“Thank you.” A soft, fleeting smile warmed her eyes, sending warmth cascading through his chest.
He felt the oddest, most inappropriate urge to smile in return. Goddess, but she affected him.
Her foot pressed against his hip, a light touch,
but contact all the same, as if she needed to touch him.
He felt the same disquieting need.
“Free me, Skye. Let’s both leave this place before that bastard hurts you again.”
“I can’t. He’ll never let me go.”
“I’ll protect you.”
Her mouth lifted ruefully at one corner. “You’ve promised several times to kill me, warrior. I know a ploy for escape when I hear it.” She shrugged and tilted her head against the wall behind her. “Even if I could trust you, no one can protect me.”
“Why are you so important to him?”
“I have a way with animals.”
He didn’t understand at first. But then he remembered a story he’d once heard of rare Mage with deep ties to various aspects of nature.
“You’re a Mage enchantress.”
“Yes.” She met his gaze again. “Which is why you’re drawn to me. It’s why we raise the power we do. Because of the animal inside you.”
“Is that the only reason?” Did she really have no sense of her own allure? Hadn’t she noticed he got hard every time she walked into the room? He was damned sure it had nothing to do with his animal. He and his animal didn’t communicate. They never had.
She leaned forward and stroked his chest. “I don’t know if it’s the only reason I’m drawn to you, but it’s the only reason that matters. I draw my power through the animals.”
With that, she crawled off the stone, unbuttoning
the front of her bloodstained dress as she walked past his head to the far end of the room. He tilted his head back and watched as she tossed the dress aside, revealing a too-slender form of such delicacy it made him ache.
Reaching up, she turned on a crude water spigot and stood under the harsh rush of water. She picked up a bar of soap from the floor and washed the blood from her face, hair, and body, then turned off the water.
“The water doesn’t flood the room?” he asked.
She grabbed a threadbare towel from a small pile on a rock in the corner and dried herself with it. “The floor’s not even, and there are small gullies in the rock that run beneath the walls.”
“How long have the Mage lived in this place?”
“Since the last war with the Ferals.”
The war that came to a head with the Mage’s capture of three newly marked Ferals—1738. After Lyon captured nearly a dozen Mage sorcerers and sentinels, and killed their high leader, the Elemental, he’d demanded peace. And gotten it. For 270-plus years, the two races had lived in strained harmony, basically ignoring one another. A cold war that was cold no longer.
He watched her drop the towel and pull a navy blue dress off one of the hangers. “How long have you been here?” he asked her.
“I don’t know.” She shrugged the dress over her head. “Time has no meaning in this place.”
“Were you born here?”
“No. I was eight when Birik claimed me from
my mother, taking me as his apprentice. He’s an enchanter, too, though his gift isn’t nearly as strong as mine. He mostly just calls snakes.” A small scowl marred her features, hinting at a temper he’d yet to see. “He taught me,
forced
me, to draw my power for his own use. I haven’t been off this mountain since.”
“What was happening in the human world at the time you came here, do you remember? Did you know?”
“They were sending men into orbit around the Earth. They were trying to reach the moon.”
“The 1960s. You’ve been down here about forty years. You’re still very young.”
She quirked a brow, a glimmer of a challenge in her eyes that pleased him. “And you’re older?”
He smiled, surprising himself. “Almost four hundred.”
An answering smile broke over her face, bright and amused, but gone almost as quickly as it appeared. Yet in that fleeting instant, in the brief radiance of her smile, he felt as if he’d been sucker punched.
Skye pushed her sleeves to her forearms and came over to him, her natural grace back in full.
But when she stopped beside him, her gaze wouldn’t quite meet his. With her hair wet, her features so achingly delicate, she looked as fragile as a sapling in a storm. A need to protect her rose fiercely within him.
Her pensive, fathomless gaze finally rose to his, pressing into his chest, into his heart.
“It’s been a long time since I had someone to talk to. Someone who offered a little sympathy.” She bent and laid a feather-soft kiss on his chest.
A pressure built inside him, squeezing at his heart.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He met her gaze. “You’re welcome.”
She turned and started toward the door.
“Where are you going…Skye?”
“To the woods.” She glanced back at him with pensive eyes. “I need the woods.” A sanctuary and the protection he couldn’t provide.
As she disappeared around the corner, he stared at the empty doorway for a long, long time. A hundred dire problems pressed on his mind, yet all he could think about was her. Skye.
Without a doubt he’d been enchanted. The question was, by magic?
Or by the woman herself?
Hours later, Skye finally left the forest to return to the caverns, another doe by her side and a plump woodchuck in her arms. Though it was a day away from another midnight, she felt the need for their company. As she descended the cavern stairs, a pair of crows circled her head. Two more squirrels scampered around her feet.
She set the woodchuck down and slipped into the kitchen to fetch her Feral some food. She knew he had to be hungry though he hadn’t asked for anything. Besides, she felt this soft need to bring him something. A gift in return for his kindness.
Not the gift he wanted, of course. She couldn’t free him. But food she could manage.
She wrapped several thick strips of roast venison in two pieces of cheesecloth and slipped one wrapped package into each of the deep pockets in the seams of her dress.
With the woodchuck once more in her arms, she led her little troupe down the stone stairs that ran throughout the cavern. Spying Birik deep in discussion with two of the sorcerers and the Feral, Vhyper, her heart lurched. The doe, feeling her distress, pressed her head against her hip.
As always, she tried to pass without drawing his attention, but Birik’s hand snagged her arm roughly, dislodging the woodchuck. The creature fell to the rock at her feet with a squeal and waddled behind her as Birik’s flat eyes pinned her fast.
“It worked,” he said coldly.
Skye nodded, holding the man’s gaze for only a moment, before looking away. She fought not to tremble.
Vhyper laughed darkly. “I told you it would. Paenther’s too much of a knight not to come to the aid of a damsel in distress.” His gaze flicked to her hip. “I smell food. Taking him lunch? A treat for a performance well done?”
“Yes.” She glanced at him briefly, seeing the same coldness in his eyes she saw in everyone’s these days. Everyone except Paenther’s. She liked that she knew his name, now. In Paenther’s eyes she only ever saw heat. The heat of fury. Or passion.
Vhyper nodded, that cold humor lifting his mouth. He was a big man, taller than Birik by a good six inches. “You’ll have him eating out of your hand.” He turned that gaze back on Birik. “As I knew she would.”
Birik pulled her closer, his hand tightening painfully around her upper arm. “It wasn’t enough, enchantress.”
She started, her gaze jerking up to his as understanding rushed over her. The power she’d raised with the Feral…wasn’t enough? The orbs had been spitting with more power than she’d ever seen. How could it not be enough?
“I’ll try again.” Instead of dismaying her, the thought released a rush of heat low in her body.
“No. Leave him alone. I have something else in mind.” He released her with a flick of his hand. “Go. Feed your pet. Then return to me.”
Skye blinked, bewildered and not a little worried.
As Birik turned his back on her, she hurried away, her pulse too fast. He was planning something. What?
Her heart sank to her toes. Surely he wouldn’t kill him. Surely not that. But she knew all too well Birik was more than capable of such savageness.
Her Feral couldn’t die.
Yes, he was a rare and beautiful creature. And, no, she never wanted any of her creatures to die, but this was different.
He was different. Strong, powerful. A knight, Vhyper called him. A warrior of honor and
courage, capable of treating even his enemy with gentleness when he’d been coerced into feeling pity for her.
For the first time in years, she was reminded there were those still in possession of a conscience. Warriors with goodness in their hearts.
With souls.
And she would not see this one destroyed.
Nor, selfishly, did she want to lose him. For so long she’d lived in the cold, she’d almost forgotten what warmth felt like.
His fury with her for capturing him had turned to fury over her beating. A precious gift. When she’d been hurting, he’d not only accepted her body but helped her take him without pain.
For so many years she’d been alone. Without sympathy. Without care. Those she’d loved, the friends, had all been sent elsewhere. Or changed, transformed for the strength of the Elemental’s, Inir’s, army.
Not in years had someone cared that she’d been beaten. Not in years had anyone tried to ease her misery.
Not until she’d captured a dark-eyed panther with hatred in his eyes and honor in his soul.
Now she feared Birik meant to take him from her as he’d taken everything else. All in the name of power.
Skye finally returned, smelling of roast venison. Paenther’s stomach rumbled even as he watched her, drinking his fill of the sight of her. Her hair and dress were damp, as if she’d been caught in the rain. Her quiet, delicate beauty did something to him, flowing through him like a calming river even as it heated his blood.
Once again, animals surrounded her, though a different collection than before. As before, she ushered the smaller animals into a pair of cages and tied the doe with a rope at the wall. Then she came to him, her eyes at once troubled and lit with a warmth that slid softly across his heart.
“I brought you something.” But as she pulled the wrapped venison out of her pocket, her gaze went to his wrists, sticky with his blood. Her brows lowered unhappily. “You’ve been struggling.”
“Always.”
Her eyes pleaded. “Accept your fate, warrior. There’s nothing else you can do.”
He shook his head. “Never quit fighting, little witch. It means the death of your soul.”
Those troubled eyes of hers darkened as she unwrapped the meat in her hand. “I thought you might be hungry.”
“I am.”
She gave him a rueful frown and cocked her head. “Are you going to bite me again?”
“No.” He thought of the way she’d curled around her injured arm after he’d attacked her, the blood soaking her dress. “I’m sorry for that. I thought you deserved it. I’ve changed my mind.”
Her mobile mouth shifted into a semblance of a smile as her eyes softened. “I’m glad.” She held the meat to his mouth for him to take a thick, juicy bite.
She stroked his chest with her free hand, nearly making him purr. Yet even as she touched him without wariness, he smelled fear in her. He could hear it in the racing of her heart.
“I won’t bite you, Skye.”
Her gaze flicked to his. “I believe you.” She tried to feed him again, and he shook his head.
“You first. You’re too thin.”
“I’m not hungry.”
He scowled at her. “I find that hard to believe.” But those shadows in her eyes were darkening. “Tell me what’s the matter.”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and looked away. “Nothing.”
“You’re afraid.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you afraid of Birik?” Her tiny jerk at the mention of his name told Paenther what he wanted to know. “He’s threatened you again.”
“No more than normal.” She met his gaze, unhappiness etched into every line of her face. “This time he’s threatened you.”
“How?” Paenther’s jaw clenched, his muscles flexing against his bonds. He was all for a battle, but to fight, he had to be free.
“I don’t know. He said the energy we raised wasn’t enough, but when I offered to try again, he said no. He had something else in mind. It can’t be good.”
Paenther captured her gaze and held it fast. “Get me out of here, Skye. I’ll take you with me. You’ll be safe from him.”
“And where would you take me? Your people have been at war with mine forever.”
“What difference does it make? He wouldn’t beat you anymore.”
She shook her head, fisting her hand on his chest. “I can’t leave. I don’t have a choice.”
“We all have choices, Skye.” He stared into her eyes, willing her to hear him. His life might depend on it. “Whether we choose to face them or hide from them defines who we are. Whether we choose to let evil live, or we fight to destroy it, defines our lives. Choose, Skye.
Choose
.”
A spark of temper lit her eyes. “You don’t understand.”
“Skye…”
She pulled away from him. “You can’t possibly understand! I
have
fought him. Over and over I’ve fought him, and all I’ve done is end up bloody and broken. He’s too powerful! And his reach is too long. Even if I managed to get away,
and I wouldn’t
, he’d hurt me until I begged to come back to him just to end the misery.”
“I’ll protect you.”
“You can’t!” She whirled and fled the room, his dinner still in her hand.
“Skye!”
He waited, praying she’d return, but she didn’t. He cursed himself for a fool. She was his only hope of escape, his only company other than the animals chirping and whistling with agitation in the cages in the corner. He’d pushed her too hard, too fast, and scared her away.
He was still kicking himself for it sometime later when he heard heavy footsteps in the passage outside the room. The moment the pale-haired Birik stepped into the room, a green snake curled around his neck, Paenther knew this was it. The time had come.
Though for what, he didn’t know.
The Mage studied him with dark curiosity. “Tonight’s your big night, Feral. A night you’ll never forget.” The Mage reached for him.
Paenther fought to free himself, struggling against his chains, but there was nothing he could do to stop the cold press of the bastard’s palm to his chest.
Or to stop himself from spinning into the net of enthrallment.
“Wake up, B.P.”
Paenther heard Vhyper’s voice as if from a distance. The hard kick to his ribs sent pain shooting through his body, propelling him into the thick, mind-sludge of partial enchantment.
Impressions bombarded his struggling brain. He could tell he wasn’t alone with Vhyper by the murmur of other voices and the squawk of crows. Smells drove into his senses. Old blood, new fires, and violets.
Skye.
As before, he was on his back, but the rock beneath him felt different. Cool puddles of water gathered beneath his left calf and right shoulder. He tried to move, but he was caught as firmly as before, the chains clanking on the rock beneath his head.
Finally, his vision broke free. As he looked around him, he saw that everything had changed. He was on the floor this time, in a different, larger room within the cavern. A room that was dark except for a small shaft of moonlight breaking through from high above and the glowing embers of banked fires in vessels scattered around the room.
Though the floor was bare, the walls glowed with whitewash and graphic symbols he recognized as part of the ancient language of the Mage. Among the symbols, he knew only one.
Sacrifice.
The rage that lived in his blood boiled over. He was not an animal to be chained and slaughtered! He struggled against his shackles. With a furious growl, he called on the power of the animal inside him and once again tried to shift. Like before, nothing happened.
“Fight it all you want,” Vhyper drawled, standing at his side, his voice floating down from high above him. “You aren’t going anywhere, B.P.”
With his furious gaze, he searched the room. At one end stood nearly a dozen Mage sorcerers in ritual robes.
Ritual robes. Goddess,
he smelled layers and layers of old blood in here. Was his about to coat these stones, too?
He searched for Skye and finally found her in the corner, stroking the agitated deer.
Vhyper squatted beside him, his forearm on his knee, his gaze on Skye. “She’s a pretty little piece, isn’t she, with those big doelike eyes? I told her you were a sucker for a damsel in distress. Wasn’t that how Ancreta trapped you all those years ago?”
Paenther’s eyes narrowed as he tore his gaze from the woman to look up at the man who’d once been his friend.
A malicious smile hovered at Vhyper’s mouth. “I told her all she had to do was play the victim, and you’d be eating right out of her hand, giving her whatever she wanted.”
Play the victim
? A chill of foreboding rolled down his spine.
Vhyper shrugged. “Birik may have overplayed
his role a bit when he beat her. He’s been doing a shitload of groveling to make it up to her, but I hear the ploy worked like a charm. You not only let her fuck you, but you helped her enjoy herself.” He grinned and pretended to high-five him. “Way to go, B.P.”
Paenther stared at him. He was supposed to believe that beating was an act? A lie to gain his cooperation? No way in hell. He’d seen the bastard’s face. He’d seen the pain and bleakness in Skye’s. No woman could be that good an actress.
That chill in his spine leached into his blood.
Except perhaps a witch.
With a bit of magic, she could make him believe he was seeing whatever she wanted him to see, couldn’t she?
Hell. Denial roared through his head. Had he really been taken in all over again?
Or was Vhyper the one lying? How in the hell was he supposed to know? The only thing he knew for certain was, he couldn’t trust either of them.
And if this night ended as he feared it might, it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would matter once he was dead.
The smoke of the banked fires teased his nose. He stared up into his old friend’s eyes, a growl grumbling deep in his throat as he saw no glimmer of the Vhyper he knew.
“Am I staked out for slaughter?”
A cruel smile slashed across Vhyper’s face. “What fun would it be if you knew what to expect?”
“You’ve turned into a bastard, Vhyper.”
“Oh, I’ve turned into a lot more than a bastard, B.P.” Vhyper rose. “Looks like it’s time to begin.”
As the Mage circled the perimeter of the room, Skye stood. With quick, nimble hands, she pulled off her dress and tossed it aside as if perfectly at ease with her nudity among so many men.
He stared at her and knew he was watching a stranger.
Birik came up behind her and pulled her back against him, one hand covering her breast, the other diving between her legs.
Paenther’s gut clenched with shock. His breaths became labored as he watched with disbelief as the bastard fingered her, working that supple body he’d lost himself in twice now, until she rocked against his hand, trembling. Enjoying it.
She was enjoying it.
His mind exploded. She’d tried to mount him last night, cold and dry.
It doesn’t matter.
Because she hadn’t wanted him. Not
him
.
And he knew, he
knew,
what was going to happen. Birik wanted her to ride him again, but he had to prepare her himself since,
clearly,
clearly, she couldn’t get there on her own. Not with a shape-shifter. Not with
him.
Damn her.
But it was him she needed, him with his animal. So she’d played him with her sad eyes and pretense at vulnerability until he’d helped her fuck him.
Anger blazed through him, a fury as raw as it was ancient. A fury turned on himself as much as her. How could he have fallen for a witch’s pretense of woe
twice
?
Birik finally released her. Without once meeting his gaze, she crossed to where he lay staked and stood over him, one foot planted on either side of his waist. In the shadows between her legs, her flower had opened, and the scent of her arousal blasted his senses, sending the blood flowing into his shaft in a throbbing rush.
Her eyes and expression were closed as she stood there, trembling, her heart racing. But no longer did her delicate beauty pull at him. It was all a lie.
She
was a lie. His chest ached, the flicker of warmth she’d sparked inside him sputtering beneath the mounting evidence of her deceit.
He struggled against his chains, determined to fight her every step of the way, though he knew with a despair born of bitter experience, his body would betray him. No matter how much his mind hated, his body would always struggle for release when buried inside a woman’s sheath. He’d never been able to keep from coming when Ancreta had him trapped inside her.
And he stood even less of a chance with the witch standing over him now, whose scent drove him to distraction even when she wasn’t aroused.
The witch began to chant, her melodious voice rising in volume until it echoed off the rock. Slowly, her lithe, graceful body began to move, gyrating to the rhythms of the chant, her small
breasts softly swaying, raising the temperature of his blood.
In the corner, the deer cried out, then went suddenly silent. He looked at the witch’s face, feeling a twist of empathy for the grief he expected her to feel, but her expression had turned as cold and lifeless as stone. Something shriveled inside him at this proof she was nothing more than a cold, calculating bitch, like all Mage witches.
Birik strode to her, a bucket in his hand. She didn’t startle, didn’t even flinch when Birik tipped it over her head, letting the blood run into her hair and over her bare shoulders.
She’d expected this. With a kick to his gut, he knew
this
was the reason she’d brought the animals into the cavern in the first place. To dance in their blood.
Hatred seared his mind. She’d had him so completely fooled.
With sick fascination, Paenther watched Skye slide her hands over her breasts and abdomen, slicking her palms. Then she squatted over him and took his swollen shaft in her hand, coating him with the sticky warmth.
He went feral, his fangs elongating, his claws unsheathing as he snarled, fighting his body’s traitorous response to her as much as he fought the woman herself.
But she barely looked at him as she guided him between her legs.
As he had so many times with Ancreta, he tried to buck her off him, but the witch was too well
coordinated, moving with him, refusing to be denied. She forced him inside her. Despite Birik’s ministrations, her body was still too tight, but nothing on her face reflected the discomfort.
There was nothing he could do to help her. Nothing he
would
do even if he could. He wanted her to hurt.
Damn her.
Slowly, she began to ride him, resuming her chant as around the room, the sorcerers joined their voices to hers until the sound pounded a thunderous beat echoed in Skye’s movements.
A beat echoed by his own heart.
The chant pounded in his blood and in his shaft, the power rising until the hair on his head felt like it was trying to stand on end. Above him, Skye’s short hair
was
lifting, as if she’d stepped into an electrical storm. Above her, the orbs he hadn’t noticed before pulsed with dark light, growing.
As the power rose higher, the blue-eyed witch began to gasp, her gasps quickly turning to small screams of pleasure.