Passion Untamed (14 page)

Paenther ushered Skye down the stairs, his stomach rumbling for food, his body nearly sated, his mind and heart in turmoil. The woman at his side was a Mage witch. Yet he couldn’t deny that he was starting to have feelings for her. He was beginning to honestly care about her.

And how screwed up is that? She’s my prisoner, for goddess sake.

Yet he’d discovered a surprising strength in her despite all she’d been through. A softness. A sweetness. And an achingly deep loneliness. She hungered for touch and affection and wasn’t afraid to return them. Her arms had gone around him in the shower, and she’d clung to him with a need he was certain had little to do with the body and everything to do with the soul. He’d turned around
and pulled her into his arms and held her, just held her beneath the warm spray for a long, long time. Until she’d pulled away and begun kissing his neck and his shoulders and his chest, making him hard and ready for her all over again.

He’d taken her in the shower, holding her as she wrapped her legs around his hips. As he’d pushed himself inside her for a second time, she’d thrown her head back with a sound of pleasure that had moved him more than he wanted to admit.

He’d pressed her back against the warmed tile and thrust into her, over and over, until he’d felt her inner muscles contract around him in a hard, pulsing release. As she’d gasped, he’d followed her for a second time, then stood there, buried inside her, wondering how he’d fallen so completely under her spell.

He was still wondering about that.
What in the hell am I going to do with her?

They reached the foyer, and he glanced down, unable to keep from looking at her. Yet every time he did, he felt an ache in his chest. Her scent, a blend of his own shampoo and her natural violets, wove through his body, heightening his senses, sharpening the ever-present edge of desire that never seemed to go away.

He never looked at her that he didn’t feel something strong and visceral, but ever since he found her bleeding from Birik’s curse and had peeled away his rampant distrust, those feelings had been growing increasingly warm. Increasingly deep.

She was lovely, there was no doubt about it, even in his sweatpants, pants he’d had to cinch at her waist with a belt to keep them from falling off her too-slender frame. She wore one of his shirts, a soft navy flannel he’d been known to wear draden hunting in the winter. She’d rolled the sleeves three times and they now bunched midforearm, revealing delicate wrists. She was missing shoes, but he’d have to beg a pair off Kara or Delaney. There was no way she could ever keep a pair of his on her feet.

Even dressed like a street urchin, she carried herself with the natural loveliness of a dancer.

As if feeling his gaze on her, she lifted her hand and tucked a short, stray lock of dark hair behind her ear, then turned to meet his gaze. A soft smile lit her eyes, doing funny things to his insides. Yet he couldn’t look at her without seeing the copper in her eyes. And the sight of it dug at him, cutting him with dark memories, whispering of treachery and subterfuge. Foxx had fallen hard for Zaphene. He’d been ready to make her his mate. Yet it had all been a lie. His feelings had been manipulated by Zaphene’s magic.

Even though he was convinced Skye wasn’t anything like Zaphene, every time he saw those copper rings, doubt whispered in his mind.

He forced the dark thoughts aside, determined to protect Skye from them just as he was determined to protect her from everything else that might hurt her. He lifted his hand and stroked
the back of her damp hair, and she leaned into his touch, calming the doubts.

His hand returned to the small of her back, and he ushered her toward the dining room and the scent of roasting meat.

“Are you as hungry as I am?”

“I’m not sure,” she said cryptically.

The sun shone brightly into the dining room through the wide, spacious windows, the crystal chandeliers sending ribbons of color dancing over the papered walls. Beatrice’s tastes had run toward the palatial. Nowhere was it more obvious than the dining room. The decorating of the house had always been the domain of the Radiant, but though he sensed Kara didn’t particularly share her predecessor’s tastes, she was too practical and too wise to insist time and effort be expended on the frivolous when their situation was becoming more dire by the day.

If Birik and his master, Inir, managed to find a way to free Satanan, the world as they knew it was over.

Only two men sat at the table eating from the platters of meat already laid out. Foxx and Jag. The others would join them soon enough, as soon as the scent reached the upper floors. Then again, both Lyon and Tighe had mates, now. A warm and willing female in one’s bed tended to trump food. At least for a while. And, at the moment, they were the only other Ferals at Feral House.

As he led Skye toward the mammoth table set before the windows, both men looked up. Jag’s eyes, as always, were sharp with antagonism. But so were Foxx’s. And Paenther wasn’t sure why. Until Foxx turned his gaze on Skye, and it trebled.

Out of respect, both stood and greeted him, but it was clear neither was pleased by his bringing Skye with him. And what did they expect him to do? Tie her up and take her food to her?

If she’d been any other Mage witch, that was exactly what he would have done. But she wasn’t any other. She was Skye.

He led her to the far end of the table and pulled out a chair for her, putting several chairs between her and the other two Ferals. As she sat, Pink pushed through the swinging kitchen door carrying another platter between her feathered hands. Pink was the size of a person, but her legs were those of a flamingo and her hands and face, though human-looking, were covered in pink feathers instead of skin.

The servant nodded to Paenther with friendly deference as she sat the platter on the table, but when her gaze landed on Skye, her bird eyes went cold. Without giving him a chance to offer an introduction, the bird-woman turned and headed back to the kitchen.

Paenther stared at Pink’s stiff, retreating back. Not one member of this household was willing to give Skye a chance. Was it simply because their enmity and prejudices toward the Mage ran so deep?

Please, Goddess, don’t let it be because they see the truth I’m blinded to.

He looked down at Skye. She met his gaze with a wry, unhappy twist of her lips. No, he wasn’t blinded. They were the ones who couldn’t see. His heart had never lied to him. And in Skye, his heart recognized a kindred spirit. A fighter who’d been forced to bend but had never broken. A captive willing to risk terrible punishment to keep others from suffering the terrifying, agonizing deaths they’d witnessed at the hands of the Daemons.

As Pink returned with a pair of pitchers of water and juice, he grabbed two empty plates from a stack in the middle of the table and started piling the fragrant meat on the first. His gaze swung to Skye. “Do you like pork?”

“I…” She jerked her head in a small, agitated movement. “No.”

Paenther finished loading up his own plate, set it down in front of him, then sat at the end of the table beside her.

“Is there anything here you’ll eat?”

She looked at him with misery in her eyes. “I don’t eat animals.”

Understanding flowed over him. Of course not. She was drawn to them and them to her.

“Are you connected to them even in death?”

“I don’t know. It’s probably just my imagination, but I can’t bring myself to eat them.”

As Pink set the pitchers on the table and started to turn away, Paenther stopped her. “Skye’s a
vegetarian, Pink. Do we have anything that’s not meat?”

“I just put cinnamon rolls in the oven for Delaney and Kara,” the half-flamingo, half-human servant said stiffly.

He turned to Skye with question, but the glimmer of excitement in her eyes and the fleeting smile on her lips told him all he needed to know.

“Thanks, Pink,” he said without turning, unable to draw his gaze from the beauty at his side.

“You like cinnamon rolls,” he murmured, his own lips turning up.

Her swift nod and widening eyes pleased him. “I haven’t had one since I was a child.”

He cut a bite of meat. “Forgive me for eating in front of you, but…”

She shook her head. “Eat.”

As he dug into his meal, he watched her. “What do you eat in the caverns?”

Her hands gripped the empty plate in front of her, her fingers tracing the edges. “In the summer, I eat berries from the bushes in the woods, and mushrooms when I find them. Sometimes the cook has bushels of apples or nuts brought in, and I’ll eat those. Once a month, he bakes bread. Otherwise, all there is to eat is meat.”

“I didn’t realize any Mage were exclusively meat eaters. The ones I’ve known were not.”

She shrugged. “The meat was already there.”

With a stab of empathy, he understood. “They cook your animals. The ones killed during your sacrifices.”

Her mouth compressed. “Yes.”

He remembered the way she’d stroked the creatures with loving gentleness, and the way they’d clung to her. No wonder she couldn’t bring herself to eat them.

No wonder she was so damned thin.

“The current Ferals are all predators,” he told her. “Before Kara’s arrival, Pink fixed almost exclusively meat, but Kara prefers a variety. And Pink has a soft spot for Kara. Cinnamon rolls are starting to make a regular appearance.”

“What is she?” Skye asked quietly. “Pink. She looks like an animal, yet she’s not one.”

He looked at her curiously. “You don’t feel an animal inside her like the other Ferals?”

Skye shook her head slowly. “No.”

He was sorry to hear that. “We’ve always believed her animal had been destroyed but never had any way to know for sure. I’m sorry we were right.”

“What happened?”

“She would have been a Feral Warrior, though a decidedly nonpredatory one. The flamingos were always a weak line. When the last of the warriors died, the animal leaped to the strongest of that line. Unfortunately, he entered the fetus of a baby girl. A fetus that was about to split into twins.”

“The animal became trapped?”

“Apparently. The girls were born half-flamingo, half-human. Pink’s twin was killed in hopes the animal would be free to rejoin within Pink, but it
didn’t work. She’s never believed any animal lived inside her. Apparently she’s right.”

“She can’t shift?”

“No. She is as she’s always been. She lives with the Ferals because even without her animal, she needs radiance to thrive.”

“And she needs a safe place to live out of the sight of others.”

Paenther nodded. “Yes.”

A movement in the doorway had them both looking up. Tighe and his new mate strolled into the room. Delaney wore black pants and a white shirt, a gun strapped to her waist. Her sharp, dark gaze lit on Skye with interest.

Tighe’s expression turned into a scowl. His arm slid around Delaney’s waist. “Let’s grab our breakfast and eat outside. It’s a nice morning.”

Skye looked down at her empty plate as if she’d been slapped. Again, Paenther found himself feeling bad for her. Whether or not the animosity was deserved, living with it so constantly had to be getting on her nerves. It was sure as hell getting on his.

Delaney turned to Tighe, her gaze utterly serious. “Is she that dangerous? Do you think she’ll hurt me if I sit at the table with her?”

Tighe growled low in his throat. “If I thought she’d hurt you, she’d already be dead.”

The woman’s serious expression dissolved into a smile. “Then I’ll eat in here. I’m curious about her.”

Tighe frowned. “D…you’re too damned curious about everything.” But as Delaney slipped out of his hold, he let her go. “Don’t touch her. They usually enchant through touch.”

Paenther rose as he watched the woman approach, her manner forthright and fearless, interest to the point of excitement glittering in her eyes. She reached for the chair directly across from Skye, but Tighe nudged her down one. With a roll of her eyes, she turned to Paenther and thrust out her hand.

“Good morning, Paenther.”

With amusement, he shook her hand. “Good morning, Delaney.”

As Paenther greeted Tighe in the traditional manner, Delaney took her seat, leaning forward with her arms folded in front of her. The gaze she leveled on Skye was neither friendly nor antagonistic but purely assessing.

“We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Delaney Randall.”

Paenther watched Skye meet the other woman’s gaze with wariness and a touch of vulnerability that tugged at him. No doubt, she expected more animosity. But she lifted her chin and met Delaney’s gaze head-on.

“I’m Skye.”

“Do you have a last name?”

Skye shook her head. “There aren’t enough Mage to warrant two names unless we live among the humans.”

Delaney nodded, glancing at Tighe and Paenther as they took their seats. “Same with the Therians, right?”

Tighe’s wary gaze moved between the two women, clearly reluctant to be drawn into this discussion.

Delaney’s none-too-subtle jab of her elbow to his arm elicited a grunt from the warrior and a stiff reply. “Most Therians take two names because they
do
live and work among the humans. The Ferals don’t.”

Delaney’s gaze swung to Tighe. “Then why does your driver’s license say you’re John Tighe?”

Tighe lifted a brow. “You’ve been in my wallet?”

She grinned at him. “I’m FBI. You know full well I’m snooping around every chance I get.”

Tighe hooked his arm around her neck and pulled her close for a quick kiss to her temple.

“And I’m going to have to put up with this for eternity?” His voice was low, the look in his eyes full of such love that Paenther lost the last of his doubts about why his friend had taken the woman as his mate. Tighe had clearly found his match.

“We’ve all taken John as a first name for the purposes of the licenses. Among other aliases.”

Delaney rolled her eyes. “It’s a good thing I’m on your side, now. I’m learning way too much.” She turned to Skye. “So, you’re really a witch?”

“I’m a Mage, although female Mages are often called witches.” Her mouth turned rueful. “Few of us have hooked noses with warts on the ends, though.”