Rapture Untamed (22 page)

Jag’s mouth twisted wryly. “Olivia told me the same thing. Damned know-it-all women.”

Tighe chuckled. “Get used to it. In my experience, they’re usually right.”

They continued the drive in silence, yet for the first time since he came to Feral House all those years ago, Jag didn’t feel like the odd man out. Surrounded by his brothers, he didn’t feel alone.

Olivia had done this. She’d opened his eyes and thawed the ice around his heart. She’d saved him.

And he would do everything in his power to save her in return.

Olivia came to slowly, pain attacking her flesh and tearing through her brain. A pain that felt as if a thousand thick, red-hot needles were poking into her skin.

A pain that told her she desperately needed to feed.

She was starving, and food wouldn’t do it this time, no matter how much she ate. She needed energy. The pure energy of another’s life force.

Slowly, painfully, she lifted her eyelids, the burning little needles rippling along the tender flesh. Her arms had been pulled taut above her head, and she tried to lower them, but she was caught fast—chained, her wrists bound by manacles.

Blinking with confusion and disbelief, she found herself standing upright in a glasslike cylindrical enclosure about ten feet in diameter. Like she’d been inserted into some kind of giant test tube. And she was utterly alone. Beyond her cell rose the stone walls of what appeared to be an old cellar—mildewed and dusty, the corners covered in cobwebs, and lit only by a single grime-coated window high on one wall. Nothing cluttered the space—no furniture, no abandoned tools or boxes.

Where was she? Her brain struggled to remember what had happened, how she’d gotten here.

She looked up to find that the ceiling of her glass cage was lower than the ceiling of the cellar, her chain attached to the glass, or Plexiglas, itself. Her arms were bare, her leather jacket missing. A single draden-bite welt marked her forearm.

No wonder she was so weak. She must have been bitten when she was unconscious.

Where in the hell am I? Where is Jag?

Memory came at her like an iron fist.

She’d told him he mattered to her, and he’d turned on her, flaying her with his rejection. Calling her a life-stealer. And the Ferals had overheard him.

They knew what she was, now. Her stomach squeezed until she thought she’d be sick.

She’d run, Jag had followed, then a little girl…

A little Mage girl…

Realization hit her, and she gasped. The Mage had captured her. But why? It wasn’t like they knew what she was. Her scalp crawled. Dear goddess, what if they did? She suddenly remembered the way the Mage witch, Mystery, had stared at her, as if she were the only one of interest on that entire field of battle.

Did they mean to steal her soul, as they had so many others, and turn her into a killing machine? A shudder tore through her at the thought of what she could do. A single feed in a movie theater would kill the entire
human population. If she crept close to a Therian mansion, she could probably kill most of those inside before they realized what was happening.

Jag would stop her.

Jag. Where is he? Did they take him, too?

Did they kill him?

Goddess, please not that.

The sensation of burning needles grew stronger, harsher, and she had to clamp her jaw hard to keep from moaning with the pain. Even if there was no one to hear her, she refused to give in.

If only she could pinpoint her captors and steal their energy. At the thought, she closed her eyes, struggling to force herself past the pain, to feel beyond. But she could feel nothing, as if this test tube were the entire world. As if the Plexiglas contained her gift as well as herself.

Of course it did. The realization only confirmed her fear. If the Mage had defended themselves against her gift, they must know what she was.

A fine desperation threaded itself through her mind. Did they understand she had to feed? That if she didn’t, she might die? Maybe it would be for the best if she did.

But she felt confident the Mage wanted her power for their own. And she doubted hunger could kill her. She feared she would simply linger like this, the pain growing worse until she was out of her head with it. Was that their plan?

She didn’t know, and the not knowing terrified her the most.

Little by little, she managed to slip away into a different place in her mind, desperate to escape the building fire in her flesh. She thought of Jag, remembering the way he’d made love to her in his bedroom. The way he’d stroked her body. The way he’d looked into her eyes as if he were falling as deeply and completely as she was. The feel and taste of his mouth as he’d kissed her. But mostly, she remembered the gentle look in his eyes. The needs she’d recognized so well in their brown depths. A need to end the loneliness, to end the isolation. A need for the connection that had begun to form between them—a connection of the heart. The soul.

The squeak of the cellar door wrenched her out of her thoughts in a blaze of pain. In walked Mystery, her thick auburn hair hanging in waves around the shoulders of her emerald green sorcerer’s robe. No expression crossed her face. No emotion flickered in her emerald eyes.

Soulless.

Was that what her own eyes would look like when they were through with her? Or would she be one of the ones excited by the prospect of another’s pain?

Dear goddess, she’d rather die first.

Behind Mystery walked two middle-aged humans, their faces as blank as automatons’. A couple, she sus
pected, the man balding, the woman soft and round. Enthralled.

Mystery reached for the Plexiglas, opening a door Olivia hadn’t seen. At once, Olivia was blasted with the rich tease of life energy rushing across her senses. The energy had no real taste, no real smell, and yet the feel of it intoxicated, driving her need. She moaned beneath the crush of hunger. A hunger she would not slake on innocents!

She struggled against the pain and the need, holding on to her control by the finest of threads. A memory broke through her struggle, a memory of her last draden feed, how she’d finally, after so many centuries, been able to target her life-stealing.

Focusing, she tried to find the Mage in her senses, tried to single her out for attack. But her hunger was so fierce, the life forces ran as one, bright and ripe.

The two humans walked into the cage and the door snapped shut behind them. Any chance of singling out Mystery was gone.

The humans stood, unmoving, as if waiting for her to take their lives. Feeling them, needing them, was torture, the need to consume them nearly more than she could stand.

Mystery stood outside the cage watching her with dead eyes. “We want you hungry, life-stealer, but not weak. Not distracted by your pain. We drained you with the draden, but he took more from you than we’d
anticipated. We ordered you to feed while you were enthralled, but you refused. So you’ll feed now. From the humans.”

Olivia met the witch’s soulless gaze. “I’ll kill them.”

“Of course.”

“No! Give me draden.”

But Mystery simply turned and left the cellar through the door from which she’d entered, leaving Olivia alone with the offered meal.

She shook from the need to open herself and slake her terrible hunger. Sweat rolled down her temples and the back of her neck. She would not steal the lives of innocents!

Never had she killed merely to feed herself. Never! She’d killed in battle and killed those who would have attacked her. But never an innocent. Not on purpose. It was a line she’d never crossed. A line that might be blurred and murky to some but was sharp and clear to her conscience.

If she took lives, innocent lives, in order to feed, then she would be a life-stealer in truth, and all her convictions that the Therians were wrong, that she had never been what they feared, were lost.

Yet as she looked at the pair in front of her, she knew that refusing to feed from them wouldn’t save them. Their lives had been forfeit the moment the Mage took hold of their minds. Either she killed them here, pain
lessly, or they would die in a nightmare of pain and blood beneath the Daemons’ claws.

But even knowing that, she couldn’t do it. Because crossing that line turned her into a monster, and she’d never be able to live with what she’d done. Her conscience wouldn’t let her steal innocent lives any more than her pride would let her give in to her captors.

But goddess help her, she knew this wasn’t the end of it. She might assert her stubbornness and refuse to fall in line with Mystery’s plan.

But her control over herself and her fate were fast becoming illusions.

The two large SUVs pulled off a little-traveled stretch of highway, past the decaying remains of an old barn, and off-roaded it into the woods less than a mile from the Mage stronghold near Harpers Ferry.

“Hawke, a little recon, if you will,” Lyon said, as Hawke turned off the engine.

With a nod, Hawke opened his car door, shifted into his bird, and took to the skies. The other Ferals climbed from the vehicle, the second team, including the women, joining them from the Hummer.

The air smelled of rain and spring, the forest quiet and peaceful. But there was nothing peaceful inside Jag. The moment his feet hit the ground, he yanked off his clothes and shifted into his jaguar.

Olivia? Liv!

But he got no answer. If she’d been turned, would she answer him? Would she call him into her web?

What if she wasn’t out here at all? What if they’d taken her somewhere else, and he would never find her?

Dammit, he couldn’t stand this not knowing.

The terrible weight of guilt tried to settle on his shoulders, and he shoved it away. He’d find her, that’s all he could do. All that mattered, now.

He prowled in his animal, seeking her scent without success. But if they’d brought her in a car, he wasn’t going to pick it up. Not scenting her didn’t mean she wasn’t nearby.

A short time later, Hawke returned, landing in the small copse and shifting back into a man.

“The house looks exactly as it did last time. The windows covered, no sign of Mage.”

“We’ll go in as a single force,” Lyon said, his expression grim, but determined. “If we run into the same situation you did last time, we’ll be separated physically and fighting Daemons, but we’re prepared this time. Stay in your animals and press all the way through to the center of the house. The warding has to be finite. If we press far enough, we’ll get through it. Before we head out, though, we’re going to be as strong as possible.”

He lifted his hand and Kara came to him, his hand
curling around her shoulders. “We’ll call a Feral Circle and start with radiance, then Skye, I’d like you to call your enchantress’s power as well. We’re going to need every advantage we can get.”

Lyon’s gaze landed on Vhyper. “When the women are through, I want you and the non-Ferals back in the Hummer where you can’t be surprised by either Mage or Daemon. Hawke, you’ll remain outside the house this time, circling above.”

Vhyper crossed his arms over his chest. “I’d rather be in on the raid. I’m not going to turn on you again, Roar.”

“If I thought you would, I would never leave you to guard the Radiant. That doesn’t mean I’m ready to let you anywhere near another Mage.” Lyon glanced fleetingly at Skye. “Present company excepted. Vhype, you don’t know any better than we do whether they still have some kind of hold on you. We can’t take the risk.” He clapped his hands together. “Let’s get that circle up. Prepare to be blooded.”

As the Ferals stripped off their shirts, Kougar chanted the words that raised a circle in the middle of the copse that no humans would be able to see through or hear the sounds within. Jag shifted back into his human form and donned his pants.

The circle was wide enough to encompass them all, but only the Ferals gathered around Kara, each touching her as she held Lyon’s hands, their upper bodies
bare except for the golden armbands that snaked around each man’s biceps and channeled the energy she’d call.

Jag stood at Kara’s side, his hand on her forearm, as she pulled the radiance, sending power tumbling through his body on a rush of warmth. For more than a minute, they drank of the energy she gave them, then she doused her radiance. They released her, and she stepped aside. The Ferals widened the circle, and Skye took her place within it.

Skye was a wisp of a woman wearing a filmy blue ritual gown, her dark hair very short, her copper-ringed Mage eyes turned to Paenther. Never in a million years would Jag have expected Paenther to take a Mage to mate. Then again, Skye was no ordinary Mage. An enchantress, she had a rare and powerful affinity to animals. Even those that turned into men.

Kougar led them in the chant as they cut their chests, one after another with one of Kougar’s blades. When it was Jag’s turn, he sliced his own chest, slapped his palm to the wound, then curled his hand around the blood and shoved his fist into the air.

As one, the eight Ferals tilted their heads back and yelled to the canopy of trees above, their voices roaring through the forest like a gale. “Spirits rise and join. Empower the beasts beneath this sky!”

“Dance, Beauty,” Paenther urged.

As the delicate Mage began to twirl, her hands lifted
high above her head, mystic thunder rumbled, the ground beneath their feet shaking. Feral Circles were generally stronger and more effective in the power places—the goddess stone and the clearing behind Feral House. But Kara’s radiance and Skye’s gift had given the warriors access to the Earth’s power they’d never before known.

“Empower the spirit of the lion!”

“The panther!”

“The jaguar!”

One after another, the Feral Warriors roared to the heavens, calling the power of their beasts.

This time, instead of feeling a rush of power, Jag felt pure, cool pleasure ripple through his body, inside and out. A cascade of joy as if Skye had somehow plugged them into heaven itself.

And when it was over, to a man they were grinning, Jag included for about half a second, until his fear for Olivia swamped him all over again.

“Let’s go!” Lyon’s roar of a command stole the last of the smiles, and the six Ferals took off, slipping through the woods on man feet, passing without a sound as Hawke took to the skies.

Lyon looked to Jag. With a nod, Jag took over lead of the group. He’d been the first to find the dilapidated Mage stronghold. And he’d be the only one to feel Olivia’s feeding. He needed to be out front, and they all knew it.

As he ran through the woods, one question tormented him, raking at his mind over and over. If she’d been turned, how would he kill her? She was the air in his lungs, the heart beating in his chest. How could he destroy her knowing the chance existed that she was still in there somewhere, her soul not destroyed so much as subjugated, as Vhyper’s had been?

His every instinct, even the animal spirit that shared his body, roared at him to save her. To protect her.

But his loyalty and duty to the Ferals demanded he destroy her before she destroyed them. And he had little doubt the Ferals would be her target. How would he live with the guilt if she killed one or more of his brothers because he’d failed to stop her?

He was just beginning to understand how his guilt over Cordelia’s death, a death that had been far from intentional, had wrecked him for centuries. How would he live with dozens, possibly hundreds of deaths that he’d consciously, willingly, permitted?

He wouldn’t, it was that simple. He couldn’t let it happen. If, when he found her, he was too late, if she’d already been turned, he would destroy her.

No choice. Goddess help him. He’d take her life and likely lose his own in the process. The only bright side was he wouldn’t have to live without her.

When he caught a glimpse of peeling, dirty white siding, he pulled up.

“She’s not in there.”

“How can you be sure?” Lyon asked him.

“I don’t know.” His confused gaze went to Tighe. For some reason he was certain the tiger shifter would understand. “There’s a…brightness…inside me. A glow, when she’s near.”

Tighe nodded, his eyes telling him he did indeed understand. “The beginnings of the mating bond. And it’s absent?”

“Yeah.”

Tighe’s expression changed, sympathy filling his eyes, and Jag knew he’d misunderstood.

“The glow isn’t gone, Stripes. That’s not what I meant.” She wasn’t dead, thank the goddess. “I still feel it. It’s just not here.”

Tighe’s expression returned to that of the hunter. “Can you follow it?”

“No. It’s not that strong.” But as he turned away, determined to continue looking, Lyon stopped him.

“We’re attacking the Mage stronghold, Jag.”

Jag’s hands fisted. “I have to find Olivia!” The need was eating him alive.

Tighe’s hand landed on Jag’s shoulder. “If we can catch one of the Mage and get him to talk, we might find her that much quicker.”

Everything inside him rebelled. He had to find her
now
. But Tighe was right. He didn’t have a clue where to look.

Lyon began issuing orders. “Spread out and circle
the house. If we get attacked and have to shift human, no other Feral should be within the arc of your blade swing or claws. Shift and get into place!”

Jag tore off his clothes, as did Lyon and Wulfe, then all shifted into their animals. While Hawke circled in the air, the others raced around the house on four legs, taking up their positions.

Jag’s stomach crawled with the need to get this over with. Olivia wasn’t here. And she needed him!

Now!
Lyon’s voice rang in his head.

Through a haze of fiery pain, Olivia heard the cellar door open. How long had she been trapped like this? It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t feed from the humans. Wouldn’t!

Prying her eyes open, she saw Mystery, a dark ball in her hand that spit and crackled as if it encased true lightning. A power orb, identical to the ones that had hung from the eaves of the house when she and Jag first stumbled upon it. Behind Mystery, two other Mage sorcerers filed into the room, one carrying a stack of bowls, the other a small, lit torch.

Through swimming vision, she watched with growing unease as the two males laid the bowls in a circle around the outside of her cylindrical cage and lit something inside them. More than a dozen fires ringed her, fires that would no doubt be used in some kind of magic.

Not good.

Jag!

No answer.
Don’t be dead, Jag. Don’t be dead. Lyon? Tighe!

But none of the Ferals seemed to be within hearing distance, or if they were, not in their animals. Or perhaps her cage, which kept her from feeding, also kept her from communicating with those outside.

She clung to the hope, however slim it might be, that the Ferals might find her before it was too late. That Jag might still be alive.

Mystery lifted her hands, and the power orb levitated to float directly over the test tube, spitting with its captured lightning.

Hunger tore at Olivia, searing her flesh, the pain a living, breathing thing inside her. Her jaw felt locked in place, clamped together hard against the scream that tore through her head.

The humans stood before her, as they had all along. Enthralled. Offering up their lives.

No, not offering.

Mystery chanted in a dialect Olivia was fairly certain was ancient Mage. As the men took up the chant, Olivia’s eyelids crashed down, but she couldn’t fight the sound. The voices raked at her eardrums, repeating the same string of words over and over.

The power in the room began to grow, swirling around her, knifing at her already-burning flesh. Stronger and
stronger, it began to seep into her pores, snaking down into her body like hot coals, stoking the flames of the hunger. The magic crawled inside her, into her organs and into her mind, gnawing at her tightly held control.

“No!” The word broke from her lips on a cry.

“Yes, life-stealer,” Mystery said tonelessly. “You’ll thwart us no more.”

Olivia fought to hold on, but even her formidable will proved no match for the magic. And in a single scalding rush of fire, her control was ripped free of her grasp.

And she fed.

Her eyes flew open. Fury and horror tore at her mind even as her body rejoiced. She fed of the life force that had been bombarding her senses for what felt like hours. She fed even as the humans began to sway on their feet, even as she watched them collapse. She fed until no more life force existed within her cage except her own. And still she wanted more. Needed more.

Even as the pain of hunger lifted, the horror of what she’d done flayed her heart and mind.

She’d killed them.

Not willingly. Not willingly.

But the humans were dead just the same.

“It’s time.” Mystery walked over to the Plexiglas door and opened it. “You’re ready, life-stealer.”

Olivia stared at her. “Ready for what?” But she feared she knew. She fed hard, trying to suck Mystery dry, but the sorceress was prepared for that.

The Mage witch grabbed Olivia’s arm, sending her powerful will against Olivia’s compromised one.

“You are ready to help us destroy the Feral Warriors.”

Before Olivia could do so much as draw a breath to argue, her vision began to darken, her mind clouding over as she fell into the abyss of enthrallment.

As one, the Feral animals raced forward, leaping onto the porch or through the back, shattering what remained of the windows of the dilapidated white house.

Jag crashed through the back door and landed not in a black hole of warding like before, but in an old run-down kitchen. The smell of rotting flesh raked at his senses. Real flesh. Not Daemon.

The wolf and tiger joined him.

No warding this time,
Tighe said wryly.
It stinks in here.

Lyon padded through the interior doorway on four paws.
Bodies. Spread out. Search in pairs.

Five long minutes later, the Ferals gathered outside, back in human form. Jag paced, every muscle twitching with his need to take off.

“Four dead humans rotting in one of the upstairs bedrooms, otherwise nothing,” Paenther confirmed. “The Mage appear to have moved out.”

“We have to find Olivia,” Jag said through gritted teeth.

Lyon met his gaze. “Look inside you. If you’ve really begun to form a mating bond with her, you’re the only one who can. Listen to it.”

Tighe came to stand beside Lyon. “I feel the connection to Delaney in my mind. Like a bright thread. Yours may be different, but test it. See if it doesn’t pull you.”

Jag closed his eyes. This wasn’t going to work. He might still feel that glow, because he loved her, dammit. But any connection that had been forming between them, he’d hatcheted but good.