The knowledge brought with it a strange relief. They’d each fight the suckers with their own unique gifts. Olivia could safely draw them to her while he stayed in his animal, ready to pounce. They’d make a damn good fighting team. For now.
What in the hell was he going to do with her? Lyon would be royally pissed if Jag brought her back to Feral House without warning him what she was. Hell, the Chief would be pissed if he brought her anywhere near his Ferals at all.
Olivia claimed she had complete control, but anyone draden-kissed was extremely dangerous if she ever wanted to be. Except she couldn’t feed, couldn’t harm anyone, without him knowing. Which meant that as long as he stayed close enough to stop her, she couldn’t harm anyone at all.
And they needed her. At least for now. She was a good little fighter, a well-trained warrior with some special skills that just might come in handy against their enemies.
Eventually, he’d have no choice but to out her. As much as he enjoyed riling Lyon, keeping this kind of secret was an offense Lyon would never forgive.
In the meantime, though, Olivia was his.
Olivia hurried along beside the jaguar, jogging to keep up, which was fine with her. The night wouldn’t last, and she had a score to settle with that Daemon.
If only the venom would finish working its way out of her system. The lethargy continued to tug at her limbs, though not as badly as before. Ironically, despite the heaviness in her limbs, she felt stronger, more powerful than ever thanks to the Daemon life force she’d ingested,
How often do you need to feed? Jag asked after they’d covered a good three miles.
“The energy of half a dozen draden will fill me for hours. Around Therians or humans, it depends on how many there are and how emotional the situation. I have to be particularly careful with humans. If there aren’t a lot of them around, I can take very little.”
How often do you kill them?
“I haven’t killed anyone by accident since my father. At least not that I know of.”
You’ve killed on purpose?
“Of course. What warrior hasn’t?”
True. You use your…gift…in addition to your weapons?
“If I can drain an opponent without collateral damage to others, I’ll weaken him. But I can only direct my feeding to one person if I grab him and hold on.”
Too bad. A concentrated shot like that could be a powerful weapon. You ever killed someone just because they needed killing? It would be easy to do, wouldn’t it?
She didn’t answer right away. The question dug up old memories she’d rather leave buried. But the freedom to talk honestly for the first time in centuries proved too powerful, and she found herself telling him.
“After my father died, I was terrified of making another mistake, of killing another Therian, so I continued to live alone.” She swallowed. “I became prey to humans, of course. To men.”
Shit. Did you kill the bastards before they…?
“No. The first time, I didn’t know what they wanted. I thought they were being kind when they invited me to join their camp, and I was so lonely.”
They raped you.
“Yes. I could have killed them, but I hated myself so badly for killing my father, it felt right somehow. Like the goddess had finally delivered the retribution I deserved. I let it happen again and again, putting myself in the paths of rough or drunken men, seeking that punishment.”
How old were you when this started?
“Seventeen.”
Olivia. I’m sorry. The pain in his tone surprised her, the honesty in his words wrapping around her like a protective cocoon. If he’d been there, back then, he’d have killed them for what they’d done to her. Somehow she knew that.
Her story had prodded those protective instincts of his into play, the same ones that had come to Pink’s defense. Once more, her instincts told her that beneath the bad-boy façade lived a decent man.
She eyed the cat thoughtfully. He’d been determined to make her bend to his will when he ordered her to strip and get down on hands and knees. Then he’d been nothing but gentle. Demanding, yes. Teasing her sensually until she begged him to take her. Determined to have his way.
But he’d given her nothing but pleasure.
Her pride might be bruised, but her body felt warm and sated.
Jag pulled up. Do you smell that, Red?
Something scratched at her nose, a scent like garbage, only worse.
“Is that the Daemon?”
I’m sure of it. Ten bucks says it’s coming from that house.
Olivia blinked and looked around. “What house?” She saw nothing but trees rising from a bed of thick underbrush.
The jaguar swung his head toward her, eyeing her with interest before returning his gaze to whatever had caught his attention. Magic rippled over her skin as he shifted back into a man, his powerful body gleaming in the moonlight.
“So now we know it’s coming from that house. That’s damn powerful warding if it’s blocking even Therian senses.”
Olivia looked at him with surprise, goose bumps lifting on her arms. “Where’s the house? How far?”
“About twenty yards in front of you.”
“No way.” Trees. Nothing but trees. “Since when do the Mage possess the kind of power it takes to hide a house from a Therian?”
“Since their leader, Inir, got infected with dark spirit and has apparently tapped into some serious magic. The Mage are resurrecting all kinds of bad shit that’s been lost for thousands of years. Most of it associated with dark power.”
“Why can you see the house and not me?”
He gave her a smug little smile. “I’m a Feral. Fucking Superman.” His hand caressed her buttocks. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
Absently, she pushed his hand away, troubled by the fact that she could have walked right into that Mage stronghold and never realized it until it was too late.
She looked around, chills crawling up her spine. Were invisible Mage watching them even now? They could be anywhere, and she’d never know.
Her gaze flew to Jag’s. “Tell me what you see.”
“I can show you.” The gleam in his eye told her exactly how he meant to do that. Sexual release opened the Therian mind to magic in ways nothing else could.
Goddess, her body still hadn’t recovered from the last sensual onslaught. The last thing she needed right now was a repeat.
His eyes turned wicked. “I’ll make it quick, but you’re going to have to control those sexy little cries of yours, or we’ll have them all over us.”
She wanted to deny him, she really did. But she wanted to see the Mage more.
With a disgruntled sigh, she held out her hand. “Make it quick.”
“Then spread your legs for me, Sugar. I’ll go straight to your sweet spot.”
Olivia clenched her jaw. “I don’t have to pull down my pants?”
“Not unless you want to.”
“I don’t.” Releasing a groan of disgust, she spread her legs.
Jag met her gaze, a smile pulling at his lips. Then he moved behind her, sliding his hand over her mouth.
“Just a precaution,” he said quietly, as his thumb stroked her cheek.
Leaning over her shoulder, he slid his other hand between her legs and cupped her.
“Watch straight ahead,” he said against her temple.
She tensed, holding her breath for the rush of heat, and didn’t have long to wait. Pleasure poured into her sensitive flesh on a river of delicious fire, her legs turning to rubber. Jag’s hand held her up, pulling her tight against his body and the erection growing stiffer by the minute at her back. As the orgasm rushed up from the depths of her core, the moan exploded in her head, barely muffled by Jag’s hand. It broke over her with a startling power, clenching and spasming inside her as he held her close.
“Look, Red. Look!”
She forced her eyes to focus despite the storm of pleasure ripping her body apart, and gasp
ed in shock as a house appeared out of thin air.
As Jag had said, not twenty yards ahead of her stood a large, rickety, run-down house with dirty white siding and a wraparound porch, one section of which appeared to be rotted through. And smack-dab in front, on the dirt track that served as a drive, stood the red pickup truck.
Her body tensed, and she shook her head until Jag pulled his hand from her mouth and settled it, warm and firm, on her breast. Without thinking, she arched into his touch, her body still riding the effects of release.
“That’s the truck I was following earlier,” she whispered.
His hand slid out from between her legs to caress her abdomen, his hand vibrating as if he were shaking. He pressed his cheek against her temple, his voice low and pained. “You have no idea what it does to me to make you come.”
Tucked tight between them, his thick erection twitched and throbbed.
“I have some idea,” she said huskily.
Heat swirled around them, the fire unquenched despite her roaring release. She’d fought and fought against giving in to him the first time, but if their situation weren’t so dangerous, she knew she’d be begging him to come inside her again.
Slowly, reluctantly, Jag’s hands fell away and he stepped to her side. His erection stood straight out from his body, hard as oak and thick as her wrist.
“Looks painful,” she murmured.
“Want to suck me off?”
Deliberate crudeness with which he intended to wedge some distance between them again. She had him figured out well enough.
But as she stared at that gorgeous thickness, desire to do just that—to take him deep in her mouth—flowed hot and rich inside her.
He lifted a lock of her hair and twisted it around his finger, tugging gently. “You keep looking at it like that, and there won’t be any sucking necessary.”
“Rain check?” she asked softly, lifting her gaze to his.
His brows lifted, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Every time I think I have you figured out, you surprise me.”
She found herself smiling. “I’m aware of that.”
His eyes lit with laughter, and he tugged on her hair. “So sure of yourself, are you?” Releasing her hair, his hand cupped her jaw, his thumb sliding across her ultrasensitive bottom lip. “We’ll continue this discussion later. This is neither the time nor the place.” He held out his hand to her and she hesitated only a moment before taking it. “Let’s take a look around.”
Jag led her through the brush and trees, keeping well back from the tree line where they wouldn’t be seen if someone looked out one of the windows. There were lights on inside, but the curtains were drawn, and Olivia could see nothing.
As one, they froze as two Mage sentinels turned the corner and strode across the front of the house. Guards, no doubt.
When the Mage pair had their backs turned to them, Jag led her through the woods, circling the house slowly, then stopped so quickly she ran into him, her shoulder pressing against the warmth of his arm.
She didn’t waste breath on questions. Instead, her gaze followed his to the two thick posts standing in the middle of the backyard. Attached to them appeared to be slabs of meat of some kind.
Her gaze narrowed as she pondered the why. Were they trying to attract some kind of animal?
But as her mind caught up to her gaze, she noticed the single boot hanging from the end of one bloody strip. With a hard blast of cold, she understood. Gagging, she turned her head, pressing her forehead against Jag’s shoulder. A shaking bare shoulder that had turned suddenly cool and clammy.
“Motherfuckers,” Jag snarled beside her. “They’re using the humans as Daemon bait.”
Her head began to throb as it always did in the face of stark cruelty. The humans would have been strung up alive, since Daemons fed on fear and pain. Were these the men she’d followed out of Wal-Mart? Was it their flesh hanging there, now? Dear goddess. She struggled for control, for the warrior toughness she’d learned so long ago.
Jag snatched his hand from hers, a low animalistic growl rumbling from his throat.
Olivia lifted her head, noting the fangs that had sprouted from his human mouth.
“Easy, Feral. You can’t take them on alone, though goddess knows I want to help you. Especially when we don’t know what they’re capable of anymore.” She ran her hand over his back in slow, calming strokes. “Ease down, Jag.”
Slowly, his fangs retreated, and he looked at her with furious eyes. A fury not turned on her. “There could be others in there who are still alive.”
“We’ll call for reinforce…”
Jag’s hand shot to her shoulder, quieting her as the door to the house opened. They watched as two people walked down the steps, a man and a woman dressed in sorcerer’s robes. The same auburn-haired woman she’d seen in the parking lot of Wal-Mart.
As the woman reached the bottom step, she stumbled.
The man’s hand shot out to steady her. “Mystery?”
The woman—Mystery?—waved her hand at him impatiently, her bearing cool and confident despite her near spill. “I’m fine. How long has it been gone?”
“Ten minutes. These two didn’t last long.”
The witch barely glanced at the corpses. Instead, her gaze went to the eaves of the house where dark orbs hung crackling with barely visible lightning.
“Long enough,” she murmured.
“The power orbs are full?”
“They appear to be, yes.” An expression of satisfaction settled across her face. “Raw Daemon energy. The most powerful force on Earth.”
“Do you think it’ll be enough?” The male sorcerer’s subservient bearing told Olivia he was the underling of the pair.
“There’s no way to know. The last one to attempt this was Satanan himself. The project will be complete when it’s complete.”
As the male pulled down the orbs, the two guards came around the corner.
Mystery motioned to the corpses hanging from the posts. “Dispose of these.” As one of the guards bowed, she continued. “Is there time before dawn for one more feeding?”
“No, Sorceress. Dawn will be upon us within a pair of hours. The Daemon will not be back this night.”
“Very well.” She turned and climbed the stairs back into the house.
Olivia turned to Jag at the same moment he turned to her. They’re worried gazes collided. “What do you think the project is?” she asked in a whisper.
“Hell if I know. But if the last one to attempt it was Satanan, we can be sure of one thing. If they succeed, we’re in deep trouble.”
Chapter Ten
They walked back to the Hummer in silence, Jag in his jaguar-house-cat form since dawn had broken. The eastern sky glowed the color of fresh blood.
Olivia opened the back door of the Hummer, and the cat jumped in. She closed the door behind him as a maintenance truck rumbled by on the road below, then climbed into the front passenger seat. Behind her, magic erupted on a surge of sparkling lights. She felt it tingle along the surface of her skin, a pleasant sensation, and glanced back to find Jag a man once more, shoving one powerful leg after another into his pants. He raised his hips to pull the pants over his buttocks, his manparts lifting as if in offering. For once, it seemed to be her mind, not his, caught in an endless sexual loop. Leaving his pants unzipped, he pulled the T-shirt over his head, pulling it down like a second skin to mold his muscular torso.
Beneath one tight sleeve, his armband curled, the jaguar’s eyes seeming to watch her.
Jag climbed out of the vehicle and opened the driver’s door, zipping his pants before reentering.
As he started the Hummer, Olivia tipped her head back and closed her eyes, all that had happened tonight crashing over her in a massive wave that threatened to sweep her feet out from under her. Jag knew she was draden-kissed. At first, she’d been utterly certain he’d give her away, but she just didn’t know anymore. The more she thought she understood him, the more of
an enigma he became.
When the draden attacked, he could so easily have saved himself simply by shifting, but instead he’d nearly sacrificed his life trying to save her. Beneath the crappy attitude stood a man of rare honor and courage. A good man, though she felt certain he didn’t see himself as such.
But would that honor drive him to keep her secret? Or to give her away? She couldn’t know, and she feared the answer.
A soft tug on her hair had her turning her head to find Jag watching her.
“You okay?” For once, no devilment lit his eyes, only genuine concern. “Is that venom out of your system?”
As she looked into those warm, dark eyes, something happened. The solid, emotional ground beneath her feet gave way, and she felt herself falling. Tumbling.
Olivia wrenched her gaze away, staring at nothing as her heart pounded in her chest. Goddess. What was the matter with her?
Lifting an unsteady hand, she pushed the hair back from her face and took a deep, calming breath before answering him. “The venom is mostly gone. My arm still feels a little weird, a little sore, but otherwise, I’m fine.”
He reached for her, his hand cupping her upper arm where the tear in her jacket exposed the bare flesh newly healed from the Daemon attack. She tensed, uncertain what he meant to do with that palm, but felt only his thumb stroking the aching echoes of claw wounds, easing the lingering pain.
“Better or worse?” he asked quietly.
She hazarded a glance at him, worried she’d tumble all over again, but he’d turned to the front. “Better. Thank you.”
As he put the vehicle into gear and pulled out onto the road, she studied the strong lines of his profile. Without a doubt he was a fine-looking male.
“Where are we going?”
“The motel.”
His warm fingers continued to caress her arm, and she let her eyes drift close, but her mind refused to be still. What would she do if Jag did report her as being draden-kissed? She’d have no choice but to run. Or try to run. Getting away from Jag would be no easy feat.
Dammit, she was so tired. Decade after decade, century after century, she’d held her secret tight, terrified someone would discover it. Terrified her life would be over.
Feral warrior 4- Rapture Untamed Page 11
