“I’m not a wife. Yet.”
“You will be.” Maxim’s voice was as cold as the other males’ expressions. “But first you will need a wardrobe fit for my mate.”
Faith flinched. Delaney’s eyebrows shot up.
Hawke’s jaw tightened as he looked at her, his eyes at once hard and as warm as the summer sun. “You look lovely, Faith.”
The ring of truth in his words had her blushing. Maxim hauled her against his side, a low growl rumbling from his throat.
Tighe clasped Hawke’s shoulder. “I need a beer. So do you.”
Jaw clenching, his gaze spearing Maxim, Hawke allowed his friend to steer him away.
Delaney threw Faith a curious look before taking the hand Tighe held out to her and following the men to the bar at the other side of the room.
Maxim’s grip on Faith eased, but his arm remained around her shoulders as he started forward, leading her toward Lyon and Kara. Lyon watched their approach, his expression stony. They all watched. The room had gone silent, the atmosphere wary, as all pairs of Feral eyes followed them across the room.
“My accommodations are inadequate,” Maxim informed Lyon. “I require larger quarters.”
A scattershot of grunts and scoffs erupted around the room, but Lyon merely stared at his newest Feral with cold eyes. “Every room is the same size.”
“The Radiant’s room is far larger. More suited to my needs.”
The sounds of disbelief grew louder. Faith wished she could sink into the floor and disappear.
“He’s got to be kidding,” one deep male voice rumbled.
“Who does he think he is?” another replied.
“I’m all for giving him lots of space,” Vhyper muttered. “The whole backyard. I’ll stake him myself, and we can see how well he enjoys the nightly draden visit.”
A thinly veiled threat, for the draden would quickly kill any Therian who couldn’t shift into an animal. But Maxim ignored them all.
Lyon’s voice rose above the others. “You’re a rank-and-file soldier, Maxim, and you’re currently low man on the Feral totem pole. Until you’re brought into your animal, you’re not even that.”
Maxim’s hand spasmed on her shoulder. “And when will that ritual occur?” he demanded.
“Daybreak tomorrow.” Lyon turned away. But when he would have steered Kara away with him, she shook her head.
“Give me a minute,” Kara said quietly, and her mate obeyed her wishes, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze before joining Paenther and Skye. Kara’s eyes were full of sympathy as she met Faith’s gaze. “Do you like champagne? We always initiate new wives into the Feral sisterhood with champagne.”
Faith smiled, grateful for Kara’s attention, for the open declaration that the enmity against Maxim did not extend to her. “I’ve never had any, but I’m sure I’ll love it.”
“Never?” Kara asked incredulously, then gave a quick, self-deprecating shrug. “Then again, the only times I’d ever had it before I came here were at a couple of wedding receptions in my home town. I’m certainly no connoisseur.” She grinned. “But I do enjoy a good bottle of champagne, and the guys never buy anything but
good
champagne.”
“What animal am I to become?” Maxim asked in that imperious tone of his.
Faith looked up, wondering who he was talking to. No one and everyone, she realized. The way his head turned, he was well aware that all had chosen to keep their distance. Instead, he spoke to them like a commander addressing his troops.
“The fox,” Kara told him.
Maxim’s mouth twisted with ill-concealed disgust. “A fox is quite small.”
“The previous fox could enlarge his animal until he was as big as Wulfe,” she assured him. “He was huge.”
“The fox shifter has always been a fierce and effective warrior,” Tighe added, though his tone said he was withholding opinion on this newest fox.
Faith’s gaze, drawn by Tighe’s words, slid all too easily to Hawke, standing beside him, taking in the casual way he stood, his beer bottle dangling at his side, and the long, muscular lines of his body. Unable to resist, she glanced up, meeting his gaze, watching with fascination as the frost in his eyes melted instantly.
“A fierce and effective warrior,” Maxim repeated with a nod. “That will do.” He gave a short, humorless laugh, and said with a thickly disparaging tone, “Unlike the hawk, which is a useless animal, completely unsuited for battle.”
As growls of outrage peppered the room, Faith’s gaze snapped to her soon-to-be mate. The heat of shame rose into her cheeks, and she could no longer hold her tongue. “
Maxim.
”
The grip on her shoulder tightened in retaliation, Maxim’s strong fingers digging into the joint until she cried out. Faith tried to pull away, but though Maxim shifted his fingers and no longer hurt her, she remained tight against him, held by his viselike grip.
The low growl of a vicious animal had her head turning. Hawke. Her jaw dropped, her blood going cold.
My God
. His eyes now glowed a golden orange, the pupils engulfing the whites.
Animal eyes.
Fangs had erupted in his mouth, claws springing from his fingertips.
Faith stared at his terrifying visage with a mix of horror and fascination even as she recognized the in-between stage between man and animal.
Going feral,
she’d heard it called. Deadly, terrifying. And utterly . . .
thrilling.
Hawke took a step toward them, but Tighe grabbed him. Kougar leaped to his other side. “Easy, buddy.”
Hawke stilled, his gaze fixed on Maxim. “
Let her go.
”
But Maxim’s hold on her only tightened.
All of a sudden, Lyon was in front of them, his own face looking much like Hawke’s, with the fangs and the animal eyes. His hand whipped up to encircle Maxim’s throat, his claws biting deep into Maxim’s neck.
“
Release her.
”
The hand at her shoulder slowly disappeared, as did the man at her side. Lyon picked him up by the neck and slammed him back against the nearest wall making the paintings rattle. “You
will
show respect for your Feral brothers and every person in this house. And you will
never
harm one of the women.
Ever.
Not even your own. Is that understood?”
“Of course.” Maxim’s words gurgled with the blood in his throat as his white tuxedo shirt slowly turned red.
For a dozen seconds, Lyon held him like that. Finally, he released Maxim and stepped back, his claws and fangs receding. “You’ll retire to your room, now, and remain there until dinner at seven.”
Maxim pushed away from the wall, straightening his bloodstained clothes, his expression as haughty as ever. Raising his chin, he speared her with his gaze. “Come, Faith.”
Lyon turned to her. “You’re welcome to remain here.”
She was trembling, shaken from the violence and from seeing two Ferals in their half-animal forms. Hazarding a glance at Hawke, she found that, like Lyon, he was back to normal, having retracted fangs and claws, and watching her now with enigmatic eyes.
They all watched her, waiting to see what she’d do. If she stayed, denying Maxim’s request to stand beside him against the others, she might as well pack her duffel and go home. No man would forgive that, especially one as prideful as Maxim.
You belong to Maxim. Go with Maxim.
“Thank you, Lyon, but Maxim is my soon-to-be-mate.” Resisting another glance at Hawke, she turned and fell into step beside Maxim as he strode from the room.
She accompanied him up two flights of stairs, confused and frustrated by how right it felt to walk beside him. And at the same time, how wrong as she became increasingly frustrated with him. He was arrogant and rude. And he’d intentionally hurt her!
Although he’d been nice enough on the plane. Before they’d arrived at Feral House.
Was she being unfair to him? There was so much more to any man than the way he reacted when faced with such a difficult and unique situation—turning into a shape-shifter, leaving his home for good, becoming one of a group of men who had known one another for decades, if not centuries. Becoming a soldier when he was clearly used to being a prince.
To pass final judgment on him in the midst of such chaos was unfair. She had to give him and the mating connection time.
Maxim pushed open the door to reveal a well-furnished, if unadorned, bedchamber six times larger and a thousand times nicer than anywhere she’d lived in the past sixty or seventy years even if it was half the size of Kara’s.
Maxim closed the door behind him, threw the dead bolt, then walked across the room to the window.
“Hawke wants you.” The words were emotionless, a simple statement of fact.
“He was just being friendly.” But she knew better, she knew that the attraction between them was real. She felt it every time he came near her. And his eyes told her he felt it, too.
“He’s not getting you. You’re mine.”
Faith stared at the back of his head, wanting to argue that it was her decision, not his. Not Hawke’s. But the pull of the slowly knitting mating bond between her and Maxim said otherwise.
Maxim sighed and turned around, regret in his eyes. “I behaved badly, I’m afraid. The way he was looking at you . . .” He shook his head. “I wanted to hurt him. I hurt you instead.” He shrugged. “It was a foolish way to act. You’re a beautiful woman. They will look.” When he smiled, his expression turned almost charming. “Forgive me? I am not myself. Once I come into my animal, I will be the mate you deserve, Faith. I vow it.”
Faith watched him, her instincts jumbled and confused. “I’ve spent a lifetime rescuing girls from men who would use them and abuse them. I won’t be one of them.”
His mouth thinned, then relaxed. Slowly he nodded. “Fair enough.” But there was something about the rigidness of his shoulders and the way his right hand clenched and unclenched that told her this argument was far from over.
She was perplexed at fate’s having chosen her for this man. They were so different. He was an aristocrat, and she hung with the street kids. If she were a gambler, she’d wager they’d never make it as a couple, regardless what fate decreed. She’d wager that in six weeks, she’d be back in Warsaw trying to coax Paulina into trusting her again. Back to living alone, sleeping alone, with Feral House and her warriors nothing but a bittersweet memory.
“W
ondered where you were.”
Hawke looked up from his plate as Wulfe sauntered into the dining room, then returned to the thick, savory slices of roast beef Pink had brought out to him a short while before.
Wulfe sat down beside him and poured himself a glass of ice water from the pitcher on the table. “You missed a fun time at dinner.” He leaned back in his chair. “It’s like he thinks he’s the new general sent to lead the troops. He’s pissing me off.”
“Join the club.” At least his brothers felt the same. This would be so much worse if Maxim were genuinely a nice guy whom everyone else liked.
Hawke glanced at Wulfe. “Faith?”
Wulfe looked at him for a long moment, sympathy slowly deepening his gaze. “You’re smitten with her,” he said quietly. “I saw the way you were watching her during the reception.”
Hawke turned away, digging his fork into another bite of meat. “No one uses the word
smitten
anymore.”
“Doesn’t change the fact.”
Hell. “I don’t know what I am. Yeah, actually I do. I’m a fucked-up mess.”
Wulfe’s dinner-plate-sized hand landed lightly on Hawke’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Wings. You’re too good a guy to be dealing with so much shit. If I could take some of it off your shoulders, I would.”
Hawke met his friend’s gaze and nodded. “I know.”
Lyon and Kara walked into the room a moment later. “There you are,” Kara said quietly.
Hawke grunted. “The moment I don’t show up, everyone assumes I’ve flown the coop.”
“I had a feeling you’d decided to avoid another confrontation.” Lyon held out a chair for Kara, then seated himself. “That was a wise move.”
Hawke nodded and took another bite. Hell, wisdom had nothing to do with it. He still couldn’t shake the sight of that stunned look on Faith’s face when he’d gone feral. Or the crazed jealousy that nearly flattened him every time he saw Maxim’s arm around her. He’d
wisely
stayed away from dinner because his control had been razor-thin, and he’d feared he’d lose it completely and rip the bastard’s head off. None of the Ferals would have minded, he was sure. But Faith would have really looked at him in horror, and he couldn’t bear that.
Lightning bolted across his skull, fiery fingers crawling across the inside of his head, setting off the hawk’s angry cry.
Dammit. Enough! I’m not hurting you intentionally!
“You okay?” Lyon asked, watching him worriedly.
As the talons released him, Hawke nodded. “Fine.”
Lyon pinned him with his gaze for several seconds, apparently deciding not to press the issue. “I think it’s best if you stay out of Maxim’s path until we bring him into his animal. Hopefully, he’ll be more agreeable afterward.”
Wulfe grunted. “Do you really think that’s going to happen?”
“Goddess, I hope so.”
“Where is he now?” Hawke asked, then wished he hadn’t. The last thing he wanted to hear was that he’d taken Faith up to bed. He had no business feeling that way! She’d come with Maxim. She belonged to Maxim. But the wildness inside him vehemently disagreed.
Mine.
“The media room,” Wulfe said. “Lyon managed to elude Maxim after dinner, so he cornered Paenther.”
“Poor Faith,” Kara murmured. “She’s so embarrassed by the way he’s acting.”
“We’ll bring him into his animal in the morning.” Lyon sighed. “At least then I can put him on nightly draden-hunting duty. Maybe the draden will wear down that outsized ego of his. Before we have to beat it out of him.”
Hawke smiled dangerously. “If the draden fail, I’m first in line.”
But he wouldn’t be, of course. The moment he started fighting, the damn hawk took over. He was of no goddamn use anymore.
A movement in the doorway caught his eye. “Faith.” In the dress she’d worn during the reception—a soft, clingy, black number at once modest and sexy as hell—she eyed them with dismay and embarrassment, and a look that told him she was about to turn and bolt. After watching Lyon and him go feral earlier, he could hardly blame her.