Feral warrior 4- Rapture Untamed

by Pamela Palmer

  The blowing wind began to swirl.

  But as she dodged a swipe of Ewan’s blade that missed her hip by millimeters, her heart stopped cold. The Daemon swooped in behind Niall.

  Olivia yelled, but to no avail. With one wickedly clawed hand, the Daemon dug deep into Niall’s skull. With the other, he raked off a wide strip of bloody flesh from Niall’s face.

  The cry of pain that erupted from her old friend’s throat went through her like a dull, serrated blade. Anguish and fury roared up inside her as she ducked beneath Ewan’s stab and kneed him hard enough in the balls to send him falling backward.

  She had to reach Niall. But as she turned to do just that, Delaney stepped directly in front of her, the two Mage at Delaney’s back. The FBI agent’s eyes, too, had turned dull with enchantment.

  Behind them, Niall had gone still, no longer fighting, and she knew the venom must have conquered his brain. Even as she watched, the Daemon tore a second strip of flesh from Niall’s skull ripping out one eye and drawing a horrible cry of pain from his nearly immobilized throat.

  Olivia felt the blood drain from her face, a cold, desperate horror washing down her back. Niall would die unless she stopped the Daemon. Using her superior strength, she knocked Delaney’s feet out from under her and rammed her elbow into the base of the woman’s skull hard enough to knock her out cold, praying she’d remain safe like that. The Daemon fed on pain and fear and would, hopefully, ignore an unconscious woman.

  As one, Ewan and the two Mage came at her as if to tackle her to the ground. She slipped by two of them, but the third cut her off, and she found herself surrounded, unable to do anything but counter the steel blows with her own blades.

  Niall made another horrible cry of pain. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the Daemon had moved in front of him and slashed his gut wide open. With his clawed hand, the Daemon pulled Niall’s intestines out of his body.

  Dear goddess. She had to save him, but she was fighting for her own life, desperately trying to save herself.

  Did she dare try to feed enough to scare off the Daemon? Could she possibly do so without hurting the others? The risk was terrible, for Niall already clung to life by a thread.

  She had no choice. Out of options.

  Olivia opened herself and fed at what had become her lowest level.

  The Daemon squawked, but didn’t move away. It wasn’t enough. She increased her feeding strength until finally Ewan’s and the Mage’s attacks slowed. Ewan stumbled, and Olivia took the opportunity to escape the two remaining blades and vaulted for the Daemon.

  If she could reach him, touch him…

  Niall had fallen unconscious. Had she killed him when she fed? Had she stolen the last of his strength? Even as the horrible thought tore at her mind, the Daemon reached deep into Niall’s chest cavity and ripped out his heart. And she knew whatever she’d done hadn’t mattered.

  Her friend was dead.

  In a haze of grief and fury, Olivia ran at the Daemon, grabbing his wrist with her left hand, intending to suck the life out of him as she stabbed him with her right, but the touch of her hand against his sent a jolt of revulsion through her so strong she forgot what she was doing. His arm felt like living, writhing snakes beneath her palm. Electricity jolted through her, a cold current that chilled her to the marrow of her bones.

  She shook herself out of her shock and opened herself, sucking in his essence.

  The Daemon struck so quickly, she didn’t see him move until it was too late. With one wicked claw, he sliced cleanly through her wrist, taking off the hand that held him.

  Olivia stumbled back, pain exploding as she stared in disbelief at the stump of her wrist, watching her hand fall into the grass as the Daemon rose and flew away.

  Shock vaulted through her system, and she didn’t hear the men behind her until she collided with the ground. The impact cleared her mind.

  Survive. She had to survive. She tried to roll onto her stomach, reaching out only to slam her bloody stump into the ground instead. A scream of pain ripped from her lungs, then cut off abruptly as Ewan landed on top of her, pinning her to the ground with his massive weight.

  Ewan’s fist slammed into her jaw, knocking her head back into the dirt, nearly sending her into unconsciousness.

  She struggled to focus, watching as one of the Mage leaned toward her with a cold, satisfied smile. “You belong to us, now.”

  His hand reached for her face.

  Chapter Sixteen

  He had to reach Olivia!

  But he couldn’t leave his brothers behind. Never in his life could Jag remember feeling such a battle of loyalties.

  Stripes, Wings! he yelled mentally. Kougar, if you can hear me, try calling on the power of your animals.

  Good idea, Tighe said. We’ve got to do something! What about Kougar?

  He’s not answering.

  Dammit. Alright, let’s get Hawke and me back in our animals. Then I want the two of you out of here helping the Therians and D. I’ll try to reach Kougar.

  Hawke’s shout of pain tore through Jag’s head. I got…a stab in…before he clawed me. His robe isn’t…cloth. More like smoke. My knife went right through it.

  At least we don’t have to cut ourselves, Jag drawled. The goddamned Daemon’s done that for us already.

  His mind kept going to Olivia. If only he could communicate with her, to know she was all right.

  Red? Olivia!

  Tighe’s voice rang in his head. I’m blooding my fist and raising it, Jag. Tell the others, then lead the chant. This may be the only chance we get. Still no word from Kougar?

  No. None.

  Then let’s do this.

  Spirits rise and join, Jag chanted, since he was the only one still in his animal and the only one they could hear. Empower the beast within this hell.

  He couldn’t hear verbal speech, only telepathy, so couldn’t hear the others repeating the words. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they heard him.

  Over and over, he repeated the chant, his body tense and ready, waiting for that moment one or all of them shouted with the joy of the shift and let him know they’d succeeded. Then he’d spring out of this shit hole and race to Olivia’s side.

  But no shout sounded in his mind. Nothing but dead silence. The silence of defeat.

  Kougar crouched, knives at the ready, blood running down his neck from where the Daemon had ripped off a strip of his scalp. His head was healing, but the venom had seeped into his mind, screwing up his brain. Already, he’d lost speech. He couldn’t even reply telepathically to Jag’s calls. Though he still had complete, complex thoughts, the part of his brain that turned them into language had been disabled by the venom. He’d recover eventually.

  If he survived long enough.

  In his head, he heard Jag calling him, but he couldn’t respond. Again, Kougar fought to move forward, but nothing happened. Was he truly making no progress, or could he simply not feel it?

  The telltale movement of air warned him of another attack a split second before claws raked across his neck and shoulder, opening him wide. Kougar spun, slicing high at the creature with his knife, feeling the blade dig into flesh. His face?

  The Daemon screeched and shot out of range. Kougar tried to follow, but the warding kept him trapped. It was times like this he was glad he felt little pain, or he’d be hurting like a son of a bitch. As it was, the ripped flesh was a mild discomfort, nothing more.

  Jag ordered them to join him in the chant that would raise the spirit and power of the animals. Kougar tried to respond, but as before, nothing happened. He couldn’t join in, which would leave him trapped in this prison, unable to move forward or back, at the mercy of the Daemon.

  He fought the growing lethargy of his mind, fought to find the power within him to shift so he could get out of this place. A glimmer of energy skated along the edges of his brain. For one brilliant moment, he thought the chant might be working, he thought he’d found the power to c
hange back into his animal.

  Then he realized what he was feeling. Not his own energy, but another. Ilina energy.

  Even as the realization hit him, Melisande and Brielle materialized before him, their forms insubstantial. Mist. How they’d breached the warding, he didn’t know, but he could both see and hear them.

  Not in years had he been so glad to see a damned Ilina.

  Melisande spoke. “You’re in trouble warrior. Our psychic sees you dying here without intervention. Queen Ariana bade us let you die, but the psychic says no. You’re useful still if we reconnect the link that was severed.”

  Reconnect the link…? Kougar’s mind reeled. No. He shook his head adamantly, unable to say the word. As much as he hated not feeling, reconnecting him would mean he’d feel everything again. Worse. A thousand times worse.

  “Then you shall die. So, too, will your friends, for it’s your voice they need joined with theirs to raise the power of their animals, to free them from this prison. Would you, out of stubbornness, steal four Feral lives?”

  The bitch knew he wouldn’t let that happen. But, goddess, he didn’t want this. For a thousand years, he’d felt little emotion, and only the barest heat, cold, or pain. But the pain and the emotion lived inside him, dormant, waiting for the day they’d be free again to rise up and dig their fangs deep into his heart, making him bleed. Again.

  He did not want this.

  But what choice had he? Melisande might be many things, but she’d never been a liar. If she said the psychic claimed Kougar would die in this place and his brothers along with him, they would die.

  A shudder tore through his mind.

  Meeting Melisande’s gaze, he nodded.

  The Ilina floated to him, her mistlike hands curving around the golden band that circled his upper arm. At first he felt the usual nothing. Then, slowly, warmth began to seep into his flesh. Warmth that grew hotter and hotter until the band glowed like molten gold, and his flesh burned.

  The heat spread up into his shoulder, flushing through his chest and up into his head, leaving a trail of searing pain. Deep inside him, the emotions that had long been encased in ice burst free—ancient grief, bitter betrayal.

  Fury.

  He would kill the bitch. He’d kill her!

  Brielle stepped forward, the top of her head not even reaching his chin, her small hands lifting to press against his temples. “I cannot remove the venom, Kougar, but I can pull it back and hold it until you’ve shifted.”

  Seething hatred and white-hot fury ripped across his mind, but they weren’t directed at either of the Ilinas before him. No, it was another woman he had to thank for nearly destroying him.

  Ariana, Queen of the Ilinas.

  Ariana, his mate, his wife. The woman he’d loved beyond measure until she faked her own death, betraying everything they’d meant to one another.

  She would pay. Goddess help him, he would find a way to make her pay for severing the mating bond all those centuries ago, making him believe she was dead. For a thousand years he’d suffered, his heart cold as an arctic night, his life turned to dust.

  And it had all been a lie.

  As Brielle worked, he began to feel the venom’s lock on his brain loosen.

  Jag’s voice continued to chant in his head.

  Jag, I’m here. Keep chanting.

  He did. And this time, when Kougar tried to join him, the words came.

  As Kougar joined the chant, a rumble trembled through Jag’s body, a deep, rolling thunder he could feel but not hear. Even though he was already in his animal, the power jolted through him as the magic began to grow.

  Hope leaped. And then he heard the sound he’d held his breath for. The triumphant shouts of the other Ferals.

  It worked! Tighe shouted. Let’s get the hell out of here.

  Without a second’s hesitation, Jag turned and leaped back through the warding, out of the darkness, and into a scene of rain and carnage. Four bodies littered the grass around a single, raging battle, in the middle of which lay his Red.

  As he landed, his right foreleg collapsed beneath him, torn and half-paralyzed from the Daemon’s venom. He rolled through the grass, righting himself and shifting back into his human form all in one move, his injured foreleg now an arm that wouldn’t hamper his run.

  The wind whipped violently, slashing his bare flesh with a torrent of cold, stinging rain. But he barely felt it, his focus on one thing only. Reaching Olivia.

  Ewan had her pinned on the ground, slamming his fist into her jaw. One of them had to be enchanted or the male would never turn against her. He just hoped to hell it was Ewan. It had to be. Olivia wasn’t feeding.

  Behind Ewan, a Mage reached over his shoulder to touch Olivia. To enchant her, too. And once he did, Jag would have no choice but to kill her. To stop her before she killed them all.

  He leaped, shifting in midair, and snapped his powerful jaws around the Mage’s hand, millimeters from Olivia’s face. Bone crunched beneath his teeth, blood spilling warm into his mouth as he yanked the Mage off his feet, away from Olivia, then ripped the appendage from the bastard’s arm.

  Tighe and Hawke came running, a tiger and a man, both as bloody as he was. Behind them, Kougar stumbled and fell. Conscious, but Jag suspected, barely.

  Tighe reached Ewan first and tackled him off Olivia, who continued to try to fight him but…Jesus. Her hand…

  Jag’s gut fisted.

  Hawke attacked Ewan from behind, jamming his one good thumb into the man’s neck, knocking him unconscious. The moment Ewan was down, Tighe took off to where Delaney lay, unmoving. Not far from…holy shit. Was that skeletal mass Niall?

  Ah, goddess.

  Hawke started for Olivia. Jag growled deep in his jaguar’s throat and shifted. “Take the Mage, Hawke. I’ll see to her.”

  Hawke looked up, his face bloody, his eyes calm. He nodded and drew his knives as Jag ran for Olivia, who was even now trying to sit up. Her bright hair flew around her face in a wind that had risen to near-hurricane force. A face far too pale and pinched with pain.

  The hand would regrow, though not without a fair amount of agony. But she lived. Goddess, she still lived.

  As he sank down beside her, their gazes collided.

  Hers, shattered, clung to him. “The Daemon…?”

  “Nowhere in sight.” Her gaze slid over him, pinched with misery as it returned to his. She swallowed hard, a sheen of tears bright in her eyes.

  “I thought…”

  Had she been afraid for him? A nearly overwhelming need to gather her into his arms took hold of him. But before he reached for her, she turned, her gaze flying to the corpse in the yard.

  His hands fisted at his sides as tears welled in her eyes, and he knew a terrible jealousy.

  “Niall?” he asked tersely.

  She nodded, struggling to her feet. “The Daemon killed him.” As she started for the corpse, Jag stared at her back, feeling angry, deserted. Bereft.

  He turned away. The Therian bastard hadn’t deserved to die, but Jag wasn’t going to stand there and watch her mourn him.

  Tighe strode toward him cradling Delaney’s unmoving form in his arms.

  Jag’s gaze jerked to Tighe’s face and knew at once the woman remained alive. Anger and frustration burned in the tiger shifter’s eyes, but no devastation. No grief.

  “She’s unconscious,” Tighe said, confirming Jag’s observation.

  “I knocked her out, Tighe,” Olivia said behind him. “The Mage…” She gasped with pain, and he turned to find her curling around her arm. Limbs were a bitch to regrow. He’d regrown his share of them, as he was sure she had, too. No one fought for centuries without losing a few. The pain, sharp as hell, came in waves as the bone pushed through, re-forming the lost hand. The whole process didn’t take long, but she would suffer.

  Then she’d be fine and could fully grieve for her lost lover.

  The thought burned the insides of his skull.

  “The Mage enthral
led her,” Olivia continued when the burst of pain had apparently passed. “Be careful when she wakes. Ewan, too.”

  Tighe nodded, his brows pulling together in concern. “Can you walk through that? We need to get out of here. Back to Feral House for some serious radiance.”

  Jag stilled. No way in hell should he be taking Olivia back to Feral House. Not in her Daemon-strong condition. But he needed the radiance, needed to go back. And leaving her out here alone would raise all kinds of questions.

  He wasn’t leaving her out here alone. No way was he leaving her…at all.

  Shit.

  If he stayed close to her at all times, taking her back there should be safe enough. He could stop her if her feeding ever got out of control.

  He prayed to the goddess it never came to that.

  Hawke joined them, Ewan slung over his shoulder like one mammoth sack of grain, Kougar silent at his side.

  “What about Niall?” Olivia choked on the name. “I can’t leave him here.”

  “I’ll get him,” Jag told her.

  She met his gaze, a hollow look in her eyes that twisted inside him, angering him more.

  There was no logic to his anger, he knew that. Niall was dead, and she’d paid him little enough attention when he lived. But logic had nothing to do with his feelings for this woman. Hell, he didn’t know what he wanted, if he even wanted anything at all. All he knew was her grief made him feel like slamming his fist through something.

  Because he couldn’t stand seeing her in pain, even if that pain was all for another man.

  Olivia curled around her left arm on the drive back to Great Falls and Feral House as pain tore through her wrist in wave after scalding wave. She felt as if someone were taking a hatchet to her, cutting off her hand over and over again.

  Jag sat beside her in the Hummer, driving, his free hand gently gripping her thigh. Tighe and Delaney sat behind them and, in the far back, Ewan lay tied and unconscious.