Passion Untamed (17 page)

They wouldn’t, of course. They’d damn well better not even be thinking about it. With a low growl, he dipped his head and captured her mouth, claiming her. Marking her in front of his brothers.
She’s mine
.

The kiss eased his soul, and it was with reluctance that he drew back, cupping her face gently, briefly, before he turned on the Shaman with a fierce, animalistic growl.

“You hurt her, you die.”

Skye touched his arm. “Paenther, it’s okay. I can handle it.”

“I’ve seen what you can handle.” His hard gaze never left the Shaman. “But he has a deep-rooted prejudice against Mage, and I’d hate for it to creep into his actions here.”

To his credit, the Shaman met his gaze with perfect calm. “I vow to you, I’ll not intentionally harm her. I’ve never mind-skinned a Mage, warrior. I cannot be certain of the outcome. In any way.”

Paenther growled, but nodded. “Do it.”

The Shaman turned to Skye. “Lie down.”

Paenther held her hand as she lowered herself to the stone floor. As the Shaman knelt at her head, Paenther squatted at her side, stroking his thumb over her fingers where they curled around his.

The pain tore at his flesh, but his only concern was for Skye. He held her tight as the Shaman gripped her head in his hands. He’d been there when the Shaman skinned Kara’s mind. The pain…
goddess, the pain
. He’d already seen Skye in pain when he still thought she was against him, and every time it had nearly killed him. He wouldn’t be able to stand it again. Not when she was coming to mean too much to him.

As the Shaman began to chant, Paenther steeled himself for the first wave of agony to hit her.

“How far back, witch?”

“Skye,” Paenther snapped. “Her name is Skye.”

“How old were you, Skye?” the Shaman asked.

“Eight.”

The thought of her stretched out on that rock like he’d been,
abused
…Paenther’s hand clenched hers. Birik was going to die.

Her hand spasmed around his, her mouth tightening as her entire body went rigid.

“It hurts,” he growled.

Skye squeezed his hand. “It’s okay.”

“Like hell.”

“I’m going to open your memories of that time, Skye. They may swallow you at first, pulling you back there, but we’ll bring you forward again when it’s done. It’s up to you to find the spell. Find it and repeat it. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

The Shaman resumed his chanting, different though equally unintelligible words, then stopped abruptly. “We should be there.”

Skye’s body went rigid.

“How old are you, Skye?” the Shaman asked.

“Eight.” Her voice had changed. It was higher. Younger. As he watched her face, her bottom lip began to quiver, tears springing into her eyes. “I want my mother.”

She sounded…eight. For one horrible moment, he glimpsed the little girl she’d been.

“Skye,” the Shaman said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “Are you still wearing the shackles?”

“Yes.”

“Has he put the cantric in you, yet?”

“I’m not…big enough for a cantric.” Her eyes went wide with fear. “He’s coming. I hear him coming.” Her voice broke. “He’s going to hurt me again.”

Paenther felt her frantic grip on his hand and stroked her head, hating,
hating
, the man who’d
done this to her. “He’s not going to hurt you again, Skye. Never again.”

The Shaman glanced at him, then spoke to her. “Skye, you’re a little older now. I want you to come forward a few days. To the day he removed your shackles.”

Her skin was cool but damp to his touch as Paenther stroked the short hair off her forehead.

“Are you wearing the shackles, Skye?”

“I don’t need them anymore. He’s taking them off.”

“Repeat the spell, Skye. Repeat the spell Birik used to remove your shackles.”

Softly, almost too softly to hear, she began to chant in ancient Mage in the voice of the girl she’d once been. The Shaman took her free hand and curled it around one of Paenther’s manacles.

Magic began to dance at his wrists and ankles, a prickly, uncomfortable sensation that slowly began to burn. The metal shackles turned to gold, then bronze in a shimmer of light, the air filling with the smell of heated metal and burning flesh. His flesh.

With a sudden, blinding burst of light, pain roared through his body. He stumbled back against the wall, his vision turning black as the fire from the shackles spread, racing up his arms and legs to consume his entire body in a white-hot rush of agony.

“Get her out of here!” Lyon’s human voice roared through the prison block.

“No!” Paenther reached blindly for Skye, feel
ing her strong, slender arms wrap around him as if she could keep him from stumbling. He locked her against him as he felt the strong hands of one of his brothers.

“Easy, B.P.,” Tighe said.

Skye’s small hand stroked his back. “You need to sit down.”

His voice cracked with pain. “What did you do to me?”

“Nothing.” Skye’s voice sounded small. Injured. “The shackles are gone.”

“Gone?” He reached for his opposite wrist and found…nothing. “I’ll be damned.”

“Kara’s going to give you radiance, B.P.” Lyon’s voice reached out to him from a small distance. “You have to let go of the witch.”

“Not the witch.
Skye
.” He was finally starting to see through the white-hot pain. Lyon was back in his human form, standing in the doorway of the cell, sans clothes. He met his friend’s amber gaze. “You hurt her, Roar, and I’ll kill you.”

“We won’t hurt her.”

Skye slipped out of his hold as Kara stepped into his slowly widening field of sight. Kara came to him, her blond hair in its usual ponytail, her eyes worried as she curled her slender fingers around his wrist.

“Ready, Paenther?” she asked softly.

“Do it.”

Kara closed her eyes. Within seconds, her hand began to warm on his wrist. With a flash, her skin erupted in an iridescent radiant glow. But instead
of the warm surge of energy he usually felt, a bolt of power shot into his wrist, ramming through his body, knocking him back against the stone wall.

The last words he heard as he lost consciousness were Kara’s.

“Lyon, look at his eye!
His Feral mark is fading
.”

Paenther hit the wall. He felt Tighe grab him as the radiance burst within him, sending warm energy shooting through his body and into his limbs, raking over the pain that lived within his flesh. With a surge of renewed strength he pushed himself upright again, swallowing a grimace.

“You okay?” Tighe asked worriedly.

He shook his head fast and hard, clearing it. “That was a mean kick of power.”

His gaze sought and found Skye watching him with wide, worried eyes from the other side of the cell. He held out his hand to her, and she flew into his arms. Pulling her tight helped ease the turmoil inside him, if only a little. It was enough.

He met Lyon’s gaze. “The shackles are off. I’m ready to find that cavern.”

Skye made a sound of dismay.

Lyon acted as if he hadn’t heard him. “Shift.”

Paenther growled. “You think I can’t shift?”

“Your feral mark is fading, B.P. I don’t know what in the hell that means, but unless you can shift, you can’t go near the Mage.”

“Fine.” He thought about stripping so he didn’t ruin his clothes, but a quick glance down told him that ship had already sailed. Even his leather pants were half-shredded from the teeth and claws of his brothers. “I’m not shifting in this cell.”

With a gentle squeeze, he released Skye. Lyon stepped back as he brushed by him to stand on the stone floor in the middle of the cell block. Stealing himself for the rush of pain that always accompanied his shift, he pulled on the power of his animal, the power that had been as natural a part of him as breathing for nearly three hundred years. And nothing happened.

Dammit.

“B.P.?”

Paenther shot Lyon a glare. “Give me a minute.” He had to be able to shift! Raking his hair back with both hands, he pulled, visualizing his beast, straining to reach that rush of pain and strength until his neck and back were damp with sweat.

“Paenther?” Skye’s soft voice had him looking at her through the bars of the cell. “Let me touch you.”

“Why?” Lyon demanded.

Skye met his chief’s hard gaze and answered without hesitation. “His animal responds to me.
I believe Paenther and his animal spirit have always had a disconnect, but the shackles have wrenched them apart to the point they can barely function as one anymore. I might be able to bridge that gap.”

Lyon’s gaze swung to the Shaman. “Is that possible?”

The Shaman nodded. “I’ve always sensed a trauma within Paenther’s Feral magic, and there’s no denying it’s gotten worse as evidenced by his fading Feral marks. Whether or not the witch can help him, I don’t know.”

Paenther held his hand out to her. “Then we’ll find out.”

The others stood back to let Skye go to him. She met his gaze, uncertainty in her blue-and-copper eyes.

“Try, Beauty.”

She dipped her head and took his hand. “I need to touch you. Let me touch your chest.”

Paenther ripped the shredded silk shirt off with a single tug, popping the last remaining buttons. Skye lifted her hands and pressed her warm palms against his chest. Almost at once, he felt a calming.

He covered her hands with his. “If this works…when you see the lights, jump back, or you’ll wind up under me.”

Her mouth kicked up at one corner, a small, intriguing gleam entering her eyes. “I rather like being under you,” she said softly.

Unfortunately, Feral hearing was all too sharp.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a knowing smirk flicker across Tighe’s face.

Paenther held Skye’s gaze. “All right, let’s give this a try.” Once more he pulled on the power of his beast, but like before, nothing happened. The fury he kept carefully contained rose, boiling beneath his skin until he feared he would lose control. He was about to push Skye to safety when he felt it. The power rising from deep inside him. A trickle at first, then stronger, building until the shift came on him in a familiar rush of pain and savage, primal pleasure.

Lights sparkled around him as Skye jumped back, and he shifted at last. Being in his animal had always hurt, but it was worse this time. Shifting had never been right for him.

In his panther’s body, he stretched and shook, then lifted his head with a roar, feeling an odd pleasure tug on him through the aching pain.

He swung his panther’s head to the source. Skye stood beside him like a beacon of light and warmth, a light radiating outward from deep inside her chest, and he understood on a primal level why the creatures of the Earth flocked to her. A nature spirit, the Shaman had called her.

And he knew it was true.

His muscles twitched, his body begging for a good run through the woods, but not only was there was too much at stake to steal that kind of time for himself right now, he could never leave his Mage witch with his brothers.

She wasn’t safe at Feral House.

“Can you shift back?” Lyon asked.

Paenther growled. That was the question of the hour. Closing his eyes, he willed himself into his human body. Again, nothing happened.
Dammit to hell
.

I need your help, Beauty.

Without hesitation, Skye knelt in front of him, her hands sliding over his panther’s neck, easing the pain and filling him with an odd, intense pleasure. There was nothing sexual about his reaction to her, not in this form, yet her touch flowed through his body, into his soul, washing away the darkness, sending light into those deepest recesses, warming, cleansing. A purifying in its most fundamental form.

He understood now why the creatures sought her touch.

“Try again,” she said softly.

And he did. This time, with Skye’s hands on him, the power came when he called, and he managed to shift back into a man.

He faced his chief. “I can shift as long as Skye’s with me. We’ll leave immediately.”

Lyon’s expression turned to granite. “No way in hell.”

“Roar…”

“Look, B.P., I understand all too well your need to reach Vhyper and to stop Birik. And I fully support it. But I’m not sending you out there like this. If you come upon the Mage and get separated from your witch, you’ll be right back under their spell. Unless you can shift into
your animal, they’ll just enchant you again. And that’s unacceptable.”

The fury escaped his careful control. He leaped at his chief, hard in his face. “And what’s the alternative, Roar? I’m the only one who can possibly find that mountain. We leave
now
.”

“No.”

“Roar…
Lyon
…I’m losing my connection with my animal. Right now I’m still of some use. Let me do my job while I still can, dammit.”

Lyon’s expression turned hard, but in his eyes, Paenther saw a fierce caring. “No, B.P. Sending you out there like this is sending you to your death. I won’t do it.”

“Then you’re giving up any chance of saving Vhyper. I’m not going to heal. My connection with my animal is not going to get any better.”

“Maybe it will.” The Shaman’s tone, behind him, was thoughtful.

Paenther swung around to glare at the smaller man in his white ruffled shirt.

“You think he’ll heal?” Lyon asked, surprised.

“Not on his own, no. But after watching the enchantress, I think she may be able to help him. With the right training.”

Paenther scowled.
“Training?”

“Hear me out, warrior,” the Shaman said. “I know someone who might be able to help, if he’s willing. A single night may be all it takes. He’s an old Mage. Ezekiel. I’ve known him for a long, long time.”

“You have a Mage friend?” Tighe asked incredulously.

“He’s no friend, but I trust him. There’s never been any darkness in his heart. He never had much power, and what little he had is mostly gone. His mate was an enchantress. If anyone can teach your witch to call the good energies instead of the dark, it’s Ezekiel. If he will. After his mate’s death, he turned his back on his own race as well as all others. He sees no one anymore.”

Paenther scowled. “Then why do you think he’ll see us?”

“Because your Skye is an enchantress. They’re exceedingly rare, warrior. She’ll remind him of his lost mate.” He turned those old eyes to Skye. “Call the animals, witch. Not the gulls. Anyone with a slice of old bread can call the gulls, foolish birds. But if you call anything else, he’ll respond.”

“Where is he?” Paenther asked.

“He has a house in Corolla on the Outer Banks, but only a Mage can see through the warding. You won’t find it without your witch.”

“I can fly them down there,” Tighe said. “It’s a good five-hour drive.”

Lyon shook his head. “I don’t want you near her that long. If you start shifting when you’re in the air…”

Tighe grunted but didn’t argue. The thought of a fifteen-foot Bengal tiger in the cockpit was enough to put them all off flying.

The Shaman tossed Paenther a key. “I own a
safe house a short drive south of there, right on the beach. Stay there tonight while I see if I can make any headway clearing your witch’s magic from these Ferals.”

Paenther palmed the key, flexing his hand until the metal bit into his flesh. He needed to get out to that mountain, dammit. He needed to find Vhyper.

“Roar…”

“Fuck!”
Jag disappeared in a flash of light, shifting into his jaguar.

“That’s an order, B.P.” Lyon’s gaze shot daggers at Skye. “Get her out of here and get yourself healed.”

Paenther pushed Skye behind him as his gaze went from his chief to the spotted jaguar hissing at Skye, his ears flat to his head.

“We’re going.”

A short while later, they were on the road. Skye ran nervous fingers over the jeans now covering her legs, a fabric she hadn’t worn since she was a child. Before they left Feral House, Delaney had insisted on finding her some clothes. The jeans were a little big for her, but a belt and soft sweater hid that fact. Her feet, it turned out, were the same size as Kara’s, and the woman had loaned her a pair of running shoes. She wasn’t used to wearing shoes and socks, but these were surprisingly comfortable.

She plucked at the jeans, her pulse far from calm. What if this whole trip was for nothing? What if Ezekiel wouldn’t see her?

Paenther’s hand reached over and covered hers, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “He’ll see you. Maybe he’ll even help us.”

She turned, studying his strong profile. “Are you reading my mind now?”

Something resembling a smile softened his face for one brief moment. “You haven’t stopped playing with your jeans since you got in the car.”

“What if Inir’s already gotten to him? What if he’s lost his soul?”

“He hasn’t. The Shaman may not call this Mage a friend, but he wouldn’t send us down there if he weren’t sure of him.” He squeezed her hand again.

Skye covered his hand with her other. “I’m sorry I hurt you when I said the spell to release your shackles.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I’m sure the blame goes back to Ancreta and what she did to me all those years ago.”

“What’s going to happen if you completely lose your connection with the animal spirit, Paenther?” The thought of it scared her.

“I don’t know. Maybe he’ll be free to mark someone else.”

“Could he mark you again?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So you’ll go back to being Therian?” She rubbed her hand over the back of his, sliding her fingers between his.

She waited for him to answer. And waited.

Finally, she looked at him, at the hard line of his jaw. “Paenther?”

“Being marked by an animal spirit changes you.” His voice was clipped. Controlled. Too controlled. “Being unmarked doesn’t change you back.” He turned his hand and grasped hers, palm to palm, intertwining their fingers. But he didn’t say anything more.

He didn’t have to. She understood. If he lost the connection with his animal, he was going to die.

Skye thrashed against her bindings, turning her face against the crushing blows of the sharp rocks being flung at her magically by a dozen Mage. The rocks pummeled her, cutting her cheek, cracking her ribs, tearing gashes into the flesh of her naked body until she was struggling to breathe against the brutal pain of the assault
.

Even as the stones continued to fly at her, Birik’s face swam in front of her eyes, his own sharp with fury.

“Return to me, Skye, or you’ll suffer worse. Every time you sleep, you’ll live the tortures I have planned for you, until you’re afraid to close your eyes. Until you cease being able to tell the real world from the nightmares. Until your mind collapses beneath the weight of the terror
.

“Return to me,
now.
You’ll never escape me, foolish girl. Never!”

“Skye.”

She came awake with a start, jerking away from the car window, her body aching, her breaths
pained and short, hurting as if she’d suffered the attack for real.

Paenther’s warm hand curved over her shoulder. “Your heart’s thundering. Was that a nightmare, or something more?”

“More, I think. It was Birik threatening me if I didn’t come back.”

“He can reach you over this distance?”

“I don’t know.” She pressed her shaking hand to her damp forehead, trying to clear her mind of the nightmare. “He was wearing a green tunic I haven’t seen him in for years. And he was taller. Much taller.”

“Or you were smaller. Could he have inserted that nightmare into your cantric when you were a girl?”

“Yes. I think that’s what he did.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

She glanced at him, at the worried look in his eyes as he met her gaze. “I was being stoned. He said the nightmares will get worse if I don’t come back, until I can’t tell dream from reality.”

Paenther growled low in his throat. “That Mage is going to die.” His fingers caressed her shoulder. “No one’s going to hurt you again. I won’t allow it.”

His touch was firm and warm, but not even Paenther could protect her from the living hell Birik would make her life if she didn’t return to him. Yet she couldn’t go back there, not when she knew the use he would make of her power.

Like a wraith, she floated between one world and the other, unable to live in either without misery. If she stayed away from Birik, her misery would be of the mind and flesh. If she went back and helped him free more of those Daemons, the anguish would be to her soul.