It wasn’t that there had never been female Feral Warriors. He knew there had been. The animal marked the strongest, and that didn’t always mean physically. The strongest morally, emotionally, mentally.
Faith was all those things.
Goddess, in some ways she was one of the strongest people he knew. She’d stood there while they’d discussed the possible need to destroy all new Ferals, yet she’d shown him her own marks, knowing what that might mean for her.
And the draden. His heart clutched all over again at how she’d stayed to help him fight Lynks and Polaris, knowing the draden would come. She might not have fully comprehended the magnitude of such an attack this close to Feral House, but she’d fought draden before. She knew they’d kill her, yet she’d stayed anyway.
Her own life might have gotten off to a rocky start, but she’d turned abandonment into a life’s work, doing good on a level he’d rarely seen among Therians. What if she really was the one meant to be marked? Her heart was certainly big enough. And physical strength wasn’t everything. Besides, the physical strength would come with the animal that had chosen her. Perhaps she’d never be able to take on a Mage in her human form, but as a bear or large cat or one of the other animals that had yet to appear, she could be formidable indeed.
He stroked her head as it lay on his chest. What if she really was meant to be one of the Feral Warriors? To live at Feral House. With him.
A thrill of excitement tripped his pulse, then quickly died.
Of course, any future with Faith depended upon his animal and him healing this rift in their bond, surviving this breach. Perhaps once the Shaman came up with a cure for the darkness, the cure would help him, too. A future with Faith also depended upon his convincing the others that she was meant for this role, that her marking wasn’t a mistake.
His arms tightened around her as love roared through him. Hardest of all would be convincing Faith herself.
H
awke held Faith’s hand as they descended the stairs midafternoon. She’d slept the sleep of the dead for hours, and he’d held her, dozing some, worrying more. When she’d awoken, he’d told her his belief that her marking was no accident. As he’d suspected, she didn’t believe him, but he’d gotten a very sweet kiss for saying it. A kiss that had quickly heated to full-blown passion. He’d made love to her thoroughly, then carried her into the shower and made love to her again. He couldn’t get enough of her body or that smile of hers, which bloomed every time he pleased her, or that darling, infectious giggle, filling him with a pleasure of the heart that rivaled the pleasure of the body, a joy of boundless proportions that made him want to throw his head back and laugh.
Every time with her was more incredible than the last. Making love to Faith was so different from sex with anyone else that he began to feel as if he’d never really done it before. As if his eyes had been opened for the first time to what lovemaking truly meant.
Just as he was fighting to hold on to his animal and stay alive.
As they reached the foyer, she looked up at him, worry in her eyes. He squeezed her hand, dreading the meeting to come. They had to tell Lyon that she’d been marked, and they both knew it.
The smell of roast beef and the rumble of voices told him where to find the others. As he suspected, they were gathered around the dining table, the wall of windows behind them fully repaired. Hawke seated Faith two chairs down from Kougar and took the seat between, grabbing a couple of plates.
“Can I serve you?” he asked her.
She met his gaze. “I’m not hungry.” Her hands twisted nervously in her lap, matching, he suspected, the knots twisting her stomach.
“I’ll just give you a little. You need your strength.”
“I need a lot more than I can get from food.”
“You already have a lot more than you recognize.” He put a couple of slabs of warm roast beef on her plate and added two freshly baked rolls, then filled his own plate to overflowing.
As he ate, his brothers’ conversation flowed around him, talk that ranged from adding defenses around Feral House to the need to track down the new Ferals.
“First, we have to find a way to cure them of this infection.” Tighe reached for the roast-beef platter.
The Shaman looked up from his nearly empty plate. “I would like to speak with your mate, Kougar. I have an idea, but I’ll need her help.”
Kougar nodded. “I’ll ask her.”
Hawke caught Lyon’s gaze. “Where’s Kara?”
“Still sleeping.”
Tighe cut his chief a sly look. “Something you’re not telling us, Roar? Is my son going to have a playmate?”
Lyon shook his head. “She’s not pregnant. Just tired.” He frowned. “She hasn’t been feeling right since the Renascence. Since Maxim’s, apparently. Too many new Ferals pulling energy from her.”
“It may be the darkness,” the Shaman murmured.
The Chief of the Feral’s gaze snapped to the much smaller man. “What do you mean?”
“Darkness is always hungry for power, for energy. If the new Ferals hadn’t been infected, I doubt they’d be draining her like this. Perhaps with most of the infected Ferals now gone, she’ll recover soon.”
Lyon nodded. “I hope you’re right.”
Hawke set down his fork. He didn’t see any easy way to lead up to what he needed to say, so he didn’t try. “Faith has been marked.”
All eyes swiveled his way, his brothers’ expressions a mix of shock and confusion.
“Marked?” Tighe asked.
“To be a Feral Warrior.”
Lyon set down his fork, his brows lowered, his gaze pinning Faith. “When?”
Tension ripped through Hawke’s body.
“I don’t know,” Faith said beside him, her voice clear and sure despite the fear she had to be feeling.
Hawke didn’t turn to watch her. He wasn’t taking his eyes off his brothers. Or his chief.
“I didn’t have any idea. Not until last night.” Her voice wavered only slightly before evening out again. “I told you I escaped Maxim before he could cloud my mind. What I didn’t tell you is that I went feral. It shocked us both, giving me a chance to get away before he could stop me. I looked for the feral marks this morning and found them on the back of my thigh.” Her calm evaporated in a trembling draw of breath, and a whispered, “I didn’t know.”
Tighe groaned.
Vhyper shook his head. “You couldn’t be the Wicked Witch of the West. You have to be all Tinker Bell cute and sunny.”
Lyon continued to watch her with that piercing gaze of his, seeing all, revealing nothing of his thoughts, though Hawke suspected them clearly enough. “Maxim . . . You were his intended mate.”
“I barely knew him. I met him the day before we arrived here and felt an instant connection with him. A pull. I thought . . .” She went silent, and he glanced at her, seeing her cheeks begin to color. “I thought it was a mating pull. He was kind to me then. But he was a monster, and I believe now that the pull I felt was due to the infection.”
“Shaman?”
At Lyon’s prompt, the Shaman stood. Hawke rose with him, moving behind Faith, his hands on her shoulders, his gaze meeting every one of his brothers’ in turn. A silent warning that each of them acknowledged with a nod or a look of dismay. If they’d had any question as to how he felt about her, they did no longer.
Mine.
He didn’t have to say the word. They all heard it loud and clear.
The Shaman approached slowly with his usual calm demeanor and held out his hand to Faith.
With only a brief hesitation, she placed her own in his. The Shaman covered her hand and closed his eyes. Then he reached for her, one hand traveling unerringly to rest on the top of her head.
“She’s infected, but not like the others. The infection is dormant in her, like an unpopped kernel of corn. It’s there, deep inside her. But it’s not yet affecting her.”
“Which is why she didn’t rise up against us,” Lyon murmured.
“Like
that
would have ended well,” Faith muttered.
A quick smile flickered in Tighe’s and Vhyper’s expressions.
“You should also note,” Hawke said quietly, “that she told me about the feral marks. She showed me, despite being privy to the entire conversation yesterday.”
Tighe grimaced, and Hawke knew he was thinking about just what they’d discussed—the possible need to eliminate all the new Ferals.
Kougar’s frown told him he was thinking the same. He plucked at his small beard. “Why isn’t the darkness affecting her? Because she’s female and lacking the testosterone? Or because she hasn’t been brought into her animal?”
“I don’t know,” the Shaman replied. “I suppose you’ll find out as soon as you bring her into her animal.”
Lyon met Hawke’s gaze, nodding toward the hallway. “A word?”
Hawke’s grip on Faith’s shoulders tightened. On a primitive level, he didn’t want to leave her unprotected. But he’d made his feelings clear. None of them would hurt her. Yet. The one calling those shots was Lyon. It was his chief he had to convince to leave her alive.
A
s Hawke walked away to talk to Lyon in private, Faith looked around the dining table at the remaining Feral Warriors, now staring at her with varying degrees of speculation, sympathy, and wariness. Thanks to Mage interference, she was one of them. For now.
“Well, this is awkward,” she muttered, wishing she were anywhere but there. She picked up her fork and absently pushed a bite of meat around.
“You really went feral on that saber-toothed bastard?” Wulfe asked, a hint of awe in his voice.
Faith looked up, her expression rueful as she nodded.
Tighe snorted. “I wish I’d seen the look on his face.”
“Trust me, it wasn’t any more comical than the look on my own.”
“You should have seen Croc and me last week when we first went feral.” Fox frowned. “He was a new recruit to my unit of the Therian Guard. An idiot, if you ask me, which I can finally admit. I belted him because he had it coming. He went feral, then laughed, thinking he was the new fox shifter—the entire race had been waiting for him to show up. Then he took a swipe at me with those claws, ripping off half my face. I was more angry at the fact that one such as he had been chosen to be a Feral Warrior than the pain he’d inflicted. So I returned the favor. I’m not sure which of us was more surprised when I drew claws, too. I remember staring at my hand, his blood still clinging to those claws and thinking, for just a moment, that I’d turned into a monster.”
Tighe nodded. “I know the feeling. I was married to a human who didn’t know I was immortal. I knew almost nothing about the Feral Warriors. So when I went feral that first time . . .” He scrubbed his face. “She thought I was a demon. I was half-afraid she was right. I lost her because of that. Lost my daughter. I was not one of the ones celebrating being marked, trust me.”
Wulfe’s hand squeezed Tighe’s shoulder.
Their stories, freely offered, were a gift Faith cherished. A welcome of sorts. Or at least an assurance that they didn’t outright hate her. Yet.
“Can you call on the fangs and claws anytime you want?” she asked.
“Some can,” Tighe said. “For most, it’s tied to emotion. I would have said testosterone . . .”
She put down her fork. “I was furious.”
“That works, too.”
“So in a fight, in order to go feral, I have to get mad?”
A couple of them exchanged glances. Most looked away, uncomfortably, as if they didn’t think it likely she’d ever be in a fight. Not for long, at least.
Kougar was the only one who held her gaze, studying her. “Female shifters tend to go feral with temper or adrenaline. Anger or fear. And you’ll likely feel both in battle. But I’ve known females who could draw claws or fangs whenever they chose. They were actually far more controlled than the males. And sometimes more effective. But that kind of control comes with experience.”
“How many female shifters have you known?” Fox asked.
“Shifters? Hundreds. In my youth, all Therians shifted. But there have been few female Ferals. Six, not including Pink. Faith is the seventh.”
Seven in five thousand years.
Female Ferals were rare. But she was no rarity. And the uncomfortable silence at the table said they all knew it. This female Feral Warrior was a mistake.
H
awke followed Lyon into the hallway, then stopped where he could still see Faith. He’d gone as far as he intended to go.
Lyon glanced back at him, a flicker of frustration on his face before he gave in and backtracked to him. “She has to be locked up in the prison with the others. All new Ferals do.”
“The infection is dormant in her. We won’t bring her into her animal.”
“She’s heard the discussions, Hawke. She knows we may have to clear the way for new Ferals to be marked, for the
right
Ferals to be marked. She’ll run.”
“No, she won’t. She won’t try to escape this.”
Lyon clasped him on the shoulder, genuine sympathy in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I know you care for her.”
“I love her, Roar. But more than that, I
know
her. She would never endanger others to save herself. Sacrifice is her life.”
“You can’t know that.”
“She’s spent nearly a century on the streets helping human runaways. Yeah. I can.”
Lyon’s jaw clenched and unclenched in rhythmic bursts. The Chief of the Ferals never made rash decisions. Ever. Which was one of the reasons that, to a man, they’d lay down their lives for him.
“Kara thinks Faith is your mate.”
Hawke nodded. “I would ask her to be if things were different. If I were whole . . .”
Lyon sighed. “Why can’t any of you fall for normal Therian women?”
Hawke smiled. “Like you did?” Kara, the Radiant who’d been raised human and hadn’t even known that immortals existed, had hardly been that.
“Touché.”
Pain tore through Hawke’s head, one of the lightning bolts he was becoming all too used to, closely followed by his hawk’s vicious retaliation. When it was over, when he was able to breathe again, he found Lyon watching him with quiet worry in his eyes.
“You’re not getting better.” Lyon’s statement held no lilt of question.
“No. Not yet. I’m not convinced my hawk isn’t infected. He’s been fighting me since we got out of that spirit trap.”
“But you’re holding it together.”
“Yes. With Faith’s help.”
Lyon rubbed his hand over his mouth and sighed. “I don’t want her out of your sight.”
Hawke nodded, relieved and grateful. “My feelings exactly.”
Lyon’s hand on his shoulder tightened. “I hope this works out, Wings, I really do.”
“Me, too.” He’d calculate the odds on that happening, but the answer would be far too depressing.
F
aith’s head swiveled toward the doorway, her gaze snapping to Hawke’s face as he and Lyon returned to the dining room. The small, calm smile of reassurance he gave her had the worst of the awful tension leaching from her body.
“My orders are to not let you out of my sight,” he said quietly as he took his seat beside her again.
“No prison?”
“No prison.”
A sigh escaped her lips as she looked at Lyon. “Thank you.”
Lyon nodded, his expression reserved, but not unkind. “We believe the infection in you is dormant, Faith, but if we find it’s not . . .”
“If it’s not, you’ll do what you must to stop me.” She glanced down at her plate. “I know. I agree.”
Hawke nudged her with his elbow. “Eat. After lunch, we’re going to start your training.”
She looked at him in disbelief. “What training?”
“Knives, weight lifting.”
Her eyes widened, an expression mirrored by several other faces around the table. “Hawke . . .”
But he cut her off. “At the very least, you have to learn to defend yourself against another draden attack. Strength isn’t built overnight. Neither are fighting skills. They take time and a lot of practice.”
He was acting as if she’d been marked on purpose. As if she had a future as a Feral Warrior when they all knew that wasn’t true.
He gripped her chin and gently forced her to look at him, to meet his steely gaze. “We don’t know for certain that your being marked was an accident.” His gaze lifted, and he met his brothers’ eyes around the table. “It’s time we all considered that. But we need you trained, and we’re going to start today.” His voice brooked no argument.
It wasn’t that she was against learning how to fight draden or doing a little weight lifting, but . . . “There’s evil inside me,” she whispered, as if everyone in the room couldn’t hear her. The knowledge cut like a blade.
Hawke’s eyes softened even as his expression remained implacable. “There’s an infection inside of you. And we’re going to find a cure for it. You’re not evil.” He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the mouth. In front of everyone. As if he wanted them to see.
“You make it sound so simple,” she grumbled.
He smiled at her, a smile of pure male confidence. “It is.”
As Hawke released her and returned to his meal, she forced herself to take a bite of roast beef. If only she possessed a dash of Hawke’s certainty, of his confidence in her abilities to pull this off, to be of some use to them.
She swallowed the bite, uncertain her knotted stomach would accept it, then took a deep breath. She’d never been a coward. Never. If they needed her to be able to fight, then she’d learn to fight. If this job was for life, and apparently it was, then she would be the best Feral Warrior she could possibly be, sparing herself nothing. If she didn’t last long, so be it. But she’d go down battling their enemy, protecting their backs. And to do that, she had to learn how to wield some weapons.
The first thing she could do was force herself to eat.
Ten minutes later, the meal over, Lyon rose. “The second shift needs to sleep. Kougar, you’re in charge.”
Hawke held out Faith’s chair for her, and she rose along with everyone else.
Tighe came over to her, his eyes kind, and extended his hand. Too far. As if he intended to share with her one of the full forearm greetings the Ferals reserved for one another.
It was one thing to work hard and to do what they wanted, but they all knew it was a lie. That she wasn’t supposed to be one of them. She met his gaze, knowing he wasn’t mocking her, but feeling that way anyway.
“Tighe . . .”
Though the kindness in his eyes remained, his expression took on a sharpness that was close to reproachful. “Take it, Faith. I don’t offer it lightly.”
She hesitated, but reached for him. As he grasped her forearm, his hand completely encircling her arm, she barely managed to curl her much smaller hand around the top of his. When he didn’t let go, she looked up and found him watching her, his eyes very serious.
“Delaney told me how you refused to get into that car last night as they escaped, how you chose to help Hawke even knowing you were in grave danger. You impressed my wife, and that’s no easy feat. You showed heart and courage and a willingness to sacrifice, Faith. Perhaps that was only due to your feelings for Hawke, but my gut tells me otherwise.” He clasped her shoulder with his free hand. “My gut, and the fact that you came clean with us about your being marked, even knowing what it might mean for you, tell me you possess a lot of character. A strength that’s far more important than any amount of muscle.” He released her, his mouth kicking up, flashing a single dimple, though his eyes remained deadly serious. “So, yes, I offer you my respect and welcome. Unless you prove me wrong.”
Her heart gave a small, painful thud at the thinly veiled threat at the end of Tighe’s surprisingly warm welcome. And for the first time she began to realize the enormity of her situation. She was a Feral Warrior. Once she was brought into her animal, no matter who she’d been before, she would become one of the most powerful creatures on earth. If she used that power for good, to help them, to be one of them, she might find an ally in Tighe. If not, if goddess forbid, the darkness got the best of her, he would be her enemy. Possibly her executioner. They all would.
Except, perhaps, Hawke.
As Tighe stepped back, Wulfe moved forward, offering her his arm as Tighe had, the expression on his badly scarred face closed. When she laid her palm against his massive arm, his dinner-plate-sized hand encircling hers with ease, his expression softened. “Fighting skills can be learned.”
She nodded, and he released her.
Fox was next. As he took her arm, he flashed her a smile that had surely slain ten thousand female hearts. “I’ve been fighting for years,” he said, turning serious. “I’ve trained a lot of warriors, a number of whom came to me without skills. A number of whom were women. I’ll teach you everything I know about fighting in human form. But the rest of it, we’ll have to learn together.”
Vhyper and Kougar stood shoulder to shoulder, watching, arms crossed over their chests. Neither approached her.
“She could be our secret weapon against the Mage,” Vhyper said to no one in particular. “We’ll send her into battle first, let her slay them with her smile. They’ll never notice the rest of us until it’s too late.”
She couldn’t tell if his words teased or taunted, and her cheeks began to warm in a way that wasn’t altogether pleasant.
Kougar said nothing, his face expressionless, a gleam in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine. He glanced pointedly at Hawke, who’d remained beside her, his meaning clear. If she hurt Hawke, Kougar would kill her. There would be no hesitating, no mercy.
To her surprise, Lyon stepped forward, but he didn’t offer her his arm as some of the others had. Instead, he took her hand in both of his. “Don’t take our caution personally, Faith. We’re at war with the Mage—a war that, if we lose, will mean the destruction of the world as we know it.”
“And they’re trying to turn me into a weapon against you.”
He nodded. “Possibly. But last night, you may very well have saved Hawke. You have my gratitude. And I promise you, we’ll do everything in our power to free you from this dark magic. The rest is up to you.”
She looked at him, uncertain he meant what his words implied, that they would give her a chance to prove herself worthy of being one of them. It was a long shot, of course. Even if they cured her of the infection, she wasn’t the one meant to be marked. But if she proved to be a strong warrior, anyway, they might just let her live.
They were willing to give her a chance. Perhaps it was time she gave herself one. She smiled a quick, appreciative smile. “Thank you, Lyon.”
He nodded and released her, then turned away.
She felt Hawke’s hand on her shoulder. “I need to get some things.”
“Where are we doing this, Wings?” Tighe asked.
“Backyard. I want to get her throwing some knives.”
Faith gaped at him.
“Backyard it is.” Tighe motioned her toward the back door. “It’ll be interesting to see what animal you shift into, Faith.” He held the door for her, and she stepped out into the warm sunshine as he and Fox followed. “Fighting in your animal is instinctive. But you won’t always be in a position to shift. You need to know how to use a knife and swords, how to block attacks, how to attack where you can do the most damage. A year ago, I’d have said most of your opponents would be Mage or draden, but they may well be Ferals now. Or, goddess help us, Daemons.”
“How in the hell do you fight a Daemon?” Fox asked.
“We’re still figuring that out.”
“Some animals are going to be better fighters than others,” Faith murmured.
“Always.”
“What animals are left? What might I be?” She was starting to wonder, and with the wondering came an excitement she hadn’t allowed herself to feel until now.
The back door opened, and Hawke stepped out, igniting a small glow deep in her chest. She always felt better when he was close by. Safer. Stronger.
“Honestly,” Tighe said, “I don’t know. The seventeen were lost before I was marked. Since I’ve been a Feral, no one has ever talked about them except as
the seventeen
. Only Kougar and Lyon were around at the time. They’re the only ones who know.”
Hawke joined them. “It’s something we never ask about. Even after all these years, the death of seventeen brothers is just too raw. But Kougar has been telling me things lately, stories of the past. I’ve been able to piece together a few things. There were once three birds—the hawk, the eagle, and the falcon. And one of my father’s best friends was a horse.” Hawke handed her the hilt of a knife. “Time to get to work.”
For half the afternoon, the three men worked with her, showing her how to wield two knives at once, how to attack a Mage’s hands first so he couldn’t enchant her with his touch, how to protect her own head and heart. And how to throw a knife so that it landed stuck in a tree . . . or an opponent’s eye . . . tip first. At least, theoretically. Mastering it would take years of practice. At one point, each held a two-by-four, urging her to pretend the ends were draden, ordering her to stab at them until the sweat was rolling into her eyes, and her muscles felt like jelly.
They nearly drove her to her knees. And to tears.
“Stop,” Tighe said.
She was finding that Hawke was the hardest taskmaster of the three, which was unexpected. Then again, he cared the most that she learn to fight.
“Close your eyes, Faith,” Tighe said.
“You’ve got . . . to be kidding.” She was sucking in air through her nose, trying to keep from hyperventilating.
“Trust me. Just close them. You’re relying too heavily on your vision. Your other senses haven’t yet improved as they will when you come into your animal, but they’re still stronger than you realize. Listen to the sound of the board, to the brush of fabric as we move our arms, feel the breeze from the boards. Sense them around you.”
She could hardly even hold the knives any longer. But she did as Tighe suggested and closed her eyes. And immediately felt the end of one board bump into her arm and another nudge her hip. She stabbed wildly, hitting nothing.
With frustration bordering on desperation, she opened her eyes. “I can’t do this.”
“Aye, you can, Faith,” Fox said, his voice soft and encouraging.
She swung her gaze to the golden one and glared at him.
His eyes smiled, but his expression remained serious. “Some of the finest fighters we have in the Therian Guard are females. They’re quick and light and nimble. The most important thing in winning a battle, even hand-to-hand, isn’t strength. It’s confidence. The belief that you’ll win. Seeing that certainty in your eyes strikes a blow into the heart of your opponent every time. He wonders what you know, what you can do, that he isn’t ready for. It fecks with his mind. But to show that kind of confidence, you must believe in yourself. Completely. That’s why practicing like this is so important. In the Guard, we train four to five hours a day. Every day.”