Rapture Untamed (10 page)

She stared at him, uncertain whether he’d given her a gift, in an unspoken promise to keep her secret. Or just latched a choke chain around her throat. She struggled to her feet, her body still throbbing, still slow from the effects of the Daemon venom.

Emotions battered her as she pulled on her ripped clothing. The ever-present fear that Jag only played with her, that the moment he had the chance, he’d out her. And the strange elation that came from a power
ful sexual experience with a man determined to bring her pleasure. Incredible pleasure. A man she couldn’t trust on any level and didn’t even like most of the time, though, heaven help her, she liked his hands. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t.

Dressed, she sat on the ground and pulled on her socks and boots, then rose and faced him.

He watched her from the shadows with an intensity she could feel but couldn’t read. An intensity that, even now, had her pulse elevating and quickening. Not with fear, though certainly she should be feeling that, too. But with desire.

All her life, she’d fought for control, yet that was the very thing he’d stolen from her. She wondered now if she’d ever get it back or if her life were doomed to be forever cast into chaos.

Fate had closed in on her at long last.

On four legs, Kougar ran up the steep hillside, deep in the woods, until certain he was completely alone. He could have no audience for what he meant to do.

In the thickest part of the forest, he shifted back into a man and prepared himself for an encounter he’d long been dreading. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and looked inward, deep inside to the very core of the ice that had long ago stolen his ability to feel anything intensely. In that cold, cold center, he searched for, and found, the brittle filaments of a connection long severed. Focusing on those bright, icy tendrils, he sent out the call, a silent demand for an audience.

Queen Ariana!
While no true telepathy took place
in his man form, this call wasn’t a communication as much as a demand.
Heed me!

But he felt no change in the breeze, saw no shimmer and sparkle of refracted crystals in the air.

Ariana!
Over and over, he made the demand, pounding at that invisible door until his mind felt beaten with exhaustion. But just as it became clear his attempt to contact the Ilinas would be in vain, a strong, telltale scent of pine teased his nose, telling him his call had been answered.

But when he turned, he found not the queen standing before him but two of her minions. His mind flickered annoyance, but his emotions remained unengaged, as always. The pair of petite warriors stood side by side, two of the queen’s elite private guard, each dressed in the usual uniform—a brown tunic and flesh-colored breeches, soft leather boots, and a knife strapped at her waist.

“Melisande. Brielle. I sought Ariana, but you’ll do.”

“What do you want, Kougar?” Melisande asked, her thick blond braid draped across one slender shoulder. Though her features had a delicate cast, her bright blue eyes were hard as flint.

Kougar lifted a cold eyebrow. “You forbid me entrance to the Crystal Realm?”

“You are not welcome. Queen Ariana grants you no audience. You’re lucky she lets you live at all, Feral, knowing what you know.”

A fact of which he was all too aware. He’d often pondered why she hadn’t made an attempt on his life.

His gaze focused on Melisande. “Are you aware the Mage have freed three wraith Daemons from the blade?”

The woman’s only reaction was a tiny jerk backward, but the move told him enough. She hadn’t known.

“The traps won’t work without Ilina blood and magic. I’ve tried. I need your help. Join with me to catch them.”

Melisande’s face hardened. “The Daemons are not our concern. We’re no longer of your world.”

“That’s a lie, and we both know it.” Kougar took a step forward, but the pair held their ground. “If Satanan’s freed, it’s only a matter of time before he discovers your secret. You’re fooling yourselves to believe otherwise.”

“Involving ourselves in your battle could compromise our safety. I’ll not allow it, Feral.” Melisande’s eyes flashed with threat. “The safety of my race is a responsibility I take very, very seriously.”

“Thousands, perhaps millions will die if Satanan rises again.”

“That’s not my concern.”

“Your queen would have cared once.”

“Many things that once were are no more.”

Kougar’s hand flexed with the need to grab her, to steal her blood and force her compliance, but the act
would be useless. The moment he reached for her, she would simply turn to mist.

As if reading his mind, or his wish, the pair lost form, turning transparent, floating before him like spirits. “Go, Kougar. And don’t come back. The next time, your summons will not be answered.” As one they disappeared.

Kougar went feral, clawing the air where the women had stood moments before in a move that reeked of emotion.

Seeking the help of the Ilinas had been a waste of time. The Daemons were going to remain on the rampage, the traps useless.

They were going to have to find another way.

From beneath the trees, Jag watched Olivia finish dressing, the moonlight glinting in her hair. When she was done, he pulled on the power of his animal and shifted into his jaguar, the exquisite pleasure of the magic that raced through him a pale shadow of the rich enjoyment he’d experienced inside Olivia’s hot little body.

The pleasure that had continued to pulse through his man’s body dissipated with the shift but continued to resonate through his mind. Touching her, entering her, feeling her release break over him again and again had been an extraordinary experience, as different from his usual sexual encounters as fine whiskey to flat beer. Being inside her had felt…right. That was the only
word he could think of. As if all this time he’d been looking for the lock that fit his key, and he’d finally found her.

Never had he been this hot for a woman. Never had his release been so complete. He loved the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips and against his lips, almost as much as he loved the way she fought him. She’d refused to give them what they’d both wanted right up until she couldn’t fight it a second more. Then he’d buried himself inside her and released again and again and again. Never had it been like that for him, his body so fucking wound up he couldn’t stop coming.

And all he could think of was doing it all again. Which was precisely the reason he’d pulled out and ordered her to get a move on.

As he watched her dress, her soft hair swinging against her cheek, drawing his gaze to her mouth, he felt a weakness inside his man’s mind, a wish to take her into his arms. To kiss her.

But, although he loved sex, there was something about kissing he’d never embraced. Something too…intimate…about it. Mouth to mouth, eye to eye. Kissing took a level of closeness, of tenderness, he gave no woman.

So it disturbed him that he wanted to give it to Olivia.

He pushed the uncomfortable thoughts away as he watched her pull on the leather jacket with the Daemon-claw-size holes in the back and arm.

Just what had that thing done to her? Daemon venom. Who knew that Daemons had venom in their claws? It had been so long since any had terrorized the Earth, they had nothing to go on but legend and superstition, which left them in total guessing territory when it came to what Daemons could really do.

As soon as he got back to the Hummer and his phone, he’d have to find some cell service and let the others know what they’d learned.

Ready?
he asked her. When she nodded, he took off through the woods at a human-friendly pace. She quickly caught up to him, then walked at a quick clip at his side.

He swung his cat’s gaze toward her.
Have you recovered from that Daemon attack?

“Mostly.”

Describe it to me. What did he do to you?

“I think he partially paralyzed me. I could move my arm, but it felt heavy. Numb. I still feel slow, like I weigh three times what I did, but I can move.”

No other side effects?

“Not that I’m aware of. I’m feeling better and better, so I think it’s working its way out of my system. I can still fight, Jag. If we see him again, I can absolutely fight.”

Strong.
The word went through his head over and over when he thought of her. And he hadn’t once stopped thinking about her, not since he first saw her.

Shit, she’d killed her own father yet didn’t seem to be bothered about it at all. Granted, it had happened half a millennium ago, but still. You didn’t get over crap like that. It became part of who you were, digging claws into you day and night for the rest of your fucking life.

Maybe the guy had been a bastard. Maybe he’d tried to hurt her. Or execute her as was once the fate of all draden-kissed.

It was none of his business, but the questions preyed on his mind until he finally asked.

Did you mean to kill your father?

“Of course not. I loved him more than anything. He was all I had.”

How do you live with guilt like that? Did you finally just get over it?

She remained silent for so long, he began to think she wouldn’t answer.

“You never get over it. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss him, that I don’t regret the lapse in control that killed him. But I eventually learned to forgive myself, to look forward instead of back.”

He thought of her words on the drive out here, how she’d accused him of hating himself as she once had hated herself. He got it, now, what she must have gone through.

But it still had nothing to do with him.

They’d gone only a short distance when that god-awful scent of Daemon slammed into his nostrils again, yanking him back to the present.
Got his scent.

“I feel something, too. A tingling of energy. It’s just a shadow of what I felt when the Daemon showed up, but maybe he left a trail for me to follow.”

Good. Let’s get this sucker, Red.

The twin trails followed one another exactly, telling him they were on the right track, even as the paths waxed and waned. The night was quiet, the moon playing hide-and-seek with the clouds above, but his vision remained perfect either way. There were no humans around that he had to be careful of, and if the draden attacked again, it wouldn’t matter.

The knowledge brought with it a strange relief. They’d each fight the suckers with their own unique gifts. Olivia could safely draw them to her while he stayed in his animal, ready to pounce. They’d make a damn good fighting team. For now.

What in the hell was he going to do with her? Lyon would be royally pissed if Jag brought her back to Feral House without warning him what she was. Hell, the Chief would be pissed if he brought her anywhere near his Ferals at all.

Olivia claimed she had complete control, but anyone draden-kissed was extremely dangerous if she ever wanted to be. Except she couldn’t feed, couldn’t harm
anyone, without him knowing. Which meant that as long as he stayed close enough to stop her, she couldn’t harm anyone at all.

And they needed her. At least for now. She was a good little fighter, a well-trained warrior with some special skills that just might come in handy against their enemies.

Eventually, he’d have no choice but to out her. As much as he enjoyed riling Lyon, keeping this kind of secret was an offense Lyon would never forgive.

In the meantime, though, Olivia was his.

Olivia hurried along beside the jaguar, jogging to keep up, which was fine with her. The night wouldn’t last, and she had a score to settle with that Daemon.

If only the venom would finish working its way out of her system. The lethargy continued to tug at her limbs, though not as badly as before. Ironically, despite the heaviness in her limbs, she felt stronger, more powerful than ever thanks to the Daemon life force she’d ingested,

How often do you need to feed?
Jag asked after they’d covered a good three miles.

“The energy of half a dozen draden will fill me for hours. Around Therians or humans, it depends on how many there are and how emotional the situation. I have to be particularly careful with humans. If there aren’t a lot of them around, I can take very little.”

How often do you kill them?

“I haven’t killed anyone by accident since my father. At least not that I know of.”

You’ve killed on purpose?

“Of course. What warrior hasn’t?”

True. You use your…gift…in addition to your weapons?

“If I can drain an opponent without collateral damage to others, I’ll weaken him. But I can only direct my feeding to one person if I grab him and hold on.”

Too bad. A concentrated shot like that could be a powerful weapon. You ever killed someone just because they needed killing? It would be easy to do, wouldn’t it?

She didn’t answer right away. The question dug up old memories she’d rather leave buried. But the freedom to talk honestly for the first time in centuries proved too powerful, and she found herself telling him.

“After my father died, I was terrified of making another mistake, of killing another Therian, so I continued to live alone.” She swallowed. “I became prey to humans, of course. To men.”

Shit. Did you kill the bastards before they…?

“No. The first time, I didn’t know what they wanted. I thought they were being kind when they invited me to join their camp, and I was so lonely.”

They raped you.

“Yes. I could have killed them, but I hated myself so badly for killing my father, it felt right somehow. Like
the goddess had finally delivered the retribution I deserved. I let it happen again and again, putting myself in the paths of rough or drunken men, seeking that punishment.”

How old were you when this started?

“Seventeen.”

Olivia. I’m sorry.
The pain in his tone surprised her, the honesty in his words wrapping around her like a protective cocoon. If he’d been there, back then, he’d have killed them for what they’d done to her. Somehow she knew that.

Her story had prodded those protective instincts of his into play, the same ones that had come to Pink’s defense. Once more, her instincts told her that beneath the bad-boy façade lived a decent man.

She eyed the cat thoughtfully. He’d been determined to make her bend to his will when he ordered her to strip and get down on hands and knees. Then he’d been nothing but gentle. Demanding, yes. Teasing her sensually until she begged him to take her. Determined to have his way.

But he’d given her nothing but pleasure.

Her pride might be bruised, but her body felt warm and sated.

Jag pulled up.
Do you smell that, Red?

Something scratched at her nose, a scent like garbage, only worse.

“Is that the Daemon?”

I’m sure of it. Ten bucks says it’s coming from that house.

Olivia blinked and looked around. “What house?” She saw nothing but trees rising from a bed of thick underbrush.

The jaguar swung his head toward her, eyeing her with interest before returning his gaze to whatever had caught his attention. Magic rippled over her skin as he shifted back into a man, his powerful body gleaming in the moonlight.