D
usk shadowed the sky as Hawke dragged his tired body through the front door of Feral House. He’d come back to himself about ten miles upriver and discovered his cell phone was dead. At any other time, before his plunge into the spirit trap, he’d have simply flown home. But shifting into his bird would have only ripped away his consciousness and his will a second time. So he’d walked.
On the way, he’d been hit with another of those lightning-strike headaches, quickly followed by his hawk’s furious retaliation. That ripping torment had lasted longer than ever before, and he’d found himself half-tempted to shift back into his bird simply to escape the agony. Finally, as always, it had faded away.
Lyon saw him come in the door.
“You’ve been flying all this time?” his chief asked.
“All except the walk home. It’s still Thursday?”
Lyon shook his head, his expression grim. “Friday. Thirty-seven hours since you flew off.”
Hell.
“I thought I was getting better.” Clearly not. Each time he shifted, he was lost to the bird for a longer time. An hour, two. Five. Thirty-seven. “I need sleep.”
“I want Kara to give you radiance, first.” Lyon gripped his arm in the Feral greeting, his other hand clasping Hawke’s shoulder as worried eyes embraced him in deep, abiding friendship. “I’m glad to have you back.”
“Is everything okay here?” Hawke asked, as Lyon motioned him to follow him. He wanted to ask about Maxim. About Faith. But he remembered too well his decision to back out of their lives. If he’d done it sooner, maybe he wouldn’t have just lost thirty-seven hours.
“Well enough. A couple of the new Ferals showed up. Five have made contact so far. It looks like they’re going to be a rowdy bunch. You can meet them in the morning.”
They found Kara curled up in a chair in the corner of Lyon’s office, an open book in her lap. At their entrance, she leaped to her feet, tossed the book carelessly into the chair behind her, and ran to Hawke, throwing her arms around him. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
Hawke pulled her tight against him, affection for this woman pressing against the walls of his chest.
“He could use some radiance.” Lyon’s voice was rough, but without a trace of jealousy as his mate embraced his no-longer-missing warrior.
“Of course,” Kara said softly, and began to glow.
For the first time since his Renascence, the energy jolting through him brought no pleasure, no feeling of power. Only a dull, tingling ache. He waited for the ache to fade, the power to rush into him, but nothing changed. And when Kara pulled back at last, her light going out, he felt worse than when they’d started.
Hell.
He kissed her forehead. “Thanks, Kara.”
Kara smiled sweetly at him as she backed into Lyon’s waiting embrace.
Lyon wrapped his arms around her, his worried gaze on Hawke. “Get some sleep, Wings.”
Hawke nodded. Minutes later, he pushed through the door to his bedroom, stripped, and collapsed onto his bed. What the hell had just happened in there? It wasn’t enough he’d been gone thirty-seven hours . . .
thirty-seven
. Now radiance wasn’t helping him? With a stab of fear, he knew. He remembered all too well the way Kara’s radiance had sent Paenther crashing into the wall like a man electrocuted when he’d nearly lost the connection with his animal a few weeks back.
His own connection with his hawk was getting worse. More and more they were acting as separate entities. He feared it was only a matter of time before the connection shattered.
H
awke woke a couple of hours before dawn, went down to the kitchen, and fixed himself a plate, eating alone in a room as dark as his mood. The seventeen animals seemed to be returning after a centuries-long absence, but if they were as rowdy as Lyon suggested, their chief was going to need the original Ferals on their game. And Hawke couldn’t be any more off his. He couldn’t shift, couldn’t fight without risking disappearing for days at a time. Maybe, eventually, forever.
With twenty-five others, maybe it wouldn’t matter.
He shoved his chair back, running a hand through his hair. It mattered to him. The only way he could avoid that fate was to keep himself calm. Collected. A near impossibility with Faith and Maxim in the house.
Goddess. If not for his need for radiance, he’d leave and go live at one of the enclaves. Maybe he should consider it anyway.
He wandered into the hall. Television didn’t interest him, so he headed for the library, his private sanctuary. The room belonged to everyone, of course, but he was the only one who used it on a regular basis. He loved the smell of books, loved to spend an hour or two every day deeply immersed in the words of another mind and, often, another time. It never failed to settle him, calming his soul. And he needed that calm now. Desperately.
But as he approached the double doors to his sanctuary, he saw light spilling out beneath. He’d found Kara in there a few times, but she was usually asleep this time of night.
He pushed open the door and stopped short. Not Kara.
Faith.
She looked up from where she sat curled in his favorite chair in that holey pair of jeans and a faded blue T-shirt, a huge Civil War tome open on her lap. As their gazes met, he felt like a damned deer caught in the headlights. His rational mind told him to back away. Get the hell out of there. The woman was a danger to his equilibrium, to his sanity, to his very life. If Maxim was in there with her . . . or if he found them together again . . .
Just the thought of that prick had his hands clenching into fists, the anger sparking deep inside him. Yet the ever-present rage dimmed, that calming hand pushing it down. He blinked, understanding washing over him. It was Faith who’d been helping him keep control. Or more accurately, the damned bird’s infatuation with her. He could almost hear the hawk’s sigh in his head.
But it didn’t matter that she calmed him. It didn’t change a thing.
Back away,
he told himself
. Turn around and go downstairs to the gym. It’s safer. Far away from temptation and disaster. Far away from Faith.
But before he could force his feet to move, she tucked a lock of blue-tipped hair behind her ear and gave him a soft, sweet smile that arrowed straight into his chest. And he knew he was lost. Instead of backing out of the room, his traitorous feet carried him forward, through the double doors.
“You’re back,” she said quietly, then closed the book and set it on the table beside her chair. With unstudied grace, she swung her legs down and stood up, taking a couple of steps toward him. “Hawke . . . I’m so sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault. Where is he?”
“Draden hunting.”
The worst of the tension leached out of him. Maxim wouldn’t return for at least an hour. “Are you still on European time?”
“No.” A small furrow creased the flesh between her brows. “I’ve been sleeping a lot the past couple of days. I guess I just needed to catch up. I found this room after Maxim left tonight, and I’ve been here ever since.” Her smile reappeared, brighter than before. “I’ve never seen so many books.”
His chest ached at the sight of her, at the soft curve of her jaw, the slender length of her neck, the sweet fullness of her lips. Goddess how he wanted to taste those lips.
“What are you reading?” he forced through his own instead.
“
The Battle of Antietam.
”
He lifted a brow. “Trying to find something to put you to sleep?”
She smiled, slaying him. He felt that smile penetrate like a sun shot straight into his heart, bursting into brightness inside him, sending brilliant light and perfect warmth radiating into every corner of his body.
“No, I love reading about history and wars.” She shrugged self-consciously. “I wish there were books on the Therian-Mage wars, but I didn’t see any.”
“Therians rarely write anything down.”
“Because the humans might find it? They’d just think it was fiction.”
“Oral history has always been our way. If you wish to know something, find a Therian who was alive back then and get a firsthand account.”
She frowned even as her eyes began to twinkle. “I prefer books.”
“Me, too.”
His words earned him one of her small, brilliant grins. Every time she smiled, he felt reborn.
Dammit, he’d promised himself to stay away from her.
No, that wasn’t true. He’d promised himself to be nothing more to her than a casual friend. They still had to live in the same house, didn’t they? And it was friendly to talk to her when he found her alone in the middle of the night. Right?
Goddess.
He scrubbed his face with his hands.
“Are you okay?” Faith asked softly.
“Yeah. Just tired.” Which was true enough. He was tired deep in his soul.
“Are some of these books yours?” she asked.
He glanced around him, at the wall-to-wall, ceiling-to-floor stacks broken only by the windows, the double doors, and the big, old-fashioned hearth. “They’re pretty much all mine.”
Her expressive eyes widened, and he couldn’t turn away. She fascinated him, pulled at him like a dangerous drug. He knew he should leave. He told himself to go. But if there was one thing he was lacking these days, it was self-control. “You’re genuinely interested in the Civil War?”
“Is that so surprising?” A glimmer of laughter lit her expression, but her eyes didn’t sparkle the way he remembered. Was that his doing? The thought hurt.
He shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve ever run into a woman, a Therian woman, who cared one way or another about human history.”
“Human history is the history of the world. We might not play a direct part in it most of the time, but that doesn’t mean it’s not relevant.”
He smiled, impressed. “Exactly. You sound like a student of more than just the American Civil War.”
“I am.” She sat down, curling once more into his reading chair, tucking her legs up beside her. He’d never again see that chair, or sit in it, he suspected, that he wouldn’t think of her. “Honestly, I’m interested in everything. I adore books and have read anything and everything I can get my hands on, though generally nonfiction. History, philosophy, psychology, the sciences.” As she talked, the sparkle briefly reappeared in her eyes. “But I’ve long been fascinated by the nature of the Civil War. Unlike the European conflicts, it wasn’t about conquering another nation. It wasn’t about world domination. It was about ideological differences, one side fighting for independence, the other fighting to preserve the whole. It split villages, families.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
Her mouth dropped open. “You were here. Right in the middle of it.”
“The Ferals were. I wasn’t.”
“You weren’t a Feral Warrior, then?”
“No. Not at first. I was in Finland. My father was killed during that conflict, struck by a mortar shell that blew his heart out of his chest. The wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Oh, Hawke, I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago. A few weeks later, I was marked to be the next hawk shifter. By the time I returned, the Civil War was nearly over. But I saw the destruction. I saw the hollow eyes of the humans, eyes that had once glowed with such fervor, such purpose.”
Faith nodded. “I saw the same in Europe. The hollow eyes, at least.” Her expressive face turned pensive, shadows of old pain crossing her features.
“You were there, during the world wars?”
“Yes. I was very young during the first war, the Great War. My love of history was born of a need to understand why my village had been attacked and so many killed. I wanted to know who’d ordered the destruction. But I found myself fascinated with the workings of power and greed. And by the strategies of battle.” She shrugged. “What doesn’t kill you makes you obsessed.”
“Were the people in your enclave killed, or simply scattered?”
“Neither.” Her mouth gave a wry twist. “I was the only one scattered.”
He lowered himself to the chair that sat at right angles to hers, arms on his thighs as he leaned toward her. “What do you mean?”
She sat back, pulling her knees against her chest. All softness fled from her face, replaced by old pain. And anger. “A few hours before the village was attacked, we received a warning. My enclave packed up and left. I didn’t.” He waited for her to say more. Instead, she shrugged, visibly pushing away the memory. “It was a long time ago. So, have you visited all the nearby battlefields—Manassas, Harpers Ferry, Gettysburg?”
He wanted to press her for more, sensing a deep, open wound. But he’d caused her enough pain. “Yes, numerous times, plus a number of smaller ones. The armies traipsed all over this area at one point or another.”
“I’d love to see them.” Once more, the sparkle briefly returned to her eyes.
“I’d love to show you.” Goddess, that was true. He imagined the two of them walking hand in hand through the old battlefields, her quick mind taking it all in as she fired off questions and observations. None of his brothers had ever had any interest. How he would love to share his own passion for history with someone. With Faith. “One of these days, I’ll take you.” In a move as natural as breathing, he reached for her, covering her soft hand with his.
Her gaze snapped up to his, her eyes softening, then tightening with a plea he didn’t understand. A plea laced with desperation. She leaned toward him, and, for one brilliant moment, he thought she meant to throw herself into his arms.
His hawk screeched with triumph.
But as quickly as the look appeared, it vanished. Her face screwed up with a pain that slew him. She jerked her hand away. “
Don’t touch me,
” she whispered, her voice breaking.
He reared back. “Faith.”
“I love Maxim!” She leaped from her chair, moving behind it as if to protect herself from him. Her eyes had turned wild, unfocused. The eyes of a stranger.
What the hell?
Was everyone going crazy, or was it just him?
“Go.” Her face crumpled. Tears began to run down her cheeks. “Just go,” she whispered.
Goddess.
All he’d done was touch her hand. He stared at her in confusion, every instinct he possessed demanding he go
to
her, not turn away. But she was crying and he’d caused the tears, him and his damned infatuation.