Feral warrior 4- Rapture Untamed

by Pamela Palmer

  “The panther!”

  “The jaguar!”

  One after another, the Feral Warriors roared to the heavens, calling the power of their beasts.

  This time, instead of feeling a rush of power, Jag felt pure, cool pleasure ripple through his body, inside and out. A cascade of joy as if Skye had somehow plugged them into heaven itself.

  And when it was over, to a man they were grinning, Jag included for about half a second, until his fear for Olivia swamped him all over again.

  “Let’s go!” Lyon’s roar of a command stole the last of the smiles, and the six Ferals took off, slipping through the woods on man feet, passing without a sound as Hawke took to the skies.

  Lyon looked to Jag. With a nod, Jag took over lead of the group. He’d been the first to find the dilapidated Mage stronghold. And he’d be the only one to feel Olivia’s feeding. He needed to be out front, and they all knew it.

  As he ran through the woods, one question tormented him, raking at his mind over and over. If she’d been turned, how would he kill her? She was the air in his lungs, the heart beating in his chest. How could he destroy her knowing the chance existed that she was still in there somewhere, her soul not destroyed so much as subjugated, as Vhyper’s had been?

  His every instinct, even the animal spirit that shared his body, roared at him to save her. To protect her.

  But his loyalty and duty to the Ferals demanded he destroy her before she destroyed them. And he had little doubt the Ferals would be her target. How would he live with the guilt if she killed one or more of his brothers because he’d failed to stop her?

  He was just beginning to understand how his guilt over Cordelia’s death, a death that had been far from intentional, had wrecked him for centuries. How would he live with dozens, possibly hundreds of deaths that he’d consciously, willingly, permitted?

  He wouldn’t, it was that simple. He couldn’t let it happen. If, when he found her, he was too late, if she’d already been turned, he would destroy her.

  No choice. Goddess help him. He’d take her life and likely lose his own in the process. The only bright side was he wouldn’t have to live without her.

  When he caught a glimpse of peeling, dirty white siding, he pulled up.

  “She’s not in there.”

  “How can you be sure?” Lyon asked him.

  “I don’t know.” His confused gaze went to Tighe. For some reason he was certain the tiger shifter would understand. “There’s a…brightness…inside me. A glow, when she’s near.”

  Tighe nodded, his eyes telling him he did indeed understand. “The beginnings of the mating bond. And it’s absent?”

  “Yeah.”

  Tighe’s expression changed, sympathy filling his eyes, and Jag knew he’d misunderstood.

  “The glow isn’t gone, Stripes. That’s not what I meant.” She wasn’t dead, thank the goddess. “I still feel it. It’s just not here.”

  Tighe’s expression returned to that of the hunter. “Can you follow it?”

  “No. It’s not that strong.” But as he turned away, determined to continue looking, Lyon stopped him.

  “We’re attacking the Mage stronghold, Jag.”

  Jag’s hands fisted. “I have to find Olivia!” The need was eating him alive.

  Tighe’s hand landed on Jag’s shoulder. “If we can catch one of the Mage and get him to talk, we might find her that much quicker.”

  Everything inside him rebelled. He had to find her now. But Tighe was right. He didn’t have a clue where to look.

  Lyon began issuing orders. “Spread out and circle the house. If we get attacked and have to shift human, no other Feral should be within the arc of your blade swing or claws. Shift and get into place!”

  Jag tore off his clothes, as did Lyon and Wulfe, then all shifted into their animals. While Hawke circled in the air, the others raced around the house on four legs, taking up their positions.

  Jag’s stomach crawled with the need to get this over with. Olivia wasn’t here. And she needed him!

  Now! Lyon’s voice rang in his head.

  Through a haze of fiery pain, Olivia heard the cellar door open. How long had she been trapped like this? It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t feed from the humans. Wouldn’t!

  Prying her eyes open, she saw Mystery, a dark ball in her hand that spit and crackled as if it encased true lightning. A power orb, identical to the ones that had hung from the eaves of the house when she and Jag first stumbled upon it. Behind Mystery, two other Mage sorcerers filed into the room, one carrying a stack of bowls, the other a small, lit torch.

  Through swimming vision, she watched with growing unease as the two males laid the bowls in a circle around the outside of her cylindrical cage and lit something inside them. More than a dozen fires ringed her, fires that would no doubt be used in some kind of magic.

  Not good.

  Jag!

  No answer. Don’t be dead, Jag. Don’t be dead. Lyon? Tighe!

  But none of the Ferals seemed to be within hearing distance, or if they were, not in their animals. Or perhaps her cage, which kept her from feeding, also kept her from communicating with those outside.

  She clung to the hope, however slim it might be, that the Ferals might find her before it was too late. That Jag might still be alive.

  Mystery lifted her hands, and the power orb levitated to float directly over the test tube, spitting with its captured lightning.

  Hunger tore at Olivia, searing her flesh, the pain a living, breathing thing inside her. Her jaw felt locked in place, clamped together hard against the scream that tore through her head.

  The humans stood before her, as they had all along. Enthralled. Offering up their lives.

  No, not offering.

  Mystery chanted in a dialect Olivia was fairly certain was ancient Mage. As the men took up the chant, Olivia’s eyelids crashed down, but she couldn’t fight the sound. The voices raked at her eardrums, repeating the same string of words over and over.

  The power in the room began to grow, swirling around her, knifing at her already-burning flesh. Stronger and stronger, it began to seep into her pores, snaking down into her body like hot coals, stoking the flames of the hunger. The magic crawled inside her, into her organs and into her mind, gnawing at her tightly held control.

  “No!” The word broke from her lips on a cry.

  “Yes, life-stealer,” Mystery said tonelessly. “You’ll thwart us no more.”

  Olivia fought to hold on, but even her formidable will proved no match for the magic. And in a single scalding rush of fire, her control was ripped free of her grasp.

  And she fed.

  Her eyes flew open. Fury and horror tore at her mind even as her body rejoiced. She fed of the life force that had been bombarding her senses for what felt like hours. She fed even as the humans began to sway on their feet, even as she watched them collapse. She fed until no more life force existed within her cage except her own. And still she wanted more. Needed more.

  Even as the pain of hunger lifted, the horror of what she’d done flayed her heart and mind.

  She’d killed them.

  Not willingly. Not willingly.

  But the humans were dead just the same.

  “It’s time.” Mystery walked over to the Plexiglas door and opened it. “You’re ready, life-stealer.”

  Olivia stared at her. “Ready for what?” But she feared she knew. She fed hard, trying to suck Mystery dry, but the sorceress was prepared for that.

  The Mage witch grabbed Olivia’s arm, sending her powerful will against Olivia’s compromised one.

  “You are ready to help us destroy the Feral Warriors.”

  Before Olivia could do so much as draw a breath to argue, her vision began to darken, her mind clouding over as she fell into the abyss of enthrallment.

  As one, the Feral animals raced forward, leaping onto the porch or through the back, shattering what remained of the windows of the dilapidated white house.

&nbs
p; Jag crashed through the back door and landed not in a black hole of warding like before, but in an old run-down kitchen. The smell of rotting flesh raked at his senses. Real flesh. Not Daemon.

  The wolf and tiger joined him.

  No warding this time, Tighe said wryly. It stinks in here.

  Lyon padded through the interior doorway on four paws. Bodies. Spread out. Search in pairs.

  Five long minutes later, the Ferals gathered outside, back in human form. Jag paced, every muscle twitching with his need to take off.

  “Four dead humans rotting in one of the upstairs bedrooms, otherwise nothing,” Paenther confirmed. “The Mage appear to have moved out.”

  “We have to find Olivia,” Jag said through gritted teeth.

  Lyon met his gaze. “Look inside you. If you’ve really begun to form a mating bond with her, you’re the only one who can. Listen to it.”

  Tighe came to stand beside Lyon. “I feel the connection to Delaney in my mind. Like a bright thread. Yours may be different, but test it. See if it doesn’t pull you.”

  Jag closed his eyes. This wasn’t going to work. He might still feel that glow, because he loved her, dammit. But any connection that had been forming between them, he’d hatcheted but good.

  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.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  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 bl
essing. 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 furrows 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.