Rapture Untamed (19 page)

“You do, Jag. You’re a good man. A strong, courageous, honorable, and good man.”

She felt him stiffen and stroked his back, feeling an overwhelming need to ease him, to free him from the past that had him so firmly in its claws. A past filled with a horrible guilt somehow centered around his mother.

“Tell me about Cordelia, Jag. Tell me what happened to her. Please?”

He jerked, a small flinch, but he didn’t roll away from her in anger, as she half expected. Little by little, the tension drained from his limbs, and he began to talk, his words tight and emotionless.

“I discovered sex when I was fourteen. With human girls. My mother had a fit when she found out, of course, forbidding me to go to the village. And being the good son that I wasn’t, I ignored her and continued to sneak out. This went on for a couple of years. When I was sixteen, she’d finally had enough. One day, she
followed me, bursting into the barn where I was in the middle of a hot little tryst. She ordered me off the girl, and I ignored her, of course. I was young and crazed with lust, and I don’t think I could have pulled out if I’d tried. But I didn’t try.

“Cordelia was…demanding. Not just with me, but with everyone. And it infuriated her when I didn’t do her bidding, which of course just made me ignore her more. That day, she grabbed me and tried to pull me off the girl. I was still a kid, but I was already strong. I pushed her away and she fell against the wall. I don’t know what she hit—I wasn’t paying attention to much except getting off. But a moment later, I heard the angry shout of a man, figured I was about to get caught by the girl’s father, and pulled out. But when I stood up, I realized the situation had changed. Four men had rushed into the barn, drawn by Cordelia’s yelling, no doubt. But they weren’t staring at the girl or me. They were staring at Cordelia, their faces turning pale as I watched.

“It was then I realized Cordelia had blood running down her cheek, dripping from her chin. And no cut, of course. It had already healed. They’d watched it heal.

“This was 1677 and witch phobia was running rampant among the humans. One of the men ordered the others to grab her, and though she struggled, they overpowered her. My traitorous little lover yelled that I was her son, that maybe I was a witch, too. I denied it.”

He went silent, a shudder tearing through his warrior’s body. “I denied she was my mother.” His voice came close to cracking.

Olivia brushed her cheek against his chest, holding him tighter. She doubted he was even aware that his own arms had tightened, that his hands had begun to shake.

“They dragged her out of the barn and to the square, where they bound her to the stake with iron manacles and set her on fire. I ran. I didn’t return to the enclave until almost nightfall and by then it was too late for anyone to go to her. If the fire hadn’t already destroyed her, the draden would. The men of the enclave retrieved her body the next morning just before sunrise.”

Jag’s body went rigid. In a single move, he pulled away from her and stood up as if seeking escape.

“Enough of my happy childhood.” He strode into the bathroom and closed the door, and she heard him turn on the shower.

Olivia hugged his pillow to her, aching with grief over his pain, and with guilt for drawing it all to the surface again. He blamed himself, in some ways rightly. Yet he’d only been a kid, and it had all happened so long ago.

But how could she ever help him see that? He’d been living with that guilt for more than three hundred years.

As she lay there listening to the sound of the shower, she feared she was in danger of falling in love with him, with a moody, difficult, mercurial man. A man she knew deep in her heart would end up hurting them both.

The night was cool and clear, the breeze light as Jag stood beside Olivia deep in the woods, his arm tight around her shoulders. He felt the fine tension in her body as she tilted her face to the breeze, waiting for the draden. There was a sadness about her. A melancholy left from the pyre ritual. A short while ago, in the ritual room beneath Feral House, they’d sent Niall’s spirit off in a blaze of mystic fire.

But his jealousy was gone, lost in their lovemaking and the knowledge that she’d feared for him as much as he had for her.

She’d pulled her bright hair back and secured it in a casual knot, leaving her lovely features drenched in moonlight. Gazing down at her, his chest ached.

“I feel them,” she said softly, looking up to meet his gaze with warm eyes alight with hunger and excitement. “Dozens of them. Maybe more.”

A tendril of fear skated down his spine at the thought of her attacked by so many draden. He’d feel better if they were hunting with the other Ferals upriver, but of course the others couldn’t know what Olivia could do. What she was.

“Liv, I’m not sure about this.”

“I am. I’m starving, Jag. I’ll be fine.”

“The Hummer’s just through those trees if you need it. It’s unlocked.”

She lifted up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for worrying about me.” Her words were soft, but no less heartfelt for their quietness.

Her arms went around his waist, and she pressed her cheek against his bare chest as he pulled her close. He’d stripped down as soon as they got out here, ready to shift when the moment came.

They stood like that, locked in one another’s arms, until he saw the dark blotch against the night sky that never went completely dark thanks to the light pollution of nearby D.C.

“They’re here, Red.” He kissed her hair. “Be careful.”

“You, too. If I start draining you, move away.”

“You can feed from me even in my animal?”

“I’m almost positive. I’ve fed off creatures before when there were no people or draden around.”

They pulled apart and he shifted into his full-sized jaguar, watching with cat eyes as she pulled two six-inch knives from inside her ripped leather jacket.

The cloud grew closer, not as big as some he’d seen lately, but a good-sized swarm, nonetheless.

His gaze went back to Olivia, and he saw the quick trace of fear that tightened her features.

What’s the matter?
he asked sharply. She’d sounded so sure she could handle this.

“Nothing.”

You’re afraid.

She glanced at him with surprise. “No. I’ve done this a thousand times.”

You’ve never done this. You’ve never taken on a swarm this size, have you?

“Once.” A small tremor went through her. “The night my mother died. The night I was turned. I don’t know how many there were, in truth, but it seemed like thousands.”

He heard the pain in her voice, a pain so old, yet living inside her as sharp as if it had just happened. Some things you never forgot. He knew that all too well.

I’m sorry, Liv. Sorry you had to go through that.

She nodded, her face turned toward the approaching draden cloud. “Life is what it is, Jag. You choose to deal with it, or you don’t, but it is what it is.”

Her words pricked at him. He dealt with it just fine.

As Jag watched with gut-wrenching dread, the swarm
descended on her. Without hesitation, he attacked, snapping his cat’s jaws around draden after draden, sucking their tasteless hearts down his throat, destroying them in puff after puff of smoke.

Olivia could have simply stood still, sucking the life from the mass around her, but she didn’t. With fascination, he watched her fight them, digging out their hearts with her knives. She was magnificent, twisting and stabbing, moving with a dancer’s grace as if she’d choreographed the fight, the moon glowing on her vibrant hair.

Those draden foolish enough to bite her died almost instantly. Those close by lasted only a little longer. She was a far-more-effective draden-killing machine than the Ferals.

Lyon would be ecstatic if he could see her.

If he didn’t kill her first.

“Jag, I can feel them.” She glanced at him with eyes as filled with excitement as her voice. “I can feel each one as a distinctive life force. This has never happened before.”

A draden high above her head turned into a puff of smoke. Then another, a draden she’d touched with neither hand nor knife.

“Jag.” The excitement lit her face, turning her impossibly beautiful. “I can target them!”

She pointed her knife at the group rushing toward her, filling in for those who’d already died. Like a conductor marking beats, she flicked her wrist, pointing at each, one by one.

One, two, three, four.

Puff, puff, puff, puff.

“I feel like I was blind and can suddenly see.” She grinned at him, the smile illuminating her face. A fist contracted around his heart even as his chest swelled and swelled and swelled.

Strong, beautiful, precious girl.

Mine.

He sat back on his haunches, watching her with fascination, sharing her excitement. She didn’t need him for this. She was a master, a virtuoso directing a symphony of massacre.

The little fiends died by the dozens, but the rest kept on coming, unthinking, drawn to her Therian energy, to their primary source of food. And they, too, died.

The cloud diminished with surprising swiftness until finally, with a last puff, the draden were gone.

Olivia did a quick turn, then stopped, facing him, hands on her hips, her feet spread, her face alight with a triumphant grin.

“I’m Superwoman.”

Jag shifted back into his human form and grinned at her. “You looked like Superwoman. A one-woman draden-demolition team.”

“It’s never been like that. I’ve never been able to sense them individually. I can even…” She cocked her head, her expression turning thoughtful. “I can feel you. Your life force, bright and whole. I think…” Her
brows drew together. “I think I could feed just from you. Even if there were others around, I think I could target you alone.”

It occurred to him that her words should probably have him reaching for his knives, but she was no danger unless she wanted to be. He was as sure of that as he was of the sun’s rising in the morning. If he hadn’t been, he never would have brought her back to Feral House.

She watched him with growing intensity, as if she were studying him. “Tell me if you feel anything.”

He did, that sense of her feeding. Not painfully strongly, but not lightly either.

“You’re feeding.”

“Yes.” At once, the feeling went away. “I wonder…”

Again, he felt a buzz, but it was different this time. Almost like a light tingle of energy that danced along the surface of his skin, sinking inside him. The energy began to flow into him, into his blood, into his muscle. His senses sharpened, his mind felt clearer, his energy renewed.

He stared at her. “What are you doing?” But he knew.

“When I feed, I pull energy into me. Right now, I’m pushing it back at you.”

“I feel it. I feel stronger. Not like I’m ready to lift buses over my head, but I feel good. Rested. Ready for anything.”

Her fists dropped from her hips, and she tucked her
knives away and closed the distance between them with an air of elation that made her face absolutely glow.

“Do you know what this means, Jag?”

He grinned, caught up in her joy. “Not a clue.”

“It means that if I take too much from someone, like that kid at the motel, I can give it back. I can target what I’m doing. Steal from an enemy without hurting those around me. And give back to those who need it. It’s brilliant!”

He slipped his hands around her waist. “Easy, Red. It’s brilliant while it lasts. But this may be temporary.”

The brightness of her expression dimmed. “It may be. Then again, being draden-kissed has been quite permanent.”

His hands rose to cup her face. As he stared into her shining gray eyes, he was gripped by a longing so fierce, so piercing, he had to catch his breath against the force of it.

Mine.

Deep within him, the jaguar roared his approval.

He took her into his arms and kissed her like a man too long without touch. Without tenderness. And he was that man. Goddess, he was exactly that man.

Olivia reached up and slipped her arms around his neck, her fingers caressing his flesh, his scalp. She’d walked into his life like a small flaming tornado, stirring up his existence, tossing everything he’d known, everything he’d believed, to the winds.

He wanted her with a desperation he could barely fathom. Her body, yes, but more. So much more. Her smiles, her joy of battle, her fierce pride, and her soft touches.

My mate.

But even as the words roared within his heart, that thing that lived inside him rose up with a horrific growl.

What right did he have to happiness? To love and a mate. To satisfaction. To joy?

None.

What he felt for Olivia was wrong. All wrong.

He was nothing but a selfish, coldhearted bastard who hadn’t even stepped in to save his own mother. Who’d run to save himself, leaving her to die a death as awful as any Daemon could dish out.

He didn’t deserve happiness, and never had. He didn’t deserve Olivia.

On the edge of her consciousness, beyond the swirl of passion and hot desire, Olivia felt the kiss change from one of hungry tenderness to something sharper. Darker. The gentleness inexplicably vanishing.

The kiss turned from a sharing of passion to one far closer to a battle. For dominance and control. And Olivia never shied away from a battle.

As Jag’s tongue swept into her mouth, staking a claim, her fingers tightened in his hair, pressing him
closer until her lips ground against his. The kiss turned hungry and demanding, and not altogether nice.

She craved the taste of him, the touch of his mouth, his tongue, and reveled in the fierceness. She was strong, but so was he, and she exulted in his power.

His hands began to tear at her clothing and she shoved him back. With the life energy of a hundred draden pumping through her veins, she was nearly as strong as a Feral.

She pulled off her own clothing, having no desire to see any more of it ripped, and she sensed Jag was in a mood to do just that. As she tossed her bra in the grass and pulled down her panties, she met Jag’s hot gaze, watching him smile wickedly.

They came together in an explosion of heat and need, nothing like the sweetness in his bedroom before. And it was war. Jag grabbed her knotted hair and yanked her head back, dipping his head to lick and suck at her throat while his other hand gripped her thigh, yanking it high on his hip, nearly lifting her off her feet as he opened her to his seeking erection and drove himself inside her.

She cried out with the exquisite pressure of him filling her, then she lifted her other leg, hooking both around his waist. He grabbed her buttocks and slammed into her, over and over, driving them both to a fast, explosive release.

But the battle had just begun. Jag pulled out of her, dropping her to her feet, then grabbed her hair and pushed her down.

“On your knees, Red.”

As she dropped to one knee, he yanked her head back and shoved his cock into her mouth. She sucked hard on that damp, swollen flesh, loving the feel of it in her mouth even as she rose to the challenge of his bid for dominance.

She sucked harder and harder until he winced.

“Sugar…”

Olivia released her grip on his cock at the same moment she shot up, sweeping her leg and knocking his own out from under him.

Jag hit the ground hard, and she was on top of him, grabbing his cock and taking it into her mouth her way.

He groaned with intense pleasure, arching into her, and she grabbed his nuts with her free hand, yanking and pulling on them with just enough force that he quickly came in her mouth with a guttural yell of pure pleasure.

No sooner had he finished, than he clamped his legs around her and rolled, flinging her to her back in the rough grass. His body pinned hers, his mouth diving to her breast and taking it roughly. Wonderfully.

He shoved two fingers inside her, and she arched up, driving him deeper. And then he moved back between
her legs, clamping his hands around her thighs and wrenching them wide. With a hard, devilish gleam, he went down on her, licking between her legs, sucking her swollen clit into his mouth.

She arched, crying out with the pleasure, then groaned as he released her and sat back. A moment later, her body began to tingle with the strange and wonderful electricity she felt every time he shifted. Her eyes flew open and she stared into Jag’s as he shifted into a large, darkly spotted jungle cat.

“Jag,” she breathed, transfixed. Understanding slammed into her and she made a sound that was half laughter, half disbelief. “You are not fucking me as a cat.”

He didn’t answer, just watched her with those hunter’s eyes, his tongue flicking out between a wicked set of fangs. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, and yet on a deep, primal level lurked the illogical fear that he’d open those jaws and use those teeth to tear her asunder.

The fear thrilled through her blood, more rollercoaster fright than genuine concern, setting her heart to racing and her blood to pounding, the adrenaline ratcheting high.

The great cat rose, padding over her until he straddled her, his fanged face inches from her own. His hot breath smelled surprisingly sweet, not at all what she would have expected from a wild animal.

Then again, the wildness of this animal came from the man himself.

Without warning, with a lick of her chin, the great weight of him settled on top of her, much as it had in the woods during the draden attack. But this time she could feel his warm fur down the entire length of her bare body.

“Jag, get off me. We’re not doing this.”

Jag’s voice sounded softly in her head.
Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like?

“You are truly perverted.”

Why? Because I like to make love to you in unusual ways?