Rapture Untamed (23 page)

Olivia!
he shouted, knowing she wouldn’t answer.

Jag?

Jag’s heart leaped, his pulse racing.
Liv? Liv! Where are you.

Don’t come, Jag. Don’t come.

Where are you? Tell me where you are! Liv!

But the voice in his head said no more.

Jag’s eyes snapped open. “She spoke to me. She told me not to come, but wouldn’t say where she is.”

“She’s close, then. Hawke,” Lyon snapped.

“I’m on it.” The bird shifter took to the skies.

Tighe grabbed Jag’s shoulder. “Feel her. Don’t think about where she might be, just feel.”

Deep inside, that warm glow that was Olivia began to turn, slowly at first, then faster until he felt as if it were spinning in his chest like an out-of-control compass. Would it stop at some point, in the direction he needed to go?

“Tighe…”

“Concentrate, Jag. Feel.”

Heads up.
Hawke’s voice shouted in his head. In all their heads.
Daemons!

“There!” Wulfe turned feral as he stared into the trees behind the house.

“Damn,” Tighe said on a hard expulsion of air. “All three of them.”

Jag turned and stared at the hideous trio with a combination of frustration and bone-deep relief. Frustration that finding Olivia would have to wait. And relief that the Daemons were here and not with her.

The three Daemons appeared almost identical—the same floating, cloaklike black bodies, the same black, snakelike hair. Each with a hideous face filled with fangs, though each appeared to have a unique, if disturbing, melting pattern to his flesh. The trio moved quickly through the air between the trees, close to ten feet off the ground. And while they glanced at the Ferals, they made no move to attack, continuing along their path, as if just passing through.

Tighe made a sound of disgust. “Where are they going?”

“Do you think they’re afraid of us?” Wulfe asked.

No one answered. No one had an answer to give.

“Let’s go,” Lyon said. “We need to destroy those things.”

“If we can catch them,” Tighe muttered.

As they took off running again, the spinning in Jag’s chest suddenly stopped. Understanding rushed over him.

“I can feel Olivia. I know which way to go.”

Lyon looked at him. “We’ll split up.”

Jag shook his head, his heart in his stomach. “We don’t have to. The Daemons are heading right for her.”

Jag pulled on the power of the jaguar that lived inside him and shifted on an exhilarating rush of energy and light. Around him, the other Ferals did the same. One moment, seven men ran through the forest. The next, five large cats and a huge wolf raced across the ground as a large red-tailed hawk swooped through the trees. All could travel faster as animals than they could run on human feet.

Unfortunately, none could move as fast as the Daemons.

Jag raced through the trees, his sleek cat’s body barely brushing undergrowth, barely touching the ground as he dodged and leaped. Terror pounded in his head, in his blood, that he would be too late to save Olivia. Too late.

All these years he’d waited for her without knowing he did, without dreaming a warrior angel would be the one to free him from his self-imposed prison of guilt. To steal his heart. And now he must be the one to free her.

A building in a clearing up ahead,
Hawke reported.
An old brick building of some kind. Behind it, I see people tied to posts. An outer circle of five facing inward and three back-to-back in the inner circle facing out.

Olivia?
Jag demanded.

I can’t be sure, but one of those in the outer circle has hair the color of hers. Two of the inner three have had their noses cut off. The way they’re bleeding, they have to be humans.

The lion growled, Lyon’s voice replying in Jag’s head. In all their heads.
The Mage have baited the Daemons. The question is, are they baiting us?

Doesn’t matter,
Jag growled.
We’re going in anyway.

It matters. But you’re right, Jag. We’re going in anyway.

Minutes later, the Ferals broke from the cover of the woods into a scene just as Hawke had described. The building, off to the left and facing away, had probably once housed a small factory or Civil War munitions. Directly in front of Jag, in a yard of weeds and dead grass, stood the five thick outer poles in a wide circle, perhaps ten yards in diameter.

He spotted Olivia at once. She’d been staked, her back to the post closest to the building, her arms tied at her back. Just as Cordelia had been all those years ago.

The memory slammed into him, nearly driving him to his cat’s knees. He couldn’t breathe.

Goddess, goddess, goddess.

For one horrible moment, the urge to run shot through his muscles, to turn tail and flee that memory in any way he could. But his animal growled inside his head, yanking him back to the present. No longer was he that angry, scared kid watching his mother die. Olivia was the one staked this time, not Cordelia.

Olivia. And she wasn’t going to die. He’d move heaven and earth if he had to, but she was not going to die!

He shook his head, dislodging the memory of long ago as he forced himself to focus.

Olivia!
She stood erect, her feet planted firmly on the ground, but her head dipped, her chin resting on her chest as if she catnapped.

No response. She had to be enthralled. The realization cramped his gut.

Jag, can you still feel her?
Lyon demanded.

She’s alive, Roar. They haven’t turned her. They wouldn’t need to tie her if they’d turned her.

This has the feel of a trap,
Lyon said.

Jag swung his jaguar’s head, his gaze meeting Lyon’s.

I agree. She’s enthralled, Roar. But I’m going in anyway.

Hold, Jag. We’re all going in,
Lyon replied.
You’ll fight with us. Not only do we need you, but your best
chance of saving her is to kill those Daemons. If she starts feeding, tell us and we’ll stay in our animals.

It won’t be enough. She can drain the animals, too.

Silence.

If she starts feeding, I’ll do what I have to, Chief.
But the thought of it drove a stake through his heart.

The lion’s head dipped once in acknowledgment, his gaze returning to the circle. Jag’s followed.

He’d been so focused on Olivia, he hadn’t even taken in the rest of the scene.

Goddess. The state of the two humans…females…in the inner circle was as bad as Hawke had described. Blood gushed down their chins, choking them as they tried to scream. They wouldn’t live long like that, with or without the Daemons, who now circled them. And he could only think that was a blessing. What Hawke hadn’t mentioned was that the third in the center appeared to be a Mage. A Mage sentinel by the looks of his uniform.

What the hell?

Both his arms had been cut off and were slowly regrowing, his face a mask of terrible pain.

Soulless bastards weren’t even loyal to their own.

All three were Daemon bait.

His gaze swung to the outer circle to the young adults, presumably human, tied to the posts. Two males and two females. This group appeared uninjured, though terrified. Conscious but for Olivia.

Look above the three in the center,
Paenther said. A trio of dark orbs floated some six feet up, crackling with dark lightning. Power orbs.
This is set up like a Mage ritual, without the Mage. It has to be a trap.

I agree,
Lyon replied.
But we have no choice but to press on. We’ve been looking for those Daemons for nearly two weeks. This is our chance to take them.
A low growl rumbled from his lion’s throat.
Spread out. We’ll converge from all sides. Shifting is up to you.

The circle may be warded,
Tighe said.
We ran into that before.

Good point. Play it by ear. Paenther and Wulfe, head left. Jag and Tighe, go right.

Jag mentally ground his teeth. Olivia was left. But he followed orders without argument. As badly as he needed to feel her in his arms and to know she was okay, freeing her when she might be enthralled was far too risky. Draden-kissed or not, the woman was a hell of a fighter.

The six Ferals took off, circling the outer perimeter and the Daemons.
Now!
At Lyon’s command, they attacked. Tighe and Jag both shifted into human form, Tighe tossing Jag a knife the instant they had human hands again. The Ferals always shifted into battle in pairs—one who retained his clothes, and weapons, through a shift side by side with one who couldn’t.

Jag watched the nearest Daemon rake shallow fur
rows in one of the human females’ upper chest. As the woman screamed, Jag leaped at the fiend, Tighe right beside him.

The creature whirled, one set of his six-inch razor-sharp claws raking across Tighe’s chest as the other tore through Jag’s shoulder.
Dammit, dammit, dammit that hurt.
Fire licked across his shoulder and down his limb, but he stabbed at the Daemon from the front as Tighe took the back. Too quickly, Jag had to shift his blade to his left hand when his right started to go numb.

The Daemon slashed out again, but Jag ducked and drove his knife up into the bastard’s chest, meeting nothing but floating cloaklike flesh. The bastard was as insubstantial as a draden.

“Where’s his heart?” Tighe shouted, but Jag could barely hear him above the woman’s screams.

“Hell if I know.” A thick, creeping sensation crawled across Jag’s flesh. Magic. “Do you feel that?”

“Yeah.”

Jag’s gaze shot to Olivia as her head lifted, her chest rising as if she were taking a deep, cleansing breath. Beneath his feet, the ground began to tremble.

The Daemon swung. Tighe ducked and stabbed up into his chest, but nothing seemed to slow the evil sucker. As Jag lunged for the Daemon’s head, the bastard went for Jag’s face. In a desperate move, Jag shifted his attack, swinging his blade down hard and fast, cutting off the Daemon’s clawed hand. Yes!

The creature screamed, an earsplitting cry, and shot up into the air, out of reach.

The ground gave another hard tremble as the feel of raw magic grew stronger.

“Pull back!” Lyon yelled. “Out of the circle. Now!”

Jag followed command, realizing belatedly that Tighe wasn’t with him. He turned to find him racing toward Hawke.

One of the Daemons had his claws sunk deep in Hawke’s shoulder, holding him fast, even as the shifter stabbed him high with a fierce and focused determination.

“It’s in his throat,” Hawke shouted, his tone triumphant despite his predicament. “His heart’s literally in his throat!”

Jag started forward, intending to help Tighe free Hawke, when he felt it—the telltale stabbing sensation along the surface of his skin. Olivia.

“She’s feeding!” Hard. Jag turned and ran for her, his own heart suddenly in his throat. Was she still enthralled, or had she been turned? His mind shouted in denial. She had not been turned!
Please, Goddess.
At least she wasn’t terribly close to them. She wouldn’t drain them quickly, not with over a dozen lives to feed from. But she would drain them. And if he didn’t stop her, she’d eventually kill them all.

“Out of the circle!” Lyon’s voice rang out harsh and
desperate. Lyon and Kougar were on the other side, outside the circle’s perimeter, but still battling one of the Daemons.

Within the circle, just ahead, Paenther struggled to help Wulfe, one of whose legs had been ripped to shreds.

The ground gave another rumbling roar.

“Out of the damned circle!”

Jag changed course and ran for the pair of Ferals, grabbing Wulfe’s other arm as Paenther tried to clear him from the field. Glancing back, Jag saw Tighe and Hawke still battling. As he watched, the Daemon exploded in a blast of noxious black smoke.

“Got him!” The words were barely out of Jag’s mouth when a bloodcurdling, inhuman scream tore from the Earth itself. The sky turned suddenly dark, pitch-black, as if the last angel had turned off the lights of heaven.

“Dive!” Lyon yelled.

As one, Jag and Paenther leaped clear of the circle, hauling Wulfe with them as an unearthly red-orange glow erupted behind them. Jag spun, staring as the ground wrenched open, becoming a swirling, spinning vortex that ended mere feet from the outer posts. Mere feet from where he stood.

Olivia remained, as did the other captives on the outer posts, but the three center stakes and their victims were gone, having disappeared into the hole.

His heart seized.

As had Hawke and Tighe. Only the two Daemons remained, hovering over the hell pit.

“No!”

“Wings!” Lyon shouted. “Stripes!

Wulfe’s hand landed on Jag’s shoulder, hard, his voice disbelieving. “They’re gone.”

Jag’s heart rolled, his jaw clenching against the sudden and wrenching anguish as he stood stone-still beneath the weight of shock. Until the two Daemons turned and began floating toward them.

“Roar!” Paenther shouted beside him, pointing at the old building.

Jag shifted his gaze to stare at the dozen armed Mage sentinels streaming across the yard, swords drawn.

And Jag could still feel Olivia feeding.

“Hell,” Paenther growled. “They want us all in there.”

“That’s exactly what they want,” Wulfe muttered.

“I have to get to Olivia.” Jag started running.

Across the circle, Lyon shifted back into his animal. An instant later, his voice blazed in Jag’s head.

We are not defeated! No more Ferals will be lost this night. Jag, it’s up to you. Stop Olivia!

Jag ran, his chest filled with gravel, his mind aching. Tighe and Hawke were gone. Olivia was attacking them, almost certainly turned. He would have to destroy her.

No. He didn’t know that. For this moment,
this moment
, all he had to do was reach her. But six feet from her, he hit another damned invisible wall. Warding of the thick-as-steel variety. And he knew he couldn’t do even that.

“Liv!”

Olivia turned her head, finding him slowly with glazed eyes that were neither enthralled nor turned. But his heart’s moment of rejoicing died as he took in the true look in those precious eyes—horror and misery.

“Jag.” Her voice barely carried over the scream of the vortex. “I’m fighting it, Jag, but I can’t stop feeding! The Mage have put a spell on me. You have to stop me!”

Ah, goddess. Not like this.
She wasn’t turned. Wasn’t even doing it on purpose. It dawned on him the sharp discomfort of her hard feeding had dimmed considerably. Now that she’d shaken off the enthrallment and regained consciousness she was fighting it. But she was still strong and would eventually drain them dead, even with the addition of the sentinels to dilute what she stole from any one person.

He had no choice but to stop her.

Shifting into his jaguar, he leaped toward Olivia, half-prepared to slam into the wall again. But this time, he reached her as if there were no barrier at all. At her feet, he shifted back into a man.

Olivia’s frantic gaze met his. “Rip out my heart, Jag. This won’t end until you do.”

“No. There’s got to be another way.”

“There isn’t! Mystery hooked me up to those orbs, stripping me of my control, making me feed on the combined energies of the Daemons, Mage, Therians, and humans, funneling the combined energies into the orbs. There’s something about the combination that’s especially potent. That’s what’s powering the vortex. And they want all the Ferals in it. Jag! Behind you!”

He whirled just as one of the Mage leaped at him, unhampered by the barrier..

“Liv, fight it!” he shouted as he and the Mage went tumbling to the hard ground in a tangle of knives and limbs, rolling straight for the vortex. Did his attacker care nothing for his own life? No, probably not. The soulless bastard’s only goal was to send Jag into that swirling hell.

Jag dug his knife deep into the ground and held on, stopping his momentum cold, then whipped his body around, kicking the Mage free of him and into the swirling mass. His own foot brushed that rushing energy, snagging him and trying to pull him in, but he held on tight.

Dragging himself free, he leaped to his feet and grabbed up his knife as two more Mage came at him, each with blank, emotionless eyes. Eyes filled with death. His death.