He scowled, but the beat of his heart grew to a thud as the certainty that something was wrong, very wrong, swept over him.
As he pressed his hand over the armband, whispering the chant a second time, pain hit him like a battle-axe. The force of it drove him to his knees, slicing through his chest, nearly cleaving him in two.
"Kougar!" The Wind gripped one of his arms as Horse grabbed the other.
Goddess, goddess, goddess.
His mind imploded. His heart tore beneath the assault.
The mating bond, that bright crystalline cord that had joined him to Ariana, heart to heart, soul to soul, shattered. The brilliant glow inside snuffed out as if it had never been.
"No!
" He roared the word, the blast of sound echoing over and over in his head.
"She's gone. Ariana is gone. Dead.
"
He couldn't breathe. Pain consumed him, burning, searing pain. His claws and fangs erupted as the need to rip someone . . . anyone . . . to bloody shreds roared through his body on a tide of grief-driven rage.
"Stay in your skin!
" Horse's voice drove a spike through his head, slashing through the wildness building inside him.
"Ease down, my friend," the Wind urged. "Ease down. This isn't the place to let it out. Let's get you home."
Kougar's senses began to shut down. Colors faded to gray before his eyes, smells all but disappeared. The severing of the mating bond created havoc within him. All he could feel was the burning, searing pain that consumed him, heart and mind.
His body would continue to live, for he was all but immortal.
But his life was over.
Present day
Kougar prowled on four paws through the streets of Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, sliding in and out of the night shadows of the nineteenth-century buildings that rose against the moonlit sky on steps as silent as the pre-Civil War human dead that filled the cemetery on the hill. He'd wandered this town alone since the battle four days ago--a battle between the Ferals and Mage and three wraith Daemons the Mage had managed to release.
The Ferals had won, of course, but the victory had been devastatingly hollow. Two Ferals, Hawke and Tighe, had disappeared into the Mages' spinning vortex, a spirit trap that would separate men from animals, killing both in a matter of days. Seven, now. That's all they had left unless the Ferals saved them.
And there was only one way to do that.
One person alone had ever been able to breach a Daemon spirit trap and come out alive. A woman who could turn to mist at will. The Queen of the Ilinas.
Kougar growled low in his cat's throat, hatred burning through his mind.
Only one woman could save his Feral brothers and their animals.
Ariana, his soulless bitch of a mate.
He'd thought she was dead. For a thousand years, he'd grieved for her until twenty-one years ago when he'd learned the truth--that Ariana and her race had faked their extinction after being infected by dark spirit. The knowledge had slain him until he'd remembered that the woman he'd once loved was long gone, lost to the dark spirit that had consumed her soul.
His beloved Ariana would never have betrayed him like that.
When he'd learned she was still alive, he'd refused to seek her out. The last thing he'd wished to see were soulless eyes peering out of his beloved's face. But four days ago, everything changed with Hawke and Tighe's capture. He had to find her, to force her to breach the spirit trap and free them.
The problem was, he couldn't reach her.
On cat's feet, he darted between two narrow brick buildings and ran up the night hill, frustration beating a harsh rhythm in his blood. The sound of the two rivers that flanked Harpers Ferry carried on the air, broken by the rumble of a train approaching in the distance. The sounds began to escalate suddenly until even the chirping of the insects turned to screeching in his ears.
Goddess, his senses were screwed up. Ariana's severing of that supposedly permanent mating bond had damaged him, leaving him half-alive, his emotions frozen, his senses all but dead for a millennium. Until five days ago when, trapped by Daemon and Mage, he'd come close to dying. In the darkness, Melisande had appeared with her usual scowl and, for a reason he couldn't fathom, reconnected the mating bond between him and Ariana. Apparently, his
wife
still needed him alive.
With the bond reconnected, sensation had returned in a manic, freak-show kind of way, color blazing a hundred times too bright, then throbbing and pulsing like it was about to explode, before flickering back to gray. Fortunately, the kaleidoscope had died down, most of his senses finally returning to what had once been normal. Except for his hearing.
And his emotions.
He passed through the old Harper Cemetery and headed for the Jefferson Rock, where he always ended up at some point during the night, frustration and anger burning a hole in his gut. He was starting to feel . . . too much. The wind in his face. The rocks beneath his paws. And a fury hot enough to rip someone . . . anyone . . . limb from limb. No, not anyone.
Her.
Ariana. Or at least the soulless bitch who wore Ariana's face.
Their newly reconnected mating bond was jury-rigged at best, a dull, mangled reflection of the crystalline cord that had once bound them. But it was there. And it gave him his one chance of finding Ariana and saving his friends. As her mate, he'd only ever been able to sense her presence if she was nearby . . . or in the Crystal Realm, where the Ilinas had been living since their
extinction.
Only a mate of an Ilina could travel to the Crystal Realm without an Ilina escort. And then, only if his mate was already there.
For four days, he'd waited for her to return home to that castle in the clouds, so he could catch her.
For four days, he'd waited in vain while Hawke's and Tighe's lives slowly slipped away.
Kougar leaped onto the Jefferson Rock--a small tourist landmark upon which the human, Thomas Jefferson, had supposedly proclaimed the sight worthy of a trip across the Atlantic. Kougar couldn't fault the sentiment as he stretched out atop the bit of shale in his cat's body. The breeze slid through his whiskers as he perused the dramatic, moonlit convergence of the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers far below.
Four days ago, at the end of the battle, he'd told Lyon, his chief, that he'd return in ten days. Only that. Not where he was going, not whom he intended to find. No one could know the Ilinas were still alive. Melisande had taken it upon herself to kill anyone who threatened their secret, who knew of their existence. Except, apparently, him.
Not that the Ferals were likely to be bested by mist warriors, but they were already dealing with more than enough--the death of Foxx, the loss of Hawke and Tighe, the theft of the Daemon blade, and the Mages' newly acquired dark power and goal to destroy the Ferals and release the Daemon plague back into the world.
The last thing the Ferals needed was ambushing mist warriors added to that list. No, he'd return to Feral House only after Ariana had freed Hawke and Tighe. And she would, dammit. He'd see to it.
Failure was not an option.
If only she'd return to the Crystal Realm!
Something fluttered briefly in his chest at the site of the decrepit mating bond, and he stilled, his cat's pulse lifting, then kicking up to Mach five.
Got her.
Finally, Ariana had returned to the Crystal Realm.
Kougar sent his newly keen senses into the woods in every direction, then, certain he was alone, leaped off the rock and shifted into his human form. Through the battle-damaged shirt he still wore from four days before, he reached for the gold cougar-head armband that circled his biceps.
As his fingers closed around the cool metal, he stilled, slammed by the realization he was about to see Ariana for the first time in a thousand years.
Goddess.
Taking a deep, unsteady breath, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the mating bond, whispering the ancient words of connection. As the words left his lips, he felt a familiar spin of dizziness, a momentary sensation of weightlessness, then solid flooring beneath his feet.
Smooth flooring, not ground.
While his vision cleared, the scent of pine hit his nose, slamming him with a rush of memories. He blinked, gooseflesh rising on his arms as he found himself standing in the archway of the Grand Corridor of Ariana's palace in the Crystal Realm. The wide expanse of emerald floor stretched out before him, framed by walls of crystal twenty feet high, rising to a ceiling painted with murals of women indulging in a multitude of delights, carnal and otherwise. Along the walls, torches flickered, setting the crystal aflame with an inner fire.
He'd once thought this hall the most beautiful in existence. It was a sight he hadn't seen in a thousand years, and standing there had his heart thrumming in his chest.
How many times in those first few days after he thought Ariana dead had he tried to get here, to reach her while he'd prayed over and over that she was somehow, miraculously, still alive? How many times had he visited this place in his dreams, dreams in which Ariana still lived? Dreams in which he'd stood beside her, in which he'd saved her.
How many times?
But she'd lost the battle before he'd known there was a battle to fight, and he hadn't been here when she'd needed him. Maybe if he had been, he could have helped her vanquish the darkness and return to him before it consumed her soul. Now it was far, far too late. Given enough time, dark spirit always consumed the soul.
Slowly, he started down the corridor, memories attacking him from every direction. Making love to Ariana in her chamber. Making love to her in the garden. Making love to her beneath the waterfall. Goddess, he'd never been able to get enough of her, nor her of him. Even though the Ilinas had disapproved of his marriage to their queen, his Ariana had loved him. For two short years, they'd been blissfully happy.
He stilled as a familiar warmth bloomed within the misshapen excuse for a mating bond.
Ariana.
At the feel of her nearness, his heart began to beat a hard, erratic rhythm. At the certainty he was about to see her again. And the certainty that it was going to hurt like hell.
Hatred for the woman she'd become, for the evil thing who'd destroyed his mate, crouched, snarling inside him as he strode toward her chambers. The cool, crystalline air parted before him as if seeking to escape the menace that radiated from his pores.
"Ariana!" He shouted her name, his voice deep as a roar. There was no sense in stealth, not with the mating bond reconnected. Just as he felt her, he knew Ariana had known the moment he'd arrived.
Melisande drifted out of the nearest passage, mistlike, her blond braid hanging over one shoulder, her sword drawn. With an expression hard as flint, she blocked his path. "You're not welcome here."
Kougar lifted a brow at the petite mist warrior. "You reconnected the mating bond. Had you forgotten that meant you couldn't keep me out?"
"No, but I'd hoped you had."
He was about to barrel through her when a woman stepped into the passage behind her, flesh and blood, a woman as familiar to him as the beat of his own heart. His feet stopped without his awareness. His heart seized for the space of three beats, then took off like a flock of birds in a wild flight.
Ariana.
In so many ways, she looked as she always had, her skin luminous, her rich brown hair falling in soft waves, framing a face of delicate beauty and indomitable strength. She stood in that achingly familiar way, with her back straight, her chin raised almost in challenge, her arms loose at her sides as if ready for battle.
"The queen will not see you, Kougar," Melisande snapped.
"She already has." Emotions careened inside him--the passionate, tender love. The searing pain of losing her.
His heart contracted, squeezed by an agony he could barely endure. Deep inside him, his cat gave a joyous yowl. His soul sang at this proof that Ariana lived, at this miracle that the woman he'd loved more than life, that he'd mourned for a thousand years, once more stood before him.
But she wasn't his Ariana, was she? The woman before him was a stranger. For a moment, just a moment, he thought he glimpsed emotion in her once-beloved face. A mix of joy and agony that mirrored his own. But he blinked, and it was gone, and he knew he'd been mistaken.
Now that he looked at her clearly, he saw that her lush mouth was pursed and hard. Her brows dipped in the middle over cold eyes the brown of a wild cherry tree instead of the blazingly bright Ilina blue they'd once been.
Her gaze locked on him with a piercing sharpness she'd always possessed. Both queen and warrior, she'd been fire and sword, able to slay any opposition with a single look. But those sharp eyes that had once softened for him, melting with love and heat, now stared at him with a stranger's cold reserve.
His mind reeled at the sight of her, his heart an erratic thrum in his chest. He longed for the lack of feeling he'd lived with for a millennium, the insulating numbness he'd felt for so long. Instead, his heart split asunder all over again.
She wasn't dressed as Melisande, in the ancient mist-warrior garb of tunic and pants. Nor was she garbed in one of the jewel-toned gowns she'd often preferred. Instead, she wore blue scrubs that fit her slender form, and white shoes, as if she played at being a doctor or nurse. At being human.
For a moment, her dress confounded him until the reason clicked sickly into place in the pit of his stomach.
Darkness always fed on pain and fear. Where better to find pain in this day and age than in a human hospital? She was nothing but a parasite feeding off the misery of others. Was that why she hid the unnatural brightness of her eyes behind brown contacts? Because she spent so much time trolling the human world?
Despite the plain clothing, despite the dark circles beneath her eyes and the contacts hiding their true color, she was still achingly beautiful. Even if that beauty was truly only skin-deep.
"Leave us, Melisande," Ariana ordered quietly.
Melisande glanced over her shoulder. "Ariana . . ."
"You knew it would come to this, Mel, when you reconnected us. You knew, sooner or later, he'd find me."
"He's known you lived for twenty-one years."
"I said, leave us," Ariana snapped at her second-in-command.
On a huff of displeasure, Melisande disappeared.
Ariana remained where she was, as if rooted. Staring at him. Again, he thought he saw emotion dart across her eyes and sensed she was struggling for control. As if she were as thrown by this meeting as he was.
Even from here, he could smell her, the unique scent that had always reminded him of lilies of the valley. The scent tumbled him back in time to long, glorious nights lost in the pleasures of her body. He clenched his fists against the needs warring inside him. Part of him longed to haul her into his arms and feel her against him one more time. A stronger part wanted to rip out her soulless heart. And the unstable emotions careening inside him made one or the other an all-too-likely possibility.