As his eyes went wide with understanding, she felt as if a knife had been plunged into her chest.
“They can’t hurt me, Jag. Shift!”
Staring at her, he did. Once more, that magic swept over him, racing over her skin like a sparkling spray. With an angry squawk, the draden who’d been attached to him shot into the air, then dove for her. As they covered her like a many-mouthed blanket, she saw the jaguar sink to the ground, the last of his energy expended in the shift.
She had to feed fast, or the draden would kill her before she could save herself, but if she caught Jag in the feeding…Could she hurt him in his animal form? She didn’t know and wasn’t about to risk it. He had nothing left to give.
Olivia stumbled away, covered with draden and still suffering the weakening effects of the venom. But as she moved, she fed. Slowly at first, then harder as she put distance between her and Jag. And harder still. Finally, she opened herself fully, drinking of the draden energy, growing stronger and steadier as the draden grew weaker until, one by one, they fell away from her, disappearing in tiny puffs of smoke.
Her skin was torn and stinging from the dozens of draden bites, her body still slow and lethargic from the Daemon venom, but she felt strong again, her life force fully replenished.
If only she didn’t feel the hard fist in her stomach, the terrifying certainty that her life itself had shattered.
She turned and returned to Jag, walking over the leaf-strewn ground on leaden feet. He remained on the ground, on his stomach, now, his chin resting on his paws, watching her approach through laser-sharp jaguar eyes.
He knows what I am.
Her limbs turned weak, her skin cold, as the ramifications of what she’d done slammed into her.
Jag knew. Her life was over. Her work. The Therian Guard would never let her near them again. No Therian would come near again. She’d be outcast. Ostracized.
Olivia pressed a fist to her stomach as if she could hold back the waves of shock.
Sooner or later, someone would end the threat she posed by snapping off her head or plucking out her heart.
Would that person be Jag? Would that time be now? Tonight?
Goddess help her, she had to get away from him.
She turned, shock squeezing her rib cage until she could hardly breathe, until she thought her body would cave in on itself, her heart imploding, turning her to dust.
Where would she go? She had nothing but the clothes on her back. Nothing.
She moved as if walking through ice water, each step a struggle as her body slowly went numb. With painful stiffness, she moved through the trees, traveling in no particular direction, with no destination. Only away. Away from the truth.
She never heard Jag approach. Whether he caught up to her on two feet or four, she didn’t know, but suddenly fingers closed hard around her arm, jerking her fully around to face the man and the thunderous expression on his healing face.
“You nearly let me die!”
She blinked, not expecting those to be his first words after what he’d learned of her, but perhaps she should have. “It would have been so easy.” The words escaped her lips, low and pained. “No one would have known. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t let you die to save myself.”
“You damned, life-sucking bitch. I was ready to give my life for you!” He shoved her away from him, and she stumbled backward, barely staying on her feet.
“I know. I couldn’t let you do that. Let me go, Jag. Let me walk away. You’ll never hear from me again. I’ll go someplace far from the Therians.” Of course, far from the Therians there would be few to no draden. Her purpose would be lost. Her reason for living gone. Pain closed around her throat as she tried to speak. “No one will ever hear from me again.”
Jag came at her slowly, every line in his body menacing. Part of her shouted at her to run, the part that wanted to live regardless of how hollow her life was destined to be.
But she didn’t move. Jag wanted his pound of flesh, and she couldn’t force herself to run from that. From him. With the Daemon venom still thick in her blood, she doubted she could run if she tried.
The dangerous anger in Jag’s eyes had her pulse thundering in her ears, and she felt as if she were finally facing the fate that had hovered at the edges of her life since the night her mother died.
Jag stalked her, forcing her to back up or be pushed to the ground. Not until a tree slammed into her back did he halt his forward drive, his powerful male body towering over her, gleaming in the moonlight. Heat poured off him even as his expression turned to granite.
His hand shot out, pressing against the tree directly over her head. A little while ago she might have thought he needed to brace himself, but she sensed that the energy racing through his body was strong and whole. He’d fully recovered from the draden attack, except for the bites themselves.
His mouth twisted nastily. “No wonder you’re faster and stronger than you should be. You steal the power from your opponents.”
“I don’t kill them. I never even hurt them.” Tendrils of cold snaked and curled around her internal organs, freezing everything they touched. “I control it, Jag.” Her voice sounded wooden. Flat, in direct counterpoint to the chaos tearing through her brain. “I’ve always controlled it.” Almost always.
Deep inside her, a small desperate voice cried out. Beg him not to tell. Beg him to keep your secret. But no one did she trust less than this Feral. He would toy with her before he struck. Torment her. But strike he would, of that she had no doubt.
His other hand shot to her jaw and gripped it hard, forcing her face up to his. “You’re the one I felt in the war room yesterday.” He growled, a low, deadly sound. “You were feeding off us.”
Olivia swallowed convulsively. “Yes. I often feed at low levels. It doesn’t hurt anyone. No one’s ever felt it before.”
The hand gripping her jaw dropped to her throat, clamping hard as he lifted her onto her toes. Her heart began to thud. If he decided to end her life, he would. Her training and advantages were nothing compared to his raw strength and the power of his animal.
Draining him of his life force would take time. Ripping her head off her shoulders, not so much.
“Feed off me, now,” he growled.
“No.” The word croaked past the constriction of his hand.
He squeezed her neck until tears sprang to her eyes.
“Do it!”
Her stomach twisted and knotted until she feared she was going to be sick. But she opened her senses and fed. Hard.
His hand spasmed. “Stop,” he growled.
She stopped. His hold loosened, and she sucked air in too fast and went into a coughing spasm.
“Now feed at the level you did in the war room.”
She looked up into cold, cold eyes. Swallowing hard against tears that tried to spring, she forced herself to feed at her normal, low-level grazing speed.
“It’s different,” he murmured, as if to himself. “Looks like I’m the lucky one. You can’t suck me dry without me knowing, can you?”
“No one has ever felt it before.”
Slowly, he released her and took a step back, his arms crossing over his broad chest, his legs spread shoulder width, his sex lying thick and heavy against his thigh.
He cocked his head, his brows hard and angry as he watched her.
Olivia waited, sweat popping out on her brow, the tree at her back the only thing that kept her from collapsing beneath the weight of the disaster that threatened to destroy her.
“Looks like we have us a little situation here, doesn’t it, Sugar?” Jag drawled. The sharp edge of deadly anger was gone from his voice, but the wickedness that replaced it raked cold fingers of dread down her spine. “What do you think will happen when everyone learns what you are?”
She stared at him, light-headed with shock and fear. “We both know what’s going to happen.”
“Damned straight, we do.” Jag clucked his tongue, watching her with a look t
hat turned increasingly cunning, heightening her dread. “Lyon might order you killed on the spot. He’ll certainly have no more need of your services, and I guarantee he’ll never let you near Feral House or the Radiant again. The Guard will kick you out. Can’t have you sucking the boys dry, now can they?”
“I don’t kill.” She swallowed, the lie sticking in her throat. She hadn’t killed in a long, long time.
“But you could. Hell, you could destroy them in their sleep, and they’d never know. If the Mage had gotten their hands on you, turned you, you could have been their greatest weapon. Except for one thing. I can feel when you’re feeding.”
Sweat began to dampen her tank top. He was too close, the anger pouring off him as he toyed with her.
“I’m not dangerous, Jag. I’ve been draden-kissed since I was seven.”
That seemed to stun him, but not for long. He gave her a nasty smile. “You want me to keep your secret, Sugar?”
A small hope leaped inside her, then died. This was Jag. She could never trust him. Never.
“Maybe we’ll have to come to a little understanding,” he drawled.
Olivia raked her hand through her hair, resisting the urge to squeeze her eyes closed. Goddess, I can’t take this! What did he want from her? How far would his torment go before he finally brought the guillotine down on her neck? “What kind of…understanding?”
A slow, predatory smile lifted his lips. “You do exactly what I say, Little Red.”
“And…?” What? He’d let her live or he wouldn’t tell? There was a hell of a difference.
“And you’ll do exactly what I say.” His finger reached out to trace a line from her throat down her chest to the edge of her tank. “Take off your clothes, Sugar. Every last scrap. Then get down on your hands and knees.”
Her scalp crawled, anger and desperation twining within her. “I won’t be your slave, Jag.”
He closed the distance between them, his eyes daring her to do anything about it. His hand closed around her breast, and he squeezed hard, just short of hurting her. “You will be whatever I want you to be. You’re mine now, Red. Mine.”
The word struck at her pride, infuriating her. Damn him. Damn him. As she stared into his cruel eyes, her pride railed. But hope flared red-hot and stayed her hand when all she wanted to do was strike him.
If she did what he wanted, would he keep her secret?
She could only guess. Jag did what Jag wanted and nothing more.
But what if he did? What if her capitulation, her whoring herself, kept him quiet?
No, she’d seen him in action. Capitulation wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted conflict. Fight. He didn’t want a placid whore. He would only be happy as long as he knew she hated every minute of everything he did to her.
Which would be no problem. None. Because it would only be the truth.
But would it be enough? And how long could she keep it up, keep him too interested in her to give her away?
As long as she had to.
She was playing with fire. Yet what choice did she have? Ostracism, maybe even death. Or Jag.
Her pride or her life.
There was no contest. No question. None.
As her gaze dropped to his thickening, lengthening sex, her fingers unbuttoned her pants.
Chapter Eight
Jag watched Olivia unfasten her pants, all too aware of the shaking of her fingers. Dammit.
Deep inside him, something balked. Even he had lines he refused to cross. He might be an ass, but he got no pleasure in another’s pain. He stayed far away from the weak and the vulnerable.
And while there was nothing weak about this woman—hell, no—she’d just landed ass first in the vulnerable. Because he held her life in his hands now, and they both knew it. He didn’t want her vulnerable. Mad as hell, yeah. He liked watching her eyes glitter with fury.
There were traces of anger in her eyes now, but that was it. Mostly she just looked shell-shocked.
Hell.
He opened his mouth to tell her to forget it, when she shrugged off her jacket and began to lift the hem of her tank. His mouth snapped shut as that creamy skin revealed itself, and the thoughts in his head dissipated, all but one.
He had to touch her.
His body grew hotter, longer, heavier moment by moment. Goddess, he couldn’t have taken his gaze off her if his life depended on it. She was small, her movements stiff from the Daemon venom as well as her own reluctance, he was certain. Still, there was a sureness about her movements, an innate grace that drew him, pleasing his senses beyond anything reasonable.
She lifted her tank up and over her head, revealing ripe curves caught within the confines of a black sports bra. Her pale skin shone like alabaster in the moonlight, making his fingers curl into his fists as the need to touch her nearly overwhelmed him.
“What if the Daemon returns?” she asked him, her voice tight.
“I’ll smell him long before he gets here.” He tore his gaze from her creamy skin long enough to glance up at her face. Her eyes were focused on him, eyes aglow with wariness and razor-sharp resentment.
Draden-kissed. A pariah.
The knowledge rocketed through him all over again. Only in recent decades had the Therian council urged pity on those afflicted. It wasn’t like they’d had any choice in the matter. You couldn’t choose to be draden-kissed. You were simply one of the lucky few who hadn’t died after being attacked. Though, in truth, few considered it lucky.
“How in the hell did you keep your secret when you were seven?”
He almost forgot to listen for her answer when her arms crossed in front of her, and she pulled her bra up and over her head, revealing the most perfect pair of breasts he’d ever seen.
Pure desire shot through his body as he stared at those full mounds, their nipples large and pink, begging to be sucked. And, goddess, he wanted to give them that.
“My father knew. The draden had killed my mother and my entire enclave, but he wasn’t there that night. He kept me away from others and taught me to control my feeding.”
“It’s phenomenal you didn’t kill him.”
Her mouth compressed. “I did. Not right away, but eventually I made a mistake, and I did.”
Shit. The guilt she must be living with. “When were you draden-kissed?”
“Fifteenth century.”
Now he stared. “Six hundred years…and no one knows?”
“No one but you has ever been able to feel me feed. My control is excellent. I’m no danger, Jag. I haven’t been a danger to anyone in a very long time.”
He was in no mood for empathizing.
“No danger, Sugar? You damned near let me die!” Dammit, he’d been terrified. Not for himself. He honestly didn’t give a rat’s ass about himself. But thinking he was going to watch her die had sent him tumbling into his nightmares, into those dreams he’d had every fucking night after Cordelia died. Into a place he never wanted to go back to again.
He’d thought the draden were going to kill Olivia, and hard as he’d tried, he couldn’t do anything to stop it. Yet she hadn’t needed saving. And she hadn’t said a word.
Damn her.
She lifted one foot after the other, untying and removing boots and socks, then slowly unzipped her pants, pushing them down over slender hips to reveal a small scrap of black lace. She pushed the pants down her legs and stepped out of them. But as her fingers went to that tantalizing black lace, he stopped her.
“Leave the panties on.”
She just stared at him. “Won’t they be in your way?”
“Eventually. I’ll get rid of them when they are.”
She lifted her chin, the warrior beaten, but not broken. Never broken. “Are you into rape, Jag?”
“It won’t be rape, Sugar. You’re going to be begging me to fuck you before I’m done with you.”
“That does not mean I’m ever going to want you.”
“You’ll want my body. You’ll beg for the releas
e I can bring you.” He stepped toward her, closing the distance between them. Even before he touched her, the lush, warm scent of her filled his senses, turning his limbs weak, his cock hard. His fingers curved around one firm, perfect breast, and another breath of fire shot between his legs. “I told you I’d have you on your knees before me, didn’t I? Now, Red. On your hands and knees like an obedient little slave.”
Anger sparked in her eyes, but it was a fury banked by resignation. He had her up against the wall, and she knew it. Her life now sat firmly in his hands.
Slowly, her eyes blazing into his the entire way, she knelt on the ground, then bent over onto all fours as he’d ordered.
Jag sank to his knees beside her, unable to keep his hands off her a moment longer. As his fingers slid over the creamy skin of her back, then curved around, cupping one round breast, his own hands began to shake.
Never had he needed to touch a woman this badly. Olivia might be on her knees before him. But he was beginning to wonder which of them was truly the one enslaved.
The ground was rough beneath Olivia’s palms and knees—pine needles and dead leaves scratching at her skin. The night air breezed coolly over her bare flesh, but the shiver that tore over her had nothing to do with cold.
Inside, she quaked.
Everything she’d built, everything she’d fought for now lay in the hands of a man she couldn’t trust.
Her pride railed, hating him for forcing her to her knees. The sex itself was of little import. She was Therian. For goddess’s sake, they had sex all the time. All the time. She’d taken every man in her ranks into her body at least once and most dozens, even hundreds of times. But never because she’d had to. Never because she’d had no choice. Never because her life hung in the balance.
Jag said he wouldn’t rape her, and she believed him. She’d felt that hand of his and knew all he had to do was touch her, and she’d be wet and open and ready for him.
No, it wasn’t the fact that he intended to have sex with her that she couldn’t forgive. It was the fact that she had no choice.
Feral warrior 4- Rapture Untamed Page 9
