“He’s my brother.” Paulina’s misery was all the more pronounced by the terrible lack of emotion in her words.
Faith knew the girl couldn’t have seen him since she was thrown out two years ago. Her heart broke for Paulina, her determination to help her find a better life hardening inside her. “I waited on a lady at the diner last night,” Faith said casually. “She works at the art academy.”
Paulina’s pen stilled.
“I showed her the sketch you gave me, of the kids in the park.” Faith opened her orange juice and took a sip, letting her words sink in. “She wants to meet you.”
Paulina’s head snapped up, angry blue eyes shadowed with raw vulnerability pinned her. “Meet me? To do what? I’m a whore!”
Dammit.
Her own temper flared. “It’s not like you chose this life!” She hated that these girls were victimized, then reviled for it. It was so unfair. “That’s not all you are, Paulina. You’re a girl, too. And according to that lady, a talented artist.”
Paulina’s expression didn’t soften. “You had no right to show her my picture!” She grabbed her orange juice, leaped from the bed, and stomped out the door, slamming it behind her.
Faith sighed. Getting past Paulina’s defenses was going to be a challenge. Not that she hadn’t run into girls like her before. They were the ones she most often targeted. Unfortunately, she failed with them as often as she succeeded. Bitterness that thick often made it impossible for them to ever see themselves as anything more than the prostitutes that circumstances had made them.
Maria turned to Faith with wide eyes too old for her face. “She wants it too much, you know. To be an artist. It’s better not to want anything.”
Faith turned and leaned back against the stained wall. “That’s what I used to think, too.”
Maria scooted over to sit beside her, dropping her head against Faith’s shoulder. “What do you want, Faith?”
What did she want? To help these girls. And then others in another city. And others after that. That was all she’d ever wanted.
But was it really? In a strange way she envied Maria because Maria believed she was loved, even if it was only by her pimp. And Faith couldn’t say the same.
It’s better not to want anything.
She’d long ago learned it was true.
F
aith pulled her sweater closed against the evening’s dampness as she walked home from work. It had rained earlier, driving a lot of street traffic into the diner, and she’d wound up having a lucrative, if busy night. The tips from tonight alone should be enough to buy food for another week, all of which she’d share with Paulina and Maria. Assuming Paulina came back.
On the street in front of her building, she passed several of the girls she’d had no luck in befriending. As she neared the tenement’s half-broken door, she spotted a familiar form standing against a brick wall scarred by wartime bullets. Her head down, shoulders bent, her pimp at her side, was Maria.
Faith started to pass them, unwilling to do anything that might alienate her from this girl, too. Until Maria lifted her head and the streetlight illuminated her swollen and bleeding lip and the tears streaking her face.
Faith stopped, hands fisting at her sides. She might not have the power of her shifter ancestors, but her immortal blood made her as strong as many human males.
As if hearing the silent threat, Stanislov looked up, meeting her gaze. “I’ll find him. And I’ll kill him.”
Faith saw the truth in his dark eyes and knew he wasn’t the one who’d hurt Maria. Not with his fists, at least. In his own warped way, the man cared for the girl. Maybe even loved her.
Maria buried her head against the young pimp’s chest, and he led her away, leaving Faith standing on the sidewalk feeling sick and angry. And, as so often happened, confused. There were so few clear rights and wrongs on the street. Stanislov was a pimp who’d taken advantage of a young girl’s utter vulnerability. A villain of the worst sort. And yet, tonight, he was absolutely Maria’s champion. And Faith was glad for it. Tonight. Even as she knew Stanislov’s protectiveness would only make it that much harder for Faith to get Maria to leave him.
Faith sighed and was about to turn back toward her building when a man caught her eye. Walking down the sidewalk toward her, he looked like he belonged on the pages of a fashion magazine, not these streets. In his expensive-looking sport coat and white turtleneck, he looked wholly out of place. Beneath the flickering light of a streetlamp, he appeared quite tall, his shoulders broad, his hair overly long and slicked back. With a small jaw and a weak chin, his face was forgettable. But as the streetlamp illuminated his profile, the hungry, predatory look in his eyes as his gaze combed the girls on the street corner had her inner alarm bells going off.
He stopped suddenly, freezing for a harsh moment before whipping something from his inner jacket pockets. Steel flashed in the streetlight.
Knives.
Faith’s breath caught on the fear that he was going after one of the girls. But his stance turned suddenly defensive, his knees bending as if he prepared for an attack. His gaze had veered away from the girls and closer to Faith until he was staring at something just over her head.
Faith pivoted, prepared to protect herself from whatever danger approached, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to warrant such a blatantly defensive stance. Then a flash of movement caught her eye, and she saw them. Two draden, each about the size of a large man’s fist. Flying right toward her!
She tensed for the attack, strangling a cry. The humans couldn’t see them and wouldn’t be bothered by them, but the creatures she’d always thought looked like jellyfish with scary faces were the most deadly things in her world. They fed off Therian life energy and could kill her within minutes if she didn’t manage to kill them first. Fortunately, few existed so far from the Therian enclaves. She hadn’t been attacked in years.
Unfortunately, they’d found her tonight. Without weapons, her only means of defense was to reach into their bodies, through mouths lined with sharp, wicked teeth, and tear out their hearts.
Her skin turned cold. Her heart began to pound.
As the first attacked, she lifted her hand to ward him off and felt the dozens of sharp little teeth tear into her wrist, latching on. Before she could react, the stranger was beside her, stabbing one draden with his knife, then the other. As quickly as they’d appeared, the creatures were gone, reduced to puffs of smoke.
Gripping her throbbing wrist, dazed from the attack, she slowly turned and stared at the man. “You’re Therian.”
He gave a shallow bow, little more than a deep nod. “I am. As are you.” His gaze skimmed her, head to toe, his expression telling her he wasn’t much impressed.
Her pride rose, her chin lifting. She was dressed for work, not a night on the town. But as they eyed one another, something happened. A strange feeling began to bubble up inside her, a feeling of recognition.
Connection.
As if she belonged to him somehow.
The startled expression on his face told her he felt it, too. “
Who are you?
”
“I’m Faith.”
“I’ve never seen you. I did not know there was a Therian enclave nearby.”
“I’ve only lived here a few months. And I have no enclave.”
He studied her, his eyes taking on a speculative light. “You’re mine.”
“Yes.” Why had she said that? But it was true. She felt it deep inside. She
knew
it. Goddess, this wasn’t right. She shook her head. “I mean, no. I don’t even know you.”
“Destiny clearly has plans for us, Faith. It is said, one always recognizes one’s mate.”
The word stopped her cold. “But I’m not . . . you’re not . . .” Her pulse began to thrum.
Her mate?
Her trouble radar had started beeping at the first sign of him, and if not for the draden attack, she’d have given him a wide berth. Or watched him like a hawk until she was certain he was no threat to her girls.
Had she misjudged him? He wasn’t human, after all, but Therian.
Her mate.
Was it possible? The thought tantalized. As a child, she’d heard stories of the rare and wonderful mates that few Therians could hope to find. The mate of one’s heart, one’s soul. What if she’d found hers? A man who would love her without question, who would understand her as no one else ever had or ever would. The idea bloomed inside her, a burst of warm excitement and longing.
“I leave for America tomorrow. You’ll accompany me.” His tone was certain. Arrogant.
Faith’s jaw dropped. “America?
Tomorrow?
No. I can’t possibly . . .”
But he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’ve been marked to be the next Feral Warrior.”
She stared at him, surprise turning to awe. A real honest-to-goodness
shape-shifter.
Goose bumps lifted on her arms.
“Feral House is in America, now, near Washington, D.C. The Ferals await me. We’ll travel together and be mated there.”
She continued to stare at him, thoughts and emotions careening into one another, catching and tangling. It was too soon, too fast.
Her mate.
She didn’t know him.
A Feral Warrior.
She wasn’t even sure she liked him.
The animal only ever marked the best, the finest.
And the certainty remained that she belonged to him.
What if he was the one? The
one?
Soul mates came along so rarely and only ever once. If she let him walk away now, she might never see him again. She might never know . . .
“Where do you live?” he demanded. “I’ll bring a car around for you tomorrow morning.”
With a shake of her head, she stared at him helplessly. “I have . . . people . . . here.” Paulina and Maria. Girls she wanted to help, but she could hardly call them her people. It was all too likely she’d fail with both of them. Paulina might already be lost to her.
This is your chance,
a small voice inside her whispered.
You’ve spent your whole life seeking a better life for the girls you meet. Now it’s your turn.
Feral House. The home of the Feral Warriors.
Her mate.
Every girl’s dream.
The man’s jaw—
she didn’t even know his name
—tightened in frustration, then slowly relaxed, his tone turning almost cajoling.
“Come with me, Faith. We’ll not seal the mating bond until we’re both certain. But how will we know if we are meant for one another if we remain apart? And I cannot delay my flight. The Feral Warriors need me.”
The longer she remained in his company, the stronger the tug inside her grew—waves of emotions that lacked all logic, a need to please him. Loyalty. Devotion. The utter certainty that she belonged at his side.
“Yes, of course I’ll come with you.” The words were out of her mouth before her mind even made a decision.
She didn’t know the man!
Then again, she never would unless she went with him. And she’d wind up spending thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of nights alone, wondering if she’d lost her one chance at love. “But I have to come back, at least for a little while.” She refused to disappear from Maria’s and Paulina’s lives without one more concerted effort to get them off the streets and into a safe environment.
He frowned. For a minute, she feared he’d refuse her, forcing her to choose between him and the girls. Instead, he gave a curt nod and glanced at the building behind her with ill-concealed distaste.
“Is this where you live?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll meet you here at eight tomorrow morning.” Without a backward glance, he turned and started walking.
“Wait!” she called. “What’s your name?”
“Maxim.” He didn’t even bother to turn around.
“Who’s Maxim?” Paulina asked at her elbow, surprising her. Thank heavens she’d come back.
“I’m not sure,” Faith answered truthfully.
My future husband?
“I don’t like him.”
Faith looked at the girl. “Do you know him?”
“No. I’ve never seen him before.” Paulina scowled, but her expression lacked its usual belligerence. And when she spoke, her voice was low. “There’s something wrong about him.”
Faith turned and stared after the man until he disappeared from sight. Wrong, yes, but not in the way Paulina thought. Maxim wasn’t human. He was immortal and soon to be a shape-shifter. A Feral Warrior. One of the finest men the race had to offer. No matter his arrogance, she knew he must be a good man deep inside.
And the fates, the goddess, had chosen her for his mate. How could she possibly turn her back on that?
Faith took Paulina’s hand, relieved when the teen didn’t pull away. “I’m leaving for a little while, Paulina. I’m . . . going with him. To America.”
Paulina jerked her hand out of Faith’s hold, her mouth dropping open. “When?”
“Tomorrow.”
The look of betrayal in the girl’s eyes was there and gone so fast, Faith nearly missed it, but it cut her to the quick.
“I’ll be back, Paulina. In a few weeks, at the latest. At least for a little while.”
The girl whirled away. “Don’t bother!” She took off at a run.
As she stared after the girl’s retreating form, Faith’s shoulders sagged beneath the weight of guilt and the certain knowledge that she’d made a lot more progress with Paulina than she’d realized. And had now almost certainly destroyed it.
She should stay here. Find her. Try to make it right. Try to rebuild that trust and finish the job she’d begun.
But deep in her mind, a soft voice urged her to do otherwise.
You belong to Maxim.
Anticipation stirred within her at the prospect of accompanying him to Feral House, of meeting the Feral Warriors. But it was the thought of having someone who cared about her, who loved her, that made her eyes sting with tears and her heart ache with longing.
You belong to Maxim.
Already, the mating bond was forming, growing. There was no denying it. No fighting it.
And, goddess help her, she didn’t want to.
H
awke lifted a bare forearm and swiped away a fat bead of sweat rolling down his temple as he picked up his pace on the treadmill in the basement of Feral House. He’d been down here all night, lifting weights, running, working every muscle in his body over and over again while his brothers prowled the rocky banks of the nearby Potomac River, fighting the draden that swarmed near Feral House. Exercise was the only outlet that remained for the pent-up frustration, the anger that had come to haunt his every waking moment.
Five days ago, he’d regained consciousness, escaping the darkness of the spirit trap. An escape that had been incomplete. The rage that had nearly consumed him inside the spirit trap remained, a seething anger that sprang to life at the slightest provocation. An anger that wasn’t his own, but the hawk spirit’s, as if the animal blamed him for getting them stuck down there and nearly wrenched apart.
The fury waited, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation, the faintest hint of annoyance or frustration. Then the red haze would rise, clouding his vision, and, though he’d struggle to control it, he lost more often than not. Things got broken, flesh got torn if anyone was close enough to feel the rip of his claws. And he usually ended up shifting involuntarily into his hawk. Ferals shifted at will, with ease, retaining their human minds while in their animal bodies. But that was no longer the case for him. When he shifted now, on purpose or accidentally, he tumbled back into that dark fury for hours at a time.
It was as if the hawk spirit took over, leaving him behind, unconscious, until the hawk decided to return control. Hawke came back to awareness sitting on top of a barn or high in a tree every damn time he shifted. So he was left with nothing to do but spend his days and nights working to control the rage. He was useless. Worse than useless. He was a danger to everyone around him.
Hawke turned off the treadmill and grabbed a couple of free weights, pumping iron until he cooled down.
Out of nowhere, pain ripped across his brain, slamming into the insides of his skull and crawling, like jagged fingers of lightning.
Kkkeeeeer.
The hawk screeched as if it, too, felt that god-awful pain. But even as the first blast faded, a second began, like talons raking at his brain, as if the hawk inside him retaliated, punishing him.
“I’m not doing it on purpose!” he growled at the damned bird spirit.
Slowly, the talons released their hold on his mind, the pain sliding away. The connection between him and his animal had been damaged, without a doubt, but he and his bird had never had an easy relationship. The animal spirit had always demanded a freedom Hawke had never been willing to give him. His father, the previous hawk shifter, used to say that his animal wasn’t like the cats. It needed to take the reins at times, or it got cranky. And his father had done just that, given the hawk his head, disappearing sometimes for hours, even days, on a wild flight.
For years after Hawke was marked, the hawk had demanded that kind of freedom from him, too, but Hawke had always refused. He wasn’t giving in to that kind of wildness again. Not after what happened to Aren.
The hawk spirit had never entirely forgiven him. But they’d always worked together well enough. Until the spirit trap. Now Hawke was beginning to think they’d become rivals. Perhaps even enemies.
Goddess help them both.
He set down the weights and retreated to the gym shower, where a spray of cold water cooled down his body though doing little to ease the frustration that had become his constant companion. As he dried off, the sound of footsteps on the stairs reached him—a Feral’s tread accompanied by a lighter, more feminine step. Kara’s, no doubt. She searched him out at least twice every day.
Moving quickly, he pulled on a clean pair of sweatpants before she reached him. Not that he really needed to. Half the Ferals couldn’t keep their clothes on when they shifted, and all were naturally comfortable in the nude. Any woman living at Feral House saw naked males. It was unavoidable. But Kara’s cheeks still flushed occasionally at the sight, telling Hawke her human upbringing was still too firmly rooted. The last thing he wanted was to cause her, or any of his brothers’ mates, discomfort.
He met them as they entered the gym—Kara with Lyon close behind. Hawke had made his brothers promise that none of the women would come near him without an escort. And none of the Ferals had been inclined to object.
Kara, dressed in pink flannel pants and a camisole that looked like sleepwear, strode to him on bare feet, her blond ponytail swaying softly behind her, blue eyes warm with affection and concern. Sweet and courageous, she was their Radiant, the one woman in all the world who could pull from the Earth the energies the Ferals needed in order to access the power of their animals.
As Kara wrapped an arm around his bare waist, he pulled her tight against his side, relishing the feel of her warm body against his, feeding the need for touch all Therians possessed.
Lyon greeted him with a Feral handshake. “Feeling any better?”
“I am now.”
Lyon’s mouth twitched. “Don’t get too comfortable.”
Hawke smiled. “As if she’d let me.” He adored Kara. They all did. But the love between her and Lyon, their chief, was a powerful force that both awed and lifted. He dreamed of loving a woman like that someday. Or he had. Before he’d become a danger to anyone within striking distance of his claws.
“How are you really?” Kara pulled back, her gaze soft and worried. Though she worked her magic on him twice a day, giving him radiance, she’d yet to heal him.
He shrugged. “I haven’t spontaneously shifted in nearly twenty-four hours.”
Lyon nodded, twisting Kara’s ponytail around his hand in an absent gesture that spoke of deep and easy affection.
Kara studied Hawke. “Has anything set you off?”
“Frustration, but I’ve managed to rein it in before it got out of control. I’m getting better at controlling it.”
“Good. It’s a start.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “How about some radiance? The stronger you are, the better you’ll be able to control it. I hope.”
Hawke nodded. “Is it dawn already?”
“Almost,” Lyon told him. “The hunting party just got back.”
“Isn’t this the day the new fox arrives?”
“It is.” Lyon’s voice echoed with relief. “He’ll be here this afternoon.”
The last fox shifter had died only a month ago, the victim of a Mage plot to infiltrate Feral House and destroy the nine Feral Warriors. When one shifter died, the animal spirit flew to the strongest Therian with that animal’s shifter DNA and marked him to be the next Feral Warrior. The Therian would find a set of what looked like long-healed claw marks somewhere on his body and he’d begin to need radiance, instinct driving him to seek Feral House and the Radiant, no matter where in the world he lived. If he failed to reach the Radiant within a couple of years, he’d die, and another would be marked.
“Ready?” Without waiting for his reply, Kara closed her eyes and lifted her arms gracefully. Almost at once, her flesh erupted in a brilliant, sun-bright glow that made the light from the overhead fluorescents pale in contrast. Outside, she’d been known to turn the backyard from night to day. Never had a Radiant been able to pull the Earth’s energies through solid structures as Kara could.
She opened her eyes and arms, reaching for Hawke with one hand and Lyon with the other. Though she strengthened them and empowered them simply by living in proximity to them, this direct line to the energies provided a jolt of power none of them ever refused.
Hawke slid his hand into Kara’s glowing one. At once, a warm flow rushed into him, a pure strength straight from the Earth itself. Inside, he felt the hawk calm and settle as if lifting its face to the sun.
For long minutes, they remained like that, soaking up the power. Finally, Kara’s light went out, and she released him, a small smile on her face.
Hawke leaned forward and kissed her temple. “Thank you.”
Her eyes met his, warm with affection. “I’ll give you radiance anytime, you know that. Whatever you need.”
Lyon’s hand landed softly on the top of Kara’s head, but his gaze met Hawke’s. “You’ve been down here all night.” It wasn’t a question. “You need food and sleep.”
Hawke’s mouth kicked up. “Everyone thinks he’s a doctor, now.”
No answering smile lifted Lyon’s mouth. “We need you healed.”
“I know,” Hawke replied quietly. The Ferals were too few against an enemy that was growing too strong. The Daemons the Mage were trying to free would prey upon humans and immortals alike, feeding on pain and fear until there was no place on Earth to escape the screams. The Ferals had to stop them.
The sound of new footsteps reached his ears a moment before Tighe and Delaney walked in.
Hawke froze at the sight of the tiger shifter and his mate.
“There you are.” Tighe’s half-naked flesh gleamed with the sweatiness of a long night of draden fighting. His short blond hair was spiked and damp, as it often was when he’d been shifting back and forth. His hand rested on the shoulder of the tall, attractive ex–FBI agent who’d become his wife. A woman who’d only recently become immortal. And pregnant with Tighe’s son.
A woman who shouldn’t be anywhere near a Feral with limited control. Delaney might be immortal, now, but she hadn’t always been, and that babe inside her could be mortal. He could kill the infant with a single rip of his claws. The horror of that thought set off the anger inside him, igniting the red coals of his rage. The red haze began to rise around the edges of his vision.
“
Get her out of here.
” He hardly recognized the low, snarling voice as his own. The tips of his fingers began to tingle with the impending thrust of claws. Fangs erupted from his gums.
Pain tightened Delaney’s features even as Tighe shoved her behind him. Tighe and Lyon captured Hawke’s arms in iron grips.
“Delaney, I’m sorry,” he growled through fangs that were more suited to a large cat or wolf but were the hallmark of all shifters. “I don’t want to hurt the babe. I
can’t
hurt the babe.”
“Hawke, I know,” she assured him. “I know you’d never hurt us.”
“
Intentionally.
” He swung to face Tighe. “Don’t let me near her.”
“Hawke . . .” Tighe’s voice was low, leaden with misery. “Buddy. You’re not going to hurt them. I’m not going to let you, and neither are you.”
“When I’m in control, no.
Never.
But I lose it, Stripes. You’ve seen it happen. I’m fighting as hard as I can to control the fury, but I keep losing. You can’t let me hurt them.” He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. He’d barely been able to live with what he’d done to Aren.
“I won’t, buddy. I won’t.” Tighe got in his face, his gaze like a lifeline, snaring him in the fierce love they all felt for one another. “You’re going to get past this. You’ll see. You’re getting better.”
But it was a lie, and they both knew it. Two weeks had passed, and he not only wasn’t any better, he was pretty sure he was getting worse. Though he was learning ways to hold on to control, when he lost it he was gone for longer and longer periods of time, until he feared that one day soon, he’d shift into his hawk and never come back.
What use was a shifter who couldn’t shift?
None. None at all.
Though no one would say the words out loud, they were all thinking the same thought. If he didn’t get any better, if he couldn’t shift, sooner or later, they were going to have to clear the way for a hawk Feral who could.
T
he Feral, Vhyper, turned the huge yellow vehicle—a Hummer, Faith thought it was called—into the long drive. There were trees everywhere, but the trees weren’t densely spaced, and she could see large homes dotting the woods in the distance on either side. By far the largest of the homes, a true mansion, stood at the end of the drive, three imposing brick stories adorned with dormers and black shutters. An awe-inspiring sight with the late-afternoon sunshine filtering down through the surrounding hardwoods, making the randomly planted azalea bushes gleam like rubies.
Pleasure stirred, and the desire to share the pretty sight with Maria pinched inside her. She hadn’t even been able to tell Maria good-bye. Often, life’s chapters refused to wrap themselves up in neat little packages. She knew that from long, bitter experience. But her sojourn in Warsaw had ended on a particularly ragged tear. Fate had thrown a wrench into the works when Maxim walked into her life. She glanced at him now as he sat in the front seat beside Vhyper, eyeing the mansion with a look that told her he was unimpressed.
Vhyper, who’d picked them up at Dulles International Airport outside Washington, D.C., pulled up in front of the house, parking the Hummer among the variety of other vehicles already there. He tugged on the snake earring that hung from one ear. “Welcome to Feral House. Home of the wildest animals in Fairfax County.”
Faith looked at him in the rearview mirror, uncertain whether he was being wry or self-important. Wry, she decided at the hint of humor lurking in his eyes. Definitely wry.
“Then I will civilize them.” Maxim’s tone made it clear he was serious. Painfully serious.
That hint of humor in Vhyper’s eyes fled, his expression turning cool even as a smile lifted his mouth. “Good luck with that.”
Faith didn’t need a formal education to recognize a rough road ahead when she saw one. She’d known Maxim only a matter of hours, but it had become increasingly clear the man was utterly without a sense of humor. Which was too bad since she had one. But Maxim was educated and cultured. A good man, or the animal would never have marked him.
Vhyper turned off the ignition and swung his long frame out of the car, a bright beam of sunlight slicing through the trees to illuminate his bald head. Faith reached for her door handle, uncertain if Maxim would insist on opening the door for her. His attention to her since he’d picked her up that morning had been erratic. One moment, he treated her like a queen with formal, old-world manners. The next, she wondered if he remembered she existed.