Passion Untamed (3 page)

“You’re beautiful,” she murmured. “Your skin is warm as the sun. Your hair like black silk.” Her words flowed over him, as irritatingly pleasing as her touch. “The animal inside you purrs.”

Paenther froze. Dammit, he hadn’t even tried…Closing his eyes against her, he called on the magic deep inside him and tried to shift, praying his panther’s paws would be able to slide free of his shackles.

Nothing happened.

As he opened his eyes, the witch’s copper blue gaze met his. “The manacles steal your power, warrior. You can’t shift as long as you wear them.”

“How long have you known I was a Feral?”

“I knew the first time I saw you. I felt the animal inside you. Just now, I felt you call to the power he gives you.”

He scowled. “You couldn’t possibly have felt that.”

She watched him with those eyes as deep as the oceans, but said nothing.

Witch.

His body went rigid as a thought occurred to him. He hadn’t been alone. What if Foxx had been captured, too? He forced himself to look into the siren’s face, guarding himself against the tug of her beauty, steeling himself for her answer.

“How many of us did you catch?”

“Just you, warrior. Your companion got away.”

He stared at her, wanting to feel relieved yet not trusting her at all. Still, maybe Foxx
had
escaped. He would call Lyon, and they’d initiate a rescue. He hated the thought of his unbridled lust putting his brothers in danger; but knowing the others would come, that he wasn’t doomed to spend the rest of his life here, helped calm his storm-tossed mind.

His thoughts evaporated as the witch leaned over him, her dark, sleek head dipping toward his body as if she intended to take him in her mouth.

The growl that erupted from his throat was that of an animal, dark with warning, even as part of him longed for the feel of her wet tongue stroking his length. But her lips landed well to the right of his heavy erection, brushing a light, damp kiss on his hip bone.

Paenther sucked in a hard breath, sweat beading at his temples. Even that small brush of her lips sent heat rushing through his body. His arms shook as they strained against their bonds, his driving need shifting from retribution to pulling her on top of him and burying himself in her heat.

How could he want her so badly when he hated her so violently? She was a fire in his blood. A need raging out of control.

The heady musk of her arousal thickened in the air, and he knew he wasn’t the only one feeling the desire. She lifted her gaze, heat a living thing in her eyes. The woman was a potent, dangerous blend of false innocence and a siren’s temptation. His body burned to possess her again.

She bent down, her mouth trailing soft, damp kisses along his hip to his thigh, her lips inches from the base of his hard, throbbing shaft. He wanted her to touch him, to take him into her mouth with a need bordering on desperation. But he would never admit it. Never.

What is she doing to me?

A flash of dark light near the ceiling jerked his thoughts from the pleasure arcing through his body. He frowned at the dark, pulsing sphere that clearly wasn’t a lightwick. His eyes narrowed with recognition. A power orb. Scanning the ceiling, he saw others nestled high against the ceiling, pulsing with light, throbbing to the beat of his pounding heart. As if they were somehow feeding off him.

Or feeding off the passion riding him.

“You’re collecting power,” he accused.

She looked up, her lids heavy, her lips damp. Sexy as hell. “That’s the reason you’re here.”

He stared at her, unsure if her words relieved him or infuriated him more. His only purpose for being here was to fill those orbs with his lust? To be chained and petted by a beauty of a witch until he was out of his mind with wanting?

No way in hell. He knew the Mage too well to believe for a single moment the answer was that simple.

“What are you going to do with the energy once the orbs are filled?”

She raised up and sat back on her heels, shrugging delicately even as her chest rose and fell on rapid, shallow breaths. “I don’t know. It’s for Birik. All I know is that if we don’t raise enough…he won’t be pleased.” Her gaze rose to the ceiling, as if studying the orbs and measuring the results of her play. “It’s not enough.”

As one soft hand moved back to his thigh, she reached up and covered her breast, squeezing the small mound through her dress. She gasped, her back arching as her head tilted back. His cock jerked with a hunger of its own.

The scent of desire swirled around him. Heat rushed through his blood, pooling in that one part of his anatomy until he was thick and throbbing and nearly out of his head with needing her.

He struggled to turn his mind elsewhere. “Who’s
Birik?” Even his voice strained against the driving desire to feel her tight around him.

Slowly, she released her breast and lifted her hand off his thigh to rake both sets of fingers through her short hair. With a shuddering breath she said, “He’s the archsorcerer in charge of this stronghold and ruler of all who reside here. He reports to the Elemental himself.”

“And he wants the power from these orbs?”

“Yes.”

Power from passion. He’d never heard of dark power raised in such a way, but he knew little about Mage orbs. Less still about the use to which they might try to put that energy.

What if they were making some kind of weapon to use against the Ferals? The thought made him ill. What if he’d somehow become the instrument of the destruction of his brothers?

Goddess, he couldn’t live with this. He couldn’t let this happen.

She looked up at the ceiling again and sighed. “It’s enough.”

With a last featherlight pat to his thigh, the beauty climbed off the stone and walked to the door with a natural, barefooted grace, leaving him hard and distended and throbbing.

Witch.
Fury burned inside him. But as she disappeared out the portal, it took every ounce of control he possessed not to call her back.

Skye fled the cell that served as her bedroom and hurried through the passages that twisted and turned through the rock following eons of water erosion. The open areas and passages of the cavern remained in their natural state, though Birik’s extensive quarters and most of the bedchambers, kitchens, and ritual rooms had been transformed into comfortable living areas complete with furniture, carpeting, wallpaper, and more.

Only Skye lived in an unadorned cell within the rock, though she spent as little time there as possible. Most of her days she stayed outside in the woods, or wandering among the unused parts of the cave, where she headed now.

Low in her body, unrelieved passion made her
throb and ache. Regret for her part in the capture of the beautiful shape-shifter ripped at her heart.

At last she reached the dagger fields, the raw, uncleared part of the caverns where the daggerlike stones, the stalagmites, rose from below as their counterparts hung from above. The air smelled of cool, damp limestone with the only trace of lightwick smoke from the single flame that floated behind her, lighting the darkness. Few Mage ever ventured this deep into the caves. It was here she came to think when she wasn’t in the forest. Lowering herself to a small, dry patch of stone tucked into the curve of a low wall, she struggled to gather her wits, wits that had scattered to the winds with the first touch of the man’s thighs beneath her palms.

Pulling her knees tight against her chest, she buried her face in her skirt and shook. Her body wanted, it
needed
what she’d found with him in the woods earlier. That temporary, explosive quenching of the fire that had burned inside her from the first moment she’d seen him in the Market two days ago.

Birik had warned her that shape-shifters would be coming. He’d sent her to watch for them, ordering her to choose one for her own. Nothing good would come of it for either her or the shifter, she’d known that. But she’d long ago quit fighting her fate and accepted that she could never thwart one of Birik’s commands.

So she’d done as directed and begun to haunt the small human Market, waiting for her prey.
When he’d first stepped into the store, she’d felt the Earth come to a stop, as if the very air had caught its breath. Though she’d pretended to be engrossed in the magazine in her hand, she’d been excruciatingly aware of him with his huge, leather-clad body, his arresting face with the high, pronounced cheekbones and savage claw marks across his eye, and the feeling of fierce, tense control rolling off him in waves.

And when he’d turned that dark gaze on her, her knees had gone weak even as she’d been filled with a strange, shimmering joy. She’d felt herself smile even as her pulse had threatened to race away. It wasn’t until after he’d left the store that she’d realized she’d felt his animal. And realized what he was. That he was one of the very creatures Birik had sent her to capture. But by then it was too late.

At the realization, her heart had pounded as confusion clouded her mind. Deep inside, she’d known he was hers. But taking him meant Birik would have him, too.

When he’d returned the next day, he’d walked straight to her, where she’d waited at the corner of the building.

She’d been so overwhelmed by his wild, masculine presence and her own confusion, she’d said nothing, merely backed around the corner, knowing he’d follow. And he had. He’d stared at her with such hunger in his eyes. The animal inside him had leaped in greeting, rubbing itself warmly against her mind.

Walking into his arms had been the most natural thing she’d ever done. The moment their mouths had touched, passion had exploded. All thought had flown from her head as she’d drunk of his clean, wild taste, diving her fingers into his silken black hair. Time had ceased to exist, Birik and his demands all but forgotten.

She’d felt this wild need rising inside her. And he’d known it. His hand had slid beneath her skirt, between her thighs. As one long finger burrowed deep inside her, she’d felt a pleasure she’d barely been able to credit. A pleasure so intense, she’d wondered if she could die from it. And she’d wanted him as she’d never wanted another.

But Paenther’s redheaded friend had come looking for him, and she’d run.

That was yesterday. Today they’d finally mated, a joining she’d never believed possible. Without pain. Without cruelty. And she’d rewarded him for his tenderness by enthralling him, trapping him in a captivity from which he’d never escape. Now he hated her,
hated
her, with a vehemence that tore tiny strips from her soul.

Pressing her back against the rock, she raked trembling fingers through her hair, aching with regret and bitterness. He was hers, all right. Her prisoner. Her enemy.

If only she could have saved him. But if she’d sent him away, Birik would only have forced her to capture another. Birik always got his way.
Always.

She’d had to choose a Feral.

And from the moment she saw him, she’d known
this
Feral was the only man she would ever want.

Paenther’s gaze remained fixed on the door as he waited for the witch’s return. Part of him, the part that hated, never wanted to see her again. But another part of him hungered for the sight of her. For another whiff of her violet scent. And he both dreaded and craved another touch of her hands. She’d woven her spell of enchantment over him but good, there was no doubt about it.

She had yet to do anything more than touch him, but he knew the Mage. The pain would come. He’d escape this captivity more damaged than he had the last.

If he escaped at all.

His gaze slid to the ceiling, to one of the lightwicks floating high above his head. The first time he ever saw a lightwick was the day he met Vhyper. After his ill-fated attempt to rescue a beauty who’d turned out to be Mage, he’d woken in a musty, dark cellar, chained on his back as he was now.

That time, though, he hadn’t been alone.

Welcome to Hell, my friend,
Vhyper had said. His face had taken on a fierce, fervent look.
We are going to get out of this together. Do not doubt it. Do not ever doubt it.

And he hadn’t.

Paenther fisted his hands as his gaze moved from the lightwicks to the stalactites and back again. Vhyper’s words that day, repeated nearly
every day of his captivity, had kept him focused through months of torture of the worst kind. They’d kept him sane.

Now he made a similar, silent promise to his friend.
I won’t give up until I find you, Vhype. Until I save you as you saved me. Don’t ever doubt it.

But, dammit, he had to get free if he was ever going to be of any use to either one of them.

At the sound of footsteps outside the room, steps too heavy to be the witch’s, Paenther turned his head to face the entrance.

And came face-to-face with Vhyper.

His friend walked casually through the door, looking the same as he always did, his sleek head gleaming beneath the lightwicks, a single earring in the shape of a snake dangling from the lobe of his right ear. He was dressed in his usual attire of open leather vest over a bare, broad chest, the golden Feral armband curled around his arm.

Paenther’s heart lurched with triumphant relief, then plummeted to his stomach as he stared into Vhyper’s eyes. Those dark blue eyes that had always glimmered with humor and warmth, even in the direst of circumstances, lay cold. Flat.

Soulless.

The eyes of a stranger.

Paenther felt the loss like a physical blow.
What have you done with my friend?
He could only pray that the man he knew, the man he’d trusted like no other, was still in there somewhere, trapped within the dark magic and not lost to him completely.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my old friend, B.P. I must say, you’re looking a little underdressed.” Vhyper sauntered over to him, his mouth lifting into a smile that held no humor. “I knew you’d come to
rescue
me. Catching you was easy as child’s play.”

“Why are you here, Vhype?” Paenther asked evenly. His emotions were always under tight restraint, caught with the rage he battled every minute of every day.

Vhyper shrugged. “You know why.”

“Do I? All I know is Zaphene turned you against us. What did she do to you, Vhyper?”

Vhyper tugged on his earring, his brows lowering. For a moment, Paenther thought he saw the old Vhyper walk through those eyes.

“Truthfully, I’m not sure it was the witch’s doing. I think it happened the night we raised the spirit of the lion. I got bitten by that Daemon blade the same as the rest of you, but it changed me, B.P.” His eyes narrowed in thought. “It rid me of my conscience. I’m not entirely sure it didn’t steal my soul.” Vhyper grinned suddenly, the coldness like frost over his eyes. “A hell of a way to live.”

Paenther stared at him, railing at the fates.
Not Vhyper. You can’t have Vhyper!
He owed the snake his sanity. His life. Grinding his teeth together, Paenther fought back the tide of anger. The Ferals would come. He needed to learn all he could.

“Are the Mage still trying to free Satanan and his Daemon horde?”

Vhyper tugged at his earring. “Of course.”

“
Why
? How can you help them unleash that evil?”

Vhyper shrugged. “And what is evil, B.P.? Is it evil for the owl to kill the mouse?” He smiled coldly. “Depends on your point of view, doesn’t it? On whether you’re the owl…or the mouse.”

“Satanan will destroy this world.”

“Will he? Or will he simply feed from it? The Daemons were always at the top of the food chain.”

“You’re not a Daemon.”

“True. But I’m not looking for power out of this.” Again, his old friend’s eyes narrowed, something approaching confusion entering their dark blue depths. “It’s a compulsion, B.P., to free the evil.”

“The evil’s infected you, Vhype. It’s controlling you.
Fight it
.”

As quickly as the confusion had entered the shape-shifter’s eyes, it disappeared again. His grin turned malicious. “It’s not controlling me, Paenther. Nothing controls me now. Not even my conscience.” He shrugged as if he were admitting a weakness for porn. “I find I’ve developed a taste for the misery of others.”

Paenther shook his head. This wasn’t the man he knew. “Why am I here?” His gaze flicked up to the pulsing orbs above his head. “To raise power to fill those? Or something more?”

Vhyper’s smile was cold. “Depends on how much you raise.” He lifted his hand and turned. “Later, B.P.”

“Vhyper, wait. What about Foxx?” He had to know if the witch had told him the truth. Not that he could trust anything Vhyper said, either.

The man glanced back. “He got away. The witch wasn’t interested in him and by the time the other Mage realized there were Ferals on the mountain, he was already gone. But the mountain has a magic all its own. If he started up the mountain at all, he’d have been snared by the spell.”

Dread curled in Paenther’s gut. “What spell?”

“An incantation to confuse. As soon as it took hold of him, he would have forgotten why he was there, forgotten all about you until he’d driven a good long way away. By then, he wouldn’t even remember where he’d last seen you.”

Vhyper laughed. “Had you hoped for a proper Feral rescue? Not going to happen, B.P. Foxx won’t be able to lead them back here. You’ll never leave here alive.”

As he stared at the man who used to be his friend, something real moved through Vhyper’s eyes, a glimmer of warmth. A hint of pain. A glimpse of the friend he’d known for so many years.

It was there and gone in an instant, swallowed by the evil. But Paenther’s pulse began to pound. He knew what he’d seen. The Vhyper he’d give his life for was still in there. Subjugated to the darkness, but not lost. Not completely.

“Vhyper,
fight it
.”

“There’s nothing to fight, Paenther,” he said coldly. “There’s no one here who will help you. You have a role to play, just as we all do.” Vhyper’s
eyes began to glitter. “It’s going to be amazing, B.P. Things are going to happen you won’t believe. And you won’t want to miss. You’ll have a front-row seat, old friend. I’ll make sure of it.”

Vhyper turned and walked out the door.

“Vhyper!” Paenther strained against his shackles, rattling his chains on the rock until his body was damp with sweat, and the coppery scent of his own blood coated his nostrils. Desperation, fierce and terrible, vibrated through his body as he fought to free himself with every ounce of strength he possessed.

Foxx was safe, but unless both Vhyper and the witch had lied to him, he wouldn’t be leading the others back here. Paenther was as lost as Vhyper unless he could somehow find a way to reach his friend beneath the cold eyes of the evil that had ensnared him. Unless he could find a way to free them both.

He remembered thinking, after the witch Zaphene infiltrated Feral House, turning Vhyper, that things couldn’t get much worse. He hadn’t had a clue.

Now he was caught in trouble as deep as the blue of the eyes that had ensnared him. And he had a bad feeling this trouble had only begun.