grin. “Your existence wasn't entirely cold.”

She laughed. “No, it wasn't. And yet . . .” Her gaze turned knowing and wise. “When you find the right one . . . the
one
. . . everything that went before pales to nothing. I can't explain it better than that. You'll have to experience it for yourself, and I hope you do someday, Kieran. I truly hope you do.”

Fox hooked his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side. “You're the only one I ever wanted, Olivia.”

She laughed. “Liar.”

Fox smiled. “I'm happy the way I am. Some males are suited to mates and some are not. I'm one of the latter.”

“You're wrong about that,” she said softly, tipping her head against his shoulder. “You'd make the right woman a wonderful mate, Kieran. You'll see.”

In the darkness, Fox saw glowing cat eyes. Jaguar eyes. And he was suddenly conscious of just how close he was holding Jag's mate. He started to release her, not wanting to risk the friendship that had developed between them. But the jaguar sat back on his haunches, his stance blatantly nonthreatening.

The warmth of Jag's voice in Fox's head a moment later confirmed it.

You're okay, Fox-man, you know that? I like knowing that Olivia has a friend among the Ferals, someone who's known her for decades. Every one of the Ferals will defend her to the death, but you'll be watching her back even before the trouble starts. And if I'm not there, you'll be the first one fighting at her side.

I will, Jag. Absolutely. She's a fine, fine woman.
Fox placed a quick kiss on the top of Olivia's head, then released her and stood as Jag strode into the camp, a man once more. Their gazes met, understanding and friendship passing between them as Olivia rose to meet her mate. As the couple moved together into the shadows, Fox headed in the other direction and settled on the ground half a dozen yards from the lantern. Lying on his back, his hands beneath his head, he stared up at the clouds scuttling across the faint light that was all that was visible of the moon.

He'd heard the others say they found it far more comfortable to sleep on the ground or floor in their animals, but he'd been sleeping like this in human form for centuries and for now, he'd stay with what he knew.

He'd only been lying there a few minutes, hadn't even closed his eyes, when the premonition hit. One moment he was staring at the night sky, the next at a stained ceiling and a single too-bright lightbulb. Like before, he felt as if it were real. His arms and legs were pulled outward, spread-eagled, aching as if they'd been in this position for far too long. Cold stone bit into his hips and bare shoulder blades. He was sweating, gasping, trying to gain his breath after . . . something. Something horrendous. Pain radiated through his mind, echoes of what he'd just endured, but even the echoes were enough to make him sick.

His vision swam, clearing slowly, revealing once more a world where everything was beige and gray like an old photograph. Sepia tones.

A man walked into his line of sight, the same one he'd seen in his last premonition. Inir? A chill of dread skated over his scalp as he stared into those cold, soulless copper eyes and saw his own death.

“Good news, Feral. It's almost done. Soon, there will be no more pain. You and your animal will be separate entities, the animal spirit mine.” The Mage smiled, and it was a terrible thing. “Your animal spirit will be my greatest weapon against the Ferals, while you, of course, turn to dust.”

Like hell.
He wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but his vocal cords were too raw to make a sound. From screaming?

Just as quickly as the premonition began, it ended, and Fox found himself staring at the moon overhead as it peeked out briefly between the clouds. His pulse began to hammer. After all Inir had done to destroy the Ferals and free the Daemons,
he
was to deliver that bastard his greatest weapon?

Goddess help him. Goddess help them all.

He sat up, feeling sick to his stomach, and wondered if he should tell Jag now, or wait until morning. Someone needed to know what he was seeing.

He sensed he wasn't alone a heartbeat before Phylicia took form. “Warrior,” she whispered softly, and knelt at his side. “I can give you great pleasure if you'll let me. And I'm so hungry. I want you.”

For a moment, he ignored her, his mind crowded with the damned premonition that hinted of disaster, yet told him nothing. Maybe what he needed was a distraction.

“Where's Melisande?”

“Keeping watch. And not on us.”

“She knows you're here? With me?”

“Yes. She knows.”

It was Melisande he needed, dammit. He didn't even need to touch her, just . . . to be near her. But she didn't want that, didn't want
him,
at least not that she was willing to admit. And Phylicia did. He held out his hand to the dark-haired beauty, and she was instantly in his arms, straddling him, her hands sliding over his shoulders, her mouth dipping to find his neck.

Perfume exploded his senses, a rich, musky scent he found pleasant, but little more. If this was the legendary Ilina mating scent that was reputed to drive a male mad with wanting, it was missing the mark. No blood filled his loins.

With a groan of frustration, he gathered the woman against him, pressing his mouth against hers, seeking a passion that wouldn't come. Phylicia rocked against him, making a sound of disappointment when she found no erection to greet her.

She never would. This wasn't going to work. She simply wasn't the woman he wanted.

He lifted her off his lap and set her beside him. “I'm sorry, Phylicia. You're a beautiful woman.”

“But you've only eyes for Melisande.”

He looked at her, unable to see her eyes in the dark. “Goddess help me if that's true.”

“She won't have anything to do with you, warrior, not in that way.” She stroked his cheek, her voice sad. “Melisande has no desire in her for anyone. It would be a shame if you, of all males, turned celibate because of it.”

Celibate? He'd rather be dead.

Then again, if his visions came true, he might soon find himself exactly that.

T
hey set out again the moment dawn began to lift the night's dark cover. Fox led the way this time, in his animal, while Jag and the others followed on two feet. Fox was antsy this morning, as if he'd woken with an itch beneath his fur. Everything was wrong out here. They'd found nothing—no sign of the Mage or Kara or Castin. Nothing but more fecking mountain.

He couldn't even summon the will to engage Melisande. All he could think about was finding the way out of this godforsaken useless loop of a trail.

They'd only traveled a short distance when the blindness hit him suddenly. One moment, he was following Castin's scent beneath a dawn sky, and the next, he had no sight at all. He hoped to hell it was another premonition and not something worse, something more sinister. With a whimper, he lay down on his stomach, afraid to move forward when he couldn't see.

“Fox-man?” Jag asked.

He smelled Olivia beside him, felt her hand stroke his head, and wished it was Melisande's. “Kieran? What's the matter?”

He couldn't focus enough even to speak telepathically. And then he couldn't think at all as a scene opened up before his sightless eyes.

In the vision, he was walking down a hallway that looked to be one of the upstairs halls at Feral House. He recognized the wallpaper and the paintings on the walls, faintly lit by electric sconces. It was night. Stopping before one of the doors, he reached for the handle and turned it slowly. Quietly. Then let himself inside, closing the door behind him.

The room was huge—far bigger than his own—decorated with heavy wallpaper and dominated by a large bed draped in dark red and gold. He'd seen this room before though only from the doorway. The Radiant's bedroom. Lying in the bed was a woman he didn't know, a woman whose hair appeared, in the moonlight, to be red.

His heart clutched at the sight of this stranger in Kara's bed which could only mean she was Kara's replacement. The new Radiant.
They were going to lose Kara.

He padded quietly to the bed, but even as silent as he was, the woman's eyelids fluttered up. “Fox? What are you doing here?”

Without answering, he sat on the edge of the bed beside her. But when he lifted a hand as if to stroke her face, she jerked away and sat up.

“What's the matter with you? I'm a mated female and well you know it. Wulfe would not be happy to find you here.”

Wulfe. This woman would be Wulfe's mate?

Saying nothing, he pulled his hand away, then suddenly lunged, grabbed her, and shoved his thumb beneath her ear, knocking her out. The woman crumpled, hitting her head on the headboard with a dull thud. Lifting her, he positioned her on the bed just as she'd been when he first arrived until she looked like she was sleeping. Then he rose and opened the window. Wide.

What the hell?
It was nighttime. The draden were drawn to the Radiant's energy above all others. If they got in, they'd drain her life in minutes.

But without a backward glance, he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

“Kieran?” Worry laced Olivia's voice. The stroke of her hand over the top of his head jerked him back to the present. “Are you okay?”

He shifted into man form, then rolled onto his back, covering his eyes with his arm, shutting out the people standing over him, trying to shut out the vision he'd just seen. He was going to kill her. The new Radiant. Was
that
what the Mage would do to his animal? Turn him evil, too?

“What happened, Fox?” Jag's voice was, for once, warrior hard.

Fox sat up, blinking, and found Melisande watching him from behind the others. Golden brows were drawn in worry, a hint of compassion softening hard sapphire eyes, and he held onto that, his gaze clinging to hers, feeling it like a lifeline pulling him from the chaos of the vision, tethering him to the here and now. Slowly, as he stared at her, the confusion slipped away.

But not the despair.

“I've been getting premonitions,” he admitted, shifting his gaze to Jag. The scene played out all over again in his head, holding him hostage.
I'm a mated female and well you know it. Wulfe would not be happy to find you here.
Wait. Wasn't Wulfe the mate of the previous Radiant, the one before Kara? Could he be chosen again? Or . . .

Holy fecking goddess.

Leaping to his feet, he swung toward Jag. “How did the previous Radiant die? Wulfe's mate.” What if he hadn't been seeing the future but the past?

Jag eyed him keenly, as if he wasn't entirely sure Fox hadn't lost his mind. “The Cub killed her. The damned Mage had gotten to him months ago and cut out his soul without anyone's knowing, including him. He acted the same as always, but he was partly under the thrall of the Mage. He killed Beatrice, our Radiant, six months ago. He opened the window of her bedroom one night. The draden, of course, came right for her.”

“What color hair did Beatrice have?”

“Why?”

His patience snapped. “Just answer the fecking question, Jag. It's important.”

The other Feral held up his hands in a sign of surrender. “Red. Not as bright as Olivia's, but she was a redhead. Again, why?”

His gaze slid back to Melisande, an inner need to connect with her pulling at him. If she were his, he'd have her in his arms right now, tight against his side, her heartbeat steadying his own.

Slowly, his gaze returned to Jag's. “I think I just saw the Cub kill her. Through his eyes.”

“Shit, Fox. Has this happened before? These . . . sight things?”