A Love Untamed (13 page)

Polaris released Kara and turned toward the new Feral. “Hold him,” he told the sentinels.

The male blanched. “What are you going to do?”

Polaris lifted his knife and cut a shallow furrow across the man's chest, then grabbed one of his hands and forced him to slap his palm against his own bleeding chest. “Make a fist.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

When the man had, Polaris opened his own bloodied fist and placed his palm on top of the new Feral's. The other three stepped forward and did the same, one atop the other.

Polaris resumed the chant, and the others slowly followed. “Spirits rise and join. Empower the beast beneath this sun. Goddess, reveal your warrior!”

Thunder rumbled, the ground shaking as if furious at this sham. The new Feral threw back his head with a look of surprise and dawning excitement. Then he disappeared in a flash of colored lights, shifting into his animal for the first time. A moment later, an unnaturally large wolverine stood in the middle of the rock, snarling. And a moment after that, he was a man again, fully clothed, a look on his face entirely different from the one he'd worn before. Gone was the fear. In its place, evil slid across eyes gone cold.

Kara swayed, feeling suddenly clammy and light-headed.

Croc grabbed her arm, tight enough to leave bruises. “Back to your room, Radiant.”

At least if she stumbled, there would be someone to catch her. Tears burned her eyes. If only that someone were her beloved Lyon.

Lyon, where are you?

But no one answered.

M
elisande clung to Fox, her arm wrapped around his thickly corded neck, his soft hair brushing her cheek as she shattered. Emotions locked beneath the ice flayed her alive. The grief. The crushing guilt. Pain.

Only the panic had eased, lessened momentarily by the strength of Fox's arms. Her thudding heart merely raced now, the terror no longer trying to claw its way out of her throat. But the white fear was far from gone because she couldn't mist. She couldn't defend herself.

Trapped.
Again. The last time . . .

Memories rose up, and with them a terror that stole her breath. She felt weak, sick at her stomach. She had to mist, had to escape. She would not be captured again!

“You're safe, Mel,” Fox said quietly against her temple.

“If the Mage find us . . .”

He pulled back, forcing her to look at him. Too close, his sky blue gaze gripped her, forcing her to hear him, to believe him. “I won't let anything happen to you, I promise.” Pain radiated through those eyes, his jaw tensing.

“I'm still hurting you. My energy.”

His mouth twisted ruefully, and she found herself admiring the strong curve of his jaw and its light dusting of golden beard stubble. “Your energy isn't all pleasure this time, that's for sure.” That stubbled chin brushed her temple. “But it's not your fault.”

It was the fault of the Mage and their warding. But his low voice soothed, and she found herself holding on to him harder, his warm, masculine scent wrapping her in a sensual cocoon that almost . . . almost made her feel safe.

But safety of any kind was an illusion.

The emotions tore at her, and she struggled to contain them, to control them. She couldn't live with them, not this way. Not this way. Too much.

“Bloody hell,” Fox muttered.

Melisande opened her eyes, peering in the direction he was looking and stilled, stunned as she stared at the beautiful lake far below, sparkling beneath the sunny sky.

“What's the matter?”

“This is the way we came.”

She frowned. “There was no lake the way we came.”

“Precisely.”

“Are we lost?”

“Not lost, no. I have an excellent sense of direction, and I know exactly where we should be. It has to be more of the mountain's magic.” He turned his face, once more brushing her temple with his stubbled chin. “I'm going to put you down. I want to take a look around and try to pick up our trail. I need to shift.”

He lowered her to the ground atop a soft bed of leaves and moss beneath a tall oak. But the moment he released her, she began to shake again, the panic crawling up her throat. What if the magic swept him away?

“Mel?” he asked worriedly.

“I'm fine,” she snapped.

He eyed her for a moment more, then nodded. “I won't be out of your sight.”

In a flash of sparkling lights, he shifted, then began sniffing, moving slowly away.

Melisande clutched her knees to her chest, shivering from a cold that burrowed deep inside of her as if the shards of shattered ice were rising to the surface. Phylicia's face, her death mask, blazed across her mind, searing her with loss and a fury too deep to voice. Ever since that first alliance between Ferals and Ilinas a thousand years ago, the Mage had been determined to destroy the mist warriors. They'd taken one, now. And what of Ariana and Brielle? Would Jag reach them in time to warn them, to keep them from suffering the same fate?

Fear for them pressed down on her until she could hardly breathe, until she felt as if a Feral stood on her chest, crushing her.

She struggled for control, struggled to feel nothing, as her gaze followed the huge red fox. Finally, he shifted back to human form. As he started back, Melisande pushed herself to her feet, then sank back down when her legs refused to hold her.

A moment later, Fox was at her side, gripping her arm carefully. His brows drew down, the back of his hand pressing against her cheek. “You're like ice.” Without a moment's hesitation, he sat beside her and pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his thick warm arms around her. Palming her head, he pressed her cheek to his shoulder.

Her warrior's pride demanded she push him away. Instead, she shuddered with relief and curled into his warmth.
For just a few minutes,
she told her pride.
I need this.

“You're still shaking like a leaf. You're in shock, Mel,” he said quietly. “You can cry you know.” His nose nudged her forehead. “I won't tell.”

She almost smiled. “I don't remember how to cry.” As the moments passed, and she soaked in the warmth and strength of Fox's arms, her tremors slowly calmed. But as her own tension melted, she began to feel his. Not a warrior's alert tenseness, but pain.

“I'm still hurting you, aren't I?”

“Your energy is, aye.”

“You should have gone with Jag and Olivia.”

The hand palming her head began to move, stroking her with a care that felt alien . . . and disturbingly sweet. “I would never leave you here, alone and defenseless.”

She pulled back until she could see his face. His brows were pulled together, small furrows of pain between his eyes.

“Would you have left Phylicia if I'd been the one who'd died?” she asked.

He was silent for a moment, his hand sliding down her braid, curling it around his hand. “No. I would never abandon any female like that.” The truth of his words shone in his eyes. “Or any male, for that matter.”

“Why do you have to be so damned honorable?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Do you wish me dishonorable?”

“I could dislike you easier if you were. You're a hard man to hate, Feral.”

“Thank you. I think.” He tugged gently on her braid. “You're no longer shaking.”

“No. But I'm still blasting the energy. It's weakening me.” She frowned. “I don't know how to shut it off.”

“Hopefully, it will stop on its own. I'll carry you until you're stronger.”

“I think I can walk, now. Did you find our trail?”

His jaw tensed. “No. The trail is gone, both forward and aft. It's as if we misted into this spot.”

“That's impossible.”

“Aye, but it's a fact. We're not where we were.”

Cold dread trickled down her spine. “Then where are we?”

He shook his head. “I've no bloody idea.” Lifting her off his lap, he rose, then pulled her to her feet beside him, keeping his arm around her.

Her legs wobbled but managed to hold her this time, her body's healing abilities fighting the weakness. Pulling away from him, she met his gaze. “I can walk.”

He held out his hand to her, his blue eyes glittering with a fierce protectiveness. “I want you to hold on to me and not let go. The mountain is fecking with us, and I wouldn't put it past it to try to separate us.”

She'd had the same thought and took his hand without hesitation. His warm fingers closed firmly around hers, and she breathed more easily. What was he doing to her? He was a man, a shifter, and she had no business trusting him. None at all.

Except she did.

But there would be time to think about that later, when they weren't in quite so much danger. When she could mist again and no longer needed him. Her plan to keep him at a distance had failed spectacularly.

“If we don't know where we are, then we don't know where the warding is,” she murmured.

His jaw clenched. “No. Hopefully it's nowhere near here.” Hand in hand, he led her up the hill, the opposite direction they'd been going. She managed to keep one foot in front of the other though the effort cost her. She was so damned weak.

Melisande had no idea how far they'd traveled when, once more, all hell broke loose. Something hit them, hard, and they were flying backward, their hands coming unlinked.

Pain screamed through her body, a hundred times worse than before. Fire licked up all around her.

They'd hit the warding
.

Again.

Chapter Nine

“M
elisande!”

Fox shifted into his animal right where he landed, leaping at Melisande, covering her as he had the first time he'd run her into the warding.
Bloody hell.

She was engulfed in flame.

Terror ripped through his mind, a terror that he wouldn't be able to save her, even as blazing agony tore through his body nearly short-circuiting his brain. Beneath him, Melisande screamed.

Don't you dare die on me, angel. Don't you dare.

The unnatural fire seared his nerve endings, right through his fur, until his animal whimpered, until he wanted to howl.

Mel, we're too close to the warding. I've got to move you.

She didn't answer, and he realized she'd gone still beneath him.
Just as Phylicia had moments before she died.
His heart seized. Panic clawed at his mind. Should he continue to cover her and hope the fire went out, or try to move her? And if he did try to move her, which direction? He wasn't even sure where the warding was, and if he pulled her through it again, it was all over.

It might be already.

Goddess, goddess, goddess.
If only his gut would give him a clue. He turned his frantic mind inward, searching for some sign, and got nothing. But his instinct was to stay put and continue to blanket her with his monster fox form as he had the last time.

His heart pounded, fear ripping a hole in him as he pressed his fox face against Melisande's flesh, praying,
praying,
he'd covered her in time. He couldn't see the flames and had no idea if they continued. All he knew was that the pain continued to sear him alive, on and on and on. At least she'd fallen unconscious and wasn't suffering.

Finally,
finally,
the searing heat began to ease away. Beneath him, Melisande's chest continued to rise and fall, her heart beating steadily against his own. He made a whimpering sound in his fox's throat, his muscles going lax in relief.

Thank the goddess.

He had to get her out of here. If only his intuition would tell him in which direction lay safety. Lifting himself up slowly, he looked down at her through his fox's eyes, relieved to the depths of his soul to find no hole in her chest. The damage to her had already healed. Even her clothes appeared barely singed.

Backing off her, he turned away, nosing in every direction, seeking the warding. There. The buzz zapped his nose no more than three feet from the soles of Melisande's boots. He followed it a couple of yards in both directions, needing to make sure, then shifted back into human form and lifted Melisande into his arms. Tucking her tight against his chest, he strode hard and fast in the opposite direction. He couldn't get her away from that deadly energy fast enough.

But as he strode across the forest floor, suddenly everything changed. Stone walls appeared out of nowhere, thirty feet high, at least fifteen feet long, as if he'd walked through an invisible portal into another world.

What the hell?

He tried to back up and return to the forest, but instead he slammed into stone. The walls hemmed them in on all sides.
Impossible.
High above, blue skies peered down.

He'd walked them into a bloody prison.

This was
not
possible. His heart began to thunder in his chest.

In his arms, Melisande stirred, her eyes fluttering open, then snapping wide as she struggled to pull herself up.

“Where are we?” she demanded, groggily.

“I've no bloody idea.” Pulse pounding, he set her on the cobblestones at his feet. “Wait here.”

She snorted. “It doesn't look like there's anyplace to go.”

He strode forward, slamming his palms against rough, cool stone liberally covered in soft moss. “It appears to be real,” he muttered.

Melisande pushed herself slowly to her feet. “You thought it wasn't? How did we get caught in here, anyway?”

She swayed, and he rushed back and grabbed her arm, steadying her. With surprise, he realized he felt no pain.

“You've stopped blasting energy.”

“Yes.” Confusion clouded her eyes. “We hit the warding again.”

“Aye.”

Sapphire eyes lifted to his. “You knocked me down. I don't remember anything after that.”

“There's not much to remember.” She seemed steadier, if still in shock. He released his grip on her, running his hand lightly up and down her tunic-clad arm instead. “I picked you up, carried you away from the warding, and here we are. I saw this place appear out of the corners of my eyes between one step and the next.”

Fear bolted through her eyes. “Magic, then. When we hit the warding, we must have ended up inside it.”

The thought chilled him to the bone. If the magic could displace them, it could certainly toss them into this prison. Just where the Mage wanted them, where they could slaughter them like pigs.

No bloody way.

He tugged on a springy lock of golden hair that had pulled loose from her braid. “We'll get out of this, Mel.” But he wasn't so sure, and the look she gave him told him she knew it. And agreed.

“It's too bad you can't shift into a bird,” she muttered, then turned toward the nearest wall, kicking and pushing, running her hands along the stone as if looking for a fingerhold that might allow her to start climbing.

There was no doubt in his mind she was still in shock, yet she'd pulled herself together, and he admired her for it.

Joining her, he, too, sought a loose stone or a way out, but nothing moved, and the wall was too tightly built to allow for climbing. Inside him, anger sparked, frustration growing until he found himself growling low in his throat, until he feared his claws and fangs were about to erupt.

Bloody fecking hell.

He had to get control. Or instead of protecting Melisande, he was going to wind up hurting her.

A
s they beat helplessly at the stone walls, as escape appeared less and less likely by the moment, Melisande fought back the panic that once more stalked her. Deep within her mind, the screams began to rise, and she pushed them away, struggling to build a mental wall or a box, anything to keep them away from her, to keep them buried. So many emotions. How had she ever lived beneath the onslaught of so much
feeling
?

Slowly, she managed to force the emotions into an imaginary box where she locked them up tight, then prayed she could keep them there, keep them silent, or she didn't know how she'd function at all. As it was, she had more than enough to deal with. With the return of her emotions came the memories, a flood of them. Miserable memories, filled with pain and grief. Raw, even after centuries.

Being unable to feel had allowed her to be strong, so incredibly strong. She'd been able to do what had to be done to protect her queen and her race. Feelings—compassion, sympathy, pity—invariably got in the way of that. She did not want to be the woman she'd once been, softhearted,
weak.
She liked being the warrior, liked being untouched emotionally by what went on around her.

The emotions were back now, in all their miserable color. Most of them, at least. But she would go cold again, once she found Castin. As long as she didn't allow Fox to soften her more.

She watched him beat at the stone, then run at it, full speed, ramming it with his shoulder. Bone crunched and he grimaced, then returned to his starting point and ran at it again. Over and over, he hit the wall until his shirt was bloody, until the sounds coming from his throat were more animal than man.

He whirled on her suddenly, the fangs dropping from his gums, his eyes turning to yellow animal eyes.

“Fox?”

She swallowed as she stared at his fearsome visage, at the wild male trapped within the stone walls with her, a shifter gone feral, half-out of his mind with the need to tear something apart.

And she was the only thing within reach.

As she watched the fury and struggle war in his eyes, her old gift raised its head once more. The need to ease the torment of others. The last time she'd felt it, when Fox went feral in the woods, she'd ignored it. Calling forth her gift was not something she wanted to do if she sought to turn back the tide and return to the cold warrior she'd been for so long.

But it didn't appear that she had a choice. This time he didn't have Jag to fight, and an out-of-control shifter was the last thing they needed. Especially if he started turning those claws on her.

As she started toward him, he shook his head.

“Stay back,” he growled around those fangs.

“I'm not seeking to fight you, Feral,” she said calmly, evenly, staring into those savage eyes. Though they looked more like cat than fox eyes, she was prepared for that. She knew from experience that all shifters, except the vipers, looked the same in this half form, allowing them to fight as equals whether bird or tiger, gazelle or wolf.

“I'll hurt you, Mel!”

“No, you won't.” She approached him slowly, carefully, nerves snapping despite her outer calm. “I trust you, Kieran.”

His eyes flashed with surprise at her use of his old name, distracting him long enough for her to slip in close and lift her hand to his face, her palm against the soft golden stubble that covered his jaw.

He was shaking in his fight for control, but she called on her gift, wondering if it would even come to her after all this time, especially when she had such mixed emotions about using it. At first, her gift failed her. Though she'd begun to feel it stirring deep inside of her, trying to awaken, it was buried deeper than she'd realized. But she closed her eyes and reached down. As she touched that gift and began to pull on it, her hands against Fox's cheeks slowly began to warm and she felt a softening inside her, a need to help him that she didn't want.

The moment the tension began to seep from Fox's arms and shoulders, she snatched her hands away. Stepping back, she watched as his fangs began to recede, as his eyes changed back from animal to sky blue. She'd done it.

Fox released a shuddering breath, reaching for her and taking her hand. “What did you do?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“You stole the fury.” He lifted her hand and began to pull it toward his mouth as if he meant to press a kiss to her palm.

She snatched her hand away, glaring at him. “We need to get out of here.”

Fox watched her for several moments more, as if trying to decipher her lightning mood swings, then nodded, once, decisively. But frustration once more leaped into his eyes.

They'd tried. There was no way out.

“You still can't mist?” he asked, running a hand through his hair.

“If I could, I wouldn't still be here,” she snapped.

He glanced at her, his expression turning wry. “If you could mist, would
I
still be here?”

She cut her eyes at him, her temper sliding away. “Tempting as I might find it to be rid of you, Feral, no. I won't leave you behind.”

He smiled at her, a quick grin that lit up his face, stealing her breath, and sending the butterflies to flight in her chest.
By the mist,
his smile flipped her end over end, leaving her with no memory of which way was up.

Wrenching her gaze from his far-too-handsome face, she stared at the stones with consternation, trying to catch her breath. “Sometimes shifters can breach warding in their animals when they can't get through in human form,” she murmured.

“And if I get out, what happens to you?” He reached for her, tugging lightly on her braid. “I'm not leaving you behind, either, angel. There's got to be . . .” A funny look crossed his face.

“What is it, Fox?”

“My gut.” He turned and strode to the far corner, bending low and reaching his hand straight through solid stone.

Melisande gasped. “So it isn't real.”

“Most of it is. Or, at least, it's solid.” But when she joined him, he held out a hand, holding her back. “Let me test it first. There could be more warding.” On his hands and knees, he pushed his arm through up to his shoulder, then pulled back. Meeting her gaze, triumph leaped in his eyes, satisfaction pulled at the corners of his mouth.

And it was all she could do not to stare at those perfectly sculpted lips.

Reaching out like a blind man, he slowly determined the edges of the passage he couldn't see, then dipped his head beneath and looked through.

“Bollocks,” he muttered and pulled back again. “It's a way out of the prison, but it's no escape. We're definitely in some kind of game. Test it first before we go through.”

Without hesitation, Melisande knelt beside him, brushing his hard chest with her shoulder as she pushed her hand slowly into the invisible void. Nothing blocked her way or caused her any alarm, so she scrambled through the opening. Pushing to her feet, she found herself within a long passage lined by two stone walls, as high as the prison's, which appeared to run parallel to one another for as far as the eye could see in either direction.

With a grunt, Fox crawled through after her, then rose to stand beside her. “This place is one big mind fuck.” He pulled one of his blades out of his boot.

Melisande curved her hand around her sword, and together they started off, shoulder to shoulder, her back and muscles tense with the knowledge that Mage could jump out at them at any moment, without warning.

But not twenty yards in, another path suddenly appeared on the left.

They exchanged wary glances. Fox shrugged, and they followed that path instead—a path that turned at right angles every ten to twenty paces, the stone walls remaining perfectly uniform.

“It's a labyrinth,” she murmured, a trace of fear scuttling up her spine. “We could be lost in here forever.” And hadn't Paenther warned of just that? People disappearing. And perhaps not victims of Mage violence at all, but simply lost in the maze.