Hunger Untamed (9 page)
Kougar gripped the window frame until he heard the wood creak beneath his fingers. He was losing it, the emotions that had been all but dead for a millennium turning into a wild storm inside him as he struggled for control. He wanted to shake Ariana until her teeth rattled for severing the mating bond and walking away from him. He longed to yell at her until his throat was hoarse. And he yearned to make love to her. Goddess, he
needed
to make love to her.
And that would be a monumental mistake.
Already, his body was a living inferno from just a kiss and the quick slide of his finger inside her. He hadn't meant to touch her like that. He hadn't meant to touch her at all, but he was losing control. All he could think of was tearing off Ariana's clothes and making love to her until neither of them could think . . . or stand.
And he didn't want that!
From the moment he saw her again, he'd needed to be inside her. From the moment he'd ushered her into his bedroom, even through his rage, he'd shaken with the need to toss her onto the bed and follow her down.
Goddess, all he wanted was her out of his life again!
Yet deep inside him, his cat clawed to reach her, to claim her. Not as
he
wanted to, with his cock deep inside her, but as his mate.
Their
mate.
No. Not again. They might not be able to sever the bond again, but that didn't mean he had to care what happened to her. He didn't have to love her. He'd done that once, and it had damn near killed him.
He refused to fall for her again.
But his body burned, hot and throbbing, desperate to be inside her. It wasn't going to happen. He wasn't having sex with her. He refused to lose control like that with her again. But his body
burned.
Turning, he found her watching him, her jeans once more up around her hips, though not zipped. Those too-blue eyes watched him, the fire he'd set in them banked but not out. Not nearly out.
Goddess
.
He walked to his desk and dug through the wreckage until he found his scissors, then crossed to her and removed the tape binding her hands none too gently.
She rubbed her wrists, her eyes sharp with annoyance.
He was a fool. A fucking weak fool.
"Take off your clothes." The words came out of his mouth, little more than a growl, and he knew he was lost.
"Now,
why are you mad?" Anger flared in her eyes even as she pulled off her T-shirt and tossed it on the chest at the foot of the bed.
"Because I don't want you. Because I refuse to fall back into that soul-sucking trap of needing to be inside you every moment of every day."
He closed the distance between them and once more yanked her jeans down over her hips, taking her panties with them.
She stared at him, her face a mask of heat and confusion. "Then what are you doing?"
"Losing control."
Her Ilina mating scent--that lush, intoxicating fragrance Ilinas used, at one time, to lure males into their sensual traps--began to spin its magic, lighting fires in every part of his body. If he hadn't been hard as a rock already, he would be now, though he doubted she released the fragrance intentionally. Ariana had always lost control of hers at some point in their lovemaking. Usually, the moment he started to undress her.
He shoved his hand between her legs. She moaned and ripped open his shirt, sending the buttons flying. He drew his claws and reached for her bra, but she grabbed his wrist before he could slice through it.
"Bras cost money." She removed the filmy lace, exposing her fully to his gaze once more.
As he reached for the soft mounds of her breasts, her hands went to his belt; but he grabbed her wrists, stopping her.
"No." Instead, he picked her up, intending to toss her onto the bed.
But Ariana had never been a woman to give in meekly. She kicked out of his hold to curl her bare legs around his waist, flinging her arms around his neck, leaping onto him like a wildcat on the attack. An erotic, sensual attack. His arms pulled her closer as she fused her mouth with his, devouring his. Pebbled breasts teased his skin, slender fingers raked into his hair, cutting him with memories.
She'd always slept without clothing in those days, and he'd loved to surprise her in bed. She always seemed to sense him coming, and she'd greeted him just like this, flying into his arms, curling herself around him like a wild cat claiming her mate.
Memories flayed him of those idyllic days even as anger burned inside him at Ariana, the Mage, the fates, for stealing them away.
As he cupped her buttocks, digging his fingers into the soft flesh, desire flamed higher.
Her mouth moved to his jaw, to his neck. "Let it go, Kougar. Let the anger go and feel the pleasure. Just feel. Just this once."
She rubbed the tight nubs of her nipples against his bare chest, and he was lost. Naked and warm in his arms, she was living, lily-of-the-valley-scented fire, and he wanted her with a need that stripped him of all control.
Holding her with one hand, he slid the other between her legs, finding again the source of her heat. Goddess, but she was hot and wet, ready for him as she'd always been. The sex had been the best part of those two years.
Conflicting emotions crashed inside the walls of his chest. He wanted to hurt her as she'd hurt him, until she cried out with the pain of it. And his arms shook with the need to free himself and shove his cock inside her until they both screamed with pleasure.
But he wasn't completely out of control. Not yet.
Pulling her off him, he tossed her onto the middle of the bed, shaking with the need to follow her down.
Ariana stared up at Kougar as he stood beside the bed. His emotions pulsed down the mating bond, pounding at her even when he wasn't touching her. Her breaths were shallow, her body on fire from the feel of his hands and his gaze, and the sheer magnitude of her own desire for this man.
She wanted him, needed him, in so many ways. But the tight line of his body and the rigid set of his jaw made it all too clear he didn't want to give in. Though seduction was as innate to any Ilina as breathing, she wouldn't employ such tactics. If he came to her, it would be through his own free will, not her machinations.
They'd already hurt one another in too many ways.
So she waited for him to make the decision, watching the battle in his eyes. The small flare of frustrated anger told her it was over.
She'd won.
He pulled off his ripped shirt, revealing the beautifully sculpted, lightly furred chest she'd loved so well. Claw marks tore across his abdomen--red welts that looked new though he'd had them since the day he was first marked to be a Feral Warrior well over a thousand years ago. Watching her with predatory eyes, he climbed onto the bed, moving between her parted legs like a cat on the prowl. His eyes were steel, his powerful shifter's body as dangerous as it was beautiful as he bent over her and lowered his face to her breast, watching her the entire way down.
He claimed her breast without gentleness, his passion barely controlled, sucking the fullness into his mouth on a hard, desperate tug that sent pleasure arcing through her body and down into her core. As if he felt her need, his fingers reached between her legs, stroking her damp, swollen flesh before two dove inside, claiming her with sure, hard strokes.
Another hard surge of anger hit her through the mating bond, puncturing the intense pleasure, telling her he hated his own weakness in needing to touch her. This wasn't the way it used to be between them. This wasn't the way it was ever supposed to be, but she'd ended all chance for anything more when her world had come crashing down around her, and she'd left him thinking her dead.
The pleasure, though intense, was hollow. Still, she needed the strength it would give her to battle back the darkness that attacked her from within.
His bearded mouth left one breast damp and throbbing, to claim the other. Her fingers caressed his short hair as she thrust her hips against his hand, forcing his fingers deeper and deeper inside her.
How could so much pleasure leave her feeling so empty?
He released her breast, pulling his fingers from her, only to replace them with his mouth. His tongue delved into her inner depths, drawing a moan from her throat. His hands slid beneath her hips, lifting her, splaying her wide as he devoured her, his tongue moving out of her to circle the tight knot of nerve endings.
Clasping the bedspread, she hung on against the rising passion tearing through her body.
He pleasured her. Goddess, he pleasured her, but there was no tenderness. If he'd been fully in control he wouldn't be touching her at all, she was sure of it. And the knowledge that he touched her against his will filled her with a sweeping sadness, an ache in that part of her heart that had always belonged to him, despite all that had happened.
With his mouth working her clit, he shoved the two fingers back inside her and within moments she came with an exploding rush of ecstasy and emptiness. Once upon a time, when she and Kougar were in love, she'd often started to turn to mist as she'd climaxed and would have to battle it back until he followed. Then she'd let the mist overtake her just enough that he'd sink into her body, making them truly one. He'd loved it when she did, the sensation moving and powerfully erotic for both of them.
But there was none of that this time. Even if she weren't wearing the moonstones, she doubted she'd be compelled to turn to mist. While her body metabolized the pleasure of their joining, the lack of closeness, not to mention the enmity, left her feeling bereft.
Kougar rose slowly from between her legs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, watching her with catlike intensity. Without a word, he rose with that animal grace and padded to the door in the back corner of the room. The bathroom, she realized, as he went in and closed the door behind him, shutting her out.
Flinging her arm across her forehead, Ariana stared up at the ceiling, her body pulsing with glorious release, her chest hollow. With her hands free, she reached for the moonstones but couldn't bring herself to chant the magic of transport. The Ferals had promised to try to help her, and though she hadn't expected to trust them, she found that she did. She sensed a strength and honor in Lyon to rival that which she'd always seen in Kougar. And she'd be a fool to turn her back on their offer of help, especially with their friends' lives such a powerful force driving them to succeed.
Yes, she would stay, and hope the Ferals triumphed where she and her maidens had failed. Kougar's enmity was a small price to pay for the chance to save her friends, and the man she loved, even if he no longer had any soft feelings for her in return.
Ten centuries she'd spent outcast by her own hand, wandering the human world, living on her own. Yet in this crowded house, the man she'd once been mated to in the next room, she'd never felt so alone.
Kougar shucked off his pants, took himself in hand, and pumped off into the sink with a few quick strokes, then braced his hands on the counter and forced the air back into his lungs, willing his heart to cease its crazed beating.
The taste of Ariana, the scent, the sound of her low whimpers as she rose, and her cry as she released--each of them tore at his control, every one sliced open the cold mass of aching muscle that had long ago become his heart. He'd wanted to climb her body and sink inside her so badly it had become a burn in his quaking muscles. But every instinct he possessed told him that taking her, possessing her like that again, would be a mistake of monumental proportions. Never had he taken her that his love for her hadn't grown stronger, and loving her again, even a little, would only open the mating bond, hastening his demise.
And even if they succeeded in capturing the Mage and curing this poison, if he wanted any hope of walking away whole, he had to keep some measure of distance between them. Not that burying his face between her legs was distance. But he remembered all too well what happened when they came together, when they released together. Maybe it wouldn't be anything like that now that there was anger and distrust between them. Now that the mating bond was little more than a twisted wreck. But he wasn't taking any chances because if he tasted even a shadow of that perfection again, he'd never be able to walk away. He'd never be free of her.
He turned on the shower and stepped under the cold spray, letting the chill sink into his body and douse the heat that refused to abate, willing it to freeze his heart and the unwanted emotions that careened inside him after being dead for so long. He didn't want them. Didn't need them. Especially now, with Ariana back in his life.
Finally, he turned off the shower and grabbed a plush bath sheet, drying himself thoroughly. What he needed was a run in his cat. But the sun was up, and he couldn't leave Ariana behind. If she was even still here. It had occurred to him she might not be since he'd left her unbound.
But as he stepped through the door, he found her asleep on his bed. The sight of her like that--curled up atop his satin sheets like a diamond on a sea of dark red--tugged at that aching mass of flesh in his chest. His cat gave a howl of frustration that he refused to claim her and take her once more to mate.
He stepped closer, drawn to her against his will, until he stood over her, close enough to watch the rise and fall of her chest. And the soft lock of hair curled atop her cheek.
Goddess, she is
so beautiful.
From out of nowhere, a thread of joy surged through his battered heart, and he reveled in the miracle of her survival. He fought it back, fought to reclaim the anger that had threatened to consume him such a short time before, but it was gone. Instead, her voice echoed in his thoughts, telling him of ninety-six maidens she'd had to send to the next world while trying to save those few remaining. For the first time he began to understand the enormity of her loss and the magnitude of what she'd faced. As hard-pressed as he was to not forgive her for not telling him she was still alive, on some level he found himself doing so.
For long minutes, he stood there, perfectly content to watch her sleep. But he needed sleep as well. He'd gotten little the past few days as he'd tirelessly tracked her down. It was the perfect time to rest, while Lyon and Paenther hunted for Hookeye's trail.
He eyed Ariana, torn between shifting into his cat to sleep on the floor and joining her in the bed. With a sigh of disgust, he dropped the towel and pulled on a pair of silk sleep pants that might possibly deter him from claiming what he really wanted. Then he lay down beside her, careful not to touch her.
But she stirred and rolled over, moving to him unerringly in her sleep as she'd often done, as if a thousand years hadn't passed. Before he could catch his breath, she pressed against his side, her head on his shoulder, her arm sliding across his torso, one knee lifting to rest on his thigh.
For half a minute, he lay still as stone, his muscles shaking as he struggled between pushing her away and pulling her into his arms. The latter won.
He turned to her, his arms going tight around her as he pulled her against his heart. He had to squeeze his eyes closed against the tidal wave of emotion that threatened to rip his feet out from under him--the overpowering joy that the woman he'd loved more than life, and thought dead for so long, was alive, her breath warm against his shoulder, her hair tickling his chin, her heart beating strong and sure beneath his hands.
Hatred, then anger, had fought the celebration of his heart. They'd tried to silence his cat's rejoicing. But in the stillness of the room, Ariana sleeping safely in his arms, that soul-deep joy knocked him to his knees. Moisture burned his eyes. From the moment he'd seen her again, he'd been struggling to keep his distance from her, struggling not to let himself care again.
Not to let himself love her again.
The problem was, despite the decrepit state of their mating bond, he'd never stopped loving her. And it was a problem, a huge one. Even now, he felt the mating bond begin to unfurl, a low burn setting up in his chest where the poison began to trickle through.
Even if they got another chance, they were too different to make a go of this marriage. Their worlds were too far apart, and their loyalties had always been too firmly entrenched with their own instead of one another. If he found a way to save Hawke and Tighe that risked the lives of her maidens, he'd take it. Without question. Not only would he do whatever it took to save his friends, but the Feral Warriors were all that realistically stood between the world and Satanan. The Ferals had to survive for the sake of far more than their own desire to live. But that argument would do nothing to assuage Ariana's grief if it came to that. Nor her hatred of him for letting it happen.
No, they had no future together. Even if they defeated Hookeye, another villain would only take his place. Now that the Mage knew the Ilinas were still alive, they'd seek to steal their souls as they had others'. Or destroy them, as Hookeye had almost done. And might still do. No, he and Ariana had no future. They'd never had one.
But the feel of her in his arms again was heaven after a millennium of hell.
Wulfe heard voices as he slipped through the mirrored door of the workout room into the hidden stone passage and headed back to the prison block deep below Feral House. Not voices, he amended. One voice. Xavier's. If that kid was awake, he was talking. Which beat the hell out of Lip Ring's screaming. As it turned out, those screams of hers weren't reserved for him alone. Lyon had tried to take her terror three times, then given up, which might not bode well for their ability to take her memories when and if the energy Olivia had fed them finally wore off. The teen girl's mind seemed locked in a loop of terror. Not that he could really blame her, given what she'd seen.
As he strolled through the passage, he rolled up the too-short cuffs of his button-down, trying to get comfortable. It wasn't like he'd gotten dressed up. He hadn't tucked in the shirt and was still wearing jeans. He just . . . felt a little more civilized-looking in a collared shirt.
He'd taken guard duty down there on and off for the past couple of days; but never again had he managed to catch Natalie awake, though he kept hoping to. Both Lyon and Jag claimed she was doing fine. Wary and watchful, but calm, all things considered, even as she stuck as close to her brother as a momma bear to her cub.
Xavier went quiet, and Wulfe assumed Lyon had knocked him out again. But Xavier's next question, which carried to Wulfe clearly, proved otherwise.
"So, are you going to be able to let us go, or do we know too much?"
"And what do you think you know?" Lyon asked with deceptive softness.
"I know the earth opened up. I know there was some serious magic shit going down. I know there were large wild animals prowling around who suddenly turned into men."
Even before he reached the cellblock, Wulfe heard the low growl in Lyon's throat. "How could you possibly know that?"
"I heard you, Dude. When you don't have eyes, you see through sounds, and I saw the change. Besides, Nat told me she saw you shift." A pause. "You don't have to kill me, you know, even if you can't take my memories." Clearly, he'd heard too much. "I'm a decent cook. I can wash dishes. I can help out around here, man."
Wulfe didn't have to see Lyon's face to know he was groaning. Disposing of dangerous humans was so much harder when you couldn't help but like them. Especially when the only danger they posed was to the anonymity of the race.
"I'll think about it. Lie down, Xavier. You're going back to sleep."
"I'd rather stay awake."
"Nevertheless . . ."
By the time Wulfe walked into the cellblock, Lyon was locking the brother and sister's cage, Xavier once more unconscious.
Lyon eyed Wulfe's shirt with a lift of his brow. "Going somewhere?"
"Go to hell," Wulfe muttered. "The women?"
Lyon gave him an amused look but didn't razz him further. "That one," he said, nodding toward Lip Ring's cage, "woke in her normal bloodcurdling manner about half an hour ago. She'll be out the rest of the day. The other hasn't woken yet, but should soon. Call Kara when she does, and she'll bring a tray."
When Lyon had left, Wulfe shucked off his clothes, shifted into his wolf, and curled up on the floor to watch. And wait. An hour later, Natalie finally began to stir. Wulfe shifted back and pulled on his jeans. As he buttoned the shirt, he felt like a fool. He usually wore T-shirts since they stretched comfortably to fit his monster-truck size. He used to dress up a little for Beatrice from time to time, hoping to please her, though he never had. His now-dead mate had never been able to see past his scars.
But Natalie hadn't seemed put off by him. He scowled. She hadn't seemed
terrified
of him. She might still have been revolted. Revulsion could be masked.
Hell.
Natalie sat up groggily, her hand sliding to Xavier's pulse before she was even fully awake. She looked better. Much better now that she was no longer battling the terror and anguish as she had been that first time. In fact, she seemed almost calm.
That was the first word that came to mind when he thought of her.
Calm. Lovely
was the second, despite her unkempt appearance. Her hair fell to her shoulders in tangled golden waves framing a face of strength and depth and compassion. The only thing jarringly out of place was that wound across her cheekbone.
Cautiously, he stepped out of the shadows.
Natalie looked up, her wary gaze softening slowly. "Hi," she said, a hint of a smile lighting gray eyes.
A smile.
He felt like laughing, but contained the urge, settling for a small smile of his own. "How are you feeling?"
"Since the last time I saw you? A thousand times better."
"Good."
She nodded, but her expression sobered. "We're still in the cages, though. How long has it been? Since the . . ."
"A week."
Unhappiness clouded her eyes. "My mom and my fiance are going to be frantic. Have we hit the news? Are they looking for us?"
"You're all the humans are talking about around here."
Dark blond brows drew together. "Humans. And you're not. But of course you're not." She looked down, then back up again. "Werewolves, or were-animals?"
"We prefer the term shape-shifters."
"What were those . . . flying creatures that attacked us?"
Daemons. "Nothing to worry about anymore. They're dead."
"And there aren't any more of them?"
"No." Not yet, not unless the Mage found a way to free more of them, but she didn't need to know that. "Are you hungry?"
That smile flitted across her face again, pleasing him more than it should. "Starved."
Wulfe pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed Kara. "I have a starving guest down here. Lyon said you might have a tray with Natalie's name on it?"
"Coming right up." Kara's cheery voice carried to him through the phone. "Or down, I guess I should say. I'll be right there, Wulfe."
A few minutes later, Kara appeared with a tray laden with a full three-course meal--salad, ham, potatoes, and a sweet-smelling cherry cobbler that had been sending their stomachs into wild tumbles of hunger all morning. Kara left, and Natalie dug into the salad as if she was indeed about to expire from lack of food.
He wished he could let her out of her cage for a while when she was finished eating. She had to be sick and tired of being locked up. A walk through the woods came to mind, but it was the middle of the day, and he wasn't kidding when he'd told her they were all over the news. Human law enforcement had found the bodies of Natalie's three friends where the Ferals had left them, more than a mile from the actual site of their deaths. They'd left the Mage bodies on the field of battle, warding the area against human senses for the few days it took the earth to reclaim them. Immortal bodies might live centuries, but they decayed to dust quickly.
"Can you shift into anything you want?" Natalie asked when she'd clearly taken the edge off her hunger.
"No." He didn't elaborate.
