Feral warrior 4- Rapture Untamed

by Pamela Palmer

  “It’s just a fact.”

  “I believe you.” And his voice said he did. “I’ve never understood how an entire race of women can exist. They couldn’t have procreated the way we’re used to.”

  “Only by accident. Their usual method consisted of magic.”

  “One would think they could have kept the race alive, had they wanted to.” Hawke’s tone was contemplative, as if he spoke to himself. “Then again, it’s said their queen, Ariana, destroyed them herself.”

  Kougar said nothing. There was nothing he could say because the truth was something he could never share. The truth was, the Ilinas weren’t extinct at all.

  “Kougar.” Hawke’s voice turned low and sharp. “Daemon.”

  The gnawing hunger drove Olivia from her bed about an hour before daybreak. She’d slept little, and when she had slept, she’d kept dreaming she’d started feeding in her sleep, and the Ferals were barging into her room, knives drawn, ready to carve her up.

  Kara had given her an upstairs room, third floor, but she wasn’t sure where Jag’s room was, or even if he was in it, and she had been afraid to take any chances. If he sensed her feeding again, it would no doubt spark a full-out witch hunt.

  But she needed to feed. Usually, she spent her nights draden-hunting, sucking the little buggers dry of life, feeding on them before digging out their hearts with her knife. It drove her nuts to think there were swarms of them just outside Feral House, and she couldn’t touch them. Not just because she was hungry, but because her drive to destroy draden was nearly as strong as her drive to live.

  If only she could sneak out and find them on her own. But feeding off draden anywhere close to the Ferals was too dangerous. Even if she didn’t have to worry about Jag feeling her feed, the others might see her. The moment they did, they’d know something was wrong. No normal Therian could survive a swarm the size of the ones near Feral House.

  Her skin felt prickly and uncomfortable as it always did when she began to get energy-deprived. How sad was it that in a house filled with energy, she couldn’t feed. In the land of a thousand draden, she didn’t dare go outside for fear of revealing her secret.

  Which left her with one option, and not a good one. She was going to have to eat food. Tons of food. Even that wouldn’t satisfy her forever, but it might tide her over until she could get away from Jag.

  Olivia groaned as she pulled on a dark green tank and her black fighting pants, the pockets loaded and ready with knives. She never went anywhere without her knives. She’d learned early and bitterly that safety from draden was never complete. And while they could no longer hurt her, the very fact that they couldn’t made it all the more critical that she be able to fight them. In case of draden attack, anyone looking would merely think she was quicker than the beasties. They’d never know she killed them by sucking the life out of them.

  Except Jag. Dammit, this is going to get complicated if I don’t get away from him soon.

  As she started toward the stairs, she heard the front door burst open. Her fighter instincts kicked in, and she edged to the corner of the upstairs stairwell, where she could see who invaded Feral House, only to watch as four sweaty Ferals poured inside—Paenther, Tighe, the bald one she thought was Vhyper. And Jag.

  They’d been slaying draden, no doubt. Even Jag looked exhausted. His hair hung damp and unkempt around his strong face, as if he’d run his fingers through it a dozen times. His bare chest glistened beneath the glow of the chandelier, the play of muscles breathtaking even from two stories up, his armband gleaming around one massive biceps.

  Her wayward body flushed, her pulse tripping, and she cursed and retraced her steps to her room. The last thing she needed right now was another run-in with Jag. She was too hungry. On too many levels.

  Closing the door, she pressed her ear against it, listening to the soft pad of multiple footsteps on the stairs. She couldn’t imagine fighting so many draden at once. In Britain, the largest swarms these days were usually no more than a dozen. The Guard roamed at night, in groups of four, and easily dispatched them.

  But this close to Feral House, and the Radiant, she knew they could top a hundred. Apparently, the scourge was multiplying faster than the Ferals could kill them, a problem that had grown all the more serious in recent months.

  She waited silently, listening as three doors opened and clicked shut somewhere in the house. Three, not four. Far below, she heard the sound of the television. Not perfect, but good enough. All four would be sleeping or distracted while she proceeded to eat them out of house and home. Not literally. Hopefully. It had been a long time since she’d tried to live on nothing but food.

  Taking a deep breath, Olivia eased out of the room a second time and made her way down one of the twin staircases that framed the elaborate three-story foyer. Feral House was a mansion decorated in an old-world style with lots of floral and gilt. As she descended the curving stair, she found her gaze drawn to the huge and vibrant painting on the floor—a scene of lush foliage, sprightly wood nymphs, and rugged centaurs.

  The sound of rugby on the television carried down the hall, accompanied by a puppy’s yips and the rumble of deep male laughter. The laugh rolled through her, stroking her with a bold, sensuous pleasure, and she found herself moving toward it on silent feet, drawn against her will.

  As she neared the wide-open doorway of a well-tricked-out media room—a huge flat-screen television hanging on the wall before a bevy of large, leather recliners and sofas—the puppy’s sounds of happiness rose. The man’s laughter rolled through Olivia, lifting the corners of her mouth.

  She eased to the edge of the doorway and peeked around, not intending to intrude, merely curious. But the sight of the man holding the puppy brought her up short.

  Jag.

  He lounged on one of the recliners in nothing but his camo pants, a tiny black schnauzer puppy cradled in his large hand, inches from his face. As she watched, the huge Feral shook his head, a wry look on his face. “I’m a cat, goofus. If you’re going to escape the witch’s lair, at least go make eyes at Wulfe.”

  But the pup was clearly exactly where she wanted to be, her body a wiggling mass of joy, her stub of a tail wagging like a windshield wiper in a downpour.

  As her tongue leaped out to catch Jag’s chin, he chuckled again, then lifted the pup until the two were eye to eye. “You’re making a mistake, Toto. Trust me, I’m the last one you should be wasting your kisses on.”

  Something inside Olivia contracted at his words, at the sharp kernel of bitterness she detected beneath the soft, rich layers of gentleness he showered on the pup.

  An old truth. An old pain. Neither of which was any of her concern.

  With a grunt, the Feral lowered the wiggling pup to his lap, stroking her head and back with a big, gentle hand as she plopped her little black rump on his thigh.

  “If you’re going to watch the game with me, you have to root for the good guys.”

  The pup gave a high, happy yip, then hopped down off the chair and ran to greet Olivia.

  She grimaced, caught.

  “Fickle female,” Jag muttered, then stilled as his gaze followed the pup and found Olivia instead, his eyes flaring ever so slightly with surprise. Those dark eyes studied her face, then moved slowly, leisurely, as his gaze slid down over her shoulders, bared by the tank top, to snag on her breasts.

  Her breath caught. She bent down to pet the puppy with suddenly unsteady hands, trying to pretend she didn’t feel as if the man had just used his own hands to stroke her instead of his gaze.

  As she rose again, the puppy took off down the hall with a happy yip. Olivia looked at Jag, her heart sinking as she saw the devilment leaping in his eyes. Only her pride prevented her from turning tail and following the pup down the hall.

  “You here to do a little tail-wagging for me, too, Sugar? Want to crawl up on my lap and lick me all over?”

  Even as her temper sparked at his refusal to show her the slightest respect, her
nipples hardened, a rush of heat welling inside her.

  “I’d love to, Jag,” she said silkily. “But I forgot my heels.”

  To her surprise, he laughed, a soft roll of masculine amusement that lacked the gentle pleasure of the one he’d given the puppy but still set things to fluttering in her stomach and forced up the corners of her mouth.

  His own mouth lifted in a smile that was at once lazy and knowing, and yet free of the bitterness and harshness that usually lined his face. But then something flared in his eyes, something sharp and dangerous. He rose with catlike grace to his bare feet and padded toward her.

  She tensed as he closed the distance between them, bracing herself for a fight. Her senses swam. If she’d thought he was appealing from two stories away, up close he was breathtaking. His chest gleamed with hard, sculpted muscle, his abs carved from stone.

  Her pulse began to race as he towered over her, but not from fear. Like all Ferals, he was a mountain of a man, but if she wanted to, if she opened herself to feed, she could kill him before he knew what hit him.

  “Back off, Jag,” she purred.

  His mouth merely kicked up in a smile laced with challenge and promise.

  “Spread your legs for me, Red.”

  Heat rushed through her, a furious mix of desire and anger. Within the space of one heartbeat and the next, he caged her, his palms pressing against the doorframe on either side of her head.

  Asshole. She pulled one of her knives, moving with a speed few could match, sliding it against his inner thigh.

  “Spread yours,” she countered.

  His grin only broadened. “You want me as badly as I want you. I can feel your desire rising from your hot little body like steam. I can smell your heat and see it in your eyes.”

  “The only heat you see in my eyes is anger.”

  He dipped his head, his warm tongue darting out to place a quick lick at her temple. “I can taste the desire on your skin. Sooner or later, you’re going to spread your legs for me, and I’m going to push deep inside you, over and over, until we’re both screaming for release.”

  As hard as she tried to steel herself against the erotic power of his words, she felt her body melting, wanting.

  She pressed the knife tighter against his leg. “How about I cut off that cock of yours and see if it improves your manners any.”

  He lowered his hands, freeing her from the cage of his arms. At least that was what she thought he was doing until his hands clamped onto her waist, his palms pressing against the undersides of her rib cage. The sudden burst of unnatural warmth startled her, rushing into her like a flow of pure, sexual heat. The lava ran down, flowing into her inner reaches, heating her, setting flame to the sparks he’d ignited with his presence and words.

  Moisture gathered between her thighs as her deep inner walls began to pulse and swell. Heat filled her, opening her wide as her body begged for penetration. Deep inside her, a pressure began to build, a roaring, volcanic orgasm.

  No, dammit.

  She sliced through Jag’s pants, sinking her knife deep into his inner thigh.

  As warm blood rushed over her hand, he jerked away from her.

  “Bitch.” The word growled from his throat.

  With his hands no longer pressing unnatural heat into her, the building orgasm slowed and stilled, whirling close, so close, before dying a throbbing, aching death.

  Olivia gave him her frostiest look. “You’ll keep your paws to yourself, Feral.”

  Even as anger flared in the brown depths of Jag’s eyes, his mouth kicked up in a dangerous smile. “This isn’t over, Red. Not by a long shot. Before we’re done, you’ll be begging me to fuck you.”

  “Only in your dreams, Cat. Only in your dreams.”

  To her surprise, he gripped her jaw, something raw and wild in his eyes. “You don’t know anything about my dreams.”

  She stared at him, glimpsing again the torment she’d recognized in the war room earlier. “You might be surprised, Jag.” Jerking her chin out of his grasp, she wiped her knife on her pants but kept it at the ready as she turned and left him there. His gaze bored holes into her back until she rounded the corner.

  Damn him. Her body ached, so close to release that all she’d have to do was reach into the front of her pants and brush her finger over herself a couple of times to bring on a screaming orgasm. She was sorely tempted to duck into one of the empty rooms and do just that, except she feared Jag would follow and find her like that, in the throes of the passion he’d driven her to. She didn’t even want to think about what would happen next. His prediction could all too well come true. She would spread her legs and absolutely beg him to fill her.

  Goddess, but she had to get away from that man.

  With a growl of deep sexual frustration, Jag strode through the foyer and out the front door. Lavender and pink streaked the eastern sky, just visible through the branches of the thick trees that surrounded Feral House. The morning air smelled of dew and damp earth, of trees and grass and the small creatures that shared the land with the humans and Ferals.

  But it was the sweet scent of Olivia’s hair, the heady musk of her arousal, and the metallic smell of his own blood that lingered in his nose.

  Damn, but he throbbed. His leg had already healed, thanks to his immortal Therian nature, but his body ached for release. He strode across the wide, circular drive lined with cars—everything from his own yellow Hummer to Kougar’s silver Lamborghini and the three nondescript sedans Lyon had purchased during Tighe’s recent run-in with the law.

  Reaching the woods on the other side, he stripped off his pants, tossing them onto the ground as he pulled on the power inside him, the power of the jaguar that had marked him and claimed him over two and a half centuries ago.

  In a rush of raw power, pure pleasure, and a flash of sparkling light, he shifted into his animal. A jaguar.

  His line of sight shifted, his senses exploding with his cat’s. Without a moment’s hesitation, he took off through the woods at a full-out run, desperate to douse the fire that burned inside him. Though the shift into his animal form cooled the raging passion that had claimed his man’s body, the fire continued to burn inside, deep in the recesses of his mind. Desire for something he couldn’t even name. Obsession with a woman he didn’t even want, except in the most carnal sense. A fire that licked at his innermost self with a pain he’d long ago learned to live with, though he found it impossible to ignore.

  He ran, uncertain of his destination and not caring, as the damp morning breeze blew through his whiskers. But when he found himself high above the rocky cliffs overlooking the Potomac River, he climbed onto the rocks and stood, his cat’s body breathing quickly from the run, his jaguar’s face lifted to the wind.

  What if he kept running? What if he never looked back? Never came back? The thought had entered his mind too many times to count. And he might have done it. A thousand times, he might have run, never to return. Except for two things—being a Feral Warrior was the one thing that made his life worthwhile, and the certainty that running would accomplish nothing. Because the thing he most wanted to be free of, he couldn’t outrun.

  Himself.

  Finally, he turned back for Feral House, his thoughts on the woman who wouldn’t leave his mind. Olivia. Dammit, but she intrigued him. He’d never seen her out of her pantsuits until tonight. He’d thought her hot in her trim business persona, but dressed for action, she’d set his blood on fire. He could still see her as she’d stood in the media-room doorway, her thick red hair deliciously sleep-tousled, her feet bare, the pants clinging to her narrow hips, the tank top molding every sweet dip and swell of her breasts.

  She put on that ice-princess act, but she was as hot for him as he was for her. And when he’d touched her with his palms, pressing the pleasure into her, he’d nearly melted from the heat that had roared off her.

  The odd ability to heat or cool with his hands had seemed useless until he’d long ago learned to use it to excite
and pleasure his lovers; but never had a woman risen so fast, so violently, when all he’d done was touch her waist. What would happen if he slid his hand between her legs and palmed her?

  The thought of it, of the scream of release that would almost certainly follow, excited the hell out of him.

  This thing wasn’t over between them, not by a long shot. Somehow he had to make certain she decided to partner him herself. And he knew just how to do it. He had her number. He knew pride when he saw it, and Olivia was made of the stuff.

  Yeah, she was going to be his partner. And before this mission ended, that neat little package of a female body would be his.

  Chapter Four

  Olivia sat alone at the huge table in the Feral’s dining room, devouring the piles of food on her plate. It was nearly noon, the time they’d agreed to meet to grab lunch and leave for their respective Daemon-tracking assignments. With no true understanding of the wraith Daemons, they weren’t certain if they were nocturnal like their draden hosts, or could move freely during the day. Nor had they any idea where they’d hole up during daylight if they were nocturnal.

  So the teams would head out in broad daylight to begin a hunt that could take days.

  She cut another thick bite of ham and shoved it into her mouth, amazed her stomach could hold so much. After her frustrating encounter with Jag just before dawn, she’d devoured a plateful of food out of a refrigerator mostly stocked with meat, then returned to her room, where she’d given in to the need to relieve the awful sexual tension Jag had left her with. As she’d guessed, only a few quick strokes of her finger had brought on a cataclysmic release.

  She’d fallen asleep almost immediately after, sleeping a solid six hours. And woken starved again. Her body was burning through the food at an alarming rate.

  Pink set a platter of thick-sliced toast on the table, preparing for the rest of the household, who should be arriving any minute. With a smile at the pink-feathered bird-woman, Olivia grabbed a couple slices, eating them quickly. The others better get down soon, or there wasn’t going to be anything left.